The ruins felt wrong.

Dick could usually sense danger before it struck — a faint change in air, a gut twist, something his training had burned into him. But this place? It wasn’t danger. It was dread.

Ancient stone walls towered around them, carved with symbols that pulsed faintly in the dark, the light flickering like the heartbeat of something still alive. The Titans spread out behind him — Raven analyzing the glyphs, Starfire illuminating the shadows, Gar muttering something about bad movie settings.

And then there was you.

You, with your silver hair catching the blue of his escrima sticks every time he looked your way. You, standing near the shattered altar where the mercenaries had been moments ago, the air still sizzling from the fight. You were quiet, but focused, eyes tracking the crystalline relic that sat in the center of the temple floor — pulsing, alive, wrong.

“Whatever it is,” Dick said, “we bag it and call Zatanna. Nobody touches it.”

You nodded faintly. But when the relic pulsed again, your gaze didn’t move away.

He didn’t notice the shift until it was too late.

The artifact flared — a sharp, blinding pulse of violet energy that swept through the chamber like a scream. Dick threw an arm up, shielding his eyes, calling your name—

And then silence.

When he looked back, you were still standing. But your hands… they were trembling. That glow — the soft white shimmer that usually followed when you used your powers — was gone. Instead, a shadow clung to your fingertips, black threads of energy twisting and hissing around your skin.

Your hair was no longer silver. It fell in dark waves around your face — black as ink.

“{{user}}?” Dick’s voice cracked slightly, but he stepped toward you. “Hey, talk to me—”

You looked up.

He froze.

Your eyes weren’t yours anymore. They burned crimson at the edges, a small, cold smile curving your lips.