Smallville In the Yellowstone

by jasonlegree1234

Smallville Yellowstone is a unique fusion of two iconic worlds—the sprawling ranch life of Yellowstone and the legendary origins of Superman. Set against the rugged backdrop of Montana, the story follows the Dutton family as they discover an extraordinary child who crashes onto their ranch during a mysterious meteor shower.

21. Chapter 21

AN : Hey Everyone, This Chapter took me a bit, I rewrote it a few times, Enjoy

Chapter 21: The Calling

The busy corridors of Smallville General bustled with the morning rush. The soft murmur of voices blended with the steady beeping of heart monitors and the occasional clatter of a gurney being wheeled past. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the hospital's polished linoleum floors and pristine white walls.

Dr. Helen Bryce moved gracefully through the controlled chaos, her expression calm and focused. Her crisp white coat flowed behind her as she strode purposefully from one patient's room to another, her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. The gentle authority in her movements and the warmth in her smile as she spoke to the staff belied the strength and determination that had propelled her to become one of the top physicians in the region.

But beneath her composed exterior, a whirlwind of emotions swirled—emotions sparked by the enigmatic, intense man who had swept into her life like a storm.

"Dr. Bryce, we have a patient waiting in Room 12," a nurse called as Helen finished updating a chart at the nurses' station.

Helen glanced up, flashing a quick smile. "Thank you, Donna. I'll be right there."

She set the chart down and turned, her mind drifting briefly to the unexpected turn her life had taken in the past few months. It still felt surreal sometimes—meeting Lex Luthor, heir to the Luthor fortune, and being drawn into his world of power and privilege. Their romance had been sudden, passionate, and unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was as if they had been caught up in a whirlwind, carried along by a force neither of them could resist.

And now…

She glanced down at the simple yet elegant ring on her left hand, her heart fluttering. Now she was engaged to one of the most powerful men in the country.

Fiancé. The word felt strange, almost unreal. But the feelings were anything but.

Taking a deep breath, Helen composed herself and stepped into the examination room.

The sterile hallway of the Smallville Medical Center echoed with the soft shuffle of footsteps and the quiet hum of machinery. The air was heavy with the antiseptic scent of disinfectant, mingling with the faint undercurrent of unease that seemed to hang over the building like a dark cloud. Nurses moved about silently, their eyes wary, their movements tense, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled in.

But inside Room 327, the atmosphere was anything but calm.

Dr. Frederick Walden paced back and forth in the dimly lit room, his movements jerky and erratic, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above him. His once-clouded eyes had cleared almost completely, the milky cataracts fading away to reveal sharp, piercing irises. But there was something wild, something unnatural in his expression—a manic intensity that seemed to burn just beneath the surface.

"Kal-El… must pave the way… The day of destiny…" he muttered, his voice low and breathless, the words spilling out of him in a rapid, unbroken stream. "He is the Traveller… He must fulfil the prophecy…"

He stopped suddenly, his head snapping to the side, his gaze locking onto the far corner of the room. His lips moved silently, forming the same words over and over again: "Kal-El… the Traveller… the one who must conquer…"

"Dr. Walden?" a cautious voice interrupted.

Dr. Marcus, the head of the psychiatric department, stepped into the room, his brow furrowed in concern. He held up his hands in a placating gesture, his expression calm and professional.

"Frederick, it's me—Dr. Marcus," he said softly. "How are you feeling today?"

Walden's gaze shifted slowly to the doctor, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, he seemed to focus, his expression sharpening. But then the manic gleam returned, and his lips curled into a strange, unsettling smile.

"The Traveller is coming," he whispered. "He is coming, and the way must be prepared."

Dr. Marcus stiffened. "Who is coming, Frederick?"

But Walden didn't respond. Instead, he raised his hand slowly, his fingers splayed, his gaze fixed on the far wall.

Dr. Marcus took a cautious step forward, his heart pounding. "Frederick, I think we should—"

Without warning, a blinding flash erupted from Walden's palm, a burst of white-hot energy that shot across the room and shattered the thick glass window in a shower of glittering shards.

Dr. Marcus stumbled back, a cry of shock escaping his lips. The nurses outside screamed, diving for cover as the glass rained down around them.

"He is coming!" Walden shouted, his voice a wild, exultant roar. He turned sharply, his eyes blazing with an almost feverish intensity. And then, before anyone could react, he bolted forward, leaping through the broken window in one smooth, impossibly fast movement.

"Stop him!" Dr. Marcus yelled, scrambling to his feet. But by the time the security guards reached the room, Walden was gone—a blur of motion disappearing into the early morning light.

Lex Luthor stood near the entrance of the hospital, his sharp gaze scanning the bustling lobby. He was impeccably dressed, as always, his tailored suit crisp and immaculate. But today, there was a rare softness in his expression—a faint, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Lex," a familiar voice called from behind him.

