A Mandatory Vacation part - 4

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Though profoundly able at explaining the powers at the disposal of a Time deity, your father was...lacking in the explanation department. His tried and personally successful technique of "concentrate and do it" didn't exactly work for you wit the same ease as it did for him.

But after many well-meaning but unnecesarily violent attempts at helping, you're able to focus on a single moment, the moment you appeared on Themiscyra, envision it, and *will* yourself to appear there. It's like pulling yourself through a thick molasses, fighting through the bonds that thethered you to your body, and then they disappear with a sudden pop, and then you're floating and floating and the world transforms itself into that very moment.

You raise your hand, but find it barely visible like it was made from vapor, turning to take in your surroundings. Themiscyra looked the same as it had then, with shining marble temples and open-air arenas, and many an Amazon going about their lives. The key difference, however, is when you make to move, you observe parts of the island that you weren't able to see the first time.

You walk from shore to shore, through the temples and arenas, feel the sand crush beneath your feet and the smell of the sea, and make note of the many arsenals dotted around the island, the plethora of guards that patrol its streets and fields and forests. Themiscyra is more a fortress surrounded by water than an island, and you realize that your escape would be contested by every single living being on this island.

Unbidden you're pulled towards a great palace at the center of the island, something calling you to it with an almost magnetic attraction, the air hums and vibrates with a growing crescendo as you almost float towards the presence. It feels familiar, comforting, a cold soothing sensation of inexplicable origin.

You pass by dozens of frozen guards, slipping through the gate after fortified gate, deeper and deeper into the sprawling complex, before coming face to face with a simple unassuming door made of old and rotted wood. You turn the handle, a rush of cold air and brilliant light greets you and you're thrown far back viciously, flying through the island at a violent speed through trees and hills and buildings, across the entire width of the island in the span of a second before coming to a sudden and jarring stop right where you first began, and then, the projection ends.

You return to your body gasping, taking in lungfuls of breath in a bid to calm your racing heart. "What-what was that?" you get out.

Kronos does not respond for a long moment, examining you curiously, before his lips part into a pale imitation of a smile. "That was a piece of Othrys, a shard of my throne."

"And the Amazons have it locked up a few hundred feet beneath the ground, guarded tighter than Fort Knox."

"I have little idea of what this Fort Knox is but I may guess, and yes it is only logical that the servants of my children would go to such lengths to protect something so valuable."

"Valuable to who? Othrys is one."

His eyes glimmer with conspiracy. "Valuable to me, to you, to those who would see the Golden Age return. The pieces of my throne are the last remaining vestiges of my reign, until you. That piece of my throne is the key to your freedom, claim it, make its power your power, and none will be able to stand in your way."

Something nags at the back of your mind. "One of the Amazons, she came to my prison, spoke to me, like I was nothing to be feared, and then the next second, she was trying not to trip over herself to run away from me like she realized I was the devil himself."

He waves his and bats your worries away. "My children are fickle and prone to paranoia, it is only natural that they would have ingrained an aversion to anything that may threaten them into the psyche of their followers. You are simply an easy target for them to heap on centuries of such indoctrination."

Lore of Earth-78:

The Beginning: Chronos and Ananke

In the beginning, there were no Hands to do the bidding of the Presence, no Perpetua, or Monitor and Anti-Monitor, nor any of their spawn or fellows.

In this world there were but two beings in the dawn before creation, two gods forever intertwined with one another.

Ananke. Magnificent and snake-tailed, she who existed beyond creation, distinct in her nature. Force. Constraint. Fate.

Chronos. Eternity. Three-headed and snake-tailed, the god was conjoined with Ananke in an unbreakable bond.

And between them wrapped in an embrace whose duration extended beyond the perception of all living things, was the World Egg, whose newborn yolk carried the unborn Universe and all its potential. Creation itself gestated within, ever fighting against the unyielding shell that confined it.

Together they shattered the World Egg with a strike and gave birth to the Universe. And the broken shards of the egg, scattered to the very peripheries of the universe would become an impossibly rare and dangerous material, that among the New Gods would become known as Radion.

And the first of their children would come to be known as Order and Chaos. Push and Pull. Yin and Yang. Creation and Destruction.

Order was Constraint, the need for structure in the universe. Static and Unyielding.

Chaos was Force, unrelenting and inexorable, Flux, and Change.

Together they created Necessity. The ever-precarious Balance that allowed for the growth of all creation.

Kronos's words settle the worries that itched at the back of your mind, reassuring you in a way only a father could. It's only logical that they would place their misguided hate on you, yes, that's what it has to be.

Your father gives you little time to mull over the possibly infinite plethora of reasons for why you are hated by the gods on account of his...eccentric training so of which might have qualified as a niche form of enhanced interrogation for a CIA black site.

