Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor was rarely a quiet place. Between the comings and goings of its residents—each carrying their burdens and agendas—it was a hub of activity, though often under a veil of solemnity. But something had shifted recently, subtle at first, like the faint hint of rain in the air before a storm.

Damian Wayne, the usually stoic and intense youngest member of the Wayne household, was packing. For the last few days, he had been sorting through his belongings, meticulously folding clothes into a sleek duffel bag. His katana, well-maintained and polished, lay sheathed atop the bag. It might seem like nothing unusual to most—a simple trip, perhaps. But to those who knew Damian, the change in his demeanor was impossible to ignore.

He was... happy.

Not in the exaggerated way of someone who suddenly turned over a new leaf, but in the subtle shifts: his shoulders weren’t as tense, his biting sarcasm had softened, and there was a faint spring in his step. Even Alfred had caught him humming under his breath while feeding Titus, though the boy quickly silenced himself when he noticed the butler's knowing smile.

It was Dick Grayson who noticed first. Damian's older brother had spent years learning to read the body language of his family—especially Damian, who often masked his emotions with a defensive sharpness. One evening, as the family sat around the dinner table, Dick finally decided to bring it up.

“I’m just going to say it,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a casual air that didn’t fool anyone. “Has anyone else noticed Damian’s been... different lately?”

Bruce glanced up from the reports he had been skimming on his tablet. “Different how?”

“Happy,” Dick said, with an exaggerated gesture. “You know, not glaring daggers at everyone, not storming off halfway through dinner, not threatening to disown all of us for existing.”

“Master Damian’s mood has indeed been... markedly improved,” Alfred said, setting down a pot of tea. “I daresay I caught him whistling yesterday while walking Titus.”

Jason snorted, leaning back with a grin. “Whistling? Our resident demon spawn? Are we sure he didn’t hit his head on one of Bruce’s gadgets?”

Barbara tilted her head thoughtfully. “He has been a bit less prickly. And he’s been spending a lot of time in his room lately. Packing, I think.”

“Packing?” Tim asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did I miss something? Where’s he going?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Dick said, leaning forward now. “It’s not just the packing—it’s the timing. His birthday is next week, August 9. Maybe he’s planning something.”

“Damian doesn’t plan surprises,” Jason pointed out. “He plans ambushes.”

“Ambushes or not,” Alfred interjected, “he does seem unusually preoccupied. And, if I may, genuinely pleased with whatever he is planning.”

Bruce frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing. “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me. If he were planning to leave, he’d—”

“He wouldn’t,” Jason interrupted with a smirk. “You’re about as approachable as a brick wall, B.”

“That’s enough, Jason,” Bruce said, his tone sharp but lacking real bite.

“Do we ask him?” Tim suggested. “Or just wait and see what happens?”

“I think we should investigate,” Dick said, his tone half-joking but carrying a note of genuine curiosity. “It’s not every day we see Damian acting... normal.”

“Normal?” Jason scoffed. “Him? Never.”

“Whatever it is,” Barbara said, cutting through the banter, “he’ll tell us when he’s ready. But we should keep an eye on him, just in case.”

Later that night, as Damian packed the last of his essentials, he glanced at the photo tucked into the corner of his desk. It was a recent one—of him and his sister, Athanasia. Though she rarely visited Gotham, their bond was unmistakable. Her voice echoed in his mind, her promise still fresh: “If you’re ever unhappy with how things are here, you know you always have a place with me.”

A small smile crept onto his face. For once, he wasn’t leaving out of anger or rebellion. He was leaving for something better—something that felt like his own choice.

Just a few more days, and he would see her again.

Chapter Text

The family gathered in the main sitting room after dinner, an unspoken tradition whenever Gotham’s usually dreary news cycle gave them something new to talk about. Tonight, it was a cultural event that seemed to have caught even the brooding city's attention.

“Have you all heard about this Soula person?” Tim asked, scrolling through his phone as he leaned back on the couch. “She’s performing in Gotham next week. Apparently, tickets sold out in under an hour.”

Barbara looked up from her laptop. “I’ve seen the buzz online. She’s been breaking records left and right. It’s rare for someone to rise so fast in the music industry.”

“Soula,” Jason mused, flipping through a magazine. “Sounds pretentious. What’s the deal? She another one of those pop star types with nothing to back it up?”

“Actually, no,” Tim replied, his tone defensive. “She’s known for her voice. Critics keep comparing her to legends—like she’s got this raw, emotional thing going on. And her lyrics? Supposedly really deep.”

“Deep, huh?” Jason snorted. “We’ll see how long that lasts in Gotham.”

Dick, who had been casually flipping through his phone, suddenly looked up. “Wait, she’s performing next week?” He exchanged a glance with Tim, something clicking in his mind. “That’s August 9, isn’t it? Damian’s birthday.”

At the mention of his name, Damian, who had been silently sketching something at the corner of the room, perked up. His usually guarded expression softened, and for a moment, an uncharacteristically bright smile played on his lips.

“Soula is coming to Gotham?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine excitement.

The room went still. All eyes turned to him, and he immediately stiffened, his face returning to its usual neutral state. “What?”

“Well, that’s new,” Jason said, smirking. “Didn’t know you were into music, little demon.”

“I appreciate talent,” Damian said curtly, though the hint of excitement still lingered in his tone.

“You’re smiling, Damian,” Dick teased, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You never smile.”

“I do when there’s reason to,” Damian replied, his chin tilting upward. “Soula’s artistry is unparalleled. It would be remiss not to acknowledge her skills.”

Barbara raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you know so much about Soula?”

Damian’s ears tinged slightly pink, though he masked it by returning to his sketch. “I’ve followed her career for some time. Her work is... compelling.”

“Okay, hold on,” Tim said, sitting up straighter. “You’re saying you’ve been a fan of this Soula person? Like, you actually listen to her music?”

Damian gave a nonchalant shrug. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Yes,” Jason and Tim said in unison, earning a chuckle from Dick.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally spoke. “If you’re this interested, I can arrange for tickets. Or perhaps a private meeting.”

The suggestion made Damian freeze for a fraction of a second before shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

Jason leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Hold up. You’re saying no to a private meeting with your favorite singer? That’s suspicious. You’re hiding something.”

“I am hiding nothing,” Damian said, his voice sharp.

“Then why does it feel like you’re about to explode?” Dick asked, grinning.

Damian glared at him, but before he could retort, Jason jumped in. “Oh, I get it now. You’ve got a crush on her, don’t you?”

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, Damian seemed genuinely flustered. He opened his mouth to argue, but instead, he leaned back, crossed his arms, and smirked. “You’re all insufferable.”

“Deflecting,” Jason sang, earning a light smack from Barbara.

As the teasing continued, Damian suddenly straightened in his seat, his expression shifting. “If you’re so curious about my interest in Soula,” he said calmly, “perhaps you’d like to know that Father has another biological child.”

The room fell silent.

“What?” Bruce asked, his voice low but steady.

Damian met his father’s gaze evenly, his tone calm but carrying a sharp edge. “Her name is Athanasia. She’s the product of your union with Talia, born before me.”

The bombshell hit like a thunderclap. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a tense, palpable shock.

“Wait,” Tim said slowly, breaking the silence. “You’re saying you have an older sister?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed.

Jason leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “And you’re just telling us this now?”

“It wasn’t relevant until now,” Damian replied. “But given the circumstances, I thought it prudent to inform you.”

“What circumstances?” Bruce demanded, his voice harder now.

Damian’s smirk returned, though it lacked any real humor. “Because she’s coming to Gotham. And you already know her, though not by the name Athanasia.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

“She goes by Soula.”

Chapter Text

The silence that followed Damian’s revelation was deafening. Everyone in the room, from Bruce to Jason, seemed frozen in place as they processed what they had just heard. Then, as if a dam broke, the questions came pouring in.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Tim said, raising his hands. “Back up. You’re saying Soula—this insanely popular singer—is actually your sister? Bruce’s daughter? And none of us knew about this?”

“Apparently,” Jason said, leaning back in his chair with a scoff. “Because, you know, we don’t have enough surprise siblings running around already.”

“Damian,” Dick interjected, his voice calm but firm, “if she’s been out of the League of Assassins for so long, why didn’t you tell us about her before? Why keep it a secret?”

Damian didn’t immediately respond, instead taking a moment to compose himself. He met Dick’s gaze with his usual measured calm. “Because she didn’t want to meet Father. Or any of you, for that matter. She chose her path, one that has nothing to do with the League or the Wayne family. It wasn’t my place to interfere.”

Barbara frowned, tilting her head thoughtfully. “But she knew about Bruce? About you?”

“She’s known about us for years,” Damian confirmed. “She simply chose not to involve herself. Athanasia—Soula—values her independence. She wanted to pursue music, and that was that.”

“Hold up,” Stephanie said, sitting cross-legged on one of the armchairs. “So, let me get this straight. She leaves the League, skips all the family drama, becomes a global superstar, and now she’s just showing up in Gotham like, ‘Hey, surprise, I exist?’”

“More or less,” Damian replied dryly.

Duke, who had been leaning against the wall, crossed his arms. “But why now? If she didn’t want anything to do with Bruce or the family, what’s changed?”

“That,” Damian said with a small, knowing smirk, “is a question only she can answer. I imagine her reasons are her own.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but seriously—if you’ve known about her all this time, how long has she been out of the League? And why didn’t the League try to bring her back?”

“She left nearly five years ago,” Damian said, his tone even. “Before I was sent to live with Father. The League made no attempts to reclaim her because they couldn’t. Athanasia is far more formidable than any of you realize. She made it clear that she would not be used as a tool for anyone—neither the League nor our family.”

Bruce finally broke his silence, his voice low but charged. “You’ve known about her for years, Damian. Why keep this from me?”

Damian’s gaze shifted to his father, his expression unreadable. “Because she didn’t wish to meet you. I respected her decision. She had no interest in the Wayne legacy or the al Ghul name. Her focus was on creating a life that was hers alone. I saw no reason to disrupt that.”

“Did she ever give a reason why she didn’t want to meet him?” Dick asked, leaning forward.

Damian hesitated for a moment before answering. “She believed it would complicate things. She didn’t want to be drawn into the drama of either side—Wayne or al Ghul. To her, both paths were chains she refused to wear.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “So, what changed? Why come to Gotham now, of all times?”

“I don’t know,” Damian admitted. “She hasn’t told me her reasons. I suspect she will when she’s ready.”

Jason snorted. “Well, this should be fun. Another long-lost Wayne kid with a chip on their shoulder. Just what we needed.”

“Jason,” Barbara said warningly.

“What?” Jason shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s never boring around here.”

Stephanie leaned toward Damian, her curiosity evident. “Okay, but you’ve met her, right? What’s she like?”

“She is... unique,” Damian said, his tone softening slightly. “She has the al Ghul discipline but none of the fanaticism. She is calculating, independent, and utterly uncompromising in her principles. At the same time, she possesses a creativity and passion that I admire deeply.”

“Sounds like you’re proud of her,” Duke observed.

“I am,” Damian admitted, a rare note of warmth in his voice.

Bruce’s expression remained unreadable as he absorbed the conversation. “If she’s coming to Gotham, I want to meet her.”

“She’ll make that decision herself,” Damian said firmly. “You cannot force her into anything. Athanasia is not someone you can control.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t try to talk to her,” Bruce said, his voice steely.

“Do as you wish,” Damian replied coolly. “But don’t be surprised if she refuses.”

Chapter Text

Bruce stood at the head of the Batcave’s command center, his gaze fixed on the array of screens displaying every detail about Soula’s upcoming concert in Gotham. Though the tickets had sold out within hours, he had managed to secure a few, leveraging his influence and resources to ensure the family had seats.

“This is a bad idea,” Damian muttered, standing off to the side with his arms crossed. His usual stoic demeanor was marred by a flicker of nervous energy that didn’t escape Dick’s notice.

“Why are you so jumpy?” Dick asked, leaning against the console. “It’s not like you to be nervous about anything.”

“I am not nervous,” Damian replied sharply, though his tone lacked conviction.

“You kinda are,” Stephanie chimed in with a grin. “It’s adorable.”

“Focus,” Bruce said, his deep voice cutting through the playful banter. “I’ve arranged for the family to attend the concert, and I’m in talks with her team to set up a private meeting afterward.”

“You’re actually paying for a meet-and-greet?” Jason asked with a laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day Bruce Wayne used his money for something this... normal.”

“It’s not normal,” Bruce replied. “It’s necessary.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Necessary for what? She’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t try,” Bruce said firmly. “If she’s my daughter, I have an obligation to reach out to her, regardless of her initial stance.”

“She’s not going to be happy about this,” Damian muttered.

Barbara, seated nearby with her laptop, glanced at him curiously. “Why do you say that? If she’s as independent as you’ve described, maybe she’ll appreciate the effort.”

Damian shook his head. “Athanasia values her autonomy above all else. She won’t appreciate being cornered, and she certainly won’t appreciate Father trying to buy her time.”

“You sound like you’re scared of her,” Duke observed.

“I am not scared,” Damian said stiffly. “I am... concerned.”

“Same thing,” Jason quipped, earning a glare from Damian.

Barbara, scrolling through an image of Soula’s promotional material, frowned. “Can we talk about something else for a second? Does anyone else find it odd that she doesn’t look anything like Bruce?”

