Chapter Text
His death, however, had been unplanned and infuriating. Greed had tainted the heart of his closest mage, and while he was ready to intercept any magical attack coming his way, he hadn't planned to have his life taken by a blade during one of his meditation sessions. Hadn’t planned for one of his minions to get overtaken by avidity and attack him. Hadn’t planned to die so early in his life, not when he had so much to do, so many people to rule over.
He doesn’t know what happened, after his body gurgles blood and falls to the ground, as his senses become distorted, both stunted and overwhelming at the same time. It was as if he became mute, blind and deaf and at the same time, feeling everything all at once around him, in a way he had never experienced while alive. It felt like the answer to the universe but still frustratingly out of reach, still incomprehensible.
His senses snap back into focus abruptly, only mere seconds before his eyesight does. In front of him lays his corpse, the blood only starting to dry; he had died only a couple of minutes ago apparently. Still, he didn’t understand what had happened, why he could see himself - his corpse slowly cooling on the stone floor - so it comes at a surprise to move two arms, instead of one, when he steps back.
The hands he lifts in front of his face are not his. The robe he wears is not his. The short hair on his head is definitely not his and would undoubtedly be a disgusting shade of brown if he looked at himself in a reflective surface. What a shame, he had loved his red locks, reminding him of blood, fire and destruction. He’d have to make do, then.
The rest of his men are rightfully shocked when they learn he had taken the body of the mage, prostrating themselves in front of him and shaking in fear. He takes to killing the ones that had plotted something against him as well, helping himself with the mage’s memories although they were starting to muddle and fade away.
He quickly learns his miracle was only permissible thanks to his white mask, which contained his magic, his blood and bones - and consequently linked his very soul to it. He makes sure to have a slave healthy and ready to wear it, wipping their mind thoroughly so there wasn’t anything mixed in with him as he takes over. And he jumps from body to body throughout the decades until one day his mask is lost. Found years later. And lost again. Kept as decor. Used in forgotten ceremonies. Passed from one disinterested individual to another.
Until it slumbers in a chest, inside a gorgeous mansion in a wealthy territory, and tiny, bored fingers dig it from under heaps of fabrics.
Until a child finally puts it on his face to push forward events planned decades ago.
***
Cale was in pain. He always was but this time it was different.
He could do nothing. It was unfair but Cale was trapped.
Just a few weeks ago he had been beaten to a pulp by a rude black haired punk. Cale had been the one to provoke him, but never thought of the kind of consequences it would have. He could nearly laugh if it wasnt so damn painful.
Cale was in pain. He always was but this time it was different. For the first time, he knew why. He knew why everything was wrong and it changed nothing.
He could do nothing. It was unfair but Cale was trapped.
Cale was trapped inside a body that didn't feel like it belonged to him.
———-
This body hadn’t been his in a long time now.
It was, back when he was a child. But that was such a long time ago already it was hard to remember how that even felt like. Or if it was just the memory of a memory Cale desperately clung to. Washed out and deteriorated like everything else he felt these days.
Back then when he was maybe about 5 years old, he had known what it meant like to feel at home, to feel right. But that was it.
As he grew older and grew up with that god damn mask by his side, he had felt that something was wrong. Felt that his body wasn't as it was supposed to be.
But he was a god damn child and didn't know any better
When he went and told an adult, he didn't know how to express himself properly. He wasn't sure enough of himself that a simple sentence of "oh that's normal" did put his mind at ease.
A simple maid saying "oh don't worry, my daughter has the same kinds of vivid dreams and fantasies."
or even Ron just telling him "the young master is still very young and shouldn't be worrying about little things like that."
Back then it was enough for Cale to stop pursuing. To stop trying to change anything since it was normal right? Everyone he ever told just reassured him there was nothing wrong, it was normal and there was nothing for Cale to change.
He was normal. Normal meant there was nothing to change.
'Idiot!'
Cale wanted to choke all these oblivious adults now.
'Nothing wrong my ass!'
As he grew older the feeling of wrongness grew. But the certainty that nothing was out of the ordinary was already conditioned into his mind.
He was a goddamn child and he didn't know any better.
Even as he turned 13 and became a teenager. The little pain he felt was just excused as typical teenage stuff.
"Oh your body is changing in general, you are becoming an adult, it is normal."
"Normal."
Back then the word was reassuring. Like a bandaid on his mind filled with holes from ever increasing needles. Back then it were probably a few thousand. Always scratching his insides with wrongness.
Back then he had turned his attention towards things kids his age were supposed to be interested in. He blamed the things young people were supposed to blame.
Because he was a goddamn child and he didn't know any better.
The pain was always there and it had become his 'normal'. Even when it steadily increased. He didn't know what was truly wrong so he simply blamed any little thing that was currently there.
Cale became easily agitated to the outsiders eyes. When he was 14 he would often break things. Expensive vases, bottles, glasses. Sometimes he would throw over furniture.
Everything felt wrong and he didn't even know what or why. It was like a thousand ants crawling underneath his skin and there was nothing he could do.
So he became violent.
