Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dream came again.

Dark cells. Screaming walls. Restraints.

Her wrists burned. Her lungs screamed. Someone said her name, but not like a name, like a command.

Koryand’r. Weapon. Property. Silence.

She jolted awake mid-flight.

There was a crack of energy as her body flared green. The walls of her room shuddered.

The door burst open.

“Starfire?” Robin’s voice was careful, like stepping through broken glass. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

But something in her wasn’t. She didn’t see him, not really. Her eyes were glowing, fists clenched at her sides, breath shallow.

“I am not there,” she whispered. “I am not there-”

Energy ripped from her palms before she could stop it.

Robin flew backwards down the hall.

Cyborg caught him midair with a grunt. “Whoa! Okay, we’re doing this again.”

Raven raised a shield around herself instinctively. Beast Boy peeked from behind her in squirrel form. “That’s not normal, right? That’s definitely not normal?”

Starfire dropped to her knees.

“I did not mean to,” she breathed. “Please… I did not…”

⸻

The damage wasn’t major. Just another busted door -Cyborg was already halfway through replacing it with a newer, shinier panel (“Starfire-proof, round 5,” he joked). Beast Boy was overdoing the dramatics as usual, sprawled on the couch like he’d been mortally wounded by a beam he didn’t even see.

But Robin had barely spoken.

He watched her, concerned but quiet, arms crossed, eyes unreadable behind the mask.

It was Cyborg who finally sat beside her in the med bay while Raven checked her vitals.

“Hey, bright eyes,” he said gently. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

She looked at her hands. “I had a… Memory. Of the Citadel. They took me apart. Put me back together wrong.”

Cyborg didn’t flinch. He just nodded, listening. “You powered up in your sleep?”

“I did not mean to hurt anyone. I only… I only remembered being theirs.”

There was silence.

Then, softly, “You’re not theirs anymore. You’re here. You’re you. And you got us.”

She looked at him, really looked. “You do not… fear me?”

He smiled. “Girl, I’ve got a cannon arm. You think I’m scared of a couple energy blasts?”

That drew a shaky laugh.

Robin watched from the doorway, jaw tight.

⸻

Later that night, she sat on the Tower’s roof. The stars above Earth were gentler than Tamaran’s, smaller. But still, they made her feel less alone.

Robin joined her after some hesitation. He didn’t speak at first. Just sat.

She said, “I had hoped the dreams would stop now that I… Have joy. Now that we are… You and me.”

He swallowed. “I think sometimes when we finally feel safe, our brain thinks it’s safe enough to remember.”

Starfire’s voice was small. “It is not fair.”

“No. It’s not.”

She turned to him. “You are quiet.”

“I’m trying not to mess this up.”

“This?”

“You,” he admitted. “Us.”

She smiled, sadly and real. “You will not. Unless you decide to. And then I will vaporize you.”

He laughed. She laughed too. It felt shaky, but good.

“I still do not know your name,” she said quietly. “Not your real one.”

Robin hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“I think,” she said, placing a hand over his heart, “it will. One day.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either.

And maybe that was enough for tonight.

Chapter Text

The first time it happened, they thought it was a one-off.

Starfire was helping Raven meditate, not something that came easily to her. Her energy tended to spill outward instead of focusing inward. But she tried, cross-legged on the roof with her palms pressed together, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, just like Raven taught her.

Until the sky cracked above them.

A shockwave of green energy surged from Starfire’s body like a pulse, splitting the clouds and setting off every tower alarm at once.

Raven scrambled to shield them both from falling debris. Starfire’s eyes were still open, wide and distant, her mouth parted like she was going to scream but couldn’t find the breath.

“STAR!” Raven shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Starfire blinked and it was over. Just like that.

“I… I did not mean to do that,” she whispered, horror rising in her throat. “Did I injure you? Did I-”

Raven shook her head. “No. But you powered up again. Like before.”

Starfire looked at her hands. “I was not dreaming this time.”

____

Later that afternoon, Cyborg ran diagnostics in the med bay. Starfire sat on the edge of the table, quiet, her fingers twisted in her lap.

Robin stood behind Cyborg, arms folded so tightly across his chest they looked like they might fuse there. He hadn’t said a word since Raven brought Starfire down from the roof.

Cyborg’s scanners beeped softly as they passed over Starfire’s body, lighting her in soft blue glows. “Vitals are good. Energy levels are high, but that’s not unusual for you,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Still… Something’s off.”

Starfire’s voice was barely audible. “I feel like a storm inside my skin.”

Robin finally moved, stepping forward. “Then we figure out what’s causing it. What can I do?”

Cyborg shot him a look. “Right now? You can back up and let me do the science.”

Robin flinched. Starfire saw it. He hated feeling useless. She knew that about him. He needed action. Plans. Problems to punch.

But there was nothing for him to fight.

So he paced. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“You do not have to fix me,” Starfire said softly.

Robin stopped. “That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I can’t do anything. You’re hurting and I’m just– Standing here.”

Cyborg coughed. “You’re also standing in front of the monitor.”

Robin muttered something and stepped aside. But he didn’t leave.

____

That night, Starfire couldn’t sleep again. She went to the training room not to fight, just to float. Hover above the floor and feel gravity stop tugging at her for a while.

She didn’t expect Cyborg to be there, tinkering with his arm. He looked up and smiled.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.

She floated down beside him. “It is… Difficult to rest when your own body betrays you.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

She blinked at him.

Cyborg set his tools down. “When I first became... This,” he gestured at his torso, “I used to short out in my sleep. Wake up with new error codes and no idea what triggered them. I felt like a walking glitch. Like I didn’t belong in my own skin.”

Starfire looked away. “I do not like feeling dangerous.”

“You’re not,” Cyborg said firmly. “You’re hurting. That’s different.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Starfire asked, “Do you think Robin regrets… The being with me?”

Cyborg actually laughed. “Girl, no. If anything, he’s terrified you’ll figure out he’s the one not good enough.”

That startled her. “But he is Robin.”

“Exactly. ‘Robin.’ Not a person. A mission. A mask. He’s trying, but he doesn’t know how to let people in even when he wants to.”

Starfire frowned. “But I do not need him to fix me. I just want him to stay.”

“He’ll get it. Eventually,” Cyborg said. “He’s just wired to jump in front of every laser. Even the ones you’re not asking him to.”

____

The next day, Raven meditated with Starfire again in the common room this time, more grounding.

Beast Boy made jokes in the background, mostly bad ones, trying to keep the tension from rising too high.

That’s when the signal came in.

Cyborg was the first to catch it. A low-frequency ping, bouncing off their comm system. A pulse faint, distorted, like something reaching across dimensions.

He isolated it. Boosted the frequency. Cleaned up the noise.

When he played it back, everyone froze.

It was a voice.

Distorted. Mechanical. Alien.

But Starfire knew it instantly.

“Return.”

The word cut through her like a blade. Her vision dimmed around the edges. Her chest tightened.

Robin was already beside her, a hand on her back. “What is it? What did it say?”

She didn’t look at him. “It is from the Citadel.”

Raven stood. “Are they contacting you?”

Starfire nodded once, slow and solemn. “It is a recall command. I heard it before. When I tried to escape the first time.”

Beast Boy paled. “So… They’re calling you back?”

Starfire stood. Her hands were shaking.

“They think I still belong to them.”

Robin was already moving. “We need to find the source. Shut it down. Block the frequency—”

“No.” Her voice was sharp. Stronger. “We need to find them.”

Everyone stared.

Starfire’s eyes were glowing now, not wild, not unstable, but clear.

“If the Citadel is reaching out again, it means they have not stopped. They have not learned. And I am done being afraid of what they made me.”

Robin watched her, torn between admiration and panic. She was brave. She was burning. And he didn’t know how to protect her from this.

He only knew she wouldn’t let him try.

Chapter Text

The signal led them to the edge of the solar system.

A faint echo bounced through ancient satellites and decayed comm lines, one Robin triangulated obsessively over a 48-hour stretch of no sleep. Starfire watched him from the Tower’s command room as he scrolled through heat signatures and intercepted radiation maps, eyes red behind his mask, fingers twitching like he was chasing a ghost he couldn’t quite touch.

It had been days since the message, just one word: RETURN.

And somehow, it felt louder than any explosion.

____

The Titans followed it to a dark moon orbiting a dead planet. No signs of life. No structures. But the signal was there, pulsing beneath the surface like a heartbeat buried under rock.

They descended into the crater, flashlights cutting thin beams into dust. Raven hovered quietly beside Starfire. Cyborg scanned the ground every few meters. Beast Boy stayed close to both of them, for once not making jokes.

Robin led the charge.

Starfire drifted a few steps behind him, stomach twisting.

There was nothing here. But it felt familiar, too familiar.

Her boots crunched in the fine gray dust. Something about the way it kicked up reminded her of cells. Of punishment rooms. Of the dry metal dust that settled over her skin after shock treatments, after long silences.

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

They reached the source.

It was a black panel embedded in rock, barely larger than a Titan communicator. It clicked softly every few seconds like the pulse. A transmitter. Ancient. Tamaranian tech, modified.

“Star?” Robin asked, scanning her reaction.

She stared at it.

“I have seen this before. On the transport ships. It is a locator. Meant for... Retrieval.”

Robin’s jaw clenched. “So they were trying to find you. Still are.”

Cyborg stepped closer. “It’s been buried a long time. Decades, maybe.”

“Then who activated it?” Raven murmured.

No one had the answer.

____

They destroyed the transmitter.

But it didn’t feel like a victory.

____

Back at the Tower, days passed. Slowly.

Robin didn’t rest. He threw himself into scans, database sweeps, analysis of alien tech frequencies and Citadel fleet movements, anything that might give him a lead. He barely ate. Slept in the command center, slumped in front of a monitor, still in uniform, mask always on.

Starfire waited.

She brought him meals. Sat near him while he worked. Tried to talk.

But he didn’t open up.

It was like a part of him was already gone.

____

One night, she floated into the command center. It was dark except for the blue light of screens, cycling through maps of Tamaranian space and Citadel fleet records.

Robin sat at the console, unmoving.

“You are not resting again,” she said gently.

He flinched slightly at her voice but didn’t look up. “There’s something we’re missing. Someone activated that beacon. It wasn’t random. That signal came here. It was for you.”

Starfire hovered closer. “Yes. But we did not find them.”

“Which means they’re still out there.”

She landed beside him, gently touched his shoulder. “You are scaring me.”

He finally looked at her. His mask was still on, but his voice was raw. “I can’t let them take you again.”

Starfire’s eyes softened, but there was pain there too. “They will not.”

“You don’t know that,” he snapped, then stopped himself, recoiling. “I didn’t mean—”

She pulled her hand back. “Yes. You did.”

He stood up too quickly, hands on his hips, pacing. “Every time I close my eyes, I think about what they did to you. What I didn’t stop. If they’re coming back… If there’s any chance, then I need to be ready. We need to be ready.”

Starfire stood too, quieter. “But I do not need you to protect me. I need you to see me.”

Robin froze.

“I am not broken. I am afraid, yes. But when you do this, when you shut me out… It feels like I am alone in this again.”

“You’re not,” he said immediately.

“But you are not with me either,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor.

She walked to the doorway and stopped. “I do not wish to be angry at you. I only wish for you to hold me.”

Then she left.

____

Later, Cyborg found Robin still staring at the same screen, but he’d stopped working.

“You’re burning out, man.”

Robin didn’t answer.

“You’re not just pushing her away,” Cyborg said. “You’re hurting yourself too.”

Robin sat down again. “She doesn’t get it. I- Damn, every time I think about her being in those cells—”

“You think she doesn’t think about that?” Cyborg snapped. “You think you’re the only one losing sleep?”

Robin’s hands curled into fists. “She deserves someone who knows how to comfort her. Not someone who dives into case files because he doesn’t know what to say.”

Cyborg shrugged. “Then learn what to say. Or stop hiding behind your mask and show her something instead.”

____

Starfire didn’t train the next morning.

She sat on the roof, staring at the sky. She missed Tamaran, and she didn’t. The stars looked different here. Safer. But lonelier, too.

She thought of the way Robin touched her, not lately, but before. The way he’d held her hand, softly, like she was real. The way he’d smiled, rare and small, but just for her.

And now, when she reached for him, it felt like reaching for a wall.

She pulled her knees to her chest.

Maybe love wasn’t enough.

Or maybe it was, but only if they let it be.

Chapter Text

The mask came off at 3:17 AM.

Robin hadn’t planned it. He didn’t even realize he’d done it at first. But his fingers were trembling, his heart thudding too loud in the silence of the Tower’s lower training deck, and the pressure in his skull had grown unbearable. So he ripped the mask off and let it drop.

The fabric made the softest sound as it hit the floor.

Earlier that night, he had another dream.

Or memory.

Flying trapeze. The feeling of weightlessness. The air crisp and electric. His mother’s laugh.

Then the crack. The rope snapping. The fall.

He always woke up before the impact.

Sometimes, he thought that was worse.

Robin stood alone in the training room, sweat soaking through his shirt. He’d trained too hard again. Bruises bloomed down his arm. A hairline cut ran along his jaw. No one was here to stop him. No one ever did anymore.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, maskless, and almost didn’t recognize the boy looking back.

Not a hero.

Just scared. Tired. Seventeen.

____

After Tokyo, everything had felt light.

Starfire kissed him under neon lights, and something in him cracked open. They floated in that warm, awkward space between friendship and something more. The first few weeks had been clumsy, adorable. He remembered:

- Their first “date” was a walk through the city where she held his hand like it was the most sacred thing in the universe.
- Their first kiss back in the Tower was interrupted by Beast Boy crashing into the hallway, yelling about pizza rolls.
- Once, she tried to cook for him, something vaguely resembling a Tamaranian stew, and it exploded. He’d never laughed harder.

They weren’t perfect. He wasn’t good at feelings. He got quiet when things got hard. But she never pushed. She gave him space. She trusted him to come back.

And now… He hadn’t earned that trust lately.

____

Robin picked up the mask from the floor. It looked smaller now. Like a toy. He sat down, mask in hand, and let the weight of everything settle on his shoulders.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered to the dark.

Dick Grayson was nine years old when he watched his parents die.

One second, they were mid-performance. The next, they were gone: just bodies on the ground. He didn’t cry until he got to the orphanage. He remembered sitting in that tiny cot, surrounded by strangers, holding the ripped edge of his mother’s costume, and thinking: “If I stop crying, maybe I can fix this.”

That’s when Batman came. Not Bruce Wayne. Not at first. Just the shadow. The myth. He remembered thinking: “If I become like him, I’ll never feel helpless again.”

And for a while, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

____

Robin didn’t notice Starfire come in.

She stood quietly in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket, hair slightly tangled, eyes wide and soft. She hadn’t slept either.

“I heard the sounds of punching,” she said gently. “And the sound of not crying.”

He didn’t move. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

She crossed the room slowly, sat beside him on the mat. Her fingers touched his hand, the one still holding the mask. She looks mesmerized by the color of his eyes. Ocean blue. So beautiful. So vulnerable.

“You are not wearing this,” she said.

He shook his head. “Didn’t feel right.”

There was a long silence.

Finally, he said, “Do you want to know my name?”

Starfire blinked.

He looked down. “I should’ve told you a long time ago. I just… I wasn’t ready.”

She smiled gently. “Only if you wish to share. You are still you, with or without the name.”

“I want to,” he whispered. “I need to.”

He took a breath.

“My name is Richard. Or… Dick. Dick Grayson.”

Starfire’s eyes shimmered.

“Like the human male body part?” She asked in disbelief. It made him chuckle.

“Yeah. Awful, right?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. Hello, Dick.”

He laughed, shaky, but real. “I always hated that name. But it’s mine.”

Starfire reached out and touched his cheek. “It is good to meet the boy behind the shadows.”

____

He told her everything.

About the circus. The fall. The anger.

About being taken in by Bruce Wayne and trained like a soldier.

About how Batman taught him to fight fear by becoming it.

But also how that training left no room for softness. No room for grief. No room for mistakes.

“How do you comfort someone,” Dick asked, voice breaking, “When you were never comforted yourself?”

Starfire leaned her head against his shoulder. “You start by not hiding.”

They sat together for a long time.

Eventually, he told her about the months after Tokyo.

How he didn’t know how to be a boyfriend, so he tried to be a detective instead: picking up on her likes and dislikes like clues. How he practiced his compliments in the mirror before giving them. How he got nervous every time she kissed him like he was still falling.

Starfire giggled. “I had no idea you were so nervous.”

“I couldn’t stop sweating,” he groaned.

“I thought it was your pheromones of affection.”

That made them both laugh.

It was the first time in weeks that Dick felt light.

“I like when you do the kissing with me.” Starfire admitted softly. “It makes me feel… Strong. But also vulnerable. A mess. But in a good way.”

Robin only nodded at that.

“Me too.” He admitted. “I think this is what scares me the most… The mess. I’ve always been the one who organizes everything. The one who tries to fix things.”

“I do like being a mess with you.” Starfire mutters.

“I’ve been pushing you away,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Starfire said, without blame. “And I have been wishing you would stop.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to be like Bruce. I want to be better. For you. With you.”

Her hand slid into his. “You already are. You just do not see it yet.”

He leaned his head against hers.

“I’m scared of losing control. Of losing you. That’s why I get so obsessed with fixing everything.”

Starfire closed her eyes. “I understand. That is why I try to hold so tightly. Even when you need space.”

They breathed together, quietly.

“You know,” Dick said, “I never told anyone about my parents. Not even the team.”

“I will keep it safe,” Starfire promised. “Like you kept me safe when I first arrived.”

He smiled, eyes full of old grief and new love. “Thank you.”

And when they finally kissed, it was messy, vulnerable and wonderful.

Above them, the Tower lights dimmed as the system entered sleep mode.

Neither of them moved.

____

But across the solar system, something stirred.

In a deep, cold void between stars, a ship powered up. The symbol of the Citadel glowed red on its hull. And deep inside, a voice rasped through static:

“Subject K-1 has been located. Retrieval is imminent.”

Chapter Text

The vision came without warning.

Raven was meditating in the common room, eyes closed, floating inches above the floor. A cup of lukewarm herbal tea sat forgotten beside her. The Tower was quiet.

Then came the scream.

It didn’t come from a mouth.

It came from the stars.

Raven’s body jerked, eyes flying open, the breath caught in her chest. Darkness bloomed behind her eyes, not her own, but something older, rawer. A girl screaming in a language Raven didn’t know but somehow felt.

The Citadel.

Her eyes bled white.

____

Starfire awoke gasping.

It was still dark. Her room was still hers. The sheets still smelled like him.

Her fingers fumbled for the communicator on the nightstand. 3:14 AM.

She turned her head. Dick lay beside her, his chest bare, his hair a dark mess on her pillow. His face looked younger in sleep. Softer. He’d removed his mask earlier that night, in her room, for no reason other than she had asked.

She’d kissed him slow. He’d touched her like she was made of something he didn’t yet understand.

And for the first time since she was taken from Tamaran, she hadn’t felt afraid of being touched.

____

Earlier that evening, after patrol and another dead-end in the Citadel investigation, they'd sat on the Tower roof watching the city lights flicker like stars.

Starfire leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I am worried that you are forgetting how to breathe.”

He smiled. “You always say that.”

“Because it is always true.”

He laced their fingers together.

“You make me remember.”

They kissed. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just close.

Back in her room, she kissed him again. And again. Her fingers moved to his shirt; his to her waist. Hesitant at first, shy, fumbling, full of laughter. Then slower, deeper.

She’d stopped once, eyes full of something ancient.

“You do not have to fix me.”

“I don’t want to,” Dick said. “I just want to be here.”

Then she pulled him down with her.

Raven burst into the room without knocking.

Dick sat bolt upright, blanket sliding off his shoulders. Starfire blinked against the sudden light, hair spilling over her bare shoulders.

“I—Raven?!” Dick scrambled to grab the nearest shirt. “What the hell?”

Raven wasn’t looking at either of them. Her eyes still glowed white, her voice shaky.

“It’s coming.”

“What is?” Starfire asked, heartbeat spiking.

“The thing that broke you.”

____

Later, in the common room, the team gathered in silence.

Raven stood at the center, breathing slow.

“I saw... Something. It wasn’t clear. But it was Tamaranian. It was screaming. Something is tracking you, Starfire. And it’s close.”

“Did you see what it looked like?” Robin asked, jaw tight.

“No. But it’s old. And cruel. The way it smelled in my vision…” Raven paused, eyes flicking to Starfire. “It was like blood and rust.”

Beast Boy looked pale. “So... What, another space tyrant?”

“It’s not just that,” Raven said. “This one knows her. Knows you, Kory.”

Starfire stood very still. “I remember.”

They turned to her.

“In the Citadel. There was one they called Commander Glorrak. He did not train us. He broke us. I had thought him dead.”

Robin’s hand found hers under the table.

“You think he’s the one coming?” Cyborg asked gently.

She nodded once. “I do not forget the feeling of his eyes.”

____

Later, as the Tower returned to stillness, Dick and Starfire returned to her room. They didn’t say much.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands together.

“I should’ve protected you from this.”

“You could not have known.”

He looked up. “I hate feeling helpless.”

She walked over to him, wrapped in her long shirt, hair cascading like fire.

“I do not need you to save me, Dick,” she said softly. “Only to see me.”

They lay facing each other on the bed, the moonlight bathing their skin in white light. He gently traced the outline of Starfire's face with his finger, his touch soft.

"I see you," he whispered, his voice low and filled with affection. "I always have."

He moved his hand from her face to her hair, running his fingers through the strands of fire, watching it flicker like embers.

"You're the strongest person I know," he murmured, his eyes filled with sincerity. "You've been through so much, and yet you're still here, still shining brightly."

He leaned in closer, his hand lingering on her hip, drawing her nearer.

"And I'll always be by your side, Kory."

She smiled softly, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart.

"Your presence grounds me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Being with you, it is like basking in the warmth of Tamaranian sun."

She traced small circles on his skin, her touch as delicate as a feather.

"I don't deserve you," he mumbled, his eyes dropping to her hand on his chest. "You're radiant, and I'm just... me."

His words carried a hint of insecurity, and he was keenly aware of the vast difference between them, his plain human life and her extraordinary alien heritage. It was a chasm he struggled to bridge.

She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes, a tender look in her own.

"You underestimate yourself, Richard," she said gently. "You are wise, kind, and brave. You lead us with courage and grace. Never mistake your humanity for weakness," she added. "It is what makes you unique, and it is what I cherish." she said softly, lifting his chin up to meet her gaze. "You are more than you give yourself credit for. You are strong, kind, and smart. But above all, you are human. And I’m fascinated by your humanity.”

She took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, the contrast between their skins as clear as night and day.

He looked at her, his expression torn. Part of him wanted to accept her words, to believe he was worthy of her affection. But another part of him, the stubborn, hard-headed part, whispered that he was a fool to hope. He was just a mortal, and she was... Well, a goddess. And he’ll never be able to protect her like he wants.

So he only does what he can: he kisses her. Deeply. Fiercely.

They melt into each other, the kiss becoming a desperate search for connection. He pulls her closer, his hands roaming over her figure, their bodies pressing tightly together.

His mind is filled with a tangled jumble of emotions - desire, fear, adoration, frustration. He wanted her so much it physically ached. But he was also terrified of losing her.

The kiss deepened as he pressed her back into the sheets, the moonlight casting a silver glow on her body. He worshipped her with his touch, his mouth moving down the column of her neck, tasting her skin, the salty-sweet tang of Starfire.

When he touches her like this, she almost forgets about what she had to endure in the past.

He makes her feel safe. Protected. Home.

Robin continues his ministrations, his mouth trailing down her clavicle, his hands tracing the curve of her waist. He wants to devour her. Claim her. Show her how much he needs her.

The passion builds between them with every touch, the room filled with the sound of their ragged breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets.

She responds to him eagerly, her hands wandering over his skin, her lips finding his in a desperate kiss. She wants to drown in him, to let go of everything else in the world.

Her body arches up into his, seeking more contact. His hands roam freely over her figure, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever he touches.

As their bodies move together, a wave of memories hit Kory. The cold metal of the Citadel's prison cell. The sterile, clinical feel of the labs. The fear, the helplessness. The unwanted touches. Every scar on her body seemed to throb with remembered pain.

Her grip on Robin tightened, her nails digging into his skin as if to anchor herself in the present.

She shut her eyes, fighting off the unwanted recollections. She refused to let them ruin this moment of intimacy. He was warm, and real, and hers.

He noticed her growing tension. His instincts flared, the need to protect her overriding everything else. He stopped the kiss, pulling back to look at her.

"Kory...?" he murmured, his voice low and tinged with concern. "Are you alright?"

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, her expression a mix of desire and anxiety. She managed a weak smile, trying to reassure him.

"I am fine," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "Please... Do not stop. I need this. I need you. This is mine. My choice. No one can take this away from me.”

His heart ached at the raw vulnerability in her eyes. He knew she was struggling, that the shadow of her past lingered like a ghost.

He gently pulled her back into his embrace, pressing tender kisses along her jawline.

"I'm here." he murmured into her skin. "And I won't let anything happen to you."

He was gentle, his touch feather-like, careful not to trigger any more dark memories. He moved slowly, making sure her comfort was his top priority.

She clung to him, her breath hitching with each tender kiss. It was like he was erasing the remnants of her trauma with his touch, replacing it with something new - a love so fierce it burned through the darkness.

Her body responded, her limbs tangling with his. His name whispered from her lips like a plea, a desperate prayer. She needed him, wanted him.

The room was filled only with the sound of their intertwined breaths and the quiet rustling of sheets. Only they existed in this world. Only their love.

Their first time hadn’t been perfect, but it had been theirs. Now, they held onto each other like the world outside was already cracking.

She whispered against his skin: “Whatever comes, I will not run.”

“I won’t let it take you,” he replied. “Ever.”

Their hands found each other again. Not for lust. Not even for comfort. For anchor.

Outside, the stars pulsed. A shadow moved between them.

And far, far away, in the belly of a darkened ship, Commander Glorrak opened his eyes.

Chapter Text

The nightmares came in pieces.

Not screaming. Not fire. Just a quiet, frozen memory.

Starfire stood in a sterile white room. The walls hummed with electricity. Glorrak’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp like blades. His face never appeared, but she remembered his boots. Heavy, loud, always walking toward someone who didn’t deserve what came next.

She woke up shaking, the pillow damp beneath her cheek.

She didn’t scream. She hadn’t in years.

____

Robin noticed.

Not just the nightmares, but the way she moved slower in training. How she stared out the window longer. The way her smile faltered just before she saw him looking.

He tried everything: extra patrols, more research, deeper dives into the old Citadel records Cyborg had scraped from the intergalactic web. All to feel useful.

But the more he tried to help, the more she drifted.

____

Then came Control Freak.

It started in the middle of a tactical meeting. Raven was going over some scans, Cyborg was adjusting a power relay, and Robin was tense, focused, barely noticed Starfire twisting her fingers in her lap.

Suddenly, the big screen flickered.

A low, greasy laugh echoed through the Tower.

“Helloooooo, couch potatoes!” Control Freak cackled. His image burst onto the screen: sweaty, disheveled, holding a remote like a weapon. “Guess who’s hijacked every channel in the city?”

Cyborg groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Today’s episode features your favorite masked buzzkill!” Control Freak grinned. “Let’s see what’s really behind that mask, shall we?”

