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May 15, 3014 — Blackspyre, Volkan, the Crescent
Father,
I just returned from a request for conversation with Lord Commodore Hollolas at Beacon. He sends his regards. He had some questions about myself, his daughter, and imparted to me that he wanted to see me act right and responsible.
It's a conversation that should have never had to been have to begin with.
I've exhausted myself with this…foolishness.
I'm not looking for a response. I'm not looking for a quick solution. I'm not looking for validation; fuck validation. This isn't some dumb fucking promise or some ploy at working towards something I want. This isn't some dumb-fucking entitled attempt at trying to ingratiate myself to you through apology.
I'll be home now. I'm done. Done. I'll be at the barracks working my arm instead of my mouth. Learning to shut the fuck up and keep my mouth closed will be good for me. For what it's worth though…I'm sorry. You made the only decision for me that you could.
Your son,
Nitrim
