❝ We must be prepared to sacrifice the few to save the many that will come after us. ❞
[book 2]
The Grey Bloods may have dwindled in number, but the creatures still gnaw at Muovea, threatening the small measure of peace that was won when the Grand D...
Miriam finds him as he's folding clothes into a case, the pressed materials more clothing stitched by his father's loving hands. He shouldn't be taking them into the Dead Lands with him, the clothing is wasted there, but he can never seem to resist the pieces that remind him of the life he could have had.
"So, you're leaving again?"
Oliver nods, tucking a pocket-watch into his dark grey waist-coat, the chain looping around one of the buttons. "I've got a lot of men being paid a lot of money to go beyond the walls waiting on me."
"Is that all this was?" she asks, her voice strained. She doesn't move closer to him, perhaps not wanting to even breathe the same air as him.
News travels fast when people like Ivan die the way he did and an empire like the one the Ronavics had built crumbles to nothing.
"Soldiers and money? You didn't give a fuck about the family you left here thinking you'd died in the war."
"Miriam," he starts, turning to her. "You and Theo won't be safe until the Reaper's Curse is gone. The Ronavics may be dealt with, but there's still work that I need to do."
Her chin juts out the same way it did when he and Anika were sent to the war. She fights the tears, but her struggle is painted across her features and it tears Oliver apart. "Why you? Why not someone else?"
He can't possibly tell her the abundance of reasons why it has to be him. What he helped do to Igorek and Parshin—to this continent—he'll spend his entire life paying for and it still won't be enough. All he's accomplished in his years is bleed suffering into the world. It's still all he bleeds.
But he can't tell his sister about every awful thing he's done because she'll never be able to look him in the eye again.
"People are waiting for me. I need to go." He closes his case and grips it until his knuckles turn white.
"Oliver—"
"I'll be back, Miriam," he says, spinning on his heel to face her, to face her judgement and the life he could have had if he hadn't been such a vengeful fool.
Now he must live with where the consequences landed him. He must continue onward like he did with the Ronavics, with the duke, in the war, as an exile. Keep marching, because returning to how things were isn't an option. No matter how much he wishes it was.
"I promise."
She stares at him, her glittering, sterling eyes saying all the words she wants to speak. In the end, she just nods and wraps her arms around herself.
Oliver reaches the door, but pauses before opening it. "I'm sorry, Miriam. For everything. For Anika, for you. I'm just... I'm sorry."
"I know."
Then he's out the door, once again leaving his family behind to march to war.
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