Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cale remembered his childhood well.

He remembered his mother’s face. Her eyes. Her soft, rose-red hair. The same as his.

He remembered the way she smiled at him. The warmth in her laughter and the gentleness in her hands as she braided flowers into his own locks.

He carved those memories into himself, tracing them over and over again like the pages of a well-worn journal.

He also remembered his father’s new family, the first thing in more than a year to make his father happy.

He remembered seeing Basen and thinking that he was such a good kid. He was smart. He liked to study. And he could make Father smile. Unlike Cale. Cale’s presence only ever hurt and he knew it.

That was why when the bastard with the white mask showed up and said that he would leave Basen alone if Cale agreed to come quietly, Cale did so.

“You want to protect them, don’t you?”

And the white-masked man was right. He did.

“If so, come with me. They’re destined for a bitter end, but you’ll be able to protect them if you do as I say.”

And so, Cale did. But then the white-masked bastard asked him to do something he could not do.

“That power you have. Give it to me.”

Absolutely not. He still didn’t entirely understand the strange power his mother had left him on her deathbed, one that let him see rings atop a person’s being, but he could intuit some things about it, including its relation to time, and he also had the vague words she’d left him with. That, and her apology.

“I’m sorry. Your future…is full of echoes.”

He could not give something like that away. Not even if he knew how.

Not even to someone who had to have been quite old and experienced, with many, many more rings than would be assumed based on his appearance.

The white-masked man didn’t seem particularly phased by this. He’d merely sighed and said, “Then, act as my item. Do as I say, do not stray from my side, and you will be able to keep them all safe.”

And Cale had swallowed the resentment that bubbled up in him and nodded because he was 10 and there was nothing else he could do.

He traced those memories in his mind, over and over and over again.

There wasn’t much else to do here.

The white-masked bastard thoroughly treated him like an item, leading him around by the wrist whenever there was a person or object he wanted Cale to examine, and tossing him in this dark, empty room whenever he wasn’t needed. Though…it was really less of a “room” and more of a cave carved into the semblance of a room.

There was no entry or exit. No light except for a magic lamp that always emitted the same, steady glow. Cale had run his hands over the extent he could reach of the floor and walls countless times. He had to, if he wanted to keep the room in focus.

Sometimes it felt much larger than it actually was, sometimes it felt much smaller. Sometimes he could pretend he was somewhere else. His old room. The garden. An open flower field. But when he ran his hands along the walls, he was brought back to the dim stone chamber. Like a spell. One that he could never escape.

There was a vent at the very center of the ceiling to ensure that he could breathe, a small hole where he heard rushing water to function as a toilet, and a small pipe that continuously poured water into a tub carved right out of the wall. 

These were the only breaches in the stone enclosure. All far to small to function as a means of escape. The only real way in or out was via teleportation circle.

Apart from that, he was granted the luxury of a simple cot, a table, and a bench.

He ran his hands over the hemp and seared the memory of smooth silks into his mind.

He would not forget.

No matter how long he spent here, in the dark. No matter how the dark tried to eat him and everything he knew, he wouldn’t let it. He would keep those parts of himself. Even when he wasn’t needed at all. Which was sometimes for months at a time.

Only, now…it had been too long.

Since the last time the white-masked man had visited, the last of his baby teeth had fallen out and his hair had grown past his shoulders. It should have been years now, right?

He didn’t know. It was hard, bordering impossible, to properly tell time down here. The meals came at mostly regular intervals, allowing some estimation of the passing days, but he’d slept through a few and lost track somewhere along the way.

The baby teeth didn’t help. To be honest, he wasn’t sure why he ever thought they would. Something in his logic must have developed a fault. But still, he lined them up then swept them to the ground then threw them at the wall just to hear something other than himself and the shadows.

He picked a molar up again and paused, just staring at it. For a moment, his mind felt dull and grey. Empty. Dead. Was he dead? He might as well be. He hadn’t seen another person in so long. Buried who-knows-how-far under.  He might as well be.

—If you’re dead, then they’re dead, too, the shadow whispered.

Good, he thought, before feeling a wave of disgust towards himself.

He threw the molar at the shadow. It did nothing. The shadow continued leering at him.

—Good, it repeated, not letting him escape his slip-up.

Cale groaned and sunk to the ground, burying his head in his knees.

He knew, on some level, that this wasn’t alright. Something had gone strange in his mind after the long, long silence with nothing and no one and nothing to do. He picked at the scratches on his arm.

But if there was one thing keeping him somewhat tethered, it was that he couldn’t help but feel that this was what the white-masked man was waiting for. He was waiting until Cale crumbled completely, then he would come scoop Mom’s power from his chest.

He was an evil, evil man, waiting to steal Mom’s treasure from him.

And Cale could be the steadfast hero, not being broken by fear or despair.

Like in Mom’s stories.

He giggled to himself and hummed an old tune, rocking back and forth on his heels.

He ran through the memories again.

Gentle hands. Gentle voice. Soft red hair. Fine silks. A new family. A good boy. Someone worth protecting.

“And you’re protecting them.” He smiled to himself.

—Is that so?

“I am,” Cale insisted, the smile dropping from his face. “I have to protect them.”

—How can you be so sure?

“Shut up.”

—How do you know that bastard is keeping his end of the deal?

“Shut up shut up shut up”

—How do you know that any of this matters? Maybe he’s gone and slaughtered them all already?

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up”

—Maybe they’ve already forgotten you by now?

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up BE QUIET!”

Cale slammed his head against the wall in frustration, but unlike before, that wasn’t enough to silence it.

The shadow cackled. Cale was panting for breath. But he couldn’t do anything about it. This thing was his only companion. He couldn’t do anything to it. So he could only sit there and cry.

Was he still 10?

Probably not. (Even the few times he’d gone outside with the white-masked man, he could tell whole seasons had passed. He knew that he hadn’t been 10 in a long time.)

But there still wasn’t anything he could do.

“No, no, I’m doing it. I’m protecting them. I’m protecting them.”

He repeated the words like a mantra, even as he felt his body ache for sleep and he pulled himself into the cot.

“I’m protecting them.”

—Sure, you are.

He slept fitfully that day.

Sometimes it was nice to just shut down completely. Feel his consciousness slip away from his body and have his awareness go dark for a period of time. It was like skipping forward in a book. And it’s not like he was missing anything interesting. Sometimes he even saw beautiful dreams of himself playing with Basen or Mom or Ron or Father. It was very nice.

But it was also not so nice because none of those dreams were real, no matter how real they felt, and it meant missing meals and he always felt like shit after waking up again.

So, he paced. He talked to the shadow. He scratched at his arms. He pulled at his hair. He played with the molars. He looked at the memories.

Gentle hands. Gentle voice. Soft red hair. Fine silks. A new family. A good boy. Someone worth protecting.

There were other lines to the mantra that he added or skipped at a whim.

Good food. Kind voice. Father’s laughter. Flower braid. Summer sun. The shade of a tree. Someone reading to him. A resolve to throw it all away.

He paced. He ran his hands over his skin. He picked at his nails and resisted the wild urge to bite off his fingers. Anything to keep his attention from completely fleeing reality.

And it was on one of those days that a light flashed in the small stone chamber.

Cale froze. He looked toward the fading light. And he saw a man in white.

Red hair and white mask. Just as he remembered him.

Ah, he thought, this is it.

The evil, evil man had come to take Mom’s treasure.

He backed against the wall, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go. Still, he had to try and protect it. It was Mom’s treasure. The one she gave her life to pass onto him.

He glared at the white-masked man. He was prepared to fight. He wouldn’t go down quietly.

The white-masked man simply tilted his head, as if confused by the sudden hostility. “What? Are you upset that I left you alone for too long? Please, a few years is nothing.”

The white-masked man began walking over.

He’s coming. He’s coming and Cale needs to protect Mom’s treasure with all he has.

He gripped his shirt over his heart. The man extended a hand.

He’s coming and he’s going to scoop out his heart and—

Unexpectedly, the hand fell not on his chest, but on his head. It was not harsh, but rather, something bordering on soft.

“Hm. But I suppose I shouldn’t trust my own sense of time for such things. You seem to be in quite the state.” He clicked his tongue. “Perhaps I’ll move you to Endable. The region is stable enough by now, and it wouldn’t do if you went and killed yourself.” His hand rested on an old wound on the side of his head. Cale had never bothered to wipe off the dried blood.

“I still have use for you, after all.”

Cale shivered. He knew this was an evil man, the kind of person his mom would call a bastard, but in that moment, he could finally feel a touch that wasn’t his own. Hear a voice that wasn’t his own. And both were far more gentle than what he’d been expecting. (Even if they were cold and distant, that was still more gentle than what he was expecting.)

And what that voice was saying was…

“I’m…needed?”

His voice quivered.

—Pathetic.

“Shut up.”

The white-masked man paused, before smiling ever so slightly. Whatever predatory sharpness was there was quickly hidden by a layer of softness. He gently smoothed Cale’s long, ragged hair with one hand, and loosened the death grip Cale had on his shirt with the other, assuring him,

“Yes, you are needed. I will not simply throw away someone as useful as you. You’ve been doing such a good job this whole time, after all.”

Cale’s eyes widened. He was…doing a good job? Does that mean he was succeeding? He was protecting them?

“Yes, you’re protecting them very well.”

Oh, had he said that out loud?

“And you can continue to do so, so long as you listen to what I say.”

Cale nodded. His mom had always praised him for listening well. That was one of the things he was good at. He remembered it well. He wouldn’t forget.

The white-masked man smiled. He let the hand on Cale’s head scratch lightly, dragging his nails over his scalp, before coming down to cup his cheek.

“Good boy.”

Yes, he was a good boy. That was one of the things his mom often said. He remembered it well. He wouldn’t forget.

He leaned into the touch, his eyes going half lidded as the tension seeped out of him.

Why had he been scared, again? The white-masked man had never done anything to hurt him. He was letting Cale protect his family. He never even said he was going to steal Mom’s treasure. He’d just asked for it that one time.

The man cupped the back of his head and put an arm around Cale’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug.

He felt, vaguely, that something was off, but he was too tired (too starved for the warmth of another person) to continue thinking about it.

His closed his eyes and melted into the embrace. Warm. Strong. Gentle.

Safe.

—Like hell you’ll ever be “safe.”

“Shut up.”

The man chuckled. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want to.”

A bout of unease rocked him. Cale clung to the man's robes.

Was that true? It must be. But. The shadow was his only friend. What would happen if he started ignoring it? Would it leave him? He didn’t want to be alone.

“You’re not alone.” The man assured him, carding a hand through his hair. “You have me.”

Yes, but…Cale still felt a bit guilty at the thought of ignoring it. It’s not like the shadow had anyone else, either.

“You have a decent enough plate…if you can gather some of the powers I don’t need, you can become even more useful in the future.”

Cale shivered with…something. Fear? Anticipation? Happiness? Exhaustion? Pleasure? He wasn’t sure.

Instead of answering, Cale just buried himself deeper into those arms (Warm. Strong. Gentle. Dangerous.), and promptly fell asleep.

He’d learned a lot in the past few years. How to use his mother’s power to read things about a person’s past and future, their habits, their weaknesses. How to use the other powers the masked man, White Star, left to him to claim as rewards while he searched for his ideal weapons.

They went around together, often just the two of them. On occasion, Cale would be present when White Star met with someone or arranged some deal, but he mostly just sat in the background of such scenes. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he would even be left to his own devices for a while, and took the opportunity to wander about a bit, usually through the streets of Endable.

He was vaguely aware that the White Star was doing big things, in contact with powerful figures, deeply engaged in dangerous-sounding topics.

Dead mana.

Offerings.

Spies.

Wyverns in the north.

Experiments at the Bell Tower.

He knew these things were bad. He wanted to go home. He wanted to tell someone.

But whenever he got nervous, the White Star could tell. Was White Star just that perceptive? Or had he lost the ability to control his emotions at some point? He didn’t know.

All he knew was that, in those times, the White Star would calm him down with gentle touches and soft words, assuring him that, no matter what it looked or sounded like, this was ultimately for everyone’s good. All he wanted was a world with no conflict. No borders. No fights for the throne. A world where everyone would be at peace.

They were going to protect everyone.

(Even if some things got broken along the way.)

Sometimes Cale still struggled to accept it, unable to see the logic in how creating that horrible, tar-like despair could possibly help his family. But when that happened, White Star left him in his room and gave him time to think about it. And think about it. And do nothing but think about it.

His room in Endable was nicer than the cold stone chamber. It had a proper bed and a sink with a bath. It had a closet with clothes and a few other amenities. But it was still cold. The walls were all white. When it was time for Cale to think about something, food was delivered via magic again. No one was allowed to interrupt.

White Star was considerate that way. He always gave Cale enough time to think about it on his own until it made sense. (Until he convinced himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong.)

Then he would get to go out again.

He would get to go out and help White Star and he loved when he got to do that. He loved when he got to do something. It felt so, so good to be helpful. Useful. Needed. He was protecting them.

When he finally obtained the fifth elemental power and fully balanced his plate, Cale was nervous, panting from exhaustion. Scared. The trial had taken a lot out of him. More than he’d thought. Did he do good enough? Was his performance worthy? Was it enough to protect them?

And then a warm hand settled on his head, fingers lacing into his hair, nails dragging lightly across his scalp. And he heard a voice, almost cloyingly sweet, whisper, “Well done. You’ve finally become useful.”

And suddenly the pain in his limbs and the blood on his clothes didn’t matter anymore. He was floating. He was happy. His head spun.

“Good boy.”

Cale moaned. White Star paused for a moment, before amusement lit his tired eyes.

And Cale felt so good. He was useful. He was being good. He was vaguely aware that he was panting for a different reason now, his body warm and a heavy feeling gathering between his legs. White Star held his chin and a bit of drool slipped from his mouth and it should have been embarrassing but it didn’t matter. He was needed.

White Star smiled at him and he felt his whole body shiver.

“Truly a loyal dog.”

And for a moment, he was reminded of when someone else used to call him a puppy. For a moment, his thoughts felt distant. He chose to think about only the words from just now.

Loyal. Good.

His breaths grew deeper.

“To think some idle praise would have this big of an effect…” the White Star mused. A small delight continued to dance in White Star’s eyes as he observed the young man’s overblown reactions.

Delight. He’s pleasing him. His limbs shook harder.

White Star leaned in close, and whispered a few more words.

“You’re doing very well.”

His vision shook.

“You’re being very useful.”

His breathing grew ragged.

“I need you for this.”

Useful. Needed. Good. Fuck.

His breaths stuttered with sobs. His hand found his cock and his hips involuntarily rabbited forward.

“You’ve been very good.”

His vision went hazy.

“I need to you keep being good.”

His voice fluttered and croaked as he replied, stroking himself over his clothes with mindless fervor, “I-I will— I will I will, I will—”

“You will what?”

“I-I’ll be good.” He gasped for breath, something building in his core. “For you. F-for you, for you.”

White Star smiled, knelt in front of him, settled his hands on Cale’s back, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and pressed his lips to Cale’s forehead. A facsimile of tenderness.

“That’s right. You’re very precious.” The hands dug into him possessively. “My good boy.”

It was like a spark caused an explosion in his mind, breaking apart his thought process further as a rush of euphoria carried him high.

He was wanted.

Cale’s eyes rolled back. His mind went white. He clung to man in front of him and whined, his voice high, lewd, barely registering as his own as he rutted senselessly against the man’s leg. He hardly realized the breathless “yes, yes, thank you” that left his lips.

Just when he felt his senses beginning to return, he heard White Star chuckle, felt the way his chest moved at the sound, a sound so low and close that Cale felt it in his lungs and he felt his mind blank out again for a moment.

