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calehenituse-brainrot · 25 days ago

Text

July

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

Perhaps purpose isn't a thing for us to find. Perhaps purpose is something that we shape by the things that we do.

warning: body horror

Sarah always wakes up at 5:42 in the morning. Not because she had to, but because her body had gotten used to waking up to the deafening silence of the apartment. She pads across floor in her wool socks, making sure to not take any misstep and made the worn-out wooden vinyl on the floor peel back even further. She opened her door slowly, careful not to make much noise to wake her sister, who slept peacefully in the room next to hers. The apartment was small — two bedrooms, paper-thin walls — but it's enough for now. It has to be.

She opens the kettle's lid, sucking her teeth in annoyance upon seeing the water stains. She sets it aside, couldn't be bothered to clean and rinse out the buildup. She reached for a pot instead and began to fill it, setting it on the stove and standing by it, watching as the water began to boil slowly. The sound of it along with the scent of instant coffee was oddly comforting. It reminds her of the days when her sister would make herself some coffee, downing it all by the time it was her fifth sip during her finals. She used to berate her for drinking instant coffee, but look at her now.

The sunlight began to slant through the cheap plastic blinds, the world trying to remind her that time keeps moving, even when Sarah refuses to.

By the time the clock showed it was 6:30, she was dressed, her hair clipped back, her dark circles hidden underneath expertly-applied color corrector and concealers. She wiped her fingers with facial cotton and makeup remover. A makeup brush was too much of a luxury at the moment, so her fingers had always been her best friend in appearing professional. Less streaky lines anyway.

Sarah stared at herself in the mirror. Yes, she looks decent enough.

She went out to head to the other room, gently waking the 11-year-old girl underneath the sheets. A warm hand on her shoulder and a whisper of her name leaves her mouth, "Gracie?"

Gracie always smiles when she sees her older sister, even with her half-awake and her eyes only able to see a blurry visage. Gracie trusts her older sister so unequivocally, in a way that only a child trust the person who held her while she cried during the nights after the loss of their mother, who scraped together birthday cakes from boxed cake mix, and sang lullabies to her every night whenever she had trouble sleeping through the rainy days.

Breakfast was merely filled with Gracie's random babbling about the upcoming day. She talks about the upcoming classes, seeing her friends, and any other normal things an 11-year-old should talk about. Because that is what this is all for.

Sarah listens, nods, and packs Gracie's lunchbox with sandwiches, corn fritters from last night, cheese slices, and grapes. This is what all this is for.

"Sarah," Gracie called softly from the table. "Can you pack me extra napkins, please?"

"Alright," Sarah replied, smiling softly as she began reaching for the paper napkins.

She always folds them into a compact triangle, like their sister did that one time. Maybe it'll lessen the amount of space they take in the lunchbox. Maybe it won't. It doesn't really matter. It just feels like the right kind of ache to do it like this every time.

After dropping Gracie at school, Sarah walks to her workplace slowly. She works as a waitress in a diner that was perhaps older than she was in the area. It was barely enough, but she knows to manage her money well. She passes the same alley with the rusted fire escape, then the laundromat with the blinking neon "OPEN" sign. She looks into every face that passes by her, searching for something familiar. Always. Even when she knew it would be fruitless.

After work, she smelled like grease and smoke. She had been staying too long in the kitchen, fighting with the chef and telling him to cook properly. She returned nearly five dishes from the same table of ten. It was embarrassing; she had to face the wrath and sneers of the customers. At the very least, she was able to take home the leftover brownies in the freezer given by the owner.

She waited for Gracie by the school, waiting patiently until the school bell rang and eying the crowd of screaming children until she found Gracie. She waved her hand, and Gracie bounded to her with a smile. Sarah didn't hesitate to bend down, pressing a kiss to Gracie's face. She gave Gracie a piece of the brownie, smiling as Gracie nibbled on it as they walked home, hand-in-hand, as she listened to Gracie telling her about her day.

It was a long day and Sarah made sure to not make it show. Whilst Gracie went to shower, Sarah opened the lunchbox, eating the leftovers before cleaning up. Dinner was short — Gracie's plate always had more.

Then, Gracie was off to do her homework.

And Sarah had her own.

After making sure Gracie was busy, Sarah went to her room and rummaged through her closet. She pulls down a worn-out box and places it on the floor. Despite its old age, no dust remains on it. Inside were photos with worn edges, curling like petals. A floral-themed birthday card with no signature. A sweater she's never washed because the scent is still faintly there; lilac and laundry detergent and the hospital.

This was part of her life that continues whilst the rest of the world sleeps away.

No one will know of the girl who's holding her little family afloat, far too young to be given that responsibility. They will never know of the feeling of remembering someone's gaze and touch so vividly that it wakes you up as if they were night terrors. To dream of a sister who once held you so tightly, who loves you so much that she releases her painful past for the sake of you and your sister, who loves so deeply, and yet quietly, and then one day... stopped existing.

Her name was [Name] [Last Name]. Her half-sister. Her whole heart.

She left when Sarah was sixteen. No note. No explanation. Just voicemails and an empty apartment with the kind of silence that hollows out everything it touches. She left without any of her belongings - not even her phone. Their father never spoke of it. Drank more. Slept less. Died quietly. And in the years since, Sarah became the grown-up. Became the glue. Became the search party.

Gracie barely remembers [Name]. Perhaps all she could remember was a nonchalant voice in the blurry room of a hospital, a figure at the edge of their mother's deathbed. But Sarah remembers everything. The way [Name] always smelled like coffee, old books, and the sun. The way she'd place her cold hand on top of Sarah's and whisper, "She'll be okay. You don't have to be scared."

And Sarah did so. She became brave. Every day. For Gracie. For [Name]. For herself.

For the nth time that night, Sarah opened the message board again, hoping for any new posts but it no longer surprised her to see an empty message board. She opened another tab, checking to see if there were any replies to the photos she had left at the shelter or to the message thread she started four years ago as a teen. She refreshed the pages several time, trying to see any new posts.

"MISSING PERSON. HELP NEEDED." [image attachment]

The newest post was her own post. From four years ago.

She stares at the last picture of them together—three girls in a world that had just fallen apart. Sarah was in the middle, her eyes heavy after the loss of their mother. [Name] behind her, a faint smile on her face. Gracie was standing between [Name]'s legs, smiling.

She closes the box, slides it back into its place.

When Gracie knocked on the door, Sarah greeted her with warmth and jokes and a box of leftover brownies from work. She listens to her stories, helps her with the homework she's having trouble with, and then tucks her in.

And then, when the lights are off, she sits on the floor beside her sister’s bed, eyes closed, praying not to a god but to a memory.

“Come back,” she whispers into the dark. “Just… come back.”

And the silence answers, as it always does.

A little bit after midnight, Sarah finally dragged herself into her bed. She lays on her side, one hand sliding under her pillow. Despite the closed window, she could still hear the sound of the bustling city leaking into the room. It was comforting to know the world is still doing its own thing despite her turmoil. It made her problems seems trivial. That maybe, just maybe, this wasn't such a big deal and one day the problem will solve itself.

Sleep came slowly, dragging her under. She dreams, and for the first time, it wasn't the memories of her younger days haunting her.

In the dream, there was nothing.

No bed. No city. No sound.

Just white.

A vast, endless whiteness that stretched in all directions—too bright to be comforting, too quiet to feel safe. There were no walls, no sky, no ground she could see. Yet somehow, she was standing. The place where she stood felt solid. She bends down, caressing the solidity of it and being surprised at how smooth it was. It was unnerving.

She walked. That was all she could do.

Each step echoed, though there was nothing for the sound to bounce off of. No horizon. No shadow. No wind. Just that strange, sterile brightness that made her feel like she had gone blind and weightless all at once. The place reminded her of that hospital room, but she shook it off.

Then, she saw what seemed to be half a room placed in the middle of this vast, white space.

Sarah slowly approached it and paused.

The hospital room where her mother died was typically filled with a couch and machines. The bed where her mother would lay and move every second from the pain was tidy and spotless. The machines were nowhere to be seen. Vines grow out of nowhere, climbing and curling against the walls of the hospital room, the white tiles were cracked, flourishing with grass between the grouts. The hospital room was emptier than she remembered. Not only that, but the room seemed to stretch and fade into the space, as if merging with it.

Facing the useless window was the back of a figure Sarah was too familiar with. For a moment, Sarah was relieved. She had been so anxious and the moment she spotted you, she forgot that she was ever afraid.

"[Name]?" Sarah called out, her voice trembling and her heart pounding.

You turned around.

Your face was familiar, but it was... wrong. Older. Weathered. Not the twenty-one-year-old woman frozen in Sarah's memory, but a grown woman. Tired eyes. Crows feet around your eyes. Wrinkles that time had carved without permission. The curve of your mouth was the same in the way you always smile so faintly, but the light in your eyes had dimmed. It was like seeing the result of life scraping away pieces of you that would never grow back.

Sarah choked. "W-why do you look like that?"

You didn't answer. You just stared at her, unmoving. Sadness fills your gaze. Guilt. A lifetime's worth. And something else - relief.

Your lips moved, but Sarah couldn’t hear the words. The world around them dimmed, like the sun was being pulled away. Shadows bled across the walls. The room was gone. Only you and she remained.

“Say something,” Sarah begged. “Please. Please just say something.”

The light of the vast space was too bright, but it didn't hurt your eyes in the slightest. You felt weightless in this space. You cast no shadow and cannot interact with anything within the space. A phantom. But something real persists inside of you - the painful ache within your chest, a trembling thread stretched thin across space and time, connected to something — someone — you haven't stopped thinking about for years.

