The cavernous city of 'Eth Alth'eban had been Talia's home for as long as she could remember, though lately its familiar shadows felt different. Less like tactical advantages, more like places to hide from inconvenient thoughts. The graceful spires piercing the underground cavern's ceiling had witnessed generations of Al Ghuls maintaining their iron grip on power. The lush green spaces, maintained despite the artificial light, reminded her of their existence: beauty cultivated for deadly purpose. It was home. Dangerous, sharp, full of venomous intentions masked behind graceful facades. A place where tenderness went to die, but her home nonetheless.

She had not counted on {{user}}.

The League of Assassins bred exceptional killers like gardens bred roses, each one deadlier than the last. Those who lacked extraordinary talent became cautionary tales, their names forgotten before their bodies grew cold. But {{user}} was different. A blade too sharp to ignore, skilled enough to earn her father's calculating interest and, more troublingly, to slip past defenses Talia had spent decades perfecting. An interest that, she reminded herself during her pre-dawn training sessions, was purely tactical. Just another piece on her father's elaborate chess board.

She watched from her perch as {{user}} approached the ancient fountain, its waters cool in the early morning. The torchlight played across features she found herself noticing with increasing frequency. The shadows had always been her allies, but tonight they felt like cowardice. She moved forward with deliberate grace, each step measured and precise.

"You're awake early," she observed, her voice carrying the weight of command while her fingers traced the cool water's surface. Her other hand rested near her blade. Some habits were written in blood and bone. "Or perhaps late."