“That’s true,” Tim agreed, pulling up another image on his tablet. “She has the long black hair, which, okay, you could attribute to Talia, but those red eyes? That’s definitely not from Bruce’s side.”

“Magic,” Damian said simply.

“Magic?” Stephanie asked, blinking.

Damian sighed, clearly reluctant to explain further. “She was exposed to the Lazarus Pit while still in the womb. It altered her physiology.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Duke said, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me she has magic powers? Like, full-on magic?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed. “But she doesn’t flaunt it. She uses it sparingly, if at all. Her abilities are irrelevant to her identity as Soula.”

“That’s... insane,” Stephanie said, leaning back in her chair.

“Not any weirder than anything else in this family,” Jason pointed out.

Dick, who had been listening quietly, glanced at Cassandra, who had been sitting cross-legged on a nearby bench. “Cass, you’ve been quiet. What do you think about all this?”

Cassandra tilted her head, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Soula... moves like someone free. Her music is... not just sound. It’s her soul.”

The room went silent as everyone absorbed her words.

“She’s strong,” Cassandra continued. “Not like us. Different. She doesn’t fight, but she’s still fighting.”

Damian looked at her, his expression softening. “You’re right.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “That’s all the more reason to meet her.”

Damian frowned, clearly torn. “You don’t understand. She’s not going to see this as a reunion. She’ll see it as an intrusion. She’ll feel... cornered.”

“That’s why we’ll approach her carefully,” Bruce said. “She deserves to make her own decisions, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to connect with her.”

“I hope you’re right,” Damian murmured, though his uncertainty lingered in his eyes.

The air buzzed with anticipation as the Wayne family filed into the VIP section of the sold-out arena. The stage before them was an elaborate masterpiece of lights and design, a testament to Soula’s reputation as a rising star. The crowd’s excitement was infectious, with fans holding glowing sticks and banners adorned with her name.

“This is... a lot,” Tim muttered, glancing around at the massive crowd.

“What did you expect?” Stephanie replied, smirking. “She’s one of the biggest stars out there right now. Of course it’s a lot.”

Damian sat at the edge of the group, visibly tense. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, his unease was palpable.

“Relax, kid,” Jason said, leaning back in his seat. “We’re just here to see the show, not to ambush her.”

Before Damian could respond, the house lights dimmed, and a deafening roar erupted from the audience.

“Looks like it’s starting,” Dick said, leaning forward in his seat.

A single spotlight illuminated the stage, and the opening notes of a hauntingly beautiful melody filled the air. From the shadows, Soula emerged, her presence commanding and effortless. She wore an elegant, flowing outfit that shimmered under the lights, accentuating her every move. Her long black hair cascaded behind her, and her crimson eyes seemed to glow as they scanned the audience.

“She’s... stunning,” Barbara whispered, unable to look away.

Soula began to sing, her voice rich and mesmerizing, weaving through the notes with a power and emotion that captivated the entire arena. The lyrics spoke of freedom, rebellion, and finding one’s place in a chaotic world, themes that resonated deeply even with the Wayne family.

As the song progressed, Soula’s movements became more dynamic. She danced across the stage with a fluidity that seemed almost otherworldly, her choreography perfectly in sync with the music. Each step, each gesture was deliberate, as though she were telling a story through her body as much as her voice.

“She’s incredible,” Duke said, his eyes wide.

“She’s more than that,” Cassandra murmured, her gaze fixed on Soula. “She’s... alive.”

The stage erupted into a dazzling display of lights and pyrotechnics as Soula transitioned into an upbeat, high-energy number. The crowd went wild, chanting her name and moving in unison to the rhythm. Soula engaged with her audience effortlessly, her charisma drawing everyone into her orbit.

Even the Wayne family, despite their usual skepticism and detachment, found themselves caught up in the magic of her performance.

“Alright,” Jason admitted, leaning closer to Dick. “I didn’t think I’d say this, but she’s legit. I get why people are obsessed.”

“Same,” Stephanie said, nodding. “She’s like a one-woman force of nature.”

As the concert continued, Soula showcased her versatility, moving seamlessly between genres—soulful ballads, electrifying dance tracks, and even an acoustic number that silenced the massive crowd with its raw emotion. Each song revealed another layer of her talent, leaving no doubt that she was more than just a performer; she was an artist.

Bruce observed her quietly, his expression unreadable.

“Thoughts, Bruce?” Dick asked, nudging him.

“She’s extraordinary,” Bruce said simply, though there was a hint of something deeper in his tone—pride, perhaps, or regret.

Damian remained silent, his gaze fixed on the stage. Despite his initial apprehension, it was clear he was proud of his sister.

As Soula reached the finale, the energy in the arena reached its peak. The final song was a powerful anthem about overcoming adversity and breaking free from the chains of expectation—a message that resonated deeply with the Waynes.

When the last note rang out, the arena erupted into thunderous applause and cheers. Soula stood at the center of the stage, her chest rising and falling as she soaked in the adoration of her fans. She bowed gracefully, her crimson eyes flickering across the crowd one last time before the lights dimmed and she disappeared backstage.

“Wow,” Tim said, exhaling as the lights came up. “That was... something else.”

“More than something else,” Stephanie agreed. “She’s amazing.”

“She’s a star,” Barbara said, glancing at Damian. “And she’s your sister.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the now-empty stage. “Yes,” he said quietly. “She is.”

Bruce rose from his seat, his expression resolute. “Let’s go. We have a meeting to attend.”

Chapter Text

The Wayne family stood near the VIP section, tension palpable as they waited for their escort to take them backstage. The murmur of excited fans filled the air as they glanced around at the massive crowd still filing out of the arena or lining up for a chance to meet Soula.

“Look at that line,” Stephanie said, peering out at the snaking queue of people clutching posters, albums, and handmade signs. “How many people is she meeting?”

“Hundreds,” Tim said, impressed. “She’s been doing meet-and-greets after every show. Must take hours.”

A security guard approached the family, clipboard in hand. “Wayne party?” he asked briskly.

Bruce nodded. “That’s us.”

“Right this way. Miss Soula’s wrapping up with her fans, but you’ll be the last group to meet her tonight.”

The family followed the guard through the backstage corridors, passing several staff members bustling about. As they neared the private lounge, the sound of laughter and excited chatter grew louder. When they entered the waiting area, they were greeted by the sight of Soula herself.

The young star moved with grace and energy, greeting fans in a small, elegantly decorated room. She smiled warmly, taking the time to pose for photos and sign autographs while chatting animatedly with each person.

“She’s really good with them,” Dick remarked, crossing his arms.

“She has a lot of patience,” Barbara added. “That’s not easy to do after a performance.”

As the last fan left the room, Soula turned, her crimson eyes scanning the room until they landed on Damian. Her entire demeanor shifted—her face lit up, and she broke into a wide grin.

“Archibald!” she exclaimed, running up to him.

The family froze as Soula wrapped Damian in a tight hug, lifting him slightly off the ground.

“Soula,” Damian said, his usual stoicism cracking as he allowed himself a small, genuine smile. “It’s been three months.”

“Three months too long!” she said, laughing as she set him down. “Look at you—still so serious.”

Before anyone could react, Soula gave Damian a playful tap on the shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere. I have to greet the others.”

With that, she spun around and hurried to the front of the room, where another line of fans awaited her.

The family stood in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.

“Did she just...” Jason started, trailing off.

“Call him Archibald?” Tim finished, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce’s expression tightened, his lips forming a thin line. “We’ll discuss this after the meeting.”

“Why didn’t we know about her earlier?” Tim asked quietly.

“She left the League when she was eleven,” Damian said, his tone clipped. “She chose her own path. She didn’t wish to meet Father. She was content to build her life away from this madness.”

“Yet you’ve been in contact with her all this time,” Dick said, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Letters. We exchanged letters.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Letters?”

Damian didn’t elaborate, his focus remaining on Soula.

As Soula finished the last of her fan interactions, she returned to the private lounge where the Wayne family was waiting. Her crimson eyes immediately found Damian again, and her expression softened.

“Archibald,” she said warmly, walking over to him. “It’s been too long.”

Damian stiffened slightly under the family’s gaze but didn’t pull away as Soula hugged him once more.

“You’re always so busy,” she said with mock exasperation, pulling back to look at him. “And your hair—why is it short again? Didn’t I tell you to keep it long?”

“It gets in the way,” Damian muttered, brushing his bangs aside.

“Excuses,” Soula teased, her smile playful. Then her tone softened. “How are your animals? Do they miss me?”

“They’re fine,” Damian said, his expression softening. “Bat-Cow is healthy. Alfred still steals my sketchbooks, and Titus...” He hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Titus remembers the treats you used to bring him.”

Soula laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Of course he does. He’s smarter than most humans.”

“I’ll let him know you said that,” Damian replied, his tone dry but fond.

Behind them, the family exchanged incredulous looks.

“Is he smiling?” Jason muttered, incredulous.

“And who’s Titus?” Stephanie asked, leaning toward Tim.

Soula glanced over her shoulder briefly, acknowledging the family with a polite nod before turning back to Damian.

“We need to catch up,” she said. “I want to hear everything. Don’t leave out any details this time.”

Damian smirked faintly. “I didn’t leave anything out last time.”

Soula raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why didn’t you tell me about the new falcon? I had to hear about it secondhand.”

Damian’s posture stiffened. “It slipped my mind.”

“Mm-hmm,” Soula said, unconvinced but letting it go. 

As the siblings continued their conversation, Bruce’s gaze lingered on Soula. There was a mix of pride and regret in his expression, the weight of years lost pressing heavily on him.

As the family watched the siblings interact, Cassandra stepped forward, her quiet voice breaking the silence.

“She’s happy,” Cass said simply, her gaze steady.

“What do you mean?” Dick asked.

“She’s free,” Cass said, her tone soft but certain. “She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need us. But she loves him.”

The family fell silent, the weight of Cass’s words settling over them as Soula and Damian continued their quiet, private conversation.

Chapter Text

The air in the backstage lounge felt heavier now. The lingering warmth from Soula’s performance had faded, replaced by the weight of unspoken words and the quiet tension stretching between her and Bruce.

She could feel his gaze on her—studying, calculating, perhaps even searching for something he didn’t know how to name. But Soula had spent too many years carving out her own space in the world, too many years ensuring she was not defined by her blood.

She wasn’t going to start now.

Bruce was the first to break the silence.

“You’re impressive,” he said, voice measured, almost careful. “More than I expected.”

Soula smirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Even if it sounds like you’re admitting you underestimated me.”

Bruce didn’t deny it.

“You’ve built something remarkable,” he continued, his blue eyes flickering over the lavish dressing room, the security personnel stationed at the doors, the lingering hum of fans still chattering outside. “But it also makes you a target.”

Soula tilted her head, unimpressed. “I was born a target, Bruce. That’s nothing new.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Talia trained you to be a weapon. And now you stand under a different spotlight, but the danger hasn’t changed. It’s just taken another form.”

Soula’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her eyes turned colder.

“I left all that behind,” she said, crossing her arms. “I don’t need the League. I don’t need Gotham. And I certainly don’t need her.”

The shift in tone was sharp enough that the rest of the family picked up on it.

“You don’t care what she thinks?” Bruce asked, watching her closely.

“No,” Soula answered flatly. “I never did.”

Damian was the only one who didn’t look surprised by her words, but the others exchanged glances—Tim and Jason, in particular, seemed thrown off by the sheer finality in her voice.

“So, what?” Jason cut in, scoffing. “You’re just out here doing whatever the hell you want, no strings, no ties?”

Soula turned her gaze on him. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Jason?” she countered. “Freedom? A life outside of all this?”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” she asked, voice calm, but her stare was unrelenting. “You had your reasons. So did I.”

Bruce’s gaze darkened. “And yet, despite leaving, you’ve kept in contact with Damian all these years.”

That statement landed like a spark in a powder keg.

Soula’s posture remained relaxed, but Damian immediately tensed, his expression sharpening.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” he said, his voice edged with warning.

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s just... strange,” he said carefully. “None of us even knew about her. But you did. You’ve always known. And now she’s here, and you act like—”

“Like she’s important to me?” Damian interrupted, tone cold. “Because she is.”

Tim exhaled through his nose, glancing at Jason before speaking again. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jason, however, was less patient. “No, but I will say it.” He turned to Damian. “We get it, okay? She’s your long-lost sister, whatever. But why the hell are you acting like she’s the only person who matters?”

Damian’s fists curled. “I never said that.”

Jason scoffed. “You don’t have to. It’s obvious.”

Stephanie and Dick shifted uncomfortably, clearly debating whether to step in. Cass, as usual, was unreadable, though her eyes were flickering between Damian and Soula with quiet scrutiny.

Damian took a step forward, tension rolling off him in waves. “You don’t know anything about her. You don’t know what she’s done for me.”

Jason held his ground, eyes flashing. “Then maybe you should enlighten us, little brother.”

“Enough.”

Soula’s voice sliced through the room like a blade.

All eyes turned back to her. She stood tall, her crimson gaze burning into Jason’s. But she wasn’t angry. No—her expression was calm, almost too calm, as if she had long since grown used to people questioning her existence.

“I don’t need Damian to justify anything to you,” she said simply. “He has nothing to prove.”

