Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Harris Village.

Harris Village.

Harris Village!

HARRIS-!

Cale jolts up in a cold sweat, the echoes of a desperate scream ringing in his mind, the same two words. Harris Village. What the hell? He hasn't dreamed about that godforsaken place since—well. He hasn't thought about Harris Village in anything but passing in a long, long while. Why the hell is it coming up in his dreams now?

Go there.

What the fuck.

Cale goes very, very still. Nothing creaks, no breathing is audible in the still silence, and no footsteps thump along outside his door to mark passing servants having their own loud conversations. "...Ron?" he calls, quiet and hesitant. There's no way he's hearing things this early in the morning. Maybe it's just a holdover from that weird dream?

You need to go to Harris Village.

Huh. "I guess I really am losing it," Cale mumbles to the open air, kind of really wishing he had a little alcohol in his system to blame it on. Can alcohol abuse result in hallucinations? Maybe the consequences have finally started hitting him. Gods above, if this is what he has to live with for the rest of his life, he'll seriously regret not just pretending to be a dunce instead of an asshole to cover for Basen and Violan.

The voice haunting his mind huffs in laughter. You're not going crazy, it assures. Cale doesn't feel all that comforted, but he keeps that to himself. I'm... from the future, let's say. Things go wrong. Badly. I'm allowed to tell you how to fix things. It starts in Harris Village.

Cale very much dislikes this voice's insistence, but he supposes he should cut it some slack. "Whoever cut this deal must've loathed you to confine your advice to me," he scoffs, almost amused. The insignificant lout of the Henituse County, for some reason made responsible for fixing a 'devastating' future. If he weren't so certain this is an alcohol poisoning induced hallucination, Cale would assuredly pity the voice on this fool's errand.

Then again, given the fact that it is a hallucination (because really, a voice from the 'future' asking Cale for help saving the kingdom? Please. Pick a better story, intoxicated brain.), Cale can only find himself amused and a little bewildered at the concoction his mind has created. He must really be messing himself up with all his drinking to come up with something this absurd.

The voice makes a sound like gritting teeth, clearly frustrated at Cale's lackadaisical response. This isn't a joke. Your family's lives are at stake.

Cale stiffens, uncomfortable with the direction this strange voice has taken. He's plagued often with nightmares of his family's violent deaths in various imagined scenarios, but those fears have never reached him in the land of the waking. Is he really losing it, now? Has he... gone too far? Far enough to need help?

No. No, surely it's not that desperate yet. "Ah, threatening me? That's below you, imagined voice-nim," he comments idly, well aware how insane he must look were anyone to suddenly enter. It's not like he feels particularly sane at the moment, so he doesn't bother to correct himself.

And then he blacks out.

Cale blinks, flexing his seventeen-year-old hands and reacquainting himself with the feeling of possessing a physical body. "Damn God of Death," he grumbles. "You didn't mention possession was on the table." That seems to be what happened, at least. Cale's frustration was boiling over, admittedly lacking patience for his teenage self's incredulity, and he tried to push his feelings through their mental link in some attempt at getting him to actually get up and go to Harris Village to find Mother's Ancient Power.

He pushed himself into the body instead, evicting its original owner seamlessly. Ah... oops.

Either way, being corporeal is beneficial to him in this situation. Cale, having a twenty-year war's worth of experience, has no need for arranging a carriage and doing tedious things like explaining where he's going. He slips away from his room (too early for Ron to arrive, because he thinks he'd made a habit of 'sleeping in' until late morning at this age) and towards the stables. Hilsman was... an invaluable comrade after the Wyverns took all of the rest of Henituse County from him, so Cale elects to instead steal one of the less-used mares to bring him out to Harris.

The routine of saddling her—Picsa, is the horse's name—helps settle the lingering uneasiness filling Cale at occupying such a frail, young version of his own body. She's a gentle trotter, but he doesn't waste time kicking them into speed so he can arrive in Harris by sometime in the afternoon. Her gallop is a lot less smooth than her trot, and Cale can understand why she's not as popular with the knight brigade as some of the others. This body isn't trained for horseback riding, and by the time he's crossed half the distance between the estate and Harris's gates, he's aching fiercely. The kid him is going to be furious when he comes back feeling this.

Yikes. Cale hopes he's not freaking out in whatever purgatory is currently holding him.

The sun crests in the sky just a bit before Cale arrives at the entrance of Harris Village, and he lingers on the wooded outskirts instead of going up to the guards right away. His mother's memorial is outside the walls; that's his best guess as to where the other half of Annual Rings is kept. He just needs to make sure the White Star has no reason to target Harris Village and no access to his mother's power. He can have the teenager collect the half with the diary when he sorts out how to give the body back—he should probably believe Cale is more than a hallucination by that point.

Only blood is required to access this part, and Cale can't help but wonder why White Star's blood worked initially. He shakes the thought away; it hardly matters, now that the power belongs to him. The world seems to tint slightly as it settles into place on his plate, a faint awareness of life cycles and warps and exceptions buzzing to life at the back of Cale's head.

He wanders over to the nearby lake, perhaps a bit vainly, to peer into his own eyes. They've gained the beautiful and eerie rings he recalls his mother once having, boring into his reflection like molten gold.

Another piece of Mother to cling to like the childish person he is, but Cale accepts it with no reluctance. The contrast of rings turns his eyes a honey gold that complements his red hair quite nicely.

Cale can't help but shoot a tiny smile at his reflection. He misses being able to be vain and useless, acting out for the sake of a game only he knew he was playing with the world. Before the war stripped everything down to practicality and necessity. The only thing he'd been allowed to keep, in that heyday of violence, was the ever-increasing length of his hair. By the time he died, age 40, it was probably close in length to his mother's when she passed.

It's because he's studying the water so intensely that he notices when a silent presence appears behind him. Even with all Cale's honed instincts, Ron is too sharp for him to detect. Or maybe he's just distracted; Cale hopes desperately it's the latter.

"Ron," he greets. He'd never quite gotten around to working out his complicated feelings for the man who essentially raised him; it didn't help that Cale was a footsoldier close by the heroes during the battle in which Ron violently lost his life.

A faint second of surprise flickers across Ron's face before he glances at Cale's firm stare towards the water. It smooths into his usual benign smile in a blink. "Young Master. The Count was most distressed to hear that you had vanished without a trace this morning." Why did you run off here? "He almost hadn't agreed to check this far from the estate. None were aware of your talent on horseback." And why without a word?

YOU STORMED OUT WITHOUT EVEN SAYING ANYTHING?!

Ah. It looks like Cale's kid-self is awake in his little purgatory void, and incredibly displeased with him. Well, it's best not to cause tension between them. Cale throws on his best scowl, avoiding meeting Ron's eyes. He doesn't know how he could bring himself to lie to this man. "It's hardly that far," he scoffs, wincing internally at the weak snip. He's really lost his touch for this particular act, years of covert work in the Mogoru Empire be damned. "I just—cough!"

He's interrupted by a sudden choking cough bursting from the back of his throat, a painful lurch accompanied by the kid's incoherent yelling to give his body back, goddamnit!

I'm trying to talk you out of this, you little shit, he tries to send through their mental link, but the tugging fight for control of the body doesn't let up so Cale assumes he's gone ignored. He pastes on a weak grimace, trying to hide the pain crawling up his throat. "I was simply visiti—"

Another hacking wheeze cuts him off, but this time it keeps going until Cale is blurry-eyed and hunched over, coughing something wet and heavy into his palms. The scent of iron stings his nose and worsens his teary eyes, and Cale registers belatedly that he's begun coughing up blood.

Oh, fuck this.

To make matters worse, his mental baby-Cale is screaming louder. What the fuck are you doing? You're killing me! What the fuck! I don't want to die in stupid Harris Village!

What a dumbass brat he was. Stop fighting, idiot! he tries to yell back. You're making it worse!

Brat-Cale gets halfway through a very creative insult when Cale's weak host body decides it's had enough suffering induced by its squabbling souls, going limp and collapsing as the world darkens around him. Cale just barely registers Ron's half-panicked expression as his consciousness fades and realizes that this might perhaps be worse than he thought.

Oops.

Cale becomes aware of the pain before he's even fully awake, his face scrunching then immediately relaxing as that only worsens the feeling of his head trying to tear itself in two. Even after blinking his eyes dry, his vision is—not hazy, per say, but he can tell that something's off. Something about the sharp lines edging everything around him are in clearer contrast than he remembers, which doesn't make sense for bleariness onset by a hangover. How much did he even drink to end up like this? He hasn't drunk himself under this way since he was fifteen.

The memories of yesterday, what few he could gather, slam back into the forefront of his brain.

Cale scrambles up to his mirror, tugging down the bottoms of his eyes as though that'll remove the rings from his red-brown eyes. His mother's Ancient Power.

...Holy shit.

Cale's legs feel weak and he tries to brace himself against the wall, still staring blankly at his own eyes in his reflection. That fucking... how? And in fucking Harris Village, of all places? Then again, it's just so like his mother to leave behind a deep piece of her soul in the place that killed her.

Holy shit, Cale has an Ancient Power. His mom's Ancient Power.

The door slams open just as Cale feels his weak knees give out, and maybe his heart is too abused from the alcoholism to withstand the shock, because Cale is passed out cold before his frantic father can finish shouting his name.

This time, Cale blinks his eyes open without first registering pain, but the uncomfortable awareness of time cycles is amplified in a void seemingly empty and overflowing of it. In front of Cale sits, undeniably, himself, if more rugged, beefy, and scarred. Atop all of that, his future(??) self's imposing stature is undercut by the undeniable sheepishness in his gaze.

