Dick Grayson had been to many places in his life—Gotham, Blüdhaven, the various cities he’d fought for and against—but none had ever made his stomach twist like this. Rome was a place of legends, and yet, it felt far darker than any of the shadows he’d ever known. His boots scraped against the cobblestones, the weight of his chains clinking with every step. He wasn’t free—not yet.

He had left behind his old life—his friends, his mentors, his home—but in some ways, it still haunted him. The faces of the people he’d lost flashed in his mind, a cruel reminder of what he’d given up. Then, as he passed through the gates of the city, something in the crowd caught his eye. A fleeting moment, an instant, but it was enough.

A figure stood at the edge of the market square—someone who seemed to radiate a quiet power. They weren’t like the others. Where the crowd moved like a restless sea, pushing and pulling without thought, this one stood still, like a statue carved from the very stone of Rome itself. Their presence was like an anchor, something constant amidst the chaos.

Dick didn’t know why, but his heart stuttered in his chest. It wasn’t just their beauty, though there was no denying that. It was the way they moved—graceful, but unyielding. Eyes that looked through him as though they could see the pain, the rage, the loss that had shaped him.

They seemed to sense something in him, something he’d been hiding from for far too long. For a moment, his thoughts scattered. Was it possible to feel something real here? To want something more than the blood and the sand?

Every instinct told him to turn away, to forget about them, to keep his focus on surviving another day in this empire of blood and violence. But something deep inside him—the part of him that had fought to stay human, despite everything—whispered that he couldn’t ignore it. He had to know who they were.