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Since the man-eating tree had been purified, it became an extremely popular place to visit. At first — because of its beauty. Later — because Cale Henituse’s grave was located here.
Barely visible behind a heap of flowers, the inscription on the marble tombstone stated that the Continent’s Hero rested here — a title bestowed upon the young count posthumously. After he sacrificed himself and defeated the White Star about a month ago (twenty-six days and six hours, if you asked any of his close ones).
Choi Han crooked a smile. Cale would not have been pleased to know just how many medals and awards were pinned on him. It was far too easy to imagine his panic: “Medals? Your Highness, all I want is a lazy life,” he would say, frowning slightly — and then would continue risking his life to save kingdoms, insisting his achievements be handed off to someone else.
Perhaps it would have once again led to bloody coughing and…
Yes. Each of them — Cale’s team, his family — carried a fear deep inside: that one day Cale would give too much of himself to the world. That fear gnawed at them every time Cale couldn’t wake up, gnawed for days and weeks.
And now it had come true.
The hardest day wasn’t the first — back then they still thought he’d wake — only after two days was his death confirmed for certain. Dragons, mages, priests, elves, ordinary doctors and simple village herbalists — only when all of them agreed did the realization hit: this time — it was over. The end.
The children didn’t appear at home: they stayed overnight on the grass by the grave, waking in tears in the middle of the night, hoping to hear that everything that happened had only been a nightmare. Honestly, Raon would have dragged the villa and castle here if Eruhaben hadn’t stopped him.
The ancient gold dragon, having lived so many years, thought he had grown used to death — he wasn’t prepared for how shattering it was to lose someone who was almost a son. And now he could be found either by the grave alongside the children, or in his lair — he did not return to the villa.
They each coped with grief in their own way.
Rosalyn cut her hair and packed. Eyes swollen, she said she needed to be far away for some time. And if, during her absence, some uninhabited region happened to develop freshly exploded mountains, everyone pretended they didn’t know whose work it was.
Choi Han, truthfully, thought about going with her, but… he simply couldn’t.
It felt like, if he left, the house would disappear too. Like Cale.
Rosalyn returned after a few weeks, but didn’t look improved at all.
Ron and Beacrox remained — yet somehow barely existed in the villa. Choi Han could feel them, without seeing, but their presence was rare, and the smell of blood left no doubt: the Molans were venting emotions by hunting down the remaining believers of the Arm.
The funeral was arranged by Alberu. He wasn’t doing any better, and the former prince — now king — was hardly recognizable: dark circles under his eyes, hair grown long. But even like that, he remained the only one functioning. The grieving Henituse family was grateful he shouldered the burden.
A burial — was akin to slowly dying yourself.
It was too easy to look at the peaceful — maybe only slightly paler than usual — face, and think Cale was simply sleeping.
Not so hard — to watch the white coffin sink into the earth, and imagine someone else was inside.
It was devastating — to realize that no matter how you turned or called, you could not spot that familiar red head in the crowd.
Alberu’s coronation — though only the name remained of that ceremony — was held soon after. The day the crown prince had dreamed of all his life became a day of mourning for his sworn brother.
Choi Han… was not okay. None of them truly were, but they could still continue living.
Choi Han felt like, after Cale’s death, he had nothing left.
His thoughts kept returning to the day the Harris Village was burned, his home destroyed. Now, a second home was being destroyed, and Choi Han didn’t feel he could endure it again. Fortunately for him, those thoughts were few — almost all of his time was spent caring for On, Hong and Raon. It hurt to see their grief, but caring for the children made it easier not to think of his own.
Thoughts were few, and he could almost forget that Cale Henituse no longer existed in this world.
Only in rare moments did he think. He didn’t like thinking — every time, he returned to the nightmare scene.
The spreading red stain on Cale’s shirt; his body collapsing in slow motion; a face twisted into a silent scream. Choi Han saw it as clearly as his own hand — and he couldn’t shake the feeling that that hand was still blood-stained, clutching trembling shoulders, while the other desperately tried to staunch the bleeding wound in the chest.