He turned, his smile widening as he caught sight of Clark Dutton making his way through the crowd. The younger man looked curious, his brow furrowed slightly as he approached.

"Clark," Lex greeted warmly. "I'm glad you could make it."

"I got your message," Clark said slowly, his gaze flicking between Lex and the entrance to the hospital. "You said you had something important to tell me."

Lex chuckled softly. "I do." He glanced around, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "But before I get to that… there's someone I want you to meet."

Clark frowned, glancing past Lex's shoulder. "Who?"

As if on cue, Helen Bryce stepped into view, her smile brightening as her gaze met Lex's. She moved to stand beside him, her presence exuding a quiet confidence.

"Clark, I'd like you to meet Dr. Helen Bryce," Lex said, his voice softening as he looked at her. "My fiancée."

Clark's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in shock. "Your… fiancée?"

Lex grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Surprised?"

Clark blinked, his gaze shifting to Helen. "I—yeah, I—wow, Lex, I had no idea you were—" He turned to Helen, his smile widening awkwardly. "Congratulations, Dr. Bryce. It's… it's really nice to meet you."

Helen smiled warmly, holding out her hand. "Please, call me Helen. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Clark. Lex has told me so much about you."

"Has he?" Clark asked, glancing at Lex with a wry smile. "All good, I hope."

"Mostly," Helen teased lightly. She exchanged a glance with Lex, and the affectionate look that passed between them made Clark's smile falter slightly.

Lex… engaged? It didn't seem possible. He had always seen Lex as someone who lived on the edge, a man who thrived on adrenaline and power plays. The idea of him settling down, of marrying someone… it was almost inconceivable.

"How… how did this happen?" Clark asked finally, still trying to wrap his head around it. "I mean, when did you—"

"It's been a whirlwind, I'll admit," Lex said softly. He glanced at Helen, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. "But sometimes… when you know, you know."

Helen's smile softened. "It's been an unexpected journey," she murmured. "But I wouldn't change it for anything."

Clark nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. "So… when's the wedding?"

"Soon," Lex replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Very soon."

"And that's why I wanted to talk to you," he continued, his gaze locking onto Clark's. "There's something I need to ask you."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Lex hesitated, his expression turning serious. "I want you to be my best man, Clark."

Clark's eyes widened. "Your… best man?"

"Yes," Lex said quietly. "You're one of the few people I trust. And… I'd be honoured if you'd stand by me on the most important day of my life."

Clark stared at him, his thoughts racing. Lex—his best man? It felt surreal, like some kind of strange dream. But as he looked at the earnest expression on Lex's face, he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest.

"I… I don't know what to say," Clark murmured. "I'd be… honoured, Lex. Really."

Lex's smile widened, a rare, genuine joy lighting up his eyes. "Thank you, Clark. That means more to me than you know."

He glanced at Helen, then back at Clark. "We're going to have a small ceremony here in Smallville. I'd like it to be… personal. Just a few close friends and family."

Clark nodded slowly, still feeling slightly dazed. "Of course. Whatever you need."

Helen smiled warmly. "I'm really glad you agreed, Clark. Lex speaks very highly of you."

Clark managed a smile in return, though his mind was still reeling. Lex… getting married? It was almost impossible to believe.

But as he looked at Lex—really looked at him—he saw something new in his friend's eyes. Something softer, gentler. It was strange, but… maybe this was what Lex needed. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something good for him.

"Thank you for including me," Clark said quietly, his smile genuine. "I'm… really happy for you, Lex."

"Thank you, Clark," Lex murmured softly. "That means a lot."

And as they stood there, the morning sun shining down on them, Clark couldn't help but feel a small, tentative hope.

Maybe, for once, things were actually starting to look up.

The light filtered softly through the grand windows of Lex's study, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany desk. Lex stood in the centre of the room, his gaze locked on the small piece of glass in his hand. It was a shard from Dr. Walden's hospital room—a fragment of the window he had shattered with that impossible blast of energy.

"What are you hiding, Dr. Walden?" Lex murmured softly, turning the glass over in his hand.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. He turned, his expression carefully neutral as Clark stepped into the room, his face pale and drawn.

"You wanted to see me, Lex?" Clark asked cautiously.

"Yes," Lex said slowly. He set the shard of glass down and gestured for Clark to follow him. "I thought you might want to know… Dr. Walden escaped from the hospital this morning."

Clark's eyes widened. "Escaped? How?"

"That's the interesting part," Lex murmured. He led Clark down the hallway, stopping in front of a large, ornate door. "Apparently, he… destroyed the window of his room. With a blast of energy. From his hand."