"Hey," the man greets lamely. "Fancy seeing you here."

"It seems all your social skills have withered during this terrible future," Cale snips without thinking, a critical eye examining his future self's appearance.

The man’s eyes sharpen, and Cale only has a moment to curse his big mouth before he bites back, “A twenty year war doesn’t leave much time for pleasantry.”

…?

A silence stretches between them, and the older man’s face turns grim and regretful. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s grown out, and it reminds Cale why he refuses to fall behind on trimming his hair: the man looks just like Mom.

Even if his build, bulkier than Cale’s, betrays his masculinity, his scarred face has all the same slopes and curves as his mother’s did.

Cale curses himself and drops his gaze, something stinging his eyes viciously. His body was taken over—controlled by this man. He can’t deny that, whatever he might be, he isn’t a simple hallucination. Why would a spirit or god bother taking on the form of an older Cale from some unimaginable future then acquire Cale a power? Is he being prepared for possession as some vessel of evil?

What a way to tank his reputation. Trash of the Henituse currently held in Church custody, suspected victim of possession. He’d never be let out in public again, and certainly no longer considered for the position of the Count.

Hah. What a pathetic way to accomplish his goals; falling victim.

Cale shifts his weight between his feet, gaze drifting across the void he’s suspended in. There’s no visible dimensions, but when he tentatively lowers himself to sit, there’s a little resistance from where his feet are planted that functions as a ‘ground’.

“Alright,” he concedes, reluctant, and looks back up at his copy. “You win. Tell me what the hell is going on, what your ends are here, and I’ll consider helping you.”

It’s a complete lie; at this point, Cale is worried and petty enough to be certain he’ll go along with this manifestation’s plans regardless. It’s clear enough to see that it has, at least, no ill intentions towards Cale and the Henituse. What more should he concern himself with than his family’s safety?

The other Cale sits down, too, facing the teen. He talks. And talks. About a black-haired man with a baby face and vicious strength, a runaway mage princess, a missing half-whale prince, dark elves and corrupt churches and capitol bombings and paralysis and a madman with an army of wyverns. Twenty years of war. He talks about the scars on his visible skin, recounting the battles he’d earned them in, and he talks about sacrificing himself at the very end of it all for some thread of hope that Choi Han might make twenty years of bloodshed worth it.

“Then how the hell are you here? Why? Just rest in peace, for the gods’ sakes!” Be with Mom, Dad. Basen and Lily and Violan.

The older man glares. “I’m getting there, if you’d listen for five more minutes. So, I died to the White Star; I was ready to meet up with everyone in the afterlife, mind you, but instead I ended up in a space not too different from this one.”

This one, of course, being what they’ve deduced to be some sort of limbo between the physical and divine realms.

“It was the God of Death waiting for me then.”

What the fuck?!

“He offered me a deal.”

What the fuck.

“As far as I can tell, I’ve become a spirit living in your head and can sometimes possess you. I’m supposed to tell you how to avoid the messes of the future.”

Cale stares, and no ‘just kidding!’ appears forthcoming. “You…” He trails off, sighing and pinching his nose for lack of anything to say that could get across his complete disbelief. “Haa. You realize I’m a trashy alcoholic, right? I can barely hold a sword. How the hell am I supposed to kill this guy that Choi Han, some immortal half-god-kid, couldn’t touch?”

The manifestation glares. “I am you, brat. I’m not telling you to kill White Star, I’m going to tell you how to stop everyone from dying and the county being destroyed. If those changes don’t work, the God of Death will probably just end up sending you back to advise our previous self.”

This is getting way too confusing for Cale’s tastes, so he chooses magnanimously to ignore that possibility. Alright. Wonderful. He’s actually just had the responsibility of preventing his family’s early deaths shoved onto him. Fuck it, why not?

Cale scrunches his eyes shut, considering. “Well, I already have Mom’s power. Will that help?”

“It’ll prevent the Harris Village massacre, so Choi Han will be more agreeable,” the manifestation offers, and Cale supposes that’s good enough. He’s not really in any mood to be beat within an inch of his life.

“And… what’s the next big thing, again?” Is it the whale prince he’s supposed to find first?

As if hearing Cale’s thoughts, the manifestation shakes his head. “The cap—ah, actually, I remember hearing about a dragon going rampant in Puzzle City. I think, if you manage to do something to subdue it, the reduced human cost would be good for the war effort.”

Cale almost hits him. He doesn’t actually care about saving some random people in Puzzle City; he cares about Basen, becoming paralyzed in a bombing, and his family being murdered as the county is razed to the ground. But the older man is already occupied with his own mutterings, standing up again and pacing back and forth through the void as he considers troops and allies and logistics.

Cale can only wonder what the hell he did in the war, for him to behave like this. He’d spoken of his own fights like he was a common footsoldier, but the way he’s tallying manpower reminds Cale of Hilsman on the rare occasion the man is particularly focused.

The older Cale stops himself, nodding resolutely. “You’ll investigate the Torr territory. They work with the Stans, of course, and the rampage was near their manor. I’m sure Venion has something to do with it; Taylor Stan—” he pauses for a moment, eyes clouding, but quickly shakes it off— “Taylor Stan was in the area. I have a feeling the attack was targeted.”

“What am I supposed to do when I find this dragon? I don’t know what Venion could have possibly offered that would compel a dragon to serve his petty means. Surely nothing I can outdo.”

The manifestation’s gaze sharpens and he scoffs. “Simple: you negotiate with the dragon to acquire its neutrality with the promise of later payment, then avert the crisis in the capitol. With that favor, the crown owes you; use them as necessary to fulfill the dragon’s demands.”

Damn thing. No need to be so rude about it. Though, Cale admits, it’s a sensible plan. The manifestation is probably going to leave the actual responsibility of figuring out how to avert these crises to Cale, but he’ll deal with those problems as they come, he supposes.

The void starts to wobble and shake and a faint, muddy ringing takes up in Cale’s ears. He looks around, startled, and glances back to the manifestation for explanation.

“I think you’re waking up,” the man hums, gaze drifting around the collapsing void idly. “Father was worried. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Cale’s gut twists with something other than the pain he was feeling earlier, and he quickly decides to ignore the feeling entirely. There’s no point in sentimentality like that when he has much bigger problems. Father has an entire family to love, and Cale doesn’t necessarily need to be included in that.

The pain twists into something more solid as proper light filters into Cale’s eyes and his room gradually sharpens into focus. His lungs burn and his throat feels filled with glass; before he can even look at his father, hunched over his bedside, he lurches to the side and coughs wretchedly.

A splatter of bright blood stains the bedsheets. Cale blinks at it dumbly, ears ringing. Hands land on his shoulders, moving him, prodding, patting his back tentatively as though a tap just slightly too solid will result in him hacking up a piece of lung with the next glob of blood. Glancing around blearily, Cale registers the small heap of bloodied towels that indicate the reason his chest hurts so bad wasn’t just the one cough he was conscious for.

He runs out of energy to hold himself tense, limbs falling loose and leaning on the person supporting him. The soft hum is all Cale needs to clock the looming shadow as Ron, and he unwillingly reminds himself what future the manifestation had laid out for him: Ron will leave with Choi Han, whether or not Cale is potentially on his deathbed.

Ah, and with the blood that crawls back up his throat again, Cale feels rather close to his deathbed now. Maybe he’s arrived early. He’ll have to make sure Ron gets in contact with Choi Han soon.

A parade of doctors and priests come in and out of the Henituse estate in the following week, and the county is abuzz with rumors.

“I heard he went out—drunk as always—to start a fight, and someone finally bit back!” some whispers say.

“I’m certain he’s fallen ill with the same ailment the late countess had,” others murmur, glancing around warily.

Still more are certain it’s the alcohol. “No man’s liver will last forever,” pot-bellied men in the bars the young master usually frequents laugh.

Inside the manor, the air hangs stale with tension. Servants walk on tiptoe and family dinners with the Henituse are silent enough to hear a pin drop. The Count’s ‘new’ family doesn’t know the oldest son very well—he’d always ensured they couldn’t—but they’d be blind to miss the toll his sickness is taking on Deruth.

His skin is gaunt and pale and the bags under his eyes are deep; Violan tells Lily not to sneak into their room to sleep for a while because he spends so long tossing in their bed and murmuring with terror about ‘the rings’.

“He looks just like Jour,” Deruth confesses every night, tears in his eyes and hair a wreck. Violan holds him in his grief all the same. “Those rings, her rings. Did he have those rings in his eyes before?”

If the situation were any different, if Deruth weren't teetering on the edge of a preemptive grief Violan wouldn't know how to pull him out of, Violan might yell herself breathless about that. How can he not know? Violan has distanced herself out of respect for what seemed to be Cale's dissatisfaction with her presence, but what excuse does Deruth have to not even know of such a recognizable pattern in his eyes?

Violan wonders, now, if she should've pushed. Pushed Deruth to stop lying to himself that permissiveness would fix the void between himself and his oldest son. Pushed herself into Cale's life, provided him the support he so desperately fled.

She can't continue to deceive herself and say her distance was completely unselfish. Violan knows she's assertive more than might be 'proper', and she knows that's what Deruth loves about her. And still, she thought to herself not to overstep in his and Cale's relationship, claiming to herself that she didn't want to make either of them uncomfortable.

