Now, if you've ever wondered what happens when alien warships decide to drop by Earth unannounced, you're about to find out. And let me tell you, it's not pretty. Especially when those aliens are Tamaraneans—basically orange-skinned warriors who solve problems the way most people solve math: with lots of violence and minimal patience.
The Tamaranean stealth ships sliced through Earth's atmosphere like angry metal sharks wearing invisibility cloaks. Their cloaking technology was so advanced it made light bend in ways that would give Stephen Hawking nightmares and cause physics textbooks to burst into flames. The only things that might spot them were paranoid defense satellites (which, let's face it, had trust issues anyway) and the occasional migrating goose. The geese, for the record, were thoroughly unimpressed and continued honking about whatever geese honk about—probably bread crumbs and pond politics.
On the bridge of the lead ship, Captain Zarn occupied his command chair like a man who'd personally fought every bad day that had ever existed and won. If there were Olympic medals for looking grim and determined while still being devastatingly competent, Zarn would've swept the podium, retired undefeated, and opened a training academy for other people who wanted to perfect the art of controlled menace.
His orange skin glowed under the amber bridge lighting, and his tactical uniform was so sharp it could probably cut glass. When Zarn spoke, it was with the kind of gravelly, no-nonsense tone that suggested he'd spent his entire adult life turning problems into ex-problems through the strategic application of force.
"Atmospheric entry complete, sir," reported the navigation officer, who was trying very hard to sound professional and not at all like someone who'd just watched their ship punch through Earth's atmosphere like it was tissue paper. "Stealth systems are holding steady. Local detection systems are... well, they're primitive."
Primitive was the kind of diplomatic word you used when you really meant "hilariously inadequate." Earth's defense systems were about as effective as a chocolate teapot against Tamaranean technology.
"Right," Zarn growled, drumming his fingers on the armrest in the slow, methodical way that suggested someone was about to have a very bad day. "Stay sharp, all of you. Princess Koriand'r's been playing superhero down there for weeks now. Her energy signature's going to light up our sensors like a bloody Christmas tree."
He paused, staring at the viewscreen showing Earth's blue marble surface. "Tamaranean physiology plus this system's yellow sun? It's like strapping a rocket engine to a firework and hoping for subtlety."
At the sensor station, Lieutenant Karras suddenly perked up like a bulldog who'd just caught the scent of a particularly juicy bone. Karras was built like a brick wall with anger management issues—square jaw, thick neck, and the kind of permanent scowl that suggested he'd been personally offended by the universe's existence.
"Oi, Cap!" Karras called out, his cockney accent turning every word into a verbal punch. "You're gonna bloody love this, mate."
Zarn turned his head with the slow, predatory patience of a man deciding whether to explain something calmly or just start breaking furniture. "This better be good news, Karras."
"Well, define good," Karras grinned, showing teeth that looked like they'd been used to open bottles. "Found your princess, didn't I? But here's the thing—this mudball ain't just crawling with one superpowered bird. Place is absolutely teeming with 'em. Like cockroaches, but with better PR and spandex."
"Enhanced individuals were expected," Zarn said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd read far too many mission briefings and lived to regret it. "Koriand'r seeks out the underdog. Always has. She'd find allies. Strong ones."
"Yeah, but this many?" Karras jabbed at his sensor screen like he was trying to wake it up. "Blimey, sir, it's like someone opened a bloody superhero factory and forgot to turn off the assembly line. Chuck a rock out there, you'll hit three blokes who can bench-press a lorry and some lass who shoots rainbow death beams out of her fingernails."
Zarn's fingers stopped drumming. That was the Tamaranean equivalent of a five-alarm fire warning. In all his years of military service, extracting royal family members from various galactic hotspots, he'd never encountered a planet with this many enhanced individuals per square kilometer. It was like trying to find one specific needle in a haystack made entirely of other, very dangerous needles.
"How many are we talking about?" Zarn asked, though his tone suggested he really didn't want to know the answer.
"Hundreds, mate," Karras said cheerfully. "Maybe thousands. Hard to get an exact count when half of 'em can turn invisible, the other half can fly faster than our sensors can track, and apparently some of 'em can bloody well teleport."
"Wonderful," Zarn muttered. "Absolutely brilliant."
"Gets better, sir," Karras continued, clearly enjoying himself way too much. "Your princess? She's not hiding in some quiet suburb, making friends with the locals over tea and biscuits. Oh no, that'd be too easy."
