Gotham City Park
Temperature: Dropping fast
Wind chill: Sub-zero, thanks to the walking fridge with a vendetta
The park had once been full of life—blankets, laughter, hot dogs, and a string quartet playing near the fountain. Now it looked like the aftermath of a winter apocalypse. Trees were frostbitten skeletons. A child's red kite fluttered, frozen mid-flight, tangled in crystal branches. And the people… the people were running.
Or worse—stopped.
At the top of a rocky cliff overlooking the main field stood Mr. Freeze, encased in his iconic cryo-suit, steam hissing from his vents like a dragon with a nitrogen addiction. He raised his arm and took aim with that overdesigned, overcompensating freeze cannon of his.
A nearby family—two parents and a little girl clutching a stuffed polar bear—stared up at him in paralyzed horror.
Freeze tilted his head with mock pity.
"Enjoying family time?" he said, his thick Austrian accent making the sarcasm sound heavier, colder.
He pulled the trigger.
In a flash of blue and white, the family froze solid, locked in place like glass figurines of terror.
Freeze exhaled, his breath fogging inside the cracked dome of his helmet.
"My family has other plans," he muttered, voice laced with bitterness—and a trace of grief.
With a hiss of hydraulics, he stepped onto an icy ramp that formed beneath his boots, sliding down from the cliff in style—part Bond villain, part Olympic figure skater from hell. He skated through chaos, leveling his cannon at more fleeing civilians.
But just as he pulled the trigger—
CLANG!
A Batarang slammed into the side of the cannon, sending the blast harmlessly into the sky where it froze a passing drone.
Freeze staggered slightly.
"Batman," he rumbled, not angry—almost... impressed. "I was wondering when—"
He stopped.
There was no Batman in front of him.
Just... laughter. Light, young, and echoing in all directions. Impossible in an open space.
Freeze spun around just in time to see a black shadow overhead.
But what landed on him wasn't a six-foot brute in kevlar.
It was Robin—thirteen, fast, and grinning like he was about to win Fortnite on Nightmare Mode. He was in sleek red and black tactical armor, a yellow cape flowing behind him like it belonged there. He slammed into Freeze with a flying kick to the chest, knocking the older villain off his frozen feet and onto the pavement.
"Hey there, Elsa," Robin quipped, tossing two explosive discs as he rolled off Freeze. They snapped onto the helmet's side, blinking red.
Freeze barely had time to groan before they detonated with a crack, fracturing the dome and letting icy mist pour from inside like spilled secrets.
Freeze growled, pushing himself back up with glacial slowness.
"Oh. Boy Wonder," he said, his voice rasping through the damage. "The Bat sent you to drag me off to prison. Frankly, I'm underwhelmed."
Robin gave him a once-over, unimpressed.
"Yeah, well, I was underwhelmed by the ice puns. And that was before you did the Disney villain slide down the cliff. Kinda ruins the whole 'menace' thing."
Freeze didn't laugh. His cannon lit up with a high-pitched whine.
He raised it directly at the teen.
"I find your attitude...chilling."
Robin rolled his eyes.
"Wow," he said, ducking as Freeze fired a blast that turned a tree behind him into a glass sculpture. "That pun hurt more than your aim."
Freeze advanced. "Kids. Always in such a rush."
Robin shrugged, dodging left with an acrobatic twist and pulling another disc from his belt.
"Not talking to you."
Freeze blinked behind what was left of his cracked visor.
"Then who—?"
A fist answered the question.
From the shadows behind Freeze, Batman launched into a flying punch—armor reinforced, emotionally repressed, and perfectly calculated. It connected with a thunderous CRACK, shattering the rest of Freeze's helmet and sending him spinning across the ice.
Freeze skidded ten feet before crashing into a frozen bench, sparks flying from his shattered suit.
Batman landed with a grunt, cape billowing around him like wings of wrath. He stalked toward the villain, voice low and lethal.
"You made this personal, Victor."
Freeze groaned, trying to sit up.
"You always say that," he rasped.
Batman didn't stop. "You turned a public park into a morgue."
"Cryostasis," Freeze muttered, pointing weakly at the frozen citizens. "They're not dead... yet."
Robin skated to a halt next to him, dropping into a crouch.
