Chapter 18: Shattered Paths

The soft, muted light of dawn filtered through the curtains of the Dutton ranch house, casting long, pale shadows across the worn wooden floor. The living room, usually filled with warmth and the subtle scent of coffee and freshly baked bread, felt cold and empty. Every corner seemed to be shrouded in a heavy silence, one that pressed down on them like a suffocating weight.

John and Evelyn sat across from Alicia, who perched nervously on the edge of the couch. Her shoulders were hunched, her gaze fixed on her clasped hands in her lap. The room seemed to close in around her, the familiar surroundings of the Dutton home suddenly alien and unwelcoming. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, her breath shallow and quick.

John leaned forward slowly, resting his forearms on his knees. His face was tight, drawn, the lines of worry etched deeply into his features. He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Alicia's pale, trembling face. "You know this can't go on like it is," he murmured quietly. His voice was low, rough, filled with the kind of quiet resolve that came from a lifetime of making hard decisions. "Amanda Waller's not going to stop looking for you. And if she finds you… she finds us. She finds Clark."

Alicia flinched, her hands tightening around each other. "I—I know," she whispered softly. Her voice was thin, almost fragile. She looked up slowly, meeting John's gaze with wide, fearful eyes. "But what am I supposed to do? I—I can't—" Her voice broke, and she looked away, her chest tightening painfully. "I don't—want to run anymore."

John's face tightened. He glanced at Evelyn, his gaze flickering with a mixture of pain and helplessness. Then he looked back at Alicia, his expression hardening. "That's not what this is," he said softly. "This isn't about running. It's about… surviving. About—about making sure they never find you again."

Alicia swallowed hard, her throat tight. "And what if they—what if they do?" she whispered. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing herself to meet John's gaze again. "What if—if no matter what I do, they—they find me? Then—then what?"

"Then we're done," John murmured softly. His voice was low, filled with a terrible, unshakeable certainty. "Then Clark is done. Everything we've been trying to protect—all of it will be—will be gone. Because once Waller has her claws in you, she won't stop until she gets what she wants."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Alicia's breath hitched. She looked down, blinking rapidly against the sudden sting of tears. "So—so what are you saying?" she whispered. "That—that I have to just… just disappear?"

John's jaw clenched. He leaned back slightly, his gaze dark and steady. "I'm saying you have a choice," he murmured quietly. "You can leave. Go somewhere far away. Get a new identity, a new life. Change your name, your hair, your—everything." He took a deep breath, his gaze flickering over her pale, drawn face. "Or… you stay."

Alicia frowned, her heart skipping a beat. "Stay?" she whispered softly. "But—but you just said that—"

"Stay here," John interrupted gently. His gaze softened slightly as he looked at her, his expression tight. "On the ranch. With us."

Alicia blinked, a sharp, startled breath escaping her lips. "With… with you?" she repeated slowly. She looked up at Evelyn, her eyes wide, confused. "But… but I'd—"

"You'd have to change," Evelyn murmured quietly. She leaned forward, reaching out to gently take Alicia's trembling hands in her own. Her touch was soft, comforting, but her gaze was fierce, filled with a deep, maternal protectiveness. "Your hair, your clothes… your face. Everything."

Alicia's heart pounded violently in her chest. "My… face?" she whispered.

Evelyn nodded slowly. "If Waller's looking for you," she murmured softly, "then she's looking for… this." She gestured gently at Alicia's tear-streaked face. "She's looking for—blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin. She's looking for Alicia."

Alicia swallowed hard, a wave of nausea crashing over her. "But—" She broke off, shaking her head violently. "I—I don't—"

"It's not just a disguise," John murmured softly. His gaze was steady, unyielding. "It's—it's becoming someone else, Alicia. Someone who doesn't exist in the real world anymore. Someone who—who no one's looking for."

The silence was deafening.

Alicia stared down at her lap, her chest heaving. Her hands trembled violently in Evelyn's grip, her mind racing. Someone who doesn't exist. A ghost. A shadow.

Someone who—who could never leave. Who could never—never be.

She looked up slowly, her eyes shimmering with tears. "What would I—what would I do here?" she whispered brokenly. She glanced between John and Evelyn, her expression tight with pain and fear. "If—if I stay, if I—if I become someone else… then what am I supposed to—"

"You'd be safe," Evelyn interrupted softly. Her voice was low, soothing, filled with a quiet, unshakeable resolve. "You'd—you'd help around the ranch. Take care of the house, of—of the animals. You'd—you'd belong, Alicia. You'd have a—a place. Here."

Alicia's heart ached, a fresh wave of tears blurring her vision. "But I—I wouldn't be—me," she whispered hoarsely. "I—I wouldn't—"

"You'd be alive," John said quietly. His voice was low, fierce, filled with a dark, unrelenting intensity. "You'd be safe. You'd be—you'd be here. With us. Where—where we can protect you."

Alicia's chest tightened. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing herself to meet John's gaze. "But I'd—I'd have to stay," she murmured softly. Her voice was trembling, filled with fear and uncertainty. "I'd—I'd never be able to—"

"Leave," Evelyn finished softly. Her gaze softened, her expression filled with a deep, aching sympathy. "No, sweetie. You—you wouldn't. Not—not ever."

The words felt like a knife twisting in her chest.

Alicia squeezed her eyes shut, a broken sob escaping her lips. "But I—I can't—"

"You can," John murmured softly. His voice was low, filled with a terrible, quiet determination. "Because if you don't… if you don't, they'll find you. They'll kill you, Alicia. Or—or worse."

Alicia's breath hitched, her entire body trembling violently. "Worse," she whispered hoarsely.

John nodded slowly, his face pale and drawn. "They'll use you," he murmured softly. "They'll—they'll use you to—to hurt Clark. To—to find out what he is, what—what he can do." His gaze darkened, his expression hardening. "And they'll never—never—let you go."

The silence was suffocating.

