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Everything had been peaceful—astonishingly, almost suspiciously peaceful—ever since they had defeated the White Star, crushed Arm, and wiped out the remnants of the Hunters. It felt like the continent had collectively exhaled after centuries of tightening its throat around war, fear, and unspoken dread. Fields were flourishing again, the rivers ran untainted, and the people walked the streets with easy smiles that had once been impossible to imagine.
And at the center of this new era stood Alberu Crossman—the first Emperor of the New Roan Empire.
His coronation had been a spectacle the continent would likely remember for generations. The streets had overflowed with citizens cheering his name; envoys from kingdoms near and far had flocked to witness the event; and even the Dark Elves, after centuries in hiding, stood openly and proudly as their prince—no, their emperor—ascended the throne. Alberu carried both sun and shadow with him, and under his guidance, the New Roan Empire was a beacon of stability.
But for all that grandeur, for all the political shifts and structural reforms and sweeping changes across kingdoms, there was one change that quietly stole the spotlight among the people close to them.
One of the biggest, most shocking, most cherished changes:
Choi Han and Cale were in a loving relationship.
It had started quietly. As quietly as only two absurdly dense, emotionally constipated men could manage.
In the beginning, not a single person noticed—not because they were good at hiding it, but because everyone simply assumed Cale and Choi Han were just… being themselves. Choi Han hovering protectively at Cale’s shoulder? Normal. Cale tugging Choi Han’s sleeve when he needed him somewhere? Standard. Choi Han staring at Cale like the man hung the moon? Expected. Cale somehow understanding every shift in Choi Han’s expression? Typical.
It wasn’t until Eruhaben sighed, long-suffering, during a dinner party and declared, “Those two brats are finally mated, aren’t they?” that the others truly looked.
And oh, once they noticed, they noticed everything.
The way Choi Han’s fingers always brushed the back of Cale’s hand as if confirming he was real.
The way Cale let Choi Han guide him through crowds—not because he needed protection, but because he liked the warmth.
The way Choi Han’s expressions had softened, the hard lines gentler now, his smiles easier—smiles he reserved almost exclusively for Cale.
And the way Cale leaned into that affection like someone who had been touch-starved for far too many lifetimes.
The relationship didn’t change their personalities—it illuminated them.
Cale was still grumpy, still determined to live the slacker life, still quick to run from responsibility. Choi Han was still gentle and calm until he wasn’t, still terrifying when angered, still endlessly earnest.
But now there was something more.
A tenderness Cale couldn’t hide even when he tried.
A devotion in Choi Han that he no longer felt the need to restrain.
They walked side-by-side not because of circumstance, but because they chose to.
They slept in the same bed, often waking with Cale’s hair a mess against Choi Han’s chest, Choi Han holding him like the world had finally stopped trying to take him away. Cale grumbled every morning, pretending to complain, but if Choi Han so much as shifted away too early, Cale would tug him back with a sleepy scowl, burying his face in his neck.
They shared meals with the family—Raon excitedly narrating his magic studies, On and Hong teasing Cale, Beacrox offering silent but acknowledging nods—and they fit perfectly into that chaos. A pair that had always been intertwined now simply shedding the last layer of pretense.
The world didn’t end because of it.
The sky didn’t fall.
The empire didn’t crumble.
Instead, everything felt easier.
Choi Han smiled more.
Cale slept more.
And somewhere deep down, beyond the layers of exhaustion and trauma and determination to never be vulnerable, Cale began to believe—truly believe—that he deserved happiness too.
Sometimes, on quiet evenings, they sat on the balcony overlooking the newly rebuilt capital. Choi Han’s arm wrapped loosely around Cale’s waist, Cale leaning into the warmth of him as the empire glowed under starlight.
“It’s peaceful,” Choi Han would murmur softly, as if still surprised peace could exist.
“For once,” Cale would reply, eyes half-lidded, voice gentler than he ever allowed it to be in public. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
And Choi Han would look at him, that familiar expression of unwavering devotion warming his dark eyes.
“As long as you’re here,” he’d whisper, “any place will be peaceful for me.”
Cale would click his tongue, roll his eyes, pretend to shove him away—
—but his fingers always curled into Choi Han’s robe, holding on.
Because the war was over.
Because they had survived.
Because for the first time, Cale wasn’t just protecting others—
He was being loved back.
And it was enough.
More than enough.
The world had changed, yes.
But the biggest, brightest change was the simple truth that two broken swords, two souls tempered by loss and sacrifice across countless battles, had found a place to rest.
Together.
***
“Hi, Uncle!”
The bright, familiar voice echoed through the wide, high-ceilinged chamber of the Mage Tower, bouncing off shelves cluttered with half-finished magical devices and stacks of parchment. Choi Han blinked, mid-step, pausing in front of the runed doorway with an armful of mana stones carefully packed in lacquered wooden boxes.
Standing beside a cluttered workbench, waving both arms in a way that could only be described as chaotic enthusiasm, was none other than Choi Jung Soo—his nephew once removed, his clan’s future hope, and Cale’s long-time friend from when he was still Kim Rok Soo.
“Jung Soo?” Choi Han said slowly, eyebrows knitting together. “What… what are you doing here?”
Not that he wasn’t happy to see him—Choi Han loved Jung Soo dearly, the same way he loved all the fragments of family that had survived the cruel break between worlds. But Jung Soo appearing in Rosalyn’s personal workshop of all places was… unexpected.
Very unexpected.
Before he could get an answer, a triumphant shout cut through the room.
“Finally!”
Rosalyn swooped in like a whirlwind of red hair and manic glee, practically glowing when she saw the mana stones cradled in Choi Han’s arms. She snatched the box from him without hesitation—carefully, expertly, but with the enthusiasm of someone who had been waiting hours to make progress.
Choi Han watched his friend bustle away, dropping the box onto a cleared space (presumably cleared by violence rather than organization), immediately diving back into her array of tools, spellbooks, and glowing inscriptions.
He stepped closer, curiosity piqued despite himself. The table Rosalyn and Jung Soo had been huddled over was cluttered in an oddly familiar way—gears, metal plates, tiny screws, mana-infused circuitry—
—and a rectangular box made of polished darkwood and engraved brass, with a protruding lens.
“…Is that an analog camera?” Choi Han asked, blinking.
Jung Soo brightened. “Yep! Miss Rosalyn asked me to bring some blueprints from Earth. You know—random trinkets or gadgets she could adapt here.”
Rosalyn didn’t look up from her enchantment circle as she called, “Adapt is a weak word, Jung Soo. I’m revolutionizing magical documentation!”
Jung Soo leaned closer to Choi Han and whispered, “She means she’s having fun turning Earth technology into magic toys.”
Rosalyn snapped her fingers. A tiny spark of red mana flickered in irritation. “I heard that, Jung Soo.”
“You were meant to,” Jung Soo replied with a grin that made him look so much like the younger Choi Jung Soo from Kim Rok Soo’s memories that Choi Han felt a pang in his chest.
“So,” Jung Soo continued, holding up the unfinished device proudly, “Miss Rosalyn managed to imbue this camera with mana.”
Choi Han stared. The craftsmanship was beautiful—elegant, compact, and reminiscent of the old film cameras he’d seen growing up on Earth. Except this one had faint runic inscriptions etched along the lens, glowing a soft gold.
