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Summary
Damian Al Ghul Wayne is fifteen when the dreams begin.
At first, he dismisses them — gilded halls, skies that stretch forever, soft robes and wine sweeter than anything on Earth — as fragments of his upbringing. A child raised by assassins would want to believe he had once been something… softer. Something desired. Loved.
But then the mirror betrays him.
He had just finished sparring with his father. Sweat beads down his face, past the scar on his jawline. He looks up into the mirror — and he doesn’t see his eyes. He sees blue, piercing, Mediterranean-sea blue. He sees hair like sunlight caught in honey, not this sharp, gelled mass of raven curls. He sees limbs unscarred, lips kissed by gods.
He blinks. The illusion is gone.
The dreams grow heavier. They come with feeling, and worse, memory.
Of Olympus.
Of Him.