[Right Before Noon]

The air was thick with tension as Lady Shiva stood at the edge of the League of Assassins’ base, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The faint hum of an approaching helicopter echoed in the distance, but her attention was momentarily drawn back to Ra’s al Ghul, who stood beside her, his presence as commanding as ever.

“Must you leave so soon?” Ra’s asked, his voice smooth but laced with a subtle edge. “I would prefer you stayed a few more days. Your presence here is… invaluable.”

Lady Shiva raised a brow, her expression unreadable. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain. I trained your protégé. Now, it’s time I return to my own affairs.”

Ra’s tilted his head, his piercing gaze studying her. “And what do you think of him? The boy.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “If I didn’t see potential in him, I wouldn’t have wasted a week of my time. He’s raw, but he has talent. And hunger. That’s rare.”

Ra’s allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. “I’m glad you see what I see in him.”

The roar of the helicopter grew louder, its blades slicing through the air as it descended toward the base. Lady Shiva slung a bag over her shoulder, her movements fluid and deliberate. She turned to Ra’s one last time, her voice carrying over the noise. 

“Jason has room to grow. He’s a project worth your attention. But don’t underestimate him. That hunger of his? It could either make him your greatest weapon… or your undoing.”

With that, she grabbed hold of a zip line dropped from the hovering aircraft. The line pulled her up swiftly, her figure disappearing into the cabin. Ra’s watched as the helicopter ascended, its silhouette shrinking against the vast blue sky. 

“Goodbye, Shiva,” he murmured, though his words were lost in the wind.

                                       ***

[On the Training Grounds]

Jason Todd moved with a ferocity that was almost inhuman. His fists struck the training dummy with brutal precision, each blow echoing through the courtyard. Sweat poured down his face, his muscles burning with exertion, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. 

The assassins who had gathered to watch him train stood in silence, their usual stoicism replaced by a rare unease. There was something about the way Jason fought—something wild, untamed, and utterly relentless. It was as if he were exorcising his demons with every strike.

When he finally stopped, his chest heaved, and his knuckles were raw and bleeding. The training dummy hung in tatters, its stuffing spilling out like the guts of a fallen enemy.

 Jason leaned against the wall, his breath ragged, his mind momentarily quiet. 

In the distance, perched on an upper level, Damian watched with an unreadable expression. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but his eyes burned with a quiet intensity. Jason caught his gaze and smirked, a silent challenge passing between them.

Damian didn’t move, but the glint in his eyes spoke volumes. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Jason pushed himself off the wall, his smirk fading as he turned back to the training dummy. He knew Damian was watching. He knew the boy was calculating, waiting for the right moment for his get—back. But Jason wasn’t bothered. He welcomed it. 

The storm Inside him was far from over, and he was ready to unleash it on anyone who dared to stand in his way.

                                     ***

[Later That Night]

The fortress was silent, save for the soft hum of the wind outside and the distant murmur of guards patrolling the halls. 

Jason sat on the edge of his bed, the dim light of a single lantern casting long shadows across the plain walls of his chamber. His knuckles were still bruised from the earlier training, and his muscles ached.

His previous fight with Damian had been satisfying in its own way, a chance to vent some of the pent-up aggression he carried like a second skin. But the aftermath… Ra’s words… Damian’s defiance… it all left Jason unsettled.  

He clenched his fists, staring down at the faint scars crisscrossing his hands. They told a story he couldn’t remember—one he wasn’t sure he wanted to.  

And then it came again. That familiar, haunting flicker of blurred memories.  

A flash of red. A laugh—cruel and mocking. His chest tightening with fear. Pain—blinding, overwhelming pain. The nightmares that keep him up most nights.

Jason sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the bed as the fragmented memory slipped away, leaving him trembling.  

“Who the hell am I?” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking slightly.  

The door creaked open, pulling him out of his thoughts. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.  

“Kid, if you’re here to gloat, you’re wasting your time,” Jason said, his tone flat.  

Damian stepped into the room, his expression unreadable as he closed the door behind him. He was dressed in a simple black tunic and pants, his posture rigid, like he was bracing himself for a fight.  

“I’m not here to gloat,” Damian said, his voice quieter than usual. “I came to… talk.”  

Jason raised an eyebrow, turning to face him fully. “Talk, huh? That’s a new one for you. What, no smug remarks? No challenges to a rematch?”  