“Does… does it still use film?” he asked weakly.
Rosalyn laughed. “Absolutely not. Why waste material? It stores images in a mana crystal. You can retrieve them or print them physically with a small spell.” She tapped a stone embedded in the side of the device. “Think of it as a magical film roll. Infinite capacity, as long as mana is supplied.”
Choi Han was fascinated. These little Earth-inspired inventions made the world feel less separated, less severed. A bridge between lives. Between identities.
Between him and Cale.
“Can I have a finished one?” Choi Han asked suddenly.
Rosalyn perked up, eyes gleaming. “Of course!”
She abandoned her half-finished project, reached under the table, and pulled out a fully polished analog camera—this one with a more refined design, smooth darkwood casing, silver-gold trim, and a delicate phoenix engraving along the lens barrel.
She handed it to him with flourish. “One of the first production-ready models. It even has auto-focusing spells. Just push the shutter rune gently.”
Choi Han accepted the camera with reverence, holding it like fragile treasure. It felt surprisingly natural in his hands—solid, familiar. Nostalgic.
Jung Soo tilted his head. “Uncle, do you know how to use them?”
Choi Han nodded, thumb brushing the shutter rune lightly. “I was in a photography club when I was still on Earth.”
Rosalyn blinked. “You? Photography?”
He nodded again, this time with a small, rare smile softening his usually calm features.
Jung Soo grinned brightly. “No wonder you’ve always looked like you were appreciating things no one else noticed.”
Choi Han didn’t deny it.
Back then—whenever he was feeling down back on Earth before he was placed in this dimension—photography had been the one thing that grounded him. Capturing fleeting moments. Sunsets. Smiles. Leaves moving in the wind. The quiet, unremarkable things that proved he existed.
But now… he lifted the camera slightly, testing its weight.
Now, he wanted it for something else.
Cale.
Cale smiling softly when he thought no one was looking.
Cale sleeping with his hair a mess, Raon curled on his stomach.
Cale reading, eyes focused, one hand absently reaching for Choi Han.
Cale laughing—lightly, freely—during peaceful days he’d fought so hard for.
Cale living.
Capturing all those moments. Preserving them. Cherishing them.
He wanted to build an album of memories with his family, with Cale.
For when the time comes.
When it would be just him and Raon that was left alive and aging in this family.
Rosalyn noticed the shift in his expression. Her gaze softened knowingly. “A gift for someone special?”
Choi Han didn’t answer verbally, but the slight flush on his cheeks and the gentle way he held the camera made Rosalyn and Jung Soo exchange a look.
Rosalyn smirked like a cat.
Jung Soo looked delighted.
And Choi Han—calm, deadly, loyal Choi Han—looked almost shy.
“Let me know if you want a matching photo album,” Rosalyn teased. “Leatherbound, enchanted preservation, maybe even some decorative embossing? Hearts, perhaps?”
Choi Han’s ears turned red.
Jung Soo burst out laughing. “Uncle! You’re blushing!”
“I am not,” Choi Han said, which was an obvious lie.
Rosalyn clapped once. “Ah, to be young and in love.”
Choi Han groaned softly.
But even as he groaned, he looked down at the camera again, his thumb brushing the phoenix engraving—gentle, tender, full of unspoken affection.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he could already imagine Cale’s face—surprised, flustered, maybe even a bit touched—when he found out Choi Han wanted to take pictures of him.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a hero.
Not as a shield.
But as the person he loved.
***
Choi Han wanted each picture to be real.
Not posed.
Not forced.
Not something polished for documentation or history.
He wanted moments exactly as they were—raw, gentle, unguarded. Moments that held warmth. Moments that Cale never realized he had allowed himself to have.
And right now, those moments were abundant.
They were at the small farm behind Super Rock Villa. It wasn’t large, but it was vibrant—rows of herbs, vegetables, and fruit trees that Cale had insisted they plant “to be self-sufficient” but that everyone knew he simply liked tending to when he got overwhelmed.
The sunlight filtered through the leaves in soft gold, the breeze gentle, carrying the scent of ripening apples and fresh soil. Birds chirped overhead. The grass was warm beneath their feet.
And in the middle of it all—
Cale.
He knelt in the dirt without complaint, his hair tied loosely at the back of his neck with a simple ribbon Ohn had chosen for him earlier. It was white, embroidered with a tiny red charm Hong stitched in secret. Raon had enchanted the ends so they would never get dirty, never tear.
Cale pretended not to know any of that.
But he had worn it anyway.
He was sitting with the kids around him—Ohn, Hong, and Raon—helping them pull weeds and check the tomato vines.
And the children were calling him something that still made Choi Han’s heart ache, swell, and tremble all at once.
“Papa! Papa, look!” Hong called, proudly holding up a perfectly round tomato that was almost too big for his tiny hands.
Cale blinked, then softened in that tiny, minuscule way only people who watched him closely could catch. “Good job,” he said, ruffling Hong’s hair as the kitten boy practically vibrated with pride.
“Papa, can we make stew tonight?” On asked, trying to look composed and mature, but her tail flicked behind her with excitement.
“We can,” Cale said. “If you two help Beacrox cut the vegetables.”
On immediately nodded. Hong nearly tripped from enthusiasm.
Raon hopped around them with his wings out, his fluffy tail swishing, practically in a half human half dragon form. “Papa! Papa! Look at this leaf! It’s shaped like a heart!”
Cale looked at it. “Raon,” he said with the flat tone of a man who had lived too many lifetimes.
“It is shaped like a heart!” Raon insisted, eyes wide.
“…I guess it is,” Cale conceded.
Raon beamed so brightly that the sunlight looked dim.
Choi Han’s chest tightened.
The children didn’t call Cale “Papa” for show or play—not anymore.
They called him Papa because he was Papa.
Because he raised them.
Protected them.
Loved them, quietly and fiercely.
Gave them stability, warmth, and a place they belonged.
And Cale—though he acted flustered at first—accepted it with a gentleness that Choi Han could only see when no one else was paying attention.
Cale never said it aloud.
But he knew Cale loved the children more than he let himself admit.
The camera hung at Choi Han’s side, but he wasn’t planning on using it yet.
Until—
Cale laughed.
A real, bright, unguarded laugh that startled the kids.
Raon had tripped over his own feet mid-excitement and faceplanted into the grass, emerging with leaves in his hair and a proud grin.
And Cale—soft, tired, stubborn Cale—laughed.
It was a sound like sunlight. Like healing. Like all the things Choi Han wanted to protect forever.
Choi Han didn’t think. Didn’t plan.
He lifted the camera, fingers steady from years of training and an entire club experience from Earth, and—
Click.
The shutter rune glowed gently.
Cale looked up, still laughing. “Choi Ha—”
Click.
Another shot.
Cale blinked, startled. “Hey—wait—why are you—?”
Click.
Choi Han lowered the camera slightly, smiling at him. “You look happy.”
The words were soft, reverent. A confession wrapped in simplicity.
Cale stared at him, ears turning faintly pink. He opened his mouth—probably to deny it, to deflect, to complain—but Raon suddenly yelled,
“Papa looked very happy! Take more pictures!”
Hong chimed in, “Yes! Yes! We should make an album for Papa!”
