Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Heavens shattered. Oceans of flesh and blood, his vision was unfocused. From scene to scene. The future to the past. Memories that were so far seemed to sink into the back of his head.

Red, the future was a red mess. His eyes fluttered open, his throat sore, his limbs aching as his gaze adjusted to the light. He felt wet. Felt liquid leaking down his chin and neck, wetting his sheets and shirt. His hands trembled as he reached slowly to undo his bloody top.

Blood?

He looked down at himself, his blurry vision catching the red. Lots of it. He sat up, wincing at the slightest move. He leaned on the headboard of the bed. His back merely supported by a bloody pillow. He felt weak. His fingers trembled as he did the buttons one after the other.

These visions. These dreams. Nightmares. This is the third time, all so repetitive. But one that caught his eyes was the flames. That one wasn’t so far from now, he knew it wasn’t. He felt it. Basen.. His brother was in danger.

If anything happened to basen. This all would be for nothing. He should warn his brother, protect him. He failed in the visions. He didn’t know. This must be help. Perhaps the heavens pitied him. He hoped so, if he kept getting these visions, he’d gain more information, maybe then he’d be able to protect his family properly.

He froze at the sound of the door knocking, raising a brow, before unconsciously speaking, forgetting the current condition of his body. “Who is it?” His voice was low and tired, hoarse and dry. He glanced at his night stand, where a glass of water was waiting for him. He wanted it, his throat hurts.

As he reached for the glass, a deep old voice spoke. “Young master, it seems you woke up early today.” Cale felt a shiver run down his spine as he managed to grab the glass and brought it to his bloody lips. He took a sip, swallowing down the warm liquid with the blood in his mouth. He coughed, choking on the water, his throat burned.

“Young master?” the voice rang out again, and cale swallowed the coughs. “Y…Yes?” His voice sounded muffled as he covered his lips with his palm to hold in the coughs. The blood smearing on his cheeks. “May I come in?” he paused, feeling unsettled by the question.

Ron. Head butler of the Henituse family. His caretaker. Cale bit down on his bottom lip, his brows furrowing in a deep frown “Screw off, Ron” he simply managed, Cale moved to put the glass back on the bedside table, but it slipped before he could place it down and fell down. Loud shattering of the glass echoed in the room. And Cale cursed under his breath as the door swung open, his old butler entering with a chilly expression.

Ron paused for a moment at the sight of Cale’s bloody form, the pillows and sheets, and the blanket and Cale’s shirt and pants. All full of blood. He eyed the blood smearing on his young master’s cheeks then his bloody hands. Before stepping closer. “Young master…” he paused, his cold gaze falling on the shattered glass on the ground right beside Cale's bed.

Cale coughed out more blood, clenching his chest. Then— with the briefest blink, another vision. Blurry. Ron. on a bed, paler than ever and his son by his side, holding his hand tightly…

Ron will also die. His eyes widened as he looked up at the old butler. Tripping with his own blanket, he grabbed Ron’s collar roughly, feeling unexplained anger. “You..” He didn’t know what to say or do, he was mad. He stared into the old man’s curious eyes before pushing him back. The old man barely stumbled, standing back straight.

Cale scoffed and tore off the rest of his shirt’s buttons, tossing it on the bed before getting off, stumbling forward, the ground unsteady underneath his shaky feet. He tried to move, to break free from the shackles chaining him to the ground. But his weak limbs felt heavy, sluggish, too useless. The voices grew louder, a screeching of whispers and shouts that echoed inside his skull.

Red. The ground and sky. The rain and the mud. All red. More visions he couldn’t make out or comprehend.

He felt the ground pulling him, his legs giving out as he fell. His eyes closing shut

Red..why couldn't he see black instead? Why did it all have to be red?

Chapter Text

He ran away. Escaped. He’s not sure how, but when he opened his eyes he saw Ron, and he didn't want to see him first thing. So he ran away. 

