Chapter 580: Trial

Silence remained on the terrace, broken only by wind pulling at their clothes and the distant sounds of celebration drifting upward from somewhere deep inside the estate.

But here, in this small space suspended above everything, two men sat across from each other with a question hanging unanswered between them.

Damian’s fingers tightened around his glass, the only movement he allowed himself.

His gaze tracked away from Darius’s face, finding the mountains in the distance.

When he finally spoke, his voice came out quieter than before.

"The alcohol you served me is really strong, Mr. Darius."

His hand lifted the glass slightly, watching liquid catch the fading light.

"I feel like I have no control over myself at all."

The deflection sat obvious and clumsy between them.

Darius remained perfectly still for three heartbeats, his crimson eyes tracking across Damian’s masked face.

Then his voice cut through the quiet, stripped of the earlier warmth.

"Will you not answer me?"

The question came out quieter than his earlier ones, but somehow carrying more weight.

Damian’s gaze stayed fixed on the distant peaks, his breathing controlled despite the alcohol making everything feel unmoored.

His whisper emerged as barely audible, meant for the mountains as much as the man across from him.

"Sometimes, there are questions that should never be asked."

A pause, letting that settle.

"And answers that should never be given."

Darius’s hair fell forward, crimson strands catching light as shadows pooled beneath.

His voice dropped lower, becoming almost gentle despite the weight underneath.

"What if I..."

He paused, his gaze never wavering from where Damian sat.

"Insist?"

CRACK

The sound cut across the terrace like a whip crack, sharp and terrible.

The glass in Damian’s hand shattered completely, fragments bursting outward as his grip closed too tight.

Pieces fell to the stone below, while others remained embedded in his palm where blood began welling between his fingers.

His voice emerged rough and strained, his careful control finally breaking apart.

"Why must you be like this?!"

The question tore from him carrying frustration that had been building since the moment he’d materialized on this roof.

"I told you before, didn’t I?! I’ve had the longest day of my life!"

His hand opened, letting glass fall, blood dripping onto stone in slow rhythmic drops.

"Do you know why that is?!"

Inside his mind, the Mask’s voice exploded with alarm.

"Boy, you are completely drunk! Don’t say anything more! Don’t–"

But Damian’s next words came anyway, unstoppable once the first crack appeared in his composure.

"Because someone else also appeared in front of me hours ago!"

His voice rose slightly, edges bleeding through despite his attempts at control.

"Because he also noticed too many coincidences and insisted on finding out the answers! Because he wouldn’t stop asking questions no matter how much I wanted him to just leave me alone!"

His breathing became audible, chest heaving with emotion he couldn’t quite suppress anymore.

"Do you know how all these questions make me feel, Mr. Darius?!"

His head turned finally, finding his father’s face across the table.

"They make me feel like I’m some sort of criminal standing trial!"

The words gained momentum, building toward something that approached breaking.

"A trial where my crime is bearing a name that was never mine to choose! A trial where my crime is possessing features I was born with and cannot change! A trial where my only real offense is trying to survive in a world that keeps demanding explanations for my existence!"

His hand pressed against his chest, fingers digging into fabric.

"I didn’t ask to be born this way! I didn’t choose this hair or these eyes or this name that apparently means something to everyone except the person who has to carry it!"

His voice cracked slightly, alcohol and exhaustion finally overwhelming the walls he’d built.

"I just wanted one moment of peace! One conversation that didn’t feel like an interrogation! One person who could look at me without suspicion bleeding through their words!"

The outburst fell across the terrace like broken glass, sharp and scattered, impossible to gather back once spilled.

Screech

Damian stood abruptly, his chair scraping against stone, movements slightly unsteady as the alcohol made the world tilt fractionally.

He moved around the table, his boots carrying him behind where Darius sat frozen.

Light flashed as his hand waved through the air, a cigar materializing from his spatial ring.

His Aura flickered around his fingertips, igniting the end until smoke began curling upward.

He brought it to his lips beneath the mask, inhaling deeply, letting the burn settle in his lungs before exhaling slowly.

The smoke drifted across the terrace, dispersing in wind that had started carrying the evening’s first real cold.

His gaze found the horizon where the sun hung suspended between day and night, bleeding oranges and reds across clouds that stretched endlessly.

When his voice emerged again, all the earlier frustration had drained away, leaving only exhaustion that went bone deep.

"Please..."

The whisper came out soft and almost pleading.

"Don’t make me say anything else that I would come to regret later."

His free hand gestured vaguely at the space between them.

"This moment right here, right now..."

