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Cale sat slumped against his mother’s gravestone, the weight of the wine bottles surrounding him like ghosts of decisions he couldn’t take back.
Each one emptied the farther he fell, the mess of crimson staining his clothes no less than the ache in his chest.
Another gulp, straight from the bottle. Bitter. Burning. It didn’t help. But it silenced the thoughts for a second.
He gasped, finally pulling the bottle from his lips, wine dripping down his chin. His arm sloppily wiped at the mess, but it only smeared the red deeper into his pale skin.
He leaned heavily on the cold marble of the gravestone, his gaze blank as he looked up at the star-filled night.
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No moon tonight.
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Just distant, uncaring stars.
"That old bastard…" Cale muttered, his voice hoarse, broken.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair, yanking at the strands like it might ground him.
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Three days.
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Three days since Choi Han left him bruised and bloodied on the ground.
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Three days since Ron and Beacrox walked away, their shadows swallowed by silence and betrayal.
Cale clenched his jaw. "Goddammit!" he roared suddenly, and with a wild motion, he hurled the bottle in his hand.
It shattered against the stone path. A sharp sting followed—glass had sliced into his right cheek. A small line of blood welled up, running a thin trail down to his jaw.
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He didn’t even flinch.
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Instead, his breath hitched.
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Once.
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Then again.
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And then the tears came.
Quietly at first, like they were afraid. Then louder. More insistent. His shoulders trembled as he covered his face with both hands, dragging them up into his hair, clawing at his scalp.
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Everything hurt.
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Ron had promised.
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He promised.
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He said he’d never leave.
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But they all leave.
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Every single one.
They make promises with pretty words and warm smiles—and they leave when it matters most.
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They’re liars.
His mother. His father. Ron. Even the servants. All the same.
And his father, that man—he brought Violan into the house, announced a marriage like it was nothing, like he hadn’t left Cale behind with silence and questions.
That day, Cale waited.
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He waited for the front door to open.
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For his father to return and say, “I’m sorry.”
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To wrap him in arms that hadn’t been there in years.
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But he never did.
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And maybe… maybe Cale had never stopped waiting.
He took in a shaky breath, the stars above blurring through his tears.
“I hate you,” he whispered, not even knowing who the words were for anymore.
And still, he kept staring up at that dark, star-strewn sky.
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Waiting.
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_____________________________________________________________
He knew he resembled his mother, Jour.
And maybe… maybe that was why his father couldn’t look at him without flinching.
That resemblance, once a comfort, now felt like a curse. Like a reminder no one wanted. Like the scar left behind by love lost too soon.
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He tried to be brave.
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He really did.
He tried to smile, tried to pretend like the silence didn’t cut deeper than any wound, that the distance didn’t echo in the halls of the mansion like a ghost.
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But he was tired.
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So damn tired.
He told himself he was happy that his father had found happiness again, that he was smiling again—but the ache settled in his bones like frost when he realized that...
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He wasn’t the reason for that smile
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It was painful.
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So painful.
Watching them from afar—Violan, his father, Lily and Basen laughing together like a portrait torn from a fairy tale, one Cale could never fit into.
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He never could
He knew if he stepped closer, if he tried to be part of that world, he’d stand out like a stain on white silk. Like something that didn’t belong.
Like a mistake that had somehow been allowed to live.
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So he kept his distance.
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Even when it hurt.
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Even when every step back felt like tearing his heart from his chest.
Ron had been the only one who stayed.The only one who didn’t look away.
He had been Cale’s anchor in the storm, always there, always steady. Telling him gently that it was alright, that he could survive this, that he wasn’t alone.
But now even Ron had left.
And Cale had been too naive to think those promises would last. That anyone’s word could hold up against the weight of reality.
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He had believed.
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And now he was alone again.
Slouching where he sat, he let his head rest against the cold marble of his mother’s grave.
It was chilled from the night air, yet it held a strange comfort—like arms that had long since stopped holding him, now trying to cradle what was left of her broken boy.
