Chapter 61
The tablets brought home were never enough to cover the swelling egos, and every drop of energy set aside for the family felt halved, absorbed by the pressure of the outside world that called with promises of danger and duty.
The awareness that his role as protector of the family had been torn apart, replaced by the responsibility of an internal battlefield that gave rise to unrelenting tension.
Almost unbearable.
Every second of his life was marked by conflict, the peak of an inner feud gnawing away at the soul.
Shaqar felt himself split, torn between the ego-driven desire to protect others and the urgent needs of a family so dependent on his strength.
Each time he lowered his gaze to his trembling feet, there was a bodily confession of fatigue too deep for words—a symbol that even his own body was beginning to rebel against the weight he continued to bear.
Shaqar's presence in a harsh world that summoned him with danger and promises bound him tightly, leaving him trapped between two worlds that could never meet.
The longing child and the family that demanded his attention never left his thoughts, yet duty, demanding obedience to laws and hierarchies, shackled his every step.
Each sleepless night, each difficult decision taken for the survival of those who depended on him left wounds—unseen scars only he could feel.
The regret of absence from the most important family moments pressed heavily on his chest, spreading guilt through every bone and nerve.
The subconscious began to weigh, mapping each step that needed to be taken, questioning decisions that once seemed right but now transformed into stains on his heart that could never be erased.
In silence, a question arose about how such sins could ever be atoned for, until it seemed the only path was an uncommon one—even one that crossed the boundaries he once swore never to break.
The awareness of failure as a father, combined with the burden of obedience to a world demanding submission, spread like fire into his bones and nerves, making clear that Shaqar's struggle was not merely a consideration, but a battlefield consuming every last fragment of energy.
The desire to return home echoed louder, imagining the moment he could kneel before his only child, begging forgiveness for an irreplaceable absence.
He dreamed of a family gathering, where every word would flow sincerely from the heart, admitting mistakes and pleading for the deepest of pardons.
But each dream was poisoned, invaded by shadows of heavy sins—sacrifices that the family branded as neglect.
It felt like staring into an abyss, stretched wide between the longing for redemption and the reality of chains, where the road back was not merely physical but a war—an ordeal against judgment and anger that perhaps could never be avoided.
In the frailest recesses of his soul, Shaqar felt the crushing weight of a dilemma that could not be simplified.
His responsibilities within Xirkushkartum were no longer mere tasks of banishment, but moral burdens haunting his every thought.
Every plan of return was sifted carefully, measured against the risk of widening the distance with his child.
The image of the small face that once looked up at him with trust returned, now filled with questions and disappointment, as if every step Shaqar took was judged and recorded.
The pressure struck not only the heart but echoed outward, spreading quickly through his entire being, making him question the very core of his identity as a father in a world demanding endless resilience.
Amidst towering sorrow, Shaqar still found, however briefly, a flicker of light—though faint and fragile.
A small smile spread across his face.
Not a smile of joy, but a bitter smile, born merely of a fleeting relief.
The presence of a son-in-law became an unexpected solace, as though there was one soul willing to understand the burden he had carried without complaint.
That man, now husband to his only child, did not see Shaqar's struggles as a fatal mistake.
On the contrary, he placed full faith, believing that what his father-in-law had done bore immense meaning, even though it was paid for with wounds that could never heal.
That support, however small, was a balm—warm protection for a wounded soul, offering peace amid the storms that kept striking.
For a moment, Shaqar looked at his son-in-law with mixed feelings.
Between gratitude and doubt.
There was still a part of him that questioned whether the path he had walked had been right, or merely luck that favored some while leaving others behind.
Yet the honesty in his son-in-law's gaze, the conviction that radiated from the way he looked at him, left the impression that such struggles had not been in vain.
Amidst all the estrangement from his closest family, at least there was one voice that did not accuse, did not sneer, but instead stood by his side without demand.
It made Shaqar feel, if only briefly, that he was not entirely cast aside from the circle of people he had sworn to protect.
And more than that, Shaqar realized his son-in-law's presence was not only emotional comfort, but also a pillar—the most tangible support for the family's survival.
By fully supporting Shaqar's role in Xirkushkartum, the son-in-law strengthened his conviction, affirming that the painful road he walked carried undeniable weight.
The family's economy, once strangled, now began to breathe, freed from the daily grip of crisis.
Shaqar saw this situation like a fragile thread, keeping the great fabric of his family from tearing apart completely, though still marred by patches and scars.
A new hope began to form, fragile as it was—that perhaps the long struggle carried more meaning than mere personal suffering.
"Too long just to stare.
Move forward, don't stop, must reach the final note."
Tuuuut!
His fingers moved instinctively, pressing key after key as though each tap was an unfinished atonement.
The simple communication device was now pressed tightly against his left ear, its hollow hum heavier than the silence of night.
Shaqar's face—assembled from puzzle pieces never perfectly fitted—reflected uncertainty long hidden.
Not merely a unique physical form, but the reflection of a fractured soul, fragile beneath the weight of enormous responsibility.
With each strained breath, he bore the burden of Xirkushkartum, along with the judgment of blood relatives who once should have been his closest refuge.
For a moment, time halted, as though pausing the choice between the courage to remain connected or the temptation to let distance grow wider.
In the whirl of thoughts, the shadow of his only child appeared again.
Not merely a figure left behind in a grieving house, but a living wound, a pain demanding clarity from a father.
Those once-trusting eyes now transformed into mirrors, reflecting sharply, questioning every absence, every void, every excuse left unspoken.
Shaqar knew—no matter how many flowers were sent, no matter how many childhood sweets were delivered—none could erase the truth, none could cover the fact that he had not stood beside his wife when her soul departed this world.
And chose to unite with Ishikarakarta.
Too great a weight to be repaid by symbols, and for that reason every action now felt fragile, like a thread that could snap at the faintest tug of hatred never fully gone.
Gratefully, amidst the suffocating dark, another presence appeared—so startling, so unexpected.
A son-in-law, a man who now stood where Shaqar could not, at the side of his only child.
A gaze full of understanding was not mere sympathy, but recognition—an acknowledging nod that what Shaqar had fought for carried broader meaning.
In the quiet of communication, Shaqar felt a faint warmth, like a thin blanket shielding the soul from the storm.
To be continued…