The blackness was absolute, pierced only by pinpricks of light that burned with impossible intensity. Albyon floated, utterly still, a strange ache a dull throb behind his ribs. He tried to blink, but there was nothing for his eyelids to meet, no air to caress his skin. Just the vast, silent cold. His mind, a fog-shrouded landscape, struggled to grasp a single coherent thought. Where was he? How had he come to be here, suspended in this terrifying, beautiful vacuum? He remembered nothing. A void in his memory as profound as the void around him. He pushed with his legs, a purely instinctual movement, and found no purchase. No floor, no wall, nothing. Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the edges of his numbness. He was lost. Completely, utterly lost in a place that defied all understanding. Then he saw it. A glint, impossibly far off, but growing steadily. It wasn't a star. It was too regular, too structured, reflecting the cosmic tapestry in a way no natural body could. A colossal diamond, fractured with windows, gleaming with an artificial, impossible light. It looked like a city, but a city built for the sky, for the emptiness. A strange calm settled over him, pushing back the panic. Curiosity, sharp and undeniable, replaced it. This structure, this impossible beacon, felt like a destination, a point of reference in a universe that had otherwise swallowed him whole. His body, without conscious command, began to shift. He felt a subtle hum deep within his bones, a vibration that resonated with the distant light. It was as if he was being pulled, not by an external force, but by something innate, a new, unfamiliar gravity within himself. The ache in his ribs faded, replaced by a sense of wholeness, of latent power stirring. The colossal structure grew larger, resolving into sharp angles and gleaming panels. It was a station, vast beyond anything he could have imagined. Its sheer scale dwarfed the distant, glittering stars. He felt no cold, no lack of air, even though logic screamed that he should be freezing, suffocating. His body, this new, strange vessel, simply was. An instinct, ancient and primal, pulsed through him. He had to reach it. He had to understand. He began to move, propelled by an unknown force, drawn towards the impossible station like a moth to a flame, utterly unaware of the profound changes his body had undergone, or the path it was now forging for him. --- The Watchtower filled his vision, a sprawling nexus of metal and light. He could make out individual modules, communication arrays, and what looked like launch bays. No visible entry points presented themselves, only a seamless, armored hull. Yet, his momentum did not waver. He was still being drawn, effortlessly. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmering began to emanate from his skin. It wasn't a glow, more like the air around him was subtly distorting, bending the light. The hum in his bones intensified, a quiet thrumming that felt both alien and utterly natural. He was an arrow, aimed at a target he didn't understand, propelled by a bow he didn't know he held. He braced himself for impact, a reflexive flinch that came from a memory that wasn't quite his own. But there was no impact. Instead, the solid, unyielding surface of the Watchtower's outer hull rippled, like water disturbed by a stone, as he passed through it. There was no resistance, no sound, just a brief, startling sensation of pressure, then nothing. He was inside. Still in the vacuum of space, but now within the confines of the colossal station. His eyes darted around, taking in the sterile, metallic corridors that stretched out before him, empty and silent. The air, or lack thereof, inside felt different, less chilling, almost comforting. The strange propulsion continued, guiding him through walls and bulkheads, past silent machinery and dormant systems. It was as if the station itself was a ghost, or he was. A phantom tracing a path through solid matter, his Vultremite Physiology adapting without conscious thought, a testament to powers he didn't know he possessed. He moved through layers of the station, the architecture growing more complex, more inhabited. He saw glimpses of control panels, flickering lights, and then, suddenly, a faint, almost imperceptible scent in the air. Oxygen. He was approaching an atmosphere. The thought, a simple observation, sent a jolt of alarm through him. He was not alone. The transition was seamless. One moment, he was in the silent void of an empty chamber; the next, a soft *whoosh* of air met his face, and the scent of ozone and something faintly metallic filled his nostrils. He materialized in a bright, open space, his feet touching solid ground for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The hum in his bones quieted. --- The observation deck was vast, a curved wall of reinforced transparent material offering a breathtaking view of Earth, a swirling blue-green marble against the velvet black. Two figures stood with their backs to him, their voices a low murmur that abruptly ceased the moment he solidified into existence. One was impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, draped in blue and red. The other, shorter