Ducra led Jason into a meditation hall where dozens of candles burned atop an elevated platform. Their gentle flames bathed the chamber in warm amber light, casting long, wavering shadows across the ancient walls.
The air itself seemed untouched by the outside world, carrying only silence and the faint scent of melted wax. It was a place deliberately crafted to foster serenity, stripping away distractions until nothing remained except one's thoughts and the person seated with them.
"I don't think I have any trauma that needs confronting," Jason said after a long moment, his gaze fixed on the flickering candles. "I just need to get rid of that bastard twisting my ideals and fighting me for control."
Ducra slowly turned her head toward him, her expression perfectly flat as the candlelight danced across her features. "Boy," she said evenly, "from everything you've told me, I'd say you'd better come to terms with the fact that you're a walking bundle of trauma." She let the words settle before continuing. "A strong mental will may delay it, but it will only prolong the inevitable spread of the Lazarus Pit's corruption."
Jason frowned, unconvinced. "You still haven't told me how I'm supposed to confront this trauma."
"Patience, boy." Her voice remained calm, but there was an apparent weight behind it. "Do not be so hasty, for the trials awaiting you will be both turbulent and unforgiving. Should you fail..." She paused, allowing the silence to linger between them. "Then I will have no choice but to put you down. I cannot allow the monster within you to roam free, indulging and expressing its sinister nature."
Jason didn't need to ask what she meant. He already understood. If he failed to reclaim complete control over himself, if he couldn't purge the darkness festering within, then someone would eventually have to stop him. If not Ducra, then perhaps even the Justice League. The unsettling part was that he couldn't even begin to estimate how powerful his other self truly was... or how it had grown into something so terrifying in the first place.
"Express its nature?" Jason asked, breaking the silence.
"The rage, blame, and bloodlust festering inside you have been amplified to such an extent that they demand physical expression," Ducra explained. "Your body has become the vessel through which the corruption of the Lazarus pit which fuels those emotions, manifests themselves."
Jason's attention drifted back to the sea of dancing flames, their rhythmic movements pulling him inward. "Blame, huh..." he murmured, his voice sounding quieter. "I used to hold the man who raised me responsible for what happened that night." A bitter smile briefly touched his lips before fading. "But deep down... I always knew it was my own fault."
His eyes remained fixed on the candles as he continued. "I've accepted that I'm responsible for what happened to me—and for what happens to me now. I don't blame him anymore. Not for my death... and not for what I've become."
Ducra gave a small, approving nod. "Taking responsibility for your own life, even when another may appear deserving of blame, is one of the first steps toward reclaiming control over it. Few possess the strength to do that." She casted her gaze upon him as she studied him. "But responsibility alone cannot tame the darkness. It must be faced directly."
She paused before speaking again, her tone softening ever so slightly.
"Beneath all that anger and the fire burning in your eyes, there is still pain. Deep pain. It lingers within you, and I can see it reflected in the life you've chosen to live since your resurrection."
"Nadia mentioned that vigilantism has become more than just an extracurricular pursuit for you. You've embraced the idea of dispensing justice, channeling all that hurt into perfecting your craft while feeding an ever-growing appetite for violence and destruction."
Ducra's gaze remained steady on him, neither condemning nor sympathetic, simply observant. "Whoever it is that wounded you so deeply, you must learn to let them go if you ever hope to find peace within yourself. This constant friction between your chi and its tainted counterpart is grinding away at your soul." Her voice remained calm and steady as she explained that the battle Jason faced wasn't solely against the corruption of the Lazarus Pit.
If he wished to rid himself of the turmoil festering within, he would have to mend not only his fractured mind, but also the wounds buried deep within his heart.
"I see..." Jason murmured, his eyes returning to the flickering sea of candles. Their flames danced endlessly, hypnotic in their rhythm. "I don't resent him anymore." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But I do feel betrayed... because he never avenged me." His fingers slowly curled into a fist as a familiar heat began simmering beneath his skin.
"He let that worthless excuse for a human being keep breathing after murdering his son... after slaughtering countless others." His voice steadily grew louder with each passing sentence until he finally turned to face Ducra. The restraint he'd maintained until now was beginning to crack. "Answer me this, Master Ducra. What justice is there in allowing someone responsible for so much death and suffering to continue living when they've proven time and time again that such is just their nature?"
The anger burning behind his eyes intensified, barely restrained through sheer force of will. Had Bruce been standing in front of him at that very moment, Jason wasn't certain he would've been able to stop himself from driving his fist straight through the older man's face.
"A pathetic clown who spent twenty years leaving a trail of corpses behind him. Body after body... victim after victim..." His jaw tightened as hatred seeped into every syllable. "How am I wrong for wanting to put an end to that cycle of suffering and madness?"
Even though the Joker was dead by Jason's own hands, the venom in his voice made one thing abundantly clear. If someone somehow offered him the opportunity to descend into the underworld and kill the clown a second time, he'd accept the task without a moment's hesitation.
