Chapter 579: Tell Me

Time seemed to slow down as the name hung between them, reverberating across the terrace with weight that felt impossible.

The Mask’s voice continued ringing inside Damian’s skull, sharp and furious.

"I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU TO NOT REVEAL ANYTHING!"

The words hit like hammer blows, each one carrying weight that made his mental defenses wince.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?! If your father recognizes you, if he connects the dots with everything you’ve told him–"

The Mask’s presence expanded, filling his consciousness with pressure that made thinking difficult.

"It’s OVER! The timeline fractures! The paradox collapses inward! Everything that should happen tonight gets rewritten!"

’I... fuck...’

Damian’s thoughts scattered, his mind struggling to form coherent responses through the alcohol’s haze and rising panic.

’I don’t know why... I just...’

His hand remained frozen on his glass, his body locked in place.

The Mask continued without mercy, its voice becoming something between rage and desperation.

"I KNEW IT WAS A SHITTY IDEA! I shouldn’t have agreed but that idiot–"

The presence fractured slightly, emotion bleeding through the fury.

"Dammit! It was his dying wish! How could I just refuse when he begged me with his last breath?!"

’W-wait...’

The thought formed with desperate hope, grasping at the only solution his panicked mind could find.

’I have Time Reversal. I can bring us back a few seconds, I can take it back before–’

"FORGET ABOUT USING THAT SHALLOW SKILL, BOY!"

The Mask’s interruption crashed through his building plan like a wrecking ball through glass.

"You’re already in the middle of MY own Time Reversal! Not a weaker version like Lysander’s! Do you understand what that means?! You can’t reverse what’s already been reversed!"

Damian’s breathing quickened fractionally, the only outward sign of the chaos raging inside his skull.

’Then... is there... is there something you can do?’

His mental voice came out smaller than intended, almost pleading.

’Can you bring me back a few more seconds? Just enough to–’

"Do you think Time travel is so fucking EASY?!"

The Mask’s presence blazed hotter, frustration mixing with something that approached exhaustion.

"There is no second chance when I brought you back so many YEARS ago! The power cost was astronomical! I can only take you FORWARD now with my remaining reserves!"

Silence crashed down inside Damian’s mind like someone had cut all sound.

Then after some time, the Mask’s voice returned, quieter but carrying edges that cut deeper than the earlier fury.

"I can sense no change in the timeline for now. The threads remain stable, the future still flows toward what must happen."

A pause, weighted with warning.

"But for the last fucking time, boy..."

The presence pressed harder against his awareness.

"Even if he has doubts, even if he asks questions that feel like traps, even if his eyes tell you he knows..."

The words became absolute, final and carrying no room for argument.

"Don’t reveal ANYTHING that will happen tonight! Don’t confirm what he’s thinking! Don’t give him any warning that could make him act differently!"

Then the voice fell silent, leaving only wind and distant celebration and the weight of what Damian had just done.

Before Damian could gather his scattered thoughts–

"Valcor?"

Darius’s voice cut across the terrace, carrying something complex.

Damian’s head lifted, finding his father’s face across the table.

Darius’s expression showed nothing except curiosity, his crimson eyes tracking Damian’s masked features with focus.

"You know..."

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming once against the table’s edge before stopping.

"As the head of the Bloodworth Imperial family, I happen to be quite knowledgeable when it comes to this region."

His hand gestured vaguely at the mountains surrounding them.

"Every major family, every minor house, every lineage worth noting across the entire North..."

He paused, his gaze never wavering.

"I know their names, their histories, their bloodline markers."

Another pause, letting that settle.

"And yet..."

His head tilted slightly, the movement almost curious.

"I’ve never come across a northern family named Valcor whose descendants have crimson hair and eyes like ours."

The words landed with weight that pressed against Damian’s chest.

Darius’s fingers found his glass, lifting it without drinking.

"On the contrary, the only person whom I do know of possessing that family name..."

He studied the liquid, watching light move through it.

"Is my dearest friend."

His crimson eyes found Damian again, locking on with intensity that made looking away impossible.

"Alaric Valcor."

The name landed between them, sending ripples outward that neither acknowledged directly.

Damian’s hand tightened on his own glass, the only movement he allowed himself.

’Don’t... react.’

His breathing stayed controlled, giving nothing away.

Darius continued, his voice becoming almost conversational despite the weight underneath.

"I met him a little more than a year ago for the first time."

His expression shifted, becoming warmer with memory.

"To thank him for saving my siblings during a portal break that should have killed them all."

He took a drink, smaller this time, savoring it.

"It’s strange, isn’t it?"

His head shook slightly, the gesture carrying something approaching wonder.

"While the whole North is filled with stories of Bloodworths saving others, protecting the weak, defending humanity against impossible odds..."

Another pause, heavier this time.

"That man is the sole exception who somehow always ended up saving the Bloodworths instead."

The words carried weight underneath, acknowledgment of something that went beyond simple gratitude.

