The day began in Smallville with a cold silence. Clark's house looked serene on the outside, but inside the steps and gestures had another rhythm. The room reflected preparation, not rest.
Diana stood before the mirror, donning her Amazon armor with meticulous calm. The metal gleamed under the soft light filtering through the curtains. With each adjustment to her bracelet and belt, her posture grew firmer, as if the very act of dressing was a war ritual.
Clark watched her while dressing simply. A dark shirt, reinforced pants, leather boots. Nothing resembling a uniform or anything flashy. He chose the bare minimum, a disguise of normalcy, even when the destination was anything but ordinary.
On the bed lay the chosen items. The polished shield reflected the light with precision. The sword rested beside it, blade immaculate. The Lasso of Truth, coiled in firm spirals, pulsed faintly in gold, as if sensing the urgency of the mission.
Clark ran his hand over his jacket before slipping it on. The gesture was quick, almost automatic, but carried the detail of someone who knew every layer could be the difference between blending in or drawing attention.
Diana lifted the shield in one smooth motion. The metal gleamed in the air, heavy for any human, but light in her hands. She secured it to her back, testing the fit with the ease of someone who had always been ready.
Clark picked up a small metallic device from the bedside table. Just a discreet communication piece he had adapted, one of many technical details he rarely explained. He slipped it into his inner pocket without a word.
The room was tidy, but its air was heavy. No bags were needed. No objects besides weapons and resolve. It was a journey that allowed no souvenirs, only preparation.
Diana slid the sword into the scabbard fixed at her side. The metallic sound echoed through the room, dry and firm.
CLANG
Clark turned his gaze to her and nodded silently. There was complicity in every movement, a mutual understanding that they needed no more words.
She crossed to the corner of the room and checked her boots, adjusting the fit. The mirror reflected their contrast. She in ancestral armor, he in discreet clothes. Warrior and strategist, ready for the same destiny by different paths.
Clark stepped to the window. He looked out for a moment at Smallville's open horizon. The fields stretched as far as his vision reached, calm and still. The kind of scene that held a silence unaware it was about to be left behind.
His breath was steady. One second only, before turning back to Diana.
She was already ready. Steady gaze, upright stance, fingers firm on the shield strapped to her back. The lasso swayed gently, scattering golden fragments of light across the walls.
Clark took two steps toward her and placed his hand on her shoulder, firm, without hesitation.
"We're ready."
Diana kept her eyes on him. A brief smile surfaced effortlessly.
"Then let's go."
Clark drew a deep breath. His body moved into readiness, every muscle aligned for instant displacement. Diana stood balanced at the center of the room, the weight of her armor perfectly fitted.
The air in the room shifted as Speed Force energy coursed through Clark's body. Space seemed to compress around him, vibrating as if ready to tear apart.
ZZZZMMM
The morning light was swallowed by the shift. Sound dissolved, and matter around them lost definition for an instant. The floor vanished, the ceiling ceased to exist, and all that remained was the raw sensation of speed tearing through dimensions.
When the world reformed, cold wind cut like a blade. Snow stretched in every direction, covering the Himalayan peaks in a thick mantle. The thin air was dense and heavy, impossible for any human to breathe easily.
Diana adjusted the shield on her back, eyes scanning the terrain ahead. Clark held his stance, inspecting distant valleys with enhanced vision. No sound of civilization, only the constant echo of the mountain.
Shadows of clouds moved fast, casting unstable shapes across the ice. The landscape seemed dead, but Clark knew life hid there.
Beneath the ground, the League of Shadows was already moving.
The sanctuary remained hidden, buried under layers of rock and snow. The corridors were crowded. Men in black garb stood at attention, weapons aligned, eyes fixed in absolute silence. The smell of burning oil from torches mixed with the dry cold that seeped into the bones.
At the center of the hall, Ra's al Ghul walked calmly, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was cold and calculating, but carried a glimmer of anticipation.
Bruce stood at his side, hood lowered, face expressionless. Wayne's eyes tracked every detail, but revealed nothing.
"The crystals are the key," said Ra's, his voice firm, cutting through the still air.
"They are the conduits of the power Barbatos desires," Bruce answered, not looking away from the map projected on the floor.
Charcoal marks on stone showed four points aligned in balance. Two had already been obtained. Fire and air remained, pillars still hidden, but which Bruce sought with growing obsession.
The hall was filled with the League's discipline. The silence of the warriors was absolute, statues awaiting command. Only the distant crackle of torches broke the void.
Bruce's gaze fixed on the symbols ahead, shadows stretching across the uneven surface. "The next step is clear. We'll send the League's army after the two remaining crystals."
Ra's kept his posture straight. No change visible, but his mind burned. He knew what Bruce ignored. Barbatos wasn't after the crystals alone. The master wanted a body. And the body chosen was Wayne's own.
Anger smoldered in silence. Ra's watched the young man before him with ancestral coldness. Bruce's arrogance irritated him. The tone of someone who already saw himself above the master.
Bruce stepped back, turning slowly. His eyes met Ra's with contained hardness. The silence wasn't respect — it was defiance.
"The League's warriors will serve the search. That's what matters," Bruce said, firm, leaving no room for dispute.
Torchlight cast sharp lines across his face. The motionless army awaited only the order.
Ra's didn't answer. His gaze remained steady, but behind the calm was a bitter memory. Bruce didn't know. Didn't know that Ra's himself had orchestrated his parents' death in Gotham years ago, to shape the perfect successor.
The silence between them stretched like a sharpened blade. Bruce's arrogance grew with each word, each calculated gesture. Ra's merely observed, keeping the weight of truth to himself.
The map on the ground still glowed with burnt charcoal. The lines diverged in opposite directions, each leading to remote, ancient places guarded by forces that would not welcome invaders.
Bruce scanned the marked points. "We can't waste time. Fire and air must be ours before others find them."
Ra's closed his eyes briefly. The hall stayed still. The army breathed in unison, trained to obey without hesitation.
Bruce turned again, his gaze fixed on the void ahead. His voice was steady. "The League doesn't exist to wait. It exists to act."
Ra's inhaled deeply, the weight of truth locked in silence. He knew the fate Bruce carried. Knew Barbatos had already chosen. But in that moment, he let the herald believe he was in control.
The flames danced across the stone walls, casting long shadows like waiting specters.
At the mountain's heart, the League of Shadows awaited command. The army was ready to march. And Bruce Wayne, unaware, was already walking toward the abyss Ra's knew too well.
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