In the end, he somehow believed.
The words that Miriette muttered at last echoed in his head, bringing a terrible cringe to his eye and a grimace to his face. His bad arm flooded over with blood, but the one-eyed brute hardly noticed its sting; the single green eye that had survived the memoryless fight with Thomas could only gape at them. He saw the resemblance. He recognized their fury. He understood their pain: it was the same as what he felt, the same despair he had for losing his memory. Jefferson knew only shame for something he could not remember, something his children could not even forgive him for. In the end, he didn't deserve forgiveness. Their birth was his fault -- the pain in his arm was his fault.
And somehow their meeting had given him insight on how his life had been. According to the late Iskata and Laruku, he'd been happy once. Maluki had originated as something good, something honest and eager to make a life of himself. He'd been a troublemaker and an adventurer in his youth. Somewhere along the line, he disappeared... and that was the most Jefferson knew of it. After that disappearance, the many clouded and unexplainable flashes of memories he had of fighting and killing somewhere fell in line. At some point, he'd raped their mother... and if that was the case, there could have been more. There most likely were more. He could have been a father of dozens, and for all he knew, they could have all been out thirsting for his blood. For all Jefferson knew, this meeting was the first out of many.
The other boy caught Jefferson attention when he moved, immediately forcing the father to reposition himself defensively in case of another strike. Instead, the boy's attack was verbal and accusing. You deserve no mercy either. This, he was well aware, if it was all true. He wasn't completely heartless. The boy broke into some crooked, wicked smile; it sent chills down the cyclops's spine, and for a second, it was if he was looking into a mirror. The sight and the sound of his voice was haunting... and yet so quickly dismissed, when the boy decided it proper to leave. They turned, after sending respective glares and stares, and started away.
And once alone, Jefferson could only fall to his knees, breathe, and stare into the sky. Ten thousand thoughts tore and slashed at his wits. His muscles ached as if his body would fall apart at any second. It felt like he'd survived countless traumas all at once, like his world had been turned and shook every which way. He hated it. He hated all of it.
He could never forgive himself for it.