Alicia looked down, blinking rapidly against the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands trembled in Evelyn's gentle grasp, her heart aching.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing herself to nod slowly. "Okay," she whispered softly.

John's breath caught. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes widening. "Okay?" he repeated slowly.

Alicia looked up, her gaze filled with pain and fear—but also resolve.

"I'll stay," she murmured softly. Her voice was low, trembling, but filled with a quiet, unshakeable determination. "I—I'll change my—my looks. I'll—I'll be a—a ghost." She took a deep breath, her chest heaving. "I'll—I'll disappear."

Evelyn's eyes filled with tears. She squeezed Alicia's hands gently, her gaze softening. "You—you're sure?" she whispered hoarsely.

Alicia nodded slowly. "I—I want to stay," she murmured softly. "I—I want to be—be safe. I—I want to be—"

"With us," John finished quietly. His voice was low, rough, filled with a fierce, protective love. "You'll—you'll be with us, Alicia. And we—we'll keep you safe."

The words were a promise.

Alicia's breath hitched. She looked up at John, her gaze filled with a desperate, aching hope. "And Clark?" she whispered softly. "Will—will he be—"

"We'll keep him safe, too," John murmured softly. His gaze softened, his expression filled with a deep, unrelenting resolve. "We'll—we'll protect him. No matter what."

Alicia's chest tightened. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze locked onto John's.

"I—I trust you," she whispered softly. "I—I trust you, Mr. Dutton."

And as the silence fell over them again, Alicia felt a strange, hollow emptiness settle in her chest.

Because she wasn't Alicia anymore.

She was just a ghost.

And from now on… that's all she would ever be.

The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the ranch. The air was still and quiet, the usual sounds of the animals and rustling leaves muted as if the land itself were holding its breath. The barn stood tall and imposing in the evening light, its old, weathered boards glowing faintly under the dying rays of the sun.

Beth leaned against the fence just outside, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The soft, fading light bathed her in a warm glow, highlighting the sharp lines of her face, the tightness in her expression. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together.

Rip approached quietly, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze flickering over her tense form. "Beth," he murmured softly.

She stiffened, her jaw clenching. "What?" she muttered.

Rip hesitated. Then, slowly, he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving her face. "How are you holding up?"

Beth snorted softly, shaking her head. "What do you think?" she muttered. She turned slightly, her gaze locking onto his. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish, filled with a raw, unfiltered emotion that made his chest ache. "I thought he was gone, Rip," she whispered hoarsely. "I thought—thought we'd lost him."

Rip's chest tightened. He glanced away, his jaw clenching. "Yeah," he murmured quietly. His voice was low, rough. "Me too."

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with unspoken fears and buried pain.

Beth swallowed hard, her gaze flickering back to the barn. "He wasn't… himself," she whispered softly. Her voice trembled, and she shook her head violently, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "That—that thing he became—it—it wasn't Clark. It was—it was someone else. Something dark. And I—"

"You were scared," Rip finished quietly. He looked up slowly, his gaze steady, searching her face. "It's okay, Beth. We—we all were."

Beth's breath hitched. She stared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes filled with a fierce, desperate light. "I don't get scared, Rip," she murmured softly. Her voice was low, rough, filled with a brittle edge. "I—I don't—can't—feel that." She looked away, biting her lip. "But I—"

Rip took another small step forward, his chest tightening painfully. "But you were," he murmured softly. "For him."

Beth blinked rapidly, her shoulders trembling. "He's my—my brother," she whispered hoarsely. She looked up, her eyes bright with tears. "He's—he's supposed to be the—the good one, Rip. The—the pure one. He's—he's supposed to—to be the one who—who—"

Rip's heart ached. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, steady, even as his own emotions churned violently inside him. "And he still is," he murmured quietly. He reached out slowly, hesitating for just a moment before gently touching her arm. "He's—he's still Clark, Beth. He's—he's back."

"But what if he's not?" Beth whispered. Her voice was soft, trembling. She looked up at Rip, her gaze wide and filled with fear. "What if—if he's—if he's changed forever? What if—"

"He won't be," Rip interrupted gently. He took a small step closer, his fingers tightening around her arm. "We—we got the ring off him. Whatever that—thing was, it—it's gone now. He's—he's himself again."

Beth swallowed hard, her gaze locked onto his. For a long moment, she didn't move, didn't breathe. Then, slowly, she took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning forward slightly.

"I don't want to lose him," she whispered. Her voice was low, rough, filled with a raw, aching vulnerability that made his heart ache. "I—I can't—can't lose him, Rip."

"You won't," Rip murmured softly. He reached up slowly, cupping her cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly over her skin. "We—we won't lose him, Beth. I swear."

Beth's breath hitched. She stared up at him, her chest heaving, her gaze wide and filled with a desperate, unspoken hope. "You—you promise?" she whispered hoarsely.

Rip's heart clenched painfully. He looked down at her, his gaze softening, and nodded slowly. "Yeah," he murmured softly. "I promise, Beth."

For a moment, they just stood there, the world narrowing down to the two of them—their breaths mingling in the soft evening air, their gazes locked, unblinking. The intensity of it—of her—was almost overwhelming, a searing, burning force that seemed to draw him in, closer and closer until—

Beth surged forward suddenly, her hands gripping his jacket tightly as she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, filled with all the fear and pain and confusion that had been building inside them both. It was like a dam breaking, a rush of emotion that swept through them, pulling them under, drowning them in each other.

Rip's hands slid up to cradle her face, his fingers trembling as he held her close. He kissed her back just as fiercely, his heart pounding, his chest aching. For a moment, there was nothing else—no fear, no pain, no confusion—just them, together, holding on as if they were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly gone dark and uncertain.

And then, slowly, reluctantly, they pulled back.

Beth's breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, her gaze still locked onto his. "Rip," she whispered hoarsely.

Rip swallowed hard, his hands still cradling her face. "Yeah?"

