Guilt (Part 2)

The Life of Aurelius Valemont: Guilt (Part 2)

Then Father said, "Fennec Fox."

His voice was deep. Commanding.

The boy dropped to one knee, head bowed. "Yes, My Lord?"

Father didn't look back at me when he spoke.

"You'll be my son's assistant. Guide him. Introduce him to the empire."

"Yes, My Lord," the boy answered.

And just like that, Father turned.

With Luciana in his arms, he walked away—leaving me here.

She looked back.

Her eyes were hollow, almost lifeless, but… worried.

For me.

It hurt.

It burned like acid in my chest.

The guilt again.

Strangling me from the inside.

But I stood still.

Didn't move. Didn't speak.

The boy stood and faced me. "This way," he said.

His voice was still that of a child. Soft. High.

But the way he moved—disciplined. Too quiet.

Too trained.

As we walked, he spoke without looking back.

"We don't use names here. Just rank, title, or canid type. Like me—Fennec Fox.

Lord Victor gave me that name."

I barely listened.

The world around me was too loud.

This place was massive—like a whole city underground.

Full of people. Working. Living.

All of them criminals.

"What if I call you 'Lord of Espionage' instead?" I said coldly.

I didn't care. Didn't want to care.

No attachments. No kindness.

"You can," he replied. "But most just call me Eleventh.

That's how Pillars talk. We use numbers."

Numbers.

Stripped of names.

Stripped of humanity.

"How did you become a Pillar?" I asked, still in monotone.

He paused slightly—surprised, maybe.

No one ever asked him that.

"I was an orphan," he said after a moment. "Lived on the street.

First found me. Took me in. Then Lord Victor saw my talent."

"First? You mean Alpha?"

He nodded.

We kept walking in silence after that.

Until we reached what looked like… a tunnel.

Plain. Dim. Humid.

"This is the 24th quarter," he said. "Twelfth's personal quarter."

I blinked.

A tunnel?

"This is where Bush Dog lives?" I muttered.

So this is it.

This is what it means to be a Pillar.

To lead.

To rule.

Through dirt. Darkness. Blood.

This isn't power.

This is slavery with a crown.

And now, I wear that crown too.

We walked again, the silence between us heavy. Our steps echoed in the wide underground halls.

We stopped at the next section—Quarter Twenty-Three.

"This is the 23rd Quarter," the boy said, his tone colder now. "It belongs to the Twelfth Pillar. His men live here."

He pointed toward a massive structure—part-facility, part-barracks. It was buried deep beneath the estate above us. I could hear distant hums of machinery, voices, footsteps. Thousands lived here, worked here.

"Jungle Pathfinders," he listed flatly. "Lab smugglers. Tunnel engineers. Bio-weapon couriers. The teams that build secret bases across the world."

I looked again at the structure. There were guards, soldiers, workers, and scientists… all wearing the same symbol—a snarling bush dog head.

"So twelve of the twenty-four quarters are divisions," I muttered, piecing it together, "and the other twelve… the Pillars' personal quarters?"

He didn't respond. Just nodded and kept walking.

The halls stretched on, full of life. If you could call it that.

I passed people of all kinds. Tech smugglers, black market doctors, trained killers, arms dealers. Each person moved with purpose—no wasted steps, no hesitation.

Each division wore their own uniform. Some had armbands. Others had their symbol stitched across the back or chest. All of them belonged to something. Someone.

Bush Dog's division wore a patch with a snarling, feral face.

It was organized. Controlled. Like a twisted military state.

Each Pillar didn't just hold power—they ruled. Their own cities beneath the earth. Their own armies.

VARAK wasn't just a criminal empire.

It was a nation of monsters.

And I was born into it.

The Second Prime.

What a cruel joke.

We kept walking until the boy stopped in front of a large building. Above the entrance was a sharp, minimalistic logo—Fennec Fox. Beneath it, the Roman numeral XI.

He turned to me, voice steady. "This is my quarter. The Twenty-Second."

I stared up at it. It was tall, wide, and heavily guarded. Massive for someone who's just eight years old.

Then he pointed to the next building, standing right beside his personal quarter. It was just as large. The sign above bore the same fox emblem—only this time, surrounded by shifting lines that mimicked a network.

"This is my division," he said as we moved forward. "The Twenty-First Quarter."