Robin stiffened. “Don’t.”

The screen crackled again: and then came a montage.

Clips from old Tower footage, clearly hacked.

Robin tripping over his words asking Starfire on a date.

Robin nearly falling off the Tower roof trying to impress her during early training.

Robin nervously fixing his hair in a mirror before patrol.

“Is this a teen drama or a rom-com?” Control Freak taunted. “Seriously, Starfire, this guy? He couldn’t intimidate a butterfly.”

Beast Boy tried not to laugh and failed.

“I can’t believe this dork is attacking now while we should be worried about Starfire’s past trauma!” he said, halfway between a snort and a groan. “Read the room, dude!”

“I do not see what is funny,” Starfire said sharply, eyes narrowing.

Robin said nothing.

“Aw, don’t be mad,” Control Freak mocked. “I’m just giving the people what they want. Romance! Tragedy! And heartbreak when she realizes you’ll never be good enough for her.”

Robin's jaw clenched. Beast Boy stopped laughing.

“Dude…” he muttered.

“Enough,” Robin growled, pulling his staff. “We’re ending this.”

The battle was more frustrating than dangerous.

Control Freak warped the environment into an obstacle course of TV tropes: game shows, soap operas, high school dramas. Robin got drenched by a fake prom prank trap. Cyborg got stuck in a sitcom kitchen loop.

Beast Boy got turned into a cartoon. Again.

But the worst part? Starfire didn’t fight.

She floated behind the group, distracted. Her eyes burned, not with fire, but with memories.

“You know,” Control Freak smirked mid-battle, “you look a little out of it, Princess. Maybe you’re thinking about that charming old Citadel commander? Glorrak, right?”

Robin turned cold.

“You don’t say that name.”

Control Freak grinned. “Oh, I’m her number #1 fanboy, I know everything and I say what the ratings demand.”

Robin tackled him hard.

____

Back at the Tower, Control Freak locked up, everyone tried to laugh it off, but Robin didn’t.

He went to the gym. He hit the bag until his knuckles bled. Then he stayed there, quiet, dripping sweat and shame.

He didn’t notice her come in.

Starfire stood in the doorway, wearing one of his shirts. Barefoot, hair loose. She watched him, arms crossed lightly over her chest.

“You are not speaking,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

She stepped closer. “You are not.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Maybe Control Freak was right.”

“Do not—”

“I’m not saying he was all right,” Robin said. “But I saw how you looked today. I keep trying to help. To fix it. And I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“This again?” She asks, clearly tired. “You are not a mechanic. I am not a machine.”

“I know.”

“You are Richard. Or Dick. Like the male human body.”

He looked at her then. And she was smiling.

“You make me feel safe,” she said softly. “But I do not always know how to say what is wrong. Sometimes I do not even know what it is. I need you to be here. Not as Robin. Not even as Richard. But as you.”

He stepped toward her.

“I’m scared,” he said.

“So am I.”

They stood in silence.

Then she reached for him.

Not for heat. Not for answers.

Just to be held.

Later that night, they sat on the Tower roof again.

She curled into his side. The city lights sparkled below.

“I remember how Glorrak used to say we were only valuable if we obeyed,” she whispered. “That love was weakness. That pain made us strong.”

Robin’s fingers tightened around hers.

“I do not believe that anymore.”

He looked at her.

“I believe that being loved by you makes me stronger.”

He didn’t answer with words. He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, the city forgotten.

The past was rising. The Citadel loomed.

But they had each other. And that had to be enough.

Chapter Text

The Tower was quiet. Too quiet.

Starfire sat alone in her room, the city lights outside blinking like distant stars. But she wasn’t looking at them. Her eyes were fixed on nothing, wide, unfocused, haunted. Robin was in patrol duty, leaving her alone with her own thoughts.

The memories had come back louder.

____

She remembered the garden on Tamaran. Not the one shown to diplomats. Not the one she’d flown through with giggles and glowing hair. The hidden one, where Ryand’r used to hide.

He was small then. All eyes and elbows and questions. “Will you protect me, K’norfka?” he used to ask her. That’s what he called her when he was little. Big sister. Protector.

She always said yes.

But when the Citadel came, she didn’t.

⸻

She remembered the day Glorrak arrived.

Tamaran had already fallen. The Grand Rulers surrendered to prevent more bloodshed. But Glorrak was not interested in peace.

“You are valuable,” he said the first day they met.

She was eleven.

He wore armor polished so sharp she could see her reflection in it. He smelled of fire and rust.

She wasn’t allowed to speak unless spoken to. Komand’r had tried, once, to fight him. She bore the scars still.

Starfire learned fast.

⸻

“You are not to cry.”

Glorrak had lifted her from the floor by the arm. She’d stumbled in training: the lash of a stunrod biting into her back.

“You are not to whimper. You are not to need.”

He let go. She fell again.

“I will shape you into something useful, or I will break you trying.”

She remembered the sound of her breathing in the dark cell after.

She remembered how long it took for the bruises to stop glowing.

⸻

Blackfire tried to act unaffected.

“Do not give them the satisfaction,” she used to whisper, holding Kory in the barracks when no one else was awake.

But there were nights Komand’r would tremble. Nights she would curse into the floor and say the names of the guards like prayers of hate.

And there were nights when Ryand’r’s cell was too far, and Kory didn’t sleep at all.

⸻

She remembered the last time she saw her little brother.

He was being transferred. They said he was “a security risk.”

He clung to her. His cheeks wet, his voice shaking.

“Don’t let them take me.”

She remembered holding him tighter than she was supposed to. She remembered the red glow that tried to break free from her palms. She remembered the pain when the guards pulled him away and the way Glorrak smiled.

“You grow fiercer each time I take something from you.”

⸻

She remembered the room. That one room.

The one where Glorrak came not as a commander, but as a man. He touched her. He broke her.

“You will make a fine tool,” he whispered once, standing too close. “And someday, perhaps more.”

She was thirteen.

She never told Komand’r.

She never told anyone.

⸻

The memory shattered as her breath hitched.

Her chest ached. Her hands were trembling.

She wasn’t in the Citadel. She wasn’t in the cell. She was in her room, on Earth. Safe.

Loved.

But it didn’t feel that way.

“Ryand’r,” she whispered aloud. “Where are you?”

No answer. Only the hum of the Tower’s electronics.

She pressed her forehead to her knees, curling into herself. She wanted to tell Robin. She wanted to tell him everything. But he would look at her like she was breakable.

Or worse: like he needed to fix her.

She didn’t want to be fixed. She wanted to remember without shattering. She wanted to survive it all again and still be whole.

⸻

Outside her door, a faint pulse echoed in the hallway, unnoticed. A watcher. A presence. Something ancient.

The past was coming back. And it remembered her name.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since Starfire’s memories came rushing back like a storm. Since her dreams turned into silent screams. The Tower’s lights dimmed low in the evening, and the rain drizzled against the window like a memory she couldn’t shake.

She didn’t leave her room much. But today, when she opened the door, Raven was already there.

“Come in,” Starfire whispered.

They sat cross-legged, the room lit only by a soft Tamaranean glowstone near her bed. Starfire started slowly. Not with the worst parts. But with pieces/ the garden, her sister, her little brother, the cells. Her voice shook, but she didn’t stop.

Raven said little. Only listened. And when Starfire’s hand trembled, she reached out and held it.

Later, Cyborg entered without knocking. He didn’t ask questions. He brought a blanket, some tea, and sat beside her on the bed, a comforting, unspoken presence.

“You’re not alone.” he said simply.

Then came Beast Boy.

As a green Silkie.

He flopped on her lap, wiggled his antennae, and made a small chittering sound.

Starfire blinked, a small smile breaking through her exhaustion. “You are attempting to be of the comforting?”

Beast Boy nodded and nuzzled her.

She curled beside him on the bed. The warmth of friendship. soft, green, and silly, lulling her into a quiet sleep.

Robin didn’t come.

He was in the control room, hunched over multiple screens. Cross-referencing interstellar patterns. Surveillance footage. Transmissions.

He didn’t sleep.

When Raven checked on him, he said: “I have to find where that energy pulse came from. If Glorrak is alive, we can’t wait.”

“You need rest,” Raven said flatly.

“I need answers,” he snapped.

She said nothing and left.

⸻

On the third day, they all gathered in the ops room.

Robin pulled up the hologram: a pulsating red signal from the edges of the Vega system.

“It’s a ghost signal,” he said. “But it matches something in Tamaranean archives. Something old. Something… Citadel.”

The room went silent.

“It’s Glorrak,” Starfire whispered.

Cyborg scanned the data. “We don’t know if it’s him. Could be someone using the name.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Robin said. “If he’s back, we need to act.”

⸻

Later, on the roof, the wind cut cold against Starfire’s skin. She found Robin there, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon.

“You did not come,” she said. “At me. Like the others did. I… I don’t understand. You always come.”

Robin didn’t turn. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how to help you. I’m trying. But I- I can’t.”

“You do not have to help. Just… Be with me. We’ve been talking about this!”

“I’m not good at this!” he burst out. “I’m not good at watching the person I love fall apart and just… Do nothing.”

Her heart jumped. Love. But the moment passed too quickly.

“I do not need you to fix me, Robin. I told you that! I’m tired of repeating myself!”

“Well maybe I need to fix something because everything else I touch turns to ash!”

His voice cracked. The rooftop air was electric now.

“I just… I don’t know how to help you if you don’t let me in!”

She stepped back.

“You say I do not let you in,” she said. “But when I speak, you do not hear. You only try to repair.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t speak. You talk to Raven. Or Cyborg. Or even with Beast Boy. You let them all in. And when it comes with me you just… Damn, Star, this is confusing!”

“You make it hard to be vulnerable!” she snapped. “You see pain and try to silence it. The others… They hold it.”

He blinked, stunned.

“Really? You’re being unfair. I am ALWAYS holding you! Gosh, Star, we slept together, you let me in, but then afterwards it feels like it doesn’t mean anything and you push me away over and over again!” he snaps.

“I want to be close,” she continued, “but I cannot be what you expect. I am… Broken, Robin.”

“I never said you had to be perfect.”

“You act as though I must be whole.”

They stared at each other, breathing hard.

Finally, Robin said, “Maybe I’m not the one who’s not enough this time.”

Starfire flinched. The words cut too deep.

“Then perhaps we should stop pretending,” she whispered.

She flew off the rooftop before he could answer.

⸻

Inside the Tower, the lights flickered.

Far across the stars, a signal pulsed again: louder, closer. And something moved toward Earth with fire in its wake.

Chapter Text

Beast Boy had had enough of the gloom. There were too many sighs in the hallway. Too many half-eaten snacks in the fridge. And way too much of Robin slamming doors and Starfire staring out windows like she was waiting for a ghost.

So he did what any concerned, emotionally semi-intelligent green shapeshifter would do:

He texted Bumblebee. And Speedy. And Aqualad. And Mas y Menos (with Google Translate’s help).

Then he announced:
“Pizza Night at Titans Tower. Mandatory. Dress Code: Comfy. Emotional trauma welcome, but only if you bring a drink.”

⸻

That evening, the common room buzzed with voices. Bumblebee laughed as she pulled Raven into an awkward side-hug. Speedy made bad jokes. Mas y Menos played ping-pong at hyperspeed while Cyborg tried to order enough pizzas to feed three metahuman squads.

Even Starfire smiled.

Almost.

In the kitchen nook, Bumblebee poured some fizzy Tamaranean juice while Starfire hovered nearby, nervous hands curling at her sides.

“You okay, girl?” Bumblebee asked gently.

Starfire hesitated. “It is… much to be around so many joyfuls after such darkness.”

Bumblebee nodded. “You don’t have to pretend. You can be real here.”

Raven joined them silently, her cup floating beside her.

There was a pause, and then Bumblebee leaned in.

“So, real talk,” she said. “You and Boy Wonder. Are you two…? I mean, we all saw how official you became after Tokyo.”

Starfire flushed instantly. Her cheeks glowed faintly orange.

“We are… We were… It is confusing.”

Raven smirked behind her cup. “Translation: they’re in love but bad at communicating.”

Starfire looked down. “I wish to be understood. But Robin… He sees pain and wishes it away. Not… With me. For me. As if I am a wound to be closed.”

Bumblebee’s voice softened. “He’s a fixer. That’s a hard instinct to unlearn.”

“I do not wish to be fixed,” Starfire said. “Just held. Seen.”

They were quiet for a moment. Then Bumblebee nudged her. “Okay, okay, but real talk. What about when things get, y’know, steamy?”

Starfire blinked. “Like the fog machines at the disco?”

Raven choked on her drink.

“No, Kory,” Bumblebee said, laughing. “I mean… steamy.”

Starfire’s entire face turned crimson. “Oh. OH. You mean the… The… The mating rituals of pleasure.”

“Dear Azar,” Raven muttered.

Starfire twisted her fingers. “It is… New. But very good. Robin makes me feel safe. That is what matters most.”

Bumblebee smiled warmly. “That’s more than most people get.”

⸻

Meanwhile, in the depths of Gotham City, shadows curled like fingers around rooftops.

Robin stood in the Batcave, staring up at the monitor wall. He hadn’t told anyone where he’d gone. Just left: silent, driven, afraid to face Starfire after everything they’d said.

Batman studied him. Quiet. Analytical. Waiting.

“I need your help,” Robin finally said.

Batman arched an eyebrow.

“I’ve been tracking signals from Vega. Something is coming or someone. A name came up. Glorrak.”

Batman’s mouth tightened. “Citadel?”

Robin nodded. “Starfire… Kory… She’s remembering things. Things that shouldn’t have been buried. I need more sources. Archives. Surveillance logs. Anything.”

Batman tapped a few keys. “I can give you access to the JLA’s off-planet network. But what are you really asking for?”

Robin clenched his fists. “I don’t know how to help her.”

Batman didn’t answer immediately.

“I try to protect her, but that’s not what she needs. And when she pulls away, I feel like I’m watching her drown and I’m just standing on the shore.”

Batman turned to face him fully.

“She’s not a case file, Dick.”

Robin froze.

“She’s not a puzzle to solve. Or a shadow to chase. She’s someone you care about. That’s scarier than anything else you’ve faced.”

Robin swallowed hard. “How did you know what to do? With… You know, people?”

“I didn’t.” Batman’s voice was quiet. Human.
“I made mistakes. A lot of them. You were one of the first people who taught me how to care. Don’t unlearn that now.”

Robin blinked, stunned. It wasn’t much. But it meant everything.

⸻

Back at the Tower, Starfire and Raven sat beside the window as the party drifted into background noise.

“I feel like a fire that has nowhere to burn,” Starfire said softly. “Robin… He is the one who made Earth feel like home. And now, he will not even look me in the eyes.”

Raven’s voice was calm. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

Starfire sniffed. “Then why does it feel like I am the only one fighting?”

Raven tilted her head. “Because when we’re hurt, we run in different directions. You reach out. He retreats. You both think the other is giving up.”

Starfire curled her knees to her chest.

“I do not want to lose him. I- I love him so much.” She finally admits in a whisper.

“You won’t,” Raven said gently. “But you both have to learn how to love without trying to rescue each other.”

They sat in silence.

Outside, the stars shimmered.

Later, when the guests had gone and the laughter had faded, Starfire stood alone in the common room. She stared out at the stars, wondering if somewhere beyond them, Glorrak was watching.

She shivered. But this time, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

⸻

In the Batcave, Robin downloaded satellite logs onto a drive. Batman didn’t stop him.

“Go back to her,” he said.

Robin hesitated at the door.

“Tell her you don’t have the answers,” Batman added. “That’s more honest than pretending you do.”

Robin looked over his shoulder. “Is that what you do?”

Batman didn’t answer. But that silence was answer enough.

Chapter Text

Starfire was sitting on the edge of her bed, her fingers gently combing through the soft threads of a woven Tamaranian blanket. The night outside the Tower was quiet, blanketed in a haze of silver moonlight, but her thoughts were anything but calm. Her mind still clung to the echoes of laughter from the girls’ night: Bumblebee teasing her about her relationship with Robin, Raven smiling (actually smiling) as they talked about teenage things for once, not battles or war. But now, the silence in her room wrapped around her like a second skin, heavy and still.

Then there was a knock. Three soft taps. She didn’t even have to ask. She knew it was him.

The door slid open slowly, and Robin stood there, his mask catching the dim glow of her bedside light. His shoulders were slightly hunched, the way they always were when he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe when he was afraid of saying too much.

“I’m back,” he said simply.

“You did not inform me that you were departing,” she replied gently, though there was something faintly reproachful in her voice.

He stepped inside without a word, letting the door slide shut behind him. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Starfire looked up at him. “Were you with Batman?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I needed more resources. Leads. Anything that could help us track down Glorrak.” His jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to come back empty-handed.”

“But I would have preferred your presence empty-handed,” she said softly, her voice cracking around the edges of the syllables. “We had fun today.”

“Yeah? I received Beast Boy’s text. I bet it was fun.” He comments, coming closer. “I just hope you didn’t have that much of fun with Aqualad.”

She only chuckled.

“We let the boys have their fun. I spent time with Bumblebee and Raven. It was… Nice.”

“I suppose it was good to just allow yourself to feel like a normal teenager for once.” Robin says quietly.

She smiled at that, but the humor didn't reach her eyes.

He exhaled and sat beside her, not touching her yet. “Kory…”

She blinked, hearing her name, her real name, from him always startled something warm and aching in her. He only used it when he meant something. When he was speaking not as Robin, but as the boy underneath the mask.

She turned her face to him, her green eyes shimmering. “I understand why you left. But I do not understand why you left… Me.”

That did it. He finally reached for her hand, fingers closing over hers.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to do this. Not the missions. Not the team. But… this.” His free hand gestured between them. “Us. You. The things you’ve been through… I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to push you. I just… I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be right now.”

She tilted her head. “I expect only the being. You being… You. With me.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I wish it were that simple.”

They sat in silence, but it wasn’t cold. It was the kind of silence that settles between people who have been circling each other too long. The kind that finally allows the space for truth.

“I talked to Batman,” Robin said after a while.

Her eyes widened slightly. “You did? You rarely… You know.”

“I know. But I needed to talk to someone who raised me. Who… Who knew what it was like to be afraid of what you might become.” He looked away for a second. “He didn’t give me the answer. He never does. But it felt good. To say it out loud.”

“What did you say?”

“That I’m scared of losing you. And that I’m scared I’m not strong enough to protect you. And even worse: I’m scared that my need to protect you will end up hurting you.”

Her lips parted, trembling. “Dick…”

“I just needed you to know,” he cut in, voice barely a whisper. “I can’t always be perfect. I screw up. I distance myself. I focus on the wrong things. I… I keep the mask on, even if I already let you see me unmasked.”

Her hand came up and touched the side of his face gently. “You are not required to always wear the mask with me.”

Robin looked at her, heart stuttering. He takes it off.
He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering closed. They leaned closer, breaths mingling, the space between them so thick with anticipation it could shatter.

Then she kissed him.

It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was different. It was heavier. Slower. A mix of longing and apology and something deeper. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer, and her fingers tangled into the back of his hair.

They melted into each other like they were made for it.

Her legs curled under her, pulling him into the bed beside her. The blanket between them wrinkled under their weight, and suddenly they weren’t sitting anymore, they were lying side by side, tangled in soft sheets and sharper emotions.

She gasped softly as his hand brushed against her side, under her shirt. Her breath caught, but not in fear: in desire. In comfort.

“I missed you,” she murmured against his lips.

“I missed you more than I thought was possible,” he answered.

Their kisses grew deeper, clumsier in that familiar teenage way: too much feeling in too little time. Her shirt slipped off one shoulder, and his gloves came off for once. His bare hand against her skin sent a shiver down her spine: not of fear, but of warmth.

“I feel… Safe,” she whispered.

“Good,” he whispered back. “Because with you, I don’t feel like I have to be anyone else.”

They didn’t have sex this time. They keep touching, holding, exploring: bodies learning each other, slowly, respectfully, hungrily. He kissed her neck gently, and she laughed, a breathy, happy sound that filled the air between them like sunlight.

Later, they lay still, her head on his chest, his arms around her like armor.

“I used to think love was something soft,” she murmured. “But it burns. It burns like fire.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “Maybe that’s why you’re so good at it.”

She smiled.

“I would like to engage in sexual intercourse with you again soon, if that is alright.”

Robin chuckles awkwardly at that.

“This is more than alright. I haven’t made a move today because you know…”

“We are still forgiving each other. I know.” she kissed his neck softly. “We have all the time in the world to do that over and over again.”

She smiled, even if she knew that there’s still things she needed to tell him soon or later. He stayed with her that night. But they both knew in the pit of their stomachs, that dawn would bring something darker.

They didn’t know how soon.

⸻

The next morning came with an eerie stillness.

Starfire was up early, standing on the Tower’s rooftop with the ocean wind blowing through her red hair, eyes closed as she soaked in the warmth of the sun. The world felt… lighter after last night. A weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying had loosened its grip. She had kissed him with truth, with vulnerability, and he had kissed her back not as Robin, but as the boy who loved her in quiet, stubborn ways. But peace was always temporary.

Downstairs, Robin had already started reviewing transmissions from the outer satellites. His voice was sharp through the comms. “I want all irregular movement tracked, especially near the Orion sector. Anything that even smells like Citadel tech, flag it.”

“You’re starting to sound like Batman again,” Cyborg quipped from the kitchen.

Robin didn’t even flinch. “Good.”

Cyborg and Beast Boy exchanged a look.

“Bro,” Beast Boy said, “We literally had a chill night for once. You sure you don’t want to give your brain like… half a break?”

Robin didn’t respond.

Raven floated in, hair slightly disheveled. “Something’s coming,” she said simply, without preamble.

Everyone froze.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked.

“Last night I had a vision,” she said. “Flames. Chains. Betrayal. And a brother’s face.”

Starfire walked in just in time to hear it. Her steps faltered.

Robin turned, alarm flickering in his voice. “Kory—?”

But her eyes were far away now. “Brother…”

Raven met her gaze. “He’s alive.”

The team barely had time to process that when the alarm blared: red lights flooding the hallway, and the Tower’s A.I. announced: “Unidentified spacecraft entering Earth’s atmosphere. Estimated impact: Sector 17.”

Robin didn’t wait. “Titans, move!”

⸻

The sky split open in a fiery arc as the vessel descended, crashing into a desolate canyon miles outside Jump City. The Titans arrived just as the dust cleared, their figures silhouetted against the growing wind.

Starfire hovered above them, eyes narrowed. “It is not Citadel standard… but it bears the mark.”

The hull creaked open, and smoke poured out. And then she saw him.

Floating down from the mist, tall and regal and heartbreakingly familiar: Ryand’r. Her younger brother.

“Tamaranean royalty detected,” Cyborg whispered, scanning.

But Starfire didn’t move. Her lips parted in a whisper. “Ryand’r…”

He smiled.

“Kor’iand’r.”

She fell to the ground, stunned. “You are… Alive. You are—” She took a step forward, emotions choking her. “Brother!”

He opened his arms. And she ran to him. They met in a crushing embrace, and for a moment, the world dissolved: years of nightmares and grief collapsing in that one touch.

But then she felt it.

A chill under his skin. A presence.

Something was wrong.

“I looked for you,” she whispered. “All this time. They told me you were—”

“They lied,” Ryand’r said. “But I survived. Glorrak saved me.”

She froze.

“No,” she breathed. “No, he- He enslaved us. He tortured me. He—”

“He showed me the truth,” Ryand’r interrupted, his tone darkening. “About Tamaran. About our parents. About the weakness of Earth’s protectors.”

Behind her, the Titans were on edge now. Robin’s hand had already gone to his belt.

“Kory,” Robin called out. “Step back.”

But she didn’t move.

Ryand’r’s voice softened. “Sister. You do not belong here. You were a warrior. A leader. And now you fight for them?” He gestured to the Titans like they were insects.

“I fight for those who gave me freedom when I had none!” she snapped. “When Glorrak used me as a weapon, they gave me my name back!”

Ryand’r flinched and then his expression changed.

“I am not here to fight you,” he said. “I came to bring you home. Glorrak misses his brightest flame.”

“Don’t you dare call him that,” she said, her voice like fire. “He broke me. He burned me.”

A sound echoed behind Ryand’r: static warping, an artificial growl that hummed like a storm.

And then, through the shadows of the ship, a projection appeared: tall, monstrous, burning with red light: Glorrak.

“Hello, little flame,” his voice rumbled.

Starfire’s knees weakened.

Robin bolted forward instinctively, placing himself between her and the projection. “If you come near her, I swear—”

“You swear,” Glorrak interrupted, mockingly. “Such devotion. But can you protect her from herself?”

Robin’s fists clenched.

“She carries me,” Glorrak whispered, and his voice echoed in Starfire’s mind. “In her blood. In every cell I corrupted. You think you’ve healed her, boy? She is mine.”

Starfire screamed, unleashing a wave of energy that shattered part of the canyon wall. The projection vanished, but the message lingered.

Her brother looked at her with something between pity and resolve. “You’ll see, sister. You belong with us.”

And then, before she could reply, he was gone. He vanished in a burst of light.

Silence.

Robin turned to her, but she was already falling to her knees, breathing hard, shaking.

“Kory,” he called, kneeling beside her.

But she wasn’t hearing him.

All she heard was Glorrak’s voice, in her head, in her bones: “She carries me.”

⸻

Back at the Tower, the mood was heavy. Raven tried to shield Starfire’s mind with calming wards. Beast Boy stood quietly in the corner, uncharacteristically solemn. Cyborg monitored planetary scans nonstop.

Robin sat outside her door, again. Not sure if he should knock. Not sure what to say. He wanted to go in. To hold her. To fix it. But that’s what they fought about last time. And so he sat.

Until finally, her voice came through, barely audible:

“You may enter.”

He did.

She sat by her window, curled in a blanket, staring out into the stars.

“I never stopped hoping,” she said, not looking at him. “That he might be alive. That one piece of my old life might have survived.”

Robin said nothing.

“But now I feel foolish. And afraid. Because the brother I loved is now the tool of the one who hurt me most.”

He stepped closer. “Then we’ll save him.”

She turned to look at him. “And if we cannot?”

He swallowed hard. “Then we’ll fight him.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I do not want to fight him, Robin. I want him back. I want… Something from before.”

He moved to sit beside her, this time not trying to fix, not trying to rescue. Just be there. And she leaned into him and finally allowed herself to collapse into her lover’s embrace.

Chapter Text

The room was silent except for her sobs.

Dick held her tight, unmoving, arms wrapped around Kory’s trembling frame as if letting go would break her into even smaller pieces. His knees had started to ache from sitting on the cold floor so long, but he didn’t care. His hand moved slowly through her hair, and he whispered nothing in particular: just soft, human sounds. A comfort. A presence.

Kory’s face was buried against his chest, breath hitching, fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt.

“Ryand’r… He was always the kind one,” she said suddenly. “So young when I left. I used to sing to him when he could not sleep. We made promises to protect each other. And now—”

Her voice broke again.

Dick swallowed. “And now he’s on Glorrak’s side.”

“No!” she snapped. Not angry at him. Just at the words. “No. I do not… I do not believe that is true. I believe Glorrak has poisoned him. Lied to him. Like they lied to all of us.”

She finally pulled back enough to look up at him, her green eyes rimmed in red. “But what if… what if part of him believes it? What if he thinks I abandoned him?”