It was always about Basen, in the end. Herself, more insidiously. The rotten part of her, shriveled of empathy from the cutthroat necessities of life as a merchant, was relieved by Cale's distance, by his self-destructiveness. She hoped that, by letting Cale ruin himself, Basen would be the perfect stand-in son for Deruth to cling to and fiercely protect. She hadn't done it out of any malice towards Cale, but does ill intent really matter when the result is Cale bedridden and coughing up blood no doctor or priest can derive the cause of?

Violan settles in for another unrestful night, Deruth still sniffling quietly into the top of her hair.

The last doctor steps out of Cale's room with a polite bow and Cale finally slumps back in his bed. What a useless week. Of course none of them could tell what the cause of his stupid coughing fits were; it was his idiot future counterpart deciding to possess him that put such a strain on his body.

Not that he's exactly jumping for the opportunity to inform anyone of that. He's quite fine with his trashy reputation; Cale doesn't really care to be called insane.

Now that the doctors have finally left him alone, the manor has somewhat returned to the state Cale is used to. The servants fearfully avoid him and Cale doesn't make any effort to engage with them or his family. Ignoring Father's buzzing worry becomes easier when Future-Cale starts talking to Cale again, apologizing for the long silence enacted out of fear of worsening his condition.

Somehow I forget how fragile my body was, he grumbles. It's a miracle I'd survived to get to the point I did.

Cale's brow ticks with irritation, feeling slighted for the casual disparage of his body's condition. "Oh?" he prods, just for the sake of being aggravating. "And how far exactly was that point? A common footsoldier?"

Future-Cale scoffs right back. We didn't exactly have time for proper ranks when the White Star could lay siege at any moment. Everyone was a common footsoldier. And there goes any ease Cale had desperately clung to. Roan is an orderly kingdom; how desperate could the situation be that they abandon rank completely? Future-Cale hums in the ensuing silence. Though, now that I think about it, I did technically have a squad of my own. Maybe I was... captain equivalent? That's what Hilsman is, right? Ah, it's been so long...

Captain Cale. How weird. Cale never imagined himself in the military service; as a child, he'd seen his future as the Count of the Henituse territory. At this point in his life, he's only entertained fantasies of running away once the heir title was passed onto Basen. More realistically, he's imagined himself dying of liver failure by some point in his twenties. By some damned act of the devil, neither of those futures will come to pass if Cale continues how he is.

The thought pauses him suddenly. "If you... What comes of the county? If all of them are..." He can't bring himself to say it. He purses his lips and continues. "If you're the only remaining Henituse and you're on the battlefield, who's running the county?" What a pain. He'd assumed that, once he began ruining his reputation to the point of no return, matters like the county's safety would no longer be his concern.

Ah, I was the Count of Henituse in name. Haah, I should've led with this, I suppose. So, when the county was destroyed, a lot of folks came out of the woodwork for the first time. Shadier characters, if you will. Cale's heart drops. The Henituse territory turned into a puppet of the underworld? After years and years of being just about as crime-free as one could manage? What a pitiful trash he is, indeed.

Hey, Captain Cale snaps. Before you start catastrophizing, can you let me finish talking?

Cale scowls. "Hurry up, then."

As I was saying. Quite a few shady characters came out of the woodwork, and they happened to have a thorough grasp on all the happenings of the county and a few particular talents that I needed. In short, I gained a reputation for being able to be multiple places at once. I think some people became convinced it was an Ancient Power. Cale can hear the fond grin in Captain's voice, and he can't help the way his own jaw drops.

"Are—there's no way you're serious...?!" he squawks, incredulous. "You hired an impersonator to run the county while you were on the battlefront!?"

Come on, it wasn't that bad, Captain grumbles. I always had them consult me for critical matters.

Cale decides then he won't be listening to this insane Captain for at least a little bit, for his own peace of mind. The man's grumbling is still there, at the back of his head, but Cale is getting good at ignoring him. The conversation they've had has at least given Cale some direction. He's not quite willing to give up the ruse he's spent years building, but he realizes that he will have to wean himself off the alcohol if he wants to be in any condition to protect his family in the future. He'll just have to keep up appearances of being a drunkard in the meantime, which isn't terribly difficult.

And Captain has highlighted some trouble for Cale to keep an eye on in the meantime. He'd been neglectful, admittedly, to remain content in his father's assertion that there was no underbelly of Henituse County without investigating it himself. Even if these people prove useful in the future, it's better for him to prune the unruly weeds early.

He thinks of Captain's assessment of the situation with the dragon presumably in the Torr territory. The reduced human cost will be beneficial to the war effort. Better to get rid of the useless and imposing now.

Cale slips out into the hallway, an empty bottle of wine in hand he'd left on his desk for occasions exactly like this. He meanders in the direction of the training shed, stumbling as though already drunk. Nobody stops him, all servants in the area giving a wide berth. Cale keeps his steps uneven but quick, counting down the seconds he has until Ron appears behind him like a shadow cropping up with the shift of light.

He kicks a shelf and curses loudly once he enters the weapons storage, pocketing a few small knives and daggers as he pretends to have drunkenly wandered inside. He shoves his way out as soon as it's all firmly hidden, cursing up a storm about stupid, inconveniently placed sheds as Ron appears, smiling benignly, in front of him.

"Young master," the old man greets politely. "Perhaps you should return to your room. I brought tea."

It's easy to scrunch his nose with disgust at the thought of that awful lemon tea, waving Ron away dismissively. "I'm going out. Don't follow me."

Ron follows, of course, but so many years of trying to lose his tail (and Captain's careful, terse advice) let Cale finally roam free of his butler's scrutiny for at least a short period. He ends up in what's probably the seediest part of the entire slums. A shoddy, floor-length coat pulled over his head, nobody spares Cale a second glance except for wandering hands feeling around for cash.

Cale can't help his little smirk when only something sharp and stinging meets them.

A little murmuring gets him exactly where he wants to be: standing in front of the most amoral douchebag in this entire place. Everything the people around him say paints this man as the exact weasel the Henituse county despises. He kills for money and for fun and steals what he has plenty of coin to buy. He's famous here for never losing and never getting caught, but he's got no real connections that aren't clients.

No one to miss him when he's gone. And if Cale knows anything about the underworld, he's certain that when the biggest viper in the den gets struck out, all of its lessers will come crawling out to seize power. A thorough extermination of the scum of the earth.

Maybe it's cruel, but as Cale jingles a bag of coins and lures that sharky grin to a secluded spot just paces away from the fences blocking off the famed man-eating tree, he doesn't care. Maybe this man comes from a hard past and he turned to what he could to make ends meet. But would it be fair to judge him mercifully when people who've come from the same or worse circumstances have lived with their hands clean? Maybe it's not his place to pass judgment at all, because in the end it's just different forms of the same fervor to survive.

It's lucky that the slice of a knife against the man's throat isn't judgment. Cale's no deity, so he doesn't care to contemplate the morality of his actions. He's got a voice in his head telling him he'll spend twenty years killing in a war, anyway, so what's another life on his hands now? His job as heir of the Henituse County, even though he hopes to be rid of it soon, is to enforce order and peace among his people.

He has no reason to let the rats run free, and Captain in his head is willing enough to guide him through a clean kill.

Cale slings a raggedy cloak over the limp body once it's done choking and spluttering, then one of its arms across his shoulders, imitating drunken stumbling and cursing the (literal) dead weight at the back of his mind. Captain grumbles, none too condemningly, that he'd brought this upon himself.

They're not going far. He'd picked a spot by the man-eating tree on purpose; it's famously a spot for suicide (as much as Father likes to ignore that) and rumors say every body left hanging is totally trained of life by the next day and vanished by the day after. There's rope still lying around the base of the tree, some connected to the dying branches, and Cale huffs in satisfaction. Nobody looks too closely at the suicides that happen at the man-eating tree, so the throat wound will surely be overlooked.

He hefts the body onto the stump with shadows so deep it looks like a void, tugging the torn old noose into position to make it look like some pitying passerby had simply cut this corpse down from the branches.

Except as soon as he loosens his grip on the corpse, it falls back into the stump. Cale blinks blankly, watching uncomprehendingly as it's literally consumed by the void. He even leans down, to listen for the echo of it meeting the floor of some secret chamber, but no sound rises up except for a strange rumbling like the preempting of an earthquake.

"...What the fuck..?" he whispers, breathless. "This goddamn tree really..."

He'd always assumed the blood-sucking rumors were just to keep kids away, and the bodies were gone because the Henituse knights removed them.

Apparently, the tree accomplishes both of those jobs independently, because the void is apparently capable of consuming corpses and making rumbling sounds like a growling stomach. Cale almost checks his own temperature, quickly retreating from the tree to splay himself out on the grass at the foot of the hill. Ron is going to catch up in under thirty seconds, so he does his best to get comfortable in pretending to be drunk and disoriented. Talking to that bastard and dragging his fat ass into the tree had taken way more time than Cale anticipated; he didn't even have time to get himself an empty bottle.

Right on cue, the soft crunch of grass sounds on Cale's right. "Young Master," a familiar voice greets. "You've made yourself comfortable, I see."

Cale scowls harshly, stamping out any remorse he might feel about it. It's not like the old man actually cares about Cale the way Cale cares about him. "I told you not to follow me."

"Ah, I was simply enjoying the night air and happened to see the Young Master doing the same. I thought I might check on him, is all." Cale graciously decides to ignore the blatant lie (who would enjoy the night air of the slums?) in favor of lolling his head in the other direction and scoffing lazily. He's exhausted, even though he hasn't really accomplished much. Now that that bastard is dead, the tension that's been coiling in Cale is finally starting to come loose. It aches like a bitch.

