Chapter 15: Survivor's Guilt
Arbus stared up at the high, dark ceilings of the Sentinel's office with interest. His emerald eyes raked over the repeating golden carvings drawn across it. They were showcasing a signature moment in Renegade history, and the start of their unstoppable rise.
It was an image of a Mornan dressed in rags, surrounded by various species that looked up at her with longing. To be more precise, they were staring at the glowing shard clutched tightly in her hand. The very first Heart Shard and the origin of the Renegades over twenty thousand years ago.
Several long minutes had elapsed since Yome and Bridge left the room behind Ophilia. Arbus knew they'd likely left the moon by now. He felt more dejected by that fact than he would have liked to admit, and he knew it had something to do with their Vanguard, Yome.
"Comfortable enough yet?" Bastian inquired with a smile from across the table.
Arbus glanced at him with a dark look. Then, the corner of his lips raised slightly. "Forgive me for being rude, Sentinel. I forgot to ask what I was called here for."
"Don't be so formal with me, kid. I thought I already told you that the last time we met."
"You did?" Arbus gasped with a look of surprise. "Huh, I suppose that must have slipped my mind at some point. Probably sometime in the last nine months of me waiting for your flimsy promises, only for me to realize I was actually on my own," he added with a forced smile.
Bastian smiled wryly as he massaged his temple. "Ah, you're mad at me." He sighed. "I suppose that would make sense from your perspective."
"That's not possible, Sentinel. How would a lowly sentry like me have the guts to feel such a way toward someone of your might and status?" Arbus replied, the bite in his tone slightly more noticeable.
"I get it already, sheesh," Bastian grunted. "I remember what I promised you. And I know that I failed to deliver so far. I really did try my best, but there wasn't much I could do against the combined force of the council against me. I suppose that's one of the disadvantages of a shared leadership. Everyone gets a say."
He clasped his hands together in front of him. "I should have predicted something like that would happen six years ago and reconsidered boldly proclaiming things to your younger self."
Arbus resisted the urge to argue more as he leaned back in his chair. Six years ago, in his meeting with Bastian, he had been promised a fair chance and support from the Sentinel himself if he ever decided to join the Renegades. That meeting was a moment he held dearly in his heart, because it helped him determine the trajectory of his life moving forward.
Because of it, he gave his all, his very best, and devoted himself to training until even his ability couldn't counter his exhaustion. Over and over and over again. He endured the grueling trials of his master, Trip Tarr, whose true goal was to push him until he gave up. But he never did.
After years of training until not even his master could find a logical reason to hold him back, Arbus joined the Renegades, expecting to get far very fast even without the Sentinel's help. He knew he would be able to ascend in a flash with his own skills and merits.
But he hadn't even been given a chance. The Renegades had kept him in limbo for four months after he turned in his registration. On the day Arbus was thinking of reapplying, he finally got a response, which excited him temporarily. After that, he was stationed on Terytl-B, a planet where nothing substantial ever happened. That was, of course, until today.
While stationed there, he was sent on countless mundane missions that quickly became routine. From patrolling a certain region to helping citizens in the towns nearby with their heavy work. Arbus watched sentries come and go in the span of a few months, either getting reassigned or being promoted to knights. And yet he remained in place, stuck there for almost a year.
He'd experienced the hatred and scorn from each new batch of sentries as they came. Eventually, he was the only sentry still present from his original batch. At that point, it was easy for him to realize his acceptance into the organization was nothing but a farce, and that they had no intention of letting him become anything more than a sentry until he quit himself.
Bastian let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you must have endured a lot."
"Then, like you said, don't make promises you can't keep!" Arbus growled, unable to control himself anymore. "If I have no future in the Renegades, then just tell me. I'll find another way to achieve my goal. I won't simply allow myself to be restricted or suppressed anymore. Not by my grandfather, and not by the council!"
"I understand you, Arbus. In fact, I share your frustrations. Trust me, I really do. With the council always second-guessing my decisions, I'm basically fighting a war on two fronts to make any headway," Bastian grumbled. "But thankfully, I finally succeeded."
Arbus's eyes lit up in a flash. "You did!? How! What did they—"
Bastian raised a hand to stop Arbus, a somber look appearing in his expression as he did. "Before we get to that, I'd like to discuss something with you first."
Arbus raised a brow in confusion. "What else is there to talk about besides that?"
"...I want to talk about what happened today. On Terytl-B."
Arbus's lips curved into a frown. He glanced away and responded in an annoyed tone. "You've already seen my reports on everything. From the moment the main base was first attacked to the moment I killed Ronin." He squinted. "Even about the stuff he said he did before he got there. Something I'm sure the groups there now have confirmed already. I don't... really want to talk about that topic anymore," Arbus said as a lump formed in his throat.
A sudden thought struck him as he frowned. "Unless... you believe I was involved in some way?"
"Calm down, Arbus. I don't believe you had anything to do with what happened, nor do I believe you should be concerned about getting the blame. I'm asking this because I'm concerned about you and how you're taking this. You just witnessed a genocide. I don't expect you to be as controlled as you're acting right now."
"I'm fine," Arbus replied curtly. "Like I said, we should focus on the things that matter right now. I'm really perfectly fine."
Bastian kept watching, his gaze telling Arbus how little he believed that to be true.
Arbus's teeth clenched in rage as he glanced down. "...Terrible. I feel terrible, okay!? Is that what you wanted to hear!?" he shouted, feeling a string of emotions begin to rise up in his chest.
Just like that, the memories of Terytl-B came flooding back to him. He remembered the towns and cities first. He remembered visiting the same ones every few weeks when he was ordered to, helping them with whatever they needed. He remembered the dark helmet and gloves he would always wear to keep his appearance a secret whenever he went on a mission.
He remembered the looks of gratitude from the civilians as he helped them with their work, the cheerful expressions on the children's faces as they taught him various games he'd never gotten the chance to learn as a child, and the worried looks they'd give him whenever they thought he was overworking himself.
Then, he remembered his comrades. Not the ones who made his life a living hell, but the ones who would start off by keeping their distance from him, then slowly find themselves interacting with him more and more. Not as a friend, but not as an enemy either. He remembered Mits, the steadfast commander who always drew the respect of all those who worked with him, and the concerned expressions he always made when he glanced in his direction after a new batch of sentries arrived. And finally, he remembered the saddened expression still on his face after his death. Arbus was sure it was because Mits realized what would happen to everyone after he was gone.
A teardrop suddenly splashed against the dark floor of the Hold. Arbus frowned, touching his cheek and realizing it was his. He cleaned his eyes as he tried and failed to stop more tears from following.
Bastian watched him cry with a saddened expression. Eventually, he stood, pushing his chair back and walking around the table to Arbus. Arbus stared up in surprise when Bastian pulled him into a hug. He suddenly remembered the exact same thing happening six years ago, after the incident on Tarok.
He clenched his teeth as his tears flowed freely. "It's not fair, Bastian," he muttered. "Why couldn't I do anything again? Why... why do I have to always be the only one to survive!"
"That's enough, kid." Bastian grimaced. "Don't think of ways to blame yourself for the unfairness of life. None of this should have happened to you in the first place. You have seen and experienced far more than any child—anyone—should be forced to in one lifetime. And I'm deeply sorry for that."
Ophilia remained watching from the side, a look of melancholy appearing in her expression as she did.