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moonlight-dream54 · 8 days ago

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「What Was Left to Bloom」 Caleb

↳ In which you were childhood friends. Lovers. But now as the grand hall glittering with banners, he announces his betrothal to a princess. He never looks in your way, not even once. Yet you still flinch when he says honor above desire.

The hall glittered like it had swallowed the stars.

The banners lined the high stone walls, royal blue and burnished gold, their threads shimmering with every movement of the chandeliers. Nobles filled the room in waves of silk and armor, murmuring in the language of politics, toast and hidden glances.

You stood at the far end of it all, tucked in the shadow of a carved pillar, half hidden behind a servant’s path. You hadn't meant to come, not really. But your feet had carried you here, anyway. Quietly. As you always did, when it came to him.

Caleb stood at the center, flanked by his knights and high councilors, his posture perfect as ever. The Duke of East. Commander of the Crown's Guard. Future husband of a foreign princess, sent from the West to end a war.

He looked every inch the man they needed him to be. He always had. And he didn't look at you. Not once. But you watched anyway.

Watched the way his hands stayed still even as the crowd erupted in cheer. Watched the way his jaw tightened, just barely, as the princess, elegant and unfamiliar, offered her hand. Watched the way he lowered his eyes only to the scroll as he read his vows aloud.

"By the grace of the Crown, and for the good of the realm, I pledge myself to this union. Not for desire, but for honor." That was the moment you flinched. No one saw it. Not really. But it happened. Like a pulse in your throat, sharp and deep and final.

You had always known this was how it would be. That Caleb would choose the path of righteousness, of sacrifice. That he would do what needed to be done, because someone had to. Because he'd spent his entire life protecting people from pain. Even if it meant becoming a vessel of it himself.

But it still hurt.

So you didn't cry. You didn't make a scene. You just stood there with your hands folded quietly in front of yo. Until one drifted, unconsciously, down to your stomach.

It was still early. No one else could tell. But you knew. And the weight of it made your spine feel too fragile to stand beneath the chandelier's gold.

You waited. Just a little longer. Hoping and praying that he would look. That he would find you. That some part of him would still search the crowd for the girl he once kissed under the tree. For the woman he would whispered promises to under breathless moonlight.

But his eyes never found you. So you left.

You slipped out before the final toast, through the servant halls and into the cold air outside the palace gates. You didn't stop until you reached the old cottage at the edge of the dukedom. The place he once brought you to feel free when you came with him into the duchy. Where you'd whispered about building a life. One without war. One without titles.

That night, you packed nothing but silence. But before you left, you wrote him a letter.

Caleb,

I heard what you said tonight. 'Not for desire, but for honor.'

You've always known the difference better than I have.

I know you didn't choose her. I know you chose peace. You chose your people. You always do.

But I need you to know something. I'm leaving not because I hate you. But because I love you too much to stay and become something else you have to carry.

I'm expecting. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to look at me and just know. But you didn't.

Maybe it's better that way.

They'll be alright. They'll have my name, not yours. They don't need your title. Just your heart. And I'll tell them one day that you gave that to the world, even when it cost you everything.

I hope it's enough.

I love you. I always will.

But I won't let this be your undoing.

You'll be a good duke. A husband. A leader.

You always were meant to be.

Yours once, (Your Name)

You sealed it. Held it. Pressed your lips to the edge like you were kissing a goodbye. And then you dropped it into the fire.

The flames took it without hesitation. Just like the world took him.

You left that same night, before the snow could fall. No carriage. No escort. Just your hand at your stomach, and the memory of a boy who once told you that if duty were not real, he'd choose you every time.

You believed him. Which is why you never made him choose.

Caleb had never believed in love forged at court.

He'd seen too many alliances built on strategy, too many handfastings stitched from political desperation rather than any true desire. So when he was told, ordered, to marry the Western princess in exchange for peace, he didn't expect kindness.

But she surprised him. Not with softness. But with clarity.

"You know why I'm here." He said plainly, voice crisp like frost. "They're offering me to your kingdom because they believe I'm worthless." She answered and he didn't argue. She was right.

She lifted her chin and studied him. Not with challenge, but calculation. "Do you know what I want, Duke Xia?" Caleb leaned forward, hands folded atop the council chamber table. "Revenge."