"Cool motive," he said, "still attempted murder."
Freeze let out a frosty sigh.
"Why must you both be so dramatic?"
Robin gestured to Batman, who now towered over the fallen villain like justice in black armor.
"Blame him. I get my flair from the cape."
Batman didn't smile. He just pressed a button on his gauntlet, summoning the Batplane, which roared into view overhead.
"GCPD can thaw the civilians. We take Freeze to Arkham."
Freeze glared up through fractured lenses.
"You think prison can hold me?"
Batman leaned down, close enough that his whisper could kill.
"No. But I can."
Robin, meanwhile, leaned back on his heels.
"So... do we walk him out, or are we doing the whole Bat-zipline thing?"
Batman simply nodded.
Robin sighed. "Yay. Whiplash and awkward silence."
Behind them, the Batplane opened its cargo bay as the police sirens finally began to wail in the distance.
Freeze shivered, not from the cold—but from the look in Batman's eyes.
He knew that look.
It wasn't anger.
It was disappointment.
And somehow… that was worse.
—
STAR CITY MAIN BRIDGE
Traffic: Jammed. Visibility: Crystal-clear. Threat level: Rising fast.
Wind howled between the suspension towers, rattling cables and kicking up dust as Icicle Jr. landed dead center of the bridge. His boots slammed onto the asphalt, cracking it beneath frost-covered soles. With a wicked grin, he raised his arms.
The ground beneath him rippled with cold. Ice spider-webbed outward from his feet, coating the lanes in shimmering blue. Cars skidded, some spinning completely, others slamming into the barriers. Horns blared. Screams erupted.
Icicle Jr. laughed—a jagged, cocky bark of chaos.
"Let's cool things down a bit, Star City!" he shouted.
With a flourish of his hand, he summoned a spherical shell of jagged ice, encasing himself like a frozen fortress. He stomped once—sending shockwaves that rocked the bridge. Two SUVs flipped, crashing into the railings, narrowly missing civilians scrambling out of wrecked cars.
Then—arrows.
Five of them.
Three with green fletching. Two with red.
They came raining down like divine judgment, piercing the ice shell. The villain paused for only a second—just long enough for a sixth arrow to bury itself in his shoulder.
The blinking red light on the nock was the only warning he got.
BOOM!
The mini-charge blew with concussive force, spinning him around, staggering him.
Before he could find his footing, the other arrows detonated in sequence, blasting him backward in a whiplash arc that landed him right back where he started, his ice armor in shards around him.
He gritted his teeth, groaning as the ringing in his head began to fade.
Turning toward the nearest suspension tower, his blue eyes narrowed—and he saw them.
Two archers, framed by the skyline.
Green Arrow stood tall in his deep green tactical suit, hood casting a sharp shadow over his face. Next to him, just as poised but visibly more irritated, stood Speedy, bow raised, red gear glinting in the light.
Icicle Jr. barked a laugh, shaking out the frost from his hair.
"Finally!" he called. "I was wondering what a guy had to do to get a little attention around here."
He raised his left arm, transforming it into a mace-like slab of ice, the spiked edges glimmering menacingly.
"Let's see how you like getting iced out!"
With a roar, he swung and launched five icicles in rapid succession toward the tower. A moment later, his right arm mirrored the transformation, and he let loose another volley.
The projectiles whistled through the air like missiles.
Green Arrow didn't blink.
"Speedy," he said coolly, drawing two arrows in one smooth motion, "he's doing this for attention."
"Great," Speedy muttered, loosing a red-fletched arrow that detonated mid-air, blowing the first wave apart. "Another crybaby with powers. That's so new."
The second volley came in hotter—closer. They had to split, sprinting across the tower's width to the suspender cables.
Arrows flew from both bows with rhythmic precision, shattering every icicle that came too close.
"Just saying," Speedy shouted as he somersaulted over a patch of growing ice, "if this tantrum ruins my afternoon—"
"You're not gonna miss it," Green Arrow cut in, launching a line arrow and swinging down to the cables. "Assuming he doesn't turn you into a popsicle."
Speedy followed him down, flipping and landing in perfect form, another arrow already nocked.
"He's trying."
Icicle Jr. snarled from below. "Freeze, pretty boys!"
