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Assistant: Title: Heir To Nothing
        Author: Ashgirl Ashgirl 
        Chapter: 23/40 
        Summary: They thought they knew him.Gotham called him Damian Wayne, but that was never his name. The Batfamily thought they had lost him, but they never truly had him to begin with. And when the League of Assassins resurfaces, the truth comes bleeding out.Ibn al Xu’ffasch was never meant to be just an heir. Kachiko was never just a fiancée. And when the world learns who he really is—and who stands at his side—it might already be too late.Because some legacies can’t be erased. Some names can’t be buried.
        Contents: Chapter 23: A Mother’s Hand
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  Ibn had expected retaliation. He had made his first move, and now, it was Talia’s turn.

  Ra’s summoned him for “important matters,” and Talia ensured he was at her side more often than not. At first, it was subtle. A lingering glance during strategy meetings, a carefully placed hand on his shoulder as they walked the halls, an effortless weaving of him into League affairs that seemed, on the surface, like nothing more than a mother reasserting her presence.

  But then, Kachiko was reassigned.

  Efficiently. Quietly. Not in a way that could be called an attack, but in a way that made it clear—Talia had moved first.

  Ibn didn’t react. Not outwardly. Pushing back too soon would only make her more suspicious. So he let it happen. Watched as Kachiko disappeared into the shadows, her new orders placing her far from his side, and pretended not to notice.

  Talia, of course, noticed everything.

  Then, the conversations begin. She didn’t confront him outright. She didn’t need to. Talia’s game had never been about direct force—it was about planting seeds and watching them grow.

  “I see you’ve settled in again.”

  She didn’t look at him when she spoke, her gaze instead fixed on the horizon beyond the stronghold’s high walls. The setting sun cast long shadows across the balcony where they stood, the quiet hum of the League’s activity below filling the silence between them.

  Ibn didn’t turn toward her, keeping his posture relaxed, unreadable. “It is familiar.”

  Her lips quirked at that. “Your grandfather is pleased. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  A test. A probe. She was waiting to see how he would react, if he would acknowledge the game they were playing or pretend not to notice it at all.

  Ibn chose the latter. “I would hope so.”

  Talia’s fingers drummed lightly against the balcony’s stone railing. “And what do you hope, my son?”

  A calculated shift. Less a question, more an invitation—to lower his guard, to let her in.

  He glanced at her then, meeting her gaze for the first time. “That the League remains strong.”

  Talia hummed softly. “As do I.”

  The conversation drifted, winding through topics of duty, legacy, the importance of stability within the League. And then, effortlessly, she guided it where she wanted it to go.

  “You trust her, don’t you?”

  Ibn did not look away. “Who?”

  Talia smiled. “Kachiko.”

  There was no accusation in her tone, only curiosity. That made it worse.

  “She has changed, just as you have,” she continued smoothly. “Time has a way of reshaping us. I wonder… do you still recognize her?”

  The implication hung in the air between them, unspoken but deafening.

  Ibn’s expression remained unreadable. “Are you worried about her, mother?”

  Talia tilted her head. “Should I be?”

  He held her gaze, let the silence stretch just long enough to make her question whether he had taken the bait. Then, he smiled.

  “Perhaps you should be worried about me.”

  Talia chuckled, but the sharpness in her eyes did not fade. “I always am.”

  She played the mother who sought understanding, while carefully reminding him of who she was. A woman who had fought her way into power. A woman who knew how to keep it.

  The days that followed played out exactly as she had intended.

  Ibn was pulled deeper into League affairs, his presence required at meetings he once would have been able to avoid, his time carefully managed so that there was always another obligation, another task to oversee. He was given more responsibility, a stronger hand in operations—but always under her watchful eye.

  It was a slow suffocation, carefully applied.

  He knew what she was doing.

  She was drowning him in duty, trying to solidify him as an heir—her heir. Not a leader of his own rebellion, but a prince bound to the League, ensnared by the weight of expectation and obligation.

  Talia watched him closely, searching for cracks in his resolve, for any sign that her strategy was working. She told herself he wasn’t ready to betray them yet. That the time she spent reasserting her influence was keeping him in check.

  She told herself she was winning.

  But Ibn was never as trapped as she thought.

  Kachiko moved in the background, slipping between the cracks Talia had yet to seal. She played her part well—taking orders, fulfilling missions, staying quiet. But the whispers did not stop. The network she had cultivated was still there, still feeding information back to Ibn even as he stood at his mother’s side.

  And in the rare moments they could speak, the reports came swiftly.

  “She’s watching everything,” Kachiko told him, arms folded as she leaned casually against a pillar in the dimly lit corridor. “Careful, precise. Not quite paranoia yet, but close.”

  Ibn inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to pace. His fingers curled at his sides, tension thrumming under his skin. “She thinks she’s clever.” His tone was colder than he intended.

  Kachiko smirked. “She is clever. Just not clever enough.”

  They went over their pieces—who was still loyal, who was wavering, who was watching too closely. Kachiko led here, her network of whispers still feeding them the pulse of the League. Ibn let her take the lead, but it grated at him more than he wanted to admit.

  She had been free to move. Free to act. While he had been pinned under Talia’s watch, forced to play along. It was necessary, yes. But it still burned.

  Tension lingered, unspoken but present. He hated that Talia had been able to separate them, even for a moment. Kachiko, however, didn’t seem rattled at all.

  “You think this is new?” she asked lightly. “She’s been trying to cut my influence since before you came back.”

  He knew that. Of course, he did. But knowing it and feeling it were two different things.

  Before she left, she glanced at him with that knowing smirk of hers. “When she makes her next move, let her think she’s won.”

  Ibn tilted his head. “Oh?”

  “The moment she thinks she’s ahead,” Kachiko said, her voice like a whisper of a blade, “is when we take everything.”

  Ibn exhaled slowly, watching as she disappeared into the darkness. The words settled into his bones.

  He was done playing by his mother’s rules.

  The next move would be his.'
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