It should’ve been unsettling. But to Cale, it was the only place that felt safe.
He closed his eyes.
His breath shallow, his chest heavy.
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What if…?
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What if he had died with his mother that day in the carriage?
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What if he had joined her on that trip to Harris Village?
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Would it have changed anything?
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Would anyone have even missed him?
Regret clawed at his throat. Of all the things he could’ve changed, he couldn’t help but think—
Maybe it would’ve been better if he had died with her.
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Maybe then the pain would’ve stopped.
Maybe then he could’ve found peace, wrapped in the warmth of someone who never made him feel like a burden.
Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Cale wished—wished with everything in him—that someone would stay.
Someone who would say, “I’ll never leave you,” and actually mean it.
Someone who wouldn’t walk away when things got hard.
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How I wish…
A whisper lost to the wind.
Tears silently slipped down his cheeks, staining the already-wine-soaked collar of his shirt.
His eyelids grew heavier with each blink, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight too long carried.
And just as sleep began to take him, a faint light streaked across the sky.
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A shooting star
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A single light racing across the stars.
And in that moment, the gravestone beneath him warmed with an ethereal glow, soft and golden. Like someone had lit a candle in the cold.
And Cale, finally, felt something other than pain.
Just for a moment.
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Warmth.
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_________________________________________________________________
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"My child, wake up."
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"It's already late, my child."
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A soft voice laced with warmth and familiarity brushed past his ears like a lullaby from a memory long buried beneath the weight of grief.
Cale stirred, his brows twitching slightly before his eyes fluttered open—slow, sluggish. The ceiling above him was familiar, too familiar.
His room. In the Henituse estate.
‘Did Ron…?’
But the thought died just as quickly as it came.
No. Ron had left. Alone. He had been left behind.
His chest tightened at the reminder, and he slowly pushed himself up, his limbs heavy like stone. His hands moved to wipe away the remnants of sleep and tears, fingers brushing against damp skin.
And then—
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"My child, are you okay?"
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The voice.
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That voice.
Soft. Gentle. Too real.
Cale froze mid-motion. His entire body went rigid, and for a moment, his heart forgot how to beat.
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' It can’t be! '
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His head snapped to the side so fast it sent a sharp pain down his neck, but he barely noticed. His breath caught in his throat, refusing to pass.
There—sitting by his bed, with concern written across her soft features—was her.
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His mother.
With the same smile that lived in the faded corners of his memories.
The same eyes that had once looked at him with love no one else had managed to replicate.
"M-Mother?" he choked, his voice cracking, uncertain, trembling like a child who had just found something precious they were never meant to have.
Tears gathered rapidly, blurring the sight before him—but not enough to erase her face.
Jour reached out with a tender expression, her touch light as she wiped his tears with her sleeve. “My child, why are you crying?”
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He couldn’t answer.
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He couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat.
All he could do was stare—afraid that if he blinked, she would disappear.
He barely managed to breathe, let alone think. His heart thundered in his chest, loud and disbelieving.
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This couldn’t be real.
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This couldn’t be happening.
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She was gone. He knew she was gone. Taken from him by a cruel twist of fate he’d never been able to fix. His mother had died in that carriage. There was no room for miracles in the life of Cale Henituse.
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And yet—
Here she was. Nagging him gently about collapsing yesterday. Asking if he was alright. Brushing back his hair with a soft scolding that sounded like music.
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He wanted to question it.
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Wanted to demand an answer, to understand if this was a dream, a memory, or something else entirely. But none of that mattered right now.
Because even if this warmth was borrowed, even if this joy was fleeting—
She was here.
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His mother was here.
And oh, how he had missed her.
Cale trembled as he reached out, barely brushing her sleeve as if afraid she’d turn to dust beneath his fingertips.
His vision swam again.
But this time, the tears were different.
They weren’t the bitter, aching kind that burned through his chest like acid.
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They were soft.
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Warm.
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Grateful.
A soundless sob left him as he smiled—a rare, unguarded smile, bright and genuine. The kind of smile that had been lost to time and sorrow. The kind of smile only a child, safe in a mother’s love, could wear.
Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, but his smile remained.
“...I missed you, Mother.”
And in that fragile, fleeting moment—where the world felt still and the pain paused in its relentless echo—Cale let himself be her child again.
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Even if just for a little while.
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____________________________________________________________________
Jour watched her son with a furrow of concern shadowing her gentle features. Ever since he fainted in the garden two days ago, something about him had changed.
He was still her Cale—still the quiet, reserved boy who had her soft smile and flame-colored hair.
But there was something more now. Something behind his eyes. A weight.
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A haunting.
He flinched at sudden sounds. Held her hand a little too tightly when she reached for him. And last night, he had clung to her as if he were drowning, sobbing words that made her heart break in silence.
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“Don’t leave me.”
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“I miss you.”
She had held him tighter.
What kind of dreams tormented him so deeply?
What kind of pain had he carried in the silence of his heart?
Jour sat now at her writing desk, her diary resting open before her. She had just finished her latest entry—pages filled with worry, guesses, motherly fears, and love she couldn't always put into words.
She ran her fingers along the inked lines before closing the book with a soft thud. Her gaze drifted to the night sky beyond the window, stars glittering like scattered memories.
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He smiles more these days… but it feels like a smile borrowed from sorrow.
A knock broke her from her thoughts.
"Come in," she said softly.
The door creaked open, and there he was—her Cale.
He ran to her without a word, his footsteps uneven, his breath a little hitched.
Jour could see it immediately—the puffiness around his eyes, the dull red rims, the way he buried his face into her shoulder like a child lost and afraid of being found.
Her heart ached in silence as she embraced him, one arm instinctively wrapping around his back, the other cradling his head against her.
He was crying again.
She said nothing of it.
She never forced words out of him. If he wanted to speak, she would listen. If he didn’t, her presence would be enough.
Just as it had been when he was younger.
When the nights had been too loud and the world too big.
She began to hum softly. Then, almost unconsciously, her voice followed.
The lullaby she had always sung for him—when he was still too small to understand the world, when he cried for reasons even he couldn’t explain.
Her voice was light, barely above a whisper, but every word was stitched with the kind of love only a mother could offer.
“Now I watch you from above "
Sending down my endless love.
Though we've parted, know it's true,
My sun, my child, I’ll always be with you~”
She felt the way his breathing slowed, the way his fingers clutched her sleeve like an anchor. She looked down and saw him hiding his tears in her lap, trying to stay quiet, trying not to break.
Jour rested her chin atop his head and closed her eyes.
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Whatever storm he had gone through,
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Whatever darkness he had seen,
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She was here now.
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And for as long as she could be,
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As time would allow her,
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She would never let him cry alone again.
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And she promised it.....
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" Don't cry, Mother is here "
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_________________________________________________________________
Cale stood quietly at the edge of the courtyard, the same scene replaying before his eyes like a cruel loop.
The sun, the voices, the way the carriage door creaked open—it was all the same. As if time had wound itself back to this moment, just to remind him of what he had lost.
His mother’s luggage was already being loaded, the maids chirping soft goodbyes while the butlers stood in line, Ron included.
Cale’s eyes lingered briefly on the man...on him.....but all he felt was the hollow ache in his chest.
Jour was speaking with the coachman now, that same familiar smile on her face.
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Warm.
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Trusting.
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Alive.
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And Cale hated it.
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Not her.
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Never her.
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But this day.
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This place.
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This helplessness.
Harris Village. The place where he lost her. Where everything shifted and never went back to how it was.
The place that brought Choi Han into their lives. The place that made Cale into a person who stopped looking back.
He clenched his fists.
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He wasn’t supposed to be here again.
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It should had been " him "
And yet here he was, standing in front of the one moment he never got to rewrite—until now.
He felt his chest tighten as his mother turned back, her arms already opening for one last embrace before her departure. The same way she did last time. The same way she never came back from.
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It hurt.
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It hurts.