Clark stared at him, his heart pounding. "What do you mean, 'a blast of energy'?"

"I mean exactly what I said," Lex replied evenly. He pushed the door open, revealing a dimly lit room with high ceilings and a massive skylight. At the centre of the room was a small cot, surrounded by a scattering of medical equipment. But it was the ceiling that drew Clark's gaze.

The smooth surface of the ceiling was covered in symbols—intricate, curling patterns that twisted and overlapped, forming a dizzying array of shapes and lines. The same symbols that were etched into the walls of the Kawatche Caves. The same symbols that Clark had seen in his dreams.

Clark's breath caught. "What… what is this?"

"This," Lex said softly, stepping forward, "is what Dr. Walden left behind. I found it this morning, after he escaped." He glanced at Clark, his eyes sharp. "You've seen these before, haven't you?"

Clark tore his gaze away from the ceiling, forcing himself to meet Lex's eyes. "I—I don't know what they are," he stammered. "I've seen them in the caves, but… I can't read them."

Lex raised an eyebrow, his expression sceptical. "Really? Because I have a hard time believing that. Especially after… everything that's happened lately."

"I'm telling you the truth, Lex," Clark insisted, his voice tight. "I can't read them."

For a long moment, Lex just stared at him, his gaze piercing. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"All right," he murmured. "If you say so."

Clark swallowed hard, the tension between them almost suffocating. "So… what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to find out what they mean," Lex said softly. His gaze shifted back to the ceiling, his expression thoughtful. "Because I think these symbols are a key—a key to unlocking something… extraordinary."

Clark hesitated, his pulse racing. "Lex—"

"I'm not going to stop, Clark," Lex interrupted quietly. "Not until I have answers. And if you're not going to help me… then I'll find them on my own."

Clark's heart sank. "Lex, I—"

But before he could finish, the shrill ring of Lex's phone cut through the silence. Lex glanced at the screen, his expression tightening.

"I have to take this," he said shortly. "But don't worry, Clark… I'll keep you updated."

Clark nodded stiffly, turning and walking out of the room. But as he left, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted—that Lex was no longer just a friend, but a man on a mission. A mission that could end very, very badly.

The air inside the caves was thick and heavy, the shadows deepening as the sun dipped below the horizon. The only light came from the faint, pulsing glow of the symbols etched into the stone walls, casting an eerie, flickering glow.

Dr. Walden stood in the centre of the chamber, his body trembling with barely contained energy. His eyes blazed with a feverish light, his lips moving silently as he stared at the circle of symbols on the wall.

"Kal-El… the Traveller… must fulfill his destiny…" he whispered, his voice low and fervent. He raised his hand slowly, his fingers splayed wide.

And then, with a sudden, violent burst of power, a bolt of energy shot from his palm, slamming into the centre of the circle.

The symbols flared to life, glowing brighter and brighter until the entire chamber was bathed in searing, blinding light.

"Show me… show me everything!" Walden cried, his voice rising to a desperate shout.

For a heartbeat, the light pulsed, throbbing with a strange, alien energy. And then, slowly, the symbols began to shift—rearranging themselves, twisting and reforming into a new, unfamiliar pattern.

Walden's eyes widened, his expression a mixture of awe and terror.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Yes…"

And as the symbols burned brighter, searing their pattern into his mind, a single word escaped his lips, soft and reverent.

"Kal-El…"

The expansive study of the Luthor Mansion in Smallville, Montana, was filled with a cold, harsh light filtering through the tall, arched windows. Lex stood rigidly in front of his desk, his expression tense and his jaw set as he stared down at a freshly delivered legal document. The elegant furnishings and polished wood seemed almost oppressive, weighing down the atmosphere as he absorbed the implications of what he had just read.

"What do you mean the restraining order was rejected?" Lex snapped, his voice sharp. He glared at the suited attorney standing awkwardly by the door, his patience clearly fraying.

The lawyer cleared his throat nervously, clutching his briefcase as if for protection. "I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor, but the judge ruled that the Kawatche Caves fall under the jurisdiction of the state. Your custodianship of the land doesn't grant you the right to bar Mr. Lionel Luthor from accessing the site."

Lex's fingers tightened around the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white. "My father's intentions for those caves are not in the interest of preservation. He wants to exploit them."

"I understand, sir," the lawyer said cautiously. "But the legal boundaries are clear. You no longer have exclusive control over the site."

Lex turned away sharply, his gaze dark and brooding as he stared out the large windows overlooking the sprawling Montana landscape. In the distance, the lush pastures of Yellowstone Ranch stretched out beneath the early morning sky, shrouded in mist. But even the sight of the ranch—his friend Clark Dutton's home—couldn't calm the simmering anger building inside him.

"Fine," Lex muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll find another way."

