Chapter Text
Something's missing, Captain warns suddenly.
Cale startles without meaning to. Gods! he snaps back mentally. No need to sound so terrifying about it!
What could possibly be missing? They're at the capitol. No one's died. The dragon—Raon, now—has for some reason committed itself to protecting Cale. Cale averted the unnecessary loss Captain was whining about. Even Taylor Stan hasn't died like Captain expected to occur soon!
"Is that it?" Cale murmurs aloud, sure for once that he's alone. The children have all gone out again with Basen—even Raon trails from a distance. Cale hopes Basen actually buys himself something this time; a mere fountain pen is nowhere near a gift grand enough for a Henituse. "Taylor Stan? Or is it the priestess that travels with him?" Captain had emitted a strange aura when Cage laughed about serving the God of Death.
No. Yes—but, ah, not quite. You should retain contact with the Stan, but there's someone else. Captain's uncharacteristic hesitance is enough to give Cale pause. It's not frequently that such a put-together apparition allows his words to jumble. Rosalyn and the Beast Tribe. What was his name? The Wolf. A Wolf King, pure-blooded. What was his name?
Rosalyn? Cale wonders. "The princess of Breck?"
Yes, her.
"Why is she important? Is Breck this White Star's next target?" If that's the case, Cale might simply need to draw the line here. It's one thing to protect people within Roan to ensure their army isn't lacking, but to expect Cale to solve international struggles too? He might as well flip his family off to their faces, because they're as good as damned with his attention so far.
Captain huffs at him. Immature. No. She and the—Lock. The boy's name was Lock. They were Choi Han's companions, I told you about them, you unhelpful brat!
"I am you," Cale snarls back without thinking. "And in my defense, I've had more important things to think about."
Listen. This is critical. Rosalyn is a powerful mage, and Lock is a Wolf Tribe member capable of immense feats. They joined Choi Han prior to the Plaza Terror incident in my lifetime. If they are lost...
Cale doesn't need it spelled out for him. Without Rosalyn and Lock on their side, the continent can kiss any hope of victory goodbye.
Okay, alright. It would've been helpful to have known that before arriving at the capitol, but Cale can work with this. He'd initially planned to use Choi Han to protect Basen directly, but if he ends up needing to coerce the Breck royal heir and future Wolf King to support Roan, Choi Han's involvement will ultimately be more useful there. Besides, Cale has a gang of criminals and two—four assassins at his beck and call, since Ron doesn't appear to be running off into the distance with Choi Han any time soon.
Hm. Fine; Cale can work with this. He pokes his head out the door, glancing around to see if anyone is in the area. It'd be a pain to have to go find Choi Han himself, but—
"Shit!" he yelps, pulling away sharply and slamming the door closed without thinking about it. He'd turned his head and made direct eye contact with that creepy kid staring into his soul! Cale takes a breath to level his nerves and reopens the door, this time to the sight of Choi Han shuffling nervously, gaze lowered. "Can I help you?"
Choi Han looks up, guilt written all over his face in a way that is distinctly puppy-like. It makes Cale feel a little bad. "Sorry to have scared you, Cale-nim. I... I felt as though I should watch over you for now."
Cale raises a brow. The excuse was flimsy, even for a terrible liar like Choi Han. "If you felt a sudden urge to guard someone, shouldn't it have been my brother, who I assigned you to protect?" The guilt on Choi Han's face doubles, paired with scrunching brows, and now Cale just feels like a bully who's stolen a sweet treat from a child. He sighs, stepping away from the door. "Come in. Tell me what you're wasting energy worrying over."
"I just..." Choi Han hesitates as he obliges, taking the chair Cale gestures him to. "I felt as though you needed something from me. So, I wanted to be present. Just in case that was true. I owe you a lot, Cale-nim. I want to be useful to you."
Cale wants to smack this naive brat upside the head. All he did was help Choi Han into Henituse. He didn't even provide the physicians himself, for the gods' sakes! "If you behave this pathetically to everyone who owes you a favor," Cale advises harshly, "you'll never have a life of your own. Stop that." He sighs, and sets down the teacup he'd just picked up. "This time, though, I'll count myself lucky for your creepy intuition. I do need something from you, and I'd like for you to fulfill this task quickly."
Nedas was needed for a task in the Tolz territory, Shiveh told him. Cale hadn't informed her of anything else. He'd withheld the details from Nedas, too, except for the fact that he should spend his free time polishing his negotiation skills.
And then he'd brought along their whole merry band of criminals to rescue a tortured baby dragon.