He slammed his arms together, crafting a massive shield of ice in front of him as the archers loosed a synchronized pair of arrows.
BOOM!
The explosion cracked a hole in the center of the shield. Smoke swirled around the breach.
Junior grinned, arm already extended through the hole. He fired a concentrated blast of cryo-energy at Speedy.
"Gotcha."
But Speedy was already moving. He vaulted into the air, tucking into a flip over the blast, landing on a nearby light post. Without missing a beat, he pulled a boxing-glove arrow from his quiver and fired.
The arrow slammed dead center into Icicle Jr.'s jaw with a crack! that echoed down the bridge.
The villain's eyes went wide, then crossed. He spun awkwardly, crashing down and sliding across the frozen asphalt like a fallen action figure.
He finally skidded to a stop—face up, groaning, snowflake-patterned.
Green Arrow landed nearby, bow still in hand.
He smirked and shook his head. "Kid had a glass jaw," he muttered.
Speedy landed beside him with a soft thud, already reaching for his phone.
"Hilarious," he drawled, not even looking at the body. "Can we go? Today's the day."
Green Arrow raised a brow under the hood. "What, prom?"
Speedy narrowed his eyes. "No. The day. You said I'd know when I was ready."
Green Arrow paused—really looked at him now.
The silence hung for a beat before he gave a faint nod.
"Right. Yeah." He slung his bow over his back. "Let's go."
Speedy smirked and walked past him.
"And we're taking the bike. I'm not riding bitch again."
Green Arrow sighed. "You've been spending way too much time with Canary."
—
PEARL HARBOR
Cloudy skies, glacial waters, and one very ticked-off metahuman
From above, Pearl Harbor looked more like an Arctic graveyard. Great shards of jagged ice jutted up from the water like the spines of a frozen leviathan. Dozens of naval vessels—cargo freighters, carriers, and battleships—sat locked in place, their hulls entombed in thick, glassy ice. The familiar salt-and-diesel scent of the harbor was all but drowned out by the cold haze drifting through the air like dry snow.
On the USS Kane, the deck was barely visible beneath the whiteout.
Killer Frost stood atop the bridge, her palms glowing cerulean as she poured icy destruction across the superstructure, her breath curling in the frigid air. Her white-blonde hair whipped behind her like a battle banner. She laughed as she carved another turret in thick rime, sleet hammering the hull around her like frozen machine-gun fire.
Below, something moved.
Correction: someone.
Aquaman exploded from the Open Bridge like a battering ram in golden armor. He slid down the steep incline to the forward turret, landing with a metallic grunt, then vaulted to the second turret, frost trailing beneath his boots. Killer Frost clocked him in the periphery of her ice-blue eyes.
She smirked.
"Too slow, Your Wetness."
She raised a hand and fired. A wave of ice lanced across the deck like a whip and snagged him mid-air, freezing Aquaman in place, two feet from touching down.
"Gotcha."
"Aw, come on," Aquaman grunted, muscles flexing inside his armor as the ice began to creep across his beard. "You kiss your mirror with that mouth?"
From behind and to the left, another figure leapt through the fog—a blur of black and blue, dreadlocks trailing like storm tendrils.
Aqualad surged forward, launching from the first turret in a perfect arc, passing over his frozen mentor. The instant his boots touched the iced steel deck, Aquaman shattered the ice around him with a snarl and followed.
"Don't tell me you're not hyped," Aquaman called after him, shaking frost from his hair as he bounded off the turret.
"Right now, my King," Aqualad replied without looking back, "I am focused on the matter at hand."
His voice was clipped. Controlled. Every syllable felt like a soldier's heartbeat.
Frost hurled a wide-angled burst of ice across the deck—fast and wild.
Aqualad ducked low, sliding across the slick steel surface in a controlled maneuver, faking right, just as expected. Killer Frost threw a narrow blast of ice—only for Aqualad to feint left, pivoting into the slipstream of her overcorrection.
He was in.
"Oh, come on," Frost growled, whirling to adjust her aim.
She launched a precision freeze-shot toward the exact space he was moving into, but Aqualad jumped high, arms spread, drawing his WaterBearers from his back.
In an instant, the translucent hilts morphed into dual maces, and the tattoos on his arms glowed electric blue, pulsing with Atlantean energy.
