Chapter 576: May 20, Year 2535

Darius’s expression shifted, concern bleeding through the curiosity.

"Ah."

His head shook slowly, the movement gentle.

"I understand now. You must have been involved in some kind of battle that damaged your mind."

His tone became softer, losing the playful edges.

"Don’t worry, little guy. Uncle Murdock will be here tonight, he’ll be able to fix whatever went wrong with your memories."

He paused, his crimson eyes tracking across Damian’s trembling form.

"But to answer your question..."

A slight smile returned, gentler than before.

"Today is May 20th, year 2535."

BOOM

Time seemed to slow down completely.

Damian’s vision fractured, the terrace around him becoming distant and strange, like he was watching everything through water.

’I’m... back...’

The thought formed incomplete, his consciousness struggling to process the implications.

’I’m back to the day I was... born.’

The realization settled like ice in his chest, refusing to melt or fade.

’May 20th, 2535.’

His hands clenched at his sides, fingers digging into his palms.

’That means tonight...’

His breathing became audible despite his attempts at control, coming in shallow gasps.

’Tonight is the night when the massacre will happen...’

His vision started tunneling, peripheral sight going dark.

Then another thought emerged, cutting through the horror with desperate hope.

’W-wait...’

His eyes found Darius’s face again, seeing his father alive and whole, standing there without any wounds or fear.

’If I’m really back in time, if this is truly the past and not some elaborate illusion or hallucination...’

His chest tightened, emotion making it hard to breathe properly.

’Then does that mean I can prev–’

"I would advise against entertaining such childish thoughts, boy."

The voice resonated directly into his mind, unfamiliar and carrying authority.

’H-huh?’

Damian’s internal processing stuttered, confusion replacing the desperate hope.

"The Bloodworth massacre will happen no matter what you do or say."

The voice continued, relentless and absolute.

"But if you foolishly open your mouth and change the timeline in ways that shouldn’t be changed..."

A pause that felt loaded with terrible implications.

"Even you might be erased from the future entirely, unmade by paradox that reality cannot sustain."

Damian’s jaw clenched, his hands trembling with suppressed emotion.

’W-who...’

His thoughts came fragmented, struggling under the weight of what he was hearing.

’Who are you?’

"I am the one who brought you here on the request of that sentimental idiot whose mask you currently wear."

The voice gained something approaching annoyed fondness.

"I am the consciousness bound to this artifact, the will given form through ancient craftsmanship and principles you cannot begin to comprehend."

Another pause, heavier than before.

"I am... the Mask."

Damian’s mind went blank for a heartbeat, processing the implications.

’The mask... is sentient?’

Then his thoughts surged forward, desperate and demanding.

’Is there... really no way to–’

"Did you not listen to what I just said, boy?!"

The voice exploded through his consciousness, sharp and carrying edges that made his mental defenses wince.

"It WILL happen no matter what you attempt! That mad, disgusting old bitch Oracle will make absolutely certain of it!"

A breath, or the mental equivalent of one.

"Don’t you DARE waste the efforts of everyone who saved you that night! Don’t spit on their sacrifices by getting yourself erased for nothing!"

Silence fell inside Damian’s mind, the words settling with weight that pressed down on his consciousness.

Then the voice spoke again, becoming gentler, carrying something that approached sympathy.

"Look."

The single word came out softer than before, almost kind.

"I know how you must be feeling right now. I understand the desperate need to change what’s coming."

The voice became quieter still, nearly a whisper.

"But just... enjoy this rare moment of time with your father, okay?"

A pause, letting the words sink in.

"You’ve been given a gift that most people would sacrifice everything to receive. One final conversation with someone taken too soon."

The tone gained edges, becoming commanding.

"But don’t tell him anything about what you know! Even a single wrong word, one phrase spoken out of turn, one detail revealed before its time..."

The warning hung heavy.

"Can change timelines in ways that unravel everything."

And then the voice fell silent, leaving Damian alone with his thoughts and the weight pressing down on his chest.

He stood there for a long moment, his breathing gradually steadying, his hands slowly unclenching.

His gaze found Darius again, seeing his father waiting patiently with concern showing in his crimson eyes.

The man who would die tonight.

The man who would fight alone against impossible odds.

The man who would sacrifice everything so his son could escape.

Standing right in front of him, completely unaware of what approached.

"Have you calmed down somewhat?"

Darius’s voice cut through the heavy silence, gentle and carrying genuine worry.

"Do you remember anything about what happened before you appeared on my terrace?"

His head tilted slightly, studying Damian’s masked face.

"Any details at all about the battle that damaged your mind, about who you were fighting or why you needed to teleport away?"

"I..."

The word came out rough, Damian’s throat tight.

His mind raced through possible responses, through lies he could tell that wouldn’t alter the timeline.

Darius raised one hand in a placating gesture, his expression becoming understanding.

"Don’t worry about explanations right now if your memory remains scattered."

His smile returned, warm and reassuring despite everything.

"Looking at your hair color, you’re definitely a fellow northerner, which means you’re practically family already."

He paused, his gaze tracking across Damian’s crimson locks.

"And as it happens, Uncle Murdock will be arriving here soon for the celebration."

His voice carried certainty wrapped in comfort.

"Once he has a chance to examine you properly, we’ll have all the answers we need about how you came to be here."

He moved slightly, gesturing toward the terrace edge.

"Till then–"

WHOOSH

His hand waved through the air, casual and unhurried.

Reality bent around the gesture, space folding as objects materialized from nothing.

A table appeared first, Two chairs followed, positioned across from each other.

Then food began appearing, dish after dish materializing in rapid succession.

And finally, bottles emerged, their glass catching light, alcohol that looked expensive even from a distance.

Darius’s smile widened, becoming something genuinely pleased as he gestured toward one of the chairs.

"–Let’s have a talk, shall we?"

The invitation hung in the cold air between them, weighted with meaning that went beyond simple words.

Damian stood frozen, his crimson eyes tracking across the scene before him.

His father, alive and smiling.

A table set for conversation, for connection, for moments that should have been impossible.

And the knowledge, terrible and absolute, that in just a few hours all of this would end in blood and screaming.

His hands clenched at his sides one final time.

Then, slowly, he started walking toward the offered chair.

Toward the father he’d never known.

Toward answers he’d been searching for his entire life.

And toward a conversation that would haunt him forever.