Chapter Text
~Where?~
The moment had finally arrived. The final step to Cale Henituse’s long-awaited slacker life was right before him—stabbing that damn radish.
Not just a simple stab. If anyone asked, he would say that.
With the entire world watching—his family, his allies—broadcasted live through the communication orb, Cale did the unthinkable. With one decisive motion, he drove the blade through himself and the White Star.
A sharp, searing pain erupted in his chest. His breath hitched, and blood dripped from his lips, staining his already battered form. The world around him wavered, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay upright. He barely registered the sight of the White Star fading away, his form disintegrating into nothingness.
But something was wrong.
Cale’s heart was still pounding—far too fast, far too strong. Why? He had been stabbed, so why was it still beating like this? The rhythmic thudding in his chest felt unnatural, erratic, as if his body was desperately clinging to life in defiance of reality. His ears rang, muffling the world around him, making it impossible to hear the final words of his fallen enemy.
Then, his body swayed.
Before he could crumple to the ground, a pair of strong arms caught him. Arms that trembled, betraying the terror coursing through their owner.
With great effort, Cale forced his heavy eyelids to lift, his blurry vision focusing on the face before him—Choi Han.
Tears streaked the swordmaster’s face, his usual calm and composed demeanor shattered beyond recognition. His obsidian eyes, always sharp and unyielding in battle, were now filled with sheer horror. The sight of him trembling, clutching Cale’s bloodied hand as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality, was… unsettling.
This wasn’t the face of a man who had slain countless enemies with unwavering resolve. No, this was the face of someone who is losing something—someone—precious.
Cale’s brows furrowed.
‘Damn it, this hurts like hell…’ He grimaced internally. The burning in his chest was only getting worse. ‘Why isn’t it healing?’
His ancient powers—normally so loud, so insistent—were silent. Not a single whisper, not even a flicker of their usual presence. That alone sent a chill down his spine.
His ears still rang, drowning out Choi Han’s desperate words. He could see his friend's lips moving, could feel the warmth of his trembling hands grasping his own, but the sounds never reached him.
More figures appeared behind Choi Han—blurs of red, gold, and other familiar shades. Family. Allies. Friends.
But his vision was darkening. His eyelids grew heavier, his body sinking further into the abyss of exhaustion.
No… something was truly, terribly wrong.
The World Tree’s prophecy… the God of Death’s words…
They had all been a lie.
And now, Cale was paying the price.
In those fleeting seconds, the world lost a light—one that had arrived unnoticed, unheralded, slipping into existence without fanfare. And yet, now that it flickered and waned, the world trembled in mourning.
A soul that had once been an enigma, its origins unknown, had become irreplaceable. Precious beyond measure. It was a cruel truth of existence—one never truly grasps the worth of something until it is wrenched away, leaving only the hollow ache of absence.
Cale Henituse had been a given—an unwavering constant, a savior the world had taken for granted. He had never sought the pedestal they placed him upon, yet they had relied on him all the same. And now, as his presence slipped through their grasp like grains of sand, the world would weep.
For the hero they never asked for.
For the slacker who had never wanted to be one.
For the man who had carried the weight of salvation upon weary shoulders, only to be left with nothing in return.
Now, at last, the world would grieve.
~~~~~~
Cale felt his body—no, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t sure if he even had a body. There was no pain, no sensation, only an inexplicable awareness of cold, one that seeped into the very essence of his being. It wasn’t the chill of winter nor the bite of death—it was something far more unsettling.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t even tell if he still had eyes to open.
A flicker of irritation sparked within him, pushing through the void’s eerie stillness. 'Seriously? Did I really die? Just like that?'
It was almost laughable.
He had survived countless near-death experiences, had dragged himself through blood-soaked battlefields, had been battered, burned, and beaten within an inch of his life—only to end up here, wherever here was.
Cale exhaled—or at least, he thought he did. There was no sound, no breath, only the lingering exasperation that simmered beneath his confusion.
