Chapter 1: Small Hands, Large Seconds
Kairo Victor Fugate Wakati learned two important truths very early in his new life.
The first was that the world was much larger than it had any right to be.
The second was that he was not supposed to explore all of it.
From his position on the polished marble floor of the Wakati mansion's east corridor, Kairo stared down the long stretch of hallway ahead of him with what could only be described as defiant determination. The corridor seemed endless, a gleaming river of stone, showing the high, golden morning. The ceiling soared impossibly high above his small body, panels of white and gold decorated with geometric patterns. To most, these were decorative flourishes; to Kairo, that secret part of his mind whispered meanings of cycles, gears, the mathematics of time, long before his eyes could truly comprehend them.
The walls were arrayed with tall windows spilling soft but thick rays of morning light throughout the floor in rich, shifting patterns. Some dust specks floated slowly and lazily in the sunbeams, sailing like tiny worlds in orbit, and the odor of polished wood mingled with distant traces of smells of oils and foods from the cleaning and cooking staff. If Kairo listened closely, he could pick out the rhythms of the mansion: the low hum of the heating vents, the reverberation of footsteps on marble, the gentle clink of trays, the distant murmur of voices as staff moved through their morning routines. Life was happening all around him, an entire world ticking on, intricate and indifferent, just out of his reach and for now, he was only allowed to watch.
Unacceptable.
With a soft grunt of effort and a wiggle of his diapered backside, Kairo launched himself forward on all fours, palms slapping against the somewhat cold smooth stone with triumphant enthusiasm. He was fast. At least, he felt fast. In his head, this was a daring escape, a masterful operation, a tactical withdrawal from unjust containment. In reality, he was crawling at the standard, unremarkable pace of a healthy baby, moving perhaps a foot every few seconds.
Still.
He was moving.
And no one had stopped him yet.
Victory, he thought smugly, a strange mixture of infant instinct and adult satisfaction curling warmly in his chest.
Behind him, somebody laughed.
"Oh no," a young voice said with exaggerated dread, "he's making a break for it again."
Kairo froze, then resumed crawling faster, much faster in his own estimation. His goal waited ahead: the grand front doors of the mansion. Tall. Ornate. Wooden giants reinforced with steel and guarded by security systems he could not yet see but somehow knew were there. To him, they represented freedom. Outside meant not inside, and that alone was reason enough.
As he crawled, his mind wandered as it often did through the strange, layered awareness he carried like an old coat draped over a very small frame.
This was the DC Universe.
He was certain of it.
He didn't remember learning this fact. It simply was. Like knowing the sky was above and the floor was below. Gotham existed. Metropolis existed. The Justice League existed. So did Arkham. So did places he did not yet have names for but already feared instinctively.
Gotham, in particular, bothered him.
Even now, safe inside Cranson Estates, a gated, heavily monitored community tucked away from the city proper itself, but he could feel it. The crime. The madness. Gotham wasn't just some random and faraway dangerous city; nope, it was close, and it was persistent. A wound that never healed, only scabbed over between catastrophes. He didn't like the idea of growing up anywhere near it. He was sure that a lot of nice people lived in Gotham, and he was also sure that those people were very outnumbered by the people who weren't so nice.
Cranson Estates, at least, was quiet. Old money. Older families. People who valued their wealth and silence, distance, and privacy. A kind of place where danger came wrapped in paperwork and contracts rather than clown masks and knives.
And still… Gotham was close.
Too close.
His thoughts roamed even further, as they always did, to the one constant in his small world.
His grandfather.
Dr. Elias Wakati.
Kairo paused again, resting his chin on the floor, drool collecting beneath him as his thoughts softened around the image of the man who waited like a careful figure at the edge of his life. Elias was old, much older than Kairo had ever been in his previous life, and The Doctor carried himself with the quiet gravity of someone who had seen too much time go by too quickly. Bald head. Thick white beard and mustache. Dark skin aged by years of long nights and harsh artificial lab lighting. He always wore his lab coat, even outside the lab, crisp and clean over pale shirts and dark ties, as though removing it might cause the world to slip out of alignment.
His glasses were strange. The lenses are opaque, reflective, hiding his eyes completely. Kairo had never seen what color they were. Sometimes he wondered if his grandfather could see things no one else could
Perhaps he could see threads of time, maybe, or fractures waiting to happen, or maybe he was just an old man who needed his glasses.
Elias worked constantly, but not mindlessly.
Kairo knew his mission, even if no one had explained it to him. Time disruption research. Not for power. Not for conquest. But for mercy. His grandfather wanted to suspend lives, not end them. To hold the terminally ill in safe moments until cures could be found. To pause suffering. To give people more chances.
Kinda nice, Kairo thought, sucking absently on his fist. A little dangerous. But nice.
The front doors were closer now.
So close.
Kairo grinned toothlessly and pushed forward with renewed enthusiasm.
That was when a shadow fell over him.
"Oh no you don't," a voice said gently.
Strong hands scooped him up off the floor with effortless ease, lifting him high into the air. Kairo squirmed, arms flailing, issuing a string of indignant baby noises that in his head translated roughly to TREACHERY and UNJUST INCARCERATION.
The girl holding him laughed.
She was young, seventeen, maybe, with warm brown skin and long dark hair braided neatly down her back. Her eyes were sharp and lively, and her smile was patient in the way of someone who had dealt with stubborn children before and won every time. She wore the simple uniform of the mansion staff, sleeves rolled up, muscles stronger than they looked.
Her name was Anika.
She lived here with her parents and younger brother, the only full family among the staff. They had come from India years ago and stayed because Dr. Wakati treated them not like servants, but like people.
"Kairo," Anika said fondly, bouncing him slightly as she turned away from the doors, "you are not escaping today."
Kairo glared at her with all the righteous fury a baby could muster and let out a dramatic wail that meant You tyrant. You cruel prison guard. I demand my freedom.
Anika merely smiled wider. "Yes, yes. I know. Very tragic."
She carried him back toward the play area—a wide, cushioned enclosure filled with toys, soft blocks, and interactive learning panels disguised as colorful animals. To Kairo, it was a cage. A beautifully padded, lovingly maintained cage.
She lowered him gently inside.
Kairo immediately attempted to climb the walls.
"Nope," Anika said cheerfully, pressing him back down. "Playtime."
He flopped onto his back dramatically, issuing another string of baby babble curses that would have made sailors blush if they'd been translated correctly. Anika laughed again and handed him a soft clock-shaped toy that chimed quietly when squeezed.
As she walked away, Kairo stared up at the ceiling, his frustration fading back into thought.
This world was strange.
So much like his old one in the small ways—history books, cities, money, families—and yet utterly alien in the ways that mattered most. Superheroes weren't myths here. They were infrastructure. Villains weren't outliers; they were inevitabilities. Aliens existed. Magic existed, though people pretended it didn't unless it exploded in front of them.
He didn't know where in the timeline this all sat. He knew the Justice League had been active for years. He knew the world had adjusted, poorly but persistently. He knew things could get much worse.
And he knew, deep down, that time had brought him here for a reason.
Kairo clenched his tiny fist around the clock toy and squeezed.
Tick.
He didn't know what he was yet.
But he knew he would need to be careful.
Very careful.
And for now, being a baby—cute, helpless, underestimated—was the safest place to start.