The Zeta Tube pulsed and hummed like a giant sci-fi espresso machine set to Overcaffeinated Hero Mode. In a flash of white-hot light, I rematerialized in the Watchtower.
And hey—I didn't explode, disintegrate, or arrive without pants. So… score one for Team Shadowflame.
I stepped off the platform, boots clinking on polished metal, and immediately felt it—that vibe. You know the one. Like when your girlfriend texts "we need to talk," or when Alfred starts a sentence with "Master Bruce has been reviewing your conduct…"
The kind of tension you could cut with a Batarang.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and tried to remember which of the seven beautiful, brilliant, terrifying women in my life had put glitter in my hair this morning. (Spoiler: probably Kori.)
Anyway—point is—I straightened up, smoothed down my jacket, and stepped into the Zeta alcove hallway like I wasn't low-key freaking out about the fact that I was about to walk into a room with the entire founding roster of the Justice League.
And there she was.
Diana.
Wonder Woman.
My… kinda-sorta-mom. Emotional support demigoddess. Sword-fighting instructor. Amazonian moral compass. That person who looks at you like they can see through all your sarcasm and nonsense and still thinks you're worth saving.
Look, Lily Potter will always be my mom. Period. She literally died for me. But Wonder Woman? She's the one who taught me how to live after everything went sideways. Plus, thanks to some highly illegal LuthorCorp science shenanigans, her DNA is technically mixed in my genetic smoothie, so… yeah.
Explains the cheekbones.
"Shadowflame," she said, her voice calm and warm like a sunrise. A sunrise that could kick your butt.
I gave her my best grin-slash-smirk. "Wonder Mom."
She arched one perfect eyebrow—yes, perfect, don't judge me, Amazons—but I caught the tiniest twitch of amusement at the corner of her lips.
"You're late."
I threw my hands up. "You try escaping seven overpowered women in yoga pants who've all decided now is the time for a group cuddle slash feelings session."
"Kara?" she asked, folding her arms.
"Hovering. Glowering. Very concerned about my emotional depth."
"Kori?"
"Sparking like she swallowed the sun. Threatened to braid my eyebrows if I ghost her again."
"Dee Dee?"
"She asked if she could keep a piece of Batman's soul if I punch it out of him."
Diana made a thoughtful sound. "That's oddly specific. And very Dee Dee."
"Oh, we're way past 'on brand.' They're planning a combined intervention and polycule honeymoon. Probably with matching jackets and a shared Spotify playlist."
That earned me an actual laugh. A real, soft, Diana laugh. If you've never heard Wonder Woman laugh, by the way—it's like hearing your teacher giggle after giving you a pop quiz. Terrifying and comforting at the same time.
But then her face did that thing. The "mom-who-knows-you're-about-to-do-something-stupid" thing.
"You're stalling," she said.
"Me? Pfft. Nah." I paused. "Okay, yeah. Totally stalling. Bruce is in there, right?"
She nodded.
"And so is Clark?"
Another nod.
"And J'onn, and Barry, and Arthur, and—ugh—Hal?"
Her eyebrow inched higher. "You know he prefers 'Green Lantern.'"
"Yeah, and I prefer 'Emotionally Stable,' but we don't always get what we want."
She stepped closer, and I swear, when Diana looks at you like that—like she sees through your layers of bravado and bad jokes—it hits harder than a Kryptonian left hook.
"Bruce may be difficult," she said. "But he does trust you."
I snorted. "He trusts me the way a raccoon trusts a trash can lid—cautiously and with backup plans."
"True," she said with a tiny smile, "but you're also the only one he doesn't actively try to control. You confuse him. You remind him he doesn't have all the answers."
"Great. I'm a Bat-anxiety trigger."
She reached up, brushed a strand of hair from my face, and rested her hand lightly on my cheek. "You're more than that. You're proof that hope isn't just something we preach—it's something we fight for."
I blinked. "That was… that was good. Did you rehearse that?"