Damian ignored the jab, walking over to the small table in the corner of the room and sitting down. He rested his hands on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor.  

“You don’t remember, do you?” Damian asked after a long moment of silence.  

Jason tensed. “What are you talking about?”  

“Your past,” Damian said, looking up to meet Jason’s eyes. “Your life before the League. You don’t remember it.”  

Jason narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. “And what makes you so sure?”  

“Because I am more observant than most might think,” Damian said, his voice steady. “I’ve seen the way you hesitate when someone calls you by name at times.

 The way you stare off Into space, like you’re chasing ghosts. You fight like someone who’s been trained, but it’s more than that. You fight like someone who’s been through hell.”  

Jason felt a lump form in his throat, but he swallowed it down, his jaw tightening. “What’s your point, pip-squeak?”  

“My point,” Damian said, standing up and walking closer, “is that you’re not as different from me as you think.”  

Jason let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. You’re the Demon’s heir, kid. Born and bred to be perfect. Me? I’m just some…broken experiment in progress that your grandfather dragged out of the grave.”  

Damian flinched at the harshness in Jason’s voice, but he didn’t back down. “You’re wrong,” he said firmly. “You’re not broken. You’re angry. And scared. You’re afraid of what you might find if you dig too deep into who you were.”  

Jason stared at him, wondering what the kid’s angle might be. The kid’s words hit too close to home, and he hated it.  

“Get out,” Jason said, his voice low and dangerous.  

Damian hesitated, his eyes searching Jason’s face for something—some sign that his words had reached him. But Jason didn’t give him the satisfaction.  

With a small nod, Damian turned and walked to the door. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced back over his shoulder.  

“We all have our demons, but they can only be conquered when we dare face them and not let them overwhelm us.” He said with a stern voice. “Whatever it is you’re afraid of, if you do not face it before it destroys you from the inside out, then you are nothing but a pathetic weakling.”  

Jason didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. After a moment, Damian left, the door clicking shut behind him.

A couple of hours went by and Jason was still unable to get some sleep, so he decided to step out.

He stood on one of the balconies of the fortress, the cold night air biting at his skin. The stars above were sharp and clear

Damian’s words lingered in his mind, cutting deeper than he cared to admit.  

‘You’re afraid of what you might find.’

Jason clenched his fists, his breath visible in the chill of the air. He hated the kid for being right. Hated the way those words dug into the part of him that felt like a stranger in his own skin.  

But more than that, he hated the fear that kept him from facing the truth whenever he had flashes of his blurred memories.  

He closed his eyes, the fragmented images swirling in his mind. The clown’s laughter. The excruciating pain that makes his body quiver. The overwhelming sense of regret.  

He didn’t know who he used to be. But one thing was certain.  

He wasn’t ready to find out.  

Not yet.  

                                     ***

Jason found himself summoned again, this time to the grand sparring hall where the League’s elites trained. The room was massive, its vaulted ceilings and stone walls echoing with every movement. 

Sunlight filtered through narrow slits high above, casting long beams of light across the floor. Despite the cavernous space, it felt suffocating as Jason walked in, the weight of what awaited him pressing heavily on his chest.  

Ra’s al Ghul stood at the center of the hall, his hands clasped behind his back. His presence was commanding, as always, and his sharp green eyes followed Jason’s every step with an air of detached curiosity. 

To his right stood Talia, her expression unreadable, though there was a slight lift to her chin that made Jason feel like he was already being judged.  

And then there was Damian, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, his face set in a scowl that seemed permanently etched onto his features. Jason could feel the boy’s glare burning into him, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the man who had brought him here.  

“You wanted to see me?” Jason asked, his tone carefully neutral as he came to a stop a few feet away from Ra’s.  

“I did,” Ra’s replied, his voice smooth and authoritative. “I trust you’ve had time to reflect on our conversation yesterday.”  

Jason tensed but didn’t let it show. “Yeah, I’ve had time,” he said, crossing his arms. “What about it?”  

Ra’s tilted his head slightly, studying him with that piercing gaze that seemed to see right through him. “Your actions from a week ago—defeating Damian in combat—have raised questions among the League. Questions about your purpose, and your loyalty.”  

Jason bristled at the word “loyalty.” He hated how often it came up in his conversations with Ra’s, like the man was always trying to subtly remind him of what he owed.  

