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It’s all strokes of bad luck. Choi Han needs to chalk it up on bad luck. Coincidences. He refuses to believe all the destruction happening around them was anything but.
Yet there is still doubt starting to root itself deep inside of his heart. It feels too perfect, the way Arm assassins are able to find them as they travel all across the continent to stop the association. It”s too strangely coordinated how events they tried so hard to prevent still happen, perfectly executed to make a maximum of victims.
And always, always there is absolutely no clue as to how Arm was able to do it without having an insider, a mole inside of their group. It”s maddening, it”s making him feel hopeless as he tries his hardest not to start thinking of any of his friends as traitors.
The Molans were rejected immediately, in his mind. There was no way people who lost everything to Arm, who were chased from their own continent by them would possibly think of sharing information with the organization.
Rosalyn made him pause for a short moment before she, too, was cast aside as a possible culprit. It didn’t make sense for someone so righteous to willingly participate in such atrocities. She was a lover of magic, someone who was devastated by the dragon he had to kill a year ago. In no way would she have allowed such a tragedy to happen, for a life to be tortured to the point of madness. Especially not a dragon, whom she revered with her whole heart.
Lock... It was impossible to be Lock. He was too innocent, too heartfelt. The kid could barely lie on good days and his acting was just as bad. Arm also killed his whole village. Killed Pendrick who was like a parental figure to him. Choi Han easily crossed Lock from his mental list.
The others all had reasons to be undercover Arm members but way more reasons to be against it, to loathe everything they did. And Choi Han’s heart was way too tender to accuse anyone outright, not without proof. Not without knowing their reasons. He don”t know why he would need a reason from them.
He doesn’t have an answer as to how was able to follow them so closely and it was slowly making him paranoid. Anyone they encountered could be Arm. Anything they were given could be magic bombs. No where was truly safe, even one of Bud’s mercenary buildings.
Choi Han knew the situation was only making everyone’s sanity fray. They couldn’t accuse anyone of betrayal yet they knew nothing that happened happened because of bad timing. Arm was toying with them, three moves ahead and ready to cause more destruction.
“We can’t continue like that.” Rosalyn said, one night where they tried to make plans for their next actions, their next destination to uproot Arm from where it was comfortably destroying its surroundings. “We need to strike first. Be more unpredictable than we already were.”
“Then let’s storm one of their bases.” Choi Han said after a bout of silence. He knew by their gaze they liked the idea about as much as he did but they didn’t really have any other choice. Strike first where they were least likely to expect them. And in that case, a base inside of the Cat’s tribe territory.
It would be only the six of them for a stealth mission, to gather as much information as they could find and blow up the place with Rosalyn”s magic bombs.
From the mercenary king”s spy, the place had very lax security with patrols going at regular intervals, guards usually idle and most likely bored. They would go in, go out and reduce the place to ashes. Knowing how everyone was frustrated by their losses at White Star”s hands, Choi Han was surprised they didn”t try to argue for a bloodier approach.
_
As far as he could tell - and especially knowing the guards were majoritarily members of the cat”s tribe - the defense of the building was lazy. Sure, it was too deep inside their territory for strike team’s from the Kingdom to reach, and there were Arm members roaming the country ready to go against them but...
They had definitely become complacent in their belief of being untouchable. Drunk soldiers would be roaming about, yelling to one another, some were snoring tucked into a corner and overall, thanks to Rosalyn’s magic items making them unnoticeable as long as they weren’t discovered, paying more attention to petty fights against themselves than keeping an eye out for potential intruders.
So they, the intruders, were easily able to enter the building and split up. Their mission fresh in mind, Choi Han, Beacrox and Rosalyn chose to dive deeper inside of the fortress, going down as far as they would be able. Without foundations, it was difficult for any structure to stay standing, after all.
There wasn’t a lot of activities as they went further inside of the building, stairs twisting and hallways silent and cold. It was almost a blessing since they wanted to deal with their mission without any hitch. It would have made him relax a bit too much if it weren’t for Rosalyn stopping him from taking another step down.