"No," she said simply. "But I meant it."
And just like that, I was ten again. Just a scared kid with messy magic and a million questions. Except now I was a scary demi-Kryptonian-sorcerer-ninja-hybrid with a flaming sword, chronic sass, and a team of god-tier girlfriends who could probably take down Darkseid with enough caffeine.
Y'know. Progress.
"Thanks, Di," I said, voice softer. "Really."
She gave me one last squeeze on the shoulder, then gestured toward the hallway.
"They're waiting in the conference room. Just… try not to provoke Bruce immediately. Give him a few minutes before you throw metaphors at him."
"No promises," I muttered, turning to go. "But if he calls me emotionally unstable again, I'm quoting Folklore at him until he breaks down and admits he listens to Lana Del Rey when he broods."
Behind me, I heard her say, "Start with 'this is me trying.'"
I froze, turned, and stared. "Wait… you are a Swiftie?"
Diana gave me a regal shrug and the faintest smirk. "I am a warrior. An ambassador. A goddess. And, yes—a Swiftie."
I saluted. "You just got even more terrifying."
Then I turned and strode toward the meeting room, shoulders high, chin up, heart pounding like a war drum.
I was Shadowflame. Prince of Themyscira. Wizard. And apparently wielder of the Flame of Beginning.
And I was about to face the Justice League.
Pray for them.
—
So there I was, walking through the Watchtower, trying very hard not to sweat through my enchanted undershirt. The place was like Hogwarts had a baby with a spaceship and then hired Alfred Pennyworth to clean it with industrial-strength divine magic. Everything gleamed. Even the air smelled like it had a cleaning schedule.
Next to me was Diana—Wonder Woman, Princess of Themyscira, Warrior of Truth, and the literal embodiment of grace under pressure. Walking beside her made me feel like I was a rat with anxiety following a goddess who just stepped out of a shampoo commercial and into a war zone.
She gave me a side-eye. "You're quiet."
Uh-oh. She noticed.
"That's either a sign of emotional maturity… or a warning that something incredibly stupid is about to happen."
I gave her a weak smile. "Why not both?"
Her eyebrow arched like a majestic Amazonian question mark.
"You ever get jumped by a jazz band in a dark alley?" I asked, because if I had to suffer that mental image, so did she.
She blinked. "Is that… a metaphor?"
"Nope. Full-on brass section. Skeletons. Fedoras. One of them had a saxophone that shot fireballs. Literal flaming quarter notes. It was like Mardi Gras got possessed by Ghost Rider."
She stopped walking. "You're serious."
"As a magical heart attack," I said. "I'd just finished getting flung through three dimensions by Doctor Fate—who, by the way, doesn't believe in things like landing pads or warning texts—and he drops me off in New Orleans. Says something about 'attunement through chaotic frequencies' and vanishes like a golden drama queen."
Diana tilted her head, arms crossed now. "So naturally, you go looking for food."
"Look, beignets are powerful mystic artifacts. Fight me."
She didn't even flinch. Probably because she could fight me. And win. And still look flawless afterward.
"Anyway," I continued, "I step into an alley to check my phone, and bam—out of the shadows steps this guy. Cloaked. Glowing red eyes. Sounds like Idris Elba if he'd been possessed by every horror movie trailer ever."
"Harbinger," she said, voice cool and steady.
"Yep. Had a whole speech lined up. 'You are an error, a wound in the weave of existence'—blah blah cosmic balance, fate is weeping, you weren't meant to be, yada yada. Honestly, I tuned out a little when the trombone player tried to blast me with a cursed solo."
Diana's arms uncrossed. Her eyes sharpened like blades being drawn. "Did they harm you?"
"Just my pride," I said. "Also my jacket. One of them had a trumpet with a spit valve that doubled as a grenade launcher. I had to shield myself with a trash can lid. Very Captain America meets street jazz."