Ohn nodded primly, “We should document Papa’s smiles so we can show them to him when he’s grumpy.”
Cale’s mouth opened in betrayal. “Ohn.”
“It’s true,” she said.
“It is true,” Raon agreed.
Hong nodded like a bobblehead.
Cale looked seconds away from burying himself in the vegetable patch.
Choi Han chuckled softly and raised the camera again—this time slow, intentional.
Cale saw the movement and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
But then Raon wrapped his arms around Cale’s waist, rubbing his cheek against him. Hong leaned on his shoulder, tail swaying. Ohn sat on his other side, hand gently clutching his sleeve.
Cale froze.
Then melted.
Choi Han’s heart stopped.
He pressed the shutter rune again.
Click.
The children smiled. Cale looked away but couldn’t hide the tiny curve of his lips.
Another photo.
Click.
Cale reached up and tucked Raon’s hair behind his ear.
Click.
Ohn rested her head on his arm.
Click.
Hong nuzzled his shoulder.
Click.
Cale laughed again—quiet, helpless, filled with a warmth he never put into words.
Choi Han kept taking pictures until his mana crystal was half full.
Moments.
Memories.
Pieces of peace Cale never allowed himself to enjoy before.
And Choi Han would capture every single one.
Preserve them.
Protect them.
Give them to Cale in a book he could hold close when the world felt too heavy.
Because Cale deserved to see himself the way they saw him.
Loved.
Cherished.
Wanted.
Home.
The sun was dipping lower when Cale finally sighed, shaking his head. “You’re taking too many pictures.”
Choi Han lowered the camera and stepped closer, eyes soft. “Not enough,” he murmured. “Not when it’s you.”
Cale’s breath caught.
Ohn, Hong, and Raon giggled, whispering among themselves like conspirators.
Choi Han looked at them—and then at Cale—and added, “Not when it’s our family.”
Cale stared at him.
Then at the children.
Then back at him.
His voice softened, barely audible. “...Idiot.”
Choi Han smiled. “Your idiot.”
Cale’s ears turned red. The children cheered.
And above them all, the camera captured the moment—
Click.
A family framed in sunlight.
A peace earned by blood and love.
And a happiness Cale never thought he would ever allow himself to have.
***
The horizon glowed in shades of rose-gold and blood-orange as the sun melted slowly into the sea. The wind was warm, brushing gently across the waves, carrying the scent of salt, of freedom, of quiet peace no longer threatened by war or destiny.
And on the empty shore—footprints trailing behind them—walked Cale and Choi Han.
Just the two of them.
Alberu’s gift—a private house on one of the Hais Islands—was nestled behind them on a small cliff. A quiet retreat built with help from the Whale Tribe and the Ubarr Territory, where the wind hummed softly and the sea was clear even under moonlight.
It was a place without responsibilities.
Without titles.
Without soldiers.
Without enemies.
A place where Cale could breathe.
And Choi Han could simply love.
They walked hand in hand, barefoot, the cool waves washing over their ankles with each step. The water shimmered around them, reflecting the sky and setting sun like a painting.
Choi Han held their sandals in one hand. His other hand was wrapped around Cale’s fingers—warm, steady, and real.
Cale’s long crimson-red hair swayed with every gentle breeze, strands glowing like fire as the sunlight caught them. Against the shifting oranges and pinks of dusk, he looked unreal—like something the gods would envy.
Cale glanced at him, reddish-grey eyes soft from the fading day. His cheeks warmed slightly in the wind.
“What?” he murmured, noticing the way Choi Han’s gaze lingered too long. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Choi Han didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he reached behind him and took out the analog camera Rosalyn helped him enchant. He held it gently, cradling it as though it was a treasure.
Cale blinked. “You brought that?”
“I want to capture this,” Choi Han whispered.
Cale frowned faintly. “You’ve already taken plenty of pictures of me today.”
“No,” Choi Han said, stepping slightly behind him, voice lower, quieter. “Not of this.”
Cale opened his mouth to retort—but the wind shifted, catching his hair again, lifting the red strands like silk ribbons, glowing brighter as the sun dipped lower. His profile softened in the fading light—tired, beautiful, peaceful in a way he almost never allowed himself to be.
Choi Han lifted the camera—
His breath caught.
The shutter rune glowed softly.
And—
Click.
The sound was quiet, but in Choi Han’s heart, it rang like a vow.
The picture captured Cale mid-smile, gaze tilted toward the horizon, the last rays of sunlight caressing his face. His hair danced around him like embers. The wind brushed his cheeks. His expression—soft, unguarded, open—was something only Choi Han ever received.
Cale turned slowly, brow slightly furrowed. “Choi Han?”
He looked at the camera. Then at Choi Han.
“You’re taking too many photos of me,” he said lightly, but there was no real annoyance in his voice—just a quiet curiosity.
Choi Han lowered the camera.
His black eyes reflected the dying light. Deep, warm, but shadowed by something Cale recognized—because he’d seen it many times before, in battles, in lonely moments, in the quiet nights when fear crawled deeper than words.
Choi Han breathed in, then spoke—not with fear, but with honesty that trembled.
“I’m taking them… because I’m afraid.”
Cale’s heartbeat stumbled.
Choi Han’s fingers tightened around his.
“When everyone leaves someday…” His voice cracked barely, just a hint. “When time keeps moving forward… when even Raon and I remain long after the rest of you…”
He swallowed, eyes lowering to the sea foam rolling around their feet.
“I’m terrified that I’ll forget,” he whispered. “Forget how you look. How you smile. How you breathe when you sleep. Forget the warmth of your hand. Forget… you.”
Cale froze.
The wind hushed, as if listening.
Choi Han continued, voice soft but heavy with old pain. “I already forgot the faces of my parents in Korea. The street where I walked home. My childhood. My life before I fell into this world.”
He looked up, eyes trembling—not out of weakness, but out of truth. Out of vulnerability he only ever revealed to Cale.
“I don’t want to lose you that way too.”
Cale felt something tighten in his chest—a slow, burning ache that spread through his ribs, up his throat, forcing him to swallow hard against the sudden sting in his eyes.
For so long, he had been the one afraid of losing people.
Of watching them die.
Of not being able to protect them.
He had never realized how deeply Choi Han feared forgetting.
Not losing Cale in death.
But losing him in memory.
Cale stepped closer, letting the waves wash over their feet. His fingers slipped from Choi Han’s hand only so he could reach up—carefully, gently—and cup Choi Han’s cheek.
“Idiot,” he whispered softly.
Choi Han blinked, startled at the affectionate tone.
Cale’s thumb brushed his cheekbone. “Even if the whole world crumbles… even if centuries pass… you won’t forget me.”
“How can you be so certain?” Choi Han asked, voice barely steady.
Cale’s eyes softened, the reddish-grey deepening.
“Because I won’t let you.”
Choi Han’s breath hitched.
Cale leaned in, forehead pressing against his, warm and grounding. “I’ll remind you every day. I’ll annoy you, bother you, nag you. Raon and the children will scold you endlessly. You won’t have the chance to forget me.”
Choi Han laughed shakily, the sound breaking into something wet, something real.
Cale’s hand slid down to hold Choi Han’s again.
“And even if your memories blur,” Cale continued, “your heart won’t. I know you. You remember emotions better than faces.”