“Don’t move.” She whispered to him, fingers glowing a soft yellow. “There’s a trap on the next step. It’s set to cut limbs if activated, perhaps to make the victim unable to flee.”
“... thanks.” Choi Han breathed out, keeping as still as he could, Rosalyn taking his place as lead after dealing with that trap. “There’s something valuable up ahead, then. It wouldn”t make sense to trap random stairways otherwise.”
“I agree. Whatever it is, Arm doesn’t want it found.” Beacrox adds, following closely behind the two of them.
The more they moved downward, the more traps were set, making each step and turns a hurdle to get through. Though Rosalyn picks up the peculiar settings for those traps - and making them easier to undo - it was becoming increasingly more annoying to keep on their tight schedule.
The traps would only activate for some individuals and would trigger an alarm along with maiming - or killing - whoever was imprudent enough to set them off. Of course, it only made them more curious to see what exactly was kept so deep inside the fortress for such measures to be taken.
Soon, they got to the ends of the stairs and to what seemed like an underground prison. The doors to the cells were mostly all ajar, showing empty rooms that reeked of spilt blood and despair. Only one of these doors was closed, surrounded by the now familiar sight of magic bombs. Choi Han guessed it would kill whoever would dare open that cell door, as well as destroy the prison itself.
Rosalyn had already started breaking them apart as he acknowledged their presence and he nodded gratefully towards her. If she hadn’t been in their group, Choi Han wasn’t sure they would have been able to go so far without alerting the whole fortress and hurting themselves.
There was nothing else preventing him from opening the cell and discovering exactly what had required such tight defensive measures, so Choi Han kicked the door off its hinges and he quickly caught it before it slammed against the door. No need to make their presence known.
Still, he hadn”t been quiet but there was no reaction inside of the cell. No cries of surprise, no sobs of relief. Yet there was someone inside, laid down on an uncomfortable wooden cot and their features obscured by the darkness of the cell and Choi Han’s shadow enveloping them.
No reaction was never a good thing so he walked forward carefully, Beacrox following close behind with a light stone, until they could see the prisoner better, until the low light from the stone bounced softly on bright red hair.
That red was a shade lighter than Rosalyn’s own, a color already rare among the common browns and black and a shade he only saw once. Back at the beginning of his adventure, back when he was devastated by the massacre of Harris Village and came to Rain City. Choi Han wasn’t one to forget faces, especially not ones sporting such a striking hair color. Especially not ones who had mocked the death of his family until Choi Han snapped.
His breath caught in his throat, as he was unable to understand what he was seeing. Because the prisoner laying on the cot, the one who apparently needed a dozen layers of murderous magic traps just to reach his cell was none other than Cale Henituse. The son of Count Henituse, the noble dubbed as worse than trash and, ironically through his insults directed at the weakest point of Choi Han’s heart, the reason why Molan father and son had accompanied him in his long journey so far.
It’s ridiculous. Incomprehensible.
Choi Han kneels near the cot, guts twisting at how still the red haired man was, mind still reeling from their discovery. It made no sense to have magic bombs set to trigger if the door was to open without a specific mana wave. It made no sense for Cale to be guarded better than the kingdom”s most precious treasure yet shackled to the wall, to the floor, like a beast.
His eyes were half-lidded, glassy and void of any light yet the subtle movement of his chest assured him the noble was still alive.
“Drugged.” Is what Beacrox said after joining him, lifting an eyelid with one of his gloved hands. Cale”s pupil was tiny as a pinprick despite how dark his cell was and he was still unresponsive despite Beacrox being less than delicate with him. “Regularly and since a long time.” Beacrox adds with a hint of something in his voice, so subtle and quick Choi Han barely registered it.
Choi Han’s eyes caught on bruises around the young noble’s jaw, blacks, purples and yellows striking against his ghost white skin. Belatedly, he could see some around his throat too, faded. Barely there.
“Wait, why would they even bother keeping him like that?” Rosalyn asks behind them, finishing breaking apart the magic bombs so they wouldn’t be a threat to them anymore. “Red hairs are rare and even I have heard of that guy. A drunkard with a penchant for violence. Someone who only communicates via insults. Were they trying to threaten the Henituse?”
