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 hands—capable of holding the weight of the world—were 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, don’t you dare. You said you’d be fine. You— He stopped, biting down on the words, his throat tight. His vision blurred. Damn it. This wasn’t 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.
Don’t talk, he said, voice tight with restrained emotions. He didn’t care how hoarse he sounded, didn’t care that his usual calm façade was crumbling. His fingers clenched around yours, desperate, unwilling. Just—stay awake. The priest is coming. The potions—others will be here.
Your hand, once so warm, so full of life, squeezed his weakly. You always knew… You exhaled shakily. That I’d be bad at keeping promises.
Cale’s breath hitched. A harsh, bitter laugh escaped him, devoid of any humor. “And yet, I believed you.”
You had promised him you wouldn’t die.
That you’d stay by his side.
That no matter what war, what enemy, what curse, you’d 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 love—he 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… I’m glad…
Shut up, he snapped, voice raw, but his grip tightened. “Don’t talk like you’re dying. You’re not—
Your fingers trembled in his hold. You were losing strength.
Cale’s breath hitched. A pit opened in his stomach, a dark void swallowing everything whole.
The potions. The priest. Someone—anyone.
But he knew.
Even with healing, some wounds couldn’t be undone.
The realization settled like ice in his veins.
His lips parted, but no sound came out.
You smiled—soft, tired, fond.
I’m glad I met you.
Your fingers slackened.
Cale froze.
The world went silent.
The battlefield, the distant sounds of fighting, the shouts of his allies—it 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 didn’t move. Didn’t scream.
He just stared.
You were gone.
And yet, he still held your hand as if you weren’t.
Because letting go meant acknowledging it.
And Cale Henituse… wasn’t ready.
For the first time, he didn’t know if he ever would be.
..Damn it. His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. Damn it, damn it—
He couldn't even finish the sentence.
His body shook, though he didn't sob. Cale Henituse didn’t 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 raw—perhaps they would have said he looked just as broken as a man who had lost everything.