Thank you Psy-kick, Nora97, Asya and Ellis Tobias for the lovely reviews for the last chapter. I'm really happy that you enjoyed it!
This week's chapter is a little shorter (apologies) but I hope you will find it... interesting.
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Twilight couldn't help but watch his daughter from the corner of his eye, and when she took to the dancefloor with Damian, he smiled to himself.
It was heartening to see them so happy together. All he wanted was their happiness, and for them to exist in this world as the carefree teenagers that they were supposed to be, but at that thought, a heavy sadness weaved its way into his heart.
As far as he knew, the infiltration was progressing successfully, and all the while he had his eye on the one person who did not deserve the pain that would come out of it. Guilt gnawed in Twilight's chest, knowing that the boy had no idea what was about to happen.
He should have taken the chance to tell him. Even if it was awkward, or bad timing, Twilight had no excuse anymore.
Damian deserves to know.
The memory resurfaced in his mind, of the night when his daughter tried to punch him in anger at him and the entire situation that they couldn't escape from. Even if he could not say it out loud, Twilight agreed with her. Damian did deserve to know. He deserved to be prepared for what was to come, so that at least he would know what to say to the press when they hounded him for answers.
So, when Anya made brief eye contact with her father, Twilight raised a glass to her, a toast to the trust that he had in her, and a reminder of the night's goal. He hoped that the message would come through.
It was imperceptible, but she gave a very slight nod in return.
Twilight finished off the rest of the glass, appreciating the depth of the port's flavours, but he choked on his drink when he saw the shadow of a person across the room, weaving his way between suits.
A young man, who looked so similar to Damian, if not for the bags under his eyes…
Well. He definitely did not expect Demetrius Desmond to attend the Imperial Ball.
And if Demetrius was here…
… then he must not be far behind.
Twilight put down his empty glass, clicked on his earpiece, and followed the shadow.
The hollowed eyes of Donovan Desmond pinned Damian to the ground, unable to move, or speak, or even breathe.
"Hello, Damian."
His father, the man who had haunted his entire life and school career, whose living ghost was all too present in every corner, corridor, and courtyard of the building. The man who never let him forget the weight of his name.
"I heard you left a message for me."
He's here, Damian panicked.
It was the exact situation that he had been dreaming of since he was six years old, and the exact situation that he had dreaded since he was fourteen, when he realised that nothing he did mattered, because he didn't matter.
The moment his Imperial Scholar's ceremony had finished, when he saw the empty chairs where his mother and father were supposed to sit, was the imoment that Damian's faith in them snapped.
And so did he.
He tried not to think about what came afterwards. The blur of pain and rage and hurt that came over him and sank deep into his bones. When he lashed out at everything in sight, to the point that when Damian finally came back to his senses, everything in his room had been destroyed, and he hadn't even remembered doing it.
Since then, he forbade himself from regressing back to his younger self, the child inside that still so desperately wished for love and attention from his parents.
I heard you left a message for me.
Damian squeezed his eyes shut in desperation.
Say something!
Damian cursed himself, but all the moisture had completely vanished from his mouth, and he tried to swallow, to stop his words and his dignity from drying up completely.
"I did," Damian managed to choke out, made harder by the feeling that all of the air had been sucked out from the atmosphere.
He thought about when he was a child, having to join his parents for private meetings with his teachers in this very room. Back then, his parents were so much taller than him, giant beings that he could never hope to catch up to. They towered above him, and he couldn't reach them, not even when he stood on his tippy toes.
Stop that, his father snapped. You look ridiculous.
Sorry, Father.
Damian peered over the top of the table, resisting the urge to sit on the comfy cushions, or pull himself taller on his knees.
Be still. Let's get this over with quickly.
Sorry, Mother.
How could that child ever hope to face down his father?
The child inside him tucked his chin inwards, avoided eye contact, and made himself look smaller.
Nothing, Father. I'm sorry for wasting your time. I'll leave you alone now. Sorry for being a bother. I didn't mean to upset you. Please don't hurt me. Please don't leave me.
"Well?"
Donovan's voice reached him across the room, and it slowly dawned on Damian that his father was actually giving him a chance to speak.
He didn't know how to react to that. Terror flooded through him, paralysing every muscle, but at the same time, the child inside him filled with disgusting hope.
Damian's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as questions raced through his mind: What was his father thinking? Why was he doing this? What was he hoping to gain? If Damian spoke, who would get hurt? Who would take the consequences?
Trying to think like his father was terrifying when he didn't even know him well enough to guess his thoughts, or his next move. What if he gave too much away? What if he said something that would get someone hurt?
