Cloudy clouds

She didn’t hear the window in the other room slide open.

She didn’t feel the shift in the air until it was too late.

“Enjoy your field trip?”

The voice came from the dark like a blade sliding from its sheath.

She shrieked.

The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor as she spun around, heart slamming violently against her ribs. Her eyes struggled to adjust, and then she saw him. A silhouette leaning against the far wall near the fire escape window, posture familiar, rigid, unmistakable.

“Damian.”

Her voice cracked around his name.

He stepped forward slowly, and the faint streetlight spilling through the window caught the sharp lines of his face. He was not in full uniform, but he might as well have been. His presence filled the room like a storm front.

“What,” he asked coolly, “did you think would happen?”

Her lungs felt too small. “How did you—”

“You used your real name,” he cut in sharply. “At Arkham. Did you truly believe no one would notice?”

Her blood ran cold.

Arkham.

Tim.

Of course.

She stepped back instinctively, bumping into the counter. “I just went to visit—”

“I know who you went to visit.” His jaw tightened. “Are you insane?”

She flinched. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then stop acting like it.” His voice rose despite himself. “Arkham is not a park. It is not a school field trip. It is a containment facility for the worst minds in Gotham.”

“She’s my mother.”

The words burst out of her before she could swallow them.

He went still.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Something sharper. Something complicated.

“And?” he demanded, but the edge had dulled slightly. “That gives you immunity?”

“She understands,” Y/N snapped back, fear turning quickly into defensiveness. “She understands what I am.”

“What you are?” His brows drew together. “You are our sister.”

She laughed weakly. “That didn’t stop you from treating me like a liability.”

The accusation landed harder than she meant it to.

His hands curled at his sides.

“You disappeared for months,” he said, voice dropping lower, rougher. “You vanished. We thought you were dead. And now you walk into Arkham alone.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

Her breath hitched. “You don’t get to—”

He moved suddenly.

Not to strike. Not to hurt. Just to close the distance.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

She gasped.

He was stronger. Infinitely stronger. She knew that. She had always known that. Even when they were children and he had been all sharp elbows and fury, he had been stronger.

“You are coming home,” he said tightly. “Now.”

“No.”

Her panic surged like a live wire.

“I am not asking.”

“I’m not going back.”

He pulled her a step closer.

She saw it then, not just anger. Not just frustration. Something frantic underneath. Something that looked too much like frantic fear.

“You think you can survive out here?” he demanded. “In this hole? In this city? Alone?”

“I was doing fine!”

“Working in a nightclub?” His voice sharpened dangerously. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Her stomach dropped.

“You followed me?”

“We have been searching for you every day,” he snapped. “You are not difficult to trace when you insist on using your real identity in high-security facilities.”

She yanked against his grip. “Let me go!”

“No.”

The word was iron.

Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy.

“I don’t belong there,” she said desperately. “You suffocate me.”

His grip tightened reflexively.

“You would rather suffocate out here?”

She felt it building under her skin — that familiar, uncontrollable swell of emotion and power mixing in her bloodstream.

“Let go,” she warned softly.

“Stop fighting.”

The plant on the windowsill shuddered violently.

Damian’s eyes flicked toward it just as the soil cracked.

Green erupted upward in a sudden burst, vines snapping toward the ceiling, curling instinctively between them. They did not strike him. They did not harm him. But they rose like a barrier, thick and alive, separating them in an instant of startled silence.

He released her wrist.

For a fraction of a second, both of them stared.

She hadn’t meant to. God, what did she do?

“I told you,” she whispered, backing toward the window. “I can’t control it.”

His expression shifted from anger to shock to something almost wounded.

She didn’t wait for it to settle.

She shoved the window open, scrambling onto the fire escape as the vines tangled briefly around the metal frame.

“Y/N—”

But she was already climbing.

Cold air hit her face as she moved upward, heart racing, breath ragged. She didn’t look back.

⸻

Back at the Manor, Tim’s fingers froze over the keyboard when the apartment feed went dark.

“Damian moved,” he said sharply.

Bruce looked up.

“He left ten minutes ago.”

Jason swore. „Damn brat.“.

They had agreed. One of them only. Careful. Slow. Controlled.

Not Damian.

Not first.

Bruce’s jaw hardened.

“Location,” he ordered.

Tim pulled it up.

Narrows.

Of course.

Jason was already reaching for his helmet.

“Before he ruins this.”

Dick exhaled sharply. “If she panics—”

“She already has,” Tim muttered, watching the security feed glitch with sudden bursts of green across the frame.

Plants.

Bruce’s eyes darkened.

“Move.”

⸻

On the fire escape, Y/N’s hands shook as she climbed higher, tears blurring her vision. She had tried to build something different. Something small and hers. And now they were here. Again. Always.

Below her, Damian stepped into the alley, gaze tracking upward.

He had not come to drag her back in chains.

But he had come to take her home.

And he was not leaving without her.

She was not built for rooftops.

That was the first thing her body told her as her shoes slipped against gravel and loose tar, as the wind clawed at her skirt and tried to pull her backward. Gotham’s skyline stretched jagged and unforgiving around her, all sharp edges and empty spaces waiting to swallow her whole.

Behind her, a window banged open.

“Y/N!”

His voice cracked across the alley like a gunshot.

She didn’t turn around.

If she turned around, she would stop.

If she stopped, he would reach her.

And if he reached her—

She didn’t let herself finish the thought.

She ran.

Her lungs burned almost immediately. She was not trained for this. She was not Robin. She had never been taught how to distribute her weight across unstable surfaces, how to measure distance with a glance, how to fall without breaking bones.

She was just a girl.

A girl with shaking hands and borrowed courage.

“Stop!” Damian’s voice cut through the night again, closer this time. Too close. “Do not take another step!”

She reached the edge of the building.

The gap between this rooftop and the next was wider than she had anticipated. Too wide. Her breath stuttered in her throat as she stared at the empty space yawning between concrete and concrete.

Below, the alley looked like a throat.

“You will fall,” Damian warned, voice low now, dangerous. “You are not equipped for this.”

“I don’t want to go back!” she shot back, turning just enough to look at him.

He stood several meters away, balanced perfectly on the roof’s edge as if it were solid ground. His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes bright with something feral and frantic.

“You think I am asking?” he demanded.

There it was.

That edge.

That possessive sharpness that made her stomach twist.

“You’re not my jailer!” she cried.

His expression hardened. “If that is what keeps you alive, then I will be.”

The words struck her harder than the wind.

Monster.

The thought bloomed again in her mind, ugly and familiar. A monster with vines in her veins and a villain for a mother. A liability. A weakness. Something to be contained.

“I’m not a thing to lock up!” she shouted, and before fear could swallow her resolve, she ran forward and jumped.

For a heartbeat, she was suspended in nothing.

The world dropped away beneath her.

Her foot barely caught the ledge of the next building. Gravel slid. Her body pitched forward violently, hands scraping raw against concrete as she slammed down hard. Pain exploded in her palms.

She nearly slipped.

For one sickening second, her shoe dangled over open air.

But she dragged herself up, knees shaking, chest heaving. She had made it.

She pushed to her feet, dizzy but upright, and took two staggering steps back—

Too long.

She had waited too long.

When she looked up again, Damian was already landing on the same rooftop with effortless precision.

He didn’t even look winded.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

She spun, searching for another escape route, but the next building was too far. There was no fire escape. No adjacent ledge. Only the city stretching out in impossible distances.

She backed toward the opposite edge without realizing it.

“Do not,” Damian warned, voice dropping into something almost unrecognizable, “take another step.”

She did.

Her heel scraped empty air.

She gasped and flung her arms out to balance, barely catching herself before gravity claimed her.

“Y/N.”

This time her name sounded different.

Not barked. Not ordered.

Pleading.

She hated that it made her hesitate.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, and her voice trembled so badly it almost fractured. “I don’t want to be this.”

“You can’t hurt me. You are not hurting me,” he snapped. “You are hurting yourself.”

“I can’t control it!” she cried. “I can’t control any of it!”

The wind shifted.

And suddenly, they were not alone.

A dark shape landed on the far side of the rooftop.

Then another.

And another.

She froze.

Batman stepped forward first, cape swallowing light, presence swallowing air.

Nightwing followed, quieter but no less tense, blue emblem catching the faint glow of the city.

Red Hood landed last, helmet reflecting her small, trembling silhouette back at her.

The world felt smaller.

Boxed in.

Her breathing turned shallow.

“Kid,” Jason muttered, voice filtered through modulator, rough and strained, “this is getting old.”

She took another step back instinctively.

“Don’t,” Dick said quickly, hands lifting slightly, palms open. “Hey— hey, look at me. Just breathe, okay? We’re not here to hurt you.”

“That’s not what it feels like,” she whispered.

Bruce’s voice cut through the night, controlled but tight around the edges. “You went to Arkham.”

It wasn’t a question.

She swallowed. “She’s my mother.”

“And we are your family,” he replied immediately.

The words landed heavy.

“Family doesn’t cage you,” she shot back, tears finally spilling over. “Family doesn’t neglect you. Family doesn’t—”

“Family doesn’t survive losing you twice,” Jason snapped.

Silence fell like a blade.

Her eyes flicked to him.

Even through the helmet, she could feel it. The rawness. The fury. The fear.

“You think this is about control?” Dick asked softly. “You think we’re doing this because it’s fun?”

Bruce stepped forward one measured step.

She stepped back one frantic one.

Her heel slid.

“Stop!” Damian barked, panic finally breaking through his composure.

She wobbled violently.

Strong arms caught her from behind.

She didn’t even see who moved first.

One second she was teetering over empty air. The next, she was yanked backward into solid, unyielding muscle.

She screamed and struggled instantly, panic surging like wildfire. “No— let me go— let me go!”

Jason’s helmet was inches from her face as he pinned her arms to her sides with ease. “Enough.”

She twisted, kicked, fought uselessly. She was nothing compared to them. Nothing against this strength, this training, this coordinated precision.

“I hate this!” she cried. “I hate you! Why can’t you leave me alone like you did all my life?”

Her powers flared again under her skin, but there was no soil here. No roots to answer her. Just cold rooftop and iron grips.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she sobbed.

“You won’t,” Dick said hoarsely, stepping closer, hand hovering uncertainly near her shoulder. “You won’t hurt us.”

Her breaths came too fast.

Too sharp.

Her vision blurred.

“Bruce,” Tim’s voice crackled faintly over comms from somewhere below, tight with calculation, “her heart rate’s spiking.”

“I know,” Bruce muttered.

Jason felt it too — the way she was spiraling, not fighting strategically, but unraveling.

“She’s going to pass out anyway,” he growled quietly.

Bruce hesitated.

For a fraction of a second.

Then he nodded once.

Jason’s grip shifted just enough for Damian to step forward.

She didn’t even register the small device in his hand until she felt the prick at her neck.

Her body jerked.

“Damian—” Dick started sharply.

“She will not survive another fall,” Damian snapped back, though his voice shook.

Warmth flooded her bloodstream almost instantly.

Her limbs turned heavy.

“No,” she whispered weakly. “Please don’t…”

The city blurred.

Her knees gave out completely this time.

Jason caught her fully against his chest as her body went limp, her fingers clutching weakly at his jacket before sliding away.

Darkness swallowed her.

For a long moment, none of them moved.

They just stood there, wind whipping around them, holding the fragile, unconscious weight of the girl who had nearly slipped through their fingers again.

Jason exhaled slowly. “Got her.”

Damian stared down at her face, jaw tight, eyes dark with something that looked dangerously close to guilt.

Bruce stepped forward and brushed dirt gently from her cheek, his gloved hand trembling just slightly.

“She will never run like this again,” Damian said quietly.

Bruce’s gaze did not leave his daughter’s face.

“No,” he agreed.

But whether that was promise or warning, none of them clarified.

Jason adjusted his hold, cradling her more securely.

She looked smaller like this.

Smaller than rooftops.

Smaller than Gotham.

Smaller than the fear they all carried.

And as they disappeared into the night with her in their arms, each of them understood the same twisted truth:

They would rather sedate her.

Chain her.

Track her.

Overwhelm her.

Than ever stand on a rooftop again and watch her almost fall.

_____

When she wakes, she will not recognize the ceiling.

For now, she does not wake at all.

She lies still in a bed that is too soft for the Narrows and too bright for the life she tried to build. The room is not the one she left behind months ago — not the too-clean, museum-like space that felt more like a guest room than a daughter’s sanctuary. This one is warmer. Lighter. The curtains are pale cream instead of sterile white. The shelves hold books she actually likes. There are plants by the window — carefully chosen, harmless ones. A thick rug softens the floor. There are framed sketches on the wall. Her old elephant plush sits carefully propped against her pillow, stitched ear slightly crooked, waiting like it never stopped.

She does not see any of it.

She is pale against the sheets, lashes resting too heavily against hollowed cheeks.

Alfred stands at her bedside with a glass of water and a physician’s report in hand, his expression composed but carved from something much older than calm.

“She is underweight,” he says quietly. “Vitamin deficiencies. Iron low. Dehydration markers present.”

Jason swears under his breath from the doorway.

Dick looks like he might be sick.

Damian says nothing.

Bruce stands at the foot of the bed, still in half-armor, gloves removed but gauntlets unstrapped. His eyes do not leave her face.

“She was starving,” Tim mutters, scanning through the lab readouts on the tablet. “Not intentionally. Just… not enough.”

“She was working in a nightclub,” Jason snaps bitterly. “What did you expect?”

“She should never have needed to,” Dick fires back, voice tight.

“That is not the point,” Bruce cuts in sharply.

Silence falls.

It is heavier now. Different. Not panic — something more deliberate.

Alfred clears his throat gently. “Master Bruce.”

Bruce nods once.

Tim’s fingers hover over another file. “If we’re going to do it,” he says quietly, “this is the safest window.”

Jason’s gaze flicks to him. “You’re sure?”

Tim’s jaw tightens. “If she vanishes again, we might not get a second rooftop.”

No one argues with that.

Bruce moves closer to the bed and gently brushes a strand of hair away from her forehead. She doesn’t stir.

“Minimal,” he says. “No more than necessary.”

Alfred nods.

The procedure is small. Clinical. Controlled.

A micro-tracker — smaller than a grain of rice — is inserted beneath the skin near her shoulder blade while she remains unconscious. It is done cleanly, efficiently, without ceremony.

She does not know.

She will not know.

When it is finished, Tim syncs the signal to the cave’s network. A blinking dot appears on the map of Gotham.

Stable.

Alive.

Here.

Damian watches the screen longer than anyone else.

Bruce finally turns to him.

“You disobeyed a direct agreement,” he says flatly.

Damian does not look away from the monitor. “She would have run regardless.”

“That was not the point.”

“She is my responsibility as well.”

Bruce’s eyes harden. “You do not get to decide that unilaterally.”

Damian finally looks at him. There is no arrogance in his expression now. Only something bruised and defensive.

“She was at Arkham,” he says quietly. “Alone.”

“And you believed confronting her by yourself would improve that?”

A flicker of frustration flashes through Damian’s eyes. “I could have handled it.”

Jason scoffs from the doorway. “Yeah. You handled it straight off a roof.”

Dick shoots him a look, but he doesn’t deny it.

Damian’s hands curl at his sides. “She panicked because all of you arrived.”

“She panicked because she doesn’t trust us,” Tim corrects, voice subdued.

That one lands.

Bruce exhales slowly, exhaustion bleeding through the edges of his control. “We will not repeat that mistake.”

Damian’s jaw tightens, but he inclines his head slightly.

It is as close to an apology as he ever offers.

Alfred adjusts the blanket around her shoulders, movements careful, tender. “She is not your prisoner,” he says gently, without looking at any of them. “She is frightened.”

Bruce’s gaze softens — only barely — as it returns to his daughter.

“I know.”

Do you?

The question hangs unspoken.

She shifts faintly in her sleep, brow furrowing as if caught in a dream. Her fingers twitch toward the elephant plush beside her pillow. Damian notices first and steps forward instinctively, but stops himself.

Jason moves instead, slower than usual, and carefully places the plush into her hand.

Her fingers curl weakly around it.

The room stills.

“She will wake confused,” Dick murmurs.

Bruce nods. “Then we will explain.”

“Not everything,” Tim says quietly.

Bruce doesn’t respond.

On the screen in the cave below, the blinking dot continues its steady rhythm.

Here.

Jason crosses his arms. “She’s not leaving again.”

It isn’t a question.

Bruce’s eyes remain fixed on her fragile form.

“No,” he says softly.

This time, it sounds less like a promise to control her.

And more like a vow to the universe.

Outside her window, the night deepens over Gotham.

Inside, the family keeps watch.

And for the first time since she ran, she is sleeping under their roof again — pale, fragile, and surrounded.

Not free.

But home.

_______

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“Y/N! You’re back!” Phainon screamed excitedly from the main staircase of your shared palace when he saw you standing in your mansion’s entrance, beginning to step down towards you faster than he was doing previously. “How was it on the streets today?” He asked when he finally finished climbing down and jumped off the stairs, walking towards you with his arms behind his back excitedly.

You, happy to see him too, were quick to take off your hat, jacket and accessories with the help of your lady-in-honor, staring back at Phainon’s joyful ocean-blue eyes.

“It was fine. The army resistance was surprisingly very little today so we didn’t have much trouble doing our protest.” You reciprocated his excitement, bowing to your maid in gratefulness before she could start walking away and taking your things back to your bedroom.

“That’s great to hear, Y/N!” Phainon replied, eyes shining with pure admiration of your courage. “I also have good news.” He blinked to you with a smirky grin in his lips, just waiting for you to ask him about his achievement so he could brag about whatever he’d done.

“Oh? What is it?” You crossed your arms casually, finally putting an end to the classy and formal behavior that you adapted to to follow the societal norms of the town where you two live in.

Phainon decided to fix his throat and tie before he could answer you, trying to make himself a bit more classy and snobby before flexing whatever news he had.

“Our pads and tampons are making such a huge success that one of my investors managed to begin trading our products with all North, Central and South America.” Phainon talked in a slightly sarcastic tone, obviously trying to exaggerate it to you so you could be extra happier with it.

“Are you serious?! No way! All three Americas at the same time?!” You gasped in shock, almost skipping in joy while imagining what would be all kinds of women trying out those items and finding out just how extraordinarily better they are than whatever they were currently using to absorb their menstruations.

“Yessir!” Phainon opened both his arms,welcoming all that joy you were expressing.

Every day, Phainon somehow managed to surprise you with good news and raise your spirits about your current life whether it was because of his mindless kindness and consideration of you or with his intelligent marketing skills. You admired him so much that you didn’t even like imagining what would your life be without him in this universe. You’d probably just find yourself marrying an old man who has zero interest or empathy with you, much less in your feminist ideals, and only gives you the bare minimum attention to keep you sane.