“Knowing the count and the love he holds for his son, it would have worked.” Beacrox answered, matter de facto. “Knowing White Star and his actions so far... killing him would have been more efficient.”
Choi Han disliked his tone. It was as if they were talking about the weather and not the life of a young man who had been held against his will for.. months, at the very least.
“He’s clearly valuable to White Star.” Rosalyn said, approaching her companions. “Let’s take him back with us, even if it”s just to piss this asshole off.”
The thought of leaving the young man here hadn’t even crossed his mind. Even if their mission was just to infiltrate the base from the inside to gather information on Arm and wreak havoc, Choi Han could never abandon a victim if he had the means to save them. And they were perfectly able to take Cale away from here.
Their decision made, he broke the young noble’s restraints carefully, keeping his attention straight on him in case his condition worsened and he stopped breathing.
_
Beacrox is the one who holds Cale in the end. It’s the most logical choice as Choi Han and Rosalyn were the most powerful of their current trio. He might be stealthier and better at interrogation but his fighting abilities paled compared to the sword master’s sheer power and the mage’s genius.
And yet, he remembers the young noble’s taunts, from so many years ago. His insults towards his sword skills worsened as time passed and he watched Beacrox train. It was to the point where, only a few weeks before Choi Han appeared and beat his ex young master to a pulp, Beacrox himself felt difficult controlling himself from throttling that red-haired punk.
Leaving with his father to follow Choi Han hadn’t needed too much thought if it meant being free from that yapping dog and learning from someone as talented as Choi Han.
And yet... When he was finishing packing to join his father and new admiration in the tavern where he was resting, Cale had found his way to his room. He had been silent for a while, unusually so as he watched Beacrox skillfully fold his clothes, cooking knives and daggers hidden between the fabrics.
“You’re really leaving.” He had said. The Henituse family never asked questions, he had learned through the years. Not unless it was deemed necessary. “Good. That's one less headache to deal with.” And Cale’s voice had felt relieved, which had infuriated Beacrox further. The cook didn’t show any of it, didn’t even grace him with an answer, far too used to Cale’s nasty tongue to truly feel concerned by it any longer.
Cale Henituse, whose face was still black and blue from the beating Choi Han gave him, despite the recovery potions his father made him drink. Cale Henituse whose expression was - for the first time since the drunkard”s adolescence - better described as soft, his ex-young master who only, barely, accepted to eat what Beacrox cooked, apparently came to see him off.
And Beacrox compares this Cale to the one in his arms. The young man he was holding had always been thin but now he had barely any meat on his bones. His previously pearly complexion was ashen, sickly and his fiery red hair had dulled and was far longer than what the young noble deemed acceptable.
The skin on his wrists, ankles and neck was an angry pink, scarred from his shackles rubbing against it. His wounds were clean, however, taken care enough not to get infected but not enough to heal without leaving a trace.
The worst part was how lifeless the young noble was. Beacrox had known him since birth, since they got accepted inside the Henituse mansion. Cale resembled his mother strikingly, from his easily flushing cheeks to the glint inside of their eyes. He remembered playing with a cheeky, kind brat that loved to mess around with him and watch him train. A kid who made him sneak snacks in-between meals.
He remembers a young boy, devastated by his mother’s death, a young child becoming quieter, less present. A young boy who could barely accept his father remarrying and getting siblings from this new wife. A somber adolescent that spent too long inside of his room, someone whose eyes seemed to see more than it should.
And he remembers that young boy that clung to him with admiration in his eyes leer at him one day, out of the blue. A bottle of wine in hands, it had been the first time he had acted like trash. The first time he yelled at the servants, threw expensive, fragile trinkets around but never at them. Cale transformed from an obedient, depressed young boy to someone who would scour the bars all day to get drunk and break as many things as he could.
Beacrox’s father had eyed this new behavior, calculated if it was worth it to try and get Cale to act like he was before, and ultimately decided it wasn’t. Staying at the Henituse was a comfortable hiding place and people would be more likely to look at a trashy noble than the poor butler suffering from the backlash.