“Kory—”

She sat back, away from him slightly, rubbing her arms like she was cold even though she was always warm. “And my sister… Komand’r. Blackfire, as you all know her. We were prisoners together. You know that. They called us weapons. Property. They told her she was the better one because she was willing to hurt to survive. And I wasn’t. And she hated me for that. Still does.”

Dick’s fists clenched unconsciously, but he forced himself to relax. “I didn’t know she was imprisoned too.”

“She does not talk about it. Ever. She would rather spit in my face than remember we were once afraid of the same monster.”

Kory looked down at her knees.

“There were times,” she whispered, “that I thought I would die in there. That I would never feel clean again. That my body did not belong to me. That my brother would forget me. That my sister would kill me just to be free.”

The words spilled out like hot blood.

Dick said nothing. He didn’t interrupt. For once, he didn’t try to fix it.

“I was so young,” she continued. “I bled and screamed and they laughed. And when they were done hurting me, they threw me back in a cage and said they would break me tomorrow. And the worst part… the worst part was that they were almost right. I learned how to smile when they wanted. How to obey. How to survive.”

She turned to him again, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes.

“But that is not what living is.”

Dick reached for her hand slowly, and this time she let him.

“I feel… broken inside,” she whispered. “Like they got their wish. I am free now, but I am still there. Every night. Every time I close my eyes. I hear Glorrak. I hear my sister. I see Ryand’r’s face when he looked at me like a stranger. And I am so tired of pretending that I am whole.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Dick said, voice low. “You never did.”

Her lip trembled. “But I do. You are so good, Dick. You try so hard to be strong. And I did not want you to see this part of me. The weak part. The part that still cries in the dark. That feels dirty sometimes when you kiss me too fast. The part that thinks maybe I do not deserve to be loved like this.”

Dick’s breath caught.

“Don’t say that.”

“It is true.”

“No,” he said, firmer this time. “Kory, you’re the strongest person I know. Not because you fight but because you survive. You still love. You’re still kind. After everything.”

His hand lifted, brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made her want to weep again.

“I can’t fix what happened to you. And I won’t try. I promise you. But I’m here. Even for the parts you think I’ll hate. Especially for them.”

Her eyes met his, wide and wet and disbelieving. Kory leaned into his touch, voice quieter. “Will you stay tonight?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation.

“Not to do the touching. Just… To hold me?”

He nodded. “Just to hold you.”

And for the first time in days, she allowed herself to rest.
____
Morning light spilled across the floor of Starfire’s room, soft and golden, brushing over the edges of tangled blankets and the slow, even rise and fall of her chest.

Dick hadn’t slept much. He stayed awake most of the night, just… listening. To the little sighs she made when she drifted off. To the quiet hitch in her breath when a dream nearly took her back. To the fragile, vulnerable stillness of her finally feeling safe.

He’d stayed propped against the wall beside her bed, holding her hand. It was all she asked for. And somehow, it felt more intimate than anything else they’d done.

When she stirred, he was already watching her. Her eyes blinked open slowly, lashes fluttering, and for the first time in days, there was no immediate panic in her face.

Just exhaustion. And a hesitant peace.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice rough.

“Hey,” he replied softly, giving her fingers a small squeeze. “You okay?”

She hesitated. Then nodded once. “Better than before.”

“Good.” He let go only to reach for the cup of water he’d brought hours ago. It was lukewarm, but she took it with a grateful look and drank. Her eyes never left his.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was small.

“I thought it would feel worse. Saying it all out loud.”

Dick tilted his head. “Does it?”

She shook her head. “No. It just… feels real now. And that is frightening. But also… freeing.”

He nodded. “I’m proud of you.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “For what?”

“For surviving,” he said. “And for letting me in.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You are… different when you say things like that. Softer.”

He smirked faintly. “Maybe I’m learning.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until a knock came at the door.

“Yo,” came Cyborg’s muffled voice. “Morning meeting. Something you’re gonna want to see.”

Dick stood, brushing hair from her cheek gently. “Come when you’re ready.”

Kory nodded, but didn’t let go of his hand right away. She watched him walk away like something in her chest was still uncertain. Like she wasn’t used to someone walking away without disappearing.

But she followed soon after.

⸻

The Tower’s war room was alive with energy by the time Starfire stepped inside.

Beast Boy was already on his third cup of coffee, hair sticking in three different directions, and Raven sat cross-legged in the air, a dark book floating beside her. Cyborg was typing something rapidly on the console screen. On it, paused, was a frame of her brother’s face.

Kory’s breath caught.

She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until Dick moved beside her, wordlessly.

“I still do not understand,” she said quietly. “How Glorrak reached him.”

“Me neither,” said Cyborg, frowning. “But there’s a new energy signature trailing him. Not just Tamaranean. Something… darker. Like Glorrak is enhancing him.”

Robin narrowed his eyes. “Mind control?”

“Not full control,” Raven murmured. “Something more insidious. He’s keeping Ryand’r himself, but twisted. Warped with purpose. Enough to manipulate. Enough to use his sister as bait.”

Kory’s fists clenched at her sides.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” Dick said to her under his breath. “You’ve been through—”

“No,” she interrupted softly. “We must.”

She took a step forward and looked around at her team: her family.

“My brother is not the enemy. He is lost. Glorrak is using him, as he once used me. I will not abandon Ryand’r.”

Cyborg gave her a firm nod. “We’re with you.”

Beast Boy leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “So what’s the plan?”

Robin opened his mouth, but Starfire spoke first.

“I need to try speaking with him. Alone. When we find him again.”

Dick’s eyes snapped to her. “Kory, that’s not—”

“I am not asking permission,” she said. Then, a little softer: “But I want your support.”

There was a pause. Dick looked away, jaw tense. He wanted to say no. Every instinct screamed it. But he remembered what she told him. That she didn’t need fixing. That she needed trust.

“…Okay,” he said finally. “But we’ll be close. The second something feels wrong—”

“I will call,” she promised.

There was a quiet moment of agreement, then Cyborg flipped a few switches.

“Radar’s tracking their ship orbit. It’s erratic. Like they’re hiding something. But the signature’s definitely Tamaranean.”

“So we wait?” Raven asked.

“For now,” Robin said. “But we prepare.”

Later that evening, Starfire stood on the Tower’s roof, arms crossed in front of her chest as the wind blew warm off the bay. She didn’t hear him at first, but she knew he was coming.

“You always end up here when you need space,” Dick said gently, stepping beside her.

She nodded. “It is the only place that feels like flying while still touching the ground.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds before she looked at him.

“You were quiet today.”

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About me?”

“About everything. About how I wish I could take your pain. About how it scares me that I can’t.”

Her eyes softened. “You do not have to take it. You only have to stay.”

“I know,” he said, voice cracking a little. “I’m trying.”

She turned to him, eyes shining in the last orange light of sunset. “Then you are doing well.”

His hand slipped into hers again. No mask. No walls. Just fingers intertwined.

“When I was younger,” she said, “I dreamed of someone who would never flinch when I was angry. Who would not run when I cried. I dreamed of a person who would not try to save me… but sit beside me when I could not save myself… I dreamed of you,” she added quietly.

Dick leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m not perfect.”

“I know,” she whispered with a smile. “That is how I know you are real.”

Chapter Text

The coordinates came through late at night, decoded by Cyborg after days of watching the fragmented signal they picked up from Ryand’r’s first appearance.

It was Raven who found Kory standing alone on the Tower’s roof, her eyes fixed on the stars, shoulders bare to the wind.

“He’s calling for me,” Starfire whispered, not turning. “I can feel it. He’s out there, and he is hurting.”

Raven didn’t ask how she knew. Empaths didn’t have to.

Within the hour, she was boarding the stealth pod, smaller, faster, and shielded… And alone. Robin tried to go with her.

She told him no.

“I need to see him with my eyes before I see him through your strategy.”

He understood. But it didn’t make staying behind any easier.

The ship cut through atmosphere like a flame, reaching the edge of an asteroid belt floating in orbit around a dead star. The location wasn’t on any charts.

Not a planet. Not a base.

Just a burned-out outpost, carved into the rock, one of the old Citadel’s mining stations, long abandoned. Or so they thought.

Kory stepped out onto the cracked surface, her boots pressing into old dust, her breath catching as old memories clawed at her ribs.

This place reeked of what had been taken from her.

Of children’s screams.

Of chains and fire.

But she pushed forward.

No weapon drawn. No armor on.

Only her fists and her voice.

Because if Ryand’r was really here, truly her brother, she wasn’t going to meet him with force.

She was going to meet him with hope.

The rocks curved into a narrow tunnel, collapsed in places. Graffiti in Tamaranean and Citadel script scrawled over the walls, some curses, some prayers. Her fingers brushed over them. One of them was her name.

And then, finally, she reached an open space. A natural cavern carved out for ore extraction. Red light pulsed faintly from above, where artificial crystals hummed in dying sockets.

He was standing in the center.

Cloaked in shadow. Alone.

But not.

Kory stopped, her pulse hammering in her ears. Her voice wavered.

“Ryand’r?”

The moment she saw his eyes, really saw them, Kory knew her brother was gone.

Not fully. Not forever. But hidden, trapped behind something thick and black and rotting. His body moved with too much sharpness, too much intent. His smile wasn’t a smile.

“Ryand’r,” she called softly, her boots crunching over the barren red soil of the asteroid outpost. “It is me.”

He stood in the shadows. Alone.

But she could feel him. And something else.

“It does not have to be this way,” she tried again, stepping forward. “You know me. You know I would never—”

“You left me,” his voice snapped, cold and clipped like ice breaking. “You escaped, and you left me there.”

She froze.

“I… I thought you were dead. I tried to find you. They told me you—”

“They lied,” he said. “But you believed them. You ran.”

Kory’s heart pounded in her ears. “I was a child. I was—” Her voice cracked. “They hurt me, Ryand’r. Every day.”

His face flickered, something broke through, but then it vanished.

“I know,” he said. “I know what they did. I know what he did. And I stayed. I survived.”

Her hands trembled.

“He broke you,” she whispered. “He broke us both.”

“You call it breaking.” He stepped forward, shadows peeling off him like smoke. “I call it purpose.”

Kory backed up a step. “No. No, Ryand’r, please—”

“You don’t understand,” he said, too calm. “You never understood. He didn’t hurt you. He changed you. He made you stronger.”

Something twisted in her. Her stomach turned. “No,” she whispered. “No, don’t say that. Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he smiled, and his voice wasn’t his anymore. It was his.

Glorrak’s.

“Don’t say what you already know, princess?”

She staggered back. “You’re not him—”

“I was inside you,” the voice continued, too smooth, too cruel. “Do you remember? The training chambers. The obedience trials. The nights.”

She choked.

The words fell like knives, each one slicing through the skin she’d wrapped around her memories.

“Stop,” she begged. “Please.”

“You begged then, too,” Glorrak hissed, now fully speaking through her brother’s mouth. “But you liked when I—”

“ENOUGH!”

The sky turned fire. Her fists lit up, molten rage coursing through her. But her eyes were wet.

“You do not get to speak of that,” she cried. “You do not get to use his body to echo your filth!”

Glorrak’s voice laughed, dark and low. “Still pretending, little star? You can’t bury what you are.”

Kory’s body was trembling. Her voice shook as she screamed back:

“I WAS A CHILD! I HAD NO CHOICE!”

Silence fell. Her voice had cracked into a scream that echoed across the rocks.

And somewhere, miles above, from the ship, through the comms, Robin heard it.

He heard her voice. Heard what she said.

And the world inside him tilted.

⸻

“Robin, her vitals are spiking,” Raven said quickly, her fingers over the monitor. They were in the Titan ship, above orbit. “Something’s happening.”

He was already moving.

“Cyborg, beam me down. Now.”

“But you said—!”

“I don’t care!” he snapped, mask half on. “She’s not doing this alone.”

⸻

Kory collapsed to her knees.

Her fists were still glowing, but her body was spent. Trembling. Her heart felt like it would split in two.

She’d screamed it.

She’d said the thing she wasn’t supposed to say.

And Ryand’r was just standing there, his mouth slack, Glorrak’s influence retreating in flickers.

And for a brief second—

“Kory…?” he whispered.

She looked up.

His eyes, her brother’s real eyes, flickered to life.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered, voice choked. “I didn’t know he did that to you…”

Kory’s lower lip trembled.

“I am so sorry,” he said, stepping toward her.

But before he reached her, something yanked him back. Hard. A shock of black-purple energy coiled around his waist and dragged him into shadow.

“No!” Kory screamed, launching after him…

Only to be caught mid-flight by a pair of arms.

Strong. Familiar.

Robin.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She buried her face into his chest, sobbing.

“I told him,” she cried. “I told him everything—”

“You did good,” he said. “You did so good.”

“But he—he still—”

“We’ll get him back,” Robin promised. “Whatever it takes. I swear to you, Kory.”

Her fingers clutched at his suit.

And for the first time, she believed it.

Not that it would be easy.

But that she wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

The Tower was silent when they returned.

Not calm. Not peaceful. Just… quiet. That thick, choking kind of quiet that followed battles not fully fought and victories that felt like defeat.

Starfire didn’t speak.

Robin hadn’t let go of her hand since the beam-up, and she hadn’t pulled away. But her fingers didn’t squeeze his either. They just rested there, warm but still, as if her body was present and her mind was somewhere galaxies away.

Beast Boy, Raven, and Cyborg waited in the ops room, expressions grim as the pair entered.

“She okay?” Cyborg asked, voice low.

Robin glanced at her. Kory was still staring at the floor. “No,” he answered honestly. “But she’s here.”

That was something.

⸻

Later that night, Robin stood outside her room, hand raised but not knocking. The hallway lights buzzed faintly above him, casting long shadows down the steel floor.

He’d heard her cry for an hour straight.

Then silence.

Then one soft sound, barely audible, of her saying something in Tamaranian. It had sounded like a prayer.

He lowered his hand.

This wasn’t something he could fix. Not this time. He couldn’t punch Glorrak. Couldn’t save her brother. Couldn’t change her past. And maybe that was the part that made him feel the smallest. The weakest.

He turned away.

Behind the door, Kory sat on her bed in silence. A single tear ran down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. She just looked at the photo on her nightstand/ a polaroid of the Titans smiling, arms around each other after their first win over Control Freak. Beast Boy was making a ridiculous face. Raven wasn’t even trying to smile. Dick’s mask was crooked from being hit, but he was laughing.

She hadn’t felt that kind of light in a long time.

⸻

“He’s not fully gone,” Raven murmured, eyes closed in meditation. She was in her room, Cy on her side. “I saw it in the space around him. In the shadows of his mind.”

Cyborg sat nearby, arms crossed. “Ryand’r?”

She nodded. “He’s still in there. Glorrak hasn’t taken full control yet. But whatever link he used… it’s ancient. Psychic domination on a level I’ve only seen in Trigon’s realm.”

Cyborg winced. “That bad?”

“Worse. Because it’s wearing a familiar face.”

⸻

In the next morning, Robin was already in the ops room before sunrise.

Screens surrounded him: footage from the asteroid field, psychic scans from Raven, old files from the Watchtower and Batman’s databanks on Cidadel technology. The glow of them cast a faint blue on his face. His mask sat discarded on the console.

He didn’t notice Starfire until she spoke.

“You did not sleep.”

Her voice was soft.

He turned. She was in her nightshirt still: loose, long-sleeved, with tiny stars stitched across it. Her hair was messier than usual, her eyes red.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve—”

“Do not say ‘should.’ Not today.” She stepped closer, folding her arms around herself. “You tried.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Trying didn’t stop him from using your brother like a puppet.”

“No,” she said, “but being here for me now matters more.”

He paused. That wasn’t what he expected her to say.

She sat beside him, tucking her knees up on the bench.

“I used to dream,” she whispered, “that I would find Ryand’r again. That we would laugh, and fly, and he would tell me he missed me.” She swallowed. “Now… he is a weapon pointed at me.”

Robin’s jaw clenched. “We’re going to bring him back.”

She nodded, but didn’t answer.

“I saw you,” he added, voice low. “On the planet. I heard what you said.”

She looked at him then, suddenly alert.

“I didn’t know how to respond,” he admitted. “And that makes me feel like a failure.”

“You are not,” she said instantly, “but I understand why you think so.”

He turned to face her. “I’m scared, Kory. And I hate to feel this way.”

Her breath caught.

“I’m scared I won’t be enough to hold you through this. That you’ll need more than what I can be.”

She blinked, slowly. “I do need more. But not more than you.” She reached forward, gently pressing a hand to his chest. “I need you to let yourself be real with me.”

His hand moved to cover hers.

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

For a moment, they just breathed together. Not kissing. Not holding. Just breathing.

Then the alarm blared.

Of course it did.

⸻

The threat wasn’t Glorrak this time.

It was some alien smuggler botched into the city grid. But it was enough of a distraction to pull the team together again even if their hearts weren’t in it.

As the fight ended, Beast Boy sighed dramatically, morphing into a mini panda. “Can someone tell the galaxy we’re on a trauma break?”

“No one ever gives us a trauma break,” Raven muttered, throwing shadows over the burning wreckage.

Robin stood slightly apart from them, hand on his communicator. He wasn’t speaking to Batman, not this time, but pulling feeds. Looking for signs of Ryand’r.

Cyborg noticed. “He’s obsessed again.”

Starfire stood with Raven, arms crossed. “Yes,” she murmured. “But I do not know if I wish to stop him.”

Raven looked over. “Because if he’s doing that, he doesn’t have to feel.”

Starfire met her eyes. “Yes.”

⸻

That night Kory opened the old box at the bottom of her closet.

Inside it were scraps: old Tamaranian crystals, a small star-shaped locket, a photo of her and Blackfire when they were young. They were holding hands.

She touched the image gently.

“Komand’r…” she whispered.

They hadn’t spoken in years.

Komand’r had been imprisoned in the Cidadel too but where Kory had survived, Komand’r had thrived in anger. Broken. Bitter. And eventually gone.

She didn’t know where her sister was now.

But she could feel the pull: that psychic echo that said: soon.

⸻

The desert was quiet under two moons. Too quiet.

Raven hovered slightly above the cracked red earth, scanning with her senses. “There’s a presence,” she whispered, “but it’s…fractured. Like something being held together by static.”

Robin moved ahead, flanked by Cyborg and Beast Boy. Starfire flew just behind them, her glow dimmer than usual.

“I got heat signatures,” Cyborg said, tapping his arm. “But something’s off. No life form ID.”

“Trap?” Robin asked.

“Definitely.”

They didn’t need to wait long to confirm it.

With a low hum, a massive shimmer of energy rippled across the desert. Dust blew into the air like a sandstorm: and from within it, three figures appeared. Two soldiers in Citadel armor…and between them:

Ryand’r.

Starfire landed too hard. The impact cracked the stone beneath her feet.

“Ryand’r,” she said.

He looked…calmer than last time. More focused. More like himself.

But the void in his eyes was still there, flickering like smoke beneath the surface.

“K’norfka.” he said softly. Sister.

Robin stepped protectively in front of her. “Don’t.”

Ryand’r’s gaze flicked to him. “You don’t speak for her.”

“I speak for the team she belongs to. And the planet she protects.”

“I’m not here to fight.” Ryand’r held up his hands.

The soldiers flanked him like shadows.

“I’m here to bring her home.”

Starfire stepped forward. “This is my home.”

Ryand’r’s smile was heartbreakingly soft. “It never was. You know that.”

She shook her head. “You are being used. I know you remember—”

“I remember everything,” he cut her off, tone suddenly sharp. “I remember the cell where they kept us. I remember the screams. I remember when they told me you were gone.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“I waited for you.”

“I came back,” she whispered.

“But not for me,” he said. “You found something else here. People. A boy.”

He looked at Robin.

“He doesn’t understand our blood. What was taken from us.”

Robin tensed, but didn’t speak. He knew this wasn’t his moment.

Ryand’r stepped forward, ignoring Robin. His gaze was all for her.

“Glorrak showed me what they never let us see. The truth. The power in what we are. He can heal what was broken in you, Kory.”

She recoiled like he’d slapped her. “He is the one who broke me.”

For a moment, Ryand’r flinched.

Then the flicker vanished. His jaw locked. “You’re not seeing clearly.”

“I see you,” she said, tears building. “I see the boy who used to steal my fruit and fall asleep under my wing. I see the spark in your soul fighting to breathe. Please, Ryand’r. Fight.”

“I am fighting,” he growled, his voice lower, deeper now. “For us. For Tamaran. For what we were meant to be.”

And then his eyes glowed—

Robin jumped forward just as Ryand’r unleashed a wave of starbolts.

The battlefield exploded in color.

Cyborg raised his cannon. “Titans—!”

“—GO!” Robin finished.

Raven and Beast Boy launched into the fray. Dust and light filled the sky.

But Starfire didn’t move.

She stood frozen, watching her brother attack her friends. Her teammates. Her family.

Ryand’r fought with precision.

Like someone trained by the same people who had destroyed their planet.

Robin ducked under one blast and flipped behind him. “Kory!” he shouted. “We need you!”

She blinked. “I—I—”

Ryand’r turned to her, panting. “Come with me. You don’t belong with them.”

“Maybe not,” she said, fists curling. “But I do not belong to him.”

Ryand’r’s eyes flashed.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“And you are breaking my heart.”

She lifted off the ground, eyes glowing.

And then—

Everything stopped.

A low hum filled the air.

A shadow spread across the sky like a veil of smoke.

And then a voice echoed in their minds.

“You always were the soft one, Kory.”

Robin grabbed his head. Raven cried out. Beast Boy collapsed mid-morph.

Only Starfire remained upright.

“Glorrak,” she spat.

“You should be thanking me,” the voice said. “You turned your back on your people. I gave your brother purpose.”

Starfire clenched her fists. “You stole him.”

“I unlocked him.” The voice grew colder. “And now, he will return the favor.”

Suddenly, Ryand’r moved.

Not of his own will.

A psychic pulse hit Starfire like a hammer. She screamed, falling back.

Robin caught her before she hit the ground. “Star—!”

Her eyes were wide. Her whole body trembled. “He’s—he’s inside him. Like poison.”

Robin looked up.

Ryand’r was floating now, limp, his expression blank.

And behind him, on the edge of the cliff, another figure.

Black hair. Purple armor. Eyes glowing red.

Komand’r. Blackfire.

The transmission ended. Glorrak’s hold loosened. Ryand’r collapsed before disappearing into a flash of Citadel light.

The rest of the soldiers followed, leaving only the dust and the crackle of energy behind.

Starfire sat on the ground, Robin beside her.

“I thought she was gone,” she whispered.

Robin was quiet.

“She hates me,” Kory added. “But I never hated her. Not really. Not until now.”

He touched her hand.

She turned to him, eyes hollow.

“What happens when it’s your own blood you have to fight?”

He didn’t have an answer. But he stayed with her, hand in hers, until the sky faded into night.

Chapter Text

The room buzzed with the low hum of computers and screens lighting up the darkened control center. Cyborg sat in front of the main console, fingers dancing over holographic displays, adjusting sensors and heat signatures. Starfire leaned in close beside him, watching every flicker of data with intense concentration.

“Vic,” Kory said quietly, “this tracking is difficult. The signature is so faint now.”

Cyborg sighed. “Yeah, it’s like trying to find a single ember in a forest fire. But I’ve been tweaking the filters, focusing on energy spikes that match what we saw on the battlefield.”

Starfire nodded, her fingers gently brushing a few dust motes floating in the stale air. “It reminds me of the moment I saw my brother on the cliff, floating there, so still.”

Her voice softened. “His eyes were blank… as if Glorrak had stolen him away, piece by piece. And when I saw Komand’r… Blackfire, stood watching, her eyes burning red with anger or hate. I did not know if she was friend or foe.”

Cyborg’s eyes darkened slightly. “That whole thing was a nightmare. We barely escaped. And you looked broken afterward. I saw the way you held on Robin.”

Starfire’s gaze dropped. “I still do not understand fully what happened to my brother or my sister. I feel lost between wanting to save them and fearing what they have become.”

Victor leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Star, you don’t have to carry all of that on your own. I know Robin’s got his stuff too, but sometimes it helps to talk it out. I’m here.”

Kory smiled faintly, grateful. “I know you are, friend Cy. Our friendship is as precious as the first bloom of a g’lorrash flower beneath the twin suns of Tamaran: rare, radiant, and never forgotten.”

Cyborg chuckled. “Damn, Star, now you’re sounding like yourself. We’ll figure this out. I promise. We always do.”

They shared a quiet moment, both thinking about the battle, the way Ryand’r had collapsed in a flash of eerie Citadel light, disappearing before their eyes. The threat was no longer distant. It was closing in.

⸻

The Wayne Manor gates creaked open like the mouth of a brooding castle.

Dick adjusted the collar of his civilian jacket and tried not to visibly shudder. The sky over Gotham was a gray bruise, and the cold bit at the back of his neck like the echo of someone else’s mistake. He hadn’t been here in months, and every step up the stone path felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Bruce had summoned him (requested, technically) but when Bruce Wayne requested something, it had the gravity of a court order. Especially when it was prefaced by the words: “It’s about the Citadel.”

Inside the house, the shadows were long and sharp, just as he remembered. Alfred met him at the door, ever the gracious sentinel of the Wayne name, and offered him tea, but Dick declined. He was too wired.

The Batcave was already active by the time he descended, and Bruce stood there in the glow of a dozen projected maps and intel feeds, dark, intimidating, perfect.

“You’re late,” Bruce said, not looking up.

“Nice to see you too, Bruce,” Dick replied, voice dry.

Without a word, Bruce handed him a small drive.

“Scans from intergalactic contacts. The Citadel’s been active in quadrant V-D2, expanding old strongholds. I traced one signal back to Earth, northern hemisphere. You saw the same energy signature in that last attack.”

Dick’s heart thudded. “You’re sure it’s Glorrak?”

Bruce gave a grim nod. “Or someone acting under him. Either way, it’s too quiet. And if Ryand’r’s involved…” He trailed off. “You’re running out of time.”

Dick closed his hand around the drive and felt his stomach twist. “I need more.”

“You always need more,” Bruce said, and for once, there wasn’t judgment, just a shadow of regret.

Dick sighed. “I’m doing everything I can, but it’s not enough. She’s scared, Bruce. I’ve never seen her like this.”

“You’re not there to save her from herself, Dick. You’re there to stand beside her. Don’t forget the difference.”

That… hit. Bruce’s words often did.

Then, from behind them, a familiar voice interrupted the growing gravity: “Are you two done brooding, or should I come back when the testosterone clears?”

Selina Kyle. Dick closed his eyes. Of course.

She wore a deep violet dress that matched her lipstick, and walked like she owned every floorboard she touched. Bruce didn’t react, he rarely did with her, but Dick groaned quietly and rubbed his temples.

“Selina,” he said flatly.

“Richard,” she smiled wickedly. “Still pretending you’re not charming?”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

Alfred’s voice cut in politely over the comm: “Dinner is served, Master Wayne.”

Bruce, the bastard, didn’t give Dick a chance to escape.

They sat around the long dining table like a play-pretend family. Selina made most of the conversation, asking teasingly about the Titans, Gotham’s skies, whether Robin had finally learned to stop catching knives with his ribs.

Then, like she’d been waiting for the exact right moment, she leaned toward Dick and asked:

“So. What are you doing for your first Valentine’s Day with the alien princess?”

