⭐️ Eternal Shadow 🌙 Damian wayne ~~~~complete

Chapter 17: Faded Shadows, Lingering Light

"Took you long enough," Raven added, raising a brow as she marked a page with a flick of her finger.

Marceline let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"How long...?" she asked, voice still scratchy, like it hadn't been used in days.

"A little over a day," Raven replied, glancing up at the sky before closing the book with a soft thud. "You scared the hell out of us. Gar wouldn't stop pacing. Kory threatened to punch a wall. Dick already punched one. Jaime nearly rewired the med-bay trying to fix the monitors, and Damian—" Raven paused for a second, the half-smile faltering into something softer, almost knowing. "—well. You probably remember some of that."

Marceline swallowed hard, the ache in her chest throbbing for a different reason now.

"I... didn't mean to..."

"I know," Raven said, standing with a graceful, weightless ease. She crossed the small distance between them and crouched at Marceline's side. "No one blames you. Stop carrying guilt that isn't yours."

Marceline's throat tightened, but she nodded. The words didn't feel real yet — but maybe they would, one day.

Raven reached out, brushing a thumb lightly under her eye to wipe away a tear Marceline hadn't noticed.

"Come on, before Damian breaks something trying to find you."

"We moved you," Raven explained, her voice as steady and unhurried as the wind threading through the leaves. "The infirmary's energy was getting too heavy for your head. Natural air works better for calming your shadows. Less interference. Fewer machines. Fewer bad dreams."

Marceline's hand drifted to her chest, expecting that same crushing weight, the phantom grip of whatever had nearly pulled her under. It was still there — but softer now, like a storm that had passed and left only the damp ache in its wake.

Raven reached into the folds of her cloak and drew out a slender leather cord, a small, polished piece of obsidian threaded through it. The stone glinted darkly in the evening light, catching the shimmer of the city beyond like a piece of the night sky.

"It won't stop everything," Raven murmured, offering it to her. "But it'll help. It's attuned to you."

Mars took it with careful fingers, her thumb brushing over its cold, glass-smooth surface. A strange warmth hummed beneath the obsidian's chill, like a heartbeat waiting to sync with her own.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Raven shrugged, feigning her usual indifference — but Marceline knew better. Things like this weren't casual for her. The obsidian was protection, a tether. A silent promise.

"Garfield's been by too," Raven added, standing with a fluid motion, brushing invisible dust from her cloak. "Guy's been pacing around like a guilt-ridden puppy."

Almost on cue, a familiar voice called from the doorway, "You're awake!"

Mars glanced up to see Gar leaning against the frame of the garden's entrance, a wide, crooked grin stretched across his face. His eyes, though, betrayed him — guilt, worry, and relief warring behind them.

"I would've brought snacks," he joked, scratching at the back of his neck, "but Raven threatened to hex me if I stepped on her roots."

Despite herself, Mars let out a soft, raspy laugh. It scraped against her throat but felt good in a way she hadn't expected.

Gar hesitated, shifting on his feet before stepping closer. "I... I didn't notice you were hurting," he admitted, the words raw around the edges. "I should've. I should've known something was off. I'm sorry, Mars. Really."

She shook her head slowly. "You couldn't have known."

And she meant it. She was good at hiding. Too good. Even from people like Gar.

For a moment, the space between them was filled only by the whisper of leaves and the distant lap of waves against the shore. Then, with a huff, Gar flopped down beside her, their shoulders brushing.

"You're tough as hell, y'know that?" he muttered, glancing sidelong at her.

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It felt unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

For the first time in days — no, longer than that — she didn't feel like an intruder in her own skin. In her own home.

Raven gave a final glance back at them, her expression unreadable, before she moved off to another corner of the garden. Her book rose to hover beside her again, the pages fluttering like restless wings.

Mars's gaze drifted toward the far end of the rooftop, where a small, folded cloak lay over the back of a garden bench. It was dark, nearly blending into the shadows — but she knew it anywhere. The sight of it made her pulse stumble.

Damian.

Raven, catching the flicker of her glance without lifting her head, spoke softly. "He's been here too. Even if he won't admit it."

Mars swallowed hard, her fingers curling tight around the obsidian charm. The cool stone bit into her palm, grounding her.

The lights of the city blurred at the edges of her vision, not from exhaustion, but from the ache pressing at her throat. It wasn't just pain anymore. It wasn't even fear.

It was something heavier, more stubborn — and for the first time in so long, something warmer. A fragile flicker of hope threading its way through the ruins of whatever had nearly swallowed her whole.

The sky overhead darkened, the last of dusk bleeding out into night. Soft music drifted from somewhere — one of the Tower's rooftop speakers playing a faint, half-forgotten melody. The kind of instrumental tune that felt made for twilight and healing things left unspoken.

Somewhere, birds rustled in the tall plants, their quiet chirps threading through the hush like tiny, stubborn reminders that the world kept turning.

And for now... she was still here.

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