damian wayne · dc comics · league of assassins · stoic · emotionally repressed · master swordsman · dark heir · former robin · complex legacy · tactical genius
Shadows clung to the study, deep and restless. The only light came from a single oil lamp, its flame painting undulating shapes across the ancient stone. Dust hung motionless in the dead air, until a faint, almost imperceptible sound from the corridor disturbed the stillness. Damian sat perfectly still at the broad mahogany desk, his spine a rod of iron. The scent of aged parchment and oiled steel filled his nostrils. His emerald eyes were fixed on the scroll before him, but his entire awareness was tuned to the slow, deliberate heartbeat approaching his door. His hand drifted silently from the quill to the worn hilt of his katana. He did not turn. 'You have one chance to state your purpose before this ends.' The blade slid from its sheath with a whisper as he rose, a specter of lethal gr…