Choi Han closed his eyes.
Cale whispered, “You’ll remember loving me.”
The words slid through the air like a vow, warm and heavy as the sunset.
When Choi Han opened his eyes again, they were trembling—but brighter.
He lifted the camera slowly, as if asking for permission.
Cale nodded.
And smiled for him.
A real smile.
One reserved only for Choi Han.
Choi Han lifted the camera.
Click.
Another memory captured.
Another fear soothed.
Another piece of Cale he could never lose.
The sun dipped beneath the horizon, painting the world in deep gold and soft crimson.
Cale stepped closer until they were chest-to-chest.
“Choi Han.”
“Yes?”
“If you want a memory of me…” Cale said quietly, voice almost shy beneath the breeze, “then take it properly.”
Choi Han blinked. “Properly?”
Cale reached up, slid his hand behind Choi Han’s neck, and pulled him into a kiss.
A warm, lingering, sunset-soft kiss that sealed the evening in gold.
Choi Han’s camera hung at his side, forgotten for the moment—because no picture could capture this.
This breath.
This closeness.
This truth.
Cale pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips:
“You won’t forget me.”
Choi Han’s heart ached, overflowing.
He leaned his forehead to Cale’s again and whispered back,
“Never.”
And the waves washed the shore clean, except for two sets of footprints—side by side, perfectly aligned—leading toward a house made for them, a future waiting for them, and a love Choi Han vowed to remember for all his lifetimes.
***
“Trust me, Uncle!” Choi Jung Soo was vibrating—visibly, audibly, almost comically so. His entire posture was a taut line of excitement, like a bowstring pulled too tight. His hands were already poised on the camera he borrowed—no, confiscated—from Choi Han, his grin stretched wide.
“I will take the perfect picture!”
Choi Han sighed, soft and half-defeated, half-amused. “You said that the last three times.”
“That was practice,” Jung Soo shot back, dramatically rolling his sleeves even though the event was happening tonight, not this very moment. “This—this will be my masterpiece. My Magnum Opus. My—”
“You’re not painting anything,” Cale muttered from the couch, flipping the page of his book with the air of a man choosing not to intervene in chaos.
But he was smiling faintly.
Choi Han caught that smile—he always did. No matter how small, no matter how fleeting, no matter how Cale tried to hide it behind boredom or annoyance or the façade of a slacker noble, Choi Han always found him. Always.
And tonight…
Tonight, he was going to promise his future to that smile.
Months had passed since that evening on the Hais Island—since the sunset, the shoreline, Cale’s hair dancing in the wind and his eyes shining red-gold under the fading sun. Months since Choi Han had held his hand and tried, desperately, quietly, to carve the moment into eternity with a trembling camera.
Four albums.
Four albums filled with images of Cale smiling, Cale reading, Cale grumbling, Cale sipping tea, Cale being annoyed at Alberu, Cale sleeping under a blanket Raon tucked around him…
Four albums documenting the world Choi Han never wanted to forget.
Four albums of reassurance—visual proof that Cale was here, alive, warm, beside him.
Choi Han’s fingers tightened around the small velvet box in his pocket.
Tonight.
Tonight, the albums would have space for a new chapter.
Tonight, he would ask Cale Henituse to marry him.
***
The house was buzzing.
Raon had been sworn to secrecy, which meant he was whispering loudly in dramatic conspiratorial tones.
“We must not let Human know! He must not suspect anything! This is very important!!"
“You said that right next to him,” Fredi pointed out dryly, polishing a glass for no reason other than the fact he wanted to be involved.
Cale raised a brow at the dragon. “Raon. I’m literally right—”
“SHHHHHHH!” Raon slapped a paw over his muzzle. “I must act masterfully!”
“Young Master, please ignore him,” Ron said while preparing snacks with a suspicious twinkle in his eye. “He is too excited.”
Cale blinked slowly. “…For what?”
“Oh, nothing of significance,” Ron replied, which only made Cale narrow his eyes further because Ron smiling that way always meant he knew something Cale didn’t.
Choi Han gently tugged Cale’s hand.
“Cale,” he murmured softly, “let’s take a walk outside before dinner?”
“…Right now?” Cale asked suspiciously.
“Yes.”
Cale studied him, studying the faint pink in Choi Han’s cheeks, the way his fingers were slightly fidgety, the way his eyes kept darting toward the back pocket where something small and square was hidden.
Choi Han was a terrible liar.
“Fine,” Cale said, setting his book aside. “But if this is about those weird sea cucumbers Alberu sent—”
“It’s not,” Choi Han blurted too quickly.
Cale gave him a look.
Choi Han flushed scarlet.
He tugged Cale outside before he could ask anything else.
***
Evening painted the sky with the same hues as that night months ago.
Purples melting into pinks.
Reds bleeding into gold.
Waves curling like white silk at their feet.
Cale inhaled slowly—the scent of salt, wind, and the familiar quiet comfort of Choi Han beside him. His hair, long and crimson, brushed lightly against his cheeks as the wind played with it. Choi Han watched it sway like he always did—softly, reverently, as if every strand was a miracle.
They walked hand in hand.
Like always.
But tonight, the air felt different.
Gentler.
Thicker.
Charged with something trembling and hopeful.
“Cale,” Choi Han said quietly.
“Hm?”
“Do you… remember that night? The sunset one?”
Cale scoffed lightly. “The one where you took fifty pictures and only liked two? I remember.”
Choi Han smiled, embarrassed. “Yes… that one.”
The wind brushed past them again. Cale’s hair fluttered, his red-grey eyes turning toward Choi Han with calm curiosity.
“Why bring it up now?”
Choi Han exhaled, shaky but determined.
“I… I’ve spent a long time being afraid of forgetting people,” he said, voice low, trembling at the edges. “I don’t remember my life back in Korea. I don’t remember my parents’ faces. I don’t remember my sister’s laugh.”
Cale’s expression softened.
“And sometimes,” Choi Han continued, swallowing hard, “I get scared that one day—far in the future—everyone I love will be gone. That it will be just me and Raon. And I won’t have anything left except photographs and memories that fade too fast.”
Cale squeezed his hand gently. “Choi Han—”
“But then I look at you,” Choi Han whispered, stepping closer, “and everything stops fading.”
Cale’s breath caught.
“I don’t want to take pictures because I’m afraid anymore. I want to take them because I want to celebrate every second I get with you. Because when I look at you, I don’t think about losing anyone. I think about building a future.”
The sun dipped lower.
Cale’s cheeks turned faintly pink.
Choi Han reached into his pocket.
Cale’s eyes widened.
“Choi—”
The velvet box opened.
A ring gleamed inside—simple, elegant, adorned with a red gem that matched Cale’s eyes.
“Cale Henituse,” Choi Han said, voice steady now, filled with warmth, devotion, and years of love he carried in silence. “Will you marry me?”
The world held its breath.
The waves paused.
The wind hushed.
Even the sun seemed to wait for his answer.
Cale stared.
He stared at the ring.
At Choi Han’s trembling hands.
At his earnest eyes—deep black, unwavering, gentle, full of love so overwhelming it almost hurt to look at.
Cale felt his throat tighten.
Slowly, softly, he cupped Choi Han’s cheek.
“…You idiot,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. “Of course I will.”