People spoke of heaven and hell, of afterlives filled with judgment or eternal rest. Not that he had ever put much faith in such things. But still, he had expected… something. Light. Fire. Angels. Demons. Anything.
Yet, there was only this endless abyss.
'Am I in a void?' The thought curled through his mind like a whisper.
His senses—sharp, honed, almost supernatural in their awareness—were failing him. There was nothing to hear, nothing to see, nothing to grasp onto. The silence was absolute, the emptiness stretching into infinity.
For the first time in a long while, Cale Henituse didn’t have an answer.
And that unsettled him more than anything else.
Moments passed, and then—faint, distant noises. Muffled, frantic, laced with alarm.
'Did I… become a ghost?'
The idea was almost believable. After all, he wasn’t entirely sure if he even had a body. The eerie weightlessness, the numb detachment from reality—it all felt too surreal.
But his assumption shattered the moment sensation returned.
A shift. A subtle but undeniable awareness of existence. He wasn’t floating in some spectral realm; he was somewhere, pulled out of that suffocating void and thrust into a place far too real.
The air was different now—crisper, colder, yet oddly comforting in its tangible bite. It was the kind of chill that seeped into his bones, too sharp, too present for his liking. 'Tsk. Too much of a hassle.'
Then, something even more telling.
Movement.
His body—his actual body—responded instinctively, muscles twitching, lungs pulling in a ragged breath as if reclaiming their long-lost function. That alone was proof enough—he wasn’t some wandering soul, adrift in the afterlife.
He was alive.
A cacophony of voices crashed into his ears, breaking through the lingering fog in his mind. Shouts. Cries. One particularly distinct voice—a child’s—rang out above the rest, sharp and desperate.
His fingers twitched. His chest ached with the effort, but he forced his limbs to respond.
With sheer willpower, Cale fought against the weight dragging him down and forced his eyes to open.
Cale’s eyes fluttered open, but the world around him was nothing more than a hazy blur. Shapes and colors bled together, indistinct and frustratingly out of focus. He strained to make sense of his surroundings, but it was like looking through the unfocused eyes of a newborn—wait.
'Wait… no way.'
'That’s not it, right?'
A sharp, uneasy pause cut through his thoughts.
But before he could dwell on the absurdity of that idea, movement caught his eye. A fog of golden hues drifted closer. Cale squinted, trying to make sense of it. The figure was unrecognizable, an amalgamation of color and shifting light. Yet, even through his impaired vision, he could make out the unmistakable gleam of blonde—no, not just blonde. It shimmered, reflecting light almost unnaturally. 'Gold?'
His gaze trailed downward, picking up hints of other colors—clothing, perhaps. But none of it held his attention like those twin, gleaming dots of blue.
They shone like gemstones, dazzling and sharp, twinkling against the blur of his vision. A thought—ridiculous yet utterly compelling—formed in his muddled mind.
'Diamonds? What kind of jewel shines like that?'
An odd sort of greed stirred within him, an instinctive pull. Cale felt an undeniable urge to grab them, to inspect them with his own hands. His arms, weak yet driven by sheer curiosity, flailed toward the distant golden figure, grasping for the twin lights.
But then—
A voice.
Low, chilling.
It wasn’t the tenderness which makes Cale disgusted.No, it was far more unnerving—a coldness of anger or menace it made his skin crawl. It was the kind of tone one might use when speaking about something trivial, detached, almost indifferent.
And yet, Cale couldn’t understand a single word.
His body stilled, a deep discomfort settling in his bones.
Whoever that man was, whatever he was saying—it set off every warning bell in Cale’s mind.
~~~~~
A sharp scoff, laced with an icy disdain, echoed through the room. Each syllable carried a weight of mockery, a bitter edge that sent an unspoken chill through the air.
"Athanasia and Kallen De Alger Obelia, huh?"
The name rolled off the speaker’s tongue, not with reverence, but with something far colder—disinterest, perhaps even amusement, as if the very mention of it was a joke only they understood. The voice, crisp and cutting, seemed to linger in the silence that followed, leaving behind an unsettling sense of finality.