Chapter 85
In his mind, a scene flashed that was almost like punishment.
He was kneeling before Miara.
Not because he wanted pity, but because he realized the magnitude of the sins he had piled up over the years.
The image made his throat feel tight.
Shame, regret, and unspoken love blended together, flowing uncontrollably.
He no longer felt like a great captain, or a formidable soldier of Xirkushkartum.
He was just a man—a father who came late, apologized late, and was too afraid to love properly.
A long, slow, and heavy breath escaped from his chest, as if every inhale and exhale carried a bitter memory to release.
He drew the cold air deep into his lungs, held it for a moment, then exhaled again with a tremor that could be heard clearly.
It repeated, like a small ritual to calm a soul already shattered by regret.
Between these moments, Apathy's words echoed—faint promises that he would not let Shaqar bear that burden alone.
And there, little by little, the fear began to crack.
From his trembling body, from the wildly beating heart, emerged a sliver of courage so strange, yet real.
Finally, with heavy but steady steps, Shaqar lifted his face.
Lantern light fell upon the deep lines of his face, carved by time, impossible to erase.
He nodded slowly, a simple movement, yet holding a meaning as vast as the world.
His voice came out after a long pause, hoarse and trembling, but strong enough to break the silence hanging in the air.
An agreement was reached.
He accepted Apathy's offer, though his entire being was still wrapped in doubt.
But he spoke one condition, in a tone more like a plea than a command.
That later, when he faced Miara, Apathy must be the voice of his heart—conveying everything he could not say himself.
'Miara has every right to hate.
And I deserve all forms of her anger and curses.
Because in the course of life, I always prioritized the sword over my own family.
In the name of protecting the Satanic community and fighting for a safe world.
But the truth is, I cannot guarantee my own family's happiness.
Huuuuh!
Every time I wore the Xirkushkartum robe, I felt proud and useful.
Yet every time I chose not to return home, I carved a new wound in Miara's heart.
I understood the impact perfectly, yet continued to avoid it, whispering to myself that it was all for the greater good.'
Haaaaah!
'When my beloved wife died, I could not be there to see her off.
My body was taken by missions and meaningless pride.
Therefore, Miara had to bathe and bury her own mother.
And I arrived only on the ninth day, acting as if the wound I left wide open never existed.'
Faaaaaah!
'What if Miara no longer wants to look at my face?
What if my arrival awakens old wounds that she has spent years healing?'
Shaqar sat amidst the coldness, and the unease pressed on his chest harder than the armor he once wore on the exorcism battlefield.
Thoughts of risk and consequence flooded his mind—every step toward Miara's house now felt like walking along a slippery cliff where one mistake could plunge him deeper into rooted regret.
He remembered his ambitions in his thirties, when joining the Xirkushkartum exorcism team felt noble.
Protecting the Satanic community, restraining the Holy Beings and Angels from the hands of the cursed minions of Esa, while helping support the family's economy.
But the price of all that dedication was increasing distance from home, from his own family.
Every success, every award earned on the battlefield or in official meetings, was never celebrated amidst the warmth of home.
He existed in the world, but not for the people he loved most.
Those thoughts generated a heavy sense of guilt, as if black smoke encircled his soul.
He remembered the moments after his beloved wife's death, when Miara waited in the silent house, her eyes blazing with anger that could no longer be contained.
Eight full days Shaqar was absent, leaving no trace beside Miara's mother's body, no farewell to soothe his daughter's heart.
And when he finally appeared on the ninth day, it was not warmth that greeted him, but a thick, cold wall of hatred, towering between father and daughter.
All the sins he thought buried by time now resurfaced, more alive, demanding, unbearably torturous.
In the silence, Shaqar realized how fragile his courage was.
He knew that stepping into Miara's home was not just facing a child, but confronting a gaze of judgment so sharp it pierced all layers of his defenses.
Every word he would speak felt like a rusty sword that must be used with extreme care, every step like crossing a raging river that could engulf everything.
Fear mingled with regret, and at that point, Shaqar could only draw a long breath, trying to calm a heart torn between responsibility and fear of failing again.
Finally, he bowed his head, gazing at his own fragile shadow.
In the dense silence, one thing was clear.
Facing Miara was no longer about the courage of a captain or the strength of a soldier, but the courage of a father bearing all the sins of his past, yet still daring to try to make amends.
'Apathy, perhaps you are right.
It is impossible to keep hiding behind fear that has become unreasonable.
If I keep waiting for the perfect moment, Miara will grow older without a single word of apology from me.
And I will age further without ever knowing what it feels like to embrace my child with a completely relieved heart.'
Yiiiiiihh!
'You promised to accompany me, even to become the substitute voice if my tongue fails before Miara.
It sounds ridiculous, a father needing a voice-giver just to apologize to his own child.
But perhaps that is exactly what I truly need right now.'
Fuuuuus - fuuuuus!
'If someone must push me out of this freeze, let it be you, Apathy.
I will take the step, trying my best.
Even if Miara still looks at me with hatred, at least this time I appear physically, not hiding behind cheap justifications I've always called dedication.'
Buuuuk!
'Let's begin this step now, before my spirit fades midway.'
Shaqar stood for a moment, swallowing all the tremors in his chest and the doubts pressing his mind.
In his heart, he weighed every possibility, combing through one by one the risks that might arise, and gauging the benefits that could be gained.
These thoughts were not merely the cold calculations of a captain or a soldier's strategy, but a silent dialogue between regret and hope long buried inside him.
Almost eight out of ten scenarios he considered led to a similar path.
Although risks lingered, the benefits far outweighed them, giving Shaqar a chance to redeem himself, to repair a relationship nearly broken with Miara, and perhaps to rediscover the part of himself that had been lost all this time.
With that awareness firmly planted, his heart raced.
Not from fear, but from something more genuine.
Determination.
He knew this opportunity would not come twice, and if he delayed further, the wall between him and his daughter would only grow higher.
To be continued…