Chapter 5 - Chapter 3 Unexpected Flat stranded Paradise? Part 2

A silence stretched again—but this time, it wasn't as sharp. It was thoughtful. 

Batman broke the quiet with his usual precision. "For now, we focus on survival. We map the land. Study the creatures. Gather resources—but without exploitation." His gaze slid to Luthor. "That's not a suggestion." 

Luthor said nothing—but his smile didn't disappear either. 

The civilians, despite the gnawing fear, slowly began returning to their tasks—gathering fruit, checking the centipede metals, keeping a wide berth from the horses. The children played with the Puffers, laughing whenever the caterpillars tumbled over themselves. 

And above it all, the flute-trees continued their haunting, gentle song—an endless, wind-driven lullaby in a world both eerily beautiful and unsettlingly perfect. 

The Justice League remained watchful, standing at the intersection of wonder and danger—unsure whether this boundless universe was a gift... or a trap waiting to spring. 

The world seemed to hold its breath again — the soft hum of the flute-trees drifting in the wind, the distant calls of six-legged horses, and the faint rustling of the grass beneath the massive centipedes. The civilians, for all their tension and wonder, were slowly growing used to the rhythm of this strange land. It was an uneasy peace, fragile as glass — but peace nonetheless. 

And then someone saw it. 

A figure — a small, distant silhouette on the horizon. 

At first, it seemed like just another trick of this bizarre world, some new creature or a strange plant swaying in the wind, but the longer they stared, the clearer it became. It wasn't a creature. It was a person. 

No — two people. 

The first was a woman, draped in flowing purple garments that rippled like silk in the wind, the deep color standing out against the endless green plains. A wide-brimmed witch's hat, tall and elegant, crowned her head, the tip bending ever so slightly like a soft curl of smoke. In her hand, she held a long black scepter, its head shaped like a crescent moon — sleek, sharp, and silent. Slung across her shoulder was a small bundle — tied with simple rope — filled with an assortment of what seemed to be wheat, fruit, and other unidentifiable plants. 

But what stunned the onlookers most wasn't her clothing, nor her staff — it was her mount. 

A crystal deer — just like the ones they had seen shimmering in the night. The same massive, five-times-larger-than-Earth's deer, with antlers that spread wide like delicate, glass branches. The creature's entire body glimmered faintly with the soft refracted light of the sky, its crystal hide catching and bending the air around it, making it seem like an illusion, a dream bound to this silent land. 

She rode the creature effortlessly, with the quiet confidence of someone who had done so a thousand times. The deer's hooves barely made a sound as it trotted forward, calm and measured, as if it too understood the balance of this world. 

Behind her, another figure darted through the grass — smaller, faster, and even stranger. 

It was a girl — younger, more energetic — with literal cat ears twitching atop her head, her long tail flicking behind her as she ran. Her movements were quick, efficient — a full-speed, ninja-like sprint, arms trailing behind her, as though she were tearing through the wind itself. She was dressed in black — not just any black, but the kind of dark, layered clothing worn by assassins: loose enough to move freely but tight enough to stay silent. Small throwing stars clinked faintly against her side, and a katana strapped to her back glimmered in the soft daylight. Kunai lined her belt, and even talismans — small strips of paper scrawled with symbols — fluttered ever so slightly as she moved. 

She was carrying something as well — a large bag, stuffed to the brim with fish and meat. The bag looked heavier than it had any right to be, yet she didn't slow down, her pace steady as she sprinted behind the witch and the crystal deer. 

Neither of them looked toward the Justice League or the civilians. 

They were too far away — at least ten miles, if not more — mere specks against the endless plains. Their course was clear: they were heading somewhere with purpose, a destination only they knew, disappearing slowly into the vastness of this world. 

The camp fell into stunned silence. 

It was Flash who broke it, blinking hard. "Uh… did anyone else just see… a witch on a crystal deer… and a cat ninja running like she's late for anime school?" 

John Stewart's jaw tightened. "I saw." 

Superman's eyes, still glowing faintly with the remnants of his microscopic vision, remained fixed on the horizon. "They didn't notice us," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "They weren't hiding — they were just… passing through." 

Batman's voice was a quiet blade. "Which means we're not alone." 

The civilians shifted nervously, the fragile sense of safety they had begun to build suddenly shattered. 

A mother clutched her child a little tighter. "I thought this place was… empty," she whispered. "Just animals. Just creatures." 

One of the younger men — still clutching a crystal snake scale in his hand — shook his head. "They looked… human," he said, though his voice wavered. "Did anyone else see the cat… tail?" 

Wonder Woman stepped forward, her expression calm but focused. "Whoever they are, they seemed… prepared. Their clothing, their weapons… they've been here far longer than we have." 

Green Lantern hovered a few inches off the ground, his ring glowing faintly. "The cat girl had a katana. And those paper charms — I know magic when I see it." 

Luthor, ever composed, smirked faintly. "So much for this being an untouched paradise." 

Superman's eyes flicked to him. "You think they're a threat?" 

Luthor chuckled softly. "I think they're a variable." 

Flash shifted from foot to foot. "We should follow them. See where they're going." 

Batman shook his head. "Not yet." 

Flash frowned. "Why not?" 

Batman's voice remained steady, calculating. "We don't know how they'll react to us. If they've survived here, they might see outsiders as a danger. We observe first." 

Aquaman, who had remained silent, finally spoke — his voice deep and thoughtful. "They had supplies — food, resources. They know how to live here." 

Superman nodded. "And if they know how to live here… they might know a way out." 

The air crackled with a strange energy — not fear this time, but something else. 

Hope. 

Or danger. 

The silhouettes of the witch on her crystal deer and the cat-like assassin faded into the distance, swallowed by the boundless horizon. 

The Justice League stood silent for a long time after, their thoughts chasing those figures long after they had disappeared.

The camp remained frozen in stunned silence, the last glimmer of the witch's flowing purple garments and the cat-eared assassin's dark silhouette swallowed by the horizon. Even though the pair were long gone, their presence clung to the air like a ghost—an undeniable reminder that this boundless, seemingly perfect world was far from empty. 

The civilians broke first—murmurs rippling through the crowd like an uneasy tide. 

"Did you see her? That hat—like something out of a fairy tale…" 

"And the other one! She had ears—actual cat ears!" 

"They were moving too fast—did you see the way that deer was running?" 

A middle-aged man, still clutching a handful of blue fruit from the moss-wolves' feast, spoke louder than the others. "I thought this place was just animals—some strange, messed-up zoo of magical creatures! But people?" He shook his head. "People mean danger." 

A young woman, cradling a golden caterpillar in her hands, bit her lip. "Or maybe help," she offered softly. "They didn't even look at us. They were just… doing their own thing." 

An older woman with graying hair wasn't so convinced. "They had weapons," she said sharply, pointing a bony finger at the spot where the pair had vanished. "That cat-girl was covered in knives, and that witch's staff wasn't for decoration. People don't carry that kind of thing unless they expect to use it." 

The civilians shifted uncomfortably, and the fragile balance of calm the Justice League had worked so hard to build was cracking again. 

Batman, as always, was already thinking ahead. His mind raced through a dozen possibilities—Were they locals? Refugees like them? A hunting party? Scavengers? The woman's staff could have been magical, or purely ornamental—but the way she carried it, steady and practiced, suggested she knew how to use it. And the cat-like girl… her movements were too fluid, too precise. She wasn't just fast—she was trained. A fighter. 

"Batman," Superman said quietly, his voice cutting through the static of growing panic. "Thoughts?" 

Bruce's jaw tightened. "They're familiar with this world," he said evenly. "They weren't lost. They knew where they were going, what they were gathering. The deer was a mount—not a wild animal. That means domestication. It also means a level of organization—possibly a settlement." 

Superman nodded. "They didn't seem hostile." 

"That doesn't mean they're friendly." 

Green Lantern crossed his arms, his ring flickering faintly. "I don't like it. People with weapons and magic in a world like this? That usually means there's something worth fighting for—or against." 

Flash rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, but they weren't looking for a fight. I mean, the cat-girl was practically Naruto-running into the distance with a sack full of fish. She wasn't exactly on high alert." 

Aquaman's gaze lingered on the horizon. "They have food. Not just plants—they're hunting. Fishing. They know how to survive here." His voice lowered, thoughtful. "Which means they might know more than we do about the dangers we haven't seen yet." 

The civilians didn't miss that last part. 

"Dangers?" a man repeated, his voice rising. "So we are in danger?" 

Another voice cut in, brittle with fear. "I knew it—this place was too perfect. The animals, the resources… it's a trap. And those people—they're probably part of it!" 

"Or they're running from whatever else is out there!" 

A small boy clutched his mother's hand, his voice trembling. "Are they gonna hurt us?" 

Superman's voice, calm but commanding, broke through the noise. "We don't know anything yet," he said firmly. "What we do know is that those people didn't see us—they weren't looking for us. Right now, that means we're safe." 

The crowd quieted, but the fear hadn't gone—it simply simmered beneath the surface. 