In his strange dreams, the adults always respected him. They feared and revered him. When he was awake they were always nothing but condescending. Always looking down on his problems, always belittling him.
So he tried instilling fear into them. Maybe then they would respect him like in his dreams. But they never did. They only frowned and turned to scorn him behind his back.
By now the needles had increased to an uncountable myriad.
When Cale turned 15, he started drinking. He had heard that's what people do when they are his age and angry and in pain, so he did it too.
He drank and drank. It did numb the pain and it did numb his mind so that he could finally stop thinking. His thoughts would always lead him in circles anyway, never really coming to a solution. Always running into a wall with a big "that's just normal" written on it.
'It was just normal right? There was nothing wrong, so there was nothing to change.'
He would always hit this dead end, never find a solution and just start all over again. He just wanted it to stop so he drank.
Eventually his tolerance built up.
He wouldn't get drunk anymore. But with anything that wasn’t expensive high quality liquor, he would still feel hungover and puke.
His father was rich so what did it matter if he spent thousands on drinks.
The adults only ever complained but waved him off anyway. The servants had been talking for years now, it didn't matter if he gave them more fuel.
His father never really cared about his son's behavior. Maybe he did but he didn't show it. He only ever called Cale to mandatory meals together and sometimes to his office for a private talk. His father would often want to give Cale advice and retell some stories of his own youth.
Some of it was good advice. But it never helped Cale. His situation was never the same and all the advice his loving, well meaning father ever gave him was arbitrary. Solutions to problems his father or others had had. It didn't do anything for Cale.
So he stopped listening.
He didn't care about advice on how to get a girl to dance with him at a ball. He didn't care about advice on how to dress properly, he didn't care about advice on how to fake confidence so he looked better to others.
Those weren't his problems.
And if the adults didn’t listen to him, he wouldn't listen to them.
"A rebellious phase" they called it.
The phrase made Cale want to puke. Just because he had his own opinion, just because whatever his father told him was simply not applicable for him. Just because everything felt wrong but everyone kept telling him that it wasn't, he was called rebellious?
In his dreams things felt right.
In his dreams nobody called him rebellious.
In his dreams people would fucking listen to him.
So Cale didn't mind if he got to dream these dreams more often. If he got to sleep more and felt more tired all the time.
He didn't mind because at least in his dreams he had a glimpse of what felt right, when everything while he was awake felt wrong.
He trained a lot. Building up muscles. It was around when he was 16 that sometimes his body didn't feel like it was his.
He didn't know at all why or what exactly that feeling was.
But he figured it was normal.
Afterall many other people his age were annoyed that they were still not fully grown up. Girls his age cared about makeup and dresses to accentuate curves to seem older. Boys his age were trying to compensate by working out and building muscle to get rid of the baby fat. Maybe then they would be taken a little more seriously by the adults.
So Cale did the same.
He didn't have classes to attend to anyway. So he spent his days working out, drinking and then recovering from hangovers.
Those were getting worse and worse. Sometimes he questioned how alcohol could even cause pain like that. Low aches throughout his entire body, as if his flesh was being peeled from his bones.
'Muscle pain' someone said.
And Cale accepted that.
Because he was a goddamn child and he didn't know any better.
His life felt so repetitive.
He was angry, he would break something. He felt pain, he would drink. He felt this strange feeling that his body wasn't his, he would workout and then get drunk.
He would function despite breaking. Or maybe he wasn't even functioning.
Eventually two more years had passed and he was 18.
He would always be in pain, mentally and physically. He would break stuff, he would drink and he would hurt people. He would aim his bottle throws at those who deserved it, but that took all his self control. His words would cut like knives whoever dared cross his path.
Everyone who talked behind his back, eventually did it out in the open. Everyone who passed Cale was unlucky.
But one day someone crossed his path and that time the unlucky bastard turned out to be Cale himself.
As always, Cale knew just what to say to hurt, to drive down the wedge. Cale never feared any repercussions, as he himself was physically fit enough to take on a fist fight. He even welcomed it and provoked them on purpose. Then at least when he was bloodied and bruised, his pain would be immediate and stinging. It would overshadow the constant torturing pressure that always hung in his veins. He would know what had caused it and it would heal.
But that time the black haired youth he offended didn't just punch him good.
Cale didn't stand a chance at all. The guy with eyes as black as his hair beat him to death's door and back.
It was so much Cale didn't feel anything anymore. That was until the potions began to close his wounds and the searing agony set in. Cale was angry. For the first time that guy had caused him even more pain that he was already in and he was a simple target for his rage.
But the black haired guy was already gone. And so was his butler and his cook.
Cale screamed and broke many things. Once again he was in pain and he was angry and he had nothing he could be angry at. Only throw a tantrum from afar.
Despite the potions his wounds took a toll on him. Despite being healed Cale felt extremely exhausted and tired often after the incident. The pain he felt seemed to have increased, but Cale still believed that it was normal. That it wasn't something that was wrong and that had to change, because even now the healers told him that it was normal. Everyone told him that nothing was out of the ordinary and Cale believed them.
Because he was a goddamn child and he didn't know any better.
And then everything came crashing down.