The thing about the Watchtower—and Diana had spent enough time there to have developed opinions—was that it managed to feel both impossibly vast and uncomfortably claustrophobic simultaneously. Something about floating in orbit, surrounded by the infinite void of space while being contained in metal and glass, created a psychological tension that never quite resolved.
She stood in the main conference room, waiting for the others to arrive for their debrief. Through the windows, Earth hung like a blue-green jewel against the darkness—beautiful, fragile, completely unaware that its newest demigod refugee was currently somewhere beneath those oceans, probably being subjected to Mera's running commentary on Atlantean politics.
The door hissed open. Batman entered first—because of course he did, punctuality being one of his many personality traits that bordered on compulsive—followed by Superman, Flash, and Martian Manhunter.
"Well?" Batman said without preamble, moving directly to the conference table. "Assessment?"
Diana took her seat, organizing her thoughts. "Percy Jackson is powerful. Extremely powerful. His combat capabilities are on par with mine, possibly exceeding them in certain contexts. His hydrokinetic abilities are instinctive and vast. His capacity for violence is—" She paused. "—well-developed. A century in Tartarus will do that."
"But?" Superman prompted gently, taking his own seat.
"But he's not hostile. He's traumatized and dangerous, yes, but he's actively working against those instincts. Fighting to be something other than what survival forced him to become." Diana leaned forward. "I've seen warriors broken by far less than what he's endured. The fact that he's still capable of restraint, still capable of connection, still *trying* to heal—that's remarkable. That's someone with extraordinary strength of character."
"Or someone very good at appearing that way," Batman said, his tone neutral but his implication clear.
"The Lasso of Truth doesn't lie, Bruce. You know that."
"The Lasso compels the person to believe they're telling the truth. If Percy Jackson genuinely believes he's not a threat, the Lasso will confirm that belief. But belief and reality don't always align."
"You think he's self-deluded?" Flash asked, leaning back in his chair with that casual sprawl that made him look younger than he was. "Dude survives literal hell for a century and you think he doesn't know himself?"
"I think trauma distorts self-perception," Batman said. "I think someone who's spent that long in survival mode might not recognize their own capacity for harm. Might not see the warning signs that others can see clearly."
"Then it's fortunate we're watching him," Diana said firmly. "Providing support while maintaining awareness. That's what we agreed to."
"For now." Batman pulled up holographic displays—data from Percy's arrival, energy readings, threat assessments, all the careful documentation that came from being the League's primary paranoid. "But we need to consider long-term implications. Percy Jackson isn't going away. He's in our world now. In Atlantis specifically, which gives him access to resources, allies, and potentially political influence. We need to determine how to integrate him into Earth's power structure in a way that's beneficial rather than dangerous."
"Integrate him how?" Superman asked.
Batman was quiet for a moment, and Diana could practically see the calculations happening behind his cowl—risk assessment, benefit analysis, strategic positioning, all the careful consideration that went into every major League decision.
"We offer him membership," Batman said finally.
Silence descended over the conference room like a physical weight.
"You want to recruit him," Diana said slowly, making sure she'd heard correctly. "The person you've been preparing seventeen contingency plans for. You want to bring him into the Justice League."
"Yes."
"Bruce," Superman said carefully, "you're the one who's been most concerned about Percy's potential threat level. What changed?"
"Nothing changed. I'm still concerned. I'm still preparing contingencies. I'm still monitoring every movement and action." Batman's tone was steady, factual, carrying no hint of irony about the apparent contradiction. "But that's exactly why we should recruit him. Better to have someone that powerful inside the League where we can observe him, guide him, and intervene if necessary, than outside where he's an unknown variable with no accountability."
"That's—" Flash paused. "—that's actually really manipulative. Are we allowed to say that's manipulative? I feel like we should acknowledge that's manipulative."
"It's pragmatic," Batman corrected. "And it's beneficial for everyone involved. Percy gets structure, support, purpose—all things that aid recovery and prevent destabilization. We get a powerful ally with unique capabilities. Atlantis gets representation in the League, which we've needed for years. Everyone benefits."
"Except for the part where you're recruiting him partially so you can study him and prepare to stop him if he goes rogue," Diana pointed out.
