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The helicopter is gone, engulfed in grey and orange. The voice at the other end of the line had already fallen silent.
Yet, Khureshi Ab'raam stands there, quietly, with his hand lowered by his side, but still clutching the phone.
“A brother… for a brother.”
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Stephen was never one for self loathing before. Perhaps, once, when the world was smaller and his skin was thinner, he had felt the bite of it. When he was a young boy, and when Priya's eyes still narrowed with contempt that mirrored her mother's. When tongues wagged regarding his mysterious origins. He had learned to bury the sting of hurt and embarrassment, to stop caring. He built himself in a way no trivial rumor could touch him.
But as the wreckage burns and submerges to the sea, and as his brother's body goes down with it, he feels that familiar yet foreign sensation return, a feeling he thought he had left behind in the dirt of his childhood.
How could he have been so blind?
He should have seen this coming. Every action bore a price--a cosmic tax that was always collected in blood. He knew this. Yet, he struck without thought. He should have planned this out through, accounted for every angle and consequence. He should have...He should have-
His gaze shifts to the man with his back towards him; Zayed. He still stands tall, still commanding his men.
Still breathing. Still alive.
He feels relief flooding him. 'At least Zayed is still here'. That is good. More than good even.
But guilt soon takes over him. Jathin is dead. The boy who once fondly called him 'chetta' is dead. Even moments before his death, his first word to him was 'chettan'.
Stephen never hoped for such an outcome. For all the tension, and for all the betrayal and the political maneuvering, Jathin wasn't a monster. The boy wasn't completely stupid. He was aware that the boy would not lift a finger against him or Priya following Stephen's caution. Deep down, Jathin still loved his chettan and chechi. He could have been saved.
Priya soon comes to his mind, intensifying his guilt . She was always closer to Jathin. Their bond was strong, even after he was sent to the US for his studies.
What would she do when she learned the truth? What would happen when she realized their little brother had died because of Stephen’s carelessness?
She will go looking for a brother only to find a ghost. And when she looks to Stephen for the truth, she’ll find herself staring at the architect of that ghosthood.
For the first time in a long while, he doesn't know what to do. The sea still smokes where the helicopter sank, the wind carrying a scent of ash and salt. The silence of the coastline is louder than the explosion. It rings in his ears, a high, thin note that pierces through his head.
He cannot give up, he decides. He has come too far. He has built this empire, with blood, sweat and tears, and sheer will and wit. He is not letting everything crumble down so soon. Not when the Shen triad prowls about, nor while his homeland remains vulnerable to their onslaught.
He straightens his coat, the fabric crisp against the humid air. The grief is there, a heavy stone in his chest, but he pushes it down beneath the layers of Khureshi Ab'ram. He cannot afford the luxury of mourning. The world is watching, after all.
The battle has only just begun. And Stephen, for all his sins, was a man who knew how to finish what he started.