Dick choked on his water.

Selina grinned. “Ah. I see. Someone forgot.”

Bruce didn’t react. Alfred quirked an eyebrow. The room practically buzzed with awkwardness.

“I’ve been… busy,” Dick muttered, red rising in his cheeks.

“Sure,” she said, biting into a slice of eggplant parmesan. “Nothing says romance like forgetting your girlfriend on the most commercial love holiday of the year.”

“She probably forgot too,” Dick said defensively, but her comment dug under his skin.

Selina smiled, smug. “Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’s planning something adorable. And when you show up with nothing, you’ll be the villain of your own love story.”

Dick stared at his plate. Suddenly, everything tasted like failure.

____

Later that night, the soft glow of the computer screen in Wayne Manor’s grand study was the only light in the room. Dick Grayson sat perched on the edge of a leather armchair, fingers trembling slightly as he stared at his phone. His usual confident mask was nowhere to be found tonight.

He’d spent the last hour pacing, rehearsing in his mind what to say, how to ask without sounding awkward, and most importantly how to make this Valentine’s Day something that Starfire would remember.

“We’re heroes.” he thought bitterly. “With all that’s going on, the Citadel, Glorrak, the team’s chaos… And I’m stressing over a stupid date.”

But beneath the stress, there was something more fragile: hope. Maybe this night could be a chance to just be teenagers. Just Starfire and Robin, Kory and Dick, no masks, no battles.

Dick took a deep breath, dialing her number. The phone rang once, twice, and then her bright, melodic voice answered, soft and curious.

“Kory?” he said, voice cracking just a little.

“Robin. Are you with Batman? Did you find something?”

“Yeah, yeah I did. I’ll show you later. But…” he sounded so uncertain.

“Dick?” she called softly. “What’s going on?l

“Uh… So, I was thinking… Since, huh… This is our first year as a couple, maybe we could… Uh, do something for Valentine’s this time? Like, maybe dinner? Just us?”

There was a brief pause on the line, then a gentle laugh.

“You actually thought about this?” Starfire’s voice was teasing, but warm. “With all the dangers and trouble looming, you plan a date? I am surprised, Robin.”

Dick smiled, nerves easing. “Yeah, well… even heroes need normal sometimes.”

“I like this plan. When shall we meet?”

“Tonight? I’ll pick you up at the Tower?”

“Yes. I will be ready.” Her voice was soft now, almost shy.

As he hung up, Dick’s heart hammered with a mix of excitement and fear. This was new territory. He had no idea how to be a boyfriend instead of a leader. But for Kory, he was willing to try.
____

Meanwhile, at the Tower, Starfire stood in her room, staring at her comms device. The call had made her cheeks flush. Was this what it felt like to be in love? Nervous butterflies mixed with hope and confusion?

She paced a little, thinking of all that had happened: the battles, her brother’s betrayal, the distance she still felt from her sister. Yet, amidst the chaos, Robin’s invitation shone like a beacon.

Starfire stood in front of her wardrobe, a wide grin lighting up her face as she pulled open the doors. The Tower’s room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside and the occasional beep from the control panels in the common area. But inside, Kory’s world was buzzing.

“Oh, Raven! You must assist me! I need to select the perfect dress for tonight! Robin has invited me to dinner!” Starfire called out, already rifling through the colorful array of gowns, skirts, and flowing fabrics.

From the shadows of the doorway, Raven appeared, arms crossed and expression as dour as ever. “You’re going out on a date. Wonderful. And you want me to play fashion consultant?” she asked ironically.

“Yes! Your opinion is very important because you are most honest!” Starfire declared, holding up a bright orange dress with glittering accents.

Raven raised an eyebrow. “That looks like it belongs in a circus.”

Starfire laughed, twirling a little. “But it is very cheerful! Robin will like cheerful!”

Raven sighed deeply but walked over, plucking a sleek black dress from the rack. “Try this one on. It’s simple and you won’t blind anyone.”

Kory’s eyes sparkled. “Hmm, simple is nice, but I also want to shine tonight!”

Raven gave a rare, small smirk. “You shine plenty without trying.”

Starfire blushed and pulled the black dress from Raven’s hands. “Thank you, friend Raven. But I think I will try both.”

Minutes later, Raven sat on the bed, scrolling through her book, while Starfire modeled each dress with exaggerated poses and bubbly commentary.

“Is this too much sparkle, or just right?” Starfire asked, spinning in the orange gown.

Raven didn’t look up. “It’s definitely too much. You don’t want to blind Robin before dinner.”

Starfire giggled. “Yes, you are right. I will be careful.”

The black dress won by a narrow margin, and with Raven’s help, she styled her hair simply, still feeling excited but nervous.

“Thank you, Raven. You are a very helpful friend, even if you are always grumpy.”

Raven shrugged. “I keep you grounded. Someone has to.”

Starfire laughs heartily at that. And that makes Raven smiles too, one of her rare soft smiles.

“It’s good seeing you like this again.” Raven added in an unusually soft tone.

The two shared a brief, quiet smile before the night, and the date, began.

⸻

The roar of the motorcycle echoed through the quiet streets as Dick pulled up to the Tower, his heart hammering almost as loudly as the engine beneath him. The night air was cool against his face, but inside, his chest felt warm with anticipation.

He took off his helmet, running a hand through his dark hair, nerves bubbling beneath his usual confident exterior. Tonight was different. Tonight was for Kory.

He pushed the bike to a stop near the entrance, then glanced up and froze.

There she was.

Starfire.

The soft glow of the Tower’s lights cast a gentle halo around her. Her fiery hair cascaded over the shoulders of that black dress, the fabric hugging her in all the right places without trying too hard. She smiled when she saw him, that bright, innocent sparkle in her eyes.

Dick swallowed hard, feeling something twist tight in his chest. She looked… breathtaking. Gorgeous. Like a star come to life.

He stepped off the bike, trying to act casual, but his gaze lingered a second too long, trailing the curve of her neck, the way the dress caught the light just so.

“You—uh, wow, Kory. You look… amazing,” he stammered, cheeks heating.

Starfire tilted her head, fluttering her lashes in that innocent way that made his heart skip. “You are very kind, Dick. You look most handsome as well.”

His breath hitched. She said Dick, not Robin, and it sent a thrill straight through him.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. “Shall we go?”

As they walked side by side into the Tower, the air between them hummed with something unspoken. The weight of the past battles, the Citadel, the looming threats, all of it seemed to fade for a moment.

Just two teenagers, trying to figure out how love can work out in a world like theirs.

⸻

The restaurant was quiet, nestled on a rooftop in the quieter side of Jump. Soft string lights twinkled above like tiny stars trying to match the glow of the girl sitting across from him.

Dick tried not to stare. He failed miserably.

Kory was radiant. Not just in the way the dress hugged her, or the soft way her hair framed her face, or how her golden skin shimmered faintly beneath the light. No, it was how she looked at him: with that open, honest affection he was still learning how to receive without short-circuiting.

“So,” she said, picking up the menu upside down without realizing, “this is what they call a ‘Valentine’s’ dinner, yes?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “You’ve… never had one before?”

She shook her head, still reading the menu backward. “On Tamaran, we do not celebrate romantic love with small pink cards and overpriced pasta.” She grinned playfully. “But I like this custom. It is… warm.”

He laughed softly, a bit breathless. “It’s kind of cheesy.”

She blinked. “Cheesy?”

“Like… over-the-top. Silly. But good. You know… like us.”

Kory’s lips curled into a smile that made his pulse quicken. “We are cheesy?”

“Very.”

She laughed, and he swore he’d never get tired of the sound.

He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this… To them. After everything they’d been through. After what she’d told him, crying in his arms. After seeing her fight with her entire soul, watching her brother disappear into a flash of Citadel light, and still… She came. Still, she wanted this.

She picked up a breadstick from the basket and held it like a sword. “Is this a traditional weapon for your Earth dates?”

He snorted. “Not usually. But you can duel me if the entrée takes too long.”

“I accept your challenge, Robin.”

He loved how she still called him that sometimes. She only called him Dick when things were quiet: when she was vulnerable. When it was late and he was holding her. But in moments like this? He was her Robin. Her dorky, battle-scarred, hopelessly-in-love Robin.

They placed their order, and when the waiter left, a silence fell between them but it was a good one. A soft kind of silence.

She stared at him, chin in hand, blinking slowly like she was memorizing him.

“What?” he asked, fiddling with his water glass.

“You are very handsome tonight,” she said.

He blinked. “I—I’m handsome?”

“Most certainly,” she said, all sincerity, not a hint of teasing. “You do not allow yourself to smile like this often.”

He looked down, suddenly aware of how hard he’d been trying to be normal for her tonight. How much he wanted this to be perfect.

“I guess I’m just… not used to good things lasting.”

Her smile faltered a little, and her hand reached across the table, covering his.

“You are not a thing,” she said softly. “You are good. And you are still here.”

His heart cracked open at that.

He squeezed her hand. “So are you.”

The food arrived, and they talked through dinner: about silly things, mostly. Beast Boy’s latest prank, the newest movie Raven rolled her eyes through, how Cyborg had made heart-shaped waffles that morning for everyone and pretended it wasn’t sentimental.

Kory teased him for picking the least spicy thing on the menu.

“I expected more heat from the Boy Wonder,” she said, eyebrow raised.

He leaned closer, grinning. “I can handle heat.”

“Oh?” She was teasing now, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Should I test that theory?”

He blushed. “Kory.”

“Yes, Dick?”

“Don’t flirt with me unless you’re planning on doing something later.”

“Oh,” she said innocently, blinking. “I was absolutely planning on doing something later.”

And he nearly choked on his drink.

⸻

The motorcycle ride back to the Tower was quiet, except for her arms, wrapped around his waist, warm and strong and there.

Dick didn’t speed. Not tonight. He wanted to remember this: every streetlight glinting off the metal, every breeze that caught in her hair, every heartbeat that wasn’t weighed down by grief or war or fear.

Just her. Just them.

When they reached the garage, she slid off the back of the bike slowly, fingers lingering against his side a second longer than necessary.

He took off his helmet and turned, half-expecting her to fly off toward her room like she usually did when something was overwhelming. But instead, she stepped closer.

“I had a good time,” she said quietly.

He swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I…” Her hands toyed with the edge of his jacket. “Would you… like to come in?”

His heart stumbled. “In? What do you mean, I live here too.”

Starfire laughed heartily at that. “Don’t be silly.” She smiled, that gentle, trusting kind of smile that undid him. “I mean in… To my room.”

He froze. Not because he didn’t want to. But because it was her. Kory.

The girl who lit his whole world. The girl who’d bled beside him. Screamed beside him. Cried into his chest after watching her brother disappear. The girl who still believed love was possible. Even with someone like him.

“…Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

⸻

Her room was quiet. Dim. The curtains let in a soft moonlight, casting her plants and floating bookshelves in pale silver.

Dick stood just inside the doorway, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands. Or his breath.

But she stepped out of her heels, tossed them gently near the corner, and looked back at him with a soft laugh. “Why are you standing like you are about to be attacked?”

He blinked. “Because I feel like I’m about to explode?”

She laughed again and crossed the room, taking both his hands in hers.

“Come on, it’s not like this is new to us.”

“I know. I’m just… Stupid.” Robin chuckled awkwardly. “I’m gonna try to not explode.”

“Then do not explode,” she said, guiding them to sit on the bed, “just… stay.”

They kissed first. Slow. Careful. Like testing the temperature of a memory.

And then it deepened.

She leaned into him, hands threading into his hair. He tasted faintly of garlic bread and nerves, and she tasted like something warm and sweet and endless.

Dick pulled back, breathless. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Her eyes softened. “But slowly. We go slowly.”

They did.

Clothes came off in increments, not like in the movies. There was giggling when he fumbled with the back of her dress. A groan when she pulled his shirt over his head too fast and made his hair spike in every direction. She laughed, then kissed the spot just below his ear.

“You are even more wonderful like this,” she whispered. “Unmasked.”

He didn’t reply. Just kissed her.

They lay back together, skin against skin, with the moonlight making maps across their shoulders.

She held him when his breath hitched.

He kissed her palms when she hesitated.

There was something poetic about their connection; like two puzzle pieces coming together, they fit perfectly. Starfire's gentle touch on his skin sent shivers up his spine, and the way she looked at him with those vibrant green eyes felt like a private language that only they shared.

The moonlight painted silver patterns on the wall, and Robin found himself tracing his fingertips along the contour of her cheek, as if trying to capture the essence of this moment in his memory forever.

Their kisses grew deeper, more desperate, with each one igniting a newfound fire within their souls. Starfire's fingers ran through his unruly hair, tracing invisible lines across his scalp, and Robin's hand found its way to the dip in her lower back, pulling her closer like he could never get enough.

In this tangled mess of sheets and whispers, there were no masks or secrets; only pure, unguarded adoration.

He nuzzled against her neck, his words a soft, ragged whisper.

“You are everything to me."

Those words stirred something deep within her: a mix of vulnerability and raw honesty that she'd never truly experienced before. Starfire ran her fingers along the edge of his jaw, her gaze holding his with unwavering intensity.

“And you... you are the light that guides me through the darkness.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, as if to protect her from any shadows that might threaten their newfound happiness. Their lovemaking continued, each touch and caress a silent promise of unwavering devotion, as the moon cast its silvered grace over their intertwined bodies.

With every touch, every word of encouragement and affirmation, Starfire forgot her past traumas and insecurities, if only for a moment. The world faded away, leaving only them; two souls bared to each other in the most intimate way.

He was gentle yet passionate, taking his time to make her feel cherished and loved. As their bodies moved together, he kissed her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose, worshipping her.

She was strong, but she also allowed herself to be vulnerable.

To be loved and respected, as she deserved.

To finally be the woman she was meant to be.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered softly through the curtains of Starfire’s room, spilling golden light over tangled sheets and bare shoulders. The Tower was unusually quiet, peaceful. And for once, so was her mind.

Starfire lay with her face half-buried in the pillow, red hair spilled across her back like a sunset. One arm was slung lazily around Dick’s waist, his breathing steady and warm beside her. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest under her fingertips, the slow rhythm grounding her like nothing else.

Dick stirred slightly, letting out a small sigh before turning toward her. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if orienting himself, before looking at her, really looking. Her green eyes were already on him, sleepy but bright, and the smile that bloomed on her face made his heart lurch in a very unfair, un-Batman-approved way.

“Good morning,” she whispered, voice soft and tender, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

He smiled back, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Morning,” he replied, his voice rough with sleep. “That was… last night was…”

Starfire’s cheeks turned a little pink, but her smile didn’t falter. “Most glorious,” she said, eyes shining. “Even though you got tangled in the zipper and fell off the bed.”

He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “You swore never to speak of that again.”

“I lied,” she said sweetly, giggling.

They laughed together, soft and private, wrapped in warmth and blankets and something so new between them it almost hurt to name it. Something like love, but deeper, messier, more human.

Dick reached for her hand again, threading their fingers together. “I didn’t think we’d ever have a morning like this. Not with everything going on. But I’m glad we did.”

She studied his face, serious now. “Me too. Even if it is only for this morning.”

His brows furrowed. “Kory…”

“There is a war coming,” she said softly, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard. “Glorrak. Ryand’r. And now…”

The alarm on the tower’s main console suddenly shrieked, an alert from the perimeter sensors. Both of them jerked, their warm little bubble bursting immediately.

Dick threw the blanket aside, already grabbing his pants. “I thought we turned off tower alerts for the night.”

“We did,” Kory said, rising too, slipping into a robe with practiced urgency. “Which means this is… not usual.”

Within seconds, they were dressed: half-suited, hair still a mess, but ready. As they rushed down the hall to the control room, Cyborg’s voice crackled through the comms.

“You guys need to get up here. NOW.”

Kory’s stomach twisted.

And when the Tower doors opened to the wind and the glowing sky of early dawn… she saw her.

Floating just off the cliffs, framed by the rising sun like a broken halo, was Blackfire.

Komand’r.

She hovered in the air like a specter. Purple-black armor gleamed in the light, the edge of her cape flaring with each gust of wind. Her eyes glowed the same furious red they always had: feral, sharp, burning, but something in her expression was different.

Tired. Tired and amused.

“Hello, little sister,” Komand’r purred.

Kory froze.

Beside her, Dick tensed like he might leap into action, but Cyborg put a hand on his arm.

“Wait,” Cyborg said, watching Kory closely.

The rest of the team stood behind them: Beast Boy in his oversized hoodie, Raven still half-asleep and deeply annoyed, but even they fell silent. The air shifted, electric and heavy.

Starfire took one step forward.

“I thought you were gone,” she said, her voice wavering just enough that only Dick noticed.

“I was,” Komand’r said. “Until Ryand’r opened the door.”

That name.

It hit her like a punch to the stomach. Ryand’r. Her brother. Still under Glorrak’s control. Or worse: believing in his cause.

Kory swallowed thickly. “Where is he?”

Komand’r cocked her head. “Safe. For now.”

That shouldn’t have been comforting, but the absence of cruelty in her voice made it worse.

“What do you want?” Robin finally asked, stepping forward.

Blackfire’s eyes flicked to him, then back to Kory. “I came for her.”

Kory blinked. “You—?”

“Not to fight. Not to destroy.” She landed softly on the cliff’s edge, boots crunching on rock. “I came because Glorrak wants you back. He’ll take Ryand’r if you don’t go willingly.”

Beast Boy let out a low, “What the hell?”

Cyborg’s mouth twisted. “That’s a real diplomatic message you’re delivering, Blackfire.”

“I’m not here as a diplomat,” Komand’r said. “I’m here as her sister.”

Kory stared at her: eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

“No,” she said softly. “You are not.”

The air went still.

“You left me,” Kory whispered. “You gave me to them.”

“I was a child,” Komand’r shot back, her voice cracking. “I was a prisoner too. Or did you forget that part?”

“I did not forget!” Kory’s voice rose like flame. “I remember every lash, every cage, every time I was dragged from my cell and forced to kneel before—”

Her breath hitched.

The wind whipped at her hair, and she turned away for a moment, blinking fast.

Robin stepped beside her, his presence quiet but grounding.

“You knew,” she said, not looking at her sister. “And still. You found your way out and never came back.”

Komand’r’s voice dropped low. “Because I knew you would survive.”

The pain in her voice was real. But it wasn’t enough.

“I hated you,” Kory said, finally looking at her. “I still do.”

Komand’r didn’t flinch. “Good. That means you’re still capable of feeling something beyond this… Earthling softness.”

Beast Boy let out a low whistle. “Oof. Family therapy’s gonna be intense.”

Raven elbowed him sharply.

Starfire’s hands curled into fists. “You speak of softness as if it is weakness.”

“And it is,” Komand’r said simply. “Look at you. Clinging to these humans. Letting them soften your fire. You think they’ll save Ryand’r? They can’t even understand what he’s become.”

Kory didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her voice caught in her throat.

Komand’r looked directly at her. “Glorrak is coming. You know this. I am not your enemy now but I won’t stop him either. Unless…”

“Unless I return?” Kory whispered. “Unless I give myself up again?”

Komand’r didn’t respond.

The silence stretched until Cyborg broke it.

“That’s enough,” he said, stepping between them. “You don’t get to show up after all this time and mess with her head.”

Komand’r didn’t move. “I didn’t come to fight.”

“But you are still very good at hurting,” Kory said, voice breaking.

Robin reached for her hand, and this time, she let him.

Komand’r’s gaze landed on their joined hands. “Be careful, little sister. Love is the most painful blade of all. You’ll see.”

And with that, she took off, disappearing into the morning sky without another word.

⸻

The Tower was quieter than usual. Even Beast Boy didn’t try to lighten the mood.

After Komand’r left, everyone walked back in silence. No battle. No explosion. But something had still broken open.

Starfire hadn’t said a word.

Robin followed her with his eyes the entire walk back: watching the way her shoulders tensed with every step, how she kept her arms close to her sides, how she blinked a little too quickly when no one was looking.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the weight in the air made the words feel… useless.

Cyborg finally nudged him in the hallway. “Let me try first.”

Robin hesitated, then nodded.

⸻

Starfire was in the observation deck.
Sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, hair like fire against the glass.

The stars looked too still.

Cyborg didn’t announce himself. He just sat beside her with a quiet huff, legs stretched out in front of him.

They stayed like that for a while.

Finally, he said, “You want me to pretend I didn’t see you almost torch that rock mid-sentence?”

She sniffed and almost smiled. “Would you?”

“Not a chance.”

Silence again.

Then she spoke, voice low. “She was my sister. And when I looked at her today… she felt like a stranger. But also… Still my sister. It hurt.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” she said, but without venom. “You don’t know what it feels like to want to scream at someone and hug them at the same time. To remember being in chains beside them and still wanting to punch them for what they became after.”

Cyborg leaned his head back against the glass. “No. You’re right. I don’t.”

More quiet.

Then he added, “But I do know what it looks like when someone’s carrying too much. And you’re trying to hold it all inside again.”

“I am trying not to break,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to do that alone.”

She finally looked at him. “And what if I fall apart? In front of them. In front of him?”

Cyborg’s voice was gentle. “Then we help you put yourself back together.”

⸻

Later that night, the Tower was almost asleep.

But Starfire couldn’t sleep.

The hallway felt too narrow. The silence too loud.

She found herself drawn to the roof. Fresh air. Sky above her. Tamaran’s stars hidden behind Earth’s atmosphere.

But she wasn’t alone.

Robin was there.

He was standing at the edge, mask off, city lights reflecting in his eyes. His expression was somewhere between I’ve been waiting for you and I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

“I’m not surprised,” she said softly. “You always find the rooftops first.”

He turned to her. “I needed air.”

“I know.”

They stood apart at first. Then slowly, step by step, she moved beside him.

“You okay?” he asked.

She let out a quiet laugh. “That question is always such a trap.”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

She looked up at the stars. “Do you think Komand’r hates me?”

“No,” he said, without pause. “But I think… she hates what you remind her of.”

Starfire didn’t answer. She just stared ahead. The wind picked up, pushing her hair across her shoulders.

“She hurt me,” she said finally. “When we were children, before the Citadel. She was cruel. And then, when we were taken, she changed. She stopped talking to me. Stopped looking at me. And when she escaped, she didn’t even try—”

Her voice cracked. She closed her eyes.

Robin’s hands twitched like he wanted to reach for her. But he waited.

“I think I still wanted her to save me.”

Robin stepped closer. “You don’t have to forgive her.”

“I don’t know if I ever can.”

Another beat.

Then Starfire turned to him.

“You always want to fix things, Dick.”

He blinked. She rarely used his name in serious moments.

She continued. “Even now, I can feel it—you want to say something to make it better. To pull me out of this.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I don’t need to be fixed,” she said. “I need someone to stand next to me. Even when I’m a mess.”

“I’m trying,” he said, honestly. “I swear, Kory. I’m trying.”

“I know.”

This time, she reached for his hand.

They stood like that, two teenagers caught between stars and scars.

After a long pause, he murmured, “You’re not alone.”

She squeezed his hand.

⸻

Back in the control room, the silence was shattered.

“Uh, guys?” Cyborg’s voice echoed across the Tower.

Beast Boy came sprinting into the room with a half-eaten burrito. “What’s up? You find Glorrak?”

Cyborg didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were locked on the monitor.

The signal was back.

Faint. Just a blip. But unmistakable.

“Yeah,” he said. “We just got our next clue.”

Chapter Text

The Tower was alive again.

Not with laughter or casual bickering but with focus. Mission mode. The kind of collective energy that pulled all five Titans together, no matter how emotionally frayed they were underneath.

Cyborg’s voice filled the command room.
“The signal popped back up about twenty minutes ago. Weak, but moving fast. Looks like it’s bouncing between low-orbit satellites and atmospheric layers. Whoever’s doing this knows how to cover their tracks.”

Starfire hovered near the monitor, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her hair glowed faintly, betraying her tension.

Robin stood close, shoulders squared, scanning the data with a clenched jaw. “Any visuals?”

“Nope,” Cyborg said, fingers flying over the keyboard. “But the energy signature matches the one from Ryand’r’s last appearance.”

The room went still.

Beast Boy broke the silence, swallowing hard. “So… what’s the plan, fearless leader?”

Robin hesitated for just a beat, long enough for everyone to notice.

“Gear up,” he said finally. “We’re going hunting.”

⸻

The jump to the outpost took less than an hour.

It was a remote area, halfway up the rocky coast north of Jump City. Hidden between cliffs and battered by ocean spray. One of those places people never wandered near unless they had a death wish or a secret to keep.

The Titans approached carefully.

Starfire flew ahead, scanning the rocks. Robin moved low and fast, eyes sharp beneath the mask. Raven hovered just above the ground, her hands glowing faintly, ready for a barrier spell. Beast Boy shifted between bird and wolf form, covering ground. Cyborg brought up the rear, scanning for hidden tech.

They didn’t speak much. Every sound of boots against stone, every whisper of wings, felt too loud.

Starfire landed beside Robin when they reached the entrance of what looked like a collapsed bunker.

Her heart was pounding. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Robin placed a hand lightly on her back. The contact was brief, but grounding.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” she admitted. “But I will be.”

He nodded.

Cyborg signaled from behind a boulder. “Energy spike. Right underneath us.”

Robin gave a sharp signal with his hand. They moved in.

The descent into the bunker was fast but cautious.

Broken metal beams. Old control panels. Rusted doors half off their hinges. Clearly abandoned for years but the flickering trace of Citadel tech was unmistakable.

Raven slowed as they reached the lower level. “I’m sensing something… residual. Like the shadow of fear.”

Beast Boy shifted into a fox, ears flat. “That’s comforting.”

They reached what looked like a control room.

Cyborg and Robin worked together, prying open a console. The interior was still faintly warm.

“Somebody was here,” Robin muttered.

Cyborg pointed at a corner monitor. “And left us this.”

A shaky, static-filled recording blinked to life.

It was Ryand’r.

Standing alone in the center of the room. Blank-eyed. Arms loose at his sides.

His voice, distorted but clear:
“Come find me, sister.”

Then the screen cut to black.

⸻

The trip back to the Tower was heavy.

Robin sat beside Starfire in the jump ship, but neither spoke much. His gloved fingers hovered near hers for a while but didn’t quite reach.

When they landed, everyone scattered, some to process, some to strategize.

Robin disappeared into the training room. Starfire didn’t follow.

It was Cyborg who found her sitting alone near the Tower gardens.

“You know you can’t blame yourself for what your brother’s caught up in, right?” he said, sitting next to her.

Starfire hugged her knees to her chest. “It feels like everyone I love gets twisted by the same hands.”

Cyborg was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah. But you’re not twisted. You’re still you.”

She closed her eyes. “For how long?”

“Forever,” he said without hesitation.

⸻

Robin stayed in the training room until late.

Punch after punch against the reinforced wall. The sharp crack of impact filled the space.

He hated this feeling—this mix of helplessness and guilt. Watching Starfire unravel while he stood on the sidelines, unable to protect her from memories and ghosts.

After Tokyo… things were supposed to be different. Lighter. Easier. They’d been going on dates, learning how to hold hands without fumbling, how to kiss without making it a battlefield of nerves. Now?

Now everything felt like it was slipping out of control.

When he finally stopped, sweat dripping down his back, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall.

And for a second it wasn’t him he saw.

It was Batman.

