Chapter 90
Before him, Shaqar stood frozen.
He looked like a man who had lost his direction in the very path he should have memorized long ago.
Apathy's gaze sharpened, piercing through the layers of doubt that clung to his captain.
He immediately questioned what all of this was even for.
He watched how the body that once towered proudly on the battlefield now trembled because of a single image that might not even be real.
Apathy knew it was not the battlefield that frightened Shaqar.
It was the weight of regret that had aged inside his chest.
There was something buried behind every breath Shaqar took.
Something that refused to die even when all flames had long been extinguished.
He wanted to speak, but the air felt too heavy to be broken by words.
What remained was a single question hanging in the frozen air.
'Does Shaqar truly wish to widen a distance that should have been bridged by courage long ago?'
Silence stretched between them like an invisible veil closing every gap where honesty could slip through.
Apathy observed the captain's gaze, now devoid of the fire it once carried when war was still a reason to live.
Those eyes were dim now.
Covered in a fog of regret too thick to disperse.
Within Shaqar, perhaps there was a battle fiercer than any battlefield he had ever conquered.
A struggle between the desire to atone and the fear of failing once again.
Every step he tried to take felt like stepping over an abyss.
Every breath only widened the gap between him and a past that refused to forgive.
Apathy could see it.
He could feel the trembling anxiety that quivered at the tips of Shaqar's fingers.
A sign that the bravery once considered legendary now lingered only as a fading shadow in his dimming memory.
The ground beneath them was wet with leftover rain.
And the scent reminded Apathy of something broken yet still trying to live.
He knew Shaqar stood on the edge of a loss quieter than death.
The loss of the right to be called a father.
The loss of courage to face his past without bowing his head.
A bitterness hung in the air.
As if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for a decision that never came.
In that silence, Apathy felt pity but also anger.
Pity because he understood how heavy an unfinished guilt could be.
And anger because Shaqar allowed himself to drown in it.
In his eyes, Shaqar's suffering was no longer about Miara alone.
It was about a satanist who had spent too long hiding from the truth he knew he must face.
And for Apathy, that was the true defeat.
"Enough, Apathy.
I don't know what else to do!"
Tiiing!
My uncertainty gnaws at my heart.
Is this the right moment for a meeting?
After so long being a silhouette that provoked hatred, will my presence bring peace?
Tsuuuuf!
"I've lost my direction, Apathy.
Everything I planned was only a mask.
And when it was removed, it revealed my true face.
A coward."
Fiiiih!
"And the most shameful part is that I realize this cowardice still clings to me.
I know it's wrong, yet I am powerless to change it.
As if all the bravery I gained on the battlefield evaporates when I must face my own daughter."
The air inside the vehicle suddenly tightened.
It resembled an invisible net preventing any form of honesty from escaping too quickly.
Apathy, who had just thrown his last question, had not even managed to take a breath when the screech of brakes tore through the dusty road.
A sharp jolt shook the car.
A trembling vibration rose from the floor up to the seats.
It confirmed that something inside Shaqar had cracked.
The captain's hand moved quickly, rubbing his head again and again.
As if trying to wipe away a burden that had settled too long.
His breath was heavy.
Shaky between the silence that swallowed the engine's hum.
His eyes were empty.
Yet within them swirled a storm that no one could tame, not even himself.
He felt that every word Apathy had thrown at him was not merely provoking.
It stripped bare the most fragile part of him, the part he had tried so hard to hide.
Apathy turned slowly.
He stared at the side of Shaqar's face, now tightened by a tension almost painful to witness.
Behind the broad shoulders and the sharp jawline that once reflected a leader's courage, there was now only a satanist lost before a choice that should have been simple.
Inside that cramped cabin, time slowed.
The sound of the wind outside whispered like a reminder of how far they had walked.
Yet they were still chained to the same point.
Apathy saw how Shaqar's fingers trembled upon the steering wheel.
Not out of anger.
But fear.
Fear of a meeting that had not yet happened.
Fear of rejection that existed only in his mind.
Fear of himself, who still could not muster the courage to face the truth.
Every breath Shaqar exhaled marked a small defeat inside him.
A defeat to the shadows of the past that refused to vanish even as time moved on.
Shaqar bowed deeply.
He let his words escape with a hoarse voice filled with quiet despair.
He admitted he did not know what to do.
He did not know whether his next step would fix anything or open a new wound.
In his heart, he questioned all the courage he once took pride in.
He wondered for whom all those sacrifices had been made if, in the end, he remained a man trembling before his own daughter.
Something pressed against his chest.
A guilt that had aged and hardened into a stone lodged in the cavity once filled by courage.
He wanted to move.
He wanted to step forward.
But his body refused.
His mind and his heart marched in opposite directions.
One forced him forward.
The other begged him to stop.
In the chaos of it all, Shaqar could only close his eyes.
Trying to silence the voices inside his head that mocked his vanished bravery.
"I'm sorry, Apathy, I'm sorry."
The crying came without warning.
Without space between awareness and collapse.
Shaqar's tears streamed down in torrents.
As if a dam inside his chest had broken.
It washed away every piece of toughness he had built so painstakingly.
His shoulders trembled gently.
As though he were holding back a shaking that nearly turned into a scream.
His sobs were muffled.
Not loud.
But enough to make the air inside the car quiver softly.
It stirred every quiet corner left untouched.
He grabbed a tissue.
Wiped his face again and again.
But each breath summoned new tears that fell without control.
For years he held them back.
Pretended to be strong.
Convinced himself that the world did not need a crying Shaqar.
But today, beneath the dim light and the sky that looked heavier than usual, every defense collapsed.
Apathy said nothing.
He simply sat in his seat.
Silent.
Watching the man he once respected drown in a sorrow that seemed never-ending.
Every second ticked loudly in his ears.
The clock's hands moved slowly.
Counting time that felt far longer than it should.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And the silence grew even deeper.
Apathy knew there were no words fit for this moment.
No comfort that could contain such an immense loss.
So he chose silence.
He let the tears themselves become the most honest prayer from a man who had carried his burden for far too long.
To be continued…