Just to make the old shaman feel like shit about his treatment of me, and my girlfriend feel good, I spent the next two hours looking through this dungheap for treasure, sharing all of it with the people of this crevice. The shaman and the community ended up giving me a nice bit of respect after that, and even squeezed out a promise from Megan to come visit and make sure that I came along.

  Fun. After we finally brought that guy down a peg, we went back to Atlantis to wander around and look at the sights. We took swims through the public parks—their plants now adapted for undersea living—and along wide bridges from a bygone era where bridges were a necessity at all. We visited the statues of the city depicting marble full-body figures of past kings—contemporaries to Socrates, apparently. They weren’t even considered the oldest parts of the city, either. That honor would go to the parthenons that were built around the time the pyramids were, and had apparently given the ancient Greeks most of its inspiration.

  Atlantean food was raw fish wrapped in leafy plants and infused with extra salty water to make up for the fact that solid salt could not exist in these watery conditions.

  It tasted delicious, in any case. I had nothing to complain about. Though the food did put me in the mood for sushi. Megan, who had a wide range of taste in general, appreciated it for what it was, and didn’t seem to crave something more familiar.

  I had been worried, initially, about how long it was until dinner time, and whether or not I’d get bored with the underwater city before then, but reality came in clutch—this place was even more interesting than I had given it credit for. The sheer diversity alone made things incredibly exciting. Everyone was different, with their own individual little quirks. They were strong, too. Strong, and driven. Swimming everywhere purposefully, sharing in the heroic burden that Aquaman had foisted on them.

  Or, at least they thought they did. The shaman’s words had been eye-opening, but in the end, even he did not think there was any swift solution to the problems that ailed his community. An uprising would only inevitably reduce everyone to zero, which would make things fair, but also quite shitty. What the shaman wanted was a Crevice council that wasn’t so corrupt. Better policies that governed the lives of the Abyssal Folk in his parish. I was currently debating the pros and cons of sneaking back in here and giving them all the firepower they needed to make their demands—in the form of me.

  “Sa-chan,” Megan said in that long-suffering tone she reserved for when I was thinking bad thoughts. We were both now in a guest room, changing out of our normal clothes to wear more ceremonial stuff for the dinner. They had given me a manslut toga which consisted of a band of white cloth that stretched from one side of my hip to the shoulder on the other side, and then back behind me. A golden sash held my white mid-thigh mini-skirt up. No shoes, of course, because this was Atlantis, and you never stepped on anything if you didn’t have to.

  Megan was dressed in a more conservative attire—a two-piece red bikini and a sheer red silken skirt, as well as a red choker of all things. I fixated on that choker for a bit.

  “You look stunning,” I said.

  Megan’s concern faded into a grin, “So do you!”

  “I don’t leave much to the imagination,” I sighed, looking down at myself, “I really like your choker, though.”

  “But Sa-chan, were you serious about coming back here to help the Abyssal Folk?” she asked, “I really don’t think the League would approve of you using yourself as a weapon to strong-arm corrupt leaders. You have to consider their image—the League are already playing a balancing act to ensure that they remain within the good graces of world governments. If it is proven that they have participated and acted as key members of political movements, that could seriously shake the trust that the world has on them.”

  I nodded, “Sure, that’s true. But these are the Abyssal Folk, Megan. They’re aliens walking the Earth—no one knows or cares about them. The shaman made some pretty good points, and from what I could gather, they really seem to like him.”

  “I didn’t bring this up, because I knew what you would say, but… what if you fail?” Megan asked me. She walked up to me gently and put her hands around the back of my neck, pulling me down a little. She held me in place with her eyes. And her serious-question tone made me reconsider joking it off.

  “And if I didn’t try?” I asked her. “I mean… I’m the strongest guy I know. If I couldn’t do anything for them after all, then what’s even the point? We should at least give it a try.”

  “I also think we should,” Megan said, “And I also think we should let the League know. Let Aquaman know.”