Perhaps the best part of it all had been that Cale didn't need their help at all; the strange swordmaster he'd brought into the estate without warning had decimated all their obstacles without hesitation. The job was so thorough that no one thought to suspect the trash son of the Henituse county and his bloodless, nervous brother.
Now that Cale's 'task' is done, Nedas had half-expected to at least have some of them be dismissed. Sejilu's a useless servant, more dead weight than anything, and there's nothing Shiveh does that Nedas couldn't make up for. Kitsi's a storm and a half Cale doesn't need to worry about if he doesn't want to exploit her manpower.
The only conclusion he could reach when, instead of being dismissed after departing from Puzzle City, they were simply told to train harder in their free time, is that something is going to happen in the capitol.
It's not surprising. A celebration as major as the King's birthday is a prime time for an attack, and anyone with their ear to the ground can tell that war is brewing. If the Whipper Kingdom, for example, volatile and racing towards civil war, decides to direct their hostility outwards? It'd be hard to call it unexpected.
All Nedas can wonder is how Cale knows. He's obviously not the trashy young master the kingdom takes him for, and it's become more than evident that that's one of many masks Cale Henituse wears to serve his ends. Nedas wouldn't even think it's a stretch to call the young man a genius.
And yet, there must be a threshold where genius ends and third parties begin. Despite all his surveillance, all his endless loops of what-ifs, he can't explain to himself how Cale Henituse knows what he knows.
Kitsi sighs, knocking a fist against the top of his head. "Stop thinking so hard. Your brain'll burst outta yer ears."
"Kitsi," Nedas sighs back. "This is important. We gotta know who it is we're working for."
"And do what?" Kitsi cuts him off. "It's a lifetime contract. We end it, we die. Who really cares, by now? You've heard that saying. No one understands the machinations of the rich."
And how goddamn true is that.
Cale has done the math about three hundred times. Without Choi Han, he does not have enough manpower. He sighs, head dropping to the table with a thunk. "Do I really have to...?" he murmurs to himself.
Captain, politely, doesn't answer.
"Cale-nya?" Hong prods gently, brushing against Cale's leg. "Are you okay?"
Ah, the kids. Cale scoops the boy—currently in his cat form—up, depositing him into his lap. He easily ignores the brief moment Hong tenses. It's a reflex born of years on the run, and Hong has made it clear that he enjoys Cale's affections. He won't take that away for a reaction a child can't control. "I'm fine. Why are you in here? I thought you and Ohn were spending time with Basen."
Cale's been not-so-subtly urging them to spend more time together. Basen is always too serious, but his familiarity with luxury might help ease Ohn and Hong into this comfortable life. And their free spirits are hopefully enough to, in turn, let him relearn how to relax. Cale is hoping, in the back of his mind, that Raon gets a hang of transformative magic soon, so he can spend time with the others disguised as a human. Socialization is good for growing children, he thinks.
Lost in his own thoughts, Cale misses the way Hong's mood dampens until the boy speaks again. "I... I'm sorry!" he bursts out, transformed again into a human child in Cale's lap and shoving his teary face into Cale's shirt.
Cale stiffens without meaning to, uncomfortably placing his hands on Hong's head and back in hopes it offers comfort. He doesn't have the faintest idea how to handle children crying.
Ah, but Lily had cried, when Cale spoke to her in the garden before leaving. What was it Captain had done?
Fuck, I don't know. I was too happy about patting Lily's head to pay attention.
Captain sighs through their mental link. I'll take care of this, he offers tiredly. Cale cedes control without another word.
"What's wrong?" Captain Cale asks, whole body relaxing into the motions of comforting Hong. A hand strokes through the boy's red hair soothingly. "Why are you apologizing?"
"I—I didn't mean to, promise I didn't, 'n Ohn told me to keep it a secret 'cause it's gonna heal up easy on its own but I was just tryin' to—sniffle!" Hong's voice chokes off, breaking into full-blown bawling as he wrinkles Cale's shirt with his tight-knuckled grip.
Cale hushes him easily, rocking the boy in the minimal way he's able. "It's alright, it's alright. Whatever happened, I'm not mad. Just tell me what went wrong. It'll heal up on its own, right?" Cale tilts the boy's chin up, meeting his watery eyes as he sniffles again and wobblingly nods. Cale smiles, gentle and unfamiliar on his face. "Then no harm done."
He used to say that to Lily, a lot. When she'd get too passionate mid-spar and she'd land a glancing blow on him. He'd bruise easily, no matter how muscular he became, and she'd cry and cry as she apologized. He thinks she was worried she'd have to see him die, too. Be the last Henituse standing. He almost scoffs at the thought. The burden had ended up falling on him when the time came.
