Chapter 100!!
Start of Arc 3
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"Write down all nations on Oa, along with their capitals and current leaders," Turgon muttered as he read the first question glowing across the holo-screen before him.
He frowned for a moment, more because of how much he would have to write than because he did not know the answer, then placed his fingers against the interface and began entering the information. Around him, nearly thirty other children sat at identical desks arranged in neat rows across the classroom. All of them were around his age, ten years old, and the room was silent aside from the soft hum of the environmental systems and the occasional frustrated sigh from someone who had clearly forgotten an answer.
The Concord of Four Cities: Capital: Ionith. Leader: Green Lantern Malgus.
That was the easiest. He had lived in Ionith his entire life. Ionith, Castanor, Eregion, and Aulendur formed the four great cities of the Concord, and there was hardly a child on Oa, or anywhere else in the system, who did not know Malgus.
The last Green Lantern.
The Hero of Oa.
Sometimes Turgon dreamed of becoming a Green Lantern himself. Thousands of rings still floated above the Central Power Battery, silent and waiting just as they had for half a million years. None had chosen a bearer during all that time, until one had chosen Malgus. Turgon often imagined another ring suddenly awakening, crossing the sky above Ionith, and stopping in front of him while everyone watched.
His eyes drifted toward the classroom window.
Perhaps one day...
Turgon blinked and shook his head.
"Right," he whispered. "The rest."
He continued.
The Covenant: Capital: Valley of Will. Leader: High Keeper Elenwë.
The Caranthian Republic: Capital: Caranthia. Leader: First Speaker Mahtan.
The Meridian League: Capital: Telperion Port. Leader: Prime Consul Aelendil.
The Directorate: Capital: Tirion. Leader: Marshal-General Thalion.
Then came the largest and, politically, perhaps strangest of them all.
The Free Clans of Oa: No permanent capital. The Great Council meets at Neldor. Leader: Speaker Írissë Calen. A loose federation of ancient clans, rural territories, smaller cities, and settlements covering most of Oa's landmass.
Turgon reread the list before submitting it.
Their history teacher enjoyed reminding them that none of these countries had existed during the Golden Age. Before the Black Night, there had been one planetary government, one administration governing the Oan system, and above both stood the Green Lantern Corps. Oans might belong to different clans, cities, professions, or schools of thought, but politically, Oa had been unified for hundreds of millions of years.
The divisions came afterward.
Not immediately. The old institutions survived for a long time, but without Ion, and with the Green Lantern Corps slowly disappearing, local governments assumed more responsibility. Cities became increasingly independent, clans reclaimed powers they had surrendered in ancient times, and arguments over how Oa should be governed became impossible for the weakened central administration to resolve.
The next question appeared.
What event is traditionally regarded as the end of the Golden Age of Oa?
That one was even easier.
Turgon entered:
The Black Night and the Entombment of Ion within the Central Power Battery.
He hesitated before adding another sentence.
The destruction of most of the Green Lantern Corps during the battle against Knull, followed by the failure of the rings to select new bearers, is generally considered the beginning of the Long Decline.
The screen accepted his answer and moved on.
Approximately how many Green Lanterns served at the height of the Corps?
Approximately fifteen thousand active Green Lanterns served at any given time during the later Golden Age, divided among the sectors of the known universe.
A smaller question appeared beneath it.
How many were typically Oan?
Usually only two or three.
He added:
Durin the Deathless was the first Oan Green Lantern. Malgus is currently the last Green Lantern.
The next question appeared.
Explain why the Green Lantern Corps disappeared following the Black Night.
Turgon began writing more quickly now.
After defeating Knull, Ion was placed within the Central Power Battery in order to survive and stabilize it. Following his Entombment, the rings ceased selecting new bearers. Surviving Green Lanterns continued serving throughout the universe, but every death or retirement permanently reduced the size of the Corps because no replacements were chosen. Over the following centuries and millennia, the Green Lantern Corps gradually disappeared.
He submitted it.
Explain the Symbiote Hunts.
He started typing.