That made her smile. Small. Sharp. Sad. "Yes." She replied. "I want justice for the disgrace they forced me to carry. For the man that was forced to watch me became a war trophy and do nothing about it because everyone deemed me unworthy of the throne."

Caleb met her gaze. Steady. Unflinching. "Then I will help you take it." The princess blinked. For a moment, she said nothing. "But in return." Caleb added, his voice low. "Do not expect my heart. It was given long ago and it still belongs to her."

"The commoner." She said, without hesitation. "The one the court whispers about." He inclined his head. "Yes."

She didn't sneer. Didn't scoff. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands delicately in her lap. "Rest assured, Duke. I have no use for your heart. I have someone waiting for me too. If he's still alive by the end of this game, I'll return to him. That is the only vow I intend to keep."

Caleb nodded once. "There's one more thing." He said. "When the time comes, I will take her into the duchy. She will live safely, untouched by this farce. Any slander, any name. If it touches her, I will consider it an act of war."

The princess didn't blink. "Then I suggest you act fast. Because you have enemies who would rather see your world burn than watch you be happy."

So as the night of the engagement came, Caleb stood beneath the blinding lights of the grand hall, surrounded by the echo of clinking goblets and hollow applause. Everything smelled like flowers and polished metal and power.

It was supposed to be a victory. But all he could think about was you.

You in that sun drenched orchard where he first touched your wrist and thought of forever. You barefoot in the rain with mud on your hem, arguing with a merchant about fair prices while he watched, arms crossed, hopelessly taken. You who never asked anything of himm but who he would have given everything to, if the world had allowed it.

He had tried to send word. Tried to reach you before the ceremony. But something or perhaps someone, was keeping you from him. Every message sent returned unanswered. Every rider sent out reported only silence. And the longer the hours stretched, the more he felt the panic curl beneath his ribs.

As he said the ceremonial vows beside the princess, his voice didn't waver but something inside him cracked. The words tasted like ash. "I pledge myself to this union. Not for desire, but for honor."

When the final toast rang out and goblets clinked like bells of war, Caleb turned fast, desperate and scanned the crowd. But you weren't there. Not in the corner where you always stood, half behind a pillar. Not near the stairwell. Not by the doors. Not anywhere.

He'd hoped, even against reason, that you might come. That you'd let him find your eyes just once. That you'd see him, and know that this was all temporary. But you were gone. And for the first time in years, ever since becoming the duke, the commander, Caleb Xia felt fear press down against his lungs.

The moment the final guest turned their back, he summoned his closest aide. "Find her." He said. "Find her now." The man hesitated. "She's-" Caleb's eyes snapped to him, colder than winter steel. "Then look again. Burn the map if you must. I don't care how long it takes or what it costs. Bring her to the duchy. Quietly. Safely."

But it was already too late. By the time his riders reached your old cottage, it was empty. No footprints. No carriage prints in the dirt. No belongings. As if you had vanished from the world without a trace.

As if you knew he would come for you and made sure he never could.

Caleb stared out the window that night, long after the embers died in the hearth. The engagement had served its purpose. The world believed the lie. Peace had been signed. No war would come, at least not now.

But the only name on his lips was yours. He whispered it once, to the cold glass.

He would not marry the princess. That was never the plan. One year and a half. That was the deal. But the days stretched longer without you. The weeks colder.

And he began to wonder. If you had already chosen never to return.

You arrived just after dusk.

The lanterns had already been lit, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the village's narrow paths and stone worn homes. It looked almost exactly the same. Smaller than you remembered. Softer, maybe. But not forgotten by time.

The old mill still turned. The baker's window still fogged with morning flour. A few children ran barefoot through the puddles left by yesterday's rain and someone was singing down the road a lullaby that hadn't changed in twenty years.

You were home. Or at least, back where it all began.

The cottage at the edge of the forest had been abandoned but it didn't take much to settle in. A little cleaning. A few mended curtains. A garden patch revived from the dead.

The neighbors remembered you. Old faces with more lines around their eyes but still the same warmth in their smiles. They didn't ask questions when you said you were staying. Just brought fresh bread. Herbs. Cribs, though you hadn't said anything.

