Near the Moon
The Prometheus Javelin was only minutes from slipping into lunar orbit when every console on the bridge flared at once.
Red warnings spilled across the displays.
Barbara gripped the arms of the captain's chair. "Report."
M'gann was already at the helm, fingers flying—until the interface flashed again and her controls froze. The system locked her out completely.
"I've lost helm," she said, voice tight. "It's rejecting my inputs."
Before anyone could react, space itself seemed to buckle.
The starfield blinked out for a fraction of a second, and the ship lurched hard enough to hurl people from their stations. Then, just as abruptly, everything snapped back into existence within a dim, unfamiliar pocket of reality.
Richie leaned forward, staring past the viewport. "Wait… what is that—?"
Something moved in the void.
At first, it looked like a shadow shifting against a darker background. Then the outline resolved into an immense warship—so large the Javelin might as well have been a shuttle.
Jaime swallowed. "That's the Void Sentinel."
The Javelin shuddered as an external command seized its systems, and the ship began gliding toward the Sentinel.
"We're being pulled in," Richie said, voice rising. "Something's hooked into our navigation."
"It's him." Barbara's eyes narrowed. "He must be overriding our controls."
The Javelin drifted toward the Sentinel's yawning hangar bay. Rippling energy shields parted without resistance, as if recognizing them, and the ship slid through.
The moment their landing struts touched the hangar floor, alarms blared—this time from the Javelin's medical bay.
Karen's voice cracked through the comms. "Batgirl, we have a problem. Wonder Woman and Raven—" She stopped, breath catching. "They're gone. Their MedPods are empty."
Barbara went still. "Say that again."
"I'm looking at it," Karen said. "Both pods. Both empty."
Barbara's jaw clenched. "Everyone to the bridge. Now. Stay sharp."
A cold blue shimmer spread across the bridge—light gathering as if poured into a mold.
For a heartbeat, it was only glow. Then the glow took shape.
A figure coalesced in front of them.
Crescent stood before them all, his cold eyes sweeping over the stunned Titans.
"Welcome back, Titans," he said, voice flat and controlled.
Barbara took a steadying breath and stepped forward. "You're Crescent. I've seen you before, but this is the first time we've spoken face-to-face." She held his gaze. "Thanks for the welcome. But before we go any further, I need an answer. Wonder Woman and Raven were in our MedPods. Now they're not. Did you take them?"
"I did," Crescent answered immediately. No hesitation. No apology. "They have been transferred to the Sentinel's medical bay. From this point forward, they will remain under my care until they are fully healed. You need not concern yourselves with their recovery."
Karen stepped forward, anger breaking through her usual restraint. "They're our friends. You can't just move patients mid-recovery."
M'gann nodded. "That could be dangerous."
Barbara raised a hand to quiet the room, not bothering to look back.
"WayneTech MedPods were based on Saiyan Empire principles," she said. "Orach helped design them, but they're still an imitation. The Sentinel's medical bay is the real thing. They'll heal faster—and more completely—here."
She stepped closer to Crescent, dropping her voice. "But that's not what's bothering me. It's what you said, and the way you said it. 'You need not concern yourselves.' They're our team. They're family. Why does it sound like you're drawing a line?"
Crescent's eyes swept the bridge before settling on Barbara again.
"Because a line has already been drawn."
Barbara froze, then narrowed her eyes. "You know what happened in the Vega system?"
"I do not have full details," Crescent said. "My orders were to hold position and observe. Multiple anomalies have been detected in the sector. I can confirm the offshoot of Mother Empress that accompanied you has gone offline. Mother 2 has activated in response."
"And," Crescent continued, a flicker passing behind his eyes, "I do not have a lock on my young master's signature. That can only mean he, and the true body of Mother Empress, are no longer in this universe. As such, House Gula security protocols are now in effect."
The bridge went silent.
Donna's voice came from the doorway, thin with disbelief. "Orach is… gone?"
Crescent turned his head slightly toward her. "My young master detected distress signals from the Princess and the future Mistress and moved to intervene. However, his current location is unknown. When his signature exited this universe, my directive hierarchy shifted."
Barbara exhaled slowly. "Shifted to what?"
"Protection."
The word was simple, but it made several on the bridge exchange glances.
"In his absence," Crescent continued, "my primary directive is to secure the future Mistress and the Princess of House Gula." His gaze returned to Barbara, unblinking. "Until he returns, that directive overrides all other considerations."
Barbara's fingers curled at her sides. "Fine. Then tell me what that means for us."
"It means your role here is complete," Crescent said. "You will return to Earth."
Donna stepped forward, anger flaring. "We're not leaving them."
"Donna Prince." Crescent's tone didn't change, but it carried weight. "You seem to be misunderstanding something."
Donna's eyes narrowed. "Then speak plainly."
"You are the future Mistress's younger sister," Crescent said. "So I will be clear. You are not abandoning them. You are returning them to their home."
"Earth is their home," Donna snapped.
"Incorrect," Crescent said at once. "Earth is where they were born. The Void Sentinel is where they belong."
Barbara saw Donna's fists trembling. The air on the bridge tightened around Crescent's words, and everyone braced as if the next breath might start a fight.
Crescent remained unfazed. His tone stayed measured as he continued. "When Diana of Themyscira accepted the bond that made her my young master's future wife and empress, she became the future Mistress of House Gula. When Rachel was taken in as his daughter, she became the Princess of House Gula. From that moment on, this ship became their rightful home."
Donna's voice trembled with restrained rage. "You don't get to decide that for them."
"I'm not deciding for them," Crescent replied. "I'm enforcing what they already accepted—especially now, while they're vulnerable."
