Chapter Text
Cale could only stare blankly as he clutched his father's shirt as the man sobs. He was comforting his father the best he could.
Mother is gone, she is never coming back.
He noticed things. He was a child, but not a stupid child, his mother would always praise him for being smart after all. Father is avoiding him, is he still sad? Cale is here for him though.
“Father is not eating again,” He murmured to himself as he saw Ron shook his head when he looked at him with a questioning gaze. He had asked Ron to invite his father to eat with him again today. But his father always refused. It has been two weeks.
Cale furrowed his brow, feeling a strange weight settle in his chest. He couldn't fully understand why his father was like this, but he knew something was wrong. His father's once-strong figure seemed smaller now, as if he was withering away from grief.
Two weeks had passed since his mother was gone, and in that time, his father had become more like a ghost—present, but unreachable. Cale wasn’t sure how to bring him back.
"Maybe he just needs more time," Cale whispered, though he wasn’t convinced.
The house felt colder. Ron, his trusted butler, the butler his mother had chosen, had tried to keep things running smoothly, but even he seemed more somber, quieter than usual. The lively energy that used to fill their home had been replaced by a heavy silence that Cale hated.
He glanced back at Ron, a flicker of determination in his young eyes. "I’ll go see him myself."
Before Ron could respond, Cale was already making his way toward his father’s study, the place where he spent most of his days since that night. As he approached the heavy door, his small hand hesitated on the handle for just a moment. But then, with a deep breath, he pushed it open.
The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn, with only a single candle burning on the desk. Papers and books were scattered everywhere, but his father sat slumped in his chair, staring at nothing.
“Father?” Cale called softly.
No response.
He walked closer, stepping carefully around the papers. His father didn’t even blink.
“Father, please,” Cale tried again, his voice trembling now. “You have to eat something. I… I need you.”
At that, his father’s eyes flickered toward him. There was a brief moment of recognition, but it was quickly swallowed by the same hollow emptiness that had taken him over.
Cale felt his throat tighten, but he swallowed it down. If his father couldn’t be strong right now, then maybe he had to be.
“I miss her too,” Cale whispered, more to himself than to his father. He reached out and gently placed his small hand on his father’s arm, hoping, praying for some sign of life in the man he once knew.
For a second, his father’s hand twitched, as if he might reach back. But instead, he turned away again, retreating into the dark corners of his mind.
Cale stood there for a long time, waiting.
“Get out,”
He was told to get out. His father isn't even looking at him.
Cale blinked, the sharpness of his father's words cutting through him like a blade. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the man who had once been his hero, the strong and loving father who could fix anything. Now, he couldn’t even look at his own son.
“Father…” Cale whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with the confusion and hurt of a child who didn’t understand why he was being pushed away.
But there was no reply, no warmth. Only the cold, empty shell of the man sitting before him.
"Get out," his father repeated, his voice harsher this time, almost a growl. He didn’t move, didn’t raise his head—just sat there in his misery, the darkness of the room swallowing him whole.
Cale’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He felt the sting of tears welling up, but he refused to let them fall. His father was broken, but Cale had to stay strong.
"I... I’m sorry, Father," he mumbled, his voice cracking as he backed away toward the door. He wanted to say something else, something that could pull his father out of this nightmare, but the words caught in his throat. Nothing he said mattered.
Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Once the door clicked shut, he leaned against it, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears finally spilled over. His body trembled, but he didn’t make a sound.
Ron stood at the end of the hallway, watching. He didn't say anything, just gave a small nod of understanding. He had seen the exchange. The pain in Cale’s eyes was unmistakable, and Ron’s heart ached for the boy.
Cale wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t sure what to do anymore. His father was drifting further and further away, and no matter how hard Cale tried, he couldn’t seem to reach him.
"Ron," Cale called softly, his voice hoarse. "Will Father ever be... normal again?"
Ron stepped closer, kneeling down so he was at eye level with the boy. His gaze was gentle but serious. "Grief does strange things to people, young master," he said slowly. "But your father... he’s strong. He’ll find his way back. It's just... may take time."
Cale bit his lip and nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it. How much longer would he wait? How much more of this silence could he endure?
"Go get some rest," Ron said softly, placing a hand on Cale's shoulder. "I'll make sure your father’s well tonight."
