Chapter 1765: Years |
The next few years were difficult ones.
Atticus spent them going through all sorts of emotions. First came emptiness. Crying in his grandmother’s arms allowed everything he’d been keeping inside to burst out, leaving him hollow.
After that came guilt. That day, he’d finally realized how much blood stained his hands. He’d thought he was unfazed, that he’d made peace with it, that it had all been necessary, but the lie had shattered.
Every day after that, he was plagued by the deaths of the people he’d killed. He became silent, isolated himself, and spent his time alone, thinking.
Soon after came shame.
He was the sole Primordial of the world. A thought, a snap of his fingers, was all that was needed to bring them back.
But Atticus knew, from the moment he’d wept on that hillside, he wasn’t going to do that. Through the silence, he realized that the blood on his hands haunted him. It would always haunt him. Yet he still believed this was the only path to true peace.
At the end of it all, he had chosen his family and forsaken the world. It was his burden to bear, and he decided to carry the cross.
Yet the isolation only lasted for a while before the overwhelming love of his family tore straight through it.
Whisker was especially guilty of it. He would saunter over like it was the most natural thing in the world, then casually spill hot gossip about everyone, things he absolutely shouldn’t know.
His mothers were even more relentless. With Ilyshkara, Anastasia, and Grace practically living in the same place, family dinners became compulsory.
Atticus watched the three mothers across his life grow closer. They had practically become best friends. Raising him had somehow given them an endless supply of things to talk about, and they never seemed to run out.
Atticus watched his family chatter around the long table. Ozeroth and Whisker were bickering. Ozerra was enthusiastically recounting one of her grand exploits to his sister Freya.
His mothers chatted among themselves, smiling all the while. Grandma Freya quietly slipped vegetables onto Magnus’ spoon. His grandpa frowned, but one look from her was enough for him to begrudgingly eat them. Caldor was dramatically narrating one of his adventures with a past flower to Ember, Aurora, and Zoey.
Atticus took it all in. The love. The peace. They filled him with boundless warmth. This... this was the reason he’d worked so hard. Why he’d sacrificed. These peaceful moments... he never wanted them to end.
Without realizing it, he smiled.
"Ah, you’re smiling!"
Beside him, Anorah blurted it out louder than she’d intended. Every head turned toward him. Yet Atticus didn’t care.
He laughed, loud and unrestrained. Even as his family stared at him like he’d suddenly lost his mind, he didn’t stop.
Soon, Whisker joined in, cackling like a lunatic. Ozeroth, refusing to be outdone, burst into laughter as well. One by one, everyone around the table began laughing.
That day was the first time Atticus had smiled since breaking down on the hill.
After that, he began joining in activities without anyone asking him to. He cooked, played, joined his family during movie nights. For the first time in his life, he lived without any burdens. And he loved every bit of it.
As the years passed, so did his relationship with Anorah deepen. He apologized to her profusely once again for leaving her and promised never to do so again. This time, she accepted on one condition, that he dance before the entire family. Atticus agreed.
The day went down as one of the most embarrassing of his life.
After that, their bond only deepened. He took her on dates. They spent time together, laughed, and simply enjoyed each other’s company.
He met her family for the first time. Her father, Zenon. Her beautiful mother, Lila. Her stern grandfather, Borus.
While both her parents welcomed him warmly, her grandfather, under the guise of bonding, led him somewhere more secluded before fixing him with a stern look.
"Listen, I know all about that Primordial, strongest-in-the-universe bullshit. Couldn’t care less. You make my granddaughter cry, and I’ll rip your dick off. We understand each other?"
Atticus found the man oddly endearing. He was exactly as Anorah had described him.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now quit standing there. Use those fancy Primordial powers for something actually useful and make me some damn good wine."
Atticus, a Primordial, made the best damn wine the man had ever tasted.
They ended up bonding over the drink, with the old man eventually declaring Atticus his son and announcing his intention to adopt him.
Anorah had very respectfully, not so respectfully, told him he could not adopt her man. Atticus hadn’t thought the man was capable of looking disappointed.
Atticus took the brave step during the fifth year. Before everyone, during a family dinner, he got down on one knee and said the words.
"Will you marry me?"
His mothers stared at their son as though he were a complete stranger. Still, all Atticus saw was the beautiful woman standing before him. She smiled brightly, practically bouncing as she nodded.
"Yes!"
Their wedding had been small, attended only by family and close friends. It was held on the beach. Atticus kissed his bride as the pale sunset painted the horizon behind them.
It had been a beautiful day, and he’d never been happier.
Not long after, he found himself lying atop a hill. Anorah rested on his chest as they quietly watched the setting sun.
"Hey... you’re still interested in having the... thirty?"
Anorah turned to him and frowned.
"...You’re backing out?"
He could hear the concern in her voice.
"No! No, I just..."
"Then what?"
"...I was just thinking... maybe we should start."
Anorah’s eyes slowly widened.
"...Really?"
The look on her face made him slightly nervous.
"Yeah. Only if you’re ready. If you’re no—"
"I am!"
Anorah abruptly stood up, scooping him into a princess carry.
"...What are you doing?"
"What does it look like? We’re getting started."
Atticus felt a sudden sense of impending doom.
What had he done?