Damian’s whisper emerged before his mind caught up to what his mouth was doing.

"He sounds like a great man."

Darius’s lips curved into something warm and genuine.

"He is indeed a great man."

His fingers drummed against the table again, the rhythm slow and deliberate.

"Anyways..."

He refilled both glasses with movements that had become automatic.

"We somehow clicked despite being born from completely different worlds. An Imperial family head and a commoner, drinking together like old brothers..."

The liquid caught light as it poured, golden and thick.

"Our conversations extended day by day, growing longer, becoming deeper."

He set the bottle down with careful precision.

"And during one such drunk conversation..."

His voice dropped lower, becoming almost intimate despite the distance between them.

"I was stressing over the names for my children."

His hand gestured vaguely at his head, the motion suggesting frustration.

"My wife and I had been arguing for weeks about what to call them, neither of us willing to compromise, both of us convinced our choice was better."

A smile touched his features, there and gone.

"And suddenly, in the middle of my complaining, I came up with a beautiful name."

His gaze found Damian again, holding him there.

"One that had parts of both my name and my wife’s name woven together perfectly."

Silence fell across the terrace, broken only by wind pulling at their clothes.

Darius leaned forward slightly, his elbows settling against the table.

"Do you know what the name was?"

The question sat between them, weighted with implications that made Damian’s heart hammer against his ribs.

Thump thump thump

Before Damian could force his mouth to form words–

Darius’s whisper cut across the space between them.

"Damian."

The name fell like a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward.

Damian’s hand moved automatically, bringing his glass to his lips again.

Gulp

The alcohol went down easier now, warmth spreading without actually helping anything.

He lowered the glass, his voice emerging as barely audible.

"That’s..."

But he didn’t know how to finish, couldn’t find words that wouldn’t make everything worse.

Darius didn’t seem to notice the interruption, or perhaps he chose to ignore it.

His gaze tracked away, finding something in the darkness beyond the terrace.

"Did you know..."

His voice stayed quiet, almost gentle.

"Alaric and his wife Lyandra are currently struggling to have children?"

The question carried weight that had nothing to do with curiosity.

"They’ve been trying for years, visiting healers across the Federation, attempting treatments that cost fortunes and delivered nothing except disappointment."

His fingers found the glass again, lifting it to his lips.

He drank slowly, deliberately and set it down with careful precision.

"And I once told him something before the healers confirmed the twins were safe."

His head turned, looking toward the empty space beside his chair as if someone stood there invisible.

His entire posture shifted, becoming looser, his expression warming with affection clearly meant for an absent friend.

"You know, if these really are twins..."

His hand gestured at his chest.

"I could give you one."

A smile crossed his features, genuine and carrying humor underneath.

"Solve your problem right there."

He paused, his head shaking slightly.

"I’m serious. My wife would kill me, but hey..."

His smile widened fractionally.

"What are friends for?"

Then his gaze swung back toward Damian, that warmth vanishing as something sharper took its place.

His crimson eyes tracked across Damian’s masked face with focus that felt like being dissected.

"It had been a drunk joke between two friends."

His voice came out level, stripped of the earlier affection.

"Nothing serious, nothing meant to be acted upon, just words said in a moment of alcohol and exhaustion."

He leaned back in his chair, his posture becoming almost casual despite the intensity in his gaze.

"But now..."

The word hung in the cold air.

"On the day my twins are born, mere hours after I became a father..."

His head tilted slightly, studying Damian like a puzzle that refused to arrange itself properly.

"A strange little guy bearing that exact name..."

One hand rose, fingers spreading to count off points.

"Holding the surname of a man who will soon become the Godfather of my children..."

Another finger.

"Possessing crimson hair and eyes that mark him as someone connected to northern bloodlines..."

A third finger.

"Has somehow ended up on my terrace, appearing from nowhere..."

His hand lowered, settling against the table.

"Drinking alcohol with me instead of being anywhere else in the entire world."

Silence crashed down between them, absolute and suffocating.

Darius’s expression became unreadable, his features settling into something complex.

His voice emerged as barely above a whisper, carrying across the space between them with weight.

"Tell me, Damian Valcor..."

His crimson eyes blazed brighter with intensity that made looking away impossible.

"All of this... the timing, the name, the indescribable feeling deep inside of me..."

His hand gestured at his chest.

"Is it really just a coincidence?"

A pause, letting the question settle.

"Or Fate playing games with threads I can’t see?"

Another pause, heavier than the first.

"Or..."

His head tilted slightly, his gaze never wavering, his expression becoming even more complex.

"Something else entirely?"

The question hung in the cold air between them, unanswered and terrible.

And Damian sat there frozen, his broken mask hiding features that had gone completely blank, his mind racing through options that all ended the same way.

The wind pulled at their clothes, scattering snow across stone.

Distant celebration continued somewhere deep inside the estate, laughter and music drifting upward like ghosts.

And two men sat across from each other on a terrace, separated by a table and seventeen years and a question that had no safe answer.