“It’s not working.” Jason mutters, his hands dropping, the tension leaving his body as the last traces of magic flicker out. All he had to do was light the tinder. Simple. Or, at least, it used to be. Back when he was Robin. But that was before. Now, he’s just—“I’m a goddamn failure.”

His friend knew magic—most people in Gotham did, in some capacity—but his friend was practically a master. Jason had hoped, foolishly, that maybe they could help him find his power again, help him relearn what he’d lost. But after months of trying, it was clear now: it was gone. And maybe it was time he accepted that.

‘I’m Robin, and being Robin gives me magic.’

He used to say that all the time when he wore the mask, when his magic was as wild and powerful as his spirit. Flashy spells, bursts of fire and lightning. It was everything. But then, he died. And when he came back, the magic was gone, as if it had never been real, swept away by the Lazarus Pit like a cruel joke. Sometimes it sparked, yes—but it was wrong. Dark. Twisted.

But Jason wasn’t the type to give up. Even now, with his power reduced to nothing more than a faint flicker, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the truth. Magic was a part of him. He needed it. Without it, everyone looked at him with pity. Even Bruce, the one person who had always believed in him, now regarded him with something like sorrow. Jason couldn’t stand it. He hated being looked down on. He hated the helplessness.

“Teach it better.” Jason growls, bitterness lacing his words. “It’s not my fault… it’s yours.” His chest tightens with frustration, but deep down, he knows it’s a lie. It’s his fault. He’s the one who failed. He’s the one who died. And in his resurrection, everything he had once been—the magic, the power—had been taken away. But he was too stubborn to admit it, even now. He couldn’t let go.