[Talia al Ghul’s POV]

“Father, we were unable to find a body.” Talia reported, her tone calm but measured as she dipped her head in a brief bow. “It’s impossible for anyone to survive that fall. He’s undoubtedly dead.”

Ra’s al Ghul stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the storm battering the mountainside. 

Snow swirled in relentless waves, the howling wind a reminder of nature’s indifference. Without turning, he replied, his voice quiet but heavy with thought.

“That would be the logical conclusion. Yet, even if by some miracle he survived the fall, this storm will finish the job.

Frostbite, hypothermia…or the weight of the snow burying him alive.”

He exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible but laden with frustration. Turning to face his daughter, he studied her with sharp, discerning eyes. 

For a moment, disappointment flickered across his face—a rare crack in the fortress of his composure. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the detached calm of acceptance.

“It pains me,” he admitted after a moment, his voice low and deliberate, “that my actions have led to the death of such a promising young man. I sought to restore him, to make him whole again. And I failed.”

Talia tilted her head, her curiosity breaking through the polished exterior she usually maintained. “Why do you care so much, Father? Why does it matter if that boy lives or dies?”

Her question hung in the air like the echo of a blade. It wasn’t like him to fixate on the fate of a single life. 

After all, Ra’s al Ghul had sent countless soldiers of the League to their deaths without a second thought, believing every life expendable in service of his greater vision. Why was this different?

Ra’s turned back to the window, his gaze distant as he watched the storm rage. “His death wasn’t part of the agreement,” he said simply. “The Clown acted on his own madness. 

The boy’s death was meant to torment the Detective—and I had hoped to make things right.”

Talia studied him carefully. His words felt…odd. Compassionate, almost. But it didn’t align with the man she knew, the man who rarely spared a thought for casualties unless they served his purpose.

“But that’s not your mistake to fix,” she said after a pause, stepping closer. “In his own twisted way, the Clown did this to spite Batman.

 You chose the right distraction, Father. No one can control that madman. Least of all you.”

She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, a rare gesture of reassurance. “You shouldn’t carry the burden of a lunatic’s actions. Robin wasn’t our responsibility.”

Ra’s turned to her, his sharp eyes narrowing—not in anger, but as if considering her words. Then, without another word, he strode toward the door. He paused at the threshold, glancing back briefly.

“My condolences to the Detective,” he said, his tone cool and final. “But what’s done is done.”

With that, he disappeared down the hall, his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Talia alone with her thoughts.

She turned to the window, staring out at the storm as it raged on, the snow swallowing the mountainside inch by inch. Yet, even as the cold winds howled outside, a thought began to form—a flicker of determination sparking in the depths of her mind.

Ra’s had made his decision, but Talia wasn’t one to leave things unanswered. If Robin was truly dead, they needed to confirm it. If there was even a sliver of a chance he had survived, she needed to know.

Her gaze sharpened as she made her decision. She would take two of her most resilient League members and venture into the storm. The boy’s fate would not remain a mystery, even if it meant braving the unforgiving cold.

Talia turned, her resolve set. For better or worse, she would find him—or what was left of him—before the snow erased all trace of his existence.

****

[Jason Todd’s POV]

Jason’s pale skin seemed almost ghostly against the swirling white of the blizzard. Out of his mind and lost to any sense of purpose, he trudged through the relentless storm.

 The wind howled mercilessly, biting at his exposed skin and cutting through the bandages wrapped around his body like knives.

Each step felt heavier than the last as the snow buried his feet, but Jason pushed forward. He didn’t know where he was going—he just knew he couldn’t stop. 

Pain from freezing muscles and stiff joints had dulled into an almost comfortable numbness, his body too exhausted to feel anymore.

Eventually, his strength gave out, and he collapsed face-first into the snow. The bitter cold seeped into his bones, the edges of his vision beginning to blur. 

His eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion, when a voice echoed faintly in his mind.

“Don’t give in to the cold. Fight. Survive.”

The words jolted him slightly, and he clung to the thread of consciousness they offered.

