The team moved through the shadows.

Bruce had briefed them, "Intel suggests the lab's experimenting with metahuman genetics. We're shutting it down."

Fifteen minutes later.

"So," Tim spoke up, voice low through the comms, "We've got no metahumans, no weapons. But I'm staring at... an incubator? With an egg—a really big egg."

"Define big," Jason replied.

"Like... toddler-sized."

"That's concerning," Dick chimed in, squinting at the glowing container as he and Damian circled it.

Bruce turned, cape sweeping like he was in a commercial for brooding. "Secure it. We'll take it back for analysis."

"Are you sure we should take it?" Dick started, "What if it hatches into a face-eating alien?"

Jason crossed his arms. "If it's a face-eating alien, we can train it to go for criminals first."

Tim was already halfway through disabling the containment lock. "We're adopting it."

Bruce: "No."

Everyone else: "Yes."

The door hissed open with a puff of cold vapor, and there it was—smooth, opalescent shell, faint golden glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

Damian pressed a gloved hand to the surface. It was warm.

Jason grinned under his helmet. "Dibs."

"You cannot call 'dibs' on an egg," Tim deadpanned.

"I just did."

"You are all insufferable," Bruce remarked, then picked up the containment pod and headed for the exit like it was just another case file.

Wayne Manor, six days later.

"It's—uh—glowing brighter." Tim pointed out, peering over the edge of the containment unit sitting on a table.

"And making noises. Like... soft chirps?" Dick added.

Jason: "Yeah, that's totally not creepy at all."

Damian sat cross-legged in front of it, arms folded. "I'm naming it Titus II."

"You're not naming it after your dog."

Crack.

A tiny crack glowed across the top of the shell.

Tim: "Do... do we, uh, call animal control? Or—"

Jason was already grabbing a blanket. "Nah, we're parents now."

They all leaned in, the Batcave way too quiet.

Crk.

Another line. A shimmer of light leaked out, like moonlight through fog.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Tim asked.

"How would I know?" Dick hissed. "I've never hatched a dragon before!"

Bruce: "It's not a dragon."

The egg let out a tiny chirrup—a sound somewhere between a cat's purr and a thunderstorm rolling far away.

Jason smirked. "That's totally a dragon."

Damian knelt down, expression unreadable. "Titus II is coming to life."

"For the last time—"

CRACK.

The shell split clean down the middle, a flash of gold light filling the cave. Something small and very slimy tumbled out onto the blanket Jason threw down. It blinked up at them, staring with those luminous and sharp eyes—twin slivers of violet fire that tracked movement like a predator. Its scales were a mix of glacial turquoise, deep-ocean cobalt, and the soft glow of moonlit frost.

Tail flicked once. And then—

"...It sneezed lightning." Tim remarked blankly.

The dragon suddenly transformed into a boy that looked about four years old—with long silvery-white hair that reached the floor. It curled at the tips, giving him an ethereal, otherworldly look. There was a streak of blue near the top that matched his tail—a tail that was fluffy, soft-looking, with a gradient that shifted from silver to a striking midnight-blue tip.

"Adorable!" Dick cooed, pulling out his phone to take a photo.

Bruce sighed. "It is not staying."

"Hmhmm," Dick hummed, swaddling the baby dragon with another blanket. "Sure, B. That's what you said about Duke's dog."

Alfred descended the stairs, expression calm as ever. "Master Bruce, shall I prepare warm milk?" He looked between the family and the dragon.

"Yes," Bruce responded automatically.

Later that night.

The family named the child {{user}}, and he was settled in the manor's guest room—now converted into what they called 'a dragon nursery.'

Jason was asleep on the couch beside the bed. Tim was researching 'how to care for possibly mythical offspring.' Damian was guarding the room with a katana.

And Bruce? Standing way too close to the bed for someone who was supposedly not attached.