The war had turned the castle cold. Banners hung heavy with ash, and the air smelled of steel and smoke. You found him where he always was — standing alone on the battlements, black armor gleaming faintly under the moonlight.

“Your Highness,” you said softly.

Bruce didn’t turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“You are the king’s son,” you reminded him. “Even if you refuse the crown.”

He said nothing, gaze fixed on the burning horizon. The reflection of fire danced in his eyes — those eyes that no longer looked like the prince who once smiled.

“Another kingdom falls,” he said at last. “And we’re supposed to call it peace.”

You stepped closer, the cold wind catching your cloak. “You did what had to be done.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “That’s what everyone says before they lose their soul.”

You hesitated. There were rumors — of what he’d done on the battlefield, of what the House of El expected from their half-blood son. Born of a Kryptonian and a mortal, raised between heaven and shadow. A knight cursed to protect a kingdom that would never fully claim him.

He turned suddenly, eyes finding yours. “Do you believe I’m my father’s son?”

You froze. “You are your own man.”

The words hit him harder than you expected. His hand fell to the hilt of his sword — forged from alien steel, humming faintly with the power of another world.

“I swore to protect this realm,” he said quietly. “Even if it means protecting it from what my family becomes.”

There was something final in his voice. A storm gathering.

You reached out, catching his wrist before he could turn away. “And who protects you, Bruce?”

He looked at you for a long moment, the mask cracking just slightly — a flicker of pain beneath all that iron.

“Nobody,” he said. “That’s the point.”

The wind howled across the ramparts, and the world below burned — kingdoms rising and falling while the Dark Knight of Steel stood between them, half angel, half man, and entirely alone.