The Sins of the Mother
League Stronghold – Talia’s Private Quarters
Talia stood by the window, her gaze distant as she stared out at the silent night sky. The city below was just a blur of lights — a far cry from the storm raging inside her heart. Her fingers traced the edges of a familiar, weathered photograph.
It was a picture of a young boy, smiling in a sunlit garden. His eyes were filled with hope, love, and something else she couldn’t name. It was before the war, before the death of innocence.
Peter.
Her son.
But not the one she had now.
Her chest tightened. The grief, the raw agony of it, hit her every day. The moment the Pit had stolen his mind, his spirit, he was gone. And she…
She had brought him back. Again. And again.
Her hand trembled as she turned the photograph over, revealing a few words written in a shaky, childish scrawl.
“Mama, I’ll always come back. Don’t cry.”
She had failed him.
Her throat constricted.
The doors opened behind her, and a voice cut through the quiet.
“Mother.”
Talia didn’t turn around. “You’ve spoken with him.”
Damian stood in the doorway, his eyes dark with unspeakable sorrow. He didn’t move closer. He couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to betray everything he was feeling.
“I found him,” Damian said, voice heavy with the weight of his words. “I tried to reach him. He doesn’t even remember who he is. He didn’t remember me.”
Talia’s fingers clenched around the photograph, the paper crinkling in her grasp. She closed her eyes.
“I told you this would happen,” Ra’s’ words echoed in her mind. The Pit will tear him apart, Talia. He will never return the same.
She had ignored him. She had believed in the resurrection. The boy she had loved would return to her. But he had been lost forever. Peter Al Ghul, the boy she birthed, the boy who had fought beside Damian in the gardens — he was gone.
And in his place… was Ash.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She felt like she was suffocating.
“You should have let him stay dead,” Damian said, his voice sharp. “You killed him, Mother. You killed him with your obsession, your need to bring him back.”
Talia’s eyes shot up, but she couldn’t bring herself to face him fully. Her voice was tight with emotion. “I didn’t kill him. I… I saved him. I had to.”
Damian shook his head. “You didn’t save him. He wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
She felt a stabbing pain at the edge of her consciousness. The guilt — it was suffocating. The constant weight of knowing what she had done, what she had sacrificed, and for what? To bring back a son who would never be the same. To make him serve her.
“Damian,” she whispered. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t mourn for him every single moment of my life?”
Damian’s hands clenched at his sides. “Then why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep bringing him back?”
Talia’s eyes filled with unshed tears, but she quickly wiped them away. “Because I love him.” Her voice cracked on the word. “Because he is my son. And I cannot let him be forgotten.”
Damian’s anger flared, but there was an unmistakable sorrow in his gaze. He stepped forward, his words gentle, though filled with an undeniable edge. “But you’ve already forgotten him, haven’t you?”
Talia stood silent, the truth cutting deeper than any blade.
⸻
“Ash’s Ghost”
League Stronghold – Training Grounds
Peter stood motionless as the warriors around him sparred and trained. The clang of metal and the hum of energy blasts filled the air. He wasn’t here to fight. Not really. He was here to exist.
Ash.
That was his name now. That was what they had called him since he first opened his eyes after the Pit. And it was the only thing that made sense.
But sometimes, in the quiet moments before sleep, his mind shattered.
There were flashes of a life he didn’t remember. A place of light, warmth, laughter. A face, a boy. A name.
Damian.
But the name was a whisper that couldn’t form, a puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit into place.
Why couldn’t he remember? Why did it hurt so much to forget?
He stared at the sword in his hands, the cold metal reflecting in his eyes.
And then, like a forgotten voice from the past, the memory rose.
A garden. Damian. A twin. His twin.
“Peter, don’t go!” A young boy’s voice calling after him. And then, the sharp sting of a blade.
The images flooded his mind — too fast, too overwhelming. He staggered, gripping his head, trying to hold onto them. But the Pit’s green water was always there, pushing them down.
He wasn’t supposed to remember.
He wanted to scream.