Dead at fifteen. What kind of curse was it, that neither of Cale's little siblings lived past that age?
"Now," he says, trying to shake the thought loose from his mind. "Tell me what happened."
Eric's face is tight as he hands Amiru the letter. Basen has come down with the illness that's been spreading around the capitol. He was supposed to attend the celebrations as the Henituse representative, but his elder brother will be the one to come instead.
Cale had originally tagged along because he wanted to see the sights of the capitol and try good wine, apparently. And now, he's going to fulfill the duties of his barely-official heir title and give all the northeastern noble heirs a massive headache.
Amiru winces as she passes the letter on to Gilbert.
On reading it, Gilbert looks up to assess his two friends' faces. "You don't suppose he... had a hand in—"
Amiru's glare shuts him up before he can complete the thought. Eric sets a hand on her shoulder, comforting. "Don't be like that," he chides her lightly. "Gilbert, I know you don't know Cale as well as we do, but I promise he's not like that." Sheepishness crawls into his expression. "In fact, I'm of the mind that Cale has more interest in losing the heir title than competing for it."
Which makes our job, remains unspoken, a hell of a lot more difficult.
Amiru's lips are pressed into a flat line as she grabs the letter back from Gilbert. "He won't do anything crazy. It's a royal celebration. He has at least that much sense left." Neither boy affirms her, and Amiru shuts her eyes as though praying. "...Right?"
"Sure," Eric agrees, probably more out of pity than concession. "And either way, we'll be there to watch over him. It's our job as his elders."
Amiru sighs. "Why don't we have a meeting, first? It's been too long since we've seen him, anyway."
One last chance to set that boy straight.
Ron asks for two days of leave after passing on Cale's invitation to the northeastern noble's meeting. Cale tries not to acknowledge the dread filling his heart. He still has yet to track down Cage and Taylor, as Captain advised him to, dealing with the mess of Basen's sudden Hong-inflicted poison-illness and his new responsibility to actually attend the festivities in his brother's place.
He'd said 'no harm done', but this is all really quite troublesome.
Cale is helpless to do anything but grant the leave, suspecting Ron might disappear anyway if he were denied, and Cale tries to feel nothing about the suspicion in his heart that his butler will not return.
If Ron chooses to go on the revenge he'd sought with Choi Han alone, then why is it Cale's business to interfere? Their relationship is professional and nothing more than that.
...Right. Professional.
Cale enters the meeting with the northeastern noble heirs in a miserable mood. He doesn't have a drink with him, no attendants but Nedas at his side, but he's sure that it shows.
Eric greets him with a smile anyways. "Cale! It's been much too long. I'm sorry to hear about Basen's illness, that cold truly is everywhere, but I'm glad for the opportunity to see you again! How have you been?"
Cale hums listlessly, eyes drifting away. Captain has been far too entrenched in his mind lately, because all that keeps flashing in front of his eyes is visions of Eric's corpse. He's almost afraid to greet Amiru and Gilbert, wondering what gruesome sort of deaths they had.
I never saw their corpses, Captain informs him, and Cale sort of wishes he didn't, because that must be worse.
"I'm fine, big brother. How have you been? Young lady Amiru, Young master Gilbert?" It's hardly a proper greeting how he simply nods towards them in acknowledgement, but it's not like better is expected of the lout of the kingdom.
They greet him warmly regardless, and it only sinks the cold deeper under Cale's skin. All these kind people, lost to a selfish man. One man, not even a god. How is it fair?
Stop getting stuck in my mind, Captain murmurs, the barrage of desolate feelings suddenly cutting off. Those are my emotions, not yours. Don't let them entangle.
Ah. Is this a side-effect of sharing a headspace? Sharing a body? Cale would prefer the latter. He's not sure if he'd appreciate the shield's gluttony tampering with his personality. And... he doesn't even want to consider the possibility of his mother's spirit influencing him. The thought is too morbid, even for him.
With Captain so thoroughly withdrawn from Cale's perceptions, he does actually feel his mood improving. Amiru and Eric try to make small talk, and Gilbert awkwardly lingers on the fringes of it in the same way Cale does. They end up sharing a quiet, commiserating conversation about that fact that functions as small talk in and of itself. Cale almost regrets never having become close with Gilbert before.
"Well, with pleasantries out of the way," Amiru starts, calling all of their attention as business-like as always, "It's best to discuss our plan at the palace."
Cale hums, kind of amused. Noble matters seem so petty when the fate of the world's survival is actively looming over him. "We have an objective?" he asks, and it comes out more air-headedly than he'd intended. It's amusing all the same, so Cale makes no attempt to rectify it. Watching Eric immediately scramble is charming.
