echos of the Grid

The safehouse was a war-torn refuge by the time they stumbled back, the air thick with dust and the faint tang of ozone from the mill's exploded Grid tap. Kai slumped against a crate, his side throbbing where shrapnel had grazed him—real blood this time, not Kaelric's phantom ache—staining his torn hoodie a dark, sticky red. The morpher flickered on his wrist, its cracked crystal pulsing erratically, like a heart skipping beats. He pressed a hand to the wound, wincing, and tried to focus on the Titans around him, their voices a chaotic hum over the ringing in his ears.

Nightwing paced near the laptop, his usually steady hands restless as he punched keys, pulling up grainy footage from the convoy and mill fights. "They're escalating," he muttered, more to himself than the room. "That tap wasn't a one-off. They're building something—something big." His blue eyes flicked to Kai, sharp with worry masked as focus. "You holding up?"

"Barely," Kai rasped, forcing a grin that felt like a grimace. "Armor's great until it's not." He shifted, pain lancing up his ribs, and the morpher buzzed—a weak, stuttering hum. "This thing's pissed, though. Or dying."

Raven drifted over, her cloak trailing like smoke, eyes glowing faintly under her hood. She knelt beside him, silent for a moment, studying the morpher with a gaze that seemed to pierce through it—through him. "It's not dying," she said, voice soft but certain, cutting through the room's noise. "It's… shifting. The energy's unstable, tied to you more than you know."

Kai met her stare, unnerved by how easily she saw him—like he was glass, cracked and spilling secrets. "Tied how? It's a gadget, not my soul."

"Is it?" Raven tilted her head, a strand of violet hair slipping free. "I feel two threads in you—your life, and his. Kaelric's. The morpher bridges them, but it's fraying. That wound—" she nodded at his side, "—it's not just physical."

"Great," Kai muttered, leaning back, the crate digging into his spine. "So I'm bleeding history now?"

Gar, sprawled on the couch with a fresh pizza box—where'd he even get that?—snorted through a mouthful. "Dude, you're a badass time-ghost. Own it." He shifted into a green wolf, mimicking Kai's form, and bounded over, nudging him with a wet nose. "See? We're morph bros!"

"Get off," Kai laughed despite himself, shoving Gar's snout away. The brief lightness faded fast, though, as Donna stepped up, wiping soot from her staff, her expression all business.

"Raven's right," she said, voice steady like an anchor. "That tap they built—it resonated with your morpher. They're not just after it; they're trying to use it. We need to know what the Grid is before they crack it open."

Nightwing nodded, pulling up a STAR Labs file—schematics, redacted notes, a blurry photo of a green crystal not unlike the morpher's. "This is what they stole from the convoy. An energy amplifier, experimental. STAR's been poking at cosmic power sources—off-books stuff. If the Grid's what I think, it's older than their tech. Ancient, maybe."

"Ancient like me," Kai said, half-joking, but the words stuck. Kaelric's hall flashed in his mind—stone, swords, that shard glowing like a star. He tapped the morpher, voice low. "Hey, riddle bot. You've been stingy with the backstory. What's the Grid? Gimme the director's cut."

"Query acknowledged," it hummed, louder now, echoing in his skull. "Accessing core data. Warning: Sync may destabilize host." Before he could protest, green light flared, blinding, and the safehouse melted away.

He stood on a cliff, wind howling, sea crashing below against jagged rocks. Kaelric's armor weighed him down—chainmail scratched, dented, a longsword sheathed at his hip. Before him, a circle of knights knelt, their banners snapping in the gale—green and silver, serpent and sword. A woman in robes, face lined with age, held the shard high, its light pulsing in rhythm with the storm. "The Grid binds us," she intoned, voice carrying over the roar. "A force beyond time, beyond flesh. It chooses its guardians—us—to shield it from those who'd break the world."