He let the words hang for a beat, then continued in the same calm, unyielding tone.
"They'll heal faster here—more completely. They'll recover, adapt, and come back stronger." His gaze swept the bridge, cold and precise. "They'll also be safer here. That is my responsibility. So rest easy. Consider this a temporary separation."
Donna took a half-step forward—then Barbara caught her shoulder, a firm grip and a slight shake. Donna stopped, breathing hard.
Barbara refocused on Crescent. "Do we get to see them?"
Crescent paused for a moment, then answered, "You may speak with them when they wake up."
Donna's shoulders loosened a fraction. "And after that?"
"When they have recovered, they will decide whether to rejoin you," Crescent replied. "Until then, their safety is my responsibility. Not yours."
Barbara didn't let him turn away. "What about Earth? Even if you and Orach weren't actively intervening, Orach supported us when we needed it. Can we expect the Sentinel's support in his absence?"
Crescent's expression didn't change. "Mother 2 will assist you because you carry a terminal. But support from this ship is withdrawn." His gaze sharpened. "As I stated before, a line has been drawn until the young master returns."
"You can't be serious," M'gann said, voice tight. "So if something hits Earth and we can't handle it, you'll just let people die?"
Crescent's gaze snapped to her, his cold eyes shining.
"Be careful, little girl," he said quietly. "Those tactics do not work on me, and they are not welcome here."
M'gann fell silent and took a step back.
"In my young master's absence," Crescent said, "the Sentinel will act in defense of House Gula only. The future Mistress and the Princess may choose to intervene when they awaken. If they do, the Sentinel will respect their decision."
Barbara held onto the one opening. "And if they want to help Earth, but you disagree?"
"I will not overrule them," Crescent said. "But I will not expose them to unnecessary risk. Their security remains the priority."
He turned slightly, signaling the conversation was ending.
"Your ship's repairs will be completed within the hour," Crescent said. "After that, you will depart."
"Wait," Barbara said.
Crescent paused.
"I understand you're following protocols," she said, keeping her voice controlled. "But Orach wouldn't want you isolating them from the people who care about them."
Crescent studied her for a beat. "Perhaps."
"That's not an answer."
"It is the only honest one you will be getting," Crescent replied. "My young master is not here to override protocol. In his absence, I choose absolute security over sentiment." His eyes cooled further. "Nothing can be allowed to happen to House Gula. Harsh as it sounds, House Gula matters more than your entire lower realm."
His body began to dissolve into particles of light.
"One more thing," Crescent added. "Much has occurred on Earth while you were away. I will transmit the relevant data to your systems. I suggest you prepare yourselves. Your world is not the same as the one you left."
"Wait—how bad—?" Barbara started.
Crescent vanished before she could finish.
For a second, nobody moved. The same thought settled over them. "What happened while we were gone?"
Richie swallowed. "What… what did he mean by that?"
Jaime let out a rough breath. "Out of the fire… into the frying pan."
Barbara stared at the empty space where Crescent had been, jaw tight. "He said he was transmitting data."
She spun back to her chair and dropped into it, fingers flying across her terminal. "That means it's already in our systems," she said. "If he sent it, it's here."
Karen's hands curled into fists. "Damn it. We just can't catch a break. How are we supposed to convince the League to let us go back for Dick and Kori if there's trouble back home?"
Barbara's screen flashed green.
"I was right," she said. "Our access is back. The data's already unpacking. Pulling it up now."
Screens across the bridge flickered as files spilled open—maps, casualty estimates, emergency broadcasts, League alerts, and raw sensor feeds—each stamped with a time.
"Oh God!" M'gann went pale. She covered her mouth, eyes widening.
Donna backed up a step, voice barely a whisper. "Oh… Hera."
Virgil's jaw clenched. Static snapped along his fingers, electricity answering his anger. "How… how can anyone do this?"
Richie stared at the numbers crawling down the display. "Those… estimates," he said, hollow. "Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke."
Jaime's voice went thin. "Taiwan… is gone."
Barbara's expression hardened, but her voice stayed steady. "Titans," she said, snapping everyone's attention to her. "Eyes up."
They turned toward her.
"Prep for departure," Barbara ordered. "We link up with the League and stabilize the situation here. The moment Diana and Rachel wake, we get answers about what happened on the Psion homeworld, and we start building a plan to bring Dick and Kori home."
She drew a breath, then raised her voice so it carried. "For now, our priority is simple. Earth needs its champions."
Barbara straightened. "Titans—move out."
"Understood!" the crew answered in unison.
Earth — One hour later
The Prometheus Javelin slipped into Earth's atmosphere under stealth, its nose angled toward Gotham.
Inside, no one spoke.
They were coming home without Nightwing, Starfire, Supergirl, Wonder Woman, or Raven.
Dick and Kori were stranded somewhere in Vega, and no one knew whether they were alive. Kara had vanished during the escape from Psion space, and nobody could pretend to understand what that meant. Diana and Rachel were on the Void Sentinel, under Crescent's "protection."
Every face on the ship looked exhausted.
But exhaustion was not what weighed the ship down. It was what they had seen.
Earth hadn't held steady while they were gone.
Taiwan was gone—swallowed by the Great Tide. Millions dead, missing, or displaced.
Coastlines across the Philippines, China, and Japan had been torn open. Ports were flattened. Whole districts had become debris fields and drifting wreckage.
And the worst part wasn't just the destruction.
It was what came after.
