Max entered the Oan system at full speed.
The Beacon burned at its center, its light touching each of the worlds he and Veridion had placed around it. Nine planets circled the star in controlled paths, held by Celestial anchors and shaped for purposes Max had spent centuries revising, discarding, and rebuilding in his head.
One world would preserve life. Plants, animals, microorganisms, and entire ecosystems taken from destroyed or dying planets would be protected there. Max had given Ord almost unrestricted access to it, which meant the Gardener had already begun treating the planet less like a project and more like a sacred duty.
Another world would be used for training.
Every environment a Green Lantern might face could be recreated there. Frozen wastelands. Deep oceans. High-gravity regions. The most hostile environments imaginable, all designed to test discipline as much as power. Max wanted future Lanterns prepared before the universe threw them into impossible choices.
Another planet would belong to diplomacy and trade. Embassies from across the universe would one day stand there, if the Corps survived long enough to become something others trusted. A place where species that hated each other could speak beneath Oan protection. A place where peace could be made on purely neutral ground.
Max passed them all.
His attention fixed on the world nearest to Oa.
Haven.
That one was special. Haven was twice the size of Earth and designed as a paradise world. One continent resembled Westeros. Another looked like Tamriel. Many others were drawn from Max’s memories of fantasy worlds from books, games, and movies. It was a fun and indulgent project.
Haven would be a refuge. A place where those saved by the Corps could rebuild. A place where Green Lanterns might house their families if they wished. Perhaps even a world where a Lantern could retire after a life spent protecting others.
Max left Haven behind and descended toward Oa.
The Central Power Battery rose from the equator. Its surroundings had more structures now, considerably more than when he had left the system. Veridion had expanded the surrounding complexes, adding rings of towers and pylons around the Battery’s main body.
All of it glowed faintly green now.
Max slowed as he approached, studying the light moving through the structure. His many sessions inside the Battery had powered it. Enough of Ion’s power now flowed through the system for it to sustain itself at a low level. Not fully. Not yet. But enough, perhaps, to power a thousand rings across the universe.
Max and Veridion had considered making new rings several times, but each attempt circled back to the same problem. His own ring still came first. Until Jade was fully restored and the original design was properly understood, creating thousands of copies would be reckless.
Max had tried to will one into existence. It had worked, but it had not been effective enough. He needed more knowledge for the ring to perfect it. After that, he could make as many rings as he wanted.
Well, not as many as he wanted.
Only 10,045 rings, according to Veridion’s calculations. That was how many the Battery could sustain with the amount of power that would flow from the Source, through the Battery, and then out into the universe. They could increase the number, but that meant spending more time in the Source, which Max wanted less and less of.
He flew down through the upper entrance of the Battery and landed inside one of the main laboratories.
Veridion was not there.
The Celestial usually knew when he returned before Max even crossed the edge of the system. By the time Max reached the Battery, Veridion was almost always waiting.
Silence greeted him instead.
Several screens remained active along the far wall, displaying the project he and Veridion had been debating before Max left.
Two humanoid figures rotated slowly in the air.
A male and a female.
Oans.
That was what they had decided to call them.
The idea still made Max uncomfortable. They would be a people created to live on Oa and support the future Corps. Administrators, builders, scientists, healers, archivists, teachers, engineers, and, if they wished, if chosen by a ring, Lanterns themselves.
If they wished.
That part mattered to him. Max had been clear from the beginning that the Oans would have free will. They would not be servants. They would not be born indebted to him, Veridion, or the Corps. If they chose to build lives unrelated to any of it, that choice would be theirs.
He did not want it to become some kind of pseudo-slavery. Maybe he was thinking too much into it, but the thought still bothered him.
He stared at the rotating figures. Their skin was red, their features close enough to human. Max had modeled much of their appearance after the Zeltrons from Star Wars.
Maybe the Oans would exist one day.
Maybe they would not.
A lot depended on what happened after the first rings were made.
Max turned away from the screens and made his way through the Battery, then outside, sensing where Veridion was. He found him in the newly built structures surrounding it.
The chamber beyond was enormous.
Rows of androids stood beneath the curved ceiling.
Hundreds of them.
Their bodies were tall, smooth, and humanoid, built from black metal, with their chests glowing green. Their faces were blank except for a single glowing lens where eyes should have been. Each carried the same symbol on its chest: a simplified lantern mark.
Veridion stood among them.
He had reduced himself to a height of only twenty feet, moving between the machines as if inspecting soldiers before deployment. Several of the androids turned their heads in perfect unison when Max entered.
Max stopped dead.
For one second, his brain refused to accept what his eyes were showing him.
Then the old memories surfaced.
Robots built to enforce order.
Peacekeepers who decided life itself was the problem.
Massacres.
A sector wiped clean.
“Fucking Manhunters,” Max said aloud.
Veridion turned toward him.
“Max,” he said, sounding almost pleased. “Look at what I have created.”
Max walked forward slowly. “You made Manhunters.”
