The battle was over. Smoke curled above the shattered horizon, and the heroes who had just saved the world stood in silence, breathing in the scorched air. Exhaustion weighed on them, yet relief glimmered faintly in their eyes.
Lucian staggered away from the group, his sword dragging along his left arm, its metal scraping softly against the fractured ground. His right hand pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through torn fabric. His posture was slouched but dignified—a warrior worn down, not broken.
Diana noticed first. She walked toward him, her steps sure and graceful despite the dust and ruin around them.
"Lucian," she called softly, warmth lacing her tone, "you did great out there."
He looked back over his shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah… great and all," he muttered, voice raspy. "But let's not do this again anytime soon. And if fate insists, I'd rather not meet you under quite these circumstances."
She smiled faintly, her eyes catching the sunset burning behind him. "You say that now," she replied, "but I have a feeling destiny doesn't take requests."
Before Lucian could respond, Superman took a step forward, raising a hand. "Lucian, wait," he called. Hal and Batman joined him, urging him to stop.
"The world is going to need answers," Superman said firmly. "The President will address the press soon, and we'll need you there."
Batman's eyes narrowed, studying Lucian's every movement. Though he didn't speak, the faintest curiosity flickered behind his mask.
Lucian shook his head, no humor in his tired chuckle. "I'm not like you," he said quietly. "Not a hero in shining colors. I just did what I had to, so the world I live in doesn't collapse."
He stumbled forward—just slightly—but Diana caught him before he fell. Her hand pressed against his arm; he tensed at the contact.
"You may not think of yourself as a hero," she whispered, "but after today, the world will."
Hal grinned, stepping closer. "Kid, you've earned your share of the glory—believe me," he said, clapping Lucian's shoulder gently. "Though… remind me to make sure you never get perimeter duty again."
Lucian could barely hold back a painful laugh. "Deal."
Superman added, "If you weren't a hero, you wouldn't have saved so many lives today."
Lucian sighed, levitating slowly into the air, the wind lifting torn strands of his hair. Sunlight glinted against the blade at his side. His battered body, bruised yet strong, stood testament to his endurance. Diana's gaze lingered a little too long, her thoughts unspoken but clear in her eyes.
"My principles are my own," Lucian said at last. "My code doesn't fit the hero mold. I don't wear capes or symbols. But if the world's ever in danger again, and you seven can't handle it…" He looked straight at Batman. "You'll know where to find me."
Then his gaze drifted to Diana. "Fighting beside you all—beside you—was an honor," he said, voice softening. "But our worlds… they're different. Let's hope this was our first and last crossing."
He gave a half-smile, a fleeting spark of warmth breaking through his exhaustion, before he rose higher, the fading light painting his silhouette gold. Then, with one last look at her, he flew away—battered, weary, yet victorious.
Hal exhaled, shaking his head. "Kid's too serious," he muttered, earning a low chuckle from the others as the scene faded.
***
**The White House**
Under the gleam of crystal chandeliers, the President stood proudly on a podium lined with cameras. Behind him, seven heroes—minus Lucian—stood in formation. Reporters shouted questions; flashes filled the room.
"These brave souls," the President declared, "are the heroes who saved our world—our champions, our friends."
Hal leaned closer to Batman. "Friends? Seriously? And for the record, this isn't a costume—it's a uniform."
Batman didn't look at him. "Quiet," he muttered dryly. "This little show keeps Gotham PD off my back and the Air Force off yours."
Diana smiled faintly, turning to Superman. "It was… good," she said. "To stand with others like us. To feel part of something again."
Superman glanced at her curiously. "Like Olympus ?"
She tilted her head. "Like a pantheon," she murmured. "Each of you reminds me of a god from ancient days."
"Zeus-- Shazam, Hades--Batman, Hermes--Flash...." She continues gazing at them all.
He chuckled. "And what about me?"
"I'm still not sure," she said after a pause. "You walk a line between god and mortal—a balance Lucian shares… though he doesn't realize it."
Superman frowned slightly. "He should be here with us."
"Perhaps," she said wistfully. "But war calls those like him, not celebration. He's a warrior of pure conviction—fighting not for glory, but for purpose." Her lips curved, the smallest hint of mischief touching her expression. "It's rare to see such passion in someone so young… and handsome."
Superman raised an eyebrow, amused. "Handsome, huh?"
Diana only smiled, her eyes wandering toward the window where the sky stretched open—somewhere out there, a lone figure flew through the clouds, carrying the weight of victory and isolation in equal measure.
###The Moniker###
Lucian landed softly on the rooftop of a half-collapsed building overlooking the city. The battle was long over, yet the streets below still glowed with emergency lights and scattered fires. He could hear faint cheers and music from the celebration beginning miles away.
He sighed, lowering himself onto a cracked ledge, his sword clattering beside him. Carefully, he raised away his new clothes, revealing bruises that painted his ribs in shades of violet and black. Blood trickled down his side, and he gritted his teeth as he began wrapping a makeshift bandage around his waist.
He turned on the small radio clipped to his belt, half just to hear something human again. The voice of a news reporter came through, bright and breathless.
"…and among the mysterious heroes, one stands out—the sword-wielding savior who protected countless civilians during the Metropolis breach. Witnesses have started calling him 'Prince Charming' after his blade-and-smile heroics…"
Lucian froze mid-wrap. For a second, he thought he misheard.
"…videos of him pulling survivors out of rubble, speaking gently to the frightened children—his face uncovered near the end of the battle—have gone viral within minutes. Social feeds are flooding with posts calling him the 'modern-day Prince Charming.'"
He groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Prince Charming? Seriously?" he muttered. "I slay an energy demon from another dimension, and they call me that?"
Still, the radio went on, and the faint sounds of people cheering—some laughing, some crying—spilled through the static. He tilted his head, listening to snippets of voices from the crowd below.
"That guy with the sword—did you see him? He was glowing like something out of a fairy tale!"
"I heard he carried that little girl out from the fire. What a gentleman."
"He even smiled when he handed my sister her brother back! Prince Charming indeed!"
Lucian winced again, exasperated. "Great. First they think I'm some storybook knight—next they'll expect me to ride in with a horse."
He tightened the bandage around his ribs, hissing softly at the pain, then stared at his reflection in a broken window. His hair was tangled and soot-stained, his eyes hollow but steady. Definitely not the look of a charming prince.
"Of all the names," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not 'Blade Sentinel.' Not 'The Wanderer.' No, had to be Prince Charming."
" Screw the naming sense of the Dc verse."
He chuckled under his breath, though the laugh held no real amusement. Somewhere deep down, he knew the title came from gratitude, even admiration—but admiration had never sat comfortably with him.
The night wind brushed past, carrying distant echoes of celebration. Lucian leaned back against the wall, staring at the stars that peeked through the smoke.
"Prince Charming, huh?" he whispered to no one in particular. "Guess the world loves its fantasies."
He looked down at his hands—rough, scarred, still trembling slightly—and tightened his grip on the sword hilt beside him. "They can keep their fairy tales," he murmured. "I'll stick to reality."
The radio crackled again, this time playing a clip of a young woman he'd saved crying with joy.
"If you're listening… thank you, whoever you are. You're my hero."
Lucian paused, eyes softening. For a moment, the exhaustion faded. Then he smiled, tired but genuine.
"Yeah," he said quietly, switching off the radio. "You're welcome."
The city lights shimmered below as he stood, sword sheathed once again. The faintest smirk touched his lips as he whispered to himself, almost amused now, "Still not calling myself Prince Charming."
And with that, he leapt from the edge of the building, disappearing into the rising dawn.
*****