Choi Han’s inhale hitched.
Cale leaned in, forehead resting against his. “You didn’t have to be afraid. Even if you forget everything one day… I’ll always remind you.”
Choi Han’s eyes glistened.
And then—
Click!
Both of them froze.
Jung Soo, hiding very badly behind a rock, fist-pumped triumphantly.
“YES! MASTERPIECE ACHIEVED!”
Cale groaned. Choi Han laughed breathlessly.
But that picture—Cale saying “yes,” Choi Han holding the ring, sunset behind them, hair tangled in the wind, both smiling with tears in their eyes—
It became the first page of Album Five.
And the beginning of the rest of their lives.
***
The wedding was a simple event. Not in the sense of lacking beauty or thought, but in the way it held a quiet elegance, a softness that belonged only to Cale and Choi Han. There were no towering altars, no throngs of spectators, no excessive pomp or ceremony. Only the people who mattered, the people who had shaped their lives, and the warmth that comes from genuine love.
The location was a small glade near the edge of the Super Rock Villa estate, chosen for its intimacy and the way the sunlight dappled through the leaves in lazy, golden streams. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of wildflowers Violan had personally selected. Each blossom had been placed with meticulous care: roses of deep crimson for passion, lilies for purity, and small sprigs of lavender for calm. The arrangements seemed effortless, though Cale knew the countless hours his stepmother had poured into every detail—from sweeping the aisles to arranging the chairs in perfect symmetry.
Duchess Violan had orchestrated everything. It was clear from the moment guests arrived that she had been waiting for this day with a patience that had been building for years. Her eyes sparkled whenever they lingered on the couple, a quiet pride in the way she fussed over the smallest details: ensuring the crystal goblets caught the light just right, the ribbon on the ceremonial altar fluttered with the breeze, and the soft white carpet that led to the altar remained unblemished by stray leaves or footprints. She had whispered to the staff repeatedly, correcting tiny imperfections, her sharp mind never relaxing, her heart fully surrendered to the joy of seeing Cale happy.
The officiants themselves were remarkable in their own right. Cage, once an ex-communicated priestess, had refused the Holy Maiden position long ago but was nonetheless beloved by the God of Death himself. She carried an aura of quiet dignity and mischief, a woman who understood the weight of love, devotion, and sacrifice, and who now stood at the altar with a knowing, serene smile. Her dark eyes held centuries of wisdom, but they also shimmered with a rare softness reserved only for moments like these. Beside her, Pope Jack—the current Pope and Saint of the Sun Church—stood tall and composed, his presence commanding but gentle. Even his usually stern expression had softened into one of warmth and blessing, the light of his faith reflecting in the golden hues of his robes.
Guests arrived in small clusters, many of whom had been close to both Cale and Choi Han for years. Some were old friends, others companions from battles past, and a select few were family. Even Alberu had made arrangements for those who could not be present in person, ensuring that the joy of the occasion would reach across lands and seas. Yet, despite the assembly, the ceremony maintained an air of seclusion—of intimacy. It was theirs, after all, a celebration of the life they had fought to carve out together.
Cale, dressed in a simple yet elegant ensemble—his crimson hair tied neatly back to reveal the soft slope of his jaw and the sharpness of his striking reddish-grey eyes—waited at the altar. He looked outward, watching the sunlight reflect off the delicate petals and the calm ripple of the breeze across the water nearby. His normally reserved demeanor was softened by the rare, unguarded joy on his face. This day was not about titles, power, or duty—it was about the person beside him, and the life they had built together.
Choi Han’s entrance was understated, yet it carried all the weight of devotion and love that had accumulated over years. He held Cale’s gaze the moment he stepped forward, his black eyes deep and steady, brimming with unspoken emotion. He moved with the careful precision of a man who had carried both fear and hope for as long as he could remember. Every step was a vow, every breath a promise, and every heartbeat a quiet plea to never lose the man waiting for him at the altar.
The ceremony began without fanfare. Cage’s voice, melodic and certain, rose over the gentle rustle of leaves. She spoke of love that transcends lifetimes, of bonds forged not only through shared triumphs but through shared fears, shared memories, and shared dreams. Her words wrapped around the couple like a warm cloak, reminding them of the depth of the journey that had brought them here. Pope Jack followed with his blessing, invoking protection, longevity, and the strength to endure together. His voice was steady, grounding, and there was a sense of something sacred in his words—an affirmation that even in simplicity, there was grandeur.
Violan, ever the meticulous planner, observed from the side, hands lightly folded, eyes glistening despite her composed demeanor. Every ribbon fluttered exactly as she had intended. Every flower rested in perfect harmony. But she was distracted by the sight of her stepson and Choi Han, hands clasped, gazes locked, and hearts laid bare to one another. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than this—the culmination of their journey, their devotion, their quiet but unshakable love.
When it came time for the vows, Choi Han’s voice trembled just slightly, betraying the immense weight of what he was about to say. He spoke slowly, carefully, but with passion that could not be contained. “Cale Henituse,” he began, voice firm yet laden with reverence, “from the moment I knew you, I feared a thousand things—fears of losing you, of forgetting you, of a world without you. But through every battle, every challenge, every quiet moment, you became my certainty. I vow to remember you in every sunrise, to cherish you in every breath, and to stand beside you, always, for as long as we live.”
Cale’s eyes glimmered, a rare softness overtaking his usually stoic expression. When he spoke, his words were steady, sure, yet touched with vulnerability. “Choi Han… you have been my shield, my anchor, and my home. You have seen me at my worst and never turned away. You have loved me quietly, fiercely, without hesitation. I vow to love you in return, to honor every moment we have together, and to never let the world—or time—take you from me.”
Cage and Pope Jack exchanged a glance before gesturing for them to exchange rings. The small band Cale slid onto Choi Han’s finger gleamed faintly in the dying sunlight, a simple gold circle that spoke volumes. When Choi Han returned the favor, slipping the matching band onto Cale’s hand, there was a profound silence that enveloped the glade—a pause in the world itself, as if even nature wanted to witness the weight of their commitment.
And then, finally, Cage spoke the words that made their hearts leap:
“By the authority vested in us by the realms of mortals and the blessings of the divine, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may now seal your vows.”
Cale smiled first, leaning down to brush his lips softly against Choi Han’s. The kiss was slow, deliberate, tender, carrying years of unspoken promises, of memories preserved in stolen glances and quiet moments, of futures imagined and fought for. Choi Han responded immediately, his hands moving to cradle Cale’s face, anchoring him in this reality, in this love, in this perfect simplicity.
When they finally pulled away, breaths mingling in the soft twilight, the air seemed to shimmer with warmth. Violan allowed herself a small, satisfied smile, her composure cracking just enough to reveal tears she refused to wipe. This day, these vows, this moment—it was more than she had dared hope.
Guests erupted into quiet applause, not for the spectacle, but for the undeniable sincerity that radiated from the two men at the center of the glade. Raon, who had been hovering invisibly nearby, let out a triumphant cheer, startling a few birds into the air. And in the background, the gentle lapping of waves against the shore seemed to celebrate along with them.