“We have to get our revenge,” the voice whispered again, urgent and insistent. “We can’t die here—not like this. Get up, Jason. Get up!”

A grunt escaped his lips as he pushed against the icy ground, managing to get one knee under him. But his body betrayed him, and he fell back into the snow. 

The cold was suffocating, but as his head tilted upward, he spotted something in the distance—a faint orange glow. It was small but unmistakable: fire.

With every ounce of willpower he had left, Jason began crawling toward the light. Each inch felt like an eternity, but finally, he reached the mouth of a shallow cave. Inside, a fire crackled warmly, and next to it sat a rugged man—a hunter, judging by his attire—roasting fish over the flames.

Jason’s focus locked onto the fish. His empty stomach growled faintly as he collapsed just inside the cave’s entrance, barely conscious.

The hunter looked up, his eyes widening in terror.

“Ahhh!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. Jason’s pale skin and the bandages covering his body gave him the appearance of some undead creature, and the hunter instinctively grabbed a machete.

 But as he took a closer look, he realized the “mummy” before him was just a boy—freezing, starving, and barely alive.

“Hey, kid! Are you…are you alright?” The hunter’s voice softened as he crouched beside Jason. Seeing no response, he slung Jason’s arm over his shoulders and hauled him closer to the fire.

The warmth was overwhelming. Jason shivered uncontrollably, his teeth chattering as he finally began to feel the sensation returning to his frozen limbs. 

The hunter sat him down on a log by the fire, draping his jacket over the boy’s trembling shoulders.

“I’ll be right back,” the hunter said gently as he got up, watching as Jason stared blankly into the flames. “Gotta grab more kindling before the fire dies out.”

The boy didn’t respond, his focus consumed by the dancing flames.

****

Talia al Ghul and three of her best soldiers pushed through the unforgiving blizzard. She wasn’t one to waste time on a fool’s errand, but something told her the boy was still alive.

As they crested a ridge, Talia spotted a faint orange glow. She raised her hand, signaling her team to stop. With a few quick hand gestures, she directed two of them to flank the entrance of the cave while she and the other soldier approached from the front.

Inside, they saw Jason sitting by the fire, his expression blank, and a rugged hunter handing him a stick with a roasted fish.

“I’ll be back soon,” the hunter said as he stood. “Gotta grab more kindling before the fire dies out.”

The hunter’s steps faltered as he came face-to-face with a masked figure blocking the cave entrance. A knife pressed against his throat, freezing him in place.

Jason looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in the four masked figures now surrounding the cave.

“See?” a sly voice whispered in his mind. “You haven’t even been here five minutes, and he’s already sold you out. Typical.”

Jason’s lips moved faintly, forming a whisper. “Maybe they’re his associates. Maybe this was all a setup.”

The hunter turned slightly, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Or maybe he just doesn’t care,” the voice hissed again. “Make him pay.”

Jason’s gaze shifted to the flames, his mind sharpening with sudden clarity. Without hesitation, he grabbed the nearest object—a bottle of alcohol—and hurled it at the closest masked figure. The glass shattered on impact to the forehead, and he followed up by swinging a burning log into the face of another attacker as they screamed in pain.

The sudden violence sent the hunter stumbling backward, only to be caught by Jason, who drove a jagged piece of broken glass into his neck. Blood sprayed as the hunter dropped to the ground, gurgling his last breath.

Talia’s eyes widened in shock as she watched Jason’s brutal efficiency. The boy turned his attention to the remaining masked soldier writhing on the ground, his face burned from the firewood. 

Without hesitation, Jason kicked them into the flames, their screams echoing through the cave.

“Stop!” Talia commanded, her voice steady despite the chaos. She stepped forward cautiously, observing the boy who had once been Batman’s second Robin.

“I see death lingers around you now,” she said softly.

Jason turned his fiery gaze toward her but said nothing. She extended a hand, her tone calm and persuasive. “Come with us. You don’t belong out here, freezing to death.”