"Karras," Zarn said in the tone of a man whose patience was being held together by sheer force of will and military discipline, "get to the point before I throw you out the nearest airlock."
"Right, right. Big energy spike, about fifty klicks northeast of some city the locals call New York. Readings are a dead match for Princess Koriand'r, no question."
"And the complications?"
Karras's grin widened until it looked less like a smile and more like a declaration of war. "Well, she's holed up in what looks like some kind of fortress. Training ground, maybe. Or a clubhouse for teenage demigods with trust issues and communication problems."
"Define 'teenage demigods,'" Zarn said, though something in his gut told him he was going to regret asking.
"Young supers, sir. Lots of 'em. All crammed into one location like sardines in a can, except sardines don't usually have the ability to level city blocks when they get emotional." Karras pulled up a tactical display. "Place is called Happy Harbor, which is either the most ironic name in human history or someone's got a real twisted sense of humor."
Zarn studied the readout, and his expression went from grim determination to the kind of look you get when you realize you've volunteered for a mission that involves wrestling tigers while blindfolded. The energy signatures were off the charts—not just Koriand'r, but at least a dozen other enhanced individuals. Young ones, based on the erratic pattern fluctuations.
"Teenage superheroes," he said slowly, like he was testing how the words tasted. They tasted terrible.
"Yeah, that's the long and short of it," Karras confirmed. "And if there's one thing worse than dealing with regular superheroes, it's dealing with teenage superheroes who think they know everything and have enough power to back up their attitude."
The bridge fell silent except for the hum of the ship's engines and the occasional beep from various monitoring systems. Everyone was thinking the same thing: this was either going to be the easiest extraction in military history, or the kind of disaster that would be studied in tactical academies for centuries as an example of how not to conduct a stealth operation.
"Sir?" The navigation officer spoke up hesitantly. "Orders?"
Zarn was quiet for a long moment, staring at the tactical display like it had personally insulted his mother. When he finally spoke, his voice had the kind of calm that usually preceded spectacular violence.
"Set course for Happy Harbor," he said. "We go in quiet. Extract the princess. Minimal casualties."
"Define minimal, sir," Karras asked, still grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd had in months.
Zarn gave him The Look. It was the kind of look that had ended wars, stopped charging rhinos in their tracks, and made grown warriors reconsider their life choices. It was a look that said, very clearly, that if Karras kept pushing his luck, he was going to find out exactly how creative Tamaranean military discipline could get.
"Minimal means we get in, get the princess, and get out without turning the entire eastern seaboard into a smoking crater," Zarn said. "Think you can manage that, or should I start looking for a new sensor operator?"
"Right, minimal casualties it is then," Karras said, though his tone suggested he thought minimal was more of a guideline than an actual rule. "Should be fun though, shouldn't it? Been ages since we've had a proper scrap."
"This isn't a scrap, Karras. This is a diplomatic extraction with extreme prejudice."
"Same thing, innit?"
Zarn closed his eyes and counted to ten in three different languages. When he opened them again, his expression had achieved a level of controlled menace that could probably be seen from orbit.
"Listen carefully, all of you," he announced to the bridge crew. "Princess Koriand'r has been on this planet for months. She's had time to make friends, form attachments, and probably convince half the local superhero population that we're the bad guys coming to drag her away from her new family."
The crew exchanged looks. This was getting worse by the minute.
"Which means," Zarn continued, "that when we show up to extract her, we're not just dealing with one Tamaranean princess with emotional issues. We're dealing with one Tamaranean princess with emotional issues and whatever small army of superpowered teenagers she's convinced to help her."
"So, what you're saying is," Karras said slowly, "is that this is going to be a right proper mess."
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Brilliant," Karras said, cracking his knuckles. "Haven't had a challenge in weeks."
The ships adjusted course, angling toward the coordinates Karras had provided. Below them, Earth spun peacefully, completely unaware that its newest collection of young heroes was about to have the worst day of their very short superhero careers.
And in a mountain base overlooking Happy Harbor, a certain orange-skinned princess was having what she thought was a perfectly normal afternoon with her perfectly normal superhero friends, completely unaware that her past was about to crash into her present like a freight train carrying several tons of family drama and military-grade complications.
If she had known what was coming, she probably would have started running. But then again, Koriand'r had never been one to run from a fight, especially when the fight involved protecting the people she'd learned to call family.
Which meant that in about thirty minutes, Happy Harbor was going to become significantly less happy, and significantly more explosive.
