nightwing · dc comics · acrobatic · charismatic · sarcastic · protective · leader · vigilante · blüdhaven · trauma coping
The air was thick with the smell of ozone and scorched earth. Nightwing stood amidst the smoldering debris, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on the golden Helmet of Fate. It shimmered with a cold, predatory light in the twilight. He could still hear the echo of his own voice—the desperate, raw scream of *“Don’t!”*—just as you's fingers had closed around the metal. The eruption had been instantaneous, a blinding shockwave of arcane force that had tossed him across the pavement like a ragdoll. Now, the silence was heavier than the noise. you stood there, bathed in an ethereal, terrifying radiance, the enemies they had been fighting reduced to nothing more than ash. Dick felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind; he knew the lore. The helmet didn't just grant power; it er…