Pilot

After confirming that nothing else of importance was left in the cave, Green Lantern floated outside. He paused for a moment, glancing back at the darkened entrance before conjuring a glowing green shovel with a flick of his hand. Without hesitation, he began digging into the rocky ground. The shovel cut cleanly, moving the dirt aside with practiced efficiency. Once the hole was deep enough, he carefully placed the lifeless body of the green-robed man inside. A few more shovelfuls of dirt covered the grave neatly. 

The work was quick and simple, yet Green Lantern didn't rush it. He knew this man had been an enemy, but the struggle that led to his death still weighed on him. Once the burial was finished, he stood in silence for a moment, letting the glow from his ring dim slightly. It wasn't much of a farewell, but it was better than leaving the body in the cave to rot. 

Satisfied with his work, Hal glanced around and realized the boy wasn't in the cave anymore. He looked up, scanning the area, and quickly spotted him sitting on a large rock a short distance away. The boy's small figure was hunched, his head tilted slightly as he stared out at the dense forest beyond. 

Hal landed softly beside him, the green glow of his ring casting faint light across the boy's face. But the boy didn't react. He stayed silent, lost in thought. His eyes were distant, fixed on the trees as though searching for answers they couldn't provide. 

It was strange to see him this quiet. The boy had been full of questions and chatter during their journey, filling the silence with his endless curiosity. Now, that liveliness was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness. 

Hal leaned against the rock, waiting for the boy to speak first. It didn't take long. 

"Why did Grandpa…" The boy's voice trembled, breaking the silence. "Why did he want to kill me all of a sudden?" 

Hal's gaze softened. The question wasn't unexpected, but that didn't make it any easier to answer. "I don't know," he said honestly. 

"Do you think it has something to do with the temple?" the boy pressed. 

"…I can't say for sure." 

In truth, Hal had a strong suspicion that the temple was connected to everything—the green-robed man's strange behavior, the boy's vague instincts, even the bizarre energy the man had been channeling. But without concrete evidence, he couldn't say for certain. 

The boy sighed, his shoulders slumping. "But Grandpa was a good person," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He took care of me my whole life. I'm not a bad person either… so why would he want to hurt me?" 

He fell silent for a moment before continuing, his tone growing more uncertain. "Do you think… do you think it's because I didn't listen to him? He told me not to leave home, but I followed the leader anyway. Maybe I made him mad by being disobedient." 

Hal frowned slightly but stayed quiet, letting the boy process his thoughts. 

"But then… the leader said Grandpa told him to come get me," the boy went on, his voice picking up slightly. "And the leader's a good person too. He wouldn't lie to me. So why…" 

He trailed off, his confusion palpable. His reasoning, though simple, wasn't entirely flawed. Hal found himself half-smiling at the boy's attempt to make sense of everything, even in the face of betrayal. 

"I don't get it," the boy muttered, shaking his head. "But I keep feeling like I need to go to that temple. It's like… deep down, I know I'm supposed to go there. If I don't, something's wrong. But now…" He hesitated, his voice dropping again. "Now, I don't want to go. I'm scared. What if I find out something I don't want to know? What if it just… hurts more?" 

Hal stayed quiet, giving the boy space to express his fears. He knew this moment was important. 

"I wish I was brave like you," the boy said after a long pause. His voice was soft, almost childlike. "You're not scared of anything. You're strong and fearless. But I'm… I'm not. I'm scared of everything right now. I don't even know who I am anymore." 

Hal could see how deeply the betrayal had shaken the boy. This wasn't just about fear of the temple or what lay ahead. The boy had lost something fundamental—his trust in the one person who had been his anchor. That kind of wound didn't heal easily. 

Hal knew he had to help. If he didn't, the boy might never gather the courage to face the truth waiting for him at the temple. 

So Hal sat down beside him on the rock, letting out a soft sigh. "You know," he began, "I've got a story for you. Do you want to hear it?" 

The boy blinked, his curiosity breaking through the sadness for a moment. "What kind of story?" he asked. 

Hal smiled faintly. "It's about a kid whose dad was a pilot." 

The boy tilted his head, confused. "What's a pilot?" 

"A pilot is someone who flies planes," Hal explained. "Planes are machines that can fly through the sky, like big metal birds." 

"Oh," the boy said, nodding. "Like you! You fly through the air too. Pilots must be amazing people." 

Hal chuckled softly. "Yeah, you could say that. Pilots are amazing." 

He paused for a moment, his expression growing more reflective. He hadn't talked about this in years, but the story felt right now. 

"This kid was proud of his dad," Hal continued. "He thought his dad was the coolest guy in the world. Sometimes, he'd skip school just to go watch his dad fly. He'd sit at the airport, staring at the sky, thinking his dad could do anything." 

The boy leaned forward, already drawn into the story. "What happened next?" 

"One day, the kid went to watch his dad like always," Hal said. "But something went wrong. While his dad's plane was in the air, there was an explosion." 

The boy's eyes widened. "An explosion?" 

Hal nodded solemnly. "The plane turned into a ball of fire. It fell from the sky like a shooting star. The kid watched as it crashed, flames and smoke everywhere. His dad was gone, just like that." 

The boy gasped, his face pale. "Did… did the dad survive?" 

"No," Hal said softly. "He didn't." 

The boy let out a shaky breath, his sadness almost as raw as if he had lost someone himself. "What did the kid do after that?" 

"For a long time, the kid couldn't stop thinking about it," Hal said. "Every time he saw a plane or thought about flying, he'd remember the crash. It haunted him. He thought he'd never fly again." 

The boy nodded slowly. "If it were me, I'd never want to fly again either." 

"But that kid grew up to be a pilot, just like his dad," Hal said. "Even though he was scared, even though he saw that crash every time he closed his eyes, he chose to fly." 

The boy stared at Hal, realization dawning on his face. "Wait… was that kid… you?" 

Hal nodded. "It was." 

The boy's mouth fell open. "But… how? Weren't you scared?" 

"Of course I was scared," Hal said. "I still get scared sometimes. But being brave doesn't mean you're not afraid. It means you face your fear and keep going anyway." 

The boy was quiet, letting Hal's words sink in. 

"My dad was my hero," Hal continued. "I'll never know what he felt in those last moments—whether he was scared or calm, or if he was thinking about me. But what I do know is this: being fearless doesn't mean you don't feel fear. It means you feel it, but you face it anyway. That's what makes you strong." 

He held up his ring, the green light glowing brightly. "It's not because I'm strong that I'm fearless. It's because I face my fear that I'm strong." 

The boy's expression shifted. Something in Hal's words had struck a chord. He looked up at Hal, his eyes a little brighter than before. 

"I think I get it now," he said after a long pause. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes. "I'm still scared, but… I don't want to let that stop me anymore. Let's go to the temple." 

Hal smiled, standing up as well. "That's the spirit." 

The boy took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as they turned toward the dense forest. The temple—and the truth—awaited them.