Each day of training extends your abilities just a bit farther than the day before, allowing you to reach back farther, comb through old memories, and walk the widths of entire cities that you've barely even glimpsed. From the highrises of Gotham to the smallest nooks and crevices of Themiscyra. You retrain under a Deathstroke frozen in amber and inspect the Justice League like they're pieces in a museum, analyzing them like a hunter would its prey.

It's not wrong to say that they're in fact not really memories but like a cross-section of a single moment of time that you can carefully inspect and prod at.

Sometimes out of not control your own, your ghostly hands find their way around Diana's neck in these memories, and you wonder what would it actually be like to hold her life in your hands in reality.

In other memories, when you should be learning from your one-day-war against Penguin, your hands instead skim over Rose's features, dancing over the line of her jaw and over cheeks and through her hair, clinging onto the warmth and realness, before it invariably disappears when you retreat from the memory.

And sometimes, in the greatest moments of weakness that still exist deep within your heart, you find yourself invariably drawn somewhere far from where you should be…to a small diner lit by overly bright fluorescent that smelled of stale cheese and burnt crust, with garish old red leather booths and a countertop covered in one too many layers of dust, and with a portly old man behind the counter, always ready to offer a word of comfort to a lonely Gothamite orphan.

You promised yourself that you would let go of this childish fantasy, the diner was burnt to the crisp, and Danny was dead, you know there's nothing you can do to change that, and yet, you're still back here, like the twelve-year-old that you had once been was clawing himself free again. The urge's hold on you is muted, faint, at this point, and what warmth and safety you felt in this memory lingered but it was like in black and white instead of color.

The door behind you opens with a jingle and you turn expecting this to be the memory of when Oswald Cobblepot first appeared, ready to tear him apart again, no matter how many times you'd ripped his fat bird neck apart, the catharsis never faded even a bit.

But, there is no well-dressed man-bird standing at the door, but a tall figure dressed in old and weathered black robes, a long scythe in hand whose blade gleams ominously in the light.

You can feel the Lord of Time's contempt through the very fabric of reality even as his gaze bores into the other person in the memory.

"When I taught you the way to traverse the old strings of Fate, I did not think you use such an ability to waste away your days...here."

You do your best to ignore him, taking in the sight of the diner whole with all its patchwork neon lights and stale greasy air, and most importantly, the very fat and jolly and very much alive Italian man behind the counter.

"So this is your weakness. I can't deny that I am disappointed."

"I've never been great at meeting expectations. Want some pizza?"

He takes a seat beside, stiff-backed and rests his scythe beside the countertop, and with a flick of his hand, a plate of pizza identical to your own appears.

You watch as the Titan Lord himself, Master of Time and father of the gods pokes at the slice of pepperoni pizza in front of him with a furrowed brow. "This is what passes for sustenance in this age? Back in my day..." His words drifted into grumbles.

It may have been hilarious to any other to see such an all-powerful deity befuddled by cheese on bread, but your mind raced with the implications of your father being here, in your own memories...what else had he seen?

"Everything, from your first breath to the moment you were thrown in chains, I saw it all. You have done well yourself with what tools you have had at your disposal." Pride and regret wage war across his features and he takes a long draught of his drink, mouth turned into a frown of contemplation.

"And I know I have failed you, for I was not there to aid you in when you needed it most, to impart wisdom when you were lost, as a father should have been."

You accept the sideways apology silently, it was the closest thing to a true sign of regret you imagine someone like Kronos was capable of. And...you're his son, so you know that you're not much better when it comes to owning up to your mistakes.

"Always forward, never back, that's what you always say, right?"

"Indeed, one can never let the past define their future." Your father looks infinitely pleased with your words, that, or he's taken a liking for the pizza. You lean towards the former but hope for the latter.

"And what fatherly wisdom do you have to impart now?" you ask.

"This, mortal, he has proven himself," he stops, measuring himself. "serviceable in helping raise you, that is clear enough to me from both your own and his own memories."

"Truly, I do understand you care for him," his words turn bitter. "and treasure his memory, but this man's influence on you is a weakness, embedded deeper into your soul than even Chaos's mark."

"I moved on from this long ago," you mutter, denying the clear evidence all around you that screamed that you had in fact not.

Kronos quirks his brow. "Is that so?" he waves his hand and the scene shifts, the old diner fading into nothingness and from the darkness a new world forms, a bed with two people curled into an embrace beneath the sheets, its you and another girl, with blue eyes and long silver hair. Rose. Your heart clenches and you bite back the urge to reach out.

"Perhaps I spoke too quickly," he says taking in your reaction clinically. "This is where your so-called Achilles heel resides."