Ducra narrowed her eyes by the slightest margin, silently watching the young man as the fury he'd kept buried finally spilled into the open. She allowed the anger to run its course before speaking again.
"Forgiving yourself is the first step toward forgiving the one who hurt you," she said softly. "Clinging to hatred is like swallowing poison while hoping it takes effect on someone else."
Her words made little sense to Jason, at least not yet. Still, years spent under Ra's al Ghul's tutelage had instilled habits that remained even now. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he drew in a slow breath before releasing it just as gradually. The tension in his shoulders eased to the faintest degree as he exhaled, if only enough to keep the boiling rage from spilling over.
"All life possesses value," Ducra continued. "Though different in size, an ant carries life no less precious than an elephant. I teach reverence for every living thing..." Her tone hardened, carrying an unspoken certainty of someone who had witnessed centuries of bloodshed. "But even the healthiest garden cannot flourish if its weeds are left unchecked. There are those whose continued existence serves only to spread fear, suffering, and misery. Such weeds must be pulled before they choke everything around them."
A faint hint of approval crossed her features as she regarded him.
"You've practiced breath work before. Good. That means we won't be starting from the beginning." She gestured toward the woven mat behind him with a small tilt of her chin. "Sit."
Jason obeyed without argument. By now, he had already guessed meditation would be the first step toward untangling everything that had left his mind so thoroughly broken. Even Ra's had begun his rehabilitation with stillness before progressing to anything else.
"The All-Caste values mental clarity every bit as much as physical strength," Ducra said as she walked behind him with slow, measured steps. Every movement she made was calm, controlled, and utterly devoid of wasted effort, embodying the discipline she sought to teach.
"Choose one candle before you," Ducra instructed. "Focus on its flame with single-minded intent, and maintain a steady rhythm with your breathing."
Drawing in a slow, measured breath, Jason followed her instructions, fixing his attention on one of the dancing flames before allowing his eyelids to close, preserving its image within his mind. Satisfied that he had settled into the exercise, Ducra continued.
"Offer your violent thoughts and every emotion that does not serve you to the flame. Observe them, but do not allow them to consume you or tempt you into dwelling upon them."
Jason frowned slightly. "That sounds... kind of contradictory." His breathing never faltered as he continued the exercise. "How am I supposed to observe those emotions without actually feeling them?" he asked, keeping his eyes shut and his attention anchored to the image of the candle.
"The concept does not need to make sense," Ducra replied calmly. "We are working with your subconscious mind, not the conscious or rational one."
That explanation prompted Jason to crack open one eye. Turning his head over his shoulder, he looked at her as though to remind her that he wasn't some seasoned practitioner of mystical disciplines or spiritual arts who instinctively understood such concepts.
Before he could utter a word, the end of her walking staff lightly—but firmly—rapped against the top of his head.
"Focus."
"Ow." Jason rubbed the sore spot with a grimace before letting out a quiet sigh. Abandoning any further complaints, he settled back into position and resumed following her guidance.
'It's almost like hypnosis,' he realized.
The exercise wasn't about suppressing his emotions. It was about convincing himself they no longer held dominion over him. In a sense, it resembled autosuggestion, the deliberate act of influencing one's own subconscious through repeated belief and affirmation. Properly understood, it could strengthen the mind and reshape one's thinking. Used carelessly, however, it could just as easily become the foundation of one's own undoing.
Most people, he realized, lived under the influence of suggestion without ever recognizing it. Sometimes those suggestions came from others, and sometimes they came from within. A belief held no real power until it was accepted as truth. But once the mind embraced an idea, whether empowering or destructive, it took root beneath the surface, quietly shaping a person's thoughts, actions, and ultimately their life.
Some would say, this is in accordance with the law of resonance.
Time gradually lost its meaning as the meditation continued. Guided by Ducra's steady voice, Jason remained seated before the candle, learning not to extinguish the rage constantly simmering beneath the surface, but to observe it without surrendering himself to it. Bit by bit, the storm within him grew quieter—not gone, merely restrained.
Only when Jason had become completely immersed in the exercise did Ducra subtly change her approach.
Her calm instructions shifted from mastering his anger to confronting its source.
"Return to that night," she said quietly. "That night in Bosnia."
The words struck his subconscious like a stone breaking the surface of still water.
Jason's body tensed almost immediately. His brow tightened as his eyes darted wildly beneath his closed eyelids, every instinct screaming at him to pull away from the memories clawing their way back into his mind. Of all the things he had buried since his resurrection, this was the one experience he had never wanted to relive.
Jason watched the memory unfold before him.
The Joker's laughter echoed through the darkness of his mind as vividly as it had that night in Bosnia. Every blow the clown rained down upon his younger self landed with sickening clarity, each strike with the crowbar rekindling emotions Jason had spent years trying to bury. His jaw tightened until it ached, his fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms.