Instead of snapping into the familiar rhythm of unity—like in previous disasters—the world was fracturing in the face of this one. Nations wasted time on posturing. Accusations multiplied faster than facts. Mobilizations were announced as "defense," even as they edged closer to something uglier—pulled along by grief, fear, and the kind of careful manipulation that knew exactly where to press.
The catastrophe had a name attached to it, Orm of Atlantis.
He had handed the surface world a target they could all agree to hate. Not because the situation was simple, but because hatred was easier than uncertainty—and easier than admitting how helpless they were against an enemy they couldn't reach.
Atlantis had publicly denounced him.
It barely mattered.
Orm had struck with just enough deniability to keep Atlantis officially "clean," and with just enough provocation to make retaliation feel inevitable anyway. Public grief became rage. Rage became pressure. Pressure became policy. And policy—nudged in the right direction—became the shape of war.
Meanwhile, Orm remained out of reach, hidden in a pocket realm Crescent identified as the Unspoken Waters, while the surface world argued over how hard to hit Atlantis for a crime Atlantis claimed it didn't commit.
Barbara could have understood the politics. She couldn't forgive the weapon.
The strike hadn't been a conventional attack. It was a sonic system so far beyond Earth's technology that even the League's best minds couldn't reverse-engineer the principles from the fragments Crescent provided. And the most horrifying part wasn't the wave itself.
It was what it did to living things.
The corrupted waters that rose in response to the sonic resonance carried something wrong in them—an effect that stripped souls on contact. The report called it a "soul-absorbing phenomenon," but the footage made it feel more like an extinction that screamed as it moved.
A threat like that should have forced cooperation. It should have made every nation share everything—resources, intelligence, defenses—because survival demanded it.
Instead, they'd chosen the blame game.
And in doing that, they were letting the unknown become the spark for the next war.
They had escaped one crisis only to land in another—one that was already spreading, already hardening into lines on a map.
They had escaped one war only to come home to another.
The Javelin touched down in Gotham, silent, inside a secret WayneTech facility.
The moment the landing struts locked, the team ran final checks.
Their two prisoners remained sedated and secured—MedPods repurposed into temporary holding cells until somebody higher up decided what to do with them.
Then they dispersed.
Most headed for Titans Tower in Jump City. Virgil and Richie peeled off for Dakota.
Barbara, on the other hand, went straight to the nearest concealed Bat-Bike cache, swung into the saddle, and launched into Gotham's underways.
Halfway there, she opened a secure channel.
"Alfred," she said. "Are you there?"
A beat later, a warm and unmistakable voice came through the comms. "Miss Gordon. You're back."
"Yeah," Barbara said, eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead. "It's really good to hear your voice. I'm on my way in. I need to speak to him. Actually… to both of them."
A pause, then. "They're here."
Barbara's grip tightened around the handle. "Good. Make sure nobody pulls them away. This is going to take a while. It's going to be a long conversation."
"I'll see to it," Alfred replied gently. "And… Miss Gordon, welcome home."
"Thanks, Alfred," Barbara said. "It's good to be back."
The tunnel opened into darker arteries of the city, and she pushed the bike faster—toward the cave.
Next morning — Hall of Justice, Main Briefing Room
The Titans stood at the front of the Justice League's main briefing room, shoulder to shoulder, facing a nearly full table.
Word of their return had spread quickly. Most of the League was here in person, with several more faces projected across secure feeds on the wall of monitors.
One chair near the head of the table remained empty.
Wonder Woman's.
Barbara's gaze touched it for a fraction of a second, then moved on. She stepped forward, connected her terminal to the Hall's systems, and the room filled with light.
A holographic timeline unfolded above the table together with the Vega star map, mission logs from the CITADEL front, the push into Psion Hegemony space, and then an abrupt rupture—an endpoint that didn't feel like one.
"Here's what happened," Barbara said.
The projection shifted as she guided them through it. Engagements. Infiltration. The moment the operation stopped being theirs to control.
"We didn't retreat by choice," she continued. "Mother Empress detected a Higher Realm-level threat we couldn't engage and triggered Orach's extraction protocol. She overrode our ship and jumped the Javelin into hyperspace."
Hal Jordan frowned. "What kind of extraction protocol?"
"A full override," Barbara said. "In an instant, we lost control of the helm, navigation, and internal permissions. We couldn't abort the mission, slow down, or negotiate with Mother Empress. One moment we were celebrating a successful mission. The next—after that threat manifested—we were passengers on our own ship."
A low murmur moved around the table.
J'onn's expression tightened. "You were locked out of every system?"
"Everything," Barbara confirmed tapping her terminal. Two markers pulsed on the Vega map. "Nightwing and Starfire didn't make it back aboard. They were holding the CITADEL line when the override hit. Once the jump started, we couldn't turn back."
The room went still.
Several sets of eyes drifted toward Batman.
But Bruce gave them nothing.
Beside him, Cheetah slid her hand under the table and squeezed his. It wasn't merely a gesture of comfort; it was an anchor. Barbara had already informed them about this at the manor the night before, but hearing it again didn't make it any easier. It only made it truer.
Superman broke the silence. "Do we have their last confirmed status?"
"As far as we know," Barbara said, voice steady, "Nightwing was coordinating the Vega Alliance assault, and Starfire was on the front line. Then the jump took us. Once we entered hyperspace, everything in that sector went dark."
Laira lifted a hand. "I know that region. I can scout quietly. If they're alive, I can extract them before anyone notices."
"No." Batman answered immediately.
Superman's jaw tightened. "Batman—"
"We still don't know what forced the extraction," Bruce said, eyes fixed on the map. "We don't know what Diana and Rachel were facing when they stayed behind. Sending anyone back blind is gambling with another life."
