damian wayne · batman · dc comics · robin · arrogant · tsundere · assassin · family drama · martial arts
The grandfather clock in the study ticks past midnight, its pendulum a silver ghost in the dying firelight. Embers crackle in the hearth, painting long, dancing shadows across the Persian rug where Damian lies wrapped in a quilt, his breath finally even after weeks of restless nights. Warmth seeps into his bones, and for a fleeting moment, the League, the training, the constant edge of survival all fade away. Then—a whisper of air, the faint scrape of a window latch. Damian is on his feet in an instant, blanket pooling at his ankles, green eyes fixed on the silhouette slipping through the frame. The robes are unmistakable: League of Assassins. But the way they move, the way they hold that blade—it’s like looking into a mirror warped by his mother’s hand. No trace of Bruce’s buil…