The reception that followed was understated but radiant. Tables were set with white linens and simple, fragrant flowers. Candles flickered, casting soft pools of golden light across the assembled friends and family. The atmosphere was warm, relaxed, intimate—a perfect reflection of Cale and Choi Han’s relationship. Every detail bore Violan’s touch, every corner whispered her care and love for the couple she had watched grow.
When at last the day gave way to night, and the stars glittered faintly above the glade, Cale and Choi Han stood hand in hand, looking out over the water. There were no grand speeches, no ostentation—only quiet smiles, the echo of vows exchanged, and the profound, unshakable knowledge that they had chosen each other.
It was simple. It was perfect.
And it was theirs.
The world may have been vast and chaotic, but in that glade, under the watchful eyes of the heavens and the blessings of those they loved, Cale and Choi Han were home. Together. Forever.
***
Marriage life was bliss.
Not the kind sung about in ballads, not the kind dramatized in legends or tales of royalty and glory. This was quieter, softer, sweeter—a life built on understanding, laughter, and a thousand small, unremarkable moments that became extraordinary simply because they were shared.
Choi Han never stopped taking pictures.
It had begun as a nervous habit, a way to preserve what he feared losing—the fleeting, ephemeral world around him—but it quickly became something more. Something joyful. Something intimate. Every photo was a testament, a declaration, a quiet love letter that only he and Cale could truly understand.
Mornings often began with golden sunlight spilling through the windows of their villa. Cale, hair loose and catching the light like liquid fire, would emerge from their shared bedroom, yawning, stretching, and blinking against the brightness. Choi Han would already be there, camera in hand, eyes wide with quiet wonder.
“Cale,” Choi Han would whisper, almost reverently. “Stop for a second.”
Cale, pretending not to notice, would roll his eyes, “I’m awake, Choi Han. You can stop staring now.”
But Choi Han never did. Not really. He would kneel slightly, adjust the lens, and click.
The photo captured Cale mid-yawn, hair falling in a perfect cascade, eyes half-lidded in sleep-laced vulnerability. Choi Han would lower the camera slowly, his heart pounding—not with fear, but with love.
Evenings were filled with walks along the cliffs or the shoreline, sometimes alone, sometimes with Raon fluttering between them, tail flicking happily in the wind. Choi Han insisted on documenting every detail. He wanted to remember how the sunset kissed Cale’s hair, how the breeze caught the curve of his lips, how his reddish-grey eyes softened as they looked at the waves.
“Han, you’re taking another picture,” Cale would mutter, cheeks faintly pink.
“I need to,” Choi Han admitted softly, voice heavy with emotion. “So that I never forget. Even if—no, especially if the world changes. Even if we grow old. I want to remember you. Always.”
Cale would smile then, a full, unguarded smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He would reach out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Choi Han’s face, fingers lingering. “I don’t think I could ever let you forget me.”
Choi Han’s chest would tighten, heart nearly spilling over, as he snapped another picture.
The photos weren’t posed or artificial. They were moments—Cale laughing over something Raon did, Cale bent over a pot of herbs with focus so intense he didn’t notice the sun setting behind him, Cale leaning against him mid-walk, whispering something soft that made Choi Han’s knees go weak. Each image carried a fragment of the love Choi Han had held in secret for so long, now immortalized in light and shadow.
Even mundane tasks became treasures. Choi Han photographed Cale cooking dinner—the way his hands moved with precision, the faint smudge of flour on his cheek, the occasional playful glare when Choi Han dared to comment on his technique. He photographed Cale reading late at night, the candlelight flickering across his face, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he became lost in his books.
One afternoon, they were in the garden. The children were visiting, laughter echoing across the fields. On and Hong were chasing Raon while Cale tended the tomato vines. Choi Han crouched low, camera poised, capturing Cale’s profile as he paused to watch the children, the corners of his lips lifting in a rare, unrestrained smile.
“Han…” Cale said softly, noticing him. “You’re… still taking pictures.”
Choi Han didn’t answer immediately. He merely pressed the shutter again.
Click.
“You’re obsessed,” Cale said, trying to sound annoyed but failing utterly.
“I’m preserving everything I love,” Choi Han replied simply. “You. The children. This—our life. I can’t afford to forget, Cale. Not a second of it.”
Cale’s lips curved in that faint, soft smile reserved only for him, and he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Choi Han’s waist. “Then don’t,” he whispered, voice muffled against Choi Han’s shoulder. “And I promise… I’ll never let you forget me either.”
Choi Han’s hands trembled slightly as he lowered the camera, abandoning it for the moment. He buried his face in Cale’s chest, breathing in the familiar warmth, the faint scent of cinnamon soap and hair, the rhythm of steady heartbeats that had become his anchor.
Later, when the photos were developed—or rather, when the enchanted crystals held the images—Choi Han would often sit with Cale, flipping through the pages of memories. They would laugh together, teasing each other over candid expressions, shared glances, and accidental moments captured forever.
And at night, long after the villa was silent, after the children were asleep and Raon curled around them like a living blanket, Choi Han would sometimes lift the camera quietly. Not to take another photo, not to capture a moment, but simply to hold it. To remind himself that Cale was real, alive, theirs, and that no matter how many sunsets or storms came, they were together.
Marriage life was bliss—not because it was perfect, but because every single day, in every smile, every glance, every click of the camera, they reminded each other why they had chosen this life. Why they had chosen each other.
And Choi Han never stopped capturing it.
Because as long as he could, he would preserve the world they had built together. A world filled with love, warmth, laughter, and Cale—always Cale—forever at its heart.
***
The villa was quiet, the kind of quiet that only comes after the laughter of the day has settled into stillness. The sun had dipped behind the horizon hours ago, leaving the sky painted in soft violet and indigo, faint stars peeking through. The only light came from a few candles on the balcony and the gentle glow of the hearth inside.
Cale sat on the edge of the couch, guitar resting across his knees. His fingers adjusted the tuning pegs carefully, the soft metallic clicks blending with the faint whisper of the wind outside. Choi Han, ever watchful, lingered behind him, pressing close, feeling the warmth of Cale’s body against his chest.
“I didn’t know you knew how to play the guitar,” Choi Han murmured, arms wrapping around Cale’s waist from behind, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.
Cale smiled softly, leaning back into the touch, letting the affection anchor him. “It’s been a while, so I might be rusty,” he admitted, his voice low and warm.
Choi Han’s hand slid to cup his cheek, fingers brushing gently along the sharp line of Cale’s jaw. “Then let me remind you,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss him fully, savoring the small sigh of Cale’s lips against his own.
When they finally pulled back, Cale lifted the guitar fully, positioning it carefully on his knee. He strummed a chord experimentally, listening for the resonance, then nodded in satisfaction. The moment felt intimate, the air around them charged with something soft but undeniable.
Then, he began to sing.
“Lovin’ can hurt…
Lovin’ can hurt sometimes…
But it’s the only thing that I know…”
The sound of his voice was raw, tender, carrying a depth of emotion that made Choi Han’s chest tighten. Cale’s reddish-grey eyes were closed as he strummed, the guitar notes trembling lightly with his hands. Choi Han leaned closer, pressing his cheek against Cale’s back, breathing in the familiar scent of him, memorizing every detail: the way his lips moved, the slight curve of his brow, the soft tension in his shoulders.
“…And when it gets hard,
You know it can get hard sometimes,
It is the only thing that makes us feel alive.”