But now that boisterous, trash of a human being was lifelessly looking at nothing in his arms, his usually expressive face blank and unnerving. It was as if he had become a fading shadow, so close to death.
They hear noise before seeing anything, their senses more keen than the average human being. It’s nothing compared to the ones roaming this place thought. After all, no one could beat Beast People when it came to perceptions. Luckily, they all wore items made by Rosalyn to hide themselves from it.
They all stopped before an intersection and their way out was blocked, chatter coming from it. They had no idea which of the two other paths to take.
They looked at each other, trying to reach a decision without using words. Straight or left were their options and they had to choose quickly. The barely there weight in his arms shifted for the first time since he started holding him.
Beacrox looked down and saw that Cale’s head had lolled around slightly, glassy eyes fixated on the left path. It probably meant nothing. It was nothing, just happenstance and yet... those brown eyes that weren’t registering anything were glued towards that direction. His guts told him that wasn”t coincidence and he gestured to his companions to start walking left.
He looked down again as they started walking and nearly flinched as those glassy brown eyes were now looking at him. There was nothing inside of them, no spark of any kind and when Cale blinked, it was gone.
_
It didn’t take long for their group to join back again.
After they took the left path, they were able to find a way out of the building fairly quickly and without any guards in their paths. As good as the Cat tribe was with their senses, they had become quite lax as no one would think of infiltrating inside of their territory. Especially when those people had with them one of the best magicians of their generation.
Bud gives him a thumbs up as he indicates their part of the mission was a success and Choi Han felt relieved. With their own magic bombs planted in the building ready to blow up once they were outside, they were ready to give back, destruction for destruction. It wouldn’t be enough to satisfy them after the hundreds of deaths Arm and White Star were responsible for but for now it would have to do.
He looks at his friends, Bud and Lock, Rosalyn and Ron. Beacrox with Cale Henituse in his arms. He look at them and feel relieved their missions had been carried out without casualty under this moonless night, with mist lazily twisting around their ankles-
Wait.
Mist?
He takes a second too long to react and the mist reacts in kind, whisping around his legs, further up their chest and it can only mean one thing: they’ve been discovered by members of the Cat tribe, which was weird as they didn”t trigger any alarms.
“You move, you die.” A low voice resonated around them, as if someone was forcing their throat to sound more threatening. “You’re not going away so easily.”
Whoever this was excelled in stealth as none of them perceived their presence and the mist was crawling further up to their neck, avoiding the unconscious Cale-
Avoiding Cale?
Choi Han isn’t the only one who saw that and found it strange as Ron, who was closest to his son, took out a knife and pressed it close to the noble’s throat. The assassin did that without a change in his expression, without a care. As if slicing the throat of his former charge wasn’t worth fretting about.
“Noooooo!!!” Another voice cried out, panicked and feeling so young and the mist stalled in its way up. They felt like they were at a stalemate. “Don’t hurt him! Stop hurting him!”
“Show yourself.” Ron said, voice cold as ice as he pressed the steel blade against white skin, drawing a drop of blood that slid slowly down the slope of his neck.
There’s a rustling in a bush near them and two small cats crawl from under it. Silver and red fur were marred with dirt and mud, acting as camouflage. The two cats were extremely small, even for Cat tribe members and Choi Han”s brain froze when he associated the voices from earlier with these small figures.
Kids.
Those Cats were children, body shaking with fear and tears in their eyes as their gaze was darting from the knife on Cale’s throat to Ron who was holding it. Those Cats were children that apparently cared enough for the noble to try and stop them from going away with him.
“Please...” The red furred one said, hunching closer to the silver cat. “He’s just a victim... You’re the hero, right?” The child looks at Choi Han, eyes shining with fear and unease. “And heroes don’t hurt victims... so you can’t hurt him!”
