Kryptonite—the fragments left behind after the explosion of Krypton, Superman's homeworld—is also one of Superman's most well-known weaknesses.
But for Silo, Kryptonite was the most important source of his power, and also a little snack he liked to munch on in his spare time. Just as humans enjoy eating candy or cracking sunflower seeds, this was his hobby.
Kryptonite was everywhere back in his hometown, but after leaving it behind, Silo discovered that the outside world was all storms and tempests.
Not only were Kryptonite fragments few and far between, but Metropolis's sun was also several hundred times harsher than the one back home. It was like dragging a Gothamite out into the blazing sun—one second later, they'd be reduced to ash.
As for the logical point that a normal Gothamite couldn't survive in outer space or at high altitudes in the first place, and their heart would stop before the sun even got the chance? What did that have to do with him?
Silo let out a deep sigh. This was why he found Gotham so warm and comforting. The only downside was that Gotham was a bit more damp and chilly than his hometown—his home wasn't nearly this humid.
The curly-haired teenager propped his chin on his hand, the teacher's voice at the podium gliding smoothly past his ears. The thick-framed, old-fashioned glasses made him look like a model student—no one would ever guess that this guy, who looked every bit the "bookworm," was actually thinking about nothing but how to collect snacks for himself.
He had come to Gotham for two main reasons. One was to escape Metropolis's overly harsh sunlight. The other was that, while he was learning about this world and running all over the globe, a kind-hearted person had told him—
[Kryptonite? Ha, Gotham's got it everywhere. You could probably piece together half a Krypton from what's down there. Why don't you go mining?]
The kind-hearted person had even added emphatically: [Remember to dig deep. The deeper you go, the more surprises you'll find.]
Silo believed him.
He could tell when someone was lying to him. This kind-hearted stranger he'd stumbled upon by chance didn't exactly look like a good person, but Silo had always been good at getting along with people like that. So he was certain that this kind-hearted person might have a few screws loose, but he definitely wasn't deceiving him.
Especially since the stranger had that unmistakable "Hey, there's a trap here, hurry up and jump in" vibe of ill intent—so obvious that Silo trusted him even more.
Gotham definitely had Kryptonite, but there was also definitely a trap waiting for him.
As time passed and with the unavoidable exposure to sunlight, Silo could feel his body growing weaker and weaker. He needed to get his hands on Kryptonite before his powers completely faded—even just a small piece.
When the bell rang, Tim was hesitating over whether to strike up a conversation with Silo, to probe whether he suspected anything about Robin's identity, when he saw the curly-haired figure stand up casually and walk over to his seat—well, right next to it.
The teacher had just left, and most of the students were still in their seats, nearly all eyes fixed on him.
Silo didn't seem to notice at all. He tapped on the desk of Tim's deskmate, the sound of his knuckles against the surface somewhat muffled.
"Hey, the sun's a bit harsh. Mind switching seats with me?" Silo said cheerfully, smiling at the classmate he'd chosen. "You'll say yes, right?"
Silo's hair was very fluffy. Gotham High didn't prohibit male students from keeping long hair, so the voluminous curls reaching his shoulders completely blocked Tim's line of sight. He could only hear Silo's friendly, lighthearted voice.
Hearing Silo's words, Tim glanced over at Silo's original seat. The weather today was beautiful, completely different from the past few days. Because of that, the sunlight streaming through the window was about to fall right onto Silo's seat.
A thought flashed through Tim's mind—Silo's UV allergy report. His deskmate's seat was against the wall, and that spot happened to be mostly shielded from the sun.
"BANG—"
Tim's train of thought was suddenly interrupted. He snapped back to attention and looked at his deskmate, who had abruptly stood up, even knocking over his chair in the process.
His deskmate grabbed his backpack in one hand and his un-put-away textbooks in the other, scurrying over to Silo's original seat with his head down, as if Silo were some kind of terrifying beast.
Tim instinctively looked at Silo, only to meet the confused gaze of the curly-haired teenager staring back at him. Silo looked at him innocently and puzzled, then asked for confirmation: "Do I look that scary? Or was I not polite enough just now?"
Still so Metropolian—friendly and easygoing.
Tim made that assessment instinctively in his mind.
Silo's features were fairly ordinary; the only decent-looking part, his eyes, were hidden behind those thick-framed glasses. If not for his outgoing, self-assured personality and decent build, he probably would've been shoved into a corner and bullied on his very first day.
"See, you think these glasses are ugly too, right? I really can't understand my old man's taste sometimes." Silo quickly got over it, righted the chair, and plopped himself down, starting to complain. "It's just that I can't be in the sun. It used to be worse—back then I couldn't even look at the sun, so my dad made me these UV-blocking glasses."
"He said practicality matters more than looks, so he just wouldn't make it stylish for me." Silo sounded a bit displeased.
"Did I just ask that out loud?" Tim hesitated.
