When the Gods Ask Questions
The next morning, magic did not whisper.
It demanded answers.
The Emergency Convocation
The Tower of Fate activated wards that hadn't been used in centuries.
Golden sigils locked reality into place as Doctor Fate stood at the center of the chamber, helm gleaming, presence heavier than gravity itself.
Around him, summoned by compulsion rather than invitation:
John Constantine, cigarette already lit, nerves frayed
Zatanna Zatara, expression sharp and alert
Jason Blood, with Etrigan growling restlessly beneath his skin
This was not a meeting of curiosity.
This was a meeting of alarm.
"Something Changed"
Doctor Fate spoke first, voice layered with Nabu's authority.
"Yesterday, a magical shockwave propagated across reality.
Only those bound to magic perceived it.
It was neither chaos nor order."
Zatanna crossed her arms.
"That narrows it down to nothing we know."
Jason Blood frowned.
"Even the old wards in my bloodline reacted. That hasn't happened since… never."
Constantine exhaled smoke slowly.
"So what you're sayin', Goldie—this wasn't an attack."
"No," Fate replied.
"It was a declaration."
That chilled the room.
The Question Everyone Feared
Constantine leaned back, trying to sound casual—and failing.
"So what's the name of this bloody thing that gave me nightmares without the courtesy of a face?"
Silence.
All eyes turned to Doctor Fate.
His pause lasted exactly one heartbeat too long.
"I attempted divination.
I attempted cosmic alignment.
I attempted inevitability tracing."
Zatanna's eyes widened.
"…And?"
"I failed."
The room froze.
John stared.
"Say that again, but slower, so I can properly panic."
"I cannot locate it.
Nor can I see who guards it.
Nor can I perceive its future use."
Jason Blood whispered, "That's impossible."
Doctor Fate turned toward the center sigil.
"Yet I learned one thing."
Golden symbols ignited—then collapsed into three words, echoing through the chamber without sound.
THE LAST STAND
The temperature dropped.
Etrigan snarled inside Jason's mind.
Constantine went pale.
"…That's not a name. That's a warning."
Zatanna swallowed.
"Who the hell is protecting something even you can't see?"
Doctor Fate answered quietly:
"Someone who does not intend to use it…
unless the world itself is out of options."
Wayne Manor — Truth Without Evasion
Hours later.
In the Batcave, the atmosphere was just as tense.
Bruce Wayne stood with arms crossed, eyes sharp, every instinct screaming.
Damian stood before him—calm, composed.
"I need to go to the League of Assassins again," Damian said evenly.
"I'll be gone two weeks."
The words landed like a blade.
Bruce's jaw tightened.
"You were there last month. You made a deal with Ra's."
His eyes narrowed.
"Does this have anything to do with that deal?"
Behind the shadows, the Bat-Family listened.
They expected deflection.
A half-truth.
A clever dodge.
Damian didn't offer one.
"Yes," he said plainly.
"It does."
The cave went silent.
Damian met Bruce's stare head-on.
"The only way I stay with you.
The only way I move freely in the world without the League's leash—
is if I honor my side of that agreement."
Bruce didn't like it.
Not one bit.
But he recognized the truth when he heard it.
Finally, Batman spoke—voice iron.
"Fine. Go."
Then, colder:
"But if you're even a minute late, I'm coming for you.
With the Justice League if I have to."
Damian nodded without hesitation.
"I understand, Father."
Fire and Shadow
Minutes later, the manor roof opened.
Damian donned his Fire Shadow suit, the familiar weight grounding him.
Toothless rumbled softly as Damian mounted his back.
With one powerful beat of wings, dragon and rider lifted into the dawn sky—
heading not toward Gotham…
…but toward the heart of the League of Shadows.
Unaware that:
Magic was watching
Gods were listening
And the name The Last Stand was already echoing through eternity
And Damian Wayne—still a boy in the eyes of the world—
was walking calmly toward decisions that would shape centuries.