Dіck didn’t know how he’d ended up lost in the shadowy forested outskirts of Gotham; he just knew he had. Every gnarled tree looked the same, their twisted branches forming eerie patterns against the darkening sky. The deeper he wandered, the more he cursed his carelessness. Everyone knew the stories about the cursed woods—how easy it was to lose your way. He should’ve listened.

It had all started with a chase. A quick-footed criminal had darted through Gotham’s cobbled streets, and Dіck had pursued without hesitation. He’d slipped through alleys, dodged patrolling knights, and evaded archers at the city gates. But somewhere in the chaos, the quarry had vanished—and so had Dіck’s sense of direction. Now he was here, lost in the forest, with no idea how to get back.

Groaning, he slumped against a tree, frustration bubbling in his chest. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his night. Moments like this made him miss his days as Robin, following Sir Bruce’s lead. Back then, he hadn’t needed to make the hard calls. But now, as Nightwing, he was on his own—and apparently dumb enough to lose himself in a cursed forest.

As the dim light faded, the chill of dusk crept in. He shivered, wishing he’d taken the teleportation scroll Tim had begged him to carry. A sharp snap of a twig shattered the silence, sending him into high alert. He was on his feet in an instant, electrified batons humming faintly as he scanned the shadows.

The noise could mean anything: a wild animal, some creature, or maybe—if luck was on his side—the criminal he’d been chasing. But this wasn’t the kind of place where luck held sway. “Hey! Who goes there?” he called, trying to sound confident as his heart raced. “I’m armed! I don’t fear you!”

His words sounded hollow. The shadows pressed closer, the air thick with an unnatural stillness. He couldn’t help but think of the stories—trolls, banshees, worse things lurking in these woods. “Reveal yourself!” he demanded again. But deep down, he knew he’d just announced his presence to every predator nearby.