[Barbara Gordon’s POV]

  It’s been barely a month since we lost Jason, and every member of the Bat-Family is g with the loss in their own way. Some are more open about it, while others try to bury it deep, but the weight is unmistakable.

  Jason’s absence isn’t something you ig lingers in every er, in many unspoken word.

  Alfred, as always, is the glue holding us together. He’s been trying to sole everyoh his calm, all-knowing words of encement, often starting random versations just to distract us whenever he catches us staring off into space, probably thinking about Jason.

  I know he’s hurting too. How could he not? Although rebellious, Jason was like a grandson to him. But Alfred being Alfred, he puts on a brave face for our sake.

  He refuses to let us all fall apart at once. Someone has to keep the pieces together, and it’s no surprise that it’s him. Still, I catch glimpses of it sometimes—the quiet moments when Alfred pauses mid-task, his gaze distant. I know he’s thinking about Jason, just like the rest of us.

  I’ve been visiting Wayne Manor more often tely. It’s a strange fort being here, even though the air feels heavier than usual. It’s not like I do much else—going out on patrol or pung my frustrations out isn’t an option for me anymore. Not sihe Joker took my legs, my freedom, and my identity.

  That . He’s already stolen so much from us. My dreams, my future as Batgirl, and now Jason’s life. He keeps taking and taking, leaving nothing but pain in his wake.

  Dick’s been dealing with it the way he knows best, by throwing himself into the fight. He’s been hitting the streets hard, putting every ounce of his grief into beating the crap out of Bludhaven’s criminals.

  I’ve caught him a few times scrolling through old pictures of Jason, the ones where Jason would surprise him with selfies while they were out in e.

  The did ones where Dick is mid-sentence or caught off-guard, looking annoyed but secretly amused. Jason had that way about him, bringing a little chaos and ughter wherever he went.

  I know Dick misses those moments, more than he’ll admit. But he’s Dick. He’s always been resilient, the kind of person who finds his way through the storm. He’ll be fiually. Once he’s finished grieving in his own way.

  Then there’s Bruce. Let’s just say you don’t want to be on the wrong side of Batman right now. Over the past few weeks, criminals who cross his path don’t just end up in jail—they end up in the hospital first.

  And not just with minor injuries, either. I’m talking broken ribs, shattered kneecaps, the works. No life insurance is going to cover that, and ohey’re patched up, it’s straight to Bckgate or Arkham.

  I think, deep down, Bruce bmes himself for Jason’s death. He’s been pulling back from letting Dick take on the more dangerous jobs whenever he offers to lend a hand, assigning him t stakeouts and routirols while Bruce goes after the heavy hitters alone.

  It’s like he’s trying to shield Dick from danger, but it’s obvious what he’s really doing. He’s terrified of losing another son. The guilt is eating him alive, even though none of us bme him for what happened. But Bruce? He’ll carry that weight forever.

  I just wish he’d stop punishing himself. Jason wouldn’t want that. None of us do.

  And then there’s me. Sometimes I feel so helpless. My days as Batgirl are over, thanks to the Joker, but that doesn’t stop the itch to do something—anything—to help. Watg Gotham from the sidelines is torture.

  I want to be out there with them, fighting back, making a difference. But all I do is sit here in this chair, watg the people I care about crumble uhe weight of their grief, uo do anything to ease it.

  Jason’s death left a hole in all of us. He was more than just a teammate or a member of the family. He was this fiery, stubborn, reckless kid who had a way of leaving an impression on everyo. And now he’s gone. And we’re all just… trying to figure out how to move forward without him.

  If that’s even possible.

  ****

  The m, Jason’s body protested every movement as he trudged toward the training grounds. Every muscle felt like it had been put through a blender, but he ched his jaushed through the pain.

  The League wasn’t a pce for weakness, and he had no iion of giving Ra’s or anyone else the satisfa of seeing him falter.

  This time, the arena was lined with racks of ons—bdes of every size and shape, bows strung taut with expertly crafted arrows, staves, and s glinting menagly in the sunlight. Ra’s stood at the far end, Jason with that ever-present air of calcuted detat.

  “Today, you will begin your training in on mastery,” Ra’s announced. His voice carried authority, sharp as a bde. “A true warrior is not defined solely by his fists. The League has hos teiques over turies, each on aension of the body and mind. You will start with the basics.”

  Jason g the array of ons. His gaze lingered on the swords, their polished edges gleaming like invitations te. He reached out, his hand h over the hilt of a katana.

  “Not that one,” a young voice piped up behind him, sharp and dismissive.

  Jason turo see a small boy—barely five years old—standing with his arms crossed. His dark hair framed an unnervingly fident face, emerald eyes brimming with arrogance.

  The boy was the same training attire as the other assassins, though it seemed almost ical given his diminutive size.

  “And why not?” Jason asked, arg a brow.

  The boy smirked, stepping forward with the swagger of someone who thought they owhe world. “Because you’ll just embarrass yourself. That bde is too advanced for someone as... unrefined as you.”

  Jason chuckled, his grip tightening oana. “Unrefined? Big words for someone who probably needs a stool to reach the on rack.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed, his smirk deepening. “I don’t need a stool, toddler. I’ve been training with these ons since before you were dragged out of the gutter.”