Lex Luthor, leaning casually against a tree-flute, chuckled softly. "I hate to break the heartwarming moment," he said, his voice a smooth blade, "but let's not pretend ignorance is a strategy. Those two were clearly gathering supplies. Wheat, fruit, fish, meat—enough to suggest they're stocking up for something. Maybe they have a home, a camp… or perhaps they're preparing for something else entirely." His smile was thin and sharp. "A war, perhaps." 

Wonder Woman's eyes flashed dangerously. "You're making assumptions again, Luthor." 

"Am I?" His gaze flicked toward Batman. "I imagine he's already considered the possibility." 

Batman didn't respond. He didn't have to. 

The civilians looked at him now—because whether they admitted it or not, they trusted him. The Justice League were their protectors, but Batman? He was their strategist. Their last line of defense. 

Finally, he spoke. "We proceed with caution," he said flatly. "We don't engage. Not yet. Our priority is still gathering information about this world—land, resources, and now… people." His eyes cut toward Superman. "But we keep watch." 

Superman gave a small nod. "Agreed." 

Flash exhaled, muttering to himself. "So, 'keep watch' means 'wait around and hope they come back,' huh?" 

John Stewart's ring pulsed. "It means we gather information before making first contact. We don't want to start something we can't control." 

Batman's voice remained steady. "And if they do come back… we'll be ready." 

The wind stirred again—soft, but ever-present—and the flute-trees answered with their endless, hollow tune. 

The civilians, still unsettled, returned slowly to their tasks—but there was a new tension in the air now, a sense that the boundless world they had thought was beautiful and untouched wasn't so empty after all. 

And somewhere, far beyond the horizon, the witch and the cat-eared girl continued their silent journey—never knowing the watchful eyes that now followed their every move. 

The air, despite its strangeness, had a softness to it — the flute-trees hummed gently in the distance, the wind plucking their hollowed branches like invisible fingers strumming a thousand instruments at once. The distant creatures, those crystal deer and moss-wolves and shimmering caterpillars, moved with a quiet, lazy rhythm, unbothered by the silent tension that gripped the adults. 

But the children… the children were different. 

Oblivious to the weight of the Justice League's wary stares and the civilians' whispered fears, they had carved out their own pocket of innocence within the camp. They darted between the towering trees, tossing sticks like spears, chasing after the puffy caterpillars that squeaked softly when touched, and laughing whenever one of the giant squirrel-like creatures scurried down from a turtle tree and snatched a piece of fallen fruit. The world, strange as it was, became their playground. 

And then they saw her. 

At first, the kids thought she was just another creature — maybe some reptilian thing, given the faint blue horns curving delicately from the sides of her head and the way her small tail flicked behind her as she walked. But no, she wasn't an animal. She was a girl — small, no older than six or seven — wearing a simple blue dress the color of the sky. She clutched a wooden sword in one hand, a round wooden shield strapped clumsily to the other — both clearly handmade, rough but sturdy, the kind of thing a child would wield with fierce pride. 

And her eyes… 

They weren't human. 

Large, round, and reptilian — shimmering blue like glass marbles — blinking slowly as she approached. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't hiding. She simply… smiled. 

A bright, wide, innocent smile. 

She waved at them — small fingers curling and uncurling in an awkward but enthusiastic motion, like she wasn't sure exactly how to do it but had seen others do it before. 

The children froze. 

One boy, holding a stick he'd been pretending was a sword, dropped it with a clatter. Another girl, her hand full of the soft fur of a golden caterpillar, blinked twice, her mouth hanging open. The youngest of the group, a toddler barely able to walk on his own, clutched his sister's leg and stared with wide, startled eyes. 

The reptilian girl cocked her head slightly, her tail flicking again, clearly confused by their silence. But then she simply stepped closer, closing the last bit of distance between them, and — without a word — plopped down onto the grass. 

She set her little shield beside her and stuck her wooden sword into the ground like a knight preparing for battle, then looked up expectantly at the others. 

Her smile never wavered. 

"Hi," she finally said — her voice soft, a bit raspy, but cheerful. 

For a long moment, no one moved. 

Then, finally, one of the braver kids — a boy with messy brown hair — managed to stammer, "Uh… hi?" 

The girl's tail wagged, pleased by the response. 

Another girl, slightly older, leaned in close and whispered, "She has horns." 

The reptilian girl heard it and giggled. "Yeah," she said, reaching up to tap one of the small blue horns poking out from her hair. "I'm gonna have big ones when I grow up." She stretched her arms wide to show just how big. "Like this!" 

The boy with the stick slowly picked it back up, still eyeing her curiously. "What… are you?" 

Her nose scrunched a bit at the question. "I'm me," she said simply. Then she grabbed her sword again and pointed it at him — not aggressively, but with a sort of playful seriousness. "I'm training to be a Linker." 

The other children blinked in confusion. 

"A what?" asked one girl. 

"A Linker," she said proudly, puffing up her chest. "A fighter — someone who travels the world and protects people and does cool stuff." She swung her wooden sword through the air in a clumsy arc. "Like this! Swish! Swash!" 

The boy with the stick perked up a bit. "Oh… like a knight?" 

The girl frowned, thinking hard. "Maybe? I dunno what a knight is, but a Linker is someone who's really strong. Like my dad — he's a Linker." 

"Where's your dad?" 

She shrugged. "Hunting, probably." Then, as if realizing something important, she added, "But I'm training. I have to practice fighting so I can be a great Linker like him." She banged her sword lightly against her shield. "I fight bad guys." 

The other kids, though still wary, couldn't help but be intrigued by her boldness. She was small — no bigger than any of them — yet there was something fearless about her. 

Finally, the boy with the stick held his "sword" out. "I fight bad guys too," he said. "I'm… a ninja." 

She gasped, eyes going wide. "Really?" 

"Yeah," he said, now fully leaning into it. "I can do ninja moves." He swung his stick dramatically. 

The girl grinned. "Show me!" 

What started as an awkward encounter quickly unraveled into a chaotic, giggling mess of playful sword fights. The reptilian girl clashed her wooden sword against the boy's stick, both shouting nonsense attacks like "Hi-yah!" and "Take that!" The other children, less fearful now, slowly joined in — picking up sticks, grabbing makeshift "weapons" from whatever they could find, and diving into the game with all the reckless enthusiasm of kids who had momentarily forgotten where they were. 

Even the caterpillars seemed to get involved — squeaking and wriggling as the children "rescued" them from imaginary monsters. 

From a distance, the adults watched — Justice League members and civilians alike. 

Superman's arms were crossed, but his lips twitched ever so slightly at the scene. "Well… they don't seem to think she's a threat." 

Wonder Woman's gaze was thoughtful. "She's young," she murmured. "Too young to have learned fear of strangers." 

Batman, ever watchful, didn't look away from the playing children. "She's not afraid because she doesn't see us as a danger." His voice was even, but there was a twinge of curiosity in it. "Which means, wherever she comes from… they're not expecting enemies." 

Green Lantern frowned. "That… or they've never had any." 

Flash, however, was grinning. "You guys are overthinking it — she's just a kid who wants to play sword fights. Look at her—she's adorable." 

Aquaman, though more stoic, gave a small nod. "She mentioned training," he said quietly. "Not for war — but for… culture. For identity." His eyes narrowed. "A Linker. Whatever that means." 

The civilians, though still nervous, seemed a bit more at ease watching the children. 

After all — if a child from this world could approach their own so freely… how dangerous could this place really be? 

The girl's laugh echoed across the plains, and the flute-trees hummed softly in response, as if the wind itself was singing along. 

The children's playful sword fights eventually faded into a loose circle, with the reptilian girl at the center — her wooden sword still clutched in one hand like a badge of honor. Her bright, unblinking eyes darted from face to face, grinning every time one of the other kids asked her another question. They'd gone from cautious to captivated — hanging on her every word, every gesture. 

And she had a lot to say. 

"Ghost fish!" she suddenly blurted out, her tail giving an excited flick behind her. 

The boy with the stick blinked. "Ghost what?" 

"Ghost fish!" she repeated, like that should have explained everything. "They glow at night. Not like… shiny, like the crystal deer — but soft, like little lights." She used her wooden sword to draw a wobbly fish shape in the dirt. "They live in the rivers. You can see 'em better when it's really dark. They just float, all slow and…" She trailed off, wiggling her fingers for effect. 

One of the girls, wide-eyed, asked, "Are they… real ghosts?" 

The reptilian girl giggled. "No, silly! They just look like ghosts. They're soft and squishy." She made a squishing motion with her hands. "And they glow." 

The boy with the stick raised an eyebrow. "Can you eat them?" 

"Yeah! But they don't taste good." She stuck out her tongue in exaggerated disgust. "Kinda sour." 

Another kid, a smaller girl with curly hair, gasped. "But they glow! That's so cool!" 

The reptilian girl puffed up proudly at their awe. "That's nothing!" she declared. "I know way cooler stuff." 

Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and pointed dramatically towards the distant horizon — past the endless fields and shimmering rivers. "There's a mountain," she said, her voice suddenly hushed like she was sharing a great secret. "A big one. And at the bottom, there's a whole herd of shadow horses." 

The children stared. 

"Shadow… horses?" the boy asked. 