Cale didn’t know when he started walking, but the next thing he knew, his fingers had latched onto the soft fabric of her dress, trembling and white-knuckled, as if letting go would mean losing her again.
Jour paused, startled, and looked down.
“What is it, my child?” she asked softly, confused by his silence, by the way his grip trembled against her.
He couldn’t answer—not right away. His throat was tight. He didn’t trust his voice.
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He is afraid...
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His lips trembled as he looked down, his eyes fixated on where his small hand clutched her dress like it was the only anchor left in this storm.
He could feel eyes on him.
From the doorway, he knew his father was watching. Ron too. And yet… he didn’t look back right away. He couldn’t. He was afraid that if he did, he’d lose his nerve.
He bit his lip hard enough to hurt.
And then, a breath.
“Mother…” he said, voice small, broken, barely a whisper against the bustle of the courtyard.
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“…Can I go with you?”
Jour blinked, startled. “Cale—”
She was ready to gently refuse—say he’d be bored, or that he needed to rest—but then she saw his eyes.
And something in her heart stopped.
Because in those eyes, she saw sorrow too old for his age. Longing too deep to be recent. And the kind of desperate hope that made her want to gather him up and never let go.
“…Sure, my child,” she whispered, her voice trembling for reasons she didn’t understand.
She glanced toward Deruth, who looked equally stunned, but when he caught sight of their son’s pale face and clinging grip, he simply nodded.
Cale slowly reached out, and Jour took his hand. It was small. Cold. But he held hers tightly, as if the warmth would keep him grounded.
They walked together toward the carriage, side by side, Cale still silent.
But just before stepping inside, Cale hesitated.
He turned back—just slightly—and his eyes met Ron’s from across the courtyard.
There was no anger in his gaze.
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No resentment.
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Only a deep, quiet sadness.
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One final glance at the man who used to promise he’d never leave him alone.
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One final goodbye before he turned his back.
He looked up at his mother and offered her a smile—genuine, bright, soft around the edges.
But tears still clung to his lashes.
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Let me be selfish just this time, alright?
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Let me follow her, even if I know how it ends.
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Even if it’s all doomed to repeat.
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I just… can’t lose her again.
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" Let’s go, Mother "
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_________________________________________________________________
Cale sat in front of his mother inside the softly swaying carriage, the rhythm of the horses' hooves echoing like a distant countdown.
Raindrops tapped against the carriage roof—steady, slow, and eerily familiar.
The sky was overcast. The road to Harris Village stretched endlessly ahead, and with each passing tree, Cale felt the walls inside his chest slowly closing in.
His hands were shaking.
Not out of fear. No—that emotion had long since worn away.
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It was grief.
Grief that had aged in his bones. Grief that had weathered through timelines and memories and second chances that never came.
He looked up at his mother.
She was there.
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Alive.
Peaceful, lost in the pages of her book. Her eyelashes fluttered with every line she read, and the corners of her mouth curved into a soft, thoughtful smile.
He stared.
And he wished he hadn’t.
Because watching her breathe—so real, so warm—hurt more than remembering she’d soon be cold in the ground.
He turned his gaze to the window, watching the rain blur the forest beyond, and felt that familiar hollowness settle over him.
Still, he opened his mouth.
“…Mother.”
Jour glanced up, her smile brightening at the sound of his voice.
“Yes?” she asked warmly.
There was a pause.
Then—
“…Can you sing that lullaby again?” he whispered.
She blinked in mild surprise. It was such a tender request, so unlike her usually composed child. But the look in his eyes, the kind that made her chest tighten without understanding why, made her reach out without question.
“Of course,” she said gently, setting the book aside and opening her arms.
Cale quietly shifted to her side and leaned into her, his head resting against her shoulder as her arms wrapped around him.
And then she sang.
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“In a world once painted gray and cold,
A precious life began to unfold.
A tiny heart, a beacon bright,
A baby born, brought day to night~”
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Cale felt his throat tighten.
