Chapter Text
Chapter 1
A young Cale was standing in the grass of the Henituse garden. He looked around for his mother to find her sitting in the same spot under the shade of her favourite tree–she had told him it had started to bloom the day Cale had been born, hence it became her favourite.
“Mama!” the young cheerful voice of Cale made his mom look at him as he was running to her. “You will slip if you’re not careful, Cale.” she had said his name in a soft tone, it sounded so affectionate under her voice.
He intentionally fell onto his mother’s arms to hug her.
“Why are you so hurried?” Jour had recognised her son’s worried and hesitant actions. He was just as happy and cheerful as any day but she could feel his heartbeat the moment he fell on her, and it was unusual.
“I had a scary dream, you weren’t there and I heard people call me bad things, they were talking about you badly too!” Cale's voice cracked before he continued talking. “Dad was on the other side of them just staring at me. Why wouldn’t he stop them?” Cale felt strange talking about all this–although he could still feel his mom it was as if she was slowly fading away.
“Cale, dear, are you sure it was a dream? Have you gone mad so much that you forget the difference between reality and dreams?” Jour's voice still held the same affection in them despite her harsh words.
Cale couldn't feel his mother anymore even though he could still see her. He pushed himself off her and sat on his knees while looking at his mother in confusion. “What’s happening, mama?”
“Cale, do you not want to wake up? Your dad will be sad if you miss breakfast with him again.” his mom–was she even really his mom or just a fake memory of her– was still talking about things he didn't understand–things he didn't want to remember.
“Mama-” Cale was startled by his own voice, it sounded tired and hoarse, and it scared him. This wasn't how his voice was supposed to sound.
“Cale, please, stop pushing away the people you love. Stop fighting. Don’t break yourself when you know there are other options. Stop following the plan of a grief-stricken nine-year-old before you break yourself.”
His mother hugged him again, but he couldn't feel her hug. It was just cold air touching his neck, and now the image of his mother slowly vanished, as all that was left was a grave in front of him where the tree was.
Cale woke and sat up terrified. His body was filled with sweat and his breathing was fast and uneven. He touched his chest feeling his fast beating heart while tears fell onto his cover.
He winced at feeling a sharp pain in his side and torso. He put his head on his hand–his other hand was wrapped completely as it was broken and not even a high-grade potion is enough to heal a broken arm– finding the pain grounding, making him relax and think properly. He took a deep breath filling his lungs back up with air, then looked at the bandages that were slowly turning red. Cale sighed and ignored the blood slowly soaking his bandages knowing it would soon be dripping on the bed.
‘Another nightmare.’ Cale felt disappointed as he realised it. He doesn't know if those dreams he keeps having could be called nightmares but his physical reaction to them had the same effect as one even if he didn't hate what he saw in them.
The pain had gotten worse after he breathed in as he guessed he probably reopened another wound. “Haah, what was I thinking of saying these things to that grieving bastard?” he sighed remembering what caused his injuries. He looked towards the window trying to find out what time it was.
‘Seems like it's still dark outside.’ he held back another sigh. There was no way he could go back to sleep now.
‘It's strange. This dream seemed different from the others.’ He remembered the dream vividly, it was always like this with those dreams, somehow he never forgot a single detail of them.
But this time it's different. In his dreams his mom never felt so realistic, she never pointed out that it was a dream either.
He looked to the small drawer beside his bed, ignoring the pain, he reached out to open the drawer and took out a notebook and a quill–since always after waking up from his ‘nightmares’ he gives up on sleeping, he has been using this notebook to write down his dreams in secret.
He flipped through the notebook while reading about his written dreams carefully–this became a habit of his every time, no matter how many times he’s read the same text over and over again he couldn't get himself to skip over a single one.
The moment he reached the end of his written dreams, he began writing and describing his newest dream in the notebook–at this moment he was glad that his left hand was the one that black haired bastard twisted. Although, his handwriting still looked messy and he made many mistakes as his shoulders and bandaged body ached the more he wrote, but he couldn't stop himself from writing.
He couldn't bear the thought of forgetting these dreams of his mom. The only thing he was left with of her that he could do secretly without alerting others there was something wrong with his troublemaking act.
He felt his eyes itching as he reached the part where he had to write his mother’s words to him, no dream he ever had mentioned his act, no dream mentioned anything of the future his mother never saw–and he was glad she didn't.
