Chapter Text
“Crazy bastard, stop slouching. We need you awake.”
Eruhaben had said that eight times this week.
Cale had counted.
Normally, he would’ve given a half-hearted nod, maybe pretended to listen while fighting off the bone-deep exhaustion threatening to drag him under.
Normally.
Today?
Today, On and Hong were curled up against him like living heaters, their combined warmth pressing him further into the table.
His arms were numb. His head felt too heavy for his neck. His thoughts dragged, slow and thick, like wading through mud.
He hadn’t slept properly in two weeks.
Two weeks.
So when he lifted his head, it wasn’t with his usual lazy indifference.
It was with the last scrap of patience he had left.
“Eruhaben-nim,” he croaked, voice rough, eyes bloodshot as they locked onto the ancient dragon, “I respect you, and I would normally oblige, but this time?”
A pause.
“Kindly shut the fuck up.”
The tent went silent.
Eruhaben stared.
Choi Han and Lock—just outside—suddenly found the ground fascinating.
Ron tilted his head slightly, as if he hadn’t just heard his young master snap at an ancient dragon.
Cale exhaled slowly.
Finally. Silence.
He wasn’t done.
“And tell hyung-nim,” he added, voice flat, “that if he even thinks about disturbing my nap—”
His eyes narrowed.
“—I’ll kill him.”
A beat.
“And the rest of them too.”
The air turned heavy.
No one laughed.
“Also,” Cale continued, because apparently he had reached the point of no return, “if Rosalyn or Raon so much as come near me—”
He didn’t even blink.
“I’ll blow myself up.”
Eruhaben started sweating.
Good.
And, because the universe had a personal grudge against Cale Henituse—
A chorus of battle cries erupted outside.
Cale’s eye twitched.
His aura—already unstable from exhaustion and sheer irritation—spiked violently, ancient power stirring like something that had been waiting for an excuse.
Raon’s voice cut through the noise, bright and insistent.
"Human! We need you!"
Of course they did.
They always did.
Why wouldn’t they.
Cale dragged a hand down his face.
He was so tired.
So, so tired.
And then—
Of course—
Of course—
The White Star appeared.
Cale turned his head slowly.
Very slowly.
And then—
He laughed.
It wasn’t a normal laugh.
It wasn’t even a sane one.
It was loud. Sharp. Unhinged enough that the battlefield froze on instinct alone.
Even the air seemed to choke on it.
Someone, somewhere, whispered, “Oh, you fucked up.”
Cale stepped forward.
His shoulders rolled once, loose, like a man about to stretch—
—or break something.
Probably both.
The laughter died abruptly.
What replaced it was worse.
Silence.
Cold. Heavy. Final.
I was going to sleep.
He raised a hand.
You should’ve stayed away.
Then—
He snapped.
The explosion wasn’t controlled.
It wasn’t precise.
It was everything.
Ancient power tore through the battlefield, violent and absolute. The ground split. The air burned.
The White Star—immortal, untouchable, arrogant—didn’t even have time to react properly before he was swallowed whole.
Erased.
The enemy army disappeared in the aftermath.
The world itself seemed to flinch.
Silence followed.
Thick.
Stunned.
Complete.
Raon hovered nearby, wide-eyed, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Cale stood in the center of it all, breathing unevenly, still radiating something dangerously close to murder.
Then, almost absently, he reached up—
—and patted Raon on the head.
A pause.
Then Cale coughed.
Once.
Twice.
A truly concerning amount of blood followed.
He lifted his hand, flipped off what little remained of the enemy—
—and promptly collapsed.
On and Hong immediately moved, curling around him like it was routine.
Because, at this point?
It kind of was.
War?
Over.
Victory?
Absolute.
Cale?
Unconscious.
From somewhere in the distance, Choi Han exhaled.
“…Holy shit.”