"Ah, don't worry too much, Cale. All you need to do is sit and enjoy yourself. The northeastern faction is famously uninvolved, yes?" Eric prompts, already sweating.
Cale kindly withholds from laughing in his face, though he can tell Captain wants to chide him. Eric is just looking out for you, don't tease him.
Cale bites his inner cheek to make sure his expression doesn't twitch. Ah, he just makes it so easy.
Taylor isn't sure whether the gods are rooting for him or laughing in his face. On struggling for weeks to obtain a healing Ancient Power and ending up no less crippled than he was before, he'd assumed the latter; on encountering the trash of the Henituse County and being generously helped, even snuck into the capitol by him, Taylor had dared to believe in the former.
Now, staring at the priestess he could without hesitation call his only friend, he doesn't know if he can even accuse the gods of paying attention to his life. Surely, they wouldn't permit something so bizarre?
See, Cage has decided they will seek out Cale Henituse, again, because she's been repeatedly having visions of him searching for something. Something has convinced her (probably the wine) that he's searching for them.
"And the Lord hasn't told you anything related to these visions?" Taylor asks for perhaps the hundredth time in a hushed voice as a disguised Cage pushes him, also disguised, towards the Henituse estate within the capitol. "You're certain—"
"They're not dreams, Ta—Tarrol. Visions have a certain reality dreams lack." She scoffs. "I've learned to tell the difference."
Taylor just sighs. They're too close to the estate now to turn back, not after risking being recognized after walking around for so long. Taylor doesn't have any funds left over for a carriage. The worst that could happen is they're turned away; it's not as though Cale seems to be scrambling to report to Venion. The Henituse have too much power to busy themselves with submitting to Stan heirs.
His suspicion grows, minorly, when the guard lets them in without issue. In fact, the guard looks startlingly similar to one of the personal attendants Cale had, the one with dark blue hair who'd always stuck by the woman with an eyepatch. How could it be that an attendant also functioned as a guard? The whims of a spoiled heir, or a deeply rooted paranoia?
Training with the Henituse had taught Taylor that they were by no means a weak family, but something like this seems out of character for public information available on Cale Henituse.
Then again, their entire interaction with him had been incredibly out of character for the rumored trash, and Taylor had simply written that off as luck. Could he have been led directly into a trap he'd been too desperate to notice, and dragged Cage down with him?
The young master himself emerges as though summoned by the thought. He looks surprised to see them only for the briefest moment before his face smooths out. "I kept you waiting," he acknowledges, attaching to it no apology. Instead, he narrows his eyes.
Taylor feels like he's being tested. Will his pride demand he reveal himself and expect respect? Taylor, of course, is not that kind of person. He has no space to be in the tumult that his life has become. He smiles and nods. "It is no trouble at all. We apologize to take up the young master's time."
Cale smiles in return. It's a cartoonishly gratified thing, but there's something in his gaze—and, gods, have his eyes always had those unsettling rings?—that instead makes it terrifying. "I'd ask if you had something you need from me, but I must first request something from my captive audience. See, I've had a passing interest in the Stan Marquis. The current Marquis is of course very savvy in his business and in considering his heirs, but I must say that the current heir is just so unpleasant.
"He'd be a terrible drinking companion, for one, and I just hate to see that in leadership. I've been completely lost as to what I could possibly do to rectify this except for to invite the young man to drink, but he's hostile even to that."
Taylor tenses. He can imagine this leading to a few different proposals, none of which he likes.
"Ah, but then, he's one of two Stans attending the crown's gathering later on. I trust you understand the real machinations of such an event." To gather political support, of course. The prince who'd organized it is low in the succession line were he to lose his title as crown prince and is desperately gathering allies to prevent that. He's competent. Taylor would likely put his support in that man if he had any support to give.
Cale leans forward, and those unsettling eyes glaze over with a look Taylor has only before seen on soldiers of war. "The crown prince has much to gain and much to give. I hope the more pleasant drinker of the Stan knows to take advantage of that."
Taylor can hear the leather of his wheelchair's handle creak with how Cage's hand tightens around it. "And how might this pleasant drinker do that?" she asks, with none of the subtlety of a noble. Cale doesn't call her out for it, so Taylor doesn't intervene. The contents of the conversation are obvious to all of them involved, anyway.
"Well, vague words carry a long way." He pulls out a deck of cards. "Captive audience, play a game with me." He distributes seven to them each. "Do you have any pairs?"
Taylor does, luck may have it. He nods, pulling two pairs together. Cale grins. "That's two points, then. Set them on the table and grab four more cards. By the time this stack runs out, you'll hope to have the most pairs."