  “Dragged out of the gutter? You’re bold for a kid who probably still needs a bedtime story,” Jason shot back, though his tone remained light, refusing to let the boy’s arroga to him.

  Ra’s interrupted the exge with a faint smile tugging at the er of his mouth. “Jaso Damian. My grandson and the heir to the League of Assassins.”

  Jason blinked, momentarily thrown. “Yrandson?” He looked Damian up and down, taking in the boy’s fident stand pierg gaze.

  “Well, that expins the attitude.” His mind then fshed back to the night Talia introduced her kid, the one he saw training at the courtyard about a week ago.

  “Unlike you, I don’t need expnations,” Damian said, brushing past Jason and walking toward the tre of the arena.

  “Perhaps you should focus less on talking and more on not embarrassing yourself in front of Grandfather.” He added.

  Jason raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, his attention shifted to the two assassins who ehe arena, both fully armed. They surrounded Damian, their movements calcuted and precise.

  Jason crossed his arms, intrigued. “What’s this, babysitting duty?”

  Ra’s g him. “Hardly. Watch closely, Jason. You may learn something.”

  Jason watched as Damian sprang into a. The boy moved with an efficy that belied his age, dartiweewo assassins with a bde in each hand.

  His strikes were sharp and precise, his small frame making him a difficult target. One assassin swung a staff toward him, but Damian ducked effortlessly, tering with a quick ssh that disarmed his oppo.

  The sed assassin came at him with a flurry of strikes, but Damian deflected eae with almost casual ease. Within moments, both assassins were disarmed and on their knees, Damian standing over them with a triumphant smirk.

  Jaso out a low whistle. “Alright, I’ll give you this—kid’s got moves.”

  Damian wiped the bdes and sheathed them before turning to Jason. “Of course I do. I’m Damian al Ghul. And you, whoever you are, will never match me.”

  Jason smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe. Or maybe one day, you’ll look bad realize this ‘unrefined’ guy you’re talking to is the one who kicked your ass.”

  Damian’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Ra’s cpped his hands, signalling the end of the session.

  “Jason,” Ra’s said, motioning to the on rack. “Choose your o’s see if you have the disciplio wield it.”

  Jason grabbed a staff, its weight feeling unfamiliar but manageable in his hands. As he walked toward the tre of the arena, he gnced back at Damian. “Hey, kid,” he called. “Stick around. You might learn something from me.”

  Damian scoffed, turning on his heel. “Highly doubtful.”

  Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “Cute kid,” he muttered, stepping into the arena and preparing for the gruelling training ahead.

  Jason stepped into the arena, gripping the staff tightly in his hands. The weight felt unnatural, but not unwieldy.

  Across from him stood one of the League’s seasoned instructors, a t man with a scar running down his left cheek. The instructor twirled his own staff with ease, the movement smooth and intimidating.

  “Begin,” Ra’s anded, his voice sharp and unyielding.

  The instructor struck first, closing the distan an instant. His staff came down in a brutal arc aimed at Jason’s shoulder.

  Jason barely raised his on in time to block, the force of the blow reverberating up his arms and nearly knog the staff from his grip.

  “Hold yround, Jason,” Ra’s called out, his tone calm but expet.

  Jason gritted his teeth and shifted his stance, pnting his feet more firmly in the sand. The instructor didn’t give him a moment to recover, following up with a series of quick jabs aimed at his ribs and legs.

  Jason dodged the first two strikes but miscalcuted the third. The staff struck his shin with a siing crack, aumbled, hissing in pain.

  “You’re overthinking,” Ra’s observed, his voice cutting through Jason’s haze of pain. “St to predict his moves. React.”

  Jason growled under his breath, frustration bubblih the surface. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip oaff.

  The instructor came at him again, but this time Jason stepped into the attack, defleg the blow and tering with a wide swing aimed at the man’s midse.

  The instructor blocked it easily, but Jason noticed something—a flicker of aowledgment in the man’s eyes. For the first time, Jason wasn’t feeling pletely outmatched.

  The fight tihe instructor pushing Jason harder with each exge. The strikes came faster, more brutal, testing Jason’s endurand resolve. Each blow he blocked sent shockwaves through his arms, but each time, he recovered a little quicker.

  As the fight wore on, something shifted. Jason stopped trying to match the instructor’s teique and instead leaned more into his instincts.

  When the instructor swung low, Jaso back with a fluidity that surprised even himself. When the instructor aimed for his head, Jason ducked and jabbed his staff upward, catg the man in the ribs.

  The strike wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage, but it was enough to create an opening. Jason surged forward, his staff a blur as he unleashed a flurry of strikes.

  The instructor blocked most of them, but Jason’s aggression forced him to take a step back—a small victory, but a victory heless.

  “You see?” Ra’s said from the sidelines, his voice ced with approval. “When you stop hesitating, you begin to see the rhythm of the fight.”

  Jason didn’t reply. He was too focused on the instructor, whose expression had shifted from calm indiffereo guarded respect.

  The man came at him again, faster this time, his movements a blur. Jason’s instincts screamed at him, and he reacted without thinking, sidestepping the attad spinning his staff in a wide arc.

  The strike ected with the instructor’s shoulder, and the man grunted, stumbling slightly. Jason pressed his advantage, following up with a quick jab that caught the instructor iomach.