He ran through the halls with a bleeding nose trailing blood behind him then jumped out an open window. Landed on some bushes, he’s almost sixty percent sure he broke a rib and his wrist. It hurts like hell but he didn’t want to stay there. Worst, meet his brother or mother and get another vision.

He staggered into the street. His vision swam. The edges of his sight turned dark, blotting out the faces that stared as he passed. He could hear their murmurs—soft, hushed tones that made his ears ring.

“That’s the trash young master, right?”
“Is that…blood?”
“Don’t look—he’ll see you.”

The whispers dug into his skin like needles. His hands curled into fists, trembling against his sides.

It doesn’t matter. Keep going.

Cale walked fast, not wanting to waste time. Surely, Ron will follow soon, so he had to hurry. His fast walking soon turned into running. All while he barely blinked. He felt it. The shitty feeling before his visions. Pure fear and panic. The future wasn’t so bright.

His throat soared as he bit down on his tongue, as he reached the walls of the Henituse territory, he tripped over his own feet, gravity pulling him down. Falling to his knees, his stomach churning violently. Blood bubbled up his throat, and he coughed, the sound wet and ragged. It splattered onto the dirt, dark and vivid. His hands shook as he wiped at his mouth, smearing red across his skin.

The flames.
The screams.
The monster.

“No, no, no,” Cale whispered, his voice cracking. His nails dug into his palms as he tumbled forward, covering his ears, trying to drown out the screams.

Till a hand landed on his shoulder

“Ah— Are you alright? that-” 

Black hair

He saw that before. Black hair, a sharp sword, his body trembled as more blood gathered in his throat,, the blood spilling out, falling on both his shirt and the man’s pants. The man placed a strong hand on his back, stroking as if trying to help Cale

Cale flinched, jerking away from the touch. He twisted around, his wide, bloodshot eyes locking onto the man standing over him. Black hair. Dark eyes. Too close.

“Don’t touch me!” Cale hissed, his voice raw. He scrambled backward, his palms scraping against the ground.

The man raised his hands in surrender, taking a cautious step back. “You’re hurt,” he said carefully. His voice was calm, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Where do you live?”

Cale frowned, staring at him

“You’re bleeding..where do you live?” the man asked again, black eyes worried as he wrapped his arm around Cale’s waist. Cale pursed his lips as another vision passed.

The monster. This man…

He will kill the monster. Cale glanced up at him. If this man succeeded in ending the monster, that’s one less danger to the Henituse territory…

Cale didn’t answer. His mind raced, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. He couldn’t stop shaking.

The man crouched slowly, keeping his movements deliberate. “You’re bleeding badly,” he said again, softer this time. “If you don’t get help, you’ll pass out.”

“I don’t care,” Cale spat, his words slurring together. “Leave me alone.”

The man didn’t move. He just watched, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you live nearby?”

Cale swallowed hard, his throat aching. His vision blurred, and his head felt too heavy to hold up. “…Henituse mansion,” he muttered, barely audible.

The man’s expression flickered—something unreadable, maybe recognition. “What’s your name?” the man asked. 

Cale pressed a hand to his face, his fingers digging into his skin. “Cale,” he mumbled. “Cale Henituse.”

The man straightened, his brows furrowing. He hesitated for a moment before moving closer, sliding an arm under Cale’s shoulders. “You can’t walk like this. I’ll help you.”

Cale tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t listen. The stranger lifted him easily, his grip firm but not rough.

“Who…are you?” Cale murmured, his head lolling against the man’s shoulder.

“Choi Han,” the man said quietly.

“Where…from?”

“Harris Village.”

Cale’s lips twitched into a bitter expression. “Cursed place,” he whispered hoarsely.

Choi Han’s grip tightened. He said nothing, his face a blank mask as he carried Cale down the road

Chapter Text

By the time they reached the entrance of Henituse territory, Cale’s body felt unbearably heavy. His head lolled against Choi Han’s shoulder, his breathing shallow. He was barely holding on, but the moment he lifted his gaze, a familiar sight sent a fresh wave of irritation coursing through him.

