Cale had died.
The moment the White Star fell, the world seemed to stop. Mana churned in the air like an angry storm finally settling into stillness. Cracks spread across the battlefield—across the ground, across the sky, across hearts. Smoke rose in curling tendrils, and the stench of blood, fire, and scorched earth clung to everything.
But none of that mattered.
Because Cale Henituse, the man who had walked into battle not for glory but for peace, was lying motionless at the heart of the ruins. His red hair was matted with blood, dirt, and sweat. His body, broken. His chest barely moved.
He was cold.
And yet, his mind burned with clarity.
Because his cursed ability—Record—would not let him forget.
He remembered it all. The moment his body gave out. The moment he pushed past his limits to land the final blow. The moment he knew he wouldn't survive it. But he also remembered why he did it. Who he did it for.
And he remembered the voices that followed him into death.
"H-Human! HUMAN!"
Raon.
Cale could still hear him. The panic in his voice. The raw, feral grief. The way the small dragon flung himself over his chest, shaking as if he could bring Cale back by sheer will.
"If you die, I'll— I'll kill myself! I-I'll destroy the whole world! I swear I will! So please… please… don't leave me…"
His voice cracked.
"Goldie Gramps can heal you! He will! He always does! Right, Goldie Gramps?! You'll fix him, right?! RIGHT?! SO FIX HIM!!"
Raon's roars became sobs, quiet and desperate.
"Please wait… Father…"
Cale had been called many things in his life: trash, noble, commander, hero.
But "Father"… that was the one that undid him.
"Our youngest is right!" On's voice broke as she dropped to her knees beside Raon. Her usually sharp eyes were wide with fear. "Please, Cale—Father—don't do this to us. You promised! You said we'd see a world of peace together. You said you'd be there! We were supposed to rest… together."
She grabbed his limp hand, holding it to her tear-streaked face. Her voice cracked again.
"Please, please wake up…"
Hong's small frame trembled. He didn't scream like Raon or sob like On. He just curled beside Cale's arm, hugging it tightly as if to stop him from slipping away completely.
"Don't leave us… please…"
Silence fell then—except for the choked sounds of grieving children and the soft rustle of wind through a shattered land.
Around them, their allies had gone still. Even the victors could not bring themselves to celebrate.
Choi Han stood frozen a few feet away, blood dripping from his sword, his face white with horror.
"Cale-nim…"
He whispered it like a prayer.
Rosalyn dropped to one knee, shaking as she tried to summon magic, any magic, to heal him—only for her hands to tremble too much to form a proper spell.
Eruhaben arrived too late.
The ancient dragon knelt beside Raon, his face twisted with fury and sorrow. He placed a hand over Cale's heart, his golden mana flooding the area—but it was too weak, too late.
"...His body is already shutting down," he said softly. "I—there's nothing more I can…"
"NO!" Raon screamed. "You're lying! You're lying like humans do! FIX HIM!!"
"I would if I could," Eruhaben choked. "But he burned out everything—every last drop of life… just to protect us."
"I don't care!" Raon sobbed. "He's supposed to be here! He's supposed to be alive! We were supposed to eat apple pie tonight! He promised we'd have a picnic tomorrow!"
On leaned forward, resting her head against Cale's arm.
"You said you'd scold us if we skipped chores… You said you'd retire with us once the war ended…"
Hong finally whispered, voice so soft it almost vanished:
"It wasn't supposed to end like this."
Cale felt it all. Even as his soul drifted from his body, he could feel the heat of their tears, the desperation in their voices, the grip of Raon's claws on his shirt.
He wanted to say something.
I'm sorry.
I love you.
Thank you… for being my family.
But his lips wouldn't move. The world around him was growing colder.
Still, his heart—if only spiritually—ached at the memory of the life he was leaving behind.
He remembered it so vividly.
Lazy mornings at the estate, Raon napping on his stomach while On and Hong bickered in the distance. The way their eyes lit up when he gave them new books or treats. The sound of laughter echoing through the halls. The smell of warm pastries wafting from the kitchen.
They were his family.
He didn't deserve them.
And yet they had chosen him.
"If I had one more life…"
The thought came unbidden.
"I'd spend it with them again. Just one more time."
And then—
Everything faded.