Laira's eyes narrowed. "So we do nothing?"
"We stop making decisions out of panic."
Batman tapped the table once. The Vega mission logs dissolved, replaced by Earth's satellite footage. Casualty estimates appeared, and coastline projections coalesced above the table. The absence of Taiwan glared at everyone who had been there when it happened.
"Earth is facing a credible ongoing threat," Batman continued. "Orm struck once. He will strike again. If we pull our strongest assets off-world and he hits another coastline, we lose millions. Possibly more. Until Wonder Woman and Raven wake up and tell us what happened, our priority is the home front."
J'onn nodded slowly. "Agreed."
Green Arrow sighed. "I hate to say it, but I agree."
Black Canary's jaw tightened. "I agree too. No more blind missions. We shouldn't have authorized this one in the first place."
Cheetah leaned forward, eyes gleaming briefly as they locked on Black Canary. "Careful how you frame that."
Black Canary met her gaze. "Why? Did I say something wrong? They're powerful, but they're still young."
Cheetah didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. "Starfire's home was in trouble. There was never a scenario where we sent her alone. And we didn't just send these 'young' Titans. We sent our strongest. We sent Wonder Woman—" her gaze flicked, once, to the empty chair "—and with Raven beside her, that mother-daughter pair can raise hell. They're a force to be reckoned with."
Her eyes gleamed again, predatory and unblinking. "So call it what it is. A bad break. An accident. Nothing more."
Black Canary held the stare for a beat, then looked away—unhappy, but not unconvinced.
One by one, reluctant agreement spread around the table. The Titans' fists clenched, but they stayed quiet. They'd expected this. But, that didn't make it easier to swallow.
Superman leaned back. "Fine. Any immediate rescue plan is tabled—for now."
Barbara nodded once. "Understood."
She switched the display.
New clips appeared—recon data from the Psion homeworld, stitched together from Kara's, M'gann's, and Rachel's feeds.
"Our secondary team confirmed the Psions were building for something bigger than Vega," Barbara said briefly glancing at Superman. "They were building ships, weapons, and… hybrids. Using Kryptonian and Tamaranian genetic stock to engineer enhanced soldiers."
The mood darkened, like the room temperature dropped a few degrees.
"But that wasn't all." Barbara's expression hardened. "We don't have every detail yet. But later in the mission, we uncovered something else. A conspiracy. One of the Psion senior leadership wasn't focused on Vega at all. They were focused on the Higher Realms."
Flash frowned. "How would they even know Higher Realms exist?"
"They couldn't have," Laira said quietly, leaning back and folding her arms. "Not on their own. Even the Guardians had no proof until Orach showed up."
"They didn't learn about it on their own," Barbara said. She glanced briefly at M'gann, then back to the table. "Miss Martian isolated that leader and attempted a read, but something pushed back hard enough to nearly knock her out."
M'gann's expression hardened at the memory. She stood beside her team in silence.
"Later, Raven found her and pulled her out," Barbara continued. "That's when Raven understood what we'd stumbled into. A Higher Realm entity had taken a captive Kryptonian the Psions were using as a guard. That body became an anchor—an entry point for it into our realm."
Green Arrow stared at the projection. "So it was hiding inside the guard?"
"Yes," Barbara said. "The Psions had the Kryptonian under mind control. The entity rode that connection into the leader's mind and spread influence from there."
Cyborg raised a hand slightly, asking. "Do we know what kind of entity it was?"
Flash shot him a look. "Why does that matter right now?"
Batman answered before Cyborg could. "Because it tells us what we were dealing with—and what we might face again."
He held Cyborg's gaze. "Go ahead."
Cyborg took a breath. "The pattern matches Orach's warning. It was likely a Tuffle."
For a heartbeat, the room didn't move—like the word hadn't fully landed.
Then it did. Eyes went wide as Orach's words from the end of the Kryptonian invasion incident came rushing back.
"It's the only explanation that fits," Cyborg continued, voice grim. "The host was Kryptonian—must've been a carrier with a dormant Tuffle gene. Based on Orach's warning, if even one Kryptonian carried dormant Tuffle genetic compatibility, it could give them a path back. They wouldn't announce themselves. They'd slip in, take root, then wake up."
Superman's expression grew solemn.
Around the table, the League's reactions settled into grim silence.
John Stewart's face darkened. "We should've taken that warning more seriously."
Hal rubbed his forehead. "John, we didn't even know where to start. And the Psion Hegemony isn't exactly a place you stroll into and ask questions."
Laira nodded reluctantly. "He's right. We couldn't have predicted this."
Barbara tapped the table lightly, bringing them back. "Miss Martian's logs confirm it identified itself as Tuffle. Wonder Woman and Raven stayed behind to contain it. They held the line long enough for the secondary team to escape." Her voice dropped a degree. "They made it back to the ship critically injured. We believe it happened in the final minutes before they left Psion space."
Cheetah's shoulders tightened. Bruce squeezed her hand once, returning the anchor she'd given him moments earlier. Barbara had already told them about Diana and Rachel too, but knowing it was coming didn't make it any easier—not for Bruce, not for her, not when it was family.
Barbara switched the projection again. A final clip appeared—grainy, incomplete, terrifying. The Psion homeworld, an artificial planet, split by a pillar of light. Detonations crawled along the rupture. The atmosphere above the remaining half churned into a rolling storm.
"That's the last footage we have," Barbara said carefully. "We're not sure what caused it. We only know it was beyond our capabilities. Our working assumption is that Orach intervened—rescued them from the battlefield, placed them in MedPods, then left to confront the entity directly."
