The silence stretched for several heartbeats.

"I don’t know how strong your father truly was or how many patriarchs were truly involved in the massacre. The reports we got were fragmented, contradictory, and impossible to verify."

Felix’s voice became quieter.

"But I know this much. All those old patriarchs went into seclusion after that night..." He paused. "Every single one of them, except the Sage."

He couldn’t come to any conclusion about that man.

Had he abstained from the massacre, or had he simply been strong enough to walk away unscathed?

There was no way to know.

Damian gulped down another large sip of the alcohol, his hands tightening on the glass.

Felix continued without stopping.

"And many of the Imperial family heads of that generation were never seen again after the massacre."

Damian’s breathing stopped completely, his entire focus locked on Felix’s words.

"According to the Director’s analysis, if it wasn’t for protecting his family, if he hadn’t been focused on buying time for his wife and sons to escape..."

Felix met Damian’s eyes.

"Maybe the Young Lord wouldn’t be dead. Maybe he could have fought his way out, survived, and come back to destroy everyone in the Imperial Council."

His voice became firm, carrying absolute certainty.

"Your father was one of the greatest geniuses in the entire universe. Not just the Federation or humanity, but across every race and world that exists beyond the portals."

Damian’s hands trembled slightly, the alcohol working its way through his system.

His lips parted, the words coming out before he could stop them.

"Is there... is there any chance he survived?" His voice was quiet. "Maybe a skill or some technique or... something that could have–"

"Your father is dead."

Felix’s voice cut through the question like a blade.

"The Director confirmed it himself when he investigated the estate... Whatever happened that night, Darius Bloodworth didn’t survive it."

Damian’s throat worked as he swallowed, then his voice came out even quieter than before.

"What about... what about my mother? Or my... brother?"

The question hung in the air.

Felix stared at him for a long moment, his black eyes showing something like pity.

"You already know the answer to that question, child. So... why are you even asking?"

Damian’s hands tightened on the glass he was holding.

"I... need to know what happened to them in their last moments, if they–"

Felix’s expression became harder.

"All those who asked such questions over the years, everyone who dug too deep looking for survivors or bodies or answers..."

He paused, letting the weight settle.

"They all disappeared... One by one, quietly and unexpectedly, until no one dared to ask anything. Don’t you dare ask anyone else these questions! Erase them from your mind completely!"

CRACK

The glass in Damian’s hand shattered, crystal fragments cutting into his palm.

Blood dripped onto the floor, mixing with the dried crimson already covering his skin.

But his voice came out calm when he spoke, barely a whisper.

"Sorry about that, Vice Director."

Felix looked at the child sitting across from him, at the blood dripping from his hand, at the crimson eyes that showed nothing despite everything.

Then he whispered.

"Despite the Young Lord and the Patriarch being so strong, despite all their power and talent and genius, they couldn’t prevent the fate of their family."

His black eyes locked onto Damian’s crimson ones.

"And I don’t believe you can survive that same fate either... No matter how much of a genius you are, no matter how talented or determined or strong you become..."

His voice became flat and absolute.

"You aren’t Darius Bloodworth."

The words landed like a death sentence.

"The moment your identity is revealed, the moment anyone with power discovers that one Bloodworth heir survived after all that effort to exterminate your bloodline..."

Felix leaned forward.

"The entire Imperial Council will come for your head... Every family that participated in the massacre will mobilize, every old monster will crawl out of seclusion, and they’ll make sure to finish what they started seventeen years ago."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"You might think the Marshals will stand up for you. That the high-ranking military officials who owe their lives to the Patriarch will support you when the truth comes out."

His hands clenched on the armrests of his chair.

"But many years have passed since that night... Humans forget the kindness shown to them in the blink of an eye when their own interests are involved, when standing up for what’s right means putting themselves and their families in danger."

Felix’s voice became colder.

"Will they risk their wives and children just for you? For an heir of a family that was exterminated seventeen years ago? Will they throw away everything they’ve built, all the safety and power they’ve accumulated, to protect... you?"

He met Damian’s eyes directly.

"Is your life even worth it?"

The question hung in the air, brutal and honest.

Damian’s mind flashed back to another person talking about his life’s worth.

"I didn’t know how to feel about this. I’m only human after all. It didn’t matter if we owed a debt to that beggar or not. From my point of view... your life just isn’t worth more than my friends."

Castor’s voice echoed in his memory, the words cutting just as deep now as they had after the Tranquil City attack.

Felix reached for the bottle, tilted it back, and drank directly from it.

The liquid disappeared in long gulps until the bottle was completely empty.

Then he stood up, his movements unsteady, his body swaying as the alcohol finally took full effect.

He leaned forward on the desk, his hands pressed flat against the cracked wood to keep himself upright.

"Listen to me, child."

His voice came out ragged, control slipping entirely now.

"A man does everything to protect his family... And I mean everything! No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice, no matter what he has to become!"

His black eyes blazed with something terrible.

"And unlike that damn Alaric Valcor, who brought a walking death sentence into my daughter’s life, I will do everything possible to keep mine safe!"

He pushed off the desk, took one unsteady step toward Damian.

"So I will never... ever–"

BANG

Before he could continue, the door slammed open with enough force to make the photographs on the wall rattle.

A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, her frame smaller than Felix’s but carrying its own kind of presence.

She leaned on a walking stick, her free hand resting on the door handle.

Her black hair was streaked with gray, pulled back in a simple style that revealed a face lined with years of worry and loss.

Her eyes swept across the scene with a single glance.

Felix swaying on his feet, drunk beyond any pretense of control.

The empty bottle on the desk.

The broken glass on the floor.

And a blood-soaked boy sitting in a chair, his hand dripping crimson from fresh cuts.

Her gaze lingered on the boy’s face, on the crimson hair matted with dried blood and on the crimson eyes that stared back at her with emptiness.

The barrier Felix had erected still shimmered invisibly between them, preventing her from hearing whatever conversation had led to this moment.

But she didn’t need to hear anything to understand what had happened here.

"Husband, you are drunk."