Ron.

The old butler stood by the entrance, his ever-present chilly smile firmly in place, arms loosely crossed. The guards flanked him, their expressions carefully neutral, but Ron’s sharp gaze lingered on Cale like a predator toying with its prey.

Cale frowned and immediately turned his face into Choi Han’s shoulder, as if hiding would make Ron disappear.

Choi Han raised a brow at the odd reaction, glancing between the bloodied young master in his arms and the old man standing before him. Something about Ron unsettled him—there was an air of quiet danger beneath that polite expression, like a blade hidden beneath silk. Choi Han’s grip on Cale instinctively tightened.

“It seems the young master has finally decided to return,” Ron mused, his smile widening.

Cale exhaled sharply, his irritation bubbling over. “Screw off, Ron,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

The butler’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something amused in the way he tilted his head. “Ah, young master, you wound me.”

Choi Han, still holding Cale, narrowed his eyes slightly. “Is this man your caretaker?”

Cale groaned, already exhausted by the impending conversation. “Unfortunately.”

Ron chuckled. “I would hardly call it unfortunate, young master. After all, who else would ensure your well-being?” His gaze flickered over Cale’s bloodied form, his smile sharpening. “Though it seems you’ve been rather… reckless.”

Cale gritted his teeth and tried to shift in Choi Han’s arms. “Put me down.”

Choi Han hesitated, glancing at Ron again. The butler met his gaze evenly, his smile unwavering, before taking a deliberate step forward. “You may leave him to me.”

Cale tensed. “Like hell.”

Ron raised a brow but didn’t argue. Instead, he simply extended a hand toward Cale. “Shall we go inside, young master? I’m sure you’d rather not make a scene in front of the guards.” Oh he would very much like that

Cale scowled but didn’t answer. His body ached, his head throbbed, and his patience had long since evaporated. Yet, even through his exhaustion, he knew one thing—Ron was far from harmless. And if Cale had learned anything from his visions, it was that underestimating those around him could cost him everything.

He exhaled heavily, finally glancing at Choi Han. “Put me down,” he muttered again, this time more resigned.

Choi Han studied him for a moment before nodding. Carefully, he lowered Cale to his feet. The moment Cale’s weight settled on his own legs, pain shot through his body like fire. His knees buckled, but before he could collapse, Ron’s hand shot out, steadying him with an almost effortless grip

“Careful, young master,” Ron said lightly. “You wouldn’t want to fall, now would you?”

Cale clenched his jaw, glaring up at the butler.

Choi Han remained silent, watching the interaction closely.

Ron turned his attention to him. “I assume you are the one who assisted our young master?”

Choi Han’s expression remained unreadable. “I found him outside the territory. He was in no condition to be wandering alone.”

Ron hummed in understanding, his smile never wavering. “I see. Well, thank you for your kindness.”

Cale, still leaning against Ron, let out a slow breath. He didn’t have the energy to deal with this. “Enough talking. I’m going inside.”

Ron’s grip loosened slightly, just enough to let Cale shift on his own. “Of course, young master.”

Without another word, Cale pushed forward, forcing himself to walk despite the pain screaming through his limbs. He refused to be carried any further, refused to show weakness in front of Ron, or Choi Han, or anyone else.

As he crossed the threshold into the Henituse estate, he could still feel Choi Han’s gaze on him. Watching. Measuring.

And somewhere deep in his gut, Cale knew—this was just the start.

Chapter Text

The night air blew in, strong, cold, sharp. The balcony door was wide open, but the sheer curtains were drawn. They danced in slow, spiraling waves with the wind.

Cale sat on the edge of his bed. The papers, the pen, the ink—all untouched on the bedside table.

He pressed a hand over his mouth. Sweat slid down his temple. His hair stuck to his forehead. His body shook, just slightly.

Maybe it was a reaction. Against sleep.

Or what came with it.

