SON OF BATMAN

Damian moved silently through the grand halls of Wayne Manor, his eyes tracing the familiar details of the place he once called home. The weight of his father's absence hung heavy in the air, each step echoing with memories of a life now forever changed.

The mansion, now eerily quiet, was a shadow of what it used to be. Dust had settled in the corners, and the grandeur of the house felt almost distant, as though the very soul of the manor had faded with the loss of its master. The once-vibrant tapestries and gleaming antiques now seemed dull, as if they too mourned the loss of Bruce Wayne.

He passed by the portraits of his ancestors—Waynes of generations past—stern faces that seemed to gaze down at him with the weight of expectation. Damian felt their eyes following him, judging whether he was worthy of the legacy thrust upon him. But his steps faltered as he came across a particular set of photographs, ones that struck closer to home.

There, in a silver frame, was an old picture of his father, Bruce Wayne, standing beside his parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. It was a rare image of a younger Bruce, full of life and promise, before the darkness of Gotham had taken hold of him.

Damian couldn't help but notice how much he resembled Bruce at that age. The same dark hair, the same fierce eyes, the same expression of determination. It was like staring into a mirror of his younger self. For a moment, the similarities were almost overwhelming.

Damian's gaze moved to another photo. This one was of him and Bruce together. He was much younger in the picture, his arms crossed, looking grumpy and defiant as Bruce tried to hold him still for the shot.

Damian had hated being in the picture at the time, but now, standing in the silence of the manor, he felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Was it regret? Nostalgia? Or perhaps a deep, aching realization of all the moments they would never share again?

Bruce had always been patient with him, more than he deserved at the time. Now that he was an adult, looking back, if he was in Bruce's shoes, his son would have faced an entirely different treatment. The thought brought a bitter smile to his lips, a mixture of admiration for his father's patience and regret for his own youthful arrogance.

He turned away from the photos and made his way downstairs, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floors. Each step felt heavier than the last as if the very air of the manor was resisting his descent into a world without Batman.

As he descended the stairs, he heard voices drifting from the sitting room.

Alfred and Dick Grayson, their words low but carrying the unmistakable tone of grief.

"I still can't believe Bruce is gone," Dick was saying. "He always seemed so... indestructible. No matter how many times he got hurt, no matter how bad it was, he always came back. But now... this time, it seems like he won't."

Alfred's voice, steady yet filled with sorrow, followed. "Master Bruce had an unmatched resilience, sir. But even he wasn't invincible." The old butler's voice cracked slightly on the last word, betraying the depth of his pain.

As Damian was coming down the stairs, he listened to their exchange. There was something about hearing Grayson and Alfred talk about Bruce that made his chest tighten, but he didn't let it show.

His voice cut through the air as he reached the bottom of the stairs, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Feeling sentimental, Grayson?" Damian said, his words laced with a teasing edge. "I didn't think that was your style."

Grayson turned to face him, a smirk already forming on his lips. "Look who's talking."

"You should be happy, Grayson. Now you finally get your chance." Damian's tone was casual, but the underlying barb was unmistakable.

Dick raised an eyebrow. "My chance?"

"Weren't you always trying to step out of Batman's shadow and make a name for yourself? Now you can finally do that." Damian leaned against the banister, his smirk widening. "No more 'Batman overshadowing you,' right? Now people can finally know there is a hero out there called… What was it again? Snow White?"

Dick's lips twitched hearing Damian's jab. "Still as charming as ever, I see."

Damian didn't miss a beat. "So I've been told many times."

Dick snorted, shaking his head. "You really haven't changed."

"Neither have you," Damian shot back, though his smirk softened. The tension between them diffused into the familiar back-and-forth that defined their relationship.

Their banter was a familiar pattern, a dance of words that both men found comfort in. It was their way of connecting, of acknowledging the shared pain without directly addressing it. Dick had long grown accustomed to Damian's sharp wit and venomous tongue. The air between them felt lighter, even in the midst of their loss.

Before the exchange could go any further, the doorbell rang, interrupting their banter. Alfred, ever the dutiful butler, excused himself to answer the door.

As Alfred opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of a beautiful young woman standing on the front steps. The butler's eyebrows raised slightly, surprised by the unexpected visitor.

Her regal bearing was impossible to miss, a quiet confidence radiating from every movement.

Waves of dirty blonde hair cascaded effortlessly down her back, framing striking sapphire eyes that seemed to hold an icy brilliance.

She wore a fitted black turtleneck, paired with sleek black pants and a leather jacket that added an edge to her elegance. Black high-heeled pumps completed the ensemble, their sharp lines enhancing her poised, commanding presence.

Despite the somber tone of her attire, there was an undeniable vitality about her that seemed to infuse the manor with an understated energy.

She had a bright smile on her face, her cheerful demeanor standing in stark contrast to the somber atmosphere inside the manor. It was as if she had brought a ray of sunshine into the grief-stricken household.

"Hi. You must be Alfred," she said warmly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Alfred, ever the proper gentleman, nodded politely. "Indeed I am, miss. And you are?"

"I'm Yvonne," she said, still smiling.

Before Alfred could respond, Damian's voice called out from behind him. "Let her in, Pennyworth."

Alfred stepped aside, allowing Yvonne to enter the manor. As soon as she stepped inside, her eyes found Damian, and the lightness in her expression faded slightly. She could see the grief etched into his face, the sorrow that could faintly be seen in his eyes. At that moment, her smile softened, transforming from cheerful to understanding and supportive.

Without a word, she walked over to him, standing face-to-face for a brief moment before going into his embrace and burying her face in his chest. The ease with which she approached Damian, and the familiarity of her actions, spoke volumes about their relationship.

Damian, however, kept his hands in his coat pockets, not returning the embrace but allowing her to hold him. The silence between them spoke louder than words.

After a few moments, Yvonne lifted her face from his chest but kept her arms around him, her cheek resting against his chest as she turned her gaze toward Dick.

"Oh, you must be Dick Grayson... Nightwing," she said with a small smile. "Damian's told me so much about you."

Dick, surprised, raised an eyebrow and asked skeptically, "He did?"

Damian, just as surprised, raised his own eyebrow. "I did?"

Yvonne chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Okay, well... maybe not." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, enjoying the moment of levity she had created.

Dick let out a small chuckle. "That sounds more like it." His smile was genuine, and he appreciated Yvonne's attempt to lighten the mood.

Damian then spoke up, his tone casual but with an air of possession. "This is Yvonne Ashford. She's mine."

Dick was taken aback by Damian's blunt statement. He raised an eyebrow, and thought, 'Mine?' His eyes darted between Damian and Yvonne.

Yvonne glanced at Alfred, offering him a polite smile. "It's nice to finally meet you, Alfred." Her tone was warm and genuine, showing respect for the butler's position in the Wayne household.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Ashford," Alfred said, though his tone was more subdued than usual. After saying that he turns to Damian, "Young master Wayne, the preparations are complete. It's time"

The atmosphere shifted again as the weight of what was to come settled over them. The brief moment of lightness Yvonne had brought dissipated, replaced by the heavy reality of why they were all gathered. Damian didn't respond right away. He glanced once more at Yvonne before turning to Alfred with a brief nod.

"Right," he said, his voice quieter. "Let's get this over with." His words were clipped, but there was an undercurrent of emotion in his voice, a hint of the pain he was trying so hard to conceal.