The difference between all men and Phainon is that you and him were modern. While other men thought with a non-industrial mindset of making a few thousands for profit, Phainon, who has lived with billionaires, thinks immediately about the millions he can profit because he knows exactly what to invest in. And while other women were mostly illiterate and solely worried with things like their marriage and birthing dozens of kids for their husbands, you were worried about ‘men things’ such as the job market and human progress and you had knowledge about all sorts of things. Because of this, you two were an extremely powerful duo. Your success was sudden, massive and impressive, leaving every man and woman from all social classes either inspired or envious. You two reigned everything. Either your or Phainon’s presence was highly valued in every party you stepped in, whether as an annoyance, taking everyone’s eyes away from the main objective of the ball, or as a blessing, since your presence meant that the party was entertaining.

After all, whatever the perfect couple interacts with or believes in, many others will want to interact with it or follow your beliefs too.

Yes, you and Phainon were technically a couple that got married a few months ago, but in practice, you two didn’t even sleep in the same room. It was an arranged business that you two agreed to do because women cannot really live without a husband and neither you or Phainon wanted you to be bullied for the rest of your life, so joining family, money and forces was obviously the smartest choice. You two had a little wedding and a marriage certification, but no kiss was ever seen after the fake one in the altar.

Your ‘marriage’ was actually one of the first triggers to awaken women into feminism. It was completely alternative. You weren’t forced to display affection with him publicly, you had all rights to complain and raise your voice to Phainon, Phainon had zero demands to you regarding his satisfaction with his life or kids, while at the same time he’d spoil you nonstop. It made women crave that freedom from their husbands, who all thought you were a greedy witch and that Phainon deserved better. But there was nothing they could do about it. His money reigned the country. So much that it made this sinful way of life of yours affordable and even cultural. It’s not his fault he know as exactly what inventions will be successful or not, but he’ll only keep growing, and whatever you two do will be what people want to do too. ‘His’ idea about creating tampons and pads was actually a request from you. Using random, non-absorbing cloths as pads was horrible and barely efficient, making your routine horrible during menstruation, so you decided to talk to Phainon about it, who immediately went after the creation of tampons and pads. A perfect example of how you two were iconic. Phainon already knew tampons and pads would be an immediate millionaire success, and all women envied the dedication of your husband to you compared their own men.

There is so much Phainon has done to you… He gave you a whole personal room for you to sleep in without him, a whole garden that had all the flowers you wished, he bought you all the dresses and makeup you wanted and every reform and furniture of the house was ordered by you. It felt like his life mission was assuring you a comfortable, almost free life, but it still felt incomplete to you because of one reason. The inferiority of women. Seeing women being sent away at age of 15 to marry a 40 year-old man made your heart ache with anguish. Seeing men shame prostitutes for their jobs and even throw tiny rocks on them made you angry. Seeing men’s hypocrisy to force women into a religion and a cult of purity that they don’t follow on their own made your blood boil… A much larger list of failures in this patriarchal system made you revolt, so you begun using your influence and money to create feminism.

And your ideas were expectedly booming between all women of your country, and Congress was slowly becoming more and more convinced that it wouldn’t be horrible idea to give women a few rights.

“I know I’m awesome, I know.” Phainon used a hand to push his frontal hair back to act even prouder of himself in front of you.

“We’re making so much progress in so little time! I can’t believe we are the first era of feminists and we’re turning out to be so successful!” You tip-toed in the floor, holding your own cheeks with excitement.

“We? No, no, no… you.” Phainon’s fingers suddenly reached to your chest bone and pressed it down, forcing all the credits for the success of the feminist movement to you. “And a lady like you deserves a delicious meal in compensation for her work, don’t you think?” He took away his finger off you, but his face leaned a bit closer to you too, staring at you deeply with admiration. “Follow me, Y/N.” He blinked a bit seductively, making you giggle, and when you looked down, his hands was hanging open in front of you just waiting for you to hold it.

And so you did, inflating your chest with air to show him your excitement and how high were your expectations. Phainon giggled at your behavior, beginning to gently pull you around the house.

You and Phainon silently walked in direction of the dinging room, only a few noises of creaking wood accompanying your steps. The silence wasn’t awkward, only a bit tense due to the circumstances you were in. Every corridor you two walked through, the house would become quieter and darker despite still being early afternoon. Your dining room was in a corner of the house where no background noise could annoy you and him, meaning it was distant from the home’s main entrance. And when you had finally reached the long, dark and narrow hall that led to nothing but the dining room in its end, Phainon decided to break the silence.

“You also have a second appointment today, don’t you? Or maybe tomorrow? Or maybe it already happened?” Phainon turned half of his face to you, staring at you with curiosity.

“A second appointment? I don’t—” Before you could finish speaking, your brain suddenly brought back a memory of you and some of your friends talking about future plans and played it for you.

It was you, Ms. Castorice and Ms. Algaea, the other two co-leaders of your movement, discussing about some great news in Aglaea’s mansion. Congress had accepted to participate in a debate with you and a team of other 5 people about giving women a few rights. You and them were discussing about which topics to bring up, which people to form a team with, and when should the debate happen.

“Cat got your tongue?” Phainon woke you up from your thoughts, laughing at your frozen face and still staring at it now with a mischievous stare.

“I do!” You snapped the fingers of your other free hands. “I-I have to go to Congress by 6 tonight!” Phainon’s eyes widened when you reminded him of what appointment was scheduled for today or maybe sometime else.

“Ah, yes!” Phainon stopped walking and let your hand go. “You were telling me about your plans for it a few days ago!” He pointed to you with a hand, trying to relate to you.

“Yes, yes, yes! I’ve prepared such good arguments to tell the Congress! It’ll be very difficult for them for them to deny our requests, much less with a good reason!” You crossed your arms again, remembering the expectations you had set. “Can you imagine? By tomorrow we might get the right to divorce! Women will get the right to divorce!” Phainon’s eyes widened when he felt the impact of those news.

“Seriously? The right to divorce this early?!” His mouth dropped to the floor as you confidently nodded to him.

“Yessir! We might finally be able to ask for a divorce too!” You laughed at your own additional words, but you quickly realized that Phainon went fully quiet while you were, so you stopped laughed and looked him, only to see he did not reciprocate, still with the same widened expression in his face, but his mouth was not smiley anymore.

“What do you mean?” He asked a bit confused.

“Me and you… Getting a divorce…” You pointed to him and you as you spoke, then you put your hands together only to separate them, representing what divorce was.

But Phainon’s expression turned horrified and almost pale when you separated your hands from each other, apparently taking it as a genuine offense.

“Why..?” His eyebrows frowned, looking as you worried.

“Well.. because we aren’t exactly married… This is all just for survival, remember?” You laughed a bit to try cooling him off, but Phainon’s expression only seemed to sadden even more.

“But… we’re fine together, aren’t we? We’re surviving really well, aren’t we? So why would you want to divorce?” Phainon stepped closer to you once, and this hall started to feel like it’d became narrower.

“W-Well, yeah, we’re doing good, but if I get women the right to divorce and to work independently, I won’t need you anymore… I mean, we were not doing this back in Amphoreus for a reason…” You laughed it off again, but then his hurt expression and silence made you realize you shouldn’t be giving him any reasoning. “What’s going on, Phainon?” You darkened your expression, trying to get straight to the point.

“I’ve been a good husband, haven’t I? I’ve made you happy all this time, haven’t I?” Phainon now sounded visibly anxious, breath almost hitching as he slowly stepped closer and closer to you, forcing you to repel and step backwards.

“Yeah, Phainon, but you’re not actually my husband. No need to call yourself one…” You laughed at his words, not sympathizing with his worry. “This is all an act for us to survive in this society, remember? There is no actual love or dependence between us or anything…” Phainon’s eyes widened with that last phrase as if you said something that just crushed his heart.

“W-What..?” Phainon’s cute puppy eyes stared at you with dying hope, but you still didn’t feel the slightest pity for him.

“Phainon, seriously, what the fuck is going on?” You decided to step forward this time, setting your ground for him to understand he was almost disrespecting your space.

Phainon didn’t answer you at first, only reluctantly staring at your eyes with his shaky blue pupils. It costed him quite a while to build courage to be truthful with you, gulping down his accumulated saliva and turning his head down to avoid the shame of what he has in his mind.

“I… I don’t want a divorce.” His confession came out as loud as a whisper, which made you not understand what he said initially and forced you to guess it.

Jointing the few syllables you’ve heard and assuming the words and articles he’d said with the help of context clues, you’d concluded he’d said ‘I don’t want a divorce’, which immediately triggered you to have a negative reaction. But you still remained quiet, trying to comprehend why would he want to stay married to you. Maybe he’s afraid to live without a wife in this rigid society? But he’s a man… You are the one supposed to be afraid of living without a husband. Or maybe he’s thinking about that? About your safety and comfort living in this society without a husband? Or maybe… that alternative you’ve been avoiding to recognize ever since the day of your ‘marriage’..?

…

No, it can’t be. He would never.

So you just sighed, throwing that thought to the back of your and concluding your investigation. Phainon did not want a divorce, and he doesn’t want it because he’s worried about you.

“You don’t a want a divorce?” You firmly queried, trying to have a bit of confirmation over your guess, a hand of yours moving to the necklace you wore to fidget it while he answered.

“Yes…” He mumbled shyly and you scoffed in pride of having guessed it correctly, still not understanding why was he be acting like this if his intentions were so pure.

“Why?” You inflated your chest again, preparing for whatever he wanted to say now.

“Because…” He tried to answer your question immediately, but the knot in his throat impeded him from finishing. “Because…” And he tried again, a bit less desperately, failing so miserably he looked down to the floor again in embarrassment.

And so, you exhaled, letting all that imprisoned air in your lungs in a sigh. Since he couldn’t say it for himself, you’d do it for him.

“I appreciate your worry for my comfort, Phainon, but I can definitely live on my own. I don’t care about what these people have to say about me and my choices. In fact, they can feel free to bully me as much as they want, I’ll still be milking more money than them in the end of the day.” You spoke less firmly, trying to see if that would make him feel comfortable to be more honest with you. “I can’t even guarantee that we will get the right to divorce in the first place anyway…” You tried to be a bit more optimistic, but then you immediately regretted it in recognition that it is needed to be realistic in a situation like this. “But I’ll still go to Congress today and fight for it. For me and all the women that need to get away from their husbands.” You could see Phainon swallowing another big chunk of saliva when you finished talking, surprisingly having a negative reaction again.

“For you? Why you?” Phainon stepped closer once again, face only becoming more stunned, which truly disturbed you.

“You’re scaring me, Phainon.” You brought your shoulders closer to your body, trying to make yourself more resistant and tolerable to his behavior.

“I don’t mean to scare you, Y/N… I just want to know why do you want a divorce when we’re so happy together…” He tried to argue in a way that still didn’t reveal his reason, but seeing how unmoved and suspicious you still were of him, he sighed and squinted his eyes. “I don’t want a divorce…” He stated his intentions again, but in a weak tone that made him sound like a hungry puppy, trying to make you feel guilty.

And that pissed you off. You believed Phainon was genuinely not trying to intentionally manipulate you into staying married him, but he was still acting unreasonably.

“But I do.” You countered him firmly. “And I will get it.” You wanted to turn away and immediately walk back to your room, but the moment you spun your right foot, before you could even start about turning your full body away from him, Phainon reacted to your words.

“No, you won’t..!” The tone of his voice deepened in such a rapid way that made you stop and look back at his eyes immediately, a sense of danger growing in the back of your mind.

“Yes, I will.” Feeling even more cornered by the hall’s tightness and afraid of Phainon, you decided to turn away abruptly in a speed that would stun Phainon for a moment before he could possibly catch you and bring you back to the discussion.

“Where are you going..?!” You heard Phainon stomp forward harshly, launching himself forward to reach your wrist and hold you tight with his large hand.

“Let me go, Phainon.” You decided to turn your eyes back to his again, trying to use your presence to order him, forcing yourself to control your voice from shaking as you spoke, taking his action as a threat to your security.

“Why are you trying to leave..? Why are you trying to leave me?!” His eyes were fully widened with anguish as he desperately filled you with two questions to answer.

“I’m just… not hungry anymore. I’ll eat later.” You quickly mumbled a fake reasoning, but it didn’t seem to convince him. After all, Phainon’s eyebrows noticeably frowned.

“That’s not true. Why are you lying to me..?” His grip in your wrist tightened in a way that made you grunt from the pain.

“Phainon, you’re hurting me..!” You tried to pull your hand away from him, only to be fully held back, which only made you even more nervous and scared of him.

“I don’t want us to divorce, Y/N… We don’t need a divorce…” He suddenly turned a bit soft again, endlessly trying to argue with you about that despite the fact that he was really freaking you out.

“I-I need to prepare for Congress, Phainon..! Let me go at this instant!” You even tried stepping away from him, seeing if it was possible to run away, but it didn’t work due to his heavy weight holding you back.

“No…” He mumbled, looking the deepest he could to your eyes, still trying to find any bit of pity in you and hope for himself.

“You’re only giving me more reasons to divorce you right now, Phainon..! Let me go now!” You had no choice but to try facing him with your own strength, now trying to use your other hand to grab that wrist of his to pull it away from you.

“No… We can’t divorce…” His repetitiveness finally made you snap.

“Yes we can and we will!” You launched your face forward and screamed at him, trying to shake your hand out of his grip the fullest you could.

But that triggered him snap too in reaction to your audacity in making such a hurtful statement.

“NO, WE WON’T!” He screamed at a tone that you’ve never heard from him and didn’t recognize, also finally releasing your wrist.

But before you give your first step backward, or think about his change in tone, something else stunned you again.

SLAP!

Your body immediately fell to the ground as Phainon’s hand smacked across your face, your feet enrolling themselves with the thick layers of your dress, giving your instincts time to only put your palms in the wooden floor before your head actually hit the ground, meaning you successfully landed sat instead of fully laid. But you recovered a second after the fall, so you immediately placed a hand on the cheek Phainon had slapped to ease the arduous pain he inflicted on you and rose your head up to him, finding him powerfully standing right in front of you, staring at you like a caught prey, jailed in a cage.

Neither of you spoke for the next seconds to process what had just happened and only breathed with opened mouths. The more you thought, the more frightened for your life you became, remembering the sudden change in his tone to one you’ve never heard, the slap itself and the threat it represented to your relationship… But the more he thought, the more calm he became in realization that you were frozen in fear, defeated by his action. And that’s why after a last round of breathing in and out deeply, he shut his mouth and calmly walked closer to you, kneeling down in front of you.

“Y/N…” A hand of his also reached the same cheek you were holding, cupping it gently, which only made your skin shiver with disgust of his touch, begging yourself to scream at him to get the fuck away from you. “I’m… I-I’m sorry…” He briefly wheezed, trying to ease the both of you from the mood. “I didn’t mean to… do this… or… t-to scare you.” He pathetically smiled at you, only making you wish to run away from him even more, but your adrenaline could only afford to freeze your body in that sat position. “I just… don’t want us to divorce… There’s no good reason to do that… That’s all…” He gulped down again.

You knew it. Deep down, you’ve always known it. You just didn’t want to admit it.

But maybe… you should’ve definitely talked to him about it sooner.

Phainon’s kindness… was never just friendly.

And there were always many little signs that rose that flag…

For example, the way he’d stare at you whenever he gave you a gift, sometimes only a few inches away from your face, just waiting to see the amazing reaction he’d rip out of you. Deep down, it always felt like he urged for more of something you couldn’t name until now. It didn’t feel like he just wanted your comfort and happiness because that’s what friends do, it felt like he did it as if he was your lover. These little gifts, perfectly enveloped in a beautiful wrap, felt like little seduction attempts. After all, the next gift would always be better than the next, as if he wanted to show just how dedicated he is, and convince your heart to let yourself fall for him.

The way he treated you during the day of your marriage… In the altar, what was supposed to be just a quick smooch to pose a fake picture of yourselves to the crowd witnessing you, turned out to be so much more touchy, intimate and even… real, like real couples do. And even when the vows were done, he kept throwing himself at you and holding your hands for the rest of the celebration party, for some reason so happy with the day. Friends don’t stick their tongues inside their friends’ mouths when it’s needed to fake a kiss. It wasn’t just an act.

And the one habit that mostly made you icky about thinking about Phainon’s possibly feeling things for you… The way his eyes stoned in you and his cheeks flushed whenever he saw you trying any ball dresses and makeup for the parties you were invited to or even when he saw you in your rendered pijamas when you two were home… They always delivered you a message of lust, and you don’t want any of your friends to lust over you, much less Phainon in such a situation like yours right now. But it was true, Phainon would not react to you being pretty like a friend would.

You should’ve accepted it sooner. But now it’s too late. You’ve let this grow. You are reaping what you sowed.

Phainon liked you as more than a friend.

“But think about it… Wouldn’t it be iconic? The leader of the feminist movement herself doing all of this work to get the right of divorce when she, on her own, does not desire to divorce her husband? You could show them that it is possible to be a feminist and be a married woman at the same time…” His thumb caressed your hand, lamenting that he couldn’t directly reach your fluffy cheek.

But you were still too stunned to say anything, despite the thousands of protests running in your mind, begging to be shouted.

“We are such a good duo… Why would you ever want to put and end to us? Put an end to our influence? Our impact? Our empire?” Phainon looked at you with more pity, assuming his position of total power over you. “We don’t need to be exactly like other couples… I would never force you to do that… We can still be exactly like how we are today, but all I want is to still be able to live in the same house as you… and call you my wife.” Phainon pulled that hand of yours that held your cheek and turned it around, making your palm face down.

And with very slow movements, he smooched your knuckles, smiling softly at them. And then he looked down at your fingers, meeting that engagement ring that the both of you were forced to wear to avoid any accusations or bullying, and that made his grin grow, blue eyes shining with joy. He leaned down and kissed the ring too with more intensity, sucking your skin for a bit to demonstrate just how much he valued that golden ring.

“I just want you to wear this ring with me for the rest of your life… Is that too much to ask from you? I’ve done so many harder things for you…” Phainon laid his cheek on your hand, rubbing himself against it as if it was the comfiest pillow he’d ever laid on.

He kept doing that for a few seconds before he kissed your hand again… and then again… again, again and again, many spots in it becoming a bit moistened with his saliva. He even turned your hand around and begun kissing your palm and its heel as deep as he could.

“I love you, Y/N…” He mumbled in your skin with closed eyes, breath warming up your skin. “I really do…” He made sure his message was clearly sent to you, pausing for a moment to let you absorb it. “But I can’t let you do this to us… to me…” He opened his eyes, staring at you with a weird kind of pity again, as if he wasn’t bothered by your discomfort, like a masochist would.

But then he stood up again, not offering you any help to get up too.