But… What if it was his only chance? His father had come to the Imperial Ball because of him, right? He did not go to the dinner, or the dancing, or any of the socialising events, but he had come to the school and called to meet with Damian and Damian only.
Why? What did it mean? What did he want?
Damian tried to concentrate on anything other than the horrible pounding of his heart, beating so loud and so hard in his chest that he thought he was going to be sick. Through the awful sensation, Damian's thoughts turned to the one person who made him feel safe, the one person who could calm him when everything else around him was a storm.
He thought of Anya.
About the flashback she had in the infirmary, the fear in her eyes when getting her vaccination. How many hours he sat with her while she cried from the shock and he tried to calm her down.
About the nightmares that she had gone through at the lab. The terrible tank that she had been trapped in for days, with tubes forced into her arms and wires stuck to her face and skin, pumping god-knows-what into her bloodstream for days on end. The terror he felt when he dived in to get her, and she floated like an angel, deathly still and immune to the world around her.
When he carried her out of that place, she was blue and soaked to the bone, a spirit that could have slipped through his arms and disappeared before he could bring her to safety.
All the secrets that she was forced to bear alone for so long - about who she really was, the terrible past that haunted her, the true identity of her parents, and drowning under the fear of abandonment for over a decade.
Damian gritted his teeth.
And it was his father that had overseen all of it. The man that sat right in front of him, across an oval table made of apple wood.
Tell him that I know what he did. And that if he ever wants to see or speak to me again, then he'd better beg for my forgiveness.
The grudge took root inside his heart, and Damian steeled himself, lifting his gaze to his father, pushing back against the tidal wave of fear that threatened to drown him.
"I know - " his voice cracked, and he tried again. "I know about Project Apple."
Damian swallowed, and grabbed on to the tiniest bit of courage he could find in his heart.
"I know that you're the Investor."
In hindsight, Damian had no idea what kind of reaction he expected from his father, but Donovan Desmond remained impassive. Not a single facial muscle twitched as he stared back at his son, while Damian couldn't stop shaking all over.
What Damian definitely did not expect was just how tired his father looked. Donovan ran a hand over his ragged expression, almost as though he saw this coming - which could have very well been the case, if his son had sent him a message that said something along the lines of 'I know what you did'.
"Is that all?"
Damian's mouth fell open.
What?
As he suspected, trying to understand his father was pointless. Damian stared and stared at his father, trying to fathom how all he had to say for himself was -
Is that all?
"So you're - you're not denying it?" said Damian, hating how his voice sounded far too small for what he wanted to say.
What he wanted to say was more along the lines of: 'I just told you that I know about Project Apple, the mass experimenting on children, that you're the Investor, the one who gave money to ruin hundreds of lives and you hurt Anya and you have the gall to act bored and say IS. THAT. ALL?'
(Oh, if he were brave enough.)
Unfortunately, the truth of it resonated in his bones and sank into his soul: Damian was powerless in front of his father. Being a Desmond meant nothing when the living ghost of the dynasty breathed down his neck.
No matter how angry he felt at his father's actions, no matter how much rage fuelled him at the thought that Anya had ever suffered at his hand, he couldn't fight it. Nearly two decades of wanting to be seen and loved made sure of that. Eighteen years of pain and hurt and slow torture had successfully dragged his self-worth down into a unfathomable pit, void of any light.
Damian startled when his father exhaled a weary sigh, and folded his long fingers on top of the wooden table.
"I did not come here to play judge and jury, Damian. I was under the impression that you had something important to say to me. If that is not the case, then I will take my leave."
Something. Important.
A spark.
The tremors subsided, and Damian went entirely still.
"What did you just say?" he said in a very low voice.
Donovan did not speak as he observed Damian, with the detached and distinct air of an exam invigilator. Watching him. Watching his every move, as if waiting for a mistake, or for Damian to do something out of line.
The spark inside Damian grew into the beginnings of a furious flame.
Damian was familiar with anger. It was his greatest weakness, the emotion that he had to work the hardest to control, but he knew his anger well, and when it blazed through him, it had the potential to become his source of strength.
"I thought -" he started, choking through his words. "I thought that if I tried hard enough, that you and Mother would - "
He wanted to say 'love me', but Damian knew that he should aim for something more realistic.
" - recognise me, or acknowledge me, but if it's true that you - that you had a part in this project - that you oversaw it happening and you did nothing to stop it - that you gave money to torture children - then I can't - I can't - "
He sucked in his last breath.
"I can't look at you the same any more. And I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you."
Truly, Donovan stayed emotionless, except for the slight twitch of one eyebrow. The only show of surprise that he would ever demonstrate.