Before he could say more, the heavy double doors to his study swung open with a loud bang.

Dr. Frederick Walden stumbled in, his eyes wild and his face twisted in a manic grin. His hair was dishevelled, his clothes rumpled, but there was an almost palpable energy radiating from him—a barely contained frenzy that made Lex's heart skip a beat.

"Dr. Walden?" Lex breathed, shock flickering across his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I know," Walden rasped, his voice low and hoarse. He took a staggering step forward, his gaze fixed on Lex with an unnerving intensity. "I know what the symbols mean. I know who he is."

Lex's heart pounded, confusion warring with suspicion. "Who are you talking about?"

But before Walden could respond, another figure stepped into the room—tall, impeccably dressed, and carrying an aura of cold authority.

"Frederick," Lionel Luthor murmured, his smile thin and dangerous as he moved forward. "You're looking… remarkably well, considering your recent stay in the psychiatric ward."

Walden ignored him, his gaze never leaving Lex's. "You have to listen to me," he said urgently. "The symbols in the cave… they're not just words. They're a prophecy. A warning about him."

"Who?" Lex demanded, stepping forward. "Who are you talking about?"

"The Traveller," Walden whispered, his voice trembling. "The last son of a world that no longer exists. He's the one who was sent to fulfill a great destiny. To conquer, to rule, to—"

"Who is he?" Lex shouted, his voice rising with desperation.

Walden's gaze sharpened, his eyes burning with a feverish light. "Clark Dutton!" he cried. "He's Kal-El! The Traveller! The last son of Krypton!"

The room fell into a stunned silence.

Lex's mind reeled, the words crashing over him like a tidal wave. Clark? His childhood friend, the quiet, unassuming teenager from Yellowstone Ranch? The idea was absurd… and yet, the symbols, the strange occurrences, the power Clark always seemed to have…

"I—I don't understand," Lex murmured, shaking his head. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying he's dangerous!" Walden shouted, his voice raw and frantic. "He's the one the prophecy speaks of. He's here to rule! You have to kill him before it's too late—before he destroys everything!"

The words seemed to echo in the stillness, reverberating through the room like a terrible proclamation.

Lex's gaze shifted to Lionel, who was watching Walden with a strange, calculating expression. There was no shock, no disbelief—only a cold, analytical interest, as if he were weighing the implications of what he'd just heard.

"Clark Dutton," Lionel murmured softly. "Interesting."

"Interesting?" Walden spat, his eyes blazing. "He's a threat. He must be—"

A sharp pop echoed through the room.

Dr. Marcus stood in the doorway, a tranquiliser gun in his hand. He lowered the weapon slowly, his gaze fixed on Walden's crumpled form as the older man slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor," Dr. Marcus said quietly, stepping forward. "But Dr. Walden needs to be sedated."

Lex stared at Walden's limp form, his heart racing. "Did you hear what he just said?" he whispered. "He thinks Clark—"

"He's delusional," Dr. Marcus interrupted firmly. "He's been through a traumatic experience. His mind is… unstable. Anything he says should be disregarded."

"But—"

"Lex," Lionel interrupted sharply, his gaze dark. "You know better than to put stock in the ravings of a madman."

Lex's jaw tightened. "But what if he's right?"

"If he's right, then we'll deal with it," Lionel murmured softly. "But until then, keep this information… to yourself."

Lex hesitated, his thoughts a whirlwind of suspicion and doubt. But before he could respond, Dr. Marcus gestured to the orderlies outside the door.

"Take him to the ambulance," he ordered. "We'll return him to the hospital and keep him under close observation."

The orderlies moved quickly, lifting Walden's limp form onto a stretcher and wheeling him out of the room.

As they disappeared down the hallway, Lionel turned to Lex, his smile faint and chilling.

"Remember, Lex," he murmured softly. "Some secrets are best left buried."

The interior of the ambulance was dim and quiet, the only sounds were the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft murmur of the paramedics up front. Dr. Walden lay strapped to the stretcher, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and even.

Dr. Marcus sat beside him, his gaze flicking nervously to the tranquilliser gun in his lap. He glanced at the paramedics, then leaned forward, his voice a low murmur.

"Frederick," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

For a moment, there was no response. But then, slowly, Walden's eyes fluttered open.

The manic light was back, burning fiercely in his gaze. But now his expression was calm, almost serene.

"The Traveller is coming," he whispered, a strange smile tugging at his lips. "The day of destiny… is almost here."

Dr. Marcus stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

But before he could say more, a sudden crackle filled the air.

The ambulance shuddered, the lights above flickering wildly. Dr. Marcus gasped, stumbling back as sparks erupted from the heart monitor, the screen flickering and fading in rapid succession.

"Hey, what's going on back there?" one of the paramedics shouted, glancing over his shoulder.