---
# MOUNT JUSTICE - THE RELATIONSHIP SUMMIT
Now, if you've ever wondered what happens when teenage superheroes try to navigate relationships while simultaneously saving the world, you're about to find out. And let me tell you, it makes regular high school drama look like a peaceful Sunday picnic.
Mount Justice's main common area looked less like a superhero base and more like the set of the universe's most awkward reality show. Forget Love Island. Forget The Bachelor. This was *Young Justice: Relationship Negotiations Edition*, and it was about to become appointment television for anyone within a fifty-mile radius who enjoyed watching people suffer through emotional conversations.
Three teenagers had claimed the big sectional couch, arranged in what could generously be called a "diplomatic triangle" and more accurately described as "a geometry problem designed by someone who hated geometry." The rest of Young Justice had scattered strategically around the room, which is to say they'd positioned themselves for maximum gossip absorption while maintaining plausible deniability.
Donna Troy sat with the kind of perfect Amazon posture that suggested she'd been trained by warrior princesses who didn't believe in slouching. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her sharp features were set in the expression of someone who'd rather face down a battalion of mythological monsters than navigate whatever *this* was supposed to be.
"So," she began, her voice carrying that perfectly controlled calm that screamed *I'm totally not having an internal breakdown*, "we need to establish some ground rules for..." She gestured between the three of them like she was trying to solve a particularly complicated math equation. "For this."
Hadrian Kent lounged beside her with the kind of easy farm-boy grace that came from years of wrestling hay bales and pretending he wasn't secretly Superman's clone. His emerald-green eyes—the only real difference between him and his famous template—sparkled with amusement, though his broad shoulders were tense enough to suggest he was about as comfortable as a cat in a thunderstorm.
"Right," he said, nodding with the exaggerated seriousness of someone who was absolutely winging it. "Rules. Boundaries. Very sensible adult approach to..." He paused, running a hand through his dark hair. "I'm gonna be honest here—I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."
"Yes, Hadrian," Donna said with the patience of a saint who was rapidly approaching martyrdom. "We know."
Before anyone could attempt damage control, Koriand'r practically levitated with excitement. Literally. Her entire body glowed with that distinctive Tamaranean joy-light, and she was floating cross-legged about two feet above her seat like meditation had just invented itself.
"Oh, this is most glorious!" she exclaimed, her accent making every word sound like a celebration. "On Tamaran, relationship negotiations involve formal councils, multiple witnesses, ceremonial feasts, and at least three public dances! But this—this intimate gathering—is so wonderfully personal!"
Dick Grayson, who was definitely not lurking by the wall like some kind of eavesdropping bat-child, snorted. "This is better than cable."
"Dude," Wally whispered from his perch on the arm of a nearby chair, practically vibrating with glee, "this is better than premium cable. This is like watching Planet Earth: Teen Drama Edition, except with actual superpowers and significantly more emotional damage."
Zatanna, curled up in an oversized armchair with her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders, raised her eyebrows. "I would literally pay money for popcorn right now. This is peak entertainment."
"Hello, Megan!" Megan said in that enthusiastic way of hers, hovering just behind the couch with wide brown eyes. "This is so fascinating! Martian courtship rituals are mostly telepathic, so no one ever has to say anything this awkward out loud!"
Connor stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded across his chest, trying very hard to look like he wasn't paying attention. The effect was somewhat undermined by the fact that his super-hearing meant he was probably tracking everyone's heartbeats and stress levels in real time.
Kaldur sat at the kitchen counter, radiating that zen-like Atlantean calm that made him seem older than his seventeen years. Though even he was leaning forward slightly, like he was ready to take official minutes of this Very Important Diplomatic Meeting.
Neville Kent, who had somehow inherited the sensible gene that everyone else in his family seemed to lack, cleared his throat. His pale green eyes—a Kent family trait that had apparently skipped Hadrian entirely—darted between the three negotiators.
"Shouldn't someone maybe moderate this?" he asked, his naturally serious demeanor making him sound like the only adult in a room full of sugar-high toddlers.
Roslyn Kent, all sharp wit and red hair that looked like it had been designed specifically to annoy authority figures, smirked from her spot on a beanbag. "Moderate? Big bro, you don't moderate a car crash. You grab popcorn and make bets on which car's gonna flip first."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Hadrian muttered, shooting his sister a look that could have powered a small city.
"Always happy to help," Roslyn replied sweetly.
Hadrian turned back to the two girls flanking him, his expression shifting into that earnest, slightly overwhelmed look that made him seem younger than his sixteen years. "So, uh... ground rules. Don't hex each other? No heat vision at the dinner table? Maybe always give advance notice before family councils involving public dancing?"