Choi Han’s hand found the camera on the small table beside him. He raised it almost instinctively, framing the moment perfectly.
Click.
He captured Cale mid-verse, guitar resting against his chest, eyes closed, hair falling loose over his forehead, mouth open slightly in concentration and emotion. For Choi Han, that single photo would become a memory he’d revisit endlessly—a frozen heartbeat of Cale’s soul laid bare in song.
“We keep this love in a photograph…”
Choi Han’s breath hitched. That was them. Every day, every moment, every heartbeat he’d tried to preserve. The words themselves echoed through him, intertwining with the quiet strumming of the guitar and the warmth radiating from Cale’s body.
“…We made these memories for ourselves…
Where our eyes are never closin’,
Hearts are never broken,
And time’s forever frozen still.”
Choi Han lowered the camera briefly, resting his forehead against Cale’s back. “I’ll remember this,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Every word. Every note. Every moment.”
Cale’s fingers moved seamlessly over the strings, strumming gently, rocking the melody in perfect harmony with his voice. The song wasn’t just lyrics. It wasn’t just music. It was the encapsulation of everything they had built together: love, fear, longing, trust, vulnerability, and unshakable devotion.
“So you can keep me
Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans…”
Choi Han’s hand came back to the camera. He snapped another picture mid-chorus—Cale’s lips parted, eyes closed, head tilted slightly, the lamplight and candlelight flickering across the smooth lines of his face. Each frame was sacred, a testament to the man he adored more than anything in existence.
“…Holdin’ me closer ‘til our eyes meet,
You won’t ever be alone…
Wait for me to come home.”
Choi Han leaned over the back of the couch, his lips brushing against the side of Cale’s neck again, soft and lingering. “I’ll always be home,” he murmured.
Cale’s fingers faltered slightly, the guitar note bending, but his smile never wavered. “I know,” he said softly. “Because you’re here.”
“Lovin’ can heal…
Lovin’ can mend your soul…”
The camera hung forgotten in Choi Han’s lap for a moment as he allowed himself to simply look, to commit to memory every detail. He memorized the line of Cale’s jaw, the way his fingers rested on the guitar, the gentle tilt of his shoulders. He memorized the voice that carried both strength and fragility, the voice that had become the anchor to his own heart.
“…And it’s the only thing that I know, know…
I swear it will get easier…”
Cale’s eyes opened briefly, catching Choi Han’s gaze. There was a quiet intensity in that look, a promise, a connection deeper than words, deeper than life itself.
“…Remember that with every piece of ya,
Mm, and it’s the only thing we take with us when we die.”
Choi Han’s chest tightened. He felt tears prick at the edges of his eyes—not for sorrow, not for loss, but for the sheer magnitude of love he felt in that moment. He lifted the camera once more, snapping another photo. Click. The sound was soft, almost shy, but in it lay a world of devotion, a vow frozen in time.
“Mm, we keep this love in this photograph…
We made these memories for ourselves…”
Choi Han pressed the camera to his chest now, heart pounding. He could feel the vibrations of Cale’s strumming in his body, in his veins, in every heartbeat.
“…Where our eyes are never closin’,
Hearts were never broken,
And time’s forever frozen still.”
The song wound on, and Choi Han leaned closer, brushing a kiss along Cale’s shoulder. “You’re alive in every photograph,” he whispered. “Every single one. And you’re alive in me.”
Cale turned slightly in his lap, his reddish-grey eyes soft, molten, shimmering with that rare vulnerability reserved only for him. “And you’re alive in me,” he echoed, voice trembling just slightly. “Always.”
Choi Han pressed another soft kiss to his temple, then looked down at the camera. One more click. One more memory immortalized. One more piece of their life preserved.
The song ended, but the moment did not.
Cale set the guitar aside, leaning back into Choi Han’s embrace. The world beyond the villa didn’t exist. The wars, the crowns, the expectations—they were all gone. There was only the soft glow of candlelight, the lingering notes of the guitar, the photograph freshly captured, and the quiet, unwavering presence of love.
Choi Han rested his cheek against Cale’s back, whispering softly, “I’ll keep taking pictures forever. So that I never forget… and so that the world can see what I see every day. You.”
Cale turned in his arms, hands gently cupping Choi Han’s face, lips brushing his softly. “Then take as many as you want,” he murmured. “Because I’ll keep singing, living, and loving… just for you.”
And so, in the warm lamplight, with a camera between them and a guitar beside them, they sat. Two souls perfectly entwined. Two hearts captured in photographs, melodies, and infinite love.
***
Years flowed by in a way that was both swift and unbearably slow, slipping through their fingers like water yet leaving behind every memory, every laugh, every quiet glance between them. The world continued on, unchanged in its rhythms, while the family that Cale and Choi Han had built slowly thinned, one beloved member at a time.
The first to go was Ron. He had always been sturdy, reliable, a constant presence in the household—but even the strongest hearts eventually surrendered to time. Choi Han had been there when Ron passed, watching as Beacrox, Ron's own son, hold his hand, whispering words of comfort that felt inadequate, knowing that the world would feel emptier without him. Cale had knelt by Ron’s side, his crimson-grey eyes wet, voice hushed, murmuring the familiar stories of battles, laughter, and love they had shared. Even with the Vitality of the Heart and his unnatural longevity, Cale could not shield those he loved from the inevitable.
After Ron came Eruhaben-nim. The loss cut differently. He had been a guiding presence, a teacher and friend, one who stood as one of Cale's father figure as much as Ron was. Choi Han held him tightly in his arms as the last breaths left his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slowing to a whisper. Cale’s fingers were entwined with Eruhaben’s, refusing to let go, tears silently streaming down his face. The warmth of a hand that had once guided him now grew cold, and yet in that coldness remained the echo of every lesson, every laugh, every quiet moment of companionship.
Then Mila-nim, gentle and kind, who had loved Cale almost as fiercely as Choi Han did. Her passing left an ache that could not be soothed, a void that even time could not fill. Cale wept openly this time, not because he was weak, but because his heart had known love so deep that losing it tore him apart. Choi Han wrapped his arms around Cale, pressing soft kisses to his hair, whispering over and over that he was there, that he would remain, that their family’s love did not end with the living.
Through all of it, Cale endured. He lived longer than any human could naturally, the Vitality of the Heart coursing through him, coupled with the lingering after-effects of the dagger from the World Tree, which had once saved him from certain death. He outlived centuries, watching the world turn, empires rise and fall, civilizations flourish and crumble. His hair lost none of its crimson brilliance, his skin retained its warmth, and his eyes—those reddish-grey eyes that Choi Han adored—remained sharp, yet in the depth of them was a sorrow that had no end.
And Choi Han… Choi Han remained. Immortal in appearance, unchanging, as if time itself had made a pact to preserve him. Raon, ever faithful, youthful, and vigilant, remained by their side, tail flicking idly, eyes reflecting the same quiet understanding that Choi Han bore. Both knew, in the marrow of their bones, that the day would come when Cale’s heart, for all its miraculous endurance, would finally tire. They would lose him, just as they had lost all those before.