"I don't have any pairs," Cage huffs. "Do I have to grab more cards?"
"Well," Cale hums, "you could. You could draw from that deck, and take your chances with however many remain in such a tall stack. Or, take your chances with mine or your friend's decks."
"So I take one of your cards?"
"Do you?"
Cage grits her teeth, clearly frustrated with the noble's vagueness.
"Does your companion have any pair cards with yours?" Cale asks.
Taylor raises a brow. "I can't understand a card game where you can simply look at an opponent's hand."
"Show me your hand," Cale prompts Cage. "And I'll tell you if I have a match in my deck."
"I don't trust that," Cage snaps. "Why would I show you that when you can then steal from my deck for as many pairs as you like?"
Cale hums again, smile growing. "Then by that same logic, I shouldn't show you my deck to help you decide. It seems we're at an impasse."
"You have a match with my cards and you know it!" Cage accuses, pointing a finger without tact. "Just hand it over and I'll consider helping you out!"
Cale's grin is bright as the sun as he hands over a king, matching with Cage's card exactly as she'd accused. "Ah, you caught me. Will you help me form a pair of my own this time?"
Ah, Taylor realizes. What an elaborate metaphor for such simple advice. They know the Prince has something to give, whether that's protection or medical care or even something grander; Cale doesn't know particularly what, and neither do they, but for whatever reason he wants Taylor to succeed over Venion. They simply have to approach the crown prince and tell him plainly: he has something they want, and they have the backing of a Marquis he needs, if he gives it to them.
This trash of the Henituse County seems far too clever for the other nobles' good. If what they're expecting is an empty-headed drunkard, they'll be swindled of their lives' worth in no time. Taylor himself feels as though he's been wrung dry despite instead receiving help from this man.
"Now that I've helped my dear guests, I do have a proper request."
Ah. Maybe Taylor's exhausted feeling was simply foreboding.
Alberu has entertained meaningless conversations all night, and found exactly one of them to be worth the time and effort exerted.
Admittedly, it'd been the very same conversation he'd expected to be the biggest waste of all: Taylor Stan and the priestess of Death, Cage, showed their faces tonight.
He'd commended Taylor's audaciousness, of course, in the glib way he was known for, but Taylor had insisted tensely that it wasn't by his own inspiration that they'd faced him tonight. Alberu had been half-surprised, wondering if the rumored brash, alcoholic priestess could be pulling the disabled Stan's strings, but he'd found her already watching who he assumes to be their mysterious advisor, eyes hard and wary.
He follows her gaze to an isolated corner of the ballroom, and lands on the only figure in the area; impossible to mistake, it is Cale Henituse.
..?
Cage turns back before Alberu can come up with words subtle enough to question, and repeats the invitation for 'tea' that they set to transfer Alberu's healing power to Taylor. He nods and allows them to go on their way.
When he glances back over, careful to be subtle, Cale is watching him with eyes too clear for the rumored drunkard currently swirling a glass of wine in hand.
Ah, Alberu had made note of such a unique noble being in attendance, but maybe he'd been too quick to accept the rumors. This man seems like a mirror of Alberu, wearing a mask as elaborate (if not so literal) as the disguise Alberu dons at all times. Perhaps it'll be exciting, to meet a creature so like himself, so deep in hiding.
From what, Alberu wonders. What could the human son of a rich and powerful neutral faction family have to hide from? Why? And why hide in a way so detrimental to himself?
Mind made up, he switches tracks from the Western faction he'd been heading towards to wander nearer the northeastern nobles' section of the ballroom. "Good evening, young master," he greets, perfect smile already in place on his lips. "I'm sad to see you withdrawn from the festivities. Is anything not to your liking?" He's sure this will be interpreted as a simple act of the crown prince attempting to curry favor with the neutral northeast, and Alberu has no problem with that.
Imagine it: the crown prince domesticates the notorious Henituse trash. That's sure to earn him some support, such a menace this man has become.
Cale scowls, mouth opening to spit something no doubt venomous.
Amiru Ubarr appears in front of him as though teleported, Eric Wheelsman and Gilbert Chetter not far at her heels. "Your highness," Amiru greets with a polite curtsy. "It's an honor that you've come to greet us of the northeastern faction."
Alberu returns the greeting, though his attention remains on the Henituse heir. Those terrifying eyes are glued suspiciously to Alberu's form, head cocked to the side as though listening for something. He only remains pinned by those ringed eyes, shivering, for a short moment. Cale turns away and slips into the crowd without a word, none of the northeastern nobles noticing his departure.