"I have contingencies for everyone in this room," Batman said bluntly. "Including myself. That's not manipulation. That's responsibility. We're powerful enough to end civilizations. We *should* have plans for stopping each other if necessary."
"He's not wrong," Martian Manhunter said quietly. The Martian had been silent throughout the discussion, his red eyes distant as he processed the conversation telepathically. "And I sense no deception in his reasoning. Batman genuinely believes this serves both Percy Jackson's interests and Earth's security."
"Because it does," Batman said. "Diana, you fought him. You saw his capabilities firsthand. Would you rather have those capabilities on our side or operating independently?"
Diana thought about the spar—the way Percy had moved, the power he'd wielded, the barely contained violence that lurked beneath his careful control. She thought about what someone that powerful could do without guidance. Without structure. Without people who understood what he was and could help him navigate it.
"On our side," she admitted. "Definitely on our side."
"Then we're agreed." Batman turned to Superman. "Kal?"
"I think—" Superman paused, choosing words carefully. "I think Percy needs what the League can offer. Community. Purpose. People who understand the burden of power. But Bruce, we need to be honest with him. If we're recruiting him partially for observation purposes, he deserves to know that. He deserves transparency."
"Agreed. I have no intention of hiding our reasoning. Percy Jackson is intelligent. He'll figure out the subtext regardless. Better to be direct." Batman pulled up another display—organizational charts, team compositions, strategic gaps. "We've needed an Atlantean representative for years. Aquaman serves that function occasionally, but his primary responsibility is to Atlantis, not the League. Percy is powerful, capable, and—if Diana's assessment is correct—genuinely trying to be heroic despite his trauma. That makes him an ideal candidate."
"With the added benefit of keeping him close," Diana said, not quite approving but not quite disapproving either. "Where we can monitor him."
"Where we can *help* him," Superman corrected gently. "Monitoring is part of it, yes. But Clark Kent wasn't so different when I first arrived. Powerful, isolated, uncertain about my place in the world. The League gave me structure. Purpose. Family. Percy deserves the same opportunity."
"Even if he's more dangerous than you were?" Flash asked.
"Especially because he's more dangerous than I was. The more powerful someone is, the more they need people who care about them keeping them grounded. Keeping them human." Superman's expression was earnest, carrying the weight of personal experience. "I vote yes. We extend the invitation. See if he accepts. Give him the chance to be part of something bigger than his trauma."
"J'onn?" Batman asked.
The Martian Manhunter tilted his head thoughtfully. "I have concerns. His mental state is—fragile isn't the right word. Stressed. Like a structure that's holding but showing cracks. Adding responsibility could either stabilize him through purpose or break him through pressure."
"But?" Diana prompted.
"But I also sense genuine desire for connection. For belonging. For purpose beyond mere survival. The League could provide that. If we're careful. If we support him properly." J'onn nodded slowly. "I vote yes. With caution. With structure. With the understanding that we're taking a risk."
"Flash?" Batman asked.
"Dude fought Wonder Woman to a draw and neither of them destroyed the arena. That's impressive impulse control for someone who's supposedly barely hanging on." Flash grinned. "I'm in. He seems cool. Traumatized and concerning, but cool. Plus, we could use someone who makes Batman's threat assessments look optimistic."
"I'm always optimistic," Batman said dryly. "I optimistically assume everything will go wrong and plan accordingly."
"That's not what optimism means."
"It's what practical optimism means."
Diana watched this exchange with familiar fondness—the easy banter that came from years of working together, of trusting each other despite their vast differences in power, philosophy, and approach to heroism.
Could Percy find that here? Could he integrate into this strange family of heroes and learn to be one of them?
*Yes*, Diana thought. *If we give him the chance. If we're patient. If we remember he's not just a threat to be managed but a person to be helped.*
"Then we're agreed," Batman said, reading the room's general consensus. "We extend an invitation to Percy Jackson. Conditional membership—probationary period, regular assessments, clear expectations about behavior and accountability. If he proves himself, he becomes full League member. If he can't handle it, we part ways peacefully."
"Who extends the invitation?" Superman asked.
All eyes turned to Diana.