He didn't sound proud. He just stated it as fact.

"Multi-purpose spies, informants, double agents, interrogators, data analysts… and even civilians I hired to listen and spread gossip."

His pace didn't slow.

"There are thousands of them. So don't underestimate me."

He looked over his shoulder at me for a second. His tone was cold, clear—like he had to remind me, like he's had to remind others before.

I didn't say anything.

We kept walking, the hum of machines and murmurs from the quarters around us filling the silence. This wasn't just a child.

This was the Eleventh Pillar.

And I'd just been thrown into a world where even a child could hold the weight of an empire.

We stopped in front of another towering structure. Roman numeral X was carved at the top, right above a sleek symbol—bat-eared fox.

"Tenth's quarter," the boy said flatly. "He lives here."

The building gleamed with lights and pulses. It looked like something out of another world—machines lining the walls, windows tinted black, and strange antennae jutting from the roof.

We walked again, and the next building was even more advanced.

"This is his division," the boy continued. "The Nineteenth Quarter."

It was a fortress of technology.

"They handle all of VARAK's systems. Hackers. Surveillance experts. Communication jammers. AI and neural net developers. Digital forgers."

He didn't slow down as he spoke.

"They're the unseen ghosts. The ones who can erase your name, wipe your records, even change the past on paper."

I glanced at the building—cold, glowing, humming with silent power.

Twelfth might lead the jungle. But these people ruled the digital wilds.

We walked further, deeper into the underground city. VARAK's base seemed endless.

"This is just the main base, Second Prime," the boy added suddenly. "There are more. Bases in other countries. Each with their own teams. But this… this is the heart."

It didn't make me feel special.

It made me feel trapped.

Eventually, we reached another zone—the Eighteenth Quarter.

"This is Ninth's quarter."

At the top of the old, crumbling building, a Roman numeral IX. The logo of an Ethiopian wolf bared its teeth, and beneath it, words painted in bold red: Warlord of Assassins.

It looked like an abandoned apartment complex—worn down, chipped paint, silent windows. But the air around it was sharp. Deadly.

I didn't want to know what was inside.

We kept walking. As expected, the next structure loomed ahead.

"Seventeenth Quarter. Ninth's division."

This building was darker, quieter. The kind of place you don't walk past twice.

"He leads the global assassination network," the boy said. "Snipers. Poisoners. Clean-up agents. Tactical trainers. Medical corpse disposal teams."

He turned his masked face to me, voice colder than before.

"They don't just kill. They erase."

I stayed quiet. I had to.

Because suddenly, I wasn't sure if I was walking through a base…

Or through graves that were never marked.

We kept walking. Then we stopped in front of a massive tent.

It wasn't just any tent. It looked like a military base set up for war—tough fabric stretched over steel beams, armed guards stationed nearby. At the top, a Roman numeral VIII, and a logo of a Dhole.

"This is the Sixteenth Quarter," the boy said. "Where Eighth lives."

Just one man, living inside all that.

We moved on. The next space opened up into an enormous training zone—full of barracks, weapons crates, armored vehicles, and endless rows of tents.

"Eighth's division. The Fifteenth Quarter."

He didn't slow down.

"He commands the foot soldiers. Ex-military criminals. Enforcers. Guerrilla fighters. Riot units. Interrogation squads."

I saw hundreds—no, thousands—of uniformed figures moving in formation, training like they were born for war.

"They're feared all over the world," he added. "They are VARAK's paramilitary."

Artificial grass covered the floor. Lights above mimicked the sun. It looked like they lived in a war zone... underground.

We moved on again.

The next building was simple. A house. Peaceful. Maybe the first normal-looking structure I'd seen.

At the top: Roman numeral VII. A maned wolf logo. And a sign:

Diplomatic Ghost

"This is Seventh's quarter," the boy said. "Fourteenth of twenty-four. Don't be fooled by how it looks."

I took another glance. It felt off. Too quiet.

Then we came to the next one—much larger. A mansion surrounded by smaller buildings.

Thirteenth Quarter.

The same maned wolf logo, bigger this time, stamped into the wall.

"This is his division," the boy said. "He leads negotiators. Diplomats. Black market brokers. Corporate spies. Face-cleaners. Masked delegates. Even fake politicians."

