#phantom mirages

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Apex Legends

Sample Size: 3,432 stories

Source: AO3

[modpoppy]

ty @doctorsiren for my pookieeeeeeee

[not-a-month-107]

SO- A glitch in time, huh?

wild and crazy- I wanted to throw my hat in the newly made ring that is Dan designs- actually, what do we call him now? Here’s this doodle while I go insane elsewhere

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 60th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part III of Chapter 25, “Les Supplices commencent” (The Torture Begins), and Part I of Chapter 26, “Tonneaux !… Tonneaux !… Avez-vous des tonneaux à vendre ?” (Barrels! Barrels! Have You Any Barrels to Sell?).

This section was first printed on Tuesday, 28 December, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward's translation of the First Edition of Phantom of the Opera (either in paperback, or Kindle, or from another vendor -- the ISBN-13 is: 978-0199694570), the text starts in Chapter 24, “For she was right in thinking that there was some horrible significance attached to the light which had appeared in the spyhole…” and goes Chapter 25, “If I was ever to use what I knew, it was now or never!”

There are some differences between the Gaulois text and the First Edition. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) Chapter XXVI was printed as Chapter XXVII. This numbering error was made in Chapter VII, and was not corrected, so it was propagated throughout the Gaulois publication.

2) Each chapter in the Gaulois publication is one number ahead of the chapters in the First Edition, due to the inclusion of “The Magic Envelope” chapter in the Gaulois.

3) Compare the Gaulois text:

L'apparition de cette forêt impénétrable dont les troncs et les branches innombrables nous enlaçaient jusqu'à l'infini, le plongea dans une consternation effarante.

Translation:

The appearance of this impenetrable forest, whose countless trunks and branches surrounded us into infinity, sent him into a state of alarming dismay.

To the First Edition:

L'apparition de cette forêt impénétrable dont les troncs et les branches innombrables nous enlaçaient jusqu'à l'infini, le plongea dans une consternation effrayante.

Translation:

The appearance of this impenetrable forest, whose countless trunks and branches surrounded us into infinity, sent him into a state of frightful dismay.

4) Minor differences in punctuation and italicization.

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE 1 (sections highlighted in blue above):

As in the previous section of this chapter, Erik shifts from 2nd person singular (informal “you”) to 2nd person plural (formal “you”) when addressing Christine. Again, these are not instances of Erik being proper, but rather of him being overly “polite” and thus condescending.

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE 2:

Regarding Erik’s line: Tiens ! je soulève un peu mon masque ! Oh ! un peu seulement… Tu vois mes lèvres ? (Look! I am lifting my mask a little! Oh, only a little… You see my lips?)

The “barbe” (literally, “beard”) of a mask was a piece of hanging fabric attached to the bottom of a demi-mask. This design allowed Erik to lift the hanging fabric of his black silk mask to show his lips without having to shift the entire mask, as can be seen in this mask of similar design from Helsinki.

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE 3: 

Leroux anachronistically based the design of Erik’s torture chamber on the Palais des Mirages (Hall of Mirrors) at the Musée Grévin in Paris (see the videos below), which was created in 1900 for the Exposition Universelle in Paris, and brought to the Musée Grévin in 1906. 

The Palais des Mirages is a small, octagonal mirrored room whose changing scenery reflected in mirrored recursion makes it appear like a great hall that stretches on into infinity.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 28 December, 1909. This link brings you to page 4 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[satoshi-mochida]

Some games that are currently stuck on older consoles that I hope get rereleased in some way, Part 4:

Part 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7

Kenka Bancho series

Mischief Makers

Silhouette Mirage

Fantasian(kind of cheating since it's technically not an 'older console', but still hope it leaves Apple Arcade for more people to play it)

The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourlglass

The Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks

Luminous Arc series

A Witch's Tale

Okamikakushi

Avalon Code

Chibi-Robo

Drakengard series

Contact

Flower, Sun and Rain

Freedom Wars

Oreshika: Tainted Bloodlines(and it's PS1 prequel)

Ace Attorney Investigations 1 and 2

Hotel Dusk: Room 215

Infinite Space

Lifeline(microphone tech has probably gotten much better since this game first released to have it hear voice input better; low chance of this game coming back probably, though)

L.O.L: Lack of Love

Magical Starsign(Magical Vacation)

Metal Max and Metal Saga series

Nanashi no Game and it's sequel

My World, My Way

Snowboard Kids

Soma Bringer

Solatorobo

Viewtiful Joe

[maknine-one]

best seats in the house

[subjxctseventeen]

no spoilers i promise but quantum break fans how are we feeling about alan wake 2 because i am LIVING

[picanogfx]

Ghosties

Tried playing around with geometry nodes and it almost fell flat but... I managed to salvage things with a couple of arrays before using them. Threw in the TMS ghosts for fun and since I didn't want to model more boo variations.

[felix-krain]

I started reading the Phantoms and Mirages (by Meowzy) series on ao3 and OOOOHHH boy

I loved the first fic so much, I'm so happy

Why acknowledge canon when this exists?

