Chapter Text
Cale's gaze lingered on the empty wine bottles scattered before him, his trembling hand reaching for yet another sip of the bitter liquid. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when his reliance on alcohol had begun, but it had been a constant companion for far too long. It was the eve of his departure from this world, this life, and this family. He let out a deep, melancholic sigh.
As he stared out of the window, a blanket of stars shimmered above, casting their ethereal glow upon the world below. It was a breathtakingly beautiful night, but all Cale could recall were the memories of death, the haunting images of blood-soaked landscapes, and the suffocating clouds of smoke that had choked his past.
Cale released another heavy sigh, his heart weighed down by the burden of his existence. He slowly rose from his seat and made his way to the balcony door. With a heavy heart, he pushed it open and stepped out onto the balcony, overlooking the tranquil Henituse County below. At just 18 years old, he found himself estranged from his own people, an outcast in his own right.
The isolation and despair that clung to him were unbearable, yet he had grown accustomed to the pain. It was fine, he thought, as he stood alone on that balcony, a solitary figure under the starry night sky, drowning in a sea of sorrow.
Cale's sigh deepened as he gazed at the moon, its cold, distant light mirroring the emptiness within him. Once, in the northeastern part of the Roan Kingdom, within the Henituse Territory, there existed a red-haired child, a living embodiment of beauty, intelligence, and charm that rivaled his mother's. He basked in the love of his doting parents, who cherished him beyond measure. The people of the territory and their loyal servants adored him as well. He was a radiant, joyous presence, like the sun itself, illuminating the lives of all who knew him. His magnetic charisma drew people to him like moths to a flame.
But that child, the shining sun of yesteryear, was no more. The warmth in his heart had long since been extinguished, replaced by a relentless darkness that consumed his very essence. The memories of happier days now felt like a cruel joke, mocking him from the depths of his despair.
Cale, the once-beloved child, stood alone under the moon's cold gaze, a stark contrast to the radiant boy he had once been. The weight of his own existence pressed down upon him, and his loneliness was a constant companion in the desolate night.
Cale's past was filled with simple pleasures and stolen moments of childhood mischief. He had a penchant for sneaking into the kitchen, hoping to pilfer cookies and sweets, only to be thwarted by Ron, the ever-watchful butler, or his son. Amidst his playful antics, he cherished the anticipation of spending time with his family, and his smile could outshine even the brightest star.
But the light in Cale's life was extinguished on a fateful day. A day that began with relentless raindrops, each tear from the heavens a harbinger of sorrow. In his eighth year, his mother, Jour, ventured to Harris Village for a simple errand. It was just the flu—a mere cold, or so they thought. Yet, it proved enough to snuff out her fragile flame.
Jour, though often frail, had always held herself with a determined strength, her back straight, and her spirit unyielding. Her sudden demise shattered the tranquility of the county. Their beloved countess had been taken from them, leaving a void that no amount of mourning could fill. Deruth, her grief-stricken husband, couldn't bear to face the sight of his lifeless wife and succumbed to his sorrow.
Amidst the somber rain and the scent of fading sweets, Cale stood in numb shock. His expression, once bright as the starry sky, had dulled to a lifeless, empty gaze. The world had lost its luster, and the rain that had once been a gentle friend now seemed to weep in tandem with his heart, mourning the loss of a beloved mother and a stolen childhood innocence.
Cale clung to the haunting echo of his mother's final words, which had been imprinted deep within his soul: "You must survive whatever happens. Survive anything, and happiness will follow. Survive and be content."
Each tear that flowed down his cheek was a reminder of a terrible memory of the agony that had engulfed his life. He felt the weight of her unmet longing, the agony of his own existence, and the crushing responsibility of surviving in a world devoid of happiness. The tears were no longer just beads of grief; they were rivulets of unyielding misery, a waterfall of despair that threatened to drown him in the never-ending storm of his existence.
Jour's funeral had come and gone, a grand display of insincere condolences from people across the kingdom. They wore fake smiles and offered hollow kindness, driven by their ulterior motives to position their own daughters and sisters as the next countess. Meanwhile, Deruth and Cale, the forsaken duo, stood in solitude before her casket. Deruth's anguished cries reverberated through the air, his pain too deep to conceal. Cale, the young child, held his father's trembling hand, trying to be the pillar of strength he thought his father needed.
"Father, it's okay. I am still here," young Cale whispered, enfolding his grieving father in his feeble embrace. His own tears welled up, but he fought to suppress them, bearing the weight of his own grief while consoling his beloved parent.
