Chapter 74 #5
Zion was so horrified he couldn't find the right words. Serguei understood and spoke again before his time ran out:
“There's a letter in the cabin office, inside a red book.” He paused, struggling to breathe, growing paler by the second. “You must deliver it to Daena.”
“Who is Daena?” Zion asked, feeling torn apart.
“A… friend?” The statement came out as a question. “You know her. When I'm gone, you'll remember.” Serguei's words came out labored. His lung was destroyed, and so was his heart. Either could give out at any moment. “Find her and deliver the letter.”
“Where is she?”
“In Insaad, your mother's city,” he answered, breathless. “Take Kyller. You'll be safe there.”
“I can't go without you. Isn't this what you trained me for? So we could go together when the time came?”
Zion was in agony. This was what Serguei had always told him during his childhood—that he should learn everything and become the best to protect his people.
Then the two of them would find a way to leave Interion together.
A stupid memory from when he was ten, when he was still too innocent to understand the man and foolish enough to ignore the blood pact with the king.
“No, boy. I could never go there. My place was always here, protecting our people from afar. But you… you're the heir to your mother's throne, and the city awaits your return. Daena only lent you to me for a time so I could teach you everything I knew. It was your mother's wish.”
Zion shook his head, refusing to hear it, and clung to Serguei's vest with all his strength. That vest was the only thing that had kept the chain from piercing father and son at the same time.
“No!” the general protested like a frightened child seeking comfort. “Don't talk nonsense. We'll get to the hospital, and everything will be fine.”
Sweet lies to soften the painful truth. Deep down, he knew his father was already beyond saving, and no one was coming to help them.
“Don't cry… child. I'm ready…” Serguei coughed, blood trickling from his lips. “I've been ready for decades.” Tears filled his eyes, and Serguei held him tight.
Zion simply couldn't obey that command. He collapsed against the chest of the man he had never been able to understand. The pain tore him in half.
“I love you… son.” Zion curled up like a pup at the revelation. He didn't want to hear that, not now, not when everything was falling apart. Still, those words carved deep into his soul. “You gave meaning to my life when I didn't deserve one… I know it's late for this conversation…”
“Don't say that,” he shouted through his tears, holding his father's body, which was beginning to go limp in his arms.
The psychic's eyes softened and shone with warmth, despite the violent rain and the death already lurking.
“Promise me you'll live a life without regrets, boy.” Serguei coughed, and his whole body shook in a spasm. Then his hand traveled up Zion's chest and came to rest over his heart. “Live by the desire in your heart… Protect our people… Protect our Kyller.”
Zion grabbed his hand against his chest and squeezed, unable to make any sound but sobs.
“Promise.” He coughed again, and his chest barely moved. There were no stars, no moon. Only the storm raging above, reflected in his eyes.
“Without regrets,” Zion answered, feeling shattered. He watched Serguei's chest rise one last time.
“I have nothing more to teach you, child…”
Zion felt it. He felt death lurking in the forest shadows, could see the tendrils clinging to Serguei's body. Time had run out. His father had always warned him it would. The psychic looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
“My…” His voice faltered, barely a whisper. The sound of raindrops drowned out the words, and lightning still cut across the sky, making the life in Serguei's eyes shine as if it weren't ending. “Son.”
The strong hand went limp, and the body slackened in Zion's arms. He watched it all in a state of profound horror and grief.
“Father,” he called, squeezing the man's cold hands. “FATHER…”
Something clicked in his mind. Again, Zion screamed at the force with which the memories returned. Not only his own stolen memories, but also a massive flood of information from the psychic's mind, a final transfer: Serguei was passing on the knowledge of an entire lifetime.
Abruptly, Zion locked that door; he didn't have the headspace to deal with it now. Trapped in his spiral of pain, he continued calling for his father, for his trainer, for his protector, for his master, but time had run out.
The rain continued to fall, and Zion remained hunched over the lifeless body, crying and calling for his father like the child he once was. He didn't scream, as Serguei had when he lost Ravena, because screaming was the way of storms, and Zion was not a storm. He was an ocean.
So he just stayed there, begging for the man who would never return. He felt like waves breaking on the shore, calling to the sand in hopes of recovering all the particles lost to time. He let the salt of his tears carry everything away.
“Father…”
He had discovered the weight of the word, but it was too late.