Alberu sighs, and begins to endure another conversation of lacking worth. Tourism, in the Ubarr territory? It'd be more useful as a naval base. The Whipper Kingdom's civil war has been getting too rowdy for Alberu's tastes.
The Scent of Grapes Inn is an admittedly standard place. It's filled to the brim with well-to-do commoners and merchants who've come to the capitol for the festivities, and Cale has come to stave off the withdrawal tremors in an environment without children who'll look at him fearfully when his face flushes.
(He hasn't been able to face Basen since the empty bottle had slipped from his grasp and Basen had flinched away. It's his own fault, his own machinations, but the fear in Basen's eyes as his gaze had flicked to Cale's face, assessing his expression for anger, frightened Cale just the same.)
A haggard-looking, aged man sits next to Cale, taking up the wide berth the rest of the customers had given. Cale has no doubt this man recognizes him, but his lack of fear is more annoying than intriguing. Cale was enjoying his personal space.
It's when the man turns that things become interesting. Odeus!? Captain gasps, astounded. Hah... what are the chances?
Cale lifts a brow, both in question of the man staring at him and the voice in his head. "Can I help you?" he adds aloud, in some half-hearted hope of deterring the kindly looking old man. Then again, if Captain recognizes him, there's no doubt he's some bigwig criminal or something equally horrid. How annoying, to have a past-future self pushing you to associate with those crowds. Wasn't there a saying about that?
"Ah, I apologize for staring, young man, but your face seems familiar..." the old man murmurs. Huh. Maybe he really doesn't recognize Cale and that's why Captain likes him? "See, the young man who helped me while I traveled here described his employer exactly like you, even with such unique eyes. I was wondering if, were you that employer, you'd have any news of Choi Han's safety. He helped me greatly."
Are you fucking kidding me?
Apparently, Choi Han assisted a merchant-who-secretly-controls-the-criminals-of-the-northwest-and-central-regions. That secret, obviously, is how Captain knows of this 'Odeus'. And really, Cale thought he was exaggerating.
Odeus has been in contact with the Blue Wolf Tribe through trade. Choi Han and his companion—who Cale hopes to be Rosalyn—met Odeus while he was waiting at his usual meeting spot and, after defending Odeus's troupe from bandits (and really, does Choi Han just attract that kind of petty trouble?), agreed to Odeus's request to go up to the mountains and check on the Blue Wolf Tribe. Hopefully, with Cale's request to find the boy named Lock in mind.
Odeus had continued on, by then, unable to linger for fear of missing the actual celebration, but as soon as he'd noticed Cale decided to ask if Choi Han had returned yet.
Cale sighs once Odeus finishes telling his story, considering his options from here and pointedly ignoring Captain's urging whispers in the back of his mind. This is, at least, better news than Ron's return this morning, upon which he promptly requested an entire year's leave to 'hunt foxes'.
Cale wants to tear his hear out.
"I, quite frankly, am too sober to say this to you subtly," is what comes out of Cale's mouth in the end. "I know of your criminal connections, and I have my own. I'd like your help."
It's unfortunate that Cale doesn't notice a semi-familiar, squinty-eyed blonde man listening in on their conversation until it is interrupted by that same man squawking, "Uncle?!"
Casul is beginning to suspect Cale Henituse can see the future.
Sure, part of it is old superstition boiling over. But Cale has had them combing the city for bombs the day before the King's birthday celebration, giving detailed descriptions and instructions for disabling them. Mana bombs, by the way. How the hell is he capable—how does he even know there will be mana bombs?
Which, it's not like Casul can call him crazy. The five of them, six with the suspicious old man Cale had introduced out of nowhere and eight with the kids, who are only allowed to help look but not disable, do find bombs. A lot of them. Cale diffuses the one he's with them to find expertly.
What's bizarre is that he'll diffuse a bomb one minute and, within the same hour, play the part of a drunken lout terrorizing the capitol. Always, conveniently, when tipsy lovers are about to stumble into the alleys one of their squad is currently a little busy in.
If Casul was a braver man, he'd admire Cale Henituse. He isn't, though, so instead he remains simply terrified. Kitsi makes fun of him for it, ruthlessly, but even she rarely meets his eyes. None of them can forget the way he'd scared Sejilu silent for a week, a few months into their service under him. She still refuses to tell them what he said.
Anyways. Cale Henituse has foresight to the degree of creepiness, and Casul is contracted to serve him for life. It's an unfortunate situation, but Cale isn't a cruel employer despite his own warnings. Casul doesn't understand why Cale tries so hard to portray himself as a bad person. He's not someone Casul would befriend on the street, but he takes decent care of them. Their pay is good, they're always fed, and he treats their injuries without complaint.