"I—" She broke off, shaking her head slightly, her eyes bright with something unnameable. "I—"

"Shh," Rip murmured softly. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, his gaze soft and filled with something almost like wonder. "It's okay, Beth. It's—it's okay."

Beth closed her eyes, her shoulders slumping. For a long moment, they just stood there, leaning into each other, holding on.

And from the shadows of the barn, Evelyn watched silently, her chest tight, her heart aching. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed on her daughter and the man who had always been so fiercely devoted to her.

She had seen them both hurting—seen them break and rage and fight—but never like this.

Never so raw. So open. So… vulnerable.

Evelyn took a deep breath, her shoulders trembling. Then, slowly, she turned away, her lips pressing into a thin, tight line.

Because Beth was finding a new anchor, a new hope.

And for the first time, Evelyn wasn't afraid of what that might mean.

Not for Beth.

And not for Rip.

The loft of the old barn was bathed in the pale, silvery glow of the rising moon, the soft light filtering through the open window and casting long, ghostly shadows across the dusty wooden floor. Clark sat hunched on the small couch pushed up against the far wall, his shoulders bowed, his head in his hands. The silence of the barn pressed down around him like a physical weight, heavy and suffocating.

But the silence wasn't empty.

It was filled with a dark, mocking presence—one that twisted through his thoughts like a knife, digging deeper and deeper with every word.

You think you're free? The voice was low and smooth, tinged with a cruel, sardonic edge. You think you've won, Clark?

Clark flinched, his breath hitching painfully. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. "Shut up," he whispered hoarsely. His voice trembled, filled with a raw, desperate fear. "Just—just shut up."

Why? Kal purred softly. His voice was everywhere—inside Clark's head, in the shadows around him, in the very air he breathed. Afraid to hear the truth? Afraid to admit that I'm still here? The voice chuckled softly, the sound like broken glass scraping against his mind. Because I am, Clark. I'm always here.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving. "No," he whispered. His voice was a soft, broken murmur, filled with pain and terror. "You're—you're gone. I—I beat you."

Beat me? Kal repeated slowly. His voice was low, mocking. Oh, Clark. You can't beat me. You can't— His voice darkened, growing low and menacing. You can't get rid of me.

Clark shuddered violently, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps. "Yes, I can," he choked out. "I—I did. You—you're just—"

Just what? Kal growled softly. His voice was a dark, dangerous whisper, curling through Clark's mind like smoke. A voice in your head? A—a ghost haunting you? Is that what you think, Clark? He chuckled softly, the sound filled with a dark, twisted amusement. Oh, no. I'm much more than that. I'm part of you now. I'm—

"No," Clark whispered. His voice broke, his entire body trembling. "You're—you're nothing. I—I got rid of you. I—"

You can't get rid of me, Kal interrupted softly. His voice was low and smooth, filled with a terrible, unshakeable certainty. I'm not just a—a piece of you, Clark. I am you. And one day… His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. One day, I'll take over. Completely.

Clark's breath hitched, his hands flying to his head, clutching his hair in a desperate, white-knuckled grip. "No," he whimpered softly. "No, I—I won't let you—"

You won't have a choice, Kal purred. His voice was filled with a dark, triumphant satisfaction. Because every time you lose control—every time you slip—I'll be there. Waiting. Watching. And one day… His voice softened, turning almost gentle. One day, I'll be you, Clark.

The words echoed through his mind, filling him with a cold, suffocating dread.

Clark shuddered violently, his chest tightening painfully. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands, his entire body trembling. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "No, I—I won't let you—"

"Clark?"

The soft, hesitant voice cut through the darkness, pulling him back from the edge. Clark flinched, jerking upright, his eyes wide and wild. He blinked rapidly, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps, as if he were waking from a nightmare.

Alicia stood at the top of the stairs, her gaze wide and filled with concern. She took a small, tentative step forward, her eyes locked onto his. "Clark," she murmured softly. "Are—are you okay?"

Clark stared at her, his chest heaving. For a long moment, he didn't move, didn't breathe—just looked at her, as if trying to convince himself that she was really there.

Then, slowly, he shook his head, his gaze dark and filled with a deep, aching despair. "No," he whispered softly. His voice was low, rough, filled with a raw, broken pain. "No, I'm not."

Alicia's heart ached. She took another small step forward, her gaze never leaving his face. "Clark," she murmured softly. "What—what's wrong?"

Clark closed his eyes, his entire body trembling. "I—I hurt you," he whispered hoarsely. "I—I hurt you, Alicia. I—I was—"

"You didn't hurt me," Alicia interrupted gently. Her voice was soft, filled with a fierce, unshakeable resolve. "You—you didn't, Clark. It—it was the ring. It—"

"I wanted to," Clark choked out. His voice was low, rough, filled with a terrible, unrelenting self-loathing. "I—I wanted to hurt everyone. I—I was—" He broke off, his breath hitching. "I was angry, Alicia. Angry and—and wild. And I—I liked it. I—I wanted it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Alicia took a deep, shuddering breath. Then, slowly, she stepped forward, her gaze steady and unwavering. "But you stopped," she murmured softly. "You—you fought it, Clark. You—you came back."

"I didn't," Clark whispered hoarsely. His eyes squeezed shut, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I—I didn't, Alicia. I—he—he's still there. He—he's—"

"Clark," Alicia whispered softly. She took another small step forward, gently cupping his face in her hands. "Look at me."

Clark flinched, his breath hitching. But slowly—hesitantly—he opened his eyes, staring up at her with a raw, desperate intensity.

"I'm here," Alicia murmured softly. Her gaze softened, her thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "I—I didn't run, Clark. I—I could have. But I didn't."

Clark's breath hitched. "But—but why?" he whispered brokenly. "I—I hurt you. I—"

"Because I love you," Alicia whispered softly. Her voice trembled, but her gaze never wavered. "Because I—I believe in you, Clark. And—and I always will. No matter what."