  Gosh. Did she not have any sense of spontaneity? “Alright,” I said, “Before that, however, I’ll… play around a little. Make the old blondie sweat. How about it?”

  “I doubt you’ll find a particularly satisfying fight in him,” Megan shook her head. “And I hope you don’t look so desperately after a fight to begin with.” She tippy-toed up and we kissed rather passionately. Her Atlantean outfit was doing all sorts of things to me, and I hoped she’d take this outfit home.

  Only if you take your outfit home as well.

  I grinned as we kissed.

  In the end, we ended up delaying our arrival by a few minutes. Not because of the kiss, but rather its after-effects. It turned out that having a girlfriend as hot as Megan and walking around with a mini-skirt made it a lot more likely for me to inadvertently appear, uh… indecent.

  With our elbows crooked together, I applied Infinity on her and used Blue to drag us through the water and towards the banquet hall where the guards were posted. After a brief exchange of words, they let us in.

  The banquet hall was vast. Eight guards posted in pairs along the walls, and seven servants hanging about in the water, waiting to tend on us.

  The table was impractically large considering the only seats were a single curved couch that held Aquaman, presumably his wife, presumably some other royal, Aqualad to the queen’s right, and presumably Aqualad’s girlfriend.

  The guard straightened and announced with a firm, practiced voice, “Presenting Satoru Gojo of Japan, and M’gann M’orzz of Mars.” That wasn’t telepathy. Just like with the Shaman, I could hear his voice through the water.

  The room fell momentarily silent, the air filled with the weight of ceremony. All eyes turned to us, assessing, curious. The servants paused their movements, waiting for the signal to proceed.

  Aquaman, seated regally at the center of the curved couch, rose to his full height, his presence commanding yet warm. His golden armor caught the dim light of the bioluminescent chandeliers above. His grin was as wide as the open sea, cutting through the formality with ease. Why was he wearing his costume, though? And why was Kaldur doing the same?

  “Ah, there they are!” he boomed, his deep voice carrying effortlessly through the water. “Friends of Kaldur are friends of Atlantis—and mine! Welcome to Poseidonis, Satoru Gojo and M’gann M’orzz!”

  The queen beside him, serene and composed, offered us a graceful nod. Aqualad, ever stoic, gave a small, respectful smile, while the woman at his side greeted us with a bright, eager expression. The man on the other edge of the sofa gave us a curt and perfectly diplomatic nod, but I decided almost immediately that I just didn’t trust him. Not a crazy thing to decide, given the fact that humans were generally untrustworthy.

  Give him a chance, Megan chided.

  Nah.

  I let a smile spread across my face as I inclined my head, offering a relaxed grin, “Thanks for having us, Your Majesty.”

  M’gann, ever polite, placed her hand over her heart and bowed slightly. “It’s an honor to be here. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Aquaman chuckled, stepping forward as though he couldn’t bear to keep the distance. “No need to thank me! It’s high time we had some fresh perspectives from the surface world—and beyond. Come, sit, and let us talk as equals. You’ll find no stiff traditions here, only good food, good company, and good stories.”

  He clapped his hands, and the servants immediately sprang into motion, bringing platters of food and goblets of Atlantean wine to the table. With a welcoming gesture, Aquaman indicated the space beside him. “Join us. I want to hear everything—your journey, your thoughts on our city, and, most importantly, whether or not the Martian or the sorcerer can hold their drink!”

  Megan giggled nervously, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “I wasn’t aware drinking laws were so lax in Atlantis.”

  Aquaman raised a hand, and one of the servants swam up towards us, with a tray filled with plates of jelly-like marbles. Aquaman took the tray and floated one of the bowls over to our side of the table.

  “As honored guests,” Aquaman began, “As well as friends of my protégé, it is only right that I treat you to the best that Atlantis has to offer.”

  “Brother,” the man sitting next to Aquaman looked at him in slight panic, “Is this gesture not a bit too much? You must think of your own image.”