Impossible to forget how those same hands, just minutes later, frantically searched for a pulse; how they carried a cooling body from the half-ruined temple; and how his mind shut down after.
What happened afterward, Choi Han couldn’t recall: neither how he bared his sword, snarling at anyone trying to take Cale; nor how he held sobbing children; nor how his own broken wails resembled the howl of a wounded beast.
Now, in the middle of the night, standing by Cale’s grave — alone, for the first time in a long while, since the children had gone to Alberu — the memories broke through like water through a shattered dam. Choi Han dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to cold stone. He didn’t feel the rain lashing his back or the wind; he didn’t notice his hands digging into the dirt, mud caking under his nails.
“I should have protected you,” he whispered, eyes squeezed shut.
No one answered.
Raindrops fell on his face, mixing with tears.
He wanted to tear apart the piles of flowers, drive his hands into the earth and pull the body from the coffin — just to check.
Shameful to admit, but he did exactly that a week after the funeral, under cover of night. No one found out — or pretended not to — but it felt as if every gaze held immeasurable disgust.
A personal knight, huh?
Burying him again? He wanted to lie beside him.
The body hadn’t decayed, he learned. Predictably — Eruhaben, eyes lifeless, had informed them on the funeral day that the… process would be slow because of the ancient power of the heart.
The rain began to quiet.
The ground squelched when Choi Han lifted his head from the tombstone, preparing to stand — but something made him freeze.
His gaze fell on his hands in the wet soil.
And with unfocused eyes, he stared at a muddy, thin hand jutting out from the grave and grabbing him by the wrist.
In the darkness, several meters underground, Cale Henituse gasped sharply.
He tried to sit up, and immediately hissed in pain — his head slammed into something hard, and he collapsed back down with a groan. Reaching up to rub the ache, he hit his elbow on another wall. Why was there so little space?
The darkness, pleasant for precisely two seconds, became infuriating when he couldn’t see anything.
Cale shut his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly — it was hard to breathe, or was that just his claustrophobia? — and raised his arms to feel around. They felt indecently heavy and didn’t obey well.
He was surrounded on all sides by fabric-padded walls. Damp. Had it been cold and wet from the start?
As if in answer, a drop fell onto his ear. Cale placed his palms on the ceiling: water was slowly seeping through. The next drop hit him in the eye, and he brought his hands up to wipe it — then froze, catching the smell of wet earth on his fingers.
Hard to notice at first, but the small suffocating space smelled strongly of soil. Slowly, Cale began feeling around again.
He pushed up against the lid to shift it — no use.
With will alone, he forced his breath steady, suppressing panic trying to bloom. This situation felt… terrifyingly familiar. Cale shook his head, shaking off memories of Korea he absolutely didn’t need right now.
“Raon?” he croaked, already knowing he was alone. His throat burned; his tongue moved sluggishly. “On, Hong?”
Silence answered. He struck the ceiling with his forearm, and was showered with more water.
“Ron? Kh-… Choi Han?” he called louder — which only brought a coughing fit. No one answered. His ancient powers remained silent.
Just breathe. What became harder each second. Partly — memories of Korea, the three days of surviving alone in darkness.
Partly — because there truly wasn’t enough oxygen.
He strained to recall what happened — pain stabbed through his skull and he groaned.
Right. Pain. It was very painful when a root-blade pierced your heart. Cale slid a trembling hand under his shirt, trying to feel the wound — but the skin, though rough with a scar, didn’t hurt. His heartbeat was fast but strong. The feeling calmed him slightly.
Under that rhythm, his mind cleared. It didn’t matter exactly what happened during the fight with the White Star — the problem now was how to get out… and regarding “out,” he had one dreadful theory.
Tight, dark, cold… the smell of soil pushed the thought to completion. Likely, Cale had been buried.
He tried to shift the lid again — weakness hit him sharply; after a few attempts, he was breathless.
Panic stretched its claws. Cale tore the inner lining of the lid, dooming himself to icy rainwater; he punched the wood beneath; splinters wedged under his nails — there simply wasn’t enough strength in this freshly awakened body. Cale let his hands fall and coughed harshly.