He paused.

"They smile when they destroy. And they don't get caught. Seventh rules them."

I stared up at the structure.

It looked polished. Expensive. Safe.

But it wasn't.

Not here. Not in VARAK.

We arrived at the next quarter.

A tea house.

It had plants, a blooming garden, a still lake that reflected the soft glow of artificial light. The air smelled faintly of lavender. For a second, it felt peaceful—almost like we weren't underground.

But I knew better.

At the top of the tea house was a Roman numeral: VI. Next to it, the logo of an Arctic Fox. Underneath, three letters carved into stone:

MOD

Mistress of Disguise

"This is the Twelfth Quarter," the boy said flatly. "Sixth's personal quarter. Don't be fooled by what it looks like. Even the plants have cameras."

We kept moving.

The next area looked like an etiquette school—elegant doors, white tiles, curtains fluttering like it was a boarding school for the rich.

"This is the Eleventh Quarter," he continued. "Sixth's division."

His voice didn't change. Cold and matter-of-fact.

"She commands makeup artists. Impersonators. Speech coaches. Identity surgeons. Deep cover agents."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"They can walk into any world. Pretend to be anyone. Then vanish like smoke."

I glanced at the building again. It looked polished. Refined.

But underneath, it was a nest of phantoms.

We kept walking. The boy—the Eleventh Pillar—was still guiding me like some reluctant tour guide.

I could tell he hated it.

Being ordered to show me around like a servant probably bruised his pride. But it was Father's command, and just like me, he had no choice.

Still, he did his duty. Silent. Cold. Controlled.

Just like a proper Pillar.

But inside me, the weight kept growing. Heavier. Darker.

I couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding in. Yumi... Peter... Matthew...

They didn't deserve to die.

What have I done?

The guilt burned. It clung to my chest like chains. The urge to end everything was louder than my will to stay alive. But I kept walking.

I looked at the boy beside me. Still so young. Still so composed. The Eleventh Pillar.

What's your full story?

Then we stopped again.

He pointed ahead. "This is Fifth's personal quarter. The Tenth Quarter out of twenty-four."

It looked like a massive warehouse. The kind you'd pass by without noticing.

On top, a Roman numeral: V. A logo shaped like a coyote. Simple, clean. Too quiet.

We walked a little further until another building came into view.

"This is his division," he said. "The Ninth Quarter."

I raised my brows slightly.

It looked like a normal inn from the outside. Quiet. Almost cozy.

But I wasn't fooled.

"He leads the Border-hoppers. Underground transport drivers. Corrupt officials. Fence networks. Safe operators," he listed off calmly. "They're the smugglers of VARAK. The ones who know no borders, no limits. Fifth earned the title from Lord Victor himself—King of Smugglers or Underground Route King."

Thousands must live in there.

All hidden behind those quiet walls.

VARAK really is a kingdom of monsters pretending to be men.

We kept walking again and stopped in front of what looked like a castle—yes, a full-blown castle.

It was deep inside the underground estate, towering and elegant, with white stone walls, red banners, and tall stained-glass windows glowing with artificial light.

"This is Fourth's personal quarter," the boy said.

At the top was a sign: a red fox logo beside a Roman numeral IV. Right above it, golden letters spelled out: "Your Queen of Thieves."

"The Eighth Quarter," he added. "She lives here. Got a pretty fancy taste. Luxury is all she wants."

He sounded unimpressed.

We moved forward again, our footsteps echoing off the polished floor of an underground hallway. Then we reached what looked like a giant casino—bright lights, velvet carpets, gold chandeliers. It even had poker tables and slot machines. But I knew better. This wasn't for games.

"Her division," he said. "The Seventh Quarter."

"She's in charge of heist crews, con artists, artifact smugglers, casino riggers, forgery artists... They're the elegant thieves of VARAK. The ones who never get caught. Not even once."

He gave me a side glance. "She's tricky. Don't let her smile fool you."

This place... VARAK... it felt like its own twisted country. With its own rulers. Its own cities. Its own rules.

We continued to walk.

Then we stopped in front of what looked like a normal house again. But something about it felt… off. The air around it was heavy. Dangerous.

At the top of the house was a Roman numeral III and the logo of an African wild dog.

"This is Third's personal quarter," the boy said. "The Sixth Quarter."