  “Nonsense, nonsense!” Aquaman said, “Satoru Gojo deserves this consideration. He is powerful indeed. Please, Satoru. Don’t shame me—”

  “Satoru doesn’t—” Aqualad began.

  “Satoru can speak for himself,” Aquaman looked at me with kind eyes.

  I looked at the bowl of marbles, “Uh, if I didn’t know any better…”

  “They’re alcoholic,” Kaldur explained, “They taste like wine.”

  Oh. Uh. “Certainly,” I said, eyeing the marbles unsurely.

  You don’t have to do this, Megan said.

  I didn’t really want to, either. But this was diplomacy, in a way.

  I was doing it for the Super Sentai monsters living in the deep.

  I closed my eyes, took one of the marbles, and bit into it.

  I started coughing violently at the sheer strength of the liquor coating my mouth in a film of burning numbness and pain.

  Aquaman laughed at that. Nobody seemed to mind that my mouth wine/liquor was now in the air, soon to be absorbed by their gills. Then I saw some vents up in the ceiling activating, pulling in the redness of the wine in an instant. Interesting.

  I frowned in determination and took another marble, cracking into it with my teeth and swallowing the liquid contents whole.

  I could almost immediately feel my edge dulling—though maybe that was a placebo effect—and Kaldur finally snatched the bowl of wine marbles from our side of the table, giving me a serious look.

  Then he gave that serious look to Megan, who just nodded.

  What’d he say? I asked.

  Don’t embarrass him, yourself, or all of us.

  Of course I wouldn’t do that.

  “Tula,” Aqualad said, gesturing at Megan and I, “These are my teammates—of the Titans.”

  “Powerful name!” Aquaman boomed. “Whoever picked it was wise, indeed!”

  I chuckled, “Being called wise by the wisest king of all makes me painfully aware of my own shortcomings,” I said with a grin, lapping up the compliments.

  “Nonsense and false modesty!”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “A pleasure,” Tula said, giving me a nod and a grin, and one to Megan as well.

  “The pleasure is mine,” I said, giving her my hand, “If I knew that Kaldur had hidden away someone like you all this time, I’d tell him to visit sooner!”

  Tula giggled and looked at Kaldur, “This one I’m sure must get you into a lot of trouble, Kaldur.”

  Kaldur chuckled chastely. “There are few I’d rather have my back than Gojo.”

  “Pish posh,” I waved my hand, “Honestly, I can’t say I’ve been the best teammate, man. I’m just… I can’t lie, I’m just glad you even tolerate me. There’s not really much… to like.”

  Megan looked at me in surprise, “Sa-chan! Of course we like you!”

  I blinked. “Yeah,” I chuckled, playing it off, “Yeah, of course! Sorry.” Wow, that really brought down the mood. “Nevermind that, Kaldur. That was probably just the wine talking. Anyway, I just wanna say…” I furrowed my brows at him, “It’s really nice to see you in this setting. With your lady friend. Without the burden of leadership. It must have been hard, huh?”

  Aqualad gave me a mild grin, “It was, for the most part. And I’m still very new at this. I don’t expect it to get any easier.”

  “That sucks,” I nodded, “I’ll—I’ll try to support you, captain.”

  “Have some food, Sa-chan,” Megan said as a few servants were approaching us with finger foods, fish wrapped in rice and seaweed, and octopus arms. I extended my Infinity aura to the plate in order to cover it with air as well, and then I remembered—I hadn’t maintained the oxygen filter yet, had I? Shit. Shit! Hastily, I reconstructed the filter through Infinity that let me siphon O2 from the water, in order to let me breathe. And I focused on doing that as well as keeping up my other uses of Infinity—darkening my hair and darkening my eyes.

  Eating was… difficult, especially while focusing on all the other parts of Infinity that I relied on.

  “What an interesting power you have, Satoru Gojo,” the brother of the king said, looking at me in interest. “Where are you getting your breathable air from?”