She didn't laugh. Or even blink. You know that look your mom gives you when she's pretending she's not panicking but is 100% prepared to murder someone for you? Yeah. That was her face.
I sighed. "The guy said I'd awakened something. Called it the Flame of Beginning. Apparently, I'm the magical version of an 'oops.'"
She started walking again, slow and steady like a queen heading into battle. Her cloak fluttered behind her like it had its own epic soundtrack.
"We've been briefed," she said. "Kent gave us the whole cosmological rundown. There were graphs. And a metaphor involving soup."
"Oh good," I muttered. "Glad he brought the PowerPoint of Doom."
"Deedee explained too," she added. "She said it's the First Flame. The primordial spark that predates gods, time, reality… and coffee."
I gave her a dramatic gasp. "Still not emotionally ready for that last one."
Diana smirked. Smirked. I felt like I'd unlocked an achievement.
She glanced at me. "Do you know why the universe chose you?"
"Do you?"
She didn't answer. Because of course she didn't. Instead, I kept talking because that's what I do when I'm anxious and full of cosmic dread.
"Fate said I was… a convergence point. A soul forged in love and loss. Someone who defied death. And then the universe was like 'Congrats, emotionally complex teen wizard, have a god-tier fire spark that makes reality go boom.'"
Diana was quiet for a beat, then said, "I've fought gods who've wanted less."
We passed by a massive window showing Earth in all her spinning blue glory. I paused. She did too.
"Diana…" I started, and it came out quieter than I meant. "I didn't want this. I just wanted to save Sirius. I didn't sign up for being the vessel of a pre-time sun flame."
She looked at me, her eyes deep with something that wasn't pity. It was… belief.
"You've carried worse," she said. "Alone. Now you don't have to."
I swallowed. "Yeah, but sometimes I feel like I'm just one bad day from bursting into a magical inferno and accidentally turning Canada into a crater."
"Then we'll get you fireproof gloves," she said. "And a very good therapist."
"…Can it be Martian Manhunter?"
"He's already on standby."
Of course he was.
We reached the big shiny doors of the Justice League's meeting room. I could feel the pressure radiating through the metal—like the Avengers, the UN Security Council, and every high school principal you've ever lied to were waiting inside.
I stared at the doors. My palms were a little sweaty. My inner snark was already preparing deflection jokes.
Diana rested a hand on my shoulder. It was warm. Grounding. Probably divine.
"No matter what happens in there," she said softly, "you're not alone."
And the way she said it? It wasn't just encouragement. It was promise.
I took a deep breath. Rolled my shoulders. Tried to channel my inner Gryffindor… and maybe a little Deadpool.
"Alright," I said. "Time to face the music. Shadowflame reporting for cosmic anomaly duty."
She opened the doors.
And we stepped into the room together.
Whatever came next, I had a goddess at my back, fire in my chest, and one burning thought:
Please, please let there be snacks.
—
The double doors to the Justice League's conference room stood like the Gates of Moria—if Moria had a sleek NASA budget, mood lighting, and a seven-foot-tall Amazon who could beat up your self-esteem and then inspire you to believe in yourself again.
Diana—Wonder Woman, Themysciran Princess, goddess-wrestler, and general paragon of grace under pressure—stood beside me like she belonged here. Me? I looked like a teenage wizard who crash-landed in the middle of a DC blockbuster.
I reached up and tapped the crimson gem on the amulet hanging around my neck.
The transformation was instant. Armor flowed out of the gem like liquid gold dipped in shadows, coating my body in a black-and-gold suit that was equal parts high-tech and high-fantasy. My crimson cloak flared dramatically (on its own, I might add—still no idea how it does that), and my hood settled over my head while a sleek golden helmet formed over my face.
Shadowflame, reporting for awkward superhero team-ups.
Diana looked over, arching one perfect brow. "Intimidating."
"Thanks," I said. "It's the magical equivalent of dressing to impress your girlfriend's entire family. Including the cousins. And the uncle who reads minds."
