Over the next few days, Thea continued using the excuse of being "ambushed by her period" to avoid every mission, meeting, and interrogation that came her way.
And honestly? It worked like magic.
Everyone she met gave her that warm, sympathetic smile — the kind reserved for the terminally ill or the very brave.
People spoke to her gently, asked if she needed rest, food, or a blanket, as though a single harsh word might finish her off.
Meanwhile, Catwoman and Barbara kept sending over "nourishment" — red sugar water, black-bone chicken soup, and other home remedies.
By the third day, Thea had recovered nearly seventy percent of her strength and could finally start sorting through what she'd gained from that nightmarish "trial."
That very first night back, she'd received… information.
It hadn't come from a voice or a book — it simply appeared in her mind, as though it had always been there.
No need to read, no need to think — she knew.
Every descendant of the Merlin line, it said, upon successful awakening, would gain a natural ability — something instinctive, almost like a biological spell.
It didn't require mana or chants or gestures.
If you had the stamina, you could use it.
For her, the mark manifested as a silver-white unicorn tattoo on her left shoulder blade.
It could appear or vanish at will — and, intriguingly, it held two forms.
☀ By day, the tattoo was bright — absorbing sunlight.
When activated, it could summon a unicorn companion to fight alongside her until dismissed.
🌙 By night, the mark turned dark — drinking in moonlight.
Then, it granted her the power to create a shadow double — a clone identical in body and skill to her true self.
"A unicorn, huh…"
She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, shut her door, sealed the windows, and whispered,
"Please don't explode. Please don't explode."
Then she focused her mind on the tattoo and triggered the ability.
A thin mist shimmered in the air — and with a soft poof, her "faithful steed" appeared before her.
Thea stared, deadpan.
It was tiny — barely bigger than her hand — with a fluffy mane and a stubby little horn poking out of its head.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The miniature unicorn blinked up at her, dazed.
It looked around her room, clearly confused by the unfamiliar setting.
Then, spotting Thea, it relaxed and gave her hand a tentative lick.
Despite herself, she chuckled.
"Okay, fine. You're adorable."
She stroked its silken mane. The fur was unbelievably soft — like stroking a warm cloud.
Still… a palm-sized unicorn wasn't exactly battlefield material.
"What, you gonna nuzzle the bad guys to death?"
That night, she tested the other half of her new power.
The result? Surprisingly solid.
Unlike certain anime's "shadow clones," hers were tangible — fully real, able to speak, fight, and take hits.
They didn't dissolve into smoke when struck, though fatal injuries still counted.
The clone could perfectly replicate her combat ability but couldn't copy her gear — so, if her enemies knew the trick, all they had to do was aim for the version holding the sword.
Still, flaws aside, the skill was incredible.
With a bit of creativity — say, giving the clone a dagger while she wielded her sword — she could easily confuse most opponents.
She experimented a few times:
stamina consumption doubled, but damage to the clone didn't affect her body.
In theory, her duplicate could die a hundred times, and she'd be fine — though the reverse was true too: if the clone learned something, she didn't automatically gain that knowledge.
They could share basic information, but not complex understanding — a trade-off she could live with.
Both forms, she found, could be trained.
The sun strengthened the unicorn.
The moon empowered her clone.
Given enough sunlight, the little unicorn would mature into a full-grown steed — and eventually, perhaps even sprout wings to become a royal unicorn.
Once it reached adulthood, they could merge — granting Thea the creature's speed, endurance, and magical strength.
The moon's blessing worked differently: with enough energy, her night clone would gain greater intelligence, agility — even the potential to create multiple copies at once.
Thea grinned to herself.
"Guess I'm officially solar-powered now."
In the future, she could easily imagine herself lounging beside Superman and Supergirl, soaking up rays while "training her bloodline."
"Make room for me on that rooftop, guys."
She wondered what her ancestors' "talents" had been — it was easier to just call them that than "bloodline manifestations."
Either way, her shadow-duplication ability fit her perfectly.
Her combat style was aggressive and tactical — having a double essentially doubled her fighting power.
If she didn't mind revealing it, she could already outmatch Batman one-on-one — at least without his gadgets.
That strange "blood refinement" from before, she realized, was what caused her collapse.
Even with limited understanding, the process was clear: it burned away the ordinary to distill the divine.
She could feel it — deep in her heart, two droplets of golden blood pulsed faintly.
The trial had pushed her body far beyond normal limits.
What was supposed to purify a single drop had overachieved — refining two.
That explained why she'd nearly died.
Most people lost fifteen percent of their blood and fainted.
She'd lost thirty and walked away. Barely.
She glanced at the glowing green fruit the Swamp Thing had given her.
"Yeah… I'm not eating that anytime soon."
The painting that caused all this had been completely destroyed, but just before it vanished, it had transmitted one final, fragmented message.
Through broken flashes of memory, she pieced together fragments of a tragedy — an ancestor, long ago, forced into the trial because of love, coerced, then betrayed.
Before dying, he'd destroyed the key to the family's true inheritance — likely a parchment or a manual — leaving future generations blind.
Thea exhaled slowly.
"So I basically did a hell-mode run with no instructions. Great."
Still, the story served as a warning: never flaunt your power.
That ancestor had probably been too arrogant, showing off until others grew envious — and in the end, envy killed him.
"If I had something that others didn't, I'd probably get hunted too…"
And who fit that description perfectly?
A man with no powers, no magic, yet centuries of obsession and cunning—
Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head.
He'd lived eight hundred years on borrowed life, seen gods and aliens, and yet remained merely human.
Thea didn't believe for a second that he didn't covet supernatural power.
The more she thought about it, the more everything clicked.
In the Arrowverse, the 1.0 version of Thea had been gravely wounded by Ra's' ambush — an injury that crippled her for life.
Was it truly random? Or had he known what she carried?
He'd only ever personally targeted two people: Oliver Queen and Thea Queen.
"Coincidence? Yeah, right."
And then there was Malcolm Merlyn — her father — who'd somehow been accepted into the League after his wife's death and promoted to lieutenant within two years.
Ra's, with his centuries of insight, couldn't have missed Malcolm's ambition.
It all fit too well.
He knew about the bloodline. Maybe even better than the descendants themselves.
And Batman?
Perhaps Ra's' interest in him wasn't just philosophical — maybe it was bloodline-related too.
After all, the Wayne family's history stretched back to the Crusades.
"Great," Thea muttered, rubbing her temple. "Now I'm giving myself a migraine."
She picked up the dagger she'd found in the trial.
At first, she'd thought the darkened blade was just rusted — but after polishing it, she realized the black hue was deliberate.
Etched where the blade met the hilt were several old words.
With her newly acquired "mage trainee" knowledge and a few search engines, Thea spent an entire day deciphering them.
When she finally got the translation, her eyes widened slightly.
"Black Mist."