"Me?" she said, though she'd already known. Of course it would be her. She was the one who'd connected with Percy most directly. Who'd fought him as an equal. Who understood what he was in ways the others couldn't.
"You're the logical choice," Batman said. "He respects you. Trusts you. Sees you as peer rather than authority figure. He's more likely to accept coming from you than from anyone else."
"Also you can punch him if he says no," Flash added helpfully.
"We're not punching potential recruits," Superman said.
"I mean, *I'm* not punching potential recruits. Diana absolutely could though. Very persuasively."
"No one is punching anyone," Diana said firmly, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Fine. I'll return to Atlantis. Extend the offer. See what Percy says."
"And if he refuses?" Batman asked.
"Then we respect his decision and maintain our current monitoring arrangement. We don't force recruitment." Diana stood, already planning her return trip. "But I don't think he'll refuse. I think Percy is desperately looking for purpose. For a reason to keep going beyond just surviving. The League can give him that."
"Then go give it to him," Superman said warmly. "And Diana? Tell him—tell him we understand what it's like to be powerful and alone. That we've all been there in different ways. That he doesn't have to carry this alone anymore."
Diana nodded, feeling the weight of the mission settle on her shoulders. Not heavy, exactly. Just present. Important.
She left the conference room and made her way to the Watchtower's transport bay, already composing what she'd say to Percy. How she'd frame the invitation. How she'd balance honesty about the League's concerns with genuine desire to help.
*You deserve this*, she'd tell him. *You deserve the chance to be a hero again. To be part of something bigger than your past. To prove to yourself that you're more than what Tartarus made you.*
And if he accepted—
When he accepted—
The Justice League would gain a powerful new ally.
And Percy Jackson would gain something equally important: a family.
---
The thing about formal council chambers—and Percy had seen enough of them over the past few days to have developed strong opinions—was that they were deliberately designed to make you feel small, insignificant, and vaguely guilty even when you'd done nothing wrong.
Atlantis's High Council chamber achieved this through sheer architectural aggression: soaring ceilings, intimidating pillars, a circular table that must have been carved from a single piece of coral the size of a small building, and seating arrangements that ensured everyone could watch everyone else with maximum suspicion.
Currently, Percy was being watched by approximately two dozen Atlantean nobles, all of whom had opinions about his continued presence in their city. Most of those opinions ranged from "concerning" to "actively alarming" with occasional stops at "potentially catastrophic."
"—and furthermore," one particularly pompous noble was saying, his voice carrying that special quality of someone who loved their own speeches, "we have no guarantees that this—this *surface connection* won't compromise our security. The Justice League now knows of his presence. Knows of our sanctuary. What's to stop them from using this knowledge against us?"
"Common sense?" Mera suggested from her position beside Percy. She'd insisted on attending the council session—part moral support, part bodyguard, mostly just stubborn determination to be wherever Percy was regardless of propriety. "The Justice League has known about Atlantis for years. They've never attacked us. Never threatened us. They're heroes, not invaders."
"Heroes with significant power who might see us as threat if sufficiently motivated," another noble countered. "Lord Orm's security concerns are valid. We've maintained our isolation for good reason."
Orm, seated at Atlanna's right hand, looked like he was experiencing all of his nightmares simultaneously. "I've expressed my concerns extensively in the written reports. Reports that apparently no one read, because we're still having this discussion."
"We read them," someone said. "All forty-seven pages. Very thorough. Possibly excessively thorough."
"Security is never excessive."
"Paranoia disguised as security is."
"That's just called 'good planning.'"
Percy sat quietly through this exchange, trying to determine if he should speak or if speaking would just make things worse. Probably worse. Speaking usually made things worse in formal settings.
Atlanna's voice cut through the debate with the precision of a blade through water. "Enough. We've been discussing this for an hour. An *hour* of circular arguments that return repeatedly to the same fundamental question: Do we trust Perseus Jackson's presence to remain peaceful, or do we not?"
Silence fell, heavy and expectant.
"I trust him," Atlanna continued, her tone brooking no argument. "I've observed him. Spoken with him. Watched him interact with my people, my son, my city. He's dangerous, yes. Powerful beyond most mortals. But he's also—" She paused, and her expression softened. "—he's also trying desperately to be good despite everything encouraging him to be otherwise. That counts for something. That counts for *everything*."
