Chapter 62
He knew, at the very least, there was one voice that did not accuse, one presence that did not mock, one soul willing to stand by his side.
That honesty created a space for Shaqar to breathe, even if only for a moment, convincing him that wounds and sacrifices were not entirely meaningless.
The struggle that kept the family standing—even though fractured in many places—still held value in the eyes of someone who truly saw.
"I hope it is not, merely a dirty shadow that he is truly busy today.
Could that be true? And what if it is no longer another family member, but Miara herself?
I hope Absyumura is not hindered from answering.
Not my child—don't…."
"Father…?"
The initial worry surged, growing from the depths of a heart already full of cracks.
Shaqar had imagined the worst possibility, that the telecommunication channel he had hesitantly opened would not be answered by the son-in-law he hoped for, but by another figure from the family line.
The image of his only child's face once again found its way into his thoughts, bringing dread as if every word he was about to utter was nothing but a thorn, one that would only pierce deeper into the wounds already there.
The unease pressed on his chest, making every breath heavier, as if time deliberately prolonged the tension, playing with the fragile boundary between hope and anxiety.
But as soon as that voice emerged, all the dark visions seemed to recede.
The voice of the son-in-law he recognized immediately eased the restlessness that had gripped him.
The gentle tone was not just a sign that the communication was connected, but a reminder, a call that there was still a bridge able to link him to the family that had almost let him go.
Relief spread slowly, dissolving the tension in his chest, like fog swept away by the first light of dawn.
Shaqar allowed the voice to enter, to seep in, becoming tangible proof that at the very least he was still permitted to be present—even if only in a brief conversation through such a cold, faceless device.
Within the silence of one of the rooms in the Xirkushkartum base, Shaqar realized how small a thing could bring him relief.
Simply hearing his son-in-law's voice was enough, so relieving that it shattered part of the fear haunting him.
He knew, there were still many wounds left unhealed, still a distance yet to be bridged.
But the presence of that voice—the voice that carried the tone of understanding—offered a small gap for hope.
A gap that suggested that perhaps, just perhaps, he had not completely lost his place in the family's heart, a bond he had long protected behind the shadows of responsibility.
"Cursed Be The One, that it is you who responded.
Thank goodness it was not someone else."
"I have been anxious since hearing the news.
What is the condition there? What truly happened after the clash against them, Defiled The Holy Angel?
And tell me your condition now is not in a terrible state?"
The communication device was in Shaqar's hand, warm and heavy in rhythm with the heartbeat that collided with the clinking of the buttons he had just pressed.
The restlessness began to fade, swept aside by the reality that this call was answered by the one he had always trusted, the husband of his only child, who now held an important position beside the family.
Every thought that arose in Shaqar's mind cast shadows over his steps, reminding him that the challenges in Xirkushkartum were not merely about facing missions or enemies, but about bearing the dark history that had befallen the Ush lineage, a tragedy demanding courage and sacrifice beyond measure.
The shadow of Ophistu, lurking at every step, the mastermind behind inevitable deaths, seemed to cling to the walls of the base, weighing down Shaqar's breath as he wrestled between guilt and relief—because this communication still remained in the right hands.
Each question then emerged, transmitted from his son-in-law's voice, without hesitation, piercing like fine needles into the depths of Shaqar's awareness.
He knew Absyumura was not seeking faults, nor accusing, but merely wishing to understand, to grasp the true situation.
The questions about the events against Ophistu revived reflections, strategies that seemed never-ending, and the fear of losing control over the entrusted mission.
Behind each inquiry, Shaqar felt a mixture of emotion and pressure, realizing that someone truly cared about his health, his safety, and the results of his struggles that had long gone unnoticed by the outside world.
In the sorrow enveloping his chest, Shaqar recognized his son-in-law as an anchor, a foothold granting him a measure of peace.
The exchange of questions about the latest condition after the mission reminded him that the struggle—though appearing individual—echoed into the lives of others.
Every step taken, every decision made, always interacted with the lives around him.
Though wounds and exhaustion still clung to every corner of his thoughts.
The figure of Absyumura was not merely a communication link, but a symbol, a personification that though the world brimmed with pressure and betrayal, there still existed a safe point that lifted, able to hold the fall of tension into emptiness.
"All was fine before departure.
There were not even any significant problems.
The journey was smooth, though a few disturbances occurred."
"During the expulsion? Then what is your condition now?
Not injured, or disturbed?
Perhaps worse, found with wounds difficult to heal with medicine?
Tell me that it is merely a stray thought."
"It went well, though there was unexpected intervention."
"Excessive, you mean?"
"No one was hurt, but none of that family survived either."
"At least everything went as expected, concluded as it should, correct?"
"More or less."
Shaqar's shadows grew dense, thickening as he held the device in his hand, as if his very heartbeat penetrated the air in the room's silence.
Every press of a button sent tremors not only through his fingers but through his emotions, shaking the fragile calm he had painstakingly built.
He arranged each word in his mind, preparing them before sending his response, aware that every piece of information delivered could influence the next steps.
Both for the team's safety and for the mission's entrusted outcome.
His thoughts clung to the long history of the Ush lineage, which though hidden from the world's eyes, demanded vigilance and extra courage, as if past tragedies could never truly be erased, forever shadowing every decision made.
Within an almost invisible pressure, Shaqar cast aside his unease, choosing instead to bring calm to the surface.
He realized that the questions asked were not accusations or searches for fault, but reminders, calls to responsibility that could not be ignored.
The interference of the Balancer Nebetu'u was one wound that still gaped, a reminder that in the last dozens of missions, external aid sometimes only added complexity without a clear solution.
Shaqar chose to simplify the narrative when explaining the expulsion, stressing that all had gone well, though within it lay chaos, pressure, and piled-up frustration in his chest.
Every word he shaped became a bridge, connecting his awareness to another who cared, a resonance that soothed though it did not fully erase the tension within.
"This time you are not being crushed by various troubles there, okay?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Normally—yes… father would be happy, unhesitant to express his joy until the staff in one hand slipped and fell.
But this time, from your tone—"
"Truly I have never hidden it so well, have I?
As your thoughts suggest, this heart should feel relief, overwhelmed by unstoppable joy.
Something like that."
"So heavy that I can feel it, sensing it exactly through your breath here, father."
'This burden, my responsibility as leader of Team Xirkushkartum is too great.
And the accusations from my own family line continue to roll.
Not only fear, but restlessness.
And that means not only for myself, but also for Miara, and also your beloved child, Absyumura.'
"Haaaaah—"
To be continued…