You thanked them anyway. And most days passed quietly just like that. The ache in your chest never fully left, but it dulled, worn into something familiar, like a stone smoothed by years of riverwater.

And sometimes, when the wind shifted just right, you could almost hear your own laughter echoing across the fields. Younger. Brighter. Back when your hands were calloused from climbing trees and your only worry was whether or not Caleb would beat you to the blackberry bushes again.

The tree was still there. The one you always went to. With roots that curled like old fingers and branches wide enough to shelter two young dreamers from the sun.

It was where you first kissed. Messy, surprised, and full of promises no child should make but did anyway. This us where you taught him how to string wildflowers into a crown. Where he sat there the night the knight came, cloaked in black and silver, to tell him the truth. That his blood was noble, that he belonged to a world of titles and things far too heavy for someone so good.

You held him through that. And later, he held you through worse. It had always been the two of you. Until it wasn't.

And now, you sat beneath that same tree, fingers brushing the bark, whispering stories you had no one left to tell. You didn't bring flowers. Just your memories. Because that was all this place needed. It didn't belong to the man he became. Not the duke. Not the commander.

This tree, this patch of sky belonged to you and Caleb, as you once were. And even if he would never sit beside you again, this place would always hold the shape of him.

Your stomach ached when you thought of him too long. Not just from the child, growing steady within you, but from grief. Because this time, when you looked back. You couldn't go with him. You could only carry the love with you. So you did.

One memory at a time. One breath at a time. One quiet, aching heartbeat after another.

It started like any other day.

The sun crept in through the cottage windows, warming the floorboards where the cat liked to nap. You were peeling fruit on the porch, legs tucked under a wool blanket, humming an old lullaby you didn't realize you still remembered.

The baby kicked once, hard enough to make you gasp. You smiled and pressed your hand to your belly. "Impatient, aren't you?"

You didn't expect it to happen so soon. But then the pain struck low and deep. A bolt through your spine that stole your breath. You doubled forward, the bowl falling from your lap, fruit scattering into the dirt. Another wave hit. This one sharper. More final.

The neighbors came running when they heard you cry out. They carried you inside, laid you on the old bed. You tried to stay calm. You had always been good at that but the truth was, you were terrified. Not of the pain. But of doing this alone.

The contractions came harder. Quicker. The midwife's hands were steady. The women around her whispered soft prayers. But all you could do was grip the edge of the headboard and wish.

Wish he was here. Wish his hand was in yours, like the first time he held it under the tree. Wish you could tell him it was okay. That you understood. That you still loved him.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. But you didn't scream. You never did.

You pushed when they told you to. Breathed through the fire in your ribs. Gritted your teeth when the world tilted. And then. A cry. Sharp. Piercing. Alive.

The midwife laughed through her tears. "It's a boy." You were shaking when they laid him against your chest.

He was tiny. Warm. And quiet once he settled into your heartbeat like he knew it already. His fingers curled around the edge of your nightgown.

And something in you cracked open. You cried then. Not from pain, but from something older. Something deeper. He had Caleb's eyes.

You kissed his forehead and whispered his name. A name you chose long ago, before the world pulled you both apart.

You wished Caleb could see him. But when you looked outside, the world was still and golden. And the tree stood silent in the wind.

And you told yourself it was alright. Because this child, this love had bloomed. And it was alive.

The sky was bleeding.

Ash and smoke clung to every breath, thick enough to choke. Caleb's side burned where the blade had caught him. Shallow, but punishing. Still, he pushed forward.

There was no time for hesitation. Not when the lines were falling. Not when they had come sooner than expected. Not when peace had collapsed with a single arrow through a messenger's throat.

He ducked a strike, drove his blade into the gap in another knight's armor, and turned in time to catch his men regrouping. His second in command shouted something at him but Caleb didn't hear it.

All he heard was your voice.

All he saw, in flashes between the blood and dust, was the way you used to smile when he failed to catch fireflies. The way you leaned against the tree with dirt on your nose and laughed like you belonged to the wind.

He hadn't found you. He'd tried. Gods, he'd tried. But you'd vanished. As if the world swallowed you whole. And then the war came. He hadn't even had time to breathe.

But once this was over. Once this cursed border was sealed and the treaty rewritten in fire. He would find you. He would. Even if the world tried to hide you. Because wherever you were... That was home.