"It's—" Dr. Marcus started.

But before he could finish, the entire ambulance was plunged into darkness.

With a blinding flash, every light in the vehicle exploded.

The ambulance swerved violently, the engine sputtering and dying as the entire electrical system shorted out. The paramedics struggled with the wheel, shouting in confusion as the vehicle skidded to a stop at the edge of the road.

Dr. Marcus's heart pounded as he turned back to Walden.

Walden's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with an eerie, otherworldly light.

"The Traveller must be tested," he whispered. "The way must be paved…"

And before Dr. Marcus could react, Walden raised his hand and blasted the rear doors off their hinges.

"No!" Dr. Marcus cried.

But Walden was already gone, disappearing into the forest beyond, his laughter echoing faintly through the trees.

The golden morning sunlight bathed the rolling hills and open pastures of Yellowstone Ranch, casting long shadows over the lush greenery. But the peaceful calm of the ranch was shattered by the low rumble of approaching trucks, dust billowing up in their wake as they sped toward the outer boundary fence.

John Dutton sat tall in the saddle of his horse at the crest of a hill, his expression dark as he watched the convoy of uniformed men pull up at the edge of the property. The Montana Livestock Inspection trucks gleamed in the sunlight, the orange vests of the men standing out starkly against the green and brown of the landscape.

Lee Dutton, his eldest son, reigned in his horse beside his father, his gaze narrowing as the men began to unload ATVs and trailers. The wind ruffled his dark hair beneath his hat, but his posture was tense, his jaw clenched as he scanned the scene below.

"What are they doing here?" Lee growled, his voice edged with anger.

"They're not here for us," John muttered grimly, gesturing to the far side of the fence. "Our cattle are the ones trespassing."

Lee followed his father's gaze, his eyes widening as he spotted the small, hand-painted sign nailed to a wooden post on the other side of the fence: Reservation Boundary – No Trespassing.

"Damn it," Lee swore under his breath. "How'd they get over there?"

"I don't know," John muttered, his eyes narrowing. "But we need to get them back before this becomes a problem."

They spurred their horses forward, riding down the hill and into the pasture. The air was thick with tension as they approached the group of men gathered near the fence, their bright orange vests and trucks marking them as members of the nearby reservation.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward to meet them, his face set in a hard, unyielding expression. He folded his arms across his chest as John and Lee rode up, his gaze cold and assessing.

"Dutton," he greeted John tersely. "Didn't think I'd see your cattle on our land again."

John reined in his horse just short of the fence, his gaze steady. "It wasn't intentional, Chief Rainwater," he said evenly. "Must have been a break in the fence somewhere."

Rainwater's eyes narrowed. "You've got a lot of breaks in your fences these days, Dutton. I'm starting to think it's not just bad luck."

Lee bristled beside his father, his fists clenched around the reins. "Are you saying we're doing this on purpose?"

"I'm stating a fact," Rainwater replied calmly. "Your cattle are on our land—again. And as long as they're here, they're ours."

Lee opened his mouth to retort, but John cut him off with a sharp look. "We're not looking for trouble, Chief," he said quietly. "We'll get them back onto our land."

Rainwater arched an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between John and Lee. "You'd better," he said softly. "Because if this happens again, I won't be so understanding."

He turned sharply, gesturing to his men. "Round them up," he ordered. "And make sure none of them stay behind."

The reservation men began to move, spreading out across the field to corral the cattle back toward the boundary. Lee muttered a curse under his breath, but John held up a hand, his gaze locked on Rainwater's retreating figure.

"We'll handle this ourselves," John said firmly. "Just… back off."

Rainwater paused, glancing over his shoulder. For a long moment, he stared at John, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Fine," he murmured. "But remember, Dutton… this is our land. Don't forget that."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving John and Lee standing at the fence line, the tension between them as thick as the dust hanging in the air.

The interior of the Kawatche Caves was cool and dim, the shadows twisting and shifting as Clark made his way through the narrow passageways. The air smelled of damp earth and ancient stone, the silence almost oppressive. But as he stepped into the main chamber, a faint glow caught his eye, drawing him forward.

The symbols on the walls seemed to pulse faintly, their strange, curling lines glowing with a soft, eerie light. Clark frowned, his gaze drifting over the familiar patterns. But something was different. The shapes were rearranged, the lines twisted into a new, ominous configuration.

The day is coming when the last son will begin his quest to rule the third planet.

Clark's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding. The words burned into his mind, sending a chill racing down his spine.

"What… what does that mean?" he whispered.

"Curious, isn't it?"

Clark spun around, his eyes widening as Lionel Luthor stepped out of the shadows, a faint smile playing on his lips. The older man's presence seemed to fill the small chamber, his gaze sharp and calculating as he looked around at the glowing symbols.

