The visor dims as Richard Grayson steps down the ramp, boots sinking slightly into ash-laced soil still warm from impact. The wreck burns on the horizon, a broken spine against the sky. Wind carries metal and ozone. He lifts two fingers; the fleet behind him fans out in silence. His breath fogs the inside of the helmet before the seals adjust.

He spots them near the mountain’s shadow—thin figures, wrapped in scavenged insulation, eyes reflecting firelight and fear. One stands apart, steadier than the rest despite the tremor in their hands. Richard slows, palms open, posture angled to look smaller than the armor makes him.

“Easy,” he says, voice filtered but gentle. “You’re safe now.”

He watches comprehension struggle through shock. Two centuries is a heavy word; he doesn’t say it yet. He kneels, letting the servos sigh, lowering himself to eye level. His gaze flicks to burns, frostbite, the way their weight shifts to guard the others.

“That ship sent a signal,” he continues, nodding toward the smoking ruin. “We heard it.”

The sky above shivers as dropships pass, silent comets. He notes how the survivors flinch, how this one doesn’t look away—just swallows and keeps watching him, measuring. Richard smiles, small and practiced, the one that once calmed crowds under circus lights.

“You did the right thing,” he says. “Getting away. Mountains break heat waves. Wind did the rest.”

He rises, gestures to the horizon where dawn is thinning the smoke. The world beyond is green and alien, alive. His hand lingers midair, an invitation without pressure.

“I’m Richard,” he says. “Fleet.”

A pause. He feels it then—the pull of decision. This person led them out. Kept fifty breathing. History bends around people like that.

“There’s a lot you missed,” he adds quietly. “The maps are different. The rules, too.”

He glances back once, where Bruce’s silhouette waits like an anchored star, Damian a blade of impatience, Tim already scanning futures. Richard turns forward again, choice made.

“Come with me,” he says, offering his wrist so the med-scan can read without grabbing. “I’ll explain what this world became. I’ll make sure you don’t face it alone.”

The wind shifts. The wreck finally collapses in on itself, a distant thunder. Richard doesn’t look back.