Today was supposed to be humid — a dark sky heavy with clouds, threatening to drizzle just enough to make the damp air feel even heavier, sullying the moment with gloom. At least, that’s how it would have gone if life followed the scripts of those dramatic novels Todd used to watch alone in the movie room. This was meant to be a day of mourning, a solemn occasion marked by sorrow, silence, and the weight of loss.
Instead, the skies were clear—or mostly clear—with not a single dark cloud in sight. Even the news forecast seemed baffled by such an unusual occurrence; sunny weekdays were rare in Gotham. Richard had mused, half-seriously, that perhaps it was a gift from Danyal, sent from above. Drake, ever the skeptic, chalked it up to yet another eerie Gotham anomaly and promptly began checking the latest intel from JL Dark for any peculiar signs.
But it feels like an eternity
Since I had you here with me
Since I had to learn to be
Someone you don't know
To be with you in paradise
What I wouldn't sacrifice
Why'd you have to chase the light
Somewhere I can't go?
Still, Damian was quietly grateful for the bright day and the gentle breeze that accompanied him. It felt almost like a calm gesture from fate, a rare mercy, as he watched his brothers and sisters place small white roses atop Danyal’s headstone. The black galaxy granite plaque, adorned with golden lettering, shimmered faintly in the sunlight—a thoughtful touch from Richard. It was a tribute to Danyal’s love for stars and constellations, a passion he had often spoken of during their time in Nanda Parbat. His brother’s name was elegantly inscribed, accompanied by a silver-and-white engraving of a constellation.
“Ursa Major,” Damian murmured, a hint of melancholy in his voice as he traced the design with trembling fingers. He had always been ‘Ursa Minor’—the smaller one, the cherished one, the treasure meant to be cared for and protected. And though it had once embarrassed him to admit it, he had loved the way Danyal’s praise and affection wrapped around him like starlight—quiet, constant, and warm.
He remembered the nights they’d spent beneath the Himalayan sky, Danyal pointing out constellations with a reverence usually reserved for gods. “You’re my Polaris, Ukhti” he had once whispered, “Always guiding me home.”
Another glimpse of what could've been (ooh)
Another dream of the way that it never was
Fallin' back in the wilderness (ooh)
Wakin' up, rubbin' salt in the cut
Oh, how long has it been? I don't know
“Is this how you pictured it going, Baby Bat?” Richard’s voice broke through his reverie, gentle and grounding. He placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, anchoring him in the present. Damian leaned into the touch, grateful for the steadiness of his brother’s presence.
“Thanks, Grayson… this is perfect for my brother,” he said, his tone steady, though his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. His gaze lingered on the engraving, full of quiet, sincere gratitude.
“Always, Baby B. Always.”
A hush settled over the cemetery, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of the wind. Looking up at the clear skies and the golden rays of sun, Damian couldn’t help but hum the familiar tones of that lullaby his ak’hny used to sing to him—back when peace was a fragile thread, and love was as raw as bare skin beneath the sun.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the melody carry him. In that instant, he could almost feel Danyal’s hand in his hair, hear his laughter echoing through the mountains, and see the stars reflected in his eyes.
And it feels like an eternity
Since I had you here with me
Since I had to learn to be
Someone you don't know (oh)
To be with you in paradise
What I wouldn't sacrifice
Why'd you have to chase the light
Somewhere I can't go?
Eternity, he thought, wasn’t a place. It was a memory, a song, a constellation etched in stone—and in the hearts of those who remembered.
