Chapter Text
All he felt was pain.
It started at his right hand—where it had made contact with the Eye—and surged up his arm to his shoulder, then radiated through his entire body. A kind of pain so intense, it defied expression. He didn’t even scream. His mouth was frozen in a silent, grotesque rictus. All he could do was hold on, endure it, until—
Nothing. Abrupt and complete.
When he opened his eyes, he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.
The contrast was so jarring he forgot everything—his training, his instincts, even the wisdom passed down from his ancestors. He just lay there, unmoving, eyes wide and fixed upward. No feigned sleep to gather intel, no regulating his breath, no silent counting. Just blank, numbed shock.
After… who knew how long, he finally began to process his surroundings. Something was definitely off.
One moment he’d been dying in agony inside a glowing cave in the middle of nowhere— The next, he was lying in a relatively comfortable bed.
And not just any bed. Looking around, he realized he was in some kind of dorm room. A children’s dorm room. At least ten small cots surrounded him, each with a sleeping kid. Then it hit him: he was in a cot too. That couldn’t be right. He hadn’t fit in one of these in decades.
Except… he did fit. Because he was a child. Again.
Desmond stared at his small hands in horrified fascination. Minutes passed. He nearly bit through his lower lip trying to stifle the scream rising in his throat.
It had been two days since Desmond had woken up in his four-year-old body. And it was his body—he was sure of it. It even had the tiny scar on his index finger from when he first learned to throw a dagger at age three. His father had insisted that was old enough to begin training, never mind that the rest of the class had been at least eight. It wasn’t much better… but still, perspective.
So yes: his body, his name, Desmond Miles. Everything else? Completely wrong..
For one, it was over 200 years after his supposed death. He was in Japan. And somehow—impossibly—he could understand and speak fluent Japanese, with no ancestor to draw the language from.
He needed intel and he needed it fast.
He still had some muscle memory and reflexes—surprisingly sharp for a four-year-old—and he was definitely stronger than he had been at this age the first time around. But he was still four. In an orphanage. Under constant surveillance.
Where, inexplicably, one of the caretakers had three eyes.
Nobody seemed surprised. In fact, they thought he was the odd one when he stared for too long. Because, you know—three. freaking. eyes. Even Ezio, hallucination that he was, just stopped there to stare some.
So, this time he faked a headache.
While ‘sleeping’ it off in the infirmary, he waited for the nurse to sneak out for a smoke break, then slipped out of bed and accessed the computer. He had to move fast, work efficiently.
He didn’t find much—but it was enough.
Just enough to confirm that this reality was, at the very least, similar to his own. Not some absurd comic-book reality where he’d end up in the Avengers. Thank God.
In the limited time he had, he managed to dig up a news archive.
One article stood out.
At the time of his death, the entire planet had witnessed a ten-minute-long aurora borealis. Globally. Simultaneously.
Even now—two centuries later—it remained unexplained.
Not that anyone was really trying to explain it. The scientific community had been a little preoccupied.
Quirks.
The first recorded Quirk manifested seven months after his death.
Coincidence? Desmond seriously doubted it. And he didn’t need his ancestors' dubious stare to get what happened.
Funny thing was, that global aurora had appeared in early theories about the origin of Quirks… but it had long since been pushed to the fringe. A discarded footnote in favor of genetic drift, sudden evolution, or other mainstream explanations.
He’d need more time to gather intel.
A lot more.
It had been a month since Desmond woke up here.
In that time, he’d managed a longer session on a computer—long enough to confirm the continued existence of the Hephaestus Network. Although it hadn’t been maintained by humans for nearly 170 years, the AI—still bearing Clay’s augmentations—was still functioning. Still gathering intel. Still quietly monitoring both Templars and Assassins.
According to the logs, the exact moment of Desmond’s death coincided with a total wipe of all digital records regarding Isu artifacts—on both sides. Abstergo and Assassin databases alike were purged. The Templars lost everything on genetic memory and Animus research. And no new record could remain.
