Origin

Once upon a time, in a dimension very far from our world, there was a place called Azarath.

Azarath was not a loud place. It was not a busy place. It was the kind of place where the air felt like a slow, deep breath, where white towers rose up from still silver water, and where the monks who lived there spoke softly and moved gently and believed — truly believed — that peace was the greatest power in any universe.

A girl named Raven grew up in Azarath.

She had violet eyes that seemed to see a little more than most eyes do. She wore a dark blue cloak that swirled around her like a piece of quiet sky. She loved books, and tea, and the sound of the water at the base of the towers on still evenings. Her mother's name was Arella, and Arella had found her way to Azarath seeking safety and kindness, and she had found both.

Raven had gifts that no one else in Azarath quite had. She could move objects without touching them — a teacup might glide softly across the table when she was thinking hard, a book might drift off the shelf before she even reached for it. She could project her soul-self, a shape made of dark, warm energy that looked exactly like a raven — her own name, her own shape — swooping through the air like a great bird made of shadow. And she could feel things. Not just feel the cold of a winter morning or the warmth of sunlight. She could feel people. Their joy. Their worry. Their loneliness. Their love. She felt them all as if they were her own.

That was extraordinary.

It was also a great deal to carry.

The monks of Azarath taught Raven to be careful with her feelings. They explained it gently, the way you explain something important to someone you love. When Raven's emotions grew very strong — when she was frightened, or very angry, or even suddenly very happy — her power would rise up like a wave. Objects would tremble. Shadows would stretch and shudder. Her soul-self would flare outward like wings spreading wide. So she learned, slowly and patiently, to keep herself calm. To breathe when things felt overwhelming. To hold her feelings steady like a lantern in her hands, not letting the flame go out, but not letting it burn out of control either.

It was not coldness. It was never coldness. It was the most careful kind of love.

Raven also knew something about herself that was hard to know. Her father was not a kind person. Her father was Trigon, a demon of tremendous power, a creature of darkness from a realm that the monks spoke of only in whispers. Raven had never met him and did not wish to. What she knew was this: you do not choose where you come from. You only choose what you do next.

The monks told her this. Arella told her this. And Raven believed it, deep in the quietest place inside herself, because she had seen it to be true every single day she had lived in Azarath.

One day, Raven felt something she had never felt before — a trembling at the very edges of things, a sense of danger gathering far away, like distant thunder on a clear morning. She sat still with it for a long time. She breathed slowly. And then she made a decision.

She would go to Earth. She would find others like herself. And she would help.

The city she found was called Jump City, and in Jump City there was a tower shaped like the letter T, standing right at the water's edge. In that tower she met Robin, who was brave and steady and always had a plan. She met Starfire, whose laughter sounded like bells and whose starbolts lit up the sky like green fireworks. She met Cyborg, strong as a building and twice as warm. She met Beast Boy, who could become any animal and who made the whole tower smell faintly of hamster.

Together they became the Teen Titans.

That first evening, Raven sat in the library of Titans Tower, a cup of chamomile tea beside her book, and listened to the others: Starfire singing something cheerful, Cyborg laughing at a video game, Beast Boy getting a story entirely backwards.

She did not smile very often, Raven. But she smiled then — just a small one, tucked inside her cloak.

Here, in this noisy T-shaped tower, with these four imperfect and wonderful friends, she had found something that felt very much like home.

She would fight beside them. She would choose goodness, every single day, because that was the only choice that ever truly mattered.

And so begins the story of Raven, daughter of Azarath, and hero of the Teen Titans.