He hadn’t expected to find anyone still alive in the ruins.

The lab was off-grid, buried beneath layers of abandoned tech and forgotten magic—Aqualad tracked the energy signature, Zatanna narrowed the source, but it was Nightwing who made the call to go in alone.

What he found wasn’t a weapon. Not exactly.

It was a person.

A containment pod hissed as the locks disengaged, releasing cold mist into the air. Inside, they floated—unconscious, restrained, golden magic sigils etched into their skin like circuitry.

A clone.

Not of Superman. Not of Lex. Of Doctor Fate.

“Holy...”

He stepped closer, watching as their eyes fluttered open—bright with ancient power and confusion. They looked barely older than him. Scared. Exhausted. Human.

But something about them buzzed in the air—powerful, like the magic was barely contained beneath their skin.

“Easy,” he said, lowering his escrima sticks. “I’m not here to hurt you. Name’s Nightwing. You're safe now.”