[xrinnas-sims]

Parking in Scottsdale

[blackpointgame]

fantasía #fantasy #art #arte #ia #6g #gpt #fiction #imagination #ai #dream #inventiveness #mosaic #hallucination #phantom #canicas #canicas #star #World #poster #mirage #illusion #aabon35 #artificialintelligence http:/ / aabon35.blogspot.com #vatio http:// arubio28814.blogspot.com #tiktokersleaks

[bartoonist]

Zcott Zpectre vs. Corona-Rachnid + LMNT-Mirage Edition: These are my two new illustrations I just done this week, and the first Illustration I’ve done in traditional art form was done a few days ago and its an OC illustration of my Danny Phantom Parody OC: Zcott Zpectre👻🦸🏻‍♂️ who I haven’t drawn since 2019, and then there’s my Supervillain OC formerly known back then as the Phantom Covid but now renamed Corona-Rachnid🦠🕷️🦹🏼‍♂️ for his newest redesign, its also been five years since I created that Supervillain OC on account of the dark global age of social distancing us COVID-19 survivors had to go through back in the early 2020's, this was already a WIP a couple days before the California Fires started recently happening, I’m a Californian who lives in LA and I have a longtime best friend of mine who lived in Palisades and has just lost his home in the palisades to the wild fires too🔥🚒… I just hope my best friend and his family are doing okay and are finding a new home🙏🏡… (pull it together-coughing) uh hm hmm. The second illustration is of the LMNT in their Mirage Designs and in digital art form, yes I know I’ve only drawn two digital drawings since last year and that’s mostly because I’ve been learning to adjust to getting used to a preowned regular iPad 8th generation that a family friend of mine had given me two years ago now since the Apple Company had stopped updating my 1st gen iPad Pro’s software thus making my old one obsolete, I’m very absent minded when it comes to making time to use my newest iPad which has 32gb instead of 256gb like my old one did, so… yeah I’m pretty sure my family friend did not know that my last one had a higher storage capacity whereas the other iPad my family friend gave me had a lower storage capacity making it ironic a storage downgrade lol😂, but hey… at least this new digital drawing will make up having been carelessly absent from my digital artwork lately, so I hope you folks like my two illustrations anyway of course.

[modpoppy]

that meme

[renegadewangs]

Fifty billion bazillion years later, aka "long overdue", I finally added a note about content warnings to the start of Chasing Phantoms (which also applies to the rest of Phantoms and Mirages). The first chapter of that fic was originally submitted on Feb. 25th, 2014, which was right around the time writers were starting to discover and acknowledge content warnings, but no one had really set down any rules for what does or doesn't warrant a warning, and how important they are. So occasionally I'd have this warning that was along the lines of "mention of character death" or "implied gore" while skipping right over the many other questionable things that Phantoms and Mirages had in it. Like, y'know, alcoholism or child abuse, or that one instance of manipulative dub-con. To this day I still don't really have the time- or, let's be real, the awareness- to compile a list of every single triggery thing in this fanfic series. I did try my best to list some of the basics in the warning note, at least. I hope that helps. Though, again, I'm aware it's LONG overdue and damage has probably already been done, for which I apologize.

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 59th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part II of Chapter 25, “Les Supplices commencent” (The Torture Begins).

This section was first printed on Monday, 27 December, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward's translation of the First Edition of Phantom of the Opera (either in paperback, or Kindle, or from another vendor -- the ISBN-13 is: 978-0199694570), the text starts at Christine’s line in Chapter 24, “'I merely wanted’, she said, ‘to look inside that room, the one I’ve never been in, the one you always keep locked…'” and goes to Christine’s line, “'Put the light out in the little window, Erik!… Put it out!…'”

There are some differences between the Gaulois text and the First Edition. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) Each chapter in the Gaulois publication is one number ahead of the chapters in the First Edition, due to the inclusion of “The Magic Envelope” chapter in the Gaulois.

2) Compare the Gaulois text:

Encore un ricanement farouche.

Translation:

Another cruel snicker.

To the First Edition:

Encore un ricanement mauvais.

Translation:

Another nasty snicker.

3) Compare the Gaulois text:

Non !… n'éteignez pas !… J’ai peur !… Je vous dis que j’ai peur dans la nuit !…

Translation:

No!… Don’t turn off the light!… I’m afraid!… I tell you that I’m afraid of the dark!…

To the First Edition:

Non !… J’ai peur !… Je vous dis que j’ai peur dans la nuit !…

Translation:

No!… I’m afraid!… I tell you that I’m afraid of the dark!…

4) Minor differences in punctuation and italicization.

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE 1: The text highlighted in blue in the first half of the section above indicates where Erik switches from using 2nd person singular (informal “you”) to address Christine, which he has used since the unmasking, to using 2nd person plural (formal “you”). Erik’s abrupt use of 2nd person plural here is overly polite, and is intended to be condescending.

Erik switches back to 2nd person singular later on, highlighted in blue in the second part of the section.

If you are following along in David Coward’s translation, Erik starts using 2nd person plural at: “Take a look for yourself, my sweet, through the peephole!” He resumes using 2nd person singular at: “Did you see any birds?…”

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE 2: Leroux anachronistically based the design of Erik’s torture chamber on the Palais des Mirages (Hall of Mirrors) at the Musée Grévin in Paris (see the videos below), which was created in 1900 for the Exposition Universelle in Paris, and brought to the Musée Grévin in 1906. 

The Palais des Mirages is a small, octagonal mirrored room whose changing scenery reflected in mirrored recursion makes it appear like a great hall that stretches on into infinity.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 27 December, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[genius11rare]

would that mean even the people in Amity are seeing Danyal al Ghul stuff?

There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)