The mornings in the village always came softly.

The mist clung to the trees like a lullaby not yet finished and the dew caught sunlight just enough to make everything feel like it had paused, suspended in that golden hush between sleep and waking.

You were hanging laundry on the line when a tiny whirlwind of energy darted past your legs. "Mavius Caelum Asher!" You called out more fond than scolding.

A small laugh echoed through the garden as he ducked behind the old apple tree, barefoot and already covered in dirt despite it barely being past dawn.

You smiled. Every day, he reminded you of Caleb. The set of his purple eyes. The line of his shoulders. The way he furrowed his brow when he was thinking too hard about something. But it wasn't just the way he looked.

It was the way he moved. Purposeful, determined. How he already insisted on helping the other children. How he stood between the smaller ones when that older boy from the next town got too rough. How he offered you his last slice of fruit without a word, because 'Mama needed it more.'

He was almost three and already carrying the same kind of quiet nobility Caleb wore like armor.

You returned to the house just as Asher ran in before you, tugging at your skirt. "Mama, tell me again about the knight." You crouched beside him, brushing his windswept hair from his forehead. "The knight who fought dragons?" "No!" He giggled. "My knight. Papa."

You hesitated, just for a moment. Then smiled. "Ah, that one." You said, tapping his nose. "Let’s see... once, there was a knight so brave that even the other knights called him Commander. He had eyes like the sky at dawn and a heart so big he tried to protect the whole kingdom by himself."

"Did he win?" Asher asked, eyes wide. You nodded. "He always did. But not because he was the strongest. Because he believed that protecting others, even strangers was the most important thing in the world."

Asher's small hands curled into fists. "I'm gonna be like him." You ruffled his hair. "You already are."

He beamed at you, not knowing the weight behind your words. Not knowing that somewhere, far from this quiet house, his father was fighting a war that had stretched longer than anyone expected.

A war that you read about in town when you bought flour or heard whispered at the market. Hushed tones and trembling voices as wives and mothers clutched telegrams in their hands.

You didn't speak of it often. Not to Asher. Not even to yourself. But every night, after he fell asleep curled beside you, you stared at the ceiling and whispered the same silent wish. Please let him be safe.

Caleb didn't know about Asher. He didn't know about this cottage. But that didn't stop you from telling your son stories. From showing him what honor looked like. From planting a garden behind the house and naming the strongest sapling after Caleb.

Some nights, when the wind changed, you thought you heard his voice. Or maybe that was just the ache.

You stood by the sink as Asher played with a carved wooden sword just outside, chasing shadows and dreams. Then your hand slipped. Only for a second. A tremble. A dizziness that passed almost as quickly as it came.

You gripped the edge of the sink. Steady. But your breath didn't come right away. Not like it used to. You pressed a hand gently to your chest. Waited. Exhaled.

Just a fluke, you told yourself.

Then you looked outside, where Asher was still playing. He had his eyes and everything. His quiet strength, his resolve, the weight he carried even at three years old was his.

And just like that, you smiled again. Even if your days were beginning to slip shorter, this one… This one was enough.

The battlefield smelled of iron and rot.

Smoke clung to Caleb's armor like a second skin, thick and acrid, turning his breath into rasped curses as he pushed past the broken shield wall. The screams were dying down. The fight was nearly over. But his blade still shook in his hand. Not from fear, but from exhaustion.

Another kingdom subdued. Another treaty waiting to be inked in blood and ash.

He tore off his gauntlets, hands raw underneath. The war had dragged on longer than anyone predicted. Five years now, maybe more. Time blurred out here. Measured not in days, but in losses. In names.

He hadn't written in months. The letters stayed tucked in his saddlebag, untouched, half finished scraps meant for someone who never answered. He told himself you were safe. That you were somewhere quiet, far from the reach of title and crowns.

But the silence ate at him.

Each night, he dreamed of a place he never dared return to. A small cottage on the edge of a forest, a woman with tired eyes and ink stained fingers laughing as she stirred soup, the warmth of her touch as she reached for him in sleep. You.

He didn't even know if you were still alive. There had been no word. No name in the casualty lists but also no sign of you in the cities he passed. Every village he liberated, every province retaken, he looked for your face in the crowds. Never found it.

