Trash Of The Count's Family SicFic

Fevered Whispers of the Past

_______________________________________________________________________________

Cale Henituse was exhausted.

Not the kind of exhaustion that could be fixed with a few hours of sleep or a quiet day at home. No, this was the kind of exhaustion that settled deep into his bones, heavy and unrelenting.

For the past few weeks, the nightmares had been getting worse. At first, he ignored them. A few sleepless nights were nothing compared to what he had endured before. But as the visions persisted—visions of blood-streaked battlefields, of faces lost to time, of people screaming his name just before they disappeared—Cale found himself waking in a cold sweat more often than not. His body trembled as he tried to steady his breathing, but each time he closed his eyes, the memories would claw their way back to the surface.

He told no one. There was no point in worrying them over something that wasn't real.

But exhaustion had a way of catching up with even the most stubborn of people.

It started with small things—forgetting to eat, spacing out in meetings, misjudging his own limits in battle. The others noticed, of course. Choi Han watched him like a hawk, Raon clung to his side more than usual, and Ron's quiet glances carried more weight than words ever could. But Cale, ever the master of deception, brushed them all off with practiced ease.

Until he collapsed.

One moment, he was standing next to Choi Han and Rosalyn, discussing their next course of action. The next, his vision blurred, his limbs turned to lead, and the ground came rushing up to meet him.

"Cale-nim!"

Choi Han caught him before he hit the ground, panic evident in his voice. The warmth radiating from Cale's body sent a jolt of alarm through him. He was burning up. Rosalyn was at his side in an instant, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"He's burning with fever." Her voice was firm, but there was no hiding the worry beneath it.

Cale stirred, his lips parting as if to say something, but the words came out as little more than a hoarse murmur.

They weren't in his usual language.

Choi Han's grip tightened as he recognized the words. They weren't from this world—they were from Kim Rok Soo's world. He had heard them only once before, in a rare moment when Cale had let something slip from his past.

"No... don't go..."

Cale's voice was barely above a whisper, his fevered mind dragging him deep into whatever nightmare plagued him.

Choi Han swallowed hard. "Who?"

Cale's brows furrowed, his face twisting with an emotion that Choi Han rarely saw from him. Pain. Fear. Regret. He was trapped somewhere far beyond their reach.

Rosalyn waved a hand, casting a spell to check for any external injuries or magical afflictions. "It's just the fever," she murmured. "But... this isn't just exhaustion. He's been pushing himself for far too long."

Choi Han carefully lifted Cale into his arms, his movements gentle despite his own growing unease. "We need to get him back to the inn."

Raon appeared in a flash of black light, his voice frantic. "Human! Human, what's wrong?" His small paws pressed against Cale's cheek, his tail lashing wildly behind him.

"He'll be okay," Choi Han reassured, though the uncertainty in his own voice made the words feel hollow.

Back at the inn, Cale barely stirred as they placed him on the bed. Ron, silent as ever, arrived with a damp cloth and pressed it to his forehead. Beacrox set a bowl of broth on the table, his jaw clenched tight as he turned away.

Raon curled up beside Cale, his wings draped protectively over him. "I'll stay here. I'll watch him."

Choi Han sat at the edge of the bed, watching Cale's face twist with whatever ghosts haunted his fevered dreams. He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering over Cale's before finally gripping it.

"You're not alone," he whispered. "Not anymore."

Cale didn't respond, but for the first time that night, his expression seemed just a little less pained.