"Yeah!" She swung her tail behind her, as if to emphasize the importance. "They're all black — not like fur, but fog. They're kinda… blurry when they move, like smoke." She waved her hands in a ghostly fashion. "And they sleep under the trees when it's day — real quiet, like this." She scrunched herself up, pretending to be a resting horse, earning a few giggles. "But at night…" She stood up tall and proud. "They run so fast you can't even see their legs move." 

The kids' mouths hung open. 

The boy clutched his stick a little tighter. "Can you ride them?" 

The girl tilted her head, considering. "No. Well… maybe? They don't let you touch them unless they like you." She frowned thoughtfully. "I tried once, but they just looked at me and poof — gone." 

The small curly-haired girl clapped her hands excitedly. "I wanna see them!" 

The reptilian girl grinned. "I'll show you someday. But there's more." She turned back to the others, her voice a dramatic whisper. "There's rainbow fish too." 

A boy blinked. "What's a rainbow fish?" 

"They're this big!" She spread her arms as wide as they would go, which was met with a round of impressed "whoa" sounds from the others. "They swim really fast in the rivers and lakes, and they're all colors — red, blue, green, gold… and if the sun — I mean, the light — hits them right, they look like rainbows." 

"Can you catch them?" 

The reptilian girl gave a smug smile. "I can." 

There was a moment of stunned silence — then a burst of "no way" and "really?" and "show us!" from the other children. 

Without hesitation, she spun on her heel. "Come on!" 

The children followed, some of them running to grab their makeshift weapons or whatever half-eaten fruit they'd left behind, while the reptilian girl trotted ahead like a self-appointed leader. 

Not too far away, the Justice League and a few adults watched from the hill. 

Superman's arms were still crossed, his gaze never leaving the group of running kids. "She's taking them somewhere." 

Batman's jaw tightened slightly. "She's too comfortable with them." 

Flash gave a small laugh. "She's a kid, Bats. That's what kids do — make friends and show off. It's adorable." 

Aquaman, standing off to the side, was more thoughtful. "She's not just showing off," he said quietly. "She's confident. Too confident." 

Wonder Woman nodded, her expression unreadable. "A child who lives in a dangerous world doesn't act like that." She glanced at Batman. "She doesn't know fear." 

By the time the kids reached a wide river with water so clear you could see the smooth stones at the bottom, the reptilian girl was already crouched at the edge. 

"Shh," she whispered dramatically, holding a finger to her lips. "Rainbow fish are fast. You gotta be quiet." 

The other children huddled close, staring into the water. 

Then, with a sudden flash, the girl's arm darted into the river — faster than any of them expected. 

Water sprayed into the air, and before they could blink, she yanked her hand back up — holding not one, not two, but ten squirming, shimmering fish in her small hands. 

The kids exploded into a chorus of gasps and cheers. 

The fish flopped wildly, their scales flashing a rainbow of colors with every movement. 

The reptilian girl just grinned. "See?" she said proudly, dropping them onto the grassy bank. "Rainbow fish." 

One boy stammered, "How… how did you catch ten?!" 

She shrugged, tail flicking lazily. "I practice." 

The small curly-haired girl knelt by the fish, eyes wide. "Are they… are they magic?" 

The reptilian girl laughed. "No. They're just fish." She poked one gently, and it gave a weak flop. "But they taste really good if you cook 'em right." 

The boy with the stick frowned. "Are you sure? They look… too pretty to eat." 

The reptilian girl blinked, confused by the question. "Why wouldn't you eat them? They're food." 

And then she pointed upward — past the river, past the mountains — toward the sky. 

And there, floating like massive silent gods, were the whales. 

Not swimming in the ocean — but gliding through the air — their immense forms drifting slowly across the endless sky. 

Islands of earth clung to their backs — whole ecosystems of trees, grass, and flowing waterfalls cascading down from their floating masses. Small creatures moved on these airborne islands — tiny deer, flocks of birds, and strange beasts grazing as if unaware they were flying miles above the ground. 

The children's jaws dropped. 

The reptilian girl just smiled. "And those," she said softly, "are the sky whales." 

The boy could barely find his voice. "You… you can't eat those… right?" 

She laughed. "No," she said. "But you can ride them."

The children were still staring at the sky whales, their mouths open in awe, when the reptilian girl spoke again — her voice cutting through the stunned silence like it was the most natural question in the world. 

"Hey… why do you guys keep talking about a 'sun'?" she asked, tilting her head, her small tail flicking idly behind her. 

The kids blinked, their attention snapping back to her. 

One of the older boys furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? The sun — the big ball of light in the sky — it makes day and night happen." 

The reptilian girl looked genuinely confused. "What's a… sun?" 

The question hit harder than expected. The kids exchanged wide-eyed looks, like someone had just told them the sky was purple. 

One girl, still staring at the sky whales, muttered, "How do you not know what a sun is?" 

The reptilian girl just shrugged. "We don't have one. It just… gets bright, then dark. That's just how it works." She drew a circle in the dirt with the tip of her wooden sword. "No sun. No big ball of fire." She pointed at the sky. "Just… light or no light." 

The boy with the stick squinted. "But… doesn't it get cold when there's no sun?" 

She blinked at him. "Why would it?" 

There was a long silence. 

Superman, still watching from the hill with the Justice League, tensed slightly. "She's never seen a sun before," he said softly, a strange weight in his voice. 

Batman's jaw tightened. "That's impossible." 

Aquaman's brow furrowed. "Not here, apparently." 

The reptilian girl, oblivious to the growing tension among both the kids and the distant adults, suddenly crouched down and drew more haphazard shapes in the dirt — a crude map of the flat world as she understood it. "The sky just changes," she said simply. "It takes a long time, though. Like… really long. The light comes, then it goes." She counted on her fingers, whispering to herself. "One… two… three… a lot." She looked up. "I think one whole day is, um… four hands long." She wiggled her fingers, showing all ten of them twice. "So… a long time." 

One of the smaller kids finally worked up the courage to ask, "But… isn't that weird?" 

The reptilian girl just grinned. "Not for me." 

Before they could ask anything else, the distant sound of a whistle echoed through the air — clear and strong, like a soft call across the wind. 

The girl immediately perked up. Her tail straightened, her ears twitched, and her hand shot to the hilt of her wooden sword, like she was ready for battle. 

Another whistle. 

She spun toward the horizon — and there, approaching from the distance, were two figures. 

A man and a woman — both clad in brilliant, intricately detailed armor. The polished metal gleamed with gold accents and flowing sky-blue leather, moving effortlessly with their steps. The woman's armor was more streamlined, the pauldrons shaped like soft wings, her greatsword resting easily across her back. The man's was heavier, with broader plates and a massive crossbow slung over his shoulder, and a long, two-handed gun strapped at his hip — a weapon that looked both ancient and impossibly advanced at the same time. 

They moved with a calm, commanding presence — their six-legged horses standing nearby, grazing lazily on the endless grass. 

The reptilian girl lit up with a wide smile. "Mama! Papa!" she shouted, immediately breaking into a sprint toward them. 

The children, stunned into silence, just watched as she darted through the grass — her small frame a blur of energy. 

The armored man caught her easily with one hand, lifting her off the ground and onto his shoulder without missing a step. She giggled, kicking her feet happily. The woman brushed a hand over the girl's hair, a soft smile breaking through her stern expression. 

From a distance, the Justice League observed the scene carefully. 

"They're her parents," Wonder Woman said softly. "Warriors." 

Batman's gaze narrowed. "Look at their weapons. That crossbow isn't just for hunting." 

Aquaman crossed his arms. "And that gun — I've never seen anything like it." 

Superman's focus remained on the girl. "She's trained," he said quietly. "That wasn't just a playful reaction to the whistle. She's used to responding to signals — like a soldier." 

The reptilian girl, now comfortably perched on her father's shoulder, waved enthusiastically at the children. "Bye!" she called. "I'll show you more tomorrow!" 

Her mother gave a subtle nod to the group of kids — not unkind, but distant — and then effortlessly swung onto her six-legged horse. 

The father followed, adjusting the girl's position so she sat in front of him, clutching the reins like a proper rider. 

And then, without another word, they rode off — the horses moving with a fluid, almost unnatural grace, their extra limbs giving them an eerie smoothness as they galloped. The girl giggled as they picked up speed, the wind tugging at her hair. 

The Justice League watched them disappear into the distance — the figures shrinking into the vast horizon until they were gone. 

The children just stood there, still processing what had happened. 

Finally, the boy with the stick muttered, "Her parents are so cool." 

The small curly-haired girl nodded. "And her horse had six legs." 

Another boy whispered, "She didn't know what a sun was." 

The group fell silent again, the weight of the strangeness settling in. 

Superman's voice, quiet but firm, broke the stillness from the hill. "We need

 to talk."We pick up right where Superman said, "We need to talk."

The Justice League gathered at the center of the makeshift camp, the wind carrying the faint music of the flute-trees in the distance. Civilians whispered amongst themselves, stealing nervous glances at the horizon, where the reptilian girl and her strange, majestic family had disappeared. The tension in the air was thick — not with fear, but with unanswered questions. Superman's voice, calm but firm, anchored the silence. "We need to figure out what we're dealing with — and fast."

Batman's gaze remained fixed on the spot where the six-legged horses had vanished. "They weren't ordinary travelers," he muttered, his voice low enough that only the League could hear. "That armor wasn't for show. Those weapons were functional."

Wonder Woman nodded. "Warriors," she said. "Trained — disciplined. And the girl — their daughter — she moved like a soldier responding to a command."

Flash, still jittery from the encounter, rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that — did anyone else catch the whole 'what's a sun?' thing? Because that's a pretty basic question if you're, you know… from anywhere normal."

Aquaman crossed his arms, his expression hard. "This place isn't normal," he said. "The sky doesn't change, the water has no bottom, and we're surrounded by creatures that seem too… balanced." His gaze drifted to the turtle-trees, their ancient, slow-moving forms still plodding across the endless grassland. "Nothing hunts. Nothing flees. It's like the entire ecosystem was designed — not evolved."

Green Lantern's ring flickered, casting a faint green glow across the ground as John Stewart expanded his scans. "It's a system," he said grimly. "The turtles grow the fruit, the dragons graze like cattle, the dolphins clean the water. Even the metal-shedding centipedes — they're part of some larger cycle. It's too perfect."

Superman exhaled slowly. "And then there's the girl and her parents. They weren't surprised to see us. They were cautious — but not afraid." His eyes, still fixed on the horizon, softened slightly. "And she called this place home."

Silence settled over them like a weight.

A few feet away, the civilians still murmured — hushed conversations about the girl's tail, her wooden sword, the way her father had lifted her onto his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. One boy poked the ground with a stick, his mind clearly still reeling from the six-legged horses.

Then, a young woman with a green bandana tied around her hair spoke up, her voice breaking the quiet. "She didn't know what a sun was," she said softly. "But she knew how to fight."

Another man, older and grizzled, nodded. "Her parents… they didn't flinch when they saw us — not even Superman." His tone was laced with something close to awe. "It was like we were the strange ones."

The League exchanged a glance.

Lex Luthor, who had been leaning against a shimmering piece of centipede armor, finally spoke — his voice smooth, calculating. "Because we are the strange ones," he said. "To them, we're the outsiders — anomalies in their world." His smile was thin. "This isn't our reality. It's theirs."

John Stewart's jaw tightened. "And we still don't know whose design this is."

Batman's voice cut through the moment. "We need answers — from the locals."

Superman gave a slow nod. "Agreed. But we tread carefully — we're guests here."

From the edge of the camp, the little girl who had tugged at Wonder Woman's hand earlier looked up at the heroes with wide eyes. "Will they come back?" she asked softly. "The girl and her family?"

Wonder Woman knelt beside her, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I think they will," she said. "And when they do — we'll talk."

The wind shifted, rustling the grass, carrying the faint song of the trees once more.

Days passed. The endless blue sky remained unchanged, casting its steady, unyielding light over the boundless plains. The Justice League had fallen into a quiet rhythm — mapping the land, studying the creatures, and cautiously gathering resources. The civilians, still wary, worked in tense silence, plucking fruit from the turtle-trees and collecting shards of centipede metal. Despite the calm, there was always a lingering hum of unease — an unspoken fear that the world was too perfect, too balanced, as though every piece of this strange universe had been placed with purpose.

Then, it happened again.

It began with a ripple on the horizon — faint, almost a mirage against the sea of grass. At first, no one noticed. The children were busy tossing sticks and chasing after a particularly lazy Puffer caterpillar, and the adults were too absorbed in their work. Even the Justice League, who had grown accustomed to the strange tranquility of this world, remained unaware for a moment.

But Superman saw it first.

A silhouette. Far, far in the distance — so distant that even his enhanced vision had to focus to catch the details. A figure draped in purple, flowing garments that shimmered softly in the light. The wide-brimmed hat atop her head bent elegantly, the tip curling like smoke. In her hand, the familiar crescent-shaped scepter gleamed faintly — the sharp, black staff a quiet, dangerous presence.

The witch.

She rode the crystal deer once more — its glass-like body bending light as it moved, hooves silent against the grass. The creature glided forward with an almost regal air, its antlers spreading like delicate glass branches, refracting soft rainbows into the wind. The deer's movements were as smooth as ever — a dream bound to the land, elegant yet surreal.

And behind her — the blur of motion.

A flash of black tore through the grass — swift, precise, unstoppable. Arms trailing behind her, head low, the cat-eared assassin sprinted, her tail flicking like a whip with every step. She moved with unrelenting speed, the familiar "Naruto run" that Flash still couldn't quite get over.

Her bag, just like before, bulged with supplies — but this time, the rainbow fish were more abundant, their shimmering scales peeking through the cloth. Strips of fresh meat jutted from the bag's opening, blood staining the fabric in a dark, rich smear. It was a hunter's haul — a mix of vibrant fish and the darker spoils of something larger, something wild.

The witch didn't look back. She rode forward with the same steady pace, as though the assassin's chaotic energy was an expected part of the journey. They moved in perfect sync — the serene calm of the crystal deer, the silent strength of the witch, and the relentless momentum of the cat-girl — a trio both strange and mesmerizing.

They didn't notice the Justice League or the civilians. Not this time. They were too far away — at least ten miles again — mere silhouettes against the endless plain, shrinking steadily as they moved toward some unseen destination.

Batman, standing at the edge of the camp, lowered his binoculars. "They're moving with purpose," he said quietly. "Same as before. No hesitation."

Wonder Woman's arms were crossed, her gaze hard. "They're gathering more food. Preparing for something."

Aquaman's jaw tensed. "And they still haven't acknowledged us."

John Stewart's ring flared faintly. "Which means they're either ignoring us — or they don't think we're worth their attention."

Flash shifted from foot to foot. "Or — and hear me out — they're just really, really busy. I mean, the cat-girl's basically speed-running grocery shopping."

No one laughed.

Superman's focus remained on the horizon. "They know this world," he said softly. "That's the one thing we can't deny."

A murmur rippled through the civilians again. Whispers of the witch, the assassin, the crystal deer — all now cemented in the growing mythology of this strange world. Some of the younger ones spoke in hushed awe about the cat-girl's tail and the dazzling fish she carried. Others, more fearful, muttered about the witch's staff — about the way her mount seemed more spirit than creature, a glimmering ghost haunting the fields.

One older man shook his head. "They're not just surviving," he said. "They're thriving."

A woman nearby, clutching a blue fruit in her hand, frowned. "But why so much food?"

Lex Luthor, ever the snake among the grass, gave a small, sharp smile. "Because they know something we don't."

A young boy, still holding a stick from his pretend sword fights, furrowed his brow. "What if they're getting ready for a feast?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "Like… a big celebration?"

A teenage girl beside him scoffed. "Or a war."

The words hung in the air — sharp, uneasy.

Batman's voice broke the silence. "We keep watching," he said. "We don't move yet."

Superman's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Agreed."

The silhouettes grew smaller, smaller — until at last, the witch, the assassin, and the crystal deer disappeared into the horizon once more.

Gone — like a whisper on the wind.

Days bled into each other beneath the endless blue sky. The Justice League and the civilians had long stopped waiting for a sunrise or sunset to mark time — instead, they measured the passing days by the slow rhythm of their routine. Gather the turtle-fruit. Collect the centipede metal. Ensure the Green Lantern's protective barrier was intact. Watch the horizon. Always, always watch the horizon.

And then, one day — the girl returned.

It started with a familiar sound — the distant whistle, clear and sharp, like a bird call woven into the wind. This time, the League and the civilians were ready, standing at the edge of the camp, eyes fixed on the horizon.

The girl sprinted into view first — tail flicking, wooden sword strapped to her back, a wide smile breaking across her face as she spotted the group waiting for her. But this time, she wasn't alone.

Behind her, her parents rode in from the distance — the same towering figures clad in brilliant, intricately crafted armor. Gold accents gleamed along the woman's winged pauldrons, and the man's heavy plates caught the soft, sunless light as effortlessly as a mirror. The great six-legged horses beneath them moved like liquid — a smooth, alien grace to their gallop, extra limbs giving their run an unsettling, flowing quality.

But something was different this time.

The girl wasn't just coming to say a quick hello — she was leading her parents directly toward the camp.

The Justice League tensed as the trio approached. Batman's eyes stayed locked on the father's massive crossbow and the ancient-yet-advanced gun strapped to his side. Wonder Woman noted the mother's greatsword, elegant but clearly sharp enough to carve through steel. Aquaman's grip tightened on his trident, and Superman stood tall, every muscle in his frame steady — a living wall between the approaching warriors and the civilians behind him.

But then the girl slowed, waving cheerfully. "Hello again!" she shouted. "I brought Mama and Papa!"

The armored man gave a subtle nod, lifting a hand — not in greeting, but in acknowledgment. The woman studied the group with the same quiet, assessing expression as before.

And then, something unexpected happened.

The mother slid gracefully from her horse, planting her greatsword into the ground — not as a threat, but as if it were a casual habit, like someone leaning a walking stick against a wall. The father followed suit, dismounting and slinging his crossbow over his back with a fluid, almost theatrical spin — a move that made Flash whisper, "Okay, show-off," under his breath.

