NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: First Steps in Smallville
The Kent farm was a place that felt timeless, a living piece of Americana preserved against the tides of change. The house itself was a two-story structure with white wooden siding and green shutters that had long since faded to a dull olive. Martha kept it spotless, the porch swept daily, the windows cleaned so they sparkled in the morning light. Wind chimes dangled from the rafters, their soft melodies mingling with the occasional moo of cows in the distance.
Beyond the house stretched fields of corn, endless rows that danced in the wind, their golden tassels catching the sunlight like tiny flames. The barn stood proud and weathered, its red paint peeling in places, exposing the raw wood beneath. Inside, the smell of hay and oil mixed with the faint, earthy scent of soil—a smell that Clark would come to associate with home.
To a casual observer, it was an ordinary Kansas farm. But to me, reborn as Clark Kent with the weight of Krypton on my shoulders, it was a sanctuary.
It started small, with things I thought were normal at first. When I was six, I carried a sack of potatoes across the yard, only to realize I had lifted it with one hand. Jonathan, who had been watching from the porch, squinted at me, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Clark," he called, his voice steady but curious. "You need help with that?"
I froze, suddenly aware of what I was doing. "Uh, no, Dad. I got it!" I said, lowering the sack to the ground as casually as I could manage. My heart pounded in my chest as I avoided his gaze.
But the strange occurrences kept piling up. One night, I woke up in the dark, my eyes aching like they were burning. When I blinked, the world around me lit up—not with light, but with strange layers. I saw through the walls of my room, through the barn outside, and into the field where cows grazed in the moonlight. I gasped and clamped my hands over my eyes, squeezing them shut until the strange vision disappeared.
The moment Jonathan discovered my powers was one of the most pivotal days of my early life. It was summer, and the sky was a flawless expanse of blue, dotted with lazy white clouds. Jonathan had asked me to help him fix the tractor, a rusted old thing that always seemed to need repairs. I had climbed under it, holding a wrench in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
The wrench slipped, clanging loudly against the metal. Frustrated, I pushed the tractor slightly to the side to give myself more room. It wasn't until I heard the sharp intake of breath from behind me that I realized what I had done.
Jonathan stood there, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Clark," he said slowly. "How did you move that?"
I hesitated, my mind racing for an excuse. "It wasn't that heavy," I mumbled.
Jonathan crouched beside me, his eyes level with mine. "Clark, you just moved a tractor like it was a sack of flour. That's not... normal."
My chest tightened as I looked at him. "I didn't mean to," I said, my voice small. "It just... happened."
Jonathan sighed, his gaze softening. "Son, listen to me. I don't know why you're different, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. You're strong—stronger than anyone I've ever seen—but you've got to be careful. You've got to learn to control it."
The storm cellar had always been off-limits, but as a child with the mind of an adult and the curiosity of someone who already knew what lay hidden beneath, it was impossible to resist. On a particularly stormy evening, with rain hammering the windows and thunder shaking the walls, I slipped out of bed and crept downstairs.
The cellar door groaned as I opened it, revealing a dark stairwell leading into the earth. I descended slowly, the air growing cooler with each step. The space smelled damp and metallic, the faint scent of rust mingling with the soil.
In the center of the cellar stood the ship. It gleamed faintly even in the low light, its surface smooth and seamless, like liquid metal frozen in time. Strange, organic patterns ran along its surface, glowing faintly as I approached. My heart raced as I placed a trembling hand on the ship.
The moment my skin touched it, the ship came alive. Light burst forth in lines and spirals, illuminating the room in shades of blue and white. A low hum filled the air, rising in pitch until it became a voice.
"Kal-El," it said.
I stumbled back, my eyes widening as a holographic figure emerged from the ship. The man before me was tall and regal, his white robes flowing around him like water. His face was sharp, his eyes piercing, yet there was a warmth in his expression that caught me off guard.
"Who... who are you?" I stammered.
"I am Jor-El, your father," the figure said, his voice deep and resonant.
I stared at him, my mind racing. This was the moment I had anticipated, the moment that would change everything. I wasn't just a boy from Kansas. I wasn't even just Clark Kent. I was Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, and the Codex—the culmination of my people's knowledge and DNA—was embedded within me.
Jor-El explained Krypton's destruction, his voice tinged with sorrow. He spoke of the Codex, of the legacy I now carried, and of the potential I held within me.
"You will grow strong under Earth's yellow sun," he said. "But strength alone does not define a man. It is your choices that will shape you, Kal-El. You must use your gifts wisely."
The hologram flickered, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. "I'm just a kid," I said, my voice shaking. "How am I supposed to... to do all of this?"
Jor-El's expression softened. "You are not alone, my son. You have the love and guidance of those who raised you. Trust in them, as I trusted in you."
As the hologram faded, I sat in the dimly lit cellar, my head in my hands. The enormity of what Jor-El had told me was overwhelming. I wasn't just a boy. I was the hope of an entire civilization. And yet, I was still Clark Kent, a child living on a farm in Kansas.
When I finally told Jonathan and Martha about what I had discovered, they didn't flinch. Jonathan listened intently as I recounted Jor-El's message, his brow furrowed in thought. Martha sat beside me, her hand resting gently on mine.
"We always knew you were special, Clark," Martha said softly. "But no matter where you came from, you're our son. And nothing will ever change that."
Jonathan nodded. "She's right, son. What you've got inside you... it's big. Bigger than anything I can understand. But we'll figure it out together. You're not in this alone."
Their words filled me with a strength I hadn't known I needed. I wasn't just Kal-El. I was Clark Kent, and I had a family that would stand by me no matter what.