He came down hard.
Frost fired.
The blast struck the maces head-on, encasing them—and his hands—in ice. His landing cracked the deck beneath him.
Frost laughed, stepping toward him with a cruel grin.
"Bad move, fish-boy."
Aqualad's eyes flicked up. "No."
With a sharp cry, he slammed both frozen maces into the ground in a double uppercut, shattering the ice around his hands and blowing the remnants of the WaterBearers to pieces. The force of the blow caught Killer Frost dead in the chest, lifting her off her feet and sending her sailing back across the deck.
She hit the ice-crusted wall of the superstructure with a crack—and went limp.
The glowing tattoos on Aqualad's arms faded back to black as he stood over the unconscious villainess, his breath steady.
Behind him, Aquaman landed with a heavy thud, arms crossed over his broad chest, water still dripping from his pauldrons.
"Well?" he asked.
Aqualad turned to face him, breathing only a little harder than usual.
"Yes," he admitted with a brief, rare smile. "I'm excited."
Aquaman's eyes twinkled with something halfway between pride and challenge.
"Good," he said. "Because today's the day."
—
CENTRAL CITY – JEWELRY DISTRICT
Weather: Clear skies, bad vibes
The shrill whine of alarms blared through the broken front of Lillian's Fine Gems, a place that now looked like it had been hit by a literal blizzard—and in a way, it had. Ice crept out from the jagged hole in the brick storefront, spreading across the sidewalk like frostbite on a summer day.
In the middle of the street, Captain Cold stood, breathing heavy, frost swirling off his parka and goggles, the barrel of his cold gun pulsing with a blue-white glow.
But he wasn't alone.
Two red blurs zipped around him in a tightening whirlwind of wind and lightning.
"Can't hit what you can't see," Flash called, his voice trailing just a half-step behind him with each lap.
Cold raised his gun, frustrated but still calculating.
First shot—too wide. It hit a streetlamp, freezing it into a jagged ice sculpture.
Second shot—closer, but still a foot behind the red streaks.
Third shot—he fired off instinct, and while it missed Flash, the blast ricocheted and struck a parked car, encasing it in a solid block of ice, like it had crash-landed into a frozen lake.
From the vortex of speed came Flash's voice again, calm and cocky.
"Stealing ice to steal ice? Really, Snart? Even you've gotta see how cliché that is."
"Yeah," Kid Flash chimed in, his tone impatient and sarcastic as lightning danced along the edges of his gloves. "We've got, like, actual crises happening—and you're over here acting like a rejected Elsa audition."
With a frustrated grunt, Kid Flash slipped his red goggles over his malachite-green eyes and cut out of the circle. The sudden change in momentum sent wind and paper flying in his wake as he rocketed toward Cold's blind spot.
But he was talking too much—and Snart never missed a tell.
The villain turned hard toward the voice, aiming the Cold Gun and squeezing the trigger. A blast of bitter ice screamed through the air, and Kid Flash twisted mid-sprint, only partially avoiding it. The blast clipped his shoulder, freezing the sleeve of his suit and sending a shiver up his spine.
"Whoops!" he grunted, skidding backwards on the pavement and swinging around to face Cold again. His right arm jerked up, and he snagged the Cold Gun mid-motion, wrenching it out of Snart's hand with a crack of lightning and a confident twist.
He skidded to a halt at the center of a T-intersection, flicking shards of ice off his shoulder like they were flakes of dandruff.
"Gotta say, Cold," he panted, tossing the gun up and catching it once. "You used to be scary."
Snart clenched his jaw and stepped forward—only to get decked.
Flash hit him with a cross that came out of nowhere, a sonic boom echoing across the block as Snart's body was flung five or six feet sideways, crashing against the wall of a bus stop before crumpling to the ground. Out cold. Literally.
Flash came to a smooth stop next to his protégé, brushing a hand through his windswept hair.
"Calm down, Kid," he said coolly, watching the steam rise off the Cold Gun now lying in the middle of the street.
But Kid Flash wasn't having it.
"Oh, please," he groaned, stepping toward his mentor, his tone turning from playful to fired up. "You'll stop to flirt with Iris during a tsunami. You'll swap dad jokes with Joe while the city's on fire. You chatted up Cold five minutes ago like you were grabbing coffee—"
He jabbed a thumb toward the unconscious criminal for emphasis.