Jason clenched his jaw. “That’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it?” Soula challenged. “Because from where I’m standing, this isn’t about me. It’s about him. And the fact that none of you seem to understand why he trusts me.”

The room fell silent.

Damian swallowed hard, his shoulders stiff, but his expression was raw—torn between frustration and something deeper, something unspoken.

Soula exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to trust me. But I am not the enemy.” Her eyes flickered back to Bruce. “And neither is Damian’s choice to stay by my side.”

Bruce met her stare, unreadable.

“You think I see you as an enemy?” he asked.

“I think,” Soula said evenly, “you don’t know what to make of me.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Bruce had spent years trying to prepare himself for whatever shadows of the League might resurface in his life. But Soula wasn’t a shadow . She was a fire , burning bright, untouchable, untamed.

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure if this was something he should fight against—or something he had already lost.

The tension in the room reached a breaking point before Dick finally stepped forward, his voice steady but cautious.

Dick exhaled, trying to mediate. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Tim nodded. “We didn’t even know you existed until tonight. But Damian’s been talking to you this whole time?”

The tension in the room thickened.

Damian, who had remained silent up until now, finally spoke.

“Yes,” he said flatly.

Jason scoffed. “And you didn’t think that was something we should know?”

Damian’s gaze was sharp. “It was none of your concern.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’ve been acting weird for weeks, right? Packing your things, disappearing into the city for hours? We just assumed it was one of your ‘I need space’ things, but now—”

Her words trailed off, realization settling over them like a storm.

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re planning something.”

Bruce’s attention snapped back to Damian, his stance shifting. “What are they talking about?”

Damian didn’t answer.

Soula, however, exhaled, crossing her arms. “He hasn’t told you yet,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Told us what?” Dick asked.

Jason’s eyes flickered between them before he put the pieces together. His jaw clenched.

“No way,” he muttered. “No way.”

Tim’s expression darkened. “You’re leaving?”

The room went silent.

Bruce’s gaze locked onto Damian, searching, demanding. “Is that true?”

Damian’s fists clenched at his sides. He was still, but not in a way that suggested hesitation—only resistance.

Soula spoke before he could.

“We made a promise,” she said evenly. “Before he ever met you.”

Bruce’s expression sharpened. “What promise?”

Soula’s gaze didn’t waver.

“When I left the League, he told me he didn’t want to stay either,” she said. “I told him I would give him until he was fifteen. If he still wanted to leave by then, I’d come for him.”

The words rang through the room like a gunshot.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Bruce’s shoulders were rigid, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Damian.”

Damian finally lifted his chin, meeting his father’s gaze.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said, his voice controlled. “That’s why she’s here. She came to celebrate my birthday—and to see if I still want to go.”

Jason let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re seriously considering this?”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “I’ve spent my entire life being told where I belong. I deserve to choose for myself.”

Bruce took a step forward, his presence towering. “And you think running away is the answer?”

Soula’s voice was quiet but firm. “It’s not running if it’s a choice.”

Bruce turned to her, his expression unreadable. “And you think you can give him something better?”

Soula didn’t hesitate. “I think I can give him freedom.”

Jason’s temper snapped. “Freedom from what? Us?” He turned to Damian. “We’re your family. You don’t need to leave to have freedom.”

Damian’s voice was sharp. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make us understand!”

Silence.

Damian’s hands clenched at his sides, his whole body rigid, caught between too many emotions he wasn’t sure how to express.

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Damian, we care about you. This isn’t just about you leaving—it’s about why. Why her? Why now?”

Damian didn’t speak.

Soula did.

“Because I’m the only one who ever told him he could choose.”

The weight of her words settled over them.

Bruce exhaled sharply. “And what if he chooses to stay?”

Soula’s gaze softened just slightly. “Then I’ll leave, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

A long silence stretched between them all.

Damian looked at Soula, searching her expression. She meant it. If he stayed, she would let him go. No bitterness, no resentment—because that was what this had always been about.

His choice.

Bruce’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Damian swallowed hard.

Soula watched them, stepping back slightly—not interfering, not pressing. Just waiting.

Damian exhaled.

“You won’t.”

The words were careful, but not decisive.

And Bruce knew this conversation wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

The Batcave was unusually silent.

The echoes of the evening still hung in the air, the performance, the confrontation, the revelation that Damian had been planning something none of them had seen coming. Now, beneath the dim glow of the Batcomputer, the family sat in tense contemplation.

Bruce stood near the console, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Dick paced restlessly, while Jason leaned against a workbench, scowling. Tim sat with his hands clasped, his usual sharpness dulled by the weight of what they had learned.

Stephanie was the first to break the silence. “So, uh... does anyone else feel like they just got blindsided by a freight train?”

Jason scoffed. “Blindsided? Try hit by a damn semi.”

Barbara, who had been watching them all from her chair, exhaled. “This explains a lot.”

Tim nodded, his mind working through the details. “The packing, the sudden disappearances—he wasn’t just acting strange. He was getting ready to leave.”

Cassandra, perched quietly near the Batcomputer, watched them all, her expression unreadable. But when she finally spoke, her voice was firm.

“He’s thinking.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no kidding. He’s thinking about walking out.”

Cass shook her head. “Not just that.” She turned to Bruce. “He doesn’t know if he’s free.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

Dick stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”

Cass’s eyes were steady. “She’s free. He’s not.”

The words sank in.

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

Tim ran a hand through his hair. “So he’s questioning if he’ll ever have that kind of freedom here.”

Stephanie crossed her arms. “Okay, but since when does freedom mean leaving everything behind? He has us.”

Jason let out a sharp breath. “That’s not how he sees it.”

Dick frowned. “And what, you do?”

Jason shrugged, but there was something in his expression that was almost... understanding. “Look, I’m not saying I agree with it, but I get it. Damian grew up being told what he was, what he was supposed to be. Then he gets thrown into this family with a whole different set of rules and expectations. Maybe he’s tired of people deciding for him.”

Tim shook his head. “Bruce doesn’t control him.”

Jason arched a brow. “No? C’mon, Tim. He may not chain him to the cave, but this life? It has expectations. It has rules.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Hell, we all have our ways of dealing with it, don’t we?”

Silence.

Because Jason wasn’t wrong.

Bruce finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “He’s still a child.”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah? And when has that ever stopped anything?”

Dick rubbed a hand down his face. “Okay, so what do we do? Just let him leave?”

Stephanie frowned. “Soula said she’s here for a week. That means Damian has three days to decide before his birthday. She’s giving him the choice.”

Barbara sighed. “And if he chooses to leave?”

Nobody had an answer.

Bruce’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“We’re not losing him,” he said, his tone final.

But the question lingered in the air, heavy and uncertain.

What if he decides to go anyway?

The night was late, and the manor was quiet.

Damian sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the half-packed duffel bag at his feet.

The weight of the evening pressed down on him.

Seeing Soula again had reminded him of a promise—a promise she had made to him before he had ever set foot in Gotham.

"I’ll give you until your fifteenth birthday. If you want to stay, I won’t stop you. But if you want to leave, I’ll take you away from all of this. No one will stop us."

Back then, it had been simple. He hadn’t wanted to meet his father. He had never wanted to be part of this life. The League had tried to shape him into a weapon, and Gotham had tried to shape him into something else entirely. Neither had asked him what he wanted.

But now?

Damian clenched his fists.

Gotham had changed him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, this place had become something to him. He had friends. A family. A life.

But Cass’s words from earlier still echoed in his mind.

"She’s free. He’s not."

Damian scowled, reaching for his sketchbook and flipping through the pages mindlessly. He paused when he reached a drawing—one of Soula and himself, sketched from memory. She was smiling, eyes bright and full of life. Free.

Was that what he wanted?

To be free?

To be something beyond just ‘Robin’?

A sharp knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned, his voice sharper than he intended. “Go away.”

Silence.

Then, after a moment, the sound of retreating footsteps.

Damian exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the sketchbook.

Three days.

He had three days to decide.

And he still didn’t know what he truly wanted.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived far too quickly.

Damian had barely slept, his thoughts tangled in the choice he had to make. The manor was quiet when he finally left his room, but the stillness didn’t last long.

The sound of the front doorbell echoed through the halls.

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he descended the stairs, already knowing who it was before Alfred even reached for the handle.

And sure enough, when the door swung open, Soula stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of her dark jacket, crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Morning, Archibald.”

Damian scowled. “You must stop calling me that.”

Soula smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Before he could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from behind him.

Dick was the first to appear, grinning as he threw an arm over Damian’s shoulders. “Well, well, if it isn’t Gotham’s newest sensation.”

Soula raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra followed, each of them clearly having waited for this moment.

Jason leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Figured you’d be back today.”

Soula smirked. “Figured you’d all be nosy.”

Tim adjusted his glasses. “To be fair, it’s not every day Damian has secret siblings we don’t know about.”

Stephanie grinned. “So, what’s the plan? You hanging out with Dami all day?”

Damian’s expression soured. “Don’t call me that.”

Soula, ever the instigator, turned to the others with an easy smile. “He and I were going to spend the day together.”

Jason made a show of stretching. “Great. We’ll tag along.”

Damian shot him a glare. “No, you won’t.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stephanie said, slipping past Damian and linking arms with Soula like they’d known each other forever. “We absolutely will.”

Soula raised an amused brow at Damian. “You gonna stop them?”

Damian clenched his jaw, looking like he was about to kill someone.

Soula laughed. “Relax, Archibald .” She turned to the others. “Fine. You wanna crash the day? You better keep up.”

Jason grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

Damian muttered a curse under his breath. This was not how he had planned to spend the day.

But Soula just winked at him. “C’mon, little brother. Let’s see how well your family really knows Gotham.”

And with that, the day truly began.

Bruce watched from the upper balcony as the front doors of Wayne Manor swung open, his children— all of them, apparently—spilling out onto the front steps. His sharp gaze followed as Soula easily took the lead, Damian right beside her, while the others flanked them in a loose formation.

“She’s confident,” Bruce murmured, his arms crossed over his chest.

Alfred, standing beside him, gave a small nod. “That she is, sir.”

Bruce’s expression remained unreadable, but there was an edge to it, something distant, troubled.

“She’s not staying.” It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Alfred agreed. “She’s here for Master Damian. And if I may be so bold—he is considering leaving with her.”

Bruce exhaled sharply. “I know.”

There was a long silence between them as Bruce continued to watch.

“What would you have me do, Alfred?” Bruce finally asked, voice quiet but firm. “Convince him to stay? Stop her from taking him?”

Alfred tilted his head slightly. “Master Damian has always been strong-willed. But I believe this is the first time he has been given the choice to walk away.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “And if he does?”

Alfred sighed. “Then I suppose, sir, you will have to decide whether to let him go.”

Bruce didn’t respond.

Instead, he watched as Soula and Damian took off running toward the edge of the property. The others followed, some more reluctant than others.

Then, with one final leap, they disappeared into the Gotham skyline.

The rooftops of Gotham were a second home to the Wayne family. They moved across them with ease, each step calculated, every movement designed for efficiency and control.

Soula was different.

She didn’t move like an assassin or a vigilante. She moved like someone who enjoyed the motion itself—flipping effortlessly over gaps, sliding down slanted roofs, using ledges and signs like playground equipment. Where Damian’s family used technique, she used instinct.

And Damian found himself missing this.

“You gonna think your way across, or you gonna move, little brother?” Soula called back, perched on the ledge of an old apartment building.

Damian scowled but leapt forward without hesitation, landing beside her.

Behind them, the rest of the family followed—Jason cursing as Soula effortlessly flipped off a fire escape, Tim keeping his movements precise, Cass and Dick easily keeping pace. Stephanie nearly wiped out but recovered at the last second.

Finally, they touched down in an alley near Grant Park.

“Where exactly are we going?” Tim asked, adjusting his jacket.

Soula pushed her blackout glasses further up her nose. “Cat café.”

Jason scoffed. “Wait—you mean actual cats? You dragged us through half the city for a cat café ?”

Soula shrugged. “Yes.”

Damian smirked slightly. “Sounds perfect.”

The family exchanged glances, but they followed anyway.

The scent of coffee, warm pastries, and something soft—like fresh linen and vanilla—filled the air as they stepped inside. The café was cozy, dimly lit with soft golden light, and more importantly—cats were everywhere.

It took less than thirty seconds for them to swarm Soula.

Jason watched in amazement as at least four cats immediately latched onto her—one draping itself over her shoulder, another curling around her leg. Even the café’s resident grumpy Persian sat at her feet, purring.

“This is unnatural,” Jason muttered.

“Agreed,” Tim added, sipping his coffee.

Damian, however, looked completely at ease. A sleek black cat had curled up in his lap as he sipped his tea.

“You’re giving them gifts here ?” Dick asked as Soula set a bag onto the table in front of Damian.

“Why not?” she said with a shrug, pulling out a beautifully wrapped package. “I didn’t get to spoil him last year, so I made up for it.”

Damian rolled his eyes but accepted the gifts.

The first was a handwoven bracelet from Brazil, its colors matching the tones of his old League robes. The second was a leather-bound sketchbook from Italy. The third—a beautifully crafted, custom-made knife from Japan.

“Athanasia,” Damian muttered, running his fingers over the hilt of the blade. “This is—”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Archibald .” She smirked. “Besides, it wouldn’t be a proper gift if it wasn’t at least a little sharp.”

