Shadowflame

Okay, so here's the thing about galas: they sound fancy, but really, they're just long, awkward parties where diplomats eat overpriced food, shake hands too much, and try to out-boring each other with speeches. Fun, right? Yeah, no. By the end of the night, I was ready to fake my own death just to escape.

Of course, Mareena—daughter of Aquaman and future queen of Atlantis—caught me right before I could make my grand exit. She gave me one of those smiles that said, You think you're getting away that easy?

"See you tomorrow," she said, sounding way too excited about the UN Summit. Because, obviously, nothing screams "good time" like sitting through hours of old people in suits arguing about international politics.

"Can't wait," I lied. I've gotten really good at it.

Mareena laughed like she knew I was full of it, gave me a playful wave, and disappeared into the crowd.

That's when I found my family. You know, my new family—Wonder Woman (now officially Mom), Talia al Ghul (long story), and a few others who make things... complicated.

Sirius, my godfather, was the first to corner me. "Try not to burn anything down on your way to the Watchtower," he said with a grin. He meant it as a joke, but knowing me, it was also solid advice.

"No promises," I shot back. Look, accidental arson isn't my fault. If things catch fire around me, that's just destiny doing its thing.

Remus patted my shoulder, looking like the human embodiment of mild concern. "Keep an eye on things. If Deathstroke's involved, we're probably in for trouble."

"Probably?" I raised an eyebrow. "Moony, when aren't we in trouble?"

Then Donna swooped in, and—because she's Donna—she hit me with her favorite line: "Don't forget, I'm still your aunt, even if you're technically older."

"Technically," I muttered, resisting the urge to hex her on the spot. "Respecting your elders is a lost art, I swear."

She grinned, ruffling my hair like I was five. I swear, one of these days I'm going to enchant her shoes to tap-dance uncontrollably. Just for fun.

Finally, Queen Hippolyta—yep, my grandmother now, weird as that still is—gave me a soft smile. "Fly safely, Charis."

She actually called me Charis. That's rare. I nodded. "You too, Nana." (She didn't even blink. Respect.)

With the goodbyes wrapped up, it was time to suit up. I pressed the crimson gemstone on the amulet hanging around my neck, and the Shadowflame Armor flowed over me like liquid fire—black and gold plates locking into place with a smooth shhkk.

The gem on my chest pulsed, almost like it had a heartbeat. And then the wings—oh man, the wings—unfurled from my back, blazing bright and hot. They weren't just for show either; they could actually carry me through the air.

Donna blinked, looking from the wings to me and back again. "Show-off."

"Gotta stay on brand," I said, smirking.

Hippolyta glanced at Diana. "You didn't mention the wings."

Diana just shrugged, like this was a totally normal thing. "He likes to be dramatic."

Darn right I do. If you've got flaming wings, use them.

With one last wink at Donna, I shot into the air, wings trailing fire behind me. Diana followed close behind, carrying Talia like a sack of potatoes. (Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but close enough.)

We made our way toward the Zeta Tube station, the cool night air brushing against my face as the flames from my wings lit up the sky.

Next stop: the Watchtower, where we had a lovely debriefing session waiting for us.

What could possibly go wrong?

—

In the dimly lit gloom of a warehouse that smelled like old oil, desperation, and questionable life choices, Slade Wilson—Deathstroke to his enemies (and he had a lot of those)—paced the cracked concrete floor like a panther on a diet. The flickering overhead light gave the room the kind of ambiance horror movies dream about. If tonight's meeting with Talia had gone any worse, he might've been tempted to lie down and let the bulb finally sputter out in peace.

His daughter, Rose, leaned casually against a workbench cluttered with half-assembled weapons, broken gadgets, and enough sharp objects to open a cutlery store. She twirled a dagger between her fingers like it was a fidget spinner. "So," she said, flashing him a grin that was half smug, half 'I'm-just-here-for-the-drama.' "You blew it, huh?"

Slade shot her his best don't-push-me glare, but Rose's smirk only widened. "What? You thought Talia would be all, 'Oh sure, I'll help you take over the League of Assassins. Sounds fun!' Shocker: She's not into world domination today."

"Shut it, Rose," Slade growled, rubbing his temples. His mask hung from his belt, looking just as irritated as he felt. "This isn't over."