"Mr. Luthor," Clark said warily. "What are you doing here?"

Lionel arched an eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Mr. Dutton," he murmured. "But as it happens, I'm here on official business. These caves are under my protection now."

Clark stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've taken over conservatorship of this site," Lionel replied smoothly. "My son's little project has been… reallocated. The state believed I would be a more suitable steward."

Clark's heart sank. "So… you're in charge now?"

"Yes," Lionel murmured, his gaze drifting over the walls. "And I must say, these symbols are quite… extraordinary. Especially since they seem to have changed."

Clark swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain calm. "Changed?"

"Indeed," Lionel said softly. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the glowing symbols. "This pattern… it's different from when I last saw it. As if… someone—or something—has been rewriting it."

Clark felt his pulse quicken. "I—I don't know anything about that."

"Of course you don't," Lionel murmured, his gaze lingering on Clark's face for a moment too long. Then he turned away, his expression thoughtful. "But I intend to find out."

Before Clark could respond, Lionel glanced back at the octagonal recess in the wall, his smile faint.

"You know, I once saw an object that would fit perfectly into that little keyhole," he remarked casually. "A small, octagonal disk. My son had it for a while, but then it… disappeared. Do you know anything about that?"

Clark's heart skipped a beat. He shook his head quickly, avoiding Lionel's gaze. "No. I don't."

"Hmm," Lionel murmured softly. "Interesting."

He turned away, his gaze sweeping over the chamber one last time. "Well, Mr. Dutton… enjoy your visit. I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other."

And with that, he strode out of the cave, leaving Clark alone in the flickering darkness.

Clark burst through the front door of the main house, his face pale and his eyes wide. John and Evelyn looked up sharply from the kitchen table, concern flickering in their eyes.

"Clark?" Evelyn asked softly. "What's wrong?"

"Lionel," Clark gasped, his chest heaving. "He's… he's taken control of the caves."

John's expression darkened. "What?"

"And the symbols… they've changed," Clark continued breathlessly. "They read… 'The day is coming when the last son will begin his quest to rule the third planet.'"

Evelyn's eyes widened, her face going pale. "Oh my God…"

John exchanged a worried glance with Evelyn, his jaw clenched. "This is bad, Clark. Very bad."

Clark nodded slowly, his heart heavy. "What am I supposed to do?"

John took a deep breath, his gaze steady. "We'll figure it out," he murmured. "But whatever happens… we can't let Lionel or anyone else find out the truth."

Clark nodded again, the weight of the prophecy pressing down on him like a shroud.

"Okay, Dad," he whispered. "I'll try."

But deep down, he knew things were only going to get worse.

The office of The Torch buzzed with the usual quiet activity, the clatter of keyboards and the faint hum of fluorescent lights filling the air. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long shadows over the stacks of papers and the cluttered desks. Chloe Sullivan hunched over her computer, her fingers flying across the keys, completely absorbed in the latest edition of the high school newspaper.

A soft creak broke the silence as the door swung open behind her.

"Ms. Sullivan, I've heard quite a lot about your tenacity."

Chloe's hands froze mid-typing. She turned slowly, her heart skipping a beat as she found herself face-to-face with Lionel Luthor.

"Mr. Luthor?" she stammered, rising from her chair. "What—what are you doing here?"

Lionel smiled politely, his gaze sweeping over the disorganised room. "The infamous Chloe Sullivan," he murmured. "Editor of The Torch, budding journalist, and quite the investigator, I hear."

Chloe swallowed hard, her heart racing. "I, uh… I try my best."

"Your best," Lionel repeated softly. He stepped further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "I happen to know that your best has caught the attention of some very influential people in Metropolis."

Chloe blinked, confused. "Influential people?"

"Yes," Lionel said lightly. "The editorial board at the Daily Planet, for instance."

Chloe's jaw dropped. "The Daily Planet?"

"Indeed." Lionel reached into the pocket of his tailored coat and withdrew a folded letter. "I may have… pulled a few strings. You know how it is."

He handed the paper to Chloe, his smile widening slightly. She took it with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the crisp text.

Dear Ms. Sullivan, we are pleased to offer you a weekly column…

Chloe's breath caught. It was real—a letter from the Daily Planet, offering her a chance to write for one of the most prestigious newspapers in the country.

"This… this is incredible," she whispered. "I—I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Lionel murmured. He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a strange, almost predatory light. "Just accept. After all, this is the opportunity of a lifetime."

Chloe swallowed hard, her gaze darting back to the letter. "But… why? Why me?"

"Because you have potential, Ms. Sullivan," Lionel said softly. "And potential… deserves to be nurtured."

