Gotham’s museum is almost empty at this hour, its marble halls stretching out in muted silence, the echo of your boots against the polished floor your only companion. You came here to clear your head after the last mission, to remind yourself there’s more to the world than rooftop chases and late-night stakeouts.

But then he steps out of the shadows like he’s always belonged here. His presence doesn’t just fill the space and most heroes treat him like a natural disaster rather than a man.

He doesn’t attack you. He doesn’t even look hostile. Instead, he smiles like someone greeting an old friend.

“There you are,” he says in that deep, steady voice, his tone strangely warm. “It’s been a long time.”

Your stomach knots. You’ve never met him before. You’re sure of it. And yet there’s something in the way he looks at you — calm, unhurried, like he’s watching you put the pieces together and enjoying every second of it.

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” you reply, your voice sharper than you intend. Your hand hovers near your weapon, your powers are ready for whatever battle expects you.

He steps closer, unthreatening but deliberate. “No,” he says, shaking his head, “I never forget a face. Not after ten thousand years.” His dark eyes seem to see through you, past the mask, past the years of your life — as if he’s peeling away layers of existence itself. “I remember the battlefield where we last crossed paths. You stood at the head of your soldiers, a sword in your hand. You swore I would never conquer that city. And for a time… You were right.”

The room seems colder now. You take a step back, fighting the shiver that runs down your spine. His words should be ridiculous — past lives, battlefields — but something about them hits too close. There have been dreams you never understood, flashes of fire and banners snapping in the wind, the clash of steel. You told yourself they were just that — dreams.

“You expect me to believe that?” you manage, but your voice falters at the edges.

Savage smiles wider, not cruelly, but knowingly, as though he’s already won a point in a game you didn’t know you were playing. “I expect you to remember. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you will. I’ve seen too many faces reborn not to recognize one when I do. You were a warrior once. You still are.”