She smiled. That soft, Amazonian smile that could calm raging tempests and insecure demigods alike.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Nope," I said cheerfully. "But if I waited until I was ready, I'd never do anything cool."
She pushed open the doors.
The League was already assembled. Let me tell you, there are very few things more stressful than walking into a room filled with gods, kings, and billionaire ninja detectives who all know you're dating half their nieces.
Superman—all square jaw and noble intensity—turned first. He looked exactly like someone who'd gotten the 'your cousin's boyfriend might blow up the universe' memo and was trying to stay polite about it.
Batman—dark, and broody—sat at the far end of the table like the physical embodiment of suspicion. I swear, he was brooding so hard I felt my credit score drop.
Aquaman looked like an underwater linebacker. He had the vibe of a dad who knew exactly how many times I'd held hands with his daughter and had opinions.
J'onn J'onzz—Martian Manhunter, psychic uncle extraordinaire—gave me a calm nod. I swear I heard a faint whisper in my head say, "Raven? Bold move."
Barry Allen, aka the Flash, grinned at me like a golden retriever who'd just discovered a new squirrel. "Yo, Harry! Heard you survived that jazz skeleton ambush in New Orleans."
I pulled back my hood and let the helmet dissolve into the armor. "Barely. Kori and Kara want a full jazz ban now."
"You should've seen my encounter with harmonica zombies in Keystone."
"I don't want to see that," I said. "I still hear saxophones in my nightmares."
Hal Jordan, aka Green Lantern and the Nathan Fillion of space cops, gave me a lazy salute. "Heard you've got an eldritch fire thing living in your ribcage. That true, or is that just Flash exaggerating again?"
"Unfortunately true," I said, plopping into the chair between Diana and J'onn. "Also: it's called the Flame of Beginning, not 'eldritch fire thing.' Very mythological. Very me."
"Shadowflame," Batman said without looking up. "Explain what happened."
"Sure," I said. "Short version: I went to New Orleans for beignets and training with Dr. Fate. Got attacked by Jazz Skeletons and their saxophone-wielding necroboss, Harbinger. Got almost impaled. Didn't die. Instead, unlocked some ancient cosmic fire that may or may not rewrite reality like it's a bad first draft. Any questions?"
"I would like to propose we officially refer to this as 'The Jazz Skeleton Incident,'" Flash said, raising a hand.
"Seconded," I added.
"Denied," Batman grumbled.
Dr. Fate stepped forward, sounding exactly like he had decided to narrate your destiny with all the flair of a thespian. His golden helmet glowed like a disco ball of doom.
"The Harbinger is no ordinary threat," he intoned. "He is the first of many. A herald of correction. A destroyer of anomalies."
"Cool," I said. "So I'm an anomaly. A magical typo. A walking autocorrect error."
"You are the host of the Flame of Beginning," Fate said. "It is the First Spark. The origin of all magic, time, and matter."
"…So I've basically got the universe's birth certificate in my soul?"
"Correct."
Aquaman narrowed his eyes. "And why him?"
Great. Cue the 'why is my daughter dating a cosmic nuke' part of the program.
I shrugged. "Best I can guess? The universe spun a wheel of destiny and landed on 'chaotic but hot wizard kid with trauma baggage and too many girlfriends.'"
"Too many?" Flash whispered. "Bro, Death is on your speed dial."
"I know! You think I planned this? You can't ghost Death. She invented ghosting!"
Superman leaned forward, folding his arms with Big Cousin Energy. "You love Kara and Tia?"
"With everything I've got," I said without flinching. "And Mareena. And Megan. And Zatanna. And Kori. And Deedee. And probably Raven if she kisses me again."
"…Respect," Hal muttered.
"But," Clark added, eyes narrowing, "you will protect them?"
"Even if the universe tries to rip my atoms apart and file a lawsuit against my soul, yes."
Diana placed a hand on my shoulder. "He won't fail them."
Batman closed the file in front of him. "Then we move forward. Containment. Training. Defensive strategy."
