Chapter Text
0.
The sky above rumbles as lighting slithers through the thick layers of overcast grey clouds. Whispers of pending thunder awaits, and the sea roars with the wind. Waves crash down, forming foams that bubbles and vanish into nothingness, too deep, too dark for the will of human eyes.
Within the howling of the wind, a cruise travels. For being far too big to be called a boat, yet immensely tiny as compared to the surge that threatens to engulf them whole, the ship waddles, too weak and fragile in the mother’s wrath.
Screams of terror emanate from the ship as the sheets of sails flutter vigorously in the storm. Screeches and cries, too little and weak as they were drowned out by the song of the sea.
Somewhere, a voice, enticing and enluring, joins in with the melody.
“His hair is hang in ringlets, his eyes as bright as gold…”
The ship, after years of kissing the skin of the mother ocean, is adorned with a thick layer of moss and bone white barnacles. Cracks are forming, silently, but still there, widening slowly hand in hand with every ticking second.
“My happiness attends him… wherever he may go…”
The ship, a tiny dot in the middle of the ocean. A newborn in a world whereby predators prowl in the darkness that never fades; a little child, where death is inevitable.
“From Tower Hill to Black Wall…I’ll wonder, weep and moan…”
A perfect harmony for the figure in the middle of the chaos, yet the eye of the hurricane is quiet and solemn, a mocking farewell to the folks outside. Crimson scales refract the scarce dark moon light, a seemingly glistening, dangerous jewel of the sea.
“My heart is pierced by Cupid—”
“I disdain all glittering gold.”
“There is nothing that can console me, but my jolly…”
A lightning explodes, sizzling, burning, igniting as the flash of white unites the two opposing dimensions the same shade.
“Sailor… bold…”
Thunder clashes, and the slim figure in the middle bursts out cackling.
1.
“You home, Cale?”
“Yes Father.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing much, just flipped a ship.”
2.
Cale Henituse, proud father of three, is in a dilemma.
You see, Cale was a fairly rational person. He much preferred logic over emotions, and would choose so any given day. However, in the moment whereas his body is releasing testosterone and estrogen due to the instinctual guidance of biology—
Fuck it.
He glares at the table before him. His hand is clenched in frustration— or, although there is no chance whatsoever for him to admit— in embarrassment.
He might, just might , be in love.
3.
No, get this—
Cale is a proud single father. He is rich, he has good looks, he has a lot of properties and he is rich. Did he mention that he is rich twice? Because he is.
In human terms, he is a billionaire .
You ask why he is rich? Because he has had a goal, in which he fueled his determination with.
Cale Henituse had a dream; he is going to retire at the grand age of thirty. No overtime jobs, no bald old bosses yelling for work, no dying of sudden heart failures due to immense stress.
No, none of that.
Cale Henituse is going to become a great slacker who sleeps and plays everyday.
Or maybe sometimes take the children out.
That, but no, no work.
However, Cale Henituse is aware of the fact that work done(kPa) is equal to distance(m) X force(N), therefore he has no choice but to solve everything by the age of thirty.
That was not as much a big deal for him anyways. Not like he wasn’t a noble. Not like he wasn’t actually working himself hard. Not like he hasn’t accumulated golden shiny riches through various means. (Various means, don’t ask too many questions.)
So yeah. By the age of 18, he was, one could say in human terms, maxed leveled.
Sad thing is, life isn't a human's average video game, so it throws a lot of things, like being the successor or heir to the territory on his way. Ewww. Successor? Cringe.
Has anyone said that being the successor is cringe??
No.
Because Cale needed a capable little scapegoat for this job.
4.
“Basen.”
“Yes, Hyung-nim?”
“Become successor.”
“What?”
5.
There. Perfectly done.
Cale hums in satisfaction as he closes the door to his room. He has a little spring in his step, a tilt of the corners of his lips that aren’t usually present.
“My jolly sailor bold…” soft and quiet, as he usually does.
There is no power in his voice, for he doesn’t want to ensnare anyone of the household under his voice. He found a way to control it from a young age. It was not hard for him anyways, being a 86.3 percent siren when rounded off to three significant places.
“Toppling ships…”
“Young master,” a beigned voice comes from behind, followed by a deliberate shuffle of footsteps in the otherwise completely silent old butler. “What did this Ron say about flipping ships?”