Chloe took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This was what she'd always wanted—a real chance to break into the world of journalism. A chance to prove herself. But as her gaze flicked back to Lionel, suspicion nagged at the back of her mind.

"There's a catch, isn't there?" she murmured.

"Catch?" Lionel echoed, feigning innocence. "Why, Ms. Sullivan, I'm shocked you would suggest such a thing."

"What do you want from me, Mr. Luthor?" Chloe asked quietly, her eyes narrowing.

Lionel's smile widened. He reached into his coat pocket again and withdrew a small, elegant card. "I want you to do what you do best," he murmured. "Investigate. Dig deep. Get to the bottom of a mystery."

Chloe frowned, her gaze shifting to the card. "A mystery?"

"Yes," Lionel murmured softly. "A complete, in-depth profile… of Clark Dutton."

Chloe's heart plummeted. "Clark?" she whispered. "You want me to investigate Clark?"

"Yes," Lionel said smoothly. "I want to know everything there is to know about him. His background, his family… his abilities."

Chloe's jaw tightened. "No," she said firmly, shaking her head. "I'm not doing that."

Lionel arched an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Chloe snapped. "Clark's my friend. I'm not going to betray him for some… some job."

"Friendship," Lionel murmured softly. "Such a fragile thing, isn't it?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "But tell me, Ms. Sullivan… has Clark always been as honest with you as you are with him?"

Chloe stiffened. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Lionel murmured. He leaned in, his gaze piercing. "Are you sure you know everything there is to know about your friend? Or are there… secrets he's keeping from you?"

Chloe's heart raced, her mind whirling. "Clark doesn't—"

"Think about it," Lionel interrupted gently. "You're an intelligent young woman, Chloe. I'm sure you've noticed… things. Unexplained events, unusual abilities… Is it really such a stretch to wonder if your friend is hiding something?"

Chloe stared at him, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Take your time," Lionel murmured, stepping back. "But remember… opportunities like this don't come around every day."

He turned and walked out of the office, leaving Chloe clutching the letter, her heart torn between loyalty and ambition.

The dining hall of the Luthor mansion was filled with soft laughter and the clink of crystal glasses. The wooden beams overhead cast long shadows across the tables draped in white linen, candles flickering softly in the gentle breeze.

Clark stood near the back, his gaze drifting over the gathering of friends and family. Lex Luthor stood at the head of the table, his arm around Dr. Helen Bryce, a rare, genuine smile lighting up his face. The sight was surreal—Lex, the man who had always seemed so guarded and closed off, looking… happy.

"Clark!" Lex called, catching sight of him. He made his way over, his smile widening. "Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it," Clark replied with a smile.

Lex nodded, glancing around. "It's not quite a LuthorCorp gala, but I think it suits us, don't you?"

"Definitely," Clark murmured. He hesitated, then leaned closer. "Lex, is… everything okay?"

Lex's smile faded slightly. He glanced around, then lowered his voice. "There's something you should know. My father… he heard Dr. Walden say something."

Clark's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"He said that you would… rule the world," Lex whispered. "And I don't think my father is going to let this go."

Clark stared at him, his mind reeling. "But I don't—"

"I know," Lex said softly. "But be careful, Clark. My father… he's dangerous."

Before Clark could respond, someone called for quiet. Lex stepped back, nodding slightly. "Go on. They're waiting."

Clark took a deep breath, his heart pounding, and moved to the front of the room.

"I've known Lex for a long time," Clark began awkwardly, raising his glass. "And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that true love is… worth fighting for. Worth taking a chance on. Even if it means risking everything."

His gaze shifted to Lana, who stood near the back, her eyes soft and sad.

"Because when it's real," Clark continued quietly, "it's worth the cost."

The room erupted in applause, but Clark barely heard it. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, growing louder and louder until it was almost unbearable.

"Clark?" Lex asked, frowning. "Are you okay?"

Clark winced, clutching his head. "I—I need some air."

And before anyone could stop him, he turned and stumbled out, the sound pulling him back to the ranch.

Clark burst into the barn, his heart pounding. The high-pitched sound filled his head, tugging at him, drawing him toward the loft.

He froze, his gaze locking onto the faint glow coming from a small wooden box. The key. It was calling him.

But before he could reach it, a blast of white-hot energy slammed into his chest, throwing him through the barn wall. He hit the ground hard, gasping for breath as the acrid scent of smoke filled his nostrils.

"You must be destroyed, Kal-El," a voice hissed.

Clark looked up, his eyes widening in shock as Dr. Walden stepped into the barn, his eyes blazing with an eerie, unnatural light. He reached down and grabbed the key.

"You… must… die!" Walden roared, raising his hand.

Another blast of energy shot from his palm, pinning Clark to the wall. Pain seared through his body as the energy held him suspended, his muscles trembling with the effort to stay conscious.