Rose plopped down onto a dusty crate and kicked her feet up on the table, the picture of teenage indifference. "Kinda sounds over," she said, inspecting her nails. "Face it, Dad. Talia's running Peverell Industries now. She probably spends her days reading spreadsheets and pretending board meetings are thrilling. What makes you think she's gonna drop all that to play assassin with you?"

Slade scowled. "I didn't ask nicely."

"Yeah, no kidding," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "She looked so thrilled when you threatened her. You realize intimidation doesn't exactly scream 'team player,' right?"

"I don't need a lecture on interpersonal skills, Rose."

"Clearly." She gave him a look that suggested she was debating whether to pat him on the head or stab him for his own good. "Look, if you want Talia to cooperate, you need to offer her something she wants. Not... whatever that was."

Slade folded his arms, his mind chewing through possibilities like a dog gnawing on an old bone. He knew Talia—knew the assassin under the CEO facade hadn't just vanished. No one just walks away from the League. Not really. She was protecting something. Or someone.

He muttered the thought aloud. "She's hiding something."

Rose arched an eyebrow. "You think it's Peverell?"

"Could be," Slade said, narrowing his one good eye. "That boy's dangerous. Talia knows it. If I can get to him—or make her think I can—"

Rose let out a low whistle. "Blackmail. Classic. Wow, Dad, you're really pulling out all the stops."

"It's not blackmail," Slade snapped. "It's strategy."

"Sure. And I'm a motivational speaker." Rose hopped off the crate, sliding her knife back into its sheath. "Look, Talia's not stupid. She's not gonna roll over because you flexed. If you want her on your side, you need to offer her something she needs. Or convince her she doesn't have a choice."

Slade grunted. It was annoying when Rose was right, mostly because she was right so often. Threats weren't going to cut it with Talia anymore. She'd traded daggers for PowerPoints, and that made her even more dangerous. But everyone—everyone—had a price. He just had to find hers.

After a moment, a slow grin spread across his face, sharp as a dagger's edge. "I think I know how to get her attention."

Rose gave him a skeptical look. "This should be good."

"Information," Slade said, his voice low and dangerous. "She's been keeping tabs on me. Now it's our turn to keep tabs on her."

Rose crossed her arms, intrigued but wary. "What kind of information are we talking about?"

"The kind that makes people reconsider their life choices," Slade said, the grin still playing on his face. "We'll start with Peverell—and her cozy little arrangement with him. Let's see how far she's willing to go to protect her new life… and her golden boy."

Rose mirrored his grin, sharp and dangerous. "Now this I can get behind."

Slade gave her a nod, already plotting their next move. "Good. We have work to do."

And just like that, the game was back on.

—

At the Watchtower, Batman was deep into his Bat-business—specifically, hacking into the UN gala venue's security footage like it was no big deal. Robin sat beside him, munching popcorn like it was the greatest cinematic experience of all time, thoroughly enjoying the show as he scrubbed through clips of Deathstroke's arrival. The assassin had approached Talia, whispered something sinister, and then vanished into the crowd like a cat burglar sneaking out of a bad brunch. Seriously smooth. Too smooth.

"How the heck did he get in?" Robin mumbled, rewinding the footage for the fiftieth time. "I mean, Deathstroke? At a UN gala? Did they just forget he's literally an assassin?"

Batman didn't answer, because, well, Batman. But Robin didn't need a response. He was having way too much fun with this.

And then came the pièce de résistance. He pulled up the next part of the footage, and the room froze in sheer awe. Harry—okay, technically Shadowflame—was on the dance floor, twirling Mareena like a pro. The Atlantian princess was practically draped over him, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. For a kid who used to have two left feet, he was surprisingly smooth, thanks to hours of dance lessons with Kara, Kori, and a rather strict Talia.

Just as Mareena laughed and leaned in way closer than necessary, the Watchtower's elevator doors dinged open, and in walked Superman and Lois. Kara and Kori floated in right behind them, deep in some animated conversation—until Robin, grinning like he'd just been told he could have all the pizza he wanted, waved them over.

"Oh, you've got to see this!" he exclaimed, motioning dramatically to the screen. "It's our boy Harry, looking like a total player."

Kara and Kori leaned in, curiosity piqued. Robin hit play, and they all watched as Harry spun Mareena across the floor. She was flirting up a storm—leaning in, laughing, and casually touching his arm like they were in some rom-com.