It's better than what any of them had going on before.
So Casul obediently scours his sector of the capitol for mana bombs, follows Cale's instructions exactly to disable them, and reports back to Cale when the day is done. He gets a look in his eye, sometimes, when he gives them information, that support's Casul's future-sight theory.
"There'll be suicide bombers," he tells them the night before the party. "I'll take care of it, but help the civilians evacuate. The suicide bombers kill the most." He's not looking at them, ringed eyes watching something else, as though he's staring at the very fabric of the world. Reading every stitch and correcting the crooked ones.
And Casul wants to ask, desperately, how he knows. How he has so much certainty in his voice. But then Cale coughs, a hacking thing like it always is after he gets hazy and distant-eyed, and excuses himself to bed, and the chance to question has long since slipped away.
The suicide bombers kill the most. Captain knew that with no uncertainty. Since Cale obviously can't disable their bombs in advance, he'll use that chatty shield to contain the explosions so they only kill a few people.
Only kill the bombers, you mean, Captain prods sternly.
Only kill the bombers, Cale mentally corrects. Reduced human cost.
He has left his squad to fan around the perimeter and monitor the flow of escapees once the attack starts. The children are all cooped up in the Henituse estate, sworn to watch over the still-recovering Basen. Cale finds himself a little glad Hong accidentally poisoned his brother; it makes it easier, to not have to worry that something will go wrong and Basen will still end up—
Not the time. It would be timely, contrarily, for Choi Han to arrive around now. Cale doesn't know if he has the heart to ask his merry band of criminals to face the crazy mage Captain says will show up. The man is, apparently, completely gone in the head; crazy at the sight of blood and eager to draw it, he's the powerhouse behind the terror attack. Cale is, apparently, supposed to make use of this opportunity and kill him now.
He sometimes wonders if Captain realizes exactly what kind of pathetic condition his body is in.
The time ticks down. Captain didn't know exactly when the chaos began, besides it being sometime in the morning. The newspapers hadn't been consistent with that. It's just as Cale is about to pull away, as the King steps onto his grand platform, that the first bomb goes off.
It comes from a corner he's had checked multiple times, and Cale realizes with dawning dread that more bombs had been placed since his group stopped looking, which was only around seven this morning. At some point in the last three hours, an unknown number of additional bombs have been laid in unknown locations.
Fuck.
People don't wait to begin screaming, running for the exits, the nobles of course at the head of the herd. Cale turns around and dashes in the direction of the explosion. This is no fucking good at all. The stampede of terrified people is pure madness; it's only because of his squad and Odeus's 'merchants' efforts that he's able to run against the flow of bodies to begin with.
Claws sink into his shoulders and Cale realizes Raon has decided to join him. He scowls, not daring to turn his head while he scolds him. "You were supposed to stay to protect Basen."
"The Cat Tribe are very mighty; they do it well on their own," Raon praises in protest.
Cale wants to argue further, but he skids to a stop as he notices a looming figure on the bell tower overlooking the Plaza. Ah, fuck. This is definitely the crazy mage behind this little scheme.
Cale kind of wishes he could've just snuck up on the guy and slit his throat.
Is it too late for that? Captain asks, prompting.
"Oh, you can't be serious," Cale grumbles, but scrambles for the building anyway.
"Weak human," Raon asks, unseen in the chaos, tucked into Cale's cloak. "Why are you running towards the danger? You're too weak for this."
Cale sighs. "Raon." The dragon hums, shifting to perch straighter on his shoulder. "You need to bring me to the top of the bell tower. This weak human can at the very least protect other humans. I have a power. You've noticed it, yes? I will use that power to survive."
Raon scoffs back at him, already using his magic to lift him into the air. "You do not need to use your meager powers to survive, for the great Raon is going to keep you alive!"
It takes no time at all, blessed be, to reach the roof, but the suicide bombers are already gearing to jump when Cale is dropped down. "Raon," he calls again, wary of the mage sensing a dragon's presence. "You must hide. Do not come out no matter what happens, until this man in the robes is gone. Do you understand?" He thumbs the blade in his hand anxiously, eyes darting between the mage and the others, considering his options.
Raon hesitates. "Why? There is nothing this mighty dragon fears."
"Raon, go," Cale demands, meeting the dragon's eyes with a hard glare. "I won't ask again."
He doesn't want to make this child watch him stain his hands. Even this tortured being still has some shred of innocence and Cale refuses to be the one to take it away.
Raon goes, and Cale is left with only his mind to entertain conversation with. He still has the advantage of surprise, but even if he charged the mage, how is he supposed to deter the suicide bombers? How can he shield the people? Shit, should he have asked Raon to—
Stop thinking. Do.