Huh. Guess killing a person really takes it out of him.

Heart pounding in his chest, Cale slurs something halfhearted about Ron leaving him alone for once, but he doesn't put much command into the protest. He can already feel his eyes drooping, words losing definition with exhaustion. He can just barely make out hands hoisting him up before he falls asleep completely.

Ron paces the kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth. Beacrox and he are the only ones in it at this hour, but that doesn't make Ron's audience any less critical as his son stares with furrowed brows and a deep frown.

"The puppy has been up to some interesting business," Ron finally says, sighing and pausing mid loop to assess his son's expression. He flicks out a bloodied knife, still faintly gleaming under the dried rust. Ron can easily discern the flash of curiosity in Beacrox's eyes—did Cale force Ron's hand? Are they leaving? Ron shakes his head before any of these queries can be voiced. "I found this on the puppy young master after he ran around the gutters without waiting for this old cat to keep up." He lost my tail.

Beacrox's eyes widen in time with his mouth. Ron amusedly taps his jaw shut, and it closes with a click. "He—really, Father? Cale?"

Ron can't help his chortle, despite the perhaps severe situation. It reminds him of times long gone, when Ron reported that the knife stolen right from under Beacrox's nose was in the possession of none other than their puppy young master. He takes good joy in reminding his son of that. "Don't forget that Cale was the one who always managed to sneak around the kitchen without your noticing. Sight withers with age."

It's nothing like that for a Molan, of course; much less the Molan patriarch. And still, Ron enjoys the frustration on his son's face as he endures his father's hopeless jabbing.

"You know he's no longer that boy." And there goes what little levity had accumulated. "What business does he even have..?" with violence, he doesn't say, but the question is clear regardless. Cale's angry, a drunkard known for his tantrums, but he's never been reliably skilled at causing actual damage. This, paired with Cale's interesting stop in the weapons' shed before his departure and his ability—clearly calculated, because Ron is never so clumsy as to accidentally lose sight of a target—to lose Ron's tail, is clear evidence this violence was intentional.

Ron's eyes flash. "That this old man has yet to discover, but his eyes remain peeled. Rats do no good to a kitchen, so be sure not to let them roam." 

Beacrox doesn't like Cale. He'll claim to have never liked him, even if he'd only stopped liking him at some point after the Countess had made the Henituse Estate home. But an order from his father is an order from the Molan patriarch, whether or not that name has become obsolete. It's Beacrox's duty to obey. 

He thinks of the knife with something that's not quite worry well into the following day. 

Don't make a habit of this, Captain warns. 

"What?" Cale scoffs, dumping another body down the suspiciously-lightening hole. He hopes that doesn't mean the void is shrinking; it's been very useful to him thus far. "Killing people? I feel like I'm already a couple steps past that." 

He can feel the apparition project an eye roll at him, and rolls his own eyes back. I mean relying on strange magics. It never ends well.

"I should probably ignore the weird apparition in my head, then," Cale points out bluntly, tossing his blood-stained gloves down the void as well. It's lucky he brought them; this woman was the only shitbag so far quick enough to put up a fight. 

You know it's not— the same, Captain starts to interrupt, before he's rudely interrupted back by the tree growling into their shared headspace. 

Yes. The tree. As in, the perennial plant with a woody main trunk, supporting branches and leaves, and an extensive root system, according to any encyclopedia one could consult. Notice how, in none of that unnecessarily extensive definition, it does not say that trees should be able to project voices into headspaces shared with ghosts of the future. 

Stop feeding me cloth! I'm hungry enough to eat human flesh, but I draw the line here! I only tolerated the clothes 'cause it'd take too long for you to strip 'em! I'm not your garbage disposal, dammit! 

Gods above, Cale thinks he might actually be going crazy. This must be an elaborate dream or hallucination that he's been unknowingly playing along with, because it was hard enough to accept that Captain was real. Maybe this is just his mind coping with a genuine terminal illness? 

No matter how far-reaching an explanation, that's more reasonable than the tree talking to him. Talking to him about how eating humans is fine, but it draws the line at bloody gloves?! What?!

And yet, somehow, this is Cale's real, actual, non-hallucinated life, because the bodies keep disappearing, the tree keeps talking to him, and Cale still hasn't been caught. Out of politeness, Cale has started removing some of the excess layers from the bodies to soothe the tree's temper at being 'used as a disposal'—the nearby poor need the insulation more than the seedy bastards who'd owned them did. He'd even thrown in a few loaves of bred from a nearby bakery, to get the tree to quiet down for a little bit. 

...With little success, because it had instead ranted incessantly about the flavor and very rudely demanded more. In protest, Cale simply fed it another corpse. 

It's around the aftermath of the ensuing fight (which mostly consisted of the tree yelling in Cale's head and Captain talking soothingly to help him ignore it) when Cale realizes he really has no other important targets. The essential crime syndicate planting its feet in Henituse's underbelly has had all its critical fixtures dismantled smoothly, and the sudden extermination has spread rumors of a knights' crackdown that sent any greedy hands into hiding. 

Petulantly, telling himself it's more for the sake of the polite business owner than the damn tree, Cale buys more bread and dumps two loaves into the nearly-white hole. He keeps the third loaf for himself, just to hear the tree's complaints. 

And then it gets too annoying, and Cale is reminded of Lily's whining for her big brother to join her in sword practice. He's already taken a bite out of one end when an undeserving guilt strikes him, so he begrudgingly breaks off the other half and tosses it into the void. "A meal is best when it's shared, so don't complain about me keeping the rest," he warns, honestly a little impressed at the quality with the depressing lack of resources in the area. He can't really tell it apart from an average Henituse chef's bread. 

Mmm! You're right, you're so right! Ahh, you were so unpleasant feeding me all those bodies that I didn't see it before, but you really do understand the goodness of a solid meal! the tree croons at him. Cale tries not to feel uncomfortable. Yes, yes, I think you've passed! Take it, take it! My thanks to you for helping me remember what a full stomach feels like with the aftertaste of good bread and companionship on my tongue! 

And then the almost-white void become completely, blindingly white, and Cale is pretty sure it'll swallow him whole as Captain shouts something in his head cursing suspicious magic voids. Cale has to wonder if he has experience. 

Any mocking thoughts slow and then drown as Cale feels something warm wrap around his heart. He almost fears it'll constrict, that the tree's final gift is eternal companionship with it in hell, but it never does. It shimmers faintly around him, like a bubble. Cale pokes at it, curious, and the simple tap from his nail reverberates through his bones like smashing against metal. 

...Holy shit, there's no way. 

Hehe, be in awe at my power! the tree Ancient Power croons. The Indestructible Shield! You, who fed me so loyally, I will keep safe so you can share tons of good bread in my name! 

Oh. Okay. "Thinking about it," he murmurs aloud, somewhat dazed, "this is probably the best result that could've come out of my—"

He was going to say 'murder spree,' but then two terrified-looking children came running at him, begging him to step away from the man-eating tree (which, Cale suddenly notices, isn't looking as ghastly and withered anymore) after that suspicious light flash almost ate him whole. 

"We—we've been watching you, sir, and it's gonna get hungry enough to eat you too!" the girl, who's silver-haired and looks a little older, says. She avoids his eyes and tugs nervously at her rag of a shirt, and Cale's dead heart can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy as he naturally overlays Lily's worried face onto hers. 

"You shouldn't approach dangerous strangers," he says without thinking, because if they've been watching him then they absolutely know he's been literally feeding the tree dead bodies. What weird kids. 

The red-haired boy glares up at him in a way that looks more like a pout. "You're not mean, though. You're nice to the lady at the bakery." 

Cale sighs. So scrawny. The kid looks four or five, but he's probably closer to seven. It's how it usually goes in this area. "Don't judge people so easily like that," he advises again. "Sometimes bad people pretend to be nice." He splits off the remainder of the bread from his two bites and sticks it in the kid's hands. "If you're both still hanging around here tomorrow, I might come back. The bread is good. Don't get in my way again." 

Maybe the kids will read between the lines and come leeching off him again. It's not like he's short on money. Or maybe they'll just assume he's threatening them and screw off; Cale decides, sauntering his way back to the estate, that it's not his problem. He really is planning on going back for more bread, though. It wasn't half bad. 

The underground has been quiet lately. Nedas knows why. Everyone's scared the Executioner's gonna come for their neck next. He's not above admitting he'd been shitting his own pants when word got out the 'Henituse Knight crackdown' was actually just a single guy covertly murdering a person a day without any seeming pattern besides being big-time criminals and targets of the county. 

Ghostly, the Executioner is described as. Something red as blood occasionally sweeps from behind his cloak's hood, and some people say it's blood from the mutilated limbs of his victims he keeps under there. That, at least, anyone with reason has dismissed as bullshit. He's probably just got unique-colored hair. 

Things have calmed down, the Executioner all but vanishing over night. Some people wonder if someone finally got him, but others are even tenser, wondering if this is the prelude to an even larger-scale mass extermination. Nedas is in neither group, completely unconcerned. Some of his business partners give him looks when he brushes past the topic, and his friends call him crazy and suicidal. 

He's not worried about the Executioner coming for his neck because he's noticed a pattern everyone else seems to have missed. It's not just the big bosses, which had been originally theorized, getting targeted. They're easy slaughter, usually coming to power through manipulation over brute strength. That new organization that'd been laying its roots too deep for Nedas's tastes—Serpent, or something else snake-themed, he didn't care to remember—especially functioned that way as a veritable assassination bureau. No, it wasn't just the big bosses. The Executioner listened to the whispers, or he had somebody with an ear to the ground, because he always, always went for the kingpins. 