And there she was.

Sarah.

She was taller than you remember, and looked older. Her face was tired and her expression strained, as if she had been working in the summer's heat for months. Her eyes — God, her eyes — were soaked in something deeper than grief. You never thought that you could love her so much. You never thought looking into those eyes could evoke these feelings still. Love that refused to die

She ran to you, her eyes lined with tears and for a long second, you can't move. You don't know if the God of Death allows you too. You don't know if he means for you to be seen like this. But then those arms were around you — real, warm, and trembling. Something inside you caved immediately and you moved forward, wrapping your arms around her and hugging her so tightly that you wished you could mold together.

Her whole heart.

Your whole being.

You breathe her in, your breathing shaky. She smells like home, like summer, like the past you abandoned and the future you never thought you deserved. You bury your face in her shoulder. You close your eyes. And then you hear it.

The breaking.

Sarah sobs, shoulders shaking like they’ve cracked open, and you feel it in your chest like a blade being pulled out, slow and rusted.

“[Name]…” she chokes your name and her voice sounds like it's being torn from somewhere too deep to heal. “Oh, have you left us? Have you left me?”

You want to answer her. God, you want to answer her so badly.

You want to tell her that you never meant to leave. That you were scared, broken, twenty-one, and unraveling at the seams. That you tried so hard to return to her again. That every day away from her and Gracie was a day you counted with guilt, not freedom.

But you can’t speak.

You just hold her tighter.

Because in this place —this white, endless place— you are nothing but presence and ache.

Her sobs grow quieter, and you feel her hands gripping the back of your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll vanish again. And maybe you will. You always do.

You lean your forehead against hers.

You try to say I’m sorry.

You're so brave.

I love you.

But the words are trapped. Stuck in a place even dreams can’t reach.

And then the light shifts.

"I'm so lost without you," she whispered softly in your arms. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Where I'm supposed to go. What I'm supposed to be."

You hugged her tighter. She is meant for a softer life. A promising future.

She was a sister. Not a mother.

"I love you."

Sarah looked up, stunned upon hearing the whisper that seemed to echo within the vast space of white. Your face smiled at her, resigned but also filled with love. You cupped her cheeks and thought to yourself of how much she had clung to the past too much.

You leaned your forehead to hers and let out a soft breath.

You will be fine. I will always be here for you.

Sarah hugged you, sobbing as she felt the world seemed to shift.

You felt weightless.

You could no longer see your feet, your body fading away slowly into an intangible mess.

The world begins to pull away.

Sarah clings harder, crying your name like it can hold you here. Like it can bind you back to the life you left.

"Sarah," you said, your voice clear and exactly like Sarah remembered.

Sarah looked up and you smiled at her faintly. Her tears blurs her vision. "Are you gone?"

You nodded slowly. It was the best answer you could give her. This was the closure you can give her.

You began to fade away, slowly like mist.

Sarah looked up in horror and devastation cross her face upon realizing you're going to leave. You smiled, your eyes lined with tears as you cupped her face.

You smile and whispered softly;

"I'm so proud of you."

Sarah looked up, shocked that she could hear it so clearly. You leaned down, and as you slowly dissipated, the last thing Sarah felt was the press of your lips against her forehead.

Sarah opened her eyes, her face wet. She hadn't even realized she was crying. She sat up and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, like that would erase the image of your face — aged, unreachable, slipping from her grasp like smoke.

It was the cruelest part of grief, she thought. That time doesn’t stop for the people who leave. That somewhere, maybe, you had grown older without them. Or worse—maybe you haven’t grown at all.

And that face—etched into Sarah's dreams—was the only one she’d ever see again.

Not in the streets. Not in crowds. Not on her doorstep like she sometimes imagined when the silence was too much.

Just there, in the bright space of the clean hospital room.

Aged and smiling. Maybe it would be the last time she sees you and while a small part of her ached at the thought, Sarah was surprised by herself when she felt ease.

For the first time in the last four years, Sarah got up from the bed and her chest feels lighter.

You felt like a cloud, floating in a place neither dark nor light, sound nor silence. Time doesn’t exist here—only the weightless feeling of being suspended just beneath reality and close to the arms of Death. It was surprisingly warm. And it ache.

The image of an older Sarah that the God of Death has shown you was more than enough to convince you that it's okay. To stay here and look for something new to love. Or perhaps simply to return to what you have loved throughout your time here. Your face was wet, and you pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, chuckling between your tears as you tried to ingrain the face of your younger sister in your mind. You must never forget her. She was so beautiful now that she was older.

Then there’s a tug.

Faint. Gentle.

Oh.

It felt like you're being called, not with a voice, but with memory. With longing. It stirs something in you, and you slowly close your eyes, smiling as you slowly begin to feel the soft bedding you lay on, smelling of jasmine and Cale and the heaviness of your body. Your fingers twitch—just barely. You feel the whisper of air, the gravity of the world returning in tiny pulses. A breath catches in your chest, deeper than the ones before. A painful feeling went through your chest and you let out a soft gasp. It feels foreign - it feels like your body remembering how to be alive again, and your mind struggles to comprehend the feeling.

Then, light.

Unlike that bright, vast space, this one was soft and blurred around the edges. Your eyelids flutter, fighting their way to open. You see nothing at first. Just shapes. Movement. The warm colors of a room you don’t remember entering.

Then sound.

“Human?” a voice cries out—familiar, high-pitched, trembling with hope. Raon.

You feel the shift of the mattress and then pressure at your side. A warm, furry body curls closer. And another weight, gentle and rhythmic on your stomach. You try to breathe in, and it shudders as the same painful feeling shoots through your chest again. Your chest rises sharply. You’re awake—but just barely.

Then you see him.

Cale.

Kneeling beside you like he’s afraid to move too fast, as if even the smallest breath could send you spiraling back into whatever abyss you’d just escaped. His hand hovers over yours, trembling. You feel the warmth of his palm as it finally, finally settles around your fingers, anchoring you.

“[Name]?” he breathes, like he’s been drowning. “Can you hear me?”

You blink again, slowly pulling the world into focus. Your body is heavy. Your head foggy. God, your chest. Your chest feels so painful.

But his voice—that soft, frayed thread of worry wrapped all in care—pulls you in like a tide. Your gaze locks with his.

“…Cale?” Your voice is barely there, more breath than sound.

You see the way his eyes crumple at the edges, the subtle tremble of his lips. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t smile. But there’s something breaking open in him—relief too vast to fit into any single gesture. This was your Cale.

He squeezes your hand.

“I’m here.”

You feel Ohn press into your side, nuzzling close. Hong’s gentle purring vibrates softly against your ribs. Raon’s voice crackles with triumph and childlike protectiveness: “Told you, human! She will wake up!”

You look at them—your family, your light—and then back to him.

There’s confusion in your mind, heavy and tangled, but beneath it, a quiet knowing. You were gone. You were gone. And they waited. They hoped. They hurt.

“What… happened?” Your voice splinters, so weak you can barely hear yourself. “Why am I…? I thought…”

Cale’s fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours. You feel the weight behind his silence before he even speaks. You want to squeeze his hand in return, to assure him that you're here now, but all you can do is simply feel the faint way his hand trembles against yours.

“You’ve been unconscious for a while,” he says, his voice low and raw. “But you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.”

You see the shadow flicker in his eyes when he glances toward the door, like he half-expects death itself to return. But there’s only stillness now. Peace. The soft, slow exhale of months of waiting, grieving, mounting into relief. What a privilege it was to welcome somebody home from the arms of the God of Death.

“You’re safe now,” he adds gently. “You don’t need to worry.”

You blink again. Your eyes sting. And you hate it—hate the look on his face. The quiet hurt. The patience. The pain that lingered here in your absence.

Your lip trembles. You've caused him so much pain.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper, eyes welling. “For leaving.”

I love you so much.

His voice cracks, just slightly as he seemed to muster a humorous smile through the pained expression. “It’s okay. You were… blindsided.”

You let out a breath—half laugh, half sob. “I was an idiot.”

“Sleep,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in, hesitating only for a heartbeat before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ll be here. We’re all here.”

And this time, when your eyes close, it’s not from weakness.

It’s from love.

From safety.

From the impossible softness of being held—truly held—after you thought you’d never feel this again.

It had been three days since you gained consciousness.

Gifts piled up in the corner of the room, untouched and gathering dust. One can hardly be bothered to busy themselves with presents when all they could do was feel pain.

The pain in your chest was deep and unforgiving, reminding you of the way you tried to leave and the physical consequences of being ensnared by the false promises of a cunning god. He had ripped open your chest, and instead of healing properly with the divinity you've acquired, vines and thorns grew out of the wound, scratching the skin around the area, and a single bud of a flower sat on top of all that mess, like a nasty reminder of your carelessness.

Sometimes your hair hardens and turns into thorns, scratching at your face. Another day, you coughed up flower petals to the point you had to induce vomiting to make sure its all out, tearing your throat or not. On another, your tongue rests in your mouth as a vine, and you choke on the leaves. It had once grew out of your mouth and no one was willing to cut it so you had to endure hanging your jaw open over the sink to let the drool out before the vine slowly began to shrink. It felt like you were being tortured.

The damage had been done—enough to leave you alive, but not enough to let you forget. The physicians spoke softly around you, always just out of earshot, using words like a curse; unnatural; severe chronic pain. They tried to be gentle, and that gentleness hurt more than if they’d been cruel.

No one raised their voice.

No one asked why.

