"In a world of change and betrayal, the unyielding man is not a relic. He is the measure by which all others are tested."
---
The Tower of Fate
The air shimmered within the golden spire. Candles burned in reversed gravity, flames bending toward the ceiling like blooming flowers of light.
Doctor Fate stood before the Mirror of Equilibrium. A construct that reflected not appearances, but truths.
The glass rippled, showing Earth as seen through magic's perception. Threads of fate spun endlessly. Bright, fragile, interconnected.
And then, there was one point of stillness.
A perfect void in motion. Unyielding. Unreadable.
Fate's voice echoed within his helm.
"All things resonate… except him."
From behind, Zatara approached, coat fluttering with his usual nonchalance. "You mean King?"
Fate didn't turn. "He is a still point in the equation of existence. Where others vibrate, he remains. I cannot see his past, nor project his end."
Zatara frowned. "Everyone's got a signature. Even gods. Even death."
"He has one." Fate said, turning. "But it does not move. It does not bend. It simply is."
Zatara raised a brow. "So he's a magical dead zone?"
"No." Fate's tone sharpened. "He is the anchor magic leans on without knowing. The universe bends, he does not. Even creation's current parts around him."
A deep voice came from the doorway. "And that's what's scaring you."
John Constantine, cigarette dangling from his lips, stepped in and blew a plume of smoke toward the floating candles.
"Bloke's not a threat. He's the bloody measuring stick."
Fate regarded him. "And when the measuring stick becomes aware of its role?"
Constantine smirked. "Then the gods start sweatin'."
Gotham, The Roof of Quinn & Ink
Rain whispered softly over neon signs.
King stood on the rooftop, gaze turned skyward.
Below him, Harley's shop glowed warm; inside, Ace studied with headphones on, sketching another floral pattern in her notebook.
A gentle hum pulsed through the air.
Reality itself trembled for a moment not violently, but like it had hiccuped.
Then, a golden portal tore open above the clouds.
Doctor Fate descended, silent as falling light.
"King."
King didn't look up. "I felt you watching."
Fate's helm gleamed. "You exist beyond the comprehension of the Lords of Order. That should not be possible."
King's tone remained calm. "Should not be or was not?"
Fate studied him. "The Lords of Order demand understanding."
"They can demand." King said simply. "I don't serve them."
Zatara appeared beside Fate in a shimmer of light. "We're not here to interrogate you. Just… to understand what you are."
King finally turned. His eyes were calm but there was something vast behind them, like watching galaxies breathe.
"I'm not something to understand. I'm something to accept."
Fate's magic circles flared faintly, they bent around King like wind parting around a mountain. No resonance. No resistance. Just… nothing.
Zatara whispered, astonished, "He's not blocking it. It's like… the spell doesn't even recognize him."
King looked past them. "Because I'm not here to play in your systems. I'm here to remind the systems what stillness looks like."
Fate's helm tilted slightly. "You define stability through will."
King nodded. "I define existence through choice."
For a brief moment, Fate felt something push back. Not energy, not magic, but a force of being so absolute that it made the Tower of Fate itself pulse in resonance.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Zatara stepped forward, voice barely above a whisper.
"Then what are you, really?"
King's gaze softened. "The line the universe refuses to erase."
Watchtower
The Justice League gathered around a projection of Fate's report. The magical readings were chaotic — waves, flares but always bending away from one center point: King.
Mr. Terrific frowned. "He's not emitting energy. He's displacing it. Like the universe keeps trying to adjust to make room for him."
Wonder Woman murmured, "A force that doesn't adapt, yet everything adapts to him…"
Superman folded his arms, his voice quiet but heavy. "Like gravity. But conscious."
Batman said nothing. His eyes were locked on the screen. On King, standing under the rain, completely still.
Aquaman scoffed. "So he's untouchable. What else is new?"
Batman's jaw tightened. "No. He's unchangeable. There's a difference."
The Astral Plane
Fate meditated within the flow of the Astral River, his mind stretching across layers of existence.
He found the threads of all living things — the whisper of their souls, their fears, their destinies.
And then… silence.
The river split.
King stood there, eyes closed, arms at his side, calm as the void.
Fate's voice echoed through thought itself.
"You don't belong to the Astral."
King opened his eyes. "I belong to nowhere. That's why I can stand anywhere."
"You are unmoved by past or prophecy."
King nodded. "Because I am neither."
"Then what are you, truly?"
King looked around the endless void — at the shifting light, the stars, the echoes of life itself.
Then he spoke.
"I am the proof that even gods need something to stand on."
The universe fell silent.
And for the first time since creation, the Astral River stopped flowing — not broken, but resting, anchored by the presence of something it could finally lean on.
Gotham, Dawn
Morning returned.
Harley brewed coffee while Ace drew another tattoo design — a silver bracelet coiled with blooming roses.
King entered, faint trace of cosmic dust still on his coat.
Harley grinned. "Rough night?"
He smiled faintly. "You could say that."
Ace looked up. "You okay, Mr. King?"
He paused. "Yes. The world just… needed reminding it still has a center."
Harley laughed. "And that center's you?"
King met her eyes. Calm, humble, unshakable. "No. It's us. When we stop breaking."
The bell chimed. Light filled the room. Gotham's day began again.
Read 24 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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