Staring back with cold eyes and clenched fists.

Robin tore his gaze away.

⸻

That night, Raven knocked on Starfire’s door.

“Hey,” she said, stepping inside before Starfire could even answer. “Meditation room. Five minutes. You’re coming.”

Starfire blinked. “But—”

“No buts,” Raven said, already walking away.

It turned out to be exactly what she needed.

Sitting in a circle with Raven and even Beast Boy (half-asleep and still in fox form), Starfire felt the noise in her chest begin to settle.

For now.

⸻

Down in the control room, Robin stood with Cyborg, staring at the recording of Ryand’r again.

“We’re running out of time,” Robin muttered.

Cyborg looked at him, voice low. “You know what this is starting to feel like, right?”

Robin nodded grimly. “Slade all over again.”

But this time… it was even more personal for both of them.

⸻

The Tower had gone quiet by midnight.

Beast Boy was snoring on the couch, sprawled across half of it in polar bear form. Raven had retreated to her room, likely buried under meditation or dark poetry. Cyborg was still running scans from the field, the soft hum of his equipment coming from the operations deck.

Starfire stood alone on the roof, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the stars.

The cold nipped at her skin, but she barely noticed. Somewhere out there, Ryand’r was in the grip of the same darkness that had nearly broken her. Somewhere out there… Komand’r was back.

And Glorrak…
Glorrak was watching.

The memory of Ryand’r’s blank expression haunted her. The image of Komand’r standing there on the cliff… red eyes glowing, armor as dark as ever.

She felt the tears burning before she even realized she was crying.

The sound of footsteps behind her was soft but unmistakable.

Robin.

No—Dick.

He didn’t say her name at first. He just walked up beside her and stood there, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. The night wind ruffled his hair. The glow from the Tower lights made the edge of his mask cast soft shadows over his cheekbones.

“I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” he said quietly.

Starfire didn’t look at him. “I do not sleep much… lately.”

There was a pause.

“I saw the footage again,” he admitted. “I’ve been down there for hours.”

She closed her eyes. “You do not have to destroy yourself over this.”

“And you don’t have to carry it alone,” he countered, voice tight.

Silence.

Then, softer, like it hurt to say it:
“I’m scared too, Kory.”

That finally made her turn.

Her breath caught in her throat. Hearing him say her name like that—without the mask of leadership, without the Robin voice—just Dick. Just the boy she’d fallen for, vulnerable and tired and trying.

Her voice broke when she spoke.
“I do not know how to make it stop hurting.”

“You don’t,” he said. “We just… try to hurt together.”

And then he was pulling her in. Not with urgency. Not like the heat of their kisses before missions or the fumbling way they’d touched each other a few weeks ago. This was slower. More tired. More real.

Her fingers clung to the back of his jacket, like if she let go, she’d fall straight through the air.

His forehead pressed to hers.

“Stay with me tonight?” she asked, almost a whisper.

“Always.”

They didn’t make it far, just her bed, soft and still smelling like lavender from her last cleaning spree.

Robin sat on the edge first, tugging off his gloves and kicking off his boots. She curled up beside him, laying her head on his chest. For a long time, they didn’t speak. Just the sound of his heartbeat and the slow, steady way he combed his fingers through her hair.

Kory pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face. “I know you wish to fix this. I know you wish to save me. But some things… some things broke long ago.”

His hand lifted, tracing her cheekbone gently with his thumb. “Then let me help you carry the pieces.”

She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes.

For once, they didn’t kiss to drown the pain. They kissed just… because they needed to feel human. Needed to feel alive.

⸻

Downstairs, Cyborg’s scanner beeped again.

And somewhere… far out in orbit… a dark ship powered up.

Glorrak was moving.

And this time, he wouldn’t stay in the shadows for long.

Chapter Text

The Tower was no longer quiet.

Warning sirens hummed low in the background, not loud enough to panic the city, but sharp enough that every Titan knew: something was coming.

Glorrak’s ship had entered Earth’s orbit.

And this time, he wasn’t hiding.

Cyborg’s voice boomed from the operations deck. “I’ve got two… no, three energy signatures moving in formation. One’s massive. The other two… smaller but fast.”

Raven floated behind him, dark eyes narrowed. “Any visual confirmation?”

Cyborg shook his head. “Not yet. But if I had to guess? One of those smaller ones is Ryand’r.”

Starfire stood frozen in the center of the room. Her heart beat too fast. Her stomach twisted with dread.

Robin’s hand hovered near her back, almost touching but not quite.

“Defensive shields are already up,” Cyborg continued. “And I’ve scrambled the outer security drones. But… this isn’t a random probe. This is a full approach.”

Beast Boy, trying to ease the tension, muttered, “Guess we’re skipping movie night.”

No one laughed.

Robin took a sharp breath. “We need a plan. Now.”

⸻

They gathered in the meeting room.

Robin stood at the front, mask on, voice steady but Kory could see the strain in his shoulders. The way his hands curled into fists too tightly against the table.

“We’re not letting them get past the city perimeter,” he said. “Cyborg, you’re on external comms and shield management. Raven, keep a barrier ready for civilians. Beast Boy, scout recon. Stay airborne and give us field visuals.”

Everyone nodded.

Robin’s gaze shifted to her.
“Kory… you stay with me.”

Her chest tightened.

Stay with him.
Fight beside him.

But all she could think about was the memory of Ryand’r’s voice, blank and hollow, calling her name from that distorted recording.

⸻

After the meeting, the others scattered to prepare.

Starfire stayed behind.

Robin lingered too, his eyes not leaving her.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I do not know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” he said softly. “But… Kory… I need you here. With us. With me.”

Her throat closed. “I do not know if I am strong enough.”

“You are,” he said without hesitation. “You’ve always been.”

She turned away, hugging her arms around herself. “You don’t understand.”

His voice dropped lower. “Then help me understand.”

She hesitated… then finally said it.
“If I face him again… if I see Ryand’r like that again… I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight him.”

Robin stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Her breath hitched. “And if I freeze?”

“Then I’ll cover you.”

Her eyes burned.

Robin placed both hands gently on her shoulders, leaning in just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “We’re in this together. All the way.”

She closed her eyes and let herself lean into him for one long, aching moment.

⸻

In the training bay, Beast Boy was loading up gear.

“You think she’ll be okay?” he asked Cyborg quietly.

Cyborg glanced at him, then at the ceiling, then back at the monitors. “No idea,” he said. “But when has that ever stopped her?”

Beast Boy nodded. “Yeah. Fair.”

Raven floated by with a quiet sigh. “We should all be more worried about Robin. The last time he got this wound-up, he spent three months chasing Slade like a ghost.”

Beast Boy shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

⸻

Up on the roof, Robin stood alone for a few minutes before putting on his gloves.

Cyborg’s voice came over the comms.

“Incoming transmission.”

Robin pressed his communicator. “Go ahead.”

Static.

Then… a voice.

Rasping. Low. Familiar in the worst way.

“Hello… little Titan.”

Robin froze.

Glorrak.

“I hope you’re ready,” the voice continued. “Because I’m coming… and I’m bringing your favorite memories with me.”

The line went dead.

Robin’s hands shook for only half a second.

Then he turned back toward the Tower.

Time to fight.

Time to protect her.

Time to face everything.

Chapter Text

The first warning came not through the sensors, but through the stars.

Starfire was already awake when the air shifted.

She was standing by the window in her room still dressed from patrol, her armor loosened at the shoulders, red hair pulled back hastily from her face. The early dawn had barely touched the sky, but she felt it, unmistakably:

A pressure building in the air, like the inhale before a scream.

Her hand reached for the glass reflexively.

A sudden tremor hummed through the Tower.

Then the alarm blared.

“Emergency alert,” Cyborg’s voice crackled over the comms. “All units. Repeat: all units, Glorrak’s fleet just entered Earth’s orbit.”

⸻

In the central ops room, the lights flickered.

The screen displayed a cold line of descending ships. Not massive vessels like war cruisers, these were leaner, sharper, designed for infiltration. Three small-class Citadel dropships, each pulsing with the sickly green glow of Glorrak’s tech signature.

Raven stepped back from the monitor, her face pale.

“There’s more,” she said. “Something… older than what we’ve faced. He’s not just coming to fight. He’s coming to claim.”

⸻

Robin was already suited up.

His gloves snapped into place as he strode into the main room, jaw tight, eyes behind the mask unreadable. But Starfire could tell he wasn’t ready. None of them were.

“Cyborg?” he barked.

“They’re entering the atmosphere at subsonic speeds, definitely not stealth mode. This is intimidation.”

Beast Boy hovered in the doorway, morphing rapidly between bird and tiger and back, anxiety manifesting in every twitch. “They’re not wasting time, huh? I guess we’re skipping breakfast.”

No one laughed.

Robin looked to her then. “Starfire—”

“I am ready,” she said before he could finish.

It wasn’t entirely true.

But there wasn’t time for truth.

⸻

They landed near the coastline.

The Citadel dropships had carved narrow valleys into the sand, crashing through the treeline and settling like scars on the Earth. The air stank of smoke and electricity.

Robin, Starfire, Raven, Beast Boy, and Cyborg moved as one: decisive and fluid after years of training. But even with all that discipline, the moment Starfire saw the glowing pulse of Citadel metal, she faltered.

Not visibly. Not enough for the others to notice.

But inside, her lungs stopped working for a breath.

Everything about the ship screamed memory.
Everything about the sky screamed trap.

Cyborg blasted the left flank with a sonic wave, knocking back the first wave of Citadel troopers.

“These aren’t drones!” he shouted. “They’re alive!”

The soldiers bled.

They screamed in Tamaranean dialect. War cries.

Starfire’s blood chilled.

Raven’s spells lit the ground in shadow. Beast Boy took the sky in hawk form, swooping between blasts to pull their attention.

Robin, always the strategist, directed their formation. “Push them back—don’t let them split us!”

But Starfire couldn’t look away from the center of the battlefield.

A figure descended from the largest ship. Tamaranean armor. Crimson and black.

Eyes that glowed faintly violet.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Ryand’r…”

Her brother landed lightly on the dirt like he’d always belonged to it. His face was still boyish, not much older than the last time she saw him—before the Citadel ripped them apart.

But his expression…
Empty.

He walked through the wreckage without flinching. A soldier offered him a blade; he didn’t take it. His hands were already glowing.

“Kory,” he said, voice robotic, coated in distortion.

“No…” Her voice cracked. “Ryand’r, please…”

She stepped forward before she realized it. Robin’s voice cut sharply through the comms:
“Star! Don’t—”

But she couldn’t stop.

“Ryand’r—look at me! Please, you are not this!”

He tilted his head, calmly, like a child studying an insect.

“You are afraid,” he said. “Glorrak warned me.”

Her lip trembled. “What did he tell you?”

“That you’d lie. That you’d use my pain against me.”

“I would never—”

He raised a hand. Not to reach for her.

To attack.

The energy blast that surged from his palm was shaped like her memories: orange, twisted with sickly green. A fusion of her own power and Glorrak’s corruption.

It hit her full in the chest.

Starfire slammed into the dirt, tumbling through the debris.

Robin’s scream echoed across the field: “STAR!”

He ran for her, staff slicing through Citadel foot soldiers. Beast Boy, in rhino form, broke through another wall of troopers to clear a path. Raven launched into the sky, casting a protective dome over Starfire’s body just as a second blast came from Ryand’r’s hands.

The beam bent against Raven’s magic, but cracked it.

Robin fell to his knees beside Starfire, touching her face, desperate.

“Come on, come on—look at me—”

She blinked, slowly.

“I saw him,” she whispered.

“I know. But it’s not him right now.”

Tears slipped down her temple. “It should be.”

She stood.

Weakly, shakily, but full of fury.

When she took to the sky, her hair was like fire, and her eyes were no longer soft. They were the storm.

“Do not speak to me through his mouth,” she screamed toward the ship. “You will not use him!”

And from the ramp… Glorrak emerged.

The Citadel commander looked almost human at first glance. But his features were too sharp, too symmetrical. His body was laced with alien tech, armor like bone and fire, and eyes that pulsed red without pupils.

He didn’t raise his voice.

“Your brother came willingly.”

“Liar,” Starfire spat.

“I didn’t have to break him,” Glorrak said. “Just show him who let him be taken.”

She faltered again, only for a second.

Robin caught up to her midair, floating on his glider.

“Don’t listen to him,” he said. “He wants you to doubt yourself.”

But Starfire’s hands were already glowing.

The fight was no longer a mission. It was personal.

The wind shrieked through the battlefield.

Robin had landed behind Starfire, his glider folding into his back with a click of steel. She didn’t acknowledge him, her eyes never left Glorrak.

But it wasn’t the warlord she was focused on. It was the boy standing just behind him, helmet now discarded, face half-hidden in shadow.

Ryand’r.

She was finally able to actually look at him. He looked smaller than she remembered. No longer the laughing little brother who would chase her through the lavender fields of Tamaran. His hair was longer now, streaked with black where fire had once kissed it. His cheeks were hollow. His eyes—those eyes that had once shone like twin stars—were dull, lined with veins of burning green.

Citadel corruption.

Starfire hovered in mid-air, her fists trembling at her sides.

“Ryand’r,” she called again, voice breaking.

For a moment, he didn’t respond.

Then: “Sister.”

Her breath hitched. The voice was his. Not distorted, not robotic this time. Just… flat. Emotionless.

“I saw you,” she whispered. “In the signal. And then… in the field. And I—I wanted to believe it was a lie.”

“It is not,” he replied.

The words hit harder than any blast.

Behind them, the others were fighting: Cyborg trading shots with two armored Citadel hunters, Raven maintaining a dome over the city border. Beast Boy swooped through the sky as a falcon, dropping bombs that turned into vines and wrapped enemy soldiers.

But Robin stayed behind her. Silent. Present. Watching.

“Why?” Starfire asked, her voice small.

Ryand’r took a step forward, armor creaking.

“They told me what you did.”

She blinked. “What… I did?”

“How you left me,” he said, louder now. “How you escaped, and I rotted. How you and Komand’r turned your backs. The princesses—they ran. The prince stayed. And paid.”

Starfire flinched.

“That is not true,” she said, pleading. “They tore me from you! I would have—”

“You didn’t come back.”

The accusation was like a blade across her chest.

“I searched the galaxy for you—” she tried, her voice raw. “After the war, after Earth, I—”

“You thrived,” Ryand’r interrupted. “You found friends. You found love. I found a cell. And a master.”

Starfire shook her head, backing slightly in the air. “No. No, please, do not let him—do not let Glorrak speak through you.”

She lifted her hand slowly, not to attack, but to reach.

“Let me take you home.”

His eyes twitched. A moment. A flicker. Doubt.

But Glorrak stepped forward. “Touching. Truly. But this isn’t some fairy tale.”

Robin took a step forward, voice low, sharp: “Stay out of this.”

Glorrak smiled. “Oh, I’m not in it. Not yet.”

He nodded to Ryand’r.

The boy’s body tensed.

And then, without another word—he launched.

Starfire barely dodged the first blast.

It tore through the air where she’d hovered, exploding against a cliffside. Robin darted beneath her with a jump and flipped to the side, throwing smoke pellets that erupted midair, momentarily obscuring Ryand’r’s vision.

But he didn’t need to see.

He’d trained in the Citadel.

He fired again, blindly—and this time, it hit.

Starfire was slammed back, the energy wrapping around her wrists and chest like chains. She cried out, spiraling into the dirt.

Robin rushed to her, sliding on his knees. “Kory—!”

“I’m okay,” she gasped, forcing herself up. Her skin smoked where the energy had hit. Her palms bled where she tore through the binding.

But her eyes glowed now. Fierce. Wet with fury.

She rose again.

And this time, she didn’t beg. She fought.

She soared straight toward Ryand’r with a scream, fists igniting with violet fire. He countered with an armguard, deflecting one blow but the second hit his jaw and sent him careening into a boulder.

They clashed like twin stars in collapse.

Her blasts met his, orange against green. Each blow cracked the earth. Each word between them a wound.

“You were my baby brother!”

“You were my abandonment!”

She caught his leg mid-spin and slammed him into the ground: he twisted, flipped, launched back upward and struck her shoulder with a pulse of Citadel venom-tech. The toxin burned instantly through her armor.

She screamed again, this time in rage and grief.

“Do you not remember? The games? The stories? The way I tucked you in when the nightmares came?!”

“I remember a sister who let me rot.”

“I was a child too!” she sobbed.

They hovered, panting, above the wreckage of their confrontation.

The battle around them dimmed to silence.

Ryand’r’s breath was shallow. His hand shook where he gripped his weapon.

“I don’t know what’s true anymore,” he said.

That broke something in her.

“K’kanor…” she whispered: his baby name.

He blinked.

And for just one breath… He remembered. Her fingers reached again. Hope like a sun in her chest.

But then—

Glorrak lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.

Ryand’r’s body seized.

His back arched, his limbs jerked, like invisible wires had yanked him from within. His mouth opened in a scream, but no sound came out.

Then his eyes went black.

No green. No violet.

Just the void.

And he launched another blast, point-blank, into Starfire’s chest.

The impact was different this time.

It wasn’t just energy: it was poison. Tainted with the same molecular infection Glorrak had used to break prisoners. The same chemical that had once nearly destroyed Komand’r’s neural pathways.

Starfire fell like a comet.

She didn’t move

Robin ran.

The battlefield blurred around him. He screamed her name, screamed it again and again and again and dove just in time to catch her before she hit the rock.

Her pulse was erratic. She was burning from within.

“Kory—Kory, stay with me—”

She opened her eyes, weakly.

“Ryand’r…” she whispered.

“He’s gone,” Robin said, voice cracked. “He’s not himself—”

“I couldn’t save him…”

“You’re not done yet.”

He looked up at the sky, shielding her body with his own as Ryand’r prepared to strike again—expression blank, hands glowing, a weapon of war.

Robin wrapped himself tighter around her. No bo staff. No defense.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered to Ryand’r. “Don’t you do this.”

And then—

A scream.

Not his.

Not hers.

Hers.

But not Starfire’s.

Another.

A flash of violet fire tore through the sky.

A body slammed into Ryand’r from the side, throwing him halfway across the battlefield.

Komand’r.

Blackfire.

A sneer curled across her lips, and a jagged cut bled down her cheek, still fresh. Her eyes burned, not just with fury but something deeper.

Panic. Grief. Fear.

But Komand’r would rather die than admit it.

“Well,” she said, floating down slowly, “isn’t this the most disgusting family reunion.”

Ryand’r landed with a thud, recovering quickly. His expression didn’t change. “You are not welcome here.”

“Oh, save it, baby brother.” She spit blood into the dirt. “You’re not exactly giving off the warm-and-fuzzy reunion energy.”

She hovered closer to him, but her eyes slid to Starfire still in Robin’s arms, still barely conscious.

“Kory…” her voice, when she said the name, cracked. Just a little.

Robin didn’t trust her. He stood halfway, shielding Starfire’s body with one arm, batarang in the other.

Komand’r noticed.

She gave him a bitter smirk. “Relax, boy wonder. I’m not here to kill her. At least not today.”

“Then why are you here?” Robin’s voice was rough, controlled.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she looked at Ryand’r.

And for the first time… her face broke.

Not into anger. But pain.

“I saw the transmission,” she said quietly. “I saw what they did to him.”

Ryand’r blinked.

She stepped forward, her movements slow, measured, like she was approaching a wild animal.

“Glorrak messed with me, too, remember?” she said. “Back in Sector Kordax. The reeducation vaults? Ringing any bells?”

He flinched.

Robin felt Starfire stir beneath him. She was waking up.

Komand’r kept speaking, her voice a careful edge. “But you know the difference between me and you, Ryand’r? I stopped letting him speak through me.”

She pointed a hand at her chest. “I got out.”

Ryand’r’s hands pulsed. “You were always stronger.”

“Wrong,” she snapped. “I was just angrier.”

The energy in Ryand’r’s hands flickered.

Then dimmed.

For the briefest of moments he hesitated.

____

Glorrak growled from behind, finally stepping forward.

“Komand’r,” he hissed, “I gave you freedom. And you come crawling back to protect the sister who betrayed you?”

“Oh please,” she snorted, eyes still on Ryand’r. “You didn’t give me freedom. You gave me chains with better polish.”

Robin finally stood to full height, Starfire leaning against him now, barely upright, but awake. Her lips parted as she took in the sight of her sister.

“Koma…”

“Don’t talk,” Blackfire snapped, not looking at her. “You’re half-dead and probably still convinced I hate you.”

“I do not.”

Komand’r’s jaw clenched.

“I should hate you,” she whispered. “You always had everything handed to you. The throne. The love. The heroes.”

“You do not know what they did to me,” Starfire said softly.

Komand’r finally looked at her and what Robin saw in her expression wasn’t anger anymore.

It was horror.

“I do,” she whispered. “Because they did it to me, too.”

⸻

The words dropped like thunder.

Robin’s heart stopped.

Starfire’s breath hitched, sharp, loud. She tried to speak, but her voice broke. “You never told me.”

“I never told anyone,” Komand’r said.

They stared at each other: two sisters carved from the same fire, shaped by the same torment, and torn apart by everything that came after.

And in that silence, Glorrak stepped forward again.

“I warned you,” he said, voice low. “She is weakness. Just like you.”

He raised his hand.

Komand’r didn’t even hesitate.

She blasted him straight in the face.

The fight exploded into chaos again.

Glorrak barely flinched—his armor absorbed most of the blast—but Komand’r launched herself at him with wild, ruthless fury. They crashed into the side of the Citadel ship, sending debris and flame across the battlefield.

“Titans—regroup!” Robin shouted, lifting Starfire in his arms.

Raven swooped down, cloak wrapping around them like a protective shell, her eyes glowing as she shielded Starfire from more blasts.

Cyborg’s voice buzzed in Robin’s ear. “Medical bay’s ready. Get her back, now!”

“Where are you?” Robin shouted.

“On your six!”

A massive energy cannon cleared a path through enemy lines, and Cyborg landed behind them, extending his arms to carry Starfire.

Robin hesitated.

So did she.

“I’m not leaving her,” Starfire whispered hoarsely, nodding toward Komand’r.

“You’re not,” Robin said. “But if you don’t rest, you’ll die before you get the chance to save her.”

She closed her eyes, chest heaving.

Then nodded.

Robin handed her off to Cyborg and sprinted back into the fray.

____

Komand’r and Glorrak slammed into the ground, dust exploding around them.

“You were always an experiment,” Glorrak snarled. “You think your fire makes you more than them?”

“No,” she growled. “But it makes me better than you.”

Her punch shattered a chunk of his helmet.

But he retaliated fast, faster than she expected. A tendril of neural wire burst from his arm, latching into her armor and sending volts of agony through her spine.

She screamed, collapsing to her knees.

“I could’ve made you a queen,” Glorrak said, crouching over her. “And you chose them?”

She looked up at him, breathing ragged.

“I didn’t choose them,” she rasped. “I chose me.”

And behind her— Ryand’r stood.

His hands trembled. Glorrak didn’t see him.

But Komand’r did. She didn’t speak. She just gave him a look.

A choice.

The moment stretched.

Komand’r lay in the dirt, electricity still flickering across her skin. Glorrak stood above her, triumphant, one hand raised to deliver the final blow. And Ryand’r stood behind him—still, silent, torn.

Then he moved.

With trembling hands and burning eyes, Ryand’r lifted his palms and let loose a blast of searing, bright orange light, not corrupted, not twisted. Raw, real Tamaranean energy.

It hit Glorrak square in the back.

The warlord roared in fury, his armor sparking, the tech on his spine flaring wildly as he turned. But it was too late: Blackfire had already launched herself upward and slammed both fists into his chest.

Together, they knocked him into a rupture in the ground, fractured open from the chaos of the battle.

But instead of falling—

The light beneath him shimmered.

A rip in space. An artificial portal.

“NO!” Raven screamed from a distance. “That’s not natural—it’s Citadel tech—it’s a recall gate—!”

Robin’s eyes widened.

“STARFIRE!”

Too late.

The pulse surged.

Komand’r turned toward her sister, just in time to see Starfire flying toward them.

Ryand’r tried to move, to escape it, but the rift caught him mid-leap. Komand’r reached out, her hand brushing against Starfire’s wrist—

And the three of them vanished.

Gone.

Swallowed by light.

The rift snapped shut with a deafening crack.

____

Silence. Dust drifted through the ruins of the battlefield. The Citadel troops, what remained of them, scattered and fled into the trees, their command center fractured.

Cyborg staggered to Robin’s side.

“Where is she?” he whispered.

Robin didn’t answer.

He was already typing into the wrist comm. Already scanning. Already pinging every satellite, every tracker.

Nothing. No signal. The line was blank.

Starfire was gone.

Her tracker was dead.

And for the first time since the battle began—

Robin looked afraid.

Chapter Text

The air was thin and metallic.

Starfire’s eyes fluttered open to a sky that wasn’t blue. It was bruised purple, streaked with orange lightning that crackled low on the horizon. The atmosphere reeked of rust, of radiation, of something ancient and unstable. A ruined planet, one she didn’t recognize.

Her body ached.

Her ribs felt cracked. Her arms burned where Glorrak’s energy had struck her. Her throat was dry, and the taste of copper lingered on her tongue.

But she was alive.

She sat up slowly.

A collapsed mountain range stood in the distance, metallic cliffs pierced with forgotten Citadel tech. The ground beneath her was scattered with bone-white stones and the remains of failed terraforming: twisted machines half-buried in the soil.

And ahead… Two bodies. Komand’r and Ryand’r.

Her siblings.

Komand’r was the first to stir.

She groaned and sat up, brushing dust from her armor with an irritated grunt.

“Well,” she muttered, scanning the desolate surroundings. “This is charming.”

Starfire didn’t laugh.

Ryand’r remained still, unconscious. But breathing.

“Kory,” Komand’r said finally, eyes narrowing. “You good?”

Starfire nodded slowly. Then shook her head.

Komand’r snorted. “Same.”

She stood fully and walked over to Ryand’r, nudging his side with the edge of her boot.

“Up. Come on, sweet prince.”

He groaned and rolled away from her, curling into himself.

Starfire watched him, her heart twisting.

There had been a moment—just one—before they were swallowed by the rift. A moment when he chose her. A moment when his fire had been his own again.

Now his expression was vacant again. His lips moved like he was whispering to someone who wasn’t there.

Komand’r knelt beside him, poking his cheek. “He’s glitching. Glorrak’s programming must’ve burned itself halfway through.”

Starfire frowned. “Do not call it ‘glitching.’ He is not… some tool.”

Komand’r looked up, unimpressed. “He is, Kory. That’s what they made us into. You remember that, don’t you?”

Silence stretched between them.

Starfire’s fists clenched.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I remember.”

Komand’r stood again. “Then stop pretending we’re the same girls who ran through the gardens and wrote each other songs.”

“I never forgot what was done to us.”

“No,” Komand’r snapped, “you just forgot to hate them for it.”

That silenced her.

They spent hours navigating the ruins of the planet.

It was clear now: an abandoned Citadel mining world, used decades ago for energy extraction and then discarded when the surface collapsed from within. It had no name. No record.

No rescue. And worst of all: no signal.

Komand’r smashed her comm-link against a rock.

“Dead,” she muttered. “No trace. No bounceback. Wherever Glorrak dumped us, it’s under a planetary shield or buried outside normal galactic range.”