Choi Han couldn’t deny it. Whatever the reason for Cale’s presence here, for him to be held captive and drugged to the point of not reacting to his neck being cut, he was obviously not here by choice. They knew how nobles working together with Arm fared, with Venion Stan still being a thorn in their side. It was obvious the noble in Beacrox”s arms didn’t join hands with them.
“Why would you go so far for this lad?” Ron asks the two children, his knife still at Cale’s throat. His voice was level and uncaring. Did he truly not care about him? Choi Han knew they had worked under the count for decades, but the Molans only cared about revenge...
The two cat children looked at each other, hesitating slightly before the silver one spoke once more. She seemed to be the oldest as she was slightly bigger and more assured.
“He’s our client. One day he drunkenly tossed money to us and vaguely ordered us for a good hour... That was a lot of gold coins and the length of our contract wasn’t specified.”
An obvious lie. Well, probably not the money part but the rest could easily be rebutted. Even if they wouldn’t have been able to prevent his kidnapping, there was no way they would have followed him inside such a dangerous place, even for a pouch of gold coins. If they didn’t want to tell the real reason, Choi Han didn’t have the heart to force them.
“The next patrol is coming soon...” The youngest cat nervously said, looking towards the building. The alarm hadn’t been sounded yet but they still shouldn’t stay around.
“You’re the boy’s bodyguards, aren’t you??” Rosalyn asked the cats, leaning forward gently. It was easy to understand she would go easy on kids that had tried to prevent them from going away with the person they cared about. “So you need to stay by his side, right?” She said that more for the Molans than for the kids, sending them a gaze that told them not to say anything against it.
“We have information too!” The red furred kid said, eyes shining with hope as they were told they could follow them, follow Cale. “We know a lot! They didn’t bother shooing us away after a while so we heard a lot!”
“Then information for his safety.” Ron concluded, his knife disappearing as fast as it had been brought out. They probably already found what little information this place had and the kid would obviously only parrot them back but it was unusual, complacent for the oldest Molan. Maybe he did have a soft spot for children, hidden deep down?
With their oral transaction agreed on from both sides, Rosalyn teleported them away from the Cat tribe building and to Bud Illis’ hiding place, the thunder of the magic bomb exploding behind them as they vanished from this place.
It didn’t satisfy Choi Han as much as he thought he would.
_
A week after they destroyed the Cat”s tribe fortress and rescued the oldest son of count Henituse - and thanks to the cat children warning them in advance - they were able to shift the tide of war. It was still insignificant, not enough to weigh against the dozens of losses they had suffered through but it was a step forward.
And yet, during that week, Cale Henituse hadn't opened his eyes even once.
It shouldn't be worrying Ron, as he had clearly cut ties with the Henituse on rather good faith after they said their goodbyes more than a year ago. It shouldn't have any more emotional impact on him but even for the best assassin in the world, it was difficult to throw away eighteen years of your life spent with someone. He must be a fool, he thinks, to still be affected by the memories of a young child, missing his front teeth and begging to be held.
And as foolish as he might be, there is no denying the pinch in his heart as he opens the door to the young man”s room only to see him lying on the bed, akin to a princess of fairytale, waiting for his prince. The two cat children laying on each side of his head would be the dragon chasing away the suitors, then.
That description definitely suits them as they had barred access to the room to everyone, once they had settled Cale on the bed. No one had been allowed inside as they growled and hissed at anyone trying. Food was collected from outside and in their human forms before the door was all but slammed in their faces. It was particularly aggressive when he was the one bringing the tray to them, which he didn't blame them for.
At the time, targeting Cale had been the most logical choice: all of them but him had been targeted by the mist and he was the fastest to react. As an assassin, Ron understood the need to use every tool in his possession to fulfil a mission, even if it meant killing a compromised companion. Beacrox was the same and, while the others had understood his action and accepted it, the two cat children were still quite aggressive towards him.
Ron placed the basin of warm water on the table near the bed before taking the bedsheets off Cale's unresponsive body. With expert hands, he checked his heartbeat and ocular reflexes, seeing no changes in both. While his pupils had started reacting to light normally in the past few days, Cale wasn't showing signs of waking up from his drugged state.
