Bat-Mite was gone.
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The green portal spiraled inward, shrinking until it vanished with a soft "pop" .
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Then—
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The entire Batcave fell silent.
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Only two things were left on the table:
A shrink-wrapped DVD case, and a perfectly preserved katana.
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Everyone stared at the table, their expressions blank, struck dumb.
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But it wasn’t the objects that held them still—it was who they were for:
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"For Damian Wayne!" Bat-Mite had announced cheerfully.
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Those words hit like a slap. Everyone in the room had turned toward Damian in unison.
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Damian Wayne had been standing at the far edge of the room, the furthest from the table.
His expression shifted from shock to deep confusion, then settled into a kind of frozen composure, like he didn’t dare move.
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His hands hung stiff at his sides, as if the moment he touched either item, they’d morph into something far too heavy to bear.
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"The password was 'Nora Verrill.' But the items... they're for you," Bruce murmured, barely audible.
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"That makes no sense," Dick said, his voice full of doubt.
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Leila stood still, staring at the DVD case as if trying to decode some astrological riddle.
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Bat-Mite, not one for goodbyes, had turned back for a moment. Leila handed him the small box containing the Batarangs. Their eyes met.
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"Bye-bye, Leila\~ I’ll take great care of this! Bat-Box No. 1!" he chirped gleefully, hugging the box to his chest before vanishing once more into the glowing rip of space.
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Damian stared at the table. After a few seconds, he moved.
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All eyes followed him.
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He said nothing, walking slowly forward as though stepping into a scene only he could understand.
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He stopped in front of the table.
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First, the katana.
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The blade was still sheathed, yet his eyes widened slightly—it was no ordinary weapon. Even lying still, it emanated the silent ferocity of a beast sealed in slumber.
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It was a weapon born for war.
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But he didn’t reach for it first.
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Instead, he picked up the DVD case.
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He unwrapped it, pausing with his fingers on the cover.
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It read:
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Federation Rose
Category: Biographical Epic
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Damian’s fingers tensed slightly.
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The Batcave was quiet, the only sound coming from the hum of the central computer.
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They’d received discs from Bat-Mite before—historical records, multiversal footage, convoluted narratives warped beyond logic.
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But this time, they all understood—
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This wasn’t a story about Batman.
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Damian stared at the title.
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Federation Rose.
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What was that?
Or rather—who?
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And why him?
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Damian studied the DVD cover for a long time.
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A deep navy background. Gold-foil lines traced the outline of a rose—its petals unfurled, though it was unclear whether the flower was blooming or still in bud.
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It wasn’t a symbol he recognized.
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He slowly opened the case.
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Inside, along with the disc, was a sheet of paper.
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Handwritten.
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Not the sterile precision of a machine—this was flowing, slightly curved script, as if penned by someone warm-blooded and alive.
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Damian’s brow twitched. He slid the note out and looked down.
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To Damian Wayne:
The katana is a little gift for you. Love you.
—By Grandma
P.S. Tim, don’t worry. Nora’s gone home. She won’t be waiting too long.
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Damian: "...?"
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He froze completely, like someone had smacked the back of his head.
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Grandma???
Who? What? Love you? Gifted him a sword? And left a message for Tim?
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Tim saw the rare full-capital-letters-confused face appear on Damian and reached out to take the disc and the note.
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Still mentally and emotionally recovering, he couldn’t ignore the sheer weirdness of it all.
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He read it silently, face blank.
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He tried spinning up his once-reliable detective brain:
Grandma, katana, epic biography, golden rose motif, a message to him…
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His logical thread snapped into static.
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Tim looked at Damian, trying to anchor himself.
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"Do you know this… Grandma person?"
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Damian gave him a sideways look and rolled his eyes: "Have you ever heard me call anyone Grandma?"
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Someone coughed. Someone else stifled a laugh.
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Jason folded his arms. "So what, someone went back in time and adopted Damian as their grandkid?"
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Bruce frowned, but his voice was unusually gentle. "Temporal overlap isn’t out of the question..."
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Dick couldn’t help but laugh. "A grandma who gifts katanas. That’s some parenting style."
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Tim didn’t laugh.
He looked down at the note again.
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That line—“Tim, don’t worry. Nora will come home.”—was like a knife made of sunlight, sliding quietly into his chest.
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It didn’t make sense.
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But it came exactly when he needed it.
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He clutched the note tightly.
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"I want to see what’s on the disc," he said, voice low but steady. A flame had rekindled inside him.
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Damian handed him the DVD and shrugged. "Good luck. I’m still trying to figure out if I’ve got a multiversal grandma out there waiting for me."
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Tim gave a crooked smile—this time, not a broken one.
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He walked over to the computer and inserted the disc labeled "Federation Rose."
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The Batcave fell silent once more.
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This time, they weren’t waiting for news.
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They were waiting for a story.
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A "biographical epic" from a cosmic museum dated 13,000 years in the future.
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and then Add to home screen.