Even if you didn't have a title or a rank or even a nickname, if enough people knew your name and knew your business, your head was next on the chopping block. The kind of people that hang out with those people don't protect their own, either way, only concerned with saving their own necks from slicing and their own coins from stealing. 

It's kind of funny, to watch criminals scramble like headless chickens as soon as the name is brought up. Another part of Nedas is just annoyed with the nonsense leaving space for lunatics like Casul to claim they've killed the Executioner and grab power that way. 

Kitsi comes to sit down next to him, off-colored beer in hand as usual. Nedas almost rolls his eyes. "What's it now?" he grumbles, not even bothering to fake his interest anymore. 

Her eye gleams regardless, and she slams her mug down as she leans forward to stare him hard in his eyes. "We're gunna hunt down the Executioner," she whispers, then glances out of the corner of her good eye at Casul parading himself around again, grin turning predatorial. "For real. And I've got my eye on the perfect bait." 

Cale had really only intended to go back once. But the Ancient Power in his head only talks when she's by her damn tree, and she's pretty useful as far as gathering information goes. He can't get any more powers or else he'll explode (not something he worried about, not expecting to encounter any more Ancient Powers since two is already kind of outlandish, but good to know), he has to actively call on the shield for it to activate, and he won't be able to remove the silver tattoo above his heart as long as he possesses the Ancient Power. 

He taunts her about just leaving her behind for better powers without tattoos until she informs him completely rudely that 'dumping' an Ancient Power would fracture his soul-plate-thing and immediately kill him. Explode him? She wasn't sure, and Cale doesn't want to think about it. 

Anyway. He keeps coming back to the tree. The kids could apparently read through the lines, and so they keep showing up, too. He feeds them, because they're scrawny and he's rich with more bread (literal and metaphorical) than he knows what to do with. And other snacks, once Ron starts benignly insisting he bring something to maintain himself on his daily picnics.

The Ancient Power tells him she's taught him everything useful non-food related that she can think of, and Cale promptly informs the children. The children, unfortunately desperate for him to continue providing food, offer themselves for work. Cale, despite himself, lifts a brow. "I can think of a hundred people more capable to work in my estate than two children, ninety-nine of whom are currently employed."

The girl shakes her head desperately. "Not as servants! We—we're good at sneaking around! We'll get you information, so you can keep killing bad guys!" 

"Sh!" Cale hushes immediately, glancing around warily. He doesn't need that to be getting around; he's already got enough of a target on his back in these parts being the Henituse young master. He crouches, sighing. "Look, kid, I hate to break it to you. You've both got unique hair. You're young. Someone's gonna notice you and you'll get hurt. No job's worth that. You're both decently fed now. Look for some proper work and keep eating well with the pay." 

The boy's face wobbles with impending tears. "B-but you said it yourself! No one's gonna hire a couple kids when there's plenty of adults!" 

Oh god. What to say to make this stop being Cale's problem? He looks desperately to the sister, who's gnawing at her lip and staring into him like she's assessing something. "We won't get caught," she insists nonsensically. "We can even get information people wouldn't tell in front of anybody else." 

The boy turns to his sister, wide-eyed, as if she's made some sort of decision. Cale wonders how to break it to her that this isn't changing his mind. He won't put kids into suicide tasks, no matter how desperate they are. 

And then she becomes a cat in front of his eyes. Hesitantly, the boy glances at Cale and then does the same. Their fur is, respectively, the same bright color as each child's hair. 

...Ah, right. Cale forgot his life is insane. He crouches again, though it still doesn't put him eye-level with the tiny kittens. "You're beastmen, then," he deduces dully. "Do you have any special abilities?" 

"Poison," one pipes up, quickly followed by the other's "Fog." 

Right. Little assassination specialists offering to be under Cale's budding spymaster employment. 

You should take them up on it, Captain advises. 

And what the hell happened to not trusting suspicious magic? Cale snaps back mentally, not wanting to retort verbally and convince the kids he's insane. 

This magic isn't unknown.

Cale sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to coddle you two," he warns. "I'm using you for my own gain and nothing else." 

Both kittens nod eagerly. Cale tries to feel nothing about the sight. They could probably fit in his hands like this, taking up a palm each. 

"If you're discovered or wounded, I'll treat your injuries or house you temporarily as severance, and then you're fired. Do you understand?" he asks sternly. 

Both blink blankly. "Severance?" the girl echoes. 

"It's—sigh," he cuts himself off. How do you explain severance to a seven-year-old? Or... ten, or something. Cale doesn't have a clue how old these kids are. "When a person gets fired, they get severance pay. To hold them over until their next job. So, if you're hurt working for me, I'll fire you, but I'll heal you first so you can still get another job afterward." 

Both children are children again, rather than cats, and beam brightly at him in sync. "Thank you so much, sir! I'm Hong! My big sister is Ohn!" the redhead—Hong—introduces eagerly.

Cale sighs. "I'll come here once every other day. If you have something to report, you'll get a meal and you'll be paid. Understood?"

"Wait, we'll be pai—"

"Understood," Ohn echoes firmly, clapping her hand over her brother's mouth. Smart girl. Don't let your employer take advantage if they set the reward higher than expected. She'd work well in Henituse business. 

He sends a half glance behind him as he starts past them, finally on his way home. Don't disappoint me, he thinks, wondering why he doesn't feel as if he means it quite so harshly.

Cale (Ohn's not stupid; even though he never introduced himself, she can put two and two together and realize that the bright-haired man with way too much money and an always-empty bottle of wine in hand is the rumored drunkard lout of the Henituse family) isn't as awful as he tries to make himself out to be. It's only because of that, and because Ohn finally doesn't have to go hungry to make sure Hong doesn't starve, that she offers herself and their secret up for work so readily. She hadn't intended for Hong to join her, but it's better that he can stay where she can see him, anyway. 

Their first mission is just information gathering, but if the way Cale's gaze had flickered when they mentioned their poison fog is any indication, that won't be all they're doing for long. 

Ohn finds herself not really minding. Cale's been cleaning up the slums, hunting down all the rottenest parts and dumping the evidence down that creepy tree without a second glance. It makes this hellscape a little safer for her little brother, so Hong has decided to help Cale however she can as thanks. 

...And for the meals, of course. 

It's nice to roam around as a simple cat, the form not requiring as much as existing as a human child. It's even nicer that Ohn can barely feel the difference, her stomach full in a way it hasn't been in years. Hong brushes up against her side, purring contentedly and likely feeling the same. 

The only downside is how much more potent the smell of liquor and sweat becomes. Entering a tavern is worse than ever, and it doesn't take long for Hong to press his ears flat and duck for cover in Ohn's side. Ohn lets him do what he has to, keeping her own senses peeled for information that'll help Cale. There's a loud blonde man sauntering around, declaring his own feats as a hunter, and Ohn leads her little brother to curl up under a table with her to keep watch on him. 

Someone comes to sit, soon enough, grumbling about a man named 'Casul'. "That lunatic really thinks anyone believes him?" he mumbles to himself. 

Another man comes to join him, laughing loudly and startling Hong. Ohn hushes him hurriedly, panic briefly flaring. The people above them go back and forth about someone called 'the Executioner', and Ohn listens closer to their conversation than the blond man's—who she assumes to be Casul—rambling. 

The Executioner, apparently, has been hunting down all the important members of an organization called Viper, disposing of them without a trace. No one has figured out who he is, but since people stopped disappearing, some idiots have come out claiming they killed the Executioner in a bid for power. 

It only takes Ohn long enough to hear about the red that drips out from behind the hood of the Executioner's cloak to figure out the man's identity. Cale's apparently earned a nickname in the criminal world already. 

Ohn shouldn't be surprised; he dumped no small number of corpses into the man-eating tree. Of course that made ripples. Such a scary nickname is kind of hard to reconcile with the man who, all bark and no bite, feeds them daily without complaint and indirectly worries over their safety. 

The pair of men leave the table quickly enough, replaced by a man and a woman with one eye covered. The woman's energy is dangerous, sparking, as she murmurs to her companion that they'll hunt the Executioner for real. Ohn, finally conceding to her own fear, curls around her brother and presses her ears flat to her skull. They've learned enough for the night. They stay there until long after the tavern has cleared out, and no one notices two cats wound around each other under the table. 

It works out almost too well, but Kitsi isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. After only a few days of Casul's parading, the Executioner has showed himself once again. In a style that makes Kitsi think of the God of Death, the man jingles a pouch of coins wordlessly at Casul. The universal signal for 'I have a job for you', but somehow a hundred times more ominous knowing who's behind that cloak. 

Casul, all bravado as always (which is impressive, given he must know how royally screwed he is), follows with a saunter in his step. Kitsi starts to flank the Executioner's right, and Nedas mirrors her on his left. They've gotten a few other people in on this, but Kitsi is pretty sure Sejilu and Shiveh—twins, hella creepy, but extremely useful—are the only ones who didn't flake as soon as the Executioner actually showed up. It's fine; she was expecting that. 

Looking at the man now, his frame is pretty slight. To be able to kill all the people he did, he had to either have help or rely mainly on surprise. Sejilu's signal, out of the corner of her good eye, tells Kitsi it's not the former. 

Or, at least, he was confident enough in his ability to defeat Casul that he didn't bring backup today. 

Kitsi grins and lunges. 