"Commander." Caleb blinked. One of his captains had approached, holding a bloodied helmet in one hand. "You're bleeding." The man said. Caleb glanced down. His side was torn, gash already seeping through his tunic.

He hadn't noticed. "Leave it." He muttered. "I'm fine." "Sir-" "I said leave it." The captain stepped back without another word.

Caleb sheathed his sword. Walked toward the ridge overlooking the valley below. The ground was scorched. The wind carried the distant cries of the wounded. But above it all, the sky stretched blue, painfully, impossibly blue.

Like your eyes when you were crying in his dreams. When you told him goodbye, even though you didn't say the word. A breeze passed. Caleb closed his eyes. Are you still out there?

He hadn't stopped thinking about you. Not once. Even when duty demanded all of him. Even when his betrothal turned to alliance and the alliance into war.

He remembered the day he gave you the necklace. The one his sister had left him. Remembered your laugh, your promise to keep it safe. He had given it to you before the title, before the world went quiet.

He wondered if you still wore it. If you ever told stories about him to someone else.

He never dared to wonder more than that. Because if he let himself think... If he allowed the truth in, the truth that maybe you had stopped waiting... He feared he would fall apart completely.

So he still fought. He still bled. Not for glory, not even for peace. This was no longer about that. But for a chance. A single chance that when all this ended, he could find you again.

And maybe, just maybe... He could finally come home.

It had been three weeks since the war ended.

The ink on the new treaty had barely dried when Caleb handed over the command sigil, set aside his title, and mounted his horse. No fanfare. No council meeting. Just quiet resolve.

He didn't stop for ceremonies. Didn't stop to say goodbye. Not even to the queen, formerly his betrothed who only offered him a knowing nod as he rode off. "Find her." She had said softly, her crown glinting in the sun. "While you still can."

And so he did. He crossed through forests scorched by battle. Through cities that barely remembered his face. Past the borders of the duchy, riding until the roads became narrow, familiar things. Roots of memory leading him back to the village that had raised him long before the title ever claimed him.

It was smaller than he remembered

The wind carried the scent of old bread and fresh rain. Lanterns hung from the windows like tired stars. A dog barked somewhere near the well. Nothing monumental. Just life.

But Caleb's chest tightened the moment he stepped onto the dirt path. Because this was where everything began.

The tree still stood near the rise. A little older. A little more bent. But it was there like it had been waiting.

He wore no armor now. Only a simple cloak, a travel stained tunic, boots scuffed by months of searching. He didn't want to be a duke here. Didn't want to be anything but a man looking for the person who once held his whole heart in two steady hands.

Some of the villagers glanced his way as he passed. But there was something in their eyes. Recognition, yes. But also something else. A hesitation. A flicker of pity. It unsettled him.

He pressed on, steps slower now. Almost reluctant. Like his body knew something his mind hadn't caught up to yet. Then... A jolt.

A small body crashed into him at the bend of the road. A child running too fast around the corner, stumbled backward and fell with a soft yelp.

Caleb instinctively crouched, reaching out. "Hey, are you-?" But the words died on his tongue. His eyes locked onto the necklace. It was simple. A silver necklace with a very familiar apple pendant. It had been his sister's. The one who died when they were children. Too young. Too soon.

The necklace he had worn for years in her memory until the day he pressed it into your hand, months before everything fell apart. "Keep it." He told you then, voice soft against your hair. "So you know that someone always carries you with them. Even if I'm not there."

His heart stuttered. "Where… where did you get that?" He asked, voice gone thin, too sharp. The child blinked up at him, wide eyed. Dirt smudged his cheeks. He looked no older than ten.

But it wasn't just the necklace. It was the eyes. Gods. His eyes. Dark, sharp and purple. Strangely gentle. The exact mirror of his own gaze in the mirror, years ago before grief and duty dulled the light.

Caleb's stomach dropped. His blood ran cold.

And all he could do was kneel there, frozen, watching this boy who looked like him, who wore the last gift he gave to the only person he ever loved and realize in a breathless instant. He wasn't too late. He had just lost more than he could ever take back.

Caleb barely got a word out.