"—and now you wanna tell me to calm down?"
Flash tilted his head slightly, actually looking at him—really looking. The height difference was still there, but Kid Flash wasn't the same wide-eyed trainee anymore. His stance was solid. His energy was focused. And his eyes… those glowing green eyes?
They were ready.
"Today's the day," Kid Flash said, not asking.
Just saying it.
The air buzzed with static. For once, Flash didn't have a comeback. Just a breath. Then a grin.
"Yeah," Barry said with a nod. "Today's the day."
—
WASHINGTON, D.C. – 14:00 EDT
The Hall of Justice – Front Plaza
The crowd swelled like a wave, corralled behind golden barriers. Tourists, reporters, families—all pressed together beneath a summer sky that shimmered like heat off steel. Patriotic fanfare blared faintly from distant speakers. Above them loomed the Hall of Justice, a temple to modern myth, sunlight gleaming off its monumental white facade.
In front of the Hall, six heroes stood in formation: Batman and Robin, Green Arrow and Speedy, Aquaman and Aqualad.
The younger heroes flanked their mentors, all of them dressed for the occasion in crisp field gear, their shadows long against the marble.
Batman turned his head slightly, his voice low, even through the modulator.
"Today's the day," he said to Robin.
Beside him, Green Arrow gave a half-grin. "Welcome to the Hall of Justice."
"Headquarters of the Justice League," Aquaman finished, arms crossed like a wall of golden muscle.
Just then, a gust of wind swept past, accompanied by two red streaks of lightning that zipped up the marble steps and came to a screeching halt.
Flash arrived first, striking his usual effortless stance. Kid Flash skidded in a half-spin behind him, nearly stumbling as he caught himself with dramatic flair.
"Called it!" Kid Flash huffed, brushing wind-blown hair from his face. "I knew we'd be the last ones here."
Flash raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. "You stopped for a chili dog."
"I was carb-loading!" Kid Flash defended, crossing his arms. "Speed science."
From the crowd, a murmur swelled.
"Is that Batman?" someone gasped, shielding their eyes from the sun.
"I see Flash! And Flash Jr.!"
"No, that's Speedy," a nearby woman argued.
"Speedy's the one in red!" a kid shouted.
"No, he's Green Arrow's sidekick—duh."
"Well, that makes no sense," another voice said flatly.
Speedy rolled his eyes.
Flash leaned toward Green Arrow. "Your PR team really needs to work on naming conventions."
Green Arrow grunted. "Yeah, talk to Queen Consolidated's marketing department."
Once the crowd settled slightly, Green Arrow gestured toward the massive entrance.
"Ready to see the inner sanctum?" he asked Speedy, his tone light but the edge beneath unmistakable.
"Born that way," Speedy said coolly, barely glancing at him.
A few steps ahead, Aqualad turned toward the group, posture upright, tone diplomatic but sincere.
"I'm glad we are all here. It's... historic."
Kid Flash snorted. "Have all four Sidekicks ever even been in the same place at the same time?"
He looked expectantly at Robin, who was absently adjusting the gauntlet on his right wrist.
Robin didn't look up. "Yes. Three times. First was the Polaris Quake in Keystone. Second was the Gemini Infiltration. Third was Speedy's allergic reaction to Martian hot sauce."
Speedy visibly flinched. "I told you that was a tactical mislabeling."
"And don't call us sidekicks," he snapped, turning sharply toward Kid Flash. "Not after today."
Kid Flash raised his hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay. Sheesh. I said sorry."
He turned to the Hall, taking it in. The towering statues of the founding League members loomed above them—Superman, Scarlett, Wonder Woman, Batman, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and Flash.
"I mean... can you blame me?" he added. "First time seeing this place up close. Kinda overwhelming."
Robin stepped forward, eyes narrowed behind his domino mask.
"You're overwhelmed. Freeze was underwhelmed," he said dryly. "Why isn't anybody ever just whelmed?"
They passed through the doors, entering the vast atrium of the Hall—sunlight streaming through stained glass, marble floors polished to perfection, every surface engraved with history.
The chatter between the young heroes began to fade, replaced by quiet awe.