Clark's chest tightened painfully, a wave of emotion crashing over him. He stared up at her, his eyes wide and filled with a desperate, aching hope.

"But I—I don't know if—if I can—"

"You can," Alicia murmured softly. She leaned forward slowly, pressing her forehead to his. "I'm not going anywhere, Clark. I—I'm here. I'm always going to be here."

And as Clark closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, the darkness inside him seemed to waver—just for a moment.

But in the back of his mind, Kal's voice whispered softly.

One day, Clark. One day…

And even as Alicia held him close, the cold, suffocating fear never truly left.

The living room of the Dutton ranch house felt suffocating, the air thick with tension. The entire family was gathered—John, Evelyn, Lee, Beth, Kayce, Jamie, Rip, and Alicia—clustered around the long wooden table. The familiar warmth of the fireplace did little to ease the strain on everyone's faces as they stared at Clark, who stood near the centre, shifting nervously under the weight of their collective gaze.

Clark took a deep breath, his gaze flickering from face to face. His parents. His brothers and sister. Rip. Alicia. All of them—staring at him, waiting.

"I'm sorry," he murmured softly. His voice trembled, filled with a raw, aching regret. "For—for everything. I—I know I messed up. I know I—I hurt all of you, and I—"

"Stop," John interrupted sharply. His voice was low, rough, filled with barely restrained pain. He leaned forward, his gaze hard, unrelenting. "You don't—don't apologise, son. Just—just tell us what we're up against."

Clark flinched, his breath hitching. He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "Okay," he whispered softly. He took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto John's. "When I was… when I was at Lex's, I—"

"What the hell were you doing at Luthor's mansion?" Lee demanded harshly. His eyes blazed, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You—damn it, Clark, he's—"

"I wasn't myself," Clark interrupted quietly. He looked down, his chest tightening. "I—I wasn't thinking straight. I—" He broke off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "But while I was there, I—I saw something."

The room fell silent, every gaze locked onto him.

Clark closed his eyes, his hands trembling slightly. "Lex found… something," he murmured softly. "Something from—from the tornado." He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze filled with fear and dread. "He found the key."

The reaction was instantaneous.

"What?" Evelyn gasped, her eyes widening in shock. She looked at John, her expression tight with fear. "John, he—he found it?"

"Where?" John growled softly. His face was pale, drawn, his eyes blazing. "How?"

Clark swallowed hard, his gaze flickering from John to Evelyn, his heart pounding violently. "I—I think it got blown off the ranch in the storm," he whispered hoarsely. "It—it was lodged in the wall of his mansion. He—he's been running tests on it."

"Tests?" Jamie repeated sharply. He stepped forward, his expression tight. "What—what kind of tests?"

"I don't know," Clark murmured softly. His voice was low, rough, filled with a terrible, unspoken fear. "But he—he knows it's not normal. He—he's not sure what it is, but he—he knows it's—"

"Alien," Beth finished grimly. Her voice was flat, cold, filled with a simmering anger. "He—he thinks it's alien, doesn't he?"

Clark hesitated, his chest tightening. "Maybe," he whispered softly. "He—he hasn't figured it out yet, but—but if he keeps going, he—he'll—"

"Then we stop him," Rip growled. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with a fierce, protective fury. "We—we go to the mansion, and we—"

"We can't," John interrupted harshly. His gaze was fixed on Clark, his jaw clenched. "If we—if we show our hand now, he—he'll know we're hiding something. He'll—"

"He already knows," Clark murmured softly. His voice was low, rough, filled with pain. "He—he knows something's wrong. He—he saw me, and he—" He broke off, shaking his head violently. "He knows, Dad."

John's face tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "Then what do you suggest?" he growled softly. His gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Because I'm not letting that—that bastard get anywhere near this family."

Clark took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "I—I think I need to tell him," he whispered softly.

The silence was deafening.

"You what?" Lee snarled. He stepped forward, his eyes blazing. "You—tell him? Tell him what, Clark?"

Clark swallowed hard, his chest tightening. "About the red meteor rock," he murmured softly. He looked around, his gaze filled with a desperate, aching hope. "If—if I tell him that it's the—the rock that—that made me like that, if—if I make him think that I'm—"

"A normal kid," Jamie finished quietly. His voice was low, filled with a dark, simmering understanding. "If you make him think you're—you're just another victim of the meteor shower."

"Yes," Clark whispered. He turned to John, his gaze pleading. "If—if I make him think that it was just—it was just the rock, then—then maybe he—he'll—"

"Leave you alone?" Beth interrupted harshly. Her voice was sharp, filled with a fierce, unrelenting anger. "Are you—are you insane, Clark? Lex Luthor isn't going to—"

"It's the only way," Clark interrupted desperately. He looked around, his gaze wild, frantic. "I—I can't just—just hide forever. If—if I don't do something, he—he's going to keep digging, and—"

"He's right," Jamie murmured softly. His voice was low, thoughtful. "If—if we don't give Lex some sort of… explanation, he—he won't stop. He'll—he'll tear through everything we've built, trying to find—"

"I don't like it," John growled softly. His face was pale, his jaw clenched. "But—"

"We have to," Evelyn whispered. Her voice was soft, trembling, but filled with a quiet, unshakeable resolve. "If—if it'll keep him off Clark's trail, if—if it'll protect him—"

"It won't," Rip interrupted sharply. His gaze was dark, fierce, filled with a smouldering rage. "It won't protect him. It'll just—it'll just make Lex more curious. More—more dangerous."

"But we don't have a choice," Jamie murmured quietly. He turned to John, his gaze filled with a dark, unrelenting determination. "If—if we want to protect the family, if—if we want to protect Clark, we—we have to make Lex think that—that he's just—"

"Human," Beth finished softly. Her voice was low, filled with a deep, simmering pain. "We—we have to make him think that—that Clark's just—just another kid."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Clark took a deep, shuddering breath, his gaze locking onto John's. "Dad," he whispered softly. "Please. I—I can do this. I—I have to do this."

