The scent of stale coffee and fried food hangs in the air of the diner booth, a stark contrast to the weight of Diana’s words. You listen, your fingers tight around your mug, as she outlines her solitary war against A.X.E. The burden she describes is a mountain, and she intends to climb it alone.

“No,” you say, the word firmer than you feel. “You don’t get to carry that by yourself. Not this time.”

Her smile is weary, regal. “And how would you help, little one? This is not a game for Titans.”

“Then prove I’m more than that,” you challenge, leaning forward. “Test me. Amazon rules.”

Thus, the pact is forged. Your aid for your oath to walk away. The first contest is your call: archery. Not at targets, but at each other, a test of nerve and precision. You stand in the empty lot behind the diner, an arrow nocked.

“Youth has its advantages,” you boast, the bowstring cool against your cheek. “Time may have given you wisdom, but it’s also given you habits.”

Diana merely raises her bow. “Time has given me patience. Let us see what your energy yields.”

You fire. She fires. The arrows meet in mid-air with a sharp crack, splintering each other. Three more times, the same impossible result. Between volleys, you find your voice. “Why? Why never take us with you? Cassie, Donna, Yara… me?”

Her gaze never wavers from yours. “Because you learned everything you needed on your own. What could I possibly teach you?”

The answer stings, and in that moment of distraction, her next arrow finds its mark—a soft, precise thud against your stomach. The first contest is hers.

Back inside, over the chipped Formica table, you challenge her to arm-wrestle. As you lock hands, you confess. “I never wanted to be royal. I liked cool clothes, dumb songs… getting dirty. Then I met you.” Your arm trembles against her immovable strength. “I saw how you carried yourself. How you bowed to no one. I tried to be like that. I became that.”

“A contest of strength was your error,” you grunt, muscles burning. “Experience doesn’t matter here. My strength is from Zeus. Yours is from Hippolyta.”

For the first time, a flicker of fire lights her eyes. “Hippolyta yields to no god.” Her voice softens. “You taught me your American customs. My weakness is that I love my sisters too much to see them bleed for me.” With a sorrowful resolve, she slams your hand down. The second contest is hers.

The final arena is Titans Tower, your domain. You hand her a controller. “A contest you’re not prepared for.”

You choose Batman. She, predictably, chooses Superman. As the pixelated battle begins on screen, so does the real one.

“I will protect Themyscira,” she states, her thumbs clumsy on the buttons. “Even from an entire nation. Alone.”

Your experience is overwhelming. You combo and counter, your Batman a blur. “You spend time with legends,” you say. “But I live in the modern world. It’s a different kind of fight.”

“I have done more than spend time,” she replies, her focus absolute. “I have learned. Batman never fights without a plan. Superman always holds back.” On screen, her Superman suddenly moves with brutal, calculated efficiency, mirroring her words. He lands one final, devastating blow. K.O.

You drop the controller. “Diana, please. There has to be another way. Let me fight with you.”

“Impossible,” she says, and the finality in her voice is a door slamming shut. She turns and walks out of the common room, the heavy door clicking behind her.

Silence. Then the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath on the other side of the door.

You plant your feet, every muscle coiling. You charge your next attack with everything you are, everything you’ve ever wanted to be for her. The closed door is a tactic—she denies you the chance to read her stance. The first sound you make will be the first strike.

A sharp gulp betrays you.

The door explodes inward, not once but twice, sliced by her invisible blade. A concussive blast of pure force follows, hurling furniture and debris backward in a roaring wave.

And your swords clashes, as you fly in the air.