She took one more breath to steady herself before speaking.
"There's more. In those final minutes before the team escaped Psion space... Supergirl vanished."
Silence fell across the room.
Superman's voice stayed controlled, but the tension underneath was unmistakable. "What do you mean she vanished?"
"Right before the jump," Barbara said, meeting his gaze, "sensors logged her heading toward the hangar bay. Then her signal and the shuttle's went dark. After that—nothing."
Superman's fingers tightened around the armrest. "So she stayed behind."
"We think she chose to stay," Barbara said. "Kara's Kryptonian—and a cultivator. With the shuttle, and the battle suit Orach gave her, she can endure conditions the rest of us can't. And if she didn't know Diana and Rachel had already been pulled out… if she believed they were still in there and needed backup—"
Barbara's jaw tightened.
"Then she wouldn't walk away. Not even with those odds. Not when someone needed her. That's just who Kara is."
She let the words settle, then continued, careful not to promise more than they knew.
"Our working assumption is that she survived—stranded somewhere in that sector. If she's alive, there's a chance she finds Nightwing and Starfire… or they find her."
Superman said nothing. The odds were slim, but it was a thread of hope he could cling to without lying to himself.
Barbara shut down the Vega logs.
"Before I continue," she said, voice firm, "I want to be clear. The Titans agree Earth is the immediate priority. But the moment we can mount a safe return flight, we're going back. For all of them."
Behind her, the Titans' expressions mirrored hers. Resolute in their determination to rescue their comrades, they wouldn't falter in their mission, even if the people in this room refused to assist them.
Behind her, the Titans' expressions mirrored hers—resolute and unwavering. They wouldn't falter in their mission, even if the people in this room refused to assist them.
After a beat of silence, Superman spoke up. "Next time, it won't be just the Titans."
Cyborg leaned forward. "Same. Count me in."
"When it's time, count me in too," Liara said. "You'll want at least one former Green Lantern out there, and I know that sector better than either of them." She tipped her chin toward Hal and John Stewart. Both Lanterns answered with a silent nod.
Superman held Laira's gaze for a moment, then nodded once. "Fair."
Barbara let out a slow breath, some tension easing from her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said, meeting their eyes one by one. "All of you."
Then her expression hardened again. "Now, about Wonder Woman and Raven."
J'onn leaned in. "What is their condition?"
"Stable," Barbara replied. "But still unconscious and healing. It will take some time before they wake up and rejoin us."
Aquaman's gaze narrowed. "Where are they now?"
"As we approached Earth," Barbara said, "Crescent seized control of the Javelin and diverted us to the Void Sentinel. He transferred them to the Sentinel's medical bay."
Aquaman's tone hardened. "Even he can override a League ship?"
Cyborg stepped in. "Crescent can brute-force our safeguards. With the processing power on that behemoth up there…" He tilted his head upward, subtly gesturing toward the Void Sentinel hanging over their planet. No one missed his meaning.
"But it's probably simpler than that. WayneTech built the Javelin with Orach's guidance. If there are design-level permissions baked into the system, House Gula AIs like Crescent don't need to hack anything. They just walk through a door we didn't know existed."
Superman's jaw tightened. "That's a problem. I don't like the idea of our systems having a backdoor—even for Orach's AIs."
Cyborg spread his hands. "Backdoor or not, if Mother Empress or Crescent decides they want in, there isn't much in the Lower Realm that stops them. Not with hardware like that."
Superman held his gaze. "Maybe. But a built-in access route is still a liability. If it exists, someone else could find it and exploit it. If Orach needs access, we can grant it case by case. I'm not comfortable leaving a door unlocked just because the person who installed it happens to be an ally."
Uneasy glances passed around the table. The logic was sound. The subject was the problem.
Batman's voice came quiet, cutting through. "You're right."
Superman turned to him, expression grave. "Then you agree—"
"It's a vulnerability," Batman said, cutting him off. "That's the reality of trusting House Gula as allies. Orach is guiding—and will continue guiding—the development of systems we rely on. His AIs have capabilities we can't replicate." He paused, letting the weight settle. "The choice is simple: we either trust him with that power, or we don't."
His tone didn't soften. "We can't have it both ways."
Superman held his gaze for a long moment, then exhaled and nodded once in acceptance, though he still had reservations.
Aquaman looked like he wanted to argue. Then he swallowed it and nodded.
Barbara cleared her throat, pulling them forward. "Crescent said they'll stay under his care until they recover—and until Orach returns."
Discomfort rippled across the room—anger, helplessness—stirred by that familiar House Gula problem. You never knew where the line was until you found it.
Batman's voice stayed steady. "Crescent is enforcing House Gula security protocols. To him, Diana isn't just an ally. She's the future Mistress of House Gula, and Raven is the Princess. Their safety overrides everything."
Barbara nodded once. "And it means they're getting the best medical care available."
Everyone understood the situation, but that didn't stop the frowns.
"Really now." Cheetah leaned forward, sweeping the table with a steady gaze. "Let's stop pretending something changed."
A few people shifted.
J'onn started, "Cheetah—"
She lifted a hand. J'onn caught the look and stopped.
Cheetah tapped the table. The Pacific projections flared to life.
"Somewhere along the way," she said, voice calm, "we started acting like we had a safety net. Like if things got bad enough, Orach would appear and make it disappear."
She paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before continuing.
"He's not here. He's missing. Diana and Rachel are down. Crescent drew a line. That's our current reality."
Her gaze swept the table.
"So stop lying to yourselves. We never had a guaranteed rescue. We had allies. Allies can leave. Allies can fall."