This was something that still bothered him. Drugs weren't his speciality but he knew enough about them to try and guess which had been used on the young man. All those he could think off either had a complicated antidote or needed to be naturally flushed from the body. And it was never pretty, as those drugs were highly conductive to symptoms of addiction and withdrawal.
The children had experienced such symptoms first hand as Cale had suddenly started convulsing, terrifying them enough to let Ron enter the room.
Since then, there hadn't been another [fit] but Rosalyn had installed an alarm just in case, to the gratitude of the two cat children who had feared the worst for Cale.
Ron glances up to meet the silver cat's eyes, raising an eyebrow as she was still hissing after him as he passed a sponge on their protégé. There was dissatisfaction in those golden eyes as well as defeat for not being able to take care of Cale properly. That proved to Ron there was more than a money contract between the three children but it was always vehemently denied by the two cats.
Still, if they insisted on being by Cale's side, Ron would ensure they were trained enough not to get a repeat of his capture. Speaking of which...
"Do you two know why young master Cale was taken?" He asks them, knowing full well the others had already tried prying the answer out of them. And this time too, the children looked at each other before refusing to speak, only getting closer to Cale's head.
"Do you know when?" He tried again, gauging their reactions. This time again, a look between them but surprisingly the sister answered.
"A while ago... We lost contact with him after the bombing of the capital. We found that alarming since he always berated us about punctuality but... we were already too far to do anything."
This surprised the assassin who stopped cleaning Cale for a fraction seconds before he spoke again.
"He was at the capital?" It didn't make sense. Ron knew count Henituse had planned to send his youngest, his heir, Basen, to the capital since Cale had been less than presentable. It wasn't logical to send both his sons, especially one who was less than socially acceptable.
"We don't know." The boy answered, this time. "We only knew he had plans to go to Puzzle City for-" He cut himself before his sister took the lead again.
"There was a festival, something about alcohol. And rock towers. He had said he wanted to make one too. To wish for better wine." This made some sense, as Cale hadn't been one to back down when alcohol was promised but for someone who didn't leave the Henituse territory for years to suddenly demand to go to a festival several days away from his regular drinking spots was more than odd.
Strangest of all was the count allowing his unruly son to travel away from Rain City. There were a lot of details being kept from him and Ron didn't like it at all. But with the children's unwillingness to talk and the young man still unconscious, there was nothing he could do about the situation.
Nothing but reminisce about this bright young boy, who always seemed to make his hair greyer with his antics. While not athletic, Cale had been a rambunctious child who was excellent at making puppy dog eyes to try and get himself out of the troubles he brought upon himself. Ron remembers how he always seemed attached to Beacrox at the hip, how he talked about his younger brother Basen with stars in his eyes and how he clung to his shirt, when sleep was catching up on him and he demanded Ron took him to bed.
He remembers how alike he was to his father, alight with a sense of justice that demanded no exception and a strong, piercing gaze that seemed to see a bright future for the people he loved.
He remembers how similar he was to his mother with his smile and his laugh, with his graceful figure and crimson red hair. How he would weasel himself out of complicated situations by charming his opponents and how he would gather the respect of the employees easily.
Cale resembled his mother the most, from the curve of his eyebrows to how easily he smiled. Down to the migraines that would plague the first countess of Henituse, sometimes so violent they were left shaking and crying. Like his mother, Cale had denied all help apart from simple medicine and, while it hadn't killed him like it did his mother - some had whispered about brain tumor when the countess had passed away - it always left him physically ill after a strong migraine.
But the migraines had passed, Cale became more reserved, less prone to play. And one day, without any foreshadowing, Cale had started drinking several bottles a day before hissing at everyone in his path. No, Ron corrected himself. Not everyone. Few people were spared from the verbal punching but it wasn’t enough to balance out his rapid descent in popularity.
While jarring at first, Ron didn’t think too much of it, continuing to serve the count with his trademark perfectionism. While life had been rather peaceful since they hid themselves in Rain City, being invisible was far more important and putting himself into the spotlight by trying to rein down Cale hadn’t been his priority.
