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calehenituse-brainrot · 2 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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