The Pact of Shadows
The dream begins in silence.
No alarms. No heartbeat.
Just the sound of falling snow on glass.
Batman opens his eyes — and the world is green.
Ghostlight glows beneath his boots, pulsing like veins through the earth.
And far ahead, a throne of obsidian and frost gleams in the dark.
The King sits there, crown dimmed, watching him approach.
“You came,” the boy says.
Batman’s breath fogs. “You asked me to.”
A faint smile. “Mortals don’t usually answer when gods call in dreams.”
“I’m not most mortals.”
The King laughs — quiet, hollow.
“True. You’re the one who keeps trying to outthink death.”
Batman stops a few feet away.
No weapons. No armor. Only his mind.
“You said you’d negotiate,” he says.
“So let’s talk.”
The King tilts his head. His crown flickers like candlelight.
“You want peace. I want truth. They’re not the same thing.”
“Then tell me your truth.”
The King stands.
Behind him, the sky ripples — cities and memories bleeding together.
“I was human once,” he says softly.
“I died young. Too young. I tried to protect everyone, and it killed me.”
His voice trembles — not with weakness, but with memory.
“When I woke, I found the Realms — empty, cold, endless.
And I made it something better.
A place where no one had to be afraid again.”
He looks at Batman then.
“But the living never stop tearing holes between worlds. You burn your dead, cage your ghosts, forget their names.”
“I remember my dead,” Bruce says quietly.
The King studies him — and for a moment, the frost around them stills.
“Yes,” he says. “You do. That’s why I chose you.”
“Chose me for what?”
The King steps closer. The air hums, sharp as thunder.
“To be the bridge.”
“What?”
“The Realms are breaking. If war comes, both worlds fall.
But there’s another way — if someone binds himself to both sides.”
Batman’s eyes narrow. “You want me to be your ambassador.”
The King shakes his head.
“Not ambassador. Anchor.”
The word hits like a blade.
“The moment you agree,” the King continues, “your soul becomes the tether that seals the veil.
The living and dead will stay apart — but you will never truly belong to either again.”
For the first time, Batman hesitates.
“I’d be—?”
“Half alive. Half ghost. Eternal. Alone.”
The silence stretches between them.
Then Bruce says, softly:
“I already am.”
The King looks away — and for a moment, he almost looks like a boy again.
“Then say yes, Dark Knight, and I’ll bind the realms in your name.”
When Batman wakes in the Cave, there’s frost on his gloves.
The monitors flicker green.
And written in mist across the screen are three words:
THE PACT IS MADE.
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