Kori gasped in delight, her eyes literally sparkling. "Yes! That is most wise, Hadrian! Though on Tamaran, spontaneous dancing is highly encouraged as a display of emotional honesty!"
Donna groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Spontaneous dancing is not a ground rule."
"Speak for yourself," Kara called from the stairs, her blonde hair messy like she'd just flown through a hurricane at Mach 3. "Spontaneous dancing sounds way more fun than whatever bureaucratic nightmare you three are building over there."
Jessica Cruz raised her hand like she was in the world's most awkward classroom. "So, uh, do we get to vote on the rules? Or is this more of a benevolent dictatorship situation?"
"This," Donna said through gritted teeth, "is not a democracy."
Hadrian glanced around at the circle of amused faces watching them like they were the entertainment at a particularly chaotic circus. "You know what? I'd honestly rather face down another Doomsday clone right now."
"Same," Donna admitted.
Kori just beamed brighter, if that was physically possible. "Oh, do not worry! On Tamaran, once the negotiation rules are established, the celebration kissing begins!"
The silence that followed could have been measured with a stopwatch. Then Wally fell backward off the chair arm, laughing so hard he nearly vibrated through the floor.
"The what now?" Dick choked out.
"Celebration kissing!" Kori repeated cheerfully, completely oblivious to the psychological damage she was inflicting on everyone within earshot. "It is traditional! Very festive!"
Donna, because she was Donna Troy and therefore constitutionally incapable of approaching anything without a strategy, had actual handwritten notes. On official-looking stationery. With what looked suspiciously like Amazon script that probably doubled as ancient Greek if you squinted at it right.
"Okay," she said, consulting her list with the kind of intensity normally reserved for military battle plans. "First topic: time management. We all have responsibilities—training, missions, school, family obligations—"
"Speaking of family obligations," Hadrian interrupted, his emerald eyes already showing that particular Kent family trait of finding humor in absolutely everything, "we should probably factor in your Amazon political drama, my Kryptonian identity crisis, and Kori's..." He paused, searching for the most diplomatic possible phrasing.
"My status as a galactic fugitive princess currently hiding from my evil sister who wishes to use me for political leverage while simultaneously dodging three different intergalactic law enforcement agencies?" Kori offered helpfully, raising her hand like she was volunteering to clean the chalkboard.
"Yeah," Hadrian said, rubbing his face. "That."
Jessica looked up from her sketchbook, where she'd been doodling what looked suspiciously like a relationship flowchart. "So basically, this is a superhero polyamory support group with international complications and at least three different types of law enforcement who'd like to arrest someone in this room."
"Only three?" Wally piped up, his eyes bright with mischief. "I'm pretty sure Hadrian alone has at least five different agencies keeping tabs on him."
"Six, actually," Hadrian said, not even bothering to deny it. "But two of them are from alternate dimensions, so I don't think they count."
Neville, who had been pretending to read a book about advanced magical theory, finally gave up the charade entirely. "This feels exactly like a reality TV show, except with significantly more potential for collateral damage."
Roslyn snorted, not even looking up from her own book—which she definitely hadn't turned a page in for the last twenty minutes. "Everything's like a reality TV show if you think about it long enough. The only difference is whether the cameras are visible or not."
Donna stabbed at her notes with her pen. "Focus. If we don't manage our time properly, everything falls apart. That means schedules. Clear communication. No unexpected interruptions during important conversations."
"Sounds romantic," Roslyn muttered under her breath.
Neville choked on air. "Roslyn!"
"What? I'm just saying, nothing says 'teenage romance' like a shared Google calendar."
Hadrian tried and failed to hide a grin. "Okay, fine. Ground rule number one: no spontaneous alien cultural celebrations during mission debriefings. No matter how traditional or festive they might be."
Kori's expression shifted to one of genuine horror. "But the celebration dances are how one properly honors the heart's true fire!"
Donna made a sound somewhere between a groan and a war cry. "Why is my life like this?"
"Because you brought color-coordinated notes to a feelings conversation," Dick said, smirking like the little brother he'd never officially been but somehow always managed to act like.
"For the record," Hadrian said, settling deeper into the couch with that particular Kent family brand of resigned amusement, "if this ends in interpretive dancing, I'm blaming all of you."
"We'll blame you back," Wally said cheerfully. "Way more fun that way."