Although Knull was destroyed during the Black Night, large numbers of symbiotes and remnants of the corrupted Vigilants remained scattered throughout the universe. During the centuries that followed, Oan expeditions left the system to hunt surviving symbiote populations and the Vigilants they continued to use as hosts. These campaigns became known collectively as the Symbiote Hunts.
Turgon paused, remembering the enormous migration charts from his history lessons.
Millions of Oans participated in the Hunts over the following centuries, often alongside the surviving Green Lanterns. Some expeditions returned within years, while others remained away for centuries. Many never returned to Oa.
Another question replaced it.
What was Haven's political status before and after the Black Night?
Easy.
Before the Black Night, Haven was administered as part of the unified Oan system under the institutions established during the Golden Age. Following the collapse of the old system government, Haven gradually developed an independent planetary administration and eventually became the Commonwealth of Haven.
He continued:
Approximately thirty percent of Haven's population today is of Oan descent. The remaining population descends primarily from species that settled on Haven during the Golden Age, including the families and descendants of peoples associated with generations of Green Lanterns.
The next question appeared.
What were the Days of Awakening?
Finally, ancient history.
The Days of Awakening were the period beginning with the awakening of the first Oans.
Another prompt followed.
Name three prominent figures associated with the early Days of Awakening.
Turgon entered:
Fëanor. Caranthir. Durin.
His finger hovered above the submission control.
No.
Durin came somewhat later.
He erased the final name.
Fëanor. Caranthir. Turgon.
His hand stopped again.
Turgon stared at his own name.
Ancient Turgon had lived hundreds of millions of years ago and had apparently accomplished quite a lot.
The examination continued through another dozen questions covering the Long Decline, the breakup of the old system government, the independence of Haven, the closing of Academy, and the gradual abandonment of many facilities that had once supported the Corps.
Then Turgon reached a question about the Temple of Ion.
Turgon began with the answer expected of him.
The Temple of Ion preserves the teachings of Ion and venerates him as the creator and protector of the Oan people.
He stopped as he remembered Curufin, the old Oan who served as caretaker at the home where he lived and who could spend entire afternoons complaining about why the current Temple was nothing but a shadow of its former self.
It was not always like this, Curufin had told him. The Temple was a place to learn. To meditate. To understand the light within ourselves. We looked to Ion, yes, but he was not some infallible god sitting above us.
He was a teacher. A guardian. Our creator, certainly, but one who wanted us to think for ourselves. The Temple now is a sham. They use Ion's name to control the populace. They have fallen so far...
Turgon looked at the answer on his screen.
He could add that.
He imagined his teacher reading it.
No.
He did not need that trouble.
Turgon submitted the safer answer.
A tone sounded throughout the classroom shortly afterward.
"Time's up," the instructor announced. "Remain seated until your screens confirm submission."
Turgon leaned back with relief as the holo-screen faded. Around him, conversations immediately broke out despite the teacher's repeated demands for quiet.
Once dismissed, Turgon collected his things and left with the others.
He had barely reached the lower courtyard when someone called after him.
"Blue Eyes."
Turgon kept walking.
"Hey, Blue Eyes!"
A few children laughed.
Turgon stared at the ground and tightened his grip around his school bag.
His eyes had always been unusual. Most Oans possessed eyes in shades of violet, purple, and similar colours, but Turgon's were an intense blue that became almost luminous beneath certain light. No one had ever explained why.
Some adults found them beautiful.
Children were less charitable.
"Freak."
Turgon walked faster.
He already knew what they thought of him.
No parents. No clan willing to claim him. No family name. He had lived in one of Ionith's care homes for as long as he could remember, and several prospective families had visited over the years before deciding against taking him.
Sometimes he heard the explanations afterward.
Something strange about his eyes.
Perhaps something wrong with his blood.
Perhaps cursed.
No one ever said those things directly to him.
They did not need to.
Turgon turned down a street leading toward the transit route back to the care home, hoping the others would get bored and leave him alone.
They did not.
Four boys surrounded him near the entrance to a small public garden.
One stepped in front of him. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
"You don't have one."
The others laughed.
Turgon looked away.
"Move."
"Or what? Are your magic eyes going to make me?"
Turgon's hands curled into fists.
The boy shoved him.
Turgon stumbled backward.
A green light appeared above them.