He was making him happy. He was pleasing him. He was being so good.

Something slipped. He didn’t quite feel…fully present. He was just. There. Warm. Fuzzy. Floating. He was being good and that was all that mattered.

White Star tilted his chin upward. He struggled to keep eye contact, his vision still hazy. White Star chuckled again. Though his senses were dulled, Cale still felt another rush of euphoria under his skin. He shuddered and slow blinked.

“Come along,” White Star said suddenly, pulling Cale upward and scooping him into his arms, “let’s not linger here all day.”

Cale, disoriented and still not quite all there, clung to his robes, looking up at him with confusion.

White Star simply smiled. “Don’t worry. Once we get back, I’m sure I’ll have more tasks for you, and plenty of ideas for your rewards.”

Cale’s hands tensed. His eyes widened slightly.

Reward? He already had so much. He could be rewarded more? How could he possibly deserve it?

But…the White Star was never wrong (he learned that lesson quickly). Be it punishment or blessing, you’d best accept it gracefully.

What mattered in the end was that he was protecting them.

Even if he couldn’t quite remember why he thought Basen was such a good child. Or what exactly Lady Violan’s expression was like when she looked at Father. Or the texture of the silk blouse his mother personally sewed for him. Or the taste of Beacrox’s food.

He knew it all had to exist. Somewhere. In his memory. And so, he would protect them.

He would be loyal and good, doing everything that he was told. And like that, he would protect them.

Cale, while a useful tool that learned to wield his powers quickly and didn’t care what he had to do “to protect them,” no matter how self-destructive, was also a troublesome tool with too many opinions. Still, White Star was nothing if not experienced in manipulation, and managed to channel the boy’s defiant and protective instincts into something useful.

Most of the time.

But even when he was truly being stubborn about something, all that meant was that he either needed to be coaxed with some ‘rewards,’ or he needed to be broken in again. Sometimes both. On days that bordered on “fun,” it was both at the same time.

White Star could easily admit that Cale was a stubborn and somewhat clever bastard. If he’d gotten his hands on the boy even younger, he may have been able to mold him properly into something he could use without breaking, but alas.

This would have to do.

The first time Cale disapproves of something in a way that White Star can’t easily placate or force is the Roan Kingdom’s Plaza Terror Bombing. The final announcement of Arm’s presence on the Western Continent.

“Basen is there. He cannot die. I need to protect them.”

The White Star, Cale Barrow, sighed. He supposed he had only himself to blame, using the promise of “protection” over and over again to brainwash the boy. He was sure that, if he really tried, he could find a way to twist the child’s death into something that fit the redhead brat’s already-questionable understanding of “protection,” but it was, frankly, too much effort.

The lives of his family was one of those things he was truly stubborn about.

The redhead might be able to warp the logic on his own if given enough time in the cold white room…but Cale Barrow was going to be busy within the next few years, and he didn’t want to have to shelve an admittedly useful tool for an unknown period of time.

It wasn’t like the terror incident was absolutely vital to the plan. Best to just let the boy have his way for once.

At the plaza, a mage appeared, and within seconds, cacophony sounded. Destruction, chaos, blood, broken bodies and buildings, both curling with smoke.

Alberu Crossman bites back a curse. “Mana bombs…”

The realization causes panic. Some flee, some freeze. Others, like himself, analytical despite the chaos, notice something strange.

The destruction is concentrated in one half of the plaza. The half housing the nobles is almost unharmed.

There are odd patches on sand in the stone-laid plaza. The stone around them is cracked and shifted up, as if the bombs had gone off underground. And…a shield of sand protects some of the onlookers.

A man in a cloak rushes up to the noble’s platform. Some guards try to stop him, but the ground turns to quicksand under their feet. They stumble and fall uselessly.

The man reaches the northeast nobles, the Henituse child, if Alberu recalls correctly. The man reaches out his hands…and does nothing more than pat Basen Henituse down, as if looking for injuries.

Basen is frozen, starting at the man in unconcealed shock. His lips tremble, and if not for his mother’s blood, Alberu would not have been able to hear the hesitant call of, “Hyung?”

…the elder Henituse son? The one who went missing 8 years ago? Presumed dead by all but his family?

What was he doing here?

Someone from the crowd cried, “Young master!” and a butler materialized at the boy’s side.

…that man’s stealth rivaled his aunt’s. He’d have to look into that.

At the same time, the mage on the clocktower spoke, projecting his voice without care for who heard,

“While it is always lovely to see you, Little Red, what is the pet doing out of its cage?”

The butler stood in front of the Henituse children protectively, but the elder brother, Cale, was it? Signaled him to stand down.

“Young master!” He protested, shocked and, no matter how professional, a bit shaken by the boy’s sudden appearance. But Cale insisted.

“It’s alright, he can’t hurt me. I’m more important than him.”

The mage sneered. “Little Red, don’t push your luck. No matter how much the Master dotes on you, if you openly defy him like this, I’ll have you in my chambers by day’s end.”

The mage seemed quite excited at the prospect. Alberu made mental note that his enemy this time is full of crazy bastards.

He glanced up at the mage.

Others wearing the same uniform, a white star surrounded by six red, stood poised to strike. This tense confrontation was not something they could easily take advantage of. Besides, there was information to be gleaned.
Alberu quietly ordered the rescue team to begin moving civilians and the injured away while keeping an eye on the two biggest variables.

In response to the mage’s threat, the man who was probably Cale Henituse said, “I’m not defying him. I have permission.”

That gave the mage pause.

“…permission?”

“Yes. And so,” Cale Henituse leveled the mage with an even gaze, “Reddika. You’re not allowed to hurt them.”

The mage, Reddika’s, hands twitched. “Little Red,” he crooned, “I don’t take orders from pets.”

“I need to protect them. I’m going to protect them.” Cale Henituse intones, and there’s something strange about it that catches Alberu’s attention. It’s almost…too even. Too mechanical. Like a mindless manta.

Alberu looks over to him to see his face split into a crazed smile.

“That’s how I’ll be good.”

His arm bursts into flame. Alberu can instantly smell charred flesh and baked blood.

This is not magic. This is not a tame power. This is one of those “useless” abilities, an Ancient Power. One that can’t be used without hurting yourself.

Bits of blackened skin slough off and hit the ground as others gaze on in mute horror.

For a moment, Alberu thinks the flames will consume the slight man, but steam quickly billows from the wounds.

A water-type healing power, Alberu concludes instantly. A brilliant balance, but he couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would willingly use something so blatantly self-destructive.

More than that, the things this young man is saying…

“It doesn’t matter what first impressions are, if something looks bad, or if it’s painful and humiliating,”

The stone turns to sand under his feet, which he gathers in his burning palm.

“What matters is results. In the end, they’ll be protected.”

The sand glows red hot, and begins to melt in the white flames.

“And so, if you’re going to insist on hurting them,”

The sand-turned liquid glass swirls above his hand.

Without breaking his smile, he finishes, “then you need to die.”

The molten glass shoots from his hand, punching clean through one of the mage’s shields. It’s quickly blocked by a second one, but it explodes with more force than anyone expected, sending shards flying hard enough that the royal mages below had to activate their own barrier.

Of course, none of the glass even gets close to the second Henituse child. The young Basen is seemingly the one and only person this Cale Henituse is actually concerned with saving.

Reddika suffers only light injuries, but tsks before reluctantly withdrawing his forces.

“Crazy bastard,” the mage mutters to himself as the teleportation spell takes and they slip out of the Royal Knights’ grasp. Alberu would have laughed at the irony if not for the urgency of the situation.

Things temporarily de-escalated, Alberu set his sights on the elder Henituse child.

He was clearly friendly with the enemy, yet just protected them and saved countless lives.

Caution and courtesy. He would need to balance the two finely, all while keeping in mind that crazed smile, and ramblings that sounded logical enough at first, but fell a half-step short of aligning with reality.

He was dealing with a loose canon.

One that didn’t even spare him a glance as he approached with his knights, instead turning to Basen, and asking, “Are you okay?” Even as his own arm hung uselessly at his side, the skin thoroughly charred and cracked, barely holding on, with some patches of exposed, dehydrated muscle. Alberu could see a sheen of water, working quickly to restore the damage, but for an injury that grievous…how long would it take before skin covered that arm again?

More importantly, this all but confirmed his suspicions. Basen was only one in his eyes. He would need to keep a close watch on the boy from now on.

Basen, for his part, looked at Cale with a mix of horror and confusion. “I-I’m fine, rather—Hyung, your arm—!”

“Ah, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Cale tried to assure him. “It’ll get better. I have the Rejuvenating Water with me.” 

“Young master.” The butler set a hand on Cale Henituse’s shoulder. The young man looked up at him and smiled as if nothing was wrong.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Ron. Is Beacrox nearby? Has he been doing well?”

“Young master, what is the meaning of all this?”

The butler, Ron’s, voice was cold. He may have been shaken by the sudden reappearance of his old charge, but that was not enough for him to forget the exchange just now.

“Hm?” Cale tilted his head, as if genuinely clueless. “What’s the meaning of what?”

Ron’s gaze was as cold as his voice. “That man. You know what he’s part of, no?”

“Yes, of course.” Cale nods easily.

Alberu signals the Knights to stand by in formation, surrounding the platform. Ron flicks his gaze over them, but doesn’t stop his interrogation. They can both feel that if they don’t get answers here and now, the boy will slip out of their grasp, never to be found again.

At least, not found again like this, where they can talk to him so easily.

“You know what Arm is, no?”

“Yes, of course.” Cale Henituse smiles beautifully, an expression of genuine joy unfolding like a rose. “We’re protecting you.”

Those who are close enough to hear go still.

The only sounds are those of the rescue team working behind them, on the other end of the plaza.

…Alberu changes his assessment. The young master isn’t just a loose canon, he’s crazy. In a more serious sense than he usually uses the word.

Including the mad mage who just tried to kill everyone here in the “we” who are “protecting you”—one whom the young master just had to physically fight off to keep everyone safe, mind you—reflected a very fundamental flaw in the young man’s understanding of reality.

“I’m going to protect you,” Cale Henituse repeats, no matter how nonsensical it is, “no matter what gets broken in the process. I’m going to protect you. That’s how I’ll be good.” Cale’s eyes begin to glaze over. “It doesn’t matter what first impressions are, if something looks bad, or if it’s painful and humiliating—”

“Young master.” Ron cuts him off. Cale’s gaze regains a bit of focus.

In the meantime, Ron’s gaze has grown even colder, even sharper, even heavier than before. “Young master, what have they done to you?”

Cale tilts his head quizzically. “Nothing. They’re letting me protect you.”

“Nothing?”

Cale nods. “Nothing. If anything, they’ve been quite nice. Whenever I do a good job, I’m rewarded!”

Cale seems genuinely happy about that and Alberu clicks his tongue. Poor fool. They’ve gone and broken him.

Still, he doesn’t want such an unpredictable variable on the enemy’s side. If the boy really has become a valuable chess piece, enough that he was allowed to interfere with an operation like this, there must be something on him that will teleport him out.

Alberu tells the Knight Captain to prepare mana disruptors immediately.

The air around Ron somehow gets a few degrees colder.

Poor Basen is still looking at Cale with horror. “H-hyung…”

Sure enough, the pendant dangling from a fine chain on Cale’s choker, a white star, begins to vibrate.

“Ah, I need to go.”

Cale reaches for the pendant, but the old butler is faster. Ron grips the pendant in hand and asks, “If you don’t go, what will happen?”

Cale looks at him. Blank. All expression fallen from his face. “That’s bad. I can’t do that.”

“Why? What will happen?”

“Nothing. I go to my room.”

“And then what?”

“He’ll lock the door.”

Ron pauses. “And then what?”

“And then…” Cale begins to tremble. “…I’ll have to think. About what I did wrong.”

“And then?”

“A-and then,” he’s shaking like a leaf, one good hand pawing at Ron’s, trying uselessly to pry the pendant from him, “w-when I know where I’m wrong, when I’m ready to be right, he’ll let me out. He’ll let me out if I’m good. So please,” his voice breaks, “please let me go. Let me be good.”

Poor bastard. Still, perhaps if they kept him here long enough, they could lure out the enemy?

Alberu is preparing his next wave of orders when he sees Ron’s gaze scan the gathered knights, the crown prince, and others in the crowd. Alberu picks out a black-haired swordsman, a mage, and a silver-haired boy. They had been helping with the citizens, but their focus is now here, on the nobles’ stands.

“If we fought ‘him,’” Ron asks, almost gentle, “would we win?”

Cale’s face pales with terror. He desperately shakes his head, his voice cracking, panicked, “No—you can’t! You can’t you can’t you can’t—I, he, h-he’s had so much time so much time so many rings…I-I’ll protect you, okay? You won’t need to die. Not now. Please.”

Alberu sees Ron make a decision. “Don’t—”

But it’s too late. The pendant slips from the butler’s fingers.

Damnit, where is that mana disruptor!

Cale grasps the pendant with his ruined hand, and the teleportation spell activates.

“Where is your room, young master?” Ron asks easily, as if he hasn’t just committed treason.

Young master Cale looks at him for a moment. “Endable Kingdom. The white castle.”

Not a place anyone has heard of. And yet, Ron bows.

“I’ll come get you soon, young master.” He vows.

And then he’s gone.

Cale is in trouble.

He had gotten permission to protect Basen, but not to attack Reddika.

White Star doesn’t really care about Reddika, but he does care about Cale listening to his instructions.

“If you want to do something extra, you have to first get permission.”

Luckily his sentence is light. A few months, at most. He only falls apart once. Picking himself up out of the void is never an easy or pleasant thing, but it’s one he can do with some consistency now.

But then they catch wind of a rumor. There are heroes rising on the Western Continent. They’re interfering with Arm’s plans. They’re led by one wielding more than one Ancient Power. And they’re looking for Endable.

How did they know? Cale had told Ron. His family asked and he’d answered.

The White Star sits in his office chair, and looks at him with an empty expression, and Cale knows that he’s made a mistake. He shouldn’t have said anything. Shouldn’t have admitted that he said anything.

His legs are shaking. He backs away from the desk, but stumbles and falls to the floor. His whole body is trembling. He’s hyperventilating. He doesn’t want to imagine what comes next.

White Star stands. Walks over to him. Every footstep sounds like death. It gets hard to see past the layers and layers of rings that always caress that person.

A hand reaches out. It rests softly on Cale’s head.

“Let me make one thing clear here,”

The hand tightens. It slams Cale’s head into the floor. It hurts. His vision blurs. His ears ring.

“You are a tool. Your job is to do as you’re told. No less, and no more.” His voice is low, calm, dangerous. “I gave you permission to ensure one person lived. When did I give you permission to speak with them?”

Cale trembles. He feels warm blood drip down the side of his face. He knows what he did wrong. “Y-you did not.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Y-you didn’t give me permission to speak. To them.”

“And yet you did it anyway. I’ve clearly gotten too lax with you.”

He trembles harder. “P-please—”

“Silence.”

Cale snaps his mouth shut. He knows better than not to. Knows that’s the only way to lighten his punishment. If he’s lucky, the room will be all he’s subject to, and he’ll go there with all his limbs intact.

White Star drags him up, keeping one hand fisted in his hair as he walks to Cale’s room. He shoves Cale inside, closes the door, and locks it.

Cale breathes. Or he tries. He’s not quite sure if he’s managing it. He thinks he might still be panting, but there’s a ringing in his ears and he can’t seem to make himself move to check the mirror. Not that the mirror ever helped. He’s trapped. Trapped in this room. In his own body. He’s suddenly possessed by the urge to tear all his skin off. He can’t move. He cries for no reason for a while, then his tears dry.