  I shrugged, not really wanting to answer. “Where we all get air, I imagine,” I said with a grin. “Trees. I can’t really say how I do it though.”

  Sa-chan.

  What? I don’t trust him!

  “Ah,” he said with a nod, “Nevertheless, it is quite impressive. You’ve adapted to Atlantis’ conditions, in your own way.”

  Gojo, no!

  “I imagine not all adaptations are looked upon as kindly,” I mused, still projecting a perfectly pleasant grin.

  He raised an eyebrow, heart speeding up a tiny bit. Hmmmmmmmm, “How so?”

  “We went to the museum today,” I said, “To learn a bit more about your culture. Honestly, I’m impressed. I especially liked your society’s commitment towards keeping the world clean, and I have to admit, I did feel my share of guilt that humanity’s not doing a better job.”

  “But!” Aquaman interrupted, “The youth of the surface are more driven about the issue than ever before thanks to my work in the League. Our mission is not far at hand, young Gojo, so do not fret.”

  It didn’t look like he was trying to distract me. Rather, it sounded like he just wanted an opportunity to talk about himself. Or bring up the mood. Probably the latter. Guy seemed like a whole bundle of positive energy. It really was infectious.

  “Yes, brother,” the brother said. “But he was talking about… adaptations. I would like to hear more about that.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t even introduced himself yet. Did he expect me to know who he was right off the bat?

  Actually, wasn’t there supposed to be some significance about Aquaman’s brother’s character? I couldn’t recall—I had never read any of his issues directly, and all I knew came from his interactions with the Justice League. As far as I could recall with my giant brain just swimming in pop culture knowledge, it was that his brother didn’t… like Aquaman.

  Maybe that was the feeling that I got? Quiet resentment.

  “Oh, right, the museum,” I chuckled, “Please excuse me, your highness, Prince… uh…”

  “Orm,” he said, “Prince Orm.”

  000

  Prince Orm gazed placidly into the eyes of Satoru Gojo, Infinity, challenging him to continue speaking, to continue leaking information about himself, about the Light’s newfound thorn. This was supposed to be Klarion’s greatest masterpiece? A lapdog for the do-gooders? The Lord of Chaos had abandoned their cause, spreading mayhem through the plans of the Light, all so he could fashion an agent that he deemed was worthy of the Witch Boy’s sponsorship.

  Luthor had already gone to ground, all but abandoning the Light, and Ra’s swore up and down that he was on the precipice of sealing Infinity’s threat magically. But they were flailing. It was clear for the Ocean Master to see.

  They were flailing, and Orm would today justify his position in their ranks.

  “Excuse me, prince Orm,” the young boy said, “To be honest, I usually don’t drink, if at all. But I couldn’t deny your older brother’s gesture, certainly not after you made a big deal about it.”

  Orm could have sworn that he had heard an emphasis on the word ‘older’, and he couldn’t deny the slight irritation in his heart at hearing that. “Nonsense,” Orm chuckled politely, “You should have done what was comfortable to you. No one should be made to drink under pressure. Brother.”

  Aquaman grinned in slight shame, “Apologies, old chum! I seem to have gotten ahead of myself.”

  “Anyway,” Gojo continued, “About the whole adaptation thing—we went to the museum, it was nice. I’d say we learned a lot about Poseidonis. Not so much about the Abyssal Folk, though.” Orm furrowed his eyebrows. Why in the world would he go out of his way to seek those degenerates out?

  “Where did you hear of them?” Orm asked.

  “Ah, I saw ‘em,” Gojo said with a grin. “They live around the outskirts of Poseidonis, in the dark deeps. I took a shine to them, to be honest. They were decent folk, the ones Megan and I met.”

  Orm blinked, “You… met with the Brine Dwellers.”

  Everyone looked surprised at that.

