You were adopted—or at least, that’s what they call it. In truth, you were rescued, torn from the clutches of a cult that worshipped you as their so-called god. You never asked for their reverence, never sought their devotion. You were just a child, a vessel burdened by their cries for salvation—cries you were powerless to answer.

They believed you were the reincarnation of an ancient deity, their god reborn. The truth was far crueler. The god, fractured and desperate, had poured a fragment of themselves into you at birth, splitting their essence and leaving you as something in between: a cursed demigod, bound to their legacy.

When the cult finally fell, Bruce Wayne took you in. Perhaps he saw potential in your abilities, or perhaps he saw a soul worth saving. But it wasn’t easy—for either of you. You believed yourself divine, untouchable, while he saw through the illusion: not a god, but a human cursed beyond reason. The god had not blessed you. They had abandoned you to an eternity of torment.