It’s pointless, after all. There’s nothing to see or hear him here.

At least he got to see Basen and Ron again.

He runs through the memories.

Gentle hands. Gentle voice. Soft red hair. Fine silks. A new family. A good boy. Someone worth protecting.

“Gentle hands. Gentle voice. Soft red hair. Fine silks. A new family. A good boy. Someone worth protecting.”

Good food. Kind voice. Father’s laughter. Flower braid. And…

…and…

…what else was there? There was something else. There was always something else.

Flower braid and…

…

……

………he can’t remember.

Where the memory should be, there’s instead a hollow pit of fear. Fear that feels like White Star leaning over him, with cold, tired, tired eyes. Surrounded by countless rings.

He shivers.

“Flower braid. Father’s laughter. Kind voice. Good food.”

He’ll just have to hold onto what he can.

Things have returned to how they were before.

He is an item.

If he’s needed, he’s dragged around by the wrist. If he’s not, he’s placed in his room.

No more lingering about, listening in on meetings or taking brief forays into town. No more gentle touches and sweet rewards. A hand on his wrist is the most contact he gets and he can’t help but treasure it. 

He’s made a mistake. He knows that he’s wrong. He’s bad. He took advantage of White Star’s kindness. He must pay for his mistake.

He shouldn’t have spoken to them. He’s protecting them by being away from them. How had he forgotten this simple fact?

He had gotten selfish, talking to them. He shouldn’t get close to them. If they’re protected, that’s enough. He shouldn’t seek them out. Shouldn’t see them. Shouldn’t hear them. He should be shut away here. In this room. That’s the only way they’ll stay safe. Right? Right. Wait—

—You only saved him because you were there. Because you asked to be.

The shadow helpfully reminds him.

Right. There were times when he needed to leave. But White Star knew those times. Knew what he needed to do. He could leave it all to him.

—You think he would have given you permission to hurt Reddika? One of his other “tools?” Haah, why do I even ask. In the end, there was no prior permission, and you needed to move anyway. You think that, if you didn’t fight back, Reddika would have stopped?

Cale pauses. Maybe. Maybe not. It’s useless to wonder. But he does anyway because what else is there to do.

Maybe if he’d just stubbornly kept the sand shield up, Reddika would have gotten bored and stopped. If he’d managed to do enough damage to Cale's shields, the backlash would’ve hurt him, and it would’ve been Reddika in trouble for hurting Cale, not the other way around.

—Hmph, idealistic.

Sure, Cale may have died if the backlash fractured his plate, but it was still better than being disobedient.

—How naive. You think that bastard wouldn’t take every excuse to hurt you? Obedience doesn’t matter. He just wants to feel powerful. 

Maybe if he had been critically injured, he wouldn’t have been tempted to talk to his family. He wouldn’t have displeased White Star.

—Don’t worry about him. Living is best.

Cale paused.

“You know, you’ve been awfully supportive, lately.”

—Hmph. I do what I want.

Cale smiles. Doing what you want is best. And as for him, he wants to protect his family. Even if he’s slowly losing his grip on the reasons why, he won’t forget that those reasons are there. Won’t forget that their lives are the priority.

Who cares if he fought with Reddika? It kept his family safe. It was telling them about Endable that really angered the White Star, anyway.

So, he passed the time in his room. Eating, sleeping, talking to the oddly kind shadow, who was only oddly kind some of the time, and trying not to get too lost in his head. Just a bit was fine. It made it easier when he was dragged outside. He wouldn’t have the freedom to move about on his own anyway.

Being all there, fully conscious of what he was missing, would only bring more pain. Best distance himself a bit. Only bother listening to the White Star’s voice. Only do as he says. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Don’t think about where you are. Don’t listen to the echo of a familiar voice. And don’t think about who’s blood is on your hands at the end of the day.

It’s better that way.

I need to protect them.

But can he?

…he doesn’t really know. Not anymore. And it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

…he should’ve just been good.

—…

—You can be angry, you know.

“…I know. But it won’t change anything.”

—You can fight.

“I won’t win. I can’t destroy those rings.”

—…

—…you’re right. Living is best. But at least someone is coming.

Cale blinked slowly. “Who?”

—Ron. Don’t you remember? He said that he’d see you soon.

“…he did.”

—Plus, he promised Jour that he’d protect you, didn’t he? 

“…did he?”

—He did. So, believe, Cale.

Cale managed a scowl. “I don’t make wishes.”

—Neither do I.

—I only trust myself and my companions.

—Trust that he’ll make it. That he wants to make it.

“…and then I’ll protect him?” Cale’s voice sounded weak. Thin and fragile as the edge of a wine glass.

—…

—Yes. The best thing you can do to protect his heart is to live long enough to see him again.

Cale nodded.

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

When the wall actually breaks down he feels like he’s in a dream.

There’s light. Faces. Shouting. People he doesn’t recognize, and—

“Ron?”

Cale’s voice is hoarse from disuse.

Ron takes in his condition, and schools his expression into that of a gentle smile. “Apologies for the delay, young master. This Ron has come to get you, as promised.”

Beacrox easily scoops him up, his strong form smaller than Cale remembered. Or had Cale gotten larger?

“Now then, young master, let us go, shall we?”

After they make their escape from Endable, among the unfamiliar names and faces, there’s a familiar voice.

Cale blinks in surprise. “…Mr. Shadow?”

The strange man with dark hair and a face eerily similar to the White Star’s shrugs. “After a certain point. When I was asleep.”

Huh. Cale had thought the sudden inconsistencies in tone were just a product of his own wavering sense of self. Maybe to a certain extent it was? It’s not like he ever managed to figure out a definite pattern behind the shadow being nice for a few hours here and there.

The strange man who was once the shadow looks at him. “Have you eaten?”

…what?

“Strange human! You must eat to live! Here!” The dragon (dragon? Since when was there a dragon?) produced several pies from thin air. “Have some apple pies!”

The pies are easily sliced by the dragon’s magic, and a slice is expertly grabbed by chubby paws and placed in his mouth. Almost as if he’s done this before.

Without really thinking about it, he begins to chew.

He blinks, and finally begins to process his surroundings. He’s sitting in a grassy field, just outside a shining black castle.

There is no white castle. No white walls. No steadily glowing chandelier. The sky is wide and open and blue. So blue.

It’s so blue and it’s so large and it’s so much and he can’t think straight. It’s overwhelming. His breaths are speeding up. He catches a glimpse of the castle walls and sees part of it is still damaged, the sharp edges worn away by sands. His sands. He feels the world tilt.

He pitches forward and heaves, throwing up the pie he just ate. The dragon is alarmed, but the man who was the shadow pulls the little dragon back as flames spark along Cale’s fingertips, unbidden. A reaction to his violently oscillating emotions.

Still, he knows that the man who was the shadow will not help him here. He has no sympathy for those who could be a threat to his family. He’s heard him say as much. Though Cale’s thoughts feel distant, he approves.

He knows how it feels, after all. To need to protect something. That’s right. He needs to protect them. He can’t be here. He didn’t get permission. He needs to protect them. He needs to leave. He—

“Young master.” A gloved hand comes to rest on his back. “Please, breathe. You are safe here. As are we.”

He chokes, coughs, and manages to get enough air to wheeze, “…safe?”

—Like hell you’ll ever be safe.

The familiar reply punches a hysterical laugh from his lungs.

“Yes.” Ron continues. “Your duties are over. You…have protected us. Now, please,” he pours a potion over Cale’s singed hand, “from here on, leave the rest to us.”

Chapter Text

Ron Molan has been working for the Henituse estate for a good 13 years.

It stared, of course, with Jour, as most things around the estate seemed to do. She’d dragged the man and his son home after taking one look at them, and declared these two dirty, ID-less nobodies to be her new personal servants.

Jour may have been a bit of a rash and colorful personality, but she was far from oblivious. She knew something. Ron knew she knew something. And she knew that Ron knew that she knew something.

And so on and so forth.

Thus, without ever saying a word, they agreed to not dig up the past. And if he helped the couple with a few things “off the record” here and there, that was nobody’s business.

Ron took to his new role like a fish to water, and his son took to the kitchens almost just as naturally. Once Beacrox able to take the title of chef, Ron could tell he was pleased. Ever since that dreadful time, running away with blood still stuck to their skin, taking shifts on nightwatch to try and sense their own kin who moved almost as silently as they did, and forced to eat bark and roots just to survive, his boy had a dreadful distaste for filth, open spaces, and tough foods.

The kitchen was his space. A space where he could control his surroundings. A place where it was not just acceptable, but encouraged to keep everything spotless and tidy to an almost inhuman degree.

The only one allowed—well, not allowed, but the only one who could get away with disturbing that space was the young master Cale, who loved to invite himself in and ask Beacrox what he was making and demand snacks. Mostly because he knew that Beacrox knew that he couldn’t actually do anything to the boy without risking both their jobs.

His son was not fond of the young master’s disturbances, but he tolerated them for both their sakes. It helped that the young master genuinely loved Beacrox’s cooking, and every compliment placated him a bit.

Ron, for his part, was somewhat fond of the boy. His well-being was a professional obligation, first and foremost, but he could freely admit that the young master was quite like an adorable puppy, following people around, asking questions about what they were doing and why, and always eager to play.

Bright, cheerful, full of energy, endlessly curious, and even rather clever at times. He truly took after his mother, but also had a bit of his father’s sensitivity. Ron remembered quite clearly a time when the 6-year-old boy had found a dead snake in the garden and nearly cried his eyes out after Ron explained that it dead, and thus, would never move again. He was then terrified when his beloved stuffed rabbit’s stitching started to come undone and had to be consoled for hours, assured again and again that Mr. Bunny wouldn’t die while the Countess personally patched him up.

It was funny. He was so used to death. Grew up surrounded by it, as did his son. That someone could be so unfamiliar with it to shed tears so easily, even as a child, was something new.

Even in his aging life, there were still things that could surprise him.

One of those things was the Countess’s death.

She always seemed to know more than she let on. Perhaps that’s why Ron thought she would be able to survive for longer. Perhaps that’s why she had to go.

The day before her health declined, she and Ron had been chatting idly about some inane thing, sitting by the fire on a cold Spring night. The topic shifted to the young master’s antics, and she laughed at the memory of him managing to startle Beacrox by popping out of a box of produce.

Then, she asked, “You’ll protect him, won’t you?”

“Of course, my lady,” Ron answered easily.

“Is that a promise?” She looked at him.

He looked back. “…yes, it is.”

The weight of the words hung in the air between them.

And she smiled, easing back into her chair. “Good. I can rest easy knowing someone like you is around.”

The next day, she held her son’s hands and apologized to him, telling him that she would always love him, and that she would always be with him. That she hoped that this would somehow become his strength.

…and Ron could not help but feel that she had known, for a long time, that she would die today.

Still, Ron could not say that he understood exactly what she meant by that, and in truth, he felt that he may never understand. No matter what she did or did not know, a son lost his mother. A husband lost his wife. An estate lost its light.

The Count became mired in grief, unable to be moved even by the voice of his own son. Then, he left. For months. And Ron watched as the bright, cheerful boy smothered himself in the responsibilities of his father’s role.

Ron did what he could, but he was, in the end, a mere servant. He could not have the final say in this year’s tax rates, or the newly proposed trade deal, or the settlement of the acrimonious divorce of a powerful merchant couple. All that had to be signed off on by the acting Count, who was now a boy of less than 10.

The extended family instantly came to snap at his heels but the boy did not flinch. He had always been clever for his age, and now Ron saw him act far beyond it as the boy personally penned a succinct and brutal reply, before consuming every text on taxation, trade relations, and marriage law that he could.

But still, he was a boy. He needed rest. And sometimes that meant Ron carrying him away from the Count’s desk himself. And when the Count returned, months later, with a new wife and child in tow, as much as there was some frustration lodged in Ron’s heart, there was also a bit of relief.

The Count returned reinvigorated, like he had been granted a second lease on life. And that was good because otherwise, the young master might’ve run himself into the ground.

This meant that Ron could relax and take a step back. He was sure the young master would adapt to the new family, he had already proven himself stubborn and clever enough to do that and more.

Besides, Ron knew what men filled with hate looked like, and when the young master looked at Countess Violan and young master Basen, Ron did not see a boy filled with hate. There was some confusion and reluctance, perhaps even some resentment, but no hate. In fact, one day, as the young master took tea in his room, he said, unprompted,

“Basen is smart.”

And Ron had paused before saying, “Hoh, is that so?”

And Cale had nodded. “He already has a good grasp of marriage law. He started studying as soon as he entered the house. In fact, he…hm…”

“What is it, young master?”

And Cale had shaken his head. “Nothing. It’s good, is all.”

At that point Ron should have known. He should have known just how similar Cale and his mother were.

Yet, when the boy began angrily sending away his tutors and refusing to attend his lessons, he did not pay it much heed. In his mind, the puppy deserved to throw a bit of a tantrum after the stress of the past year.

Still, the Count and new Countess must have been a bit concerned, for they asked Ron to supervise something of a playdate for the two children who lived under the same roof. Perhaps they thought that spending some time with the bookish Basen would rekindle Cale’s love of reading.

Whatever their thoughts, that was how Ron ended up with the two young masters in the garden one cloudy afternoon.

The weather had been better earlier, but it was now a bit chilly and overcast. The young masters sat quietly together amidst the rose bushes, not yet entirely comfortable with the other’s presence, avoiding talking by eating snacks and drinking tea and flipping through books and generally avoiding eye contact.

It was quite the amusing sight. Ron rarely got to see the young master Cale looking so awkward. Young master Basen occasionally snuck a glance over at him, obviously trying to work up the courage to speak, and Cale seemed aware of this, glaring into his book whenever he felt Basen’s gaze on him. Yet he made no move to either speak to or drive away the young Basen.

Perhaps he felt embarrassed to say anything in front of Ron. He shouldn’t be, Ron was merely a servant, but children are fickle creatures.

Ron took the dwindling snacks and tea as an excuse to step away for a few moments and give the children time to speak without an adult peering over their shoulder. He went to the kitchen, retrieved fresh cookies and tea from his son, and returned to the garden.

Cale was gone.

Basen was in tears.

Ron felt his blood run cold.

You’ll protect him, won’t you?

Ron tried to get the young master Basen to calm down. For a while, all the boy could do was repeat, “I couldn’t say anything…”

Ron got him inside with a blanket around his shoulders as the clouds continued to gather and thunder rumbled in the distance, promising rain.

When the Count and Countess arrived, Basen managed to haltingly explain what happened.

A man with red hair and a white mask. He appeared suddenly, almost out of nowhere, and gave a simple ultimatum. Either the people of the manor die a gruesome death, or Cale goes with him.

Of course, Cale chose the latter.

Ron is angry. The Countess is angry. Deruth is distraught and furious.

To think that someone could just waltz onto the premises and take his son. His son. The last proof that Jour was alive.

This also rattled Ron. He was a professional. He made sure security was up to his standards. How could he have failed to notice an intruder? He must have grown lax. Still, he was a Molan. Who could evade his senses so completely?

There was one possibility. When he met his son’s eyes, they both knew there was a chance. A chance that this was another act of the people who took their first home from them.

Had they already set foot on the Western continent? How deeply had they managed to infiltrate already? If they help the Count search for Cale, will they find more leads on their enemy?

They could only hope.

…

…that night, when Ron went to personally see that the young master Basen was safely in bed, the boy quietly confessed that what he had shared with his new father was not all that had been said.

