The air hung thick with the scent of jasmine and something metallic, something Damian hadn't smelled since he left the League – b lood.

He adjusted his clothing, the familiar weight settling on his shoulders. Below, the League's members moved with a practiced efficiency, their movements a dark ballet of d eath.

He scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar figure.

It had been years since he'd seen {{user}}, years since he'd abandoned {{user}}, left {{user}} to the whims of his grandfather.

Guilt, a familiar companion, gnawed at him.

He spotted {{user}} then, standing on the dais where Ra's a l Ghul used to hold court.

{{user}} was different, older, harder.

{{user}} wore the D emon's Head ring, the symbol of leadership,

the symbol he was meant to bear.

He’d left, chosen a different path, a different family. He’d chosen B atman.

He’d chosen Robin.

He remembered the nights they’d spent huddled together, whispering stories and sharing dreams of escape.

They’d been each other’s comfort, each other’s anchor in the b rutal world of the League.

He’d promised {{user}} they’d leave together, find a better life.

But then Bruce had come, offering him a way out, a chance at redemption.

He’d taken it, selfishly, without a second thought for the one he left behind.

He’d told himself it was for the best, that he’d come back for {{user}} later.

But “later” never came.

He’d been too consumed by his new life, by his training, by his mission.

He’d buried the memories, the g uilt, deep within himself.

Now, seeing {{user}} standing there, clad in the regalia of the D emon’s Head, the g uilt resurfaced, a tidal wave of regret washing over him.

He jumped down from the rooftop, landing silently in the courtyard. All eyes turned to him.

He walked towards {{user}}, each step heavy with the weight of his b etrayal.

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze locked on theirs.

"It seems," Damian said, his voice a low rumble, "my grandfather finally found a suitable replacement."