“You won’t go to Congress today.” He stated a bit more seriously, contrasting his previous tone as he stared down at you very firmly, before he started to calmly walk away from the scene as if he hadn’t just done something completely absurd and out of normal.

Your eyes followed his body in fear, watching him walk with his hands holding each other behind his back ao elegantly, each step making the wood planks creak a bit. In the end of the hall, where you two came from, Phainon met one of your many maids standing still with an uncomfortable expression visible in her face, but still forcing herself to do her job as either your or his servant.

“If you see her trying to leave tonight, don’t let her. You understand?” Phainon spoke to the maid very gently, contrasting himself once again.

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, assuming her new responsibility.

“Good. You may call me or the guards in the gate if that happens.” Phainon assigned the maid her permissions, making her nod again, but silently. “Go tell the other maids their new assignment.” He used to a hand to tap her shoulder twice very sweetly.

“Yes, my master.” She gently bowed to him again, making Phainon grin, feeling comfortable enough to keep walking away from the scene.

When he finally turned to the left and fully left you alone, the maid looked at you again, staring at your pitiful situation with mixed feelings. It was a silent communication, but you could still get her general message, the same way she could get yours.

After all the efforts you’ve been doing to push a feminist agenda in your town to all kinds of women and men, you’ve failed to do that in your own home with your own maids. The same women who were stuck in your palace, working 24/7 to keep every detail of your home perfect and make your routine as easy as possible, were neglected by you and your movement, just like how in real life some women were neglected from the early stages of feminism too. And now you were suffering the harshest consequences of it you could suffer. She pitied you and even seemed to wish she could do something for you, but all she was ever taught to do in this sort of job was obey the man’s command, meaning she’d betray her own beliefs and risk her whole career if she dared to think about helping you, which would be disobeying Phainon. So all she could do was give that silent treatment until she couldn’t bare her own grief anymore and begun to walk away in the same direction as Phainon did, beginning to call him by his nickname, her voice echoing in your ears lightly.

How could you forget? You live in a conservative patriarchy.

Phainon is the man in your relationship.

In conservative patriarchies, the man is always the leader. The woman is just his follower. A servant who is always mindlessly ready to please him.

And he likes this system the way it is.

Today he just made that very clear. The roles of the relationship were established.

Taglist: @gaboplaydespacito

Yandere Husband who is surprised when you, his wife, are suddenly affectionate that morning. You hardly kissed his cheeks anymore or wished him a good day at work. Especially when she turned down his desire for a family all those years ago. Were you sick? This wasn’t like you at all. He was suspicious. Did you want something? Work had been going well lately so he could afford to buy you a gift… if you wanted one, of course.

Yandere Husband who is surprised to come home to a warm meal after a long day that actually tastes good. You were never a good cook before. He was startled but also satisfied to be taken care of. He even gave you a rare compliment he never had before. “The food is good today. I really like this roast.” His blue eyes studied your face for a reaction and he only received a warm smile. His heart fluttered for the first time in two years since he started this dead marriage. Meanwhile, you kept a journal noting his likes and dislikes so you’d have an easier time in this world. A fact that would later come back to bite you.

Yandere husband came home with flowers after work the next day. Blush pink roses with the thorns taken off with care. His blue eyes were hopeful as he waited for your reaction and you didn’t disappoint. He came home to another delicious hot meal and a warm smile as you happily accepted the flowers. It was like the love was back again… the love back when the two of you first started dating three years ago. And James was so thrilled.

Yandere husband loved coming home to warm meals and a clean house. James loved his clothes being washed and folded. He also loved how you ironed his work shirt. You hadn’t been this domestic in ages… you deserved more from him. Heavens, you deserved the world.

Yandere husband began to bring flowers or chocolates by every day after that just to see you smile… and he was so thrilled when you hugged him. You felt him tremble a bit as he tightened his hold on you as if he was terrified you’d disappear in a mere moment. “…how about we go on a date this weekend?”

Yandere Husband who was all too eager to put on a suit that matched the dress you wore. He made sure to open the car door for you, the restaurant door, and even pull out your chair. You were shocked at how eager he seemed for this date… and the fact that he gave you his utmost attention.

Yandere husband who made sure to order your meals once you told him what you wanted. His hand held yours under the table as his thumb brushed against your knuckles with utmost affection. James was so happy you wanted to do these kinds of things together again. He had missed this more than anything but never wanted to voice it.

Yandere husband who cuddles you in bed at night now. His hands wander more and he gets bolder as the days drag on… but you didn’t know how long you’d stay in this world with him and you would feel awful if you left suddenly. But you were happy that someone wanted to touch you… your husband back in your world hadn’t in ages either. So why not indulge this one?

Yandere husband who was gentle at first but it wasn’t long for him to grow rough once he had a taste. Had intimacy always been this good? Or had James just been denied for so many years that he was losing his mind in you? He didn’t care that the bed creaked in protest or how your back arched in a way it never had, James was so thrilled to touch his wife again.

Yandere Husband who now kissed your shoulders every morning when the sunlight streamed in before work. James would hold you from behind as you cooked and helped with dishes. He was so happy to have all his stress melt away with your touch.

Yandere husband who finds your journal and despite knowing it was wrong to read it, he read it anyways. James’s heart fluttered at the words.

James really enjoys pot roast, steak, mashed potatoes, and carrots. He says he likes tomatoes, but I notice he will push them off to the side when I’m not looking. He also prefers beef gravy over chicken gravy. James says he likes his coffee black, but he always adds in a table spoon of sugar when I’m not looking.

Yandere husband who read deeper and soon discovered your secret. You weren’t his real wife or at least, his original one. You were from another timeline trapped in a loveless marriage just like him… and he’d felt such a kinship with you.

My husband from my world hardly ever spent time with me. He never stayed for dinner and we never went on dates. I really like James. I want to stay with James. How could someone not love James? He’s such a wonderful man.

Yandere husband was so flattered that you were noting his preferences. James never thought anyone noticed him… and he’d be damned if he’d ever leave him. He loved you too. James loved you so much. More than anyone else in his entire life. Even more than himself and more than his cushy job at the law firm.

You and Bruce got married young (far too young according to most people). You were 17 and he was 18. You had been dating for almost half a year at that point, having met during high school, and you thought things were going well. Bruce was kind and attentive and supportive, showering you with affection. In turn, you adored him, always doing what you could to make things easier.

Your wedding was small, since neither of you wanted to make a big fuss. You felt like a princess, getting the happy ending you always wanted. When Bruce kissed you, you genuinely believed you would be together forever.

You had noticed his distraction during the wedding planning, but you convinced yourself it was just nerves. However, even after the wedding, he always seemed distracted, as if he was looking for something you couldn’t see.

However, nothing prepared you for waking up alone in your bed three months after the wedding with divorce papers next to you. Next to the papers, you found a letter from Bruce who simply said he was sorry but he needed to work through some things so he was going on a trip around the world. The letter felt like a dagger to the heart.

Alfred helped you move, even though you knew he wanted you to stay. You didn’t hold anything against him though. You could tell he was just as confused as you were.

The divorce was quick, especially since most people didn’t know about the marriage in the first place. Bruce had offered you a large sum of money, but you didn’t want all of that. Instead, you left with what you had before Bruce, plus a small sum that Alfred insisted you took with you.

You moved on. You had to, after all. The memory of the man who broke your heart and left stopped hurting so badly.

Bruce didn’t forget you. Even as the years passed, he found himself looking for you in every person he dated. Alfred could see it too. (Bruce didn’t look you up. Alfred made it clear he shouldn’t.)

However, instead of fading with time like it did with you, the pain worsened as Bruce got older. He missed you often, many times, looking at your wedding photos that he had stashed away in the attic. The boys found out about you at different points, but he always kept it short. They only knew that he’d been married, but he had chosen becoming Batman over his marriage. Alfred firmly discouraged them from looking into you, so despite their burning curiosity, they didn’t look into you.

Until the day that Bruce saw you being harassed by drunks while he was out at as Batman.

It was a late night, and a quiet one. The streets were comfortable level of silent, most people recovering from the recent joker attack. He was doing his patrol along the rooftops when he saw you walking on the sidewalk below him and nearly stopped breathing. You looked almost the same as you had the day he married you. You’ve got a new hairstyle, cutting the long hair he had always run his fingers through shorter, and you looked more tired, but he would’ve been able to pick you out in a crowd of thousands.

Bruce had a moment where he just focused on how beautiful you were, until he heard the callous remarks being thrown your way by a group of drunks at the end of the street. He could see you were walking faster than your usual walk, your left hand, clutching your phone while your right hand clutched a taser that he remembered getting you for your 17th birthday.

It was the look in your eyes that really made him upset. He could see slight fear in them, sure, but it was the bone deep exhaustion and resignation that really made him feel a chilling sense of guilt and self hatred. You should’ve never been like this. You were young, you had been the light in his world. You had been amazing and never expected anything from him that a normal boyfriend wouldn’t give. You had always looked at the bright side of things. Now, looking down at your tired face, all he could feel was guilt.

The drunks were easily dealt with, though he made sure to be quiet so that you would not hear. (Later, the men would be admitted to the hospital with major injuries, with the one who spoke the most now having a permanent limp)

That night, he ignored Alfred‘s reproachful look and looked at your social media. You had never been someone who posted that often on socials, so after he finished going through your posts, he started going through anything you were tagged in. Then, he started going through your likes, your emails, your text messages.

By the morning, he had a plan. he gathered the boys and told them about your love story, and how he had run into last night while being harassed. He showed them how you were living in a terrible neighborhood. (it wasn’t actually that terrible, a one bedroom apartment in a decent enough part of Gotham, but he made sure that they all knew how subpar your new living conditions were.)

Then, he informed them about how, while obviously grieving your relationship, you had dated several henchman and other criminals. (which was true, though many of those criminals only had minor misdeeds like shoplifting as teenagers or DUIs.)

That night, you were at a restaurant for a second date with a guy you know from work when you got a text from your date stating that he couldn’t go and couldn’t be with you. You stare and bewilderment at the strange text before starting to get ready to go. Then, you hear a large amount of commotion coming from the front of the restaurant.

You are already heading that way to leave so you push through the crowd, but trip. Luckily, a pair of strong arms catches you. A familiar cologne fills your nostrils, and you look up to meet familiar blue eyes.

“Hi darling,” Bruce‘s voice is still as smooth as ever, but now it’s even deeper. You knew from looking at tabloids that the years have been kind to him, but the pictures didn’t do him justice.

You quickly straighten, but he doesn’t let go. Before you can protest, you feel a tug on your dress. You look over to see a boy who looks like a tanner version of Bruce with green eyes. He must be Damien Wayne, Bruce’s biological son.

“Hello.” His voice is stiff and formal, but his face looks so much like Bruce that you can easily read the slight anxiety in his smile. “Would you like to eat with us?”

“My treat.” Bruce offers. “Unless you are eating with someone else. But I would love to introduce you to my kids.” you look at the garage of children behind. Remember, almost bitter sweetly, how you’d always told Bruce that you wanted children always been more hesitant on it anymore, but now he obviously didn’t have that same anxiety.

Feeling the eyes on you, you cautiously take Bruce‘s hand. “Will Alfred be here?”

Bruce nods. “He’s just parking the car.”

You sigh. At least you’re getting a free meal.

Falling in love with Dick Grayson was the easiest thing you’ve ever done. You met as heroes, sort of. You worked with Constantine, and he brought you with him to a Justice League meeting. There, you saw a boy in red and green, heard him laugh, and fell hard.

Within days, you and Dick became friends. After two months, you started dating. After six months, you moved in together when Dick moved to Bludhaven.

You met Jason a few weeks after you started dating Dick. You always were kind to him, and you were a cornerstone in his relationship with Dick. Jason was even there when Dick proposed after a year and a half of dating.

His death shattered both your heart and your relationship. You remembered the weeks after Jason’s death in flashes of crying and arguments about how reckless he was being. He kept pushing you away in his grief, and you felt like you were drowning alone.

Most of the memories from after Jason’s death were fuzzy but the moment you gave the ring back will always be clear in your mind. It was only two months after Jason died, and there was another argument about how reckless he was being and how he was shutting you out when he screamed at you to shut up and get out. It was the first time he had ever screamed at you.

You didn’t fight. You were too tired, too numb to bite it. Instead, you went to your room and packed. You moved out of the apartment the next morning, leaving your ring on the bedside table. You spent several nights crashed on Constantine’s couch before getting a new apartment.

You became a permanent member of Justice League Dark after that. You took on longer and longer missions, throwing yourself into work. Slowly, you developed a rhythm in your new life and bit by bit, you moved on.

Dick didn’t. The day you left haunted him. He woke up after the argument to a silent house and sinking feeling in his gut. When he found the ring, he immediately tried to call you, but couldn’t. He tried other numbers, but you didn’t pick up. He reached out to everyone he could think of, but no one knew where you were.

He finally got a hold of Constantine, who bluntly told him you had moved out and didn’t want to speak to him. That made things worse, in Dick’s mind. Before, he had desperately tried to believe you hadn’t meant to leave forever, that you just needed to cool down. But now, with Constantine’s confirmation that this was real and permanent, he felt like he was suffocating.

When Jason came back, he immediately noticed your absence. You were one of the few people he didn’t blame and still had fond memories of. You had been kind to him, including him in everything. You had even joked that if Dick hadn’t claimed him as best man, you would have asked him to be your man of honor.

Finding out that you and Dick broke up after his death weirdly hurt and helped. Jason felt weirdly touched that your grief for him was so strong, though he was still furious. He was also pissed that Dickiebird scared you off but was glad you wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

Damian heard about you first from Todd during an argument between Todd and Grayson. Todd was angry at Grayson after finding out from Pennyworth that Grayson had apparently screamed at you before you left.

Damian was intrigued, so he started his own research. He asked everyone about you. Brown and Cain had little to say, having only heard stories of you or seen your pictures. (He didn’t even try to ask Drake.)

Todd described you as a kind but fearless person, someone who could go toe to toe with the worst of the worst and still show kindness to anyone. Pennyworth’s report of you was much the same, though Pennyworth described you as “polite” “determined” and “caring”, even remarking that you would’ve been a wonderful addition to the family.

When he asked Grayson about you, Grayson was wistful, describing your beauty and kindness. Grayson even admitted that he often used things you had taught him whenever he was talking to his family.

Meanwhile, you were trying hard to stay away from the Batfamily, trying to move on. However, those plans came crashing down when Tim Drake showed up on your doorstep, clearly sleep deprived and manic, claiming Bruce was still alive and he needed your help.

You ended up joining him on his Bruce quest, even having a brief alliance with Ra’s Al Ghul. Even though you didn’t like it, you even worked alongside Dick as Batman to do so. Luckily, his Robin, a boy with green eyes who wielded a katana, was often around, and his blunt comments weirdly made things easier.

When you brought Bruce back, you genuinely believed you could go home and act like this never happened. You believed this until the next day, when there was a knock on your door.

You opened it to see Robin and Red Hood, but before you could say anything, Red Hood removed his helmet, and your world tilted.

You spent hours talking to them before Robin, whose real name was Damian, asked if you would ever get back together with Dick. You brushed it off, explaining that while you would always love Dick, you weren’t in love with him anymore. In fact, you had recently started seeing someone. (You didn’t notice the look between Jason and Damian when you said that)

Not long after, Jason insisted on making hot chocolate just like you taught him. After you took a sip from your cup, you felt a little off, but you only had a moment to think of that before Jason drew you back into conversation.

You fell asleep after finishing half the cup, your mind feeling like cotton. The last thing you felt before blacking out was Jason’s hands on your shoulders, keeping you from falling off the couch.

When you wake up ten hours later, you’re in a room at the manor, your head feeling cloudy. You recognize some of the things in the room from your old apartment with Dick, and other things that were clearly taken from your apartment.

Dick Grayson was sitting on a chair next to you, scrolling on his phone, but he looks up at the sound of you waking up.

“Good morning, draga mea.” The Romani term of endearment sounds different now, much more possessive. You try to speak, but still feel so tired.

“Shhhhhh” Dick’s eyes soften. “You’re still pretty weak. Damian was a bit overzealous when dosing your cup, so you’ll have a hard time getting up for at least another few hours.” Even through the drug induced haze, you feel a bolt of panic, and Dick notices. He stands from his chair and walk over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t worry, iubirea mea.” He strokes your hair and for a minute you have a strange sense of deja vu from when you were dating. However, he never sounded so possessive or terrifying when you were together.

You and Jason started dating not long after Jason was adopted. You were a scholarship student at Gotham Academy, and you and Jason just clicked from day one. There was no fairytale in it, it was just a quiet understanding that turned into love.

You took it slow. After all, you were still kids you thought you had all the time in the world. That didn’t stop Jason from giving you a promise ring when you turned 14. You swore that you would marry him when you got older.

After Jason died, you were inconsolable. You got into fights when the kids at school said anything vaguely negative about Jason. I got to the point that your parents sent you to a boarding school that they could barely afford, hoping that the chain of scenery would help.

(You swear to yourself that if you ever saw the Joker, you would kill him. You have nightmares about Jason’s death daily for almost 3 months before they become less frequent. You never take off the promise ring he gave you, even though other people will ask about it. You’re not ready to let go. You’re not sure you ever will be.)

When you graduate from high school, you move back to Gotham. You start going to Gotham University, majoring in literature (just like Jason would have). You’ve moved on somewhat, making friends and having typical teenage experiences, but the thought of Jason hangs in your mind. It’s been almost 4 years and you haven’t taken off the promise ring for longer than ten minutes, and only ever while showering.

Meanwhile, Jason has moved back to Gotham as red hood. He hadn’t forgotten you, but pushed you on the back burner of his mind, convincing himself that revenge was far more important than you and that you would be waiting for him. He had to take care of everything else first.

He believed that until he saw you for the first time after dying. You were even more beautiful, if that was possible, but you look tired. You were at a café studying, and Jason had to take a moment to look at you. You looked focused, your eyebrows knitting together in the same way they did when you would study with him as a child. Jason almost walked away right then, and there, to overwhelmed with memories, until he saw a guy sit at your table.

The way you looked up at the guy and gave him a soft smile, a smile you had only ever given to him, made his insides freeze. This rage was different than the pit rage, this rage was mixed with grief and despair, and I took too long. 

He finished his business across the street quickly, keeping an eye on you the entire time. The guy who was with you had seemingly distracted you from your homework, and you were laughing at some joke that Jason knew couldn’t be that funny.

Jason broke his self imposed rule that night, and started researching again. He looked through your social media, noting that your relationship status was single with a strange mixture of hope and anger. He couldn’t quite understand if he should be angry though. Were you still together even if he died and you thought he was still dead?

Seeing the promise ring still prominently displayed on your finger, and all of your photos gave him a little bit of hope. You clearly hadn’t forgotten him, wearing part of him with you and that must mean that you still love him. You’d probably only been pretending with that guy at the café. He remembered how nice you were, you probably didn’t want to break the guy’s heart. (that was something Jason had no problem doing for you.)