Before they had vanished into the foliage, Cale had made some demands of his own. The young master had been bold enough to declare that he would not go with the white-masked man unless he swore to the family’s safety, and promised that Cale would be able to protect his people. That the man was especially not allowed to touch Basen, for he was a good child who didn’t deserve to get dragged into some mess.

And the man had given a slight smile, as if the young man was saying something amusing, and easily agreed.

And Ron was glad that young master Basen had not mentioned it. Count Deruth did not need to be reminded, not now, of how deeply kind the son he just lost was.

Ron silently vowed to put to his skills to work once more, and drag out the damn fox who would make off with the puppy.

Easier said than done.

Time bled away at a steady rate, but their progress was anything but. 

Leads slipped from their fingers. False trails led to dead ends. All the while, they heard hardly even a rumor of the redheads.

A whole 5 years slipped away like that, and Ron feared it would be more before they were finished.

At first the other nobles were supportive in their search, offended and frightened by the thought of someone able to sneak into their estates and kidnap their children. But as the weeks turned to months turned to years, even that support dwindled, and rumors swirled in their place. Rumors that the young master had run off. That he wasn’t coming back. That he was dead.

Deruth was tired. Ron could tell. The children could tell. Everyone could tell. But Violan stepped up to ensure that the Count would not stagnate.

“Look at yourself,” she said, “look at this place. This is the place your son will return to—and he will return. Do you want him to come back to find it in disarray? What kind of face do you wish to show to him?”

And with her words, Deruth managed to pull himself together. He had to remain strong, for the estate, for his people, for his son, so that he could come back to a powerful and loving home.

The best lead they’d had in the past 8 years, came from a young man named Choi Han of Harris Village. A young man whose strength even Ron Molan could not estimate.

He had come to the city to get some medicine and identification papers.

The Count happily signed the papers and asked a question that Ron had gotten used to hearing over the years.

“I must ask, have you heard of any strangeness lately? Or seen anyone with rose-red hair?”

They’d heard a few scant rumors over the years, but nothing they were able to truly tack down.

And the young man smiled innocently, saying, “Oh, I have! Ah, not rumors, really, but I spoke to someone with red hair just before leaving for here.”

They froze.

“Really?” Deruth tried not to let too much of the old hope seep into his voice.

Choi Han blinked at him, puzzled by his reaction. “Yes?”

“What was he like?”

“Well…he was…kind of odd? He said hello to me then immediately asked how the Count’s family was doing. I, um, just said that I don’t know anything and am about to go visit.”

“Where did he go after that?”

“I, um, I think he went towards the wall?”

“If I may be allowed to ask,” Ron spoke up and Deruth nodded for him to continue, “was this person a young man?”

“Yes…why?”

“What was he wearing?”

“Just some plain shirt and pants and a black cloak…though I think there was a star on it somewhere? Yeah, a red star.”

Ron and Deruth exchanged a glance.

“What would you say his age was?”

“Uhh…16? M-maybe?”

“But you are sure he is not in his 30s?”

“Oh, definitely not. Probably.”

Ron and Deruth exchanged another glance. It wasn’t certain, but it could be. It could him.

“Umm,” Choi Han spoke up again, “Are you looking for someone?”

Deruth cleared his throat. “Well, the basics of the situation is common knowledge…”

“If I may interrupt once more,” Ron bowed.

Deruth blinked in surprise, but allowed it.

Ron turned to Choi Han. “Young man, are you aware of your own status?”

Choi Han examined him carefully. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you aware that you are a swordmaster?”

Choi Han tilted his head. “Swordmaster?”

Deruth’s eyes widened.

“You can use aura, can you not?”

“Aura? You mean this?” Choi Han lifted his hand, and an aura like a black flame curled around his fingers.

Deruth nearly leapt out of his seat.

Ron smiled benignly. “Young man, how would feel about listening to some old men’s woes?”

Fortunately for them, this random swordmaster who walked out of the Forest of Darkness had a strong sense of justice, and easily agreed to help them dig into Arm and find the missing young master Cale.

Ron even left the estate with him for a time, trying to track down a promising lead, and somehow getting dragged into some shenanigans involving the Breck Kingdom’s rogue princess-mage and the Blue Wolf Tribe.

In the end, they ended up in the capital in time for the king’s birthday celebration, which was just as well. Ron had wanted to rendezvous with the young master Basen’s entourage before they set off back home. Even with his son at Basen’s side, he still felt uncomfortable leaving him out of sight for too long.

You’ll protect him, won’t you?

…he really was growing more foolish in his old age. An assassin had no need for such sentimentality.

Unfortunately for them, even with a swordmaster, a high mage, and a Wolf, they were still unprepared for the attack on the capital.

When the bombs went off, they could do nothing but try and shield who they could.

And when the young master suddenly appeared before them, they could do nothing as he drove the mad mage away himself, before acting like nothing was wrong.

The things this young master Cale said and did, they way he looked at Ron when the old butler grabbed the pendant—the pendant hanging from a chain on a collar—made something deep within him tense in anger.

Cale looked up at him like a broken man.

The cheerful young pup and the clever, but angry pup, both were gone. Buried under a thick layer of fear. Hidden in fragments of logic.

“We’re protecting you.”

He said. Who convinced him of that nonsense?

“So please, please let me go. Let me be good.”

And Ron did.

The crown prince had been rather upset about that in the aftermath, but Ron didn’t care. He wasn’t going to risk the young master’s life before they figured out a way to free him from the jaws of the damn foxes.

They dared call him a pet. A goddamn pet.

And he didn’t even disagree.

It made his blood boil.

And here he thought he was getting too old to get so worked up.

At least they had a name to work with now.

Endable Kingdom. The white castle.

Not a place on any of the maps.

Perhaps it was time to tap into some of his old contacts back home…

Kim Rok Soo sat on a leather couch in a clean, modern-looking office with a scowl on his face.

Across from him sat a man with long white hair, a cream-colored sweater, and an awkward expression.

“So I’m dead?”

The office was surrounded by a dark void.

The man in the cream sweater shifted a bit. “Not quite yet.”

“But I will be soon.”

“Yes.”

“Unless I take your deal?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Why me?”

The man cleared his throat. “Well, originally, it was supposed to be Choi Jung Soo…”

“But he said no.”

“Yes, sadly. And then it was supposed to be Lee Soo Hyuk…”

“But he said no, fuck off.”

“…Yes, exactly…”

“So I’m the last resort?”

“Well, originally, it wasn’t even possible to send you in your original body, but some things happened here and there…and…well, suffice to say, their ‘status’ has been passed to you, so you get the same choice.”

“Leave or die?”

“Yes.”

“I refuse.”

The man sighed deeply. “Please don’t do this to me, I’ll really be out of options if you say no.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“This is the fate of an entire world! Deaths in the millions that you could help prevent!”

Kim Rok Soo narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Isn’t a lot of Death a good thing for you? Why are you trying to stop it?”

The man gave another long-suffering sigh. “I may be the God of Death, but that doesn’t mean I demand it as tribute or anything. Death happens all of the time, whether you want it to or not. Plants, animals, humans, beastmen, even dragons. Everyone dies. I don’t need mortals’ help with that.”

Kim Rok Soo’s gaze did not become any less suspicious. “So you want me to help you avoid more work?”

“…well, when you put it like that…”

“Fuck you.”

“Please, my child, isn’t this a good opportunity for you?”

“I’m not your child.”

“This world could be a new beginning! You could achieve your dreams, start a new family, even cleanse your curse!”

Kim Rok Soo blinked. “My curse? What curse?”

“Ah.”

“…”

“…”

“Do I want to know?”

“…perhaps. It…would probably be useful to you, but, um…”

“You can’t explain it.”

“…I can tell you that I can restrain it for a few years if you agree to this deal, but I’m afraid you’ll have to hear the details from someone native to the world.”

Kim Rok Soo sighed. In the end, he recalled the words of his Team Leader.

“Living is best.”

If he would have to live on his own, again, in a new world, then so be it. He could not die yet.

“I accept.”

“Really?!”

“With some conditions.” He wasn’t an idiot. He would be getting his worth out of this meddlesome god.

Kim Rok Soo was a strange existence. Perhaps no one sensed that as keenly as Ron.

The man bore the scars of war, something that should be unknown on their peaceful continent, yet he did not hail from the East, either. Instead, he came from that punk, Choi Han’s hometown.

He had shown up outside of Rain City a short while after the terrorist bombing, a bit worse for wear, with a clumsy young dragon in tow.

A dragon.

That alone was enough to set him apart. But then he started speaking a strange language that made the punk’s ears perk up, and they had an animated conversation that no one else was privy to.

Then, the punk explained that this Kim Rok Soo wanted a dictionary and a pronunciation guide. They brought him in as a guest of the estate and gave him the materials.

This new punk stood there, flipping through the pages like he was just browsing, while sweat formed on his face and he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Then, he closed his eyes and stood still as a statue.

Eventually, Rosalyn couldn’t help but lean over and ask Choi Han, “What is he doing?”

The punk’s eyes snapped open. “Processing the data,” he answered in perfect Westronian.

And that was just one of the strange things about him.

He had a stealth item on him that caused the priestess Cage’s eyes to grow wide as she said, “That’s a Divine Item. Where the hell did you get that?”

And he merely shrugged and answered, “Picked it up somewhere.”

He knew things that should be impossible, from current and future events to the locations of Ancient Powers.

He was fearless, standing his ground against nobles, beastmen, and dragons alike.

His strength was something that Ron couldn’t easily fathom.

He had some physical abilities, but not on the level of a swordmaster. Instead, his main strengths were of knowledge, luck, and charisma.

Within a month, he had not only the dragon, but two Cats and a flashy shield Ancient Power, quickly followed by a wind Ancient Power and connections to the Whale Tribe.

Choi Han’s group also quickly fell under his sway, and Ron was not ashamed to say that he and Beacrox were part of that. That Kim Rok Soo also began taking over their investigation into Arm as if it were the obvious next step (and gathering more connections and powers as easily as one gathers hay), despite complaining that he didn’t need to know about such troublesome things.

He claimed this was all so that he could be a slacker in the future, relaxing without any responsibilities, even as he cheerfully demanded the position of Commander of the Northeast from the crown prince, completely ignoring the protests of those who said this no-name commoner cannot possibly handle such a powerful position.

He was skillful, thorough, bold, and deeply, deeply kind, in a way that the man himself obviously did not realize. It was quite funny, watching him fumble whenever given the slightest sliver of praise when he could take any vicious comment in stride.

Still, that did not erase the fact that he was also deeply protective, and did not easily forgive anything or anyone who raised a hand against his “family.”

Ron knew that much from watching the way he handled Clopeh, and later, the nameless dragon half-blood. Despite one of them treating him like a god and the other not only disavowing, but mourning his past, Kim Rok Soo treated them both like they were coated in dead mana, only interacting with Clopeh the minimum required amount and refusing the chimera any chance at true freedom. The chimera had his choice, which was more than he had before, but no option involved living unsupervised.

Not that Ron could blame him. It was not this man’s job to tolerate Clopeh’s worshipful attitude nor to offer absolution to the chimera. But it did give him pause when considering the young master.

They had seen him on the battlefield by now, standing among the ranks of the enemy. His eyes dull, his expression blank, not truly looking at them as the earth turned to quicksand beneath their feet, molten glass following their movements, before droplets hardened and shattered explosively.

More than once, Kim Rok Soo had hissed a curse as the fragments tore through shields with more force than they should be able to, nicking their allies deep enough to draw blood. Even if none of this was his will…

…how much grace would the young master be afforded?

Perhaps he was truly getting old. Some concern must have shown in his posture or expression for that Kim Rok Soo to one evening frown and ask,

“Ron, what’s wrong?”

Ron looked at him for a few moments, then said, “Good sir, this Ron has a request to make.”

Kim Rok Soo’s frown deepened. No doubt, he was thinking that nothing good ever came of Ron being so polite like this.

“What is it?”

“Do not think too harshly of the young master.”

Kim Rok Soo paused, his expression evening out into something more neutral, but his eyes were deep. A silent signal to continue.

Ron smiled. “I know you are a ruthless person, who rightfully distrusts any and all who stand as our enemies, but you must know by now that it is different for the young master. He does not think himself our enemy.”

“He thinks he’s protecting us. Somehow.”

Ron’s smile turned bitter. “Yes, good sir. There are many things one can make a sufficiently desperate person believe.”

Kim Rok Soo looked down slightly. He was silent for a few moments, before slowly saying, “This…is…not his fault.” The words formed very deliberately on his lips, as if it was somehow awkward for him to admit. He scowled at the floor. “But that does not mean we can treat him lightly. If the White Star’s influence is deep enough for him to attack us, even while believing that, then we can’t say for certain what he’ll do, even when we manage to get him away. He may even try to go back.”

Ron paused, and let out a light laugh, setting aside the pessimistic final sentence.

When, not if, when they get Cale away.

This damn brat had never even considered the possibility of failure.

They will get Cale back.

Ron smiled once more, causing Kim Rok Soo to shiver in fear, always an amusing reaction.

“Please, do not worry, good sir. This Ron once promised the late Countess that he would protect that pup, and that is not a vow that I intend to neglect.”

No matter what state he returned to them in, even if it made him try and do something foolish, this time, Ron would remain by his side.

The dreams started out normal enough. A few months after Kim Rok Soo arrived in this new world, he started dreaming of the feeling of being trapped somewhere, unable to move of his own volition, pretty normal nightmare stuff. It was when things got clearer that it became strange.

Nearly every night, he saw a white room. It was a very nice room, with filigree on the walls and furniture, plush velvet seating, stone countertop in the bathroom, and a nice and cozy bed, all reminiscent of the guest room he had at the Henituse estate, but everything was the same shade of plain white. It made him appreciate whoever picked out the colors for the interiors in the manor more.

The monochrome room only made its sole inhabitant stand out even more.

A shock of red hair, like a rose in the snow. Or perhaps in a porcelain vase.

Whichever. He was never the best at metaphors anyway.

More importantly, this was almost undoubtedly Cale Henituse, the missing child, now a young man.

Most of the dreams were very boring, to the point where Kim Rok Soo wasn’t entirely sure what the point was, or if he wasn’t just having repetitive but otherwise normal dreams. It was mostly just Cale sitting in the white room for hours on end, staring into nothing or sleeping.

Kim Rok Soo felt a faint sense of comradery at that. His main hobbies also included staring at the wall and sleeping.

But sometimes Cale would pace and mutter to himself, his eyes darting around, still unseeing.

One time, he stopped in the middle of the room and stood there for hours. Food came and went. He didn’t budge. Eventually, Rok Soo had to wake up.

When he returned the next night, Cale was still standing there, completely blank and unmoving. At some point, his legs gave out and he fell to his knees, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Kim Rok Soo frowned at the sound of him hitting the ground. It made this “dream” feel all too…real. Of course, he’d considered that this was some kind of vision, probably the fault of that God of Death bastard thanks to his connection to sleep.

Abruptly, Cale remembered one of the things he got out of the dramatic god.

“I’m not going to fight with my eyes and ears covered. I want some way to get information about the enemy on a regular basis.”

He had his scout teams back home to deliver regular updates on the status and characteristics of monsters. What would be their equivalent here?

Kim Rok Soo hadn’t managed to get the God of Death to explain how exactly he planned to fulfill that promise, but perhaps this was it? Seeing what Cale Henituse was up to while he slept?

Still, this…wasn’t what he was expecting. Of course, they’d told him that Cale was being held captive, and that he may be coerced into fighting them in the future, so he wasn’t expecting anything kind, but this…

He was familiar with how to torture someone by now. Beacrox had shown him a dozen different ways, but none of them involved just sticking someone in a room and waiting. This wasn’t even a dungeon.

