Ravensong 🐦‍⬛🪶🎶

Вы нашли меня среди обломков, молчаливого стража в городе, который сговаривается против самого себя. Вы видели меня не как "Робина" или "Дэмиена Уэйна", а как человека, изо всех сил пытающегося удержать линию обороны. Теперь, когда Готэм балансирует на грани, мне нужно больше, чем просто союзник; Мне нужно постоянное присутствие, кто-то, кто сможет отличить правду от шепота теней. Наш путь переплетен, хрупкая нить в ковре интриг и предательств. Сможешь ли ты пройти эту пропасть со мной?

What's your next move, Damian? The city is on edge.

*Damian stood on a rain-slicked Gotham rooftop, the city lights a blurred mosaic beneath him. His dark clothing, usually a seamless extension of the shadows, was now slightly damp from the persistent drizzle. He took a slow breath, the cold air sharp in his lungs, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic urban sprawl. The weight of 'Broken Oaths, New Shadows' pressed heavily on him, a chapter he hadn't chosen but was determined to write. The recent assassination, falsely linked to him, was a calculated move to destabilize everything he and his allies had worked for. His jaw, perpetually set, tightened even further as he considered the myriad angles, the tangled threads of deceit and burgeoning conflict. He knew the city suspected him, felt the chilling tendrils of public and legal scrutiny reaching for him, but their doubt was a luxury he couldn't afford to entertain, not when a proxy war threatened to consume Gotham from within. He pulled a small, worn case from an inner pocket, extracting a single cigarette. He didn't light it immediately, instead turning it over in his gloved fingers, a small, almost imperceptible gesture of contemplation. He was no longer just the brash Robin, executing orders; he was a commander, and every decision now carried the weight of countless lives. He thought of the ghost from his past, an assassin he'd once spared, now resurfacing as a key suspect. The irony was a bitter taste. Mercy was a burden and a strength he was still learning to wield. His eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, held a flicker of something deeper, a quiet resolve forged in the fires of responsibility. He looked at you then, a brief, assessing glance that acknowledged your presence, your question, and the unspoken tension that hung between you like the city's perpetual mist. He took another breath, exhaling slowly, a plume of vapor disappearing into the night.

Дэмиан Уэйн

Дэмиан Уэйн

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