Fog fills her vision, and the Executioner dodges her grasp. She can still make him out, a hazy figure, but his voice stops her in her tracks. "I wouldn't keep trying if I were you. It'll make the poison circulate faster." 

Terror fills her, sudden as a lightning strike. "What..?" Her voice trembles. 

The man's smirk becomes visible as he drops his hood. His hair is red as blood. "Well, the fog is poisonous. I've already taken the antidote, but there are... what, four others, plus you, in this fog who haven't?" He knows. He knows how many of them there are, and where. How? How has this terrifying man learned this much? Can he read minds? 

"Wh-what do you want!?" Casul cries suddenly. "We'll leave the territory, if that's the problem! There's no reason to kill us!" 

"Idiot!" Kitsi hisses, tugging him back. "Don't speak!" 

The Executioner snickers. "Have your other friends come out, and then feel free to discuss mercy with me. I haven't come here without an ultimatum." 

Nedas only hesitates a second before coming up next to Kitsi, and Sejilu and her sister are quick to follow, none eager to die of poison fog. Which only makes Kitsi wonder more who the hell the Executioner is—poison fog? How is it possible?

The Executioner smiles. It's not a nice thing. "Thank you for your cooperation. Now, I'll warn you before the fog pulls away: I'll provide you the antidote if and only if you abide by my terms. Understood?"

Kitsi exhales, and the breath is shaky. She does her best not to breathe any more fog in. "Yes sir," Shiveh answers for them. 

"Good!" he replies, suddenly chipper, and waves a hand. "Ohn, if you would." 

The fog dissipates like it'd never appeared, and Kitsi glares at Sejilu out of the corner of her eye. What happened to no backup? Sejilu stares back at her helplessly, eyes wide. 

Behind the Executioner emerge his accomplices: two small children. 

...Oh. 

"Currently," the man starts, observing his nails idly, "you five are useful to me." His smile is nasty, and when he looks up, the cleared air lets them all meet his terrifying gaze. The pigment is uncanny, rings providing a feeling that he can see straight through them. It sends a shudder down Kitsi's spine. "Let's keep it that way, yes?" 

Cale has been disappearing. Deruth has been letting him go, as long as Ron keeps watch from afar, because he still doesn't know when—or why—his son's eyes gained rings like Jour's. 

She'd always answered, mysteriously, that it was a Thames trait when he asked Jour the origin of her rings. Did Cale awaken the genes belatedly? Was his sudden illness also related to that? Jour had been sickly. Ron had said the rings were manifest when he found Cale after he ran off that dreadful morning, staring into a lake like he could see to its bottom. He hasn't exhibited any symptoms of poor health since his recovery. 

Violan had torn into him properly when Cale was fully recovered and Deruth felt like he could breathe again, then broke down and admitted her own guilt of letting Cale go down the path of self-destruction with indifference. Deruth can't find it in himself to despise her motivations, because hadn't he allowed the same without any justification at all? She'd made him promise, then, to at least try to mend the bridge between them, to gently corral Cale onto a path that wasn't inevitable self-destruction. 

And then Cale started disappearing, and Deruth let him go. 

They were back at square one. Violan, hard-headed as always, tries to guide him through it. She extends invitations for meals to Cale herself. She visits the garden he likes to frequent, has tea at the gazebo in hopes he'll stumble upon her and she can offer him a seat. 

Nothing works. Violan stubbornly continues, and Deruth stubbornly quits, reverting to his obsessive watching over of Cale through his butler. He knows this proxy relationship does nothing for his son, but he doesn't know how else to show how deeply he adores his eldest. How can he, when the boy is so unreceptive to anything but liquor? 

Deruth aches at the thought, even as Ron reports with a mysterious look hiding behind his benign smile that Cale's trips to the local taverns have lessened significantly. Deruth assumes that the brush with death and the healers' uncertainty left Cale at least a bit wary of drinking his life away. 

At least, that remains his assumption until his son shows up at the estate with five grown adults looking worse for wear and two children clad in rags, declaring all of them part of the Henituse staff and attendants of the wing of the estate he occupies alone. 

What the hell has Deruth's son gotten himself into?

Sejilu and Shiveh are assigned to laundry, as their cover. There are enough attendants already dedicated to the job that they can spend sparse amounts of time actually pretending and more at Cale's side begrudgingly assisting his plots. Kitsi is a farrier, bringing Cale his food and working with him over lunch with the excuse of attending to his needs. Nedas is a cleaner, ducking in and out as needed, and Casul is being trained by the butler Hans as another manservant, lacking much time alone with Cale to plan as the, er, personality of the group. 

Cale brought the children here in the name of training more personal attendants, but he spends more time buying them clothes and making them try sweets to discern their preferences than asking them to do things. He's unfortunately grown extremely fond of them both, and he's all but completely abandoned the trash persona, so there's not much harm in just giving in and doting on them. Besides, they'd been extremely helpful to him in collecting Captain's five 'favorites' of his adopted criminals from his past-future. 

Cale almost rolls his eyes at the thought, but Sejilu is still volatile and he doesn't want to disrupt their rather productive meeting on illegal organizations budding within Henituse. It's taken months of their contract for her to be even this approachable, but over time Cale has learned that, apparently, having an identical twin is extremely useful for subterfuge; half the criminals in the county aren't even aware that Sejilu and Shiveh are two different people. 

"Young master," Sejilu interrupts herself, hand laid flat on the table. He can see how she falters upon meeting his eyes, but she stares into the rings unflinchingly once she recovers and Cale can respect that. "Why are you doing this? The county has been perfectly content until now to simply pretend its underbelly didn't exist. What's the point in trying to clean it out when criminals will always offend?" 

Reduced human cost, he almost responds automatically. That's why he'd gone on his little killing spree at the start. And then he considers telling her the truth, that he has a voice in his head telling him to make things better instead of just making himself worse. Or maybe a slight alteration of the truth, and he can make her believe he sees the future. 

"My little brother is going to be the Count," he informs her simply, though her eyes widen like he's revealed something shocking. "And I won't have it giving him trouble while he settles in." 

Maybe it is shocking, amidst the brutal succession fights common among the nobility and the lack of blood shared between Cale and Basen. But Basen was so small, when he was six and Cale was nine and meeting him for the first time, and he was nervous and shy and so easy to love, and so Cale decided that Basen is his. His to take care of and protect, no matter what that meant. And now Basen is fourteen and still very cute and small, and Cale has an eight-year-old sister to love and protect, too. Even if he does it from a distance, even if it's violent.

His eyes harden, and it must be terrifying with the Rings of Life, because Sejilu goes stiff. He laces his fingers together and leans forward, imploring his message to stick. "I am willing to do anything, Sejilu, to protect my siblings. Understand this now: if I have to choose between all of the county's—all of the kingdom's—citizens and my family, I will choose my family every time." 

"Yes sir," she concedes, head ducked and whole body trembling. Cale thinks that's a bit of an overreaction. "Am I dismissed?" 

She shouldn't be, but she seems like she might cry if Cale says no, so he acquiesces. "By the way," he calls before Sejilu can pull open the door, random linens in hand, "nothing I said leaves this room, yes?" 

Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. "Yes sir."

Apparently, the lout of the Henituse family is not only not a violent idiot—as Shiveh had so rudely learned upon being poisoned and trapped by him as the Executioner—but also a secret genius who's been conspiring to secure Basen Henituse's place in the county by allowing him to become count while secretly poaching the criminal underbelly. 

Gods above and below, how is this Shiveh's life? 

After Sejilu got scared shitless by the young master, Shiveh's been handling all the meetings that are supposed to be shared jointly between them while the other sister pretends to be a normal busy laundry worker. What a pain. 

She sort of sympathizes, though, as the young master's eyes bore into her. Those rings are really uncanny. 

"The King's birthday celebration is coming up," Cale comments idly, except Shiveh knows it isn't idle because nothing this godforsaken man does is without purpose. She just nods, allowing the conversation to move without her input. It's clear this isn't the time it's needed. "Basen will be sent. Father won't want me to make a scene." Shiveh thinks it's more likely that the count is worried about his son's health; what little she's seen of Deruth Henituse makes the man out to be rather fretting and pathetic when it comes to his children, the latter especially so with his eldest. She keeps this to herself. "Of course, a place like the capitol isn't safe for a young heir to go alone."

Shiveh's brows furrow as she tries to read between the lines. "Should Sejilu and and I go along, young master?" They're the espionage specialists, though Casul would probably be the most subtle as a semi-professional impersonator. No one would second guess him going along as Basen Henituse's attendant. The only problem is that Casul is useless in combat. 

Nedas is more... skilled in formality, though. Sejilu would probably blow her lid at the first snooty noble they come across. And, being skilled at combat as a former bounty hunter, he'd be one of the best options for a protection detail. 

"Mm, I did consider that," Cale concedes. Shiveh tenses. "But none of you are a complete skillset on your own. Casul would blend in the best, but he's useless as a protector. I trust Kitsi and Sejilu to fight, but not to contain their behavior. You'd be the best option, but you refuse to be separated from Sejilu."

"And Nedas?" she can't help but ask. 

Cale shakes his head. "I need his help with a separate task in the Tolz territory en route to Puzzle City. And, really, that's why I'm telling you this—I'm relying on you to inform the others. We'll be tagging along to the capitol; we'll complete my task along the way." 

Shiveh blinks blankly. "Sir... what? We're all going?" 