"If this is a weakness, I'd rather have no other," you almost spit the words out. Perhaps you may have tolerated such words against Danny, that scar was old and healed.

He shakes his head mournfully. "You do not understand, it is my own fault. I was there not to teach you."

"When the one before died, you latched on to another, her," he gestures to Rose. "I have seen where you tread back to when solitude grows too great, and it always leads back to her."

"Where else would it? I love her."

Your father's expression does not change at your declaration. "The love of mortals and divine is ever doomed to heartbreak. She is not like you or me, or what you will one day become, her existence is doomed to be finite, her actions governed by the Sisters Three, blood runs through her veins, not ichor.

A hand comes to rest softly upon your shoulder.

"Eternity is a lonesome existence. How can you hope to bear such a burden when the death of a mayfly weighs as heavy as the sky upon your shoulders? What will become you when she sheds this mortal coil?"

"That will not happen," you vow, your mind racing. "the gods have risen their loves to immortality before. I will make her like us."

"And walk the path of broken mistakes your kin have left in their wake?" He scoffs.

"Turning a moral to the divine will irrevocably change what she is to you. As a mortal, she may challenge you without fear, and serve as a worthy equal, but to bestow immortality, it will be more a curse than a gift. Divinity changes one's very nature. She would begin to covet immortality if she didn't desire it before it was offered, and the next she thinks to challenge you, she will remember that it was you who granted the gift of eternal life, and all that can be given can be taken away. Even the divine fear ἔσχατος"

"So what do you want me to do?" you shrug off his arm violently, whirling to face your father.

"Forget about her? about anyone, I cared about because they'll be dead at some point? News flash, I can't!" You jam a finger to your temple. "They're a part of me, my memories, who I am."

Your father is unfazed by your sudden outburst. "Yes, and because of that, mortality has seeped into your bones and made you lesser for it. It is the mortal in you that hinders your understanding, your comprehension limits your potential from what you should be."

"What lessons have I failed to comprehend then, dad?" you ask rhetorically. "I've done whatever you asked, trained and spied and prepared, just like you've taught me."

"It is not the lessons that you've been taught, but the ones you will be forced to learn in the future. You will be forced to make grave choices, choices that will make the mortal part of you recoil in horror."

"You don't have much faith in me, do you? I've had to make hard choices before."

"For a mortal, what do you know of weighing judgment of entire worlds, decisions that would shape the very earth itself, change the course of fate? Mortality has no place in such beings, there is detachment required to do what is necessary."

You shift your body, shielding the vision of Rose from Kronos's piercing gaze. "And you think me giving Rose up will make me ready for such a thing?"

He chuckles ruefully. "No. I know you will never give her up. You love her wholly, and Eros's magic is old and not easily cast aside. I would never ask you to make such a decision that I would not make myself. I know what it is to devote yourself to another so completely, that they're as much a part of you as you are them."

The old Titan's face finally shows his age, a rare moment of weakness and his shoulders slump minutely and the bags beneath his eyes grow pronounced. He looks old and so tired.

"I do not want you to make the same mistakes I did," he says. "You are my son, and I would not see this mortal's life and death weigh on you for eternity."

He snaps his fingers and the vision fades and you return to the idyllic lands of Elysium. Kronos remains seated upon his whicker chair, profoundly unperturbed by your discussion. You on the other hand are left shaken and off-balanced.

"Let us continue your lessons, we have little time to waste."

There is a hidden undercurrent of tension in your interactions with Kronos in the proceeding days, one that you both steadfastly ignore, and yet it remains on the edge of your thoughts, prodding for attention.

"By now, you've had more more than enough time to take stock of your situation. What have you concluded?"

It's been probably months since you've appeared on Themiscyra and each day you have tested your bonds, examined the rotation of the guards, searched for weakness within your prison, and have come up empty. The chains are perhaps even stronger than they were before, or you've grown weaker more likely. Dozens of guards watch you day and night aside from a minute window of discrepancy that Donna had used to visit, you could not put much stock in the inconsistency, and of the prison itself...with your arms suspended as they were you had no ability to brute force yourself out.

"There is no way I can escape by myself," you conclude.

"You shall need to turn a sworn enemy to a leal ally. It is no easy feat." He steeples his fingers.

"No kidding, seeing as I'm stuck a few hundred feet below ground, not like I have wealth of options to choose from."

Your father smiles in the way he does he knows something that you don't. "I think it's about time I teach you a trick my own sister, Memory taught me long ago. It's a form of projection, but rather than splitting your consciousness, as other deities do, this method is far more subtle.