Rosalyn came every morning with red-rimmed eyes and hands full of silence. Beacrox stood in the doorway, sometimes leaving before even sitting down. Lock hovered at your side like a ghost, not quite knowing whether to speak or to simply exist there, offering what little comfort he could in the shape of a shaking hand on top of yours. Sometimes you're there to interact with them, sometimes it feels like you're far away.

They didn’t lecture you.

None has the strength.

It was written in their faces—in the way they looked at your chest and quickly looked away. In the way Ron adjusted your pillow with too much care, as if you were made of paper now. In the way the Cage who came on Wednesdays sat beside your bed and said nothing at all.

"I don't understand," you whispered, voice raw from screaming in pain all day. You could only clutch the space below where your heart is, unable to go any further since the vines and thorns dominated that area of your body.

Cale looked up from his book. "What don't you understand?"

You rarely speak nowadays other than to answer the physicians in exams. You haven't told him what exactly happened, and it's not like you were purposefully holding that information back. Just yesterday, your tongue was a vine that was too big for your mouth. So all you do was bear the pain, laying on the large bed with the softest pillows and sheets.

It was the smallest thing the duchy could do for you.

You glanced at him, seemingly hesitant. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

You're a fool to think someone of his caliber can miss out on a detail. Cale simply placed his book to his lap, his expression telling you that he was contemplating on what to say. "Mhm."

"I suppose you're right," he said, making no move to stand up. "But I think I rather like the silence here."

He leaned against the padded chair, looking at you lying on the bed before leaning forward, placing his hand on top of yours. "How are you feeling, hm?"

"Better than earlier," you replied softly, letting out a soft breath of relief. "It was a hectic morning, wasn't it?"

You gave him a small smile, and he smiled faintly, a bit bewildered, nonetheless amused at your joke. You had been screaming from the pain all morning, and it felt like all that pain was repaid with a fairly calm night. You slowly turn your hand to hold his hand properly, and Cale's expression softens. He gently raised your hand and pressed it to his forehead, closing his eyes as he sighed.

You slowly pull your hand out of his grip and he lets go of your hand, opening his eyes to watch you as you cup his face. Your thumb caressed his cheek and he simply stared at you, his light brown eyes boring into your soul.

"I... I want to tell you," you whispered. "About what happened."

Cale pulled his chair closer to your bed.

You looked up at the roof of the canopy bed, staring at the intricate carvings in the wood before sighing. "I... I met him. The God of Death."

Cale sat a bit straighter, his hand gently squeezing your hand. "I see. How was he to you?"

"Tall, humongous even," you murmured, smiling at Cale, hoping to see him smile even only a little bit. "And dark. He wore the cosmos as his robes. I could barely make out the shape of him, much less his face."

Cale offered a small smile, appealing to your quiet wish. "Was that how he's supposed to look like in the novels?"

"No," you replied, smiling wider upon seeing his. "I was told he was handsome."

It was like a slap in the face. This world was no longer a mere novel and nor were the characters in it. The God of Death was real, and he wasn't the handsome man you were promised to see like in the novels. No, he was majestic and could never be comprehended with the human mind. Perhaps that was what you needed, and he knew of it; that to make sure you realize how heavy the consequences of your actions were.

You wanted to laugh when you thought about it like that. It's divine retribution.

Every time Cale met your pained gaze, he recalls the warnings of the God of Death; "Your persistence will not change what is inevitable. But... You may stand beside her if you so wish. But know this—she will never belong to you in the way you desire."

"I... I swallowed it," you murmured softly, staring at him anxiously. "The heart of that god."

Cale blinked. "What."

"I-I was in a place where I could meet him while I was unconscious," you began slowly. "A-and he tore me apart. I can still feel his hands tearing through my flesh—"

"You don't have to tell me," Cale began hesitantly.

"I have to," you stressed. "Because I don't know what's happening to me, and I know if someone were to ever be able to find out what's wrong with me, it's you."

"It's you," you repeated softly to him. "Please."

Cale stared into your eyes, realizing that this wasn't you trying to ease the burden in your heart. This was you begging for his help; to release you from the pain of simply existing.

Find out what's wrong with me.

Cale leaned against the bed, his eyes boring into yours.

You smiled. "It felt right. To tear at him like he did to me."

Cale doesn't know what you went through at that moment, and so he stayed quiet. His gaze bears no judgment nor contempt. If he was correct in his judgment that the god was or had embodied your father, the man who abandoned you when you needed him most, then perhaps it deserved your "cruelty" in all its desperation as the closure you both needed.

"I tore at him until I held his heart in my hand," you whispered. "And it whispered to me, Cale."

"It says to consume it." You stared at him with hope in your eyes when his eyes widened and something flickered within his gaze. He's trying to figure it out.

"The God of Death told me that if I ate it—" you whispered, gasping as the budding flower in your chest seemed to twitch. "I'd be able to come back here. To you."

Cale held your hand, gently squeezing it to calm you down. "Was it immortality?"

"No," you replied breathlessly. "Divinity."

A chill went down his back. He restrained the urge to sigh in resignation, to know the world really gave both of you no rest. At this point, the dream of his to slack off was getting further—

"Maybe I could be as old as you do," you said suddenly, smiling. "We can grow old together. You with your heart. Me with... mine."

Cale's heart fluttered. How do you even think about that when you're obviously in pain? How do you think of the good days far ahead whilst being in pain like this?

"Not like that," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone, gesturing to the vines and thorns sprouting out of your chest, the thorns scratching at your skin with every breath you exhaled.

It's painful to look at, and he can't even imagine the pain.

You let out a small sigh, smiling. "Not like this."

Cale didn't really want to do this. In fact, he wants to stay away from the God of Death as much as possible. He wants to stay away from *any* divine being if he could save himself from doing their work. But with you on the line, things change, and Cale now has to talk to Cage.

You're still dealing with the pain of those vile plants mutating your body, and through it all, you told him everything that happened. You can't possibly speak to Cage properly in your condition where the pain flares every now and then, so for now, Cale has to do the dirty work.

"The God of Death told her that?" Cage asked, her gaze bewildered as she stared at Cale. "That's odd. I don't think I ever heard something like that; a mere human consuming divinity. Much less it being so..."

"Cannibalistic?" Cale finished for her.

Cage said nothing in return, simply looking forlorn. "She must have been desperate."

There weren't many clues to dig into regarding your condition that could be openly discussed with others. Cale knew that a special case like Choi Han and you could become a God. After all, it was the most likely reason why you were transported to this world. Your father was most likely transported to be the God of that small population in the floating island, and after millennium and millennium of the population slowly dying out, your father needed someone to continue the legacy.

You sat on the bed, resting against a few fluffy pillows as you watched Rosalyn, your face beaded with sweat, your eyes deep and sunken. You flinched as Rosalyn gently took your hand, avoiding the thorns that had been growing on your palms.

"[Name]," she began softly and you simply stared up at her.

"Tell me the truth," Rosalyn continued. "Back on that island. We saw your past. It was filled with confusing things."

You glanced at Cale who sat by your bed on a comfortable chair whilst Choi Han stood by him. Choi Han stared at you with pity and hope in his eyes. You can tell he was hoping you tell him that you're exactly like him.

Cale, Choi Han, and Rosalyn have been constantly dreaming of the old civilization that resided on the floating island. Sometimes they dreamt of you, hunching over a laptop, working on a paper, or cleaning the skinny body of an ill woman. They were seen mostly in small glimpses, and Rosalyn made the hypothesis that it might be because they were technically connected to you and the God during their attempt to rescue you.

"What do you want me to say?" You asked Rosalyn quietly.

"The truth," she replied.

You avert your gaze from her. "I... I'm not from here. I'm from a world too far to reach."

"It's not like this place," you said slowly. "Magic, beastmen, elves, dragons... Those don't exist."

"Stop," Rosalyn said suddenly. "Tell me about you, [Name]. Have I been lied to this whole time about who you are?"

"No," you said, almost too quickly. You have never once put up a facade like that. Everything you showed them was genuinely yours. "I... I am [Name] [Last Name]. Both my parents have separated and died. I have two sisters..."

"I've never pretended to be someone else," you said. "Everything you've known about me is true."

Rosalyn glanced back at Cale. "Young Master-nim, have you known all this time?"

Cale let out a sigh. "Yes."

"And you never told us?" Rosalyn asked.

"It's not something he could speak about," you told Rosalyn. "It's my life."

Rosalyn paused for a bit as she thought. Perhaps that's why you and Cale were so close to each other, relying on each other so deeply that it became chaos when one of you lost contact. You bared your life to him, and he kept it close to his heart. In return, he gave you his trust, and everyone knew earning the trust of Cale Henituse meant a lot.

At the end, no one truly knew how you suffered. Not even Cale. Rosalyn still remembered seeing his face when they all heard your soft pleading through that door. It was something none of them could get out of their head.

"In that world, did you have anyone by your side?" Rosalyn asked you softly.

You smiled. "I don't. I was saved when I got here."

The thorns on your skin slowly retracted, and the vines protruding from your chest pulses. You winced, grasping at your chest. "A-ah—!"

Rosalyn stood up to check on you. "Are you okay—"

The vines suddenly burst out of your chest and shot out to the ceilings, spreading like an invasive plant. Cale stood up, looking around before he realized the vines were growing bigger and thicker, resembling trees as they began to scale the walls.

Choi Han grabbed both Rosalyn and Cale, running out the door, where Ron had been so close to opening to serve their trolley of food.

"Wait—!" Rosalyn screamed out, watching as the vines filled the room and concealed you within.