He scrolled through, looking at photos of you growing up. You hadn’t changed that much, though he did enjoy seeing all the photos. But then he found one that made him feel strangely dizzy.

It was one of your more recent photos. You were with your friends at a restaurant, but Jason couldn’t really pay attention to the caption. The guy from the café was there, squished next to you on a booth that definitely didn’t need you to squish together, and he had his arm around your waist.

The only thing that distracted him from obsessively looking at your photos and planning out this guy’s murder was seeing the news report that the Joker had escaped Arkham. He grabbed his gun and ready himself, trying to push the thought of you out out of his mind.

You had been at the park with your friends when the alert had gone off on your phone. You had just come back from a party that had been very crazy, and you were arguing with your friends about what to do next when you saw the alert. Your friends, including your new friend Chad, who would only join the group a few days ago, all immediately decided you need to head for shelter and started moving. However, you stopped in your tracks after a moment.

Your friends were trying to force you to go forward, but all you could think about was the fact that your hand felt off. The moment you look down, you realized that your ring was gone. Where was your ring? You were practically on the verge of a panic attack, asking all of your friends if they had seen your ring, and you knew that this was a terrible time and they were all looking at you like you were insane, but you didn’t care. you needed to find your ring. (you needed the last piece of Jason)

You’d barely been able to start the interrogation when the joker came. The minute you heard that laugh and saw that smug, smiling face with the minute all of your fear and sadness turned to rage. You weren’t thinking about consequences, you weren’t thinking about how dangerous the situation was, you weren’t even thinking about your plan. All you were thinking about was that the clown had already taken away Jason once, and he was currently preventing you from finding your last piece of Jason. 

Luckily, for you, the park you were at was currently constructing a playground. You grabbed a metal bar from the ground and just let yourself swing at that stupid fucking face. You didn’t care about the weird laughter or the taunt that he was trying to tell you or about the screams from your friends, all you cared about is getting even.

Jason got there to see your friends, people he only recognized from your social media posts, screaming your name from as joker goons pulled them away. The fact that you weren’t with them made his blood feel ice cold. He shot each and every goon in the head, barely able to pay attention to what he was doing, and barely restraining himself from shooting Chad in the head as well.

The minute he asked them what was happening, they all started explaining, but the boy, Chad, looked suspiciously guilty. Before he could say anything about it, though, one of your friends turned on Chad and demanded to know what he had done. He tried to lie for a second, but Jason just had to put his hand on his gun again for Chad to sheepishly pull out a shining silver band.

“ she is just so sensitive about it and I know it’s from her ex or whatever but he’s not with her anymore and she needed to move on so I took it. I didn’t think she would go this crazy over it!” Chad’s voice felt like static, and he could barely hear your friends screaming at him. All Jason could focus on was the ring, a ring he had given you back when he believed Robin was magic, and the world was kind. A ring that this scumbag didn’t deserve to have.

Another one of your friends caught his attention, tugging on his arm, and telling him that you had been frantically searching for the ring when the joker showed up, and then you started fighting him. Jason felt every muscle in his body freeze for a second when he heard that. You were fighting the Joker alone. You, someone who had once begged him not to kill a spider because spiders were just trying to live, someone who hated exercise and only knew self-defense because he had coached you into it, were fighting the joker. Alone.

His voice was probably way too harsh when he asked your friend where you were fighting, but he didn’t care. The green was creeping on the edges of his vision as your friend told him that you were at the park and he started running. The green took over his mind, making it almost impossible for him to think of anything other than you and the Joker.

You were definitely outmatched, you knew that from the start if you’ve been thinking logically. However, the pure unbridled rage in your body allowed you to get several hard swings in before the joker started fighting back. The adrenaline rushing through your system allowed you to ignore the pain from your injuries and from your muscles, screaming for you to stop. You would never been an active person, and on a normal day, you would not have been able to swing this pole around like it was a baseball bat, but this was not a normal day.

You were putting up a good fight, but you weren’t invincible. You could feel your body getting tired and could feel the adrenaline starting to fade slightly. The Joker had hit you a fair few times, and though he hadn’t given you toxin, you were pretty sure that was because he was enjoying the fight. He seemed even more amused, remarking, how only Batman ever gave him this big of a fight, and that he must’ve taken someone from you to truly piss you off this badly. He asked who it was, saying that if you wanted, he could kill you just like he did for them.

When Jason got there, he saw you battered and bruised, but still alive, beating the joker with something that looked like a metal pipe. Well, you weren’t beating him, you seemed to be using it like a baseball bat. The Joker was laughing, a disgusting laugh that made Jason both angry and scared, but then he heard The joker offered to kill you the same way that he killed your loved one. He saw you stiffen and scream in rage. You dropped the pipe and straight up tackled the joker, punching him in the face while pinning him to the ground, causing his laughter to turn into yells of pain.

“THIS IS FOR JASON, YOU MOTHERFUCKING PARASITE!” he heard your scream, and he fell a little more. He just stood there for a moment, staring at you. The green had disappeared, and all he could feel was a strange sense of all and love and devotion. He had never expected you to get revenge for him, Knowing you weren’t a fighter, but here you were exacting revenge when even Batman wouldn’t.

He stood there for another few seconds, before he saw the joker grab something from his pocket. Then he started running over. He was almost next to you when he saw the Joker raise his gun.

Jason Todd fired at the same time as the joker. Both shots hit their targets.

The jokers laughter stopped abruptly, and you watched as a bullet went through his skull. His mouth hung open below you, and there was a strange numbness. You could feel the pain in your chest, you knew something was wrong and that you should get up and that you needed help but everything just seemed so far away.. You didn’t struggle when someone picked you up, not processing the words being spoken at you by a strange red blob. Your eyes kept going in and out of focus. Just before you blacked out, you saw a face. The features were different, and the eyes were not the same dark blue, but you would know that face anywhere.

“Jason?” You whisper before everything goes black.

(that night, the Joker is pronounced dead and all of Gotham celebrates. No one notices when a girl doesn’t go back to her dorm at the end of the night, or when two goons go into a boy storm and a shot goes off. Everyone is still celebrating in the morning, as Jason text you into bed after having Dr. Thompkins treat your injuries, making sure that your ring doesn’t have any blood on it before slipping it back onto your finger, already imagining slipping an engagement ring, and soon a wedding ring on your finger instead.)

I hope you guys all enjoyed this! If you requested, I can expand on any of these stories, but you have to send it through my asks and specify what you want to know/what you want to see.

The apartment smelled like damp walls and mildew that never quite left, no matter how many windows she opened or how much lemon cleaner she used. The floor creaked when she moved, and the pipes rattled every time the neighbor above her flushed their toilet—but it was hers.

Hers, in the loosest, most fragile sense of the word.

Rent was due in two days. She had $7 in her wallet. Her breakfast had been an expired protein bar she found in the bottom of her backpack, and dinner would probably be the rest of the rice she cooked yesterday.

But she was alive.

And most importantly—she was free.

The tiny kitchen was quiet as she knelt by the potted plants that lined the inside of her single window. They weren’t thriving, but they were trying—just like her. She sprayed their leaves with a light mist, humming softly under her breath, careful not to wake the baby next door or Gary upstairs.

Gary was the landlord. The one that gave her this place.

Old, grouchy, mostly harmless. He paid her to care for the flowers he sold in his rundown shop two blocks away. It wasn’t enough to live off of, but it was better than nothing. He didn’t ask questions either. Not about her name, age or family. Not about why she paid in cash. Not about why she always kept the hood of her coat pulled low when she ran errands.

It had been thirty-two days since she left the manor.

Thirty-two days since she’d lied to Alfred’s face.

Since she’d walked past the gates with her bag and never looked back.

Since she’d become someone else. Or at least tried to.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the tiny case on her desk.

The contact lenses were cheap, but they worked. A flat, soft brown that covered the bright, unnatural green of her mother’s legacy. She blinked slowly as she put them in, fingers steady despite how often her stomach cramped from hunger or how the floor still spun when she stood too fast.

She had to blend in.

Be no one.

Be small.

Still, some nights—especially when the sun fell too fast or the wrong person looked at her too long—the fear returned. Heavy and loud in her chest. That someone had seen her. That someone had recognised her. That he had finally found out she was gone.

She didn’t know why she kept expecting the family to knock on her door. They hadn’t cared then. Why would they care now?

The apartment was still cold when the morning light slipped through the cracked blinds.

Y/N rubbed her arms and breathed into her palms, waiting for the kettle to hum. The gas burner made a clicking noise before catching. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake the baby next door. The walls were thin—like the ones in her memories.

She glanced toward her plants lining the windowsill. They were her secret. Hydrangeas blooming out of season. Tiny wildflowers that hadn’t existed in this hemisphere in decades. The old roses that Gary had given up on now sprawled over their pot, heavy and full of color.

“I must have a green thumb,” she’d said once, and Gary had barked a laugh and said, “Kid, if that’s a thumb, I want a whole hand of yours.”

She’d smiled.

She always smiled.

Even when it was thin. Even when it was shaking.

⸻

The fake ID in her wallet said Emilia Forenzi, age 18, born in Venice. She’d forged the name, the history, the accent. She wasn’t very good at faking the accent, but people didn’t really listen to it in this part of Gotham.

They saw a pretty girl with sweet eyes and perfect manners.

Not a Wayne.

Not Poison Ivy’s daughter.

Just her.

She tried to get a job last week at a diner near the outskirts. The man behind the counter said she looked too soft for waitressing in Gotham, but she’d promised to learn quickly. He hadn’t called her back.

Still, she kept looking.

She only made just enough with Gary’s shop and the flowers in the nearby park he quietly “claimed” as his own. He was gruff, but he gave her an extra five dollars the other day when he saw her feeding a stray cat half her dinner.

“Don’t starve for that flea-ball,” he’d said.

She had smiled, then handed the cat the last bit of her rice anyway.

____

The nightmares came every other night.

She didn’t scream anymore. She learned to bite her lip in the Manor. But her pillow was often damp by morning.

They weren’t always the same—sometimes it was the manor again, the long corridors and cold dinners and the silence when she tried to speak. Sometimes it was the moment it happened. When they looked too late. When they reached too slowly. When they mourned too little.

But more recently … more often… she dreamt of her mother.

It had been so long since she’d let herself remember Pamela Isley. Ivy.

Green eyes like hers. A lullaby voice. Warm hands and flowery perfume.

She hadn’t thought about her in years—not really. Not since Bruce took her in and no one ever said her name again. Not since she learned that “Poison Ivy is a criminal, not a mother.”

But now, alone in her silence, in her little room with its stolen furniture and secondhand blankets, Y/N wondered.

Where was she?

Was she still in Arkham?

Did she know that her daughter was dead once? That she lived again?

A part of her felt guilty for not trying to reach out.

Another part of her was too afraid.

Because even her mother might not want her.

_________________

Y/N’s POV

Y/N had no working television, but the city didn’t need one to scream at her.

It screamed through the streets. Through the rising hum of sirens. Through the headlines splattered across cracked newspaper boxes she passed on her walks.

“Vigilante Brutality Increases in Crime Alley.”

“Masked Assault in the Narrows: Third Criminal Hospitalized This Week.”

“Batarangs Found at Scene.”

Some nights, she swore she recognized the marks.

A broken window too clean. A blood trail that vanished before it reached the curb. A body left in the perfect shape of Jason’s rage. A rooftop cracked in the exact angle Dick once used to land his kicks. A cigarette packet crushed under a boot with too much calculation—Tim.

And the shadow that never missed a target—Bruce.

They were out there. All of them.

Stalking the night harder than they had in years.

And she still told herself:

It’s not for me.

It couldn’t be.

Because if it was, what would that even mean?

⸻

Gary had warned her. Again and again.

That the streets weren’t safe. That something was shifting in Gotham—something darker, tighter, more personal.

“Stay in after dusk,” he’d told her tonight, setting a paper bag of groceries on the table. “These days, Gotham’s bleeding from the inside out.”

She nodded sweetly. Smiled, even.

Then locked the door the second he left.

But she wasn’t afraid of the men in alleyways.

Not the thieves. Not the dealers. Not the hungry strangers who eyed her when she passed by.

She was afraid of the people whom she used to see as brothers.

Because if she ever saw them again—if she ever looked into those familiar eyes and saw that distant, practiced guilt or the too-late affection…

She didn’t trust herself not to cry.

Not to break.

Not to forgive them too easily.

And she couldn’t.

Not after everything.

Not again.

Damian’s POV

It had been twenty-nine days and eleven hours since Damian had last seen his sister.

Not that he was counting.

Not that he had a tally scratched into the underside of his desk.

Not that he stared at the empty seat beside him in every class like it was mocking him.

But he knew.

And it infuriated him.

The others said she’d vanished.

The others said she’d slipped past them all.

But she hadn’t slipped past him.

Not really.

She’d looked him in the eye that morning—after their fight.

After he’d grabbed her. Cornered her. Called her a liar.

“It’s nothing that will matter to you soon anyway.”

He hadn’t understood it then.

He did now.

She’d meant goodbye.

At school, her name still came up.

Y/N Wayne.

The girl who suddenly “returned to Italy.”

Back to her “supermodel mother”—at least, that’s what her friends claimed. It’s what she had told them.

They all bought it.

They called it romantic. Mysterious.

Like she’d left for a glamorous life.

But Damian knew better.

The softness in her eyes before she left wasn’t joy.

It was resignation.

He had tried—quietly at first.

Digging behind the scenes. Asking questions without being obvious.

Then, after a week, subtlety died.

He skipped class.

He hacked into school servers, city cameras, bus routes.

He threatened. Intimidated. Pressured.

He found Silas. Beat him within an inch of expulsion. Again.

And when the school didn’t act fast enough, he made them.

Silas was gone the next morning.

But it didn’t satisfy him, because Y/N wasn’t anywhere.

At night, Robin bled through Gotham.

Damian stalked rooftops not for criminals—but for a slip of movement that might be her.

He shattered kneecaps for a name. Broke ribs for a whisper.

Even the villains noticed.

“Robin’s gotten… personal again,” Harley had murmured after escaping a busted safehouse.

But nothing helped.

Each time he paused, high above the city in the bitter dark, he swore he could feel her.

Somewhere below.

Somewhere lonely.

And not calling for him.

He hated her for that.

He hated himself more.

She belonged to them. To him.

To the family. To the house. To his routine. His mornings. His world.

And now she was gone.

_____

Dick’s POV

He hadn’t been back to Bludhaven in three weeks.

The people were worried.

The criminals were thrilled.

But Dick didn’t care.

He told Bruce he wasn’t capable of “handling other lives” until he found the one life that actually mattered.

And no one argued.

Not anymore.

At first, he’d tried to believe it was all temporary.

That she had just… run off to prove a point.

That she’d come back, pouty but forgiving, with that innocent little laugh and into his arms held open like a truce.

But one month later—there were no illusions left.

His little flower was gone.

And something in him had gone cold.

The smile?

Gone.

The charm?

Buried.

Even Jason said it once—gruff and to the point:

“You look more like Bruce every damn day.”

And Dick hadn’t answered.

Because Dick wasn’t Bruce.

Bruce had forgotten her.

He had abandoned her.

But Dick had known. He’d seen.

He just didn’t act.

She used to leave notes.

Little drawings tucked into his gear bag when he’d visit.

He’d find doodles of himself and her—with giant goofy smiles—under his glove cases.

He hadn’t kept a single one.

He told himself he was busy.

She was a kid.

She’d grow out of it.

But now?

Now he was in her room every other day—just sitting, just looking.

Searching every inch of that now-empty drawer like it was a crime scene.

And maybe it was.

Because something had died in that room.

He’d found the old plush once.

The elephant one.

Alfred said she took it with her—so the one he found was a decoy.

“She knew someone would check,” Tim had whispered.

“She planned this.”

And that shattered Dick in a way fists never had.

She didn’t even trust them to miss her.

He walked the alleys at night.

Not as Nightwing.

Just as someone looking for a ghost in a little green sweater.

The one she wore all the time when she was younger—the one that matched the flowers she grew.

He used to call her his little flower.

She used to love that.

She even wrote it in one of those diary entries he found—buried in the box of discarded drawings they’d all ignored:

“I wish he would call me little flower again. I think I’d feel like he loves me if he did.”

Dick never cried. Not even when his parents died.

But when he read that—he’d just sat down right on the floor and shook.

“You were the soft one,” Jason had thrown at him last week.

“Where the hell were you when she needed you?”

He didn’t answer then either.

Because the truth was brutal:

He’d been smiling for everyone else.

Just not her.

Now he didn’t smile at all.

And when he caught anyone slacking on patrol, skipping a corner, missing a lead—he snapped.

“We are finding her.”

It wasn’t just a command.

It was a vow.

A curse.

And every night, when he sat in the shadows of her room, that vow echoed again and again like a prayer to a flower-shaped ghost:

“I’m gonna find you, Y/N”

“I don’t care what it takes.”

_____

Jason was never good at guilt.

He could shoot it in the face, bury it in the ground, drink it away.

But not this.

Not when the guilt had a name.

A voice.

A laugh.

A heartbeat he couldn’t find anymore.

Y/N.

Red Hood didn’t patrol anymore. He hunted.

He tore through the underworld like a rabid dog, taking names, putting bodies in the ER, slamming faces into pavement hard enough to shatter teeth. Criminals whispered about it. That something had snapped in the Red Hood. That he’d gone fully off-leash.

They were right.

Because she was gone.

And someone had to pay for it.

He blamed Bruce, obviously. Jason always blamed Bruce. For being cold. For being blind. For never knowing what to do with someone soft. For burying himself in work while she withered upstairs. How the hell do you forget your own daughter?

But blame was easy.

What wasn’t easy was looking at himself.

He remembered the first time she came up to him. Little thing. Barely past toddler years, wide-eyed and sticky with jam, calling him “Jayshu” in that babbling baby voice.

He didn’t say anything back.

He remembered her knocking on his door when he returned after dying — begging him to come down for cookies she made.

He told her to leave him the hell alone.

He remembered yelling. Something about Poison Ivy. Something about how she was just a seed of villainy waiting to sprout.

She cried.

And he did nothing.

She never stopped being sweet after that. She just stopped hoping.

God.

She’d always tried.

And now she was gone — not kidnapped, not taken. She left.

She left them.

Left him.

She was somewhere out there in Gotham. Cold, starving, maybe scared, and trying to make a life for herself with whatever pieces she thought she could carry.

Because they’d convinced her — all of them — that the mansion didn’t have room for her. That she was a footnote in her own damn home.

Jason swore if she was dead—

No.

She wasn’t dead.

She couldn’t be.

He refused to believe that.

He was going to find her.

