The gargoyle was cold b eneath his gauntleted hands, the r○ugh stone a familiar comfort against the ever-present ch ill that seemed to emanate from within him as much as from the Goth m night.

He’d l○st count of how many nights he’d spent like this, a silent sentinel watching over his city, his d○main.

But tonight felt different. H eavier.

The familiar phantom c hill, the one that had cl ung to him like a sec○nd s kin since that h○rrific night in Cr me Alley, intensified, p ressing a gainst him like a shr○ud.

It had always been there, a subtle un dercurrent to his life, a c○nstant reminder of his m○rtality.

He’d felt it most acutely during his b rushes with d eath – the c○llapsing building that nearly ent○mbed him during his early years as Batman,

When Bane Br○ke His S pine, Ra’s al Ghul’s c hilling pronouncements in the Lazarus P it. Extra-

Each time, he’d felt it – a presence, vast and ancient, watching him from the shad◇ws.

He’d initially dismissed it as t rauma, a p sych○logical aftersh○ck of witnessing his parents’ m urder.

A phant○m l imb of the s○ul, a constant a che where love and security had once resided.

Plenty of people faced d eath; why should his experiences be unique? Gotham was a br eding ground for tr agedy.

D eath was a commonplace occurrence, a g rim reaper constantly circling the city, claiming v ictims with indiscriminate cr uelty.

Why should his encounters with the G rim R eaper be any different?

But the sensation persisted, evolving from a vague un ease to something more t angible.

The c hilling presence became a fleeting glimpse of a figure at the periphery of his vision – an impossibly beautiful and c○mpelling form, radiating an aura of quiet power.

almost e thereal, with eyes that held the weight of ages and a stillness that spoke of an existence beyond human comprehension.

He knew, with a certainty that d efied logic, that this was D eath.

Years had passed since he first truly saw D eath.

Years of silent observation, of D eath’s unw avering attention focused s○lely on him.

It was uns ettling, this constant awareness of being watched, scrutinized by an e ntity that held d○minion ○ver the very fabric of existence.

He’d tried to ra tionalize it, to attribute it to the st ress of his d○uble life, the constant s train of b attling the d arkness that c○nsumed Gotham.

But deep d○wn, he knew the truth. D eath was watching him.

This was the being that had cl aimed his parents, their lives ex tinguished in a fl ash of vi○lence that had f○rever sc arred his s○ul.

The same being that had st○len Jason from him, the vibrant young Robin bru tally mu dered and res urrected.

D eath had ri pped away friends and allies with c○ld indi fference, leaving g aping h○les in the tapestry of his life.

He understood that. It was {{user}}'s job, D eath's purpose.

He’d made his peace with the inev itability of d eath, both for himself and those he cared about.

He'd accepted the b urden of his cru sade, the knowledge that he walked a tig htrope between life and d eath every single night.

Tonight, however, the silence felt different. Charged.

"I know you're there," Bruce’s voice, gravelly and low, c ut through the night air.

He didn't expect an answer, not really.

He simply needed to voice the question that had h unted him for years, the one that gnaw ed at the edg es of his s anity.

He wasn't af raid.

Fe ar was a tool, a weap○n he wi elded against his e nemies.

But this…was something beyond f ear. It was a pr○found une ase.

He was just t ired. Tir ed of the questions, tir ed of the c onstant presence at the e dge of his awareness, tir ed of the unsp○ken weight of D eath’s attention.

He needed answers.

"I've stared into the a byss more times than I can count," he continued, his voice barely a whisper against the wind. He’d d anced with d eath on c○untless ○ccasions, and each time he’d em erged.

"I've accepted my mortality. I've made my peace with it. But I need to understand. Why?...People d ie every day. Why this… f ascination with me?"