"And coffee," I said. "Because if you want me to save reality, I need a latte. Maybe two."
"I'll get the pot going," Flash offered.
J'onn's voice echoed calmly in my head. You are not alone.
I looked around. The League—literal legends—were watching me. Some with skepticism. Some with hope.
And Diana, ever steady, gave me the smallest of nods.
"Do they trust me?" I asked her quietly.
"Not yet," she said. "But they will."
For the first time since Harbinger's jazz squad tried to kill me, I believed her.
—
Batman's eyes, shadowed beneath that glorious growl-inducing cowl, narrowed just slightly. That's Bat-code for "I'm screaming internally." His voice? Calm. Cold. Precise. Like a scalpel dipped in liquid fear.
"Dr. Fate," he said, fingers steepled, "tell me everything you know about the Flame of Beginning. Its limits. Its origins. Its risks."
Translation: I already have a Bat-Contingency, but I need to know whether I should invest in a Bat-Fire Extinguisher for Reality Itself.
Dr. Fate, all golden and glowing like a mystic Oscar statue with a PhD in terrifying truths, tilted his head. The Helm of Nabu pulsed once—just once—but it was enough to cast dancing starlight across the floor like we were at the universe's fanciest rave.
"The Flame of Beginning," he intoned, voice going full Pierce Brosnan, smooth and celestial, "is not a weapon. It is not a tool. It is the First Breath. The divine ignition of existence."
Hal Jordan—aka Green Lantern, aka Space Cop Extraordinaire—sipped his coffee (that Barry, of course, had somehow already delivered). "Well," he said, "that sounds appropriately terrifying."
Dr. Fate raised one glowing hand, and bam—magic holograms appeared in the air above the war table. Symbols spun and shimmered: Sanskrit, Norse runes, Egyptian hieroglyphs, Atlantean spirals, and at least three alphabets I'm pretty sure only time travelers use.
"In the Rigveda," Fate said, "it is Adi Shakti—the primal feminine energy, the origin of all deities. In Norse myth, it is Muspelheim's fire, raw chaos that predates even the gods. In Zoroastrian belief, it is Atar, sacred flame and truth incarnate. To the Egyptians, it was Keket's Light, born from the void to balance Ma'at and Isfet. And in the forgotten trenches of Atlantis, it is whispered of as the Breath of the Sea Serpent, Tiaman'ka—the Flame Beneath the Ocean."
Aquaman visibly stiffened. "Tiaman'ka is a myth we don't talk about. Even the Deep Priests get twitchy."
"Atlantis has censorship krakens," I muttered. "Good to know."
Dr. Fate looked at Arthur. "I can show you the records. If you can get past the giant squid of denial."
"Do not test me, gold hat."
Batman tapped the table once. "And it chose him?" Eyes flicked to me, like I was a sword someone wasn't entirely convinced wouldn't cut its own wielder.
Fate's voice deepened. I swear the air got heavier. "I did not choose. The Flame awoke. It found a host. Or perhaps…" he turned those glowing eyes on me, "it remembered one."
And the room froze.
"Wait—what?" I said, raising my hand like we were in metaphysical homeroom. "Back up. 'Remembered'? Like… reincarnation? Destiny? Cosmic déjà vu?"
"You are not the first to bear the Flame," Fate said, eyes twin supernovas. "But you may be the last."
"Well that's encouraging," Barry muttered, vibrating slightly with stress. "Totally not a sentence that screams 'epic magical catastrophe imminent.'"
Batman's voice cut through like steel. "What happens if he loses control?"
Oh, goody. This again.
Dr. Fate went quiet. Which was deeply concerning. Then:
"Magic collapses. Time fractures. The veils between worlds burn away. Pantheons may vanish. Reality peels back like charred parchment. Creation reverts to… nothing."
"So," Hal said, sipping his coffee, "a Tuesday in Gotham."
