"Name of Leon's cat?"
"Janus. Too easy, you're not even trying."
"All right then… Favorite color?"
"Black. Next."
"Our mother's nickname for us?"
"Little sheep because our hair was curly when we were little."
The car trip passed mostly like this, with Damian throwing questions at his older self, only to have each one answered correctly. The longer this impromptu interrogation continued, the less reason Damian had to think the stranger was lying.
The older Damian drove the car, and in profile view, it seemed like he resembled their father more than anything else. His hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail, the dark hair streaked with gray; he had Damian's distinctive, chiseled jaw, and the small nose they'd both inherited from their mother.
"Shit, I don't know what to think…"
Damian looked out the window, watching the streets of Rosweiss speed past in a blur of Flame-blessed streetlamps.
"Isn't this some kind of violation of time travel laws, or something? Is it really fine for you to be traipsing around my world, killing Apostles like that?"
The other Damian laughed, his voice hoarse.
"If I'm violating any laws, I wasn't told about them. Besides, I consider it worth the risk. It's vital that I tell you—"
"—Not listening! I told you, I'll entertain your madness once we've rescued Tia, and I've spoken to Leon. For all I know, you're still my enemy."
"Would an enemy bother healing your wounds?"
"Maybe you're a stupid enemy."
Damian had begrudgingly accepted healing from his other self, if only because his own mastery over the Aspect of Vigor wasn't suitable for healing anything more than a paper cut.
His rib cage still felt a little misaligned, but it was a far sight better than before, and would at least hold up in another scrap. Once again, Damian was thankful for his diligent training regime—and once again, he tried not to crumble when he thought of Dominic.
"You know, I always wondered what meeting my future self would be like."
The older Damian's words drew the younger from the dark thoughts threatening to drag him down into the depths of sorrow. The car turned down another street, and the stranger continued,
"I figured it would be all mysterious and exciting. I mean, what an opportunity! Learn about your future, change your destiny—that type of thing. But I suppose in the end, it's just a confusing mess."
"You can say that again. Trust me, I want to believe you. If you really are the King of Sidralis, then our father is gone in both timelines, I suppose?"
The older man sighed deeply, before shooting his younger self a devilish grin.
"I thought you didn't want to know my story?"
"Oh, piss off."
Outsmarted by himself, Damian scowled and turned away, ignoring the older man's harsh chuckle.
Outside the windows, the city was getting darker by the second, and he realized they were approaching Tenebrae. Flame-blessed lamps were replaced by dirty gas lamps, and the narrow streets were blackened by shadow.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Damian thought he saw the darkness writhing. A sea of shadow roiling like a mass of insects, just waiting to drag him back into those abysmal depths.
He shuddered, and palmed the Regalia, comforted by the faint warmth in the ruby.
"We're here," the older Damian said, pulling the car onto the curb.
The engine fell silent. Belatedly, Damian recognized their surroundings—they were at the northern end of Hunter's Lane, on the edge of Tenebrae, and just a few minutes from—
"—Morgan Blackbriar's offices?"
Damian frowned, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts.
"This doesn't make sense—are you saying Blackbriar is responsible for killing my father?"
The other Damian shook his head.
"The King's death has nothing to do with it—but everything to do with your missing Tia. Come on, let's get going."
Without elaborating further, the other Damian exited the car, popping a cigarette into his lips as he did so. Without anything else to do, Damian followed his older self out into the bitterly cold streets.
Clouds gathered thickly overhead, threatening rain any moment.
At night, Tenebrae took on an entirely different atmosphere.
The darkness clung heavily to the streets, pooling between the gas-lit streetlamps. Businesses were shuttered and locked for the night, cafés turned into a monstrous skeleton of upturned chairs. Nary a soul walked the streets, and even the air itself seemed to slumber under the heavy oppression of the Deep.
The older Damian lit his cigarette with the tip of his finger. The cigarette glowed with an unnatural brightness, casting a wide light around them both. The Deepshadow retreated, hissing like stray cats.
"So why are we here, then?" Damian pressed, shivering at more than just the chill. "You said we were killing two birds with one stone. I assumed you meant about finding my father's killer?"
"And we are. But avenging your father is none of my business, and right now, none of yours, either. Whether Morgan Blackbriar did the things I've seen in your papers, well; I can't say for sure. It didn't happen in my timeline after all."
Damian paused.
"Wait. Father wasn't murdered in your time?"
"No."
The older man shook his head sadly, blowing a stream of smoke away.
"My father's life was lost to his illness, while yours was stolen early. If the Fates have decided one thing, it's that King Xavier V is not permitted to hold the throne of Sidralis. If I could change that, I would, believe me. Some things are just permanently set by the Fates, and mere humans are powerless against Their will."
Damian opened his mouth, a retort on his lips. If this stranger knew something was going to happen to the king no matter what, then why hadn't he tried to do something?!
But the older Damian had such a forlorn, sad look on his face, that the words simply died upon his lips.
He's already tried, hasn't he?
Damian didn't need to ask the question. He knew himself, after all; and as insane as it seemed, this other Damian really was the same person. There was no world or timeline where he wouldn't have tried to save his father or any of his loved ones.
The older Damian set off down Hunter's Lane.
"Come, we haven't much time. You want to find Tia, and you want to call your Uncle? Then I know exactly the place to find a guaranteed telephone and your maid."
Damian followed his future self at a brisk trot.
The brightly burning cigarette kept the darkness at bay, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them from the shadows—multiple somethings.
Apostles?
Or something even worse born from the Deep?
Wait. A place to find a telephone? Of course! The boardroom.
It made perfect sense. Assuming both Damians had met Morgan Blackbriar under similar circumstances, they'd both know he kept one of the Deep's telephones in his boardroom. As the spymaster and sole user of the Deep in the Palace, Leon's telephone could be dialed from any matching telephone in Tenebrae.
"But isn't this a little risky just for a phone call? There must be dozens of telephones all throughout Tenebrae. That's how they communicate with one another, right?"
"Well, we could break into one of these houses, make a phone call, fight off some Apostles, and be home for tea. But that won't solve your little housekeeping problem."
"Tia…? What's she got to do with this?"
The two Damians entered the open plaza outside Morgan Blackbriar's offices.
At night, the building glowed brightly with dozens of gas-lit lamps—it might even be the brightest building in all of Tenebrae. It paled in comparison to the heavenly beauty of Rossheim Palace, but amidst the inky darkness of the streets, the building's warm glow was strangely inviting.
The other Damian spoke suddenly.
"I said that our timelines aren't quite a match, right?"
"Uh—yeah. Here, my father was killed and where you're from, my father died from his cancer?"
The older man nodded.
"That's not the only difference. Naturally, you and I have led very different lives. I turned forty last spring, after all. And in all that time, I never once knew of a blonde-haired maid called Tia Alessia."
The other Damian dropped the cigarette and ground it out beneath the heel of his boot. The light vanished, plunging them into the watery darkness of Tenebrae's night.
He blew the last breath of smoke skywards.
"But I did know of a blonde-haired First Seat of the High Table called Tia Blackbriar."
Damian barely had a moment to process his shock before a shrill scream split the air.
The older Damian cracked his neck loudly.
"Looks like we're just in time."