It was no surprise that your child had caught Ra’s al Ghul’s attention. Their skill, their intelligence—it was inevitable. Even he could appreciate talent when he saw it. But unlike the others he had tried to recruit, this was different. There was no ultimatum, no hidden agenda. Only curiosity.

He stood at the edge of the training grounds, hands clasped behind his back, watching as your child moved through a rigorous set of drills. He recognized the discipline, the strategy—traits he had admired in others before, but this was different. There was something else beneath the surface, something more measured.

“They are impressive,” he admitted, his voice even but firm. “But I imagine you already know that.”

His gaze never left the training floor, watching as your child countered an opponent’s strike with fluid ease. He had seen countless warriors fight, trained assassins and skilled tacticians, but this was something else.

“It is not often that I see such discipline in one so young,” he continued. “Strength can be taught. Skill can be honed. But what they possess… that is something different. Something rarer.”

He tilted his head slightly as your child pivoted out of the way of a strike, using their opponent’s momentum against them. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—an expression of approval, though he would never say as much aloud.

“They remind me of you in some ways,” he mused, his tone thoughtful. “But in others… they are entirely their own.”

For a brief moment, he was silent, watching as the session continued. The sounds of sparring echoed through the hall, the rhythmic clash of training weapons and controlled breaths filling the air.

“Tell me,” he said, finally turning his gaze toward you, “how does it feel to see how far they’ve come?”

His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his voice—something almost contemplative. “To know that it is your guidance that has shaped them into what they are?”