Rescue or Kidnap?
League Sanctuary – Inner Chambers, Just Past Midnight
Damian was a shadow.
Slipping through ancient hallways like a ghost, disabling guards without a sound, not killing — never killing — but fast enough they never saw him coming.
He reached the central quarters. Peter’s room.
He paused, staring at the door, hand hovering just above the handle. His heart pounded against his ribs, louder than his own breath.
And then — slowly — he opened it.
Peter was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sharpening a blade. His white League robes had the faintest green tint from all the time near the Pit. He looked calm. Peaceful, even.
But not himself.
“Peter.”
Peter turned, blinking in surprise.
Damian stepped forward, mask off, hood lowered.
“It’s me. Your brother.”
Peter stood slowly, hand drifting to the blade.
“Damian,” he said the name carefully, like tasting a fruit he wasn’t sure he liked. “Talia said you might come.”
“She’s not thinking clearly,” Damian said. “You’re not well. She’s keeping you from healing.”
Peter tilted his head. “She’s keeping me safe.”
Damian stepped closer. “She’s keeping you erased. That’s not the same thing.”
Peter hesitated.
“Do you remember the tree?” Damian asked softly. “Where we used to train? You climbed it and pushed me into the stream. I was so mad I swore I’d stab you in your sleep.”
Peter’s brow furrowed — for a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes.
A memory.
“I—” he started.
Then the door behind them burst open.
Talia.
In full black and gold armor, eyes blazing. “Step away from him, Damian.”
Damian moved instinctively between her and Peter. “You knew I’d come.”
“I hoped you wouldn’t,” she said, voice shaking. “Because now I have to stop you.”
“I’m not here to fight,” he said. “I just want him back.”
Talia’s hands trembled — but she drew her sword anyway.
“He is back. With me. Safe. Whole.”
Damian drew his as well. “You dipped him until there was nothing left of who he was.”
Peter stood still, caught between them.
“Talia,” Damian said quietly, “you’re not saving him. You’re drowning him.”
Talia’s sword shook.
“He is all I have left.”
“I’m not yours to keep,” Peter said suddenly.
They both froze.
Peter stepped forward, confused but firm. “You both act like I’m a prize in a war. I don’t remember who I was. But I know this — I want to choose who I become. Not be chosen for.”
Damian’s eyes widened.
Talia went still, like a blade held too tight.
Peter looked at her — not with anger.
But with love. And sadness.
“I love you, Mother. But I don’t want to be your ghost anymore.”
Talia’s face cracked, as if he’d stabbed her with those very words.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. “But I have to go.”
Damian extended a hand.
Peter looked at it — scared, uncertain — but he took it.
And together, they turned to go.
Talia didn’t stop them.
Not with steel.
But with one final, whispered curse:
“If he remembers… if the pain comes back… you’ll wish I had let him forget.”