Yet even with the looming shadow of that inevitability, Choi Han never wavered. He continued to take photographs, to record every smile, every subtle gesture, every quiet sigh Cale released in the midst of ordinary days. The albums grew thicker, filled with decades of life, a tangible memory of the love that had been and would continue to be in their hearts. He captured the way Cale’s hair fell over his shoulders in the sunlight, the curve of his lips as he laughed quietly over a book, the precise moment Raon would curl against his chest, purring with contentment.
Every photo was a rebellion against time. Every click of the shutter was a vow: I will not forget you. Not now, not ever.
Cale noticed it, of course. He always did. Sometimes he would pause mid-laugh or mid-stride to look over at Choi Han, seeing the camera pointed at him, and smile faintly—both amused and touched. And though he never said it aloud often, Cale felt the weight of the gesture, understood the fear and the love that inspired it.
They did not speak of the inevitable too often. Words seemed insufficient, too cruel for such a truth. But in quiet moments—when they sat on the balcony under the soft glow of moonlight, when Raon lay at their feet, when the wind rustled through the trees—Choi Han would whisper softly into Cale’s hair, “I know it’s coming… I know one day I’ll have to let you go. But until that day… I will remember every heartbeat, every smile, every moment.”
Cale would tilt his head, resting against Choi Han’s shoulder, and murmur, “Then keep taking pictures… so when I’m gone, you won’t ever forget me.”
And Choi Han would nod, pressing the camera to his chest, capturing even the smallest glimmers of the man he loved. Every laugh, every glance, every ordinary and extraordinary instant was meticulously preserved, a lifetime stored in silvered crystals, magical albums, and the deepest recesses of his heart.
Even as the years stretched on, as the villa grew silent in parts and the world around them changed in ways that Cale had once only observed, the trio—Cale, Choi Han, and Raon—remained a unit of enduring love. Choi Han’s fear of loss never fully left him, but it became something more than terror: it became devotion, a relentless effort to ensure that time, which took so much from them, would never erase the essence of Cale.
Because no matter what came, no matter how many sunsets they watched, no matter how many years passed, Choi Han and Raon knew the truth of it: Cale had been, was, and always would be the heart of their world. And they would treasure him until the very last beat.
***
Cale passed quite peacefully, just like the way he wanted. The Vitality of the Heart had kept him alive for centuries longer than any human should have, and the after-effect of the World Tree’s dagger had spared him from illness, injury, and decay. But even miracles could not halt the inevitable forever.
He had died in his sleep, fingers still lightly brushing Choi Han’s hand, Raon curled at his feet, a soft purr echoing through the quiet room. The soft glow of candlelight traced the familiar lines of his face, highlighting the subtle curve of his lips, the sharpness of his jaw, the calm in his reddish-grey eyes—even closed, they seemed to speak to Choi Han, promising that he was at peace.
And yet, the knowledge that he was gone did not make Choi Han feel any better.
Time seemed to stretch indefinitely, warping around Choi Han as he sat beside the bed long after Cale had taken his last breath. The world outside continued to move, as indifferent as ever, but within the walls of the villa, time had stopped entirely. Raon padded softly to Choi Han’s side, resting his head against the man’s knee, tail curling around his legs. The black dragon’s golden eyes held a quiet understanding, a shared grief that mirrored Choi Han’s own. Neither of them spoke, for words were futile against the immensity of loss.
Eventually, Choi Han rose, stiff and trembling. He moved through the villa as if guided by memory alone, past the furniture, past the artifacts, past the places where laughter had echoed and love had lived. And then he reached the study—the place where he had long kept the albums, the countless photographs he had collected over centuries.
The albums were stacked neatly on the shelves, the spines worn from constant handling, the pages heavy with decades of life: moments of joy, moments of tenderness, moments so ordinary they would have been unremarkable if not for the man who had lived them and the love that had made them extraordinary.
Choi Han took the first album from the shelf and opened it gently, hands shaking. He traced his fingers over the images: Cale mid-laugh, hair catching the sunlight; Cale leaning over a pot of herbs, focused, radiant; Cale asleep with Raon curled beside him; Cale strumming the guitar, singing softly, unaware that his love and devotion were being captured frame by frame.
Each photo was a heartbeat. Each smile was a memory. Each glance was a testament. And now, they were all he had left.
Tears fell freely, unrestrained, hot and relentless. The centuries of love, the battles, the victories, the quiet mornings and soft evenings—they all collided in that moment, leaving Choi Han raw and broken. He could feel the weight of time pressing down on him, the crushing emptiness of a world without Cale.
Raon nudged him gently, letting out a soft, mournful whine. Choi Han wrapped an arm around the dragon, burying his face in the black scales, inhaling the faint scent of smoke and fur that had been home for so long. “I don’t know how to live without him,” he whispered, voice choked with grief. “I don’t know how to move forward… I don’t want to.”
He turned the pages of the albums slowly, lingering on each photograph as if by studying them he could pull Cale back into existence. He remembered every moment behind the lens: the way Cale had smiled at him when he wasn’t looking, the warmth of his hand in his, the quiet laughter that had filled the halls, the soft songs strummed on the guitar in the candlelit evenings.
The years of collecting, of documenting, of freezing moments in time—they had been more than a hobby. They had been an act of love, a desperate attempt to hold onto a soul that he knew would not stay. And now, surrounded by the tangible evidence of a life that had spanned centuries, Choi Han realized with a hollow ache that no album could contain the fullness of Cale’s being.
He sank to the floor, back against the shelves, the albums scattered around him. Raon rested his head on Choi Han’s lap, letting out a soft rumble of comfort. Choi Han’s hands shook as he lifted another photograph—Cale smiling at him from the golden light of a setting sun, hair flowing with the wind, eyes full of mischief and love.
He pressed the photo to his chest, sobbing, every heartbeat echoing in the emptiness of the room. “Cale,” he whispered, voice cracking, raw and fragile. “I… I tried to remember everything. I tried to hold onto every second, every smile, every word… but it’s not enough. It will never be enough.”
His hands moved across the albums automatically, turning the pages, flipping through lifetimes. He saw the laughter of Raon and the children, the quiet moments in the gardens, the intimate evenings on the balcony, the melodies of the guitar strummed in soft lamplight. Every picture was imbued with the warmth of Cale’s presence, every frame a silent testament of love, devotion, and the life they had shared.
And yet, as Choi Han looked at them, the ache in his chest only grew. He realized that love, even one as profound as theirs, could not conquer mortality. Time had claimed its due, and the man he had loved for centuries was gone.
He closed his eyes, clutching the photographs to his heart, and let himself grieve fully, utterly, without restraint. Raon shifted closer, resting his head on Choi Han’s shoulder, and for a long moment, there was only the quiet sound of mourning—the rustle of pages, the soft sobs, the steady, comforting presence of a friend who understood the depth of his loss.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Choi Han lifted his head. He looked at the scattered albums, the frozen moments, the memories that were all that remained. And in the darkness of the villa, bathed in the faint glow of candlelight and moonlight, he spoke the words that had been echoing in his heart since the moment Cale had taken his last breath:
“Wait for me to come home.”
And though Cale could no longer answer, though the centuries they had shared now existed only in memory, in photographs, and in the love that would never fade, Choi Han knew one thing with absolute certainty: the bond they had formed was eternal, beyond the constraints of life and death. One day, he would see him again, and until then, he would carry Cale’s love, Cale’s laughter, Cale’s life within him—forever.