Clark Kent—Superman, looking every bit like a myth in a cape—clenched his jaw. "What can we do to protect him?" His voice was steady but low, the kind that could bend steel if he wanted. "Or—if necessary—stop him?"
And before Fate could answer, Wonder Woman stood. She radiated that kind of calm that makes entire wars stop just to admire it.
"You will not stop him," she said, voice like a blade wrapped in silk. "You will teach him. Guide him. He is my family."
Cue silence.
I swallowed. My palms were sweating, but also? My back was straight. My jaw was squared. And somewhere deep in my chest, I felt the Flame of Beginning purr.
Batman leaned forward, shadows pooling around him like loyal dogs. "And if the Flame remembers… who was he before?"
Fate looked at me like he was peering through time. "You were the first spark. The dream of life made real. A soul burned into existence before the cosmos cooled."
I blinked. "Okay. So… cosmic toddler with a napalm pacifier?"
Fate actually chuckled. (Which: terrifying.) "Or Prometheus. Bringer of flame. Gifted to mortals at great cost. Hunted by gods. Torn apart. Reborn. Again and again."
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. And yet… I stood up. Slowly. The air shimmered around me. The light in the room seemed to bend toward me. Heat licked at the corners of reality like it was deciding which parts of the multiverse needed a hard reset.
"I remember," I said quietly.
Everyone turned to me.
"I remember what it felt like to burn so brightly the stars took notes. I remember silence before time. I remember standing alone in the void, and choosing to light it up anyway. I don't fear this power. I am it."
Clark stepped forward, placing a firm, steady hand on my shoulder. "Then you won't face it alone."
J'onn murmured directly into my mind, gentle and certain: You are not alone. Nor will you ever be again.
"Look," Barry piped up, "just so we're clear, if anyone starts glowing and chanting in Latin, I'm out. Like, full Bugs Bunny hole-in-the-floor exit."
Hal shrugged. "I'm with Diana. Kid's a literal flame bro. We either help him stay lit or get toasted ourselves."
Batman tapped the file again. "I want containment protocols. Multiple plans. If he's the linchpin to existence, I want a Plan A through Z and then double-A."
Diana crossed her arms. "And I will make sure he learns to wield the Flame. Not be consumed by it."
Arthur smirked. "As long as you keep your jazz skeleton fights on land, we're good."
"Deal," I said. "But I draw the line at interpretive dance necromancy. Even I have limits."
And for the first time in a long time, I actually believed it.
I wasn't just the last spark.
I was the whole damn bonfire.
—
The Justice League meeting ended like every other "oh-no-the-multiverse-is-melting-again" huddle: with a lot of grim nods, silent brooding, and exactly zero snacks. Classic.
Superman—in all his sun-powered glory—was the first to stand. You know that look he gives? Like he's about to hug you and bench-press a planet at the same time? He hit me with one of those. "We'll get through this," he said, voice smooth as a Sunday sermon. "We always do."
You ever try arguing with a man whose chin could deflect bullets and who smells like warm laundry and hope? Yeah. Me neither.
Then Batman—gravelly growl and all—slid his chair back like it owed him money. No words. Just a scowl deep enough to emotionally scar a mirror. He nodded once, in that way that says, "I'm going to go punch my feelings in the Batcave," and vanished into a smoke cloud made of repressed trauma and expensive cologne.
"Uh," Hal Jordan said, trying to sound casual but definitely glancing at me like I was a sentient nuke with an attitude problem. "Not to be that guy, but... what if he sneezes and takes out a solar system?"
"I can hear you," I pointed out.
He winced. "Yeah, but it's funnier when I pretend you can't."
Hal—peak lovable jackass energy—grinned like this was a buddy cop movie and he was the guy who got exploded first. "I mean, come on. Chosen by Primordial Fire? You're like a Hot Topic mascot with an overachiever complex."
"Keep talking, Lantern. I'll light up your aura like it's New Year's Eve."