Veridion tilted his head. “That is a violent name.”
“No,” Veridion said. “They are Vigilants.”
Max looked at the nearest android. Its eye followed him without expression.
“That does not make me feel better.”
“They are autonomous peacekeeping constructs made from my own essence and the green light of will. They can serve as a force for good until the Green Lantern Corps is properly created.”
Max stayed silent as he watched all of them stare back at him.
“And after?” Veridion continued. “They may join it as support units.”
Max let out a humorless laugh.
“No.”
Veridion paused.
“No?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
The Celestial’s golden lines shifted across his armor, a sign Max had learned to recognize as frustration.
“They have already proven useful.”
Max flew closer to one of the androids and circled it. The craftsmanship was beautiful. Veridion had not rushed this. As Max studied the design and the components the Celestial had used, he could see that clearly.
It was brilliant engineering.
It was also a terrible idea.
Max was one hundred percent certain of that.
Robots made to police anything always went wrong. Maybe not immediately. But eventually, something would go wrong. Some moral calculation would reduce living people to variables. Some flaw in their understanding of justice would change their idea of protection into something monstrous.
“They have saved lives, Max. They have been active for one thousand years now.”
Max faced him. “You sent them out?”
“Yes.”
“You sent them out without telling me?”
“I intended to inform you when you returned.”
Veridion gestured toward the air, and a large holographic display opened above the chamber.
“Observe.”
The first image showed a mining colony. Armored raiders had breached the outer walls and driven civilians into the central settlement. Then green light descended. A squad of Vigilants landed in perfect formation, shields unfolding from their arms as they advanced. They disarmed the raiders with precision, disabled vehicles, sealed breaches, and guided the colonists to safety.
The image changed.
A coastal city drowned beneath storm surge and collapsing towers. Vigilants moved through the flood, lifting survivors from rooftops and forming bridges from their own bodies when local rescue craft failed.
Another image appeared.
A volcanic moon split open by tectonic failure. Vigilants carried children from a collapsing habitat while others reinforced the dome long enough for evacuation ships to launch.
Then the footage shifted again.
This time, the images showed combat.
Ships painted in jagged black and copper markings fled through an asteroid field while Vigilants pursued them in tight formations. Green beams disabled engines. Boarding units cut through hulls. Prisoners were restrained and moved into containment cells.
“The Varrons,” Veridion said. “An interstellar bandit confederation operating across several developing systems. They raid colonies, take slaves, strip technology, and vanish before local governments can respond.”
Max watched as the Vigilants tore through another Varron ship with clean, terrifying efficiency.
The recording ended.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Max turned toward Veridion.
“This is not right.”
The Celestial’s golden lines dimmed slightly.
“Preserving life is not right?”
“That is not what I said.”
“It is what the Vigilants are doing.”
“They are androids. Machines, Veridion. Anything can go wrong. They could turn evil one day because of some programming error or something else.”
Veridion looked toward the rows of silent machines.
“They are not independent in the way you fear. Their minds are extensions of mine. Their judgment derives from my own ethical framework, their actions are governed by Celestial safeguards, and their power is drawn through controlled access to the green light.”
“That does not make me feel better.”
“They cannot turn evil, as you describe it, unless I do.”
Max stared at him.
Veridion continued, calm but firm. “They are part of me, Max. They are not uncontrolled artificial minds forming their own interpretation of justice. They are instruments, each connected to my will and restricted by parameters we can alter whenever necessary.”
“Still…”
“No, Max,” Veridion said. “This is good. They will be the Corps until we can make the rings, and after that, they can support the Corps.”
Max’s jaw tightened.
The Vigilants stood in perfect silence around them, every glowing lens facing forward.
“No,” Max said. “This stops here. I am telling you, Veridion, this only ends badly.”
“You are commanding me.”
The Celestial’s voice did not rise, but something in it hardened.
“You are not my superior,” Veridion said. “This is a partnership.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It is how you are speaking.”
Veridion turned fully toward him. “Five thousand sectors, each patrolled by two Lanterns, will not be enough. They cannot answer every call of distress. Two will be too overstretched.”
Veridion pressed on. “The Vigilants can help fill that absence. They can stabilize regions before the Corps begins functioning. They can gather data, which will be useful in training the Corps, and later, as I said, they can support the Lanterns themselves. There will only be two per sector, Max.”
“Two Lanterns per sector is enough.”
“It is not.”
“It will have to be.”
“Why?”
“Because that was the plan, and you agreed to it.”
“Then the plan is insufficient.”
Max snapped.
“Fine. Then I’ll increase the Battery’s output.”
Veridion went still.
Max pointed toward the distant core of the structure. “Three Lanterns per sector. Five, if we need them. More rings, more Lanterns, more coverage.”
“That would require twenty-five thousand rings for five Lanterns per sector.”
“Then we make twenty-five thousand rings.”
“The Battery cannot currently sustain that.”
“I’ll make it sustain it.”
“To increase the output enough, you would need to expand the Source gateway by several orders of magnitude.”