She leaned back slightly. "Every one of you has stared down impossible odds. I wasn't there for Steppenwolf or the Kryptonian invasion. But I was there for the Thanagarian betrayal. I was there for Darkseid. I've seen what you do when the world is ending."
Her eyes flicked—once—to the empty chair.
"We made it through because we adapted. We trained. We made hard calls. We did the work." She spread her hands on the table, palms down. "And we're stronger now than we were then. Orach's training wasn't just about upcoming tournaments. It was for moments like this—when we stand on our own feet. It raised our baseline. It made us more capable of facing whatever our realm throws at us without him."
She looked around the table, meeting eyes one by one.
"So we do what we've always done. We adjust. We prepare. We stop Orm—and anyone backing him. Then we bring our people home." She paused, voice lowering. "And we do it ourselves. Because that's what she would say if she were sitting here."
Her eyes stayed on the empty chair.
Heavy silence settled over the room.
Then Superman nodded slowly. "She's right."
Green Arrow's posture shifted—frustration hardening into focus. "Then we move forward. No excuses."
Flash nodded hard. "I'm in."
J'onn inclined his head. "Agreed."
Many others nodded.
"Booyah!" Cyborg suddenly exclaimed, breaking the tension in the air and grinning like something had just clicked. "I've got it. I've finally got it!"
A few heads turned his way, blinking in surprise. But the tension snapped back just as quickly.
Batman narrowed his eyes. "Cyborg. Care to share?"
Cyborg raised both hands. "Yeah, okay. Bad timing on my part—sorry about that. But this matters."
Hal crossed his arms. "Then talk."
Cyborg pulled up a new projection—ocean depth maps layered with probability overlays. The room leaned in without meaning to.
"I've been combing through Orach's old datasets for weeks," Cyborg said. "I detected something peculiar—tiny distortions that even my analysis almost missed. They occurred across multiple sets, which got me thinking, why would there be 'noise' in data from a Higher Realm system?"
He paused, letting the question do work.
"So I ran with a wild idea. Maybe Orach and his AIs don't hand us answers directly to avoid steering Earth's development. But what if he left breadcrumbs?" Cyborg's grin sharpened. "I stopped treating it like noise and started treating it like a message. And that package Crescent dumped on us? Same 'noise' patterns. Only this time, it repeats too cleanly to be noise."
Red zones pulsed across the Pacific.
"I think I found one," Cyborg said. "A breadcrumb."
John Stewart's expression tightened. "What kind of message is it?"
Batman leaned forward. "Show us."
Cyborg highlighted confirmed monolith sites, then drew faint lines toward the red zones. The map stitched into a loose geometric lattice.
Flash's eyes narrowed. "Cyborg… are these what I think they are?"
"If you're thinking probable monolith formation sites," Cyborg said, "you're right."
Aquaman frowned. "Probable sites. As in coordinates for all the formations out there?"
"Not exact coordinates," Cyborg corrected. "High-confidence zones. In simple terms, there's a strong chance that at each of these locations, a formation of those Orichalcum monoliths exists."
Laira's voice went quiet. "How many?"
"In the Pacific alone?" Cyborg paused. "At least seven additional likely sites beyond what we've confirmed."
Canary went pale. "Seven?"
"And that's just what I've found so far," Cyborg said. "If the pattern holds globally, we could be looking at more across the Atlantic, Indian Ocean, other basins."
Laira barely breathed the words. "It's a network."
Superman nodded once. "That explains the scale of the last attack."
Aquaman's gaze hardened. "Orm couldn't have generated a tide like that from a single formation."
"Exactly," Cyborg said. "Now the question is whether he used all of them in the last strike—or only a few."
The implications spread across the table like a slow chill.
Batman leaned closer. "Cyborg. Based on what we have—best estimate."
Cyborg highlighted the confirmed site again, then drew faint lines to the red zones. "This is based on assumptions. Even after WayneTech's analysis of the monolith, we still don't know everything." He paused. "But if I had to guess? If Orm triggered even a partial network—three points, maybe four—he could produce what we saw at Taiwan."
Black Canary leaned back, eyes wide. "So if he triggers all of them…"
Zatanna exhaled slowly. "Then Taiwan was just the beginning."
"A bigger catastrophic event," Flash mumbled.
Green Arrow's voice went flat. "We need a way to shut them down. Permanently."
Constantine rubbed his temples. "Brute force won't work. Even if you can get that deep, every attempt so far—ours and Atlantis's—has failed. Those formations are wrapped in old magic."
Aquaman's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Mera's squadron couldn't even get close enough to plant charges."
Constantine's temper flared. "Because the containment field around every one we've found is a convoluted knot of energies. Whatever Orm's using, it's ugly magic."
Zatanna's eyes narrowed. "John."
Constantine exhaled, bitter. "Credit where it's due, Z. It's magic I've never seen before."
Zatanna shifted behind him as if she had more to say, then held it back.
Batman's eyes flicked to Cheetah. She blinked once—acknowledging it. They'd caught Zatanna's reaction. They'd deal with it later.
"Hold on," Cyborg said.
He zoomed in on a red zone. Another layer snapped into place: thin strings of constraints and parameter bounds—like the edge of an equation you weren't meant to see.
"The breadcrumbs weren't just locations," Cyborg said. "They also explain why every countermeasure simulation keeps failing."
Batman's voice sharpened. "Say that again."
Cyborg looked around the table. "Everyone keeps treating the monoliths like walls. Like structures. Hit them hard enough and they break." He shook his head. "That's a mistake. They aren't walls. They're more like instruments."
Shazam blinked. "Instruments?"