Everyone froze.
A figure descended from above and stopped several metres over the garden before lowering himself gently to the ground.
The bullies went pale.
Turgon forgot to breathe.
Green Lantern Malgus stood before them.
His suit carried the symbol every Oan recognized from childhood, and the ring upon his hand glowed with emerald light. Malgus was larger in person than Turgon had expected.
The street changed almost instantly.
Oans stopped walking.
Windows opened above them.
People began gathering around the garden as whispers spread through the crowd.
"Malgus."
"The Green Lantern."
"It's him."
One of the boys tried to speak.
Malgus looked at him.
"You boys should be ashamed of yourselves. Now leave, think about your behaviour, and do better."
All four scattered.
Turgon stood where they had left him, clutching his bag against his chest while Malgus turned toward him.
"You all right?"
Turgon's mouth opened.
"Yes."
It came out embarrassingly quiet.
Malgus crouched slightly so that they were closer to eye level.
"They hurt you?"
"No."
"Good."
Turgon stared at the ring.
The crowd had grown considerably, and several people were already calling Malgus's name. Children pushed toward the front while adults raised recording devices.
Malgus glanced at them and sighed with practiced resignation.
"Looks like I've been discovered."
Turgon finally smiled.
"Thank you, Green Lantern."
Malgus raised his ring.
"Forget those bullies, Blue Eyes. I see greatness within you."
Malgus smiled, then launched himself into the sky.
The crowd cheered as the emerald light rose above Ionith and disappeared between the towers.
Turgon remained in the garden long after everyone else began moving again, staring after him.
=========
400 Years Later
Turgon closed the final report on his desk and decided that if one more ministry official sent him a document marked urgent that could easily have waited until tomorrow, he was going to throw the entire holo-display through the window.
He rose from his desk inside the Concord Ministry of Intergovernmental Affairs, where he served as Deputy Director for External Territories, a position that placed him somewhere between diplomat, administrator, and professional recipient of other people's problems. His department handled relations with the other nations of Oa, the Commonwealth of Haven, and the hundreds of smaller settlements and territories that remained outside the major political blocs.
At four hundred years old, Turgon was still extraordinarily young by modern Oan standards, barely removed from what older generations considered childhood. That had made his appointment controversial when it was first announced. There were officials in the ministry who had spent longer working in government than Turgon had been alive, and several had made it clear that they thought someone his age had no business occupying such a senior position.
He had proved them wrong.
Turgon had always been intelligent, but intelligence alone would never have carried him this far. He worked harder than almost everyone around him, remembered details other officials overlooked, and possessed an irritating ability to find connections between seemingly unrelated reports. By the time his superiors began noticing him, Turgon had already spent decades taking assignments no one else wanted and solving problems that more senior officials preferred to avoid. Promotions followed, slowly at first and then with increasing speed, until he found himself where he was now.
He collected his coat and stepped into the main office.
Most of his coworkers were still there, though the atmosphere had relaxed considerably now that the formal workday was ending.
"Turgon!"
He turned as Nárwen leaned over.
"We're going to the Mirrored Lake. Come with us."
Turgon smiled. "Last time you invited me, I don't remember leaving until the next afternoon."
He shook his head. "I have plans tonight, my friend."
Nárwen gave him a suspicious look. "A date?"
"What? No."
Turgon walked backward toward the exit. "Enjoy yourselves."
"Oh, we will..."
He left them laughing behind him.
The ministry occupied one of the newer towers overlooking Ionith's central governmental district, and Turgon's flitter was waiting on a landing platform several levels below. The vehicle was little more than a sleek enclosed cabin built around an antigravity system, designed for movement through the immense network of hoverlanes crossing the city. Turgon stepped inside, set his destination, and took manual control as the flitter lifted smoothly from the platform.
Even after four centuries, Turgon occasionally forgot how enormous his home was until he saw it from the upper traffic lanes. The capital stretched farther than the eye could follow, a seemingly endless landscape of white towers, gardens, plazas, elevated districts, and ancient structures preserved between newer developments. Millions of lights moved through the evening air as flitters, public transports, freight platforms, and pedestrian carriers followed invisible routes between districts.