"What the..." Cale watched the vines enclose the walls and eventually covers the doorway, sealing you within.

Ron's eyes narrowed upon seeing the familiar power again. Have you had another flare-up?

Choi Han grabbed at the thick branches and vines, tearing at them and then pausing when they all bled. You screamed loudly. "A-ARKHHH—!"

Choi Han lifted his hand, staring at the blood. "O-oh no."

You sobbed within the enclosed room, "It hurts... It hurts... What did you do?"

"It's connected to her nerves," Cale whispered. "It's her body."

You looked up at the ceilings, now covered with vines, thorns, and branches. You have half the mind to think about the damage you inflicted on the priceless wallpaper and furniture. The pain has lessened now that it feels like most of the stuffiness you experienced has gone out and invaded your chambers. Your legs are no longer normal but had stretched and taken the form of bark with growing leaves, vines, and flowers.

Will you be a tree here? It was almost ridiculous to imagine. What if you grew to be a tree just like that tree in that floating island? Unable to be removed and roots itself under the ducal estate?

You stiffened when the bark on the ceilings seemed to move, making way as a gigantic flower bud emerged from between them. The stem grew longer until the bud began to bloom. For a moment, you thought of how it seemed to be eager to be close to you.

A dianthus flower.

A sign of divinity.

Cale peeked in between the branches that were blocking the door and his expression dropped, "[Name]!"

He watched in horror as your skin slowly turned a brownish-yellow, cracks appearing here and there like an actual tree bark.

"[NAME]!" He screamed. "Choi Han, cut her!"

Choi Han raised his sword and immediately slashed down the barrier with a single swing. Cale wastes no time to squeeze himself between the slash marks and run towards your bed, almost tripping from the numerous roots and vines on the floors.

You felt the way your legs that have turned into bark had grown solid and immobile. It felt foreign as the feeling seeped deep into your bones and slowly went upwards; it made your skin turn to bark, your blood into sap, and your veins into vines.

You reached for Cale despite the dread of becoming paralyzed or even dead from this transformation. You gave him your hand, and he reached for your face instead just as your neck began to turn a bark.

"[Name]!" Cale panted, looking into your eyes and watching in anticipation and horror at what would happen.

You looked up at him, almost hyperventilating as you waited for your end, but oddly enough, it never came.

Your hand that lay on the bed had turned into a bark with each of your fingers being branches. But, your other hand that was grasping at Cale's arm stayed human. Your eyes widened when Cale coughed blood right to your face. "C-Cale?"

"I-it's the heart," he whispered to you, his fingers flexing so he could wipe away the blood. "Sorry."

"Your power?" You asked back, eyes looking up at him in hope.

'It seems that we can prevent the transformation,' the priestess said.

'How?' Asked the Fire of Destruction.

"I-it's because of what happened at the island, [Name]," Cale said to you. "Our hearts were physically connected by the divine. My heart—"

"The Vitality," you whispered, eyes slowly going glossy. "It can intercept the divine because it touched it."

Cale coughed again, blood spilling from his lips, and he looked down, not wanting to stain your face. You stared up at him. "Does this mean... if we aren't touching, I will continue turning?"

Cale's eyes widened when he felt your hand slowly letting go of his arm. "[Name], no—!"

The moment your hand let go of his arm, your skin immediately turned into bark and stayed in its place, frozen there as a branch. Your finger stretched into branches with leaves and flowers growing around it.

"Oh, no," you whispered, your eyes watering. "You can't let go of me."

Cale nodded. "I'm not planning to. Not again."

"Call for Cage-nim!" Cale exclaimed to Choi Han.

"I'm already here." Cage panted, hurrying up to your bedside. She seemed out of breath, panting heavily with her face flushed red.

"I have communicated to the God of Death," Cage said. "I'm sorry, Young Master-nim, but you must let go of her."

"She'll turn to a tree!" Rosalyn choked defiantly. "We must not do that!"

"It is for her own good," Cage reassured. "She is no longer fully human."

Everything stilled in the room. It was a heavy silence that made you feel stuffy, like you have lost your voice and forgot the way to breathe. It was finally broken when you let out a painful wail. "N-no, this—"

Cale pressed his palms firmly to your face. "Calm down."

He turned back to Cage. "Please elaborate further."

"Miss [Name] must abandon her old body." Cage began to speak in a way that felt like a saint conveying a horrible prophecy. Her usual dismissive attitude towards the God of Death was nowhere to be seen as she recited his words.

You saw her gaze at you with pity.

"Her body must be utilized like her predecessor's," Cage began. "That is... to be turned into a place of worship."

You stared at her in disbelief. "What? My body? My predecessor?"

"It's the folklore of the floating island from the Whale tribe," Cale murmured. "The previous god laid down his body so it could be his place of worship. That tree was his body."

"Miss [Name] cannot turn into that, that — that disgusting thing!" Choi Han exclaimed, frowning. The entity they fought at the floating island was disgusting and monstrous. There was no world where he can see you turning into something that hideous and evil.

"I was told that we can save her from fusing with the tree," Cage said, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple as she thought back to it. "It would be to take her heart—"

"No!" You protested loudly, your voice shaking. "No, no, not again!"

Cale held your face still as you sobbed, your tears rolling down into his hands. He didn't dare to move, deep in his thoughts. You told him that you consumed divinity by tearing and quite literally eating the heart of a God and now the only time you can be saved from being turned into an actual tree is by taking out your heart.

The heart.

"What will happen then?" Cale asked Cage. "After we take the heart? What are the circumstances needed to take the heart?"

"It needed to be—" Cage breathed in. "It needed to be ripped out while she's still alive and then buried in fresh soil."

"Like a plant," Choi Han whispered.

"No, no, no—" You wailed. "Anything but that!"

"You will take a new form from that method," Cage tried to say between your wails.

"Will I be human?" You asked through broken sobs. "Will I be a plant, a monster, or even worse, will I become a ghost?"

"Is there no other way?" Cale asked, and his face seemed to turn to irritation the moment Cage shook her head.

"Everyone is being so unhelpful," he muttered, looking down at you. "We can't hold each other like this forever. We will have to look for another way."

"Another way?" Cage asked. "We are encountering the divine process of a god passing the torch to its successor. There can be no other way."

"What?" You asked softly, eyes widening. "Successor?"

"I was informed that you consumed the divinity of a dying god," she said. "The God of Death claimed that each God has their own ways of passing the torch. The God of the Forest named theirs frondescence."

"God of the Forest...?" Cale echoed before he let out a resigned chuckle. "Of course. Of course. Have I been so blind all this time?"

"Please, Cale," you whispered to him. "Don't make me feel that pain again. I told you how painful it was. Please-!"

"Calm down," Cale told you sternly, mushing your cheeks together. "We can't take any chances with a procedure that we don't even have any knowledge of."

Cage sighed, closing your eyes. "The God of Death told me the method I have told you all is the best course of action. Rather than defying it, it is better for us to continue with it."

"It's not like you to stick only to the God of Death's methods like this, Cage-nim," Choi Han said with a frown. And it's true. While she might be a devout follower (in a way), Cage never believed that the ultimate solution lies within the words of her God, because time and time again, their company has defied God's will.

"I'm sorry," Cage said with a remorseful sigh. "It is different if it is Young Master-nim or you. Or even Miss Rosalyn. Miss [Name] is an ordinary human."

"Who has consumed divinity," Rosalyn stressed. "She isn't ordinary."

"She is," Cale said softly, looking at your face that seemed so defeated, leaning to his touch. You had to surrender your fate to him. What was left of you lies within his hands, literally.

Your heart ached tremendously at the conversation, your eyes closing to not allow a single tear to roll down. How naive you must be to be so consumed in this world. You weren't anything special in your own world, what made you think you could change that here? In the end, your salvation was to be Cale's aide who "knows the future" and nothing else. Now that all your knowledge has been used, what else could you do be of use?

In the end, you're back here, questioning your purpose.

What am I supposed to do?

Where am I supposed to go?

What am I supposed to be?

"[Name]," Cale calls for you softly.

You broke down, a few tears rolling down your face and wetting his palms. "I don't know anymore."

"Please, get out," you whispered softly to them all.

Cale glanced at them, nodding his head to the door and they all began to leave at his signal. Cale himself couldn't move away from you. They all knew the moment you separated from him, you would no longer be human and turn.

Why exactly have you landed in this world? You managed to not twist the "plot" because you knew it was too dangerous to have any unexpected hurdles, especially in a story like this. Or perhaps it's not that you managed it. Perhaps your presence offers little to no changes at all because you have little to no presence. Perhaps you're as useless in this world as you are in the other.

Nothing you do, neither here nor there, could make a difference.

Maybe it was better for you to die here. This method is too painful, but maybe the peace and tranquility of an embrace from Death itself will release the burdens that rest on your shoulders. But still, this is so painful.

I have suffered so much throughout my life. Why must that be for my death as well? Can I not be at peace during my last moments?

Death will be kinder than this. Maybe Death was the kindest of them all.

"Could you tell me why you left?"

You paused in your train of thought, the image of yourself finally sleeping for eternity fading away as you looked up at Cale's expression. His expression seemed tired, and maybe it's because of the emotional toll of it all. Or maybe he's tired of holding your face like this.

"Why I left?" You asked back slowly.

He nodded. "Yes. What did... the God of the Forest say to you that you didn't hesitate to leave?"

"He knew what I wanted," you murmured. "He knew that I was looking for a purpose. Why I'm here and all that."

