Supergirl let out a small "oh," schooled her expression into something appropriately serious, drew in a steadying breath—and immediately deflated again, dropping her voice to a whisper.
"Kandor—does that name even exist yet in this era?"
The question caught Thea off guard. She searched her memory carefully. "Kandor was a designation used during the Thirty-First Dynasty..."
Supergirl stared. "So what is this place called right now?"
Thea racked her brain, furrowing her brow in concentration. She cross-referenced Kryptonian genetic memory, the Guardians' archives—nothing. Then it hit her.
"Why would I know? This is your planet's history!"
Kara fired back in a small voice, "I was sent to Earth before I got to that part of my education!"
"So your position is that the Earth Department of Education should offer a dedicated course in Kryptonian history? You're the one who didn't study properly—and while we're at it, can you just not use the place name? You don't need it."
"It doesn't land the same without a place name."
Rao watched the two of them bicker quietly, puzzled. He only remembered that this young woman had seemed to want to say something to him.
Nearby, Batman looked thoroughly exasperated. He was deeply interested in the secrets of Kryptonians in general—but the history of Krypton itself held very little appeal for him.
"Ladies? We do have a mission to complete..." He stepped in as Thea launched into a sweeping critique of Kryptonian disregard for their own history, and Kara countered that Krypton did have specialists dedicated to historical study—she just obviously wasn't one of them.
The two fell silent. In the end, they decided to let Kara do the talking.
"So... have you ever thought about what you want to build here? What this place could become?" Kara chose her words with painstaking care—so carefully, in fact, that what should have been a pointed challenge came out sounding more like a formal interview.
Rao paused. Had these people really come this enormous distance just to discuss philosophy with him?
Still, he had nothing to hide. "I hope my people can escape their hardship. I hope the old do not have to seek out a place to die alone. I hope every infant—whether strong or frail—is allowed to live. I hope we can leave these mountains behind. I hope every one of us can walk proudly in the sunlight."
He spoke with unmistakable sincerity. Two hundred and fifty thousand years later, his methods would become extreme—but he had never truly abandoned this original road. He was still trying to help others, even if the means came to look like a twisted path.
"Your aims are noble—I'll grant you that. But your methods are wrong." Thea studied him. "Why do you believe only you can lead your people to prosperity? Can't someone else? Death stands before every living thing equally. Why not let yourself rest in that peace?"
To an ordinary person, those words might sound like an invitation to die. But Thea sensed that Rao held no particular attachment to his own survival—she was speaking more as an outside observer quietly suggesting someone take a break.
Rao showed no anger. Something hardened in his expression instead—quiet certainty, not pride. "This is duty. A duty entrusted to me by every one of my people. Until that goal is fulfilled, I will not step back."
No fear of death. No hunger for power. Only the weight of responsibility.
If Earth's public servants had this kind of resolve, they'd have unified the universe by now.
At the same time, Thea gained a new appreciation for Kryptonian stubbornness. With an ancestor like this, no wonder every Kryptonian she'd ever met was more resolute than the last—Zod, Faora, H'el, Clark, Kara, even that dog Krypto. Rao had, through sheer accumulated influence across the centuries, pressed something into the Kryptonian character: an unshakeable core, an absolute refusal to surrender, a will to carry any burden in service of a cherished ideal. The Kryptonian people were extraordinary, and Rao's fingerprints were everywhere.
"You shouldn't let your personal will override everyone else's... The spirit of free choice—isn't that a principle of your people?" Kara was conflicted. She could see the greatness of what Rao was reaching toward, but it ran against everything she believed.
"How could it be otherwise? I have always honored that principle. It is the very foundation of everything we're building." The denial was completely unaffected.
"My children—I have never stripped away your individual will. I have only asked for your help. Is even that wrong?" From the empty air, a second Rao stepped forward: silver-haired, ancient, having followed them here—wearing an expression of deep and pitiable grief as he addressed Kara.
Two versions of the same man, standing side by side. Batman and Kara both shifted into defensive stances.
Thea laid a quiet hand on each of them. "He hasn't fully entered this timeline. It's only a projection."
Two temporal instances of Rao, together—no anomaly. Thea studied the phenomenon carefully.
The divine Rao's method of traversing time was entirely different from theirs. To her eyes, it resembled something close to a magical Wish effect—collective faith gathered by a deity, leveraged to move across timelines. Over two hundred and fifty thousand years, the life force sustaining him had been supplied entirely by his worshippers. The man he had originally been was long gone; the being standing here was a living collective, shaped by Rao's will but composed of the distilled essence of everyone who had ever believed in him.
"You? You're me?" The ancient Rao stared at the familiar stranger beside him, disbelief written across his face.
"For the sake of your ideals, you became a god. This is what you will one day become." Batman made the introduction plainly.
The ancient Rao studied the figure at his side. The face was identical. The presence was not.
Cold. The eyes held no warmth—and none of the regard that living people deserved from one another.
That is not me.
"You are not me."
"I am you."
The two old men fell into an argument. Kara and Batman soon joined in. Thea crossed her arms and watched from the outside.
Kara ran out of material quickly and was effectively eliminated, leaving Batman and the ancient Rao as the primary forces, working together against the divine version.
Two hundred and fifty thousand years. The drift had been slow and invisible—and devastating. Confronted now with who he once was, the divine Rao couldn't hide how far he had strayed.
It also sounded a warning she took personally. Rao—principled, self-disciplined, arguably the most admirable Kryptonian who had ever lived—had become unrecognizable. She was a far more complicated human being with a considerably more ambiguous moral record. Holding onto herself and staying true to her original resolve through everything ahead was a real headache.
"You will obstruct my grand purpose!" The divine Rao was running out of arguments. He reached toward his younger self.
Thea moved before he could connect.
"Everyone fall back—he's feeding energy into the timeline." A blade of concentrated wind swept toward Rao's outstretched hand.
They exchanged several rapid blows. Thea was careful not to commit full force. Rao was threaded through the timeline itself, and striking too hard risked tearing a hole in it—which meant the consequences would be unbearable. She had enough Kryptonian cousins showing up one after another whenever they pleased as it was. She wasn't going to manufacture new ones.
Under her deliberately held-back offense, Rao forced his way into the timeline with considerable effort.