Some sections of Ionith were only centuries old.
Others had existed for hundreds of millions of years.
Turgon passed one of the oldest districts on his journey home, where buildings from the Golden Age still stood beneath protective fields. Their architecture was markedly different from modern Oan construction, less vertical and far more integrated with the natural landscape.
He eventually reached his residential district and guided the flitter into the docking level of his apartment building. His home occupied part of the four-hundred-and-eighty-second floor.
Turgon entered his home, dropped his coat across a chair, and considered ordering food.
He decided against it.
Turgon prepared something simple from ingredients in the kitchen. A few minutes later, he carried the meal into the main room, sat beside the window, and activated the holo-display.
A news discussion appeared above the table.
"How dare they continue calling themselves Oan while suppressing the true Oan population of Haven?"
Turgon stopped chewing.
The speaker was a Concord political commentator he recognized, an older man from Castanor who had become increasingly popular over the last several years.
A second guest immediately interrupted him. "You cannot simply call seventy percent of Haven's population aliens as though they arrived yesterday. Their families have lived there for millions of years."
"They are not Oan."
"Many descend from Green Lantern families who settled on Haven during the Golden Age."
"That does not make them Oan."
"It makes them Oan because this is their home. You insult the great Lanterns of old..."
Turgon's expression tightened.
He changed the channel.
Another news program.
Another argument about Haven.
This one displayed footage from a demonstration in Ionith where protesters carried banners demanding the reunification of the Oan system beneath Concord leadership.
Turgon did not object to reunification itself.
Malgus had spoken about it often enough, and Turgon privately agreed with much of what he said. The fragmentation of Oa had weakened them. Six governments competed over resources, military responsibilities, trade routes, and access to ancient infrastructure that had once served everyone equally. Haven had become effectively foreign despite sharing the same system and much of the same history.
Turgon still believed they were stronger together.
But he disliked the rhetoric surrounding reunification more with every passing year. Some politicians had even spoken about mining Sanctuary for its resources. Thankfully, they remained a small minority and were essentially ostracized. Few Oans would dare openly defy Ion's wishes when Sanctuary had been declared sacred.
Haven was not filled with invaders either. The people living there had been born there, as had their parents, grandparents, and ancestors stretching back millions of years. Many came from families whose distant ancestors had served beside Oans in the Green Lantern Corps.
He changed the channel again.
This time, a military analyst was speaking.
"Sources within the Directorate are claiming that preliminary agreements have been reached with Concord representatives regarding a mutual security pact."
Turgon almost dropped his fork.
"What?"
A map of Oa appeared behind the analyst, highlighting Concord territory and the Directorate.
"Neither government has formally acknowledged negotiations, but several officials suggest an announcement could come within the next few weeks."
Turgon leaned closer.
That made no sense.
The Directorate had been engaged in repeated border conflicts with the Free Clans for decades. Its military had crossed disputed territories twice in the last three years, and only mediation from the Covenant had prevented a larger war.
An alliance with the Concord would completely alter the balance of power on Oa.
More importantly, Turgon worked in the Ministry of Intergovernmental Affairs.
He should have known.
He changed to another channel.
The same story.
Another channel had a former Concord military officer openly arguing that the Directorate represented a natural ally against Haven and the Covenant.
Turgon stared at the display.
"What in the name of Ion is going on?"
He shut it off.
The sudden silence was much better.
Turgon finished eating without turning the holo back on, though his thoughts kept returning to the supposed alliance. Perhaps the report was false. Political commentators fabricated stories constantly, especially when they needed attention.
Still, something bothered him.
He placed the empty dish aside and noticed his computer across the room.
Turgon looked at it.
Then deliberately looked away.
He lasted perhaps thirty seconds.
"Oh, for the love of Ion."
He got up and activated it.
The screen opened to where he had left it the previous night.
Personnel records.
Birth registrations.
Most of which he was absolutely not authorized to access.
Turgon sat down.
For nearly a century, he had quietly searched for his birth parents.
He had started legally. Care-home records, public registries, adoption files, genealogy databases. Those gave him almost nothing. His original file contained no parental names and no verified clan affiliation. Whoever had surrendered him had apparently gone to considerable effort to make certain his origins could not easily be traced.