The visions had dug deeper than he thought. Bloody, cruel wars—future battles he had no way to stop, only witness.

His eyes lingered on the curtains. Then he stood.

He moved through them, their chill brushing his skin, and grabbed the door handles. He shut it. Then drew the curtains closed.

He wished he could understand.

Dates. Names. Faces.

Anything. Please.

He shut his eyes. Breathed out.

And let himself fall back into the bed, hoping sleep would come gently.

_________________________________________

His hands were too fucking weak, he kept breaking glass…

"Young master," Cale frowned, a shiver running down his spine as he slowly got out of bed, careful of his steps "Ron, call a maid to clean up here" he said, stumbling to the door and opening it, Ron stood right there, his usual smile absent as he stared at Cale's bloody face and clothes,  Cale pointed to the Glass "i dropped the water jar," he muttered "prepare me my clothes while i wash up."

But Ron didn't move right away, and that had Cale frowning, already annoyed "are you deaf? i said call the fucking maids" 

Ron nodded "yes of course. young master, may i ask what happened?" he asked, eyeing the blood all over Cale, but Cale didn't care to explain "none of your fucking business, and i want breakfast in bed"

the butler didn't seem to budge "young master, was it the glass?" he asked, though if it was the glass, the blood would be on the ground, not all over Cale and his bed. but Cale nodded "yes, now do as you've been told" then he turned, and off to the bathroom to wash off the dried blood from his body.

Sinking into the tub, Cale sighed. blood finally off his body. He had scrubbed till his skin reddened. He leaned against the back of the tub and closed his eyes. These dreams weren't just dreams. He wasn't stupid. Perhaps they were visions of a future that's to come.

If so, that was bad. real bad. There was too much war, too many deaths. and worst, if it got too big, that'd mean it might affect his family. But he wasn't sure what to do, since they were pretty blurry. He thought of documenting them, writing them down the moment he wakes up. for now he'll try that. drinking became annoying with his throat burning painfully whenever the liquid went down. The blood didn't taste so good afterwards. maybe he should put water in the bottles instead of liquor. but that'd be obvious. He'll just have to deal with it.

Rising up, he grabbed a bathrobe and wore it, tying it loosely around his waist. He grabbed a towel for his hair and walked out, eyeing his clean bed and the newly wiped floors, it was as if nothing happened. good. Ron entered just then, with a tray of morning lemon tea, at least better than the lemonade he kept bringing. Cale could swear it was a punishment for something, he’s just not sure what this old fucker is mad for. sitting down on a chair, Ron placed the drink on the table right before him. and Cale eyed the old man with a blank expression. "Your face is annoying" he muttered, "Ron I need some writing equipment," Ron nodded, smiling like usual "Of course, young master"

As Ron went to get his request. other servants entered with his clothes. and cale asked them to put them on his bed and leave rather rudely, and they hurriedly listened. Leaving without a protest.

Cale quickly dressed and sat down to drink his tea, especially sweet with honey. It was shit, tasted like sickness and health and he hated it.

Soon enough, Ron came back and placed his request on the table. Cale waved him off but the butler didn't budge, staring at him with his creepy smile that made Cale want to punch him in the face. "The fuck you want?" he asked, and Ron eyed the papers. Then looked back at Cale "Young master, it seems something I'm unaware of is happening." 

Cale frowned "You don't have to know everything, Ron" 

Ron stared at the young master with a curious gaze "Is that so.."

The redhead leaned back and sighed "It has nothing to do with you, Ron, and where's my breakfast?" 

Just then, two maids walked in with a rolling cart with his breakfast. As they placed the plates down. Cale eyed Ron, then blanked and leaned back in his chair, the maids hurried out and Cale stared at the food then looked back at Ron, “You’re just gonna stand there?” 