Ironically, their total reliance on digital archives—with no paper backups—meant that only a handful within either organization retained any knowledge of the Apple of Eden.
The Assassins didn't waste time.
Those few who knew were immediately targeted and eliminated.
The Apple, after all, was just one method of imposing order and suppressing free will. But between the organizational collapse caused by the data wipe, the chaos of the emerging Quirk Era, and the Assassins’ final sweep...
It was the beginning of the end.
And without Templars to fight, the Brotherhood simply faded into obscurity.
Gone.
Talk about irony.
The research triggered more than a few nightmares. Mostly memories of his death—and his final thought.
It also made the Bleeding Effect worse for a while. Sharper. More vivid.
For a few days, even Edward started hanging around.
Which was ridiculous, considering he rarely showed up. Even in the Animus, the pirate barely gave him more than a nod.
Now he was leaning against walls and offering unsolicited opinions on modern fashion.
Desmond almost preferred Ezio’s dramatic sighs.
He couldn’t be sure, but… he suspected the data wipe had been his doing.
The Eye was beyond powerful. And though he’d resigned himself to death, the thought of Juno going free had terrified him.
He died trying to stop her.
Trying to erase her. Her data.
All the Isu bullshit that had ruined his life before it even began.
Who’s to say the Eye hadn’t granted him that wish?
If the congratulatory pats—and near-smiles—he got from both Connor and Altair were anything to go by, his ancestors certainly seemed to think so.
So now, here he was.
Two hundred years in the future.
No Templars. No Assassins. No family.
His Eagle Vision was stronger than ever—easily twice what it had been before. Even at four years old, his body already felt honed to the edge of human potential.
Unfortunately, the Bleeding Effect hadn’t vanished. It had dulled—its frequency easing when he wasn’t actively stirring it up with research. But it was still there. Still haunting his every step.
All that was missing… was a Quirk.
He’d read the statistics. He had no intention of being labeled “Quirkless.” That was basically social exile waiting to happen.
So he needed to prove that Eagle Vision was real. Quantifiable. Testable.
Entirely mental.
No visual manifestations.
No flashy powers.
Eagle Vision. Easy.
Note the sarcasm, please.
Another week passed, and Desmond finally realized something he’d been unconsciously ignoring—old habits die hard, after all.
The scrutiny he was under wasn’t normal.
He was used to being watched. Tracked. Evaluated. But this?
This was different.
It wasn’t just Altair or Ezio occasionally hovering at the edge of his vision with judgmental sighs and crossed arms. No—this was real. Tangible. Intentional.
Misaki-sensei, one of the orphanage caretakers, was observing him too closely. Her gaze lingered just a second too long. Her questions were always a little too pointed. At first, Desmond had chalked it up to paranoia.
Old instincts. Ghosts in his blood.
Then he noticed his roommate, Tamaki, getting the same treatment.
And that’s when Tamaki’s hair sprouted flowers. Literally.
They were watching for Quirks.
And Tamaki had manifested his Quirk just a week after turning four—exactly three weeks after Desmond’s own birthday.
So, the clock was ticking.
Fortunately, he had a plan. Or at least the beginning of one.
All he needed… was something to climb.
Two days later, luck (or fate) delivered.
The dorm group was taken on a field trip to a nearby park—standard “let the kids run off some energy” outing. But next to the playground stood a water tower. Weathered, rust-flecked, but solid. And tall.
The moment Misaki-sensei’s attention shifted—even briefly—Desmond moved.
Getting to the top was child’s play.
No pun intended.
By the time she turned back around, he was already there—perched casually on the edge of the tower, legs swinging, a solid twenty meters off the ground, looking as nonchalant as a four-year-old could manage.
Ezio and Altair were crouched beside him. One on either side, each casting sideways glances like disappointed older siblings—likely wondering, if they were real and not hallucinatory bleed-throughs of his fractured genetics, why they’d just watched him scale a playground structure like it was a Templar stronghold.
Still. He needed something believable for a four-year-old.
