The interrogation room hums with a low, constant thrum, a sound that vibrates through the reinforced plasteel table where my hands rest. It’s too bright, the white walls reflecting the harsh overhead lights, making me squint. Green Lantern stands opposite me, a solid block of suspicion in his emerald uniform, his power ring pulsing faintly. Its glow washes over the sharp angles of his jaw, highlighting the tension in his expression. "Let's try this again, Albyon," Hal Jordan says, his voice a low growl, controlled but edged with impatience. "You appeared out of nowhere. You phase through solid matter. You survive in deep space. And you claim you remember nothing before drifting towards the Watchtower." He leans forward, his forearms resting on the table, the green light intensifying. "That's a lot of impossible for one individual. Who sent you? What's your mission?" My throat feels dry. The words catch, refusing to form. "I... I don't know who sent me. There was nothing. Just empty space. Then the Watchtower." I try to convey the sheer blankness of that memory, the terrifying void before existence, but it sounds weak, even to my own ears. From the side, I sense Batman’s silent scrutiny. He sits just beyond the pool of light, a shadow among shadows, his cape a dark shroud. His gaze, even from the periphery, feels like a physical weight. Superman, however, stands near the door, arms crossed, his expression unreadable, though less openly hostile than Green Lantern's. "A convenient memory lapse," Hal counters, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "You expect us to believe you just... woke up, floating in space, with a suite of powers that defy every known law of physics?" He gestures with his ring hand, a green energy construct shimmering into existence, a simple sphere that floats menacingly between us. "Tell me about Vultremite Physiology. You named it. You must understand it." I shake my head, a tremor running through me. "I only named it because I needed a word for what I could do. I feel the change, the way my body shifts. It’s like... breathing, but for density. I don't command it, I just... am it." The green sphere pulses, mirroring Hal's irritation. He wants answers I don't possess, and his frustration is a sharp, cold wave washing over me. The room feels smaller, tighter, closing in. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. "So you're a walking paradox," Hal says, his voice flat. "A being of immense power, no memory, no purpose, no explanation. You breached Watchtower security, an unprecedented feat. And we're supposed to just... take your word for it?" His voice rings with doubt. The green light of his ring flares, casting stark shadows on the wall, making my own appear monstrous and distorted. The sheer weight of their collective disbelief presses down, a physical burden on my shoulders. It's a profound fear, this inability to prove my innocence, to connect with them. --- The silence that follows Hal’s question is thick, suffocating. I try to speak, but the words jam in my throat, useless. How can I explain what I don't understand myself? My memories are a broken mirror, reflecting only fragmented glimpses of a home world I can no longer reach, and a journey into the void that remains a terrifying blank. "I showed you my home," I manage to whisper, my voice raw. "The crystalline spires, the bioluminescent trees. That was real. The longing I feel for it... that's real, too." Superman uncrosses his arms, a slight shift in his posture. "We saw the projections, Albyon. They were vivid. But a sophisticated illusion isn't beyond the capabilities of certain entities we've encountered." His tone is gentler than Hal's, but the underlying suspicion is still there, a careful guard against deception. Even Wonder Woman, who had offered empathy before, now watches me with a focused intensity, her brow furrowed in thought. They all seek a pattern, a motive, a logical explanation, and I have none to offer. "It wasn't an illusion," I insist, the desperation creeping into my voice. "It was... what I felt. What I remembered. I didn't mean to show you, it just... happened when I thought of it. Like my body phases without me commanding it, the images just... emerged." Hal scoffs, a sharp, dismissive sound. "So, uncontrolled powers. Fantastic. You're a liability, Albyon. A walking, talking, quantum anomaly. And you still haven't told us why you're here. Why *this* Watchtower?" His questions are relentless, each one a hammer blow against my fractured sense of self. I feel the panic rising, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. The fear of failing them, of being seen as a threat when all I feel is confusion and loneliness, is overwhelming. They see a weapon, an intruder, and I am only a lost soul. Batman, still in the shadows, speaks, his voice a low rumble. "The energy signature of your arrival was unprecedented, Albyon. A quantum ripple, a distortion in spacetime. Your physiology is equally unique. Can you offer any insight into the mechanism of these changes? The cellular structure? The energy source? Anything?" He doesn't accuse, but his questions are even more penetrating, dissecting my very existence. I grasp for words, for understanding, but there is only a blank wall in my mind. The technical terms are beyond me. I am a passenger in my own body, an observer of its impossible functions. --- My head throbs with the effort of trying to formulate an answer, any answer, that would satisfy them. The air crackles with unspoken doubts, with the weight of their immense power poised against my bewildered vulnerability. I close my eyes for a brief moment, picturing the bioluminescent trees of my projected home, a desperate attempt to ground myself. It doesn't work. The fear of failure, of being misunderstood and condemned, is too strong. I open my eyes to see a new figure enter the room. He wears a vibrant red suit with a lightning bolt emblem, his face alight with a restless energy. The Flash. Barry Allen. He moves with an easy grace, even when standing still, radiating a different kind of intensity than the others. "Alright, let's