Chapter Text
There was something peaceful about the courtyard.
The wind didn’t bite here. The silence didn’t press.
Cale had always ended up here when things got too loud. He never thought about why.
Today, he stood beneath the tree again. The petals were still. Perfect. Undisturbed.
The sun was warm, but not hot.
His coat felt right again. That was strange—he hadn’t been wearing it this morning. But again, there's that.
He sat down.
The ground was softer than it should have been.
And.
He had company.
A body.
Clad in white.
His.
Blood pooling around a familiar coat. The Tree dagger still embedded in its heart.
//Something shifted.
A sound.
No—not a sound. A memory. Of that day.
A feeling, stirred loose by the hush:
the weight of a dagger in his chest.
The snap of roots.
The light that consumed everything red and white.
And saw himself.
Collapsed. Still. Blood pooled beneath.
The roots of the tree curled over him like fingers.
His coat torn, his face pale.//
He looked down at his hands.
They looked fine. Whole.
But he couldn’t remember the last time they’d held anything.
He looked across the courtyard—
//Farewell.//
...
Everyone's here.
Because of the event.
A funeral.
His.
He said nothing.
Because he wasn’t breathing.
Because there was no breath to give.
So he stayed.
Watching as his dear family, dear friends, caress his face so lovely, tears seeping into the ground where he lay to rest.
And the courtyard, under the tree where his blood had soaked the soil, had become the only place he felt peace.
Because it was where a familiar body had been lay down so gently and so beautifully well cared for by many hands.
Because it was the only place the world didn’t pretend.
//Farewell//
....
He looked up again.
The sun was shining through the branches in gold, like it had every day since the end.
He could hear faint voices somewhere. Familiar. Muffled by time.
But the petals around him didn’t move.
Nothing disturbed this place.
Because it was already still.
Because it had been waiting for him to remember.
Because this was peace.
Not comfort.
But closure.
//Farewell//
...
He smiled.
Just slightly.
Closed his eyes.
And rested.
Not because there was more to do.
But because, for once—
there wasn’t.
...
Somewhere inside a room with his personal touch, a child dragon slept curled in a coat that no longer carried scent. Little silver and red kittens huddled together with the black dragon.
Head curled into his own wings, little tail twitching once in a dream.
On and Hong were tucked together beside him, soft breaths rising and falling in a rhythm that once gave Cale headaches—
but now…
Now he clung to it like a memory slipping through his fingers.
He watched them sleep.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Because he knew—
this was the last time.
The stars outside the window seemed to pause.
Cale stood near the hearth, though there was no fire.
He didn’t need warmth.
He only needed time.
A sword hung untouched on a wall.
A room was cleaned, but the door remained closed.
And the wind, for a moment, whispered—
He stepped closer.
Careful. Reverent.
His hand hovered above Raon’s head. Just above his horns.
He didn’t try to touch him.
He wasn’t sure if he could.
But the air between them buzzed faintly, like recognition.
That was enough.
...
“You grew up so well,” he whispered.
His voice didn’t echo.
He wasn't sure anyone else would’ve heard it.
But maybe—just maybe—the wind would carry it.
“You were supposed to rely on me a little longer, you know.”
He smiled. It trembled at the corners.
“But you started protecting me so early. It wasn't fair.”
His hand dropped.
He turned toward On and Hong.
So small. So fierce.
They had chosen him so easily. Trusted him so fast.
He didn’t deserve it.
“I wasn’t kind to children,” he murmured. “You taught me how.”
He lowered himself to the edge of the couch, not touching, just near.
His voice gentled.
“If I had lived longer, I would’ve made you breakfast every morning; the easy ones of course. Walked you to your classes. Fussed about your grades. Argued about bedtime.”
He chuckled.
It broke halfway through.
“But I died with blood in my mouth, and you still called me your human, your dad.”
He wiped his face.
There were no tears.
But it felt like there should’ve been.
...
The wind stirred through the open window.
Carrying petals from the courtyard up into the room.
They circled once—soft, dancing—
Then stilled.
...
Cale stood.
He looked at them one last time.
So small.
So bright.
So lovely.
He placed a hand over his chest. No heartbeat.
But so full.
“I’m sorry I left like that.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”
“But I was happy.”
“You gave me a family.”
“You gave me a home.”
He glanced once more—burning every detail into memory.
“Live well. Eat well. Sleep safely. Laugh loudly.”
“And don’t wait for me.”
...
He turned away from the room.
The petals followed him for a moment—
Then stopped at the threshold.
As if even they knew—
this was the line between memory and after.
...
Down the hall.
Past the map room.
Past the garden.
To the tree.
Where the wind waited soundly.
...
As he stepped beneath the branches, the petals fell gently.
One last time.
...
And in the silence of the night,
Cale Henituse,
who once planned every step,
who never said what he meant,
who carried the weight of a world he never wanted—
said goodbye.
And meant it.
...
//Epilogue Echo//
The next morning, Raon stirred.
He blinked slowly. Sniffled once.
Then froze.
He didn’t know why—but the room felt lighter.
Emptier.
He curled closer to On and Hong.
And whispered,
“Goodbye, Cale.”
...
“Goodbye Raon. Don't be sad, cheer up soon, alright? My mighty Raon.”
"Goodbye On. I'll miss you so much, my lovely daughter, On."
"Goodbye Hong. Please grow up well, eat well and sleep well. My energetic Hong."