And then, almost casually, Robin asked over his shoulder:
"Hey, Batman? When are Solaris, Sentinel, Solstice, Troia, Enchantress and Supergirl getting here?"
He didn't stop walking, but the moment he said it, three heads swiveled toward him.
Aqualad's eyes narrowed, processing the names.
Speedy blinked. "Wait... who?"
Kid Flash spun around. "Back up. There are more of us?"
Robin smiled—small, smug, and satisfied.
Batman didn't answer, but the briefest twitch of his cape as he walked past the others said enough.
Robin's grin widened. "Oh, right," he said. "Guess you guys weren't invited to the group chat."
—
The clouds split open.
It wasn't thunder. It wasn't lightning. It was something deeper. Something old.
A boom like a heartbeat shaking heaven.
From the rupture, they descended.
Eight figures flew in formation, silhouetted against the sun like gods sculpted from myth and supernovae.
Superman was at the center, cape flowing like a solar flare, jaw set with quiet command. His presence didn't just draw attention—it demanded reverence.
To his right, Scarlett burned in armor of red and gold, a regal blaze of war magic and solar power. Her red cape rippled like a banner of cosmic fire, the House of El crest on her chest radiating celestial heat. Her red hair caught the sunlight, refracting brilliance.
To his left, Wonder Woman glided like the eye of a storm. Silent. Steady. Eternal.
And behind them, the next generation dropped like divine meteorites.
SOLARIS led the charge. His black and crimson suit was sleek and lethal, shoulders broad under the pressure of legacy. The red cape flared behind him like war writ in silk, gold gauntlets gleaming. His green eyes, bright as kryptonite and twice as sharp, scanned the plaza as he landed with an impact that cracked the marble.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
SENTINEL landed next to him, knees bent in a soldier's crouch, rising with calm precision. Jet-black suit lined with red and gold. Crimson cape snapped as he moved. His eyes—icy pale green—watched the world like he was already planning three wars ahead.
Aquaman leaned into Aqualad, voice low.
"That one's got strategy in his bones."
"And something older than strategy behind his eyes," Aqualad murmured, wary.
SOLSTICE dropped like a comet into sunlight. Her suit shimmered with gold at the shoulders and a red core that pulsed with kinetic joy. She waved at the kids behind the crowd barrier, her grin infectiously bright.
"She's the one who laughed while punching Doomsday in the jaw," Kid Flash whispered.
"She also incinerated three of his ribs with her bare hands," Speedy muttered, eyebrows raised.
SUPERGIRL hovered just above the ground, blue and red suit pristine, gaze sharp. The red-and-blue El crest on her chest shone like it had a heartbeat of its own. She didn't land until everyone was watching.
Robin, quietly: "That's not the cousin. That's the standard."
TROIA hit the ground like a hammer. Her black bodysuit flexed under silver Amazonian armor, her boots cracking the pavement. She said nothing, arms crossed, sword slung across her back. But her scowl—directed entirely at Solaris—said plenty.
"Ugh. You're late," she snapped.
"I was saving people," Solaris replied, deadpan. "You know. Hero stuff. Maybe you should try it sometime."
"I did. Remember yesterday? I saved you after you got punched through a silo."
"That was a tactical distraction."
"That was a concussion."
Supergirl muttered, "Here we go again."
ENCHANTRESS emerged in silence, her cloak swirling in raven-black and ember-red. Her hood was up, golden rune glowing faintly on her chest. Her fingers moved, and a ripple of energy shimmered through the air—like reality was exhaling.
Flash blinked. "Did she just hex the sky?"
Green Arrow groaned. "Haunted air again? I'm too old for this."
AT THE PLAZA'S EDGE
Reporters were sobbing. Guards frozen mid-salute. Civilians had dropped phones, mouths agape.
Inside the Hall, the sidekicks turned.
Robin was the first to speak.
"Group chat just became a group dynasty."
Kid Flash whistled. "Okay. Okay. Now I'm whelmed."
Speedy: "I'm over-whelmed."
Aqualad just watched Sentinel, his own stoicism finally cracked by curiosity.
The doors of the Hall creaked open.
The legacy stepped forward.
And the future?
The future walked in.