but equally imposing, wore shadows like a second skin, all hard lines and dark angles. Recognition, a startlingly clear flash, struck Albyon. Superman. Batman. The names were there, unbidden, from some deep recess of a memory he couldn't access. They turned, slowly at first, then sharply, their movements economical and precise. Superman’s gaze, usually calm and reassuring, was now etched with a profound bewilderment, quickly hardening into wary caution. Batman, a silent sentinel, betrayed nothing beyond the slight tightening of his jaw, his eyes, white slits in the cowl, fixing on Albyon with an almost predatory intensity. Albyon felt a surge of pure, unadulterated fear. It wasn't just *their* presence, formidable as it was. It was the realization of *his* own. He had appeared from nowhere, phased through their most secure defenses, and now stood before them, a living question mark. He had no control over how he'd arrived, no explanation for his impossible entrance. “Who are you?” Superman’s voice, deep and resonant, cut through the sudden silence. It held an undercurrent of steel, a warning. His hand subtly shifted, a flicker of red energy gathering at his fingertips, though he kept it contained. Albyon opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His throat felt dry, constricted. He wanted to explain, to tell them he wasn't a threat, that he was as lost and confused as they surely were. But the words caught, trapped by a wave of self-recrimination. He had just invaded their home, disrupted their peace, and he had done it without meaning to, without knowing how to stop. Batman took a single, deliberate step forward, his form seeming to grow larger, more menacing. “How did you get here?” His voice was a low growl, devoid of any discernible emotion, yet it was more terrifying than Superman's latent power. His eyes narrowed, assessing every inch of Albyon, searching for a tell, a weakness, a lie. Albyon’s hands twitched, an urge to raise them in a gesture of surrender, of peace. But what would that even mean? He was a walking anomaly, a breach in their security. The fear of being perceived as a threat, of failing to convey his innocent intentions, tightened its grip around his chest. He felt himself tremble, not from cold, but from sheer, overwhelming dread. --- A blaring klaxon ripped through the quiet of the observation deck, a harsh, mechanical shriek that vibrated through Albyon’s very bones. Red emergency lights flashed to life, painting the pristine white walls in an ominous, pulsating crimson. The soft hum of the Watchtower’s systems deepened, a frantic, mechanical heartbeat. Superman’s eyes, previously narrowed in suspicion, widened with a flash of alarm as the klaxon continued its piercing cry. Batman’s head snapped towards the nearest console, his gauntleted hand already moving, fingers flying across a holographic interface before Albyon could even fully process the shift in atmosphere. This wasn't just about him anymore. His presence had triggered a wider alert. “Intruder detected in Sector Gamma-7,” a calm, synthesized female voice announced over the speakers, cutting through the din. “Security protocols initiated. All personnel to alert stations.” Albyon instinctively took a step back, his heart hammering against his ribs. The red light made their faces look distorted, menacing. He felt like a cornered animal, caught in a trap he hadn't known existed. He had wanted to find answers, not create a crisis. His profound fear of failing those he cared for, of being a destructive force, flared into sharp, agonizing reality. “Wait!” Albyon finally managed to rasp, his voice hoarse, unfamiliar to his own ears. It was barely a whisper against the klaxon’s shriek. He took a breath, tried again, louder. “I don’t mean any harm! I don’t know how I –” Superman’s gaze flickered to the console where Batman was working, then back to Albyon. His posture remained rigid, ready. “Stand down,” he commanded, his voice now imbued with an undeniable authority. “Do not move.” His hands remained at his sides, but the air around him crackled faintly, a silent warning. Batman ignored Albyon entirely, his attention fixed on the holographic display that now showed schematics of the Watchtower, highlighting the sector Albyon was in. Other dots, presumably other League members, were converging rapidly. A single line of text flashed across the display: “Unknown energy signature. High-level probability of extra-terrestrial origin. Threat assessment: UNKNOWN.” The word ‘threat’ hung in the air, a physical weight. Albyon’s shoulders slumped. He felt the weight of that responsibility, the instant judgment. He was a threat, not because he wished to be, but because he simply *was*. His uncontrolled power, his inexplicable arrival, branded him. He had stumbled into their home, and now he was an enemy. The guilt was crushing. He opened his mouth again, desperate to convey his distress, his utter lack of malicious intent. To explain the void in his memory, the strange propulsion, the phasing. But no words came. Only a chilling whisper, barely audible in the silent expanse of space, echoed through Albyon’s mind: “He has arrived. The catalyst is here.”

A Watchtower's Embrace