As he rearranges the bedsheets, there is a nagging thought in Ron’s mind that began haunting him during his sleepless nights, during the moments he took care of the red-haired young man. If he had tried to stir Cale from going down the path of alcoholism, tried to make him behave like the graceful noble he once was: would that have prevented his kidnapping?
After all, if Cale hadn’t started garnering himself a crude reputation, never would he have insulted Choi Han, he would never have been beaten to an inch of his life by this monster of a man. The count would never have considered sending Basen to the Capital and -
No. Neither options were good. For good or for worse, Ron had gotten soft-hearted for the Henituse children, even if it was reluctantly admitted and hidden under layers of professionalism, both as a butler and as an assassin.
Whether Cale or Basen had gone to the Capital, the terror plaza incident would have still happened. They still would have been in danger and, if Ron had followed either of them instead of Choi Han, dead in the worst case scenarios.
There is a bitter taste in his mouth when, leaving the room and his precious charge, Ron realizes his choice had been the correct one.
In his head, a little Cale smiled at him from a memory, time long gone. Sun bouncing like wildfire in his hair, he spoke: “One day, you’ll leave and then you will be a hero, Ron! The king will even decorate you! But, you know… You’re already my hero, grandpa.”
_
Drowning.
There is no other way to describe his current situation as Hans, his most reliable ally and butler (after Ron left the estate a year ago) brought him another stack of papers to review and sign.
The toll of war was heavy, expensive and demoralizing.
Basen looked at Hans with pleading eyes, quill in hand and ink all over his fingers from being stuck inside of his office most of the day. "Can't I take a small break?" He doesn't know how he father did all that. Doesn't know if Deruth even had to deal with a situation like that but, as he was stuck at the Capital for an indefinite amount of time, he couldn't ask him anything.
"I'm sorry, young master. But there are still more that requires your attention."
"I know..." Basen sighed, looking down at the pile of papers waiting for him. " People are hoping to find shelter in Rain City but it is getting to a point where we could run out of food in the coming months. I already have to manage logging, and with criminality growing along with the population, the guards are getting short handed…”
It’s a mess he’s barely able to manage. Everything is urgent, everyone wants his attention since he was the only one to manage the territory and all he wants is to scream till his voice goes raw. He wishes for his father, who was always so confident and had so much experience. All he wants is his mother, but she is busy dealing with her own share of the work, wilting away day by day.
And he wants. He wants -
But he can’t. He shouldn’t even be thinking about him, as it would just send him in another downward spiral. Even as he tries not to let his thoughts in that direction, Basen feels his hands tremble and his heart aches. Perhaps, once he’s done with today’s tsunami of work, he would go to the church and pray to the God of Death. It always made him feel better, after all.
He hands Hans the papers he signed previously, trying to stave off the headache he feels behind his eyes when Lily bursted into the room, the door slamming against the wall brutally.
“Basen!!” She yelled to him, hair disheveled and her all black outfit a mess. Mourning clothes didn’t suit her but none of them had the heart to wear brighter colors just yet. Even if a year had passed, it felt too soon.
“Lil- are you crying?!” He gasped, raising from his chair and ignoring Hans collecting the papers that had fallen on the ground from her surprise entrance. It was rare to see his sister cry, as she took from their mother. Stoic, reserving big emotions for moments of peace and away from prying eyes. Her eyes were swelling up from the tears and she was trembling a storm.
He only saw her like that once.
A year ago.
His guts twisted, fearing the worst. Was their father…
“It’s! He’s- Basen..!” She was sobbing hard, clutching frantically at his shirt. He felt like puking from worry.
“Calm down, Lily.” He spoke softly to her despite the painful knot in his stomach. “I need you to calm down and speak coherent sentences.” Please, please please not their father. Not him, not their rock. They were already so fragile, teetering towards a precipice. If their father died, Basen could confidently say they would break apart like fine porcelain.
“He came back! He’s..!” He? Lily wouldn’t react like that if their father was back from the Capital, so surely the other man in their family-
Hope sprouts in his heart as he watches his sister rub the tears away - futile as they are still flowing - and she smiles at him, watery and a little bit manic. Who could blame her?
