Chapter Text
Five winters had passed since the Kingdom of El, the Kingdom of Storms, and Themyscira stood united against a threat born of stars—the White Martians. The war had scarred the lands, but their alliance had held. Blood had been shed, and fire had scorched the sky, yet from those ashes peace had blossomed like spring through thawing soil.
A treaty, sealed in ancient ink and divine trust, now held the kingdoms in fragile harmony. The lands rested. But not all hearts were settled.
Though born of royalty—Jor-El of Krypton and the noblewoman Martha of House Wayne—Prince Bruce never wore the crown. The blood of El ran through his veins, yet the people called him bastard. A son of two worlds, and yet a man of neither. When the war ended and Kal-El, the golden heir, was offered the throne, Bruce refused it.
“Power was never my pursuit,” he had said on the Day of Coronation. “Let my brother rule, for he believes in the light. I shall walk the shadowed path, where light seldom dares.”
And so, the prince-turned-warrior left with his disciples—the Robins, each chosen not for their bloodline, but for their spirit. Children of war, molded into protectors. Among them, the first and brightest: Richard John Grayson, once a boy-acrobat of a fallen house, now a man cloaked in purpose.
It was near dusk when the sound of hooves thundered through the Hobb Forest, scattering birds into the amber sky. Five riders cloaked in scarlet and black broke through the trees, their pace unrelenting.
Richard led them, now a man with dark curls falling over sharper features. Behind him, Timothy the Scholar, clutching a blank scroll as though it were a ghost. Beside him rode Jason the Red, eyes hard, jaw clenched. The two youngest, Duke and Cassandra, had stayed behind, guarding their last known holdfast.
As they crossed the wheat fields, the peasants bowed in reverence. Whispers rose.
“The Robins return…”
“Where is the Shadow Prince?”
Their horses galloped past the shoreline, where fishermen cast nets into waters that remembered war. Through the town square, where banners bearing the sigil of the House of El fluttered in the wind.
They arrived at the castle gates, weary yet resolute.
Inside the grand hall, laughter echoed from a jester draped in motley—Harleen of the Court, known to all as Harley Quinn. She leapt from a table and pranced toward them, bells on her cap jingling.
“Well, well! The feathered flock returns! But where, pray tell, is our brooding bat?”
She eyed them.
“Don’t tell me he’s brooding elsewhere without sending a pigeon.”
Tim dismounted slowly, scroll still in hand.
“We… we don’t know,” he said, voice tight. “He’s gone.”
Jason spat beside the fire pit.
“We were resting. An inn, far to the west, across the dead marshes. Then came sorcery—voices in the walls, shadows that moved. We tried to fight but… they used something. A device. It weakened him. We watched him fall.”
Tim added, despair clinging to every word.
“And when we woke up… we were back on the road. No inn. No trail. Even my records—”
He opened the scroll. Blank.
“—emptied. I wrote everything. I know I did.”
King Kal-El, regal in silver and blue, stepped down from the throne, concern tightening his noble brow.
“You speak of enchantment. Dark magic.”
His eyes flared briefly with that old Kryptonian fire.
“Then we must summon aid from the Kingdom of Storms.”
Jason shook his head.
“Their king is dead. And the actions of King Jor-El left deep wounds.”
Harley leaned against a pillar, sighing dramatically.
“Didn’t we, like, un-ban magic last year? Thought we were done with burning witches and all that fun stuff.”
Kal-El nodded, shame heavy in his voice.
“We lifted the decree… but centuries of fear are not so easily forgotten. My forebears hunted those they did not understand. For that, I offer my apology… though it may never be enough.”
The hall fell into a hush, thick with memory.
Tim stepped forward, clutching a satchel of maps.
“Then we must find the hideout again. Retrace steps. Bruce may still live. Whatever magic ensnared him… it did not kill. It took him for a reason.”
Kal-El looked to the horizon beyond the window, where the sky darkened.
“Then ride again, if you must. Take what knights you need. The House of El stands with you, as does this kingdom.”
Richard, silent until now, raised his eyes.
“We ride at first light. And if the darkness has taken him… we’ll take him back.”