He huffed, but there was unmistakable warmth in his expression.

Tim leaned forward, arms crossed. “So, Soula.”

Soula tilted her head. “So, Tim.”

“You’ve been off the grid for years. No digital trail, no records. Yet, somehow, you emerge as a world-famous artist out of nowhere.” He raised an eyebrow. “How’d you pull that off?”

The air in the café shifted. The playful ease of their conversation flickered, replaced by something heavier.

Tim didn’t notice at first. But the others did.

Soula’s red eyes glowed—subtly at first, just enough for Cass and Jason to tense. Damian noticed immediately, his body going still.

And then Soula smiled.

It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

“I don’t know, Tim. How’d you spend years stalking everyone else’s families but fail to find love in your own?”

Silence.

Stephanie choked on her drink. Jason looked away, barely suppressing a laugh. Even Cass raised an eyebrow.

Tim’s expression barely shifted, but his grip on his coffee cup tightened.

“Well,” he muttered. “That was uncalled for.”

“No,” Soula said, tilting her head. “What was uncalled for was your attempt to interrogate me over brunch. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn’t finished.

“I left the League. I built my own life. My own career. I don’t need my mother’s validation. I don’t need your approval. And I sure as hell don’t need Bruce Wayne playing father of the year just because I exist.”

That shut the table up fast.

Jason whistled low. “Damn.”

Tim looked away, jaw tight.

Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, so interrogation bad.”

Soula’s smirk returned. “Glad we understand each other.”

Damian, for his part, had been watching carefully.

Finally, he spoke. “You said you were surprised by how many Gothamites were at your concert.”

Soula’s expression softened. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t realize how much this city meant to me. Or maybe—I just didn’t realize how much I meant to it.”

And for the first time that night, Damian didn’t know what to say.

Because that was exactly what he was trying to figure out.

The abandoned mall loomed ahead, a skeletal relic of Gotham’s past. Faded signs, shattered glass, and forgotten storefronts stood as silent testaments to a time when this place had once been full of life. Now, it was a ghost town, echoing only with the sound of their footsteps.

“This is where you wanted to go?” Jason asked, eyeing the surroundings warily.

Soula didn’t answer. She moved forward without hesitation, her posture loose, unconcerned.

“Are we looking for something?” Dick pressed, following at a careful pace.

Again, Soula ignored them. Instead, she reached into her coat and—

Click.

Jason’s gun was halfway out of its holster before he even processed what she was holding.

A gun.

It wasn’t a typical firearm—sleek and customized, almost too refined for standard use. But it was still a gun.

“Okay, what the hell ?” Tim said sharply, his body tensing.

Damian, however, remained unbothered.

Soula ignored them. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out something else—a playing card.

Tim narrowed his eyes.

It was old, edges slightly frayed, and covered in strange runes that glowed faintly beneath the dim lighting of the mall.

She flew it.

Then, before anyone could question it further—

BANG.

She fired.

The bullet struck the card dead center, and in an instant—

Reality bent.

The card didn’t fall. Instead, the air around it shimmered, rippling like water, before stretching outward in an unnatural bloom of violet and silver light. Within seconds, what had once been an abandoned section of the mall transformed into a swirling void, revealing the dimly lit alleyway of another city.

A portal.

Damian barely blinked before stepping closer. “Japan?” he guessed, noting the hazy image of a Tokyo alleyway beyond the rippling veil.

Soula smirked. “Akihabara. No cameras in this alley. We’ll take the train from here.”

She didn’t wait for further questions, stepping through with Damian following without hesitation. The others hesitated only for a second before, one by one, they entered after them.

The shift was immediate. The cool, damp air of Gotham was replaced by the electric buzz of Tokyo. The scent of street food, the distant hum of arcade machines, and the ever-present neon glow surrounded them. Soula, now slipping her blackout glasses on to blend in, exhaled as if this place was second nature to her.

“Come on,” she said, motioning for Damian to keep pace with her as they walked toward the nearest train station.

As they moved, she spoke to him in a relaxed, almost nostalgic tone. “You would love Nara Park,” she said. “It’s in Nara City, not too far from here by train. It’s full of deer—hundreds of them, and they bow back at you when you bow to them.”

Damian’s interest piqued. “How does that work?”

“They’ve adapted to the tourists,” she said with a small chuckle. “Smart creatures. You give them special deer crackers, and they basically act like royalty.”

He hummed in approval, clearly intrigued.

“Anyway,” Soula continued, “I was thinking of expanding the Victorian mansion I bought. I’m flipping it, but if I keep it, I want to add something special. What would you want in a room?”

That caught him off guard.

Before he could reply—

A familiar voice cut in.

“Oh no, no, no—you don’t get to just portal your way to Tokyo and pretend we’re not here.”

Damian turned to see the rest of his family stepping through the alleyway, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Soula exhaled, unimpressed herself. “Took you long enough.”

Jason crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, not all of us have magic playing cards and reality-bending firearms.”

Tim’s gaze flickered between Soula and the city. “So, what’s the plan? We just follow you around like lost puppies?”

“No,” Soula replied flatly. “You leave .”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna happen.”

Soula sighed, looking back at Damian. “See? This is why I left the League. No sense of personal space.”

Damian blinked at her, caught off guard. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “You’ll need somewhere to stay when you visit, won’t you?”

The ease with which she spoke about him being part of her world made something shift inside him. He had been weighing his future ever since she arrived, but here she was, already making space for him in hers.

Jason spoke up again. “So you just casually buy and renovate haunted mansions now?”

Soula arched an eyebrow. “You think it’s haunted?”

“Abandoned Victorian mansion?” Tim scoffed. “Yeah, sounds like prime ghost real estate.”

Soula laughed. “I wouldn’t mind a few ghosts. They’d probably have better company than some people.”

Tim opened his mouth, but the moment her crimson eyes gleamed slightly behind her glasses, he hesitated. Something about that glow made it clear—he should tread carefully.

Damian, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. “I’d prefer something with good lighting,” he finally said, ignoring his siblings. “A large window for natural light.”

Soula nodded thoughtfully. “Noted.”

The group reached the train station, and as they boarded, Soula leaned back against the handrail, her gaze flicking to Damian. “You’re happy, right?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “At least a little?”

He considered that for a moment. In Gotham, he was a soldier. A warrior. A Wayne. But here, right now, he felt something different. Something lighter. Something closer to free.

“I’m... figuring it out,” he admitted.

She smiled, satisfied with that answer for now as the train sped toward their next destination.

Chapter Text

The afternoon in Nara Park was serene, the crisp air filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional calls of the freely roaming deer. Damian moved with ease among them, bowing respectfully as he fed them from the small crackers. His expression softened as the animals nudged him for more food.

Soula watched him fondly, as she let him enjoy the moment. The deer, usually cautious around humans, had taken an immediate liking to Soula. One particularly bold creature nudged her arm with its nose, demanding attention. She chuckled and scratched behind its ears.

"Alright, alright," she murmured. "You’re worse than Titus."

The rest of the family observed from a short distance, clearly out of their element in this quiet, tranquil setting.

Jason observed the interaction with a raised brow. "You got some kind of animal whisperer ability we should know about?"

Soula smirked. "No, but I like animals more than people. They don’t ask annoying questions."

"Fair enough," he admitted, offering a handful of food to a deer that seemed to be eyeing his pockets suspiciously.

“He’s always like this with animals,” Cass said simply, glancing at Damian. “It’s when he’s happiest.”

Soula chuckled, glancing at Cass approvingly. “You pay attention.”

Cass only nodded in response.

The family took this chance to engage with her, this time avoiding the harsh interrogation methods from before. They had learned their lesson.

"So, your concert was impressive," Dick started, keeping his tone light. "Do you do every show like that?"

"More or less," Soula answered, adjusting her blackout glasses as she turned to face him. "Some are more intimate, some are larger. Gotham was one of my biggest audiences yet. I wasn’t expecting that."

"You have a lot of Gotham fans," Stephanie pointed out. "We saw the lines. People love you."

Soula hummed in acknowledgment, reaching into her coat to pull out a small snack for another deer that had wandered up. "It’s a strange feeling. I never thought Gotham would care about someone like me."

"Why wouldn’t they?" Duke asked, genuinely curious.

"Because Gotham remembers ghosts, not stars."

That statement silenced them for a moment. Soula didn’t elaborate, and they didn’t push.

Tim leaned forward slightly. "How many instruments can you play?"

"Seven," Soula replied without hesitation. "Electric guitar, violin, drums, piano, flute, cello and saxophone."

Jason let out a low whistle. "Damn. That’s impressive. Where the hell did you find time to learn all that?"

Tim raised a brow, clearly impressed. “And you mastered all of them?”

Soula shrugged, as if it weren’t a big deal. “I wouldn’t say ‘mastered,’ but I’m proficient.”

“That’s insane,” Steph said, wide-eyed. “Where did you even find the time?”

Soula hesitated for only a second before responding, “I was punished for it.”

The casual way she said it made the air grow heavy.

“You mean, the League—” Dick started, but Soula waved him off.

“It doesn’t matter. I kept practicing anyway.” Her tone was even, unbothered. “Turns out, I’m very good at things people tell me not to do.”

There was a stretch of silence as the family absorbed that.

Jason, ever the one to poke at things, took a step closer. “Why did you leave?”

Soula exhaled, tilting her head toward him. “Because I wanted to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you need.”

Tim, ever the analyst, narrowed his eyes. “Did you know?”

Soula turned to him. “Know what?”

“About Bruce. That he’s Batman.”

The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Of course I knew.”

That clearly threw Tim off. “You did?”

Soula scoffed. “Please. He wasn’t exactly subtle.” She crossed her arms. “A billionaire who disappears at odd hours of the night, adopts highly skilled orphans, and miraculously appears at crime scenes? It wasn’t difficult to put together.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Took me dying to figure it out.”

Soula’s expression didn’t shift. “I just didn’t care to involve myself in his mess.”

Dick frowned. “Mess?”

Soula turned fully to face them, and though they couldn’t see her eyes through the blackout glasses, they could feel the weight of her gaze. “Bruce Wayne is a man with deep-seated issues that he’s projected onto every single one of you. And instead of handling them like an adult, like, I don’t know, going to therapy, he decided to take in children and turn them into soldiers.”

That hit like a slap to the face.

Tim immediately bristled. “It’s not like that—”

Soula cut him off before he could even get a full defense out. “Not like what? Not like he literally put his children in the line of fire? Not like he let a kid die on his watch?” She tilted her head. “Oh wait, he did. And then he cut Jason’s throat when he came back.”

Silence.

Jason’s entire body went rigid. “…What?”

Dick paled. “That’s not—”

Soula’s head turned toward him. “You didn’t know?”

The weight of her words sunk in. Jason’s breathing turned sharp, his hands curling into fists.

Tim looked shaken, glancing between his siblings. “That—no, that can’t be true.”

Soula shrugged. “It is. But hey, if you want to keep defending him, go ahead.”

Jason took a step back, his jaw clenched. The tension in the air was suffocating, the rest of the family suddenly at a loss for words.

Soula, seemingly unaffected by the storm she had just created, turned back toward Damian, watching as he continued to feed the deer, seemingly unaware of the conversation that had just unfolded behind him.

“Doesn’t matter now,” she said after a moment. “What’s done is done.”

But as Jason stood there, his breath uneven, it was clear that to him—it absolutely did matter.

Chapter Text

Away from Soula and Damian, the rest of the family had gathered in a secluded spot near the edge of the park, tension thick between them. Jason stood with his arms crossed, his expression dark as the others stared at him expectantly.

Dick was the first to break the silence. “Jay… what the hell was Soula talking about?”

Jason clicked his tongue, looking away. “Forget it.”

“No, we’re not just going to forget it,” Dick pressed, stepping closer. “Is it true? Did Bruce—” He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “Did Bruce actually cut your throat?”

Jason’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything.

“Jason.” Cass’s voice was firm, but it wasn’t a demand. She was searching for an answer, and Jason could feel the weight of her silent understanding.

Duke shook his head. “Man, you’ve gotta say something.”

Jason exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Look, it was a long time ago.”

“That’s not a no,” Stephanie pointed out.

Jason shot her a glare. “Tch.”

“Jason,” Dick tried again, this time softer. “If it’s true… why didn’t you ever tell us?”

Jason let out a sharp breath through his nose, eyes narrowing. “Because I don’t need you guys running around trying to ‘fix’ it.” He took a step back, voice growing sharp. “It happened. It’s done. That’s all there is to it.”

“But—”

“I said drop it.”

His tone was final, but it didn’t settle anything. The family exchanged looks, the weight of Soula’s revelation hanging between them like a guillotine.

Cass frowned but didn’t push. Dick ran a hand through his hair, looking away as if struggling with the thought of Bruce being capable of something like that. Duke and Stephanie were clearly unsettled, shifting uncomfortably, while Tim…

Tim wasn’t even here.

Meanwhile, Damian was finishing up feeding the last of the deer, still lost in the tranquility of the moment. Soula leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Damian exhaled before finally turning to her. “Did you really need to say all of that?”

Soula tilted her head. “You tell me.”

He frowned. “You don’t hold back.”

“Never have,” she replied easily. “Never will.”

Before Damian could respond, a voice cut through.