Up close, it became clear: their armor, though striking and intimidating, wasn't worn like a soldier preparing for battle. It was worn like fashion.

Gold threading decorated the seams. Intricate, swirling designs ran along the edges of the steel. Their weapons — though clearly deadly — gleamed with unnecessary embellishments, as if their creators had spent more time on aesthetics than function.

Batman's gaze sharpened. "This isn't just armor," he muttered softly. "It's… ornamental."

The girl beamed. "You like it? Mama says gold stitching is so last cycle, but Papa thinks it's classic."

Flash blinked. "...Wait. What?"

The mother adjusted her winged pauldrons with a small smile, brushing a hand through her daughter's hair. "We heard you were not from here," she said, her voice smooth — calm, but with an underlying strength. "Our daughter wanted us to meet you."

The father's voice was deeper, but no less composed. "And to see if you were a threat," he added, as casually as if discussing the weather.

Superman inclined his head slightly. "We aren't here to harm anyone," he said. "We ended up here by accident."

The girl rocked on her heels. "It was the rift, right?"

The League exchanged a look. Batman spoke first. "You know about the rift?"

The mother nodded. "Of course. It didn't belong here — we felt it."

The father's jaw tensed. "Whatever made it wasn't from this plane."

John Stewart's ring glowed faintly. "It wasn't," he said. "It was a machine — a mistake — from our world."

The girl tilted her head. "A machine?"

The word seemed foreign to her. The parents didn't react either — as if the very concept was strange, like someone trying to explain Wi-Fi to a caveman.

The mother's gaze softened. "You come from a world of machines."

Superman gave a slow nod. "We do."

Silence.

Then the girl clapped her hands. "Can we play Busha Redush now?"

The League blinked.

Flash opened his mouth first. "I'm sorry… what?"

The girl huffed. "Busha Redush! Red versus blue! Duh."

The mother chuckled softly, while the father let out an amused grunt.

Batman's voice was like gravel. "Explain the rules."

The girl's tail swished excitedly. "It's simple — two teams, red and blue, run at each other across the flat. Whoever tags the other team's leader first wins."

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow. "No… weapons?"

The girl looked confused. "Why would there be weapons? It's a sport."

Flash blinked again. "You guys have team sports… with war names?"

The mother smiled. "War is for sport."

Superman's voice softened, though the confusion remained. "You fight… for fun?"

The father nodded. "We have no need for war as you know it. The world provides all we need — food, shelter, material. Why fight for what cannot be exhausted?"

The girl grinned. "So we make war a game! It's fun! There's Busha Redush, and Junka Jill—"

"Junka Jill?" Batman interrupted.

The girl nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! It's when you stand on the hill and try not to get knocked off!"

Flash blinked for the third time. "...That's literally King of the Hill."

The father tilted his head. "King of what?"

Superman exchanged a glance with Wonder Woman, a subtle flicker of disbelief passing between them. "It's a game from our world," he said carefully.

The girl brightened. "You play games too?"

John Stewart's voice was quiet, calculating. "So you have battles — but only for sport."

The mother's smile was soft. "We take only what we need. We fight only to test our strength. Why destroy what is endless?"

Lex Luthor's voice — sharp and smooth — finally slid into the conversation. "Because not all worlds are endless."

The parents' gazes turned to him, unreadable.

The girl tilted her head. "Your world doesn't have enough?"

Superman's jaw tightened. "No."

Another silence — heavier this time.

The girl's tail flicked again. "That sounds… sad."

The wind whispered through the flute-trees.

Finally, the mother spoke, her voice gentle. "Then perhaps you should learn to live as we do — to use, but never abuse."

Batman's voice was low. "We're still learning."

The girl grinned. "Maybe you can play Busha Redush with us next time!"

Her parents exchanged a glance — not of worry, but of quiet understanding.

Superman's voice — calm, steady — broke the stillness. "We'd like to learn more about your world."

The father's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Then we will teach."

And just like that — the distance between the two worlds grew a little smaller

.

The wind hummed softly through the flute-trees as the girl's tail flicked back and forth, her smile wide and expectant. "Oh, and then there's Gonra Bal!" she added, practically bouncing on her heels.

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Explain."

Her mother chuckled — a smooth, musical sound — while her father leaned casually against his six-legged horse, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his massive crossbow. It was a relaxed pose, more like someone holding a fashion accessory than a weapon, yet his presence still radiated quiet authority.

The girl didn't miss a beat. "It's one of our biggest battle games! There are three lanes — the Gore Path, the Storm Walk, and the Fang Run. Each team — usually five fighters on each side — picks a path and tries to push toward the enemy's stronghold. The goal is to break through the opposing team's defenses and capture their core before they capture yours. And you have to protect your own, of course!"

There was a beat of silence.

Flash's jaw dropped. "Wait… wait… hold on. Are you — are you describing League of Legends?"

Several civilians blinked, exchanging wide-eyed looks. A teenage boy from Central City practically choked. "That sounds exactly like League of Legends."

The girl tilted her head. "League of what?"

Wonder Woman's brow furrowed. "I am unfamiliar with this… league."

The boy flung his hands in the air. "It's a game! A video game! On Earth!" His voice pitched higher with every word. "You have lanes, you push through, you take out towers — or, I guess, cores in this case — and try to win the match. That's… that's League of Legends!"

The girl blinked again, confused but undeterred. "Well… in Gonra Bal, we don't have towers. The cores have their own guardians — summoned warriors bound to protect the stronghold — and they fight back if you get too close without proper tactics."

Superman's lips parted, processing this. "You have… summoned defenders?"

The mother nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "The cores are not unguarded. They manifest protectors — avatars of old champions from past matches. They're not alive — not really — but they fight with the fury of the warriors they were inspired by."

"Like turrets!" the teenage boy shouted. "They have turrets!"

The girl pointed a finger upward, grinning. "But if you break through and take the core, the match ends. The hosts — the Vashari — declare the winners, and the losing team is teleported back to their base by the referees before anything… unfortunate can happen."

Green Lantern frowned. "Teleportation? Your referees can do that?"

Her father shrugged, as though the ability to teleport was the most natural thing in the world. "Some are fighters with the gift of Blink, the ability to step through space and reappear elsewhere. Others use tech — little bracelets that let them pull people out of danger if a match gets too wild."

Batman's mind was already dissecting the mechanics — the teleportation wasn't magic, not entirely. There was either a biological factor at play, or technology advanced enough to mimic instantaneous movement. Either way, it wasn't random — it was controlled, organized. Structured.

"And there's a time limit," the girl added, as if that were obvious. "If neither team captures the core before the clock runs out, the match goes to a Core Check — the side with the most ground gained wins."

The teenage boy whispered, "That's a… ranked match."

Flash pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh my god. They have ranked matches."

Lex Luthor, who had been standing quietly with his arms crossed, finally spoke — his voice smooth as glass. "Your world has transformed warfare into sport," he said. "Structured it — regulated it." His gaze was sharp. "It's… civilized."

The mother didn't react to his tone, simply tilting her head. "We have no need for real war. Our world does not lack food, nor resources. Fighting for survival is pointless." She placed a hand lightly on her daughter's shoulder. "So we fight for the thrill of it — for glory, for strategy, for the artistry of battle."

The girl grinned. "And the rewards!"

Superman's brow furrowed. "Rewards?"

"Oh, yes!" the girl chirped. "If you win, you get War Tokens — and you can trade them in for special prizes! New armor sets, fancier swords, makeup kits, even new accessories for your mounts!"

There was a long pause.

Flash stared at her. "You're talking about… skins."

The girl blinked. "What?"

The teenage boy's voice was a mix of disbelief and barely contained laughter. "They have battle passes."

The girl didn't seem to understand the growing tension between the Earthlings. "Some of the armor sets are amazing," she went on, eyes wide with excitement. "Last cycle, the top-ranked Gonra Bal fighter got the Storm Phoenix Set — all black and gold, with a cape that shimmered like thunderclouds. And my cousin won the Emerald Fang Blades for her daggers last season."

Batman's jaw tightened. "Cosmetic rewards."

Her father gave a small smile. "Victory should be celebrated — visibly."

One of the civilians — a young man in a Gotham Knights jersey — muttered, "This is literally an alien Esport."

John Stewart, still processing the surreal revelation, crossed his arms. "And you… don't fight to kill?"

The mother's smile faded slightly. "Why would we?"

The girl tilted her head again. "If someone's health drops too low —"

"Health?" Batman interrupted.

The girl nodded. "The hosts monitor it — it's shown on the screens during the match. The Vashari make sure no one's hurt beyond the point of healing."

"Health bars," the teenager whispered. "They have health bars."

Superman exchanged a look with Wonder Woman, his mind reeling. "And if someone's… 'health' reaches zero?"

The girl shrugged. "They're out of the match. A host teleports them back to their team's base. It's over for them until the next round."

Flash ran a hand through his hair. "So you don't die — you just get knocked out?"

The girl smiled brightly. "Of course!"

Lex Luthor's expression was unreadable. "And the large screens — the ones displaying these battles?"

