The banners of three kingdoms—El, Amazon, and Storm—flutter together for the first time in living memory. Where once their colors meant battle, today they mark the newly formed League, a fragile but hopeful pact forged in the ashes of war. The grand hall of the rebuilt Castle El thrums with quiet anticipation. Servants hurry to prepare the chamber for the first joint council, torches crackling with warm light instead of war’s glare. Outside the tall arched windows, the sky stretches clear and blue—almost symbolic in its calm. Kal-El stands alone on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. No armor today, just a simple tunic bearing the crest of his house. Peace still feels unfamiliar on his shoulders; the memory of loss and betrayal lingers like an echo, but so does the promise of something better. He breathes in slowly, letting the wind carry away the last remnants of the old world. At his hip rests no sword. Instead, his hand closes briefly around the folded parchment containing the League’s charter—words he helped draft, words he hopes will hold. Footsteps approach from behind—light, deliberate, familiar or new depending on who enters. Kal-El turns slightly, a faint but genuine smile forming. “I wondered if you’d come,” he says, voice steady but warm. “On a day like this… I could use a friend.”