If he had to burn down every alley, question every creep, put a bullet in every bastard that even looked at a girl wrong—

He was going to find his baby sister.

And this time, he wasn’t letting her go.

Not until she knew what she meant to him.

Even if he had to drag her home, kicking and crying and hating him.

Because hate was better than fear.

Hate meant she was alive.

And he could live with that.

——————
TIm’s POV

Tim hadn’t slept in thirty-two hours. His fingers trembled faintly over the keyboard, dark half-moons carved under bloodshot eyes, the whites gone dull with insomnia and stimulants. The walls of his room were drowned in screens, all reflecting her face — what little he could still find of it.

Her school file. Old pictures. Surveillance footage from Gotham Academy — months old. The last known digital remnants of Y/N Eloise Wayne.

But it wasn’t enough.

He’d run every facial match algorithm. Every public transport log. Hacked through every ID registration, health record, housing file under her legal name. And she was gone.

“She’s too smart,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. “She lied. She planned. She’s not Y/N Eloise Wayne anymore.”

The revelation haunted him. It burned, rotted somewhere behind his ribs. She had vanished under his nose, wearing a false name like a cloak — and he hadn’t seen it coming.

He had gone through every file they owned on her. Every school note, every doctor visit, every written scrawl from her elementary notebooks. He replayed her school performance clips over and over, like decoding a cipher. Her smile made his chest cave in. The applause that followed felt like mockery now.

He didn’t even know her.

He thought he did.

Now, even the way she looked at him — polite, soft, cautious — seemed like a stranger’s ghost haunting his memory.

It was always her that tried. She came to him, not the other way around. He’d been too cold. Too preoccupied. Too… utilitarian. And now she was gone.

______

Bruce

Wayne Manor was silent.

It had been a tomb since the day she left.

Bruce sat in the cave beneath it, not the man in the suit but the shell. His cowl sat on the table beside a half-finished bottle of bourbon, the second one tonight. Or maybe the third. He didn’t count anymore. What was the point?

He hadn’t shaved. Hadn’t stepped into the office in days. Lucius had called. He didn’t answer. No one in the company knew why Bruce Wayne had vanished. But Gotham still had Batman.

Only, he wasn’t Batman anymore. He was something else now. Something starving.

At night he stalked the rooftops with animal focus. Interrogated criminals with bone-breaking efficiency. Asked questions. Searched every corner of the city. Every district. Every shadow. He didn’t rest. He didn’t breathe unless it was with her name in his mind.

His daughter. His daughter.

It repeated like a pulse in his ears.

It burned behind his eyes.

She was all he had left of Ivy — that mistake, that moment — but she had been more than that. From the instant he saw her, frail and bright-eyed, he knew. She wasn’t like any of them.

She was good.

And he’d abandoned her. Buried her behind patrol logs and briefing reports and other children. The guilt made him flinch from his own reflection. He wasn’t fit to be her father.

But he would bring her back. He would. He would find her, cradle her against his chest, and keep her. Lock the doors. Watch over her like a warden, not a parent. If that’s what it took.

Because the world wasn’t safe. And neither was he.

⸻

None of them spoke about the dreams.

Not Dick. Not Tim. Not Bruce. Not even Damien, who barely slept at all.

But each night they saw her.

Not the girl who vanished. Not the child who used to smile at them and draw them flowers.

No, in their dreams, she was older. Just a little. Sixteen, seventeen, maybe eighteen — and dying.

Sometimes she was bloodied. Sometimes drowned. Sometimes strangled. Her eyes always wide, always shocked, always alone.

They woke up breathless. Sometimes screaming. Always cold. Always guilty.

None of them could explain it.

She hadn’t died. Had she?

They told themselves it was the mind, punishing them for failing her. But something deeper twisted in their stomachs, something that whispered:

You weren’t just too late.

You were never there at all.

______

Tim

Tim hadn’t slept in forty-three hours.

His coffee was cold.

His shirt was wrinkled.

His hands trembled at the keyboard.

But he wasn’t stopping.

The Batcave was silent except for the hum of outdated servers and the sharp clack of his fingers moving too fast. The screens were filled with dead ends. Burned leads. Traffic cams from the docks. Street-side black markets. Pawn shop ledgers. None of them led to her.

Y/N Wayne.

Y/N Eloise Wayne.

Y/N Eloise Ivy.

All versions. Dead files.

He stared at the access logs of the encrypted folder Alfred once backed up manually. The old section of the system not even connected to the current grid. Half of it was still mirrored from the pre-reset servers Bruce had shut down after the Joker War.

Tim was about to close it.

But then his cursor hovered over something.

CASE FILE_413-A — DECEASED: WAYNE, Y/N E.

He froze.

Click.

His breath caught.

The screen flickered to life with a full-color dossier.

A Bat-file.

Compiled. Stamped. Finalized.

Tim’s pupils dilated as the first image loaded.

It was a crime scene photo.

A girl — slender frame, (Y/S) skin, long tangled hair matted in blood — lay crumpled in a side alley.

Her body was twisted. There were vines curled around her hands like she had tried, in the end, to summon something. The file dated her death at age eighteen. The location: Gotham Lower East.

Another picture followed.

A toe tag. Her name.

Y/N Eloise Wayne.

Tim recoiled in the chair, the metal frame screeching against the floor.

He clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The blood in his veins ran ice cold.

“No…”

The file was real.

Old. Buried.

Made by them.

There was Bruce’s signature. His own encrypted seal. A medical report from Leslie. Postmortem autopsy. She’d been stabbed. Multiple times. Lungs collapsed. Defensive wounds.

Motive listed: “Targeted for her parentage. Daughter of Poison Ivy. Daughter of Bruce Wayne.”

She died alone.

Tim’s stomach turned. Images blurred behind his lashes as his heart pounded in his throat. Then — faint, like an echo —

a memory.

her voice.

“It’s okay, Tim… I know you’re busy. Maybe next time…”

His hand clenched.

It made sense now. Her withdrawn smile. Her evasiveness. The way she flinched when someone used her name too sweetly. The edge of fear under her fake smiles. The lies about school. About friends.

She remembered.

“She knew,” he whispered. “Oh my god… she knew.”

Tim’s eyes scanned through the final page of the report.

A line written in someone’s hand. His own, maybe.

“We were too late.”

“She died thinking she wasn’t loved.”

“We never made it in time.”

He stood up fast, the chair clattering behind him.

No one else had seen this yet.

They didn’t know.

They couldn’t know.

But they would.

Tonight.

“They have to know,” Tim said, eyes still locked on the glowing screen. “We all failed her once. We don’t get to fail her again.”

____

The group chat pinged three times.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

❝ Everyone get to the Cave. Now. ❞

❝ I found something. ❞

❝ It’s about her. ❞

No one responded at first.

Damian left him on “Read.”

Dick ignored it.

Jason sent back a single skull emoji.

He should have expected these reactions since he has been sending the same sentence every day for the past few days.

So Tim lied.

❝ I know where she is. ❞

Within minutes, the Cave roared to life with engines and boots slamming against concrete.

Jason was the first to storm in, eyes bloodshot and helmet still on.

Damian followed, jaw clenched, already starting to bark—

“Where is she, Drake?! Where is my sister—”

Tim stood near the console, arms crossed.

“I lied.”

Jason lunged.

Fist in Tim’s collar. Slam. Back against the wall.

“You what—?!”

“I lied,” Tim repeated, voice low. “Because I had to get you all here. Because I found something.”

Bruce’s silhouette broke through the Cave entrance — suit half-on, stubble dark along his jaw, shadows under his eyes like bruises.

“Enough.”

Jason didn’t let go. Not yet.

“If this is another theory—”

“It’s not.”

Tim shoved Jason off. Hard.

The screen behind him lit up.

CASE FILE_413-A

Subject: Y/N Eloise Wayne

Status: DECEASED

Age: 18

COD: Homicide. Multiple stab wounds. Cause: Confirmed assassination.

Perpetrator: Unidentified rogue faction. Targeted for her parentage.

The room went still.

“What the hell is this,” Dick asked, already stepping closer.

Bruce’s breath hitched. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Jason froze.

“A fake?” Dick suggested.

Tim shook his head.

“Timestamped. Five years from now. This is from before. A different timeline.”

Damian scoffed. “You’re saying she died in the future?”

“She did die,” Tim said. “We all just forgot.”

They stared.

He opened the rest of the file. Images, recordings. Surveillance. Her body. Blood pooled in the alley. The report showed Bruce petitioned Zatanna and Constantine. There was a time ritual. Risky. Forbidden.

“You risked time to bring her back?” Jason muttered.

Bruce didn’t answer.

Tim’s voice cut in. Cold.

“We failed her once. She died alone. We didn’t protect her. Not any of us.”

Jason turned toward the screen. The photo flickered —

her eyes still open.

blood across her temple.

dirt under her nails like she fought to crawl away.

Damian took a step back. “No…”

“She knew,” Tim said. “That’s why she looked at us like that. Why she avoided us. She came back. And she remembered.”

No one moved.

The room was silent, suffocating beneath the cold glare of the screen where Y/N’s death flickered like an echo. The air clung to their lungs like ash — thick, bitter, and impossible to swallow. Damian had dropped to the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself, his head bowed low as if sheer will could reverse time. His lips moved soundlessly, whispering her name over and over, as if it was a prayer. As if saying it enough times would call her back.

Jason stood with his jaw clenched so tight it cracked. His eyes — wild and bloodshot — stayed locked on the image of her body. He didn’t look away, not even once. The blood. The dirt. The way she had died like a stranger in the street. He saw it every night in his head now, but nothing compared to seeing it in full color. The walls around his heart — already thin when it came to her — collapsed completely.

Dick had turned away. Not from shame, but from grief so raw it left his hands shaking. He dug his nails into his palms to stop the trembling. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the Cave apart and rebuild it out of something softer, something warmer — something that had room for little girls with flowers in their hands and letters in their drawers that he never read.

Tim stood with arms crossed, but his composure was an illusion. His voice was hollow. His shoulders slumped beneath the weight of knowing. He had chased every digital ghost in Gotham trying to find her — but this file was not just a clue. It was a memory clawing its way back. A record of a crime they all committed through silence, through neglect, through absence.

And Bruce… he hadn’t spoken since the image loaded. His breath had gone still. He looked at his daughter’s face on the screen — the girl he had summoned back into this world with rituals and desperation — and he saw her dying again. Just like before. All over again. She had called him “Daddy” in her last breath. He heard it in his sleep now.

They didn’t speak. Not for a long time. Each of them lost in the torment of the realization that this wasn’t just about a runaway child. It was about the daughter they failed — a second time. About the signs they missed. The eyes that begged them to remember.

They had dismissed her heartbreak. They had questioned her distance. They had shrugged off her quiet smiles as teenage moodiness. But now the pieces came together with devastating clarity.

She remembered. That’s why she changed. That’s why she ran. She remembered dying alone while they forgot her.

No one needed to say it out loud.

The mission had changed. This wasn’t about finding her anymore.

This was about getting her back before Gotham swallowed her whole again.

And this time —

none of them would let fate take her.

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It started with a single sentence.

“Join us for dinner tonight.”

He’d said it so simply.

Calm. Final. Like a man who hadn’t ignored her existence for the better part of a decade.

Bruce Wayne. Standing in her doorway.

Looking down at her with the same expression he gave the board of directors at Wayne Enterprises—measured, controlled, unreadable.

And now he was inviting her to dinner.

She’d wanted to say no.

She almost did.

But something in his tone—low, grounded, irreversible—told her this wasn’t optional.

And part of her—some small, childish, weak part—didn’t want to say no either.

Not to his face.

Not when he was finally speaking to her.

So she nodded.

And smiled.

Just a little.

And said, “Okay.”

⸻

The table was longer than it needed to be.

Gothic carved edges. Candles flickering against the dim chandelier. The food was laid out perfectly by Alfred, as always—elegant dishes, polished silverware, cloth napkins she didn’t dare wrinkle.

She took her seat like she always had.

At the end. Near the wall.

The place she thought they preferred her to be.

Only this time—

They were all there. Almost all.

Bruce at the head.

Tim just two seats down from her, casting intense glances every so often.

Dick on the other side, trying too hard to smile naturally.

Damian across from her, arms crossed, eyes occasionally narrowing when she looked away too quickly.

And Alfred standing nearby, silent as ever, though his gaze lingered at her side longer than anyone else’s.

Y/N sat stiffly, fork light in her hand, barely picking at the soft roasted vegetables on her plate.

No one was talking.

At least, not much.

Dick was the first to try.

“So… how’s school?” he offered, smiling her way.

Tim echoed it, “Yeah. Classes good?”

“Fine,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

No one followed up.

The silence dripped in again.

She felt like the spotlight was burning.

Because for the first time in her life—

They were all looking at her.

Watching.

Studying.

Not maliciously.

Not mockingly.

Just… intensely.

Like she was something rare.

Or fragile.

Or worse—like she was someone they suddenly remembered was breakable.

She cut a piece of the food and pushed it around on her plate.

Her heart beat quietly in her chest.

She tried to breathe through her nose, smile when anyone looked her way. But her skin was too tight. Her hands cold.

And all she could think about was how she used to sit at this table, four chairs away from anyone, completely invisible.

And somehow… she preferred that.

Because now they were here.

And now they were seeing her.

And she didn’t know why. And she knew it couldn't be because of anything like love towards her.

No, she was sure. None of them would or even could ever love her.

It happened halfway through the silence, just as her fork hovered again above untouched vegetables.

Dick leaned forward, resting one arm casually on the table. His tone was warm—too warm. Like someone handling delicate porcelain he’d once dropped and only just remembered existed.

“So,” he said, “what’ve you been up to in school, little flower? Any clubs? Anything new?”

Her hand paused.

The silverware clinked quietly against her plate.

And then—she blinked, wide-eyed, her voice quieter than it should’ve been.

“…Are you talking to me?”

The table froze.

The stillness wasn’t angry—it was shocked.

Tim’s head tilted just slightly, a furrow forming between his brows.

Dick blinked, smile faltering. “Uh—yeah. Of course.”

Even Bruce’s eyes narrowed with a strange weight.  Alfred’s brow twitched slightly where he stood, pouring water into Bruce’s glass.

Damian scoffed from across the table, arms crossed.

“Tt. Are you too self-absorbed to hear your name when it’s spoken?”

The insult wasn’t sharp—just typical. Delivered with that familiar dismissiveness, the kind he always used when he felt confused or off-balance.

But Y/N still flinched.

Because it reminded her—again—that any attention from them was foreign. Unnatural.

And hearing her name in their voices still felt like some distant echo of a life she’d never fully been a part of.

She lowered her gaze to the plate again, then mumbled,

“I’m… the school representative this year.”

A pause.

Then she added, “Student rep. I got elected.”

There was a flicker of surprise around the table.

Tim blinked. “You? Really?”

Dick leaned back, grinning. “Hey, that’s actually really cool.”

Bruce didn’t speak. But he watched her closely now. His brow slightly furrowed, his posture still.

She shifted uncomfortably, voice quieter.

“I’m also in the gardening group. I help take care of the greenhouse.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against her lap.

“It’s stupid.”

Dick frowned. “No it’s not.”

She didn’t look at him. Damian muttered, “Figures.”

Not cruelly. Not coldly.

Just… like it was expected.

Like of course she would gravitate toward flowers.

And that—somehow—still hurt. It reminded her of her heritage, one of the reasons people will forever despise her.

Her fingers curled tighter around the hem of her skirt.

She could still feel it.

The glances.

The weight of their eyes. Not cruel. Not mocking. But pressing.

Watching her like she was something foreign, something that might wilt or crumble if they said the wrong thing.

She didn’t belong here.

She’d known that for years.

But this—this silence—was different.

Before, they’d ignored her.

Now, they looked at her like they didn’t know her at all.

Because they didn’t.

She remembered how dinner used to sound without her.

Voices. Conversations. Occasional arguments. Dick teasing Damian. Tim venting about casework. Even Bruce occasionally commenting about missions, news, politics.

Tonight?

Nothing.

The silence was because of her.

They hadn’t stopped talking for her.

They’d stopped because she was there.

And that made something in her chest coil with shame.

Alfred poured her water.

She hadn’t touched her plate.

Not one bite.

He said nothing.

But she saw it in the way his eyes lingered on her too long.

He noticed.

⸻

She swallowed.

Then gave a soft, breathy smile and said, “I need to help Maya with something. We have to call about our project. She’s not doing well with the script.”

She stood before anyone could respond.

Didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t look anyone in the eye.

Just turned.

And walked—too fast.

Her footsteps light. The way she’d learned to move when she didn’t want to bother anyone.

She didn’t run.

Not until she was past the hallway.

She locked her door.

Slid down against it, breath shivering.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even crying.

She just felt… cold.

Because even now, when they finally remembered she existed—

It still didn’t feel like love.

The silence hung like smoke in the air.

Dick was still watching the doorway she’d disappeared through.

Tim’s fingers had gone still on his fork.

Even Damian looked mildly tense now—his shoulders sharper, jaw tighter.

Bruce didn’t move.

He just looked down at YN’s untouched plate.

Steam rising.

Completely full.

As if she’d never even tried to be part of the meal.

“She didn’t eat,” Alfred said quietly.

They all knew it already.

No one spoke.

Not even Damian.

Bruce stayed silent.

His hands folded neatly in front of him.

But his eyes didn’t leave that full, untouched plate.

___

Her plan was almost finished.

The envelope was sealed.

The fake signature was in place.

The burner phone was pre-loaded.

She’d picked out the back gate she’d use—the one where the cameras never worked right.

She’d even mapped the bus route to the far end of Gotham, where names blurred and no one asked questions.

Next Monday night.

She’d be gone.

⸻

In the last three days, she’d perfected the lies.

She told Bruce she had a student council report due.

Told Tim she had extra lab hours.

Told Dick she had sleepovers planned.

Even managed to slip past Alfred twice when he offered to drive her to school.

And she made sure to smile—like she used to.

To keep them calm.

Distracted.

Because the more they noticed her, the more they hovered.

And she didn’t know why.

⸻

They didn’t know what they were missing. But they knew they were losing something.

Bruce didn’t say it aloud.

But he noticed her shoes by the back door weren’t the same polished ones she wore to school.

He noticed the bus card tucked into her notebook.

He noticed the new shadows under her eyes when she returned late—even when she claimed it was “just Maya.”

And when she smiled too fast, too sweet, too easy…

He saw Martha’s softness in it.

And something hollow beneath.

⸻

Tim was the first to try casual contact—offering help with homework. Chess. Even suggesting he walk her to the bus once.

She dodged all of it.

At first, he thought it was shyness.

But now—he couldn’t help but check the cameras.

Track her phone once.

Then again.

But he never found her.

Because it wasn’t with her.

⸻

Dick visited more often. Every time he entered the manor, he asked Alfred if she was in. If she’d eaten. If she’d left anything in the kitchen.

He tried knocking once.

She said she was on a call.

Another time, she said she was baking cookies for her class.

He knew she was lying.

But all he could do was smile and say, “Tell Maya I said hi.”

⸻

And every day, she slipped out quietly.

Tended the garden behind the crumbling apartment building.

Talked politely with the landlord, who now left her old tools and gloves.

And smiled like she wasn’t holding her life together with shaking fingers.

Because when she left… she’d lose everything.

Her friends. Her name. Her school.

Her self.

But it was safer than dying again. Than knowing that the people you wished to care for you would never do.

⸻

That Night

She woke up gasping.

Sheets tangled. Skin cold. Eyes stinging.

It was the same dream again.

The memory.

Of the last few hours.

Before she died.

⸻

She remembered the smell of smoke.

Her own voice screaming.

A cold metal chair.

Wires digging into her skin.

A hand around her throat.

And a voice in the dark.

“Too soft. Too sweet. Should’ve never been a Wayne.”

⸻

Her body jolted upright.

She pressed her hand over her mouth.

And choked down the sob before it could wake the house.

When she was little, she used to go to Bruce’s door.

Tiny fists knocking in the night. Waiting. Hoping.

He was never there.

Alfred would find her sometimes. Scoop her up. Rub her back. Hum lullabies no one else remembered.

But eventually even he stopped hearing the cries.

Because she stopped making them audible.

And started enduring.

Alone.

She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

⸻

Alfred

He wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps.

Soft. Bare. Careful not to creak the floorboards.

But no one was more practiced at silence than Alfred Pennyworth.

And no one knew the rhythms of this house better than he did.

So when he heard her—

Miss YN, tiptoeing down into the kitchen at an hour where no child should be awake—

He didn’t call out.

He simply watched.

She moved like a ghost.

Shoulders curled in. Sleeves long over her hands. The glow of the stove light casting pale shadows across her cheeks.

She was thinner than he liked.

Too pale. Too quiet.

And far too distant.

Even now, her small fingers reached for the kettle like she was trying not to disturb the air.

Something had changed in her.

Something deep and quiet and frightening.

He’d noticed it for weeks. Longer, even.

But tonight—

Tonight he knew.

She was slipping away.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, just above a whisper.

She startled—just slightly. Her hand pulling back from the kettle, eyes wide, pupils dilated from the nightmare that still lingered behind them.

“Alfred,” she breathed. “Sorry. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back up soon.”

He stepped into the light.

No scolding. No sternness.

Just that familiar, unbearable softness in his gaze.

“You’ve always come here after bad dreams, sweetheart.”

Her eyes dropped.

She gave a nervous little smile.

“I’m fine. Really.”

But her voice trembled on the last syllable.

⸻

The night had been thick with tension.

Ivy’s operation was falling apart.

The GCPD didn’t find her first.

Bruce did.

He returned that night to the cave bloodied and furious—but with something else in his arms.

A file. A name. A girl he had to find.

And later—when the cleanup team was sent to sweep Ivy’s hideout—

Alfred was with them.

He remembered the dark walls covered in vines. The broken glass. The abandoned chemicals and rotting moss.

And then—

In the corner of a cracked nursery, under a heat lamp and a pile of vines—

A toddler.

She looked up at him.

Eyes wide. Wet cheeks. Trembling lip.

And the expression.

So small. So lost.

But in that little face, he saw Bruce.

Saw the same tightly clenched jaw. The same furrow of the brow. The same eyes that had once looked at him from the crib in the east wing of the old estate.

She didn’t cry when he approached.

She blinked.

Then toddled forward. Shakily. Holding out her tiny hand.

And when he crouched down—when he extended his arms—

She fell into them like she’d always belonged there.

He’d whispered to her then, as she nuzzled into his coat:

“There now, my little bloom. You’re safe. You’re home now.”

She’d asked about her mother.

And he’d lied, gently.

“You’ll see your father soon.”

Because even then, he knew.

Even if Bruce didn’t.

She was his.

And Alfred—who had served generals and kings, fought wars and buried brothers—had only ever had one secret favorite.

One child in that cursed manor whose laughter made the halls feel alive again.

And he’d sworn, silently, holding her close:

“No one will ever take you from me.”

Not Gotham.

Not God.

Not even Bruce Wayne.

⸻

He set the kettle to boil.

Y/N sat on the stool like a child who had shrunk back into her bones.

He handed her a warm cup with honey and lemon—just the way she liked it as a toddler.

She wrapped her hands around it slowly.

Didn’t drink.

Didn’t speak.

“You’re planning something,” he said gently, after a moment. “Aren’t you?”

Her eyes lifted in a flash of panic.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t accuse.

Just smiled softly.

As if to say: Don’t lie to me, darling. I’ve raised you since your first breath in this house.

“You’ve always been my little bloom,” he said, voice low. “I know when you’re wilting.”

She didn’t answer.

But her eyes shimmered.

And Alfred Pennyworth, ever the gentleman, ever the shadow—

Decided then and there:

If she tried to run,

If she tried to vanish,

He would bring her back.

_____

Damian

She was lying again.

He watched from across the courtyard, arms crossed, jaw tight as his eyes tracked her movement. A soft laugh. A toss of her hair. That smile.

That damn smile.

He’d seen it before.

A long time ago.

Back when she used to run up to him after training. When she used to leave him little flowers on his practice mat. When she’d beam at him for a single glance in her direction.

Back when her world revolved around them.

Now?

Now she smiled like that for everyone but them.

He’d noticed the change before anyone else.

Of course he had.

He was raised to observe—to dissect.

And she was easy to read. Always had been. No poker face. No ability to lie worth anything. Her tells were childish, obvious.

Fidgeting. Blinking too much. Looking away when she spoke.

Only now, she was doing it constantly.

Her excuses were thin. Transparent.

“I’m helping Maya with something.”

“I’m organizing for student council.”

“I have a meeting after school.”

Maya didn’t exist.

He had checked.

Twice.

And still she kept slipping through their fingers.

Avoiding them.

Avoiding him.

And it infuriated him.

Because even if she was just a kid—even if she was soft, and fragile, and meant to be protected—she was still his.

And her behavior made no sense.

She was supposed to be the one who clung.

The one who lit up when he entered the room, even if he only sneered or turned his head. The one who offered him cookies, or asked him to walk her down the hall, or tried to braid his hair when she thought he was asleep on the couch.

She used to follow him like a kitten.

Now?

Now she walked ahead of him.

Away from him.

And smiled for strangers.

It made something in his chest twist.

And it made his mind sharpen.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud—not even to himself.

But she looked…

Like she was getting ready to leave.

And for the first time in a long time—

Damian Wayne felt something he didn’t like.

Not anger.

Not superiority.

But something sharp.

Tight.

Fear.

He clenched his fists inside his blazer pockets.

His eyes locked on her where she stood with her friends, laughing at something someone whispered to her.

And he felt it again—

That low, gnawing hatred.

Not for her. Never for her.

But for them.

The ones who got her smile now.

The ones who got her attention.

The ones who didn’t even know what she was.

⸻

She belongs to us.

To me.

And if she thinks she can just disappear…

He turned on his heel.

Cold.

Focused.

Determined to find out exactly what she was hiding.

And to stop it.

Whatever it was.

____-

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second he heard it—the name, floating lazily off someone’s tongue—

“Wayne.”

His shoulders tensed.

His boots stopped cold.

He turned. Quiet. Dangerous.

The boys behind him hadn’t even noticed the way his gaze had sharpened.

He used to beat them for this.

All of them.

Any fool who threw his name around like it was cheap.

Until Father pulled him aside and told him it wasn’t honor—not like this.

And for once, he listened.

He backed off. (At least most of the times)

He tried.

But then he heard the rest.

“Yeah, she went up to Silas like last week. Alone. Just walked up to him and paid him off or something—like, what the hell?”

“Didn’t think someone like her would be talking to him.”

“Bet he was trying to pull her into his little side business—”

He didn’t even remember moving.

In a blink, he had one of the boys pressed hard against the locker wall, forearm across his throat.

The others stumbled back, shouting.

“What did you say?!”

His voice was ice.

Sharp. Refined. Deadly.

“Damian—chill, man—it’s just gossip, we didn’t say anything—”

“What. Did. She. Want. From. Him.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

No one touches her.

No one speaks her name.

No one gets close to her unless I allow it.

When he dropped the boy, he didn’t even wait for an answer.

Because he was already moving.

Already storming.

The fire in his chest burned with something worse than anger.

Rage.

He found Silas near the side building, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t a roach. A dirty cockroach. Someone that wasn't even allowed to breath the same air as his sister.

Damian’s fist connected with his face before the other boy could even speak.

The second hit drove him against the bricks.

“What the hell—!” Silas shouted, clutching his face.

“You spoke to her,” Damian hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—!”

“Y/N Wayne,” he growled, teeth gritted. “She came to you. What did she want? What did you give her?”

Silas spat blood to the side.

“She paid me. I promised not to say.”

Another punch. Silas dropped to his knees.

“I don’t care what she paid. I will know.”

A kick into his gut.

Silas wiped his mouth. Voice tight.

“She didn’t… do anything wrong, man. She just asked for a signature. A fake one. That’s it. I don’t know what for. I swear.”

Damian’s body stilled.

Signature?

A fake one?

His brain started to whirl.

Why would she need that? What is she planning? What the hell is she hiding from me—

But Silas wasn’t going to say more.

He could see it in his eyes.

He was keeping her secret.

Just like everyone else had kept things from him his whole life.

With a last punch that send him into unconsciousness, Damian spit on the boy.

He turned on his heel.

His eyes were determined.

Storming.

Hunting.

When Damian Wayne entered a room with rage in his steps, people moved.

They turned. Whispered.

Doors shut quietly. Eyes dropped.

Because when the youngest Wayne snapped, the whole school listened.

He found her.

In the courtyard.

With her friends.

Smiling.

Laughing.

That soft, sunlit expression that used to belong to him.

His voice rang out like thunder across stone.

Loud. Sharp. Echoing.

“YN. ELOISE. WAYNE.”

Every head turned.

Even hers.

And when their eyes met—

She flinched.

Her smile shattered.

And in her chest, something sank.

Because she knew.

He found something.

She was running out of time.

And she had to run from him.

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Thinking about an alternate dimension with no humans. No rumors, no myths, and no ancient burial grounds that suggest they might exist. Only the creatures we write about and make stories of. Hairy 5-meter tall hairy giants, vampires that drink the blood of any they can get their hand on, gorgeous beauties that feed on the souls of all they drown at sea. It’s a monster lover’s dream. The races of course are in factions by race navigating peace as best as they can but it continues to be a contentious mission. 

Of course not helping their case, a new species is being introduced to the pool.

You. 

A dimensional traveler meant to test out a better place for humans to live. Of course, your soulless employers drop you in with limited supplies and promise they’ll return you in five years of course if you're not dead. 

But this monster world is far from ready to have a human come to their land. At first, they mistake you for a defanged good-natured vampire; flexing your technology as a silent show of dominance. Typical of those snotty fang-havers….but things get weird when the council of monster representatives finds the Vampires so in awe of your existence. 

“No fangs?”

“Imperviousness to the sun!?”

“You are like nothing we’ve ever seen–”

“Or smelt! Your blood—”

“We’ve never tasted anything more divine!”

After using a small reusable syringe technology is amazing from your pack and give them a couple of droplets. Only for one taste to have the vampires writhing in heat so feverish they can’t help but drool and pull at their suddenly too-restricting clothes.

The other representatives are baffled. Are you a witch?! You have a better temperament than any and you haven’t requested any hearts or weird herbs to sate some hunger of yours. The Witch representatives check you next, doing the usual checkups witches must go through.

“Alright now open your esophagus.”

“Uhm I can’t do that. I can open my mouth, though. Ahh”

“GASP! What on the Withering Lands is that pink thing hanging in the back!?”

“My uvula?”

“Oh my, should you be showing that to us?!”

“Yes, we may impregnate you that way.”

“That’s not how it works for me.”

Though for good measure and their imploding curiosity, they take a sample of your saliva. Learning from those narcissistic vampire they only pour a hint of it into their cauldrons. Taking a sip, their chemistry demands their brain think of an answer and yet….why are their pants wet? Oh dear they’ll need to satisfy themselves quickly or they’ll be unable to stop themselves from pouncing on the odd creature that brought this along.  It brings the council into an uproar some call for your immediate execution, others want to take you for further experimentation, and others hope to have what the vampires and witches were having. 

One of your immediate allies is the Elves the hosts for this council meeting. Escorting you from the courtroom as they mull about possible solutions, willing to hear out what you might have to say. Oblivious to the tension among the kingdoms and each specific problem, you can’t offer much. That leaves the Elf representative, an audacious fifth prince, at his wit's end. Near tears he expects you to watch awkwardly as the sparkling water falls from his eyes, not rub against his back. 

“Hey it’s okay we’ll figure it out. I really appreciate you looking after me.”

Your words fall on deaf ears as the elf is immediately thrown into disarray. Even through his clothes, the warmth of your hands has the most naughty parts of him stand at attention. The tips of his ears are the shade of the planet’s crimson moon and the nails he’d always kept beautifully shaped make indents in the wood. His guards happily fall to restrain the creature responsible only for them to suffer the same fate. 

It dawns on you just how terrible of a situation it is then you realize the door is locked and the monsters suffering from your effect have been thrust into a mindless rut where their all convinced you will solve their problems. 

And maybe you can, after all, you are the only human in this world. If you made these problems surely you can fix them. 

“You might want to sit down for this.”

He takes a smaller step back away from you, the ­air is still so freezing cold and you still eye him cautiously as stand up. He turns gesturing for you to follow him back down the stairs.

Your body shivers, it’s still so cold and ­the man before you seems wholly unaffected by it.

Once you both reach the bottom floor again, he turns into the ‘bedroom’ and you follow in. His hand fiddles with the switches turning on a light which dimly flickers, before stayi­ng on. He motions for you to sit on the bed.

The bed is firm beneath you as you sit on the edge. Your body is still tense as you watch the being before you, it’s hard to gauge him when you can’t make out the features of his face.

“My name’s Ghiaccio.” He finally decides to say first and you mumble back out your own name towards him and he nods. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I stopped keeping track of time a while ago.” He starts, “I was out on a drive, I didn’t have any particular direction I was heading in. I was just driving...to take my mind off things.” He paces as he talks.

“Then I wound up here, didn’t matter how far I tried to walk, didn’t matter if I drove or not. It’s just snow, woods, and occasionally little cabins like this one.” There’s a low growl of annoyance that enters his voice.“And all of them…” He spits out, “All of them are just stock full of fucking chicken parmesan. You know I used to like chicken parmesan, but it’s the only god damn fucking food to eat. I hate it. I hate it so much. Do you know how awful chicken parmesan-flavored water tastes like, it’s ass. I’d rather eat fucking drywall, and I have!” As he rants his arm suddenly pulls back and slams into the wall, creating another hole amongst the other ones.

He then looks back at you, like he’s forgotten you were even there. “Sorry...getting side-tracked… I just ­get so sick of eating t­hat shit all the time.” He brushes off the dust from his fist. “Anyways, I don’t know if this place is cursed or some shit, or if this is like Hell or whatever, but you can’t leave.” He shrugs his shoulders, “Unless you want to freeze death or get eaten.” He ends with a mirthless laugh.

“Eaten?” You question.

“Yeah, there’s….things out there. Aside from the snow and trees, I don’t know how to really describe them, but I thought you were one of them before. My eye sight’s dog shit, lost my glasses awhile ago, but they can’t speak like normal people.” He explains, and as he does you remember the red framed glasses in your pocket. You pull them out handing it towards him. “Um, are these yours then?” You ask and he takes them, squinting before rubbing the dirt off of them with the edge of his shirt before placing them on his face.

He blinks a few times before looking at you adjusting the frames on his face. “...Thanks.” He mutters out.

It gets quiet between t­he both of you. You aren’t entirely sure if you believe this man but...he seems to be living proof enough that things around here aren’t exactly right.

He seems twitchy though his foot is tapping in place and his hands fiddle with his pockets, he couldn’t sit still to save his life.

You’ll keep to his good side for now, he can clearly overpower you if given the motivation. Your arms still feel sore from the bruising grip he had on you prior. You just needed to wait for the weather to get better, or hopefully if you get signal you can call the cops.

“I get the front door was locked, but did you really need to break two windows to get in here?” He suddenly asks and you look up at him confused.

“I only broke one, the upstairs window was already broken before I got here.” You explain and his eyes widen slightly, before narrowing. “Aw shit, you stay here, something might have gotten in.” He demands and starts heading for the bedroom door. “Don’t move I’m serious.”

With that he finally leaves closing the door, although his eyes linger on you before the door shuts. You’re left alone with the hum of the ceiling light as your fingers feel along the fabric of the bed.

You bring your fingers up to your hands to blow warm air of them, you’re still so cold. It’s better being inside of the house, but it’s clear that any kind of air conditioning no longer works. The air is stale and yet still carries that scent of blood and mold throughout the air.

Which is another thing, the state of the living room, you aren’t sure if you want to ask Ghiaccio about that, or about himself. Maybe he did look more human at some point, or maybe this is just how he’s always looked, either way maybe best not to comment on it.

A loud thud from upstairs makes you flinch and you hear some curse that sounds vaguely like Ghiaccio yell out.

You know he told you to stay put but can you honestly really even trust this guy? He’s clearly lost it. A part of you feels bad, but you need to put yourself first. Then again you can’t exactly just leave the house, you’ll die out there in the snow.

Maybe if you can find the keys to the car outside though it might have some gas left in it and you can drive out of here. You have some time, Ghiaccio is distracted with, whatever he’s yelling at upstairs.

You stand from the bed, and head towards the pile of junk in the room. You searched it once before, but you can try searching through it again.

You cautiously look through the pile, with the light in the room now you can see bits and pieces of things you didn’t before. Collected scraps of comics, old water damaged books, batteries, and little trinkets. No keys though.

You look towards the door, you can still here some kind of scuffle going on upstairs.

You carefully step out from the room peeking around to make sure the man’s not around before you close the door behind you and making your way to the living room. It’s hard not to gag when the smell hits you again. The way the crusted carpet crinkles when you step on it makes you cringe, but you continue forward.

The front door outside is still open from when Ghiaccio came running after you and you can see now the sun has fully set leaving only a dark frozen forest that fades into nothing. The static flickering light of TV the only source of light.

The cold breeze hits your face and makes you shiver, before you close the door and after thinking about it, you lock it as well.

Almost like some sense of morbid curiosity takes over you, you peek through one of the blinds to look outside again. You can’t really see anything though, it’s like nothing else exists, beyond the house aside from the snow.

You grab your phone from your back pocket.

Still no signal, not even any 4g, wifi, nothing. Calling 911 goes straight to static. You turn it off and pocket it again.

You back away from the window and move away from the living room, anything to get away from that smell, and head back to the kitchen.

You decide you might as well do what you can and fix up the window, you don’t need the cold seeping into this place.

Picking up the duct tape you dropped earlier, you grab one end of the car tarp shaking away the glass to the floor as you lean over to cover up the damage you’ve done.

Just as you get one part of car tarp secured to the edge of the window there’s a crash you hear upstairs, before you watch something be violently thrown from above the cabin and into the snow outside. The commotion making you jump and drop the duct tape.

The humanoid form twitches and you squint your eyes.

“Holy shit...G-ghiaccio? Ghiaccio? Are you okay?” You call out waiting for a reply.

The form shakily gets up, and you can see the whites of the eyes looking back up at you, but he doesn’t make a sound.

“Ghiaccio?” You try again, squinting your eyes as you try to get a better look at him.

Something snaps, and the being- the thing rushes forward on all fours, kicking up snow as it lunges it self through the window and you scream as you’re knocked to the ground.

Teeth gnash, and glass from the ground pricks your back as you struggle with whatever this horrible thing is. Your legs come up to try and kick it off of you, as it’s mouth gets around your forearm gnawing through clothes, skin, and flesh.

You cry, your hand scrambles for the wrench in your pocket. The rust scrapes against your palm as you death grip it and bring it up before using as much force as you can to bring the tool down on the ‘head’ of the creature.

It grunts and cries out between your arm in it’s maw as you try to make it release you, but it’s teeth only dig deeper trying to get a better grip on you.

The creature is suddenly thrown off of you and you push yourself away with you legs and you clutch your fingers around your injured arm to help staunch the flow of blood.

The air turns fridge cold as Ghiaccio lifts the creature up over and over bashing the head in against the counter top, until frost seems to over take it’s face and it shatters, finally going limp.

The sound of his heavy breathing, your ragged sobs, and the wind howling in from the broken window as your eyes stay wide and panicked looking at what’s left of the thing. “I thought I fucking told you to stay put.” Ghiaccio growls out as his eyes narrow down at you.

You meet his eyes looking up at him, sucking in fast breathes of cold air.

“I, I, ” You start, your lower lip trembles.“I didn’t believe you, I-I thought you were crazy, but…” You swallow thickly, sniffling down the snot and tears so you can speak. “Oh God, Oh God, I’m really stuck here aren’t I?” You ask looking from him down towards the tile of the kitchen floor, pieces of glass and your blood staining it now. “There’s nothing else out there except….” You mumble out.

Nothing but snow and woods. You were just wandering out there a few hours ago. You’re lucky one of these things didn’t attack you then, you didn’t stand a chance on your own.

And no wonder your phone doesn’t have signal, there’s nothing out there. No roads, no city lights, and your family. Your family isn’t out there, you’re alone.

“I was going to, I was going to see them…” You mutter out your hand coming up to wipe the tears from your face.

“Who?” Ghiaccio asks lowly, some of the anger is gone from his voice.

“My family...I was traveling, to see them and…” You trail off before looking back up at him,“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Just listen next time alight?” He says holding a hand out to help you up. “First person I’ve seen in probably years and you almost fucking die first day. Jesus Christ.” You take his hand, grunting as you do, a few small pieces of glass have dug into your back. “I’m sorry.” You whisper out again and he just shakes his head slightly, sighing. Although he doesn’t let go of your hand after he helps you up.

“It’s fine, come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”

common ratio w

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"Respect is important, especially for someone of your standing."

He chuckled, but there was a weight to it. "Is that so?"

Before he could say more, the doors burst open, and Yanqing stumbled in, panting. "General! The—oh, Y/N! You're here!"

Your entire demeanor shifted instantly. A bright smile broke across your face, and before Yanqing could react, you reached out, ruffling his hair with a laugh. "Look at you! Did you run all the way here?"

"Hey—stop that!" Yanqing protested, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Jing Yuan's fingers twitched against his desk.

You only grinned, giving Yanqing’s cheek a playful pinch before turning back to the general—your expression smoothing back into polite professionalism. "My apologies for the interruption, General. I’ll ensure your medicine is properly prepared."

Jing Yuan hummed, his gaze lingering on you. "No need to apologize."

You were warm with everyone else—affectionate, even. But with him? Only proper distance.

-----

The Alchemy Commission was bustling as usual when you arrived, the scent of herbs and medicine thick in the air. Lingsha glanced up at you.

“Back again so soon?” she teased, setting down a mortar and pestle. “Don’t tell me the General’s been overworking himself again.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know how he is. I swear, if I didn’t bring him his medicine personally, he’d forget it entirely.”

Lingsha chuckled, but then her expression turned sly. “Speaking of the General… anything new with him?”

“New? Well, his recovery is progressing, though he still insists on working through fatigue. His blood circulation—”

She held up a hand, cutting you off. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then…?”

“I mean, anything interesting? You’re around him all the time, and yet you never have anything to say about him besides his health reports.”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing else to say.”

Lingsha gave you an incredulous look. “Nothing? You’re telling me that the man who half of the Luofu sighs over doesn’t warrant any personal commentary from you?”

You frowned, genuinely confused. “I don’t see why it matters. I’m just doing my job.”

“That’s exactly the problem! You treat us like family. But with him, you act like a soldier reporting to a superior.”

Unbeknownst to you both, a certain silver-haired general had paused just outside the doorway, having been on his way to greet you—until the conversation took an unexpected turn. Now, he stood just out of sight, arms crossed, listening with far too much interest.

You sighed. “It’s different with him. It would be improper to act casually.”

“He’s still a person, you know.”

Jing Yuan, still eavesdropping, nodded silently in agreement.

You shook your head. “It’s not that simple. I respect his position too much to overstep.”

“Is that so?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Jing Yuan stepped into view.

“G-General!” you stammered, immediately straightening your posture.

“Speak of the devil.”

“I had no idea my presence was so… intimidating.”

You swallowed hard. “Not intimidating! Just… respectable.”

“Respect is one thing. But treating me like a statue is another, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond.

“Even he thinks you’re too stiff.”

Jing Yuan hummed in agreement. “Indeed. I was just passing by, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon quite the enlightening conversation.”

Your face burned.

Oh, this was bad.

----

The streets of the Xianzhou Luofu were alive with celebration—lanterns glowed warmly against the dusk, the scent of spiced wine and roasted delicacies filled the air, and laughter echoed through the bustling plaza. It was one of many festivals the Luofu held, but this one was special: a gathering to mark the General’s full recovery.

You hadn’t expected such an event to be held in his honor, much less to be personally invited. But when the summons arrived, you couldn’t refuse.

Dressed in simple but elegant robes, you arrived early, intending to help with the preparations. Yet the moment you reached for a stray decoration to adjust it, a familiar voice stopped you.

“Now, now. Must you always be working?”

You turned to see Jing Yuan standing behind you.

You quickly bowed. “General. I just thought I’d assist—”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he interrupted smoothly. “Tonight, you should enjoy yourself.”

You hesitated, but nodded. “…Understood.”

Jing Yuan lingered for a moment, as if waiting for something more, but when you said nothing else, he chuckled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd to attend to his duties as host.

Left to your own devices, you did what came naturally—you kept busy.

You helped a group of children untangle their kite strings, laughing as they tugged at your sleeves, begging you to join their game. You chatted with the servers, exchanging jokes and lighthearted complaints about the hectic preparations. And when you spotted a young man struggling with a heavy tray of fruits, nearly tripping into a table, you immediately stepped in, steadying him before disaster could strike.

“Careful” you said, helping him adjust his grip.

He exhaled in relief. “Thank you! I swear, these trays are cursed.”

You grinned. “Just take it slow.”

He smiled back, grateful, and before long, the two of you found yourselves sitting at one of the long banquet tables, sharing a drink and easy conversation. He was a junior clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission, you learned, and his stories about bureaucratic mishaps had you laughing into your cup.

You didn’t notice the pair of golden eyes watching from across the plaza.

Jing Yuan stood near the edge of the festivities, a cup of wine untouched in his hand.

How effortlessly you showed warmth to others.

And yet, with him, you still kept that careful distance.

Then, with deliberate steps, he began making his way toward your table.

The clerk noticed first, nearly choking on his drink when he recognized the approaching figure. “G-General?!”

“Mind if I join you?”

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up being whisked away from your conversation, but Lingsha had appeared out of nowhere, looping her arm through yours with a cheerful, "There you are! I need your help with something!" before dragging you off without another word.

"What’s the emergency?"

She huffed, adjusting the sleeve of her robe. "This sash won’t stay straight. Fix it for me?"

You sighed but obliged, fingers deftly retying the fabric. "You could’ve asked one of the attendants."

"And miss the chance to rescue you? Please. You had no idea what is going to happen next."

You paused. "…What?"

Lingsha waved a hand. "Never mind. Just—try not to look so approachable to random people tonight, okay?"

Before you could ask what she meant, she was already slipping back into the crowd, leaving you standing there, confused.

Shaking your head, you decided to find Yanqing and Yunli instead—familiar faces, easy company. You spotted Yanqing first, the young swordsman grumbling as he tried (and failed) to sneak a pastry from one of the dessert trays. You snuck up behind him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey—!" He whipped around, scowling, but the moment he saw it was you, his expression shifted to exasperated fondness. "Oh. It’s you."

"Miss me?"

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away when you playfully tugged at his ponytail.

Yunli, ever the composed one, merely raised an eyebrow as you approached. "Must you torment him?"

"Absolutely," you said, reaching up to adjust the slightly crooked pin in her hair. She sighed but allowed it, her lips twitching in amusement.

Meanwhile, across the plaza, Jing Yuan was surrounded.

People of all kind—all vying for his attention, some with thinly veiled flirtation. He smiled, nodded, gave polite replies, but his gaze kept drifting—past them, past the crowd, to where you were, laughing with his disciple as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The night had been a blur of laughter, music, and far too many cups of Xianzhou’s strongest liquor. You hadn’t meant to drink so much—truly, you hadn’t—but between Yanqing daring you to try the spiced wine and Lingsha cheerfully refilling your cup every time it emptied, you’d lost track.

By the time you realized you were swaying on your feet, it was too late.

The world spun pleasantly as you wandered away from the feast, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The lanterns blurred into golden streaks, the distant hum of voices fading as you found yourself near one of the Luofu’s tranquil ponds, the water shimmering under the moonlight.

You plopped down at the edge, legs dangling precariously over the water, and giggled to yourself.

Oops. Maybe too close.

You leaned forward—just a little—to peer at your reflection, but your balance betrayed you.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you felt yourself tipping—

Then strong arms caught you, pulling you back against a firm chest.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice murmured, “That would be a rather undignified way to end the night, don’t you think?”

You blinked up at him.

His silver hair glowed under the moonlight, his golden eyes crinkled in amusement. He looked unfairly handsome, and in your drunken state, you saw no reason not to say so.

“Wow,” you breathed, reaching up to poke his cheek. “You’re really pretty.”

His eyebrows shot up.

Then he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Is that so?”

You nodded sagely. “Mhm. Like a painting.”

His gaze softened. “And here I thought you only saw me as ‘The Divine Foresight.’”

You scrunched your nose. “That’s stupid.”

“Oh?”

“You’re Jing Yuan,” you declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You laugh at bad jokes. You forget your medicine. You let Yanqing win sometimes even though he definitely doesn’t deserve it.”

“I see alcohol makes you rather… honest.”

You sighed dramatically, flopping back against him. “I’m always honest. You just never listen.”

He hummed, shifting to steady you. “Then perhaps you should tell me something else.”

“Like what?”

“Why,” he said, voice dropping to a murmur, “you treat everyone else with such ease… but with me, you keep your distance.”

You frowned, struggling to form a coherent thought through the haze of liquor. “Because… you’re important.”

“And that means I deserve less of your kindness?”

“No!” You huffed, frustrated. “It means I can’t mess up. If I’m too casual, if I say the wrong thing—what if you realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be?”

The confession tumbled out before you could stop it.

Jing Yuan went very still.

Then, slowly, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That’s what you’ve been worried about?”

You pouted. “It’s a valid concern.”

He chuckled, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Silly thing. Do you really think I don’t know you?”

“I’ve watched you scold Yanqing for skipping training,” he continued, amused. “I’ve seen you trip over your own feet in the halls. I know you sneak extra sweets when you think no one’s looking.”

Your face burned. “You—noticed that?”

“I notice everything,” he said, “Especially when it comes to you.”

Your drunken brain short-circuited.

Before you could respond, he sighed, shifting to lift you into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere you won’t drown.”

You whined but didn’t protest, too busy marveling at how nice his chest felt to lean against.

Somewhere in the distance, Lingsha watched the scene unfold—then smirked and turned away, deciding some things were better left uninterrupted.

>The Morning After<

Your head pounded.

Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow, willing the world to stop spinning.

Wait.

Not your pillow.

Your eyes flew open.

This was not your room.

Oh no.

Fragmented memories flashed in your mind—Jing Yuan’s arms around you, his laughter, your embarrassingly honest rambling—

You sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted it as your skull throbbed in protest.

A cup of water and a small vial of medicine sat on the bedside table, along with a note:

"Drink this. We’ll talk later."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you scurried into the Alchemy Commission, still nursing the remnants of your hangover. The moment you arrived, you grabbed the nearest healer by the sleeve.

"Switch shifts with me. Please. I'll owe you forever."

They blinked at your desperate expression but shrugged. "Uh… sure?"

You nearly collapsed in relief. Perfect. Now you could hide behind the counter, avoid all human interaction, and—most importantly—never have to face him again.

-----

The General of the Luofu was distracted.

Reports lay unfinished on his desk, his usually sharp mind clouded with thoughts of you—your drunken confession, the way you'd curled against him, the way you'd finally spoken to him without that infuriating formality.

And then you'd vanished.

His fingers tightened around his brush.

Did you regret it?

Was it just the wine talking?

Or worse—had that clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission caught your interest instead?

The brush snapped in his hand.

"…I see."

He exhaled slowly, setting the pieces aside. He was Jing Yuan, the Divine Foresight. He did not lose composure over such things.

…Yet here he was, standing up, cloak already swinging over his shoulders as he strode out of his office.

Fine. If you wouldn’t come to him, he’d find you himself.

----

You were safe.

Hunched behind the counter, pretending to organize herbs, you let out a slow breath. Maybe if you stayed here long enough, he’d—

"Where is Y/N?"

Your blood turned to ice.

You ducked lower, praying that he wouldn’t see you.

"They, uh… switched shifts?" the other healer said nervously.

Footsteps. Moving away.

You nearly sobbed in relief.

…Until a shadow loomed over you.

"Hiding, are we?"

Slowly, painfully, you turned your head.

You swallowed.

"G-General! I—uh—was just—"

"Crawling away?" he supplied helpfully.

You winced.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, gripping the back of your collar like a misbehaving kitten. "Up."

You yelped as he hauled you to your feet.

You knelt before him in the empty side room, hands raised in surrender, face burning with shame.

"Explain."

You gulped. "I… may have acted inappropriately last night."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "How so?"

"I—I drank too much. I said things I shouldn’t have. I embarrassed myself—and you—and then I ran away like a coward—"

"So you do remember."

You nodded miserably.

"And yet," he continued, voice dropping, "instead of facing me, you chose to hide?"

You flinched. "I thought… you’d be angry."

"Angry?" He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "I was worried."

Your eyes widened.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, "come here."

You blinked. "Wh—?"

"I can’t hear you from there."

You hesitated, then shuffled forward on your knees until you were right in front of him.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice a low murmur.

"Now. Tell me again—why did you run?"

"I… was scared."

"Of?"

"Of… you realizing I’m not as composed as I pretend to be."

"I already told you—I know you."

You bit your lip.

"And," he added, fingers brushing under your chin, "I rather like the real you."

"So no more hiding," he murmured. "No more formality. Understood?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good." He straightened, offering you a hand. "Now get up. We have work to do."

You took it, your face still burning.

After The Incident (as you now referred to it in your head), things… changed.

Not drastically—you weren’t suddenly clinging to Jing Yuan’s arm or calling him by some ridiculous nickname—but the stiffness in your interactions had melted away.

You still bowed when necessary, still addressed him with respect, but now…When he made a terrible joke during strategy meetings, you rolled your eyes instead of forcing a polite laugh. When he "forgot" his medicine (again), you scolded him openly instead of couching your words in deference. And when he teased you—which was often—you gave as good as you got.

Jing Yuan, for his part, seemed delighted by this shift.

But there was something else, too.

A lingering glance when someone spoke to you a little too familiarly.

A casual step closer when a visiting diplomat eyed you with a little too much interest.

A look—one that had even Yanqing gulping and backing away when he tried to drag you into another ill-advised sparring match.

At first, you thought you were imagining it.

But then Lingsha smirked at you over her tea.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?"

She just laughed.

Whispers spread through the Luofu.

"Did you hear? The General personally reprimanded that merchant for overcharging them."

"He reassigned three clerks just because they were rude to Y/N in passing."

"I heard he nearly leveled a training ground because someone accidentally knocked them over during drills."

(That last one was an exaggeration.…Probably.)

It hit you one evening, as you sat across from him in his study, reviewing supply reports.

He was leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from running a hand through it one too many times. He looked… relaxed.

And then it struck you—

He likes having you here.

Not as a subordinate.

Just… as you.

Jing Yuan noticed your stare and raised an eyebrow. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, smiling slightly. "No. Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit" he teased.

You threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning.

No one dared to mistreat you.

No one dared to overstep.

And no one—absolutely no one—dared to flirt with you within Jing Yuan’s line of sight.

(You weren’t sure whether to be exasperated or touched.)

But when you mentioned it to him, he merely sipped his tea and said,

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

You snorted.

Liar.

-----

After a few minutes of running through the long corridors, you hadn’t come across any other injured or murdered people. A faint glint of hope lit within your soul at the thought of the attack not being too serious. Hopefully the famed Astral Express that had made a small stop at the space station, would help and take the monsters down quickly.

From what you have heard, they appeared to be greatly capable and they possessed admirable powers. You had wanted to meet them and ask them about their many adventures in a hopeless curious manner, but it had always seemed too far fetched. You were not an adventurer nor were you a scientist. You were only an assistant of an assistant (who were probably an assistant of an assistant) and your tasks consisted of organising, making coffee and planning future meetings and whatnot. It may not have been the most exciting job, but you did not mind for whatever reason. Maybe it was the way you were so close to the stars or maybe it was that your pay weren’t too bad. You had gotten the job via a good friend of yours, Anna. She was working in the cafeteria and recommended you to someone. You were now living at the space station with Anna and some of the other employees. It was a simple life, but it wasn’t so bad (except that most of your colleagues were total assholes who had absolutely no respect for you).

