It would, but it's the only way it can operate. We're a secret organization to begin with, in my world, I'm sure we'd be in some trouble if we lost more than just myself.
...yours will be safe with me, if I can count on the same from you.
[earlier on, she probably wouldn't have considered it. but especially after their last conversation-- if he's willing to put in the effort and help, if he's willing to help try to keep them safe, then she's willing to try to build more trust there. as long as he ends up actually upholding that, at least.]
People's regrets aren't to be treated lightly. Others have no business knowing them, unless you harm someone and it becomes relevant. Then I won't protect you, and I'll expect the same in return.
[Things are seldom so simple, after all.]
If you agree to these terms, I'll tell you my deepest regret.
[Despite his cold words just a second ago, he smiles at her answer.
But that expression quickly falls as he looks away to heave a heavy sigh.]
Guess I'll go first, then.
[It takes a moment of quietly breathing in, then out, then in before he leans over to Lucretia as far as his injured leg will allow, where he hesitates at her ear one last time. Shame is part of it, but the regret attached to the admission is like a chokehold. Finally, he whispers lowly:]
[oh. she would have expected someone with a long life like his to have plenty of opportunity for regrets, but-- to be honest, she hadn't really known just what to expect, given the way that he is. it certainly wasn't this, and his hesitation is immediately understood; her breath catches, a moment, before she exhales it slowly.]
Sieghart- [a brief pause, before she continues.] ...I'm sorry that you lost them.
[that comes first, because she knows how difficult it must be even when you don't consider it your fault.]
[The secret—is that what it is? Not really—is out, and he doesn't feel better about it. Talking about it never feels good. He lingers by her ear, feeling his heart thump heavily against his chest, before he pulls back with an uncharacteristically mild frown that borders on hollow.
His voice is low, subdued.]
. . . It was my fault. After all the kindness they showed me, I consigned them to oblivion with a simple mistake. I only survived, because I wasn't there when it happened.
[she's quiet for a few more moments, just... shifting to sit closer to him. touch week back at it again.]
...a mistake is exactly that, a mistake, but whether they were what we meant to happen in the end or not-- the consequences are what we live with. There's never any changing what we've done, only... doing what we can, afterwards. Trying to resolve the fallout of our decisions.
[sharing what he has-- that's enough. she isn't going to push him for more, but she is quiet for a few more moments.]
... but I do owe you an exchange, then.
[if she had her way, she wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone-- but she's not going to find out if the consequences would be worse.]
I should... explain a little more, first. The things the Bureau exists to protect the world from are-- they're seven extremely powerful artifacts known as the Grand Relics, and it would not be an exaggeration to call them weapons of mass destruction. Their power is-- immense. Enough to perform impossible feats of magic, to destroy entire towns if misused, and the corruptive power they hold means that they invariably are.
[she pauses for a long moment there, but-- then she leans in to whisper, her voice quiet.]
...I regret helping to make those relics, and-- everything that came of putting them into the world.
[It's easier to turn away and think about something else. If he does that, he doesn't have to think about the crushing guilt. Guilt is the word that comes to mind, though, when Lucretia whispers her regret and Sieghart draws back with a pensive mien.
He gives them a moment for the words to settle in the silence. Regretting the consequences of one's actions is a torturous type of guilt; this, he understands.
If only—]
. . . I see the need for secrecy now, and why you have to be in charge.
That's a part of why, yes. We knew the plan was dangerous, that these items would be a risk, but we had no idea what the true extent of their powers would be.
[they didn't realize just what they were dooming their world to, in their attempt to save it.]
... but they all thought that it was the best chance we had. I never wanted to create them, but I didn't-- I couldn't go against their decision.
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[she just. sinks a little more into the couch, it's been a long night.]
I've told you a little bit about the kind of work we do before, haven't I?
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About removing unknown dangers within the world?
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[the touch is nice, honestly. maybe that's just because of the week being the way it is, but it's a little reassuring.]
You saw the rule that was added earlier, didn't you?
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Do you think there'll be some sort of punishment if we refuse?
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Do you intend to refuse and find out?
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Does that mean you're offering?
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[earlier on, she probably wouldn't have considered it. but especially after their last conversation-- if he's willing to put in the effort and help, if he's willing to help try to keep them safe, then she's willing to try to build more trust there. as long as he ends up actually upholding that, at least.]
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[Things are seldom so simple, after all.]
If you agree to these terms, I'll tell you my deepest regret.
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I'm going to hope that you never do, or we're going to have larger problems than whether or not to share these with anyone else. But I'll accept that.
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But that expression quickly falls as he looks away to heave a heavy sigh.]
Guess I'll go first, then.
[It takes a moment of quietly breathing in, then out, then in before he leans over to Lucretia as far as his injured leg will allow, where he hesitates at her ear one last time. Shame is part of it, but the regret attached to the admission is like a chokehold. Finally, he whispers lowly:]
I . . . regret causing my brothers' deaths.
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Sieghart- [a brief pause, before she continues.] ...I'm sorry that you lost them.
[that comes first, because she knows how difficult it must be even when you don't consider it your fault.]
Will you tell me what happened?
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His voice is low, subdued.]
. . . It was my fault. After all the kindness they showed me, I consigned them to oblivion with a simple mistake. I only survived, because I wasn't there when it happened.
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...a mistake is exactly that, a mistake, but whether they were what we meant to happen in the end or not-- the consequences are what we live with. There's never any changing what we've done, only... doing what we can, afterwards. Trying to resolve the fallout of our decisions.
Do you regret surviving, Sieghart?
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[He falls quiet. He has many a regret of that time. Indeed, surviving when everyone else perished has to be one of them.]
I don't want to talk about it.
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[sharing what he has-- that's enough. she isn't going to push him for more, but she is quiet for a few more moments.]
... but I do owe you an exchange, then.
[if she had her way, she wouldn't breathe a word of it to anyone-- but she's not going to find out if the consequences would be worse.]
I should... explain a little more, first. The things the Bureau exists to protect the world from are-- they're seven extremely powerful artifacts known as the Grand Relics, and it would not be an exaggeration to call them weapons of mass destruction. Their power is-- immense. Enough to perform impossible feats of magic, to destroy entire towns if misused, and the corruptive power they hold means that they invariably are.
[she pauses for a long moment there, but-- then she leans in to whisper, her voice quiet.]
...I regret helping to make those relics, and-- everything that came of putting them into the world.
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He gives them a moment for the words to settle in the silence. Regretting the consequences of one's actions is a torturous type of guilt; this, he understands.
If only—]
. . . I see the need for secrecy now, and why you have to be in charge.
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[they didn't realize just what they were dooming their world to, in their attempt to save it.]
... but they all thought that it was the best chance we had. I never wanted to create them, but I didn't-- I couldn't go against their decision.
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[There's much and more to this story; Sieghart, however, chooses not to ask. He's only here to listen—not to intrude nor cast judgment.]
. . . It's as you've said. What's done is done. All that's left is to live with the consequences of our actions.
[And isn't that the most unfair part of it all? That they should get to live, while others don't.]
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