"No, but the look you're giving these glasses is about the same as the expression I had when I first got them. Old guys who don't understand fashion are gonna get left behind now—" Silo muttered under his breath.
Tim recalled the first time Robin had met Silo—the Patrick Star T-shirt and the Superman backpack—and offered a tactful, polite smile.
"By the way, little Tim, you still haven't answered my question. Do you have superpowers?" Silo caught him off guard with the same question again.
Earlier, Tim might have hesitated and felt at a loss, but after one class, he was no longer the same Timothy Drake. So he spoke up: "Didn't I already refuse? That nickname."
"Just because you refuse, do I have to agree?" Silo shot back.
"Then what's the point of asking for my opinion?" Tim said helplessly.
"Procedure." Silo's eyes curved into a smile. "My dad told me not to pick up bad habits—being too dictatorial will get you dragged out into the sun. So no matter what, I have to ask for the person's thoughts first, then decide whether I can do it."
"You're upset?" The curly-haired boy thought seriously for a moment. "Alright, fine, I'll call you Timothy then. I actually like you quite a bit—I don't want you to be unhappy."
Tim tried to reclaim his "Drake," while Silo kept pressing about Tim's superpowers. In the end, neither succeeded, so they chose to each take a step back.
"I don't have superpowers. Just call me Tim." That was what Tim said.
"I still don't believe you. And I feel like 'little Tim' sounds cuter, you know?"
"Silo Sunlight." Tim called out calmly.
Silo suddenly shivered. He looked left and right, feeling like a Nightwing was watching him from behind.
But Silo found nothing, and the ever-present sense of threat from Nightwing still made him reluctantly abandon his original plan, grumbling in complaint: "Fine. Tim."
Tim was satisfied.
Then it hit him belatedly.
Wait—how come it felt like both steps back had been his?
…
Silo was someone who couldn't sit still. The teachers at Gotham High weren't too strict about students switching seats on their own, so he happily moved himself to be Tim's deskmate and spent the whole day chatting with him.
Silo's thinking was all over the place, often saying things that defied common sense—like the sun rising in the west, or the human heart being on the right side.
Tim couldn't tell whether he'd read some pirated book or whether he'd been alone for so long that he was mixing up his words.
But the more Silo talked, the more Tim could confirm that he hadn't had anyone to talk to in the past. Silo spoke so much to himself, barely caring about responses—even if Tim sat there quietly reading, Silo could keep himself entertained talking alone.
What he needed wasn't a conversation partner, just a "doll" he liked.
Tim tentatively asked, and got an unreserved answer from Silo: "I did have a friend before, but he died."
"So one of my dad's friends saw I was too bored and lent me a monkey. I used to talk to that monkey all the time."
Tim: …
Tim: I really should be ashamed of myself!
Silo didn't care much about what Tim thought. He'd had the happiest day since arriving in Gotham.
Finally, he cheerfully said goodbye to Tim after school and returned to the apartment he'd rented in Gotham.
The place he'd rented wasn't small, decorated warmly, and looked fairly clean—though who knew if someone had died there before. Silo hummed a popular Metropolis tune as he pushed the door open and walked in.
Silo tossed his backpack aside, and as he passed the sofa, he happened to walk by the full-length mirror set at a slight angle not far away. He suddenly stepped back two paces, fitting his entire body into the mirror's frame.
The curly-haired boy narrowed his eyes, raised his left hand, and adjusted the thick-framed glasses on his face, unable to help complaining: "Lex's aesthetic really needs an upgrade. That armor of his is beyond stupid."
He tossed his hair and casually took off the glasses he'd worn all day. As he did, subtle shifts began to appear across the features of Silo Sunlight's otherwise ordinary face.
The unremarkable appearance underwent a dramatic transformation the moment he fully removed the glasses.
Silo leaned toward the mirror, pushing all his bangs up, and looked at his perfect face with satisfaction. His lips curved upward, and his tone was light: "A face this good-looking is meant to be seen."
Reflected in the mirror was a youth with exquisitely handsome features, flawless in every way—but the most striking thing was those blue-toned eyes. They were so clear and pure, yet so inhuman, that even a single glance could seem to steal away one's very soul.
And yet, strangely, such features should belong to the soaring, righteous, and kind Son of Tomorrow of Metropolis—Superman.
Silo stepped away from the mirror and swapped his shirt for the Superman hoodie he'd bought in Metropolis.
He glanced at the sky outside, a smile spreading across his face as he unconsciously revealed his sharp canine teeth, which lent his otherwise divinely sculpted features a dangerous wildness that sent a chill down one's spine. Yet, given his age, it also carried a hint of youthful naivety.
Finally, Silo casually grabbed the UV-protective sunglasses from beside the sofa—mainly for style—and leaped out through the window.
"Alright, let's see tonight where in Gotham is best for mining," he muttered to himself.