  “I mean, I sorta wanted to know what their whole deal was,” Gojo said with a chuckle, “Why they live in the cracks. Why they seemed so unhappy.”

  Aquaman regarded Gojo seriously, “So you’ve learned of Atlantis’ ignoble past.”

  “And of your efforts,” Gojo said with a grin, “The shaman that Megan and I spoke to had quite a few kind words to spare about you.”

  “Not enough words, I would say,” Aquaman frowned, “For I have yet to truly address their problems or help them.”

  Gojo shrugged, “It’s not my place to feel righteous indignation for a downtrodden ethnic group, but those projections were quite gory—”

  Megan jumped into the discussion, “It was a rather intense experience. Apologies for Gojo’s behavior, he’s quite… devoted to the plight of the defenseless.” Gojo gaped at her in clear denial.

  Orm smiled, gesturing placatingly at Gojo, “Your empathy is commendable, of course. But what would you have the crown do?”

  Gojo snapped his mouth shut, his earlier denial replaced with a sharp grin that could cut glass. He leaned back against the sofa and crossed his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "What would I have the crown do? I could think of a thing or two."

  Orm arched an eyebrow, his placating smile widening in real glee for a moment. There you go, boy. Embarrass yourself.

  “Let’s start simple,” Gojo said, holding up a finger. “First, formal recognition of the Abyssal Folk as full citizens of Atlantis. No more of this ‘Brine Dwellers’ slur nonsense. Give them a proper place in your census, infrastructure planning, and government. And before you tell me, they aren’t under Poseidonis’ jurisdiction—you’re never going to beat the allegation that the Crevices are a ghetto extension of the city. They depend on you for everything, they live via your refuse. And you depend on them for building materials and use them as a disposable mining labor force. Give them rights.”

  A second finger went up. “Second, since we’re being honest about whether or not your people are your people—hint: they are—institute a widespread education initiative. And not just for the kids. Teach literacy, language, magic theory—whatever you’ve got. Focus on equipping these people with the skills they need to thrive within the system, not just survive outside it.”

  Orm blinked, the faintest hint of surprise creeping onto his face.

  “Third,” Gojo continued, counting off on his fingers, “Allocate budget and resources to develop the Crevices. Clean water, sustainable fishing, healthy ecosystems. You’ve got the magic and tech to spare, don’t you?

  “Fourth,” Gojo added, now grinning as if he were enjoying himself immensely, “set up proper trade opportunities between the Abyssal Folk and the rest of Atlantis. Let the miners unionize. Let the others be merchants, artisans, laborers—anything that integrates them economically outside of just mineral extraction, while celebrating their cultural uniqueness. Instead of, you know, throwing all of who they are aside just so they can fit in better. I mean, that would make life a lot easier for the ruling class, sure, but every now and then, you gotta think about the little guy.”

  Orm opened his mouth to—“Fifth,” Gojo said, holding up a hand to forestall any interruptions, “create an independent oversight body to monitor corruption and prejudice against the Abyssal Folk in law enforcement, politics, and the military. Make sure they have representatives on that council too, with teeth to hold people accountable.”

  Orm’s composure slipped further, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Gojo with growing wariness.

  “Sixth,” Gojo continued with a smirk, leaning forward on the table, “address the root cause. Poseidonis has been benefiting off the exploitation of these people for a long time. Reparations, Orm. Real ones. Land grants, tax breaks, funding for their communities—whatever it takes to level the playing field after centuries of neglect.”

  Megan winced at the word reparations. She shot Gojo a pleading look, but he just smiled, his tone as casual as could be.

  “And seventh,” Gojo smiled widest now, “What I would most want to have the crown do, the most important take-away they could possibly have, in fact, is to ask somebody of the Abyssal Folk, rather than some no-name surface dweller that had a fifteen-minute conversation with just one religious leader, who essentially fed me all this information to begin with. So,” Gojo said, tilting his head, “what do you think, Prince Orm? Too much, or just enough to make up for all that gory history?”