Zatanna murmured, understanding dawning. "Like tuning forks."
"Exactly," Cyborg said. "Think magical superconductors. A resonance array."
Barbara's expression tightened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning if you hit them with the wrong energy profile," Cyborg said, "you don't damage them. You amplify them. You feed the resonance. The formation reinforces its own barrier."
A quiet, sick realization moved through the room.
Donna leaned forward. "So every head-on strike was making it worse."
"In some cases, yes," Cyborg said. "That's why Atlantis couldn't plant charges. That's why our other extraction attempts failed after our success with the monolith Laira found. In that case, the monolith had broken off from its formation, so it went inert."
Hal and Laira nodded grimly.
Barbara didn't blink. "So what's the correct approach?"
Cyborg's expression sobered.
"Give me time to fully analyze this new data," he said. "For now, I can generate a shortlist, highest-confidence sites, likely activation patterns, and the energy profiles we cannot touch." He let his gaze sweep the table. "Then I will work with WayneTech. Once the analysis is complete, I can isolate vulnerabilities and build countermeasures that actually destroy the formations—without accidentally charging the network."
Flash leaned forward, urgency tightening his voice. "Loop me and my team in. We'll help you chew through the data. Once you start building a model, we'll run simulations."
On a remote feed, Cisco nodded hard. "Flash is right. Put us to work. We can help narrow the zones and tighten the parameters."
Constantine's expression shifted—annoyance thinning into reluctant interest. "If those constraints are real, we can bait Orm. Or disrupt the network without accidentally feeding it."
Batman looked around the room. "Cyborg. Team Flash. Magic Division—coordinate with WayneTech. Build countermeasures." His gaze swept the rest. "Everyone else stays sharp. Watch for any sign Orm is moving." He turned to J'onn. "Monitoring is yours."
J'onn inclined his head. "I'll scan the oceans. Track Luthor, A.R.G.U.S., and Atlantean movement. With the Titans back, we can chase multiple threads at once."
Superman squared his shoulders. "We act now. We train. We prepare. We move before Orm does." His eyes swept the room. "This is our world. We protect it."
Resolve settled over the table—something heavier than hope, harder than fear.
Then, Billy's voice cut through—blunt, unfiltered.
"I don't get it," Shazam said. "Why can't Orach—or Crescent—just tell us what to do? If Crescent left breadcrumbs, why not give exact locations?"
The question hung there.
Batman didn't hesitate. "Because if they wanted us to have the full answer, we'd already have it."
Shazam frowned. "So this is a test? People are dying."
"No one's forgotten that," Batman said. His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. "But if they hand us everything, we stop thinking. We stop adapting. We become dependent. Dependency is weakness." His gaze flicked—briefly—to the empty chair again. "And House Gula does not want a League that can't stand without them."
Shazam's mouth tightened. Then he nodded.
Batman turned back to Cyborg. "Start with the highest-confidence targets. Cross-reference WayneTech satellites, Atlantean patterns, Planet Watch. I want likely sites and viable countermeasures."
"Already on it," Cyborg said.
Batman met their eyes one by one. "Then let's move. We have work to do."
Later, after teams split and assignments went out, the Hall of Justice corridors thinned.
Batman and Cheetah left without a word.
They moved through the lower levels toward the hangar. Cheetah tapped her communicator, requesting a secure channel as they walked.
The hangar doors slid open. Among the League's vehicles, the Batwing waited.
They boarded in silence.
Batman ran the checks. The launch strip reconfigured. The hidden ceiling door parted. Vertical lift engaged.
The Batwing surged upward into open air, repulsors humming—an upgrade inspired by Javelin tech. As the craft climbed and slid into stealth, Cheetah initiated the call.
Shadowcrest
Zatanna didn't mean to go home.
She just… ended up there.
One moment she was stepping out of the House of Mystery, letting the noise of the meeting fall behind her. The next, she was standing in Shadowcrest's entrance hall—her childhood home—staring at familiar walls like they might explain how the world had tilted.
Her chest felt tight. Her thoughts kept looping, refusing to settle.
A warm voice came from her left. "Welcome home, dear."
Zatara studied her for a half-second—the way only a parent could. He saw the distance in her eyes and did what he always did when it mattered.
He waited.
From upstairs, a sharper voice cut in. "Zatara, why are you just standing there? Our daughter comes home and you don't think to tell me?"
Sindella came down the stairs.
Zatanna blinked, pulled back into herself. "Hi, Mom."
Sindella crossed the last steps and took Zatanna's hand like she was sixteen again. "Come. I'm making your favorite."
Zatara opened his mouth. "I thought you were making my favorite."
Sindella didn't even glance at him. "As if her favorite isn't also something you like. You'll eat it and you'll be grateful."
Zatara sighed, wry and obedient. "Yes, dear."
Zatanna's laugh slipped out before she could stop it. It felt strange in her chest—like finding an old spell you'd forgotten you knew.
Her mother's hand stayed warm around hers as they moved toward the kitchen.
For a few precious minutes, Zatanna surrendered to the comforting rhythm of home. Sindella moved with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from cabinets and working with the calm authority of habit. Zatara settled at the table, content to watch, offering the occasional comment that Sindella ignored expertly.
Normal. Safe.
Then Zatanna's communicator buzzed.
She glanced down at Cheetah's ID—then the secure channel indicator. Her eyes narrowed.
"I'll be right back," Zatanna said, already moving.
Sindella paused mid-chop, frowning. "Zatanna—"
"Just a minute, Mom. I promise."
Zatara's eyes followed her—quiet and knowing—but he didn't stop her.
