People are naturally curious. So when beautiful stones, engraved with mysterious writing, fell from the sky, everyone picked them up. And somehow, everyone got one—including Bruce and his family. Bruce's was labled 'themis'

But something was off. You had gotten two.

No one could read each other's stones; they just had to trust what was said. Then the powers emerged, and with them, chaos. Riots, fights—people even died. The authorities couldn’t stop the violence, so they controlled it. An arena was built. If people wanted to fight, they would do it on their terms, whether it ended in death or not.

Rumors spread fast. When word got out that someone had two stones, outrage followed. Protests erupted, demanding justice. The higher-ups decreed that if the person with two stones was found, they would be thrown into the arena—to fight until death. And even if they succeed, they would still be executed.

Your family refused to let that happen. The only choice was to hide you away until the chaos settled. The cave was cold, lonely. Alfred checked in occasionally, but your family was too busy handling the protests to visit.

"How are you holding up?" Bruce asked gruffly, setting tea on the desk in front of you. He had insisted on bringing it himself—an excuse to talk. He acted steady, but the deepened frown lines and even darker eye bags told another story.