Kaelric knelt, head bowed, the shard's glow warming his face. "I swear it," he said, his voice—Kai's voice—steady with purpose. The vision shifted—battles, blood, the shard's light dimming as greed crept in. The king's betrayal played again, slower, sharper: the dagger, the theft, Kaelric's last breath as the shard vanished into the king's grasp. Then—nothing. A void, centuries deep, until Kai's death in Miami snapped the thread taut again.

He jolted back, gasping, the safehouse slamming into focus. Raven's hand gripped his shoulder, grounding him, her eyes wide with shared echoes. "You saw it," she whispered. "The Grid's origin."

"Yeah," Kai croaked, throat raw. "It's… cosmic. Alive. Some knight order guarded it—Kaelric's crew. Then it got stolen, and I guess I'm the reboot."

Nightwing leaned forward, laptop forgotten. "Cosmic how? Like Green Lantern stuff?"

"Older," Raven said, releasing Kai, her voice tight. "It's not just energy—it's sentient. A network, stretched across time. Kai's morpher's a piece of it, and the Seekers want the whole."

Donna frowned, staff tapping the floor. "So they're not just thieves. They're treasure hunters with a death wish."

"More like cultists," Gar said, shifting back to human, pizza dangling from his hand. "Big Bad Cloak Guy's got that vibe—Eclipso, right? Comics say he's a creep with a thing for dark power."

Kai rubbed his side, blood tacky under his fingers. "He knew me. Called me a shadow of the knight. If he's got Kaelric's shard…"

"Then he's got a key," Nightwing finished, jaw tight. "And your morpher's the lock."

The room stilled, the weight of it sinking in. Kai's head spun—reincarnation, cosmic grids, a psycho with a grudge. He was a kid from Miami, not some chosen one. But the morpher pulsed, insistent, and Kaelric's oath echoed: Shield it. No running from that.

A soft knock broke the silence—tentative, not Slade's sharp rap. Nightwing signaled caution, easing the door open. A woman stood there—mid-30s, STAR Labs badge clipped to a rumpled coat, glasses askew. "Grayson?" she said, voice shaky. "I'm Dr. Elise Carter. I… I worked on the amplifier. They took my team—my research. I got your name from a friend."

Nightwing waved her in, shutting the door fast. "Talk. What'd they steal?"

Elise adjusted her glasses, hands trembling. "A Grid Resonator—prototype. We found it buried in a dig site, Iceland. It's ancient, but it amplifies energy signatures—like your friend's." She nodded at Kai, eyes lingering on the morpher. "They attacked our convoy, then the mill. They're building something bigger—a tap to pull power from… wherever that came from."

"The Grid," Kai said, voice flat. "They're trying to rip it open."

Elise paled. "If they succeed, it's not just power. It's chaos—uncontrolled, reality-bending chaos."

Gar whistled, low. "So, apocalypse o'clock?"

"Pretty much," Elise said, sinking onto a crate. "I escaped, but they've got my notes. They'll figure it out soon."

Nightwing rubbed his temples. "Okay. We've got a lead—east side's their last hit. Kai, Raven, you're with me. We dig into that tap's wreckage, see what they left. Donna, Gar, guard Elise. She's our ace now."

Kai stood, wincing, the morpher's hum steadying him. Raven stayed close, her presence a quiet anchor. "You're not alone in this," she said, low enough for just him. "I've touched old power before. We'll face it together."

He nodded, grateful, but dread coiled tight. The Seekers weren't stopping, and the morpher's cracks were spreading—literal and not. As they geared up, a distant rumble shook the safehouse—too close, too loud. Nightwing's comm crackled, Red Hood's voice cutting through: "Dick! Seekers just hit a power plant—downtown. They're moving fast!"

"Damn it," Nightwing snapped, grabbing his sticks. "Change of plans—Titans, roll out! Kai, you good?"

"Good enough," Kai lied, armor snapping on, wolf form growling to life. The morpher's voice buzzed, urgent: "Grid disturbance critical. Engage." He sprinted after the Titans, Raven's shadow at his side, Kaelric's oath a drumbeat in his chest. The Grid was calling—and it wasn't a request.