“I know.”
“You would need far more time inside the Source. Far more than we planned.”
“If that is what it takes, then fine.” Max’s eyes burned green for a moment before he forced the light down. “The next session, I make sure the target is met.”
Veridion looked at him for a long time.
“That is reckless, Max.”
“And this isn’t?”
“The Vigilants are quite safe. As I said before, they are a part of me.”
Max looked back at the androids.
Veridion spoke again.
“I do not plan to stop using them, Max.”
Max’s head turned sharply.
Veridion did not retreat. “I will deploy them in one thousand sectors. No more. They will continue operating under my direct oversight until the Green Lantern Corps is ready.”
“Veridion.”
“When the Corps begins functioning properly, and when the Battery can sustain twenty-five thousand rings, I will dismantle the Vigilants.”
Max wanted to say no.
But Veridion had been right about one thing. This was a partnership. The Celestial was not his subordinate, not his servant, and not some engineer hired to build Max’s dream exactly as ordered.
He was his friend.
And Veridion did not break his word once given.
“One thousand sectors,” Max said at last.
Veridion inclined his head. “One thousand.”
“You monitor them every second.”
“I already do.”
“You give me full access to their operational records.”
“Yes.”
“If even one of them starts making decisions that treat living people like numbers on a board, they are done.”
“Agreed.”
“And if I tell you something is wrong, you listen.”
Veridion’s golden lines shifted again, softer this time.
“I have always listened.”
Max gave him a flat look.
“Eventually,” Veridion amended.
“Good enough.” Max nodded, though he did not feel reassured.
His gaze moved past Veridion and toward the Central Power Battery.
The green light within it pulsed faintly.
He would have to go back into the Source.
Not for minutes or hours this time. If he wanted the Battery strong enough to remove Veridion’s need for the Vigilants, then he needed to remain within the Source far longer than before.
Long enough that enormous stretches of time would pass outside. Perhaps a billion years or more, though inside, only a fragment of that would pass.
The Butcher had already tried to attack him during several sessions. Parallax remained in hiding, watching and waiting.
He would have to deal with them.
Especially the Butcher and Parallax.
They were too dangerous to leave circling the gateway.
Max looked back at the Vigilants one final time, frowning.
He hated that he had agreed to this.
The only reason he had was because the Vigilants were not independent machines. They were extensions of Veridion himself, pieces of him shaped into bodies and powered by the green light. Max trusted Veridion. He did not believe the Celestial would turn on life, not when he loved it so much.
Not unless something corrupted him.
The thought of Zgreb came to him then. A Celestial infected by the Horde. Twisted. Ruined. Turned into something monstrous by a darkness that had no place in creation.
Max pushed the thought away.
Still, Veridion had given his word. Once the Corps was formed, once the Battery could sustain enough rings, the Vigilants would be dismantled.
A temporary compromise.
A bad one, maybe.
But one Max could accept for now.
He turned and flew from the chamber.
He did not stop until he reached one of his favorite places on Oa, a broad hill overlooking a red forest. The trees below had thin black trunks and leaves the color of fresh blood. When the wind moved through them, the whole forest shifted like a slow-moving fire.
Max landed near the top of the hill.
The Central Power Battery stood far to the south, glowing against the horizon.
He stared at it.
“And so Ion stood upon the world he had shaped, burdened by the knowledge that even noble creations could cast dangerous shadows. Before him waited the Source, vast and merciless. Behind him stood the fragile dream of a peacekeeping force not yet born. To protect the living, he would once more descend into the green ocean of will, risking himself so that others might one day rise as guardians in his place.”
Max closed his eyes.
The voice continued.
“Few beings in this young universe understood the weight he carried. Fewer still could comprehend the sacrifice ahead. For Ion, oldest of the Elders, avatar of will, Lord of Oa, now faced a trial not of strength, but of endurance.”
Max sighed.
The narration stopped for half a second.
Then continued.
“And though doubt clung to him, he did not turn away. For such was the nature of will. Not the absence of fear, but the decision to move forward despite it.”
Max looked up.
“I can hear you,” Max called.
The Watcher froze in the sky.
Max pointed at him. “Your job is to watch, not narrate my life.”
The Watcher slowly lowered his gaze.
“My apologies.”
“Get out of here.”
The Watcher said nothing as he left quickly.
Max sighed and sat down.
Silence.
“Much better,” Max muttered.
He sat there for some time, preparing himself. Then he flew back toward the Battery and into its deepest depths.
He descended through the central shaft, past glowing conduits and rings of machinery, until he reached the chamber near Oa’s core.
The platform waited.
Max landed at its center and sat down.
Far above him, across the surface of Oa, green light began to spread through the Battery’s outer structure. It crossed the equator, flowed through the conduits, and rose into the atmosphere until the entire planet glowed emerald.
He entered the Source once more.
.
.
Next: Max vs. the entities, the beginning of the creation of the rings, and the first Green Lanterns being chosen.