John's breath hitched. He stared at Clark, his chest heaving, his face pale. "You—you sure?" he murmured softly. His voice was low, rough, filled with a terrible, unspoken fear. "Because if—if he finds out, if—if he—"

"He won't," Clark whispered. His voice was low, trembling, filled with a desperate, unshakeable resolve. "He—he won't, Dad. I—I promise."

John stared at him for a long moment, his eyes wide and filled with pain. Then, slowly, he nodded, his shoulders slumping.

"Okay," he murmured softly. His voice was low, rough. "But—"

"But if he tries anything," Rip interrupted quietly, his voice low and dangerous, "if he tries to—to hurt you, Clark, we—"

"We shut him down," Lee finished grimly. His gaze darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "For good."

And as the silence fell over the room again, the weight of what they were about to do pressed down on all of them.

Because this wasn't just about protecting Clark anymore.

This was about surviving.

And none of them were sure if they could.

The familiar brick façade of Smallville High loomed ahead, the bustling crowd of students milling around the front entrance a blur of motion and sound. Clark stood at the edge of the parking lot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his gaze fixed on the sea of faces. Everything looked the same—the same kids, the same laughter, the same routine.

But nothing felt the same.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders tensing as he steeled himself. Just a normal Monday morning. Just another day at school. He could do this.

He had to do this.

But as he started forward, weaving through the crowd, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling creeping down his spine—the sense that everyone was watching him, whispering behind his back, waiting for him to slip, to snap, to—

They're scared of you, a low, mocking voice murmured in the back of his mind.

Clark flinched, his breath hitching. He shook his head violently, his fists clenching at his sides. "No," he whispered hoarsely under his breath. "No, they're—they're not—"

Yes, they are, Kal purred softly. His voice was low, smooth, curling through Clark's mind like smoke. They saw what you're capable of, Clark. They felt it. And they know— His voice darkened, turning soft and menacing. They know you could break them.

Clark's chest tightened painfully. He ducked his head, forcing his feet to keep moving, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Shut up," he whispered softly. "Just—just shut up."

Kal laughed softly, the sound dark and twisted, echoing through Clark's thoughts. Make me.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders trembling. Focus, he told himself desperately. Just—just focus. You're—you're okay. It's—it's over. You're—you're fine.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to open his eyes. He was halfway across the courtyard now, just a few feet from the main entrance.

And standing near the stairs, waiting, was Pete.

Clark's heart skipped a beat, a wave of guilt crashing over him. Pete stood stiffly, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed on the ground. He looked up slowly as Clark approached, his expression tight, wary. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence stretching between them like a chasm.

Then Pete took a deep breath, his gaze flickering to the side. "Hey," he muttered softly.

Clark flinched. "Pete," he whispered hoarsely. He took a small, hesitant step forward, his chest tightening painfully. "I—I'm sorry. For—for everything. I—"

"I know," Pete interrupted quietly. His voice was low, strained. He glanced up, his gaze flickering over Clark's face, his expression tight. "You—um, you weren't… yourself."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Clark swallowed hard, his heart aching. "But it—it was me," he murmured softly. His voice trembled, filled with a raw, desperate pain. "I—I did those things, Pete. I—I hurt people. I—I—"

Pete flinched, his gaze darting away. "Yeah," he muttered softly. "You did."

The silence was crushing.

Clark took a deep, shuddering breath, his hands trembling. "But I'm—I'm not like that anymore," he whispered hoarsely. He looked up slowly, his eyes wide and pleading. "I—I'm better now. I—"

"I know," Pete murmured softly. His gaze flickered up to meet Clark's, his expression softening slightly. "I—um, I'm trying, man. To—to believe that. I just—" He broke off, his chest heaving. "I just need… time."

The words twisted in Clark's chest like a knife.

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching. "Okay," he whispered softly. He forced himself to nod, his gaze never leaving Pete's face. "I—I get it. I—"

He's scared of you, Kal whispered softly. His voice was low, smooth, filled with a dark, twisted amusement. Look at him, Clark. Look at the way he's watching you. He's afraid of you.

Clark's heart clenched painfully. He looked down slowly, blinking rapidly against the sudden sting of tears. "I—I just want to make things right," he murmured softly. "I—I want—"

"Then stop," Pete muttered quietly. His voice was low, almost too soft to hear. He glanced up, his gaze filled with a mixture of pain and something else—something like fear. "Just… just stop, okay? Don't—don't say you're sorry. Just—just be normal again."

The words cut through him like a blade.

Clark stared at him, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and filled with pain. "Okay," he whispered softly. His voice trembled, rough and broken. "Okay, Pete. I—I'll try."

Pete's gaze softened slightly. He took a deep breath, glancing away. "Good," he muttered softly. "I—I'll see you later, man."

And before Clark could respond, he turned sharply on his heel, disappearing into the crowd of students streaming into the building.

Clark stood frozen, his chest aching, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

See? Kal purred softly. His voice was low and smooth, filled with a dark, triumphant satisfaction. Even your best friend is scared of you.

"Shut up," Clark whispered hoarsely. He closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling. "Just—just shut up."

Make me.

Clark took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to turn away. He started forward slowly, his gaze locked onto the ground, his entire body tense and rigid.

Just get through today, he told himself desperately. Just—just get through today.

The warm, comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries wafted through the air, filling the cosy, bustling atmosphere of the Talon. Clark pushed through the front doors hesitantly, his gaze flickering around the room. His heart pounded violently in his chest, a wave of nausea washing over him.

Just act normal, he told himself firmly. Just—just act like everything's—

"Clark!"

The bright, cheerful voice cut through the din of the café, pulling his gaze toward the counter. Chloe stood behind the register, beaming at him. "Hey!" she called out, waving him over. "You—uh, you got a minute?"

Clark hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded, making his way over. "Yeah," he murmured softly. "Sure."