"With respect, Your Majesty," a noble said carefully, "trust isn't intelligence. It's not strategy. Trust is what gets kingdoms destroyed when it's misplaced."
"And paranoia is what gets kingdoms isolated and forgotten," Mera shot back. "You're all acting like Percy is some kind of weapon waiting to explode. Have any of you actually *talked* to him? Actually gotten to know him beyond threat assessments and security reports?"
"We've read the reports—"
"Reports aren't people. Reports don't show you someone's character. Their kindness. Their humor. The way they try so hard to be gentle despite being capable of extraordinary violence." Mera's voice rose slightly, passion overtaking diplomacy. "Percy is a person. A traumatized, struggling person who needs support, not suspicion. And if Atlantis can't provide that—if we can't show basic compassion to someone seeking sanctuary—then what does that say about us?"
More silence. Uncomfortable shifting. The council clearly wasn't used to being challenged so directly, especially by a young hydrokinetic from Xebel who technically had no formal authority in these proceedings.
Percy reached over and gently squeezed Mera's hand—a quiet thank you, a request to let him speak, a reminder that he could fight his own battles even if he appreciated her fighting them for him.
"If I may," Percy said quietly.
All eyes turned to him with that particular intensity that came from twenty-four nobles simultaneously assessing threat levels.
Percy stood, because sitting while everyone stared at him felt wrong. Vulnerable in ways he wasn't comfortable with.
"I understand your concerns," he said, keeping his voice steady despite the anxiety crawling up his spine. "You don't know me. You have no reason to trust me. I appeared from nowhere with power that makes your sensors nervous and a history that raises every possible security red flag. If I were you, I'd be concerned too. Possibly terrified. Definitely preparing contingency plans."
A few nods of agreement. At least they appreciated honesty.
"But Mera's right about one thing—I'm not a weapon waiting to go off. I'm a person trying to heal. Trying to figure out who I am when I'm not just surviving. Trying to remember what it's like to be—" He gestured helplessly. "—to be *human* instead of just a collection of combat reflexes and trauma."
"Noble sentiment," someone said. "But sentiment doesn't protect cities when power exceeds control."
"No. But intent matters. Choice matters. I'm *choosing* to be peaceful. Choosing to restrain myself. Choosing to accept help instead of isolation." Percy's jaw tightened. "I could have gone anywhere when I escaped Tartarus. Could have hidden. Could have used my power to carve out territory and defend it violently. But I didn't. I came here seeking sanctuary because Queen Atlanna offered it. Because this seemed like a place where I could rest. Could heal. Could be something other than broken."
"And we appreciate—" another noble started.
"I'm not finished," Percy interrupted, his voice taking on an edge that made several people lean back slightly. Not threatening. Just—present. Powerful in ways that had nothing to do with violence. "You're right to be concerned. You're right to watch me. You're right to prepare for the possibility that I'll lose control or become dangerous. But while you're preparing for worst-case scenarios, consider this: I'm also preparing. Preparing to be better. Preparing to prove that survival doesn't define me. Preparing to earn your trust instead of just asking for it."
He met Atlanna's eyes directly. "Your Majesty, thank you. For everything. For sanctuary when I had nowhere else to go. For kindness when suspicion would have been easier. For seeing me as a person instead of just a problem to be solved. Whatever the council decides, I'm grateful. Genuinely, deeply grateful."
Atlanna's expression—already soft—went softer still. That particular look of a mother seeing a child try so hard to be brave despite being terrified.
"Perseus," she said gently, "no one is asking you to leave. This council session isn't about expelling you. It's about determining how to best integrate you into Atlantean society. How to help you while also ensuring our people's safety. Those aren't contradictory goals."
"Aren't they?" Percy asked. "Because I'm hearing a lot of 'how do we protect ourselves from him' and not much 'how do we help him heal.'"
Silence fell again—deeper this time, more uncomfortable.
Because Percy was right, and everyone knew it.
The door to the council chamber opened, interrupting the charged moment.