And preferably something that wouldn’t give Misaki-sensei a full-blown cardiac event.
As it was, he didn’t even need Eagle Vision to see the color drain from her face.
That couldn’t be healthy.
“DESMOND MILES!”
Her voice cracked into the air like a whip.
“What do you think you’re doing?! How did you get up there?!”
Desmond tilted his head, gave her a lazy wave, and replied—deadpan, serious:
“I’m mapping my surroundings.”
“Young man, you are going to be in so much trouble. Just wait until I get you back on solid ground—”
She fumbled for her phone, presumably to call emergency services.
But Desmond had other plans.
After all, this was more than just a stunt. He needed to prove something—to test the precision of his vision and the data it gave him. Not that Eagle Vision was truly visual. It was just the best way to interpret the flood of real-time spatial analysis and predictive calculation offered by his Isu-enhanced brain. And while he genuinely liked Misaki-sensei, she clearly cared for all of her charges, he needed to prove, without the shadow of a doubt, that what he could do was not normal.
So, in his most innocent, singsong voice, he called down:
“You want me down, Sensei?”
Her face went from pale to bone white.
“Desmond—no—”
Too late.
He jumped.
He landed perfectly—feet hitting the grass within the faint glow of the white safe zone his vision had shown him. A four-year-old child, falling from twenty meters with the grace and confidence of a master Assassin spanning lifetimes of training.
And not so much as a scratch.
“What do you mean he doesn’t have a scratch???”
They were now at Musutafu General Hospital, pediatric emergency wing, and Desmond had officially become a medical curiosity.
X-rays. MRIs. Bone density scans. Neurological assessments.
If it beeped, buzzed, or glowed, they’d run it.
One nurse had muttered something about “trying to break physics,” while the attending physician stared at the scan results like they’d been typed by a drunk intern on a dare.
Desmond Miles, age four, was in perfect condition.
No fractures. No bruising. No internal trauma.
Not even a mild sprain.
“I don’t know, Misaki-san,” the doctor finally said, flipping through the chart. “You said he’s four, right?”
“Yes, yes, he’s four!” Misaki-sensei said, half panicked, half furious. “What, you think he has some kind of invincibility Quirk?”
“I don’t think so. We were able to take blood samples without issue—if he had full-body resistance or dermal hardening, we’d have seen signs. But…” The doctor rubbed his chin. “Sometimes, children instinctively access their Quirk without realizing it. Let us speak to him, hmm?”
Meanwhile, Desmond had been sitting quietly the whole time, sucking on a lollipop a nurse had handed him—cherry flavored—and listening to the adults talk around him.
No one had actually bothered to ask him anything yet.
He was just the mystery.
The subject.
Finally, a man in a white coat crouched down in front of him.
“Hello, Miles-kun. I’m Takeda-sensei,” he said gently.
“Hi, sensei!” Desmond beamed, wide-eyed and sweet.
“You gave Misaki-san quite the scare, you know. Could you tell me why you climbed the tower? And how you got up there? And more importantly—how you came down without getting hurt?”
Desmond’s smile somehow grew even bigger.
“Sure!” he chirped. “I wanted some takoyaki, but the shop by the park was closed. So I climbed.”
He swung his legs idly, continuing as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world.
“It was easy. I just grabbed the golden places.”
Takeda blinked. “Golden…?”
“And once I was up there, I could see the whoooole area! Now I know where to get takoyaki and where to buy the All Might figurine I want.”
He paused to lick his lollipop, then added matter-of-factly,
“Oh, and I saw where Chika-chan’s toy car is. It’s in Tadashi-baka’s room. I don’t know why it’s there though.”
The adults blinked at each other.
Desmond kept going.
“And I saw that Yodogawa-san is all red. That was weird. He always seems so nice—he talks to Chika-chan and gives her candy and pats her head. But if he’s red, that’s bad. So I’m gonna tell her he’s a red meanie. Just in case. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Then Desmond took a deep breath, nodded seriously, and finished,
“And I jumped into the safe white space.”
