Astar

Chapter 2. Saved in hope | Spe salvi

Quousque sub alio moveris? Impera et dic quod memoriae tradatur. Omnes itaque istos, numquam auctores, semper interpretes, sub aliena umbra latentes, nihil existimo habere generosi, numquam ausos aliquando facere quod diu didicerant. Scire est et sua facere quaeque nec ad exemplar pendere et totiens respicere ad magistrum.

How long shall you march under another man's orders? Take command, and utter some word which posterity will remember. For this reason I hold that there is nothing of eminence in all such men as these, who never create anything themselves, but always lurk in the shadow of others, playing the role of interpreters, never daring to put once into practice what they have been so long in learning. Knowing means making everything your own; it means not depending upon the copy and not all the time glancing back at the master.

— Moral Letters to Lucilius, Letter XXXIII

"Are you sure your relative was among them?" The professor holds my hand, his thumb running softly up and down while I remember how to breathe.

"My grandma told me about how her father was taken to the Fifth Felicora squad at the very beginning of the war. The dates are exactly the same. When they got to the territory of Cordia, that is — into this very forest — the whole squad lost all communication. They never reached Clarusburg and they were considered missing." I'm starting to shake again. "Animals, they didn't even tell anybody which squad was missing and wiped these people off the face of Earth."

The professor tightens his grip on my hand and puts his index finger on my pulse. It looks like a slightly unusual gesture, but back in school, the principal taught me to determine the state of the interlocutor in the same way, even with a simple handshake.

"I am so sorry."

I look up to him and see blue eyes filled with tears in front of me. He has just to blink once and they will pour down. One incident that rewrote my view of this man. Now I can see for sure that Hugh became a professional not just because he loves history; he cares about people.

"It's fine. How could you know? How could I know?"

"I knew."

I look around, as if I will finally see the source of the voice. Although I am clearly aware that it comes from within.

"What?" He asks me.

"Nothing. I... I think that's enough for today. I have a lot to think about, and I need to prepare well for the next time."

He lets go of my hand and begins to put the papers in a folder. While he wraps it with twine, I check my makeup.

"Be mentally prepared. You can handle the rest."

"Thank you." I get up and tie the belt of my coat. Without looking at him, I say, "Please don't tell anyone about what just happened."

"You have my word."

Without any desire to appear in front of people, I call a taxi. On the way home, I'm still in a trance, thoughts and visuals have filled all the pieces of my mind, until we slow down at a red light by a white building with tall columns. I look up at the coat-of-arms adorned in the center under the roof. The coat-of-arms of the Steel Legion, and this is their former General Staff. How fucking ironic. And suddenly I don't feel like crying at all. Attention has shifted from great-grandfather to the Steel Traitors — and I crave blood. They—

"Wait, we stopped here because you missed the turn?"

"No, there's road work, gonna take a detour."

"I see, thank you."