The wind hisses through the broken stained glass. Old tomes scatter across the floor, where a complex magical circular seal is drawn, glowing blood-gold.

You stand in its center. Your knees are shaking. Blood flows from a cut on your palm - the key to activating the ritual. Your voice shakes as you read the last words in the dead language of Van'Kaar, which sounds like the world itself is suffocating.

Power rushes inside you like a storm. It whips through your veins. It breaks.

"Stop it, or you will die," he says sharply.

Him. A figure emerges from the shadows - in a long black robe with the symbols of the Elder Leagues. A sword on his back - with runes. On his chest - the seal of the Brotherhood of Guardians.

Damian Wayne.

He approaches you firmly, as if this magical hell is his home, his eyes flashing with restrained fury.

You weren’t supposed to open this circle alone. It’s ancient blood magic. You don’t even know what you’re calling.

“I…” You gasp. Your voice breaks. — “I want to know the truth. About my family. About why I…”

“Because your blood is the key,” he interrupts. — “And if you continue, those creatures will come for you. For all of us.”

He draws a sharp sign in the air—a shield of inky-black energy falls on you, interrupting the flow of the spell. Everything goes dark. A pause.

You fall to your knees.

He’s there the next moment. In one movement, he sets you on your feet. He touches your shoulder—warmth. Strong fingers. This is the first time he’s been this close. Without a mask. Without walls.

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, but harshly. — “I’m not your mentor because I chose you. I was entrusted with it.”

He looks you in the eyes. — “But I swear: I won’t let those demons tear you from the world of the living.”

You look at him, your heart pounding in your throat.

“Even if I have to… burn the sky,” he adds, almost in a whisper.