—
The grand marble atrium shimmered with golden light bleeding through stained glass skylights, the glass images of the founding League members casting mythical shadows across the floor. At the top of the stairs, the legacy heroes — Superman, Scarlett, Wonder Woman, Batman, Flash, Aquaman, and Green Arrow — took their places on the overlooking dais. Statuesque. Regal. Tense.
Below, their proteges watched the next generation arrive... and collide.
Solaris and Sentinel broke formation first, their capes trailing behind them like banners caught in solar wind. Hadrian's boots clicked with deliberate weight, his emerald eyes sweeping the chamber with practiced calm — until they locked with a pair of smoky brown ones across the room.
Robin stepped forward first, arms crossed, smirk dialed in.
"You're late," he said.
Solaris didn't even blink. "You're short. Still winning."
"Uh-huh. You nearly set my communicator on fire with those brag-texts," Robin shot back.
Sentinel clapped Robin's shoulder in a half-hug. "He rehearsed that landing in front of the Fortress AI three times. Full Superman cape spin and everything."
Solaris gave a casual eye-roll. "Lies."
Sentinel, absolutely deadpan: "Truth. I have recordings."
Before Robin could reply, a red blur zipped into the conversation, skidding to a stop with sneaker-scorching friction.
Kid Flash, wide-eyed and breathless, pointed between them. "Wait, these are the mystery invites? I thought that was just some passive-aggressive prank."
Solaris, with a charming little smirk: "Nope. We're very real. And very impressive."
"And very exhausting," came a voice like sharpened velvet.
Troia stood off to the side, arms folded, silver Amazonian armor gleaming under the sunlight pouring from the ceiling. Her black hair framed her scowl perfectly.
Sentinel sighed like he'd heard this a dozen times already. "Is she going to do this the entire day?"
"Every day," Robin said, nodding. "Get used to it."
Solaris tilted his head, eyes locking with Troia again. Fire and thunder clashed somewhere in the air between them.
"You wanna settle this with a sparring match later? Winner gets bragging rights, loser admits who blushed first."
Troia stepped forward, boots cracking faint spiderwebs into the marble. "I was planning on winning anyway. Might as well embarrass you while I'm at it."
"You're blushing now, aren't you?" Solaris said, taking a step closer. "It's okay. You can admit it. A little heat stroke? Maybe my cape's just that distracting."
"Distracting? It's overcompensating." She was toe-to-toe with him now. "Bet it weighs more than your dignity."
"Better to overcompensate than under-deliver, Princess."
"Keep talking, Farm Boy. I'll take your ego off at the knees."
From the staircase, Supergirl muttered to Solstice, "Should we break it up before someone starts making out or loses a limb?"
Solstice, grinning, eyes glowing faintly gold: "Why not both?"
Enchantress drifted near the statues, barely watching, her voice dry as bone-dust. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something horny this way comes."
Kid Flash blinked. "I—what?"
Robin, arms still crossed, deadpan: "It's a Shakespeare thing. Or maybe a witch thing. Just nod and smile."
Sentinel turned to Aqualad, who had been watching the interactions with the exact look of someone preparing for war.
"So... this how you imagined our big debut going?" Sentinel asked.
Aqualad, dry as driftwood: "It's better than the time Artemis and Zatanna tried to duel in a shopping mall."
"We were testing mind-control wards," came Enchantress's voice from twenty feet away, without even turning around.
Aquaman, from the balcony: "Focus."
And just like that, the room tensed again.
A beat.
Then Robin leaned in toward Solaris, voice quieter. "Seriously. You should see Troia when she's actually mad. She punched a Parademon so hard it turned into vapor."
Solaris cracked a grin. "She flirted with me after that, too."
"That wasn't flirting," Troia snapped. "That was warning fire."
"So... kissing is the tactical nuke?"
She shoved past him, shoulder-checking Solaris so hard it made him stumble half a step. He laughed.
Robin turned back to the others. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of a new era."
Kid Flash, still processing the chaos: "So this is what puberty with superpowers looks like."
Sentinel, smirking faintly: "And we haven't even gotten to training yet."
Green Arrow, watching from above, muttered to Batman, "Ten bucks says Solaris and Troia either kill each other or get married before the end of the year."
Batman, voice gravel and stone: "I'm not betting against destiny.
---
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