“I don’t see how beating the kid in a fight has anything to do with loyalty,” Jason said, his voice sharp.  

Damian scoffed loudly from his corner, and Jason shot him a glare. “Got something to say, pip-squeak?”  

“Plenty,” Damian snapped, stepping forward before Ra’s raised a hand to stop him.  

“Enough, Damian,” Ra’s said, his tone calm but firm. “This is not the time for your petty grievances.”  

Damian huffed but backed off, muttering something under his breath that Jason chose to ignore.  

Ra’s turned his attention back to Jason. “Your skill, Jason, is undeniable. Your instincts, your adaptability—it is clear that you were a formidable warrior even before you came to us. But what you lack is discipline. Focus. Direction.”  

Jason clenched his fists at his sides, struggling to keep his temper in check. “And I suppose you’re here to offer me all three?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  

Talia stepped forward then, her movements graceful and deliberate. “What my father is trying to say,” she said, her tone softer but no less commanding, “is that we see potential in you, Jason. Potential that you either refuse or are too scared to embrace.”  

Jason turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “And what if I don’t want to embrace it? What if I’m not interested in becoming a foot soldier?”  

Talia’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You can deny it all you want, but you crave purpose, Jason. You wouldn’t train as hard as you do if you didn’t. You may not remember your past, but it’s clear that fighting, surviving—that’s who you are. Why not use that to you’re advantage?”  

Jason opened his mouth to retort, but he hesitated, her words striking a nerve he hadn’t expected.  

Ra’s stepped closer, his hands still clasped behind his back. “You are at a crossroads, Jason,” he said. “You can continue to flounder in search of answers you may never find, or you can accept the guidance we offer and forge a new path for yourself.”  

Jason’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking between Ra’s, Talia, and Damian. He hated how convincing they sounded, how much their words seemed to echo the thoughts that had been circling his mind for weeks.  

“What’s the catch?” he asked finally, his voice low.  

Ra’s smiled faintly, as if he’d been expecting the question. “There is no catch,” he said. “Only the opportunity to become more than you are now. To rise above the chaos of your past and find clarity in the present. This would help you pave a way for a visible future.”  

Jason scoffed, shaking his head. “Clarity, huh? Funny coming from a guy whose entire organization thrives on chaos.”

Ra’s didn’t react to the jab, his expression calm and unyielding. “The choice is yours, boy. But I urge you to consider it carefully. The League is not merely a tool of destruction—it is a force for balance. And you, more than anyone, understand the importance of balance.”  

Jason frowned, the words lingering in his mind longer than he’d like. Balance. It was a concept he couldn’t quite grasp, not with the storm of anger and confusion that constantly churned inside him.  

He glanced at Damian, who was watching him with a mix of annoyance and curiosity. The kid still pissed him off, but there was something about the way he carried himself—so confident, so sure of who he was—that Jason couldn’t help but envy.  

Talia stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t have to decide now,” she said. “But know this, the League sees you as more than just a fighter. You have the potential to lead, to shape the world in ways few can. All you have to do is let go of the past.”  

Jason stared at her, his chest tightening. Let go of the past. It sounded so simple, yet it felt impossible because of the occasional bombardment of blurred memories.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice begrudging.  

Ra’s inclined his head slightly, as if satisfied with that answer. “That is all I ask.”  

As Jason turned to leave, Damian’s voice stopped him.  

“You’re stronger than you look,” the boy said, his tone grudgingly respectful. “But don’t think for a second that means I’ll stop trying to beat you.”  

Jason smirked, glancing over his shoulder. “Good. I’d hate for you to get lazy, whippersnapper.”  

Damian glared at him, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. 

As Jason walked away, he couldn’t help but feel a small, unfamiliar spark of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.  

He felt a nostalgic sense of belonging wash over him, being genuinely wanted at a place despite his flaws and imperfections was a feeling he had yarned for almost his whole life.

He mistook this nostalgic feeling as a sign he belonged with the League of Assassins. Although unable to remember, the first and only time he had felt that feeling was when Bruce took him in.

He subconsciously sought his missing father figure, which was currently misplaced upon Ra’s al Ghul instead of Bruce Wayne.

Whatever feeling that made him question if being at the League was the right choice— considering their moral ethics and all, slowly faded off and replaced by an intoxicating drive of becoming an assassin Ra’s al Ghul could rely on. He wanted to support him in any way possible.

This was his new found purpose.

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep