Snow fell in thick flurries across the monastery grounds, blanketing the stone courtyard in pristine white that muffled sound and transformed the landscape. Matt stood perfectly still at its center, barefoot despite the biting cold, listening to individual snowflakes as they settled on his skin.
Six weeks had passed since his arrival in Manchuria. Six weeks of brutal training that pushed beyond physical limits into realms of perception Matt hadn't known existed, even in his previous life. O-Sensei's methods made Stick look gentle by comparison.
"Again," the old master commanded from the monastery steps. "This time without relying on your hearing."
Matt nodded, closing off his auditory senses as he'd been taught. The world shifted, his radar sense compensating by sharpening other inputs, air currents against his skin, subtle vibrations through the stone beneath his feet, the electromagnetic field generated by nearby bodies.
In this altered state, he tracked O-Sensei's movements as the old man circled him, then suddenly attacked from multiple angles using wooden training weapons. Matt deflected each strike, his body flowing like water between defensive forms and counterattacks.
The exchange lasted nearly ten minutes, neither landing a significant blow until O-Sensei finally stepped back.
"Better," he acknowledged. "Your dependence on sound has diminished considerably."
From her perch on the monastery roof, Sandra Wu-San observed the training session with narrowed eyes. Eight days she'd watched Gordon master techniques that had taken her years to perfect. Techniques that should, by all rights, be beyond the capabilities of someone his age.
Yet there he stood in the snow, doing it with ease.
"Unbelievable," she muttered, though the evidence before her eyes contradicted her words.
O-Sensei glanced up, somehow aware of her presence despite her careful concealment. With a slight nod, he acknowledged her skepticism before turning back to his student.
"You have progressed remarkably, Matthew," he said. "What took others decades, you have absorbed in weeks."
Matt inclined his head respectfully. "I had an excellent foundation."
"More than a foundation, I think." O-Sensei circled Matthew slowly. "You move like someone who has lived many lifetimes."
A smile touched Matt's lips. "Perhaps I have."
The old master stopped before him. "I have taught you all I can in this limited time. Your training with me is complete."
The proclamation hung in the frigid air, shocking in its finality. Matt himself seemed taken aback, having expected months of further instruction.
"Master, I still have much to learn," he protested.
"From experience, yes. From me, no." O-Sensei placed a weathered hand on Matt's shoulder. "You have reached the limits of what formal training can provide. The rest must come through living."
A soft thud announced Sandra's arrival as she dropped from the roof, landing gracefully beside them. Her skepticism was palpable, heartbeat elevated with indignation.
"This is premature," she stated flatly. "No one masters these techniques so quickly."
O-Sensei regarded her with patient amusement. "Yet he has."
"Then let him prove it." She turned to Matt, challenge evident in her stance. "Not in controlled sparring, but in true combat."
"Sandra...." O-Sensei cautioned.
"No," Matt interrupted. "She's right. If I've truly completed my training, I should be able to demonstrate it under pressure."
The old master studied them both before nodding slowly. "Very well. The north ridge at sunset. Bring your weapons, Sandra. Matthew, you will come as you are."
As they departed to prepare, O-Sensei added quietly, "Remember what I taught you about restraint, Matthew. This is about proving mastery, not inflicting harm."
Matt nodded, though something in Sandra's heartbeat suggested she might not share that perspective.
Hours later, as the sun dipped below the western mountains, Matt climbed the path to the north ridge. The temperature had dropped further, snow now mixed with ice crystals that bit at his exposed skin. He wore only light training clothes, leaving his arms and lower legs uncovered despite the cold.
Sandra waited at the summit, two gleaming sai in her hands, her body coiled with predatory readiness. O-Sensei stood to one side, observing.
"The rules are simple," the old master announced. "Fight continues until one yields or I intervene. Intent is demonstration, not destruction." He looked pointedly at Sandra. "Am I understood?"
Both fighters nodded. Matt centered himself, allowing the Beast's power to simmer just beneath the surface, ready but controlled.
No signal was given. Sandra simply moved, crossing the distance between them with blinding speed, her sai aimed at vulnerable points in Matt's defenses. He evaded narrowly, feeling the weapons slice air where his throat had been a heartbeat earlier.
Not holding back, then.
Matt shifted from defense to offense, striking with precision honed through both lifetimes. Sandra countered expertly, her technique flawless. For long minutes they exchanged blows, testing boundaries, neither gaining advantage.
Then Sandra changed tactics, launching a series of attacks so rapid they blurred together, forcing Matt to rely on instinct more than calculation. One sai slipped past his guard, drawing blood across his forearm.
"First blood to me," she taunted softly.
Matt didn't respond verbally. Instead, he allowed more of the Beast's power to flow, enhancing his speed and strength beyond normal human limits. The shift was subtle but immediate, throwing off Sandra's timing as her strikes suddenly missed targets that should have been there.
Confusion flickered in her heartbeat, quickly replaced by determination as she adjusted. But Matt had found his rhythm now, moving with supernatural grace as he pressed his advantage. His strikes came faster, harder, each one precisely calculated to wear down her defenses.
Sandra fought brilliantly, adapting to his increased capabilities with the expertise of someone who had faced metahuman opponents before. But as minutes stretched into a half hour, fatigue began to affect her timing while Matt seemed tireless.
The end came swiftly. Sandra overextended on a thrust, leaving her momentarily vulnerable. Matt swept her legs and disarmed her in a single fluid motion, one sai flying into the snow while he caught the other and pressed it gently against her throat as she lay pinned beneath him.
"Yield," he said quietly.