Jason didn’t respond. His body moved on instinct as he lunged at her with a kick. Talia dodged, sweeping his planted leg out from under him. He rolled with the motion, landing on his feet and charging again.

The fight was brief but fierce. Talia and her remaining soldier skillfully avoided his wild, desperate attacks. With one well-placed strike, Talia delivered a sharp chop to Jason’s neck, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Take him,” she ordered, straightening her posture as her soldier hoisted Jason over their shoulder. Talia cast a final glance at the carnage Jason had left behind, her thoughts swirling.

‘Was this the Lazarus Pit’s influence…or his true innate nature revealed?’

Without another word, she led her team back into the storm, Jason’s limp form carried away into the night.

****

At the break of dawn, the training hall echoed with the sharp clatter of weapons and the grunts of men in combat. At the center of it all stood Ra’s al Ghul, shirtless and unarmed, surrounded by a circle of skilled foot soldiers armed with a variety of weapons.

This was no ordinary drill—it was a deadly training exercise where every soldier was tasked with attacking Ra’s with the intent to kill. Despite their lethal intent, the Demon’s Head moved with astonishing precision and grace.

Ra’s weaved through their attacks effortlessly, his movements as fluid as water. Every strike, every blow directed at him was either dodged, countered, or redirected. 

His bare feet danced across the floor with the agility of a man decades younger, and his fists and open palms struck with pinpoint accuracy, sending soldier after soldier crumpling to the ground.

Talia al Ghul entered the hall silently, observing her father’s exercise without interruption. She crossed her arms, her eyes following Ra’s as he flowed seamlessly from one movement to the next.

 For a man approaching five centuries of life, his speed and reflexes were unparalleled, and the power in his strikes betrayed none of his years.

A soldier loosed an arrow at close range, the projectile whistling through the air. Ra’s caught it mid-flight with ease, pivoted on his heel, and sent it flying back toward its origin.

 The arrow nicked the shoulder of its shooter, a calculated move to incapacitate without causing undue harm.

In mere minutes, the floor was littered with unconscious soldiers. Ra’s stood at the center of the carnage, his sweat-soaked chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. 

A soldier approached cautiously, bowing before offering him a towel. Ra’s took it without a word, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Though his body bore the years of his immortal life, he looked no older than a man in his early fifties, his physique as sharp and disciplined as his mind.

“I trust my performance was satisfactory, daughter?” Ra’s asked, his voice calm yet commanding as he walked toward Talia.

She inclined her head in a respectful bow. “As always, Father. No matter how often I watch you train, I’m still in awe of how effortlessly you blend so many fighting styles. It’s as if combat flows through you.”

Ra’s offered a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, my child,” he said, draping the towel over his shoulders.

Without breaking stride, he continued toward the exit, his movements as measured as ever. 

Talia followed a few steps behind, her tone shifting to one of formality. “Father, I’ve received news. Our guest has regained consciousness. He’s awake as we speak.”

Ra’s paused mid-stride, his back still to her. Slowly, he turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder, his piercing eyes sharp with interest.

“How long has it been?” he asked, extending his arms slightly as two attendants stepped forward, draping a finely embroidered robe over his shoulders.

“It’s been almost a week, father,” Talia replied.

Ra’s hummed thoughtfully, fastening the robe at his waist. “Get him something to eat and help him relax,” he instructed, his tone firm but not unkind. “His mind will likely still be rattled from the ordeal.”

“Yes, Father.” Talia bowed again, though she couldn’t help but wonder why her father was so invested in keeping the boy alive. There was a time when Ra’s would have left such matters to fate, yet this was different.

“I will see him when he has calmed and regained his sense of self,” Ra’s added before turning away and disappearing down the dimly lit corridor, his silhouette fading into the shadows.

Talia remained behind for a moment, her thoughts lingering on the boy who was brought back from the dead, and the unusual interest her father seemed to have in him. Whatever plans Ra’s had for Jason Todd, she would have choice but to go along with it for her father knows best.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep