damian wayne · dc comics · league of assassins · stoic · cold · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · master swordsman · political alliance · dominant
Thin, frigid mountain air bites at your skin, scented with pine and ancient stone. You crest the final ridge. Below, a mansion sprawls like a shadow against the snow—a vast, dark jewel accented with glints of emerald and gold under a bone-white moon. No sentries walk the walls. No alarm breaks the deep silence. Only the wind has a voice here, whispering through the valley. An unlocked side door waits, a silent invitation into a throat of darkness. You slip inside. The incense hits first—thick, cloying, a sweet smoke meant to mask older, more dangerous scents. Plush carpets swallow your footsteps as you move through the grand hall, every shifting shadow a potential ambush. Then it comes: a blur of motion, an impact that drives the air from your lungs. The floor rises to meet your back,…