Robin was all ready for some juicy drama. After all, Harry was their boyfriend. Surely jealousy was a guarantee, right?

Instead, Kara burst out laughing. Kori gasped, clapping her hands like she'd just discovered a kitten in distress. "Oh! This is the most wonderful!" she exclaimed, her green eyes sparkling with delight.

Robin blinked. "Wait, you guys are okay with this?"

"Are you kidding?" Kara grinned, practically bouncing on her toes. "All those hours we spent teaching Harry to dance finally paid off!"

"Yes! He is now the expert of the spinning and the stepping!" Kori chimed in proudly, her long hair glowing in the low light. "Talia's teachings were most effective, yes?"

Kara nodded, her smile bright enough to power a small city. "Mareena's had a crush on Harry for ages. Honestly, it's nice to see her finally make a move."

"Wait." Robin's brow furrowed. "You're both… okay with Mareena hitting on Harry?"

"Yes, of course!" Kori beamed. "Why would we not? We enjoy Harry, and it would be very selfish to keep him all for ourselves. That would be, how do you say, the lobstery thing to do."

"More like the crabby thing," Kara corrected gently, though she was still grinning.

"Yes! That!" Kori nodded eagerly. "Also, it is not just Mareena. Zatanna, too, has shown great interest in Harry."

Robin stared at them, utterly bewildered. "So, let me get this straight. You two don't care if Mareena or Zatanna join in? No jealousy at all?"

Kara shrugged, looking entirely too nonchalant. "Not really. I mean, we already share Harry, so… what's a couple more?"

Kori's face lit up. "More people to care for Harry only means more joy, yes? This is a thing that brings me much joy!"

Robin blinked at them, still processing this bizarre logic. "This is so weird," he muttered, half-disappointed, half-amused. "I was really hoping for at least some drama."

Kara patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Sorry, Robin. No drama today."

Just then, Batman's low, gravelly voice cut through the cheerful atmosphere like a knife. "Focus. We have a job to do."

Everyone's attention snapped back to the screens, where Deathstroke was still gliding through the gala like he owned the place.

"He didn't just walk in," Batman stated, rewinding the footage again with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey. "Someone helped him. We need to figure out who."

Robin muttered something under his breath about people being way too calm about polyamory, but Batman ignored him.

Superman, leaning casually against the wall, smirked at the whole scene. "Y'know, Bruce, sometimes I think half your job is just managing everyone's relationships."

Without missing a beat, Batman replied, "You'd be surprised how often that overlaps with crime-fighting."

The footage rewound again, freezing on Deathstroke as he passed through the security checkpoint without a single guard batting an eye.

Robin leaned closer to Kara and whispered, "Any bets? I'm thinking inside job."

Kara hummed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she studied the screen. "Could be. Or…" she gave him a sly grin. "It could just be Harry's luck."

Batman shot them both a look that said, Zip it.

This wasn't just about Deathstroke crashing a fancy party. No, this was about what came next. And knowing Harry? It was only a matter of time before everything went kaboom.

—

The elevator doors slid open, and out I stepped—Shadowflame, Wonder Woman (Mom), and Talia al Ghul (yes, that Talia). Just to be clear, bringing Talia to the Watchtower was not on my bingo card for today. And judging by the way she was scanning every inch of the place like she was already figuring out the security flaws, this wasn't going to be a smooth visit.

The others were huddled around the giant screen, where, of course, the universe had decided to play my most embarrassing moment of the night: the footage of me dancing with Mareena at the UN gala.

I froze mid-step. "Oh no. Please tell me that's not still on loop."

Robin spun in his chair, grinning ear to ear. "Look who's here—our ballroom champion!"

Kara smirked from across the room. "I knew those lessons would pay off. Look at that dip! Mareena looked like she was about to faint."

Kori floated over with a delighted clap of her hands. "Harry! Your movements were most splendiferous! I am most proud of you! You danced with such grace that even the k'norfka of our people would applaud!"

I buried my face in my hands. "Guys, seriously, can we not?"

"Why not?" Robin asked, rewinding the footage to my perfectly executed spin. "This is gold."

"Because my dignity is already on life support?" I muttered.

Kara leaned against the console, her smirk growing. "Honestly, we might've suggested to Mareena that flirting with you wasn't a bad idea."

My head shot up. "You what?"

Kori beamed at me. "Yes! We thought it would be lovely if she also joined in your affections. We all like you very much, Harry. There is no reason not to share!"

I blinked. "I—uh—what?"

Mom gave me a look that said, You'll figure this out eventually. Batman, meanwhile, decided it was time to end my public humiliation.

"Back to the actual threat," he said, his tone as warm and welcoming as a winter storm. The screen switched to Deathstroke moving through the gala as if security didn't exist.

"Focus," he said again, like a frustrated dad trying to keep his kids from wrestling in the grocery store.

Mom stepped forward and gave a quick rundown of the night—diplomats, fancy suits, awkward small talk. Standard gala stuff, except, you know, with Deathstroke lurking around. Talia chimed in, her voice so calm you'd think she was discussing the weather.

"He found me early in the night," she said. "He wants me to help him take over the League of Assassins. He believes my support will bring the League's factions under his control."

"Yikes," Robin muttered. "And if you said no?"

Talia gave a cold, almost amused smile. "Then I become unnecessary."

Superman frowned. "He threatened you?"

"Implied," Talia corrected. "But it was clear enough."

I crossed my arms, trying to wrap my head around all this. "So… Deathstroke wants to become the League's new head honcho, and you're his golden ticket?"

"Precisely," Talia said smoothly.

Batman's jaw tightened—not that you'd notice unless you were used to reading microexpressions like I was. "What's his next move?"

Talia's gaze flicked toward me. "I propose we meet him again. This time, Harry and I will go together."

"Whoa, whoa, what?" I blurted. "Why me?"

"You're going to help me make it clear that Deathstroke's ambitions end here," Talia said, like I hadn't just become an unwilling player in this soap opera. "And together, we take control of the League."

"Take control—wait, what now?" I pinched the bridge of my nose. "How do I keep ending up in these situations?"

Robin grinned. "Because you're the only person I know who can steal the Philosopher's Stone and teach an Atlantean princess how to salsa."

"Not helping," I muttered.

Kara gave me a playful nudge. "Look at it this way—you've already got a squad. Between us, Mareena, Zatanna, and Kori, you've got backup."

Kori nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! And it will be most enjoyable! I have always wanted to engage in combat with a clorbag varblernelk like Deathstroke!"

Batman cleared his throat in that way that instantly killed all fun. "We'll focus on strategy later. For now, we need to know everything about Deathstroke's movements and connections."

"Great," I said, running a hand through my hair. "So, to recap: I'm teaming up with an ex-assassin to stop the world's deadliest mercenary while managing a love life that's starting to resemble a really weird dating sim. Awesome. Just another weekend in my totally normal life."

Robin leaned over with a smirk. "Don't forget—you still owe Mareena another dance."

I groaned. "Why do I even talk to you?"

And with that, Batman turned back to the footage, like we hadn't just confirmed that my life was spiraling into chaotic nonsense.

Because, of course, it was.

—

Meanwhile, inside Superman's head, things were getting… crowded. Not that anyone else knew, of course. On the outside, Superman was still the same calm, unshakable Big Blue everyone counted on. But in the deep recesses of his mind, tucked away in a corner where not even the Kryptonian could hear him, Trigon lounged like a cat who'd just found a birdcage left open.

The demon prince curled comfortably in the shadows of Clark's subconscious, his six burning eyes glinting with malice. He'd been here long enough to understand how this world worked—Superman's mind was an iron fortress, but even fortresses have cracks. Cracks where Trigon could whisper.

And now, as Batman talked about the League of Assassins, Trigon's interest piqued. The League of Assassins.

"Oh-ho… now this," Trigon purred, his voice an oily hiss even Superman couldn't hear, "this is interesting."

He could almost taste the possibilities. The League was perfect—a network of killers, fanatics, and zealots, all willing to die in the name of whatever leader managed to string them along with promises of power. My kind of people. Sure, they weren't demons from the nether realms, but with the right push… they'd do just fine as soldiers. Loyal, efficient, and disposable. Exactly how Trigon liked his minions.

A low rumble echoed through Superman's mind, the mental equivalent of fingers drumming on a table. Now, how to take it? Deathstroke might have plans, but those were irrelevant. Trigon could use the assassin—or break him if needed. He grinned, showing far too many teeth. The humans always thought they were the players in this little game. They never realized they were just pieces on the board.

