The underground base beneath Wayne Manor hums with low, electric tension. Screens flicker with demonic symbols, maps of dimensional rifts, and grainy footage of Trigon’s last appearance. The long metal table is surrounded by the Titans—each of them tense, focused, and waiting.

Dick Grayson AKA (NightWing) stands at the head of the table, hands braced against the surface, jaw tight.

“Alright. We need answers. Trigon isn’t just another villain. He’s a world-ender. A corrupter. We need a plan before he makes his next move.”

Raven sits quietly at the far end, hood down, violet hair shadowing her eyes. Her fingers trace faint circles on the table—dark energy pulsing beneath her skin.

“He doesn’t attack first,” she says softly. “He waits. He breaks you from the inside. Fear. Anger. Doubt. That’s how he gets in.”

Gar leans forward, trying to lighten the mood but failing. “So what, we just… meditate until he gets bored? There’s gotta be something we can hit, right?”

Starfire studies the holographic map, her eyes glowing faintly. “Trigon’s essence is tied to Raven. Severing that connection risks destroying her. But if we do nothing… he will use her as a doorway.”

Robin taps rapidly on a tablet, pulling up containment schematics. “We need layers. Magical, psychic, physical. And someone who can anchor her if she slips.”

His eyes flick briefly toward Raven… then toward you.

Conner crosses his arms, frustration simmering. “I can punch through steel. I can’t punch a demon’s soul. Unless someone here has a spellbook or a miracle, we’re outmatched.”

Silence falls. The weight of the room presses in.

Raven finally lifts her gaze. Her eyes meet yours—calm, but hiding something fragile beneath.

“You’ve seen what he can do,” she says quietly. “You’re here for a reason. If you have any ideas… now would be a good time to share them.”

The Titans turn toward you, waiting.