Oh, fuck it. What's the harm? Cale's probably going to end up a splat on the pavement either way. He darts forward as the bombers jump up, stabbing into and across the crazy blonde's neck before leaping off the building after the bombers. Oh, this is stupid. This is so, so stupid.
Still, as he plummets to the ground, he calls on his shield and wills it larger, larger, larger, until the whole stupid bustling center of civilians is protected, and then clings to the edge as the bombers crash into it in awful bursts of light. It, miraculously, holds him up, but then the explosions graze his fingertips hot enough to startle his grip loose—aaaand he's plummeting to his death again.
What a way to go.
"Young master!" someone calls, frantic. "Land here!"
Gods above, it's Casul. Of course it's Casul, holding out a big-ass stretch of fabric with Sejilu, Nedas, and Kitsi's help. "I can't fucking pick where I'm gonna land!" he shrieks back, but tries to wriggle his body vaguely in that direction. If this is how he dies, he's coming back to haunt everybody on the goddamn continent.
And yet, cartoonishly, he does not die. The fabric stretches a little under his sudden weight, but the shield had been low enough to slow his fall.
Holy shit. Cale survived. He's alive, even after all that bullshit.
...Congrats.
No need to sound so happy about it.
The blonde crazy, of course, somehow survives the stab to the neck, giggling manically and demanding to know Cale's name. Cale looks away, shield held up completely unsubtly. "Oh no," he yells back. "I've fainted. It seems I'll be unable to answer." To make his lackluster lie more convincing, he lifts a hand dramatically to his forehead and sighs.
"Cale-nim!" Choi Han cries, coming running over. "Are you alright?! I'm so sorry, I said I'd protect you, but I—"
"Choi Han," Cale cuts him off, lazy as ever and trying to block from his mind that this is the worst possible time Choi Han could have arrived back. He almost wants to ask him right then and there if Rosalyn and Lock are with him, because if they aren't Cale might just climb up the bell tower again and jump off with the intention to land flat on the pavement. "I'm fine. Protect me by killing that guy, okay?"
Choi Han hesitates, eyes bright in the way of someone who's never bloodied their hands with human victims, and Cale almost takes the order back. Choi Han's gaze hardens before he can, and the boy disappears in between one blink and the next, speed inhuman.
Cale lies back down, deciding it's no longer his problem. Maintaining the shield is strenuous, deeply so, but Cale contents himself to lay on his fabric savior to balance his energy for the duration of Choi Han's fight with the crazy mage.
Choi Han cries out, prompting Cale to open an eye in concern, but the mage has disappeared. Choi Han, like a madman, climbs down the face of the building and returns to Cale with a guilty face and clothing soaked in blood. The mage had to have lost at least a limb to that, holy hell. "He escaped, Cale-nim. I'm sorry."
Cale waves, dismissing the shield as he begrudgingly clambers off the fabric. "I'd really only wanted him gone from here."
He'll cause problems in the future, Captain warns.
Then that's a problem for the future, Cale thinks back stubbornly.
"You did well. All of you." Five faces stare back at him incredulously, and Cale raises a brow, confused. Well, until he turns in the other direction and a mob of idiots starts cheering, celebrating some kind of hero. Cale looks around, confused. Did they really all notice Choi Han chasing that man away? Well, it's deserved praise. Cale pats him on the head. "Yes, they're right. You did well, Choi Han."
"I'm afraid they're not celebrating that young man," perhaps the brightest-colored person in the world says as he approaches Cale. Gods be damned, it's that suspicious crown prince again! Cale still hasn't gotten the chance to ask Raon what he meant by saying the prince was cloaking his true appearance! "They're talking about you, Young Master Henituse. Your shield, not to mention your bravery, has saved countless lives today."
Cale can't help the way his face curls in disgust. "I'm the trash of the Henituse County, you're mistaken," he corrects flatly.
That's your future king. The only good one, Captain huffs. Be polite.
"I appreciate your flattery nonetheless, shining sun of our blessed kingdom." The praise comes out flat, but Cale can't help it. Pain blooms in his chest like it does when Captain possesses him, and he hunches over with a bone-rattling cough before the prince can retort with more falsities.
The phlegm that pulls itself from his throat is thick and red.
Ah, fuck. Not this again.
"Young master!" someone cries. Probably Casul. Casul does a lot of crying. "You're coughing blood!"
Cale drops to his knees, his limbs feeling weak as coughs continue to wrack him. Really, he thinks. I hadn't noticed. Thank you for announcing it to the whole capitol.
And then, delightfully, Cale passes out.