“Cale’s back! He’s alive, Basen! Alive! Ron is bringing him to his room. It’s real.”
He doesn’t hear more than that as he ran out of his office, heart beating to the point of making him feel dizzy. Nauseous. He didn’t doubt Lily as she wasn’t one to lie but it felt too good to be true. Was his brother truly home? Was he even his brother? No. Ron brought him back, and it wasn’t the old man’s style to be wrong about something like that.
He was probably shocking the servants as he dashed through the hallways, barely holding himself straight in the sharp corners he made. He didn’t care. For once, let it be him who has a behavior unbefitting of a noble, he jokes.
He barely hesitated before climbing the stairs to the second floor, a place that had felt taboo for so many months for all members of the family. His mother had never truly anything to do there so it was easier on her. Lily, he could find in front of the stairs, flowers in hand but never having the strength to walk the twenty-six steps to their brother’s floor. Basen himself hadn’t dared breach the silence that engulfed the area.
Their father… Basen knew their father had spent the first two months after Cale’s death - no, not death. Disappearance - sitting in front of his son’s bedroom door, silently crying from the loss of the child he held so dear in his heart. After that, Deruth had only been the shadow of his former self and then he was called to the Capital, leaving the rest in Basen’s hands.
Basen is out of breath as he finally reaches the second floor, finding their previous butler, Ron, talking to a tall young man holding two small cats. It’s strange, but he decides not to register it as he approaches the old man, gulping with difficulties. His throat was raw, yet he didn’t even cry.
“Young master Basen.” The old man said, the perfect image of a butler. “I must warn you to go slow and careful. While young master Cale has requested going back home, he still has a fragile psyche.”
“So it’s true…? Cale is- he’s alive?” Ron nods, eyes sharp. Attentive to details, as always, he must be pairing his mourning clothes with his reaction, adding everything until it gave him all he needed to reach his conclusions.
“Before you enter, may I ask a few questions?” The old man said, as he threw a quick glance to the side, where the other boy and the cats were. As if understanding his small gesture, the boy bowed before him and left the floor, the cats meowing a storm in his arms.
“When was the last time you saw the young master?”
“A year ago…” Basen answered, earning himself a thoughtful nod from the ex-butler. “If your next question is ‘where’, well… right before the terror plaza accident.”
“Young master Cale was at the Capital at that time?” Ron asked, incredulous. “Some of my sources had said he had been at Puzzle City for a festival.” Basen knew where his thoughts were going. If Cale had been at Puzzle City during the bi-annual festival, in no way would he have had the time to reach the capital right before the bombing.
But this time, Basen knew more than the old man, which felt extremely bizarre.
“He came through the temple of the God of Death with the eldest son of Marquis Stan, Taylor. The word had barely reached me when he came straight to the villa, demanding alcohol.
“Of course he would be here for that, I thought at the time. The king’s 50’s birthday was a time of extravagant celebrations and luxurious alcohol would be served everywhere. Though, I remember he barely drank at all. He was nervous. During the first two days I would have hardly even remembered he was here if he hadn’t been eating breakfast with me.” Basen chuckles, remembering the conversations he’s had with his older brother during those two peaceful days.
And then the bombs went off, people were dying left and right. Basen got hurt, got saved by the heroes of the kingdom. And came back to a ravage villa with no servants left alive and a headless body, wearing his brother’s clothes, still warm.
It had been too chaotic at that time to doubt the identity of the body. Several other similar murders were reported, all concerning noble children. Gruesome. Fucked up.
“We’ve mourned him ever since.” He sobs, tears finally slipping on his cheeks. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, Ron’s reassuring presence by his side as he let himself be pushed gently toward his brother’s room. Where Cale was alive and home after so long.
He takes a shaky breath and steel his mind. The door opens easily and his eyes drinks in fiery red hair, sleepy amber eyes locking into his own. Tomorrow, colors will finally return to everyone's wardrobe.
“You look like shit.”
Good luck was coming back to them.