Every fiber of his being screamed at him to rush forward, to tear the Joker apart with his bare hands. Yet no matter how intense the urge became, he remained nothing more than a spectator. It was only a memory, one forever beyond his reach.
"You must witness it all," Ducra's calm voice echoed through his consciousness. "Observe without resentment. Accept that this was the hand fate dealt you. Release the grudge and hatred you continue to carry."
Jason tried.
He truly did.
But the sight before him refused to loosen its grip. Sweat slowly beaded across his brow before trickling down his face, his body reacting as though he were reliving the beating rather than merely remembering it.
"You have already ended his life," Ducra continued. "You claimed the vengeance you believed was owed to you. Why continue carrying the burden of resentment? Let it be buried alongside him."
Her words barely reached him.
The emotions surging through Jason drowned out everything else. Watching the Joker mercilessly beat Robin with that same gleeful smile was more than he could endure. His eyes snapped open as though yanked back to reality, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession while sweat streamed down his face.
"It's... too much." He struggled to force the words out between heavy breaths. "I can't."
Instinct took over. Drawing upon the breathing exercises Ra's had drilled into him years ago, Jason slowly regained control, each measured inhale and exhale easing the panic threatening to overwhelm him.
"It's only the first exercise," Ducra said, stepping beside him with understated confidence. "Give yourself more credit than that."
She rested both hands atop her walking staff, her expression remaining composed.
"But do not mistake that for meaning the path ahead becomes easier. These are merely the foundation stones. They will strengthen your mind and prepare it for what lies ahead, but only if you continue walking the path."
Jason let out a slow breath before looking up at her.
"So what... I'm just supposed to bury all this rage too and use it as part of the foundation?" he asked skeptically. Deep down, he couldn't imagine ever reaching that point. At the rate he was going, Bruce would probably be walking with a cane and sporting a full head of gray hair before Jason ever managed something like that.
"No," Ducra answered, shaking her head. "I would never advise you to bury your anger. Left suppressed, it festers. It eats away at you from within."
She paced slowly around him as she continued.
"That would only grant the Lazarus Pit's corruption another avenue through which to express itself. Anger, in itself, is not evil. Properly understood, it can become a source of strength." She stopped beside him once more. "The goal is not to destroy your anger, but to master it before it masters you."
Her eyes settled firmly on his.
"Uncontrolled anger clouds judgment and poisons both body and spirit. It is the root of countless forms of suffering, and you already bear the consequences of allowing it to rule you. The corruption within you merely amplifies what was already there."
"I... see," Jason murmured, turning the lesson over in his mind. The idea was beginning to make sense, even if only in fragments.
"It is not your fault that this practice feels unnatural," Ducra continued. "Your paradigm is resisting it."
Jason glanced up at her. "Paradigm?"
She gave a faint nod.
"Think of it as the collection of thoughts and beliefs impressed upon your subconscious mind throughout your life. They shape how you perceive the world, how you react to it, and ultimately become the foundation of your habitual behavior."
She paused deliberately before adding,
"And almost everything we do is habitual."
Jason sat quietly for a moment, letting her words sink in before a flicker of understanding crossed his face.
"Oh..."
He slowly nodded to himself.
"So... if my subconscious learned those patterns..." he said thoughtfully, "then I just have to impress new ones onto it instead."
He looked back at Ducra.
"How do I do that?"
"You shouldn't dwell on it too much," Ducra replied. "With proper training, spiritual discipline, and certain rituals, you'll eventually learn to control this darkness rather than be controlled by it. In time, you'll be able to wield it without becoming overwhelmed or surrendering yourself to your alter ego."
Jason let out a quiet sigh, trying to picture exactly what that kind of life entailed. "So, what you're saying is I'd basically have to become some kind of monk..." He hesitated, making a vague gesture with his hand. "Or a priest... or whatever they're called around here."
"More or less," Ducra answered without a trace of amusement.
As the words left her mouth, the meditation hall's wooden doors slowly creaked open. Soft footsteps echoed across the chamber as another figure entered. Ducra glanced toward the newcomer before returning her attention to Jason.
"Either way," she said, a faint hint of satisfaction touching her voice, "you might as well start looking the part."
Essence approached without ceremony, carrying a neatly folded set of robes in her arms. Upon reaching Jason, she tossed the bundle toward him with an effortless ease.
He caught it on instinct and unfolded the garments to inspect them. The simple robes looked exactly as he'd feared.
'Yeah... there's no way Bird Boy or the Little Demon can ever find out about this.'
The image of Dick Grayson laughing himself breathless while Damian mercilessly mocked him flashed through his mind.
'I'd never hear the end of it.'
The thought of Gotham's infamous Red Hood trading his leather jacket and helmet for a monk's robes was humiliating enough that, for a brief moment, even the weight of his rehabilitation took a back seat to preserving what little dignity he had left.
- - -
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