“Everything I earned, I held long enough. I held everything long enough for my name —— our family’s name —— to be recognized. The best grades, the highest rankings, I set records! No one, not even Nero, came close to matching them. That was enough for mother, it should have been enough for you, as well.” But it wasn’t, and it had never been. He’d known that since his youth, but the reality of it had never begun to seep in until he’d entered adulthood: for every victory, there was a defeat —— for every accomplishment, there was a failure. The tight smile that he had previously managed to muster faded, and he couldn’t help but to flinch at the raising in his father’s voice. It hadn’t been a physical blow, but he felt it just as keenly as he would a raised palm. “Nothing I have ever done has made you proud,” he said coolly, “you’ve made that perfectly clear.”
As his father spoke, Tiberius’ gaze never once left the holo. Perhaps even one short year ago, the disownment would have meant something to him, would have given him cause to beg forgiveness and to rush home as his father demanded. But things were different. He was different. He sat up straighter, and squared his shoulders, “Very well.” he replied, and elected to ignore the strain that came along with his voice. “I’ve made my home here. I’ve made my family here. That’s more than the lot of you have ever given to me.” His knuckles had gone white from the tension of his grip, and it was no longer working to ground him. But, since the man before him was no longer his father, he saw no reason to keep himself in line any longer.
“I am a traitor. But I’m far from a coward. Maybe in your eyes, but not in the eyes of the rebellion. Not in the eyes of my wife, or my daughters. They matter to me. You don’t.” Another smile came to his features, though it bordered on grim. “I have never been your son. And with your own words, you’re not my father. I don’t want your name. Your name is nothing but blood and death, and I want no part of it any longer. So keep it, I’ll bear a new name.” And then, he laughed, dry and humorless. The threats didn’t scare him. Not one bit. “You know, Titus. That may very well be the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The mention of his other (no, now sole) son only served to intensify the foul taste in his mouth. Nero had seemed like he would be one to listen, to learn, to make up for the failures and mistakes caused by his elder brother. The one who would have given the Kallus name greater prominence in the Empire. Titus had even often fancied that if Nero continued down the path he was on, the boy might have gained a position on Coruscant. But that hope had been dashed and brought to ruination, just as all the others had been proven to be false. The bitterness of it all preoccupied the man’s thoughts so much that he stopped really listening to what Titus was saying. At least, until he heard two words he had not been expecting.
Very well. It was surprising to hear such acceptance. He had not been expecting a plea to take back the words, of course, far from it. But as he watched the projection of the man he had once called his heir draw himself up, even managing to muster some sort of air of dignity, a tiny sliver of respect that he had thought long-gone emerged. Truth be told, it was an insignificant piece, but in the moment, it was enough for Titus to consider undoing the outcasting of his boy. Perhaps there would be another way, if Tiberius could act like this in such a debacle, maybe there was hope for him...
But even before the moment passed, it faded once again, that piece of respect broken into shards that dissipated into vengeful anger. Had he not mentioned his wife and those worms they called children, it may have been sustained. Then again, that would only have served him in fooling himself. He had spoken the truth of things mere moments ago, and Tiberius, true to his nature, had embodied it too perfectly. Anything he could ever gain, he would lose. Whatever happened, the patriarch knew that it would be so with all things, and not just a father’s love (or the sense of it they had pretended to have between the two of them). “Then it is the last kindness I will ever show you.” His voice was venomous, almost feral, with a blazing wrath igniting his eyes as his fists shook. “What you falsely believe the rebellion to think is irrelevant in any case; you and they are cut of the same cloth. Do not speak to me of your whore or bastards. Shield them from my name if you will, but blood and death is all that awaits them. It’s what awaits you all. And when your pathetic movement is destroyed, when the traitors are rooted out and put to a well-deserved death, no measure of mercy or forgiveness will be spared for you. Not by me, not by Nero, not by your mother. You are nothing to us, just as we have clearly been to you for a long time now. And if our name dies, I will make certain it is known to be your doing. That you took everything from us. That you are nothing.”
If anything, the words were a waste of breath. Yet he could not resist having the last word, giving one last lecture, even if the wishes that the boy would realise his stupidity were spent. Calming himself as much as he could, he drew himself up again, steadying his breathing. “I suppose this is goodbye, then, unless you have more to say. But I believe we have made our respective positions perfectly known. So I will say goodbye to you, Tiberius, in the last display of civility you will ever receive. And all too soon, you will come to know the truth of all I’ve said.”
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