"You're so obsessed with that," he replied with a sigh as if he was tired of listening to that.

Your face reddens in shame. Maybe you are, but he's not allowed to judge you for looking for a purpose. Everyone who had similar circumstances to you had one or two. Your eyes watered again. "So what if I am, Cale? It must be so easy for you. You never sought out your purpose, but nevertheless, it arrived at your feet just like that. You and Choi Han will never be able to--"

Cale grabbed your chin with his other hand, his expression cold. "Tell me what purpose I have here, [Name]."

"T-the original Cale Henituse," you stammered. "Made a deal with the God of Death--"

"That's him," Cale stressed. "Not me, [Name]. Tell me, what is my purpose? It's unfair to me to be brought here without my consent. I was thrusted into this world just like you did."

Your eyes watered because both of you know the answer. "I-It's because you lived."

Cale lessened his tight grip on your chin and went back to cupping your face, making sure to not let go of you lest you turn into a tree right before him. He stared at you, watching you seem conflicted with your own answer. "And don't say my purpose here is to be a main character, either."

You let out a soft exhale, laughing at his words because he knows you too well.

"Listen here, [Name]," he began. "One's purpose isn't born with them, You have free will. You control your own narrative. The world doesn't assign people with their own purposes, because if that's how it works, our world wouldn't be dying now, would it?"

"What if I tell you that I want to be destined for something bigger?" You asked softly. "I have been in so much pain all my life, Cale. What will all this pain amount to? Will it be a good thing that I have suffered, or will all that be in vain?"

"It is no issue if you want to think that you're fated for something bigger," he answered patiently, wiping a tear. "Because we both know that the hope keeps you going, doesn't it?"

"But you must know that your purpose isn't out there as if it's something to find. It's with you. You serve a purpose wherever you are." He gently caressed your cheek with his thumb before he leaned his forehead to meet yours. "No place in this world can you serve no purpose, [Name]. You are a good person."

"Do you truly believe that?" You asked him, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes.

Cale nodded firmly. "I know that it's the truth."

You leaned to him, your eyes closing as you thought about his words. "Is my purpose to continue the divine line?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Is it?"

Your father became a god and the reason why you transmigrated here was to gather believers for when you take his place. It was too personal for this to not be something that you can escape from. But maybe you could have escaped this all had you been honest in the first place.

You control your own narrative.

This was the ending you chose.

"Please," you pleaded. "Take my heart."

Cale has been far too familiar with feeling the warmth leave someone's body once they passed and he doesn't think he'll get used to it every time he feels it. But this time, it was different, and he didn't know if he should be relieved or not.

Choi Han stood on the other side of your bed, his hands being washed attentively by Cage in a washbasin while Rosalyn lingered by the wall. She hasn't spoken a word ever since you pleaded with Cale to take your heart. She looked exhausted and resigned. Perhaps she has come to the conclusion that, at the very least, this was a choice you made on your own. Cale could faintly hear the children outside the door. You insisted that they shouldn't enter because it wasn't good to let kids see bad things. Eruhaben had the duty to look after them.

An iron chest was open by the bed, having been washed and scrubbed meticulously until it had no grime and placed on a folded dry towel. Beacrox and Ron entered the room, pushing a trolley of washbasins filled with crushed ice. They began to move the crushed ice into the iron chest while Cage was drying Choi Han's hands.

You will die at the hands of the two men who shared your circumstances. It would have been nice to wait for a while before they did this, but you knew you couldn't expect Cale to hold you forever. It was best to be done also before you changed your mind and got scared.

"Please be understanding, Choi Han," you muttered, smiling as he grabbed one of your shoulders.

Choi Han's face crumbled into an expression of deep sadness and regret as he felt around the hard bark for where your heart was. He placed a hand where he could feel a faint beating and nodded to Cage. "It hasn't turned yet. It's still beating."

You turned to look at Cale. "Remember. The moment he pierced my heart, you must let me go. Don't make me suffer."

Cale nodded. This time it's different. He will let go of your warmth and then will not be able to feel it go cold. He doesn't know if that relieved him or not and he doesn't really think he has the time to dwell on that.

Choi Han glanced at Cale silently and Cale leaned forward, moving his hand to cover your eyes. "Relax, [Name]. This will be swift."

You let out an exhale and not even a second after, you let out a choked gasp when you feel a sensation similar to having your chest shoved harshly and then the excruciating pain. In a moment, you felt Cale's hands on you, and then when he let go, your eyes landed on him.

"Ca--" You feel your mouth becoming immobile. Within seconds, you could no longer talk, your tongue weightless as your whole mouth followed the fate of your body, turning into a bark. Soon, you no longer smell the blood. You stared at Cale before slowly closing your eyes, your eyelids turning into bark and your lashes becoming moss. Your hair turns into roots, seeping itself into the bed.

"Hurry!" Cage exclaimed at Choi Han as he grabbed at your heart and then placed it carefully into the iron chest before they sealed it shut.

Cage immediately took the sealed iron chest and Cale grabbed her arm. "Let's go!"

He gathered wind to his legs and hoisted Cage with him, both of them immediately headed to the Forest of Darkness, Choi Han running after them. The Super Rock Villa will be your last resting place. It was safe and secluded from the world. No one would be able to consume your heart if they ever came across this legend. Cale had made a promise to himself that you would no longer be at the mercy of those who use and abuse you.

Choi Han dug into the fresh soil of the garden, making an appropriate-sized hole as if they were going to grow a plant. Cage opened the iron chest, the red, bloodied heart staring at her back and she had to remind herself that this was her friend. This was the heart that had given you so much life.

Cale watched as Cage gently placed your heart into the hole before slowly covering it with the fresh soil. "She will return us one day."

"When will that be?" Cale asked, watching as Cage poured the watery blood from the iron chest onto the freshly dug soil.

"After winter," Cage murmured. "The God of the Forest will unfurl itself in the first morning of spring."

"How fitting," Choi Han said with a faint smile.

This will be the first winter without you.

#trash of the count's family #cale henituse #totcf #lout of count's family #lcf #x reader

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calehenituse-brainrot · 7 months ago

Text

Mors

Cale Henituse | Kim Rok Soo x Transported!Reader

A meeting with a transcendental being.

content warning: blood, cannibalism

Sitting on your haunches, you look at the withered flower inside the ripped heart in your palms. You recalled how your chest was a gaping hole, devoid of a heart as well. Your hands trembled as you cradled the heart, wrenched straight from the chest of a god.

It was still in your hands, bathed in blood and eerily similar to a human’s. Similar to yours. If he was a god, why was he so identical to you? Why does he retain the human traits of his previous life after reaching godhood? Was it his way to be tied still to his roots? Was it his way to honor his previous life? Or was he doing this to be like the god you knew, wanting to be closer in image to the people that worshipped him, so they would feel closer to him?

You let out a small laugh at your questions. ‘God works in mysterious ways, I suppose.’

The flower within, a dianthus, was withering. You remember how that god had opened his mouth and swallowed your heart full. Was there something in your heart that he needed? Could his replace yours…?

You stilled for a moment, realizing that you couldn’t even hear your breathing. The withered flower inside his heart seemed to whisper to you, and you felt the temptation to open your mouth. Murmurs began to fill your senses, overwhelming you. The withering flower seemed to speak to you, promising a forgotten power, its decay a testament to the once-mighty deity's fall from grace.

You opened your mouth, your mind flashing to the memories of your struggles; the raw, visceral moment when you forcibly tore the heart out of the god’s chest. You felt pure rage then and now it lingered as a hollow echo. You felt… empty. That man had once been your father -- a bad one, and you had the satisfaction of beating him to the ground and killing his image.

What now?

With a deep breath, you lifted the heart to your mouth, the withered petals coated in blood touching your lips.

“Will you be able to carry that power?”

You snapped, looking up in shock. The space had turned dark and when you looked up, your eyes glimmered with the sight of the universe before you, surrounding you. You felt a pull, the silent summons that drew you towards it all. Where is all?

A force pulled you to look up, and you seem to be looking into the edge of the universe. There was something that bears no form and defied mortal comprehension, an unyielding force that transcended all understanding. Whatever it was, it was an ungraspable enigma, woven into the fabric of the universe. You felt a presence, its weight palpable and its depth seemed to be pressing against your soul. You feel heavy.

Overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat and your eyes teared up. It was as if the universe had stilled and you held your breath at the weight of it all in a moment of profound reverence.

The God of Death was neither seen nor heard, but felt—an all-encompassing awareness that filled the space around a person, a shadow that danced at the edge of perception.

He was the very essence of the end, the silence that followed the final breath each dying person takes.

You realize how small you are, and how your erratic breathing compares to the calmness He embodied. You were a mere spark in His infinite expanse of time. You smiled through your tears. “You’re here.”

His vastness tilted, and though He had no eyes, you felt its attention fixed on you. His voice was not a voice but a cacophony of sensations: waves crashing, a fire roaring, the soft crackle of ice breaking apart.

“I am,” He said to you. His voice seemed to ring in your ears, vibrating through your very bones, carrying with it the faint echoes of all the lives He had claimed as his.

“You’re not like how I expected you to appear,” you murmured, gently lowering your hands as you looked up at the cosmos. He was everything and everywhere all around you at once.

“Do you expect me to appear like in your little books?” He asked, His tone amused and it disturbs you to know such a great being was capable of understanding you so intimately.

You nodded. “Yes.”

The galaxies glimmered as He laughed and you watched it all, mesmerized. “You’re… beautiful.”