He paused, his breathing staying controlled despite everything.

"It’s a gift. Something precious that I didn’t expect to receive."

His head lowered slightly, crimson hair falling forward.

"Let us just... enjoy it, okay?"

Another pause, heavier than the first.

"You have to realize that life rarely tells you when something is ending."

His voice dropped even lower, becoming almost inaudible.

"It simply leaves you with a memory and calls it yesterday."

He turned back slowly, his movements careful, his balance still slightly off.

His lips curved upward beneath the mask, the expression not quite reaching a smile but trying desperately to find one anyway.

"Let’s..."

The word caught in his chest, emotion making it difficult to continue.

"Watch the sunset together like you told me to."

The suggestion came out fragile and hopeful, carrying weight that transcended the simple request.

Darius remained seated for several long moments, his expression becoming impossibly complex.

His crimson eyes tracked across Damian’s form, taking in the unsteady stance, the blood still dripping from one hand, the cigar held like a lifeline in the other.

Then he stood up as well, his movements smooth and controlled, crossing the distance until he appeared beside Damian.

They stood together facing the dying light, separated by mere inches but maintaining the space between them like something sacred.

Darius’s voice emerged quiet, stripped of demand.

"Do you smoke a lot?"

The question came out gentle in ways the earlier ones hadn’t been.

Damian’s head shook slightly, the movement small.

"I used to."

His whisper carried across the minimal distance between them.

"But not anymore. Only sometimes when..."

His hand lifted the cigar to his lips again, inhaling slowly.

"When I’m overwhelmed by everything happening around me."

Darius remained silent for a moment, processing that admission.

Then light flashed as two cigars materialized in his palm.

They were darker than Damian’s, wrapped in leaves that seemed to shimmer faintly in the fading light.

He extended one toward Damian, his movement gentle.

"Here. This is the finest Dwarvish cigar in existence."

His lips curved slightly, the expression carrying mischief underneath.

"The kind even their king refuses to give to anyone. I sto–"

He caught himself mid-word, his smile becoming more genuine.

"I mean, I bought this from a dear friend."

Damian’s hand moved automatically, accepting the offered cigar while his current one vanished back into his ring.

He studied it for a moment, noting the quality, the craftsmanship that spoke of skill passed down through generations.

His whisper emerged softer than before, carrying observation without judgement.

"You seem to have a lot of friends, Mr. Darius."

Darius’s expression warmed, something genuine bleeding through as he lit his own cigar with a casual flick of Aura.

"Of course."

He took a long draw, savoring it before exhaling slowly.

"After all, what is life without friends to share it with?"

The question came out rhetorical, meant to fill space more than demand answer.

But Damian’s interruption came anyway, his voice emerging quiet and absolute.

"It is like an echo in an empty canyon."

His gaze remained fixed on the setting sun, watching colors bleed across the sky.

"You can make a lot of noise, shout as loud as you want, fill the air with sound..."

A pause, letting that image settle.

"But you’re only ever listening to yourself."

Darius turned toward him sharply, his expression becoming complex again as those words landed with unexpected weight.

His voice came out rougher than intended.

"Yeah..."

The word fell between them, heavy with meaning.

"Exactly like that."

He remained still for three heartbeats, processing how perfectly that description had captured something he’d never quite articulated.

Then his voice emerged again, quieter than before.

"What about you? Do you have friends?"

Damian’s hand lifted the cigar to his lips, inhaling deeply, letting smoke fill his lungs before releasing it slowly.

His voice came out soft, barely above a whisper.

"I had one."

The admission fell like a stone dropped into still water.

"He died today. I buried him not too long ago."

Silence crashed down between them, absolute and suffocating.

The sun continued its descent, painting everything in shades of orange and gold and deep crimson that made the snow look like it was burning.

Wind pulled at their clothes, carrying smoke from their cigars away into darkness spreading across the mountains.

Neither man moved or spoke, the weight of what had been said pressing down.

Time stretched, losing meaning as they stood together watching light bleed from the sky.

Then Darius’s hair fell forward, crimson strands obscuring his features as shadows pooled beneath.

His voice emerged as barely a whisper, rough with emotion he didn’t bother hiding.

"Hey, Damian."

The name came out gentle, spoken like something precious.

"If you can’t tell me the truth..."

He paused, his breathing staying controlled despite everything.

"Can you at least..."

Another pause, heavier than the first.

"Just tell me what you’ve been through?"

The question hung in the cold air between them, simple and terrible and carrying weight that transcended the words themselves.

And on that terrace suspended above the world, a son stood with no answer that wouldn’t break his father.