This — Cale let out a strangled laugh — was almost funny. Mistaken for dead, buried, and now ha-ha, he’d die for real.
He’d died in Choi Han’s arms. In front of the children; Alberu, Rosalyn, Ron and Beacrox, Eruhaben…
Drip.
He didn’t say goodbye; he hadn’t said anything at all.
Drip.
He was alone.
Drip, drip.
In the dark. He hated the dark.
“Cale!”
He was going to die.
He was going to die.
“Cale, breathe!” Devourer’s voice surged louder in his head, and he sucked in a wavering breath.
He hadn’t even realized he was suffocating.
“I’m here, you’ll be okay!”
Yes. His ancient powers were still there — weaker, but present.
He wasn’t alone in the dark. This wasn’t Korea.
He would get out.
“You’re doing great, deep breath, in and out.”
Breathe. His thoughts scattered.
“It’s okay, don’t answer. Let’s get you out!”
He called the power of trees. It answered slowly and shakily, but it was enough to strain the lid; wood cracked; a cold weight of wet earth collapsed on him. Holding his breath, he shoved, manipulating the wooden pieces, and started pushing soil aside.
Soon, he managed to sit halfway and help himself with his hands. Within minutes, he cleared a decent space — and then the coughing returned.
“Cale!”
He couldn’t see, but he understood — the smell of fresh earth was overwhelmed by the metallic taste of blood. He had never coughed blood from using ancient powers so briefly — but now even moving dirt drained him.
Not good. If he passed out before reaching air, he’d suffocate.
He stopped using the powers and dragged himself upward with his hands. The soil was dense and heavy; he focused only on its cold grip, clumps sliding down his collar. Time blurred — he knew he had very little — his ears rang.
Finally, numb fingers broke through the surface. Losing consciousness, Cale grabbed something — anything.
“Argh.” Sitting up in bed, Cale grimaced as the overly heavy teacup tipped, spilling tea across his shirt.
“What did I say!” On wailed.
“We told you!” Hong echoed.
“You’re still too weak for such heavy items, human!” Raon flapped around, eyes watery. “You need more pies!”
Ron gloomily retrieved the cup. Beside him, Choi Han glared at the porcelain like it had personally wronged someone. The children joined in, staring at it menacingly.
“My hand just twitched,” Cale protested quickly, before they demolished the poor cup. Everyone’s skeptical stares turned to him instead. Ron sighed and left for a clean shirt.
“Cale-nim,” Choi Han murmured gently, taking Cale’s pale hand in his, “your hand is shaking.”
“…Fair point,” Cale thought bleakly as the children launched into shrieking predictions: he’d strained something, now he absolutely needed another check (three, preferably) from Rosalyn and Eruhaben — in case of muscle tears, joint displacement, or umbilical hernias.
Umbilical… how did they even know that word?
Cale sighed (Choi Han’s grip tightened slightly), patting Raon’s head with his free hand. He’d just wanted to drink tea by himself.
It had been three days since Cale “rose from the dead.”
He’d been shocked to learn people thought he’d been dead for a month. A month his family mourned him. Hard to accept — and he was grateful everyone tried pretending that time hadn’t passed. Tried — because their presence around him had increased sharply. Of course, they fussed even before, whenever he collapsed for days or weeks — but now the care had reached a new level.
It wasn’t unjustified — his weakened body couldn’t even walk across the room… or lift a teacup — but they wouldn’t leave him alone for a second.
It wasn’t new for the children — they’d always hovered. But Choi Han practically moved into his room, and Cale, seeing his firm stare, understood he wouldn’t be driven out. Ron… simply appeared. No matter the hour, Cale never had to call; the butler was always nearby. Rosalyn and Eruhaben were absent only because they were buried in research on accelerated recovery, though they visited every couple of hours.
And though the room was crowded enough, Cale suspected the population density would quadruple if the news spread that he was alive.
For safety, they had collectively decided to keep it secret from the public. Some would undoubtedly try to send him back to his grave — or, worse, society might become dangerously fervent over the resurrection of the Continent’s Hero.