The day of Jour's burial arrived, and Cale remained a statue, devoid of emotion.
Whispers spread like cancer through the mourners:
"What a monster! He didn't even shed a tear for his mother's death!"
"What a cruel son."
"Imagined giving birth to a son that would not cry when you are dead. Tch, what type of child is that?"
Cale's reputation as a heartless child grew. Unbeknownst to them, he had buried his tears deep within, a sacrifice he made to support his father in his darkest hour. Deruth, haunted by the sight of his son's crimson hair, a painful reminder of his beloved wife, began to avoid Cale. He took down all paintings of Jour and put them in the storage room, far far away from his eyes. He invented excuses whenever his son reached out, immersing himself in endless paperwork to escape his own grief. Cale, perceptive beyond his years, understood his father's agony but continued to reach out, desperate for his father's love. It seemed Deruth had forgotten that his only child was mourning, too. Cale wept himself to sleep every night, a lonely soul with no solace. His mother was gone, and his father had abandoned him. There was no one to lean on, no one to console him. Instead of offering comfort, those around him insisted he be strong for his father. It was a torment to stifle his own pain, a pain that festered in silence.
Only the solitude of his room provided him with any solace. There, in the stillness of the night, he yearned for his father's embrace and for the reassurance that everything would eventually be all right. But the silence was his only companion and the void within him grew deeper with each passing day, a relentless ache that refused to subside.
Then, one day, without a word or a second glance, Deruth left, seeking solace in a vacation home far away. It was as if Cale had been abandoned in the depths of his own despair, left to shoulder the weight of the county and its burdens alone. The paperwork, once his father's responsibility, now lay strewn before him. His hands, stained with ink, trembled with exhaustion, and his eyes were perpetually red, a testament to the countless nights spent crying and toiling away.
Cale's existence became an unending cycle of responsibility and neglect. The people's safety rested squarely on his young shoulders, a heavy burden that threatened to crush his spirit. He didn't "forget" to eat; there simply was no time to eat. Instead, he fueled himself with endless cups of bitter coffee, his only source of sustenance in a world that had grown increasingly bleak.
Day by day, the weight of the world bore down upon him, grinding away at his soul. His once-vibrant spirit had withered like a neglected flower, replaced by a relentless ache that gnawed at his very being. In his loneliness, he cried silent tears, hidden from the world, as he yearned for the father who had abandoned him and the mother he had lost. The pain he carried was a heavy cloak, and the tears he shed were the only testament to his silent suffering, a suffering that seemed to have no end in sight.
After a long year of neglect, Deruth finally reached out to the red-haired child he had abandoned. Cale, who had been prematurely burdened with maturity, couldn't contain his excitement when he received his father's call. With a heart full of hope, he hurried to the dining room, his eyes sparkling with joy, wearing his emotions on his sleeve. But as he stepped into the room, his world was shattered once more, this time by the very person who was supposed to be his anchor.
There, before him, stood a woman he had never seen, and a young boy who laughed alongside his father. They looked like a happy family, but Cale felt like an outsider. Cale's heart plummeted into an abyss of despair, and the light in his eyes dimmed, the smile on his face fading away.
"Cale, I want you to meet Violan and Basen. She will be your new mother, and Basen will be your new younger brother. I am marrying Violan next week," Deruth announced, his delight unmistakable.
Cale forced a lump down his throat, maintaining a facade of composure while his inner world crumbled. His voice, a fragile whisper, betrayed none of his turmoil as he responded, "I see. Congratulations. I have things I need to do, so I am excusing myself."
With that, Cale turned and fled to his room as if pursued by demons. Inside the solitude of his sanctuary, he wept bitterly, his heart aching with the realization that he had lost his place in his own home and his father's heart. The tears that flowed were a testament to the agony he bore, the rejection and abandonment that had become the hallmarks of his existence, a pain that threatened to consume him whole.
Years drifted by like distant memories, and the world around Cale remained as unchanged as the pain in his heart. The red-haired child had aged, but his soul remained trapped in the past, unable to move forward. The family that had once held so much promise now consisted of a father, a mother, a red-haired older brother, a younger brother, and a younger sister. Cale felt like an intruder in a picture-perfect family portrait, an outsider who didn't belong, despite being the firstborn.
Slowly but inexorably, Cale began to distance himself from his family. The once-bright light that had shone from within him was now as dim as the sun obscured by relentless storms. He felt like an outcast, a bastard within his own bloodline, and the bitterness of his existence clung to him like a shadow.
