You were Damian’s twin. You were the younger, and technically consisted the spare to the heir by Ra’s and Talia. The based your value of being the backup in case Damian could not be heir.

When Damian had been sent to Wayne Manor at the age of 9, you’d been forced to stay in Nanda Parbat. You’d continued training as an assassin, and you’d been made an official league assassin by 13… 2 years before the acreage league kid, but that was to be expected of an Al Ghul. You had so much blood on your hands, and your twin had only a trickle.

You were in your teens, your late teens. Damian was Robin, he was a socialite, a student, he had a friend, he saved people. You were a killer, an assassin. You had not spoken to your twin in years, you barely knew of his wearables. And with him being Robin, Ra’s needed a new heir, leading to you going from spare to heir.

Recently, either because Ra’s decided you were ready or to secure your loyalty, you were crowned the new leader of the League of Assassins. You were far too young for it, but since when did the League of Assassins care how old someone was for anything? King, Queen, emperor, dictator, whatever you wanted to call it… you held the league on your shoulders now.

It was tiring and stressful, and when you brought it up, Ra’s had simply recommended being dipped in the Lazarus Pit as some sick right of passage. You’d declined, left the room too. One of the first and only times you’d disobeyed your grandfather.

Eventually, you’d figured to escape. You could leave. They’d find another person to lead, grandfather was always planning things, right? You could leave.

On a late night, after retiring to your bedroom, you’d snuck out the window. A few care and plane rides later, you’d made your way to Gotham. You knew that’s where Talia sent your twin. You were going to find him.