This god was not like the one you knew. You knew what Death would look like through the novels, but your idea of an ethereal being that greets you in the afterlife never had a face. You imagined Him to have a figure of kindness cloaked in the despair of the end, a ferryman to guide your soul or a looming, austere angel wrapped in glowing robes. But He was none of that. He was not the gentle shepherd you knew nor was he an angel. There was no humanoid form for you to grasp, to hold for comfort at the end of your life.

He has no voice. He needed none. His presence filled the endless expanse of this space, towering like a mountain, shifting like stormy clouds of a night, the edges fraying into a blinding mix of light and shadows. His body -- can you even call it one? -- was composed of dark clouds, flashing as if a storm was brewing deep within. It swirled in front of you, like the beginning of a hurricane.

You recalled the cold waters, the tilting ship, and the piercing ache in your chest. The stinging pain of slamming and breaking the water surface before you lost your consciousness. “Is it my time? Is that why you’re here?”

He did not reply for a moment, and you felt the universe vibrate. The heart was lifted from your palms and floated in front of you.

“A God is dying,” He said. “These petals were once radiant with celestial light. Because of you, now they are brittle and dark. His divinity is dying.”

“Is it a sin?” You asked him. “Have I sinned?”

“I am not one of your wrathful gods,” He said. “There is no sin for a child who simply wants to live.”

“Take this heart,” He said. “Eat it whole and consume the flower within. You’ll be able to come back to your family. They wait for you.”

You cupped your palms, and the heart slowly fell back to your hold. You look into the withered flower and then back to the universe. You felt the essence of Death, the profound stillness He was able to provide that calmed the storm in your head. You closed your eyes. “You feel so… peaceful. Heavy, but peaceful.”

“Because this is the edge of your existence,” He told you. However it sounded, it sounded so gentle. Forgiving. The universe warped again and an hourglass appeared, the sand being stardust. It was running out of it. This was your lifespan. “There is no judgment that awaits you here. Nothing awaits you here.”

“Will I stay here if I choose not to consume this heart?” You asked.

The God of Death let out a sound similar to a surprised hum. “No. This is not death. It will be painful and a glorious sight to see your death. You will feel the pain. At this moment, I am being merciful to you.”

You gulped. “I… I don’t want that. Can’t I die peacefully?

“No,” He answered, quiet and still.

“Why not?” You asked, feeling a lump form on your throat. Deep down, you crave for His approval, for His attention. You wanted comfort from the being that will take your soul, and you’d never admit it, but you were devastated. “If I stay… You will be the one to take me. You take everything… At the very least, make it painless--”

The air stilled as He seemed to focus on you. “Do you think of me as a cruel god?”

“So much,” you whispered. “You take everything away and we all suffered from it.”

The dark clouds surround you and you feel the way they wrap around you close, forcing your chin up to face Death. “You mistake necessity for cruelty. My followers think I must love or hate, guide or punish. But I am neither shepherd nor tyrant. I am the ending of things, as natural as the fall of night. I owe you nothing.”

The sheer indifference in His tone—or His essence—shattered something inside you. You had hoped for solace, for answers, for meaning. Instead, you found yourself face to face with the vast, uncaring truth of mortality. You were a speck of dust in the presence of a cosmic storm. You must understand that you are nothing in front of these Gods.

“All things must end. The cycle cannot hold without me. Your grief is yours to bear. It has never been mine.”

You sat in silence, the heavy truth within His words pressing down on you like the weight of the world. For a moment, you felt like screaming your heart out. This is unfair! I did my best to be a good person and I will die a painful death at the end!

This was callous -- the final moments of your life would be raw, scathing pain that you’ll feel until you die. Death was easy to face, but dying was not something you wanted, much less in pain. Staring at the mass of dark clouds, the fire in your chest flickered and then immediately dimmed.

Whatever you do, it will be futile. Your rage will be futile, your pleas unheard. You are mortal.

You rose to your feet slowly, panting. The God of Death said nothing, watching—or perhaps not—as you grasped for the heart.

The hourglass slowed.

“Consume the divinity,” He said. “Consume it and let it take you.”

You opened your mouth and lifted the heart to your lips. Your teeth sank onto the bloodied, lifeless flesh and a surge of a cold and ancient energy coursed through you. The taste was something you could never have tasted in your living days. It tasted of iron and stardust, horribly bitter with the remnants of a dying divinity. You gripped at the flesh with your teeth and ripped it away, swallowing the chunks whole and each swallow was a step further into the abyss, your soul intertwining with the fading essence of a dying god.

The withered dianthus crumbled in your mouth, its divine energy dissolving on your tongue and it left you with sorrow and tears.

You swallowed the final piece and your gaping chest began to close itself. Your chest burns with the dying embers of divinity that now reside in your soul. You sat there, looking up at the universe with your bloodied mouth, the weight of your action settling into your bones.

It was slow at first. A burn on your tongue, and then around your throat that had dared to consume such a sacred thing. You gasped, grasping at your throat and then your chest. You let out a pained wail as your chest seemed to have something slithering inside it, moving inside your flesh and skin and causing you to scream in pain.

“I-I can’t--!” You stammered out through pained gasps. “I-I can’t t-take it! Please!”

“Be calm,” Death whispered to you. “Accept your end. I’m here to take you.”

You slumped to the ground, panting as you began to feel faint, the universe warping around you.

The inevitability of His embrace filled you with a strange, bittersweet peace, a release from the burdens of mortal toil. In the overwhelming quiet, you found a deep acceptance, a surrender to the inevitable cycle of existence. The God of Death, unseen and formless, held you in a silent embrace, a guardian of the boundary between life and the infinite unknown.

And in that sacred moment, where time and space dissolved into the eternal twilight, you understood the profound peace of surrender, the quiet grace of the end, as you were gently carried into the vastness beyond.

Ron sat in the ship, looking up at the starry skies as Archie swam back to the continent. The ship’s gentle motion cradled the two people who lay unconscious on its wooden floorboards, the soft creaking of its timbers mingling with the sounds of the whales swimming. His eyes, weathered by years of witnessing death, gazed upward. Ron could never think he would seek solace within stars, but here he was.

They always felt so cold to him. They were an ancient, eternal beauty, so indifferent to the troubles that Earth and its inhabitants faced. To think something like that was a small part of a vast existence and Ron felt conflicted about whether or not he should feel glad that his sorrows were so small within that existence. He came to the conclusion that he didn’t care.

The night breeze, cool and salt-tinged, whispered through his silver hair, carrying with it the scent of the open sea. He inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the air, his weathered hand resting gently on your hand. Ohn was tucked under your chin, herself paranoid that in the middle of their way home, your pulse would stop beating and she’d lose you again.

Rosalyn was sitting on her haunches, your head placed on her lap as she was nodding off.

Your skin was cool beneath their touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of their love, a love that burned with the fierce intensity of a dying star.

The ship moved steadily, its course unwavering, slicing through the dark waters toward their home. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the minutes stretching out as if time itself were reluctant to move forward. The stars above shimmered with a light that seemed to pulse with ancient wisdom.

He turned his gaze from the stars to you, his heart aching with a deep, primal fear. One that he had not felt in a long time.

“Stay with me,” he implored quietly as if he was praying to himself. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars flickering in silent sympathy.

Ron paused when he saw something move under the coat he had laid on your front as a blanket. Ohn’s ears twitched and she looked up groggily, only to be met with the grotesque sight of your flesh seemingly moving and writhing underneath the coat.

As if possessed, your back arched violently and dozens of thorns burst off your gaping chest, sprouting like tendrils as it moved wildly around.

Choi Han immediately stood behind Cale’s unconscious body, his sword already out as he stared at your body with a guarded gaze. “W-what the--?”

Rosalyn immediately woke up, stepping away from you and watching as your body convulsed even though you were still unconscious. “[N-name]?!”

Your body convulsed wildly, the thorns growing longer as it seemed to be reaching for the skies. Choi Han looked at them all cautiously and turned to Rosalyn. “Should we cut it down?”

“We don’t know what it will do to her if we do,” Rosalyn said. “We should try to contain her--”

Before Rosalyn could finish her sentence, the thorns slowly began to slow their convulsions and retract back to your gaping chest. Its thorns retracted and grew softer, taking the form of ordinary vines as it draped along your body similar to a tapestry, the prettiest hyacinths growing around you like the most beautiful blanket.

Rosalyn hesitantly touched the flowers, checking for any abnormalities to see if they posed any danger. Once she had confirmed that the flowers were safe, she went ahead to check your chest, trying to see if you were bleeding out from what had just happened. She separated the blankets of flowers to see your once gaping chest was now plugged with dozens of vines knotted together. They started from your flesh as if they were your veins, becoming more prominent as they reached your chest and became all knotted together to plug your wound.

“How fascinating,” Rosalyn murmured, her eyes glimmering. She leaned forward, gently running her fingertips along the green vines, seeing how they faded from red as they came from your veins to green like a typical plant.

You were peaceful within your slumber, unaware of the chaos that you had created in the world of the conscious.

The world was hazy when Cale slowly opened his eyes, the soft glow of sunlight spilling into the room like liquid gold. The rays struck his pale face, painting him in ethereal light as the weight of sleep still clung to his limbs. The sound of the curtains being drawn filled the air, the faint rustle of fabric accompanying the light's advance. Cale winced, raising a trembling hand to shield his eyes from the brightness.

A low groan escaped his lips, barely audible, but enough to make Ron turn. The ever-composed butler approached swiftly, his steps as quiet as a shadow.

