The Crown Prince {The Unholy Trinity: Book II}

I Damian's P.O.V

Waking up in my eight-year-old body is... bizarre.

My heart pounds in my chest like a jackhammer. I feel like a kid stuffed into a suit three sizes too small. The bed swallows me whole, the sheets drape like a tent, and the pillows loom like mountains. I'm not just smaller; I'm weaker, drowning in this helplessness.

It takes a moment, but the memories come flooding back. The ritual. Raven. Constantine. The plan—trap our minds in our younger bodies and hurl ourselves back in time to fix everything we screwed up.

Guess it worked.

I tumble out of bed, my feet whispering against the floor. I pause, soaking it all in. This room? Too familiar. The League's hideout, my old training ground. I know this layout by heart: cold stone walls, the stench of incense mingling with... blood? Typical. Welcome to the League of Assassins, where blood is part of the ambiance.

I scan the room, fingers brushing over the small desk and the old weapons arranged like relics. Everything is exactly as I remember—like walking into a haunting from my past, now my present.

Great. Just great. Perfect timing for the emotional rollercoaster ahead. Time to zero in.

I inhale deeply, pushing aside the strangeness. I've faced my fair share of bizarre—time travel? Just another day at the office.

I'm in the past, but it all feels... raw. Darkseid's invasion is a time bomb ready to explode. Gotham? Still drowning in chaos. My family? Still shattered. At least they're not dead yet. The realization slams into me, gut-wrenching. They're all still alive—Father, Grayson, even Alfred.

Alfred.

I clench my jaw and push forward, burying the emotions clawing to surface. No time for tears—past or future. I'm here to make it right, to ensure things don't spiral into chaos again. Failure isn't an option.

For a moment, the reality hits me hard: they don't know me yet. I'm just a kid to them. A future heir to the League. A child prodigy of death.

God, I was such a brat.

I scramble out of bed and almost trip over my own feet. Of course everything's smaller—I'm smaller. It hits me with a déjà vu punch as I cross to the mirror, my bare feet slapping against the icy stone floor. How did I forget how freezing it is in this place? No heating in a multimillion-dollar assassin fortress? Just my luck.

I stop dead in front of the mirror and blink at my reflection.

Well, this is just... fantastic.

I freeze in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. Just fantastic. I'm tiny—ridiculously tiny. Eight-year-old me was a shrimp. My face is rounder and softer, the sharp edges of adulthood nowhere in sight. I look like I'm auditioning for 'Angry Child #3' in some low-budget action flick. I rake my hand through my hair, which flops into my eyes awkwardly. I was used to the older, more put-together version of me—the warrior who could take on Darkseid and almost win. But this? This is the kid who still needed a reminder to scrub under his nails after a fight.

But the real kicker? My eyes. One green, one blue. Both glowing, flickering with a familiar supernatural fire.

"Great," I mutter, leaning in for a closer look.

Constantine was right—again. The magic, the chaos swirling inside me, time-traveled along with my consciousness. Hell Fire, Holy Fire—my internal inferno wrapped in an eight-year-old package. Because what screams 'child prodigy' more than having actual fire in your eyes?

I sigh, rubbing my temples as a headache builds. What now? I thought time travel would have some weird side effects, but this? The last thing I need is my powers flaring up now.