Starfire stood over a cliffside, arms folded. She wasn’t crying. She was thinking.

“The Titans will come. Robin will look for me.”

Komand’r scoffed. “Of course he will.”

That tone—the mocking, sharp sarcasm—it was a blade dipped in salt.

Starfire turned. “You do not believe he will?”

“Oh, I believe he’ll tear the planet apart. Scream your name into the stars. Paint his little room with your name written in Bat-crayons.”

“That is not fair.”

Komand’r rolled her eyes. “It’s predictable. It’s fragile.”

She took a step closer.

“You let him in. That’s what they used against you. That’s what they used against me.”

Starfire bristled. “Robin is not like them.”

“No,” Komand’r said flatly. “He’s worse. Because he loves you. And you think that makes you stronger.”

“It does.”

“No,” Komand’r snarled, “it makes you a target.”

The words sat in the silence, heavy as stone.

Ryand’r stirred again in the background, muttering Glorrak’s name in his sleep.

Starfire sat beside him.

“Do you hate me?” she asked.

Komand’r crossed her arms. “Do I hate you for escaping? For having a team who actually gives a damn? For finding love in a broken world while I was being reprogrammed until I forgot how to speak my own name?”

She exhaled sharply.

“No. I hate that you still believe in happy endings.”

Starfire closed her eyes.

“I used to.”

She watched her brother’s chest rise and fall. Slowly. In pain.

“I thought… if I became good enough. Heroic enough. If I smiled enough, saved enough… maybe I could rewrite it. All of it. Like the pain was just one part of the story, not the whole book.”

Komand’r looked away.

Starfire’s voice cracked.

“But it follows me. Still. When Robin touches me too softly, it echoes in the wrong places. When I sleep, I see cells. When I kiss him, I wonder if I am being watched. If this is another test. Another trick.”

She ran her hands through her hair, shaking.

“I love him. And I am terrified of him.”

That made Komand’r turn back.

Starfire looked up at her.

“Because if I let myself believe it’s real—what if I lose him? What if I ruin him?”

Komand’r was quiet a long time.

Then, softly: “You won’t.”

Starfire blinked.

“He’s already ruined,” Komand’r added. “He’s a soldier. He can handle your damage. He just doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Starfire exhaled. “Neither do I.”

Komand’r finally sat beside her.

“We’re broken,” she said. “But not empty.”

They looked at Ryand’r together.

“He’s in pieces,” Starfire whispered.

“Then we’ll glue him back together.”

“With what?”

“Us.”

⸻

The stars above Tamaran had once been soft.

Starfire remembered the light spilling across the canopy of her childhood bedroom. How it used to dance on the curved walls, glittering with the pulse of a living city. Tamaran’s moons had rhythms of their own. They hummed in the silence.

Her brother had been small then—always barefoot, always sticky from the nectar of ripened fruits, always clinging to her hand.

Komand’r used to sneak into their room late at night after training, smelling of sweat and fire and rebellion. She’d flop between them, groaning about royal tutors and responsibility. Starfire would braid her hair. Ryand’r would fall asleep on her stomach.

There were nights when they’d all hum lullabies.

There were nights when they dreamed.

Starfire woke to the smell of ozone and burnt metal.

She sat up quickly—her pulse thundering—and saw Komand’r crouched near Ryand’r, placing a wet cloth against his forehead. He’d been mumbling again.

“What is he saying?” Starfire asked, voice rough.

Komand’r didn’t look up. “Fragments. Code. Citadel protocols. He keeps asking for ‘permission to stand.’ And then switches to our language.”

Starfire moved beside her brother and took his hand. It was cold. But not dead.

She squeezed it gently.

“I miss the boy he was.”

Komand’r scoffed. “I miss the girl we were.”

They sat in silence for a time.

The wind on the planet howled like it remembered war. The broken machines in the distance still blinked, dying, but not fully gone.

Komand’r finally broke the quiet. “Do you remember when you made him that little armor out of shells?”

Starfire’s lips twitched. “And he refused to take it off for a week.”

Komand’r smiled faintly. “He called himself Commander of the Stars.”

“Then fell into the koi pond.”

A breath of laughter, the kind that hurt to breathe.

“We weren’t just royalty,” Starfire whispered. “We were siblings. We were safe.”

Komand’r’s face darkened. “Until we weren’t.”

The shift in the air wasn’t just emotional, it was physical.

Ryand’r stirred again.

This time his eyes opened.

Starfire leaned forward quickly. “Ryand’r? I am here. You are safe—”

But he scrambled backward, arms raised, energy sparking from his palms. “Don’t—don’t touch me—”

“It’s us!” Komand’r snapped. “Idiot, look at our faces—look!”

He blinked, pupils flickering.

Recognition. Pain. Shame.

Starfire didn’t move.

“I… I failed,” he croaked.

“No,” Starfire said.

“Yes!” he screamed. “He used me—he made me fight you—he told me you abandoned me—he showed me—!”

Starfire crawled closer, inch by inch, hands raised. “I am sorry. I should have come back sooner.”

Ryand’r trembled.

“I wanted to hate you,” he whispered. “I wanted to make you hurt.”

Komand’r knelt beside him, teeth clenched. “Well, congratulations. You did.”

“Komand’r—” Starfire warned gently.

But her sister shook her head. “No. Let him hear it. You lit her on fire. You knocked her out of the sky. You nearly killed her—us—because you believed him.”

Ryand’r’s face crumpled.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know—I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t want to,” she growled.

Starfire placed a hand on her shoulder. “Enough.”

Komand’r tensed beneath her touch but didn’t pull away.

Ryand’r sobbed.

“I didn’t want to believe it was real,” he said. “When they took me… when they made me… the pain was so much. I wanted someone to blame.”

Starfire’s eyes filled with tears.

“So did I.”

They made camp in a hollowed tunnel, once used for mineral transport, now long dead. A flickering light core gave off faint heat.

The three sat together, knees touching.

Ryand’r was quieter now. Calmer.

But the weight of what they’d all endured lingered like smoke in the air.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said at last. “Either of you.”

“I didn’t want to,” Komand’r replied. “But here we are.”

Starfire looked between them.

“We are all broken.”

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said since we got here,” Komand’r muttered.

“I am tired of pretending.”

She turned to Ryand’r. “They did things to us. Things I do not always speak aloud. Things that make me wake in the night choking.”

He lowered his head.

“Glorrak made me watch,” he whispered. “He made me see what he did to the others. Then told me I’d be next. That my sisters had already broken and served. That I was late.”

Komand’r’s jaw tightened.

“They drugged me,” she said. “Said if I could endure it, I’d rule someday. And if not, I’d be another example.”

Starfire shivered.

“I was the first to be taken. I remember screaming so loudly my voice cracked. They told me that love was a lie. That kindness was just a door to betrayal.”

She looked down.

“Sometimes I still believe them.”

They were silent again.

Not because they had nothing left to say.

But because there was too much.

Then Komand’r sighed.

“And this is the part,” she said dryly, “where you start talking about your Earth-boyfriend and how love conquers trauma, right?”

Starfire didn’t smile.

“No. This is the part where I admit I do not know how to be loved at all.”

Komand’r blinked.

“He looks at me like I am whole,” Starfire whispered. “And I hate it.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not.”

The admission cracked something in all of them.

Starfire stood and walked a few paces into the dark.

“I want to be worthy of him. Of this life. But sometimes… I think I’m just the ghost of a girl who didn’t die fast enough.”

Komand’r stood, following her.

“You’re more than that.”

Starfire turned.

“So are you.”

Their eyes met in the dim glow.

And in the dark, Ryand’r whispered:

“Me too?”

Komand’r looked at him, then at Kory.

A pause.

Then: “Yeah, brat. You too.”

⸻

The wind had shifted.

It carried something colder now, less natural, more mechanical. A vibration beneath the surface. Not sound, but memory. Starfire felt it first, like a chill down her spine.

Komand’r stood at the edge of a ravine, arms folded. “We need shelter that doesn’t leak or hum with the ghosts of the damned.”

Ryand’r tilted his head. “There’s a power source. North.”

Starfire’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

He pointed to the horizon. “Because I’ve been here before.”

They followed him through jagged terrain, over rusted steel veins in the rock, to a hatch half-buried in dust and decay.

The door was partially open.

Black metal, etched with Citadel symbols.

Starfire froze.

Komand’r stepped past her, fists glowing. “If this is a trap, I swear—”

“It’s not,” Ryand’r said quietly. “It’s what’s left.”

They descended together.

The hallway was steep, rusted, still lit by pulsing emergency lights: orange and red, like dying stars. The air reeked of burned plasma and old blood.

And then they saw them. Cages. Rows of them. Tiny, cramped, reinforced. Empty now.

But the energy that lingered… that was not gone.

Starfire stopped in front of one and reached for the wall.

Scratches. Tallies. Names carved in broken Tamaranean.

“Please remember me.”

“She screamed for three hours.”

“I don’t want to forget my name.”

Komand’r read the last one aloud, voice hollow.

Ryand’r leaned against the wall and sank to the floor, clutching his head. “They kept me here.”

“I was in a place like this,” Starfire said, voice brittle.

“So was I,” Komand’r whispered.

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

A low hum began to rise.

The walls trembled.

“No,” Ryand’r said, panicked. “No—he turned it off—it was decommissioned—this place was dead—”

A distorted voice crackled from a hidden speaker.

«Tamaranean signatures detected.»

«Neural resonance reactivated.»

«Simulation protocol: Echo.»

Komand’r whirled around. “Simulation?”

The doors behind them slammed shut.

Gas hissed from the vents.

Starfire’s knees buckled.

She knew that scent.

It was the same as before. The chemical that dulled her powers, that turned her memories inside out, until she begged for it to stop.

“Kory?” Komand’r caught her, holding her up. “What is this?!”

“Pain,” Starfire choked. “It’s pain.”

The walls shimmered.

And then—

They were no longer alone.

Figures emerged from the cells.

Not real.

Not alive.

But real enough.

Specters of their pasts.

Komand’r’s tormentor, one of the Citadel’s scientists, appeared before her, smiling with needles in hand.

Starfire’s own cellmate flickered into view: a girl who didn’t survive the week. Who screamed her name before they dragged her away.

Ryand’r cried out as the voice of Glorrak echoed through the chamber, repeating his own screams back to him.

“Not real,” Komand’r snarled, fists clenched.

But Starfire was shaking.

“I feel it. I still feel it.”

“Kory—look at me.”

Komand’r grabbed her face.

“You’re not in there anymore. We’re not. You hear me?”

Starfire sobbed.

Ryand’r crawled to them both, burying his face against Komand’r’s arm. “I’m sorry I ever believed him. I’m sorry—”

And she, for once, held him.

Starfire stood, even as the illusions closed in.

“No more,” she said.

Komand’r’s fire ignited.

Ryand’r’s fists flared.

Together, they screamed.

And the entire simulation chamber burned in a pillar of Tamaranean flame.

⸻

When the smoke cleared, the walls were scorched. The illusions were gone. The lights were dead again.

And the three of them—

Breathing. Standing.

Still broken.

But still together.

Starfire collapsed to her knees.

“Robin…”

“I know,” Komand’r said, kneeling beside her. “We’ll get back to him.”

Ryand’r rested his head against the wall. “If he’s smart, he’s already coming.”

Komand’r sighed. “Unfortunately, he is.”

Chapter Text

Robin had rewired the tower’s tracking grid five times.

Each time, the system failed to find her.

Her. Kory. Starfire. The girl who kissed him with firelight in her hands, who trusted him with her bruised laughter, who once looked him in the eyes and made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he could be more than a weapon.

He stared at the dark screen again. Her tracker was gone.

Offline.

Dead.

A part of him knew it wasn’t permanent. He repeated that like a mantra. “Trackers fail. Signals drop. Nothing is conclusive.”

But that wasn’t what it felt like.

What it felt like was Slade all over again.

He didn’t sleep that first night.

Or the next.

He’d barely left the Ops center, hunched over in the dim light like a soldier frozen in his own war. Hair messy, jaw unshaven, gloves abandoned. Just Dick now. Just the boy who lost someone again.

The monitors pinged every few seconds, a useless rhythm.

Nothing.

His reflection in the glass was haunted—eyes rimmed in exhaustion, mouth drawn tight. He looked like Bruce.

He hated it.

He remembered the last time she smiled at him. Not the light one, not the public one. The real one. The one that made the edges of her eyes crinkle, made her glow without trying. It had been the night before the mission.

She’d fallen asleep in his bed, curled into his side with her fingers looped in his belt because it made her feel safe. He’d kissed the crown of her head and promised, “I’ve got you.”

He hadn’t.

A voice broke through the silence.

“You look like hell,” Cyborg said, stepping into the room, a steaming mug in his hand.

Robin didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

Cyborg sighed and placed the cup beside him anyway. “Raven says your heartbeat’s been running at crisis levels for forty-eight hours.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Robin turned now, sharply. “You think I don’t know that?”

Cyborg didn’t flinch. “I think you’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing.”

“The Slade thing.”

Robin’s hands curled into fists.

“This isn’t like that,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it?” Cyborg asked gently. “You lose someone, and suddenly you’re trying to fight ghosts with a keyboard. You think if you just try hard enough, you can fix it. But you can’t fix everything, man.”

Robin stood. “She’s not everything. She’s—”

He stopped.

Because that was a lie.

She was everything.

He remembered what it was like after Tokyo.

The way things had shifted between them, so suddenly and yet gently. They weren’t just teammates anymore. They were two teenagers who had seen too much of the world and were still daring to love each other.

Awkward dates that ended with laughter and clumsy kisses. Quiet moments where she’d rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat like it was music.

He went to her room.

It hadn’t changed.

Her boots were still by the wall. Her bed still unmade. A sketch she’d been working on with Beast Boy — a colorful mess of their team, full of silly features and oversized eyes — still lay half-finished on her desk.

He walked in slowly.

Touched the sleeve of her jacket.

He could still smell her shampoo.

The pain hit his chest like a hammer.

“I’m not enough,” he whispered.

⸻

Elsewhere, deep in the buried facility…

Starfire felt the pressure in her chest building again.

Her siblings were asleep—Komand’r leaned against a steel wall, Ryand’r curled beside her like the child he used to be. But Starfire couldn’t sleep. Not when the dreams twisted everything. Not when every time she closed her eyes, she saw his.

Dick’s.

So full of worry. Full of need. Of love he didn’t know how to show properly, but still gave all the same.

She ached for him. But she also feared what he must think.

She’d left him again.

And this time, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it back.

⸻

Robin was punching something.

Cyborg found him in the training room, going to war with the reinforced dummies.

“Robin—”

He didn’t answer.

Just another blow. Another crack of bone against plastic.

“Hey. You can’t save her like this.”

Robin’s breath was ragged. His hands bled, knuckles raw where his gloves had been torn away.

“She trusted me,” he said hoarsely. “She finally let me in, and now—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Cyborg walked over, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not Batman, man.”

Robin looked up.

Cyborg added, “You’re allowed to feel like this.”

“I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because she’s still fighting for you too.”

⸻

Later, Robin stood alone on the Tower roof.

He pulled off his mask, finally, and let the cold wind sting his eyes.

And then—something shifted.

A whisper. Barely perceptible.

He looked up.

The stars overhead were the same. But Raven’s voice rang in his comm.

“I felt something.”

Robin straightened. “What?”

“Her. Faint. But it was her. She’s alive.”

His heart slammed into his ribs.

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet. But we’re going to find her.”

⸻

It was nearly 3 a.m. when the external perimeter sensors blinked.

Cyborg, already half-asleep in the control room, blinked awake and frowned.

“Uh… we got something.”

Raven’s voice drifted from the hallway. “Not a Citadel signal?”

“No. It’s… hold on, I’ve seen this signature before.”

Beast Boy, curled up on the couch with Silkie snoring beside him, sat up. “Please tell me it’s not another alien prince with sibling issues.”

Raven peered at the screen, her eyes narrowing.

“No,” she murmured. “It’s him.”

Robin didn’t need a monitor to know.

He felt it in his spine — the shift in the air, the silent presence moving like smoke across the rooftop.

He walked toward the balcony, slow and purposeful.

There, in the shadows of the Tower, stood Batman.

Tall. Imposing. Cloaked in darkness.

He said nothing at first.

Neither did Robin.

Then, quietly: “They don’t know it’s you.”

Batman nodded once. “Good.”

Robin leaned against the railing. The stars above him blurred slightly.

Batman stepped forward, his silhouette outlined against the moonlight.

“You didn’t call,” he said.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I always come.”

Robin exhaled hard, gripping the cold metal of the railing until his fingers hurt.

“I lost her.”

Batman didn’t respond.

“I lost her, and I don’t know where she is, and I’ve rerun every traceable scan I know and nothing works. The signal’s dead. The galaxy’s too big. The Citadel’s tech is—”

He stopped.

Because what he wanted to say was:

—and I can’t survive losing someone again.

Batman walked to stand beside him, silent for a long moment.

“I read the reports,” he finally said. “Your tracking system was solid. Your defense tactics were sound. None of this was your fault.”

Robin laughed bitterly. “Tell that to the part of me that promised her she was safe in my arms.”

Batman looked at him.

“I know what it’s like,” he said softly, “to think that loving someone means you should be able to protect them from everything.”

Robin didn’t answer.

Batman continued: “But love doesn’t make you a shield. It makes you human.”

They stood in silence for a long time.

Then, Robin asked quietly: “Why does it feel like when I care, I break everything I touch?”

Batman’s answer was immediate.

“Because you were trained to believe that caring is weakness.”

Robin looked away. “You trained me.”

Batman’s voice was firm. “And I was wrong. About many things.”

The wind picked up.

Robin turned his face upward, letting it sting his cheeks, dry the burning in his eyes.

“She trusted me,” he said again, barely a whisper.

“She still does.”

Robin looked at him sharply. “You think she’s alive?”

“I know she is.”

Batman pulled a chip from his belt.

“Coordinates. Weak anomaly detected by a satellite I’ve been keeping off the official grid. Could be rift energy. Could be junk. But it didn’t match any local pattern.”

Robin took it.

His hands trembled slightly.

“It’s her,” he said, not because he had proof but because he had to believe it.

Batman touched his shoulder.

“You’ll bring her home.”

Robin closed his eyes.

“I’m scared.”

Batman’s voice softened.

“I was too, the first time I couldn’t save someone I loved.”

Robin opened his eyes.

And said, finally: “I don’t want to be you.”

Batman didn’t flinch.

“I never wanted you to be.”

⸻

Back inside the Tower, the others watched from the shadows of the common room.

“Did he just get a visit from Batman?” Cyborg whispered, eyes wide.

Beast Boy crossed his arms, his eyes also wide. “I thought he was a myth.”

“He’s real,” Cyborg muttered.

“And spooky.” Beast Boy adds.

They watched Robin re-enter a few minutes later, face pale but purposeful.

He didn’t say a word.

Just placed the chip into the main terminal, uploaded the data, and whispered to no one in particular:

“I’m coming, Kory.”

⸻

The wind changed again.

Starfire felt it first. Something about the air—too still. Like a storm waiting to explode.

Komand’r’s eyes snapped open, sharp and focused.

Ryand’r was already on his feet, fists glowing.

“He’s here,” he said.

And then—

The lights flickered.

A pulse, deep in the walls. Like a heartbeat. But mechanical. Artificial.

No… familiar.

Starfire’s own heart sank.

She turned toward the corridor and felt him before she saw him.

Glorrak stepped into view like a shadow unfolding.

Massive. Armored. Eyes cold.

He looked at the three of them as though this were simply the next move in a long game.

“I hoped you’d lead me here,” he said, voice smooth, even pleasant. “Nothing like fear to light the path.”

Starfire stepped forward.

“I won’t go with you.”

His eyes gleamed. “You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

He glanced at Ryand’r.

“And you? Little prince? You were so loyal once.”

Ryand’r’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move.

Komand’r raised a hand, fire already pooling in her palm. “You get one chance to turn around.”

Glorrak didn’t even look at her.

He just moved.

The room exploded in motion.

Komand’r launched first, hurling twin blasts of searing plasma.

Ryand’r followed with a charge, roaring as he struck.

Starfire flanked.

For a second, it felt like they were winning.

Three against one.

Tamaran’s rage made flesh.

But Glorrak wasn’t just a soldier. He was designed to break them.

He parried Ryand’r mid-air, twisted Komand’r’s wrist, slammed her into the wall.

Then he turned to Starfire.

“I don’t need the others,” he said softly.

And then… A pulse.

She screamed.

It wasn’t fire.

It was sound.

No… memory.

Her knees buckled. She couldn’t breathe.

Every nerve in her body screamed like she was seventeen again, chained and screaming, with his voice in her ears and his fingers under her skin.

“Kory!” Komand’r shouted, crawling forward.

But Glorrak was already there.

Lifting her. No struggle. No fight.

Starfire’s hands glowed, but they trembled too much.

He held her like something he owned.

And vanished.

⸻

When Robin arrived, everything was already broken.

He saw Komand’r first, crumpled against the wall, blood on her lip and fury in her eyes.

He saw Ryand’r, knees on the ground, fists useless against the dirt.

And he saw the place where she had been.

Gone.

Too late.

Again.

“Where is she?” Robin asked, voice hoarse.

No one answered. He ran past the broken wall, scanning the sky. Nothing. No signal. No trace. No voice.

Just gone.

Again.

His knees hit the ground. He didn’t feel the impact.

Didn’t hear Komand’r whispering, “We tried.”

Didn’t register Ryand’r’s apology.

He just stared ahead, hands shaking.

“I was right there,” he whispered.

“I was… There.”

Chapter Text

It was cold.

Not the kind of cold that frost made, but the kind that hollowed things out. A sterile, invasive chill that clung to skin and bone and thought. She felt it under her suit, under her eyelids, under her name.

Starfire.

No.

Not here.

Here, she was just subject 517-A.

The walls around her pulsed with silent machinery. They were not made of stone or steel, but something worse… Citadel-grown alloy, alive and sentient, thrumming faintly with the breath of a prison that never slept.

She was floating.

Suspended in a containment field that mimicked gravity, arms spread slightly, body immobilized. Her wrists weren’t bound. That was the cruelty of it. The field didn’t need chains. It subdued her fire before it even ignited.

Her powers weren’t gone.

They were simply… silenced.

Like her.

⸻

Glorrak hadn’t spoken in hours.

But he was there. Watching.

Somewhere in the shadows beyond the shimmering barrier that held her.

He liked silence. Liked the way it filled the room, made the air thick. He used it the same way others used words: to break things down.

She didn’t look for him.

She stared at the darkness and kept her jaw tight, her breath steady.

She would not speak first.

When his voice came, it was quiet.

And far too calm.

“Do you remember what you were when I found you?”

Her eyes flicked once.

Then away.

“A kid,” he continued. “Scrawny. Defiant. All fire and no direction. Still clinging to the fantasy that your sister would save you.”

Her stomach turned.

He took a slow step into the light.

Older. Bigger. Worse.

The years had not dulled him. Only refined the edges of his cruelty.

“And look at you now,” he said. “Burning across galaxies. Loved. Wanted. Followed.”

He smiled.

“So dangerous. And still so… needy.”

She closed her eyes.

And saw Dick’s.

Not the mask. The eyes under the mask. The way they had softened when she finally let herself fall into him: after weeks of hesitation, fear, longing. The way his hands trembled not from desire, but from care.

It had felt real.

It was real.

And now he was gone.

No. She was.

Again.

“I should have broken you sooner,” Glorrak said, stepping closer to the field. “But the fire in you fascinated me. Your sister, I understood. Power through hate. Your brother, I molded. But you… You needed something else.”

His voice dropped.

“Affection.”

She didn’t answer.

He studied her, like a sculptor judging a cracked statue.

“And so you ran to a planet that fed it to you. Earthlings. Sentimental fools. Letting you lead their children. Touching your hands. Giving you a name.”

Her fingers twitched.

He saw it.

“Do you love it?” he asked, almost playfully. “That planet?”

She opened her mouth, and for once, no words came.

Just breath.

Shallow.

Fractured.

He smiled wider. “Good.”

He stepped back.

“Because I plan to burn it.”

Her head jerked up. Finally. A sound. Small. Hoarse.

“No…”

“You fled the Citadel and found sanctuary in filth,” he continued. “You made it sacred. You gave it your language. Your body. Your loyalty.”

He looked at her.

“So now, I take it from you.”

Something cracked in her. Something she had patched too many times.

Images spilled out before she could stop them, voices that didn’t belong to this room.

Her sister’s scream as the guards dragged her away.

Ryand’r’s blank expression in the control room, obeying Glorrak’s commands like a shadow of himself.

Robin’s whisper, hoarse against her ear: “I’ve got you.”

No, she thought, eyes burning.

He doesn’t. Not this time.

⸻

Hours that felt like days. Glorrak tapped something on his gauntlet.

The barrier shifted: not breaking, but pulsing. A wave of vibration pushed into her chest. The frequency wasn’t pain. Not directly.

It was memory.

It reactivated trauma like a flicked switch.

She gasped and was there again.

The chains. The long corridor. The cry of a younger Komand’r. The fear in her own chest when they tattooed her number onto her cell wall in heatstone. The absence of touch, except for hands that were not kind.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” she rasped.

Glorrak raised a brow.

“Aren’t you?”

She tried to summon fire. Tried to feel it stir.

Nothing.

“You gave yourself to that boy,” Glorrak said, circling. “You thought his love would protect you. That it would save you.”

He looked her straight in the eye.

“But love doesn’t save. It distracts.”

She didn’t respond.

He leaned in closer, close enough that she could see the scar near his left eye, the one her sister had given him during a failed escape.

“It makes you weak.”

She smiled.

It was small. Bloody. Trembling.

But it was real.

“I would rather burn for love… than be cold like you.”

Glorrak stared at her.

Then, without a word, he pressed a new command.

The containment field tightened.

Not enough to kill.

Just enough to squeeze.

She arched involuntarily, air leaving her lungs in a gasp.

But she didn’t scream.

Not yet.

He turned and walked away.

“I’ll give you time,” he said. “To think about what you’ve chosen. And how many will suffer for it.”

The door sealed behind him.

And for the first time in hours… Starfire let herself cry.

Chapter Text

The air in the cell didn’t move.

But inside her, something shifted.

Starfire’s body was still, suspended by the Citadel’s containment field, but her mind slipped loose, moving on instinct, not logic. It was like dreaming, only sharper. Like floating, only warmer.

And she was not here anymore.

She was…

⸻
“The first kiss”

She was on the broken streets of Jump City, the skyline smoking behind her. The wreckage of her escape pod lay in twisted metal beside her, the Gordanian ship in ruins.

She was surrounded by strange beings, dressed in wild Earth clothing, speaking rapid noises she didn’t understand.

Her heart had pounded like a drum against her ribs.

She had screamed in Tamaranean.

She had fired blindly.

And then…
A figure had stepped forward.
Small. Human. Masked.

He hadn’t flinched.

He stood like he had faced war before, but his voice… His voice had been gentle.

“It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

She hadn’t understood the words.

But the tone, the steadiness, it did something. Slowed her pulse. Loosened the fire in her palms.

She still didn’t trust him.

But when he came closer, she grabbed his face. And she kissed him.

Tamaranean memory transfer—that she understood.

Language flooded her brain like a river: syntax, tone, idioms, sarcasm.

