"Vengeance is a story told by the wounded to remind themselves they still feel."
---
The Watcher in the Rain
Gotham never slept.
It brooded — an endless hum of machines, sirens, and regrets soaked into brick and rain.
From the rooftop across the street, I watched Quinn & Ink through the scope enhanced by my special mask. The shop glowed warm, alive — laughter and chatter spilling faintly through the glass. Inside, I could see them: the clown woman, the psychic girl, the tattoo needles dancing like silver threads and him.
King.
He sat there with the serenity of a statue, reading a newspaper as if the world itself revolved too loudly for his taste.
I adjusted the focus, frowning.
"That's the monster everyone whispers about?" I murmured to myself. "He looks like he's waiting for a bus."
The rain dripped from my hood. The scope caught the faint shimmer of his eyes.
For a second — just one — I felt as if those eyes were already looking back at me.
My hand tightened around the rifle.
"You shouldn't be alive." I whispered. "You shouldn't be real."
Because if he was real, then all the stories father told me — the stories of gods wearing human masks — were true.
My father, Henri Ducard, Nobody, trained assassins to kill kings and shadows. He believed in control, in order through precision. I his daughter, I Maya Ducard think the same.
Until Damian Wayne killed him.
I still remembered last night when I finally found his body.
Tears and silence. Just the memory of his voice telling me, "Justice and vengeance are the same tool — only the wielder decides the edge."
That night, I swore I would find the truth — about Damian Wayne to make him heart and about the man who stood behind him now: the one called King.
So I waited and I watched.
Until suddenly… he stood up.
I froze. Through the scope, I saw him turn — directly toward my position.
No hesitation. No confusion. Just that slow, deliberate awareness that made every instinct in my body scream, " RUN!!!"
"Oh… hell," I whispered. "He knows."
The Knock and the Weight
Down below, King stood at the doorway, rain tracing faint silver lines across his coat. He didn't raise his voice.
"Come down," He said, as if he were asking her to join him for tea. "It's impolite to stare."
Inside, Harley blinked. "Uh, you talkin' to the empty street, puddin'?"
Ace's eyes glowed faintly. "Not empty."
A moment later, the faint silhouette of a figure dropped from the roof — landing in a crouch before the shop. The impact barely echoed. She rose, drenched and silent, her rifle slung across her back.
Maya Ducard.
Silver tactical gear. Hood half-torn by the rain. Six eyed high tech mask hiding her youthful face.
King looked at her calmly. "You've been watching me for sixteen minutes. Why?"
Maya clenched her jaw. "You already know who I am."
"Yes," King said. "The daughter of Nobody. You inherited his skills not his cynicsm."
Her hands twitched, hovering near her belt. "He wasn't paranoid. He was right. You're a danger — to all of us. You control things you shouldn't."
King's tone didn't shift. "And yet you followed me to a tattoo shop instead of shooting. That's restraint."
Maya stepped closer, eyes sharp. "I wanted to see what kind of monster you are and see what kind of monster killed him."
King tilted his head slightly. "You mean Damian."
Her composure cracked for a heartbeat. "Damian al Ghul, he killed my father."
King's gaze softened just a fraction. "No. He survived your father's choice. There's a difference and he's Damian Wayne."
Maya froze.
The rain grew heavier, the sound of it filling the silence between them.
"You don't know anything about him." She hissed.
"I know more than you think," King said. "Enough to know that you don't want revenge. You want reason. You want to understand why someone could do the right thing and still get destroyed."
Her throat tightened. "You think you know me?"
King looked up — the sky flashing faintly with lightning behind him.
"I know you're tired." He said simply. "And I know that carrying your father's sins has become the only way you know how to live."
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, her voice broke. "He wasn't supposed to die like that."
"Few ever are," King replied. "But you're not your father's shadow, Maya Ducard. You're the light he left behind — if you choose to be."
The air trembled faintly — not from power but from weight.
She could feel it — the sheer gravity of his words, the unmovable calm that radiated from him. It wasn't dominance. It was… truth.
Behind them, the door creaked open.
Damian Wayne stood there along with Nika.
"You?" He began, but King raised a hand, silencing him.
"Later," King said. "Right now, she's not our enemy."
Maya looked between them — the boy who ended her father's life and the being who seemed beyond life and death itself.
Her grip loosened on the rifle. She exhaled, a shuddering breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
"If I stay," She said finally, "I want the truth. All of it."
King nodded once. "Then step inside. There's warmth and coffee. I'll tell you what you need to know — not what you want to hear."
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she followed him in.
The Door Closes
Harley blinked as Maya entered, dripping rain on the floor.
"Well, well," she said, grinning. "King, ya got us another stray?"
King glanced at her. "I collect souls, not strays."
Ace chuckled softly. "Same thing, sometimes."
Maya looked around, uneasy — the warmth of the shop felt almost alien.
Then her eyes landed on Damian. The tension between them hung heavy — but different now. Not rage, not vengeance. Just unfinished history.
King sat back down, reclaiming his seat, newspaper folded beside him.
"Let's begin," He said calmly. "You came for the truth. Truth is rarely kind, but it is always necessary."
The rain outside softened to a murmur, as though even Gotham held its breath.
---
Read 66 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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