For a moment, rebellion flashed in her eyes. Then, with clear reluctance, she nodded. "I yield."
Matt released her immediately, offering a hand up that she ignored, rising gracefully on her own. She retrieved her weapons without speaking, her expression unreadable.
O-Sensei approached, satisfaction evident in his bearing. "Well demonstrated, both of you."
"He held back," Sandra observed, not accusingly but with professional assessment.
"As did you," the old master replied. "Yet the outcome speaks for itself."
She turned to Matt, genuine curiosity replacing skepticism. "What are you?"
Matt answered. "I'm just someone that was given a second chance," he finally said. "I wanna make it count..."
Sandra studied him a moment longer before nodding, a gesture that wasn't quite respect but acknowledged something significant had occurred. Without another word, she turned and descended the mountain path, leaving Matt and O-Sensei alone in the gathering darkness.
"She will process this in her own way," the old master assured him. "Lady Shiva is unaccustomed to finding peers, let alone superiors."
"I didn't come here to prove myself better than anyone," Matt replied.
"No. You came seeking control." O-Sensei gestured for them to begin their own descent. "Have you found it?"
Matt flexed his fingers, feeling the Beast's power recede to a manageable hum beneath his skin. "I'm getting there."
"Good. Because control without purpose is merely restraint. You must decide what this power will serve."
And with that, they walked in companionable silence.
.....
.....
That night, sleep came fitfully. When dreams finally claimed him, he found himself once again in that strange void where normal senses had no meaning.
She appeared as before, the woman with midnight hair and skin like moonlight. Death, though she had never named herself as such.
"The man who cheated me twice," she greeted, circling him with curious interest. "How rare you are."
This time, Matt found he could speak. "I didn't cheat anything. I died."
"Yes, but not completely. Not finally." Her laughter echoed oddly in the dimensionless space. "Most souls pass through my realm to what lies beyond. Yours... took a detour."
"I didn't ask for this second life."
"Few get to choose their resurrections." She stopped before him, studying his face. "Yet here you are, making the most of your borrowed time. Building something... interesting."
"What do you want from me?" Matt asked.
Her smile deepened, revealing teeth like polished pearls. "Nothing yet. But the universe maintains its balance, Matthew Murdock Gordon. Eventually, all debts come due."
She leaned close, her lips on the verge of brushing against his. "Even yours."
Matt jerked awake, sweat-soaked despite the cold mountain air seeping through his window...
___________________________
Thousands of miles away, Dick Grayson stood before the full-length mirror in his apartment, examining his reflection with critical eyes. The new costume felt right, sleek black material with a blue emblem stretching across the chest and down his arms.
Nightwing. Officially, it was a name and identity entirely his own. No more going back and forth between being Robin and Nightwing...
Those days were over.
"It suits you," Barbara said from her position on his couch. "Better than the disco collar version, anyway."
Dick grinned, turning to face her. "Hey, I was exploring options."
"Well, exploration complete. This is definitely the one."
He joined her on the couch, suddenly serious. "Bruce isn't happy about it."
"Bruce is never happy about anything," she reminded him gently. "But he'll adjust. He always does."
"This is different. With everything happening in Gotham right now, the gang wars, League assassins showing up, Matt still missing..." He trailed off, noting Barbara's expression tighten at the mention of her brother.
"Sorry," he added quickly.
She shook her head. "Don't be. It's been two months. We have to talk about it sometime." Her fingers twisted together in her lap. "I keep thinking about that footage. The way he moved. The things he did."
"It wasn't Matt," Dick insisted. "Not the Matt we knew, anyway."
"But what if it was? What if that person was always there, hiding just beneath the surface?"
The question hung between them, uncomfortable in its implications. Dick had no easy answer, and Barbara seemed lost in her own thoughts.
Finally, he stood, moving back to the mirror to make a final adjustment to his mask. "Bruce will be patrolling alone now."
"Not for long," Barbara predicted. "He can't help himself. He'll find another partner."
"Maybe." Dick didn't sound convinced. "But things are different now. He's different since North Point."
"We all are," she said softly.
Dick turned to her, resolution firming his features. "This is the right move. Nightwing needs to establish more than a temporary presence in Blüdhaven. And I need to..." He paused, searching for words.
"You need space to grow," Barbara finished for him. "I get it. Really."
He sat beside her again, taking her hand. "Come with me. Blüdhaven could use Batgirl too."
Barbara smiled sadly. "My place is here. Especially now, with Dad..." She didn't need to finish. Commissioner Gordon had thrown himself into work after Matthew's disappearance, barely sleeping as he coordinated the ongoing search.
Dick nodded understanding. "I'll visit. Often."
"You'd better." She leaned forward, kissing him softly. "Nightwing's pretty hot."
Later, as Dick packed the last of his essentials, his phone buzzed with a message from Bruce, terse and typically unemotional: Patrol routes updated. Files transferred to your server. Call if needed.
No goodbye, no good luck. Just practical information, as if Dick were merely changing patrol sectors rather than establishing an entirely new identity in another city.
He stared at the phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard before finally typing: Thanks. You too. Dad.
Inadequate, but Bruce would understand the sentiment beneath the words. They had never needed lengthy emotional exchanges to communicate. But the little Dad quip should rattle him a bit. He'd love to see his face during that, heh.
...
...
...
.....
As darkness fell over Gotham, Batman began his patrol alone for the first time in years. Across the city, new Nightwing prepared for his first appearance in Blüdhaven. And somewhere in Manchuria, Matthew Gordon began packing his belongings, preparing to leave the sanctuary of O-Sensei's monastery sooner rather than later.