She blinked at him, startled.

“I know English,” she whispered.

The boy in the mask turned bright red.

He stammered something and stepped back so quickly he nearly fell.

She giggled.

“I thank you very much… for the lips.”

It had been the first time in days she had laughed.

⸻
“Breakfast with Glorg”

The Tower’s kitchen was bright. Too bright for how early it was.

She had cooked something special: fried glorg on sweet sticks, a Tamaran delicacy she hadn’t made since escaping.

She was so proud.

Robin had entered the room, hair still wet from the shower, wearing a loose black T-shirt. No cape. Just… him.

She beamed. “Good morning, my Robin! I have made for you the taste of the glorg!”

He had stared at the purple, bubbling mess on the plate like it was a science experiment.

But then—

He sat down.

He took the fork.

And he ate it.

His face didn’t lie: it was horrible. But he chewed through it, bit after bit, until she smiled like sunlight.

“You did not like it?” she asked gently.

He wiped his mouth and looked up at her.

“I liked that you made it.”

Her heart had done a strange thing in her chest.

Not fire.

Not fear.

Just… warmth.

⸻
“The rooftop”

It had become their place.

Not planned. Not announced. But it became theirs.

The rooftop of Titans Tower, after midnight, when the city shimmered and the sea reflected the stars.

That night, she had found him already sitting there, mask beside him on the concrete, his knees drawn up to his chest.

He didn’t hear her at first.

She watched the back of his head, the way the wind played with his hair, the way he sat too still—thinking too much.

“Robin?” she said softly.

He didn’t look up.

But he said, “I’m not always okay.”

The words were quiet.

Vulnerable.

She sat beside him, close but not touching.

“Neither am I.”

He turned then. His face was bare. Younger than usual. Tired.

And he smiled, just a little.

“I want to tell you my name.”

Her breath caught.

“You do not have to. I know you.”

“But I want to.”

He paused.

“Someday.”

She nodded, heart pounding.

“Someday,” she whispered, “is a long time.”

He laughed under his breath.

And then leaned in and kissed her.

Not a language transfer this time.

Just a kiss.

⸻

“The Accident”

He was teaching her to ride a bike.

She was absolutely terrible at it.

She swerved too fast, stopped too slow, and accidentally vaporized a squirrel.

But he kept laughing.

Even when he crashed into a mailbox and fell directly into someone’s bushes.

He groaned from the ground.

She floated over him. “Are you dead?”

He held up a thumbs-up from the hedge.

She giggled until she couldn’t breathe.

Then floated down and kissed his forehead. “You are very brave.”

He winced. “I’m also very bruised.”

She touched his hair, brushing leaves away.

“You are still my favorite warrior.”

He went completely silent at that.

⸻

“The Training Room”

It was after a sparring session.

He had knocked her down with a leg sweep, and she had tackled him back, and somehow they had ended up in a heap on the mat, laughing breathlessly.

Their faces were inches apart.

She had stared into the eyeholes of his mask and said quietly:

“Do you ever take it off… when no one is watching?”

His smile faded.

He answered with a question. “Would it matter to you if I did?”

She tilted her head. “Not if the person beneath it is still the one who trains with me. Who eats my glorg. Who kissed me on the rooftop.”

He swallowed.

“I’ll show you. When I’m ready.”

And he had one day. Only for her.

⸻

She held these moments in her mind now like embers in her palms.

They glowed.

They burned gently against the numbness.

They were hers.

Glorrak couldn’t touch them.

He could lock her body, strip her powers, invade her thoughts.

But these memories?

They were her fire.

Chapter Text

He came back with a device in hand.

It pulsed with red light, unfamiliar symbols crawling across its surface. She recognized the technology: neuropathic imprinting. The Citadel had used it before. It was meant to rewrite memory, not erase it. To poison what was pure. To make loyalty into something that could be programmed.

“Kory,” Glorrak said, voice even. “You’ve made this harder than it had to be.”

She didn’t answer.

He stepped closer, activating the device.

The containment field shimmered.

And then—

The room disappeared.

⸻

She was in the Tower’s common room. Sitting with Robin.

His mask was off.

But it wasn’t Dick. Not really. His eyes were wrong. Too cold.

“I’ve always wanted to control you,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

He took her hand, too tight.

“I didn’t love you,” he continued. “I just liked the way you followed orders.”

Her stomach twisted.

“No,” she whispered.

The illusion flickered.

It didn’t break.

But it shook.

⸻

Now she was on the rooftop.

The stars above her.

He was standing there.

Dick.

But not him.

“Tamaran is gone,” he said flatly. “You’re not human. You’ll never belong here.”

“That is not—”

“You’re a weapon. A risk. A project.”

She stepped back. “You never said this.”

“I thought it,” the illusion replied. “Every day.”

⸻

The field trembled again.

But she stood no, inside it. Her body still floating, still captive but her mind was upright. Burning.

“I have heard lies before,” she growled.

Glorrak didn’t respond. He turned up the intensity of the device.

⸻

She gasped.

Now she was back on the Gordanian ship.

Younger. Smaller. Her wrists bound in energy cuffs.

Her brother in the next room, screaming.

Her sister across from her, bloodied, wild-eyed.

“You are the reason we are here,” Komand’r snapped.

Ryand’r’s voice echoed: “You left us. You ran.”

“I came back!” Starfire shouted.

But they didn’t hear her. They never heard her.

⸻

She collapsed to her knees.

The illusion flickered again.

And this time, something cracked.

Her eyes glowed.

And from somewhere deep in her chest, not the Citadel’s field, not the walls, her fire answered.

⸻

The machine shorted.

Sparks flew from Glorrak’s gauntlet.

He took a step back.

“What did you—?”

She looked up.

Floating now, not because the field held her but because she chose to rise.

Her hair was lifting. Her eyes burned gold.

“You do not get to rewrite me.”

Glorrak activated a failsafe.

The cell surged.

Starfire screamed but didn’t fall.

The field shattered.

⸻

She hit the ground hard, coughing, hands shaking. But free.

Glorrak raised his arm—

And she blasted him. Not a calculated attack. Not vengeance.

Just light.

He flew backward, crashing into the far wall, sparks flying from his armor.

He stood.

Staggered.

Stared at her with a strange expression.

“You’re not supposed to be able to do that.”

She rose again, barely able to stay upright, but fire flickering behind her.

“I am not what you made.”

He looked at her—truly looked.

And then—

He stepped back.

He hissed and slammed his hand down, activating a rapid escape command.

The walls around him distorted. The exit door opened behind him with a howling screech.

“You love that world?” he said, voice darkening.

“You love them?”

Kory’s breath hitched.

“Yes.”

“Then I will destroy it.”

He stepped back, eyes burning.

“If I cannot own your fire I will snuff out the stars you gave it to.”

And with that—

He vanished in a flash of Citadel light.

And she— Collapsed.

Breathing hard.

Trembling.

But not broken.

She was still in the prison. Still weak. Still bruised and bloodied and lost.

But she curled her fingers slowly.

Closed her eyes.

And in her mind, she saw:

Dick’s hands. Dick’s smile. Dick, Dick and Dick.
Silkie’s snores.
The lights of the Tower window at dusk.
Her brother’s hug before he changed.
Even her sister’s rare smile.
Raven’s soft “are you okay?” after a mission.
Beast Boy’s bad but lovely jokes.
Cyborg’s awful singing while making waffles.

These things were hers.

She was hers.

No cage, no field, no illusion would take that.

She whispered, barely audible:

“I will come home.”

Chapter Text

Robin was already on the ship before Cyborg finished recalibrating the portal frequencies.

He didn’t wait for the full confirmation.

Didn’t wait for the team.

Didn’t even wait for the plan.

There was only one thing on his mind.

Kory.

Her signature had flickered back into existence only a few minutes ago: a beacon, like a heartbeat beneath the static of space. Raven had felt it first, a sharp jolt that cracked through the blackness like light.

“She’s alive,” she had whispered.

Now Robin was tearing across the void, a one-man missile aimed straight at the stars.

⸻

Starfire sat slumped against the far wall of her cell, her knees drawn close, arms loose around them.

Her eyes were open.

But her energy was gone.

The field had collapsed hours ago. Glorrak had fled. She had no idea where she was or if anyone even knew where to look.

She had held on. To him. To them. To herself.

But she didn’t know how much longer.

She closed her eyes.

And then—

A noise.

Soft. Familiar.

Not alien. Not mechanical.

Boots.

Running.

Breathless.

“…Kory?”

Her eyes shot open.

And for one split second, she thought she was hallucinating again.

But it wasn’t a vision.

It was real.

It was him.

Dick.

He dropped to his knees in front of her.

She gasped.

His hair was wild, windswept. His mouth open, chest heaving. His suit half-burnt from the blast he took getting past the last hallway.

He looked at her like someone who had been dying and finally remembered how to breathe.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

He just reached forward and touched her cheek, reverently, like she might dissolve.

“Kory…”

Her lips parted, cracked from dehydration. “Dick…”

He pulled her into his arms.

She melted into him.

They stayed there for minutes, maybe hours. In truth, it was seconds. But to her, it was longer than she’d been gone.

His fingers trembled as he brushed hair out of her face. “I thought I was too late.”

“I knew you would come,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “You always say that.”

“And it is always true.”

When he pulled back to check her over, his face shifted into something sharper.

Worry. Anger. Shame.

He gently touched the bruises on her collarbone. The cracked skin near her wrists. The burn on her temple.

His voice was tight. “What did he do to you?”

Kory didn’t answer at first.

She simply laid her forehead against his and closed her eyes.

“I saw everything.”

His throat caught.

“I saw the Citadel. My sister. My brother.”

Dick didn’t interrupt.

“I saw who I was before I found you. And it almost broke me.”

She opened her eyes and looked straight into his.

“But then I remembered you. Us. The first kiss. The rooftop. You eating glorg for breakfast. You teaching me to ride the very dumb Earth bicycle.”

He smiled, eyes wet.

“I remembered how I felt safe, Dick. Even when I didn’t understand this planet. I understood you.”

He couldn’t speak. So he kissed her.

Not with hunger.

Not with desperation.

But with reverence.

⸻

Back on Earth, the sky cracked open.

It started with a rumble: a sound like the growl of a god. Then red streaks appeared above Jump City, cutting across the clouds like claw marks. One. Two. Five. Fifteen.

Alien ships. Hundreds. No warning. No mercy.

Titans Tower’s alarm system screamed. Civilians ran to windows. News drones filled the sky.

Raven stood frozen at the window.

Cyborg cursed under his breath.

Beast Boy looked up from the pizza he’d been eating and muttered, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Blackfire crossed her arms. “He’s here.”

____

Inside the prison corridor, the walls trembled.

Kory’s head snapped up.

“No…” she whispered.

Dick stood. “What is it?”

She struggled to her feet, one hand bracing against the wall.

“He’s started.”

“Who?”

“Glorrak. He’s going to destroy the Earth. He couldn’t take me so now he’ll punish what I love.”

A second tremor.

Dick turned to the console, trying to find the override for the transporters. But Kory’s hand caught his wrist. Her voice was calm.

“We have to warn them. But you must promise me—”

“Anything.”

“If I fall… you must not let him win.”

He looked at her like she’d stabbed him.

“You’re not going to fall.”

“Promise me.”

His jaw clenched. His voice cracked. “I promise.”

⸻

The ship jolted as it launched back through the rift. Robin and Starfire stood side by side, not speaking, only holding each other’s gaze as the stars around them turned red.

The Earth was burning on the horizon.

And they were coming home.

Together.

But the war had begun.

Chapter Text

The sky was bruised violet and gold when they arrived back at the Tower.

Robin held Starfire tightly to his side as the T-Ship hovered down onto the landing pad. She hadn’t said much since he rescued her: her voice had cracked, the way glass does under pressure, and all that came through were the heat of her tears as she curled into him during the journey back. Now, her head rested against his shoulder, eyes locked on some invisible point in the horizon.

But she was back. She was home.

When the hatch opened, the others were already waiting.

Beast Boy was pacing. Raven’s eyes flickered in worry. Cyborg stood back with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched but the relief on his face softened everything. And beside them, separated just slightly, stood Komand’r and Ryand’r.

Ryand’r looked like he’d aged years in days. His expression was tense, eyes rimmed red, his posture stiff with guilt. Blackfire was unreadable. Arms crossed. Armor cracked. Her lip split from their last encounter, and yet she didn’t move when Starfire stepped out onto the metal.

They all stared at her. She stared back.

Then—

“Ryand’r,” Starfire whispered, her voice nearly nonexistent.

Her little brother dropped to his knees before her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “Kory, I—I couldn’t stop him. I—”

She fell to her knees too, and pulled him into her arms.

Komand’r still stood back. She shifted her weight but didn’t approach.

Starfire looked up.

Her voice was soft, hoarse. “I’m back.”

Blackfire didn’t respond immediately. Then, with a quiet sigh and a flick of her hand, she muttered, “Well, you’re not as weak as I thought.”

It was enough.

The three of them stood together now, a broken triangle of shared scars and silent loyalty, forged not in love, but in survival.

Robin watched them, silent, one hand on his belt as if grounding himself.

But the moment cracked open when the Tower alarms began to scream.

Red lights bathed the room in siren-washed flashes.

Cyborg turned to the console. “We got incoming—”

Raven’s eyes widened. “It’s him. Glorrak.”

Robin stepped forward. “How close?”

Cyborg’s voice was grim. “Too close.”

The monitor lit up with a feed from orbital satellites: ships, dark and massive, breaking through the atmosphere like thunderclaps. Glorrak wasn’t coming alone. He brought the Citadel.

Starfire’s body stiffened, but Robin stepped in front of her, instinctive.

“You’re safe,” he said low, just for her. “I’ve got you.”

But Starfire’s voice trembled. “You do not understand, Robin. He is not coming to destroy the Earth. He is coming to take it. To break it. He will make it his new Tamaran.”

Everyone in the room fell silent.

The Citadel warships grew closer, their shadows blotting the stars.

⸻

“Titans—move!” Robin barked.

Chaos fell into rhythm. Raven teleported to secure the city’s perimeter. Cyborg opened the defense systems and powered the Tower’s shields. Beast Boy shifted into a hawk and flew out to scout the streets.

And the Tamaranians: Komand’r, Ryand’r, and Starfire, stood together like a stormfront waiting to rise.

“You’re not going alone,” Robin said, stepping to Starfire’s side.

“I am not leaving you,” she replied.

They didn’t say “I love you.” They didn’t need to. Not with the way their eyes met. Not with the way their hands found each other.

They took to the sky.

The Citadel warships rained down troops: hulking brutes, cruel machines of flesh and metal, armed with weapons designed to control, not kill. Because Glorrak didn’t just want to destroy. He wanted to reclaim.

Downtown Jump City turned into a battlefield.

Robin fought from the rooftops, hurling discs and smoke bombs, flipping between buildings, pushing back two soldiers at once. Starfire was a comet beside him, her starbolts lighting the night.

At one point, she saw Glorrak’s image on a floating drone: a projection from his ship above.

“STARFIRE,” he thundered. “You would protect this weak, dying rock? You disgrace your blood. You disgrace your birthright.”

And for the first time, she shouted back, green light burning in her throat:

“My birthright was never yours to take!”

She hit the drone with a starbolt so bright it blinded half the street.

⸻

Back at the Tower, they regrouped briefly.

Cyborg had detected the flagship, Glorrak’s personal cruiser, stationed above the ocean, camouflaged, and releasing ground forces. It was their best chance to end this.

“We cut the head,” Robin said, “the body dies.”

Blackfire raised an eyebrow. “So we’re going after Glorrak himself?”

Ryand’r tensed. “We couldn’t beat him last time.”

Starfire stepped forward, her voice calm and clear. “But this time, we are not alone.”

She reached out: first to Ryand’r. Then to Komand’r. Then finally, she looked at Robin.

And something shifted.

This wasn’t the same girl who had cried in his arms.

She had chosen Earth. And now, she would fight for it.

⸻

They left just before dawn, carried by Raven’s portals and Cyborg’s flyers.

The final battle was approaching.

And for the first time, all three tamaranian siblings would face it together.

But none of them knew what it would cost.

Chapter Text

The sky over Jump City was no longer blue.

It had turned to a bruised, flaming crimson, thick with smoke, scorched clouds, and the golden, searing light of battle. Above the bay, a fleet of Citadel ships hovered like vultures, beaming down devastation across the skyline. Explosions rang in all directions. The Tower was still standing, but the city’s edges were already blackened. Citizens screamed. Sirens echoed, then were swallowed by the roar of alien firepower.

And at the center of it, the Titans fought like hell.

Cyborg was holding the western line near the bridge, blasting down waves of C-grade Citadel soldiers with his sonic cannon, his arm already scorched and sparking. Beast Boy, now in the form of a massive prehistoric reptile, hurled himself into the fray again and again, his green scales burned and flecked with blood.

Raven hovered above it all, eyes glowing pure white. Her body was surrounded by dark tendrils of magic that whipped across the battlefield like the hands of death itself. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos!” she screamed, hurling debris, shielding civilians, snapping enemy mechs in half like paper.

But Robin wasn’t watching them.

His focus was on her.

Starfire didn’t land: she fell like a meteor.

She came from above, from where Glorrak’s command ship had emerged from the clouds, and when she hit the ground, the very concrete cratered beneath her feet.

She was not glowing. She was burning.

Not the fluorescent, warm glow they knew. But something deeper. Harsher. Her hair whipped around her like a blaze of fire, her eyes twin green suns and her starbolts? They weren’t just attacks. They were screams. Heartaches. Explosions of everything she had lost, had endured, had buried until now.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

She flew straight into the Citadel’s oncoming barrage like she had nothing left to lose.

Robin’s chest was tight with awe. And fear.

She was beautiful. Terrifyingly so.

This wasn’t the Starfire who asked for movie nights or giggled when she tasted mustard for the first time. This wasn’t the Starfire who kissed him in the hallway, who melted into his arms, who once looked to him for strength.

This was Starfire, Princess of Tamaran. War survivor. Soldier. Wrath.

And even with all his training, Robin knew he could never match her.

She tore through the battlefield in streaks of light, her fists smashing into the faces of Citadel warriors with enough force to level trucks. One tried to aim at her. She melted his gun with a single bolt. Another lunged from behind and she didn’t even turn. Her starbolt flared behind her and incinerated him in one breath.

Robin sprinted through the chaos, trying to keep up. He flipped over rubble, ducked under a crashed alien tank, batarangs flying in every direction. But she was far ahead, cutting a swath of fury through everything that came between her and the flagship above.

“She’s not slowing down,” Raven said in his ear through comms. “Robin, I think she’s trying to reach Glorrak alone.”

“No,” he panted, pushing faster. “She’s not going without me.”

“Maybe she should,” Raven muttered. “This… isn’t like before.”

He knew exactly what she meant.

They’d all seen Starfire fight. She was strong. She was passionate. Sometimes reckless, yes, but this wasn’t recklessness.

This was vengeance.

Robin caught up with her only when the Citadel forces began to retreat, regrouping near the perimeter where Glorrak’s personal guard had landed. The sky trembled. The ground shook. From above, one of the Citadel walkers (a towering war machine) dropped down with a booming crash.

Starfire didn’t pause.

She screamed, and the sound wasn’t just rage, it was mourning. Grief. A storm of all the years taken from her.

She hurled herself at the machine, dodging the laser blasts, starbolts erupting in clusters of green fire. Robin shouted after her, but her name died in his throat as she launched herself through the air, ripped a panel from the mech’s side and dove into it.

Seconds later it exploded.

Robin flinched as pieces of Citadel steel rained from the sky. For a breathless moment, he thought she was gone.

But then… She rose.

Up from the flames. Hair billowing behind her like smoke. Clothes singed. Glowing from within.

Robin felt like he was thirteen again, facing Slade for the first time. Helpless. In awe. A little afraid.

But unlike then, this time the fear wasn’t of the enemy.

It was of what loving her would mean.

To love someone like her, someone with so much fire and hurt and history, was to know he could never fully protect her. Never save her. He could only witness her. Stand beside her.

Or be left behind.

⸻

“Star—!” he called, dodging a blast from one of the guards.

She didn’t turn, but she spoke. Her voice was low, full of tremor. “He is here.”

She stared at the flagship hovering just beyond the clouds, where Glorrak waited.

“He dies tonight.”

Robin reached her, grabbing her wrist. “You’re not going alone.”

Finally, she turned to him and for the first time since the battle began, he saw her eyes. And they weren’t just glowing. They were brimming.

With pain. With hope. With him.

“I would not have made it this far,” she whispered, “if not for you.”

He swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to do this like you’re alone anymore.”

Her lips quivered, then a soft nod.

And they flew together.

Toward the final battle. Toward the heart of the storm.

Toward Glorrak.

⸻

The metal ramp beneath their boots hissed with heat as the four of them landed in unison. Smoke rose from the field behind them, Citadel soldiers downed in clusters, walker mechs still burning. The sky cracked above them, an angry tempest of warships and starbolts.

But here, in the eerie, flickering quiet outside the command ship’s main gate, the battle paused and for a moment, she saw her siblings.

Ryand’r and Komand’r were already there. Waiting for her. Ready to finish this together.

Robin squeezed her hand softly and she knew there was no turning back.

Siblings, lovers, soldiers. All of them bloodied. All of them breathing like they’d sprinted through a war. Because they had.

Ryand’r leaned against a pillar, clutching his side, his face smeared with ash and guilt. His armor was cracked at the shoulder, one eye bruised, his voice hoarse from screaming.

“I still… I still remember his voice in my head,” he rasped. “I keep hearing him telling me who I am.”

“Then shut him out,” Komand’r snapped, pacing nearby like a caged animal. Her hair was tangled, lip split, but her gaze razor-sharp. “We all hear him. That’s what he does. Twists what’s already cracked.”

Ryand’r’s jaw clenched. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Starfire said softly. Her voice cut through the heat like wind. She stepped toward him, green eyes glowing faintly, not in rage this time but recognition. “It is not easy. I know.”

Ryand’r looked at her, and something in his face broke, the anger that had shielded him collapsing under the weight of what he’d done. What he’d almost become.

“I am so tired,” he whispered. “Kory— I—I just want this to end. He made me hurt you. He’s still in my head. I hate it. I-”

Kory stepped even closer. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“You believed the lies because they were quieter than the truth. I did the same, once. So did Komand’r.”

Blackfire scoffed, arms crossed. “Don’t lump me into your redemption arc, sister.”

But she didn’t walk away.

Instead, she stepped forward and stood beside Kory, shoulder to shoulder, and faced their brother.

“Here’s the truth, little prince,” Komand’r said, her voice steadier now. “We all bled for that bastard. We all lost things we can’t get back. But you get to choose now. Not what he made you. Not what you were told to be. But what you’ll fight for.”

Ryand’r looked between them. The golden sister who always seemed too good. The silver-eyed one who had long given up pretending to be soft. And Robin, the outsider who had somehow become family.

He nodded once. Quiet. Sharp. A blade pulled from the scabbard.

Then he said, “I’ll fight for us.”

And for the first time since this war began, Starfire smiled. Not a soft smile. Not a peaceful one. But a battle smile: teeth clenched, heart burning.

And yet, as she turned to face the command ship doors, her hand trembled.

Robin saw it.

He stepped beside her, hand brushing her wrist.

“Kory,” he said low. Just for her.

She didn’t look at him.

“I have to finish this.”

“You will,” he said. “But not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like someone who doesn’t come back.”

Her eyes finally met his. And in them, he saw it: the edge. The place inside her that was breaking open. She wasn’t just angry. She was unraveling. The fire wasn’t just burning the enemy, it was consuming her from the inside out.

“I don’t know how to stop,” she confessed, barely audible. “I want to tear him apart with my bare hands. I want to see him beg. I want him to feel what we felt.”

Robin didn’t tell her not to feel it. He didn’t try to fix it.

He just took her hand. Firm. Steady. Grounding.

“Then feel all of it,” he said. “But don’t forget who you are.”

She stared at him, breathing hard.

Behind them, the doors to the ship began to grind open with a deafening mechanical groan: smoke spilling from within, like a throat exhaling darkness.

Komand’r rolled her neck, starbolts crackling in her palms. “Well. Showtime.”

Ryand’r stood straighter. “I’m ready.”

Kory looked at them all. Her family. Her anchor. Her ruin. Her home.

And she stepped forward.

“Let’s finish this.”

____

The war waited for no one.

But somehow, as the four of them stepped inside Glorrak’s command ship, the world seemed to hold its breath.

The corridor was cavernous, lit by the red glow of emergency lights, lined with the bodies of downed guards and silent, save for the hum of distant engines and the quiet tread of their boots.

But they stopped just past the threshold.

Starfire turned. Her eyes shimmered in the dark.

“We don’t know what’s behind those doors,” she said.

“Glorrak,” Komand’r replied, bitterly. “And every ghost we thought we buried.”

Kory gave a small nod, then glanced at Ryand’r who stood a few feet back, hands twitching at his sides. He hadn’t spoken since they crossed the threshold.

Kory walked to him.

“Ryand’r,” she said gently. “Are you with us?”

He looked up and there, in the flickering shadows, he looked like a boy again. No longer the corrupted soldier. Just a younger brother, eyes red, lips bitten raw from holding in everything.

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

Robin watched from a distance, frozen.

Kory’s voice softened. “So am I.”

“I don’t know what I’ll be if I survive this.”

Kory moved closer, lowering her voice like a secret. “You’ll be mine. You’ll still be my little brother.”

A long silence.

He swallowed hard.

“I tried so hard to be what he wanted. I thought if I obeyed him, if I became his weapon, maybe it would stop hurting. Maybe I could forget you. Forget who I was.”

Kory reached out, placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You didn’t forget. You survived.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you. Even when your eyes weren’t yours.”

His breath hitched. “Why?”

She smiled, barely.

“Because you are mine. You always were.”

There was a pause. Komand’r shifted from where she leaned against the wall, watching them with arms crossed and eyes soft.

“I should’ve protected you,” Ryand’r whispered. “You and Komand’r. I should’ve—”

“You were a child,” Komand’r said flatly. “So were we. We all failed each other. That doesn’t mean we don’t still get to try again.”

He looked at her. That unmovable, bitter sister who once swore she’d never return. Her tone was sharp, but her eyes… Her eyes were grieving already, as if she knew what was coming.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

She looked away.

“I’m just… remembering.”

He nodded once. Then stepped forward.

“Then let’s give them something worth remembering.”

They didn’t wait any longer.

Together, they pushed forward bursting into Glorrak’s inner sanctum with the fury of a storm.

It was a chaos of light and destruction.

Glorrak was waiting: massive, armored, no longer cloaked in illusions. Behind him, a portal shimmered, connecting to the last Citadel ship hovering above Earth. The invasion was still ongoing, the war not yet won.

But this was the heart. The center. The end.

The battle was immediate. Explosive.

Komand’r charged first, bolts slashing through Glorrak’s guards. Starfire shot forward like a comet, fury erupting from her fists. Robin followed, blades in hand, silent and surgical. Ryand’r hovered high, raining violet fire down on enemy troops.

They fought like they’d trained their whole lives for this moment.

Because they had.

But even as they pushed deeper into the chaos, Glorrak was watching Ryand’r.

Smiling.

“Look at you,” he sneered as they finally cornered him at the edge of the command platform. “The broken prince. Playing at redemption.”