  Orm’s smile had frozen in place, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the table. “Your source was certainly thorough. And you haven’t wasted any time throwing your weight behind them.”

  “Of course I haven’t,” Gojo said brightly. “I might not live here, but justice doesn’t care about borders, does it?”

  Orm saw the truth there and then—Gojo could not be brought into the Light. He was too idealistic. Too zealous. He didn’t fit in with the heroes—Ra’s had been right enough about that—but he certainly could not be made to do anything in service of the Light if this was how he behaved in the presence of royalty.

  Utter impudence. Pure conceit. And eyes that truly judged those he looked at to be lesser beings.

  “Gojo,” Kaldur said softly, looking at Gojo with a slight grin, “You’ve… not wasted any effort on getting to the root of our country’s blight—our dark history, how we’ve treated our own brothers and sisters. I apologize that you had to learn it this way.” His grin widened, “But I’m glad that you’ve stepped into the right side of history.”

  “Wait—wait!” Gojo raised his hands in surrender, “Before we do any of that congratulating,” he gestured with a flair towards the Martian, “Megan here is the beating heart of this dynamic duo! She was the one who wanted to learn about the Abyssal Folk. She wouldn’t rest until we did.”

  “My,” Queen Mera grinned at Megan, “Your intrepid spirit will take you far, young heroine.” She looked at Kaldur now, “You’ve made great friends, Kaldur.”

  “I know,” Kaldur nodded.

  Two outsiders, one from a different planet entirely, thinking they could cast stones on Atlantis’ glorious history? Orm’s heart thundered in rage.

  And Gojo’s eyes widened as he locked eyes with Orm, and for a moment, his grin look… manic. Disturbed. Orm’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t… seen anything, had he? Had Orm shown any of his feelings? No. That had to be his imagination.

  Then why was this creature smiling like this? “I’m just an ignorant outsider,” Gojo said, still looking at Orm, but now with a considerably less manic grin, “Honestly, I can’t say I know the full picture.”

  “You know enough, old chum,” Aquaman said with a nod.

  “What are your thoughts, prince?” Gojo asked, head tilted. Orm felt… uneasy. What was this boy doing that was making him feel this way?

  “My thoughts on the Brine Dwellers?” Orm asked, giving an incredulous chuckle, “They are not our people, and they have repeatedly frustrated our efforts to lift them up. I wish there was an easy way to address the problem.”

  “Hah, right,” Gojo nodded, “Maybe I should leave the politicking to the politicians while I stay in my lane? My apologies, Prince. I didn’t mean to presume anything. I know you have all put much thought into the topic, and I should not disrespect that effort with my own rants about equality.”

  Aquaman laughed, “Intelligent and modest! I’m starting to really like you, now! What say you go for another drink of that wine and tell us how you really feel?”

  “No,” both Megan and Kaldur denied.

  Gojo’s cheeks bulged for a moment and then he… swallowed. What—? Megan must have seen or noticed something because she then frowned harshly at Gojo and smacked him lightly on his arm.

  “Anyway,” Gojo said, voice darkened as if he had just had a gulp of liquor, “I just wanted to ask you, Orm, because…” he looked distressed for a moment, “I just… I’ve just heard things. About you, in particular. All lies, of course!”

  Orm’s eyes widened. Was this why he was acting this way? Had one of those insipid purists hailed his name again, after he went through all that effort to publicly distance himself from their movement? “Yes. Of course,” he replied curtly, “What have you heard?”

  “Nothing substantial,” Gojo said, “Apologies, really, for bringing that up. I’m sorry, I really am. That wine was just—too strong!”

  “Ugly rumors tend to spread about good men,” Orin sighed, wrapping a hand around Orm’s neck. Orm wanted to cut the arm off.

  Orin went on a tangent about one of his many stories, and Gojo played the part of a captured audience, along with his lady-friend, but Orm could tell… something was off about him. He knew more than he wanted to say.