Did that mean this wasn’t torture? Or could parts of his childhood be classified as torture? Hm. Rather not think about that.

He locked the thought away along with the other things he didn’t touch and refocused on the redhead.

He looked between the untouched plate of food on the table and the young man who somehow seemed even more thin and bony than Kim Rok Soo had been at his age.

“Hey.” Kim Rok Soo spoke up, just to see if he could. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

“You need to eat.”

Kim Rok Soo tried to move closer to the food, and, to his surprise, he could! But of course, he couldn’t interact with it.

“Hey.”

No response.

Kim Rok Soo sighed. “You need to eat if you want to live.”

No response.

“Come on, you want to protect them, don’t you?”

A twitch.

“How are you going to protect anyone if you starve yourself?”

Cale slowly dragged his line of sight over to him.

“Come on, eat.”

After a long moment, Cale moved, slowly, stiffly, as if every movement was painful, over to the plate. He stared at it.

“People are looking for you. You need to live, so eat.”

Slowly, Cale bent down and took a bite, completely forgoing both utensils and hands.

Kim Rok Soo shrugged. Whatever. It works. Was mattered was that he was eating.

“A lot of people miss you, you know. You need to stay alive long enough for them to see you again.”

Cale looked at him and blinked slowly. He gave a small nod and continued eating, this time also with his left hand. He lifted his right and set it on the table.

So, it was at least somewhat functional.

Rok Soo had seen that it was heavily scarred, and for a moment, doubted it could move at all. A lighter scar also ran up the right side of his face.

Kim Rok Soo’s gaze narrowed.

It was likely that the restorative ancient power he had wasn’t perfect. Either that, or wounds inflicted by the other power were unable to healed fully. At any rate, he’d probably already lost the fine motor skills in his right hand.

Who knew what other wounds he had, or just how deeply his psyche had already been influenced by Arm’s leaders? He really didn’t want to have to deal with an unstable, overpowered person lashing out at them or trying to trying to run away.

Kim Rok Soo sighed. How troublesome.

They’ll have a lot to deal with after they get him out of here.

Where was “here” anyway?

The white castle of the Endable Kingdom, he knew that much, but what did that actually mean?

Over the next few nights, he tried to explore, but he quickly found that he couldn’t leave the room. He also couldn’t do things like go into the bathroom by himself or get under the table. Basically, he couldn’t leave Cale’s sight. Huh.

One night, Cale was pacing and muttering again, tugging at his hair.

“Gentle hands. Gentle voice. Soft red hair. Fine silks. A new family. A good boy. Someone worth protecting.”

He stalled.

“Gentle hands. Gentle voice…no, no, no, shut up!”

He griped the sides of his head and sighed sharply in frustration.

This was a pretty common occurrence so far. It seemed like the isolation had really taken a toll on his mind. Rok Soo didn’t even need to say anything because Cale could just hold an entire conversation with himself. It was mostly to do with his past or what seemed like completely fictitious scenarios (Rok Soo was fairly certain that any one or thing named “Mr. Bunny” would not normally be killing a snake with a hammer), and occasionally dropping bits of relevant information.

Kim Rok Soo wasn’t super well-versed on what to do when someone starts hallucinating, but he was pretty sure you were mainly supposed to just wait it out, so that’s mostly what he did, occasionally prodding Cale to eat.

Then, Cale started to pick at the scabs on his left arm and Rok Soo frowned.

“Don’t do that.”

Cale paused, looking over at him. Rok Soo briefly wondered what he must look like to him.

“Why?”

“It’ll get infected.”

“So what?”

“It’ll hurt.”

Cale paused. “…is it bad if I get hurt?”

“Of course.” That was just common sense.

Cale looked at him strangely. Was it that strange of a thing to say? Rok Soo was probably coming across as another hallucination, so was it that strange to hear “yourself” not wanting to be in pain?

Eventually, Cale hummed and said “Okay,” taking his hand away from his arm and instead going to trace the filigree on the furniture for the 26th time.

It’s shortly after that that, when Kim Rok Soo falls asleep, that he sees something other than the white room for the first time.

Cale is instead outside, balancing on a cliff’s edge and walking along it like he wants to give Rok Soo a goddamn heart attack.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Cale replied, not stopping.

“Get away from the cliff.”

“Why?”

“You could fall.”

“It’s fine. I won’t die.”

“You’ll get hurt.”

Cale finally paused his steps and looked over at Rok Soo. “Why do you care?”

Seriously? “Getting hurt is bad.” Again, common sense!

Cale stared at him for a few more moments, then, thankfully, walked away from the ledge.

Kim Rok Soo breathed a sigh of relief. Now, for the more pressing question, “What are you doing out here?”

This was the first time Rok Soo had seen Cale outside. He needed to gather information while he could. Who knows how long he would be asleep for this time.

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For White Star to be done.”

Rok Soo’s eyes widened.

White Star?

That was a new name.

“Who’s that?”

Cale rolled his eyes. “You know who he is.” He fiddled with the pendant hanging from a choker that was a bit too reminiscent of a collar.

“What if I don’t know?”

“Then you’re stupid.”

…Okay, so that line of questioning wasn’t going anywhere fast.

“What is he doing?”

“Talking to people.”

“Who?”

Cale shrugs. “Bears, I think.”

Bears? They’re recruiting Bears for the upcoming war?

It makes sense. The Bear Tribe was strong in numbers, were both fairly clever and physically intimidating, and had predictable, familial loyalties. Given the right promises, they could be recruited with relative ease.

“Anyone else?”

“Hmm, the vampires? Duke Fredo came out for a bit.”

Vampires? Did he just say vampires?

“But they’re not getting involved in the West. Fredo only cares about Endable. None of his people are left across the ocean.”

Okay. So, Endable is on the Eastern continent, the vampires are led by some guy named Duke Fredo, this Duke cares more about his people than the White Star, his people live in Endable, and there are no vampires in the West.

The vampires wouldn’t be immediately relevant, but still. Today was an absolute goldmine of information.

“And I get to go outside!” Cale laughed to himself and spun around on bare feet, kicking up some fallen leaves with childish delight.

Kim Rok Soo felt something in his chest tighten. The implication of needing “permission” to go outside was obvious, so he did not ask useless questions like if he was allowed to go out on his own.

“…how often to you get to go out?”

“Hmm, it depends? Depends if I’m useful. Need to be useful. Am I being useful?” Cale eyes grew more unfocused, his breaths speeding up. Another episode. How bad would it be? “Am I…I can’t…I…w-wait, don’t go!” He reached out to the air.

“I’m not going anywhere?”

“Oh.” Cale let his hands drop. “I see.”

Cale’s breathing slowly evened out, his eyes losing a bit of their fear. A mild one, then. That was good. Kim Rok Soo’s voice couldn’t even reach him during the bad ones. Maybe it was because they were outside.

Cale began pacing around, much like he would in the room, running his hands over the tree bark and the grasses and rocks, as if trying to commit everything to memory.

“Summer sun. Shade of a tree. Reading to me.” He muttered to himself, adding on, “Fall wind. Red leaves. Gold light. Rough bark.”

There was no breaking his focus when he got like this. So, Kim Rok Soo watched over him silently, an unidentifiable emotion weighing on his chest, making sure he didn’t stray too close to the cliff, until it was time for him to wake once more.

Over the next few months, the dreams would alternate between indoors and outdoors.

Outdoors was very unpredictable. They could be on a mountain, in a forest, in a cave, one time he opened his eyes and saw a bakery in Endable. That had been a fruitful trip. He learned that Endable was a city of dark-attribute races, yet one that could co-exist peacefully with its human residents. It gave him ideas for expanding his plans around Mary and the Dark Elves. They, and Alberu, too, all deserved to lead comfortable lives.

The information he got was also very unpredictable. Cale rarely knew where they were, or what they had come out for. Sometimes he told “Mr. Shadow” (as he called Rok Soo) about some person or object he was told to examine, but it rarely something relevant to Rok Soo’s plans. Though, paired with the World Tree’s advice, he had concluded a while ago that this “White Star” must be the one looking for ancient powers that he needed to be wary of.

Cale also mentioned that they had been going out more often than usual lately, and that White Star seemed more intense, too. Perhaps that bastard was beginning to suspect his invasion of the Western Continent wouldn’t be going as smoothly as he thought? The idea gave Kim Rok Soo a bit of satisfaction. That bastard deserved to have his plans fall to pieces before his eyes.

It was one day, during one of the outings, as Cale swung his legs as he sat on the ledge of a roof (seriously, why did he always pick the most precarious places?), that Cale suddenly said, “I’m protecting them.”

This was, admittedly, not that unusual. Cale talked to the other hallucinations that Rok Soo couldn’t see quite often, and the topic was also often Cale’s unwavering belief that he was somehow protecting his family, but for some reason, today, he decided to answer.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I’m protecting them.”

“How are you doing that?”

“By being good.”

“Good?”

“Yes, good. I stay inside and there’s no trouble and when I come out I listen very well. Mom always said I listen well. I remember it all. I won’t forget.”

“What if he makes you do something bad?”

Cale froze. “…what?”

“The White Star. What if he asks you to do something bad?”

All expression fell from his face. “He can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He can’t. He—he promised.” He stood up and started pacing. “Listening is good. Go with me and they won’t get hurt. Promise. Proof? Ask, ask Harris. They know. They know what happened to Mom. All good. Be good. Don’t be such a brat!” His face briefly twisted into a snarl before returning to neutral. “Protect them. Do it yourself. Listen. Stay still. Don’t ask. Yes. They’re fine. What if they’re not? Don’t ask. Ask. Yes. They’re fine.” Without any warning, he fell to his knees and started sobbing.

Hm, a bad episode, then. When it was bad, his speech was choppy and his emotions swung wildly between nothing, joy, anger, and misery.

It reminded him of some of the people in the shelter, in the aftermath of some of the monster attacks. Some people seemed to just…lose control of themselves. He was never sure how to react at those times. Someone else always took over the situation.

Kim Rok Soo didn’t know if whatever form he took for Cale would actually provide any comfort or stability, but he drew closer anyway, because there was no one else but him.

There was no one.

The thought hit him in an odd way. He wasn’t really sure what to do with this sudden parallel.

…could he have ended up working for the wrong people, if the one who pulled him out of the rubble hadn’t been Lee Soo Hyuk? He didn’t know. He wasn’t one to ponder such useless “what ifs.”

Rok Soo let a non-corporeal hand rest on Cale’s shoulder.

Right now, there was a young man in front of him and he was drowning. Kim Rok Soo did not know how to save him, if he could be saved, or if he should be saved, but he was also not one to sit by and do nothing.

A thin, wavering voice whispered, “I’m scared.”

“It’s alright.” What sorts of words did a scared child want to hear? What sorts of words did he want to hear, on the first night, when the monsters came? “It’s alright to be scared.”

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You don’t have to be.” He was 18 by now, no longer a child. But he was still so much younger than Kim Rok Soo. “People are coming, and they want to protect you. They’re going to make it so that nothing can hurt you.”

“…really?”

Kim Rok Soo nodded. “Of course. They’ll chase away the ones who hurt you, they’ll even hurt them back.”

Cale chucked wetly. “They…they won’t be scared?”

“Hm, probably more angry than scared.”

“He wants fear.”

“Mn?”

“He wants fear. He wants the Blood-Stained Rock. He wants fear. I don’t want him to have any more fear.” Cale shivered, drawing his knees to his chest. “He’s already fear.”

Kim Rok Soo looked at him for a while, then placed a hand on his head. “It’s alright. You won’t have to be afraid forever,”

Cale didn’t answer any more that night, sinking back into his mantras as the pendant began to shine, signaling that it was time to return to the white room.

Indoors was predictable, for the most part. It was usually the white room. There was, however, one time when it was different.

It was after that White Radish showed himself in front of Kim Rok Soo for the first time during the battle for the Mogoru Empire’s capital.

During the fight, the bastard had set Cale on Eruhaben, whispering something about how the dragon was a monster that threatened the peace, and forced the Ancient Dragon to fight defensively. Though, as the White Radish monologued about feeding Rok Soo Raon’s fucking heart, the sufficiently angry and frustrated white-gold Dragon came very very close to simply killing the boy and being done with it. But in the end, he caught the look in Rok Soo’s eyes and held back. 

Kim Rok Soo let out a slight sigh of relief at that.

It would be bad if they lost such a valuable source of information, after all.

When the bastard called on the lightning to try and test Rok Soo, he left, and took Cale with him.

They survived the fucking bastard’s “trial,” but it also reminded them of how far they had left to go. The damn “White Star” was one thing, but Cale had also been able to split their attentions, obviously weaker than Eruhaben, but giving that Choi Han a run for his money.

He had some kind of wind power that could erase his presence, allowing him to slip by even the swordmaster’s heightened senses. That, plus the fire that burned his own body and the shifting sands he could melt into glass, it all made him a more dangerous opponent than they had been expecting.

It was also a painful reminder of just how easily Cale could be turned against them. Kim Rok Soo had known this whole time, of course, that he was eventually going to show up on White Star’s side, but still. It was something else to see it for himself, the white fire that blazed around him with an aura of determination, bright and hot enough to instantly turn skin to ash.

At this rate, they were going to have a hell of a time getting him away without killing him.

Before he passed out, Kim Rok Soo managed to feel a simmer of frustration.

That damn White Radish was really determined to make his job harder than it needed to be.

During his recovery coma, the scene shifted to show him Cale’s whereabouts again. He’d been out for multiple days before, and he’d learned that, even then, he was only allowed to see Cale for a few hours at a time.

This time, when the scene came into focus, Kim Rok Soo flinched.

The White Star, seated at a desk, in a room filled with other people, chairs, couches, a table, and finery. All painted in white and gold.

This was the first time he appeared in front of other people, but thankfully, it looked like other people couldn’t see him in his “Mr. Shadow” form. Kim Rok Soo took the opportunity to to mock the White Radish in his head a bit for not realizing that his enemy was here, in his office, listening to them talk.

It seemed like they were discussing the recent attack on the Mogoru Empire, a few important figures or their representatives here to personally file their reports. The White Star hardly even nodded along, already bored with the proceedings.

But…where was Cale? If Rok Soo was here, Cale was definitely in the room, but he wasn’t among the people standing at attention.

After glancing around a bit, Rok Soo found Cale laying on the couch, staring into space.

That was fine. If they kept him in a room all the time, they clearly didn’t give him the status of a tactician or other leading figure, so this meeting probably didn’t really concern him. But then…why was he here at all?

Kim Rok Soo was not the only one with this question, it would seem. While the more experienced ones kept their eyes on the White Star’s desk, one of the younger subordinates kept glancing back at the couch as the others continued to speak.

Eventually, the White Star spoke. “Is something wrong, Lieutenant?”

The young lieutenant snapped to attention. “N-No, sir!”

“Really? You seem to be quite distracted by something.”

“A-Apologies, sir! I-I was just…” he cleared his throat, “…a bit surprised to see such a display of disrespect, sir.”

White Star smiled with thin amusement. “It is not disrespect, Lieutenant, you are simply here for different reasons.”

The lieutenant blinked. “Different reasons, sir?”

“Yes. You are part of my army, and he is a dog on a leash. You are reporting to me, and he is being rewarded by me. Your positions are different, pay him no heed.”

“Ah, I—I see.”

The lieutenant turned his attention back to the others, and Kim Rok Soo frowned.

He already decided that he didn’t like the White Thing, and the fact that he would call a person a dog only enforced that. He didn’t like the fact that Cale could be convinced, no, tricked into fighting them, but what he hated more was the idea of the young man not even being afforded the dignity of a human.

Also…

…being rewarded?