Ron smiled “Why, Does the young master not desire my presence?” Cale frowned and rolled his eyes, reaching for his fork but then paused and retreated his hand. “..Ron..Don’t die” he whispered, looking down. Ron stared at him with curiosity, but then simply smiled “I won’t, young master”

Cale’s frown deepened, “I don’t trust you..Ron..I know…you’ll”

Ron then spoke up, cutting Cale off. “You know..you seem to know, young master..i’m curious about what you know”

Cale sighed “i know..Ron it’s complicated” 

Ron’s eyes darted away “We have the time”

Called huffed and crossed his arms “..Ron..is there some bad group you know of?

Ron frowned “..young master-”

“Visions, I'm seeing visions in my dream of a future that isn’t so bright.” 

Ron’s eyes narrowed and his smile faltered “..visions you say?”

Cale nodded “i..don’t know, but i think…” he closed his eyes and leaned back “..get out, ron..”

Ron stared intently at the redhead, “Young master, I'm intrigued.”

Cale opened his eyes and eyed Ron before shaking his head and looking away, “The future..is..a mess”

Ron nodded, eyeing the papers “is that why you need this? To write down what you see?” Cale nodded, staring at the papers “Ron..don’t die, please..live, for your son” And for me..

so much left unsaid.

Chapter Text

Ron wasn’t sure how to take the revelation. Visions? For a moment he thought the puppy had lost his mind. But he knows of the organisation. He tried to believe him despite how impossible it sounded. He guessed the blood was a side effect of the foreseeing ability the young master seems to have, he wondered if he should inform the lord of his son’s illness. But at the insistence of the pup to keep everything a secret, Ron decided not to.

The young master seemed to be mad at him more than usual today, cursing him and avoiding him at all costs. He saw a couple papers filled, but they were written with blood, and drenched with blood, and the handwriting was sloppy and messy. Yet the young master would read them and stare intently, trying to decipher the events.

It was amusing, intriguing. The young master can see the future. And it was clearly a bad future with the amount of blood and Cale’s panic whenever he got his ‘visions’

Today the puppy was grumpy, having yet again woke up in a pool of his own blood. Ron had to replace the glass cups with metal ones, and the water jar too had to be replaced with a metal one, it was because Cale kept breaking the glass ones when he woke up thirsty.

As the young master ate his breakfast, steamed vegetables and a warm soup, mainly because the hard food pained his throat. Ron was sitting on the chair opposite to his, Cale insisted he sits as Cale rambled on his visions, about fires, blood. The young master talked a lot about blood

Cale was annoyed, sipping the soup from his spoon as he stared at the five papers he had filled so far, writing them with his own blood because the inkwell had spilled from his shaking hand. Had fallen and stained the ground. And he was too tired to call out to a servant to refill it. Or to clean up.

“Did Father decide whether Basen is visiting the crown prince?” Cale asked suddenly, his tone sharp.

Ron nodded. “Yes, young master. Young Master Basen is set to leave in three days.”

Cale’s frown deepened. He shoved the bloodied papers toward Ron. “Tell him not to go.”

Ron raised a brow. “Young master?”
Cale pushed himself up from his chair, running a hand through his disheveled red hair. “Actually… no one should go.”

Ron didn’t speak right away, simply observing the young master as he stood there, tense, shoulders drawn tight. Cale rarely showed his emotions so openly, but today, his frustration was palpable.

“Do you plan to give me a reason for this sudden decision?” Ron asked, voice calm.

Cale’s fingers twitched at his side, but he shook his head. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, Ron. Just do as I say.”

Ron hummed, neither agreeing nor refusing. Instead, he picked up one of the bloodstained papers, scanning the messy scrawl.

“Fire. Blood. Death,” he read aloud, voice devoid of mockery, but laced with curiosity. “An unfortunate vision, young master.”

Cale scowled, grabbing the paper back and crumpling it in his fist. “I know that.” His voice came out sharper than intended, his throat burning from the effort. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t know how much of it will come true, but I’m not taking any risks. Basen can’t go.”

Ron tilted his head slightly. “I’ll speak with the count then, I'll inform him that you do not wish for young master Basen to go. Though you mind have to explain it to him yourself”