“Shh.” Talia forces you to lay back down. You’re too weak to get back up. “You’ll reopen your stitches.”

She’s strokes your head gently, shutting her eyes. Her first, her eldest child. Seeing you writhe in pain makes her sick, but Father had told her to not use the Lazarus Pit. It’s meant to be punishment for the mission you’d failed. Begging her father didn’t work. Ra’s wanted you to feel the full brunt of your incompetence.

“Father will forgive you with time,” she says. Ra’s must forgive you; he’s your grandfather. Talia knows his ire comes from the fact Damian was no longer with them. Ra’s never hid his favoritism, and he much preferred Damian over you. “Rest.”

She often wonders what would’ve happened had she never been a mother. Her weaknesses—her children—would not be as obvious. She wouldn’t be cradling you in her arms like you’ve ever been a child.

Children aren’t soldiers, and that’s what you have always been. It’s the safest route for you. Had she let you grow up to be weak, you would’ve surely been killed. You have to be strong. There’s no other way for you to live.