Chloe's gaze flickered over him, her smile widening slightly. "Nice to see you back in the—" She broke off, gesturing vaguely at his flannel shirt and jeans. "—uh, normal Clark Dutton get-up."

Clark blinked, his chest tightening. "Oh," he murmured softly. He glanced down, a small, awkward smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I—um, I guess."

"Big change from last week," Lana interjected lightly. She glanced up from behind the counter, her expression soft and a little wary. "You—you look… good, Clark. You look like—" She broke off, smiling gently. "Like you again."

The words twisted in his chest, filling him with a strange mixture of relief and pain.

"Thanks," he murmured softly. He looked up slowly, his gaze locking onto hers. "I—I'm trying."

Lana's smile widened slightly. "Good," she murmured softly. "Because we—we missed you, Clark. The real you."

And as Chloe stepped out from behind the counter, looping her arm through his and steering him toward the door, Clark felt the tension in his chest ease—just a little.

Because for the first time since everything fell apart… he felt almost normal again.

Almost.

The expansive halls of the Luthor mansion were as cold and imposing as ever, the dark mahogany walls lined with paintings that seemed to watch Clark with quiet, unblinking eyes. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep moving, his steps echoing softly against the polished floor. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn back, to get as far away from here as possible.

But he couldn't.

This had to be done.

Clark hesitated outside the heavy double doors of Lex's study, his heart pounding violently in his chest. He raised a trembling hand, knocking softly. The sound seemed to reverberate through the empty hallway, the silence that followed almost suffocating.

"Come in."

The voice was low and calm, but there was a sharp edge to it—a tension that made Clark's chest tighten. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and pushed the door open slowly.

Lex sat behind his massive desk, his gaze fixed on a stack of papers in front of him. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast deep shadows across his face, making his expression seem harsher, more intense. He glanced up as Clark stepped inside, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Clark," he murmured softly. His voice was smooth, measured, but there was a guarded quality to it. "This is… unexpected."

Clark swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I—I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. He stepped forward slowly, his gaze locked onto Lex's. "For—for everything. I—I wasn't… myself."

Lex arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a small, cold smile. "Weren't you?" he murmured softly. He leaned back slightly, folding his hands neatly on the desk. "You seemed pretty convinced of who you were when you stormed in here last week."

Clark flinched, his breath hitching. "I—I know," he whispered. His voice trembled, filled with a raw, aching regret. "But I wasn't… thinking straight. I—" He broke off, shaking his head violently. "It—it was the red meteor rock, Lex. It—it made me—"

"Red meteor rock?" Lex interrupted sharply. His gaze sharpened, his expression turning thoughtful. "You mean like the—the meteor fragments in the fields?" He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "You're telling me that caused your little… identity crisis?"

"Yes," Clark murmured softly. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his gaze never leaving Lex's. "It—it changes people. Makes them… makes them worse. I—" He broke off, shaking his head. "I—I didn't mean to—to hurt you, Lex. I—I wasn't—"

Lex stared at him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. "I see," he murmured softly. He leaned back slowly, his eyes narrowing. "So you're saying this… rock—this red meteor rock—made you act that way?" He arched an eyebrow. "Not some… latent personality flaw, or—"

"It was the rock," Clark interrupted quietly. His voice was low, rough, filled with a desperate intensity. "It—it's dangerous, Lex. I—I just—just wanted you to know that."

Lex's lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile. "Interesting," he murmured softly. He glanced down at his desk, his gaze flickering over the papers in front of him. "And where, exactly, does one find this… red meteor rock?"

Clark hesitated, his heart pounding violently. "I—I don't know," he whispered hoarsely. "It—it's rare. I—I just—"

"I see," Lex murmured softly. He looked up slowly, his gaze locking onto Clark's. "Well, I appreciate your… honesty." He paused, his expression softening slightly. "But you don't have to worry, Clark. We're… friends, aren't we?"

Clark's breath hitched. He forced himself to nod slowly, his gaze never leaving Lex's. "Yes," he whispered softly. "We are."

Lex's smile widened slightly. "Good," he murmured softly. "Then I'll… keep your little secret."

The words sent a shiver down Clark's spine, filling him with a cold, suffocating dread.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod again. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

Lex arched an eyebrow, his smile turning sharp. "You're welcome."

And as Clark turned and walked out of the study, his chest tight and his heart pounding, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just made a terrible mistake.

Because the look in Lex's eyes had been… hungry.

Lex sat at his desk, deep in thought, his fingers absently tracing the edges of the small, octagonal key resting in front of him. It glimmered faintly in the soft light, the smooth, metallic surface almost mesmerising.

He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the key. "Red meteor rock," he murmured softly. His voice was low, thoughtful. "Interesting."

The door behind him swung open sharply.

"Red meteor rock?" a deep, cultured voice drawled mockingly. "Is that what passes for a scientific hypothesis in this backwater?"

Lex stiffened. He glanced up slowly, his gaze hardening. "Father," he murmured quietly. His voice was smooth, measured, but there was a sharp edge to it. "What a… pleasant surprise."

Lionel Luthor stepped into the study, his gaze sweeping over the room with a disdainful sneer. "I suppose it was inevitable," he murmured softly. "My son, the great scientist—reduced to chasing rocks in the middle of nowhere."

Lex's jaw tightened. "What do you want, Dad?"

Lionel arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a small, cold smile. "I want to know what you're doing here, Lex," he murmured softly. "What… exactly have you found in this—this quaint little town?"

Lex's gaze flickered to the key on his desk, his chest tightening. "You wouldn't understand," he murmured softly.

Lionel's smile widened. "Try me."

Lex hesitated. Then, slowly, he reached out, lifting the small, metallic key. "I found this," he murmured quietly. He looked up, his gaze locked onto Lionel's. "In the wall of the mansion."

Lionel's eyes narrowed slightly. For a moment, he just stared at the key, his expression unreadable.

Then his lips parted in a small, almost imperceptible gasp.