back up a second," Barry says, his voice quick and bright, cutting through the heavy tension. He doesn't look at me with suspicion, but with a scientific curiosity that, while still intense, feels less judgmental. "We're talking about quantum ripples, spacetime distortions, and a physiology that phases matter at a subatomic level." He gestures around the room, his eyes darting from Batman to Superman, then to Hal. "If Albyon *is* an anomaly, a breach of universal constants, then maybe we're asking the wrong questions. Instead of 'who sent you,' maybe it's 'how do you exist?'" He turns to me then, his gaze direct, earnest. "Albyon, if your existence defies our understanding of reality, how would you reconcile the fundamental forces? Gravity, electromagnetism, the strong and weak nuclear forces... how could an entity or an event bypass or manipulate these without tearing the fabric of our universe apart? What's the unseen variable? The missing constant?" His words are a cascade of complex concepts, far beyond my conscious comprehension. Yet, something in the elegant formulation of his question, in the sheer intellectual hunger behind it, resonates deep within me. It’s not an accusation; it's a genuine inquiry into the very nature of existence, the kind of question that seeks truth, not just leverage. A warmth spreads through my chest, an unfamiliar sensation, gentle yet potent. It's not a memory, not a physical change, but a profound empathy, a desire to answer this sincere seeking. My core wound screams at the thought of not being able to provide the understanding he craves, to live up to this fundamental curiosity. --- The warmth intensifies, flowing from my chest, down my arm, and out through my fingertips. It’s an involuntary reaction, a silent, desperate plea for understanding. My hand lifts, almost of its own accord, drawn towards Barry Allen. It’s not an aggressive move, but a reaching, an offering. A faint, shimmering spark of golden light flickers from my outstretched palm, almost imperceptible against the harsh white light of the room. It leaps across the space between us, a slender, luminous thread, and touches Barry's temple. He freezes, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief, his breath catching in a sharp gasp. For a moment, he is utterly still, a statue carved from pure shock. Then, a tremor runs through his body. His eyes, fixed on some unseen point, begin to dart frantically, as if processing an incomprehensible flood of information. A low, ragged groan escapes his lips, a sound of profound awe mixed with overwhelming sensation. "What was that?" Hal demands, his ring flaring a blinding emerald. He lunges forward, a green energy fist forming around his hand, ready to strike. Superman moves, too, a blur of red and blue, placing himself between Hal and me, his eyes watchful, alert. Wonder Woman draws her sword, the sharpened blade gleaming, her stance protective, ready for anything. Batman remains silent, but the intensity of his gaze is terrifying, dissecting every micro-expression on Barry’s face, on mine. He doesn’t miss a single detail. My heart pounds, a frantic drum against my ribs. Relief washes over me that *something* happened, that Barry isn't still looking at me with polite skepticism. But terror quickly follows. I didn't mean to do that. The spark, the connection, it was instinctive, a raw, unconscious response to his question, to my own desperate need to be understood. I don't know what I've done. Barry stumbles back from the table, clutching his head with both hands. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated awe. "Impossible..." he whispers, his voice strained, disbelieving. "The unified field... the quantum entanglement across multiversal constants... it's all there..." --- Barry rips his hands from his head, his eyes burning with a feverish intensity. He scans the room wildly, then spots a wall-mounted display screen. With a speed that blurs, he snatches a stylus from a nearby console and begins to furiously scribble on the screen. Equations, symbols, intricate diagrams – they spill forth from his mind, covering the display in a frenetic, beautiful mess. His voice, usually fast, is now a torrent, a rapid-fire explanation that borders on incomprehensible. "It’s not a bypass, it's an integration! The fundamental forces aren't being torn, they're being re-contextualized! Imagine a higher-dimensional framework where our laws are just projections... Albyon's physiology... it's like a resonant frequency across these dimensions, a harmonic convergence!" He's barely breathing, his hand a blur as he fills the digital canvas. The Justice League watches in stunned silence. Hal’s green energy fist dissipates, his mouth slightly agape. Superman stands rooted, his usually composed features etched with bewilderment. Even Batman's stoic façade cracks, a flicker of profound surprise in his eyes as he tries to follow the stream of complex theories. Wonder Woman lowers her sword, her gaze fixed on Barry, a mixture of awe and concern on her face. My own relief at Barry's understanding is quickly overshadowed by a fresh wave of terror. I've shown them a power I don't control, a force I barely comprehend. It's a terrifying validation, confirming I am indeed an anomaly, but one now capable of profoundly altering reality. Barry looks up from the screen, his eyes wide, glazed with revelation. "The quantum ripple wasn't just a distortion," he breathes, a profound understanding dawning on his face. "It was a blueprint. A signature of... something far beyond local universal physics. And Albyon... Albyon is the key to understanding it all." He turns to me, a look of utter astonishment and reverence on his face, as if seeing me for the very first time. I feel a chill crawl up my spine, a cold premonition. I didn't mean for this to happen. I am a monster of unknown power. And as the Flash grapples with the sudden influx of knowledge, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through the Watchtower, a silent response to the activation of Albyon’s unique ability.

Chapter 3: The First Sacred Whisper