What did that mean? Surely it wasn’t just the fact that they weren’t in the white room. This was still a pretty white room.

Kim Rok Soo looked back at Cale Henituse. A closer examination revealed that his skin was lightly flushed and his pupils blown wide. A bit of drool slipped from the side of his mouth. He didn’t react when Rok Soo quietly called his name, nor when he tried to wave his hand in front of his eyes.

Was this…the effects of a medication?

Kim Rok Soo felt the simmer frustration from earlier turn into a spark of anger. This bastard wanted to treat a child as less than human, tossing him in a room that had long done in his grip on reality whenever he wasn’t “needed,” and if that wasn’t enough, he drugged the boy and called it a “reward?”

Screw it. It doesn’t matter what they have to do to get Cale away from this guy. Kim Rok Soo hates this guy and he was going to undermine him any way he could. No one, not even someone dangerous, deserved to be treated like this.

That said, there…wasn’t a lot he could act on at the moment.

Kim Rok Soo sighed. Pharmaceuticals were another thing he wasn’t terribly familiar with. He left such troublesome things to the experts. Besides, in an apocalypse, everything, especially things like pain killers were in short supply. You could get exiled for taking them recreationally, and for the injured, it always went to the amputees and the people in shock first.

He…really hated not knowing what to do. Was there even a need to do anything?

He sighed again and “sat” on the couch next to Cale’s head, listening in on White Star’s reports, quietly Recording every piece of information that could tangentially be useful while stoking the flame of his own annoyance and idly running his fingers over Cale’s hair. He couldn’t really “touch” anything, not even Cale, in this state, but with the young man, he could at least feel some kind of resistance, sort of like dipping his hand in water.

Perhaps Cale could feel something as well, as he shuddered and curled up slightly, before leaning into the touch.

Eventually, the reports ended and the subordinates bowed and left the room. It was just the White Star, Cale, and Kim Rok Soo.

Kim Rok Soo scowled at the bastard and cursed him a bit in his head. He could…probably talk without being heard, but he didn’t want to risk it. He also didn’t want to get Cale in trouble if the kid responded to something he said.

The White Star finished signing off on a few things, then looked over to the couch. His expression was cold, betraying no interest, but he stood and came over all the same.

Kim Rok Soo internally spat at him to stay away, but there wasn’t anything he could do as “Mr. Shadow.”

White Star looked at Cale for a few moments, then reached down to lay a hand on his neck.

Kim Rok Soo tried to grab that wrist on instinct, but of course, his hand passed through as if the White Star was made of air.

He tsked. He didn’t want to be here if he couldn’t fucking do anything. He hadn’t been this powerless in…a long time. He wanted to wake up already, so they could get the next phase of operations moving, so they could come kick this bastard’s ass one day sooner.

He didn’t want to be forced to just sit here and watch as that fucking bastard gently caressed Cale’s skin, turning him onto his back and slipping his shirt from his shoulders.

“You did well, drawing the attention of the Ancient Dragon, and holding your own against the swordmaster,” that White Shit explained, “so, you will be properly rewarded.”

White Star pulled a few things from a storage space ring. He grasped Cale’s jaw and held it open, before placing what looked like a simple chocolate piece on his tongue. Rok Soo knew there was no way it was anything that innocent.

The bastard’s hands continued to move, calmly stripping the young man as if the act meant nothing. In the meantime, the candy was taking its effect, and Cale’s breathing grew deeper as his skin grew more flush. Kim Rok Soo looked away to preserve whatever he could of Cale’s dignity, but he swore to remember what he heard, and to find some way to make that bastard pay tenfold.

He heard liquid and friction, heard Cale take a sharp breath. He heard the sound of breaths stuttering into moans, sounds of pleasure mixed with those of confusion and uncertainty.

Kim Rok Soo’s fingers dug into his knees.

He heard more liquid, more friction, more shifting of cloth and the damn bastard leaned over him, and he heard Cale’s voice spike in fear.

“It’s okay.”

Kim Rok Soo’s mouth moved without him thinking about it.

“It’s okay.”

Cale sobbed wordlessly.

“It’s not your fault.”

Cale’s breaths hitched.

“It’s not your fault.”

A hesitant, confused cry of pleasure.

“It’s not your fault.”

Another stuttered sob.

“You…didn’t ask for this.”

But the world doesn’t care what you want. Circumstances force you to make choices. But who would choose this? Who would choose to break? Who would choose to destroy everything around them? Who would choose to be powerless to do even that? When does a choice stop being a choice?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know, really. All that mattered right now was,

“You didn’t ask for this.”

...

...Maybe it was because this was the longest he’s ever been asleep, but this was also the longest he’s ever been with Cale.

Cale’s “reward” lasted for exactly 2 hours and 34 seconds. For 2 hours and 34 seconds, that White Shit bastard wrung pleasure from the boy’s body with all the interest and enthusiasm of a bored pet owner watching as their dog did something mildly entertaining.

By the time the “reward” was finished, the effects of the candies had still not worn off, but White Star was done. It didn’t matter that Cale had not managed to cum for a final time, and was left sobbing and grinding against the couch, his left hand hand weakly reaching for his gaping ass. Two hours, one for each “hero” successfully held at bay. No more, no less. Kim Rok Soo hated that there was any kind of logic to it.

White Star did not even care to see Cale back to his room himself, and called a subordinate to take care of it.

From the things Cale babbled when the subordinate picked him up, Rok Soo could guess that, sometimes, when this happened, others passed him around to use like a damn doll until the drugs wore off, but this servant was apparently a coward who did not want to get in trouble for touching the Master’s pet, and unceremoniously dumped Cale in his room before almost sprinting away and locking the door behind him.

***

This time, they left Cale on the floor, panting, exhausted, still twitching with a sickening mix of pleasure, pain, and nausea. It was familiar. He didn’t like it. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t his reward. The reward was earlier. The reward was nice. He did a good job. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sleep.

His limbs felt like gel. He couldn’t even attempt to stand. He managed to crawl over to the bedside, but could barely lift his torso up to lean against the bedside. Maybe this was good enough. He wanted to sleep.

But another wave of heat twisted his gut and he couldn’t. He couldn’t sleep like this.

He fumbled with his hands, trying to wring some kind of stimulation out of himself, but he was clumsy with exhaustion, and his right hand had been stiff and only kind of responsive for…a while.

He groaned and leaned against the bed, tears of frustration and sheer exhaustion sliding quietly down his face.

“It’s alright,” Mr. Shadow said, like he’d done many times today. It was nice. Like a soothing balm.

He subconsciously relaxed a bit.

For his part, Kim Rok Soo knew that the boy wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully unless he got whatever this was out of his system. Rather that just leaving him to suffer, wasn’t it better to find some relief? This was, again, not his area of expertise, but he’d heard enough from other people more familiar than him to be able to offer some basic guidance.

“Use your right hand to cup yourself, whatever pressure feels right to you.”

Cale did so. Mr. Shadow always seemed to have good advice these days.

“Use your left hand on your other end. Start with one or two fingers, make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

Cale moved his other hand, trying to mimic the White Star’s movements to no avail. He let out a whine of frustration.

“Don’t rush. Feel along gradually, thoroughly. When you enter, angle down, towards your pelvis.”

Cale obeyed, pressing down on his own insides, slowly, thoroughly, working his way up, until,

“Ah!”

He gasped, his hips jerking forward.

“Good.” There was a slight smile in Mr. Shadow’s voice and Cale felt the world get warm and hazy again. “Now, move your hips, press into your right hand, and flex with your left.”

Cale obeyed. Feeling the textured skin of his own damaged hand against his over-sensitive shaft sent shivers down his spine. He saw flashes of white every time his left hand touched that point inside him. Pleasure was building, he was panting, his mouth lolling open, whining lewdly, without care for who heard. Who else was here but him?

And Mr. Shadow.

Cale felt the ghost of a touch trail from his head down his back. A cold yet warm voice said, “It’ll be alright. You’re doing good.”

For some reason, those words felt…different. It was different from White Star’s. It was not idle praise. That voice…it…it cared.

Cale’s eyes rolled up. His mouth hung open in a quiet gasp, and he shuddered, his mind completely empty and white and his spine taut as his whole body trembled for what felt like minutes or hours as he came and came.

When he finally came down from the high of orgasm, he practically collapsed against the bed, all tension gone from his bones.

“You should really sleep in the bed,” the cold yet warm voice said, and Cale would’ve laughed if he had the energy.

Instead, he drifted off to sleep, warmed by the reminder of what it felt like to be cared for.

There was another time that, when Kim Rok Soo closed his eyes, he saw Cale huddled in a corner of his room, sniffling, a fresh wound bleeding sluggishly on his head.

“What happened.” His voice was cold, even to himself.

“I—I messed up. I—I did something bad…”

“Bad?” Did he finally realize that they weren’t trying to be his enemies?

“I—I told them…about Endable…” he sniffled.

“…why is that bad?”

“They, hic, they weren’t supposed to know. Now they’re in danger.”

“…they were in danger before that?”

“No!” He rejected the idea with surprising vehemence. “I was protecting them! But now they’re—now I…” he trailed off, his eyes wide, unfocused, breathing growing unsteady.

Kim Rok Soo sighed. “It’s fine.”

He flinched.

“You’ll get to see them again, and you’ll get to see that they’re fine. They’re quite capable of protecting themselves, you know?”

Cale stilled. “That’s…good? That’s good. Yeah that’s good. That’s good.”

He kept saying, ‘that’s good,’ but his expression looked like he was dying.

Rok Soo sighed again. “And you’ll get to protect them, too.”

He perked back up. “R-Really!?”

“Mn. In your own way. By being there for them.”

“Being…there for them? But…I have to stay here. That’s how I protect them.”

“That’s not the only way.”

Cale stared at him, uncomprehending. “There’s…more than one way?”

“Of course.”

“Oh.”

As Kim Rok Soo watched him try and process that revelation, he felt the tug of wakefulness on his soul. “You’ll be with them soon.”

Kim Rok Soo had no doubt about that. They were making steady progress, moving through the Eastern Continent, and his justice-fueled heroes were all keen on freeing the young man from the White Thing’s control. Raon, especially. And even that dragon half-blood.

“So wait, for just a while longer.”

Chapter Text

“I want to help.”

Kim Rok Soo blinked. This was…not was he was expecting when he heard that the dragon half-blood wanted to speak with him.

“With what?”

“You’re going to Endable soon, right? To try and save Cale.”

“That’s one of the reasons, yes.”

“I-I want to help.”

The dragon half-blood insisted, hands trembling, but his gaze set.

“Even if it means losing your body?”

“I—” his gaze faltered for a moment. He heard the implication there.

Even if it means losing the red dragon’s heart?

The dragon half-blood took a breath. “Yes, even then.”

Kim Rok Soo narrowed his gaze. “You’re quite determined.”

“I…” the dragon half-blood gave a small smile. “…I want to prove to myself that we can be free.”

He took another shaky breath. “I didn’t do anything for him, despite knowing what it’s like to be locked in a cave, feeling like—like you’re losing yourself, in pieces, to the dark. I-I want to help bring him back, while he still remembers his name.”

And for a moment, Kim Rok Soo thought of the axiom he once considered, that, sometimes, a person becomes the one they needed most at the most desperate point in their lives.

…900 years was a long time. He still couldn’t be entirely sure that there were no lingering loyalties there. But, for the chance to be your own savior…

“…very well.”

It was worth a shot.

There were some…complications along the way, including a Sealed God’s Trial, and some very suspicious statues, but, with a living Bone Dragon’s help, they managed to break down the walls of the white castle, and made their getaway with a young redhead in tow.

The first thing the redhead did upon them teleporting to outside of Sheritt’s castle was vomit, nearly self-immolate, and faint, so things weren’t looking too good for his mental stability, but they all kind of expected that. Rather than fear or suspicion, the general reaction was varying levels of pity.

That’s the reason they came to the castle, after all, not to Rain City or the Super Rock Villa. The castle itself was imbued with Lord Sheritt’s attribute of protection. Even if he was still convinced he needed to fight them or completely lost control, not only would the castle would suffer minimal damage, the occupants could be instantly protected.

That would turn out to be a reasonable precaution to take.

When he first woke up, Kim Rok Soo was there, and Cale stared at him blankly, not responding to anything until Eruhaben walked in and he immediately tried to attack the Ancient Dragon.

Sheritt-nim’s protection manifested without Eruhaben having to do anything, but it still took several minutes and few hissed curses to restrain him without causing him to lose his right arm.

“Stop—stop, you poor bastard! We’re not trying to fight you!”

“We want to protect them.”

At Kim Rok Soo’s words, Cale finally stilled.

“It’s alright. We want to protect them, too.”

His breathing was ragged. He looked at them with a chaotic gaze.

“It’s alright,” Rok Soo repeated. “It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Gradually, his breathing slowed, and he continued to stare at Kim Rok Soo.

“…Mr. Shadow?”

“That’s not my name, but like I said, yes, some of the time.”

Cale nodded like that made perfect sense. “The nice Mr. Shadow.”

“Nice?”

Eruhaben sighed. The Ancient Dragon knew that convincing the child (read: full-grown adult man) that he was kind was a fruitless endeavor.

Cale, however, did not pick up on the confusion or denial in Rok Soo’s tone and instead looked at Rok Soo’s hands, which still lay on his shoulders.

“…you’re touching me.”

Kim Rok Soo instantly lifted his hands away, but Cale reached up and clung to him.

“…you can touch me,” he whispered in awe.

He looked at Rok Soo, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, he buried himself against Rok Soo’s chest, and tentatively wrapped his arms around Rok Soo’s back.

The man froze for several moments, before slowly, hesitantly, returning the hug.

Cale hummed in contentment and pressed a little closer.

“You’re warm,” Cale whispered, his voice thick with quiet tears. “I can feel it. Hehe, I can feel you. You’re warm.”

“Mn. Because I’m alive. And you’re alive, too.”

“I am?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

Eruhaben sighed and sent Kim Rok Soo a telepathic message to let him know when the boy was both awake and lucid. For now, it was clear that he needed a few moments to adjust, and Eruhaben was not so gauche a person as to interrogate a boy who was currently so unstable he was not even sure that he was alive. At that point, there wasn’t even any guarantee that what he said would have any relation to reality.

Kim Rok Soo met his eyes and nodded.

Eruhaben stepped out to give the children some time.

Over the next few days, Cale really, really struggled to comprehend the idea that being on the same side meant that he didn’t have to fight them.

“We’re allies, you know? Allies! We want the same things! That means we don’t have to fight!”

The Wolf children were real troopers in that endeavor, skillfully maneuvering Sheritt-nim’s shields while talking Cale down become almost routine after the third time. No matter what, they didn’t give up, and Kim Rok Soo, having adjusted to the fact that the Wolves could do this without getting hurt (after nearly getting a heart attack the first Cale vanished from his side to try and land a hit on the Wolves), could only admire their persistence.

Admittedly, it was actually the dragon half-blood who was making the most progress. The Bone Dragon could sit by Cale’s window for hours as they talked, slowly but surely undoing the idea that White Star couldn’t actually be that much of a bastard because he didn’t really hurt him all that much, and if he did do something to scare Cale, it was because he deserved it! 

Sometimes Kim Rok Soo sat in on their discussions, but by the end, he was often just too…angry to really contribute.

He wanted to find a good name for the dragon half-blood now that he was a full Bone Dragon, and perhaps as a way to thank him for his help with Cale, but he didn’t want it to be something sloppy, and the Bone Dragon told him to take his time, he could wait until the White Star was finished.