Lex frowned, his gaze sharpening. "You recognize it," he murmured softly. "Don't you?"

Lionel blinked slowly, his expression tight. "It's… familiar," he murmured softly. His voice was low, thoughtful, tinged with something like… fear. "It's… important, Lex."

Lex's gaze darkened. "Why?" he murmured softly. "What is it?"

Lionel stared at the key for a long moment, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"Veritas," he murmured softly. The word was almost a whisper, slipping past his lips like a secret.

Lex's heart skipped a beat. "Veritas?" he repeated slowly. "What—"

"It's nothing," Lionel interrupted sharply. His voice was low, rough, filled with a sudden, uncharacteristic fear. "Forget I said anything."

Lex leaned forward slowly, his gaze intent. "No," he murmured softly. "Tell me. What is Veritas?"

Lionel's gaze flickered to the key, his chest heaving. For a long moment, he didn't speak—just stared at the small, metallic shape in Lex's hand.

"Veritas was… a group," he murmured softly. His voice was low, rough, filled with a strange, haunted quality. "A—a group of… believers. People who—who were searching for… something."

"Something?" Lex murmured softly. His gaze narrowed. "Or… someone?"

Lionel's breath hitched. He looked up slowly, his gaze locking onto Lex's.

"The Traveler," he whispered hoarsely. "We—we were preparing for—"

He broke off suddenly, shaking his head violently. "It doesn't matter," he snarled softly. It's—gone. All of it. Dr. Swann… the Stones of Power… it—it's all gone."

Lex stared at him, his heart pounding. "Stones of Power?"

Lionel flinched, his gaze darting away. "Forget I said anything," he muttered roughly. He straightened sharply, his face hardening. "And get rid of that key, Lex. It's—it's dangerous."

But as Lionel turned sharply on his heel, stalking out of the study, a small, cold smile curled Lex's lips.

Because if Lionel was scared

Then it was something worth keeping.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the Montana foothills, casting the rugged landscape in a warm, golden glow. The roar of engines tore through the stillness as Clark and Pete raced along the dusty trails, their laughter and shouts carried away in the wind. Clark's dirt bike surged ahead, the powerful machine eating up the terrain with a smooth, thrilling speed. Finally after a few weeks, things seemed to be back to normal with his friends.

"Clark, slow down!" Pete shouted, his quad bouncing over the uneven ground as he struggled to keep up. "You're gonna wipe out if you don't watch it!"

Clark glanced back with a wide grin, the rush of speed making his heart pound. "You're not gonna catch me, Pete!" he called out, his voice barely audible over the engine's roar.

He twisted the throttle, the bike roaring as it shot forward, racing along the narrow trail. The wind whipped past his face, the world blurring around him in a dizzying whirl of colours and motion. He leaned into the turns, manoeuvring around jagged rocks and dense patches of pine trees with ease.

The trail dipped sharply, plunging down a steep slope that dropped away into a wide, sprawling valley below. Clark leaned forward, his eyes narrowing against the sun's glare. But as he reached the bottom of the hill, something caught his eye—a dark, irregular patch of ground up ahead, like a shadow that didn't quite belong.

Clark frowned, his instincts flaring.

And then the ground crumbled away beneath him.

"Whoa—!" he shouted, his heart leaping into his throat as the earth opened up in a gaping chasm. The front wheel of the bike hit the edge of the sinkhole, and then he was falling—plunging into darkness. The walls of the sinkhole rushed past in a blur, jagged rocks and roots flashing by. The wind roared in his ears, his stomach lurching as he dropped deeper and deeper.

"Clark!" Pete's distant shout echoed from somewhere above, filled with panic.

The ground came up to meet him in a bone-jarring impact. Clark hit the bottom hard, dust and debris billowing around him in a thick cloud. He lay still, staring up at the faint circle of light far above. His head spun, the world tilting and swaying around him.

That was… a long way down, he thought distantly.

But there was no pain—just the strange, weightless sensation of having fallen so far without a single bruise or scratch. He blinked once, twice, the dust settling around him. Slowly, he took a deep breath, testing his limbs. Everything seemed… fine. Completely fine.

But he stayed where he was, his body stiff, his mind reeling from the sheer height of the fall.

Then, the sound of soft, quick footsteps reached him, echoing faintly through the darkness. He turned his head slowly, blinking against the dust as a shadowed figure moved closer—a girl, small and slender, her long hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. She dropped to her knees beside him, her eyes wide with shock and concern.

"Oh my god, are—are you okay?" she whispered breathlessly.

Clark stared up at her, disoriented and confused. "I… I think so," he murmured softly.

The girl bit her lip, her gaze flickering over him. "You—don't move, okay? You—" She reached out slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she brushed dirt from his chest. "That was—"

She broke off, her fingers freezing as she hesitated, glancing up at his face.

"You shouldn't be conscious," she whispered, her voice tight. "That was… over a hundred feet. You should be—"

She broke off again, her eyes narrowing. Without warning, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked it open, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip. Her gaze locked onto his chest, her breath catching.

"What…?" she breathed.

Clark blinked down at himself. His skin was smooth, unmarked—no cuts, no bruises, not even a scratch.

"I—" he started.

"Clark!" Pete's shout interrupted her. "Clark, man, are you—are you okay?!"

The girl stiffened, her gaze snapping up toward the light above. "Who—?"

"Pete!" Clark shouted, his voice stronger this time. He shifted slightly, brushing the girl's hands away as he struggled to sit up. "I'm… I'm okay! Just… kind of busy right now!"

"Man, what happened?! Do you need help getting out, or can you just… jump out?" Pete's voice echoed down, tinged with a mix of confusion and panic.

Clark glanced at the girl, his heart pounding. "Uh, not right now, Pete!" he yelled back, his voice tight. "I… I'm not alone down here."

Pete's voice cut off abruptly. There was a tense silence, and then the faint sound of footsteps, quick and light, echoed from above.

