"To mark one's skin is to confess one's soul."
---
Morning sunlight cut through the blinds of Titans Tower, painting golden lines across the common room. Tara sat on the couch, a loose fitting sleeveless hoodie draped over her shoulders, the faint ache of healing ink throbbing under her skin.
The team had gathered around her, drawn by curiosity. The quiet awe that always followed King's words.
Beast Boy leaned forward first. "Sooo… can we see the back part or is that, like, rude?"
Tara smirked. "You'll have to wait till it heals. Hurts too much to stretch. For now you guys gotta make do with the arms."
Blue Beetle crossed his arms. "Can't believe King actually convinced Harley to do it."
Damian sat perched on the back of a chair, arms folded, eyes narrow. "It wasn't persuasion. It was principle."
Starfire's hair glowed faintly in the morning light. "It is art born from conviction. The most noble kind of ink."
Raven closed her book, marking her page with a slip of shadow. "You sound like a poet."
"I am a poet of passion!" Starfire declared proudly.
Everyone groaned even Tara, who laughed through the pain.
---
The room settled. The moment of laughter faded into reflection.
Nightwing leaned on the counter, voice calm. "King made a point. About how people carry what they survive. Tattoos… scars… all the same language, just different ink."
Beast Boy rubbed his neck. "Yeah, but if I ever get one, it's gonna be something cool. Like a wolf. Or a dinosaur. Maybe both."
Raven raised an eyebrow. "A wolfosaur? Deep."
He grinned. "Hey, don't mock genius."
Tara smiled quietly at their banter. She felt lighter. Every heartbeat reminded her of the ink settling beneath her skin. A word that had changed her life and was now part of her forever.
---
Blue Beetle fiddled with his fingers. "You know… I've got scars from the Beetle bonding. Didn't choose them. Didn't want them. But maybe when I'm old enough, I'll get one on purpose. Something that says I'm still me underneath it all."
Raven nodded slowly. "Control through choice. Not bad."
Damian snorted softly. "Father would call it sentimentality. I call it awareness."
Nightwing smiled. "And that's growth, kid."
Starfire clasped her hands, eyes shining. "When I am of age, I will have a tattoo as well! A blazing sun with the faces of my friends in its light!"
Raven didn't look up. "Hard pass on my face being anywhere near your solar motif."
"You will be beautiful!" Starfire insisted.
"Still no."
Laughter again. Warm. Human.
---
Then Tara spoke, softly. "King said something before I got mine. That mercy isn't weakness — it's the hardest strength to keep. I think… he's right."
Her eyes glistened for a moment before she blinked it away. "I didn't just want a tattoo. I wanted to remember what it cost me to not lose myself."
Nightwing nodded, expression proud. "That's the difference between a mark and meaning."
Raven's tone softened. "You found peace through pain. Most people never do."
Damian looked away, muttering, "It's easier to bleed than to heal."
Blue Beetle glanced at him. "That from experience?"
Damian's gaze flickered briefly — then, a small smirk. "Perhaps."
---
The door opened. King stepped in, quiet as ever, a paper bag in his hand.
"Morning." He said simply, setting it down. "Breakfast."
They greeted him in a mix of waves and mumbled hellos.
He looked at Tara. "Healing well?"
She nodded. "It hurts. But it's worth it."
King inclined his head. "Good. The things that shape us should."
Nightwing smiled faintly. "You've got half the team debating tattoos now."
King looked around at them — faces young, eager, scarred in spirit more than body. "If you ever get one," He said, "make sure it isn't only decoration. Ink carries meaning. Choose carefully what you'll carry forever."
Beast Boy raised a hand. "So, like, no wolfosaurs?"
King blinked once. "…Perhaps not."
Laughter rippled again.
---
Later, as the sun sank toward the horizon, Tara stood alone on the balcony, hoodie hanging loose. She lifted the edge slightly, feeling the wind against her healing skin.
The tattoo pulsed faintly with life. The word MERCY breathing with her heartbeat.
Behind her, the Titans' laughter echoed faintly. Inside, King sipped coffee, silent but content, watching them through the glass.
For the first time in a long while, the shadows of unending threats felt distant.
And in Jump City, beneath a sky unscarred by violence, a generation carried lessons written not on parchment or screens but on skin, heart and memory.
Read 30 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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