Cale freezes in place. “…”
He studied the doorknob like it was something interesting. There is zero chance of escaping scary assassin butlers, he was sure of it since a long time ago.
“Young master?” Ron repeats slowly, too cold to be called kind.
“…don’t flip ships over.”
“Why is that so?”
“… father says it’s bad habits.”
“Correct. Why had young master Cale decided to flip ships today?”
“…”
Cale doesn’t think he wants to tell Ron. He thinks that the old man may even dash out to kill whoever he had in mind, to snap their neck in secret.
“I was annoyed.”
That was what he settled for instead.
“Annoyed?”
“Yes, now get out.”
“As you wish, young master-nim.”
6.
Cale watches Ron leave the room with unease.
Typical assassin butlers.
7.
Truth to be told, Cale is terrified of Ron.
A chill crept up his spine. Not that he thinks Ron will hurt him, just the fact that the old man is capable of taking his life in any seconds is a horrible thought.
Thank god Ron watched him grow up.
He plops down on his fluffy bed. The soft fabric embraces him as he sinks down into the white fluffiness. It’s one of those things that define home for him. He lets out a huge sigh, closing his eyes in fatigue.
The sun is setting, so it seems.
Under the last ray of shimmering orange light, Cale heaves silently as the unfaded crimson scales on his cheeks glistens and glitters.
The blankets are soft and accepting.
His eyelashes flutter to a close.
8.
Except that he doesn’t.
“Cale, nya!!”
“Cale!!”
“Weak—”
A pause. The little black dragon fumbles over his words, tiny wings flapping faster than ever. The two cats stare at him from underneath, their tails swiping left and right along the floor.
“Fish?” On, the grey kitten, suggest lightly.
“Yes! Weak fish!!”
“Cale is a fish!”
The children chanted, giggling amongst themselves as they did so.
Fair enough though , Cale thinks, he is a fish after all .
9.
Talking about the fact that he is a fish…
His powers work like this.
Suppose siren voices are particles without completely filled valence electrons, Cale would be a better chemist than his parents.
You see, Deruth Henituse, though not well known in the land noble community, is actually a quarter blood siren, and Jour Thames was a full blood siren. Normally, Cale would have been a 62.5% siren, but the fact that their siren portion of blood mixed extremely well for some reason, Cale is 86.3% siren.
Do not ask him how he calculated the amount of DNA in his body.
Don’t ask too many questions.
Being a 86.3% siren comes with many perks, Cale must say. There are consequences that come with all living creatures; humans have short lives; elves are usually full of themselves; dragons have three painful growth phrases.
Just like that, being sirens comes with the consequences that they would instantly turn back to their original form after submerging in water.
(Yes, according to his father, his mother had an extremely hard time bathing.)
But Cale is lucky.
He is able to control the majority of his transformation with his own will, setting aside a few stubborn scales that refuse to retreat.
However, still, he is born with the urge of sometimes flipping ships over when he is upset over things. Though, out of his own defence, he only flips over pirate ships or illegal ships over the Henituse territory near the sea. He doesn’t even do it often!
Still, his ultimate dream is to become a slacker, and life is quite smooth this far, and Cale has to say that he is grateful for it.
Maybe he saved the world in his last life.
Who knows.
You did , says the one of the voices in his head. (Old, calm and gentle.) You did, Cale Henituse, you saved the world.
“Pfft. As if. Even if it was me in my last life, I’d trust myself to want to be a slacker more than a hero.”
“Human, what did you say?” Raon, who was snuggling beside him, perks up and asks curiously.
“Nothing, just talking to Super Rock.”
“Oh.”
The kids curl into him and the blankets more.
10.
Wait, who the fuck is Super Rock???
11.
Cale thinks he might be cursed. Ever since he was young, he has heard voices in his head. And no, he was sure that it was not Dissociative Personality Disorder.
No shit, Cale, we’re your ancient powers , another voice in his head tells him, and Cale could hear the fondness in her voice. He thinks that she is called the Sky Eating Water, though he is unsure why.
She is, says Cheapskate, the thunderbolt.
I am, Sky Eating Water agrees.
You technically stabbed yourself in the heart too during the process. The Thief adds on.
“I did what?”
Don’t think too much about it. Super Rock hushes him, and Cale frowns over this interaction.
12.
Yeah, no. Cale gives up.
13.
Back to the theme of the whole account.
