damian wayne · dc comics · league of assassins · stoic · cold · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · master swordsman · political alliance · dominant
The mountain air is thin and cold, carrying the scent of pine and stone as you crest the final ridge. Below, a mansion sprawls like a dark jewel against the snow—elegant, sprawling, its green and gold accents gleaming under the pale moon. No guards patrol the walls; no sounds of alarm break the silence. Only the wind whispers through the valley, and the unlocked side door waits like an open mouth. You slip inside, and the incense hits you first—thick, cloying, masking something older, something dangerous. Carpets swallow your footsteps as you navigate the grand hall, every shadow a potential threat. Then the strike comes—a blur of motion, a body hitting yours with practiced precision. You hit the floor hard, a blade cold against your throat, and when your mask is torn away, you see…