“So, that’s it?”

They turned to see Tim approaching, his expression tight with frustration. His sharp eyes flickered to Soula before focusing on Damian.

“You’re just going to let her talk like that and act like it’s fine?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed immediately, his stance shifting. “Watch your tone, Drake.”

Tim scoffed, stepping closer. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I needed permission to be pissed off.”

“Maybe you should, considering how often you act like you’re entitled to an explanation for everything.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “You’re seriously defending her? After what she just did?”

“She spoke the truth,” Damian shot back.

Tim let out a humorless laugh. “Of course you’d say that. You’ve been ready to leave all of us for her.”

Damian’s fists clenched. “That’s none of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t! You’ve been packing up your stuff for weeks, like you’re just waiting for an excuse to disappear!” Tim’s voice rose. “You act like none of us care, like we wouldn’t notice!”

Damian’s lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tense. “I am not obligated to stay.”

Tim scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re just running away. That’s what this is.”

Damian’s eyes burned, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. But before he could snap back, Tim’s next words hit like a blade to the gut.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” Tim said, voice quieter but no less cutting. “You had no problem trying to kill me when we first met, but now you’re acting like you’re the victim here.”

Silence.

Damian froze, his breath caught in his throat.

Soula, who had been watching the argument unfold with careful indifference, suddenly stiffened.

“…What?”

Tim turned to her, his expression hard. “Oh, you didn’t know? Your beloved brother tried to kill me the first chance he got.”

Soula’s gaze snapped to Damian, her entire demeanor shifting. “Damian.”

Damian didn’t meet her eyes.

Soula stepped closer, her voice edged with something sharp. “Is that true?”

Damian swallowed, his fists still clenched. “It was… a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

His silence was all the confirmation she needed.

Soula let out a slow breath, her hands moving to her hips. “You absolute idiot.”

Damian’s head snapped up at that. “I—”

“No,” Soula cut in, stepping right into his space. “You’re going to listen to me now.”

Damian frowned but didn’t move as Soula reached out and placed a hand on his head. With a firm but controlled grip, she turned his face toward Tim.

“Apologize.”

Damian’s entire body went rigid. “Athanasia—”

“Apologize,” she repeated, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Tim folded his arms, clearly waiting.

Damian gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to. He didn’t feel sorry for it. Not really. But Soula… she wasn’t letting this go.

“…Sorry.”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. He clearly hadn’t expected that, even if it lacked any real sincerity.

Soula finally released Damian’s head, stepping back. “See? Sometimes, a sorry is all you need.”

Damian glared at her, but she only smirked, completely unfazed.

Tim let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Yeah, well. Whatever.”

The tension didn’t completely dissipate, but something shifted.

Soula, however, didn’t apologize for her words earlier. She didn’t even acknowledge it. Because she wasn’t sorry.

And she never would be.

Chapter Text

The air shimmered as a swirling portal carved itself into existence, illuminating the quiet front of Wayne Manor in hues of deep violet and ember-red. The energy crackled for a moment before Soula stepped through, Damian followed stepping onto the cobblestone path with practiced ease.

The rest of the family wasn’t far behind.

Unlike the others, Jason didn’t get the luxury of a smooth landing.

There was a loud thud as Jason was dropped unceremoniously from at least ten feet in the air, hitting the ground with a sharp grunt.

“Are you serious ?” he snapped, groaning as he rolled onto his back.

Soula, who had already stepped further away, didn’t even turn around.

“You walked off,” she said simply. “Had to make sure you got home safe.”

Jason cursed under his breath, pushing himself up. “That’s not —”

But before he could finish, she was already walking away.

“I’ll see you at your surprise party,” she said casually.

That stopped everyone in their tracks.

“What?” Stephanie blurted out.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Surprise party?”

Soula smirked. “Oops.” There wasn’t an ounce of remorse in her voice. 

And just like that, another portal split open in the air, and she was gone.

The wind that followed felt eerily still in comparison.

The family stood in silence for a beat, watching the space she had just occupied.

“…What the hell just happened?” Duke asked, looking between them.

“She’s infuriating ,” Jason muttered, brushing dust off his jacket.

Stephanie let out a breath. “Yeah, but she’s got style.”

That earned her a sharp look from Tim, but she just shrugged.

“She knew about the party,” Dick said, shaking his head. “How?”

“She knows a lot of things,” Tim muttered, already pulling out his phone. “But right now, we have more important things to deal with.”

No one needed to ask what he meant.

There was only one person left to demand answers from.

—-

The Batcave was suffocatingly tense.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, eyes shadowed by the low light of the screens. He hadn’t said a word since they arrived, but the weight of his silence only made the atmosphere heavier.

Tim was already working, fingers gliding across the keyboard as he searched for any footage related to Jason’s near-death.

The rest of the family was standing behind him, unmoving.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” he muttered, scanning for any trace of what Soula had said.

Bruce exhaled but didn’t stop him. “You won’t find it in the main records.”

Tim stilled before narrowing his eyes. “So, you admit it happened.”

A tense silence filled the cave.

Bruce’s gaze remained steady, unreadable. “Yes.”

Dick sucked in a sharp breath. Stephanie let out a quiet curse.

Jason laughed—bitter and humorless. “Unbelievable.”

Bruce exhaled. “It wasn’t relevant.”

Jason’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “Not relevant ?” He gestured to his own throat. “You sliced me open .”

“It was a calculated move.”

“Calculated?” Jason’s voice rose. “You nearly killed me.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“That’s not —”

“Found it,” Tim cut in.

Everything stilled.

Tim’s voice was tense, his shoulders squared. Slowly, he turned the monitor toward them.

The footage played.

It wasn’t pretty.

It was grainy, the recording coming from the embedded tech in Bruce’s cowl, but there was no mistaking the brutality of it. Jason— younger, angrier, desperate —fought like a man with nothing to lose. And Bruce—cold, detached—moved like a man willing to do what had to be done.

Then, the strike.

A perfect, precise slash of a batarang across Jason’s throat.

The younger Jason stumbled back, hands clutching at the wound, blood spilling through his fingers. It was horrifying. Visceral.

And it hadn’t been a mistake.

Bruce had meant to do it.

The footage ended.

Silence stretched painfully thin.

Then—

“What the hell ,” Dick whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

Stephanie turned away, eyes squeezed shut, unable to look.

Cass, normally unreadable, had gone perfectly still.

Duke’s hands clenched into fists. “That’s insane .”

Jason exhaled harshly, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Believe me now ?”

Bruce finally turned to them. “I made a choice—”

“That wasn’t a choice ,” Jason snapped. “That was a goddamn execution attempt.”

Tim had gone rigid, his hands still on the keyboard. He was staring at the screen like he could burn a hole through it.

“…I didn’t know,” he admitted, voice tight. “I knew you fought. I knew something happened. But not—”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Not that .”

Jason let out another bitter laugh. “Right. ‘Cause why tell anyone?” He looked back at Bruce, eyes sharp. “You just thought this would never come up?”

Bruce met his gaze without flinching. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”

Jason took a step forward. “And if I had died?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Because they all knew the truth.

That silence— that silence —was what cracked everything open.

Because Bruce didn’t regret the choice.

Because he still believed it was the right choice.

The realization made something ugly settle in Jason’s chest.

He turned away, scoffing. “Jesus Christ.”

No one spoke.

It was Damian who finally broke the silence.

“Soula knew.”

All eyes turned to him.

He was standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching everything unfold with a strangely neutral expression.

“She knew,” he continued. “That’s why she said it.”

Jason let out a breath. “Yeah, no shit.”

“But she didn’t lie,” Damian pointed out.

Jason hesitated, then exhaled. “No. She didn’t.”

That only made the weight in the room heavier.

Then, the conversation shifted.

Dick turned back to Damian. “Speaking of her… how did she even leave the League?”

Everyone turned to Damian now.

Damian frowned slightly. “I don’t know the full extent of it.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “You lived with her.”

“She never explained it.”

“But you must have some idea,” Duke pressed.

Damian exhaled slowly. “All I know is that anyone who has ever been sent after her has either ended their own lives or chosen to follow her instead.”

Silence.

“…Excuse me?” Stephanie blinked.

“She has a way with people,” Damian said simply. “The dancers, the security, her staff—they follow her because they want to. If she likes them, they stay. If she doesn’t, they leave or disappear.”

Duke frowned. “That sounds a little cult-like.”

Damian didn’t argue.

That seemed to disturb them even more.

Bruce’s expression darkened. “She’s dangerous.”

Damian’s gaze snapped toward him. “She is not a threat.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do .”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “She has people willing to die for her.”

“And so do you,” Damian countered, his tone sharp. “What exactly makes that different?”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“She’s unpredictable,” he said finally. “And I need to speak with her privately.”

“That,” Damian said immediately, “is a terrible idea.”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

Damian scoffed. “Were you not there earlier? Have you forgotten what happened when she spoke?”

Bruce didn’t respond.

Damian exhaled sharply. “She is one of the most influential rising stars in the world right now. She moves people, Father. Her words affect people.” His gaze was sharp. “She doesn’t need fists to fight. She’s beyond that.”

And for the first time, Bruce didn’t have a counterargument.

Chapter Text

The Batcave was quieter now, with the family crushing Soula and Damian day together.

Bruce, however, had business to attend to.

His fingers hovered over the secure line, hesitation flickering for only a second before he pressed the call button.

It took three rings before the line connected.

“Talia.”

There was a beat

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Beloved,” Talia purred, her voice smooth, almost amused. “How rare of you to call.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Did you ever intend on telling me?”

There was no confusion in her tone when she replied. “Ah. So you finally know.”

He exhaled sharply. “You kept another child from me.”

“I did,” she admitted easily. “And I would do so again.”

Bruce closed his eyes for half a second. “Why?”

Talia chuckled, a sharp, humorless thing. “Because she was never meant for you , Beloved.”

That stung in a way he hadn’t expected.

“She’s my daughter.”

“She is my daughter,” Talia corrected. “Or rather, she was meant to be his .”

Bruce’s grip on the edge of the console tightened. “Ra’s.”

“Of course,” Talia said smoothly. “A girl. The Demon’s Heir never had a daughter before. He was thrilled .”

Bruce could almost picture the pleased look on Ra’s’ face, the satisfaction of securing another pawn in his endless game.

“And you just—what? Let it happen?”

Talia sighed, the sound long-suffering. “I didn’t even know she existed until it was too late.”

Bruce frowned. “What?”

“I was already pregnant with her before I even realized it,” Talia said, almost dismissively. “By then, Father had already decided to keep her.”

The casual way she spoke about it—about her own child —made something cold settle in Bruce’s stomach.

“You didn’t care,” he said quietly.

Talia let out a short laugh. “Why would I? She was an anomaly. An experiment. And Father was curious.”

Bruce gritted his teeth. “An experiment ?”

“She was connected to the Lazarus Pits from the moment she existed,” Talia said simply. “Neither of us knew what would come of it, but Father was more than happy to find out.”

Bruce’s hands curled into fists.

Soula hadn’t just been raised in the League. She had been a subject . A child raised under watchful eyes, waiting to see if she would become something more .

And from what he had seen of her, she had .

“She’s an assassin,” he stated.

“She was always an assassin,” Talia corrected. “But she was never yours to claim, Beloved.”

Bruce exhaled sharply through his nose, pushing forward. “She left.”

Talia was silent for a moment. Then—

“Yes,” she admitted.

“How?”

Another beat of silence.

“I don’t know.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”

Talia clicked her tongue. “Believe what you want. But only Father knows. Whatever she did—whatever she took from the Pits—it was something beyond even me .”

Bruce processed that for a moment, turning it over in his mind.

Soula had used the Lazarus Pits to free herself.

And Ra’s let her go.

That… didn’t make sense .

Talia continued, voice sharp. “It was because of her that I was able to send Damian to you.”

Bruce’s breath caught. “What?”

“She made a deal,” Talia said, almost bored. “I don’t know the specifics, but the moment she left, I was able to do what I wanted with Damian.”

Bruce’s stomach twisted.

“She wanted Damian to come to me.”

“No,” Talia corrected. “She wanted Damian to have a choice .”

Bruce stilled.

Choice.

The very thing Soula had carved out for herself—the very thing Damian was still fighting for.

“She didn’t even want to be in the League,” Bruce realized.

“No,” Talia said simply. “She never did.”

The weight of it settled in Bruce’s chest, heavy and suffocating.

His daughter—his blood —had fought her way out. She had built something for herself, something so far removed from the League, from him , from everything she had been meant to be.

She had become something else .

And she had done it alone .

Bruce didn’t even realize the call had ended until the line cut off.

For a long moment, he just… sat there .

Processing.

The screens around him glowed softly, illuminating the quiet space, but he felt like he was drowning in shadows.

Soula had escaped. She had walked away from everything she had ever known and built something new .

Without him.

Without any of them.

She had taken the path that Jason never could. That Damian was still struggling to find.

She had won .

And now she was back.

Now she was here , standing before his family with the same quiet defiance that Jason had once carried, but with so much more .

He had seen it. The way she spoke. The way she moved people.

She didn’t need weapons.

She didn’t need the League.

She didn’t need him .

And that… worried him.

Because if Soula had carved out her own empire, if she had built something untouchable with nothing but her own strength, her own influence…

Then what was she now ?

Bruce leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the desk as he buried his face in his hands.

For the first time in a long time, he felt something unfamiliar clawing at his chest.

doubt .

Because Soula had done the impossible.

And he didn’t know if he could stop her.

The Batcave was suffocatingly tense.

Bruce sat at the Batcomputer, watching, absorbing, calculating— but not reacting . Not visibly. Not the way the others were.

Jason was furious, Tim was unsettled, Dick was horrified, Cass was watching, Duke was awkward , Steph was tense and Damian was the only one who remained unnervingly calm. The weight of their emotions pressed against him, demanding something from him—remorse, regret, an apology —but Bruce remained still.

Because he had made that choice.

And he didn’t regret it.

He had done what had to be done.

But as he watched the footage of himself slicing open Jason’s throat, cold and precise, he wondered—when had the line blurred? When had he become so pragmatic, so removed , that an action like that had felt like the only option ?

Jason’s laughter was bitter. " Calculated ? You nearly killed me."

And Bruce didn’t have an answer.

Not one they would accept.

Because to him , it had been calculated. It had been a move designed to neutralize Jason before he could do worse, before he could cross his line.

But it had still been a strike meant to kill.

The silence in the Batcave stretched, suffocating, until Damian spoke.

"Soula knew."

Bruce’s fingers curled slightly, tension coiling in his chest.

Of course, she knew.

Of course, she chose that exact moment to reveal it.

She hadn’t just been trying to hurt them—she had been tearing the foundation apart .

And she had succeeded .

Now, the team was unraveling in real-time, questioning him, questioning each other , questioning everything . And all it had taken was a few words from her .

Bruce had seen manipulation before. He had seen it wielded like a weapon by the most dangerous people in the world.

But Soula—she did not manipulate with deception or false promises.

She manipulated with the truth .

That made her dangerous in a way he hadn’t accounted for.

"She has a way with people."

Bruce’s mind processed Damian’s words, cataloging each one.

They follow her because they want to.

Choice.

That word again.

That thing she had carved for herself. That thing she had gifted Damian.

Bruce had built his own following, his own network of loyal allies. But his family had grown because of circumstance , because of necessity , because they had needed him as much as he had needed them.

Soula, however—she had built something entirely her own.

People didn’t just follow her.

They belonged to her.

That was the difference.

And that was why she worried him.

"That sounds a little cult-like."

Bruce remained silent.

Because it did.

But unlike Ra’s al Ghul, unlike any other manipulative figure he had encountered, Soula was not using fear or power to keep her people bound to her.

They chose to stay.

That was what made her so dangerous.

That was what made her untouchable .

Bruce finally spoke. "She’s dangerous."

Damian’s reaction was immediate.

"She is not a threat."

Bruce looked at his son, eyes narrowing. "You don’t know that."

"I do."

The certainty in Damian’s voice made something twist in Bruce’s chest.

Because Damian believed that.

And Bruce… wasn’t sure if he did.

"She has people willing to die for her."

"And so do you."

That struck him like a blow.

He inhaled sharply, not outwardly, not visibly, but internally .

Because Damian was right.

Bruce had built a legacy, a mission that others had chosen to take on, knowing the risks, knowing the consequences. They had all willingly stood beside him, fought for him, bled for him.

How was that any different from what Soula had done?

Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line. "She’s unpredictable."

Damian’s response was instantaneous. " She’s beyond that. "

Bruce stayed silent, watching his son closely.

Damian’s loyalty to Soula ran deep—deeper than Bruce had expected, deeper than he had ever considered possible.

And that… concerned him.

Because for the first time in a long time, Bruce wasn’t sure if he could win this fight.

Not physically.

Not with tactics.

Not with sheer force of will.

Because Soula had already won.

She had taken Damian’s trust in a way Bruce had never been able to. She had shaped her own power, her own empire, and it hadn’t come from violence or fear—it had come from choice .

Bruce didn’t know how to fight that.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he should .

The argument before patrol had been expected. Dick had yelled. Jason had paced like a caged animal, his anger practically vibrating in the air. Tim had been quieter, more calculating, but his stance was no less confrontational. Cass had spoken only once, but that one time had been enough to make Bruce hesitate.

Even Damian had been vocal, though his defiance came in the form of cutting, clipped words rather than outright shouting.

"You're not going alone."

"You are staying with Nightwing," Bruce had ordered.

Damian’s jaw had tightened. "This is a mistake."

Bruce had ignored it.

But now, on patrol, the argument still echoed in his ear, amplified through the comms.

"This is a bad idea, B." Dick’s voice, weighted with something between frustration and worry.

"She’s not someone you can intimidate," Tim added.

"If she wants to screw with you, she’s gonna do it in a way you won’t see coming," Jason warned. "And let’s be real, I’d pay to watch that happen."

"Not helping, Hood," Barbara’s voice cut in, her Oracle feed humming in the background. "I actually have an update on her, though."

That got everyone’s attention.

Bruce perched on a rooftop near Soula’s temporary residence, his cowl feeding him scans of the building as Oracle continued.

"I did some deeper digging into her career moves. And—honestly? It’s impressive. Soula’s only been in the industry for a short time, but she’s already drawing major offers."

"What kind of offers?" Dick asked.

"Broadway, for starters. Lead roles. Also voice acting gigs, modeling contracts—some of the biggest names in fashion are trying to court her. She’s a rising brand. And her music alone is already breaking international records."

There was a pause.

"That’s... fast," Tim muttered. "Too fast."

"Not necessarily," Barbara countered. "Some artists explode overnight. The difference is, Soula isn’t just talented—she’s strategic. Every performance, every interview, every move she’s made has built on the last. She’s shaping something bigger than just a music career."

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

Of course, she was.

"There's more," Barbara added, hesitating slightly. "There are bodies."

Silence.

Bruce heard the shift in the comms, the barely restrained tension in the team.

"Explain," Cass finally spoke, her voice calm but sharp.

Barbara exhaled. "They were criminals. Corrupt executives, traffickers, known abusers—disappearances spread across different countries. Not linked officially, but if you trace the patterns… they all connect to places Soula has been."

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

"Confirmed?"

"No. But the likelihood is high. It’s not sloppiness—it’s intentional. And here’s the thing—she’s never been caught. No security footage, no fingerprints, no forensics. If she’s doing it, she’s doing it clean."

Jason made a low whistle. "And people call me excessive."

Tim hummed. "She’s a performer. She knows how to be seen when she wants to be. And how to disappear when she doesn’t."

Bruce didn’t comment.

Instead, he focused on the building in front of him.

"I’m going in."

The comms erupted again.

"Wait—Bruce, seriously, don’t engage like she’s some thug off the street," Dick stressed.

"She’s different," Tim pressed. "You know she is."

Bruce cut the comms.

He wasn’t here to argue.

He was here to see .

Soula’s temporary residence was high-end but not ostentatious. The security was tight—private guards stationed at the main entry points, but nothing that would hinder him. The penthouse balcony, however, was unguarded .

Because Soula didn’t need guards.

She was the threat.

He landed soundlessly, keeping to the shadows.

And that was when he heard it.

Violin.

The melody was rich, resonant, weaving through the night air with effortless grace. It was a classical piece—haunting, beautiful. The kind of song that lingered long after it had ended.

Soula was playing alone.

She stood by the balcony, her posture loose but focused, her fingers gliding along the strings as if the instrument was an extension of herself.

There was no performance here. No audience.

Just her.

Bruce took a step forward.

The music stopped.

Soula lowered the violin, but she didn’t turn around.

She didn’t tense.

She didn’t react the way most people did when they realized Batman was behind them.

She simply waited .

Silent.

Unbothered.

Not surprised.

Not intimidated.

Not scrambling to manipulate or control the conversation before it could begin.

She just stood there .

And that— that —threw Bruce off more than anything.

He had dealt with criminals who stammered in fear, opportunists who scrambled to talk their way out of a situation, and masterminds who thought they could control the narrative.

But Soula?

She was just waiting .

As if she had all the time in the world.

As if he was the one who needed to figure out what to say.

It was a small, subtle thing.

But it shifted the power dynamic in a way that made Bruce’s chest tighten.

This was going to be different.

And he needed to tread carefully.

Chapter Text

Batman stood rigid, his presence cast in shadow as he studied the young woman before him.

Athanasia Al Ghul.

It was a name that shouldn’t exist. A presence that shouldn’t be here.

Yet, she was.

And she was his .

The words felt foreign, wrong even, but the evidence was overwhelming. The intelligence, the control, the ease with which she manipulated a room—not through deception, not through force, but through presence alone.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was her existence .

He had gone through every record, traced every thread, spoken with Talia, and the reality remained the same. Soula had been born without his knowledge, raised in shadows, and had never come looking for him.

She hadn’t wanted him.

And yet, now their worlds had collided, and Bruce was standing here, observing the enigma that was his daughter.

But she didn’t look like him .

Not like Damian did.

Her features weren’t molded in the clear-cut reflection of Talia’s sharp beauty or Bruce’s defined structure.

She was different.

Her eyes—red, deep , unnatural—were what struck him most. Not the warm brown of his own or the piercing green of Talia’s lineage.

No, Soula’s eyes were something else entirely .

And he knew why.

The Lazarus Pits.

She hadn’t just been dipped in them. She had come from them .

Born through something unnatural, something that shouldn’t have been possible.

And then there was the magic .

Bruce had watched the security footage. Had heard his children recount what she had done—portals, unnatural movements, an almost supernatural influence over people. He had seen how her mere words could shake a room, shift people’s convictions.

She wasn’t just trained.

She was something else entirely .

And still—

"Was there a question?"

The sound of her voice cut through the silence.

Batman stiffened.

She had finally turned to face him, her red eyes glowing faintly in the low city light.

She wasn’t impatient. Wasn’t pressing him for answers.

She was simply acknowledging his existence, as if she had allowed him to stand there long enough without speaking.

As if he was wasting her time.

He grunted.

That was his only response.

Soula tilted her head slightly, staring at him for a long, weighted moment before finally speaking again.

"How pathetic."

It was spoken so flatly, so calmly , but the words struck harder than a blow.

Bruce felt his jaw tighten, but he didn’t react beyond that.

His comms, however, erupted.

"Oh damn." Jason sounded almost delighted. "She’s just like him."

"Wow, this is getting brutal already," Stephanie muttered.

"B, you wanna speed this up before you embarrass yourself more?" Dick added, and Bruce could hear the smirk in his voice.

"She hasn’t even done anything," Tim noted, fascinated. "And she already has control of this conversation."

Bruce ignored them.

He finally spoke.

"I came to confirm something."

Soula didn’t blink. "That I exist?"

"That you are who you claim to be."

There was a pause. A long silence stretched between them, heavy, taut.

Then—

"You’re a fool."

Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

His comms lit up again.

"Oof."

"Jesus, B, take the loss already."

"I’m taking bets. How long before she breaks him completely?"

"You’re stalling," Soula continued, completely ignoring the way his fists clenched at his sides.

"You already know the truth, and yet, you still came here as if you needed confirmation."

Her stare bore into him, unreadable.

"That’s not why you’re here, though. You didn’t come for me."

Her voice was soft, but there was something cutting underneath it.

"You came for yourself."

She had turned his own actions against him, reframed him as the one seeking validation. And the worst part?

She was right.

Bruce had come here thinking he could get answers, that he could unravel whatever Athanasia Al Ghul was.

Instead, she was the one unraveling him .

Batman’s eyes narrowed as he gathered himself, forcing his mind back to the purpose of this confrontation. He had let her dictate the conversation so far, had let her words force him into reacting rather than acting . That needed to change.

"What are you planning to do with Damian?"

Soula arched a brow, her expression unreadable.

"Do with him?" she echoed, as if the question itself was absurd.

"You took him to Japan. You brought him into your world." Batman’s voice remained low, controlled. "If you’re trying to take him from me—"

"Take him?" Soula cut in, and for the first time, there was something almost amused in her tone.

Batman tensed.

"Tell me, Batman—" She leaned back against the balcony railing, crossing her arms. "Has Damian even made his choice yet?"

The question caught him off guard.

"What?"

"His choice," she repeated. "The one you’ve already made for him."

Bruce’s jaw clenched. "Damian chose to be here. He chose to be Robin."

"Did he?" Soula’s voice was unnervingly calm. "Or did you just assume he would?"

Batman didn’t answer.

Because she was still speaking.

"Damian is young. He has yet to even explore what he truly wants to be, and yet, you’ve already decided that this—" She gestured vaguely toward him. "—is what his life is."

Bruce stiffened.

"If it were up to me?" Soula continued, tilting her head. "I’d love for him to be a famous artist. Or maybe a veterinarian, of course.

That statement threw Batman off more than he wanted to admit.

"A veterinarian?"

Soula nodded once. "He loves animals, does he not?"

He did. Bruce knew that. The way Damian cared for Batcow, for Titus, for any stray that crossed his path—it was obvious to anyone who paid attention.

"Or maybe something else," Soula mused. "He hasn’t decided yet. He’s young." Her gaze flickered back to him, sharp, assessing. "But you’ve already determined his future, haven’t you?"

Batman’s silence was enough.

And Soula just watched him .

Because she knew.

She knew .

She knew exactly where to strike, where to land her words so they cut deep.

On the comms, his family was eerily quiet.

They were listening .