Eventually, curiosity overcame good judgment.
Working for the ministry provided access to databases most citizens could never reach. Turgon began searching restricted records, then increasingly restricted ones, telling himself each time that the next file would be the last.
It never was.
His greatest discovery had come several months earlier.
The care-home intake record contained a detail absent from the public version.
Turgon had not simply been found or anonymously surrendered.
An Oan soldier had personally brought him to the facility.
The soldier's name had been removed.
Perhaps the soldier had been his father.
Perhaps his mother had served in the military and another soldier had delivered him on her behalf.
Perhaps neither assumption was correct.
It was the first genuine lead Turgon had ever found.
He opened another set of military personnel records and began searching through individuals stationed around Ionith during the year of his birth. Thousands of names appeared. Turgon filtered them according to age, deployment history, family status, and proximity to the care home.
Hours passed.
The city beyond his windows grew darker while Turgon moved from one file to another.
Eventually, his eyes became too heavy to remain open.
He intended to rest them for a moment.
His head settled against the chair.
Turgon fell asleep.
A sharp tone woke him.
He jerked upright.
For a moment, he had no idea where he was. The lights in his apartment had dimmed automatically, and the computer screen provided most of the illumination around him.
Another alert sounded.
Turgon rubbed his eyes and looked at the display.
A message had appeared.
You will not find anything in those records.
Turgon stared.
"What?"
The message was not attached to any recognized communications service.
He checked the sender.
Nothing.
He immediately began running a security trace.
Another message appeared before the scan completed.
Do you want to know the truth?
Turgon's tiredness disappeared.
His fingers moved across the interface.
Who is this?
The answer appeared almost immediately.
You may call me Jade.
Turgon stared at the name.
Then he laughed.
He typed:
Of course. Jade. The companion of Ion, ancient guide of the Green Lantern Corps.
A pause.
Turgon added:
So, Jade, how exactly are you going to help me?
Coordinates appeared on the screen.
At the same moment, his Vox chimed.
Turgon glanced down.
A new security authorization had appeared beneath his government credentials.
ACCESS LEVEL: 10
He stopped breathing.
"What?!"
Turgon opened the authorization details.
They were genuine.
At least, they looked genuine, and the ministry security systems certainly believed they were. Level Ten access was beyond anything Turgon had ever possessed. There were ministers who did not carry clearance that high.
He looked back at the coordinates.
They pointed toward the governmental district.
More specifically, the Concord Parliament.
Turgon brought up an architectural map and overlaid the coordinates.
His eyes widened.
Far beneath Parliament were several restricted vaults dating back to the early Long Decline, facilities so old that even ministry records contained almost nothing about their original purpose.
The coordinates led directly into them.
Another message appeared.
Do you wish to know the truth or not?
Turgon stared at it.
Every sensible instinct told him to shut down the computer, report the security breach, and pretend this conversation had never happened.
Instead, he thought about the soldier who had brought him to the care home.
The missing names.
Four hundred years of wondering why no one had wanted him.
How different he had always been from the others.
Turgon remained there for a long time.
Then he stood.
He took his coat, grabbed his Vox, and headed for the door.
==========
Turgon nearly turned back twice before reaching the Concord Parliament.
The first time came while he was still inside his flitter, watching the enormous governmental complex grow larger beyond the windshield. Parliament occupied one of the oldest districts of Ionith. The main building itself rose from a broad artificial plateau overlooking the surrounding city, its white stone walls broken by tall green windows and ancient columns carved with scenes from Oan history.
The second time came after he landed.
Turgon remained beside his flitter for almost a full minute, staring toward the main entrance while his mind produced increasingly reasonable arguments for going home.
There were easier ways to destroy one's life.
Possibly easier ways to end up in prison as well.
His vox chimed.
You have come this far.
Turgon looked down at the message and drew a slow breath.
He began walking.
The main doors recognized his government identification before he reached them and opened automatically. Two security officers stood beyond, both wearing the dark uniforms of the Concord Parliamentary Guard rather than the ordinary civil security service.
One raised a hand.
"Identification."
Turgon presented his vox.