It had seemed like a safe and stable job, but that was before this. That was before you had witnessed a man getting torn to shreds by a monster with razor sharp jaws and talons longer than your forearm. You would be in need of many therapy sessions, that was for sure.

As a so-called ‘Darling’, you had been safe at Herta’s Space Station. ‘Darlings’ were able to both work and live peacefully within the space station. ‘Lovesick’ people or ‘Yanderes’ (that was the official therm), also worked there, but they were no treat. Madam Herta had made it very clear that lovesick-behaviour was only going to be a distraction, and that it was something that belonged in ones spare-time and nothing else. Though her opinion on the matter was uncommon, no one dared to oppose her. Which was something you appreciated.

The sound of a gunshot rattled your eardrums as it echoed through the corridors. It was close, too close. You gritted your teeth as you were about to make a run for it down the corridor on your left, when the sound of footsteps sounded from the dark corridor on your right. Before you were able to react, a tall woman with purple hair emerged through the darkness. In her hand was a sleek black gun which she playfully spun around her finger. A smile was present on her lips as she eyed you up and down. She was beautiful, but something about her made your hair stand on end. The woman was by no doubt dangerous and your brain told you to run for your life, but your feet were as if they were frozen to the ground.

“My my, you sure look scared. Are you lost?” her voice was full of mirth as her smile widened into a sharp grin. “This is no place for the means like you. You should seek shelter” the woman’s tone turned more serious, but her smile was still ever so present.

“Who are you?” your voice was strong, but despite your act of faux courage, you could not hide its trembling.

The woman chuckled. “That’s not important. What is important, is that you don’t stand in my way” she stepped closer. “Can you do that? I really do hate to kill civilians…” her eyes glittered with mischief.

You nodded fast as you backed away. “Yes. Yes I will not be in your way. I promise” you held your hand to your heart as you swore.

The woman only hummed as she nodded before disappearing into the darkness where she had came from.

Your feet drummed against the plastic floor as you ran as fast as your legs could carry you. You were out of breath, but stopping was not an option. As you made a sharp turn, a claw gripped your arm and threw you against the wall. Your breath was knocked out of you and you heaved and hissed like a fish on land. The monster growled as it crept closer to you. It snarled and its fangs glistened in the light like razor sharp blades.

You gulped as you realised your end was a few seconds away. You stared intensely into the eyes of the beast as you waited for your inevitable death. Like hell you were going to close your eyes.

As it rose its arm ready to strike you down, a spear was flung into its right eye and through its skull with a loud squishy crack. Brain matter and other undefinable sludge splattered across the nearest wall, painting it in a green-purple colour. The sight was absolutely disgusting, but your relief was too big for you to care. You breathed out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, as you ran your hands shakily through your hair as a means to ground yourself. Your head snapped to your left which the spear had come from and were met with three strangers. One of them was a young woman with pink hair and big blue eyes, her pretty face was filled with concern. She seemed to be a little younger than you, but old enough to drink. The other was a grey haired man with yellow eyes that looked like honey underneath the bright lights. He bore an expression of confusion and curiosity. The last person was a black haired man with teal eyes that would not leave your form for even a second. He was handsome, but his gaze held a sharp edge to it. One which you could not place, no matter how hard you tried.

“Are you alright?!” the pink haired girl rushed to your side and gave you a quick look over.

You nodded. Save from your mental scaring you felt fine. “I’m fine” you forced a grateful smile “Thank you for saving me”.

“Oh, don’t thank me! It’s Dan Heng you should thank!” she gestured towards the black haired man. He was still staring at you with his unnerving gaze.

“Thank you, Dan Heng. I really owe you one” you said with earnest. You really were grateful to him.

Dan Heng nodded with a short movement. “You’re welcome. I only did my job” despite his nonchalant response, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. When he talked you could spot two sets of fangs. They seemed sharp and only made you more curious about the men. It was extremely rare to see humans with fangs, after all.

“We should get moving!” the girl said as she waved her hand at you to follow.

As you moved through the seemingly endless corridors, you learned the name of your new companions. March 7th was the pink haired girl (she said you could just call her March). Caelus was the grey haired man who for some reason had a baseball-bat as a weapon. You gave them your name and you could see from the corner of your eye, Dan Heng silently repeating it as if he was tasting it. On your way to safety, you encountered a young man, Arlan. You had seen him multiple times, but never properly spoken to him, save from a few polite greetings. He had gotten injured by the monsters as he had attempted to fight them of.

You stopped by a control room as Dan Heng tried to check the surveillance footage

“Oh, I forgot to ask you [Name]. Did you see anything suspicious before we came and rescued you?” March asked you as she leaned against the wall out of breath.

You nodded as you wiped sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. “I did actually. I met a tall woman with dark pink hair. She was telling me to not get in her way”.

“Sounds like a Stellaron Hunter” Dan Heng said while he was typing away on the computer.

Cold sweat coated on your temples as a shiver ran down your spine. “A Stellaron Hunter…” the gravity of the situation finally dawned upon you. Oh shit.

“Sounds like you saw Kafka. So did Caelus” March replied.

The chair Dan Heng sat on suddenly sharped against the floor in a fast motion. His icy eyes found yours in a blink of an eye. “She didn’t do anything to you, right? She didn’t hurt you?” his voice was low and reminded you of a growl of a beast.

You instantly shook your head. “No, she didn’t. She left as a fast as she came”. Goosebumps raised on your arms as he stared at you.

March watched Dan Heng silently with a raised brow. When he met her gaze, he quickly turned back to the computer. A small smile played on the girl’s lips as she stifled her laugh.

Your feet drummed against the makeshift bridge as you made your way to the lift. A cloud of dark mist clouded your vision and a group of monsters appeared through it. The biggest of them reared like a horse and sat its sight on you. Your heart stopped for a second as it lunged for you. A strong hand pulled you back by your collar and you lost your footing. The world came to an halt as all you could see was the arrow that was fired your way. The same spear that had saved you when you first met the Trailblazers, blocked the arrow in a swift movement. Arms wrapped around you as they prevented your fall. They pulled you closer to him like a hungry boa and for a brief moment you wondered if the danger was the monster or the man behind you.

“Are you alright?” Dan Heng whispered against your ear. His usually stoic voice was breathy and brimming with a thick mixture of emotions.

Hot blush crept over your face as you nodded. How pathetic. “Yeah, thank you” you whispered back.

He gazed at you for a second, one that felt as if stretched out for eternity, before he snapped back to the monsters.

A mechanical buzzing shot down as a drone with razor-like propellers slashed through the beasts. Green blood splattered across the bridge and onto your face. In a blink of an eye Dan Heng had dragged you across the bridge and into the lift. As everyone made it inside you clutched your stomach, fighting against the vomit that threatened to flood out. The hot blood on your face and all the running had made you feel incredibly sick and it felt as if your intestines would explode.

Caelus looked at you with a concerned expression. “Are you good? You look pal-”

He got interrupted by the sound of you spilling out all your lunch on the floor. Tears clouded your vision as you gagged. The taste was awful and the smell was no better, but you felt less sick after throwing up. Luckily you hadn’t hit anyone, because if you had you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. “I’m so sorry” you mumbled as you whipped your mouth.

“Never mind hehe…” Caelus scratched his neck awkwardly trying to think off what to do.

March rushed to your side and handed you a mint. “Thanks” you muttered weakly. Could this day be any worse?

The automatic door opened and the five of you stumble in. A red haired woman was closing a white briefcase containing the drone that just saved your lives when the door closed with a soft swoosh.

“Why does it always have to get so exciting?” she asked to seemingly no one in particular. She turned to you and smiled “Anyway, at least you’re back”.

She took a few steps forward and stopped in her tracks as she took in your disheveled appearances. Her beautiful face twisted into worry. “March, Dan Heng, you’ve been through a lot”.

“Whew, Himeko-! What took you so long?! That last wave of Antimatter Legion came at us like a swarm of locusts, have you ever tried shooting locusts with a bow?” March’s placed her hands on her hips as she scoffed. Her pink hair was a mess and it was stained with the green blood of the beasts she had ruthlessly killed with her bow.

“I wouldn’t have made a difference. My orbital cannon can deal with a whole bunch of enemies at once, but I couldn’t just blow up the space station with it- Herta would NOT like that…” the woman shook her head as if she was imagining Herta giving her an earful. “Are you alright, Arlan? Asta’s been worried about you” she faced the tan young man.

“I’m fine, a quick patching up will do. Thanks for asking” it was clear as day that the boy was uncomfortable with all the attention with the way he scratched his neck awkwardly. “I’ll report the situation to Lead Researcher Astra immediately. Bye” he turned on his heel and left as quickly as he could with his limping.

Himeko turned to you and Caelus with a friendly smile. “Hey, nice to meet you two. I’m Himeko, navigator of the Astral Express”.

“In other words, she’s in charge of where the Express goes” March explained to a slightly confused Caelus. You nodded at March’s words. You have heard about Himeko and her achievements. She was an admirable woman who many looked up to, both old and young.

You introduced yourself “Nice to meet you. I’m [Name]”.

She returned your smile “Match hasn’t been any trouble for you along the way, has she?”

“[Name], Caelus, think carefully about how you wanna reply to that” March mumbled.

“In that case, I’d rather not answer” Caelus shook his head with a sheepish smile, which earned a scoffed from the girl.

“Wise choice, don’t you agree Dan Heng?”

“I have the right to remain silent” the black haired man replied with an expressionless face.

Himeko laughed softly at your friendly banter “Look at you all, you’ve already gotten really close!”

“Come on, Astra has been worried about all of you”.

You all followed Himeko as she lead you to the young researcher. You had met Asta twice, both times had been with the assistant you were an assistant for. The young woman was kind and not as snobby as you would have thought. You have heard from your colleagues that Asta’s family had been the one who had founded The Interstellar Peace Corporation. Her family had money. Way more than what you could ever possibly phantom.

“Projectile radar tracking, normal. Telemetry signal frequency unusually high! Maintain at normal levels!” Asta spoke loudly into a microphone connected to a intercom that was connected to the whole space station. “Our measurements predict that the Leighton is about to unleash over the waves of continuous attacks. Everyone, brace yourselves!”

“Asta! We’re back!” March greeted the girl.

Asta let out a sigh as she spun on her feet. “I’m glad you’re all back safe. Arlan just told me about the situation at the storage zone- and about his injury… Thank you, for all your help”. “In Times of disaster, I realise more and more that the space station’s researchers are its most valuable assets…Alas, we were ill-prepared for such emergencies… We should have built up our security and combat departments”.

“But on the other hand, the entire crew of the Astral Express seems to be extraordinarily skilled” she smiled.

“What is the current situation on the space station?” Dan Heng asked with a serious tone. He had you standing beside him as if he was afraid you would slip away if he let you out of his sight. He hadn’t met your eyes on the way to Asta, but you had seen him staring at you from the corner of your eyes.

“The situation is under control for now. The damage to our security system was minor. The intruder only managed to alter a small amount of data, so it was easy to fix” Asta explained. “The real problem lies with the researchers… They trust Madam Herta wholeheartedly and never thought that the space station would be breached by the Legion. A broken spirit is far worse than a broken body” she sighed. What she said made perfectly sense as you knew for a fact that some researchers saw Madam Herta as a kind of goddess. It was beyond ridiculous, but there were no point arguing with them.

“Let’s us speak with the researchers. Right now, the space station can’t afford any more unexpected turns, especially from within. Have you tried contacting Herta?” Himeko asked. Despite the grave situation she appeared to be calm.

“I sent multiple letters, all met with silence. You know her, Himeko, the space station is but a mere warehouse for followers and rare items. She doesn’t really care about it” Asta sighed as she rubbed her temples. That was one of the reasons as to why you disliked Herta, her attitude towards the space station was tasteless.

“I knew it… No matter, I’ll also send a letter to Herta and tell her that we’ve brought the rare item she seeks. At least that might get her attention” Himeko chuckled.

You sighed. If only you had the balls to speak to Herat that way (not that you had ever spoken to her).

“Oh… That would be of great help” Asta’s blue eyes lit up at her suggestion.

March and Caelus left to talk to the researchers while you and Dan Heng remained. Himeko and Asta were busy talking to each other’s and left the two of you to your own devices. You had taken a seat at a bench and were twiddling your thumbs as you waited. Anxiety was gnawing at your insides like a gluttons beast. Dan Heng were standing to your left staring at you as he had done almost the whole time you had been together. After a good five minutes in silence, you decided to break it.

“So… Have you guys had any similar experiences?” you asked him. It was a silly question, no doubt, but you couldn’t bear any more awkward silence.

His eyes lit up for a millisecond before they returned to their normal self. “Yes. Though every journey is different” his word were few but his voice was soft.

You sighed internally. You should realised by now that he weren’t the biggest talker. You nodded “I can imagine. Must be both exciting and scary”.

“Perhaps, though you get used to it” he shrugged. He was silent for a few seconds before he spoke up. “Are you alright? No injuries or something? Even if they’re small you should tell me” a flash of worry distorted his handsome features.

“I am alright” you shook your head. After noticing his raised brow you added: “No really. I’m fine”. Your suspicion had been confirmed. He was indeed one of them. Though he did seem harmless enough, you would be a fool if you let your guard down completely. Your parents had warned you your whole life about them and they had tried to shield you from them as much as they could. Your parents were both considered normal and that you envied them. Not that you would ever admit it, of course.

He left it at that and adverted his gaze to the rest of the space station. You wished you could read his mind, but at the same time something told you it was best if you couldn’t.

A flurry red warning triangles lit up the various screens and holograms. The beeping was loud and pierced through your hear drums. You winced as your eyes snapped to Asta and the screens. On the biggest screen was a large beast with claws as long as grown person. It looked like something straight out of your nightmares.

Asta turned to you “Take the Express and leave. I’ll stay” she said with the determination of a war general.

“But…” March tried to reason with her.

“Let’s go” Himeko took hold of Caelus’s arm and dragged him with her.

The four of you had taken shelter in a empty supply room. Himeko had listened to Asta via a advice on her hand, but Asta’s voice had only gotten more unclear with every second that had passed.

“We have lost communications” the red-head sighed.

“Are you thinking of going back? Let me remind you, that’s the Doomsday Beast, the Legion’s planet destroyer” Dan Heng’s stern voice cut through the atmosphere like a sharp knife. The Doomsday Beast? Cold sweat formed at your forehead at the thought of the space station getting turned to oblivion. Countless people would die.

“The space station is Herta’s creation. As long as a Lord Ravager doesn’t intervene, there should be no problem.”

“B-but we can’t just run away like this, right…?” March exclaimed.

Dan Heng hummed “The Doomsday Beast can rip off the defence shield like tearing paper- and Herta’s not here. The station’s defences are too weak to stand against the Antimatter Legion”. “Either way, the Legion has the blessing f the Aeon, Nanook. They came prepared and everyone here is not.”

“That’s why we have to leave and take Caelus with us” the Navigator nodded towards the grey haired man.

“Caelus?” Dan Heng raised his dark eyebrow in confusion. “He’s… That important?”

“He’s the one who can help us turn the tides… Of course, I may be wrong “.

“If you say so. Alright, what should we do next?” Dan Heng looked at you and March.

“Don’t look at me. I’m as clueless as Caelus” you sighed.

“This is the supply zone where the maintenance crew works. There’s a path here that leads to the nearest railway platform. Let’s head over there and meet up with Welt” the woman points to the door behind her with her thumb.

“Mr. Yang? Mr. Yang’s here too? Didn’t he stay on the Express?” March 7th titled her head. You had heard about Mr. Yang. He was a respected man, though he was not as well known as Himeko on the space station. Either way, you were curious to meet a man of his calibre.

“The Astral Express tracks our coordinates in real time.. And with such a huge change in the space station’s movements, there’s no way Mr. Yang wouldn’t have noticed” icy blue eyes met yours as he explained.

“Mhm! I can almost guarantee that your Mr. Yang us already on his way” Himeko sent you a playful blink. “Right now, we might be able to handle things if it’s just the Doomsday Beast” she rubbed a manicured hand over her chin in a thoughtful manner “But, if the Destruction’s Emanator were to appear…”

“I still feel that things won’t be going as planned…” Caelus spoke for the first time in several minutes.

“Let’s hurry up and get out of here. I’ll explain later” the red haired lady waved him off.

“Wait March!” Dan Heng screamed as the bug dragon-like beast flew outside the platform. It’s wings were massive and powerful, March shrinking in comparison. March leaped backwards and into you. You stilled her movements with your hands, lest she would fall on top of you. She mumbled a fast “sorry” as she regained her footing.

“The Doomsday Beast…” Himeko muttered with widen eyes. “It’s really here”.

“Get down here!” March had already pulled out her blue bow and were aiming straight at the beast.

The beast quickened its flapping and landed only a few meters in front of your group in a uncaring manner.

Quicker than you could think, Dan Heng pulled you away and behind him. “Seek cover!” he barked like a drill sergeant with no room for arguments.

You didn’t waste any time as you ran as fast your legs could carry you and hid behind a vending machine.

The beast roared and the sound waves almost made you lose your footing. Your ears hurt, but you paid it no mind. Worry filled your senses as you watched the others readying their weapons.

As the sounds of fighting filled the railway platform, you closed your eyes as you made yourself smaller. You prayed to whatever Aeon that might listen that they would remain unharmed. You had only known them for a bit, but you already cared for them.

A deafening roar rattled your bones as if they were fragile porcelain. You stuck your head out form behind the vending machine and your eyes widened at the sight of the beast aiming a powerful blast of energy in March’s direction. The others called her name which snapped her out of her frozen state. A grey flash moved in front her and shielded her from the lethal blow. The purple energy that came from the Doomsday Beast mixed together with the yellow light that somehow emitted from Caelus. A powerful blast of energy surged from the man, resulting in a powerful shockwave which knocked you down on your feet. You partially shielded your eyes with your forearm as you carefully peaked up again at the man. He was floated up in the air as if a powerful magnet were pulling him. The yellow energy had gotten brighter and the air was thick and buzzing. His agonising screams were louder than the hiss of his power. Breathing had become difficult as you tried to force the thick air down your lungs.

You blinked and when you opened your eyes, a grey clad man was floating alongside Caelus with a cane in his hand. Even from your distance, you could feel a creation power sweeping from the staff. The enigmatic man was calm as he firmly tapped Caelus on the head which resulted in the younger man falling down unconscious. His yellow energy had completely vanished and the air became breathable again. The brown haired man nonchalantly pushed of his glasses as if it was an everyday occurrence for him. He elegantly landed on his feet as Caelus fell down in March’s awaiting hands.

“Mr. Yang! Is he…?” March’s voice was trembling from concern and fear.

“He is okay now” the man responded with a gentle voice. “Let’s talk somewhere else”.

So that was Mr. Yang? you thought. He sure lived up to your expectations.