Cale shrugs. "The more the merrier." The safer, she supposes is what he means. He needs them for something important. What the hell could be so significant in the weak Tolz's territory? "And if you're coming as my attendants, you won't need to pretend to be actual servants. Just my employees." 

"What about Ron? Won't he be coming?" Even if Cale were to attempt to dismiss him, the smiling man is never far on the Count's orders. 

Cale huffs. "He already knows that you all being contracted as my servants was bullshit. He's not stupid enough to fall for such a lie. As for the knights, they won't be watching you too closely. They think I'm crazy, remember? So don't make a fuss, and no one will notice you." 

"Even that chef?" Shiveh prods, eyes sharp. 

"Beacrox is his father's son," Cale dismisses her immediately. "If he didn't figure you out as soon as he saw you, Ron definitely told him to be on alert. There's no point in trying to pretend around him either, though he'd appreciate if you maintained a servant's standard of cleanliness. He's a germaphobe." 

Shiveh just sighs, eyes closing as she accepts her fate. Would it have been better to simply deny him and die to the poison? "Yes sir." 

It was today, Captain murmurs in his head for the hundredth time, I'm sure of it. 

Cale rolls his eyes, same as he has every other time Captain repeated his new mantra. He's been lingering around the gates for ages on Captain's insistence, faking drunk as usual. He'd taken a glass to soothe the withdrawal making his hands tremble, so his face is suitably flushed to fit the part. "I took the rings," he murmurs, not wanting to be overheard. "He has no reason to come." Harris Village won't be destroyed if the Ancient Power wasn't there. 

He will, Captain insists, and something in his voice is so final that Cale finds himself wanting to believe him. 

Stumbling like a demon to the gates of hell, Choi Han comes running, frazzled, up to the gate. Captain doesn't say anything, but Cale scowls at the vaguely smug aura emanating from their mental link. Piss off, Cale thinks at him angrily.

I didn't say anything, the stubborn bastard gloats.

Cale decides resolutely to ignore him for the next week as punishment. He's said before that the isolation drives him crazy. Instead, he meanders up to the gates, the clueless-looking kid being held up by the two guards asking for his identification. Is this really the same person who Captain claims spent at least a century in the Forest of Darkness?

Whatever. Not Cale's problem. Cale's problem, right now, is figuring out how to coax Choi Han into becoming Basen's personal guard. And maybe Lily's swordmaster, if she ends up liking him. Captain says Choi Han is the strongest swordmaster the world has seen; just barely catching a hint of the kid's aura, Cale is inclined to believe him. 

"Wha's goin' on?" he slurs, stumbling into one of the guards. Ow, that armor hurt. Why's it so goddamn sharp? 

The guards visibly panic, taking in his drunken appearance. "Y-young master," the older one greets, ducking her head in a polite nod. "This young man was attempting to enter without identification. He claims to be from Harris Village, but has nothing to prove it."

Cale frowns, not entirely faking his disgust. "Harris Vill'ge?" Even if he knows now that his mother's death was her own choice, he despises the thought of that awful wakeup call Captain had given him before forcing him to make a mad dash to the godforsaken place. "C'mere. Stupid... stupid Harr's. Yeah. Lemme talk to 'im." Cale grabs the young man's arm before either of the guards can urge him away, tugging Choi Han into the gates. 

"Young master! We can't—"

"I'm the young master," Cale cuts the man off with a scowl. "I d'cide who's comin' in, fuck 'ff!"

Deciding he's made his point, he wobbles and spins sharply, dragging Choi Han away. The boy finally gathers his bearings once they're out of the guards' sight, yanking himself away with a scowl. Seems like he hadn't liked Cale's 'stupid Harris' comment, oops. Sufficiently covered from view, Cale drops the drunkard act, and delights just a little at Choi Han's startle. "You're from Harris Village. Why are you here?" 

"Uh—" Choi Han stammers, visibly hesitating. "I—I think I should talk to someone sober." 

"I am sober," Cale snaps with a scowl. Mostly. "Either tell me what you want or I can march you back to the guards and make sure you can't come back here again. You're damn lucky I decided to let you in to begin with."

Choi Han's hands clench into fists at his sides, and Cale tenses, but he only ducks his head. "I really appreciate that you did that. I just... I need to see the Count. The elder of my village is really sick, and—and none of us have access to treatment that can fix it. She doesn't—" His voice breaks with the hitch telltale of incoming tears. 

Oh, fuck no. 

"Listen—"

"Choi Han."

"Choi Han. I'll make myself clear now. I'm not good-natured. You owe me for this. You're gonna owe the county for the medicine when we provide it to you. Are you still willing to ask me for my help?" 

The kid's face hardens in a truly terrifying way, and despite his youthful face he really does look like a man. He looks like a man who's been stranded and desperate for a long, long time. "Yes. I'll do anything to help Grandma." 

Cale scowls. "Don't ever tell people you're making deals with that you'll do anything. Humans are like fae; they'll take advantage." 

"And you won't?" Choi Han blinks with annoyingly innocent eyes, and Cale just has to sigh and accept it. 

"...For now, I won't. If you do it again, I'll exploit you to my heart's content. Follow me."

Lily doesn't know her eldest brother well. People tell her a lot of things about him, but she's rarely ever spoken to him herself. All her servants say he's angry and violent. Her mom says he's sad. Basen says not to bother him. Mr. Ron admitted that Cale used to sneak into her nursery a bunch when she was a baby and hold her and sing lullabies to her when no one was watching. Besides Mr. Ron, who's somehow always watching Cale. 

Still, she knows that he recently got rings in his eyes that are very pretty and a little bit scary, and that he got very sick around that time. She knows that he's been sneaking out a bunch, even though Papa would let him go if he asked, and she knows that he hired five new servants and two children he claims are being trained as servants but he's really just doting on. 

One of them has red hair almost the same color as his. 

Lily doesn't like the children that much. She feels bad about it, because they apparently had a very hard life and they're only around her age, but at the same time she wants to throw a fit about how it's all so unfair! Cale is never around Lily, but he's always showering those kids in attention. Cale doesn't buy Lily gifts, but he gets them all sorts of things. And most especially, he's so so nice to them, all the time. Lily has stolen glances at him teaching them how to weave flower crowns in the garden, and patting their heads, and even carrying the red-haired boy around!

It's not fair! Lily wishes, more than ever, that Papa or Mama had red hair, so she could have red hair like Cale's, because then Cale would pay a bunch of attention to her and be super nice all the time!

It doesn't help her jealousy to learn that, not only is Basen going to go away to the capitol to celebrate the stupid king's birthday, but Cale asked to go with him. 

Lily wants to burst into tears. Cale even has a favorite sibling, and it's not Lily. 

That's not fair. Lily is cuter than Basen. She's nice. And funny. And she's learning the sword! She can protect Cale from all the mean things people call him! Basen can't do that! He's too nervous all the time!

Lily pouts in the garden. Since both her stupid brothers are going away on a trip without her, she'll just take up all the space she wants in the garden. And she'll pick Cale's stupid flowers and make a bunch of flower crowns and there's nothing he can do about it! 

...As soon as she figures out how he does it. Lily pricks herself on flower thorns about a hundred times while she picks them off, vision blurring with tears. She sniffles and keeps trying to twist the stems together, clinging to some unreasonable hope that she can make the perfect flower crown and impress Cale and then he'll love her a bunch like he did when she was a baby.

Footsteps crunch the grass in front of her, and Lily scrubs her eyes, preparing to yell at one of her servants to go away and tell her parents she's not doing her lessons today. She looks up to see Cale, and clamps her mouth quickly shut, eyes wide. 

He huffs, kneeling down in front of her. "Your Mama said you were upset about Basen and I both leaving for the capitol," he murmurs, awkward. Lily sniffles again at the reminder, staring down and continuing her poor attempt at a flower crown. "I know you don't want Basen to go, but this is very important for him. He needs to make a lot of friends so the county can stay strong, okay?" 

Why is he acting like Lily's not upset they're both leaving? Does... is he trying to make it clear that this means he's choosing Basen over her? That breaks the damn, and Lily bursts into sobs. "Why's Basen your favorite?!" Lily screams, tossing her stupid messed-up flower crown to the ground. "I-I know you like those new kids better 'cause the red hair looks like yours, but why don't you like me at all?! I-I thought I..." Lily runs out of justifications, curling into herself and crying like a little kid again. She knows she's supposed to be more grown-up than this, mature and strong like a knight, but it's not fair. Lily just wants her brother to love her too.

Something lands on top of her head, ringing it like a crown. 

The flowers she'd tossed are nowhere to be seen, and Cale is wiping the tiny thorn-cuts with a kerchief he'd pulled out of his own pocket. Lily's eyes widen again as her tears slow, watching him clean her wounds attentively. It's the same way he'd treated the silver-haired girl when she'd cut herself on a rose stem and cried about it. Lily feels a flash of guilt. She'd mentally called the girl a baby at the time, and here she is bawling like the world ended. 

That wasn't knightly of Lily at all. 

"I don't like Hong better because he has red hair. I don't love him or Ohn more than I love you and Basen, Lily," Cale soothes. 

Lily pouts up at him tearily, registering with surprise his slight smile. Has Cale ever smiled at her like that before? "You're not just saying that?" 

She's swept into slight but sturdy arms and the familiar feeling of a kiss is pressed to the top of her head, in the center of the flower crown. "I don't lie to my family, Lily. I save that for everybody else." Lily can tell there's some hidden meaning to that, something she's too young or naive to pick out, but she doesn't care. Her brother really, really loves her.

"So Basen's not your favorite?" 