"Dreams are simply by a way memories and experiences are processed, and as you have already been taught how to walk among the old strings, you'll now learn how to...make it malleable in a sense, add something to a memory so that it may appear in a dream without affecting time."

"You're going to need to explain that to me like two more times," you say, rubbing your temples. "and a lot slower."

Kronos rolls his eyes.

"The most important part of this exercise is finding a suitable target, one that is easily malleable and suggestible," Kronos explains casually like it's as simple as tying your shoes.

"The ideal target will be one with deep-seated insecurities that you may relate to, that you can exploit to gain their trust, and from there, it is all but a matter of shifting their allegiance from the Amazons to yourself.

"Alienate them from their former friends, prey on slights and grudges, and frame yourself as a source of comfort and refuge, and when that is done you'll have a willing tool to aid in your liberation."

He smiles and reclines in his chair, self-satisfaction emanating from him.

"That is some supervillain level of genius and completely fucked up," you bluntly state.

He shrugs. "I've had a hundred millennia of practice, you'll learn."

That night you once again walk among the Amazons as a ghost, searching for your target. The women of Themiscyra are close-knit bound in sisterhood and camaraderie, it would be a great task to separate one from the herd when they are all so inextricably linked to each other by their many loyalties. You walk among their campfires, as they dance and sing, train, and make love to one another, and find each of them wanting in what you desire.

That is until your eyes fall upon a newcomer that you had not seen before - for you know all the Amazons intimately well at this point. She stands just far away from the group, weariness radiating from her stance that suggests she considers herself an outsider, and her bright azure eyes are constantly moving as though she considered everything around her a danger to herself.

Her long blonde hair falls in a single wave, unlike the ringlets common amongst the Amazons, and her hands frequently tug at her chiton, speaking to an unfamiliarity, which suggested even more to you that she was new to the island.

Your interest piqued, you followed the stranger through memories, taking in her halted greetings and clenched fists. There's a bitterness there, simmering just beneath the surface waiting to be unleashed.

When she falls in a spar to the fiery-haired Artemis, the sword and shield she had wielded with such inexperience cast aside, and her fists leave craters of shattered marble in her wake, you know this girl is far from ordinary.

"Kara," you repeat the name softly Artemis had uttered mockingly, and find that it rolls off the tongue well.

You smile. "Yes, you'll do just fine."

Your decision is made for you when you see Diana approach her afterward, and hate shines brightly in the girl's eyes for the Amazonian warrior. Their interaction is abrupt and tense, and you're surprised they don't come to blows.

The princess of Themiscyra's patience has clearly been reduced to threadbare with the newcomer, a sentiment the girl shared as well, and you're sure something had occurred between them, and you would need to find out what.

When the two storm off from one another, the girl takes to the air in a great leap, moving fast towards the isolated cliffs, far from the Amazons, you follow after her, watching as her figure quickly disappears into the clouds.

It is not hard to find her, you simply follow the trail of destruction she leaves in her wake, uprooted trees and torn earth, and crumbling boulders tossed like children's toys.

Each step you take reveals more wanton devastation, and your curiosity piques. Few heroes let alone amazons were capable of something like this. Just who is this 'Kara'?

You find her sitting at the edge of a cliff, wiping angrily at tears that fall freely down her beautiful face.

"Damnit Kal," you hear her whisper. "what did I do wrong to get sent here? Sure, I caused a few million dollars in property damage...but I'm your cousin," Sobs wrack her form. "and now I'm on this fucking island in the middle of fucking nowhere."

Kal, the name nudges at the back of your mind with familiarity. No, it couldn't possibly be. Kal-el was the only survivor of Krypton, that was the second most important thing about him besides being Superman. For him to have a cousin, one he abandoned, you can't help but marvel at the streak of fortune that's just fallen into your lap.

This was almost too easy, you muse. Familial abandonment, by someone she trusted no less, alienated and without any support, surrounded by people she can't trust, lost and adrift...it's almost like looking into a mirror.

You slowly approach her, willing yourself into permanence, giving substance to form, broken leaves cracking beneath your feet. She jerks her head in your direction, eyes blown wide and red from crying.

"What good deed got you on Diana's bad side?" her lip quirks in amusement before she stifles it furiously.

"Who are you?" she asks, standing and turning to stare you down, arms crossed. The top of her head barely reaches your neck, you note.

"Just another prisoner in paradise," you reply. Her brow furrows and pink lips purse in concentration. You frown, feeling your body turn translucent and fading.

"Wait!" she cries out, reaching out for your fading form. But you're already gone.

"Find me," you whisper.

Deep within the heart of Themiscyra, you open your eyes to the darkness of your prison, fixed to the small glass pane through which sunlight filtered into the cave.

Now, all there was left to do was wait.

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