Desperate to protect his father's fragile happiness, Cale assumed a role he despised. He became the family's scapegoat, a lout. The disgrace of the Henituse name. He did it to shield his younger brother and stepmother from the harassment of his father's relatives, who sought to drive them away. His actions were an act of sacrifice, a way to divert the hatred away from his beloved family.
"You are a Henituse! Don't let other people treat you like this. Don't be an idiot! The vassals won't leave you and your mother alone if you don't do something. Tell them you are a Henituse! No matter what anyone would say, you are my father's son. You have Henituse blood in you!" Cale implored his only younger brother, his voice a mix of desperation and determination.
A soft, bitter laugh escaped Cale's lips as he reminisced about his first encounter with alcohol. At the tender age of 15, he sought solace in the numbing embrace of liquor. It was a temporary respite from the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him. He had caused trouble, engaged in reckless brawls with street toughs, hurled bottles, and made threats, all part of a calculated plan to push himself out of the line of inheritance for the Lordship. His strategy had been effective, but it had come at the cost of his own well-being—a high price for the protection of the family he loved so dearly.
Cale's laughter rang hollow in the stillness of his final moments in this body. It was a mixture of mirth and sorrow, a poignant reflection of the choices he had made. As the minutes ticked away, uncertainty gripped him like a vice, and he found himself torn between regret and resolve.
"Do you start to regret? We don't have to proceed with this plan if you wish to stop. It could all end at any moment," the god of death whispered in the recesses of his mind.
Cale's laughter quivered, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He had embarked on this journey, traveling back in time, to ensure that he could be replaced by someone who would safeguard his family and would achieve more than he ever could. The memories of that fateful day haunted him still—the screams, the lifeless eyes, the rivers of crimson that had stained the earth. So much blood—an indelible stain on his conscience.
In this somber moment, he grappled with the weight of his decision. The path he had chosen was one of sacrifice, but the cost was steep, and the memories of the past had left scars that could never truly heal.
It wasn't the regret of relinquishing his body for another that gnawed at Cale's soul; it was the unspoken words, the "I love you" and "I'm sorry," that remained trapped in the depths of his being. Those words lay dormant in his throat, like fragile butterflies, unable to escape their cocoon. He pondered, in moments of quiet reflection, whether he could have been a better son and whether things might have unfolded differently.
Once, he had burned as brightly as the sun, a radiant force of nature. But in truth, his brilliance had always been a reflection of his mother, for she had been the true source of his light. Without her, he felt like nothing more than the moon, a pale imitation of the star he once aspired to be.
Cale saw himself not as the shining star above, but as the restless waves that relentlessly battered the unforgiving cliffside. He felt like an anchor for a ship that yearned to sail away, and perhaps it was best to let it go.
As he drifted into slumber, Cale silently wished for the next occupant of his body to protect his family, to cherish them as he had. He hoped they would safeguard his brother and sister, watching them grow into the future that he would never witness. In his dreams, he composed the words he could never say, hoping they would find their way into the heart of his successor, granting them the happiness and love he had yearned for but never quite achieved.
With a heavy heart, Cale finally surrendered to the embrace of sleep, allowing the quiet solitude of his room to bear witness to his tears. In one of the hidden corners of the room lay a letter, a testament to his unspoken thoughts and the pain that had plagued him. Just like him, it would remain unheard, a silent plea that would echo in the hollow chambers of his soul.
"Goodbye," Cale softly whispers, his voice trembling under the heavy burden of sorrow, as he allows the soothing embrace of sleep to slowly engulf him, leaving behind a world filled with aching hearts, unspoken words, and an enduring, profound sense of loss.
Bonus:
The letter, old and brittle, lay there, a poignant relic of Cale's pain. It bore the traces of time, a testament to the unspoken words he had carried within him. Someday, in the distant future, someone would discover it, hidden away behind a simple painting, the last gift from Cale's mother.
The parchment had aged; its edges had frayed, and its ink had faded. It was written in his hand, each word a cry from the depths of his soul, a plea that had remained unanswered. In the corners of the letter, faint stains bore witness to the tears that had fallen as he penned those heartfelt words.
As the years passed, the letter had grown fragile for its age and for the person who wrote it, so that a part of the old Cale could age as well, its message frozen in time, a silent testament to the pain and loneliness that had defined Cale's existence. It was a cry for understanding, a plea for love, and a wish for a happier life that had forever eluded him. And yet, it would remain untouched. After all, Cale is best at keeping his feelings hidden.