He had reached forward, hand trembling toward the boy, the necklace, those eyes, that impossible familiarity when someone moved between them like a shield.

"Enough." A firm arm pushed the boy gently behind them. The older man stood tall despite his age, back straight, voice like a blade dulled by time but no less sharp. The village head.

Caleb remembered him as he stood up. His beard was grayer now, the limp more pronounced but his presence hadn't changed. This man had taught them how to mend traps when they were still children, taught Caleb how to tie fishing knots, watched over the village like a quiet sentinel.

And now, he stood like a wall between Caleb and the child. His child. "I need to speak with him." Caleb said, his voice soft but strained. "Please. I just-" "You need to leave."

"I came here looking for her." Caleb stepped forward again, heart hammering against his ribs. "I've searched every road, every town, every ruin. I've been looking since the day after the engagement ceremony. I know I was late, I know I should've found her sooner, but I-"

"Too late." The words snapped out of the village head's mouth like a whip. "You came too damn late, boy."

Caleb froze. The boy behind the man peeked around him, curiosity bright in his eyes. But there was something else in his stare too. Something quieter. Like he was studying him. Measuring him.

"I had no choice." Caleb said. "The war-" "And what about before the war?" The village head barked. "What about the months they spent waiting by the river? What about the letter they burned so you could keep your damn title clean of scandal?"

Caleb's breath caught. The village head's jaw clenched. "You should've been here when it mattered." "I'm here now." Caleb said, voice cracking. "I'm here now and I'm not leaving. You think I wouldn't recognize my own child?"

Silence. A heavy, suffocating stillness fell between them.

Caleb's eyes didn’t move from the boy. Not when his stomach twisted. Not when his pulse thundered. He saw it now, not just resemblance. Not just accident.

It was blood. His blood. And he had missed it. He had missed everything.

The village head opened his mouth. Then shut it. Regret flashed in his expression, quick and bitter. "Go." The man muttered, hoarse. "You don't belong here anymore." Caleb stepped forward again. "What do you mean by that? What do you mean-"

But before the old man could speak, a small hand tugged at his clothes. The boy. He slipped past the man's arm and stood in front of him and Caleb, tilting his head. "It's okay." The boy said softly like a secret. "You don't have to fight him anymore."

Caleb move forward without thinking then proceed to lower himself to the boy's eye level, chest tight with something he couldn’t name. The boy looked at him. Really looked. Long and slow and serious. Then asked. "Do you wanna come home with me?"

Caleb swallowed hard. The question shattered something in him. And suddenly, he couldn't speak.

The forest was quieter than Caleb remembered.

The old trail wound gently between the trees, dappled with late afternoon light. His boots crunched softly over fallen leaves and small twigs. Beside him, the boy walked in silence, his small figure steady as if he'd done this path a thousand times. Maybe he had.

Caleb kept glancing down at him. The boy's shoulders were squared, hands tucked into the frayed sleeves of his wool shirt. He looked forward the entire time, never once glancing up.

"What's your name?" Caleb finally asked, voice hushed. "Ash." His throat tightened at the name again. Ash. Our son. "How old are you?" "Eight. I'll be nine after the spring."

Caleb swallowed the ache that rose up. His jaw tensed. He almost asked if your birthday had passed, if Ash knew but bit it back. Instead, quieter, he asked. "Where’s your mother?" Ash didn't answer. He didn't even pause. Just kept walking.

They reached the edge of the woods. The cottage appeared just beyond the treeline. Small, sloped, half covered in vines but still there. Still standing.

A hundred memories surged all at once. The spring evenings spent on the porch. Your laughter echoing under a sky of fireflies. The time you argued over who could chop firewood faster. The way your body curled into his when the storms came. The softness in your voice when you first whispered I love you into his hair, like it scared you to even say it out loud.

Caleb slowed at the threshold, hand hovering just beside the door. But Ash reached forward and opened it first. The hinges creaked like they hadn't moved in weeks.

Inside, the air was still. Not stale, not foul. Just... Still.

The table was clean but dust settled in the corners. A few dried herbs hung from the rafters. There was a plate in the washbasin that hadn't been dried. A chair slightly off center from the hearth. A cup overturned near the window.

It looked lived in. And abandoned.