The memory of Clopeh sent a shiver down his spine. Being compared to a resurrected god was the last thing he wanted.
Thus, the news was shared gradually — only with those close, and only when leaks were impossible. Even Alberu learned only yesterday — the newly crowned king thought the magical call was an illusion. But Cale’s unmistakable speech patterns — despite choking mid-compliment to “His Radiance, the brilliant ruler and shining sun of the Roan Kingdom” — removed all doubt. Alberu couldn’t run to him, bound by endless duties, but called often. “Possibly too often,” thought Cale, awakened at four a.m.
Letters had been sent to Lock and Mary; they would arrive soon, maybe today. Once Cale grew stronger, he’d visit the duchy… and then announce his return to the kingdom. Something like that.
Cale shook his head to banish gloomy thoughts. The children immediately tensed.
“Cale-nim, does your head hurt?” Choi Han asked, hand on his forehead. His other hand still held Cale’s.
Another new quirk: everyone needed to touch him constantly now. A hand on his shoulder, fingers in his hair. Choi Han’s explanation had been bitter: “To make sure you’re real, Cale-nim.”
On the day he awakened, Choi Han’s weight had been pressed to his chest.
“Your heart is beating,” Choi Han had said flatly — and when Cale placed a hand on his head, Choi Han’s face crumpled and he sobbed violently.
“Of course. I’m alive,” Cale had whispered hoarsely. Choi Han panicked, wiped his tears, lifting Cale’s head to offer water. After a few gulps, Cale choked.
“Slowly,” Choi Han murmured, rubbing his back. “More?”
Cale nodded, drinking smaller sips.
He had promised, then. Not to die. Whether Choi Han believed it was unclear.
“Alright,” Choi Han replied simply, pressing his ear to Cale’s chest again. Then immediately panicked — was he heavy, was breathing hard, was—
The memory broke as Ron returned with a clean shirt. Choi Han stiffened; the children reluctantly let go, and Ron helped Cale change.
Beneath the shirt, a small scar crossed the faded tattoo of the shield over his heart. It had smoothed and paled over the past days, but was still obvious.
“Your Ancient Power is super weak, human!” Raon announced anxiously.
“It’ll recover,” Cale nodded, patting his head.
Devourer had explained: the wound was too deep to heal instantly — instead, the body fell into a near-hibernation. Awakening burned all energy, and now everything was spent on recovery. When he regained strength, the power would return — stronger, even — but slowly. The other ancient powers still slept, leaving him in strange quiet, but they would return.
Ron buttoned the shirt. Cale nodded gratefully and collapsed onto the pillow.
“Tea, young master?” Ron offered. “Or perhaps soup?”
Cale closed his eyes and nodded. He had no appetite — and the teacup incident stung — but he knew he needed to eat. Even if — as embarrassing as it was — from a spoon.
“For the third time,” Choi Han said, visibly tense, “are you sure?”
“Choi Han,” Cale snapped, lifting his head, glaring, “I’ve been lying in bed for two weeks. I’m going insane.”
As if afraid to lose courage, he pushed off the bed — immediately bracing against the wall.
“Hah… see?” His voice trembled from sudden breathlessness. “Everything is under control.”
Choi Han’s stare drilled into Cale’s shaking knees.
“Wonderful, Cale-nim. Now maybe sit?” he offered hopefully.
“I’m sure I can take two steps.”
And on the very first movement, he collapsed straight into Choi Han’s arms, who had rushed forward.
“You haven’t recovered enough yet. It’s too early,” Choi Han said gently, supporting Cale by the back and waist — still far too thin, in his opinion.
“I think I could try again,” Cale replied with a frown, pulling his hands away from broad shoulders.
“No,” Choi Han cut him off before he scooped Cale up more securely and lifted him into the air, drawing a startled breath from him. Out of reflex, Cale’s hands braced against his shoulders again. “If you need to go somewhere, I’ll carry you myself.”
Cale raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“…Except outside,” Choi Han corrected quickly. In everyone’s opinion, Cale wasn’t strong enough yet to go outdoors without risking getting sick.
