Chapter Text
When he opened his eyes, darkness welcomed him like a familiar companion. Maybe it truly was. Cale remembered drifting off in Ron’s protective embrace, yet now he found himself swallowed by this endless black. Suddenly, a stranger’s voice echoed through the void.
“Hello, Kim Rok Soo, or maybe I should call you Cale now.”
“Who are you?!” Cale demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion. He edged backwards, eyeing the striking figure before him: a white-haired man with sun-kissed skin and eyes as dark as midnight.
“Calm down, hatchling; we know each other.” The man’s voice was gentle, almost soothing, but it did little to ease the tension coiling inside Cale.
“Then why don’t I have a record of you, and why are you calling me a hatchling?” Cale asked. After all, he didn't have any memories of this man in either of his lives, and then there was this ridiculous nickname.
<Am I a bird or something?>
“Well, it’s not really my fault that ever d**n time you get some kind of trauma you decide to lock parts of yourself away, and you are a hatching.” The man answered, sounding a tiny bit annoyed but not really, which meant he cared about him. But as far as Cale was aware, all those who cared about him were long dead.
“What are you talking about?” Cale said, taking a step forward towards the man in front of him.
“It’s easier just to let you remember everything,” the man said with a chuckle. He didn’t seem bothered by Cale at all. Instead, he reached out and gently touched Cale’s head. The touch was so soft that it reminded Cale of something he couldn’t quite place. Before he could figure it out, pain shot through his head, and he dropped to the ground. Memories of the real Cale Henituse flooded his mind—memories of a childhood with a mother.
“Did… you just give me Cale’s memories?” Cale asked, his voice shaking as the pain lessened slowly yet remained; it was clear that he was in distress from the new emotions and memories.
“No, those are your memories, your feelings, just like you are Kim Rok Soo; you are also Cale, just that one is your past and the other is your present.” The man explained, trying to get close to Cale again.
“That’s… impossible. That world is just a book,” he said, backing away, still trying to deny what he was hearing.
“No, it’s possible. I asked one of my subjects to write that book to help you grow and be reborn. I even asked the god of time for help.”
“So, I’m… Cale.” He says, his voice clearly breaking.
“Yes.” The man said, and once again tried to get closer to Cale to comfort him.
“Oh, that’s great.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“What do you think!” He yelled in an obviously hostile voice while staring at the annoying man.
“Okay, little hatchling, calm down,” the man said, taking a deep breath. Seeing him do that helped Cale calm down and think more clearly.
“Did you say God of time?” Cale asked, finally being able to get some thoughts out.
“Yeah, I just said, ‘Hi Tempus, I want you to help my little hatchling,’ and he agreed. He gave me some information about the future and then the handbook.” The man tried to imitate the god of time, but Cale just thought he was terrible at acting.
“That was a handbook? Well, that explains why it was written so strangely. But couldn’t you have written it better?” Cale said, thinking the man in front of him was bad at both acting and writing.
“Would you have read it if it was not a fantasy novel?” He asked, smirking.
“I probably wouldn't, but still, also, how do you just ask a god for a favour like that?” Cale asked, because how could one ask a god for a favour like that?
“Well, when you’re a god yourself, it’s like asking a friend.” He says, smiling proudly.
Cale stares blankly at him, completely dumbfounded.
“You a God?” He asks sceptically.
“Okay, first that hurts— second, yes, I’m the God of death.” The God of Death said, standing proudly.
“…really?”
“Okay, that’s just mean.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry; I just found out I got reborn. My mother is dead. Now I've got to live in a world with many upcoming wars, so I'm not in the best headspace right now, so I’m sorry I’m sceptical of a God that’s apparently wearing that.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes? It’s comfy, and I have paperwork.” The god said, looking down at his clothes: a simple black shirt and grey sweatpants.
“You know what, sure, why not,” Cale said before another question arose in his mind. “Why do you call me hatchling? I'm not a bird”
“You were born like not even 50 years ago, and you’re a snake.”