Flash—Grant Gustin's charming chaos in a red blur—zipped over, sipping from a paper cup. "I liked you better when you just did cool wing poses and didn't threaten planetary annihilation with sass."
"Who says I can't do both?"
Martian Manhunter, who's basically what happens when Yoda gets jacked and green, phased through a wall like the ghost of "Don't Forget Your Homework." voice calm and deep, said, "We must trust in his restraint."
"Right," Arthur said, stomping toward the locker rooms like a linebacker late to brunch. His voice rumbled behind me. "Because trusting a flaming teenager with possible reincarnation trauma always works out."
"Love you too, fish bro!" I called after him.
And then it was just me. Alone in the Watchtower hangar.
I didn't take the Zeta Tube. I mean, come on. Teleporting like a normal person? Boring.
Me? I had wings made of living flame. Might as well use 'em.
I stood at the edge of the airlock, rolled my shoulders, and breathed out slowly.
"Alright, let's do this."
FWOOOOOM.
Wings exploded from my back—twelve feet of incandescent glory, glowing like the last sunset before the apocalypse. They flared wide, casting dancing shadows on the metallic walls, dramatic AF. My crimson chest-gem pulsed with heat, thrumming like a second heartbeat synced to the rhythm of ancient magic.
My cloak billowed dramatically.
There was no wind.
I live for the drama.
Just as I was about to yeet myself into orbit like the world's most emotionally unstable comet—
"Shadowflame."
Cue the Mom Voice.
I turned, already preparing some elite-level sass.
And there she was.
Wonder Woman.
In full Amazonian splendor. Hair perfect, stance unyielding, eyebrows sharper than Batman's cheekbones. Her arms were crossed. Her expression was half "disappointed teacher" and half "I will Spartan-kick you into next week."
"I'm coming with you," she said.
Not a suggestion.
Amazonian Decree #7345: Thou Shalt Not Ditch Your Found Family After Multiversal Revelations, You Fiery Drama Llama.
I blinked. "Uh. Are you sure? Last time we flew together, I burned a satellite and accidentally scorched a billboard in orbit that looked suspiciously like Ryan Reynolds."
"Then it's a good thing I'm coming," she said, brushing past me. "To ensure you don't set fire to the Moon."
"…Fair."
She placed a hand on my flaming pauldron. Her touch was warm, grounding, like a mom who can both pack your lunch and decapitate a hydra. "You don't have to do this alone, Harry. You're not alone."
I looked away. "I know. It's not the flying that's scary."
She waited. Patient. Eternal.
"It's the remembering. Fate said I've done this before. Over and over. Burned. Died. Got reborn like some cosmic rotisserie chicken."
Her lips twitched into a smile. "Then maybe it's time to write your own ending."
"…You sound like Yoda."
She smirked. "He sounds like me."
I exhaled. "You know you don't have to follow me into space, right? We're not in a buddy cop movie."
"No," she said. "We're a family."
Ugh. That hit me right in the Bat-feels.
I looked toward the hangar doors. "Alright then, Wonder Mom. Race you to the moon."
She raised a brow. "Winner chooses lunch."
"Deal. But I pick the place, not just the food. I've had my eye on this alien diner on Europa. The milkshakes are radioactive, but in a fun way."
And then—
FWOOOOOOSH.
I launched into the cold black vacuum of space, wings flaring behind me like a solar flare cosplaying as a hoodie. Beside me, Diana flew with perfect, serene grace.
Ugh. So elegant. So majestic. Zero drama.
I hate that I admire it.
As we soared together through the stars—two impossibly powerful dots against the infinite darkness—I felt it.
A strange, quiet warmth in my chest.
Maybe this Flame remembered a thousand lifetimes. Maybe I'd burned and died and come back more times than a bad reboot.
But this life?
This one was mine.
And I wasn't flying solo anymore.
Not with Wonder Mom at my side.
Not with family behind me.
And if Fate had a problem with that?
Well.
He could meet me in orbit.
I'd bring the fire.
---
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