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“Are you sure she meant us?” Nate asked for the third time as they approached the outer gates of Nanda Parbat. Ray, beaming, held a small plush owl. “Of course she did! She said, and I quote ‘Come meet the future of the Demon and the Canary.’”
Mick grunted. “Sounds like a trap.” Zari glanced at him. “Everything sounds like a trap to you.” “Because it usually is.” Still, none of them turned back.
They hadn’t seen Sara in nearly two years since she and Nyssa had retreated into the mountains, away from time ships and timelines. Rumors had swirled, whispers about a miracle, a prophecy, a child born under a blood moon. They expected drama.
They did not expect a three-year-old girl to come barreling toward them barefoot, giggling, with a tiny wooden sword in her hand. “Down!” she shouted gleefully, lunging at Behrad’s legs with shocking accuracy.
Behrad yelped and barely dodged. Sara appeared behind the child seconds later, calm as ever. “Layla! What did we say about ambushing our guests?” Layla pouted. “Papa Mick said it’s a good tactic.”
Mick grinned, unrepentant. “It is.” Sara sighed, scooping the girl up with practiced ease. “You corrupt every child you meet.” Nyssa emerged from the shadows with all her usual grace, but instead of deadly blades, she carried a soft cloth and a trail of flower petals Layla had clearly dropped.
“She ambushed the High Priest this morning,” Nyssa informed them dryly. “He was honored.” John Constantine stared at the child like she might explode. “That’s the heir?” Layla grinned at him. “You smell like fire and sin.” He blinked. “She’s yours, alright.”
They gathered in the inner gardens where Layla led them on what she called a “Very Important Tour,” which mostly involved showing them rocks she liked and which monks gave the best sweets.
“She’s… terrifying,” Zari whispered. “In the cutest way.” “She can recite League history backwards,” Nyssa noted with pride. “But she still calls the Lazarus Pit ‘the spooky bathtub.’” Ray handed her the plush owl. “I brought you a friend!”
Layla gasped. “He looks like Uncle Nate!” Nate blinked. “I what?” “She’s right,” Behrad said. “It’s the eyes.” Sara watched the chaos unfold with a soft, exhausted smile. “She’s fast. She climbs. She’s somehow better with knives than I am. I’m terrified. But in love.”
“You should be,” Nyssa added. “Last week, she made one of the council members cry with a drawing.” “She said it was his soul on paper,” Sara explained. “It was a black circle.” Layla plopped into Zari’s lap mid-sentence and stared up at her. “You have a shiny soul.” Zari’s eyes widened. “Thanks?”
Later, the team sat in the temple courtyard as the sun dipped below the mountains. Layla was asleep in Nyssa’s arms, a stuffed owl tucked under her chin. Ray leaned back. “She’s perfect.”
“She’s dangerous,” Mick added fondly. “She’s got Sara’s spark,” Amaya said. “And Nyssa’s presence.” John flicked ash from his cigarette. “Poor world.”
Behrad tilted his head. “You think she’ll grow up to rule this place?” Nyssa glanced down at her daughter, her voice quiet. “She will not be forced to. If she chooses it, she will be ready. If not, she will be free.”
Sara nodded. “We raised her to decide for herself. Even if she becomes a painter or a pirate.” “Or a time traveler,” Nate said. Nyssa groaned.
The night ended with Layla curled on Sara’s chest, a protective arm across her back, while Nyssa leaned against Sara’s side with a hand resting on both of them.
The team sat in silence for a long time, watching the fire crackle, hearts full. “She’s everything you deserve,” Zari whispered. “She’s everything we never thought we could have,” Sara replied. Nyssa nodded. “She is our peace.”
And the Legends time travelers, warriors, and misfits sat surrounded by shadows, firelight, and the softest miracle the League had ever known. They had faced gods and monsters. But this? This tiny girl wrapped in love, born of two legends?
This was a legacy.