“Young Master-nim,” Ron’s voice was calm, a steady anchor in the waking haze. “You’re awake…”

Cale sat up slowly, every movement deliberate as though he was piecing himself back together. He barely had a moment to breathe before warmth crashed into him.

“Huummannnnn! Stupid, stupid human!”

Raon’s tear-filled cries filled the room as the dragon clung to him, his small body trembling with relief. Ohn and Hong quickly joined, their soft, furred forms pressing close to Cale, their cries mingling with Raon’s as they buried themselves against him. Their tears soaked into his clothes, their overwhelming relief a storm that engulfed him.

Cale blinked, disoriented, his hands instinctively reaching out to comfort them. He clumsily patted Raon’s head, his fingers trembling as they ruffled the dragon’s dark mane.

“Hey now,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak. “I’m fine. I’m here.”

His words did little to stem their tears, but they clung to him as though they feared he might vanish again. Raon sniffled loudly, his round eyes peering up at Cale with a mix of relief and scolding.

Ron stood nearby, watching the scene with quiet detachment, though a faint glimmer of something softer lingered in his eyes. “Five days,” he said at last, his voice cutting through the cacophony.

Cale glanced up at him, his own exhaustion still clinging to his features. “How long…?”

“It’s been five days since we rescued Miss [Name],” Ron replied.

Cale’s brow furrowed, his voice dipping into concern. “Is she—?”

Ron’s frown was subtle but heavy. He shook his head. “She’s still unconscious. We’ve done all we can, called every advanced healer there is, but nothing seems to work.”

Hong pressed his small head to Cale’s stomach, his voice a whisper tinged with worry. “She wouldn’t wake up at all… We’ve tried so hard…”

Cale’s hand moved to Ohn, gently stroking her soft fur. Her wide eyes shimmered with tears as she rested her head on his lap, her quiet sniffles breaking his heart.

“I missed you…” she murmured, her voice fragile.

“I never left,” Cale muttered in reply, his hand lingering on her head as a frown tugged at his lips.

Ron, ever the vigilant butler, stepped forward, his sharp gaze raking over Cale’s form. “How are you feeling, Young Master-nim? Any pain?”

“I’m fine,” Cale replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

Ron’s hands were quick, professional as they checked his injuries, his touch brushing lightly against the faint scar over Cale’s chest—the spot where nature itself had torn into him. The wound was sealed now, but it carried the weight of the battle etched into his very being.

“I would call that impossible,” Ron muttered, his tone flat yet pointed. “But considering it’s you, Young Master-nim, I will simply choose to believe you… and forbid you from overexerting yourself.”

Cale arched a brow, his lips quirking faintly. “So you don’t believe me.”

Ron’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk. “Oh, I would never distrust your words,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with faint sarcasm as he finished inspecting the scar.

“Everything looks good,” Ron concluded, stepping back.

Cale sighed, leaning back against the headboard. He glanced at Raon, Ohn, and Hong, their tear-streaked faces now calmer but still clinging to him like shadows. A faint smile played on his lips, though weariness hung heavy in his eyes.

“Looks like you all didn’t miss me at all,” he murmured softly, his words betraying the comfort he found in their presence.

Raon’s tail flicked, his voice firm despite the lingering tremor. “Stupid human. Of course we missed you! Don’t say stupid things!”

Cale chuckled faintly, the sound low and hoarse, but genuine. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’m not going anywhere.”

And though the room was still tinged with the weight of worry, for a brief moment, there was peace. It wasn’t long before he had to wash up and get ready for breakfast, so he reluctantly got out of bed -- the first time he was voluntarily getting up early -- and walked to the en-suite bathroom attached to his bed chambers.

The warmth of the morning lingered as Cale stood at the washbasin, splashing water onto his face. The coolness jolted his senses awake, washing away the haze of sleep and the remnants of the days spent unconscious. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him—pale, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, a silent testament to his overuse of powers.

Behind him, the soft patter of paws and the faint swish of a tail broke the quiet. Raon, Ohn, and Hong hovered near the doorway, watching his every move as though afraid he might collapse again.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Cale asked, his tone light but teasing as he toweled off his face.

Raon puffed out his chest. “I’m supervising! A mighty dragon never leaves his human unattended after such a reckless stunt.”

Cale chuckled softly, his breath fogging the mirror for a moment. “And what about you two?” He glanced at Ohn and Hong, who stood quietly behind Raon.

Ohn shuffled her paws, her ears flicking nervously. “We’re just… making sure you’re okay.”

Hong nodded, his tail swaying faintly. “You scared us, you know.”

Cale sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to face them. “I’m fine, see? Now, let’s go eat before Ron starts lecturing me about skipping meals.”

Raon trotted ahead, his wings fluttering slightly as he led the way to the dining area, while Ohn and Hong stayed close to Cale’s sides, their small forms a comforting presence.

The dining room was bathed in soft light, the table already set with a simple but hearty breakfast. Ron stood by, his ever-present smile as calm as the morning air. He stepped forward as soon as Cale sat down, pouring a cup of tea and placing it within arm’s reach.

“Young Master-nim, the tea will help replenish your energy. Please, enjoy the meal.”

Cale eyed the tea warily. “If this is one of your concoctions, I’ll pass.”

Ron’s smile didn’t falter. “It is merely a blend to aid recovery. Nothing more.”

“Hmm.” Cale picked up the cup but didn’t drink just yet, focusing instead on the plate of food in front of him.

Raon was already settled beside him, his tail thumping against the chair as he reached for a piece of bread. “Human, eat lots! You need to get your strength back.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Cale muttered as he took a bite, the warm flavors spreading across his tongue.

Ohn and Hong sat across from him, quietly nibbling on their own portions. Every so often, Ohn would glance up at Cale, her large eyes shimmering with a mixture of relief and lingering concern. Hong, meanwhile, focused on his food but kept sneaking looks at his brother and sister, as though ensuring they were also eating properly.

Ron moved silently around the room, refilling tea and occasionally adjusting a plate, his movements so seamless they barely registered.

“So,” Cale began after a few bites, breaking the gentle rhythm of the meal. “What’s the plan for today?”

Ron paused briefly, his gaze meeting Cale’s. “Today, you rest, Young Master-nim.”

Cale raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

“Your body would disagree,” Ron replied smoothly. “And so would those who were left worrying over you.” His gaze flicked meaningfully toward the children.

Raon, mid-chew, nodded emphatically. “You are resting, human. Don’t even think about using that scary power again. I won’t let you!”

Hong chimed in, “We’ll make sure you don’t.”

Cale let out a small sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll rest. But I need to go see [Name] first.”

“Of course, Young Master-nim,” Ron replied immediately, nodding his head.

“Who’s with her right now?” Cale asked, watching Raon happily stuff his mouth with another roll and Ohn and Hong share a quiet exchange.

“Choi Han,” Raon answered with a cheer, smiling widely. “He said there was someone else like him now.”

Cale blinked. Right. Him, Rosalyn, and Cale himself practically walked down your memory lane after being connected by the powers within that island. Choi Han must be happy and even curious about you now that he knew you were someone from another world like he and Cale was.

He must be eager to talk with you.

“I see,” Cale murmured between bites. “I’ll see her after breakfast.”

“I’ll go too,” Hong said with a smile. “I want to see her too.”

“We all do,” Cale replied softly, caressing Hong’s head.

For now, things were calm. And Cale would take that small mercy, even if he knew it wouldn’t last. Your room constantly haunted his mind throughout the breakfast, but he didn’t rush himself to it. He let himself rest for a moment with he children after breakfast before they all headed there together.

He figured that Choi Han must have left for breakfast when he got there, because the moment he entered your room, he saw Cage standing by your bed. He approached the woman slowly, seeing the anxious expression on her face. “Miss Cage. How are you?”

“Cale-nim!” Cage greeted, her eyes widening. “How are you? Is everything okay? I heard you woke up today but didn’t think I’d see you.”

“I’m fine,” Cale said, unconsciously placing his hand on top of his chest where his heart resides, feeling the bumps of the ugly scar there through his clothing. He looked down to where you were, seeing you lay on the bed, hair spread out on the crisp, white pillows. Your face was sunken and pale, your body hidden away by the neat sheets which proved that you hadn’t moved at all ever since you were laid down there.

There was a dip on the foot of the bed, similar to the one he had on his where the kids would sleep. He silently wondered how many times the kids had stayed here with you instead of with him. He looked up, back to Cage. “I suppose you’re here to visit [Name]?”

Cage stared at him, her expression grim. “Y-yes… I had a vision, of some sort.”

She glanced back at you. “I saw Miss [Name] and the God of Death. He took her.”

Cale’s heart felt like it missed a beat, his stomach suddenly aching from the anxiety. “What?”

“He took her,” Cage repeated. “H-he gave her something and she took it and then she just… disappeared. She ended up with him.”

“I’m afraid you’re not being very clear,” Cale said with a frown. “Ended up with him?”

“She’s with the God of Death now, Cale-nim,” Cage said. “She’s dying.”

The dim light of the room cast long shadows, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound breaking the silence. Cale sat motionless, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his chin propped on his hand. Raon was curled up on his lap, his small body radiating warmth against Cale’s exhaustion. The dragon’s tail flicked occasionally, a restless movement betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

Cale’s gaze remained fixed on your face, pale and serene, like a marble statue. The delicate rise and fall of your chest was both a comfort and a torment—proof you were still here, yet unmoving, locked in some place Cale couldn’t reach.

Cage’s words echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain: “She’s with the God of Death now. She’s dying.”

It has been a full week since then. They tried to gather priests and even the Saint, but nothing seemed to help.