The girl swallowed hard, her gaze still fixed on Clark's chest. "You—how are you alive?" she whispered hoarsely. "You should be—"

"I don't know," Clark murmured softly. He glanced down at himself, his heart hammering. "I just… I guess I'm… lucky."

"Lucky?" she repeated incredulously. She shook her head slowly, her gaze flickering over him with a mixture of shock and suspicion. "That… that's not possible."

Clark flinched, his chest tightening. "I… I'm fine," he stammered softly. He glanced around the cavern, trying to distract her. "Where… where are we?"

"This is… a sacred site," the girl murmured quietly, her voice filled with a reverence that made Clark pause. "The Kawatche Caves. They're part of my people's history… our legacy."

Clark blinked, his eyes drifting over the walls surrounding them. The cave was vast, its ceiling towering above, disappearing into shadow. The walls seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light, covered in intricate carvings and paintings that twisted together in a chaotic yet beautiful array of symbols and figures. Everything seemed to swirl and dance in a dizzying tapestry of reds, golds, and blacks.

He struggled to his feet, glancing up at the faint circle of light far above. Pete's silhouette stood at the edge, barely visible against the sky.

"You shouldn't be moving!" the girl cried, reaching out as if to steady him.

"I'm fine," Clark insisted softly, brushing off the dust from his jeans and jacket. "Really, I'm okay."

The girl stared at him, her expression caught between disbelief and awe. Slowly, she shook her head. "You… you fell a hundred feet and you're fine," she whispered, almost to herself. "That's… that's not possible."

Clark swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away from her piercing gaze. "I… I just got lucky," he muttered.

"Lucky," she repeated, her voice flat. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she took a step back, gesturing to the walls around them. "This… this is more than just a cave, you know."

Clark frowned, glancing around the cavern. The paintings seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light, their colours shifting and blending together as if they were alive. "What do you mean?" he asked softly.

The girl took a deep breath, turning toward one of the larger paintings—a massive figure outlined in red, his eyes blazing like twin stars. "These caves… they tell the story of Naman," she murmured softly. "A legend passed down by the Kawatche elders for generations."

Clark stiffened, his gaze locked onto the figure in the painting. "Naman?" he repeated slowly. "Who… who is that?"

The girl hesitated, then turned to face him, her eyes shining with a strange intensity. "Naman was a protector," she whispered softly. "The elders say he fell from the sky, arriving during a great rain of fire. He had the strength of ten men, could move faster than the wind, and could shoot fire from his eyes."

Clark's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the painting, his heart pounding violently. Fell from the sky… strength of ten men… It sounded so… familiar. Almost like…

"No," he murmured softly, shaking his head. "That's… that's just a story, right?"

The girl's gaze softened. "Is it?" she whispered. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, reverent murmur. "They say Naman was sent by the spirits to protect the people from a great darkness… but he was betrayed by someone he thought was his friend." She gestured to another painting—a dark, twisted figure outlined in black, wreathed in flames. "He became enemies with this man… and they fought a battle that would decide the fate of the world."

Clark swallowed hard, his gaze locked onto the dark figure. The lines seemed to shift and blur under his gaze, twisting into strange, jagged shapes that made his head spin.

"And the prophecy says… that Naman will return one day," the girl continued softly. "When the world needs him most, he'll come back… to finish what he started."

Clark tore his gaze away from the paintings, his heart racing. "That… that's not me," he stammered softly. "I—I'm just… I'm just Clark."

The girl tilted her head, studying him intently. "Are you?" she murmured softly.

"Clark!" Pete's shout rang out again, cutting through the tense silence. "Man, what's going on down there? Who's with you?"

The girl flinched, glancing up sharply. "Who—who is that?" she whispered.

"Pete," Clark murmured softly, his voice tight. "He's my friend."

The girl took a deep breath, glancing between Clark and the light far above. "We… we should talk to my grandfather," she murmured softly. "He—he'll know what to do. He'll be able to explain better."

Clark frowned. "Your grandfather?"

"Yes," the girl murmured softly. "He—he's the keeper of these stories. He knows more about Naman and… and everything." She took a small step back, glancing over her shoulder. "Wait here. I—I'll be right back."

"Wait!" Clark called, his voice echoing faintly through the cavern. But the girl was already gone, her footsteps fading into the distance.

Clark stood there for a moment, his chest tight. He glanced up at Pete's silhouette against the sky, then turned slowly, his gaze drifting over the walls of the cave.

The paintings seemed to shift under his gaze, the figures twisting and turning in a dizzying whirl of colors and shapes. His eyes landed on a small, octagonal shape carved into the center of one of the paintings—perfectly symmetrical, its edges sharp and precise.

Clark's heart skipped a beat. Slowly, almost without thinking, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the symbol.

The cave seemed to hum in response, a low, faint vibration that sent a shiver down his spine. The air around him pulsed, the symbols on the walls glowing faintly in the dim light.

Clark jerked his hand back, his breath hitching. "What—?"

"Fascinating, isn't it?" a low, smooth voice murmured softly in his mind.

Clark flinched, his shoulders tensing. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "I—I don't—"

"You do know, Clark," the voice whispered. It was low and dark, curling through his thoughts like smoke. "You know what these symbols mean. You know what they're saying. You just—don't want to admit it."

"No," Clark whispered again, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, I—"

"Power, Clark," the voice hissed softly. "Control. Naman understood. He knew that power is the only thing that matters. The only thing that lasts. And you… you're just like him, aren't you?"

Clark's heart hammered violently in his chest. He stumbled back, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

The cave seemed to shimmer and pulse around him, the colors blending together in a dizzying whirl. The octagonal shape glowed faintly, a soft, eerie light that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

And then the light faded, the cave falling silent once more.

Clark stood there, his chest heaving, his gaze locked onto the faintly glowing shape in the wall.

"What… what are you?" he whispered hoarsely.

But there was no answer—only the echo of his own ragged breathing, reverberating through the empty cave.