The storm over Black Hollow hadn't let up. Thunder cracked like gunfire above the rooftops, rain hissing against the burning remains of the old courthouse where Draven had just stopped Pulse from turning it into a massacre. Fire trucks wailed in the distance, and somewhere beyond the smoke, people were still screaming.
Draven stood still in the wreckage, his breath ragged, cloak torn, gauntlets scorched. But his eyes... they burned.
He had saved lives tonight.
He wasn't just a shadow anymore.
He was becoming something else.
"Draven," Evelyn's voice crackled through the comms. "GCPD is en route. I'm redirecting surveillance loops, but you've got five minutes before their drones pick you up."
"I'm moving," he muttered, his voice low, composed but heavy with exhaustion.
He turned back once—at the survivors huddled in the shelter of the ruined chamber, at Derek holding a crying child in his arms, the boy's mother nowhere to be seen.
Derek had been a detective once. A good one. But Pulse's madness had broken something in him tonight.
Draven saw it in his eyes—the same haunted guilt that stared back at him in the mirror every night.
"We'll talk soon," Draven told him, fading into the smoke.
And then he vanished.
Three hours later — The Catacombs Beneath Sector 9
The elevator shaft screeched as Draven descended into the abandoned metro tunnels below the city—his sanctuary.
Evelyn was already waiting.
She sat on an overturned crate, eyes on the cracked tablet in her lap, surrounded by blueprints and tech debris. The map of Black Sun operations blinked on a cracked screen behind her, updated with new coordinates stolen from Pulse's wrist drive.
She didn't look up when he entered, but her voice was warm. "You look like hell."
"Feels worse," he muttered.
Draven unbuckled his gauntlets, tossing them beside her with a dull clang. Blood had soaked through the bandages on his ribs again, and there was a deep gash on his shoulder from Pulse's energy strike.
Evelyn finally turned to him—eyes narrowing. "Sit."
He did.
She knelt beside him and began cleaning the wound in silence. Her touch was steady but careful, each motion speaking volumes. Draven barely flinched, his eyes fixed on the concrete wall ahead.
"You didn't have to come back for me," she said after a moment, voice quieter. "When the building started to go... I thought you'd leave. That it would be the smart move."
"I couldn't," he replied.
"Why?"
"Because you're the only person who sees me. Not the scars. Not the mask. Me."
Her hands paused.
The tension between them stretched like a wire, taut and unspoken. And in the silence, Evelyn reached for his hand. Just held it.
"You're not alone anymore," she whispered. "You don't have to carry this by yourself."
Draven turned to look at her—really look. And something softened behind his stormy gaze. He raised his other hand, brushed a strand of soaked hair behind her ear. A rare gesture.
"You're the only thing keeping me human," he said.
The moment lingered. And then—
BOOM!
The entire base shook. Dust fell from the concrete above.
Evelyn bolted to her feet. "What the hell was that?"
Draven grabbed his mask, eyes narrowing. "Someone found us."
Topside — Gotham's Abandoned Power Grid, Sector 9
The sky was red with warning lights. A group of mercenaries in black armor marched through the entrance tunnel, weapons drawn, led by a figure in a crimson overcoat and a half-metal mask. His name was Krane—exiled tactician of the Black Sun Syndicate, now operating independently.
Draven knew the type. Precision. Vengeance. Purpose.
They wanted him gone.
Evelyn's voice fed through his earpiece as he moved through the shadows. "Six on the perimeter, thermal gear. They've got high-caliber rifles and seismic charges. Looks like they're here to collapse the tunnels."
"Not happening."
He struck fast.
Like a ghost.
Three went down in under ten seconds—silent, brutal, efficient. The fourth managed a shot, but Draven rolled beneath it, planting an explosive on his belt before launching the man into a support pillar.
The structure groaned.
Krane turned, calm and measured. "So this is the Knight of the Hollow," he said through the filter. "They said you were myth."
Draven emerged from the dust. "Then they're wrong."
Krane smirked. "This is just a message, you understand. There's a new order coming. And you're not part of it."
They fought like titans.
Krane's blade sparked against Draven's armor, fast and furious. He moved with surgical grace—more soldier than thug. But Draven's strength, sharpened by pain and purpose, matched him blow for blow.
When Krane finally fell, coughing blood, he smiled. "You're too late. The Harbinger's already moved the children. Project Halcyon is accelerating. And Gotham? It's already dying."
Draven stared down at him. "Then I'll burn the roots."
Later — Near the Riverfront
Draven stood on the rooftop overlooking the Narrows, battered but alive.
Evelyn came up beside him, wrapping her jacket tighter against the cold. For a long time, they just watched the city. Broken. Corrupt. But not beyond saving.
"You think we made a difference tonight?" she asked.
Draven didn't answer right away. Then: "We made a start."
He turned to her.
And kissed her.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even gentle. But it was real—an anchor in the storm. In this crumbling city, surrounded by ghosts and monsters, they had found something that still meant something.
Then he stepped back, eyes hardening again.
"Tonight... I was just a man in the dark. But tomorrow, I become something else."
Evelyn looked at him, something close to a smile tugging at her lips. "The city's starting to believe in you."
Draven's voice was a whisper. "Then I'll give them something to believe in."
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
The Knight was rising.