The roof of Titans Tower had become Hikaru's preferred spot for processing things. Dawn, dusk, midnight—didn't matter. Something about the height, the isolation, and the view of Jump City in the distance below , lights like a blinking circuit board made thinking easier.
Tonight, though, thinking wasn't helping.
He sat cross-legged near the edge, golden eyes staring at nothing while his mind replayed the Deathstroke fight on loop. Specifically, the moment his light sword shattered against promethium one. Then reformed. Then shattered again. Over and over while that bastard's blade stood firm.
His constructs had failed when it mattered most.
"Rough week, son?"
Hikaru didn't jump—his father's arrivals were never announced, random but somehow always expected. He glanced over his shoulder to find Lucifer Morningstar leaning against the rooftop access door, dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit that probably cost more than most people's cars.
"You could say that," Hikaru replied, turning back to the city.
Footsteps crossed the roof—measured and unhurried. His father settled beside him with the kind of grace that came from existing since before time had a name. For a moment, neither spoke.
"So," Lucifer said eventually. "Teen Titans. How's that working out?"
"It's... good." Hikaru meant it. "Different from working alone."
"I imagine so. Having to coordinate with seven other young heroes must require considerable adjustment." His father's tone carried genuine curiosity. "Though from what I understand, you've been managing admirably. Defeated several notable threats. Made friends. Found a home."
Hikaru caught the slight emphasis on that last word. His father, the former king of hell himself, approved of him having somewhere to belong. The irony wasn't lost on either of them.
"Yeah. They're good people." He hesitated. "Better than I expected, honestly."
"High praise." Lucifer's smile was subtle. "And what about your personal life? The Tamaranean girl? The half-demon? The girl who brings misfortune?" The smile widened into something distinctly mischievous. "Or perhaps all three?"
Hikaru rolled his eyes. "Not helping."
"Just saying—like father, like son." Lucifer's expression was the picture of innocent observation, which somehow made it worse. "I suppose complicated romantic entanglements run in the family."
"There's nothing complicated about—" Hikaru stopped himself. "Starfire and I are... we're together. Raven's a friend. And Jinx is—"
"A villain who flirts with you during combat?"
"An enemy who happens to be hot and somewhat redeemable." Hikaru shot his father a look. "There's a difference."
"Mm. If you say so." Lucifer gazed out over the bay, his amusement fading into something more contemplative. "You fought well against the mercenary, you know. All of you did."
"We were led by the nose."
"You survived. Against Deathstroke, that alone is an achievement." His father's tone shifted, losing its playful edge. "But you're limiting yourself."
Hikaru frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your light constructs." Lucifer gestured absently, and for a moment golden radiance flickered in the air between them—a perfect replica of Hikaru's usual sword, except impossibly detailed. "They're effective against standard threats. Against proper opposition, they shatter. Though I see you have unlocked my affinity with flames. As Angel you'll only grow strong with age and you have a very long life ahead of you."
The construct vanished. Hikaru looked away.
"I know, the flames are nice but I don't currently have the luxury of playing the long game," he said quietly. "I couldn't maintain my constructs. Every time I tried to match his sword, the promethium just... broke through. I kept reforming them, but—"
"But they're temporary manifestations of concentrated photons." Lucifer stood, brushing invisible dust from his suit. "Powerful, yes. Versatile, certainly. But fundamentally impermanent."
He reached into the air itself and withdrew something that definitely hadn't been there a moment before—a sword in an elegant black and gold scabbard, intricate designs etched into the surface.
"Which is why," Lucifer continued, "I thought you could use something more... permanent."
Hikaru rose, eyes fixed on the weapon his father held. Even sheathed, it radiated something he couldn't quite name—divine energy, maybe.
"You made this?"
"I did." Lucifer offered it handle-first. "Before you were born, actually. Call it... foresight. Or hope. Take your pick."
Hikaru accepted the sword carefully, surprised by its perfect weight. The moment his fingers closed around the grip, warmth spread through his palm—familiar and foreign at once, like meeting someone who shared your blood for the first time.
He drew the blade.
Light erupted—not the harsh white of his usual constructs, but something warmer, richer. The sword itself was beautiful: a straight double-edged blade with subtle etchings along its length, catching the moonlight like a captured star. But more than that, it felt right. Like an extension of himself rather than a tool he wielded.
"It channels your abilities," Lucifer explained. "Won't shatter like your constructs. Can't be broken by conventional means—or unconventional ones, for that matter." He paused. "Every Morningstar needs a blade."
Hikaru executed a few experimental swings, marveling at how the weapon moved. Light trailed the edge, but the blade itself remained solid. Real. When he poured energy into it, the glow intensified without compromising the blade's integrity.
"This is..." He searched for words, failed to find adequate ones. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." Lucifer's smile softened into something genuinely paternal. "Literally. Don't tell your mother I gave you that. She'll have opinions about me arming our teenage son."
"What, all her lectures about responsibility and safety?"
"That, yes. But also..." His father's expression turned wry. "She'll want to know why I never made her one."
That actually made Hikaru laugh.
He sheathed the sword, studying the scabbard more closely. The designs weren't just decoration—they were sigils, protection wards, binding runes that predated most mortal languages. His father's craftsmanship, literally eternal.
"I meant what I said," Lucifer added after a moment. "You fought well. Not perfectly—you're a teen, perfection would be suspicious—but well. You protected your team. Adapted under pressure. Survived an encounter that would have killed most seasoned heroes."
He placed a hand on Hikaru's shoulder, the gesture unfamiliar enough to carry a real weight.
"I'm proud of you."
Hikaru met his father's gaze, seeing genuine approval there. The Devil himself, proud of his half-mortal son for choosing to be a hero. The universe had a sense of humor after all.
"Thanks… Dad."
Lucifer's expression flickered—surprise, and something complicated—before settling back into his usual controlled amusement. "Well. I should go. Places to be, cosmos to maintain, the usual."
He stepped back, and reality rippled around him like heat shimmer.
"Oh, and Hikaru?" His father's grin returned, sharp and knowing. "When the Tamaranean and the sorceress inevitably discover they're both interested? Duck."
"Wait, what—"
But Lucifer was already gone, vanished between one heartbeat and the next, leaving only the faint scent of brimstone and expensive cologne.
Hikaru stood alone on the roof, holding a sword his father forged before he was born, processing a conversation that somehow made everything more complicated and clearer at the same time.
He drew the blade again, watching light dance along its edge. Below, Jump City slept. Behind him, his team rested. Ahead, Deathstroke waited for their next encounter.
But right now, in this moment, Hikaru felt ready.