Loud music rolled through the air, blending with the rush of joy from the crowds gathered along the streets. People danced wherever there was space, some in vivid patterned dresses, others in costumes and laughter stitched itself into the already, vibrant atmosphere of the San Sebastián Festival, held every third weekend of January.
It was nearly impossible to find a frown in a celebration like this. Even tourists who didn't fully understand the meaning behind the event, or those who came simply because they'd seen it circulating on social media, couldn't stop smiling as they lifted their phones to record every moment. The smell of food drifted through the streets, tempting the hungry to buy something delicious and watch the dancers while chewing on whatever could satisfy their stomachs.
Trying to hold a conversation here was a challenge, unless you managed to slip away to some quiet corner far from the music. But at this festival, finding such a place was close to impossible. Everyone who lived here was out celebrating.
This was Damian's sixth year coming to watch the festival, and each year he brought his daughter along. She loved it, just as the children here did and often tried to copy the dancers moving in the middle of the street. More than once, people paused mid-step just to admire her laughter, their voices warm with affection, "Ah, how adorable, she's beautiful." The kind of praise adults can't resist offering to a little girl.
When his daughter finally stopped dancing, Damian glanced down at her, puzzled. His only child, Elina, pressed a hand to her stomach, and from that small gesture alone, without a single word, he already understood what she was feeling.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yes… I'm really hungry. Can we get a chicken? Ah, and I want ice cream too! Mango! I want mango juice!"
"Oh, my dear Elina… if you want something cold, you can only pick one. Do you want ice cream, or juice?"
At the familiar voice, both Elina and Damian turned at the same time toward the man who approached them with a laugh. Elina gasped, glancing shyly at the older man with her innocent little face, as if that look alone could melt him before peeking back at her father.
"Yes, what Benito said is true. You can only choose one."
Hearing that, especially when it came from her father— wiped her smile away for a moment. But Elina knew all too well that if she kept sulking, she risked losing both options entirely. With a tiny sigh, as if she'd just made a major life decision inside her small head, she nodded.
"Then… I want mango juice."
Damian brushed his hand over her hair and reached for her, but before he could take her hand, Benito was already lifting her into his arms. Elina protested for a second, but Benito's booming laugh drew out her own, her earlier disappointment melting away just as quickly as it had appeared.
"You know you shouldn't spoil her. She's already six. She'll be starting school soon."
Benito shrugged at that, giving Elina's face a glance before shifting his eyes to Damian. He clicked his tongue. "Still… it's ridiculously unfair that she looks so much like that man when you're the one who raised her."
Damian frowned. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that, and honestly, he was getting tired of it. Benito muttered the same thing every time he caught himself staring at Elina, always in that joking tone of his.
"Hurry, Uncle Benito."
"Yeah, yeah… Princess Elina is starving, huh…"
"Damian, let me take her to get the food. You stay here and enjoy yourself. It's your day off too, right? Go dance, haha."
Elina was close to her uncle. Sometimes she even spent afternoons playing at Benito's house— maybe because he loved spoiling her, and children were naturally drawn to adults they found fun. Damian often scolded Benito for giving in to every little wish Elina had. Still, there were moments when Benito didn't indulge her completely.
Just like earlier, when he told Elina she couldn't have both mango juice and ice cream, and had to choose just one.
Damian waved at the two of them and watched as they walked off together, talking and laughing. The sight melted him. Benito was right— Elina's face looked painfully similar to the man Damian had spent years trying to forget. But how could he forget, when her smile… even her little pout… mirrored that man so clearly?
He checked his phone, opened the video app, and started recording the festival— planning to maybe upload it on social media later. He didn't have many followers anyway. He mostly used the account to vent, the anonymity giving him just enough courage to spill whatever weighed on him. Sometimes he used it simply to check the news— information spread there far faster than on official journalistic platforms strangled by layers of censorship.
"Ian."
His grip on his phone tightened. Maybe he misheard. Maybe someone else was calling to a different person. Ian was a common name, he wasn't the only one who had it.
"Ian!"
The second time, the name was shouted— cutting through the roaring music, unmistakably close. A chill swept through his shoulders. That voice. He hadn't heard it in years. And the only person who ever called him by that name— there was no way he'd be here. No way. Even though every instinct screamed for him to turn around, Damian forced himself to stay still, phone held up, camera still recording whatever was in front of him.
But the footsteps closing in confirmed his dread.
A sudden force struck his hand, clang— his phone hit the ground, the screen fracturing in an ugly web. He bent down automatically to grab it, heart pounding, mind insisting he refuse whatever reality waited above the moment he raised his head.
Before he could reach it, his vision jerked. A hand seized his collar and yanked him upward. Their eyes met.
And at that moment, Damian felt every drop of blood in his body freeze. His eyes widened at the man now filling his field of vision.
The man's face was hidden behind a mask, and the eyes staring back at him were icy blue. But the voice— the grip tightening on his collar, the deep furrow in his brow as though a vein might burst— Damian knew exactly who he was.
Ian— the name only one man ever used for him.
"You bastard! Do you not feel even a shred of guilt for running away? Must be nice, huh? Leaving everything behind. I finally found you."
His voice drowned out the entire festival. The music, the crowd, the laughter, everything faded. All Damian could hear was this man's fury pounding directly into his ear.
Fury.
Damian knew what was pulsing through the man who had him by the collar, choking him with each tug– raw anger. But why? He had no clear answer. He didn't know what exactly the man was furious about after all these years.
And yet, even with the past looming right in front of him, Damian wasn't thinking about any of it.
His mind held only one thing. His little girl.
Elina's face.
*
"So, your name is Felix? Do you want to keep it, or would you like to change your name?"
The tall woman in the orphanage caregiver's uniform stared at him intently, as if he were something that needed careful examination. Her expression was serious when she asked the question. The small boy blinked up at her, feeling his heartbeat quicken.
Change his name?
For some reason, the idea stirred something new in him— something he had never felt before. It was as if a door to a wider world had cracked open, a world he was finally allowed to step into. He wanted to leave that name behind. Felix was what the people on the island had given him, back in the orphanage he had never once been allowed to leave.
Then came the night everything changed, the night the man with red eyes rescued him from the burning darkness, from the explosions that lit up the sky in violent orange. That man led him and the other children and flew them away, far beyond the only place he'd ever known. When they landed somewhere entirely unfamiliar, his heart thudded with excitement. He didn't know anything about this new world he was standing in, but at just under ten years old, he felt a kind of relief he didn't yet have words for.
"So. Felix. Male omega. Eight years old. I'll ask again .... do you want to keep your current name, or would you like to choose a new one?"
He forced himself to open his mouth, cheeks burning with shyness as he whispered, "Change it."
"All right. What name would you like? You can look through these papers and tell me when you've made your decision."
He took the sheets she handed him. It took him a moment, his eyes roaming over the printed names, before one of them settled in his mind like it had always belonged to him.
"Damian."
The woman was about to call over another child when he tugged at the fabric around her wrist, stopping her mid-step.
"I want this name for me. Damian."
She nodded, understanding. With a gentle pat on his head, she wrote it down.
"From today onward, your name is Damian. It's a good choice."
Damian.
That was his name now— not Felix. He didn't hate his old name, not exactly. But he disliked how it belonged to the people who had confined him, who made him feel like he had to walk on eggshells every moment of his life.