Cale nodded again, though the heavy weight in his chest refused to lift. With a final glance at the closed door to his father’s study, he turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy with sorrow.
But as he walked down the empty hallway, he made a quiet vow to himself. He would not give up on his father. Not yet. No matter how many times he was pushed away, Cale would keep trying.
Because if his father couldn’t be strong for them, then Cale would be strong for both of them.
He had tried, day and night to get his father out of the room. But as his mother once said, his father, Deruth Henituse, is a stubborn man.
But imagine his surprise when he finds his father's office and room empty. Devoid of his presence.
Did… Did father leave him?
Cale stood frozen at the threshold of his father’s empty office, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of curtains from a distant breeze. The papers that had once been strewn across the desk were now neatly piled, the chair pushed in as if no one had been there in days.
His father's absence felt like a punch to the gut. For a brief, terrifying moment, Cale wondered if his father had left him too—just like his mother.
"Father?" His voice trembled, barely a whisper as it echoed in the empty room.
He took a hesitant step inside, his eyes scanning the space for any clue of where his father might have gone. The candle on the desk had burned down completely, the wax hardened into a cold pool. Everything was in order, too perfect, like his father had packed away all signs of his grief and vanished.
Panic gripped Cale’s chest. What if his father couldn’t bear it anymore? What if he had left for good? What if he was alone now?
He ran out of the office, his feet pounding against the wooden floors as he made his way down the hallway, calling out, “Father? Father, where are you?”
There was no answer, just the hollow echo of his voice in the empty corridors. Cale felt the knot in his stomach tighten, a growing fear gnawing at him. He raced toward the main sitting room, pushing open doors as he went, his heart racing.
"Ron! Ron!" he shouted, his voice filled with urgency.
The butler appeared almost immediately, his expression calm yet concerned. "Young master, what’s the matter?"
“Where is Father?” Cale asked, breathless, his wide eyes filled with worry. “He’s not in his office. He’s not in his room. Where did he go? Did he leave? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Ron could only frown, then bowed, “Forgive me, young master, it would have seemed that the Lord had left the estate,”
“Eh,” Cale blinked. The eight year old could not fathom why his father left so suddenly, “Did he tell anyone?”
Ron shook his head, “No, Young Master,”
“Did he say who would take care of his duties?”
“No, Young Master,”
Cale stared up at Ron, his mind reeling. His father had left without a word, without a plan, without so much as a goodbye. The weight of his absence settled heavily on Cale’s small shoulders.
He clenched his fists, trying to process everything. His father was gone. No explanation, no assurance of his return. Just… gone.
"Why would he leave?" Cale muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Ron. He bit his lip, trying to fight the sting of tears threatening to rise again. "He didn’t even tell me…"
Ron, noticing the turmoil in the boy’s face, knelt down in front of him, his voice calm and steady. "The Lord is grieving deeply, young master. He may not be thinking clearly, but I believe… I believe he will return when he is ready."
Cale’s eyes darted to Ron’s face, searching for some kind of certainty, something solid he could hold on to. But all he found was the same uncertainty he felt. Even Ron, who had served his family for so long, didn’t know what his father was thinking.
"What do I do now?" Cale whispered, his voice barely audible.
Ron paused, then placed a reassuring hand on Cale’s shoulder. "For now, young master, the estate must continue. And you… you must continue too. You’re strong, just like your mother was. And until your father returns, we will manage. Together."
Cale swallowed hard, nodding slowly. His mother’s words echoed in his mind, ‘Be strong, darling.’ But it was hard. So much harder than he ever imagined it could be. He wanted to fall apart, to cry and scream until someone told him it would all be okay. But no one could. Not even Ron.
"I’ll try," Cale whispered, more to himself than to Ron. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to keep everything together when everything felt like it was crumbling around him.
"You’ll do more than try," Ron said gently. "You’ll succeed. I’ll be here to help you every step of the way, young master."
Cale nodded again, though the heavy weight in his chest refused to lift. His father was gone, and there was no telling when— or if —he would return. But for now, Cale would have to hold things together.
Even if it felt like his world was falling apart.
Then he belatedly realized. Just when he was doing the Count’s work, since his father was not home.
Father isn't the only one that was grieving, he was also grieving. Father didn't just lose a wife, his son lost his mother too.