"Forgive me?" he murmured. Once again, his low voice carried to the outermost edges of the room without him even trying. "Whatever for?"
"You - " Damian reeled back. "Are you serious?"
The words were right there on the tip of his tongue: You hurt her. You hurt Anya. And I'll never forgive you. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to her.
But just as quickly as the flame appeared, it wavered, as Damian realised the one thing that was too dangerous to risk:
Did his father know about Anya?
Damian pinched his lips shut. If he wanted to protect her, he couldn't say anything about Anya. Not to his father. The bodyguards would only need to make one short trip to the Ballroom to snatch her up.
Donovan glared at him, hollow eyes reaching deep into his soul.
"Do you understand what it means to be a Desmond?"
Damian looked up sharply. What kind of question was that? It felt like a trick, but Damian didn't know enough of the right answer to escape from his father's strange interrogation.
"You will always be sought after by people who want something from you. No matter where you go. What you do. Who you're with. People will only care about you because of what you can give them - no exceptions."
"That's - " Damian was speechless. "That's not true!"
Emile. Ewen. Anya. Becky. They'd always been there for him.
"Our name holds power," Donovan continued as though Damian had not spoken. "This family holds power. Which means that you cannot ever truly trust your friends."
Damian opened and closed his mouth, but no sound could come out. It was like his voice had been stolen from him, and suddenly he wasn't sure how to speak.
His father continued without remorse.
"Everyone wants something from you. Even…"
Donovan narrowed his hollowed eyes at Damian, as if seeing right through his soul.
"... that little girlfriend of yours."
Damian's blood turned to ice.
He knows about Anya.
Then: Of course he knows.
Damian made no effort to hide his relationship with Anya, had not even thought of the consequences of going public. How could he be stupid enough to think that his father wouldn't notice? He naively thought that his father's detachment would continue, that his status as the 'second son' meant that he could be afforded the tiniest of freedoms.
But, if his father knew about Anya, then what price would they both have to pay?
"Don't hurt her."
Damian didn't even recognise the voice as his own, but it must have been. Nobody else could have said it.
He sucked in enough air for only three words.
"Don't hurt her," he said again, intentionally this time. He tried to put more force into his voice - like a Desmond would - but he knew he sounded pathetic, nothing more than a child begging their parents to let them keep a pet.
Donovan made no effort to reply to that. Instead, he unclasped his hands, laid them flat on the table top, and used them as leverage to push himself upright.
His movements were slow, precise, and throughout it all Damian felt entirely frozen with fear. For so long, his father had been an insurmountable figure from his childhood, too tall for him ever to be able to catch up to, too far away to ever be able to reach.
Once Donovan stood to his tallest height, he circled around the edge of the table, towards Damian, one step after the other, all the while not speaking a single word.
And the entire time, Damian could. Not. Move.
Anya waited at the edge of the Ballroom, unable to stop herself from biting her lip and fidgeting with the edge of her dress.
She had lost sight of Damian. It had been too long since she saw him disappear into the crowd, but she hadn't seen him resurface at the drinks table since he disappeared. If he was distracted, or just turned away for a moment, he should have been back by now.
Something dark settled in the pit of her stomach.
She cast a quick look for either of their parents, but while her mother was still enmeshed in conversation, her father was nowhere to be found. After a moment, Anya straightened herself up, and headed towards the snack table - and sure enough, she found Emile and Alice there, speaking with some of the other students.
"Have you seen Damian?" she said to Emile, who gave her a once-over in confusion.
"He's not with you?"
"He said he needed a drink," Anya replied quietly, trying not to give too much away. If Emile knew that Damian was in distress, he might want to get… involved. And Anya couldn't predict what that would do to Damian in this state, when he already knew too much.
"Well, I'm sure that he will return soon. It's Damian," Alice tried to offer by way of reassurance. "The waltzes haven't finished, and there's no way that he would miss that with you."
Alice spoke with such assurance and confidence that Anya was almost inclined to believe her, but the nausea writhed in her belly, a gnawing reminder of her ominous instinct.
Slowly over the course of the evening, her powers had been showing themselves bit by bit, and although they still did not feel back to normal, Anya wondered if there might be some truth behind that ominous feeling after all.
"Hmm," Anya hummed noncommittally while she chewed on the cashews, readily available in delicate bowls, and then reached for a glass of water to wash down the crumbs. All the while, something twisted in her stomach, and her gut screamed at her that something was wrong wrong wrong.
While Emile turned back to chat with the other students, Anya sipped her water once again, hoping that it would help settle her nerves.