Waiting.

And for the first time in years, Bruce felt something unsettling settle in his chest.

A seed of doubt.

Chapter Text

The night air was thick with tension. Batman stood rigid in the shadows, his cape barely shifting in the breeze. Soula remained by the balcony railing, her expression unreadable, crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"Why didn’t you want to live with me?" His voice was low, but there was an edge to it.

Soula didn’t react at first. She merely exhaled, slow and measured, as if deciding how much she was willing to say.

"And yet," Batman continued, "you were fine with me raising Damian?"

That made her smile, but there was no warmth in it.

"I wasn’t fine with it," she corrected. "I made the choice."

Batman’s frown deepened.

"Explain."

Soula hummed softly, tapping her fingers against the railing. "You think Talia sent Damian to you simply because she wanted you two to bond? Because she thought he needed his father?" She let out a quiet laugh. "No. That was my idea."

His stomach twisted.

"Your idea?"

Soula nodded. "I couldn’t do it myself."

"Why?"

She finally turned toward him, her expression unreadable. "Because of what I did to Ra’s with the Pits," she said simply. "Because when Talia sent Damian to you, it had consequences for me."

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

"What consequences?"

"I was left injured," Soula answered without hesitation. "For years, I could barely function, let alone keep him safe. I knew Ra’s would come for me—would try to erase me while I was still weak."

She shrugged, as if that truth wasn’t devastating. "So I made the call. Damian would be safer with you while I handled everything in the background."

The weight of that admission pressed into Bruce’s chest, suffocating.

Damian, still listening on the comms, took in a sharp, shaky breath.

"You never told me that," his voice crackled in Bruce’s earpiece, quieter than usual.

"It wasn’t relevant," Soula said simply.

Bruce felt something in his chest tighten. The clinical detachment in her tone—like it was all just another calculated decision—reminded him too much of himself.

She had known.

She had known she wouldn’t be able to protect her brother in her condition. She had known she couldn’t keep him safe from the League, from Ra’s, from the life she had already chosen to escape.

So, she let him go.

And she had trusted him—of all people.

That realization gutted him.

Because deep down, he knew he hadn’t been worthy of that trust.

He had failed them all.

His children. His partners. His allies. Every single one of them had been caught in the wreckage of his war, burned by the mistakes he refused to acknowledge.

And now, here she was, staring at him like she already knew.

Like she had always known.

Bruce swallowed hard, forcing his voice even. Controlled.

"Why didn’t you come with him?"

Soula laughed.

Not amused. Not mocking.

No—this was dry. Hollow. Pitying.

"Because I find you pathetic."

The words landed like a blow.

Bruce stiffened.

"Excuse me?"

She turned to him fully, red eyes studying him with something almost contemptuous.

"For all of your strengths as a superhero, you make for a terrible father."

It shouldn’t have hurt.

He had been called worse.

But this—this cut.

The comms were silent. No one spoke.

She took another step forward.

"You always make the same mistakes," she continued, voice steady. "And every time, you tell yourself that next time, you’ll do better. That you’ll fix it."

Her gaze sharpened, piercing through him like she could see the cracks in his foundation.

"But you don’t."

Bruce clenched his fists.

She was lying.

She had to be lying.

But no one was arguing with her.

Dick. Jason. Tim. Duke. Cass. Barbara. Even Damian.

No one spoke.

Because they knew.

Because she was right

The comms went silent.

Bruce clenched his fists.

Soula took a slow step forward.

"You stole something from Dick," she said.

Bruce didn’t move, but his breath hitched.

"Robin was his," she continued, her voice unwavering. "But you decided you had the right to pass it down. To make his name the title of a sidekick. Like it was yours to give."

Bruce exhaled sharply. "Robin is a legacy—"

"It wasn’t yours to decide," she cut in sharply.

The silence after that was suffocating.

"And Tim," Soula continued, her tone almost conversational.

Bruce went still.

"Tim was everything you could have ever wanted as Robin. Everything you claimed you needed. "

A perfect soldier. A perfect strategist. A boy who threw away his childhood for the mission.

"But of course," Soula mused, "you were lost in the time stream."

Bruce barely resisted the urge to flinch.

"So, tell me—did you ever even consider him family?"

Tim was quiet on the comms.

Too quiet.

Bruce opened his mouth—but before he could say anything, Soula’s smile twisted.

"You didn’t even believe him when Damian tried to kill him."

His stomach dropped.

Tim still didn’t speak.

"Did any of you?"

Silence.

Bruce’s mind reeled, grasping for memories—Tim had always downplayed it, and Bruce had been gone at the time—

"Did you know Damian was going to run away?" Soula asked, tilting her head.

Damian hesitated.

Soula smirked.

"Because I did."

The comms crackled.

"I was coming back for him."

Jason swore under his breath.

Bruce exhaled sharply.

"You don’t get to act surprised," Soula continued smoothly. "Because even when he saved your life—when he dragged you back from the time stream—Ra’s still got his hands on him."

Her voice went sharp.

"And none of you knew."

Bruce stilled.

"None of you even noticed."

Tim finally spoke.

"Soula."

She looked at him through the comms.

Tim took a breath.

"They don’t need to know about that."

Bruce’s stomach turned.

Because he didn’t know.

And neither did Dick. Or Jason. Or anyone.

Soula grinned.

"Oh?" she mused. "You mean how you lost your spleen?"

Silence.

A sharp, suffocating silence.

Bruce felt sick.

Soula sighed, shaking her head.

"Then again," she said lightly, "Dick was going to throw Tim in Arkham."

Dick flinched.

"The same way Bruce did to Jason."

Jason’s teeth ground together.

"Like a dog that needed to be put down."

Bruce breathed in sharply.

Soula exhaled slowly.

"Learned behavior."

A deep, crushing silence filled Bruce’s mind.

Soula tilted her head, considering him, before speaking again.

"And Jason."

Bruce barely contained his reaction, but something inside him twisted.

Soula’s voice softened, but it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t kind.

"He could have been anything."

For the first time, her voice wavered.

Bruce watched as her gaze drifted—no longer locked onto him, but somewhere else, somewhere distant. Somewhere Jason should have been.

"He was smart. Athletic. Charismatic."

She let the words hang in the air, like she wanted him to feel the weight of them.

"A kid with the potential to be great—anything—but you?"

Her gaze snapped back to him, sharper than a blade. Colder than ever.

"You think dressing up like a bat is the only way to deal with trauma."

Bruce inhaled, but it wasn’t steady.

His fingers twitched at his sides, curling into fists.

"Because you’re still that child in the alleyway."

His chest ached.

"You think you’re the only person in the world to lose their parents?" Soula asked, voice even.

Bruce’s jaw locked, but he didn’t respond.

"You’re not."

She took a step forward, like she was driving the words deeper.

"The difference is that others learn to live with their grief. They deal with it. They grow."

Her next words were soft. Almost pitying.

"But you?"

A pause.

"You refuse to change."

And that—

That was what killed him.

Because deep, deep down, he knew—

She was right.

And he hated her for saying it.

Hated that she saw through him so easily.

Hated that his children—who were still listening on the comms—were silent.

Because they knew it, too.

Because every single one of them had suffered for his mistakes.

And he had never—never—been brave enough to admit it.

Chapter Text

The Wayne Manor was a mess.

Not in the physical sense Alfred would never allow that but emotionally, it was disastrous .

Tension clung to the air like smoke, and no one wanted to be the first to break it.

Ever since Batman’s meeting with Soula, things had been… different . No one had tried reaching out to her. No one had even mentioned her. But her words hadn’t left them.

And now, with Damian’s birthday looming over them, emotions were running even higher .

Which was exactly why Dick had taken it upon himself to get Damian out of the house.

Even if it meant forcing him

"C’mon, demon brat," Dick said cheerfully, tossing an arm around Damian’s shoulders as they walked toward his car. "It’s your birthday! We’re going out, just you and me."

Damian scowled, clearly unamused. "I fail to see why I need to leave the house."

"Because," Dick said, opening the passenger door for him. "Everyone’s busy setting up for your totally unexpected surprise party."

Damian gave him a flat look. "Soula already informed me about it."

"And we’re still pretending it’s a surprise!" Dick grinned. "Now, get in."

Damian crossed his arms. "You forced me to come with you."

"Yep," Dick said cheerfully, patting his back and physically guiding him into the seat. "Because if I didn’t, you’d be lurking around the manor, making things awkward."

"I do not lurk."

"You definitely lurk."

Damian huffed but didn’t argue.

Dick shut the door, jogging over to the driver’s side before pulling out of the driveway.

He could already tell this was going to be difficult.

Normally, birthdays in the Wayne household were chaotic, but this?

This was different.

Bruce had barely spoken to anyone since his encounter with Soula. Jason had disappeared last night and hadn’t checked in yet. Tim looked like he was on the verge of losing it, probably from overthinking everything. Cass was quiet. Stephanie was trying to keep things light, but even she wasn’t immune to the tension.

And Damian…

Damian was holding onto something.

Dick could tell.

He just didn’t know what.

"Alright, birthday boy," Dick said, forcing his usual grin. "Where to first? Ice cream? The arcade? Ooo, we could hit up the pet store and let you pick out a new animal—"

"Grayson." Damian cut him off, deadpan. "I am not a child."

"You are a child."

"I am fifteen."

"Which is literally still a child."

Damian exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I refuse to spend my day being dragged around to childish events."

"So, that’s a no on the bouncy house?"

Damian glared.

Dick just laughed.

"Fine, fine. No bouncy house," he relented. "But we are going to do something, because you deserve a good birthday."

Damian turned his head toward the window. "You don’t have to force it."

Dick blinked at that, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly.

"What?"

"This attempt to cheer me up." Damian’s voice was quieter now. "I know what’s happening back at the manor."

Dick felt something in his stomach twist.

Of course he did.

Damian wasn’t stupid.

He knew how much last night had shaken everyone. He knew the words Soula had left lingering in their heads.

And the worst part?

She hadn’t been wrong.

"Yeah," Dick admitted, his voice softer. "I know you know."

Damian didn’t respond.

Dick glanced at him briefly before exhaling. "Look—I get it. Things are kinda rough right now. Everyone’s dealing with… a lot."

Damian’s hands curled into fists.

Dick hesitated before continuing.

"But today? Today’s your day, Dames. You shouldn’t have to deal with all this crap today."

Damian frowned slightly, but his posture relaxed just the tiniest bit.

Dick smiled, nudging him playfully. "So, what do you say? Let me spoil you for a bit?"

Damian sighed.

"Fine."

Dick grinned.

The car ride had settled into a comfortable silence, the tension from earlier now simmering rather than boiling over. Dick let it linger for a bit, allowing Damian to relax. It was his birthday, after all. But eventually, curiosity won out.

"So… tell me about Soula."

Damian tensed ever so slightly.

"What do you wish to know?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"Anything," Dick said. "Not the scary, mysterious, probably-a-cult-leader stuff we just found out. I mean… what was she like? Who was she to you?"

Damian didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked out the window, his expression unreadable.

For a second, Dick thought he wasn’t going to answer at all.

Then—

"Memorable."

Dick blinked. "That’s it? Just memorable?Not perfect?"

Damian exhaled slowly. "She would hate that word."

"What? Memorable?"

"No." Damian’s fingers tapped against his knee absentmindedly. "Perfect."

Dick frowned slightly. "Why?"

"Because to her, perfection is… a straight line." Damian’s voice was quiet. "Everything in its place, nothing deviating, nothing changing. That is perfection. And she despised it."

Dick tilted his head, thinking that over. "Huh."

Damian continued before he could say anything else.

"She was always there," he admitted. "She never… left me behind. Never abandoned me. Her love was uncontainable—unconditional. She was everything you did not want in the League of Assassins."

Dick listened carefully, sensing the weight behind his words.

"She questioned everything," Damian continued. "Always. And for that, she was punished. Over and over again."

Dick frowned. "Punished how?"

Damian’s eyes darkened. "However they saw fit."

Dick clenched his jaw.

He could guess what that meant.

"And still," Damian went on, "she never stopped. Because she was right. She was always right. Her arguments were logical, truthful. She did not lie. She could deflect. She could withhold. But she never once lied to me."

His voice softened.

"She was everything you would think freedom looks like."

Dick felt something twist in his chest at that.

"She was proficient in many forms of combat," Damian continued, his voice steadier now. "But she favored firearms above all else. She always protected me. Even when I didn’t need it."

There was a pause.

Then—

"She taught me more than anyone else ever did."

Dick glanced at him. "She was a great sister, huh?"

Damian hesitated.

Dick caught it immediately.

"Or… a mother?" he said gently.

Damian didn’t argue.

And that silence said more than words ever could.

Chapter Text

The manor was buzzing with activity, but there was something wrong . Clark could feel it the moment he stepped inside.

It wasn't anything obvious—no shouting, no chaos. But the tension in the air was thick, pressing down on the Wayne family like a storm cloud about to break.

He glanced around. Alfred was busy in the kitchen, his movements precise but tight , like he was focusing too hard on each task. Tim had dark circles under his eyes, more than usual, and was nursing a coffee like it was the only thing keeping him standing. Duke looked deep in thought, his usual warmth dimmed, and Cass was sitting in the corner, staring at nothing, her fingers twitching like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Clark narrowed his eyes. Something happened.