We moved on to the next one. It looked like an abandoned mansion—windows broken, walls cracked, vines crawling up the sides. But I knew better. This wasn't abandoned at all.

"The Fifth Quarter," he continued. "Third's division. He rules VARAK's mercenary armies, rebel leaders, warlords, weapon suppliers, and military-grade engineers."

He paused for a moment. "This division is full of battlefield tacticians and berserkers. They don't just fight wars—they start them."

I could feel it. The power in this place wasn't just organized—it was deadly.

No wonder he's ranked Third among the Twelve Pillars.

VARAK wasn't a group. It was an empire. To destroy it… maybe even multiple countries wouldn't be enough.

We kept walking.

Soon, we arrived at a hospital. Not one above ground—this was deep inside the underground city of VARAK.

"This is Second's personal quarter. The Fourth Quarter."

Above the entrance was a Roman numeral II and the logo of a domestic dog. Beneath it, in bold, clean letters: "Pillar of Order."

We walked a little further, and another hospital came into view. But this one was massive. More like a fortress than a clinic.

A Roman numeral II again. But the logo this time showed the same dog, with a green cross.

"Second's division," the boy explained. "He leads the internal security force. Loyalty testers, healers, doctors, scientists, trauma cleaners, field surgeons. They run the black clinics."

I stayed silent.

"They're the elite agents of VARAK who ensure loyalty to the core. Loyalty to Lord Victor—our leader, and your father. We also offer our loyalty to the son of Lord Victor, Second Prime."

His tone was cold. Controlled. But something in his eyes told me he didn't say that lightly.

We kept walking until we reached the final personal quarter—the First Pillar's.

It looked… ordinary.

Just a convenience store. Packed with snacks, drinks, shelves stacked with everything from instant noodles to chewing gum. Fridges buzzing quietly in the background.

But at the top of the building, a Roman numeral I was carved into the wall. Beside it, the logo of a grey wolf, bold and proud. Beneath the logo, a single word:

Alpha.

A convenience store? Really?

Then I noticed him—behind the counter. Wearing a grey wolf mask marked with the same Roman numeral I. Quiet. Calm. Playing the role of a cashier.

"He used to be one," the Eleventh Pillar said. "A cashier. Before he joined VARAK."

His voice was softer here, like he was showing respect.

"No one really knows why his personal quarter looks like this… but we don't question it. Vukodlak—Lord Victor—gave him the title of Alpha. And that's all we need to know."

He glanced at the store with a small shrug.

"This is the Second Quarter. We still buy snacks here like regular people. And he's friendly—like a pup. But don't piss him off. He's not called Alpha for nothing."

I nodded, quietly watching the man behind the counter. The mask hid his face, but I could feel the power behind those still eyes.

We walked again. I glanced back at the convenience store one last time.

Then, we arrived at something much grander.

A hotel—massive, polished, regal. It looked like it didn't belong underground, like someone had carved a palace into stone. At the top, the same grey wolf logo and the Roman numeral I.

"This is First's division," the Eleventh Pillar explained. "The First Quarter."

He slowed his pace, turning toward me.

"This is where the Twelve Pillars gather. Our meeting hall—without Vukodlak."

I looked at the towering structure. The weight of it settled in.

"But now that you're here… it's different," he continued. "You're Second Prime. Vukodlak's second-in-command. You're not a Pillar, but you'll rule over us. Half of VARAK's authority belongs to you. First also ruled the mafias."

He paused.

"But only half. The rest still belongs to Vukodlak."

I took a breath. The truth was sinking in.

I wasn't just part of something dangerous.

I was now inside it. And soon, I might have to rule it.

The boy turned to me, still wearing his mask—the fennec fox one—marked with the Roman numeral XI. It hid his face completely.

"So, to give you a summary," he said, voice flat but steady, "each Pillar's personal quarter reflects their own preference. Vukodlak gave us that freedom—to build whatever we wanted, as long as it benefits VARAK and doesn't break the rules here."

He paused, tilting his head slightly, as if remembering something.

"Like First. His quarter looks like a convenience store. Strange, yeah? But we don't judge. It's what he wanted. What matters is that it works for him."

His gaze shifted to the path ahead.

"As for our divisions, we train our men there. We shape them, make sure they belong. Our quarters may be personal, but our divisions? That's where the real work happens."