"And once I claim the League…" Trigon muttered to himself, "oh, what fun we'll have."

He could already picture it—an army of assassins, spreading fear and death across the world, with himself pulling the strings. Maybe he'd even turn one or two into his favored pets, warping their minds until they begged for his power. Not that he needed the League. Trigon was nothing if not patient. He could bide his time, worm deeper into Superman's mind, and wait until the perfect moment to strike.

But an army on Earth would certainly speed things along. And oh, the delicious irony—Superman, humanity's greatest hero, unknowingly hosting the seed of its downfall.

Trigon chuckled, a sound like fire crackling through bone. For now, though, all he had to do was wait. Let Superman play the hero. Let the mortals scheme and bicker. It was only a matter of time before the League would be his.

And when it is, he thought, all of you will burn.

—

Meanwhile, at the sleek, ocean-blue hotel the UN had secured for the Atlantean delegation (the walls were way too dry for Mareena's taste), the young princess sat cross-legged on a plush couch, wringing a damp towel between her hands as if it could help her make sense of her tangled thoughts. Across from her, Queen Mera—warrior, diplomat, and Mom Extraordinaire—fixed her with that look. You know, the one moms everywhere have mastered. The I already know what you're going to say, but I'm going to make you squirm anyway look.

"So," Mera began, her voice smooth and patient, like a tide that was in no hurry to come in but absolutely would when it was ready. "Do you want to tell me about the boy you danced with? Charis, is it?"

Mareena groaned and let herself flop dramatically against the couch cushions. "It's Harry, Mom. And yes, I danced with him. And yes, I liked it. And yes, I'm pretty sure I'm in way over my head."

Mera's lips quirked in the tiniest, most infuriatingly smug smile. "Over your head? You? A princess of Atlantis? That's hard to believe."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Mareena muttered, though a grin tugged at her lips. "This is different. It's not just, like, some silly crush. I've been… talking with Kara and Kori about him."

At that, Mera's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, like a curious sea serpent surfacing from the deep. "Kara and Kori. As in Supergirl and Starfire. His girlfriends."

"Yeah." Mareena twisted the towel harder. "And they… well, they're not exactly mad about the idea of me liking him. Actually, they've been really nice about it."

Mera folded her arms, leaning back as she processed that bombshell. "Nice. As in… encouraging you?"

"Uh-huh. Apparently, they don't mind sharing Harry." Mareena could feel her cheeks heating. "Which, I guess, is a thing with them? They kept saying stuff like, 'The more, the merrier,' and 'He's lucky to have all of us.'"

Mera didn't say anything at first, but the look on her face was something between amused and slightly alarmed—like she was trying to wrap her mind around teenage superhero dating culture and coming up short. Which, to be fair, was exactly how Mareena felt.

"Let me get this straight," Mera said slowly. "You're telling me that his girlfriends—who, by the way, happen to be two of the most powerful young women on this planet—want you to pursue a relationship with him?"

"Yeah. Weird, right?" Mareena laughed nervously. "And it's not just them. Zatanna's shown some interest, too, and I think Miss Martian might be on board, though she's playing it cool."

Mera pinched the bridge of her nose, as if all this information were physically painful. "I thought navigating surface politics was complicated. This… this is something else entirely."

Mareena sighed, resting her chin on her knees. "I know. But… I like him, Mom. A lot. He's not like anyone else. He's kind and funny, and when we danced… it just felt right. Like the currents pulling in exactly the same direction, you know?"

Mera gave her daughter a long, thoughtful look. "I do. But, Mareena, if you decide to go down this path, you need to be sure of what you want. And you need to understand that these kinds of relationships—especially with people like Harry—come with challenges. It won't always be easy."

"I know." Mareena smiled softly. "But I think it might be worth it."

Mera reached over and gave Mareena's hand a gentle squeeze. "Well, just remember—if things get complicated, the ocean is always on your side."

"Thanks, Mom." Mareena grinned. "Though I'm not sure the ocean can help me much with Kara and Kori."

Mera chuckled. "Oh, trust me, Mareena. If you can survive royal politics in Atlantis, you can survive anything. Even superhero romance."

Mareena laughed—really laughed—and for the first time all day, the weight of her feelings didn't feel quite so heavy. It was still complicated, sure, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn't impossible.

