God Grave

Confessions pt3

‎"I had a sister," he said finally, the words coming without conscious decision. "Younger. Living in the coastal cities, if she's still alive. I haven't seen her in three years."

‎"Why not?"

‎"Because deserters can't exactly visit family without imperial agents showing up." He touched his corrupted neck, feeling the black veins pulse beneath his fingertips. "And because I didn't want her seeing me like this. Better she thinks I died in service than knowing I'm rotting slowly in the Expanse."

‎"Does she know what you did? What happened in that chamber?"

‎"No. I never told her about the missions, the operations. I only sent letters saying I was doing well, rising through ranks, making the family proud." Joren smiled bitterly. "She thought I was a hero, a proper imperial soldier protecting the empire from threats. She wrote back telling me about her studies—she's training to be a physician—about how she wanted to work in the outer territories helping people who couldn't afford expensive city physicians."

‎"She sounds like a good person."

‎"She is. Which is why I can't face her." Joren's voice roughened. "How do I look at someone who dedicates her life to healing and tell her I murdered children? That I followed orders like a good soldier and executed innocent people because my commanding officer said it was necessary?"

‎Petran was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You could tell her the truth. Let her decide how she feels about it."

‎"And destroy the one good thing I've got left? The memory of her thinking I was decent?"

‎"That's not your choice to make."

‎ Petran's voice was gentle but firm.

‎"What"

‎Whether she wants to know, whether she can handle the truth, whether she'd rather have a brother who's flawed and alive than a memory that's perfect and dead, is for her to decide, not you. Making choices about her life without asking what she wants, that's not protection, Joren. That's... that's what the empire does. Deciding for people what they're allowed to know, what choices they're allowed to make."

‎The comparison hit harder than Joren expected. Because the kid was right. He'd been so focused on protecting Merra from difficult truth that he hadn't considered she might prefer truth over comfortable lies. That he was treating her the same way the empire treated citizens—deciding what information they could handle, what choices they were allowed to make.

‎"She deserves to know you're alive," Petran continued, warming to his argument. "Deserves the chance to decide whether she wants a brother who's flawed but trying, or just a perfect memory of someone who never existed. You're taking that choice away from her."

‎"She might hate me."

‎"She might. But at least it would be her choice to hate you, not your choice to deny her the truth." Petran looked at him directly, young face serious in the starlight. Because not knowing is worse. Always wondering, always guessing. Your sister deserves better than that. Trust me, I know from experience."

‎Joren sat with that for a long moment, feeling something shift inside him. The kid was young, idealistic, hadn't seen enough of the world to be properly cynical yet.

‎But maybe that was exactly what made his perspective valuable.

‎"When this is over," Petran said, "when we reach wherever we're going—you should write to her. Let her know you're alive.

‎"Kid, when this is over, I'll probably be dead."

‎"Then write to her before it's over." Petran stood. You said you're trying to be better than your worst moment. This is part of that. Being honest with the ones you love, instead of protecting them from uncomfortable truths."

‎."

‎He rose, and disappeared into the darkness between the wagons, leaving Joren alone with his thoughts and the stars and the weight of confession.

‎Alone again, Joren resumed his watch. But his thoughts weren't on perimeter security or tactical threats. They were on a sixteen-year-old girl hugging him goodbye at a transport station, telling him she was proud, making him promise to write.

‎He hadn't written in three years.Maybe it was time to change that.

‎If he survived long enough.

‎