The father nodded. "For the spectators, naturally. Everyone should see the battle unfold — and how else would the Vashari track the health of the fighters?"

There was a strange silence — a mixture of awe, confusion, and an odd, creeping hilarity bubbling beneath the surface of the Earthlings.

Finally, the teenage boy broke. "I can't — I can't — they have ranked battles, health bars, skins, teleporting referees, and battle passes." He clutched his head, laughing despite himself. "It's alien League of Legends."

The girl blinked, clearly confused by the reaction. "It's just Gonra Bal."

Batman didn't move. Superman didn't speak. Wonder Woman simply studied the girl, as if trying to reconcile the beauty of this world with the sheer absurdity of its structured, esport-like combat.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Flash muttered, "I swear, if they tell me there's a ranked leaderboard, I'm done."

The girl clapped her hands, beaming. "Oh! The leaderboards update every cycle!"

Flash stared into the horizon like he was rethinking his entire existence.

The girl's tail flicked back and forth like a metronome of pure excitement. "Oh! And then there's the Grand Gonwal!" she blurted, practically vibrating.

Batman's jaw tensed. "What is that?"

Her mother chuckled softly again — clearly amused by her daughter's enthusiasm — while her father crossed his arms over his massive, decorated chest plate, the gold inlays shimmering like liquid fire.

The girl clapped her hands. "It's the biggest event of the cycle! All the top-ranked teams in Gonra Bal fight in the grand match — one team from each region — and the last team standing wins the Core Crown!"

The teenager from Central City, still recovering from the last revelation, gasped. "The… the what now?"

The girl kept going, oblivious to the Earthlings' collective meltdown. "The winning team gets a trophy — a huge one — and a full championship armor set!" She spread her arms wide, her eyes practically glowing with excitement. "The armor changes each cycle. Last time, it was the Crimson Storm Regalia — deep red with glowing gold accents, and the helmets had these awesome crests that looked like lightning strikes!"

Flash groaned into his hands. "It's Championship skins. They have Championship skins."

The girl blinked. "What's a skin?"

The teenage boy's voice cracked. "It's… it's cosmetic armor sets… for winning."

Her father, utterly unfazed, gave a satisfied nod. "Victory should be marked," he said, as though that was the most obvious thing in the world. "Champions deserve to be seen."

Lex Luthor's smile was thin. "Fame and glory in place of death and destruction."

The mother adjusted her winged pauldrons. "Is that so strange?"

John Stewart's ring hummed faintly. "Depends on your perspective."

The girl continued without missing a beat. "The matches are shown on the grand screens in every city. The Vashari oversee the battles, and when a fighter's health bar drops, they blink them back to the safe zones."

The boy from Gotham clutched his head like he was experiencing a full existential crisis. "It's Esports. They have alien Esports. With health bars. And ranked matches. And Championship skins."

Flash patted him sympathetically. "We're all suffering, kid."

But then, as if the air had shifted, the girl's mother straightened, and her father's casual stance grew just a fraction more formal. The playful energy that had carried the conversation so far seemed to ease, like a wave retreating from the shore.

The mother's gaze sharpened. "But we've sidetracked," she said softly. "Our daughter told us you are not from this world."

Superman gave a slow nod. "That's true. We came here by accident."

The father's voice, though calm, held a certain weight. "Explain."

The civilians shifted uncomfortably — the mood change was subtle, but palpable.

Batman stepped forward. "It was a rift," he said, his voice steady. "A tear in reality."

The girl's tail flicked slower now, her smile fading into a curious frown. "A tear?"

Superman took over. "It wasn't intentional. There was… a battle in our world." He kept his voice even, measured. "Some of the most dangerous people from our universe — villains — were trying to open a rift between realities. They wanted to use it as a weapon or an escape route."

The father's jaw tightened. "And the rift pulled you here."

Batman nodded. "It spiraled out of control. It didn't just take the villains and us — it dragged thousands of civilians with it. Cities from our world — Metropolis, Gotham, Central City — lost entire blocks. People vanished." His voice dropped lower. "And we ended up here."

The mother's gaze softened — not with pity, but with a quiet, solemn understanding. "Your world bleeds," she said softly.

Aquaman's jaw clenched. "Yes."

The girl's tail drooped. "That sounds… horrible."

John Stewart's ring glowed dimly. "We're trying to find a way back — to undo the damage. But we're stuck here until we figure out how."

Her father exchanged a glance with her mother — a look of silent conversation. Finally, the mother spoke. "Then you must speak to the Purple Witch of the Orphanage."

Silence.

The teenage boy whispered, "That's the most metal name I've ever heard."

Wonder Woman's brow arched. "The Purple Witch?"

The girl brightened. "Oh! She's amazing! She takes care of all the children who lost their families — the ones from other worlds, who ended up here with no homes. She finds them, protects them, and gives them a place to live."

Superman's expression shifted. "Other worlds?"

Her mother nodded. "Your rift may not be the first."

And then, like a bolt of lightning, the realization hit.

Batman's voice was flat — but there was a subtle edge beneath it. "This witch… does she wear purple robes, carry a crescent-shaped staff, and ride a crystal deer?"

The girl's tail flicked eagerly. "Yes! You've seen her?"

John Stewart exhaled slowly. "We have."

Flash clapped his hands to his head. "The witch — the one who's been coming with the cat-eared ninja lady — the one hauling supplies — that's her?"

The mother smiled faintly. "Of course. She often gathers food and resources for the orphans."

The teenage boy practically wheezed. "The Purple Witch of the Orphanage is just… a magical grocery shopper?"

Superman's voice remained steady. "Can she help us?"

Her father gave a solemn nod. "If anyone can, she can."

The girl clapped excitedly. "We can take you to her!"

Without another word, the parents mounted their six-legged horses. The creatures, sleek and powerful, shifted beneath their riders, their movements as smooth as flowing water. The girl hopped up in front of her father, gripping the reins like a seasoned rider.

Her mother extended a hand toward the Justice League. "Come," she said. "Let us lead you to the Witch."

Superman turned to the others. "Let's move."

And with that, the heroes, the villains, and the civilians prepared to follow — deeper into the flat, endless universe — chasing the only lead they had.

The air was still — soft, endless, untouched — as the Justice League, the villains, and the gathered civilians followed the local family through the flat expanse of this strange universe. The family rode at a steady pace, their six-legged horses moving with a hypnotic grace, each extra limb folding and stretching in a way that defied Earthly logic but felt perfectly natural here. The mother rode ahead, her daughter perched in front of her, gripping the reins like it was second nature. The father kept a steady pace beside them, his massive crossbow resting lazily across his back, and his gun — ancient yet advanced — bouncing gently at his hip like a mere accessory. 

It was a strange procession — a cluster of displaced Earthlings trailing behind two warriors who, for all their gold-threaded armor and dazzling weapons, were more concerned with leading their guests than defending against any threats. To the family, this world was safe — not without danger, but without fear — and the idea of battle seemed more about sport and spectacle than survival. 

As they moved, the creatures of this flat universe appeared once more — familiar now, but no less otherworldly. 

The first to greet their journey was a herd of colossal reptilian turtles — each the size of a small hill — their massive, curved shells bearing towering fruit trees. The branches sagged beneath the weight of enormous golden fruits, larger than a human head, dripping with honey so thick and fragrant that the air around them smelled of warm sugar. The turtles lumbered slowly, unbothered by the humans or their six-legged mounts, their ancient eyes half-lidded as though they were in a constant state of serene meditation. A few of the massive fruits fell, landing with a heavy thud on the grass below — the sound rippling softly through the air like a distant drum. 

The children whispered to each other, remembering how sweet the fruit had tasted, how sticky the honey had felt on their fingers. One civilian muttered something about how they'd never stop missing real apples, but another simply shrugged, clutching a piece of centipede metal like a talisman. 

And just beyond the turtle-trees, grazing near the herd, were the dragon-like reptiles — majestic and fierce in appearance, with wings that spanned twice the length of their bodies and scales that gleamed in dark greens and bronzes. Despite their terrifying forms, they did nothing more than chew methodically at the grass, their sharp teeth never meant for meat. One dragon let out a low, rumbling sound — not a growl, but something akin to a sigh — before lowering its head to nibble at a patch of particularly vibrant grass. 

The sight made Aquaman shake his head again. "Dragons," he muttered. "And they're… cows." 

Further out, along the shimmering, endless sea, the scaled dolphins broke the surface — their sleek, armored bodies glimmering with silver and blue hues. They leapt and spun, their movements graceful despite their seemingly rigid exteriors. When one neared the shore, a brave civilian had once dared to touch it, only to find the creature's skin unexpectedly soft — a strange contrast to its plated appearance. 

Batman, ever observant, didn't miss the way the crystal-clear water rippled perfectly with each dolphin's motion — no tide, no current — only the disturbance of the creatures themselves. 

Then came the giant squirrels — soft-furred, monkey-sized creatures with flowing tails like liquid silk. They moved in loose groups, darting from the branches of the turtle-trees to the ground below, their dark eyes watching the humans with a casual curiosity. Some nibbled at the fallen fruit, their delicate hands peeling the golden skin to get at the honey-soaked pulp within. Their fur, shimmering and soft, looked more luxurious than any fabric from Earth — a fact not lost on Lex Luthor, whose calculating gaze lingered on the creatures for just a moment too long. 