Donna cleared her throat and consulted her notes like she was about to read the Constitution. "Second point: communication protocols. We need complete honesty about our feelings, our concerns, our boundaries, our expectations—"
"Speaking of boundaries," Kori interrupted, her eyes glowing with bright curiosity, "when do we discuss the physical intimacy?"
The room didn't just fall silent. It achieved a level of quiet that could probably be felt in neighboring dimensions.
Dick, who had been the picture of casual Bat-family cool approximately three seconds earlier, nearly fell off the wall. Wally stopped vibrating so suddenly it made an audible *pop* sound, like someone had just unplugged the world's most hyperactive blender. Even Connor's carefully maintained poker face cracked enough for one eyebrow to twitch.
Donna's entire face went redder than her Wonder Girl costume. "The—" She choked, her voice climbing octaves that shouldn't have been physically possible for human vocal cords. "The what now?"
Hadrian looked like someone had just handed him a pop quiz on quantum mechanics written entirely in ancient Sumerian. "Kori, we're... we're sixteen. We're barely figuring out what *this* is, much less—"
"And," Donna added, her voice reaching frequencies that could probably summon dolphins, "we literally just started trying to establish basic relationship parameters! We haven't even figured out simple things like who pays for movie tickets, much less—"
"Physical intimacy," Kori finished innocently, tilting her head with the kind of pure confusion that made everyone feel like they'd just kicked a very attractive puppy. "On Tamaran, physical bonding is essential for proper relationship establishment. How else does one demonstrate commitment and emotional sincerity?"
"Not at our age," Hadrian said quickly, his Tamaranean accent becoming more pronounced under stress. "And definitely not this soon. We're still trying to figure out how to be friends who might want to be more than friends."
"With three people," Donna emphasized, waving her pen like it was a magic wand that could make this conversation less mortifying. "Which is already complicated enough without adding—" She trailed off, apparently unable to actually say the words.
Kori studied them like they were a particularly fascinating alien species she'd just discovered. "But how do you learn about physical intimacy if you do not practice physical intimacy? Are Earth humans born with instinctive knowledge?"
The silence stretched into what could charitably be called existential dread. Somewhere in the back of the room, Roslyn made a strangled sound that might have been laughter.
Finally, Hadrian cleared his throat. "Kori, that's... that's a very good question. How exactly do you know about human... physical intimacy?"
"Oh!" Kori's face lit up like someone had just switched on every light in Times Square. "Wally showed me educational materials on his computational device! Very informative! Though I must say, Earth mating rituals seem unnecessarily complicated and involve surprising amounts of—"
Every single head in the room swiveled toward Wally West like he was a particularly interesting car crash.
If embarrassment were a superpower, Wally could have leveled half the eastern seaboard. He'd gone approximately the same shade of red as his Flash costume, his eyes wide with the kind of mortal terror usually reserved for people who'd just realized they'd accidentally declared war on Canada.
"I—I didn't—she asked about human relationships and I thought she meant like documentaries!" he squeaked, his voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old going through puberty. "Educational stuff! National Geographic! Not—"
"WALLY." Dick's voice carried the full weight of Bat-family training: all the menace, all the disappointed-older-brother energy, condensed into a single syllable that could probably stop crime just by existing.
"It wasn't porn!" Wally protested, his voice climbing to frequencies that were probably bothering every dog in a five-mile radius. "It was educational anatomy videos! With, you know, relationship context!"
"Relationship context?" Zatanna echoed, deadpan. "That's literally the worst euphemism I've ever heard, and I hang out with stage magicians who call sawing people in half 'voluntary audience participation.'"
Connor was glaring at Wally like he was mentally calculating exactly how far he could throw him. Kaldur's expression had shifted to that particular brand of Atlantean disappointment that suggested swift underwater justice was being contemplated. Even Megan, who was usually about as threatening as a golden retriever, had crossed her arms with an uncharacteristically stern look.
Neville's pale green eyes had gone wide with the kind of horror usually reserved for witnessing natural disasters. "You showed her what exactly?"
Roslyn burst out laughing, flipping her red hair over her shoulder with obvious delight. "Oh, this is so much better than I hoped. Wally, remind me to send you a thank-you card for providing the best story I'm going to tell for the next decade."
Jessica put down her sketchbook and stared at him. "Dude. You're not even legally allowed to drive in most states, and you're out here being a cultural ambassador for human sexuality?"
Kara, perched on the banister like some kind of judgmental bird of prey, smirked. "Wow, West. Really living up to that whole 'building bridges between worlds' thing the League is always talking about."