He popped the lollipop back into his mouth and stared back at them with wide, innocent eyes.
The silence stretched a little longer before Takeda-sensei visibly rallied himself.
“That’s... that’s really interesting, Miles-kun. I’ve got a few more questions, if you don’t mind?”
“Sure,” answered the gremlin—I mean, child.
“How long have you been seeing the gold, white, and red stuff… and people?”
“Huh, not long. Definitely before Tamaki got his flower.”
A pause, then a delighted gasp.
“Do you think it’s my Quirk?!”
“Yes, Miles-kun, I think it is,” Takeda said gently. “That’s why I need you to tell me everything you can about what you see—and how you see it. Also, does it happen all the time?”
“Sure, Sensei!” Desmond chirped. “It’s not all the time. At first I had to watch reeeally hard. But now I can just kinda… want it.”
He swung his feet again, clearly pleased with the attention.
“When it happens, it’s like… everything goes grey. Except for the important stuff, that’s gold. And the safe stuff, that’s white. And friends—like Chika-chan—she’s blue and pretty!”
“And the mean stuff,” he added, frowning a little. “Like stupid red Yodogawa-san.”
Takeda nodded slowly, scribbling notes.
Desmond’s smile returned—bright, unbothered, just a kid being curious.
“Also, also! When I was high up—like an eagle—did you know I like eagles? They’re so cool! And! Did you know they don’t get their super cool white feathers until they’re, like, my age?”
He paused for effect—then barreled ahead without waiting.
“Anyway, everything got super clear when I was up there! Like… like a map. Yes! A map! And now I can go anywhere in the neighborhood and I’ll know exactly where I am and where stuff is!”
Misaki-sensei stood off to the side, arms crossed but hands trembling slightly. She was watching Desmond closely—watching the way he sat on the exam bed, still swinging his legs, still sucking on that slowly melting lollipop like nothing was wrong in the world.
Takeda-sensei approached her with a clipboard and a tired smile.
“We’ve logged the preliminary quirk report,” he said gently. “ Mental-type Quirk. Explained as a spatial-perceptive visualization. Provisional name is ‘Eagle Vision.’”
Misaki raised an eyebrow. “He named it, didn’t he?”
“Like he’d been waiting his whole life to,” Takeda said with a soft chuckle. Then his expression sobered. “I understand your concern, Misaki-san. What he did was dangerous. Reckless, even. But from what I can tell… he wasn’t lying.”
Misaki ran a hand through her bangs and sighed. “I know. That’s what scares me.”
Takeda paused, then offered the clipboard again. “You can take him home. We’ll file the report with the early quirk registry office, but there's nothing to suggest he’s a risk. Frankly, I think he’s just… strange. Brilliant, probably. But not dangerous.”
Misaki signed the discharge form with a soft click of her pen. She didn’t respond right away.
Instead, she glanced at Desmond again.
He looked up, eyes shining as he waved at her with sticky fingers. “Sensei! I found three bugs under the bed! I named them! See this one is Haytham, here’s Cross, and that one is Vidic.”
She closed her eyes for a beat. Then she laughed. Just once.
“I’ll need a week to recover,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Takeda smiled again. “Good luck, Misaki-san. You’re going to need it.”
He turned to leave—then paused.
“One more thing,” he said, tone shifting. “This… Yodogawa-san. Do you know him? Because from what Miles-kun described, he might be dangerous. Especially to that girl—Chika-chan. Miles-kun seems very attached to her.”
Misaki’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, Makoto Yodogawa, you’re right. I didn’t even think—God, I need to call the police or something—”
“If I may,” Takeda interrupted gently, “there are protocols we can follow when a quirk awakening reveals potential threats. I’ll contact our liaison in the local police district and give them your coordinates. You won’t have to handle this alone.”
Misaki nodded, jaw set now. “Thank you, Takeda-sensei.”
He offered a nod, then left her standing beside the discharge desk, already dialing her phone.
Behind them, Desmond continued swinging his legs, humming to himself, content.
Mission: Success.