And then, resting in the open fields, were the centipedes — each one larger than a whale, their diamond-like exoskeletons gleaming like polished obsidian. They lay coiled together in a loose cluster, breathing slowly, their bodies rising and falling like undulating hills of dark steel. Every so often, one would shed a plate of its armor — a soft ping ringing out as the metallic shard clattered to the grass. The discarded pieces glowed faintly in the light, a renewable resource ripe for the taking. 

The civilians had learned not to fear the centipedes. The massive creatures were slow grazers, devouring grass and microscopic organisms, entirely oblivious to the tiny humans collecting the metal they left behind. Batman's mind still calculated the uses of the material — weapons, shelters, tools — but he kept his thoughts to himself. 

High above, the massive flying whales drifted through the sky like living zeppelins — their great bodies casting slow-moving shadows over the plains. They glided silently, their colossal forms peaceful yet surreal, a constant reminder that this world was as strange as it was serene. 

In the distance, a cluster of shadow horses lingered in the shade of the musical flute-trees — tall, dark creatures with six legs and flowing, mist-like manes. They didn't graze in the open like the others, preferring the cool of the forest, their movements so smooth they seemed to ripple like liquid shadow. Batman noted the way their glowing green eyes flicked toward the humans, ever watchful, ever calm. 

And then came the rainbow fish — darting through the streams and small lakes with scales that shimmered like prisms, casting bands of color onto the water's surface. The cat-eared assassin had once hauled entire bags of them past the camp, their iridescent bodies flopping wildly as she sprinted by without a word. Now, the fish swam freely, oblivious to the strange visitors in their world. 

The Puffy Caterpillars wobbled through the grass — massive, cloud-like creatures with fur so thick they seemed immune to harm. Some were pastel pink, others vibrant blue or emerald green. A golden one tumbled down a small hill, landing with a soft bounce before continuing to munch lazily on the grass. The children still whispered about how soft they were — how one had sneezed and sent a puff of fur into the air like a tiny explosion. 

And, as always, the slimes drifted along the grass — gelatinous, glowing orbs of purple and green, sliding effortlessly across the ground. They pulsed faintly, absorbing microscopic life from the air and soil, quietly purifying the world as they moved. 

The moss-wolves appeared next — massive, bark-covered beasts that seemed more tree than animal. Their fur was tangled with vines and glowing blue fruits, and they moved in silent packs, their movements smooth but heavy. Every now and then, one would pluck a fruit from its own fur, gnawing it slowly, its breathing growing deeper, calmer. 

And finally — a flash of black. 

The great snake moved through the grass like liquid shadow — long, sleek, its scales dark as midnight and shining like obsidian. It slithered past the group, unbothered by their presence, and as it went, thin sheets of sugary scales peeled from its body. The scent of sweet, warm sugar filled the air, and a civilian — without thinking — stooped to pick up a piece. 

Batman didn't stop them. The scales were harmless — farmable even. Another renewable resource. 

Through it all, the local family rode ahead — never stopping, never glancing back. To them, this was all ordinary — a simple journey through familiar lands, among familiar creatures. What to the Earthlings seemed like a dream was, to this family, just another day. 

And somewhere beyond these endless plains, the Purple Witch of the Orphanage awaited.

The wind whispered through the grass as the procession moved forward — the local family still riding at the head of the group, their six-legged horses stepping with a fluid grace, almost too smooth for something so large. The mother kept one hand on the reins and the other gently resting on her daughter's shoulder, while the father rode with his usual composed ease, his massive crossbow slung across his back like a forgotten accessory. The Justice League, the villains, and the thousand-strong crowd of civilians trailed behind, some whispering about the creatures they passed — others still stunned into silence by the sheer size and stillness of this world. 

The giant turtle-trees shifted lazily in the distance, the colossal fruit trees growing from their shells swaying with each slow step. The great dragons, fierce-looking yet docile, grazed nearby, ripping up mouthfuls of grass with their fearsome jaws. The centipedes slept in a shimmering pile, their diamond-like exoskeletons catching the endless light, and every so often, a metallic ping echoed through the air as another piece of shed armor hit the ground. 

Despite the bizarre beauty of it all, the locals continued on, undeterred — and as they moved, the mother began to speak. 

"You were thrown into the Great Flat Plains," she said, her voice soft yet clear. "It is the most abundant region of this world — a place where life flourishes without struggle." 

Superman's brow furrowed. "This is the abundant region?" 

The father gave a short nod. "Yes. Though, you fell into one of the lesser parts of it." 

Flash threw his hands in the air. "This is the lesser part? With the dragon-cows and the sugar-snakes and the musical trees?" 

The girl giggled. "It's not harsh, but it's quieter. Further from the heart of the plains." 

Batman's jaw tightened. "And what about the harsher areas?" 

Her mother's gaze remained forward, fixed on the path ahead. "There are regions with fewer resources, but even they are not empty. The sky-hollows, the ember fields, the silent reefs — they all have their own balance." 

Green Lantern's ring hummed softly. "And no conflict over those resources?" 

Her father gave him a glance — not unkind, but distant. "Why would there be? The land gives what is needed. We take no more." 

Lex Luthor's voice, smooth as ever, cut through the air. "Because where we come from, that balance doesn't exist." 

A silence hung between them for a moment — a reminder that the Justice League and the civilians were not of this world, not of its abundance, and not of its harmony. 

And then the path began to change. 

It was subtle at first — a soft shift from the boundless grass into something more structured. A faint trail emerged beneath the horses' feet, a path worn into the land by countless steps before them. It wasn't a dirt road or something carved by tools — it was simply a route made by movement, a thread through the infinite green. 

"Locals made this path," the mother explained. "It leads toward the villages." 

Flash squinted ahead. "Villages? How far?" 

Her father tilted his head slightly. "The nearest farming village is a few hundred miles from here." 

There was a long pause. 

The teenager from Central City choked. "A few hundred miles?" 

The mother gave a soft smile, as though that distance was as simple as a walk to the next block. "Yes, the villages are spaced far apart — the land is wide." 

Her daughter nodded enthusiastically. "And the cities are even further! Maybe a thousand miles or more." 

Flash's jaw dropped. "A thousand?" 

The father chuckled softly. "It's not so far." 

Superman exchanged a look with Batman. "Not far?" 

The mother's tone was casual, almost playful. "A thousand miles is just a long ride — a day or so." 

Another beat of silence. 

The teenage boy's voice cracked. "They're talking about thousands of miles like it's a morning commute." 

The girl giggled again. "The land is big — we have space." 

Green Lantern frowned. "And you're leading us to the orphanage now?" 

Her father nodded. "Yes, it's still a few hundred miles away — just past the farmer's trails." 

Flash sputtered. "A few hundred miles — just past?" 

The mother tilted her head thoughtfully. "Well, it's not a long walk." 

Lex Luthor's smirk was razor-sharp. "It seems your definition of distance differs from ours." 

The girl blinked, confused by their reaction. "It's not far." 

Superman's gaze softened, though his mind was still reeling. "Your people must be used to great distances." 

Her father's lips curved into a faint smile. "When you have land, you use it." 

The stone path beneath them grew more solid — subtle at first, then more defined. It wasn't carved or paved like a city road, but it was unmistakably stone, worn smooth by generations of travelers. 

The mother's voice was soft. "The Purple Witch's orphanage lies just beyond this road." 

And so they continued — a thousand Earthlings trailing two warriors who spoke of miles like steps and distance like whispers, moving deeper into a world where space was limitless and nothing was ever truly far away.

The path of stone, worn smooth by generations of passing travelers, twisted gently through the plains — and soon, the endless grass gave way to something even more surreal. The Justice League, the villains, and the thousand-strong crowd of Earthling civilians moved forward in stunned silence, their steps slowing as they finally crossed into what the locals called a village. 

But this wasn't what anyone expected when they heard the word. 

The first thing they saw were the farms — but not the modest, humble plots of land Earthlings associated with rural life. No, these farms were vast and sprawling, stretching as far as the eye could see, golden wheat fields rippling like a sea under the unmoving sky. At first glance, some of the crops looked familiar — rows of vibrant vegetables, orchards of fruit trees — but then came the larger plants. 

Towering stalks, as tall as houses, swayed gently in the breeze — their fruits massive, some the size of boulders, hanging low and ripe for harvest. Vines, as thick as tree trunks, coiled around wooden poles, bearing enormous pods filled with what looked like glowing beans. There were colossal pumpkins, big enough to serve as small homes, and leafy greens so large their leaves could have doubled as sails for a ship. A few villagers worked effortlessly with strange tools — hovering blades that cut wheat in clean rows, glowing orbs that floated above the crops, measuring ripeness with soft hums of color. 

One man, built like a mountain, carried a single fruit over his shoulder — a pear the size of a refrigerator — as though it weighed nothing. He gave the passing Earthlings a nod before returning to his work, hauling the massive harvest into a cart powered by what looked like a pair of floating stones, softly vibrating with energy. 