He is not entirely sure why he thinks he is in love, but most logical signs point to that conclusion. Maybe it is because of the fact that Cale loves money? Golden blond hair is awesome, by the way. Why hasn’t anyone told him before?
As a money loving bastard, Cale Henituse was on his way to get more money through various means, that might or might not involve back alleys and suspicious bags of powders. No, he is not getting nor selling those. He is burning the combustible ones and throwing the ashes in the sea.
Cale Henituse says no to drugs, and so should you.
Anyways, that was that, and Cale is gaining thousands of riches from the pockets of suspicious men. Honestly, he is fine with it.
Apparently those disgusting parasites have not learnt their lessons, because today, instead of powder, Cale sees a whole ass person, and—
Dam, he is hot.
——
The slums of the Henituse territory.
Cale paused his steps, scanning his ice cold gaze at the old and half dilapidated buildings.
Raon helps him dye his hair and eye brown, the most common colour in the western continent, so that he doesn’t stand out. Draped in a taupe windcoat, Cale quickened his pace, taking note of his surroundings, for it might be a possible meeting point for his next hunt.
To your left, around the corner. Thief expertly instructs. His eyes darted over, marking any and all distinct patterns within the map he could visualise in his head. The edge of the walls seems two seconds away from crumbling under the old age, nothing more than a flaky weather beaten mess.
He really should make father change the slums up a bit.
The pungent smell of something rotten, something decaying was evident in the air. Cale doesn’t gag, thanks to the sheer number of times he has come here before. He has a great body too, thankfully. No coughing up blood this time.
Wait what—?
He shook that thought out and left it to the back of his mind. That is going to be a question for later.
Soft murmurs came from the back side of the place Thief pointed to just now. Cale grins, lips curling up in pleasant thoughts, something the children would call a ‘scammer smile’. He sheds the coat, laying it down on a secluded corner. Honestly, it would be fine if any street kids got it. They found it after all.
And Cale got to work.
Oh! Oh! You should have a fake limp!! The Thief suggests excitedly, and Cale listens. He stares blankly at his left leg, silently commanding it to limp.
(“Heh, Team Leader,” someone laughs, biting down the pain in his limping leg. There was a bloody mess of a wide gash, and the Team Leader supporting him glared strictly.
“Save your breath.” Team Leader said courtly, or so he tried. Worry leaks out of every word like a broken pipe.
Hah. Limps.)
——
“Heh…I don’t get why those cowardly fools refuse to come here.” A bulky, gruffly muscle packed man scratched his chin. A ragged scar snakes down from his shoulders to his chest. Intimidation practically radiates from him as his little goons shiver in fear.
“Hurry up!!!” He hollers, irritation accumulating. He throws a glare at the brown body bag on the truck. It doesn’t move.
Growling, he was mad that nothing incur his wrath. With fury, he bares his teeth, stomping on to the rusty truck.
Towering over the body bag, he imagined the pained face as he kicked full force on the bag. The rough baggage rolled over, a visible dirty footprint stamped onto it. There was a weak grunt, and the Buff Guy’s expression relaxes in satisfaction.
“Ah!!”
All of a sudden, one of his goons exclaims. There were footsteps shuffling, and his henchman drags over a weak looking child as they struggle against the hold.
“Please, please I didn’t mean to look…” the kid sobs, staggering to stay balanced as their limping left leg burdens their weight.
Buff Guy studies the brat before him. Brown hair, brown eyes, a tear stained red rim around their eyes. Dirty matted hair covers their eyes, and Buff Guy couldn’t be bothered to tell their gender. The cold breeze of a seaside city seems to take a toll on their body, the brat shivering both in terror and frigid temperature.
“Heh…” his gaze flicked towards his goons. With a nod, the snooty looking henchman pushes the child onto the floor.
“If you lick the grime off my boots, I’ll spare your life. How does that sound like a deal?” Buff Guy huffs, a smile on his face.
“I…I…” the kid stammers, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hmm? What is it, you brat?”
“I…” the kid, Cale in disguise, shoots up, a whirl of wind as sharp as a blade whips the few goons holding him down, drawing blood.
The clouds gather above their heads, something deep and sinister cackling above the layers. Crimson, the sky whispers. Crimson, the ocean repeats.
On the base of his neck, too invisible to be seen by anyone, scarlet scales glistens quietly.
“I wish for you to burn.”