Ryand’r hovered midair, chest heaving.

“I’m not yours,” he growled. “Not anymore.”

Glorrak’s grin widened. “You were never mine. You were theirs. And that’s what ruined you.”

With a roar, he raised a weapon, a Tamaranian energy blade twisted with Citadel tech, and hurled it not at Ryand’r…

But at Kory.

She didn’t see it in time.

But Ryand’r did.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

The blade hit his chest with a sound like thunder.

“KORY!” Robin screamed.

She turned just as Ryand’r crashed into her, body limp, a violet trail streaking the air behind them.

They landed hard. Kory caught him in her arms, tumbling across the ground, his body heavy and warm… And suddenly still.

“No,” she whispered. “No— no no no—”

His eyes were wide. His mouth moved.

But no sound came out.

Blood, glowing faintly violet, seeped through his armor.

Robin dropped beside her, panic written across his face. “We need a medic— Raven— where’s—”

“No,” Kory whispered. “There’s no time—”

She pressed her hands to his wound, energy trembling through her fingers. “Ryand’r, please— you stayed. You came back. You can’t—”

His lips moved again.

This time, the sound came.

A whisper.

“Did I… do good?”

Kory broke.

She sobbed. Wild, wracking, but nodded, tears burning down her face.

“You did so good. You were brave. You were light.”

He smiled.

A single tear slipped from his eye.

And then… Nothing.

Stillness.

Komand’r arrived seconds too late.

She saw the body: her little brother, the one she’d never had time to love properly, limp in Kory’s arms.

Her face twisted, not in rage. Not even in grief.

But in something ancient. Something shattered.

Without a word, she turned, blazing so bright they shook the walls, and launched herself toward Glorrak.

Kory didn’t stop her.

She couldn’t move.

She cradled Ryand’r’s head against her chest, rocking slightly. Her hair fell like a curtain, shielding him.

Robin stayed beside her, hand on her back, eyes wet, jaw clenched.

The war still raged outside.

But inside, something had already ended.

Chapter Text

Robin stood slowly, carefully, as if the ground beneath him might fracture too.

His glove was stained with Ryand’r’s blood.

He looked down at it for a moment longer than he should have.

Then he contacted Cyborg.

“Victor,” his voice was steady. Too steady. “You’re still patched into the Cidadel relay network?”

“Yeah,” Cyborg answered. “But it’s encrypted. You know how their firewalls are ancient tech, biological coding… it’s not just systems. It’s memory. DNA. It’s not like hacking a satellite.”

Robin nodded once, briskly. “Then we start now. We breach what we can. If we can kill the command override, we stop the orbital fleets from launching. If we can’t—”

“—we blow the grid from the inside,” Cyborg finished grimly. “Won’t be pretty. But yeah. Got it.”

Robin glanced toward the chaos. Blackfire was attacking the Citadel’s soldiers. Starfire was already halfway across the battlefield, nothing but a streak of fire and vengeance, going straight to Glorrak’s direction.

He swallowed hard.

“Buy me time,” Cyborg said, voice already mechanical “You know what to do.”

Robin didn’t respond.

Because he already knew what she was doing.

⸻

She was fire.

There had been rage before.
There had been grief.
But never like this.

Not even when she was only a child and ripped from her family.
Not when her body was broken.
Not even when her voice was taken from her.
Not when she had begged the stars to stop spinning because she couldn’t survive one more day on that ship.

No, this was something else.

Kory burned like a star out of alignment.

Her scream wasn’t sound: it was light. It was heat. It was pain and power coalescing in the air around her.

She slammed into Glorrak with a force that cratered the ground beneath them.

The shockwave rippled across the sky.

Even the Citadel foot soldiers stopped for just one breath when they felt it.

“You wanted me broken,” she spat, throwing him backward with a punch that cracked his armor. “You thought pain was loyalty. You thought torture was love.”

Glorrak snarled, wiping blood from his lip with a smirk. “You were perfect, my starborn weapon.”

She didn’t answer.

She lit up again, starbolts cascading in brilliant arcs, burning everything in their path.

He lunged, claws dragging across her side but she didn’t scream. She lit up in response, her body glowing gold, eyes brighter than the suns of Tamaran.

Their fists met in a violent burst of power. Earth cracked. Rubble flew.

She flew straight up hundreds of feet, then dove with terrifying speed, landing a blow to his chest so hard it sent him flying into the remains of the tower wall.

The wall collapsed on top of him.

And she didn’t stop.

⸻

From a vantage point back in the tower, Robin stood behind Cyborg, breathing hard, watching the screens flicker as alien data cascaded down in indecipherable lines of code.

His comms buzzed with the static of war.

But all he could hear was her.

“She’s not holding back,” he whispered.

“No,” Cyborg muttered, fingers flying. “And she’s not going to. Not this time.”

Robin’s hand tightened around the grip of his staff. “He hurt her. He—”

“I know.”

Silence passed between them.

Then Cyborg added, quietly, “We all know, man.”

⸻

In the open crater, Glorrak rose again, laughing. His face was bloody now, one eye swollen. His chestplate dented. But he was laughing.

“You think this is power?” he growled. “You think this is freedom?”

Kory landed in front of him like a meteor.

“This is mine,” she said, voice low.

And then with a pulse of light so blinding that it blew apart the smoke around them, she let go.

⸻

Inside the tower, the screens screamed in red.

“System breach,” Cyborg barked. “She overloaded the field emitters. She’s burning every sensor around them… I can’t read Glorrak’s life signs.”

“Good,” Robin muttered.

“No, I mean I literally can’t tell if he’s alive or ash. She’s overclocking the light spectrum.”

Robin hesitated. “We still have a path to the command grid?”

Cyborg’s hands stilled. He blinked once. Twice.

Then: “Yeah. You’ve got one shot. If I rewire the biometric lock to mimic Glorrak’s old code signature, you might get in.”

“Do it.”

“But if he catches you—”

Robin didn’t blink. “Then he’s distracted. Which means Kory can finish him.”

⸻

She didn’t feel her body anymore.

She wasn’t pain. She wasn’t a warrior. She wasn’t the princess. She wasn’t Tamaran.

She was every scream she hadn’t been allowed to scream.

Every night she bled alone.
Every morning they branded her as “survivor.”
Every time her hope was twisted into a blade against her.

“Do you know what you took from me?” she said, voice shaking as she floated above him, light pouring from her hands. “You turned my body into a cage. You made my joy feel like betrayal.”

Glorrak stumbled, now visibly struggling.

“But I took it back,” she whispered. “I took me back.”

And then she shot a starbolt so large it split the sky.

⸻

Back inside the tower, Robin dropped into the Citadel’s primary relay control.

The room was half-destroyed, lit with pulsing red emergency lights and the buzz of alien energy.

His gloves shook as he typed.

“Cy—status.”

“Patch is holding. But not for long.”

“I’m uploading a virus to disrupt their targeting systems. If I can trigger a command loop—”

“You’ll fry the mainframe and trigger a shutdown.”

“That’s the idea.”

Outside, another blast rocked the tower.

Robin winced. “She can’t hold forever.”

Cyborg’s voice softened. “Neither can you.”

Robin looked up.

And in that moment, just a breath, just a blink, he saw her in his mind.

Kory, smiling with a slice of pizza in her hand.
Kory, laughing in the ocean.
Kory, in his arms, trembling in the dark.
Kory, choosing Earth. Choosing him.

She wasn’t his to fix.

But she was his to love.

And no matter what, he would fight beside her.

Even if it meant giving up the control he’d spent his whole life clinging to.

⸻

“Command loop triggered,” he said, pressing the final sequence.

“Citadel targeting offline.”

“Fleets?”

Cyborg’s voice cracked.

“They can’t launch.”

Robin exhaled.

And then he turned and ran back into the war.

⸻

Meanwhile, in the crater, Glorrak rose again, barely.

He was bleeding from every limb, glowing with stolen energy, his grin twisted and feral.

But Starfire didn’t flinch.

This time, she descended slowly.

Her feet touched the ground with grace.

There was no rage in her face now. No scream. No wild fire.

Just steady, endless light.

“You are not my god,” she said.

And when she punched him again: this time, it wasn’t just power.

It was justice.

Chapter Text

The ground beneath them was scorched and broken. The metallic scent of blood and ozone filled the air, thick as smoke. The battle outside quieted slowly, steadily, as Citadel soldiers began dropping their weapons. A signal had gone out, invisible to the eye but screaming through the enemy’s systems: the override had worked.

Cyborg had done it.

Robin had found the last string of control buried in the Citadel code like a rotten tooth and pulled.

And now the war was ending.

But not here.

Not yet.

Because Glorrak still stood.

Starfire’s body trembled with exhaustion, but her eyes glowed white-hot with fury as she hovered in the air above him, her starbolts pulsing in her fists. Her armor was torn. Her skin bled. And yet she was still, somehow, burning.

Below her, Glorrak laughed, coughing up blood but still standing.

“You can’t kill me,” he growled. “Not really. I made you. I carved your fire. You wouldn’t even be you without me.”

Starfire’s lips curled into a snarl. She dropped to the ground hard, boots cracking the floor.

Behind her, Blackfire limped forward, dragging a cut across her temple. “Kory—this is it. Do it.”

Her voice was low and dangerous.

“Do it and end this. End him.”

Robin stood further back, breathing hard, his arm braced against a damaged column. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His voice had frozen somewhere in his throat, trapped between grief and awe.

He had seen her fly like a comet through the battlefield, fire pouring from her fists, screaming her brother’s name. He had watched her rip through soldiers and flame and pain. And now—

Now she stood over the man who had broken her into pieces.

And she could end him.

Starfire’s fists trembled.

Her eyes fell on Glorrak. On the scorched floor. On the shattered remains of the brother she couldn’t save.

“Kill him,” Blackfire repeated, stepping beside her. Her voice cracked. “He deserves it. You know what he did. To me. To you. To our little brother. To us.”

“I know.”

Starfire’s voice was quiet. Barely audible.

“I know.”

She looked at her sister then. Not at the sneer or the cruelty but at the girl Komand’r had once been. The one who had cried in a cell with her, when the bruises were fresh and the chains had just been locked.

And then she looked at Glorrak again.

He was kneeling now, bleeding, but smiling.

“Go on, Princess,” he hissed. “Make me proud.”

Starfire’s glow dimmed slightly.

And then she did something no one expected.

She turned off her starbolts.

And stepped back.

“No.”

Blackfire’s head snapped toward her. “No?! What do you mean no?”

“I said no.” Starfire’s voice was stronger now, even and steady. Her eyes never left Glorrak. “You do not deserve death by my hands. You do not deserve to matter in the way that would grant you meaning.”

Glorrak let out a broken, ragged breath.

Starfire stepped closer, crouching to his level. “You want to live in my fire? You want to die in it and think it defines me?”

She shook her head.

“You were a scar. But I am not your wound.”

She stood, lifting her chin. Her hair fell behind her like fire.

“I choose to live,” she whispered. “And that is the worst punishment you will ever know.”

Blackfire stared at her sister completely stunned, furious, and something else. Something raw.

“Then I’ll do it,” she muttered, lifting her hand.

Starfire caught it instantly.

“No. We let him rot. He is nothing.”

In the distance, a mechanical buzz rang out through the corridors. A voice—Cyborg’s—echoed through the comms. “It’s done. We’ve shut the system down. They’re surrendering. Everywhere.”

Robin closed his eyes in relief.

The silence that followed was deep and heavy. Starfire still didn’t move. Her breath was ragged, and tears began to slip silently down her cheeks.

But she didn’t fall.

She stood.

Blackfire, for once, didn’t fight. She looked away, expression unreadable, and took a step back.

Robin finally crossed the room and reached for her hand. Starfire didn’t hesitate. She let her fingers slip into his, their palms rough with dust and dried blood.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Glorrak coughed behind them, still breathing, still broken but no longer part of the story.

The story was Starfire.

And she was standing.

Chapter Text

The silence after war was unnatural. The kind that left your ears ringing, as if the screams still echoed somewhere in the back of your skull.

Outside the fortress, the Citadel soldiers had dropped their weapons. Many fled. Some fell to their knees. And a few confused, stripped of control, simply stood and waited. Robin had sent out a broadcast through the tower’s satellites, warning all Titans allies: the invasion was over. The systems were down. The Earth was safe.

But inside, there was no celebration.

Only ash.

Kory stood near the edge of the ruined chamber, her body limp, but upright. Her hand still clung to Robin’s, as if letting go might mean crumbling entirely. Ryand’r’s body had been moved gently, reverently to a chamber lit by the rising sun. Raven and Beast Boy stood guard.

Blackfire remained behind, arms crossed, watching Glorrak.

He was alive, barely. His wounds were serious: ribs shattered, a deep gash along his leg but he was conscious. And quiet now. As if he’d finally realized what he’d lost.

His power.

His control.

His fire.

Starfire approached her sister slowly.

Komand’r didn’t flinch.

They stood in silence for a long moment. The kind that weighed heavier than words.

Then Blackfire sighed and broke it.

“I’m not staying.”

Kory’s breath hitched.

“But we need to bury him.” Kory said in a whisper.

“You do it. I can’t. I never was good at roots,” Komand’r muttered, eyes flicking toward the wreckage. “And I’m not like you, Kory. You… love things. You fight for them. You believe in them. I don’t.”

She paused. Her voice dropped slightly.

“But I am good at transport. At security. At… making sure bastards like him rot in a cell for the rest of their cursed lives.”

Kory blinked.

“You’ll take him?”

Blackfire nodded once. “Tamaran has deep-space prisons he doesn’t even know about. I’ll make sure he’s forgotten.”

Her voice trembled—barely.

“He’ll never touch you again.”

Kory felt something twist in her chest. She reached out, hesitated, then stepped forward.

Komand’r didn’t stop her this time.

They didn’t hug exactly. But they stood ther, shoulders almost touching, eyes meeting, until Blackfire gave a lopsided smirk and said:

“Don’t get sentimental. I might vomit.”

Kory laughed. It was small, broken, but real.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Blackfire’s smirk softened.

“Take care of yourself, little sister.”

She hoisted Glorrak’s half-limp body over her shoulder with a grunt. “And take care of him, too,” she added, nodding toward Robin.

Then she was gone. No portal. No flash.

Just a flicker of fire down the hall and the hum of a ship’s engine rising.

⸻

Hours passed.

The Tower stood quiet under the darkening sky. The team had returned. Cyborg’s systems were stabilizing the structure. Raven’s wards were holding the perimeter. Beast Boy had not spoken much.

No one had.

Starfire sat at the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side. Her eyes stared out at the ocean, though she didn’t seem to see it.

Robin came up behind her slowly.

She didn’t turn.

“You did it,” he said gently. “You saved us all.”

Kory let out a breath.

“I didn’t save Ryand’r.”

Robin knelt beside her. His hand covered hers.

“No,” he said. “But you saved yourself. And the rest of us. You chose not to become like him.”

Her throat tightened.

“I wanted to.”

“I know.”

He leaned his head against hers, their foreheads resting together. “But you didn’t.”

A tear slid down her cheek.

“He was my brother.”

“I know.”

“I miss him already.”

“I do too.”

They sat there as the stars emerged in the sky, soft and slow.

For once, there was no fire in her fists. Only warmth. And the weight of what had passed.

But there was something else, too.

Hope.

A quiet, flickering ember.

Not born of war.

But of survival.

____

Tamaranian funerals were not quiet.

They were not dressed in black.

And they were not about hiding pain.

They were a celebration of fire, of what had burned bright, of what remained in memory, of what would carry forward through those left behind.

And that was why the Titans stood in silence on the golden cliffs of Sh’kara, a Tamaranian satellite moon sacred to the royal line beneath a sky streaked with amber clouds, while Starfire lit the pyre.

Kory wore traditional robes of her house: flowing crimson fabric edged with gold, her hair unbound and wild in the wind. Her skin bore soft ceremonial markings across her collarbone and cheeks, drawn not by a priest, but by her own trembling hands.

Because this was her grief to carry.

Her goodbye to speak.

Her fire to offer.

Ryand’r’s body lay atop a platform of shimmering crystalwood, gathered from the roots of ancient Tamaranian trees, surrounded by flowers that bled scent into the air fragrant, bright, bitter. Around the pyre, glowing stones hummed low and steady, reacting to Starfire’s presence.

No priest spoke. No chants were recited.

Only Starfire stepped forward.

And she sang.

A Tamaranian mourning song. Old. Wordless. Melodic in a way that carried sorrow and pride all at once.

Her voice broke halfway through.

But she kept singing.

Robin stood just behind her, arms at his sides, eyes never leaving her. His black ceremonial cape flared in the wind, but his expression was still. Respectful. Present.

Beside him, Raven stood in full Tamaranian mourning colors, her own hands clasped, her expression unreadable but solemn. Beast Boy had taken his larger tiger form, standing still and silent as a guardian. Cyborg’s chassis glowed with orange pulses: a sign of solidarity he’d custom-coded into his body, just for this.

They were not of her world.

But they were her family.

And they came to stand with her anyway.

When the song ended, Starfire stepped forward. Her fingers curled, starbolts rising.

This time, the fire wasn’t a weapon.

It was a gift.

With a gentle motion, she released it. The pyre caught instantly, blazing up with light that wasn’t violent, but warm as if the stars themselves bowed in reverence to a soul returning to them.

Kory didn’t speak.

Instead, she placed a single blossom atop the flames, the shurian blossom, given only to the fallen of royal blood.

And she whispered something in Tamaranean.

Only Robin heard it. Only he was close enough to catch the words she’d never say aloud.

“You were always more than what they made you.”

The fire burned brighter.

As if Ryand’r, even in death, had heard her.

Chapter Text

Three months later.

The Tower was quiet in the early morning.

Starfire stood on the rooftop, barefoot on the cold concrete, the ocean wind tugging at her hair. Her arms were folded across her robe, and a mug of Earth tea, still strange, still bitter, still comforting, warmed her hands.

The sun hadn’t risen yet.

She didn’t mind.

She had learned to find beauty in the stillness. In the waiting.

In silence that didn’t mean fear anymore.

Below, the city moved gently, sleepy lights flickering on, the world stretching itself awake. Somewhere, Beast Boy was already trying to make vegan pancakes, Cyborg was muttering about his systems needing recalibration, and Raven had retreated to the library with a thick novel and a very sleepy expression.

It was normal.

After everything: Glorrak’s defeat, Ryand’r’s funeral, Blackfire’s departure with a prisoner’s ship, normal had felt unreachable.

But now… It was coming back. Slowly. Gently.

And with it came something else: Peace.

Behind her, the door to the roof slid open with a soft whoosh.

She didn’t have to look to know it was him.

“I figured you’d be up here,” said Dick’s voice, low, warm, scratchy with sleep.

She smiled without turning. “And I figured you would bring me another cup. Yours is better.”

He chuckled, stepping up beside her, placing his hand on her lower back before handing her a fresh mug. She took it with a grateful murmur and leaned into him slightly.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the sky begin to glow at the edges.

“You didn’t have a nightmare last night,” he said gently.

She tilted her head. “No. Not last night.”

He nodded. “You’re doing better.”

“I am… changing,” she said slowly. “I do not think I will ever return to the person I was before Tamaran. Or before Glorrak.”

He looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not supposed to go back, Kory. You’re supposed to move forward. And you are.”

She turned to him, eyes softer now. “You have changed as well, Richard.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “How so?”

“You no longer try to control everything.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “That’s… definitely debatable.”

She leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder. “You let me come back in my own time. You did not try to fix what was not yours to fix. That was love.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“I just didn’t want to lose you again,” he whispered. “So I waited.”

A long pause.

Then:

“I still think of him,” she said. “Ryand’r.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“I wish he had more time.”

“You gave him peace. You gave him a chance to be more than what they turned him into.”

Kory’s throat tightened, but she nodded. “He died free. That matters.”

They stayed like that for a while.

And then they went downstairs together.

⸻

The Titans sat around the common room, legs crossed, plates half-full of strange fusion food Beast Boy insisted was delicious. Raven was sipping tea. Cyborg was working on a small mechanical bird that chirped every time someone made a sarcastic comment (which, to everyone’s dismay, happened often).

Kory sat beside Dick on the couch, one leg tucked under her, his arm slung lazily around her shoulders.

They weren’t dramatic about it anymore.

They didn’t have to be.

After everything they’d survived, love wasn’t something to prove. It was something to live with.

“Okay,” said Beast Boy, “but tell me we’re not the weirdest found family on this planet.”

“Weird is relative,” Raven muttered.

“You’re all weird,” Cyborg said. “I’m the only one who’s normal.”

“Victor, you installed a sarcasm-detecting parrot into your shoulder plate last week.”

“First of all, it’s not in my shoulder plate. It’s detachable. Second, his name is Leonard.”

Laughter bubbled through the room.

It wasn’t the same as before.

But it was real.

⸻

Later that night, as the Tower dimmed and the others slept, Starfire stood in her room, looking at a small carved crystal.

Ryand’r’s memory crystal.

A Tamaranean tradition. one given only to those who passed in battle. It held no voice. No image. Only feeling. When she pressed it to her chest, she could feel echoes of him: not the weapon Glorrak tried to make him, but the little boy with wide eyes and sharp laughter.

She kissed the crystal gently and placed it back in its cradle.

And then she went to bed.

Dick was already there: half-asleep, reading something on his tablet.

He looked up when she entered. Smiled.

“Come here,” he said softly.

She did.

She crawled into bed beside him and let herself exhale.

No armor. No expectations.

Just warmth.

Just love.

Just them.

He kissed her shoulder, slow and sure.

And in the dark, she whispered, “We’re still burning.”

He didn’t ask what she meant.

He just pulled her closer and said, “Good.”

Because the fire hadn’t destroyed her.

It had made her light.

Chapter Text

The Wayne Manor looked like it had never seen sunlight, despite the morning hour. Tall, brooding, wrapped in stone and mystery. Just like the boy whose hand was gripping Kory’s far too tightly.

“Are you… okay?” she asked, voice soft, teasing, eyebrows lifting as she looked down at their interlocked fingers.

Dick nearly jumped. “What? Yeah. Of course. Totally. I mean—yeah. Fine.”

She smiled, gently brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “You are sweating.”

“I’m not sweating.”

“You are dripping, my love.”

He groaned and ran his free hand through his hair. “You know, most guys bring their girlfriends home for dinner. Maybe a movie. I bring you into a mansion that hides a crime-fighting cave under the dining room.”

She leaned close. “I have already seen your darkest secrets. I think I can handle Alfred’s lemon pie.”

“You say that now,” he mumbled, but she caught the pride in his voice. Dick Grayson, trained to handle danger, darkness, and trauma with precision and fists reduced to a flustered, blushing boyfriend because Kory was meeting his not-family family.

He rang the doorbell like it might explode.

The door swung open smoothly. Alfred stood as impeccably dressed as always, a subtle smile already tugging at his lips.

“Master Richard. Miss Koriand’r. Welcome.”

Kory’s eyes sparkled. “Alfred!”

He inclined his head. “Miss. A pleasure as always. If you’ll follow me, Master Wayne is in the study.”

“Of course he is,” Dick muttered.

____

The morning passed in awkward, tangled introductions. Bruce was, unsurprisingly, unreadable, though he offered a slight nod when Kory complimented the ancient armor decor. Selina showed up halfway through brunch, looking effortlessly stunning in black silk, sipping her coffee like she was watching a very entertaining show.

“So, this is the famous alien girlfriend,” she purred, eyes gleaming. “I approve.”

Dick nearly choked on his juice.

Kory grinned. “Thank you. Your perfume is lovely.”

Selina blinked, clearly not expecting that. Then she smiled, a real one. “You can stay.”

____

That evening, after Alfred practically forced Bruce into retreating to the east wing (“Master Bruce, I insist. They are teenagers. Not enemies. Let them breathe”), and Selina disappeared somewhere with a wink, Dick led Kory up to his old room.

She looked around slowly, taking it in: the organized chaos, the polished wood floors, the shelf of trophies, the scuffed punching bag in the corner. The bed, larger than she expected.

“It’s very… You.” she said, a fondness in her voice that made something twist warmly in his chest.

He shut the door quietly behind him. The hallway was quiet.

They were alone.

Truly alone.

Kory turned back to face him. Her hair caught the dim light like fire. She stepped closer.

“You brought me here because you wanted to show me something?” she teased gently.

“Yeah,” he said softly, heart thudding in his chest. “This.”

Then he kissed her.

It was slow at first: a real, careful kiss. No battle on the horizon, no life-threatening mission in their way, no past trauma. Just lips, warm and familiar, and hands slowly, tentatively reaching. He tasted like cinnamon and nerves. She tasted like starlight and safety.

His hands cupped her waist, then slid up her back. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened.

She made a small sound against his mouth and he melted.

He pulled back slightly, breath ragged. “I missed this.”

“We kissed this morning,” she laughed breathlessly.

“I know. I still missed it.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again, a promise, this time. She pushed him gently toward the bed. His knees hit the mattress, and he sat, blinking up at her. Her hands found the hem of her jacket and slid it off slowly.

“Kory—” he breathed, looking at her like she was the center of every galaxy.

“I trust you,” she whispered, crawling onto his lap.

His fingers hovered for a moment before sliding up her sides. Her skin was warm, smooth, glowing faintly in the low light. They kissed again, slower this time while lingering, learning. She tugged at his shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head.

They tumbled back onto the bed, limbs tangled, hearts racing.

The room seemed to hold its breath as they lay there, a tangled mess of limbs and stolen breaths.

Kory's eyes roamed over his bare torso, the familiar scars and new ones mapping the stories of his life. Her fingers traced the muscles of his stomach, her knuckles brushing his ribs. He shivered, the touch setting a slow fire deep within him.

She leaned down, pressing lingering kisses along the underside of his jaw, his throat. Each brush of her lips against his skin spoke volumes, each touch a silent reassurance.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, tangling them in the soft, fiery strands. His other hand found its way to the small of her back, drawing her closer, his body arching into hers.

Their lips found each other again; a slow, languid dance this time, savoring the taste and the feel and the promise of more. Kory's fingers skimmed along his hip bone, teasing the waistband of his sweats, making his breath catch.

His hands roamed, exploring the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the smooth expanse of her thighs. The world outside his window could have vanished, and he wouldn't have noticed. She was everything, her scent, her warmth, the way her breath hitched when he kissed that spot below her earlobe.

She shifted, straddling him fully, and he couldn't help the low moan that escaped him. His hands moved to her hips, holding her firmly in place, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs.

“I love you,” he said, voice cracking, forehead pressed to hers.

She touched his cheek, eyes shimmering. “I love you more. You are the bravest boy I have ever known.”

They moved together slowly, learning the rhythm of skin and breath and trust. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs: full of stammered words, held hands, and starlight.

Later, wrapped in sheets, the world silent, he held her close. Her head rested on his chest. His fingers traced lazy circles on her back.

“You okay?” he asked, whispering against her hair.

She nodded. “Are you?”

He kissed her temple. “I am now.”

____

The weekend passed in flashes. Alfred’s wry glances. Selina’s teasing. A walk through the garden, hand in hand. A shared smile over dinner. Chess games. Pillow fights. Talking for hours with legs tangled on the bed.

But the memory that stayed, the one that lasted, was the way she looked at him when he opened up entirely. No armor. No mask. Just Dick. No Citadel. No worries. Just Kory.

They.

It felt like home.

It was home.