But the farmhouses… 

The farmhouses were unlike anything the Justice League or the civilians had ever seen. 

One farmhouse had the classic appearance the Earthlings might have expected — wooden walls, a slanted roof, wide porches — except it was far larger than any normal home, as though someone had scaled up a quaint country house until it loomed like a mansion. The windows were stained with soft gold patterns, and vines crept up the sides like elegant, living decorations. 

Another farmhouse floated in the air, gently bobbing like a ship on an invisible tide. It was painted pure white with accents of sky blue, and swirling clouds — real clouds — orbited the structure, moving in slow, lazy spirals. A small staircase of light, seemingly made from the same energy as the glowing orbs in the fields, led up to the entrance. 

Further along, there was a tower of copper and brass — a steampunk masterpiece — gears turning softly at its base, while thin pipes carried shimmering water through a web of metallic vines wrapped around its exterior. Steam puffed from small vents along the sides, and glowing symbols — some magical, some technological — flickered with soft, rhythmic pulses. A massive wheel spun at the top, harvesting energy from the wind. 

And then came the village houses. 

They were as varied and strange as the world itself. 

Some homes looked like they had been grown rather than built — organic structures made from living trees, their trunks twisted into elegant walls and their leaves forming natural roofs. The doors were smooth and polished, as though nature itself had carved them to fit perfectly into the surrounding greenery. 

Others were outright magical — floating homes that hovered several feet above the ground, some surrounded by glowing runes or circling orbs of light. One house in particular drifted gently from left to right, almost like a balloon on a string, its walls shimmering with an iridescent glow. 

Then there were the futuristic ones — sleek metallic structures, sharp angles and smooth surfaces, their exteriors alive with pulsing lights and soft hums of technology. Some had holographic panels displayed outside their doors, and one even had a small floating drone patrolling the perimeter, scanning the crops as it passed. 

A few houses were built on boats — not on water, but resting comfortably on flat land, their hulls decorated with soft moss. They looked like they could set sail at any moment, yet remained perfectly grounded, as if waiting for an ocean that would never come. 

There were also tool towers — tall, thin structures made from wood and metal, packed with gadgets and levers. It was clear these belonged to tinkerers or inventors — their purpose more about function than form. 

The Earthlings moved in stunned silence, whispering to one another, unable to decide if this place was a dream or a clash of too many realities. 

Flash muttered under his breath, "I… I don't even know if this is fantasy or sci-fi anymore." 

The teenager from Central City whispered back, "It's both. It's everything." 

Superman's gaze swept over the surreal village. "These are farmers?" 

The girl giggled from her mother's arms. "Of course! They grow the land, raise creatures, and gather what's needed." 

Batman's voice, low and firm, cut through the quiet. "And this is a village?" 

The father gave a small smile. "A humble one, yes." 

The civilians exchanged bewildered looks. 

Lex Luthor's voice, a sharp blade of calm, broke the spell. "If this is humble, I'd be very interested in seeing what you consider a city." 

The girl's tail flicked happily. "The cities are much bigger — but they're far, far away. A thousand miles, maybe more." 

A civilian groaned softly. "Of course they are." 

The mother pointed down the stone path. "The orphanage lies just beyond these farms." 

And so they continued — passing floating houses, magical towers, and high-tech farms — a thousand Earthlings following a family who saw nothing extraordinary about the impossible world they called home.

As the procession of Earthlings wound through the surreal village, the sense of otherworldly normalcy only deepened. The Justice League and the civilians — still grappling with the towering crops, floating houses, and steampunk towers — were met with yet another sight that defied their every expectation. The locals — the very people of this vast world — came into view. And just like the family leading them, the villagers wore armor and weapons as if they were no more remarkable than a scarf or a pair of shoes. 

A fox-eared woman strolled casually out of a boat-shaped grocery store docked along the grass. Her long, fluffy tail swayed behind her as she adjusted the leather straps of her battle costume — an intricately designed outfit with glowing talismans dangling from her shoulder pads, and a blade resting comfortably against her hip like a fashion accessory. She had the air of someone running errands, a reusable bag filled with enormous, jewel-toned vegetables slung over her shoulder, as though she had just popped in to grab some produce before dinner. 

Further down the path, a robot — not a soulless machine, but a fully conscious being — stood silently by a field of glowing fruit trees. It wore a simple, flowing robe made from soft cloth, the fabric fluttering gently as the wind cut through the plains. The metal of its body was sleek and smooth, almost organic in its curves, and its "face" — a soft-lit panel with shifting symbols — gave the distinct impression of calm contemplation. Despite its serene appearance, a massive sniper rifle rested across its back, the scope glowing faintly, while a small puff of smoke drifted from the leafy pipe clutched in its metal hand — natural herbs burning slowly within. It didn't speak but offered a polite nod to the passing crowd, as though greeting neighbors rather than a thousand bewildered foreigners. 

And then there were the teenagers. 

A group of high school girls walked along the path, laughing and chattering like any group of friends back on Earth might — except these girls were dressed in combat gear. Sleek, customizable battle suits — some glowing with magical runes, others bristling with high-tech enhancements — clung to their frames like everyday clothing. One girl proudly showed off a new dagger, its blade shimmering with a shifting rainbow pattern, while another adjusted the glowing core of what appeared to be a shock gauntlet. Their weapons were casual accessories, worn with the same nonchalance as Earthlings might show off a new pair of shoes or a high-end smartphone. 

One girl, with a pair of feathered wings tucked against her back, grinned and tapped the hilt of her sword, which crackled with electric energy. "I can't wait to test this out in Combat Tactics," she said, her tone bubbling with excitement. 

Another girl with a visor pulled over her eyes smirked. "I heard the practical exams this cycle include team skirmishes. You better not get knocked out in the first round." 

The smallest of the group — a fox-eared girl not unlike the one at the grocery boat — proudly spun a short staff between her fingers, a trail of glowing symbols following its path. "I aced the theory test," she said smugly. "But I have to score high in Combat if I want to rank for Gonra Bal next season." 

The teenage boy from Central City — already spiraling from the alien League of Legends revelation — practically wheezed. "They're… they're showing off their weapons like they're flexing a new phone." 

Flash just stared. "They have combat classes in school?" 

The girl leading the group turned to the Earthlings, her tail flicking lazily. "Of course," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Combat is a major subject." 

Wonder Woman's brow arched. "A major subject?" 

One of the girls shrugged. "It's always part of the curriculum — right next to Strategy, Team Coordination, and Battlefield History." 

The teenage boy blinked rapidly. "What about, like… math?" 

"Oh, that's easy," one of the girls said with a laugh. "Everyone has perfect grades in the basics — it's just… math." 

Flash threw up his hands. "Of course they do." 

The mother riding ahead smiled softly, clearly amused at the Earthlings' reactions. "Our children learn everything they need — but Combat is considered essential." 

Her daughter nodded eagerly. "It's the best part of school!" 

Superman exchanged a look with Batman — the kind of look that spoke volumes without a word. This world didn't just tolerate battle — it celebrated it. But not as violence — as art, as sport, as education. 

And then, as the group continued along the path, the landscape shifted again. 

A massive structure emerged on the horizon. 

At first, some of the civilians assumed it was a city — its sheer size too grand, too majestic to be anything else. But as they drew closer, the true nature of the place became clear. 

It was a castle. 

A vast, sprawling castle of stone and crystal, its towers reaching into the sky like silent guardians. Its walls were lined with shimmering, intricate carvings — not of war, but of balance — creatures of this world immortalized in glowing runes: the great turtle-trees, the dragon-herbivores, the sugar-snakes. 

A bridge of smooth black stone stretched across a glittering river, connecting the castle to the land. The water beneath it shimmered with rainbow fish, their scales casting moving prisms onto the stone's underside. Massive gardens sprawled around the castle's base — not wild like the flat plains, but carefully cultivated, with trees, shrubs, and flowers growing in patterns so intricate they seemed woven like tapestries into the landscape. 

And at the center of it all — the castle's grandest tower, crowned with an open archway of amethyst stone — stood a banner. 

Not of war. 

But of a single symbol: a crescent moon, wrapped in the silhouette of a crystal deer. 

The girl clapped her hands. "We're here!" she said cheerfully. "This is the orphanage!" 

Silence. 

A long, stunned, almost comical silence. 

The teenage boy blinked hard. "That's… not an orphanage." 

The mother smiled gently. "Of course it is. This is where the Purple Witch takes in children without homes." 

Lex Luthor's voice — quiet, sardonic — broke the stunned quiet. "Your orphanage is a castle." 

The girl nodded. "It has to be big — there are a lot of children." 

Flash dragged a hand down his face. "A castle orphanage. Sure. Why not?" 

Superman's gaze remained fixed on the towering structure. "And the Purple Witch lives here?" 

The father nodded. "Yes. She cares for the lost — the ones from other worlds, the ones without families. She will help you." 

Batman's jaw tightened. "Let's hope so." 

The Earthlings, still reeling from the surreal, impossible reality of this world, stepped onto the black stone bridge — crossing into the castle orphanage of the Purple Witch.