"Where is she?" Caleb asked again, his voice cracking slightly this time. "Ash- Where is your mother?" The boy didn't answer.

He walked deeper into the house. Past the kitchen, through the narrow hall. He didn’t look back but Caleb followed, heart thudding louder with every step.

The bedroom. The door creaked as Ash pushed it open. Everything in the room was familiar, too.

The quilt still had the same stitched pattern. The windowsill still held the cracked clay pot you insisted wasn’t worth throwing out. The wooden carving he made for you still hung crookedly above the bed.

But it was cold. Untouched.

The bed was neatly made. The fireplace empty. A thin layer of dust on the floorboards, just enough to tell him what he didn't want to know. "Ash-" He began. But the boy was already crouching beside the bed.

He reached under the wooden frame and pulled out a small box, smoothed by age and fingerprints. Then he stood and held it out.

"Mother left these." Ash said quietly. "They're letters. Mother wrote them before she died." Caleb blinked. The room spun. "What…?" "Mother said they were for you. In case you ever came back."

He didn't move. He couldn't. Ash stepped closer and pressed the box into his hands. Caleb took it with trembling fingers. The lid opened easily.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them. Some wrapped with string. Others sealed in wax. Your handwriting. His name scrawled again and again on folded parchment, in ink that looked faded from time, from tears, from waiting.

The air in his lungs vanished. "No." Caleb whispered, clutching the box tighter. "No, no, no-" He staggered backward until his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. "This! This can't be!" The box held to his chest like it could somehow undo what had already happened.

He tried to breathe. But he couldn't. He felt it hit all at once. The years you must've waited. The letters you wrote, not knowing if he'd ever return, look after you. The nights you sat by the fire, watching the window, holding onto hope that kept thinning with time.

He sobbed. Raw, broken. Ash stood silently nearby. His voice was soft, almost too calm.

"Mother died three years ago." He said. "Just after winter." Caleb shook. "I'm sorry." He rasped. "I didn't know-" He hold back a scream "Gods, I didn't know-" "Mother said not to blame you." Ash added, voice still even. "But mother cried a lot. When mother thought I was asleep."

Caleb wiped at his face but the tears wouldn't stop. He looked at the boy, his boy, still standing there with too much pain behind his eyes for someone so young.

"Your necklace." Caleb said barely. "It was mine. My sister gave it to me. I gave it to your mother. I-" "You're my father." Ash said simply. The words felt like a dagger and a lifeline all at once.

"I… yes." Caleb reached out slowly, hands shaking as he never stopped crying. "Ash-" "You can go now." Ash said. Caleb froze, his heart dropped for God knows how many that day. "What"

"You found the letters." The boy said, unmoved. "You got what you came here for. I give you what my mother told me give you. You can leave." "I'm not leaving you-"

Ash's voice rose, sharp and fast. "Then you should have come years ago! Mother waited for you. Every day, every time the sun came up. Even when mother never showed! Mother thought maybe you'd come with the next rider, or the next merchant, or with the rain. Mother waited for you and you never came!"

Caleb flinched. "I didn't know-" "You could've tried harder!" His boy cried. "You could've come before the war. You could've written. You could’ve done something!" The pain in his voice cracked something in Caleb so deep he didn't even know it existed.

"I'm sorry." Caleb whispered. "I'm so- Ash, I'm so sorry." Ash took a step back. Caleb knelt closer in front of him, voice shaking. "I didn't know. I thought I could fix things. I thought there would still be time. I didn't… I never imagined…"

He looked at his son. Really looked. So small. So strong. So much like you. "I should've come sooner." Caleb said. "And I'll never forgive myself for that. But I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere without you."

Ash's lip trembled, just for a second. Then he took a step forward and let Caleb wrap his arms around him. It wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. But it was something.

And in that room, where love once bloomed and then faded, something new took root. Even in the silence. Even through the tears.

: one down, four more to go. I'll also update Heartbeat Protocol tomorrow... probably. This is actually the first time, I think, that I specifically wrote the gender of the reader since I always wrote a neutral one. Hope you don't mind. I mean, there's a child XD

#haup ka caleb #dcrb #his plans could've been an email y'know charot #gagi ka pa rin caleb eto sayo ./.#oa lang aq i love angst thank u author😭

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