Chapter 8: Word's left unsaid
Nash's expression was stern as he walked down the massive corridor of the highest floor in the Hold.
His rage and anger was so palpable that even the Hold's artificial intelligence was unsure whether or not to negate the Heart essence emanating from his form passively as he moved.
The AI ultimately decided to leave him be, since it couldn't detect anyone else in his vicinity to receive his agression. It was also unwilling to hastily offend a Tarokian even the Sentinel had to be careful of.
Nash's brows creased together as his thoughts drifted back to the assembly room. "Bastian... That snake." He snarled.
Nash Grimm was a Tarokian who was known for wearing his emotions on his sleeves. If he loved something, it would be easy to tell, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. If he hated something, he would make no attempts to pretend otherwise.
That was the way of the Tarokians. They were often considered brutish by many species for their straight forward way of handling every aspect of their lives.
It was why they were so bad at processing complex emotions. Just like the ones Nash now felt towards his grandson.
He finally reached the lift at the end of the floor, stepping in and pressing down on the button leading to the ground floor of the 10,000 feet structure.
His eyes fell slightly as a somber look appeared in them.
On one hand, he was the chief of Tarok. A planet that has been praised as one of , if not the greatest defenders of the star system against the human kind. His people were also the very first to take up arms against the invaders thousands of years ago, before the time of the current Emperor.
Furthermore, he was a Grimm. A family of warriors that no sane person dare speak down on. A lineage of great male and female Tarokians who have fought valiantly and relentlessly against the humans.
But, on the other, he was a grandfather that felt lost—and that was because of his daughter.
The former pride and joy of Tarokians who had been born with talent surpassing even the Sentinel. A Tarokian who had even surpassed him in strength not too long ago, before the incident.
He had even named her Angel—the word for Pinnacle in their language, because he believed she would be the second Tarokian to reach that position.
At least he did, until almost a decade ago, when her husband's secret had come to light.
Nash's teeth clenched tightly as the lines on his forehead increased.
Angel's mistake had almost brought about the downfall of the Grimm family name.
She had been locked away by the Renegades—barely spared from being killed. Her tremendous potential and talent had simply been wasted just like that.
The worst part of the matter was that she did not regret her decision for one moment—like the proud and unrelenting daughter he had raised.
Nash sighed audibly as he thought of Arbus. His grandson that he had spoiled for years—not caring if he ended up a great warrior like his mother. He didn't care about that too much after realising how that type of treatment made his daughter emotionally distant from him.
But now, that had all changed, ever since six years ago. His grandson was consumed by vengeance and guilt after being traumatised over and over. Each time, Nash was somehow always too late to help him, despite his immense power.
His pride and need to honour his family's ideologies and legacy made it hard for him to simply talk with his grandson like before. Nash felt that wasn't the only reason for him keeping his distance, but found it hard to admit the truth to even himself.
The lift finally reached the first floor as Nash stepped out of the glass elevator, his weary eyes not bothering to scan the room full of people bowing toward him as he passed. He walked forward steadily, pushing open the hold doors without caring to alert the guards on the outside.
The two blue Mormans turned toward him with annoyance, before immediately bowing in recognition a moment later.
He glanced at them briefly before stepping out the hold's doors. The moment he did, he felt as if he had gained a thousand new eyes. His heart essence spread out in an instant, enveloping the entire moon.
He could now faintly sense everything happening on the moon, as if he was standing right there himself. This was the terrifying level of observation a head commander was capable of. They were also able to travel anywhere in their heart sense in a matter of moments.
Meaning, if a head commander was present on a planet or moon—everyone there was basically an arm's reach away from them.
Which is why crime rates on the planets they personally ruled themselves were almost nonexistent.
Nash turned toward the hold, a small scowl appearing on his face as he did. The only thing he could not sense at all, was the imposing tower he had just walked out of. It appeared like a large hole in his mind that he could only see with his eyes.
The hold was a building designed with the negation of the Sentinel himself poured into it for years on end—hence its capacity to negate the abilities and senses of those who step through its doors. At least, to an extent.
In truth, the head commanders could use their powers freely while within it, if they truly desired to. The same went for those at the stage of a commander.
While the negation of the Sentinel was powerful, it would be impossible for him, or anyone for that matter, to mimic that level of power in an item or structure consistently. Its effects would always be at the very most, a quarter the strength of the original.
Those who came to the hold simply went along with it to not offend the Sentinel.
Nash finally turned away from the hold as he began heading for his ship. He wasn't willing to linger, allowing the other head commanders to catch up with him. He had nothing to say to them for the time being.
Nash's footsteps came to a sudden halt as he sensed something he hadn't sensed in years. His eyes widened slightly as he looked towards a particular Renegade ship.
"Arbus..." he muttered, his voice hoarse.
He could sense his grandson patiently sitting in the main room of the ship. There were several red Mornan Renegades around him, most likely an escort team.
It didn't take him long to realise that he had most likely been summoned here by Bastain. The thought of that filled him with renewed rage as his expression hardened.
He took a step forward in that direction, then stopped again.
A look of guilt appeared in his eyes as he slowly backed away from the ship.
He could sense the downcast expression in Arbus's face. He wanted nothing more than to go up to the ship and comfort his grandson after he had experienced such a tragic and traumatic incident again.
But he couldn't. More precisely, he didn't think a person like him deserved to.
Not after leaving him with Trip for years on end, refusing to even speak to him—all because of his own guilt and depression.
An audible breath left Nash's lips as his eyes narrowed in regret.
His cape blew loudly in the wind as he turned away from the ship and headed towards his own.