The officer scanned it, and Turgon watched his expression change slightly when the new clearance level appeared.
"Deputy Director Turgon. Ministry of Intergovernmental Affairs."
"Yes."
"What brings you here at this hour?"
Turgon's mind went blank.
Then another message appeared discreetly along the edge of his vox.
Records verification. Do not elaborate unless asked.
"Records verification," Turgon said.
The officer waited.
Turgon tried very hard not to look guilty.
After several seconds, the guard handed the device back.
"You are cleared."
"That's all?"
The guard raised an eyebrow.
Turgon immediately regretted asking.
"I mean, thank you."
He walked away before he could make the situation worse.
The upper levels of Parliament were familiar enough. Turgon had attended committee hearings there throughout his career and knew the main administrative corridors, legislative chambers, diplomatic offices, and public archives. The deeper he went, however, the less recognizable the building became.
Modern walls gave way to older ones. Elevators became secured transit shafts requiring repeated authorization, while decorative corridors narrowed into utilitarian passages whose architecture belonged to a very different period of Oan history.
Turgon's Level Ten clearance opened every barrier.
At one junction, an elderly parliamentary administrator looked up from a terminal as Turgon passed.
"You there."
Turgon stopped.
The administrator looked him over. "I do not recognize you."
"I am new."
The administrator apparently interpreted that differently.
"New to the lower archives?"
"Yes."
"That explains it. You want the east transit passage if you are heading below Level Sixty. The western lift is undergoing maintenance."
Turgon's vox vibrated.
He is correct. Take the east passage.
"Thank you," Turgon said.
The administrator waved him onward.
The messages from Jade continued guiding him deeper. Turn left at a maintenance intersection. Ignore the marked archive entrance. Take a service elevator behind an unmarked security door. Present his clearance at every checkpoint, but volunteer nothing.
Turgon followed because, at this point, admitting how insane all of this was would accomplish very little.
Eventually, the corridors ended before a massive security station.
This was nothing like the ordinary checkpoints above.
Six armed guards stood around a reinforced doorway large enough to admit military vehicles. Automated weapons tracked movement from recessed sections of the ceiling, while multiple scanners examined anyone approaching the entrance long before they reached it.
Beyond the station stood the vault.
Turgon slowed.
Keep walking.
He looked at the message on his vox.
"I am going to be arrested."
Your clearance is valid.
Walk.
Turgon considered throwing the device against the nearest wall.
Instead, he approached the guards.
One stepped forward immediately.
"Halt."
Turgon stopped.
"Identification and authorization."
He handed over his vox.
The guard scanned it once, frowned, and scanned it again.
The others noticed.
Turgon could feel all of them looking at him.
"Level Ten?" the guard asked.
"Yes."
"For what purpose?"
Turgon's device vibrated.
Archive inspection authorized through central administration.
"Archive inspection. Central administration."
The guard looked unconvinced.
"Who issued the authorization?"
Turgon hesitated.
A new line appeared.
Tell him the authorization source is classified under Protocol ION-ONE.
Turgon's stomach tightened.
Even he knew that designation.
"Protocol ION-One."
The guard's suspicion vanished.
He returned the vox.
"Proceed."
The final security doors opened behind the guards, revealing a long corridor descending farther beneath Parliament.
At the end waited another door.
This one had no visible controls.
Turgon approached.
"Now what?"
Request access verbally.
He stared at the door.
"Open the vault."
Nothing happened for several seconds.
Then something enormous moved behind the walls.
Locks disengaged one after another with deep mechanical impacts that Turgon felt through the floor. Ancient seals withdrew from the sides of the doorway while green light travelled across symbols carved into the surface. A scanner passed over his entire body, followed by a second one that examined his vox.
The door separated down the middle.
Each half withdrew several metres into the walls.
Another barrier waited behind it.
That one opened vertically.
Then a transparent containment field disappeared.
Turgon stood very still.
"How many doors does one archive need?"
This is not an ordinary archive.
The final barrier opened.
Turgon entered.
Lights activated in sequence ahead of him, revealing rows upon rows of storage racks disappearing into the distance. Thousands of datapads rested inside preservation fields alongside sealed data crystals, physical documents, ancient memory cores, and devices so old that Turgon could not identify them.