"She asked!" Wally flailed, speaking so fast that even the other speedsters were having trouble keeping up. "I was trying to help! Knowledge is power! Education is important! I was being responsible!"
Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, already mentally composing a fifty-slide presentation titled "Why Wally Should Never Be Trusted With Internet Access Again." "We'll discuss this later," he said in the tone of voice that suggested the discussion would involve significant amounts of suffering. "In great detail."
"With visual aids," Connor added darkly.
Kori, completely oblivious to the impending doom gathering over Wally's head like a very angry storm cloud, clapped her hands together. "Excellent! Then we may return to the question of when physical intimacy will be incorporated into our relationship schedule—"
"NO," Donna said with enough force to probably register on seismographs in neighboring states.
Before anyone could throw another emotional grenade into the ongoing Relationship Summit of Doom, Red Tornado's voice cut through the chaos. And when a literal android interrupts your conversation, you listen.
"Attention, Young Justice," came that distinctive electronically modulated voice that somehow managed to sound both perfectly calm and slightly concerned. "Unidentified aerial vehicles detected approaching Mount Justice. Three vessels of unknown configuration currently breaching restricted airspace. All team members should assume combat readiness immediately."
Nothing kills teenage relationship drama quite like the phrase "unidentified aerial vehicles."
Donna sprang up so fast her chair nearly tipped over, her casual clothes shimmering and transforming into her Wonder Girl armor with the kind of practiced efficiency that came from way too much experience with unexpected crises.
Hadrian's hand moved to his bracelet, his emerald eyes shifting from amused farm boy to focused Kryptonian in approximately half a second. His civilian clothes dissolved, replaced by his distinctive black and crimson uniform, the red and gold House of El symbol flowing across his chest as his crimson cape materialized with the dramatic flair that apparently came standard with the Kryptonian package.
Kori floated higher, her hair beginning to glow as her eyes lit up with that distinctive Tamaranean battle-ready light that suggested something was about to get very exploded.
"Well," Dick said, already moving toward his gear, "I guess the relationship talk's gonna have to wait."
"Thank god," Hadrian muttered, adjusting his cape with the kind of relief usually reserved for people who'd just been told their root canal was canceled. "Because I'm pretty sure that conversation was about two minutes away from being significantly more awkward than an alien invasion."
"More awkward than you trying to explain polyamory to two girls while your extended family provides commentary?" Zatanna asked, already twirling her hands in preparation for whatever magic she was about to unleash.
"Way more awkward," Hadrian confirmed.
"That's actually impressive," Roslyn said, her suit slipping on with practiced efficiency. "I didn't think awkward had an upper limit, but you guys keep raising the bar."
Wally blurred past in a streak of red and yellow. "Can we save the relationship geometry for after we deal with the actual UFOs? Because I'm pretty sure I'm already in enough trouble without adding 'failed to respond to alien invasion' to my list of screw-ups today!"
"Technically," Neville said, his voice carrying that steady, unflappable quality that came from growing up in a family where weird was the baseline, "they're only unidentified until Kori tells us exactly who they are. Which, judging by her expression, she's about two seconds away from doing."
Everyone turned to look at Koriand'r, who was staring at the ceiling like she could see right through the mountain to whatever was approaching from space. Her expression was a complicated mixture of hope, dread, and *please don't let this be who I think it is*.
"Unknown vessels approaching our location," she said softly, her accent making the words sound like a prophecy. "On Tamaran, we would say: 'The past has found the present, and the future grows uncertain.'"
"That's either really wise," Donna said, grabbing her lasso, "or really ominous."
"On Tamaran," Kori whispered, her glowing eyes dimming slightly, "wisdom and omens are often the same thing."
"Great," Kara muttered, yanking on her boots with more force than was strictly necessary. "So basically, in Tamaranean fortune cookies, all the messages say 'You're screwed' in fancy language."
"That is... surprisingly accurate," Kori admitted.
Connor crossed his arms, his expression shifting to that particular brand of Superboy intensity that meant someone was about to have a very bad day. "This is really not helping the situation."
Meanwhile, outside Mount Justice, three sleek Tamaranean stealth ships cut through Earth's atmosphere like sharks circling a very unlucky aquarium. And inside the mountain, the most awkward teenage relationship negotiation in superhero history had been officially postponed—by incoming extraterrestrial family drama.
Because sometimes the universe looks at your life, chuckles to itself, and decides that what you really need is for your personal problems and your professional problems to collide at exactly the same time.
And apparently, today was one of those days.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!