His lashes trembled as tears began to pool silently in his eyes. He hated this. Hated that his walls—his carefully built armor—crumbled so easily in her arms.
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“You were my sun, my morning light,
Guiding me through the darkest night.
Your laughter was my sweetest song,
In your love, I found where I belong~”
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His mask cracked.
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His soul trembled.
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And for the first time in so long, Cale let himself feel it. The helplessness. The guilt. The longing that clawed at his insides like fire.
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“Watched you grow, day by day,
In your world, I yearned to stay.
But the stars called out my name,
To the afterlife, I had to claim~”
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He turned his head and looked at her—really looked at her.
And he knew.
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He knew.
He could scream, fight, and cry—but it wouldn’t change anything. Some tragedies weren't meant to be rewritten. Some losses refused to be undone.
He felt the carriage lurch slightly.
The rain had grown heavier.
His eyelids fluttered shut, and he let the warmth of her voice carry him.
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Just for a little while longer.
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“You were my sun, my morning light,
Guiding me through the darkest night.
Your smile, my heart’s delight,
In your love, I took flight~”
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Let me be selfish this time, he thought again.
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Let me have this.
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Even if it ends the same.
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“Now I watch you from above,
Sending down my endless love.
Though we’ve parted, know it’s true,
My sun, my child, I’ll always be with you~”
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“…Mother.”
Jour looked down, sensing something shift in his voice.
“Yes?” she asked gently, brushing his bangs back, her heart tightening at the sight of the tears staining his cheeks.
“Thank you,” Cale whispered.
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“And… I truly missed you.”
She froze.
Before she could speak—before she could ask what he meant—
Cale wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her like he’d never get the chance again.
And then—
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A shriek of wind tore through the trees.
The horses cried out.
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The wheels lost their grip on the muddy road.
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And the world tipped.
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But she didn’t scream.
Jour, in the final seconds, held him closer, cradling her child with a strange, calm peace. As if she already knew.
Her voice was the last thing he heard before darkness swallowed everything.
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“Cale, my child… let’s go home?.”
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" Okay.....Let's go home, Mother "
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“Grandma Kim, how’s the kitten?”
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“Aigoo, it’s alright, thankfully. It was saved just in time… But, Soo Hyuk.”
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“Yes, Grandma?”
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“Where did this red kitten come from?”
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“Ah? Actually, Rok Soo found it. He stumbled on it while coming back from a mission.”
Something stirred.
Faint and slow—like a ripple in still water.
Cale—no… someone once called that—slowly opened his eyes.
Pain bloomed somewhere deep, dull and heavy, like he’d been torn apart and stitched back together with fragile thread.
His breath hitched.
His vision flickered—blurry lights, soft voices, the scent of herbs.
He closed his eyes again, exhausted. Time slipped away.
“Grandma Kim, the kitten’s awake!”
A voice, light and near, pulled him back.
Cale opened his eyes—barely.
The world was vague, dreamlike. Everything felt too distant to hold onto. But something warm pressed gently at his side, grounding him.
His body moved on instinct.
He leaned toward it—toward the warmth, toward the heartbeat.
And when his gaze, unfocused and dazed, landed on a man with black hair and reddish-brown eyes, something flickered in his chest.
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Recognition?
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Fear?
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…Peace?
His body jolted for a second—but then softened. The man didn’t flinch. Just sat quietly, as if waiting.
Cale’s lashes fluttered.
And then, without a word, he allowed sleep to take him again.
This time, it was lighter.
Almost comforting.
“Aigoo, Rok Soo, you shouldn’t get so close to stray cats like that,” Grandma Kim scolded softly..
“What if you get scratched—or worse, bitten?”
“It’s alright, Grandma,” the man replied, voice calm and distant.
His hand rested gently beside the red-furred kitten curled in the blanket.
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“…He won’t hurt me.”
Outside, the rain had long stopped.
But inside the little clinic, a lost soul finally slept without nightmares.
And no one knew why the kitten cried in its sleep sometimes.
Or why, when it did, Rok Soo would quietly reach out and whisper,
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“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”