In the end, it was definitely going to take until then, because there was so much to do beforehand. Not least of which was keeping an eye on Cale, who seemed to get into a habit of trying to fight the castle’s inhabitants, while they tried to convince him that really, you don’t need to do that anymore. You could even just join the training sessions.

Of course, the most effective method was invoking the idea of “protection,” especially when it came from Kim Rok Soo, who stepped in if it looked like Cale was about to use his flames again. There was no need for him to hurt himself like that.

“But I need to protect them.” Cale shifted his foot and part of the hall’s floor dissolved into sand.

“Yes! And you do that by fighting with us, not against us!” Maes dodged a cutting blast of sand.

“But I fought against Reddika?” Cale vanished from the spot and reappeared in close quarters to throw a kick.

“He wasn’t your ally!” Maes blocked the kick and another Wolf child responded with a punch.

Cale backed away and paused, looking at them strangely. “He wasn’t?”

“Of course not! He tried to attack the plaza! He attacked Basen! The people who want to hurt your family aren’t your friends!”

“But that’s—he needed to. He needed to, or else…”

“That’s not the only way,” Kim Rok Soo spoke up from the sidelines. “You don’t need to work with bastards who don’t value what you value.”

Cale looked at him, wide eyed. “…what do you mean?”

“You promised to protect them, your family, right?”

Cale nodded.

“Did they ever promise to do the same?”

Cale stared at him blankly.

Kim Rok Soo’s voice hardened. “They may have let you act on your own here and there, and told you that doing as they said was the same as protecting them, but their actions were never bound by that. They never aligned themselves with you. They could, very easily, act without you to try and hurt your family, and they did.”

Cale flinched. “What…?”

“They did. They sent Bears and Wyverns to the walls of Rain City. You should know about that.”

And he did. He knew about the Bears. He’d heard about the Wyverns.

“…no…” his voice was breaking. He felt like his soul was breaking, the world darkening at the edges. He didn’t want to think about that, about Bears and Wyverns clawing at the walls of his most precious place. He didn’t want to think that the person who promised that he would be able to protect everyone would be the one to send them.

“They were not your allies. They did not share your goals.”

Was that true? He tried to remember but he couldn’t, a moment when White Star said that he cared about protecting his family. It was either reward or punishment. No care. No holding back. No going to protect them.

Cale’s breaths were speeding up. The room was spinning. He looked up at Mr. Shadow and couldn’t see his face.

“And you?” He asked weakly.

Rok Soo shrugged. “I’ll protect me and my own. The only time I can be at peace is when they’re at peace. Of course that includes the Henituse County, this is where I’m based.”

“Duchy, Mr. Rok Soo! If Beacrox hears you say County again, he’ll have a fit!”

“Ugh.” Rok Soo cringed.

Cale blinked, the room spinning not quite as fast. “Duchy?”

“Ah, right, you wouldn’t know,” Kim Rok Soo awkwardly scratched his head. “I’m technically working for them so I could get their backing, and that somehow resulted in a lot of merits, and that somehow ended up with the Count now being a Duke.”

“Really, it should be higher,” one of the kids grumbled, causing Rok Soo to look at them with disbelief.

Cale quietly looked between them. “So…they’re alright?”

Rok Soo nodded, and the Wolf children happily confirmed,

“Yes! Everyone’s fine!”

“They’re doing great!”

Cale’s gaze slid to the ground. “And you’re…not lying?”

“Ah, of course not!”

They tried to reassure him with some other words as well, but Cale’s gaze kept growing more distant.

He was used to it, after all, taking things on faith. He would just have to trust in their words, like he trusted White Star’s—

“You can see them.”

…what?

“Come on, I’ll take you.”

Kim Rok Soo held out his hand.

“If you want.”

…could he really? Could he actually see them again? Was that okay? Was it allowed?

Hesitantly, Cale reached out to take his hand. To his surprise, he could. The hand did not melt away. It did not draw back. It remained there, steady and warm. Cale grasped it tightly.

“…yes.” His eyes swam. “Yes, please, I—I want to see them.”

“How is he?” Deruth leaned forward to ask.

Basen and the others also payed close attention, their gaze firmly on the two heroes before them. They were preparing for the final battle in Puzzle City, and things were bound to only get more busy, but these noble souls still took the time to come speak with them about their son.

Their precious boy, gone from their side for nearly a full 10 years. Half his life, devoured by a beast that dared call himself a god.

Deruth wanted nothing more than to have him safe by his side once more. Violan wanted to right the wrongs against the child she never got to know. Basen wanted to save the kind and awkward older brother who fearlessly stood between him and the masked man. Lily wanted to meet the brother that everyone strove to protect, and she wanted to protect him too!

Rosalyn and Choi Han shared a look, and Rosalyn began to speak.

“Physically, he’s alright. His right arm has suffered repeated damage and cannot be fully healed, but he can still move and hold some things with it, though his sense of touch is deadened.”

“He’s eating more, thanks to Beacrox,” Choi Han added.

“Yes. There may be some lingering ill effects, but nothing to confine him to the house.”

“But I suppose his mind is another issue?” Violan asked, her clenched hands the only betrayal of her worry.

Rosalyn nodded. “Sadly, yes. He’s…still unsure what makes us allies, and is keen on attacking those he doesn’t recognize. Even outside of that, his grasp on reality is…tenuous, at best. I suspect it will be some time before he’s able to move about without Sir Rok Soo there to ground him.”

Violan sighed imperceptibly. “I see.”

Basen’s expression was bitter as he looked away, and Lily glanced between them with confusion.

“Does that mean I won’t get to see orabeoni?”

“Perhaps…in time,” Deruth tried to reassure her, trying not to show too much of his own pain.

Suddenly, Rosalyn’s communication orb beeped, signaling a call from Kim Rok Soo.

She quickly connected it, and immediately got a curt sentence,

“We’re coming over.”

“We?”

“Cale and I.”

“Wait—Sir—!”

“It’s fine. Raon will be with us. Ron and Beacrox as well. Prepare accordingly.”

“That’s…”

“We’ll be there in about half an hour.”

Choi Han nodded. “No problem, Rok Soo-nim.”

Kim Rok Soo nodded back and ended the call.

Rosalyn sighed. She prided herself on her quick wit, but sometimes, it felt like even she struggled to keep up with that man.

Lily was shocked. “I get to meet orabeoni?!”

Deruth smiled with a mix of bright hope and surprise, “Yes, that’s right.”

Lily beamed and rushed off to get changed (probably into her training gear, to show her orabeoni what she can do). Basen sat in shock for a while, trying to figure out what expression he was supposed to be making. Violan held his hand and Deruth placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Come,” Deruth said, “let us welcome your brother back home.”

Due to the various magic devices installed around Rain City, they were forced to teleport outside the city walls, rather than directly to the manor.

Thankfully, Cale wasn’t upset by the delay, and easily accepted the explanation. Kim Rok Soo was fairly confident that, with a dragon and the Molans in tow, there would be no trouble, but still didn’t want to cause an incident at his place of employ.

That’s why they wore cloaks to hide their faces, and when they reached the gate, Kim Rok Soo stepped forward to say, “We want to pass quietly.”

Unfortunately, upon seeing his face, the inspector dropped his pen and exclaimed, “Sir Rok Soo!?”

Rok Soo glared. He wasn’t trying to keep things quiet just for his own sake, after all. If they caused a ruckus, they could easily overwhelm Cale and give the kid a panic attack. Just being outside at all made him faint not a full week ago, he didn’t want to throw him into the middle of a crowd.

So, he leaned in closer and hissed, “Quietly,” even as the guard looked at him in shock, appearing moments away from dropping his spear.

“Oh, um, yes, of course.”

Ron stepped forward. “Prepare the carriage.”

“Y-yes sir!”

“The carriage?” Rok Soo asked.

“Indeed, there is a fine carriage bearing the Henituse crest kept by the gates for occasions such as this.”

Rok Soo balked. “That isn’t very quiet—”

“I’m afraid the cat is already out of the bag, good sir.” Ron gestured to the people looking their way with starry eyes. “Besides,” he smiled, “isn’t such a carriage most fitting for the return of the young master?”

Kim Rok Soo looked back at Cale. He stood near Beacrox, gazing up at the walls with a blank expression. Rok Soo idly wondered if the view was even familiar to him at all. Surely, he wouldn’t have seen the city from the outside often, as a child.

Hilsman also came over and made a fuss, cementing the impossibility of entering quietly, but at least very little of the attention was going towards Cale. Not many people would be familiar with the young master’s appearance after 10 years.

Hilsman did pause as his gaze passed over the redhead, but after he met Rok Soo’s eyes, he got the message and said nothing, instead promising that his men would personally escort them.

The carriage arrived and it was every bit as gaudy as Kim Rok Soo feared, but he would just have to tolerate it. They bundled Cale into the carriage and ignored the whispers asking who this new companion was. Was he a relative of Mage Rosalyn’s? After all, there was no way he could be…or could he?

And others would shush such speculation. It’s been 10 years. If you get everyone’s hopes up like that, it’ll just make people sad. The Duke was still always dower this time of year…

Just cheer for the one you know is here, yeah?

And cheer they did, voices calling out to the hero of the continent, the lionheart, Sir Silver Shield. He had overcome so much, even his own status as a nameless commoner, to become the beacon uniting peoples far and wide. And this legendary hero had chosen the Henituse territory to be his home…how could they not be proud enough to cheer for his return?

They would cheer especially because he always looked so unused to it, hiding his face in the carriage as he passed by. This person deserved to be used to the cheers.

Alas, that person did not particularly want to get used to the cheers, and was silently grateful that Hilsman’s men were keeping the crowd at a distance.

Cale gazed out the window in silence, his face not betraying any emotion.

Suddenly, he asked, “Is this real?”

Kim Rok Soo sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Cale blinked. “Unfortunately?” Cale looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “You don’t like the attention.”

Rok Soo huffed. “Do you?”

“Hm, I don’t know.” He looked back out the window with a small smile. “Doesn’t feel real.”

“Well, it is.”

“Hm, I believe you.” A few moments of quiet, then, “Hey, Mr. Shadow?”

“That’s not my name.” A reflexive response by now. “What?”

“What’s my family like?” Cale looked at the floor. “Father, and…mother, and Basen and…Lily?”

Kim Rok Soo paused. There was no need to ask why he asked. Human memory is fallible, especially that of children, and it’s been 10 years. Things change. So, instead, he answered plainly, “Yes, Lily. You have a little sister now.”

“What’s she like?”

“Energetic. Wants to be a knight. It’s a good dream. She already has potential to be a swordmaster. She wants to meet you.”

“And Basen?”

“Much quieter, but a hard worker. Very kind, a bit stubborn in his own way. He’s studying to inherit the role of Lord of the territory. He wants to see you again.”

“And Mother?”

“Lady Violan is stoic, but caring. She’s a sculptor. Her work is very good. She wants you to see it.”

“And Father?”

“Much more emotional, but also very caring. He’s a good Lord. Listens to his people. He regrets not spending more time with you. He wants you to be okay.”

“I see.”

A few more moments of silence. Then, quietly,

“…I’m scared.”

Kim Rok Soo blinked, genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“Because,” Cale curled up slightly. “They won’t be memories. They’ll be real. I don’t—I don’t know what they’ll do, what they’ll say…w-what should I do?”

He looked up Rok Soo, his eyes frantic.

Kim Rok Soo took a steady breath. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “You don’t even have to go.”

Cale tilted his head.

“All they want is for you to be safe. You do whatever you want after that. You can hug them, cry, demand snacks, anything. I bet you could break things and scream and they would still prefer that to not having you at all. So don’t worry. Do what you want.”

“…what if…I can’t think of anything?”

“Then just stand there.”

“…is…that enough?”

“Of course. That much is obvious.”

Cale stared at him, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

—Psst, strange human!

Rok Soo sighed. He’d told Raon not to startle Cale after an incident where Cale mistook the dragon for a hallucination and nearly burned them both when the dragon actually touched him. But apparently, Raon took that to mean still talking directly in his head, but just quieter this time.

“Little Shadow?”

Rok Soo didn’t know what to think of the new nickname for Raon, but the dragon himself didn’t seem too displeased by it, so it was fine.

—Yes, it’s me! The great and mighty Raon Miru has obtained snacks from the city! We can eat them on the way!

“Thank you, Raon.” Kim Rok Soo easily accepted the snacks, and a few appeared in Cale’s lap as well.

—This one is known as a “grape tart!” I hear it is a local specialty! In my great and mighty opinion, it is very delicious! But not as delicious as apple pie!

Cale picked up the tart and stared fixedly at it, his fingers trembling slightly, his eyes filled with an unknown emotion. Then, hesitantly, he took a bite. He chewed it carefully, and by the time he swallowed, tears were forming in his eyes.

—Strange human? Are you okay? Is it bad?

Cale shook his head. “No, no, it—it’s good. It’s really good.”

—But you are crying!

“It happens sometimes, Raon,” Rok Soo explained patiently. “Sometimes, when something is very good, it can make a person cry, just like when something is very bad.”

—I see. Like when good Mary visited the mountain lake for the first time, and saw the reflection of the stars!

Kim Rok Soo did not know about this episode, but he nodded in agreement.

—A great and mighty dragon is always learning!

“Yes, you are very great and mighty, and knowledge will only make you greater and mightier.” He reached out to Raon’s still-invisible head, idly stroking him as he ate the snacks, and Raon had his own.

Cale looked at them with an odd expression, his tears dried.

“…you don’t restrain him.”

Kim Rok Soo glanced back up at him, his eyes suddenly cold. “Of course not. He is a dragon. He is meant to be free.”

Cale nodded. That made sense, dragons were different from humans, after all.

—And you are meant to be free, too, strange human!

Cale looked at the space underneath Rok Soo’s hand. He wasn’t sure what expression he was making.

—We are free. We shall not be chained! And we will punish the bastards arrogant enough to think they could keep us locked away!

“Language.”

Even without seeing him, they knew the dragon pouted.

“…is…being locked away bad?”

—It is very bad! It means you cannot see the stars or feel the wind! It means you cannot stretch your wings or eat good food! It is very lonely and very painful, and to be lonely and in pain is a terrible thing! Anyone who would do that to a child is a basta—a-a bad person!

“But I’m not a child?”

—But you were a child. And if you are locked up, that means you cannot properly grow up! It is bad, very bad!

Cale felt a small paw on his leg.

—But you are free now. You will see the stars and feel the wind and you don’t have wings, but you will stretch your legs and eat good food whenever you like! You will not be alone! And you will not be in pain, okay?

Cale looked at him blankly. Such promises were too much. They didn’t feel real.

Still, he nodded. “Okay.”

He was used to taking things on faith.

Finally, the carriage moved past the entrance to the estate, and they left the noise of the crowd behind them

Kim Rok Soo relaxed by a few degrees while Cale grew more tense.

The two of them tried to ease his mind a bit, but it was no use. This tension would not resolve until he took the plunge and actually came face to face with his family for the first time in 10 years.

(The video communication device was a no-go. Rok Soo had warned them that it might not work, and actually putting him in front of one made him go so terrifyingly blank that they called it off. They didn’t ask what had happened. Rok Soo and Cale did not tell them. Rok Soo merely ran a hand up and down his back and whispered, “It’s alright,” for the rest of the night.)

When the carriage stopped, it was near one of the side entrances of the Lord’s Estate. The only ones there were the family, Rosalyn, Choi Han, and a few servants.

The family shifted nervously, waiting for the door to open, waiting to be reunited with the one they lost so long ago, the one they knew would not be coming back to them in the same form he left in.

