As I stand here on the towering balconies of Titan's Tower and gaze out upon the fog-laden waves of San Francisco Harbor, I feel a strange peace. But in all reality, the peace isn't entirely 'strange'. Only in the recent years meagerly available to me have I realized just how often every storm is associated with a calm. Perhaps this time of perfect meditation is an omen—a need for me to worry. But I try and not let it consume me. My life has been far too filled with worry. Agony and dread are no longer my bed partners—and though I may have become 'younger' by fate, I am all the more mature through experience and reflection. And that is not an excuse towards bragging rights. It is my utmost, sincerest gratitude towards the fates at work.

So much is crumbling apart as of late, that perhaps this peace is nothing more than the sensational numbness following the crest of tempestuous annihilation. The desolate aftermath is my solace, and the silent halls of this Tower and the cool fog of the seascape lull me into a distant dream. It is like the feeling I get when I wake up spontaneously in the middle of the night. I am a different person piercing my gasping way through this cocoon of dark night, and every morning I feel so bloodily reborn that it terrifies and cleanses me all the same.

I wasn't the only Titan to think that when Superboy was possessed to attack us, we had been dealt with the worse pain imaginable. But with careful consideration, the older-veined of us can share a sense of long-winded déjà vu. The treacheries of Terra and Jericho have long stretched our skin thin—that now we stand tall in the midst of the grieving youths about us. Cassie's days are full of grieving—both silent or not. Bart tries to make sense of it all, and even when he's across the continent I can feel his soul rattling about like a frightened animal against the rusted bars of a tiny, tiny cage. Tim's arm is recovering, but he won't admit to the worse injuries he's suffered—for both he and Conner shared the seeds of the Titans' personal crisis long before it happened; the most thorned flowers are those doubly cared for. Mia keeps a safe distance from it all—letting confusion reign over sorrow—and Vic and Garfield are as silent and brooding over the latest case of 'betrayal'…as always.

I do not see it as betrayal. And it is my hope that the other Titans love and trust Conner enough to know that what has happened to us Luthor's doing, not to mention the accomplishment of multiple other deviant plots funneling into one. But I will not say I was without any pain the moment Superboy was turned on us. For just like Terra—he attacked me first. And it has made me wonder if there is something inherently enticing about me that makes the malevolent forces of this universe seek their nefarious passions through me before everything else. It certainly used to make sense in the past. I was a doorway for so many inconceivable horrors—and in a lot of ways, I still am. Although I certainly have a lot more confidence and support these days.

No… …not support. I have always had support from the Titans. I owe them more than my soul-self can serve to magically provide them. There are times that I wish I could simply devote them the same passion and emotion that they display around me. But I realize to do so would not 'Raven'. And I have not better thing—it would seem—to give them than myself. And that blesses me. It blesses me so incredibly much.

…so much that—I could not allow Conner to feel the false sense of helplessness that I have let myself fall weak to in the past. I know what it is like to not be allowed to understand oneself beyond the fact that I am the daughter of someone so, horribly terrible that the best I can ever aspire to be is a weapon to extinguish the lives of everyone and everything around me I care for. And that my life is something so horribly dangerous that suicide itself would fail to circumnavigate—one hardly ever feels more lonely.

So I visited Conner during his retreat in the Kents' home. I reflected for him a mirror to his very soul. And I trust that he has come to a realization not unlike mine—that there is always hope for people who have a true grasp of their soul. For a villain never has a grasp of who they really are, but instead they are always trying to make up for the emptiness by acting as a vacuum towards the rest of the universe. Conner is no victim either. Like me, he is merely a fresh foot out of the grave.

I feel, now, that Conner is now the first of the Titans who understands what I've been going through for these past few months. I am alive—yes—but how wild and unruly a life it is. My time had come far too long ago, and yet through the insanity of the young Brother Blood's ceremony of sacrilege I was brought back. I am a much wearier yet 'younger' facsimile of what I used to be. And—as always—it is only because of the warm hold of the Titans that I have ever had a chance of surviving. And survive I have.. …to the best of my ability. I've survived to see the marvel of a 'Robin' that Tim has become in Dick's place. I have seen Victor—a warrior of a man—make a new legacy out of this team of young superheroes. I've seen Troia, the deceased martyr—and then transformed back into the resurrected goddess. And Garfield…

…Garfield….I used to always fear for him. He is a child—he has always been a child. But only now—as the world of magic falls into a chaotic maelstrom that I am at a loss to explain—I feel that Garfield is far more human and far more strong and—yet—far more fragile than ever I have seen him before. I understand that Victor, Kory, Dick and Wally must be away to take care of their own necessary missions in this latest Crisis, and that I am hard-pressed to cling to the closest friends familiar to me. But suddenly I am overwhelmed with the sudden urgency to assure that Garfield is safe.

For I have always been a threat to my team members. Always I have been a doorway to and from a real of unimaginable horror. And now—with a horror of a far stranger sort looming overhead—I feel for the first true time that the one danger that may consume all of my friends is something that does not have its roots in my soul. I no longer have the responsibility of evil—and yet as much as this liberation may seem a blessing, it scares me. For I do not know how to protect my friends from something so dangerous that it has not its origins in me. I have grown desperate, and yet it goes against everything I have meditated to maintain about myself to admit such. But I did admit it—at least to Garfield—when I kissed him for the very first time.

I know he still wanders about it. But my answer—though perhaps not good enough for him—is as true as it ever could possibly be. I did what I wanted to do. And I wanted him to be safe… ..safe with me. Never before did I have the ability to have both things, trust and security with someone else. And I took advantage of it the first moment I could, however selfishly. I feel that—with this 'second chance' I have received, I have every freedom to be just that. Selfish.

And so here I stand—meditating and resting in the cool vistas of the San Francisco tranquility. I know that it will not last long. For whatever reason, a tempest of unprecedented proportions may very well consume us all. And we may not know what to do, but I trust that we will know where to be. With each other. Garfield.. …Victor… …

Koriand'r… …. ….Oh, how I do miss Kory now. Souls of Azar—please—keep her safe wherever she is. If anything righteous and pure remains with the spirit of my people—I pray that they keep her and all of us safe.

I pray….

I…..

…

---

…

I open my eyes.

The soft darkness of my world entreats me.

I sit up with a shuffling of my bedsheets.

Shadows, shadows, shadows…

And calm….

"Nnnngh….," I murmur and rub my pale forehead, smoothing away the wrinkles of far too confusing dream residue.

What was that all about?

I blink.

I blink some more.

A Tower… …

Fog on the water… …far away….

Multiple earths away…

Infinite earths away… …

I sigh, shake my head, and sink back into the covers.

I turn over and let myself get swallowed into the sheets and shadows.

Grumbling mentally at the mere thought—

A pox upon Beast Boy and his tofu pizza… …

Never again, you pathetic green elf.

Never again… ….