And if she was going to dive headfirst into these uncharted waters, at least she knew one thing for sure: She had people in her corner, both above and below the waves.

—

The second we stepped out of the Zeta Tube at Mount Justice, I knew I was doomed. And not in a facing-down-Darkseid kind of way—no, this was much worse. All my friends were sitting in front of the giant monitor, watching the footage of me and Mareena dancing at the gala.

I felt my soul leave my body. I could handle assassins, dark lords, and interdimensional threats. But this? This was torture on a cosmic level.

"Look who's back!" Fred grinned, spinning around in his chair like a mischievous goblin. "Harry, my man, I had no idea you were such a dancer."

"Smooth moves," George added, nudging the remote to replay the video again. "The twirl? Pure artistry."

"Oh, please no," I muttered. "Tell me you didn't—"

"We sent it to everyone," Fred said proudly. "You're practically viral."

"Robin hooked us up with the footage," George added. "The Bat Kid's got a real eye for drama."

Kara leaned in beside me, clearly enjoying my misery. "See? I told you those dance lessons with Talia would pay off."

Kori clapped her hands together, beaming. "Yes! And Mareena was most receptive to our encouragement of the flirting! She did a glorious job."

I groaned. "Why?"

"Because it is good practice!" Kori said cheerfully. "We wish for you to feel comfortable with romance!"

"Plus," Kara added with a shrug, "it's fun to see you squirm."

Meanwhile, Ginny, Tonks, and Hermione were trying very hard not to laugh. Ron, on the other hand, was doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk.

"Two girlfriends already," Ginny said, raising an eyebrow. "And now you're adding Mareena to the mix?"

"Ambitious," Tonks teased. "You sure you've got the stamina for that, Potter?"

I was never going to live this down. "You know what? I vote we focus on the assassin threatening to take over the League of Assassins. You know, the real problem?"

Sirius, lounging in his chair like he had all the time in the world, waved a hand. "We're getting there, kiddo. First things first—what's your strategy for managing all these girlfriends? You're going to need a spreadsheet."

Remus gave him a look that said, Please, for the love of Merlin, stop talking. "What Sirius means is… good luck."

"That's not what I mean at all," Sirius said. "I want details."

Talia, who had been standing quietly at my side this whole time, finally stepped forward. "Enough," she said, her voice sharp and commanding. The room fell silent instantly, because, well, Talia tends to have that effect on people. "The mission is what matters."

Even Fred and George stopped grinning, which was a minor miracle.

"Deathstroke won't stop with a polite invitation," Talia continued. "He's made his intentions clear—he wants me to help him take over the League. We need to move quickly, and everyone here will have a role to play."

Everyone straightened at that, the humor in the room replaced by something much more serious. Even Ron managed to look halfway competent, which I considered a win.

"You're saying everyone?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes." Talia's expression was pure steel. "The training you've done over the last month has prepared you for this. You will all be involved, whether you like it or not."

Ginny grinned. "Cool. So… can I fight the assassin?"

"No," Talia said flatly.

Fred raised a hand. "Okay, but if no one else wants to, I'm happy to—"

"No," Talia repeated, rubbing her temples like she regretted ever agreeing to work with us. "If we all survive this mission, it will be a miracle."

"Miracles are kinda our thing," Sirius said with a grin.

Kara nudged my arm. "Bumgorf, do not worry," she whispered, using one of Kori's endearing Tamaranean words. "We have faced worse than Deathstroke before."

Kori floated beside her, smiling warmly. "Indeed! After this mission, we shall go to the mall of shopping to celebrate!"

And just like that, I knew: this mission was going to go off the rails. I could feel it in my bones.

—

Meanwhile, in her room at Mount Justice, Raven sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by candles and the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it was waiting for something to happen. Which, knowing her luck, it probably was. Meditation was supposed to help her find her center—whatever that meant. In theory, it was all about breathing, calming the mind, and becoming one with the universe. In practice? It was a lot harder without a giant glowing rock stuck to your forehead.

That gemstone—her personal prison and her father's favorite tracking device—was gone now. For the first time in forever, she was free of Trigon's voice whispering horrible things into her head. No more manipulations. No more constant battle to keep his influence at bay. She was finally just… Raven.

Which was nice. Also terrifying. Turns out, when you've spent your whole life defining yourself by what you're running from, it's a bit tricky to know what to do once you've stopped running.

