Oblivion Carry Weight Novels & Stories

"But you used to laugh first before anyone else got the joke. Before all of it got heavy." I thought about it before. Before everything. Before the weight of what I was and what my bloodline meant took up so much space that there wasn't room for much else. I had been lighter. I remembered that. I just hadn't thought about it in a long time. "I had a lot to carry," I said. Nate gazed at me. "I know," he said quietly. "I watched you carry it." I went completely still. Just seven words. But something in them landed differently from anything I'd expected. I'd heard sympathy before. I'd heard people say the right things. But this wasn't that.

The weight of everything I’d been handed, the burdens and the mysteries still waiting to be unraveled. I squared my shoulders, feeling the weight settle but not break me. The path ahead was daunting, but it was mine to walk. Let’s go win this thing.

“Of course I agree. That empire is ours too. We bled for it, built it, lost it, won it back. You can’t abandon it because four handsome idiots finally learned how to love you properly.” My chest tightened, and I looked away from my reflection to the waking sky. “I’m not abandoning anything. That’s the problem. I don’t know how to carry both.” Ivy went quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice had lost its teasing edge. “You carried everything alone because you had to. Your father died, the world turned cruel, Zach vanished, Marcus betrayed you and every person who came close either wanted to use you or take from you. So you became a place no one could enter without bleeding. It

"The lead voice bears thirty percent of the total regardless of participant number. That is my cost and I am choosing it." A woman in the third row said, "And after." "After," Nadia said, "the entity is gone. Completely and permanently. Not contained, not managed, not running through anyone's bloodline or anyone's willing chest. Gone." She looked at the woman who had asked. "And the network carries the fragment forward distributed. Every soul here becomes a partial carrier. The weight that one soul has been carrying for three hundred years becomes something forty-seven souls carry together in fractions so small none of you will feel it as a burden."

Lucian's eyes turned black. The Silence moved behind him. "I was its first vessel." Evelyn stepped backward. "You said it feared you." "It does." "Then why are you carrying it?" "Because someone had to." The Silence spoke. "He was created to contain me." Evelyn looked at Lucian. "You've been carrying the Silence this whole time." "Yes." "Then why didn't it consume you?" Lucian smiled. "Because I am stronger than it." Evelyn looked at the enormous eye.

Shawn clapped his hands. “Okay, you’re praiseworthy, Thomas. Unlike those small worms, they can’t do anything but complain all day long.” Aries’s face turned dark. He knew that Thomas was forced to this step. It was five hundred kilograms. How could normal people bear such a heavy load? Not only did he need to carry it, but he also needed to leap over obstacles. It was too difficult. “Commander,” Aries said softly with sweat in his palms.

“And whatever came with it.” I motioned her closer, lowering my voice. “Talk to me.” Elara stepped into the light. For a moment, she looked like herself again. Sharp-eyed, grounded, and mystic to the bone. “Shadow-blades are not just weapons,” she said. “They are carriers.” My jaw tightened. “Carriers of what?” “Of influence,” she replied. “Of residue. The Void does not leave clean cuts.” I swore under my breath. “How bad?”

“Some of it’s reproduction and you know it.” Vivienne closed her eyes briefly — Eleanor could not see this, but she could hear it, the fractional pause that preceded her mother’s highest register of restraint. “I am not opposed,” she said, which was her highest register of resignation, “to kindness and intelligence. I am asking you to consider what you are proposing. You have a life. Obligations. A legacy.” “I know what I have, Mother.” “And what does he have?” Eleanor thought of the workshop. The chisels laid in order. The window light falling across a half-finished chair. The bottle labeled ghost. The unhurried way he moved through the world, like someone who had made peace with it.

Late one evening, as the city hummed steadily below, Evelyn said, “We chose to carry less.” Jesse corrected gently, “We chose to carry what matters.” She smiled faintly. “That feels heavier somehow.” “Yes,” he agreed. “But it’s honest.” They stood together in the quiet. The world hadn’t collapsed without them at its center. It had adjusted. And they had remained intact. That was the cost. And it was one they would pay again... without hesitation.... if it meant preserving what could not be replaced.

It was always about whether the people carrying it are brave enough to keep choosing even when the path ahead feels uncertain, and the weight still lingers. THE END