He felt conflicted, how could he continue this if he now has the memory of his mother telling him to stop? How could he stop when it had been a decade since he started this? Does he even know how to stop this act? Was it even an act anymore if he had forgotten how to ever become normal again?
His hands were shaking, his already ruined handwriting was slowly turning into messy unreadable lines and his vision was beginning to blur. He huffed in exasperation as it slowly turned into a half-laugh.
“Why did I have to get this dream now of all times? It had been so long since I had one too”
He covered his face with his hands as he shut his eyes to stop tears from falling as he remembered her words, “Cale, please, stop pushing away the people you love. Stop fighting. Don’t break yourself when you know there are other options. Stop following the plan of a grief-stricken nine-year-old before you break yourself.”
‘I think it's too late, mama. This act has already engraved itself into me’ If he stops then what would be left of him? Who is he if not for this act? This play-pretend is caused by his love for his family, that's all that is left of him, he doesn't remember who he is. He can only vaguely recall how his younger self used to act.
He was playful, loved sparring with his dad, jumped at the opportunity to hear stories of his parents past, loved to read about other species and learn of their strengths, and most of all–the one trait that had and will never leave his very being–he loved his family more than anything, just sitting beside his parents and watching them was his happiest most beautiful memories etched onto his heart.
He scribbled across the unreadable text as he rewrote his mother’s words properly, making sure to keep his hurt shoulder and arm steady as he wrote it with the utmost care.
***
Kim Rok Soo, the 36-year-old man, had woken up in the middle of the night after hearing the voice of someone talking–after all he was a light sleeper, he had to be or he would've been long dead from the frequent outbreaks near the edge of the city right where he lived.
He frowned as he forced himself to wake and sit up on his bed trying to figure out who was talking, but after that one sentence there was a long pause, so he did the only thing he could do.
He used record, his ability, to recall the voice as he played it again in his head.
–Haah, what was I thinking of saying these things to that grieving bastard?
The voice seemed hoarse and raspy–probably because its owner had just woken up considering the time. He concluded the owner was probably a young man as well.
‘Grieving bastard?’
Rok soo was less alert and more confused about the voice of this boy, since it seemed like he was talking to himself instead of it being directed to him.
‘Where is he anyway? As far as I know, I don't have any neighbours..’
Rok soo forced himself to get up from the bed and looked through his windows, just like he expected no one was around.
‘The voice seemed too close to be coming from outside. Is it an ability? Does he not realise his ability is active?’
Seeing as the boy had stopped talking, Rok Soo went to the kitchen to get himself a cup of water since his throat was dry considering he had just woken up. But while he was drinking the voice appeared again.
–Why did I have to get this dream now of all times? It had been so long since I had one too
Rok soo frowned again. ‘So he definitely doesn't know I can hear him.’
It became clearer that the boy was talking to himself–it seemed like the boy could have woken from a nightmare considering his tone while mentioning the dream.
Rok soo held back a sigh, afraid that the boy would hear him. He decided to try to talk to him later because it didn’t seem to be the time for him to add to the stress of the poor boy. So, he stayed quiet, giving the owner of the voice his own time.
Knowing that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, Kim Rok Soo just decided to revise some of the paperwork about the recent mission plans he made for his team yesterday–although it was his day off, he decided to spend most of his morning making plans for upcoming missions to clear the area around the city from monsters.
He had to be meticulous about his mission plan, he prepared side plans for just in case situations as well.
‘Now that I think of it, I didn’t ask the scouts the day before yesterday about which monsters they frequently encountered the past week. I got off of work at a later time than the shift change for the scouts.’
Each week he made sure to ask about the monsters to know who exactly to send off, but the recent outbreak that happened that week caused him to finish later than usual to write a report.
Kim Rok soo heard the man’s voice again, cutting him off from recording and reading the last side plan he made among 8 others excluding the main plans for the tenth time.
–What the fuck do you want? Where is Ron?
Roksoo was startled at hearing the familiar name–he didn't expect to hear the name of a character he read in that novel so suddenly. ‘Is he a foreigner? Ron, is a common English name right?’
He decided it would be best to stay quiet taking note of the fact that the young man still didn't notice him and was talking to someone else, but now he was interested in listening in more to the voice's conversation.
***
Cale had heard the footsteps of someone approaching so he hid his notebook and pretended as if he was asleep. But unlike who he expected to hear the voice of, he heard the voice of Deputy Butler Hans waking him up.