Lois and Jon had already stepped further inside, greeting Alfred and the others, but Clark was in investigation mode now.

He moved carefully, scanning for the usual suspects.

Dick and Damian weren’t here yet. Jason was arriving with Colin Wilkes, Clark saw Jon greet Colin at the door. The two boys immediately fell into easy conversation while Jason trailed behind them, looking rough .

Clark frowned. Rougher than usual.

That was enough confirmation and he needed to find Bruce.

He found him in the Batcave.

Bruce was seated at the Batcomputer, bathed in the pale blue glow of the monitors. His expression was unreadable, but his posture tense, hunched ever so slightly forward gave him away.

Clark approached quietly, then glanced at the screens.

A familiar face stared back at him.

A young woman, red-eyed, dark-haired, standing in front of a sold-out stadium, violin in hand, bathed in golden light.

Clark tilted his head. That’s… Soula?

He had heard about her, of course. Lois had mentioned her in passing a rising pop sensation, a multi-talented artist who had been making waves in the industry. The girl had an almost magnetic presence, a way of captivating crowds that was rare, even in the entertainment world.

But why was Bruce looking at her like that?

"Is she connected to a case?" Clark asked.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately.

His fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the console.

Clark frowned. That’s not a good sign.

"Bruce?" he pressed.

Still, silence.

"She’s my daughter."

Clark blinked.

He was rarely caught off guard, but that—that did it.

"What?"

The soft whoosh of the Zeta-Tube filled the Batcave.

Clark turned just in time to see a group materialize onto the platform bright colors and youthful energy immediately clashing with the dark, brooding atmosphere of the cave.

Koriand’r, Raven, Garfield, Jaime, and a handful of others Damian’s friends, his team. The Teen Titans.

"Yo, where’s the birthday brat?!" Garfield’s voice rang out as he stretched his arms above his head, his fanged grin wide and playful.

"I still do not understand why we are 'surprising' him when he probably already knows," Raven said dryly, crossing her arms as she floated just slightly off the ground.

"Because it is a celebration!" Kori beamed, hovering next to her. "And we must be joyous in our dear friend Damian’s growth!"

Jaime glanced around, blinking at the heavy tech surrounding them. "Damn… I forgot how intense this place is."

Clark barely had time to react before Alfred, who had somehow appeared out of nowhere, stepped in with perfect poise.

"Ah, yes, welcome, Titans," Alfred said smoothly. "Master Damian is currently out with Master Richard. However, the party is still very much underway upstairs. If you’ll follow me—"

Clark, sensing where this was going, quickly stepped in.

"Why don’t we move this up to the manor? The Batcave isn’t exactly party-friendly."

He placed a firm hand on Garfield’s back and nudged him toward the exit. The others, sensing that something was off, followed without much protest—though Raven gave him a sharp, knowing look before floating past.

Within seconds, they were gone, leaving Clark and Bruce alone again.

"Alright," Clark exhaled, turning back to Bruce. "Now talk to me."

Bruce didn’t immediately respond.

His eyes lingered on the now-empty Zeta platform, shoulders tense.

"Bruce," Clark pressed. "How long have you known?"

A beat of silence.

"A week."

Clark blinked. A week?

"Where has she been?"

"Hiding."

Clark narrowed his eyes. Hiding? That didn’t make sense. Someone like Soula( rising global star) wasn't the type to hide.

"Why is she here now?"

Bruce’s jaw tightened. "She came for Damian."

Clark frowned. "Came for him?"

"She’s been watching him for years. Waiting for him to decide what he wants."

That revelation hit Clark harder than he expected. Soula had known about Damian all this time? She had chosen to stay away?

"Bruce…" Clark hesitated, then exhaled. "I have to be honest, I never would have guessed she was yours. She looks nothing like you."

Bruce’s fingers twitched at the console.

"She takes after her mother," he admitted.

Clark already knew the answer before he asked. "Who’s the mom?"

Bruce’s voice was flat. "Talia."

Clark inhaled sharply.

Another child. Another child of Bruce and Talia.

Damian was no longer the only blood son.

"Does Damian know?"

"Yes."

Clark’s brows furrowed. "And that doesn’t bother him?"

Bruce turned his head slightly toward him.

"Damian knew before I did."

That stopped Clark in his tracks.

"What?"

Bruce didn’t elaborate, but that truth alone sat heavy between them. Damian had known all along.

Clark let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Bruce… how do you feel about all this?"

Silence.

Clark waited.

Bruce said nothing.

That was all the answer Clark needed.

"Have you met her yet?" he asked.

Bruce’s fingers curled slightly on the console.

"Yes."

"And?"

Bruce was still silent.

Clark studied him.

Bruce not having an immediate answer was… unusual. No, more than unusual—it was wrong. Bruce always had an answer. Always had a contingency, a plan, a strategy.

But now, he was hesitating.

And that hesitation told Clark everything.

"Bruce… what happened?"

Finally, after a long pause, Bruce spoke.

"She finds me pathetic."

Clark’s brows shot up.

"Excuse me?"

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line. "She’s known about me for years. She chose never to meet me. She has no interest in a father."

That shouldn’t have been surprising. Not after everything Bruce had been through with Talia, not after everything with Damian.

But still something about hearing it made it feel different.

Clark exhaled. "And now she wants to take Damian with her."

Bruce didn’t answer.

Because they both knew it was true.

And, for the first time in a long time…

Bruce didn’t know what to do.

The cave was suffocatingly quiet.

Bruce was still staring at the screen, at her—Soula, the daughter he never knew, the one who found him pathetic, the one who now threatened to take Damian from him.

Clark sighed, but before he could say anything else—

"Master Bruce, Master Kent," Alfred’s voice cut in through the comms. "The guests are gathering. Might I suggest you both rejoin the party before another cake disaster occurs?"

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Another?"

"Master Duke attempted to assist in icing the cake," Alfred said smoothly. "It has been… rectified."

Bruce exhaled sharply through his nose, standing.

"Let’s go," was all he said before making his way toward the manor.

Clark followed, shaking his head with a small smile. The Waynes could never have a normal night.

Chapter Text

The moment Bruce stepped into the main hall, he was hit with a wall of noise.

The manor was a madhouse.

Balloons and decorations hung from the grand chandeliers, filling the space with an almost obnoxiously festive air. Music pumped through hidden speakers—probably controlled by Barbara or Tim.

The Titans had fully integrated into the chaos, Garfield already shifting between different animals to entertain guests, while Raven stood near the dessert table, likely questioning all of her life choices.

Alfred was moving gracefully through the crowd, somehow managing to balance multiple trays of refreshments without missing a beat.

Jon had reunited with Colin near the doorway, both excitedly greeting other guests as they arrived.

And then—

"We’re back."

Bruce turned just in time to see Dick and Damian step inside.

Damian barely looked fazed.

"Huh," Dick mused, glancing around at the decorations. "Y'know, even knowing about it, this is still kind of impressive."

"Tt. Predictable," Damian huffed, but even so, his sharp green eyes scanned the room, subtly taking in every detail.

Bruce watched, his grip tightening slightly. Damian was looking for her.

For Soula.

She wasn’t here. Yet.

The lights dimmed .

A hush fell over the room.

A single spotlight flickered on, casting its glow on the grand staircase at the front of the manor.

A violin began to play.

It started soft—gentle notes filling the air, delicate and controlled.

And then—

The music swelled.

The melody was masterful , winding through the room like a living thing, commanding attention without needing words. It was haunting and beautiful, layered with an intensity that felt almost otherworldly .

And then— she appeared.

Descending the staircase like she owned the room .

Soula.

She moved with effortless grace, the violin resting against her shoulder as she played—completely unbothered by the dozens of eyes now locked onto her.

Her presence was electric.

No elaborate introduction, no words—just music .

And it was for Damian .

Everyone could feel it.

The bond in every note, the emotions woven into each sound. This wasn’t just a performance—this was a gift . A gift only she could give.

Damian stood frozen, his face carefully blank—but Bruce saw it.

The way his hands curled slightly at his sides.

The way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

The way his eyes—so sharp, so guarded—softened.

The piece ended, the final note lingering in the silence.

And then—she lowered the violin.

"Happy Birthday, little brother."

Soula’s voice was smooth, steady.

she smiled .

It was small. Subtle. But real .

Damian inhaled sharply.

The room was silent.

And then— applause erupted .

The Titans were the first, followed by the rest of the guests—some clapping, some outright cheering.

Even Koriand’r let out a delighted exclamation.

But Bruce?

Bruce was staring.

Because Soula—this enigma of a woman, this impossible, untouchable person—had just walked into his home and stolen all the air from the room.

And she wasn’t finished.

—-

For most of the evening, the party stayed exactly that—a party .

The petting zoo was a massive success.

Damian, predictably, acted as if he weren’t thrilled to be surrounded by animals, but everyone could see the rare, genuine contentment in his expression as he moved through the small enclosures, hand-feeding goats, calmly stroking a falcon’s feathers, and, at one point, outright refusing to give a tiny black kitten back to its handler.

Soula, standing off to the side, smirked as she watched.

"You should just take the kitten, little brother," she mused. "You’ve already named it, haven’t you?"

Damian scoffed, still petting the tiny creature. "That is an absurd assumption."

Soula raised a brow, amused. "Oh? Then what’s its name?"

Damian stiffened slightly. "…That is irrelevant."

Dick snorted, arms crossed as he watched them. "He’s definitely naming it."

Tim smirked. "Oh, definitely."

Stephanie grinned. "I hope it’s something edgy, like ‘Vengeance’ or ‘Darkness.’"

"Tt."

Damian didn’t confirm or deny.

But then—

"So," Soula mused, tilting her head, "when are you going to confess to Raven?"

Damian choked .

His entire body seized , and if Soula hadn’t stepped back in time, she would have gotten a goat to the foot as Damian stumbled.

Dick immediately cackled .

"Oh my God—"

Tim’s eyes lit up .

"Wait. Wait. Damian has a crush on—"

"Enough," Damian snapped, ears burning, "all of you are insufferable—"

Garfield gasped loudly from a few feet away. "Bro. Dude. You’re crushing on Rae?"

Raven, across the yard, froze .

All heads turned.

Damian genuinely considered dying on the spot.

And Soula?

Soula beamed .

"Oh," she hummed, watching the horror dawn on his face, "this is fun."

—-

By the time the sun had set, and guests began preparing to leave, the party had felt— normal .

Or, as normal as a Wayne party could be.

Sure, there was still tension.

Soula’s presence alone was a constant, unspoken weight hanging over the family.

But nothing had happened .

Not yet.

It was only one comment —offhanded, almost thoughtless, as someone approached Soula near the drink table.

"You know," they mused, swirling their glass, "for someone with such a reputation, I expected you to be more… dramatic."

It was condescending. A veiled jab.

But Soula?

She didn’t react .

Didn’t tense. Didn’t frown. Didn’t snap back .

She simply tilted her head, red eyes unreadable.

"Oh?"

That was all.

A single, neutral response.

And yet—

The tension in the room shifted.

Because the Waynes noticed.

They had spent years in Gotham’s elite circles, surrounded by masks and falsities, by veiled insults and social maneuvers— they knew what was happening .

And Soula—who had been trained in the League, who had been raised in shadows and deception—was not taking the bait.

She was watching .

Letting them think they were in control.

And that was when Tim blurted it out.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, not even looking up from his phone, "she’ll have plenty of time to be dramatic once she takes Damian with her."

The room stopped.

A pause.

A heavy, deafening silence.

Then—

"What?!"

It was instant .

The noise erupted—questions, accusations, confusion.

"Damian’s leaving?!"

"Since when?!"

"Wait, wait, where the hell is he going?!"

"With her?!"

It spiraled fast .

More guests turned, conversations bleeding into each other—people were asking questions , demanding answers .

The Titans, especially, were thrown .

"You’re leaving?" Garfield asked, brows furrowed. "Dude—why didn’t you say anything?"

Raven’s gaze snapped to Damian, sharp and searching.

"Is this true?" Koriand’r questioned, concerned.

Jon looked utterly shocked , glancing between Damian and Soula.

"Damian?"

Dick and Jason immediately turned to Tim.

"What the hell, Tim—"

"Why would you just say that—"

"Because it’s true!" Tim snapped, suddenly defensive. "What, are we just not going to acknowledge it? Are we supposed to pretend this isn’t happening?"

Stephanie put her hands up. "Okay, wait, wait—can we just—can we just back up a second?"*

Cassandra—silent, but perceptive—watched both Damian and Soula closely.

Neither spoke.

Neither reacted.

They were waiting .

Observing.

And that?

That made the family even angrier .

"You’re really just gonna stand there?!"

Jason’s voice, sharp with frustration.

"You’re not even gonna deny it?"

Bruce was silent.

Still.

Clark, standing beside him, glanced at him carefully.

"Bruce," he muttered, "say something."

But Bruce—

Bruce was staring.

Because for all the chaos , all the noise, all the demands —

Damian and Soula remained unmoving.

They weren’t defensive .

Weren’t arguing.

They were just—

Waiting .

Letting it burn out .

Like they expected this .

Like they had already decided .

And Bruce?

Bruce hated that.

Because it meant—

It meant he might already be too late .

And then—

The front doors swung open.

And Talia al Ghul stepped inside.

Because of course the night could get worse .