A guard entered—young, nervous, clearly unhappy about interrupting royal proceedings but compelled by duty. "Your Majesty, forgive the intrusion, but Princess Diana of Themyscira has returned. She's requesting immediate audience with—" The guard glanced at Percy. "—with Perseus Jackson specifically."
Percy's eyebrows rose. "Diana's back? Already?"
"She says it's urgent. League business."
Atlanna studied Percy's expression—clearly trying to determine if this was good news or bad news or just news—then nodded. "Send her in. If the Justice League has urgent business with our guest, we should all hear it."
The guard retreated, and moments later Diana entered the council chamber with the kind of confident grace that came from knowing you could probably fight everyone in the room simultaneously and win.
She was still in her Wonder Woman attire—the iconic armor that made her unmistakable—and she moved with purpose toward Percy, ignoring the council's stares.
"Perseus," she said, and her voice carried warmth that cut through the chamber's tension. "Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty—" This to Atlanna, with a respectful nod. "—but I have a proposal that can't wait."
"A proposal?" Orm said warily. "What kind of proposal requires interrupting a royal council session?"
"The kind that affects Percy's future." Diana turned back to Percy, and her expression grew more serious. "The Justice League has been discussing your situation. Your presence on Earth. Your capabilities. Your potential."
"That sounds ominous," Percy muttered.
"It's not. Or—it's not *meant* to be." Diana took a breath, and Percy could see her choosing words carefully. Diplomatically. Like she was navigating a minefield of potential misunderstandings. "Percy, the Justice League would like to extend an invitation. To you. For membership."
The council chamber went absolutely silent.
Percy stared at her, processing. "You want me to join the Justice League."
"Yes."
"The same Justice League that was assessing me as a potential threat yesterday."
"The very same. Threat assessment and recruitment aren't mutually exclusive. Batman prepares contingencies for all League members. It's standard procedure." Diana smiled slightly. "We protect Earth from existential threats. That means understanding everyone powerful enough to *become* an existential threat. Including ourselves."
"That's—deeply paranoid."
"That's Batman. But Perseus, this isn't just about monitoring you. It's about offering you something real. Purpose. Structure. A team of people who understand the burden of extraordinary power. Community."
Percy's hand moved unconsciously to his chest, to where the crystal pulsed. "I'm not—I'm not a hero anymore. I haven't been a hero in a century. I'm just—someone trying to remember how to be human."
"Then we'll help you remember." Diana stepped closer, and her voice dropped to something more intimate. More personal. "Percy, I've been where you are. Different circumstances, different trauma, but the same fundamental question: Who am I when I'm not fighting? Who am I when power becomes burden instead of purpose? The League helped me answer those questions. Not perfectly. Not completely. But enough. Enough to keep going. Enough to find meaning beyond violence."
"I don't know if I'm ready—"
"No one is ever ready. Ready is a lie we tell ourselves to justify waiting." Diana's expression was earnest, understanding, carrying the weight of someone who genuinely cared about his answer. "But Perseus, you don't have to decide alone. You have Queen Atlanna's support. You have Mera's friendship. You have me as—as whatever I am. Mentor? Friend? Fellow demigod struggling with divine bullshit?"
Despite himself, Percy smiled. "That last one."
"Good. Then as your fellow demigod struggling with divine bullshit, I'm telling you—this could be good for you. Could give you direction. Help you heal by giving you purpose beyond just surviving." She paused. "And honestly? We could use you. We've needed Atlantean representation for years. Your power combined with your experience makes you uniquely qualified to help protect this world."
"From what?"
"Everything. Alien invasions. Magical threats. Interdimensional incursions. Tuesday." Diana grinned. "This Earth is—complicated. Dangerous in ways your world probably wasn't. Having someone with your capabilities watching our backs would make everyone sleep better. Including Batman, though he'd never admit it."
Percy looked at Atlanna, silently asking *what do you think?*
Atlanna's expression was thoughtful. Calculating. The face of a queen weighing political implications against personal desires. "This solves several problems," she said slowly. "If Perseus joins the Justice League, he gains purpose and oversight—both things this council has been concerned about. He remains in Atlantis—his base, his sanctuary—but also serves Earth in official capacity. That legitimizes his presence here. Makes him an asset rather than a risk."