His voice dropped a little, quieter now.

"We don't have freedom from this underground. We live here, hidden from the outside world. But inside these walls… we're free to be ourselves. As long as we follow the rules. As long as we don't bring trouble or dissatisfaction to Vukodlak."

Then he turned away.

"I'm done playing tour guide," he said bluntly. "As per Vukodlak's command. I'll head to my personal quarter now, Second Prime."

He gave a small bow—barely more than a nod—then started walking away.

But something inside me stirred. The weight in my chest was still heavy.

I reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Wait," I said, voice low. "I have a question."

He tilted his head slightly. "What's the problem, Second Prime? Just ask."

I let go of his hand and sighed. "If Father—I mean, Vukodlak—gave you a mission… like, if he sent a Pillar on an outside task, you'd go, right? And take your entire division too?"

He adjusted his fennec fox mask, then gave a firm nod. "Yes. If any of us Pillars are assigned a mission by Vukodlak, we'll follow it. The whole division moves with us."

He paused before continuing. "But if First—Alpha—is the one given the mission, then all Pillars move out with their divisions. First leads us during those times. He's like the commander of the Pillars, though he doesn't have full VARAK authority. That still belongs to Vukodlak… and you."

He glanced at me.

"If someone disobeys First's command, he reports it straight to Vukodlak. Then punishment comes… from either Second Pillar or you or him. And everyone fears that punishment."

I blinked slowly, then sighed again. That pressure… it never really leaves me. The guilt still lingers deep. And now, I carry the weight of being Second Prime.

Then, he gently tugged at my sleeve. "What's your dream, Second Prime?"

I raised my brows. That came out of nowhere. So sudden. So… random. Was he always like this? Maybe he's just young. Maybe that's why he asks strange questions. Or maybe he's too curious for his own good.

He went on. "We all have dreams. I asked the other Pillars the same thing. They gave me honest answers. It's kind of… our thing here in VARAK."

He looked down.

"My dream is to be a journalist," he said quietly. "That's it. But I'm stuck here. I can't leave. I can't chase that dream."

He looked up again, eyes behind the mask unreadable.

"But it's okay. I'm a Pillar now. I have a duty—to lead my division, to follow Vukodlak's command. VARAK saved me. I would've starved to death if it weren't for them. First saved me."

That hurt. More than I expected. He's too young to be caught in this world… but already too mature to be his age.

I sighed. I didn't want to say anything. But if the other Pillars could be honest with him… I guess I could too.

"My dream…?" I echoed, thinking. "I don't know. I'm still… unsure."

I looked up, staring at the artificial sky VARAK programmed above us. The fake clouds. The soft glow of distant stars.

Then he tugged at my sleeve again. "Everyone has a dream. I don't believe that you don't. You're a grown man."

My eyes widened. That was so blunt it almost made me laugh. Still, he wasn't wrong.

I ruffled my hair, searching for something real. Then… a memory surfaced.

My mother.

Then Yumi. Peter. Philip. Matthew. Luciana.

My family.

I turned slowly to him. "I just want… a normal life. A normal family."

Silence followed.

Then he asked softly, "Like… with a wife and children?"

I choked. "What? No. Not like that."

I shook my head.

"I mean… people I can call family. People like Yumi, Peter, or Matthew. When they were still alive. Or when Philip hadn't escape or Luciana...if she hasn't taken by Father."

Still...the guilt is too much for me. I have no rights to say this. I was the reason who separate our bond with Luciana. I was the reason why Philip escaped. And... I was the one, the murderer, the killer of Peter, Yumi and Matthew. Calling them my family hurts especially if I was the one who took their lives. I don't deserve to be forgiven. I don't want to be forgiven and if no one forgives me, I deserve that kind of treatment. I was the reason why my world shattered into pieces. Because I played to be a hero for the sake of the entire estate.

I clenched my fist tight. My heart burns out of guilt. I wish I am dead. They don't deserve to die. It's supposed to me, I should die instead. I hate myself. I want to die.

He was quiet for a moment. Then his small, rough hand reached out and held mine.

He's been through a lot. I could feel it in his grip.

"Then… make me your family."

I blinked, my heart fluttered, caught off guard. "What?"

End of chapter 62.