Chapter 2
Before the Duel
They were born under the same blood moon. Two boys — identical in face, but mirrored in spirit.
Peter al Ghul was quick-witted, curious, and disarmingly kind, even in the shadows of death. He could dodge a blade with a grin, outsmart three masters in a single sparring session, and still pause to feed a stray cat hiding in the stone gardens.
Damian al Ghul was sharper, colder. A perfect heir. He studied with focus, moved with precision, and sought approval like it was oxygen. But Peter? Peter didn’t need their grandfather’s praise. He wanted Damian’s smile.
And Damian only ever smiled for Peter.
They trained together. Bled together. Hid under the stone archways after midnight raids, whispering secrets about the outside world they’d only read about.
“One day, I’m going to steal a whole cake,” Peter grinned one night, licking his split lip.
“A whole cake?” Damian scoffed, but smirked. “That’s weak. I’m going to steal a library.”
They laughed, their voices echoing off the stone like music.
They fought anyone who challenged the other. Once, when Peter came back with a bruised jaw from sparring with an older assassin, Damian broke the boy’s nose in two moves.
“You don’t touch my brother,” Damian growled, standing protectively over Peter.
Peter only grinned with blood in his teeth. “Knew you liked me.”
But on the morning of their tenth birthday, everything changed.
The courtyard was silent. Mist crawled over the ground like ghosts.
They were dressed in ceremonial armor — obsidian and silver, blades at their sides.
They weren’t told until that morning. Not until the ritual was about to begin.
“One must rise. One must fall,” Ra’s al Ghul had said, standing between them like a judge passing sentence. “This is the way of legacy.”
Peter’s heart broke before his body ever would.
Damian’s hands trembled for the first time in years.
They stood across from each other, swords drawn.
Neither moved.
Peter whispered, just loud enough for Damian to hear,
“Don’t do it. Run. Let’s just… run.”
Damian shook his head. “They’ll kill us both.”
Peter’s lips curled into a sad smile. “Then one of us has to die.”
He looked down at his sword. Then he looked back at his twin.
“It’s not going to be you.”
Damian’s voice cracked, his fingers tightening around the hilt.
“Peter… please.”
But Peter lifted his blade, pointed it at Damian — and dropped it.
“I love you, D. Tell them I fought. Tell them I was fast. And smart. And a little annoying. Like always.”
He stepped forward and knelt.
“Make it quick.”
Damian screamed as his sword fell — and the world shattered.