Losing a Loved One Together
You promised, and I believed you.
Blood.
There was too much of it.
Cale knelt beside your body, his hands trembling as he pressed down on your wound. His normally steady handsâcapable of holding the weight of the worldâwere unsteady, desperate. His red hair, matted with dirt and blood, fell over his pale face as he gritted his teeth. He ignored the searing pain from overusing his ancient powers, focused only on you.
Your breathing was shallow. Too shallow. The life that once burned in your eyes, the spark that had always met his gaze with warmth, was flickering like a candle in the wind.
No, Cale muttered, shaking his head, his voice rough. No, donât you dare. You said youâd be fine. Youâ He stopped, biting down on the words, his throat tight. His vision blurred. Damn it. This wasnât supposed to happen.
I already told you that your life is more important if you face some danger just run..
You smiled weakly, your fingers twitching as they reached for his hand. He immediately grasped them, holding them tightly, as if sheer will alone could keep you tethered to this world.
Cale, you whispered. Your voice was barely there, but it was enough. It made something in his chest cave in.
Donât talk, he said, voice tight with restrained emotions. He didnât care how hoarse he sounded, didnât care that his usual calm façade was crumbling. His fingers clenched around yours, desperate, unwilling. Justâstay awake. The priest is coming. The potionsâothers will be here.
Your hand, once so warm, so full of life, squeezed his weakly. You always knew⊠You exhaled shakily. That Iâd be bad at keeping promises.
Caleâs breath hitched. A harsh, bitter laugh escaped him, devoid of any humor. âAnd yet, I believed you.â
You had promised him you wouldnât die.
That youâd stay by his side.
That no matter what war, what enemy, what curse, youâd find a way to survive.
You lied, he murmured, his voice barely audible.
You coughed, blood trailing from the corner of your lips, and he wiped it away with his thumb, his other hand still gripping yours like a lifeline.
He should be used to this. Death. Loss. The ache of watching something slip through his fingers despite all his efforts.
But it was you.
You, who had always stayed by his side. Who had always seen through his excuses, his indifference, his walls. Who had called him out when he was reckless, who had laughed when he complained about wanting a slacker life but still shouldered the burdens of an entire kingdom.
You, who made him feel something more than duty, something deeper than responsibility.
He had never said it. The words had always lingered on the edge of his tongue, buried under his carefully constructed walls. Because loveâhe doesn't deserve it everyone he loves dies now it's you but he still hope if he eventually said those three words...
And now, it was too late.
A shaky breath left you. Cale⊠Iâm gladâŠ
Shut up, he snapped, voice raw, but his grip tightened. âDonât talk like youâre dying. Youâre notâ
Your fingers trembled in his hold. You were losing strength.
Caleâs breath hitched. A pit opened in his stomach, a dark void swallowing everything whole.
The potions. The priest. Someoneâanyone.
But he knew.
Even with healing, some wounds couldnât be undone.
The realization settled like ice in his veins.
His lips parted, but no sound came out.
You smiledâsoft, tired, fond.
Iâm glad I met you.
Your fingers slackened.
Cale froze.
The world went silent.
The battlefield, the distant sounds of fighting, the shouts of his alliesâit all faded into white noise.
His hand remained around yours, unmoving. Unwilling.
A hollow breath left him. His throat burned. His vision blurred, not from exhaustion, not from pain, but from something he had long denied himself the right to feel.
Grief.
A weight, suffocating and unbearable, settled in his chest.
He didnât move. Didnât scream.
He just stared.
You were gone.
And yet, he still held your hand as if you werenât.
Because letting go meant acknowledging it.
And Cale Henituse⊠wasnât ready.
For the first time, he didnât know if he ever would be.
..Damn it. His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. Damn it, damn itâ
He couldn't even finish the sentence.
His body shook, though he didn't sob. Cale Henituse didnât cry.
But if anyone had seen him at that moment, with his head bowed, his fingers trembling, and his expression twisted into something so utterly rawâperhaps they would have said he looked just as broken as a man who had lost everything.