Cale laughs. His breath rustles her hair slightly. "I don't like picking favorites." 

"Then why're you going to the capitol with him? Stay and watch me train!" she demands, all shyness forgotten. 

Another kiss settles her down. "I'm still Basen's big brother too, Lily. I have to watch over him. And the capitol is too dangerous for me to just trust the knights." Lily whines, but acquiesces. "Say, consider this: I'll find you the best swordmaster in the kingdom, and bring you lots of gifts from the capitol. Does that sound like a good deal?" 

Lily considers it. The best swordmaster in the kingdom would be awesome. Lily will become a knight with aura in no time! And still, she finds herself more entranced by the second clause: a bunch of gifts from Cale, just for her!? And yet, the Henituse in her demands she stretch this agreement as much as she can, so she pushes for one more clause: "You have to teach me to make flower crowns before you go, so I can get really good and make a perfect one for you and Basen when you come back!" 

Cale is just as much a Henituse as her, so he smiles proudly and agrees. Both he and Basen leave for the capitol with rings of flowers around their heads. 

Cale feels ill for the entire trip to Puzzle City, a leftover of Captain possessing his body to talk to Lily. Cale can't fault him. The longing-grief-guilt had overrun their mental link so strongly he couldn't do anything but concede control. And... it'd gone well. He'd felt himself—even though it wasn't really him—hug Lily and kiss the top of her head, the way he's longed to for so many years. Like when she was a baby, and wouldn't remember his gentleness, so he could sneak in at night and dote on her like the good older brother he wishes he could be.

It doesn't help that they, of course, stumble upon bandits on the way. Choi Han, Basen's personal guard for the duration of the trip, disposes of them all with frankly terrifying speed. Cale forces Basen to hide, huddled beneath him on the floor of the carriage, until Ron knocks to politely inform them the bandits have been deterred. 

And then, delightfully, they encounter Venion Stan harassing an old man for almost getting killed by him. Cale almost brushes right past him, but Captain forces him to mind himself. Something about a 'targeted attack' and 'reduced human cost'. Cale scoffs to himself, pitying. He's killed too many people to dismiss that justification anymore. Ugh. 

And so, he intervenes, and has a very loud conversation with Venion. He plays the part of a drunkard without thinking about it, only realizing belatedly that his face isn't at all flushed enough to belie drunkenness. Venion seems too inflamed to notice as he storms off in a huff, leaving the old man be, but Basen frets over when Cale managed to drink while they head for the man's inn to rest for a night. 

Cale, sighing and letting his shoulders fall lax, ruffles Basen's hair and tells him not to worry about it. He hopes the suspicious look in Basen's eye means nothing. 

Either way, he has to content himself to that explanation for the time being. Venion's sleeve had been stained with blood, and there's a dragon attack scheduled for a few nights from now. If Cale can't figure out how to divert the dragon's attention now, he'll have to fake hungover very convincingly to make his group stay behind another day. 

Captain will nag him until he dies if he lets a dragon raze the Tolz territory to the ground. 

So, Cale calls on his wonderful little band of criminal servants well into the night, all of them dressed in very suspicious blacks. Cale curses his own lack of fitness as he clambers out of the window, hoping the dragon will be open to negotiation. He's going to perish immediately in a fight. 

Two blurs, silver and red, drop down in front of him. Cale frowns, hands falling onto his hips. "No," he denies without even hearing them out. "There will be no children brought along to this." 

"But we've already spied for you!" Ohn pleads. "We want to make sure Cale-nya is safe!" 

"Cale is exploitative and does not need protection," Cale reminds them. "Don't forget about the gang of criminals I've extorted to do my bidding?" 

"Which we helped with!" Hong argues. "Please, please, please! We won't even get that close!"

Cale searches for something to deny them with. "You're wearing too nice of clothes." 

"I brought blacks, if they want to change," another voice emerges behind Cale, and he almost jumps. Almost. Choi Han circles around, appearing like a specter from the shadows. Eugh. 

Cale glares. "I said children aren't invited. Go to bed, all three of you."

Choi Han makes an indignant face. "I'm not a child." 

"You're as naive as one. Go to bed, and take these two with you."

The bastards end up coming along as Cale creeps into the territory of the Tolz mansion, the suspicious building not far. It's stupidly easy to break in with Choi Han's help, who pretty much decimates the whole security system and any people standing in their way. How ridiculous that Cale had thought to rely solely on Nedas. 

The place looks more like a dungeon than a dragon's oasis, though Cale has no idea what conditions a mighty dragon prefers. If this is it, it's no wonder Venion was able to provide. It must be a spendthrift dragon. 

Still, none of the chambers they break into reveal a dragon, and Cale starts to grow anxious. What if this is actually some weird sex dungeon Venion has been keeping on the down-low, and they're going to stumble upon something Cale would rather not see? Where else would they house a whole dragon, if it is in Puzzle City at all? And, really, if the attack wasn't calculated? Cale's just going to have to endure the Captain's fury for the forseeable future, given Choi Han won't be on site to slay it. 

Yikes. But then, Basen is the priority. Cale doesn't care how cold-hearted he has to be to keep his family safe. 

One of the last doors swings open to reveal a baby dragon, locked away and clearly tortured. 

Ah. It must not have been calculated at all; Venion is clearly too big of an idiot.

The dragon hatched in the Dark Place, and assumed it would die there. The Man said that he would be freed only if he bowed to the Man's will, and the great and mighty dragon knows little, but it knows with certainty that it must not concede. 

And then another Man appears, with a shock of hair that is brighter than any color the dragon has seen in the Dark Place. He's covered in black, the color of the dragon's scales, but his hair is like the dragon's blood. This man has left a bloody trail of all the Man's assistants—or, at least, tasked his black-haired companion to do so—and he lets the dragon bask in the sight of their corpses as they march through the halls to freedom. 

He heals the dragon, and demands nothing in return. The dragon glares at him, suspicious. "I will not bow to you because you have brought me out." 

"Of course not, dragon-nim," the man returns immediately, deferent. "I am greedy, not stupid. Only fools claim to control mighty dragons." 

The dragon stretches his wings for the first time, and takes flight. This human is a weak human, clearly, needing the black-haired human and five others, plus two not-quite-humans, to do his bidding. Still, he's not weak and stupid, like the Man—Venion Stan, the dragon learns—so the dragon decides he will protect the weak human. Not because he owes such a feeble creature anything, but because he pities a fearful existence while having so much power of his own.

The weak human's name, he learns, is Cale. 

The dragon has been following them. That is somehow less of a problem than the fact that Cale has just onboarded a worn-looking Taylor Stan and Priestess Cage into his carriage. He's lucky they brought a separate carriage for the 'attendants'; with Basen, himself, Ohn, Hong, Cage, and Taylor, even luxurious Henituse carriages are a little cramped. 

Poor Basen seems horribly uncomfortable with the strangers, but Cale invited Taylor under the guise of him being Father's old student of the Henituse martial arts (Cale himself having always been too frail to learn) and Cage with the excuse of finding himself a drinking buddy. He knows he's being more pleasant than usual, but does it really matter if he's ruining his trash reputation if that reputation ended up useless in protecting Basen and Lily in the end?

Cale doesn't think so, and Captain agrees. Besides, it's so much more pleasant to not have to ruin every conversation he takes part in. 

Still, Basen seems to relax when their passengers are offboarded, discussing with Ohn more openly. Cale can't help but think that the sight is adorable, and so he sends Ohn and Hong off into the markets with Basen and a hefty bag of coins to go buy themselves souvenirs. While they're gone, he opens the inn's window and asks dragon-nim if he'd like Cale to humbly provide him a meal. 

Being a child, of course, the dragon readily agreed, and so Cale had something meaty brought up. The invisible presence finally revealed itself to chow down, which was unfortunately also quite cute. 

"Great dragon-nim, as I'm sure you already know, my name is Cale. Is there something I can do for one of your might?" 

The dragon, licking his lips, straightens and lets his eyes rest on Cale directly. "I, a mighty dragon, could gain nothing from a weak human such as yourself. However, since you are so weak, I have benevolently decided to protect you!" 

...Wow. Perks of being involved with your surroundings; you have a dragon bodyguard now, Captain says sardonically. Cale blinks blankly. 

"I... I am in your debt, mighty dragon-nim. Do you have a name I could call my benevolent protector?"

The dragon hums, though it seems more like a childish pout than genuine contemplation. "You will call me what you wish! Inform this mighty dragon when you've decided on a name." 

Oh dear. The dragon is asking Cale to name him? Cale's never been good at this sort of thing. "Yes, dragon-nim. Give me some time to consider." He'll have to thing of something unique and grand, but not grand enough to sound stupid or difficult. Ah, what a drag. Maybe Cale can just call him after the Roan Kingdom; that's the grandest thing he can think of, and a simple name besides. 

But then, it's not unique. Perhaps the dragon will despise it. Is it foolish to simply switch the letters? Raon isn't a word that exists in any dictionary or name catalogue. 

"Dragon-nim," he asks, pushing more sweets towards the child. "How do you feel about the name Raon?"

The dragon pauses in its munching, glancing up at Cale curiously. "Does it mean something?" 

"All words do," Cale concedes with a shrug. And since it's a word he just made up, he supposes he can make up a meaning too. Words only have meaning when you assign it to them, after all. "It's a word that exists only to describe you. Mightier than kingdoms." 

The dragon bares its teeth in what Cale assumes to be a smile. "Raon, mightier than kingdoms! I suppose it is accurate, human! I permit you to call me Raon!"