"It also makes him a target," Orm pointed out. "League members are constantly under threat. Constantly fighting. That's not healing. That's just different trauma."
"I've been fighting my entire life," Percy said quietly. "At least this way I'd be fighting *for* something instead of just fighting to survive. That's—that's different. That matters."
Mera's hand found his arm, squeezing gently. "Percy, you don't have to do this. You don't have to take on more responsibility just to prove something to the council or the League or anyone. You're allowed to rest. To just *be* for a while."
"I know. But Diana's right—I need purpose. Need direction. Need something to wake up for beyond just 'didn't die today, good job me.'" Percy looked at Diana. "If I join—and that's a big if, I'm not committing yet—what would that actually mean? What would I be expected to do?"
"Respond to threats as needed. Participate in team operations. Undergo training with the League to help integrate you into Earth's defense structure. Attend mandatory meetings—though those are mostly boring, fair warning." Diana ticked off points on her fingers. "You'd have access to the Watchtower, League resources, support systems for both physical and mental health. You'd work with a team that understands power and responsibility. You'd have backup when things go wrong. You'd never be alone in a fight again."
That last part hit Percy harder than expected. Never alone in a fight. After a century of fighting alone, of having no backup, no support, no one to call when things went wrong—
The idea of having people. Of having *team*. Of fighting alongside instead of always fighting alone—
"I want to think about it," Percy said, but his voice had already shifted. From resistance to consideration. From 'absolutely not' to 'maybe possibly yes if conditions are right.'
"Of course. Take the time you need." Diana's smile was warm, understanding. "Though I should mention—Batman's probably already preparing your League dossier and security clearance. He's optimistic that way."
"That's not optimism. That's just planning ahead."
"With Batman, they're the same thing."
Percy turned to Atlanna. "Your Majesty, I—this decision affects more than just me. If I join the League, that creates political connections between Atlantis and surface world heroes. Creates implications for your sovereignty. I don't want to—"
"Perseus, stop," Atlanna interrupted gently. "You're not responsible for Atlantis's political position. That's my burden, not yours. If you want to join the Justice League, that's your choice. I'll handle the diplomatic implications."
"But—"
"No buts. You've spent enough of your life carrying responsibilities that weren't yours to carry. Let me carry this one." Atlanna stood, regal and final. "This council session is adjourned. We'll reconvene tomorrow to discuss integration protocols for Perseus should he accept the League's offer. Until then—Perseus, think carefully. Choose what's best for you, not what's best for Atlantis or the League or anyone else. Choose what serves your healing."
The council began dispersing—nobles filing out with various expressions ranging from thoughtful to disgruntled to openly suspicious. Orm remained behind, his expression unreadable.
"If you join the League," Orm said to Percy, "you'll have my support. Conditional, monitored, probably-going-to-involve-extensive-security-briefings support, but support nonetheless."
"That's—thank you. I think."
"You're welcome. I think." Orm turned to Diana. "Princess, a word. About integration protocols and information sharing and approximately sixteen topics Batman will want addressed before Perseus can access League resources."
Diana nodded and followed Orm to a quieter corner of the chamber, leaving Percy with Mera and Atlanna.
"So," Mera said, and her voice carried complicated emotions. "The Justice League."
"I haven't said yes yet."
"But you're going to." Not a question. An observation.
"Maybe. Possibly. I don't know." Percy ran a hand through his hair—that nervous gesture again, the tell that he was processing something heavy. "It's a lot. Responsibility I'm not sure I'm ready for. Expectations I might not be able to meet. But also—"
"Also it's exactly what you need," Atlanna finished quietly. "Purpose. Direction. Reason to keep going beyond just survival. I see it in your eyes, Perseus. You're already half-convinced. You just need to finish convincing yourself."
"Is it selfish?" Percy asked quietly. "Joining a team of heroes when I don't feel like a hero anymore? When I'm mostly just—broken pieces trying to remember how they fit together?"
"Heroes aren't unbroken people," Atlanna said firmly. "Heroes are broken people who choose to help others despite their own pain. That's what makes them heroes. Not perfection. Not invulnerability. *Choice*."
