"Even gods must answer when a mortal's plea carries the weight of love."
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Gotham — Morning, Quinn & Ink
The rain had stopped sometime before dawn.
Sunlight leaked shyly through the shop's half-drawn blinds, cutting soft stripes across the floorboards.
Inside, the hum of tattoo machines filled the quiet like music.
Harley sat perched on a stool, finishing the last stroke of a vine across a client's arm. Her three apprentices moved around the parlor with easy rhythm — Rick was mixing inks for tattooing a young man, Ace consulting sketches through her psychic link with Tara who had become a regular visitor thanks to the Zeta tube installed at the basement and to prevent King from jumping to the Watchtower, Juno preparing sterilized tools and Nadia cleaning her tools after doing a nose piercing for a girl.
And in the back booth, where the light fell the strongest, King sat reading his morning paper.
He looked out of place and yet perfectly at home — an immovable constant surrounded by the pulse of life.
His presence made even the sunlight hesitate.
The headline above the fold read:
"Unmarked Freighter Sighting Near Gotham Harbor – No Manifest Filed."
King's eyes narrowed slightly.
The shop bell jingled softly.
Then came the faint tap of polished shoes and the steady rhythm of a man disciplined by time.
"Master Alfred," Harley called with a grin. "Ain't this a surprise! You here for some ink, sugar?"
The old man smiled politely. "Not quite, Miss Quinn. I'm afraid my errand is a graver one."
An Unlikely Sanctuary
Alfred Pennyworth approached King's booth slowly, his composure as deliberate as always, though fatigue lined his posture.
King folded his paper neatly and gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit."
"Thank you," Alfred said, lowering himself into the chair with quiet dignity. "I come on behalf of Master Bruce. Or rather… on behalf of his son."
King's eyes lifted slightly. "Damian."
Alfred nodded, his tone restrained but edged with worry. "He's gone missing. Left a note, nothing more than a time and a location. Gotham Harbor, two nights past. Since then, no trace."
Harley looked up briefly from her client, her expression softening. "Kid went ghostin'? That ain't like Batsy Junior."
Alfred exhaled. "No, it isn't. He's stubborn, yes — but disciplined. When the boy disappears, it means he's chasing something too dangerous to bring home."
King leaned back, fingers steepled. "The Lazarus Tournament."
The name froze the air.
Tara paused mid conversation. Ace's eyes flickered faintly with psionic light. Even Harley stopped her buzzing machine.
Alfred's face paled slightly. "You know of it."
"I know its scent," King said. "Resurrection sold as salvation. Death parading as discipline."
Alfred swallowed hard. "Then you understand why I'm here."
The Plea
He hesitated just long enough for his composure to waver.
"I've watched Master Damian grow," Alfred said quietly. "He carries his father's burden, but not his restraint. There is much of Lady Talia in him — the fire, the pride… and the loneliness."
King listened, saying nothing.
"If he's truly gone to that island, he won't just face fighters. He'll face himself. Though I've seen many men find strength in that reflection…" Alfred's voice softened. "I've also seen many break."
He looked up then, eyes tired but resolute.
"Please. Bring him back."
The parlor fell silent. Even the machines seemed to still, waiting for King's reply.
King folded the newspaper again, setting it aside with care — as if closing a thought.
The Decision
"Where words fail," King said finally, "we act."
He stood. The motion alone changed the air — the subtle shift of pressure that reminded everyone in the room what he was.
Ace stepped forward, concern flickering across her young face. "Will you bring him home?"
King looked down at her — not with warmth, not with distance, but with that calm that had saved her once before.
"If he wishes to return," He said softly, "I will make sure nothing stops him."
Harley smiled faintly. "You always got a way with strays, big guy."
King turned toward the window. Beyond the glass, Gotham's skyline shimmered under the rising sun, the faintest echo of seagulls heard over the horizon.
"Strays," He murmured, "just forget they belong to the world."
Departure
Alfred rose, bowing his head slightly. "You have my thanks, sir."
"Keep it," King replied. "If I succeed, your gratitude will find me."
Without another word, he stepped out into the light, his silhouette momentarily framed in the doorway — tall, still, unyielding.
The wind stirred the papers on the counter as the door shut behind him.
Harley watched quietly before turning back to Alfred. "He's gonna find your boy, ya know. He always does."
Alfred allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Of that, Miss Quinn… I have no doubt."
Outside, the hum of the King Engine whispered beneath the sound of morning traffic — low, constant and ancient.
The calm before the storm.
Read 45 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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