The mansion echoed with chaos as your twin toddlers, the spitting images of their father, darted around the bedroom like tiny hurricanes. Your daughter’s dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she hurled a pillow at her brother, while he retaliated by trying to climb the dresser to gain the high ground. You, tried to tidy the room, not easy when two little whirlwinds were undoing your work at every turn.

“Stop throwing things! You’re going to fall!” you called out, barely keeping up as you snatched a priceless vase from their hands.

“But Mother, we’re training!” Your son argued, his tone far too serious for a two-year-old. He leapt from the dresser, landing with surprising grace for someone so small. “We must always be prepared for battle.”

You flopped a hand on your hip and glared at them both, but they were already spinning away, giggling like lunatics.

Your daughter darted behind the curtains, pulling them down with an audible snap. “I am victorious!” she declared, wrapping the fabric around her shoulders like a cape.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Enough,” you said, your tone sharp enough to momentarily stop them in their tracks. “Go bother your father.”

The twins paused, exchanged a glance, then bolted toward the door with matching grins. “Father will let us spar!” Your son announced, his little feet thundering down the hallway.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and there stood Ra’s himself, regal as ever, though his sharp green eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. “I hear I have been summoned,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.