Percy was silent, processing.
Mera moved closer, and her hand found his. "Percy, if you join the League—and I agree with Atlanna, you're going to—then I have a condition."
"What kind of condition?"
"I join with you."
Percy blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. If you're joining the Justice League, I'm joining the Justice League. We're a package deal. Both or neither."
"Mera, you can't just—you have responsibilities in Xebel. Studies. Training. You can't abandon all that to—"
"To what? Support my friend? Protect someone I care about? Ensure you don't face new trauma alone?" Mera's expression was fierce. Determined. The look of someone who'd made a decision and would not be swayed. "Percy, you're going to say yes to Diana. I know you are. You need this too much to say no. But you're also terrified of failing. Of letting people down. Of becoming dangerous despite your best intentions. So if you're going to do this, you're doing it with backup. Specifically, me."
"That's—Mera, that's—"
"Non-negotiable. I've already decided. I'm quite stubborn when I've decided things."
"I've noticed." Percy looked at Atlanna, silently asking *is this allowed? Can she do this?*
Atlanna's expression was complicated—concern mixed with something that might have been pride. "Mera of Xebel, you realize that joining the Justice League means leaving your studies? Putting your training on hold? Potentially damaging your standing with the Masters?"
"Yes. I realize all of that. I also don't care." Mera straightened, meeting the Queen's gaze directly. "Your Majesty, I've spent my entire life training to be a hydrokinetic. Learning techniques. Mastering forms. Studying theory. But I've never actually *done* anything with that training. Never helped anyone. Never used my abilities for something that matters beyond academic achievement. This is my chance. This is—"
She paused, choosing words carefully.
"This is my chance to be more than just a talented student from Xebel. To be someone who makes a difference. To be—to be a hero, like Perseus is trying to be. Like he *is*, whether he believes it or not."
"You don't have to prove anything," Percy said softly.
"Neither do you. But we're both going to anyway, apparently. Might as well do it together."
Atlanna was quiet for a long moment, studying them both. Then, slowly, she smiled—warm and knowing and carrying the weight of someone who understood exactly what was happening even if the participants didn't quite yet.
"Very well," she said. "If Perseus accepts the Justice League's offer, you may accompany him as Atlantis's second representative. I'll handle the political implications with Xebel. And Mera—" Her voice softened. "—your Masters will understand. Eventually. Possibly. If you're very lucky and very persuasive."
"I'm always persuasive. It's one of my better qualities."
"Along with stubbornness and inappropriate humor?"
"Those too, yes."
Percy looked between them—Atlanna's amused expression, Mera's determined face—and felt something in his chest loosen. Not the crystal. Something else. Something that felt suspiciously like hope mixed with terror mixed with gratitude.
"You're serious," he said to Mera. "You're actually serious about this."
"Completely serious. I'm going where you're going. Deal with it."
"That's—you're impossible."
"Thank you. I try." Mera squeezed his hand. "So? Are we doing this? Are we joining the Justice League together and probably getting into far more trouble than is advisable?"
Percy thought about it. About fighting alone for a century. About the weight of isolation. About how much easier everything became when you had someone watching your back. Someone who chose to stand beside you not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
He thought about Diana's offer. About purpose and direction and the possibility of being something more than just broken pieces pretending to be whole.
He thought about Annabeth—her voice in his dreams, telling him to *live*, to do the living she couldn't do anymore, to honor her memory by choosing hope instead of despair.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. Let's do this. Let's join the Justice League and figure out how to be heroes when we're both disasters barely holding it together."
"That's the spirit. Commit fully to terrible decisions."
"It's what I do best."
Mera laughed—bright and genuine—and pulled him into a hug that Percy hadn't realized he needed until it was happening. Solid. Real. A reminder that he wasn't alone anymore. Hadn't been alone since Mera had pulled him into the ocean and decided, apparently, that he was her problem now.
Atlanna watched this with the expression of a mother seeing her children choose their path. Not her path. Not the safe path. But *their* path, chosen freely, chosen together.
"Go tell Diana," she said gently. "Before she and Orm finish their security discussion, Batman sends seventeen follow-up memos about clearance requirements."
---
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