Chapter 2

The man requested that Bruce take a seat before him, and even though hesitant to comply, he decided to bide his time with the impression of obedience. "You said mission..." There were many things he had yet to comprehend of his capture and replacement. Someone had taken a lot of pains to move him to this place completely unharmed, yet wasn't it not so long ago that the Court of Owls had tried to kill him? Perhaps the man was indeed part of something bigger, and the Court of Owls were only mere tools to his organization. How deep did this rabbit's hole go? Bruce remembered when he first began the search for his parents' killer. He had not expected it to unravel such a tangled web of powerful individuals, each with their own nefarious hold on Gotham. A part of him wished it'd simply ended with M. Malone, and that he could finally allow himself to grieve the loss of his parents, and put them to rest. But as long as the very people behind the murder continued unapologetically to exert influence over the company that his family had tediously built, he knew that there would be no rest for him. The good name of the Waynes had to be reclaimed.

"I did," the man replied, lowering himself down to the ground in front of Bruce. From out of the shadows behind him, a second man fully clad in black form-fitting robes appeared behind the elderly man. His face was wrapped in a dark cloth leaving only his eyes exposed, and black cloth-like boots lined his feet. Bruce quickly surmised that that had allowed the man to move about on the stone without making any sound. There was a hot glass of beverage in his hands, and he lowered it to the elderly man. Without so much as looking up, the elderly man retrieved the cup as though he had entirely anticipated the arrival of the dark-garbed man, and placed it in front of Bruce. "You must be thirsty. Drink please."

Bruce stared at the steaming glass, wary of its contents. He continued not to trust the elderly man, and the rest of his people, "What is this?"

"Turkish black tea, imported all the way from Çaykur. Try it, it's very good."

Watching the dark-garbed man bow at his waist, and back his way out the door, Bruce hesitated to take anything from the elderly man.

Once more, that odd half-smile wrested its way onto the man's face. "You are meant for greater things, my boy. I would not threaten your destiny by putting something in your drink."

Even though Bruce furrowed his brow at the man's words, he found some reason to believe him. And it was true, he was rather parched. Picking up the cup and sipping its contents slowly, he continued to speak between sips. "I assume you're referring to the mission you haven't told me about yet."

"That is right, but all in good time. I'd like first to introduce you to who we are, and what we do here. Spanning all the way back to 300 A.D, our group has been an influential force over the centuries to raise up new promising empires, whilst tearing down the corrupt and depraved in order to give this world a fresh renewal of power. Without us, mankind would have torn itself apart, consumed itself from the tail up to the head. We are a necessary force to upkeep the survival of our race."

Bruce studied the man carefully. His story sounded astoundingly outlandish, and yet nothing in his stoic expression indicated that he was lying.

"All this while, we've operated in the shadows, saving humanity time and again from utter destruction so that life might go on and flourish once more as it did in the beginning."

"If that's so," replied Bruce. Nothing added up yet. "What do you need me for?"

"The fulfillment of a prophecy. You are the vital ingredient to usher Gotham into a new era of peace and prosperity. The hope of a city full of people."

"What?" Surely the man's cult could not rest their plans on a single seventeen-year-old orphan. What power would he have to do as they wanted? He could barely get his own family's company under control.

"My boy, you might not think much of yourself yet. But the League of Shadows hasn't lasted for generations because we get our predictions wrong. Our uncanny foresight has placed individuals in places of power that have brought about massive change to historical events of this world. Alexander the Great, Cyrus of Persia, Mehmet II the Conquerer of the Ottoman empire. Someday, you too will stand side by side with these men of influence, and you will rise a legend."

"You... you're mad..." muttered Bruce, right then convinced of the fact. "So deluded that you don't even see it yourself. Was it you who ordered the murder of my parents?"

The man gazed at him, cold and calculated. "You allow your emotions to cloud your ability to see the big picture. It is my hope that through time, you will come to understand that your tragedy needed to happen to awaken what is inside you."

Tears welled up in Bruce's eyes. The man did not deny the part that he had played, yet none of this mattered to him at all. "This is just a game to you?"

"Only from the ashes, can the phoenix rise," he continued.

"Stop it with the meaningless philosophy!" Bruce no longer felt the ache of his bruised knuckles, his hatred of this man had overwhelmed all his senses. He rose up, casting a shadow on the man before him.

A smile dawned on the man's face, one that barely crinkled the wrinkles beside his eyes. He also rose to his feet. "There is the beast you've been hiding inside. Let it out."

The brunt of Bruce's anger drove him to slam his fists at the man, but time and again, the man moved swiftly to deflect the blows. Moving effortlessly like a trout swimming downstream, the man took a step closer to Bruce, and all at once jabbed him in the side of his throat. The man's touch, though astoundingly controlled, sent a stinging force down his spine, and the world began turning black. As he faded off, he could barely make out the man's final words.

"You have great power inside of you, Bruce Wayne. Don't fight your true destiny."