Reforged in the Sun: Clark Kent Reborn SI

The calendar on the wall read October 18, 2002. Outside, Smallville was draped in autumn's finest—a fiery tapestry of red, orange, and yellow leaves that shimmered in the early morning sun. A light breeze swept through the streets, scattering leaves across the sidewalks and swirling them around the boots of festival-goers.

The Fall Festival was in full swing. Vendors in plaid shirts and warm flannels set up their stalls, the scents of caramel apples, roasted nuts, and spiced cider mingling in the crisp air. Laughter rippled through the town square as children ran past, their hands sticky with cotton candy and their cheeks red from the chill. Somewhere in the distance, a band played an upbeat tune on a makeshift stage, its cheerful rhythm carried on the wind.

But on the Kent farm, life moved to a different rhythm—steady and timeless. Jonathan's tractor rumbled across the fields, its engine coughing occasionally as he coaxed it into another day's work. Inside the barn, sunlight filtered through the wooden slats, catching floating specks of dust in its golden glow. The familiar smells of hay, oil, and worn leather wrapped around me like a memory.

I stood in the open barn doorway, gazing out over the cornfields. They swayed gently in the breeze, golden stalks bending like waves. The sky was clear, a pale blue that stretched on forever, but my thoughts were anything but calm. My life felt like a storm I couldn't quite outrun.

For all my strength, for all the powers I had, there were days when it felt like I was holding up the weight of the world.

I turned back to the barn, where I'd set up the Kryptonite finder—or, at least, my best attempt at one. It was a crude device, cobbled together from scraps I'd salvaged from Dad's old toolshed and spare parts Chloe had helped me order "for a school project." It wasn't pretty—a jumble of wires, circuit boards, and an old radio antenna—but it was mine.

I crouched next to it, adjusting the power levels. The idea was simple: detect the unique energy signature Kryptonite emitted, like a beacon cutting through the noise of the world. If it worked, it would help me find meteor fragments before they could hurt anyone—or me.

The problem was, it didn't always work.

I twisted the last wire into place, my hand steady but my mind racing. With the press of a button, the finder hummed to life. The lights flickered, and a faint buzzing sound filled the barn. My heart raced as the needle on the device spiked, its movement erratic.

Come on… just a little more.

The finder let out a high-pitched whine, and then—pop. A small burst of smoke curled into the air, and the device went dead.

"Great," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "Back to square one."

"Clark?" Mom's voice called from the kitchen, cutting through my frustration. "Breakfast is ready! Don't make me call you twice."

I sighed, glancing one last time at the broken device. No matter how much I trained, no matter how many tools I built, it felt like I was always one step behind. Kryptonite wasn't just dangerous—it was a reminder of everything I didn't know about myself. And sometimes, it felt like I'd never catch up.

The house smelled like fresh-baked bread and warm apple pie, the kind of comforting aroma that made you forget your troubles, at least for a little while. Mom had already set the table with oatmeal, toast, and a jar of her homemade strawberry jam. Dad came in a moment later, brushing dirt off his hands as he set his hat on the back of his chair.

He gave me a look as he sat down, his sharp blue eyes catching mine. "You've been spending a lot of time out in that barn. Everything okay?"

I hesitated, stirring my oatmeal. "I'm just… trying to keep up with everything. Training with Jor-El, school, helping people—it feels like there's always more to do. And then there's the Kryptonite finder... I thought it might actually work this time."

Dad leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "It's good that you're working on it, Clark. But you're not going to solve every problem in one day. You've got to give yourself time—and space."

Mom sat down beside me, her expression soft. "Your dad's right. You've already done so much, Clark. But you can't do it all alone. And you don't have to."

Their words were comforting, but the weight of responsibility still lingered. I managed a small smile, grateful for them, even if the road ahead still felt overwhelming.

By mid-morning, I'd joined Chloe and Pete at the Fall Festival. The square was alive with energy—booths overflowing with seasonal treats, kids darting between crowds with balloon animals, and laughter filling the air. Chloe carried her camera like a weapon, snapping pictures of anything and everything that caught her eye.

"This," she said, gesturing dramatically to the bustling scene, "is what I love about Smallville. It's got that perfect small-town charm. You can't beat it."

Pete grinned, adjusting his letterman jacket. "And you're the mayor of Smallville charm, right? Admit it, Chloe, you secretly want to run this town."

Chloe snorted. "Please. You know I'm more interested in uncovering Smallville's mysteries than sitting in boring meetings about zoning laws."

I chuckled as Chloe turned her camera on Pete, catching him mid-laugh. It was moments like this—simple and light—that reminded me why I loved this town.

But the peace didn't last.

As we wandered the festival, my attention was drawn to Lana Lang at her family's booth. She wore a soft gray sweater and a navy scarf that made her hazel eyes sparkle. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and as she smiled, the whole world seemed a little brighter.

"Clark!" she called, waving me over.

Pete and Chloe exchanged knowing glances before wandering off, leaving me alone with Lana.

"Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Looks like you've got your hands full."

She smiled, gesturing to the jars of jam stacked neatly on the table. "Yeah, it's not exactly thrilling, but it's nice being part of the festival."

Before I could respond, Whitney Fordman arrived. His broad shoulders and freshly pressed letterman jacket made him look every bit the golden-boy quarterback, but the glare in his eyes was sharp.

"Lana," he said, his voice clipped. "Everything okay here?"

Lana sighed, already tired of his jealousy. "Whitney, it's fine. Clark was just stopping by."

Whitney's gaze hardened as it landed on me. "You always seem to be in the wrong place, Kent. Maybe it's time you got the message."

My jaw tightened, but I stayed quiet. Lana, however, wasn't having it.

"Whitney," she said firmly, stepping between us. "Stop. You're making a scene."

After a tense moment, Whitney backed off, muttering under his breath as he walked away. Lana turned to me, her expression apologetic.

"Sorry about that," she said softly. "He's been… tense lately."

I shrugged, forcing a smile. "It's okay. I should probably get back to Pete and Chloe anyway. See you around?"

She nodded, her smile returning. "Yeah. See you."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, a faint cry reached my ears, cutting through the festival's noise. I froze, tilting my head to focus. But this time, it wasn't just a child in trouble—it was something else. A low, faint hum in the distance, like a strange energy vibrating just beneath the surface of the earth.

Was that Kryptonite?

The thought sent a chill down my spine. Whatever it was, I had a feeling my work on the finder wasn't over yet.