Chapter Text
My eyes burned, each breath a struggle against the acrid smoke that clawed at my throat. The air thrummed with a grotesque symphony of clashing powers, the White Star’s manic laughter echoing over the battlefield. I pushed mana through my veins, my ancient powers screaming in protest, a shield forming around my allies. One last push. Just one. Then, a blinding flash, a roar that ripped through the very fabric of reality, and the world dissolved into nothingness.
Then, silence.
I blinked.
Soft morning light filtered through thin, slightly faded curtains, their edges uneven as if mended more than once. The sunlight slipped through in narrow bands, stretching across a low, modest ceiling and pooling gently over worn tatami mats. The air carried the faint scent of instant coffee and clean laundry, something simple and domestic—a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood and ozone that still lingered in my memory.
My body felt… light. Too light.
I pushed myself up, my movements clumsy, the futon beneath me shifting with a soft rustle. It was thin, neatly folded at the edges, clearly used to being tucked away to make space. The room itself was small—compact, efficient. A low wooden table sat near the center, its surface carefully organized with stacked textbooks, loose papers, and a chipped ceramic mug. Nearby, a modest bookshelf leaned slightly under the weight of well-used books, their spines creased and familiar with time.
A narrow kitchenette peeked in from the side, barely separated from the main space. A kettle rested on the stove, and a dish rack held a few neatly washed plates, drying in the morning light. Everything was clean—meticulously so—but undeniably worn. Not out of neglect, but necessity.
I stood, unsteady, my bare feet brushing against the tatami, and turned slowly, taking it all in. This wasn’t luxury. This wasn’t the vast silence of a mansion. This was a place that was lived in—every inch used, every object with purpose.
A small mirror leaned against the wall.
I stumbled toward it. And froze.
A child stared back. Bright red hair, shoulder-length, framed a pale, sharp-featured face. Wide, bewildered eyes, the same shade as mine, stared from a delicate, almost doll-like visage.
I'm seven. seven again....
A soft chime filled the room.
“Cale wake up, you'll be late for your first day of school.”
A voice, smooth and melodious, drifted from behind the door. This was… different. The God of Death, that bastard, had really outdone himself. A break, he’d said. This was certainly a break.The air did not stay silent for long.
“Comfortable?”
The voice slid into the room without sound, without presence—yet it filled everything. Cold. Detached. Familiar. I didn’t turn around.
“You.”
My voice came out hoarse, raw from smoke that no longer existed. My hands curled into fists at my sides, small—too small—trembling with a strength that had nowhere to go.
“You think this is funny?”
A soft chuckle echoed, as if the walls themselves found amusement.
“I gave you exactly what you asked for, Kim Rok Soo.”
A shiver ran up my spine at hearing my original name again, a surge of nostalgia following. I spun toward the mirror again, glaring at my own childish reflection as if it were his face.
“Don’t twist it. I asked for peace—not… this.”
I gestured sharply at my body, the room, the soft sunlight that felt like mockery.
“Ah,” the God of Death hummed, almost thoughtful.
“But isn’t this ideal? No wars. No White Star. No burdens. Just a quiet beginning.”
My teeth clenched.
“You ripped me out of my family.”
“And saved you from dying from it.”
The words landed heavier than any blow. I inched closer to the mirror, glaring into those wide red eyes—eyes that had seen too much to belong to a child.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
A pause.
Then, softer this time—almost curious.
“Would you have preferred to disappear?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was ugly.
Because the truth was complicated.
Because the truth was that I had been ready to burn everything—including myself—if it meant ending it.
The God of Death sighed, faint and distant.
“You mortals are always so dramatic.”
My glare sharpened, somehow. “And you’re always meddling.”
Another chuckle.
“Consider this… compensation. A break, as promised. What you do with it is your choice.”
My hands loosened slightly, though the anger didn’t fade—it settled, simmering under the surface like banked fire.
“…And if I refuse?” I asked quietly.
“You won’t.”
The certainty in his voice was infuriating.
“And why is that?”
“Because, Cale Henituse…”
The presence began to fade, the air growing lighter, emptier.
“…you’ve always been very good at surviving.”
Silence returned. Real silence, this time.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the child in the mirror—at the fragile frame housing an ancient exhaustion.
“…Tch.”
My lips pressed into a thin line.
“Fine.”
If this was a ‘break’…
Then I’d take it.