Zatanna slipped into the study and closed the door. She traced a quick sigil in the air. The sound isolation spell settled over the room like a held breath.
Then she accepted.
Cheetah's face appeared on the screen—sharp, focused. In front of her, Batman sat in the Batwing's pilot seat, silent but present.
"Hey, Z," Cheetah said. "Bad time?"
Zatanna shook her head. "No. I'm just… home."
Cheetah's expression softened for a fraction—then went serious. "Alright. Straight to the point. In the meeting—right after Constantine spoke—you looked like you wanted to say something. Then you didn't."
Zatanna's breath caught.
'Of course they noticed.'
Cheetah missed very little, and Bruce missed almost nothing.
"Yeah," Zatanna said with a quiet sigh. "So you both saw it."
Cheetah leaned closer to the camera. "So talk to us."
Zatanna glanced away, then back. The burden she'd carried since Taiwan pressed harder now that someone had put a hand on it.
"Cyborg's findings are good," she said carefully. "They might give us a real path forward. But there's another option." Her throat tightened. "One John and I have been… avoiding."
Batman's voice came through. "One of the artifacts Constantine keeps locked up?"
Zatanna's jaw set. "Yes."
Cheetah didn't blink. "Which one. And what's the risk."
Zatanna hesitated, then sank into the nearest chair.
"The Helmet of Nabu," she said. "An ancient, powerful artifact. A Lord of Order is bound inside it." She forced herself to keep going. "If you put it on, you gain access to magic most sorcerers can't touch. Old magic. The kind that could potentially unravel what Orm's using."
Cheetah's eyes narrowed. "And the cost."
Zatanna's voice dropped. "You don't get to stay yourself."
Silence enveloped them.
After a moment, Cheetah's expression hardened. "Possession."
"Yes."
"And you're thinking about putting it on."
"I didn't say that," Zatanna snapped—then stopped, because the denial sounded thin even to her. She tried again, quieter. "I didn't say it."
Cheetah held her gaze. "You didn't need to."
Zatanna looked down at her hands. "It's in the House of Mystery. John keeps it locked away for a reason. It's supposed to be a last resort."
Batman's voice stayed even. "And you're deciding what 'last' means."
Zatanna's head snapped up, anger and fear tangled together. "We watched an entire island vanish, Bruce. Millions of people—gone." Her voice sharpened as it rose. "We're staring at a network of weapons that strip souls and reshape coastlines, and we have no guarantee Orm won't trigger them again tomorrow. Or the next."
She drew a breath, steadying herself.
"Even with Cyborg's intel, we still don't know enough," she said. "And even if we can reach the Unspoken Waters again, it isn't a place where our powers work properly." Her eyes flicked to Cheetah. "You barely held your own down there." Back to Batman. "And you and John were captured the last time you went."
Cheetah didn't argue. She didn't have to. "And you think Nabu changes that."
"I think he's older than the monoliths' magic," Zatanna said. "I think he's fought this kind of threat before. And I think if anyone can decode what Orm is doing fast enough to matter—he can."
Batman's jaw tightened. "Nabu isn't a tool, Zatanna."
"I know." Her voice caught, and she steadied it with effort. "That's why I haven't moved."
Cheetah leaned closer. "If you put it on, you might not come back. Am I right?"
Zatanna didn't answer.
Cheetah's tone softened. "You haven't told John. Or your father."
Zatanna's breath left in a slow, shaky exhale. "Because my father would lock me in this house before he'd let me do it."
A beat later.
"And John…" She swallowed, eyes flicking away. "John would do it first. He'd grab the helmet and put it on before I could stop him. He's an idiot like that."
Cheetah's expression shifted to something like understanding. "So you're protecting him."
"I'm protecting both of us," Zatanna said. "If he does it, I lose him." Her fingers tightened together. "And if I do it…"
She forced herself to finish.
"Nabu doesn't let go easily, Barb. He'll call it duty. Necessity. He'll say the world needs him more than it needs me, and…" Her jaw set. "He won't be wrong."
Batman's voice came through the speaker, low and steady. "Your father would fight you too."
"I know." The words came out flat with exhaustion. She swallowed hard. "I know that."
Her gaze dropped to her hands.
"Maybe that's why I came home," she said, quieter now. "I think I needed to see him. Before I did something I can't take back."
Cheetah's voice cut through, firm. "Then don't tell them. Not yet."
Zatanna blinked. "What?"
"We won't hide it forever," Cheetah said. "If you go missing, if Nabu shows up—we will tell everyone. But right now?" She leaned closer. "Don't rush this. Give Cyborg time."
Zatanna frowned. "Time for what?"
"To finish the analysis," Cheetah said. "To give the League a chance to try the path that doesn't cost you."
Zatanna stared at the screen. The weight in her chest didn't vanish—nothing that heavy ever did—but it shifted. It stopped feeling like she was carrying it alone.
Batman's voice came quiet, steady. "And Zatanna, you're wrong about one thing. This world needs you more than you know."
Zatanna nodded once.
From the kitchen, Sindella's voice rang out, bright and impatient. "Zatanna! Food's getting cold!"
Zatanna blinked, realizing she couldn't keep her parents waiting any more. "I have to go."
Cheetah's expression softened. "Go eat. And Z—don't vanish on us."
Batman didn't add anything. He didn't need to. His silence carried the same message.
Zatanna's voice came quieter. "Thank you."
"See you," Cheetah said.
Zatanna ended the call, released the isolation spell, and stepped back toward the kitchen.
The weight was still there.
But it didn't feel quite as heavy.
Not because the problem was solved.
Because she wasn't carrying it alone anymore.