The silence between them could have crushed mountains.
John Stewart stood like a sentinel carved from stone, his Green Lantern insignia glowing faintly on his chest.
His eyes—sharp, uncompromising—bored into Davion as if stripping him bare. The ruined throne room, with its cracked banners and broken stones, suddenly felt even smaller.
Davion's throat went dry. He had never stood in front of anyone like this before. Not a teacher, not a boss, not even his father. John radiated a presence that made him feel like a child pretending to wear a man's shoes.
But he forced himself to speak.
"Mi seh mi is king," Davion repeated, his voice stronger than before. "An mi world is dyin'. Mi call yuh fi help mi save it."
For a moment, John said nothing. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he walked forward. Each step echoed like a drumbeat, and when he stopped just a foot away, Davion had to fight the urge to step back.
"You think wearing a crown makes you a king?" John's voice was calm, but it struck like thunder. "You think a title is enough to command me?"
Davion swallowed hard. "Mi nah ask fi command yuh. Mi ask fi help."
John's eyes narrowed. "Help is earned."
And before Davion could react, the Green Lantern raised his hand. The emerald ring on his finger pulsed with power, and the world exploded into light.
When Davion opened his eyes, he was no longer in the throne room.
He stood on a battlefield. The skies were blood-red, the ground littered with corpses. Soldiers—his soldiers—lay broken and lifeless, their faces twisted in terror.
Fire consumed the horizon, and in the distance, a monstrous shadow rose higher than the clouds.
Davion's chest clenched. "Wha… what is dis?"
John's voice boomed from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"This is your kingdom's future if you fail. Look at it, Davion Mensah. Look at what happens when kings wear crowns they cannot bear."
The monstrous shadow turned, revealing a face made of darkness and teeth. Its eyes glowed like molten suns, and when it roared, the ground split apart beneath Davion's feet.
He stumbled, nearly falling. Fear clawed at his insides, threatening to paralyze him.
"No," he whispered. "Dis… dis cyan be mi end."
The shadow surged forward, its massive hand reaching down to crush him. Instinct screamed at him to run, but something deeper rooted his feet to the ground.
He remembered the voice of the throne, the flicker of the crown above his head. King.
If he ran now, what kind of king would he be?
"Mi nah run!" Davion roared, his accent thick, his voice cracking through the illusory battlefield.
The shadow's hand came crashing down. Davion raised his own bare hands, foolish as it was, and braced himself. He expected pain, bones shattering, the weight of death itself.
Instead, the crown above his head blazed to life, brighter than ever before. Golden light burst from him, meeting the shadow's hand in a thunderclap that shook the battlefield.
The darkness recoiled, screeching, as the golden light spread, burning it away like sunlight on mist.
Davion's knees nearly buckled, but he held firm. "Dis world… mi nah let it die! If mi is king, den mi fight fi mi people—til di end!"
The shadow screamed once more before it dissolved completely, the battlefield fading with it.
When the light cleared, Davion found himself back in the throne room. His chest heaved, sweat poured down his face, but he was alive.
The golden crown above his head flickered steadily now, no longer fragile sparks but a steady glow.
John Stewart stood before him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"You didn't run," John said at last.
Davion wiped his forehead, panting. "Mi cyan run. Mi people need mi."
For the first time, John's gaze softened—barely, but enough for Davion to notice. "Good. You have some backbone. But backbone isn't enough."
He raised his ring again, and emerald light wrapped around Davion, lifting him off the ground. It wasn't painful, but it was binding, inescapable.
"Listen to me, boy. A king without will is a tyrant waiting to fail. A king without vision is just a fool in fancy clothes. You want to save your world? Then you need more than courage. You need discipline. Control. The strength to shape what comes next."
Davion struggled against the light, but it held firm. His heart raced, but his eyes locked onto John's. "Teach mi, den. Show mi di way."
John studied him for a long moment, then released the light. Davion dropped to the ground, landing on one knee.
"You'll learn," John said finally. "Not because you asked. Because you have no choice. This world—your world—is collapsing. And if you're truly its king, then your will must be strong enough to bind not just one world, but many."
He turned, his emerald aura flaring brighter, illuminating the ruined banners above. "I'll guide you. But understand this—one misstep, one weakness, and everything dies. Including you."
Davion rose slowly, wiping the dust from his knees. His legs still trembled, but his eyes burned with the same golden light of his crown. "Mi understand. Mi ready."
John gave a single nod. "Then it begins."
The days—or perhaps hours; time in the throne room was strange—blurred together.
John put Davion through trials that broke his body and hammered his spirit. He forced him to confront illusions of failure again and again, until Davion learned not to flinch from them.
He conjured constructs of emerald light—enemies armed with blades, arrows, and flames—and commanded Davion to face them with nothing but his will.
At first, Davion failed. Again and again, he was knocked down, beaten, broken. Each time, John stood over him, unflinching.
"Get up."
And Davion did. No matter how many times he fell, he rose again. His body bruised, his lungs burned, but his resolve hardened.
Slowly, the crown above his head grew brighter. And slowly, golden light began to answer his call.
The first time it happened, he had been cornered by a dozen emerald constructs, their blades raised high. Desperation flared in his chest, and without thinking, he screamed.
Light burst from his hands—not green, but gold. It shaped itself into a shield, crackling with raw energy. The constructs shattered against it, scattering like glass.
John's eyes widened, just slightly. "So. The King's Authority stirs."
Davion stared at the shield in awe. It wasn't perfect—it flickered, unstable—but it was his. His power.
"What… what mi jus do?"
"You tapped into the crown's gift," John explained, his voice even. "The King's Authority. The ability to bind and shape the essence of other worlds. Raw now, but it will grow."
Davion clenched his fist, the shield fading. "Den mi have a chance."
John's gaze hardened again. "A chance, yes. But power without purpose is nothing."
He pointed toward the cracked windows of the throne room. Outside, the sky writhed with storms, lightning splitting the heavens. In the distance, shadows crawled over the land, consuming what little remained.
"Your world bleeds, Davion Mensah. If you want to save it, you must act quickly. You must expand. Draw strength from other realms before this one collapses entirely."
Davion stepped closer, following John's gaze. His stomach twisted at the sight of the decaying horizon. "Other realms… like di ones mi see inna di visions?"
John nodded. "Yes. Countless doors exist. Each world with its own strength. But the first door that responds to you will not be chosen by me. It will be chosen by your crown."
As if on cue, the crown above Davion's head pulsed. Images flickered in his mind—forests, mountains, faces. A blond boy with whisker marks grinning beneath an orange jumpsuit. A village hidden by leaves. Chakra flowing like rivers of energy.
Davion's breath caught. He knew this world. He had read it, watched it, lived through it in pages and screens.
"The Naruto World," he whispered.
The crown pulsed in confirmation.
John's eyes narrowed. "So that's the path. Then prepare yourself. That world is not kind to fools. It will test you more than anything I can conjure."
Davion clenched his fists. Fear twisted in his chest, but determination burned hotter. "Mi nah turn back. If dis is mi road, den mi walk it."
John gave a single, approving nod. "Then tomorrow, you begin the conquest."
That night—if it could even be called night—Davion sat alone on the cracked throne. The golden crown above his head glowed faintly, and in the silence, he allowed himself a rare moment of doubt.
Could he truly do this? Could a man from Kingston, a man who never even managed to hold down a steady job, become the savior of an entire world?
He thought of his mother's words again. Stop dreaming. Live in the real world.
He looked at the crown's glow and smiled bitterly. "Mummy… mi tink dis is di realest world mi ever see."
And then, with quiet resolve, he whispered to himself:
"Tomorrow… mi start."