“Hm, I feel like I miss something because what the f**k do you mean by SNAKE the only snake mentioned ever is that werid knight in the north!” Cale shouted at the god who shamelessly acted as if he hadn't dropped some major information.
“So, as you know, there are 12 gods; we all represent a different domain and aspect of reality as we know it.” The god began explaining as if Cale already knew it all.
<THIS D**N Annoying GOD>
“I don’t know that.”
“Just listen then, as I was saying, there are 12 gods; that’s why there are 12 months, 12 zodiacs. I, for example, am the zodiac Scorpio.”
“It’s why that zodiac is associated with death and darkness.”
“Yes, exactly. Wait, how do you know this?”
“Novels,” Cale replied flatly, already exhausted by this ridiculous god.
“Ah, either way, because of that, I actually had a Scorpio form.”
“Doesn’t really explain why you call me snake, though.”
“I’m getting there. Thousands of years ago, I fell in love with the Goddess of life, Vivens; she’s the zodiac Taurus.” The god started before Cale interrupted.
“Wow, a love story.”
“Okay, no need for sarcasm.”
“Just get to the point.”
“Okay then, we had a child, a constellation called the Serpent Bearer, Ophiuchus, meaning— you.”
“I’m God?” Cale added, to which the god nodded before he opened his mouth to explain the rest.
“Well, not really. You haven’t gotten a domain yet; you’re more like a divine creature. You have to collect some karma first to be able to become a real God, like me.”
“Therefore, I’m a hatching.”
“That’s exactly why I gave you a book to help you grow. This all happened sooner than I planned—I was going to let you enjoy your rich slacker life a bit longer. But since you’re so eager to take on the God of Despair, here we are.” The god gave a thumbs up.
“F**k no.”
“No take-backs, you shouldn’t have asked.”
“You’re such a b***h of dad.”
“You love me; now try to have some fun. I will check in if needed.”
Darkness wrapped around him, and suddenly he was back in his bedroom once more.
<WHY is he, my DAD!>
Thus he closed his eyes, accepting his defeat.
" Good morning, young master. Time to wake up."
“Good morning, Ron.”
He felt drained, his emotions a tangled storm after everything his father had revealed. The realisation that these feelings were truly his, that this room belonged to him, that the woman he barely cared about was his mother, and that his piece of s**t father was the person he was meant to live with now. He even knew that man would remarry in a year.
Yet he still couldn’t cry. This was his second life, but the tears refused to come. Even knowing he could cry now, he simply couldn’t.
Not after being Kim Rok Soo. When he turned 4, he and his parents were on their way home from a trip when an accident occurred. The ship they were on went over because of some mechanical failure; every single passenger died except him, of course. He reasons he survived because he was the child of death and life himself, a being destined to become a God himself.
Not like anyone knew, or himself, therefore came the rumours of him being a cursed child, a bringer of death.
So, after his parents’ death, only his uncle stepped in to take him, and of course the family let him; they would rather let a four-year-old child live with an alcoholic than risk getting cursed. Of course, his uncle wanted only a breathing punching bag who could work like a servant.
When he was 5, he accidentally dropped the beer he was supposed to bring, so his uncle punished him by making him beg for forgiveness while sitting on the broken glass. But he couldn’t cry; he wasn’t allowed to cry or even let out a single word.
His life became dreadful until he could no longer stand it. He tried jumping off a building, but yet again he survived. When the doctors saw his body, they told the police he was probably abused. So they took his uncle in, and he got to live in an orphanage, but it did nothing to stop it. In the first years, it was quiet; they harmed him only occasionally.
But later, when he turned 16, they changed. He was apparently quite beautiful, he was told.
At first, the director just started to touch him, but it soon turned into something else. He would try to get him to dress up or please him. Of course, he turned him down every time, and so every time he did, he would get punished.
But he didn’t care; he would never let himself get dirty by such a man, so he cut himself a bit to make sure he would never want him again. And it worked; never did he try again, nor could he try so towards the others as long as he was there.
“Are you ready to go, young master? Beacrox made all your favourites for your picnic.”
“Yes, Ron.”
He smiled, took Ron’s hand, and walked out of the room with his butler.