He slowly turned.
"What is this?"
Jade answered through text.
Look around. You will find several things Oa was made to forget.
He walked between the shelves, reading labels whenever something caught his attention. Most meant nothing to him. Some referenced classified military projects, diplomatic incidents, or historical periods deliberately removed from public records.
His vox chimed.
Stop. Datapad on your right. Third shelf.
Turgon looked.
A small black datapad rested inside a preservation slot.
He removed it.
The device activated immediately.
A title appeared.
REPORT OF THE PUFF COLLECTIVE: SIGHTINGS OF ION WITHIN RESTRICTED TERRITORY, SECTOR 616
Turgon stared at it.
"What?"
He opened the report.
The date struck him first.
Four hundred years ago.
Collective observation confirms visual identification of Ion within the restricted region of Sector 616. Guardian observed travelling in the company of an individual belonging to a species designated Aesir...
He stopped.
His eyes moved over the report again.
There were images taken from an enormous distance, but the figure was unmistakable.
Ion.
He looked different. There was no cape, and he wore a suit similar to the one Turgon had seen Malgus wear.
Turgon scrolled farther.
Additional sightings followed.
The Puff Collective had apparently observed Ion several times inside the restricted region, though direct contact had been prohibited by orders from Jade.
Turgon shook his head.
"This is fabricated."
Another message appeared.
Why?
"Because Ion is inside the Central Power Battery."
No response.
"The Black Night happened more than half a million years ago. Ion was entombed afterward and has never emerged."
Turgon looked at the name attached to the report.
"And the Puff Collective died during the Black Night. Everyone knows that. Malgus is the last Green Lantern."
His vox chimed.
So they say.
Turgon stared at those three words.
"What does that mean?"
Keep walking.
"I came here to learn about my parents."
You will.
Keep walking, Turgon.
He almost refused.
Then he returned the datapad and continued deeper into the vault.
The shelves eventually ended.
A large circular chamber waited beyond them.
Unlike the archive, this section contained only one object.
A ring floated at its centre.
Blue light reflected across the chamber walls.
Turgon stopped.
The ring was similar to a Green Lantern ring, yet the symbol upon its face was completely different, and the energy surrounding it burned a deep, brilliant blue.
"What is that?"
Jade's response appeared immediately.
Open the containment field.
Turgon stared at his vox.
"No."
Open it.
"I am absolutely not doing that."
He stepped backward.
"I came here because you said you knew something about my parents. Instead, you brought me into what is probably the most restricted place on Oa, showed me records that make no sense, and now you want me to release some unknown ring from containment."
No response.
Turgon continued, increasingly certain that he had made a terrible mistake.
"I knew this was some kind of trick. Oh, fuck, I'm screwed..."
The containment field vanished.
Turgon's eyes widened.
"What did you do?"
The blue ring moved.
Turgon yelped and stumbled backward as it shot out of the chamber.
"No, no, stay there!"
The ring ignored him.
He fell onto the floor and raised one arm defensively as the blue light stopped inches from his face.
Then it spoke.
"Turgon, son of Míriel."
Everything inside him stopped.
"What?"
Son of Míriel.
Four hundred years of searching, and suddenly there was a name.
The ring continued.
"You have the ability to instill great hope."
Turgon stared at it.
Blue light intensified around him.
"Welcome to the Blue Lantern Corps."
"The what?"
The ring flew onto his finger.
Energy exploded through Turgon's body.
He cried out as blue light travelled along his arm, surrounding him in a field that felt strangely warm, while something vast and distant seemed to recognize his presence.
Then he heard footsteps.
Turgon turned.
One of the guards stood behind him.
His expression was horrified.
Turgon barely had time to raise his hand.
The guard struck him across the head.
Pain flashed through his skull.
The chamber spun.
Turgon collapsed onto the floor as blue light flickered around him.
Through fading vision, he saw figures rushing into the room.
Then a woman's voice reached him.
Melodic and gentle telling him he will be safe.
Then everything went dark.
.
.
Turgon.
You can read up to chapter 107 here.
p.a.t.r.eon.com/Illusiveone (check the chapter summary i have it there as well)