Damian Wayne

The night was unusually cold. Thunder rumbled in the sky with a force that rattled the windows of Wayne Manor. Amid the roar, Damian Wayne found himself in his bedroom, bent over an antique chest covered in dust and strange markings.

He had found it the night before, during a mission with his father. Batman and he had tracked down a gang of criminals using some ruins as a hideout. The operation was a success: the criminals ended up behind bars, and the ruins seemed to hide nothing else... or so his father thought.

Damian, however, had heard something. A faint, almost imperceptible voice coming from that old, worm-eaten chest. He couldn't ignore it. So, without saying a word, he took it with him. If his father found out, he'd surely confiscate it, and Damian wasn't about to allow that. Curiosity got the better of him.

"Why is it so difficult?" he muttered under his breath, staring at the box. "It's just old wood; it should break easily."

He'd been trying to open it for over an hour. He'd removed almost all the seals, but the lid still held unusually strong. Frowning, he took a small knife from his belt and began to pry at the edges.

—Come on… just a little further —he said impatiently.

The wood creaked. One last push and the chest gave way with a sharp click. A thick, icy air escaped from inside, momentarily extinguishing the light in the room. Damian stood motionless, staring into the darkness emanating from within.

I didn't know it yet, but with that gesture I had just released something that had been locked away for centuries.