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The Last Ember of Gotham
The world had already ended once.
Not in a single blast or a sweeping cataclysm, but slowlyโlike a city drowning in its own silence. Gotham, once a city of corruption and capes, had become little more than ash and myth. The heroes were gone. The villains either buried or crowned kings in their own dead kingdoms. But in the red fog of warโs final season, a figure emergedโwreathed in smoke and vengeance. No one knew her true name. Whispers said she was born in the ruins of the Batcave, her cries echoing through broken stone and blood-soaked steel. Raised not by a mentor, but by the recorded voices of long-gone legendsโBruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Alfred. Each log, each lesson, shaping her like fire tempers steel. Wearing armor forged from the shattered remains of the Batsuit, laced with the cloth of old uniforms, she bore the emblem of the Bat not as a symbol of hopeโbut as a warning: Gotham remembers. Her mask, half-melted from some forgotten inferno. 12 replies
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