His hand absently moved to Raon’s head, stroking between the dragon’s small horns. Raon let out a soft hum, pressing closer to him.

“Human,” the dragon murmured, his voice barely audible. “She will wake up. I believe it.”

Cale didn’t respond, his fingers halting for a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. Raon’s faith was unshakable, but Cage’s vision gnawed at him, a dark weight pressing against his chest.

Ohn stirred slightly near your shoulder, her soft fur brushing against your skin as she stretched her small legs and resettled herself, her tiny breaths mingling with yours. On your stomach, Hong kneaded gently, his rhythmic purring a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence.

‘Cage said the God of Death took her,’ Cale thought, his frown deepening. ‘What does that even mean?’

The God of Death was no stranger to him—a force that lingered on the edges of mortal comprehension, powerful and merciless. If you were truly in His hands, what could he possibly do? The thought of someone so close to him caught in the grasp of that enigmatic being churned his stomach.

“I can’t just sit here,” he muttered, breaking the silence.

Raon lifted his head, blinking up at him. “Then what will you do, human? You’re supposed to rest.”

Cale didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on your face, searching for any sign of life, any flicker of movement, but you remained still. His hand moved from Raon’s head to his chest, pressing against the scar there, as though willing himself to focus.

“I’ll find a way,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “There’s always a way.”

Raon’s round eyes studied him, filled with worry but also trust. “Then I’ll help. We’ll all help. Ohn, Hong, and I—we’ll do whatever you need.”

Cale’s lips quirked into a faint, fleeting smile. “Of course you will.”

But even as he spoke, his mind raced. If the God of Death truly had you, he needed answers—and fast. Few beings in the world could meddle with something as enigmatic as the God of Death, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He never did.

“Human.” Raon’s voice was stronger this time, pulling Cale from his thoughts. “She will wake up. We’ll make sure of it.”

Cale didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, his hand returning to Raon’s head. “You’re right, Raon. She will.”

“Will you wait for her?”

Cale snapped his head up, heart lurching in his chest. The voice was cold, unyielding, and familiar—one he’d never thought he would hear so close again. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the figure standing by the foot of your bed.

There He was, the God of Death.

His presence filled the room like a thick, oppressive fog. The air grew colder, and even Raon stirred on Cale’s lap, his small body suddenly rigid with unease. Cale didn’t even notice, too consumed by the figure before him.

The God of Death stood as He always did—humanoid in form, His features barely human, his tall, shadowed silhouette more an embodiment of the unknown than a mortal being. His face, though not quite like a person’s, was lined with a calm, otherworldly beauty, a mask of serene inevitability. His eyes were voids, endless and fathomless, where time and space seemed to converge, swirling like an endless abyss. Yet His gaze was not unkind—merely detached. He was beyond any emotion Cale could comprehend.

Cale’s chest tightened, but he refused to flinch. He had met the God of Death before, had bargained with Him, but now? Now, with you lying so still and silent on the bed, now with the knowledge that He was planning to take something precious from him? The chill of His presence felt like it was crawling under Cale’s skin, settling into his bones.

"She is not dead," Cale said, his voice low, more a statement than a question. His fingers tightened around the arm of the chair, his pulse quickening despite himself. "So why are you here?"

The God of Death tilted His head slightly, the faintest movement, but it spoke volumes. His voice came again, like the wind itself—a whisper that reverberated in the back of Cale’s mind.

"She is dying. Whether you accept it or not, the moment I took her, it was sealed."

Cale’s heart twisted painfully. He swallowed hard, trying to steady the tremor in his voice. "She’s not dying. I won’t let her. You can’t take her from me."

The God of Death’s gaze shifted from Cale to you, still and pale beneath the sheets. There was no pity in His expression—just an infinite calm, a certainty that made Cale feel small in comparison.

"She has already given herself to me. She will join me and others," He said, His words floating in the air like an inevitable conclusion. "There is no changing this. She will not wake on her own."

Cale’s chest constricted, and for a moment, the silence felt unbearable, but Cale’s focus never wavered from the God of Death.

"Is that it, then?" Cale’s voice cracked but he held His gaze. "You’re here to tell me there’s nothing I can do? That she’s already gone?"

The God of Death did not respond right away. He simply regarded Cale with an almost imperceptible tilt of His head, as if studying him, contemplating the answer.

"Nothing you can do," He repeated slowly, each word wrapped in finality.

"But..." The God of Death paused, and for the first time, Cale felt an uneasy shift in the air, as if something far darker was behind those words. "Will you wait for her? Will you stand by her side as she fades from this world and into my domain?"

Cale’s hand clenched into a fist. He could feel the warmth of Raon’s scales against his skin, the steady thrum of his heart, and the weight of the room pressing in on him.

"I’ll wait," Cale said firmly, his voice quieter now but steady. "But I will not stop looking for a way. I’ll find a way to bring her back."

The God of Death was silent for a long moment, as though considering Cale’s defiance. His eyes, though hollow, seemed to glimmer for just an instant—an unreadable emotion flickering in the depths.

"Your persistence will not change what is inevitable. But..." His voice trailed off, the weight of His words hanging heavy in the air. "You may stand beside her if you so wish. But know this—she will never belong to you in the way you desire."

Cale’s eyes hardened. “She belongs to no one but herself. And if she wakes... I’ll make sure of that."

The God of Death gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, His presence pulling back just a fraction, but never quite leaving. He tilted His head again, the faintest trace of something almost like curiosity in His eyes.

“Then I will leave you to your vigil. But remember, Cale Henituse—she cannot escape this.”

And with that, the God of Death faded, His figure dissolving like smoke, leaving Cale alone with the weight of the room and the heavy stillness of your slumber.

The cold remained, lingering in the air, but something inside Cale hardened. He would wait. He would stand beside you, and even if the God of Death’s words held some truth, Cale would make sure you never felt alone.

He would not let you fade into the void without a fight.

Suddenly, Ohn and Hong sat up, their fur bristling and tails standing stiff in shock, their wide eyes fixated on you.

Cale’s heart skipped a beat as he watched the slight movement, the slow twitch of your fingers beneath the sheets, a faint flutter of your eyelids. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it, the hope stirring within him like a flicker of light in the darkness. But then you shifted again, your breath hitching as your chest rose just a little more sharply.

Raon leaped off Cale’s lap in an instant, his wings flaring as he shot toward your bedside.

"H-human?" Raon’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and hope, his small body quivering with excitement. "Is she...?"

Cale’s breath caught, and without thinking, he moved closer, his eyes never leaving your form as he knelt at the side of the bed. His hand hovered over your own, as if unsure whether to touch you or let you come back to him on your terms. The room seemed to hold its breath as the seconds stretched into eternity.

Then, a soft gasp—your body stirred again, and for the first time, your eyes fluttered open. Not fully, but enough for a sliver of light to break through the veil that had enveloped you. The warmth in Cale’s chest was overwhelming, and he felt his hand tremble as he finally reached for yours, gently cupping it with his own.

“[Name]?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from the weight of his anxiety. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breath, shallow but steady. Then, you blinked, slowly focusing on him, your eyes still clouded with confusion, but they were alive.

"…Cale?" Your voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make his heart soar.

Cale’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know if he should smile or cry. Instead, he simply squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur of relief. "I’m here."

Ohn, who had been watching from the side of the bed, let out a relieved whine, nuzzling into your side. Hong, still curled on your stomach, tilted his head and purred softly, rubbing his face against yours in a quiet greeting. The children were no longer anxious, their soft breaths matching the rhythm of yours as they instinctively sought comfort in your revival.

Raon hovered just above the bed, wings flapping lightly in a tiny victory. "Told you, human! She will wake up!"

You blinked again, more clearly this time, and your gaze drifted over to the three of them—Ohn, Hong, and Raon—before finally focusing on Cale. The confusion in your eyes slowly morphed into recognition, but there was something more in them too—a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something even Cale couldn’t quite read.

"What… happened?" Your voice was still weak, barely more than a breath. "Why am I…? I thought…"

Cale’s heart twinged at the memory of Cage’s words. He fought to steady his voice, to keep his composure as he gently stroked your hand. “You’ve been unconscious for a while, but you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.”

He hesitated for a moment, casting a glance toward the door as if expecting the God of Death to reappear. But there was nothing—only the quiet hum of life in the room.

"You’re safe now," Cale continued softly, bending down slightly to be closer to you. "You don’t need to worry."

The air was thick with unsaid things, but right now, there was no need for explanations. No need to dwell on what had been—only on the fact that you were awake, breathing, here with him.

The children settled beside you, their presence a comforting weight on the bed, and Raon perched on the edge, eyes full of determination. "I’ll protect you, little [Name]! I won’t let anyone take you again!"

Cale couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He turned his attention back to you, watching you slowly blink in and out of focus as you tried to make sense of the world around you. He was patient, as patient as he could be in that moment, his hand never leaving yours.

"Rest," he whispered, his voice softer now. "You’re safe. You’re here."

And for the first time in days, Cale let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. You had come back, against all odds. And as long as you were here, he would find a way to keep you from ever slipping away again.

You looked up at him, gaze tender and apologetic as tears well up in the corner of your eyes. “I’m sorry… For leaving.”

“It’s okay,” Cale murmured. “You were… blindsided.”

“I was an idiot,” you murmured with a soft sigh, closing your eyes as the tears slowly fell.

“Sleep,” Cale murmured, hesitantly pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ll be here. We’re all here.”

#trash of the count's family #cale henituse #cale henituse x reader #lout of count's family #kim rok soo #totcf #tcf cale

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