“Oh. Just put me down before Ron comes back and we both get lectured,” Cale said, closing his eyes in resignation. But he snapped them open the moment he heard the creak of the door.
Choi Han tensed and turned toward the sound.
Fortunately, it was only Rosalyn in the doorway, not the butler — who would certainly not have approved of Cale getting up before fully recovering.
“Oh… Since you’re busy, I’ll come later,” she said. Choi Han thought he could detect a mischievous hint in her smile.
“As if I could possibly be busy,” Cale grumbled, tugging at Choi Han’s sleeve. Snapping out of it, Choi Han set Cale back onto the bed, lips cur
Choi Han remembered asking him about it when Cale had first shown interest in l
“I want to idle around in different places, not in the same room,” he’d answer
Meanwhile, Rosalyn entered the room
“…we think your heart-force will fully recover by the end of next month, unless Jack and I figure out something new,” Rosalyn summarized. “Which means that by then, you’ll likely be fully healed.”
Cale nodded, thanking the mage, and she bid them farewell. Before leaving, however, she unexpectedly beckoned Choi Han closer.
“Sorry for interrupting you two. Good luck,” she whispered seriously, raising a thumb in encouragement.
“In what?” Choi Han asked, confused — but Rosalyn had already disappeared behind the door.
“You know, it’s rather difficult to ignore a case about desecrating the grave of the Continent’s Hero,” Alberu said dryly as he sat beside Cale’s bed.
The king had finally managed to slip away unseen from the palace to visit his dongsaeng. Now that the many hours of crying and hugging were behind them, Alberu could calmly begin complaining about the troubles of royal life.
“I should’ve dug more evenly?” Cale grimaced, biting into a cookie. “Hyung-nim, just blame someone from the White Star’s people for it.”
“Of course I already did,” Alberu snapped back, handing him another. “But the people want the body returned. If we present a fake one, then when you return for real, they’ll assume you’re an imposter.”
Cale paused mid-chew, thinking.
“Then maybe it’s time I returned,” he said after a brief silence.
Alberu shot him a doubtful look.
“You’re not protected by ancient powers right now,” the king cautioned. “Are you certain?”
“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t. Besides…” Cale glanced nervously over his shoulder, where Ron loomed ominously. A chill ran down his spine when their eyes met. “I doubt anyone will be able to harm me.”
Even setting aside public reaction, Cale simply missed his family. Deruth, Violan, Lily, Basen — Cale dreaded imagining how they must feel, and guilt gnawed at him for leaving them without answers. But telling just them while keeping the rest of the duchy in the dark was impossible — too many loose tongues surrounded the family head… and news like this would spread within hours.
Well… maybe the time had come.
Three weeks after waking up, Cale could now walk around the room on his own — slowly — and eat something heavier than broth.
“Ron,” Cale called, “send Father a warning about my visit. Hint at me somehow, but not too directly.”
The butler bowed silently and withdrew.
“When should I expect the official announcement?” Alberu asked.
“Mm, sometime this week. We need to let rumors spread first so people don’t think it’s deception,” Cale replied thoughtfully, reaching for a second cookie.
“Reasonable.” Alberu nodded simply and stood up. “And now I should have myself teleported back before my secretary assumes I’ve been assassinated. Unless, of course, my dear dongsaeng wants to hear some gossip first…”
“Spare me,” Cale grimaced.
“Did you know your supposedly dead body is currently the most sought-after item on the black market? For various reasons…”
“Just leave.” Cale’s face shifted instantly from disgust to blankness.
Alberu gave him a sunny smile goodbye. Cale waved at him irritably, urging him to go faster. At the doorway, Alberu suddenly paused. The smile slowly slid off his face.
“What now?” Cale asked tiredly.
“Nothing, just…” Alberu began, then fell silent, seemingly choosing his words. Cale blinked. His hyung, at a loss for words, was unusual. Alberu gave him a long look and finished seriously: “Take care of yourself. You know there will be people who want to put you back under the ground.”
Cale blinked silently.
“…Okay,” he said quietly. Then, overwhelmed by the awkwardness, quickly added, “Just go already.”
Alberu smirked one last time and disappeared behind the door.