Anya let her eyes drift closed, and reached for her powers. Normally, they came so easily to her that she didn't have to try very hard, but with the recent glitches, Anya found herself in a mental landscape she had never seen before.
Breathe in.
It was like standing on an island in the middle of a river. All around her the water flowed, carrying the thoughts and images and memories of everyone around her.
Breathe out.
The river separated into so many directions around her, turning into dozens of thin streams, reaching as far as they eye could see, and even branching off well onto the horizon. But Anya knew that there was only one stream that she needed to follow, only one that she needed to find.
Damian's.
Thinking only of him, she reached down into the water below her.
And it pulled her under.
She didn't even have time to gasp for air before the water clawed its way into her lungs while the thoughts clawed their way into her senses - but just as fast as it came, Anya pulled in another breath through her body, the one anchored in the Ballroom, and the current pulled her to exactly where she needed to be.
It happened so suddenly, she didn't have time to panic. One moment, she was in the Ballroom, eating cashews and surrounded by students and some of her friends, and then in an instant her vision completely changed, accompanied by a wave of terror and panic that flooded her entire system.
A long, oval table. A man with hollow eyes. Heart beating so fast she could barely breathe.
Anya's eyes flashed open, breathing hard, and suddenly she was back in the Ballroom, meeting the concerned eyes of Alice Paulette.
"Are you… alright?" she said warily, looking Anya up and down with concern. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
"I -" Anya gasped, sweat beading on her neck, and she tried to piece together what she had just seen.
She had no doubt in her mind that she had just seen through Damian's eyes, and felt Damian's fear, and that the man in her vision was -
"Damian's father," she wheezed reflexively. "He's here."
Alice looked at her strangely, while Anya's vision blurred and swam before her.
"Damian's in trouble, I - I have to go!" she managed to blurt out, before spinning on her heel and rushing out of the Ballroom with only one goal on her mind.
Anya sped out of the Ballroom on high alert, just barely managing to avoid bumping into every single person on the way. When had Damian disappeared? She didn't notice - she was too busy waiting for him to return like he had promised, that it completely slipped her mind that she should be protecting him.
She cursed herself for being so stupid. Somehow, Damian had been dragged away by his father, the one person in the world that he simultaneously admired, feared, loved, hated, dreaded, and so much more, but she had never before felt that kind of pure terror that flooded through Damian just then. If it was confusing enough for her to untangle from his mind, she couldn't even imagine how Damian must have been feeling at that very second, which meant that she had to get to him now.
But first - how?
Anya had no idea where she was. The Ballroom was on the Imperial Scholar side of the building, where only select students were allowed to enter, and as such, Anya had no idea which direction led to him.
Even worse, now that she had 'opened' her senses back up, it would only be a matter of time before the thoughts would flood her mind again - but she needed to keep her focus on Damian.
Anya dipped back into the waters, listening out for his presence. After the number of times that she had read his mind and shared her mind with him, it was almost too easy, and she swivelled in his direction instantly.
And came up against a blank wall.
Shit. Anya cursed to herself. She knew which direction he was in, but with a maze of Imperial Scholar's corridors separating him, she would have to try harder. If only she had been made an Imperial Scholar before this, and then she would have had the chance to learn the confusing maze of corridors.
Left then right then left again, and with each turn, the pulse from Damian's mind became stronger and stronger, but the fear did not subside.
Anya gritted her teeth, already exhausted from the mental strain of following his presence, and kept speeding through the corridors as fast as she could, all the while listening carefully to his mind and following it like it was a red string of fate that connected them.
Panic pulsed through her, the loudest it had ever been, and Anya slowed, both in an effort to catch her breath and to pinpoint the exact location.
And to quieten her footsteps.
She hadn't even thought that there would be guards, but two large men loomed in front of an ornate door - exactly where she could feel Damian.
She was outnumbered. Her powers were unreliable. Weaker. She didn't even know if she had the ability to fight two muscled men at the same time without the cover of smoke. Her feet hurt from running so hard in stiletto heels.
But she still had Yor's training.
And there was one way to get through that door.
Very slowly, Anya leaned down, and quietly, undid the strap of each shoe, one at a time, until she held a stiletto in each hand.
Well, they weren't stiletto knives, but they would have to do.
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Next part next week...
I'm really feeling for Damian here. Poor boy is at the end of his tether.
Also, exciting news! There is now a TV Tropes page for Seven Secrets of Starlight! (Link on my profile)
I actually can't believe it. I always thought a TV Tropes page meant that you had 'made it' as a fanfic writer and I a seriously so honoured and beyond excited! Thank you to ChrisWritesAUs, this has absolutely blown my mind and made my entire year!