“Young master Cale…?” His voice sounded hesitant and scared.
At that moment Cale decided not to sleep in and get the sleep he couldn't have at night, he opened his eyes to glare at Hans while questioning him.
“What the fuck do you want? Where is Ron?”
Hans hesitated to answer but continued to talk anyway, afraid that the cup of cold water and lemonade he brought with him–just like he had seen Ron do for Cale–would be thrown at him.
“I’m not sure, young master. Ron had left without contacting anyone..” Half of what he said was a lie, Ron did contact him.
He had told him that he would leave and so the responsibility of cale would be handed to him. Ron had also instructed him on a few things after Hans panicked while asking why because he was afraid to serve the young master.
Hans remembered his talk with Ron quite clearly as he said a lot of strange things. “Don't worry too much about serving him. It is going to increase your workload of things to do but Cale wouldn't throw things directly at you no matter what.”
He could see why Ron would say that, but the only reason is because Ron had been serving cale for a long time.
Hans–as the deputy butler that takes care of cale right after Ron–had noticed that not even once after cale screams at Ron did he throw something at him.
He for sure was rude and cursed Ron, sometimes even spilled things on the ground, but that was the least of the messes he had to clean up after cale when he gets angry at someone–which, mind you, is a very frequent occurrence.
So, Hans wasn't so sure of Ron’s words. It was obvious to him cale favoured Ron as a servant more than him; considering he screams at Ron way less often than he does to him. So who was to say–especially after what had happened the day before–cale wouldn't be angry enough to lash out at him?
“He left without contacting anyone? Did he not leave at least a note about when he’s coming back?” Unlike what Hans was used to, Cale's tone wasn't that of anger nor annoyance, his questions simply were out of confusion.
“I…” Hans hesitated, taking longer than usual before completely closing his mouth not knowing what to say. The only thing he was told by ron was that he was leaving and the small reassurance of his new job taking care of cale–which now that he thought about it seemed kind of weird for Ron to do considering he had only left a note for the count of his retirement.
Cale, seeing Hans's hesitance, tried to sit up before Hans stopped him.
“Young master please lay down, your injuries may reopen if you sit up now!”
Hans rushed to make sure cale is laying down again just to realise he was too late as he saw blood on the bed. ‘The blood is dry, were the injuries opened at night?’ That was the first thought that Hans had before trying to call for the physician and bring a healing potion.
“I’ll bring help right away youn-” cale cut him off. “Shut up for a second.”
He sighed as he sat up despite Hans's pleas not to.
“Answer my question, before you start bleeding instead.” He glared at Hans, the threat finally getting him the answer to his previous question.
“Ron had only left a note saying he is leaving with…” Hans hesitated before deciding to change the name of the kid he was about to mention. “With chef Beacrox, his son.”
“What?” The glare on Cale’s face slowly turned into a look of confusion and disbelief.
“Ron only-” Hans was about to repeat himself not wanting to be threatened again for not answering a question but Cale cut him off again. “Get the fuck out.” Although Cale was cursing his face looked the opposite of angry.
Hans didn't waste a second to get out–unbeknownst to Cale, Hans headed straight to the physician to let him know of Cale's reopened wounds.
Cale watched as the door slowly closed after Hans left, his face blank of any emotion as he sighed.
‘Well, I guess he had tolerated me for long enough.’ Despite the almost apathetic thought cale had, he shut his eyes immediately feeling the burning sensation in them while keeping his expression blank–his right hand that reached his neck was scratching at it frantically as if trying to keep his breathing in check while failing miserably at it.
Cale’s neck was burning but at least his eyes weren't anymore so he continued to scratch at the side of his neck as he looked at the soaked bandages and dried blood on his bed. ‘Could beacrox have told him?’
Cale clearly remembered seeing Beacrox right as he was slowly fainting on the ground, he looked towards him in such disgust and so Cale remembered what he had said. “Why should my father care whether or not some useless villagers are dead? This cup of alcohol in my hand is worth more than all of your useless lives combined.”
He shivered as he thought of what Choi Han did next, his hand that was scratching his neck went to touch his broken arm. “I guess I did deserve that…”
At that moment Cale was startled at hearing the voice of a strange man.
–Who are you?
Kim Rok soo had gotten tired of waiting for the sulking boy to realise he could hear him. He really did not want to hear the voice sitting there blaming himself for another hour nor did he have the time to do so.