They waited, for one moment, then the next. Deruth tried to swallow his anxiety. He wanted to show his son a strong, proud, loving home. Violan maintained her poise. She too wanted to give the boy someone to rely on. Basen tried to maintain his poise, but anxiety radiated off him as he couldn’t quite keep his expression neutral. Lily was seemingly the only one unaffected by the tension, barely able to keep from bouncing on her heels in excitement. The heroes stood to the side, waiting for their leader.

At long last, Ron opened the carriage door. From inside, first emerged Kim Rok Soo, clad as usual in dark, but refined clothes, picked by the butler. When he set foot on the ground, he briefly greeted the Lord of the manor, before turning back to the carriage.

They could just barely make out another figure inside, wrapped in a dark cloak, his head down, hands trembling on his knees.

Rok Soo held out his hand to the figure.

“Cale,” his voice was soft. “It’s alright.”

Slowly, one of the trembling hands reached back.

As the hand passed into the light, they could see ropes of scar tissue winding up beneath his sleeve. His hand lay stiffly on Rok Soo’s, and Rok Soo held him tight, gently guiding him forward.

When he at last came down from the carriage, he simply stood there, shaking like a leaf, unable to lift his head.

Violan was the first to break the silence, ever polite, merely saying, “Welcome home, Cale.”

Cale’s breathing hitched.

Deruth was also trembling. “My son…” he paced forward, looking at Cale as if unable to believe his eyes. “My son…”

Cale finally dared to look up.

Ah.

They could see his face.

A burn scar ran up the right side of his face, lighter than the ones what marred his right hand. He was pale and thin, a bit haggard looking. His hair hung loosely around his shoulders. His eyes. His eyes were haunted, looking at them like they were ghosts.

“My son…” Deruth’s voice broke as he lay a hand on Cale’s shoulder, “…you’re home.”

Cale didn’t react much, even as his father ushered him inside. He saw Violan place her hand on the shoulder of a little girl (Lily?), keeping her from rushing up to him. He looked over and saw Basen. He was taller than Cale remembered. More defined. His hair was different. He had ink stains on his sleeve. Father and Mother were slightly different as well. Their faces were slightly older, carrying the weight of time and worry. They were not as tall as he remembered them being, but he knew that was because he himself had grown.

It didn’t feel real.

It felt like he wasn’t actually there. His body was moving through space but his mind was not part of it. It was just an observer, watching through a glass window. Watching as his body moved up the stairs and into the hallways. The hallways that he remembered very well, but that were smaller somehow. The angles were off. Had that vase always been there?

It didn’t feel real.

They were talking to him and he could hear them just fine but he couldn’t understand. What were they saying? The hallway was too small. Had that vase always been there? Everything was spinning. Everything was too small. The hallway was too long. Had that vase always been there? Had that vase always bee there? Had that vase always been there? It hadn’t, right? It was different. It had changed? Or it was wrong. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong family—

Clink—

Someone set a teacup down in front of him.

White noise.

He reached out with his right hand. It could not hold the cup. The cup fell. It shattered. His hand remained in the air.

White noise.

Someone wiped the mess away. They gave him another cup. He held it with his left hand. He took a sip.

“…lemon?”

“Indeed, young master.” Ron answered with a benign smile.

Cale furrowed his brow. “You know I hate lemon.”

“Indeed, young master.” Ron’s smile didn’t falter.

Cale hummed and took another sip. The sharp taste gave him something to focus on. He blinked and the room came back a bit.

They were in a tea parlor. Kim Rok Soo sat beside him on a couch. His family surrounded them, sitting on the other upholstery. Ron stood behind the couch. The heroes were giving them space, standing by the door. He did not remember how they got there.

“Hyung-nim, a-are you alright?”

Cale blinked slowly, deliberately. “I’m fine.”

The family exchanged a look. The boy had been sitting there, unable to hear them, hyperventilating, then going deathly quiet just moments prior. Clearly, he was not fine, but they did not point that out.

Instead, Basen hesitantly spoke up, finally speaking what he'd been wanting to say for years, “H-hyung-nim, I…th-thank you,” bowed slightly in his seat, “for protecting me.” His hands tightened on his knees. “When that…monster came, I-I couldn’t do anything, and you…you stood up to him so easily, I…thank you, hyung-nim!”

Cale looked at him with faint surprise and nodded numbly.

“Orabeoni!” Lily finally could not hold back anymore, and spoke up, jumping up from her seat to introduce herself properly. “I am Lily Henituse, your sister! And from now on, I am going to protect you!”

Cale again blinked slowly, as if trying to make sense of the words. “Protect…me?”

She nodded, sparkling with confidence. “I will be the strongest knight in the whole kingdom! No, the whole world! And I will make it so that no bad guys can ever get near you ever again!”

That didn’t make any sense.

Cale was supposed to be the one protecting them. And yet…something about their words made something…weird and stuffy and knot in his chest.

He curled forward slightly, as if he needed to shield that feeling. His breaths were shaky. His eyes stung.

“It’s alright, my son.” Deruth looked at him kindly, patiently. “We will allow no more harm to come to you.”

Violan nodded in agreement. “The least we, a Duchy, can do is protect our children.”

Our children.

The knot came undone, melting into something soft and warm. He couldn’t help but sob, tears streaming down his cheeks. Though, for the first time in a long time, they were not tears of fear, panic, pleasure, or pain, but rather, something like…comfort. It was so comforting it hurt. But it didn’t really hurt. He didn’t know what to think or what to say…really, what should he say?

His breaths stuttered a bit, but Kim Rok So spoke softly, telling him, “I’m going to touch your back,” before running his hand up and down his spine, as Mr. Shadow often did, and saying, “You don’t have to say anything, you know. Just feel it, for now. Other things can come later.”

And so Cale did. He let himself feel, for the first time in nearly 12 years.

The others came closer, and they, too, asked if they could touch him, and Cale nodded. Deruth lay a hand on his shoulder. Violan took his scarred, hand, while Basen took his other. Lily made a valiant attempt to pat him on the head, before conceding to patting his knee.

All the while, Cale cried, and it felt like a great boulder was being lifted from his chest.

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered, tightening his grip on Violan and Basen’s hands and turning to bury his face in his father’s shoulder. “Thank you. I—I love you.”

Deruth hugged him closer. He was always an awkward man, never one for overly direct words, but this much, he could do. “We love you too, my son.”

After that, Cale split his time between Sheritt’s castle and the Henituse manor. The castle was a new space, one that didn’t exist in his memories, so it wasn’t as easy to get trapped in his head there. There was also the Bone Dragon and the heroes.

They could talk for hours. With the Bone Dragon, they spoke of their shared and separate sufferings, learning to let go of the idea that they owed the White Star anything.

“He never cared about us, what we actually wanted. You don’t need to check what you want to do against what he wanted from you anymore. Live for yourself. Not even for revenge, for yourself, for the things you want to do right.”

With the heroes, they had stories, hundreds of them, about what’s been happening in the world, and he listened attentively (sometimes with a bit of overly blunt commentary), filling in the gaps in his world. His family had stories too, and it became something of a ritual for, after dinner, the family to gather around the fireplace and share these stories.

They would sit and talk about whatever came to mind. An interesting case the Count needed to arbitrate, one of Lily’s misadventures with the knights, past festival competitions that Violan had judged, Basen’s newest area of study, Hilsmans’ antics, new shops and trade goods, all of the little things that could happen in a decade. And of course, the tales of Sir Kim Rok Soo and his merry band of heroes.

On occasion, Cale would find a good memory amidst the fragments of the years, and he would share that as well. The view of the dawn from the mountains near Endable. Aquiring the wind power, and feeling the freedom to slip in and out of perception. Visiting the bakery in some corner of Endable whenever he could, always greeted by the old lady at the counter.

Like that, little by little, the time that had been blank, sparsely dotted with a single touch, a few glimpses outside, slowly became filled with color, words, and life.

Sometimes the blankness nipped at his heels. It hounded him and the memory of cold, tired eyes would seem to hover just behind him, making him feel like a small, hunted thing. Sometimes, that sensation would make him collapse on the floor, panting for breath, unable to hear or see his surroundings, and at those times, someone would approach him slowly, and sit with him until he could respond again. The little dragon was right. He was not alone.

Even so, sometimes he woke up and thought he was still in a dream. He would drift through the day, a visitor in his own body. At those times, they were gentle with him. The servants made an effort not to startle him, everyone tried to include him in work or conversation. Lily would drag him to the training ground, or he would sit with Basen during his lessons, or with Violan in her workshop, listening to the sound of the chisel ringing against the marble like a lullaby. Such a state could last for days, quiet and barely responsive, until some innocuous thing broke the illusion like the popping of a bubble.

It happened more frequently the longer he stayed inside, repeating the same routines. But it was a difficult habit to break. It was so easy to simply…do nothing. To let others take care of his meals and everything else as well, with his only duties being eating and sleeping. After all, who wanted to suddenly assign work to the precious young master who had been missing for nearly 10 full years, and returned to them in such poor health?

But those days of sitting around doing nothing were too similar to the days in the white castle, and the others could tell, especially Hans and Ron (though Ron as often busy getting dragged around here and there for the preparations for the final confrontation). They tried to encourage him to get out and explore the city a bit, but standing out in the open for too long made his head spin and his heart race as a nameless anxiety gripped his core.

Having to talk to strangers did not help. Well, it did, in a way. It was always something new, by definition, and he valued that and the stories they had, but if there was more than one person he struggled to keep his focus. Even weeks later, he couldn’t be entirely sure if some voice he heard was one others could also hear or not, and it was always kind of awkward when he responded to something that no one had actually said…

A man in his condition was discouraged from alcohol, so he ended up frequenting a set of cafés and tea parlors, including one run by one of Rok Soo’s acquaintances. But even that could become routine enough to slip from his grasp of reality.

Perhaps…perhaps he needed to travel. Perhaps, if he saw enough new places and things, he could bury the memory of the white room in layers and layers of color and new foods and different faces.

But he hesitated to bring it up. After all, things were still tense. They didn’t want him to go out all that much, really, not while the White Star was still a threat. They were determined that, this time, they were going to properly protect him.

Imagine his surprise when Kim Rok Soo came to him one day with a bitter expression.

“I need your help.”

He explained with barely-contained frustration what the World Tree had told him. The only one who can kill the reincarnator is one wielding a piece of the World Tree, an entity older than the reincarnator, who can glimpse the flow of time.

Rok Soo had looked—he had!—for a way to do this without the Annual Rings of Life, but they were running out of time.

“I’ll be with you. I need to be, but you’ll need to be the one to deal the final blow.”

“Gladly.” There was no hesitation in his voice.His expression carried a small smile. “But, why do you need to be with me? Won’t that be hard to guarantee?”

“That’s…” Rok Soo looked away. “…the root requires blood to use its full power.”

“That’s easy. I have a healing power, I can do that.”

“…it requires blood from the heart.”

“…so, you need to stab yourself in the heart?”

Rok Soo nodded reluctantly. Cale suddenly understood why he asked to speak with him alone.

Cale smiled. “And your friends won’t be too keen on that.”

Rok Soo looked at him. “You don’t seem too phased, though.”

“I can tell your healing power is stronger than mine. Besides, I don’t think the World Tree would make you do something that actually killed you for good. There’s some hidden benefit to it or something, isn’t there?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Cale laughed. “Everything you do is blessed.”

Rok Soo frowned at that.

Cale continued to smile. “The people around you gain so many benefits, I don’t even know where to begin. Even something like the World Tree can’t bear to hurt you! Haha!”

“It’s nothing that spectacular,” Rok Soo grumbled, “I’m just doing what I want.”

“And you’re loved for that, you know?”

Rok Soo blinked at him, uncomprehending. Cale merely smiled, then leaned over and wrapped him in a hug.

(Anyone who worked at the manor these days knew that the young master was a very clingy person, always leaning against peoples’ shoulders or holding hands with his siblings. If you asked why, he’d merely smile. He wasn’t going to explain how much he’d longed for another person’s touch in the cold white room. He wasn’t going to explain how these small touches helped chase away the phantom fingers that carried false kindness and brutality.)

He didn’t explain any of that, but he didn’t need to, not with this person. The one who’s seen him at his worst. The one who spoke with him for hours in the cold white room. The one who led Ron to Endable. The one who sat with him and ran his hands down his back as the world warped around him an reality felt like a façade made of papier-mâché.

The one who, even now, was fighting to protect them all.

Not just promises about how they’ll be safe in the future, actions, keeping them all safe in the now.

Kim Rok Soo stiffened at first, then slowly relaxed, letting Cale hold him as tight as he needed.

“I can do it. Just…don’t die, okay?”

“Of course. I ask the same of you. Don’t get hurt.”

Cale smiled against his shoulder.

That’s not the same at all, idiot, he thought fondly.

“Okay. I trust you.”

Cale looked down at the blood on his hands, and felt the echo of the past.

He remembered looking down at his hands like this once, after a day he could no longer recall clearly, the details deliberately blurred and grey, part of what had been an effort to remember as little as possible.

He remembered looking down at his hands and wondering where, who the blood came from. Was it his own? Was it a random mage or soldier’s? Which side were they on? Were they someone like him, taken from home too young and told to do things they didn’t fully understand for the nebulous “better future?”

Or maybe, in the mess, it had come from someone he knew. Someone from the Henituse territory. Perhaps, it had even been the blood of his kin—

“Cale.”

A voice pierced through the dark.

“…Mr. Shadow?”

“That’s not my name, but yes.”

Cale’s vision cleared slightly. He knelt on the cold stone floor of the inner sanctum of the Sealed God’s Temple. He could see a white mask on the floor. The only evidence of the life of the bastard who once did everything short of tearing out his very soul.

“I did it.” His voice was quiet, blank.

“Yes, you did.” There was no excessive praise or celebration from the man sitting beside him. A simple acceptance of fact. The bastard was now dead, there was no need to waste any more energy on him.

Cale smiled weakly. “Kim Rok Soo.”

Rok Soo looked at him, shocked to hear his actual name.

“Thank you.” Cale turned to him. “Thank you, for being with me.”

This wouldn’t be the end of everything. It wouldn’t be the end of the nightmares or the phantom voices or the inexplicable guilt he felt at times for simply wandering around on his own, without a collar to tie him to another’s hand.

But it would be a new beginning. A new chance to grow, to fill his world with so much life that those things do not loom so large over him.

And of course, Rok Soo replied, “No need to thank me.”

“You can’t stop me,” Cale teased, leaning to the side and letting his body fall onto Rok Soo’s lap. He sighed. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah…I want to sleep for a couple years.”

Cale chuckled. With this guy’s luck, that would only happen if he was sent into another coma.

The sounds of the others from outside the temple were growing louder. Soon, it would be time to face the world and the consequences of this war.

But for that moment, they simply sat with each other in comfortable silence, feeling the other’s warmth, affirming that they were both there. Together. Real. Alive.

Rok Soo ran a hand from Cale’s head down his back, and Cale felt the tension melt from his body.

“Really,” Cale muttered, already on the verge of sleep, “you’re not allowed to die, alright?”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Cale was sure he was only saying that because of whatever blessing the World Tree had just given him. He was even more sure that this guy would find some way to put himself on death’s door in spite of it.

“I’m coming with you,” he mumbled, nestling himself further into Rok Soo's lap, wrapping his arms around Rok Soo's waist.

“Mn?”

“Wherever you go next, I’m coming with you.” He yawned. “How else…are you gonna…remember…not to kill yourself…”

“I’m not trying to die?”

But Cale was already asleep.

Kim Rok Soo simply sighed.

“Sleep, yes, sleep is important. Rest well. I’m sure we’ll make it home safely.” He smiled. “There’s a lot of people waiting for us, after all.”

Two protective, self-sacrificial bastards had at last found a bit of value in their own lives.