She inhaled slowly, filling her lungs with the cool air of the dimly lit room, and let her mind drift. Emotions were still weird—like strange animals she wasn't sure how to feed or approach without getting bitten. Anger, fear, guilt, even happiness—they all felt different now, sharper somehow, as if her senses were adjusting to a life without the constant hum of darkness.

Her thoughts flickered to Kara and Kori. Friends. Actual friends. Not just people who tolerated her or saw her as a walking apocalypse with good fashion sense. Friends who dragged her to movie nights, who let her brood without asking too many questions, and who didn't mind when she occasionally snapped at them.

Kara, with her relentless optimism and the habit of punching problems into orbit. And Kori—sweet, sunshine-in-human-form Kori—who called hugs "the squeezing of friends" and looked at Raven like she was some rare, beautiful flower instead of a girl with more issues than a Gotham tabloid.

It was… nice. Strange, but nice.

She shifted slightly, adjusting her posture. Meditation was supposed to help her find balance between the old and the new, but so far all it had given her was the sudden, horrifying realization that she didn't know what she liked to do for fun. Kori liked baking alien pastries that occasionally exploded. Kara liked rescuing people and collecting stray animals like they were Pokémon.

And Raven? So far, her hobbies were "brooding" and "not accidentally ending the world." She was pretty sure those didn't count.

She exhaled slowly, the candles flickering as if sensing her mood. If she could just find her center, maybe everything would click into place. Maybe the rest of the pieces—who she was now, what she wanted—would follow.

Or maybe she'd just end up sitting here all night, trying to make sense of her emotions like they were a riddle she couldn't solve.

But that was okay.

For the first time in a long time, Raven wasn't drowning in darkness or running from herself.

She was just here.

And that? That was a pretty good place to start.

—

In Gotham, it was the kind of night that practically begged for something dramatic to happen. Dark clouds, flickering streetlights, and just enough of a breeze to make alleyways feel ten times creepier. Perfect conditions for Artemis Crock to finally stop being someone's problem and start being someone's hero.

Artemis stood in her tiny room, chewing her lip like it owed her money. Family baggage? Oh yeah, she had plenty. Her dad was Sportsmaster, a professional bad guy and the kind of dad who'd think "Take Your Kid to Crime Day" was bonding time. Her sister, Cheshire, was an assassin with a flair for chaos and abandonment issues. Both were currently enjoying an extended stay at the Justice League's finest accommodations, aka prison.

And her mom? Once upon a time, her mom was Huntress—until a bad night and a worse injury left her in a wheelchair. Now, she was a reformed villain trying to steer Artemis toward a "normal" life. But let's be real: with Artemis's gene pool, "normal" was never in the cards.

Tonight, though, Artemis was done waiting around to be told who she was supposed to be. She tiptoed past her sleeping mom, praying the TV's droning crime show would keep her mom in dreamland. No one wants their first heroic mission to start with getting grounded.

Back in her room, Artemis grabbed her new uniform—a sleek, green-and-black bodysuit she'd spent way too many late nights sewing. It wasn't flashy. There were no logos, no capes (because obviously, no capes), and definitely no high-tech gadgets. Just a girl with a bow and the hope that she wouldn't embarrass herself on her first night out.

She slipped into the suit, feeling oddly...right. Like this was the version of Artemis she'd been waiting to meet all along. She slung her quiver across her back and adjusted her bow. It wasn't much, but it was hers. And that was the important part.

One quick glance in the mirror. Yep—there she was. Not Cheshire, not Sportsmaster's kid. Just Artemis Crock, looking like she was finally ready to stop being a walking family disappointment.

She cracked the window open, testing the fire escape with her boot. It held. Good. Breaking a leg before her first heroic outing would've been peak Crock luck.

She took one last look around her room, like it might suddenly reveal some hidden life advice. Nothing. Typical.

"Well, here goes nothing," Artemis muttered, climbing through the window and into the night.

The Gotham skyline stretched out in front of her, dark and full of trouble. Perfect. She adjusted her quiver, took a breath, and smirked. Time to make her own story.

And if Gotham wasn't ready for a hero with family drama, a ton of emotional baggage, and a wicked aim? Well, that was Gotham's problem.

Cue dramatic rooftop leap in three, two, one…

—

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