The sun had just begun to set when the figure took to the skies. A handful of stragglers heading home from work happened a glance upward, and were soon pointing and shouting. For the muscular silhouette soaring above was a vision of majesty.
The figure continued along the skyline, his eyes absorbing every detail, experiencing every image as though through the eyes of an infant, excitement gripping him. He plunged ahead, wind rifling his jet-black hair.
He was outside the city now, and gaining altitude by the moment. The view up here was amazing. The crimson sunbeams of the firebrand in the sky played off the city's highest towers, and illuminated the surrounding rocky landscape. A wash of emotion overtook him, as the scene cascaded against his senses. For the first time in a long time, he felt the pure joy of living. The scream shattered his reverie. It's urgency perforated the air, and galvanised the figure into action.
He hurled himself earthward, like a bat out of Hell, eyes sweeping left and right. A great force seemed to seize his chest, one he would later diagnose as his own heart pounding, as he found the source of the scream, and pulled up short.
A young girl, fifteen, sixteen, had lost control of her scooter on a winding back road that lead from the city into the mountains, and she was now barrelling toward an alarming precipice.
The figure overcame his paralysing panic, and forced himself to rocket forward once more. The flapping of his cloak was suddenly lost as wind and scenery rushed by. The girl screamed again, as her scooter popped into the air. There was no joy in her flight as there had been in his, for at the end of it waited only fiery death. Then he was there, plucking her away from certain doom as one would pluck an apple from a tree.
They set down on the road. The shocked look in the girl's eyes conveyed that there was no need for a safety lecture. She managed, "Thanks," and the figure smiled. Suddenly, he felt heroic. There were few better feelings in life.
It was at that moment that the planet chose to rebuke him. A massive tremor coursed through the land, shaking them both.
"Damn," he muttered. "It's time."
In minutes, he touched down on a high-rise balcony. His wife was already waiting for him.
"Jor-El!" Lara exclaimed from the doorway. "Well?" Jor-El held her gaze as he unstrapped his latest invention. "Yes, Lara, the anti-gravity harness works adequately. The technology can be incorporated into the rocket."
"Oh, Jor-El, must we?" Lara's eyes welled with tears. "How can we just abandon our son---?" "Shh." Jor-El lead her inside. "You felt the tremor as I did. Our planet is dying. We have no choice if our son is to survive."
"But, Jor, if the Council is right, if Krypton is stable, then we'll be sealing little Kal's fate---" "The Council is short-sighted. Lara, I do not make such decisions lightly. I have been over and over the data. Believe me, wife, we are not long for this world. And this world is not long for the Universe."
Lara choked back a reply, and finally conceded a nod.
A second tremor rocked the house, and a third. Jor-El swallowed. "It's coming." The two charged up a flight of stairs into Jor-El's lab. It was sparse and Utopian, but it was his sanctuary, his pride and joy. No, he decided. His pride and joy lay sealed in the small rocket ship that was central to the lab, festooned with computer consoles. Encased in it was young Kal-El.
Without another word, Jor-El primed the consoles, and watched in cold silence as the skylight above cycled open.
Another tremor came, and another. "Goodbye, my son," the Kryptonian intoned, and, his wife at his side, he launched the rocket into the void.
Even as the walls collapsed about him, Jor-El realised that part of him would live, live to fight another day.
THE BEGINNING