Homecoming | sequel of "Home" [✔️]

Chapter 32

Ali brought his hand to his face, finger running along the bottom of his eye, and all he felt was droplets, a stream refusing to stop flowing.

For once, he didn't question himself, but his emotions were conflicting, stirring the beginnings of war in him.

He chuckled dryly, all for the ironic humor in his life. He'd tried so hard to suppress his emotions, in fear it might hamper his goals and growth as an immortal, but it was only now he realized that as an immortal, there was no growth, no matter what age they become one. There was only progress and change.

But now? All he wanted was to understand what he felt. That seemed so far away now, especially if everyone in his life left him once more, just like the day his mother died.

It was time to be independent. For Fang, for himself. No one would be there to see him back now, there was only him.

He looked back to the computer screen, Fang's visors never disrupting his vision. He's gotten use to the accessory after wearing IRIS before. It was something to remember Fang by, that he would always be by his side.

No matter how far in the future he would go.

With a sigh, he deleted any sign of his intrusion, and turned the screen back to project IRIS, as if his interference were nothing more than just a dream. A dream that they would soon forget, an illusion that would fade in time.

It was time to go, isn't it?

As his hands left the panel, already sensing his ache to return, to leave the source of his pain. His metal-soled boots dragged on the ground, but it created no ruckus, no indication of his presence.

He turned around, as if needing a fresh reminder of his hatred of MATA.

That's when he saw his father.

He was standing at the opposite of the computer, frozen in time. His mouth was ajar, hands crossed behind his back, as if discussing matters with other agents.

If he hadn't hesitated, he would have missed him.

Ali fell to his knees, his hands shaking, as if he lost all his energy to even stand on his own two feet. His eyes were wide, gaze fixed on the older man, who he could barely recognize, even if he felt so familiar. His hair had gray streaks, frown wrinkles forming between his eyebrows.

He'd lost weight, he wasn't wearing his glasses, but his beard was clean shaven, with no stray hairs. He was a completely different person, in contrast to what Ali had remembered him as the last time he visited Earth.

Every inch of him was trembling, but not from the cold. His back rose and fell from his rushed gasps, his hands covering his mouth, expression finally contorting to one of grief.

This is the weight of 12 years.

Why couldn't he get a grip? Every time he's trying to move on, to accept who he was, another wave of memories come flooding him, tripping him into an endless spiral of regret.

Yes, he won't see Fang again. Everyone he knew now would die off in eighty years, maybe shorter, and Earth would be nothing more than a stranger. He's lost so much, so why couldn't God just let him have this?

"Ali."

Ali froze, his entire body perking in fear.

There shouldn't be any sound, or anyone moving.

Stiffly, he turned his head, not bothering to wipe the tears. He already knew they won't stop, anyway.

"What happened?" Viktor asked.