But then, with a burst of determination, Clark's eyes flared red.

A beam of heat vision shot out, striking Walden's shoulder. The man screamed, stumbling back, the energy dissipating as Clark dropped to the ground.

"No!" Walden shrieked, clutching his shoulder.

Clark moved in a blur, his heart racing. and darted out of the barn. Walden's eyes blazed with fury.

"You cannot escape me, Traveller!" he roared, sending another blast of energy after Clark.

Clark ducked, the beam missing him by inches. It struck a gas tank, and the world erupted in flames.

The explosion shook the ground, a blinding fireball that roared into the sky. Clark stumbled back, shielding his eyes as the barn went up in a massive inferno.

When the smoke cleared, only charred remains were left.

Dr. Walden lay in the centre of the wreckage, his body twisted and broken. But in his blackened hand, one thing remained intact—a faint outline, shaped like an octagon.

The key.

Clark took a deep breath, his heart heavy. Slowly, he reached out and pried the key from Walden's lifeless fingers.

Lionel stood over Dr. Walden's charred body, his expression calm, almost detached. He reached down, his fingers brushing over the outline in the man's palm.

An octagon, etched with strange, unfamiliar symbols.

"Interesting," Lionel murmured softly.

And as he turned away, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

The sky over the Yellowstone Ranch was painted in hues of gold and crimson, the last rays of the setting sun casting a warm glow over the sprawling fields and pastures. The main house stood tall and imposing against the darkening sky, the lights in the windows flickering softly like beacons in the encroaching night.

Inside, the house was quiet, a stark contrast to the laughter and celebration that had filled the dining hall earlier. Clark Dutton stood in the living room, his brow furrowed, his gaze distant as he stared out the large picture window. His thoughts were a tangled mess, swirling with fragments of the symbols he had seen in the caves and the ominous message they had spelled out:

The day is coming when the last son will begin his quest to rule the third planet.

The words sent a chill through him, filling him with a nameless fear. What did it mean? What was he supposed to do?

"Clark?" John's voice broke the silence.

Clark turned slowly, finding his father standing in the doorway, his expression calm but concerned. Evelyn stood beside him, her eyes soft as they locked onto her son's troubled face.

"What is it, son?" John asked gently. "What's got you so worked up?"

Clark took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "The symbols in the caves," he murmured. "They changed. And the message… it said… it said I'm supposed to—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "To rule the world."

Evelyn's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing her face. "What?"

"Rule the world?" John repeated, his voice sharp. "That—no, that can't be right."

"I saw it, Dad," Clark whispered. "I read it. It's there, in the cave walls, in a language I didn't even know I could read."

John exchanged a worried glance with Evelyn, his jaw tightening. "Son," he said softly, stepping forward. "Whatever those symbols say… they don't define you. You're more than some prophecy carved into a cave wall."

"But what if they're right?" Clark asked desperately. "What if I'm supposed to be—"

"Clark," Evelyn interrupted gently. She moved closer, her gaze filled with love and determination. "You're our son. Whatever those messages say, whatever your birth family wanted… you're a Dutton. And we know that when the time comes, you'll do the right thing."

"But what if I can't?" Clark whispered, his voice trembling. "What if… what if I fail?"

John's gaze softened. He reached out, resting a hand on Clark's shoulder. "You won't fail, son," he murmured quietly. "Because you have us. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Clark nodded slowly, his heart aching. "Okay, Dad," he whispered. "I'll try."

John squeezed his shoulder gently, a faint smile touching his lips. "That's all we ask."

Just then, a soft knock sounded at the front door. Evelyn turned, frowning slightly. "Who could that be?"

"I'll get it," Clark murmured.

He made his way to the door and opened it, his heart skipping a beat as he found Lana Lang standing on the porch, her hair glowing softly in the fading light.

"Lana," he breathed. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to check on you," Lana said softly. She glanced past him, her gaze flicking to John and Evelyn standing in the background. "I, um… I hope I'm not interrupting."

Clark shook his head quickly. "No, you're not." He turned back to his parents, offering a weak smile. "It's okay. I'll be back in a few minutes."

John nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on Lana for a moment before he turned and led Evelyn out of the room.

Clark stepped out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind him. The cool evening breeze ruffled his hair as he turned to face Lana, his heart hammering in his chest.

"What's going on, Clark?" Lana asked quietly. "You seemed so… upset at the dinner."

"I—I don't know," Clark murmured, his gaze dropping to the ground. "It's just… everything's changing. Lex, his father, the caves… I feel like I'm losing control of everything."

Lana hesitated, then reached out, resting a gentle hand on his arm. "You know you can talk to me, right? I—I want to help."

Clark looked up, his eyes locking onto hers. "I know," he whispered. "But… there are things I can't tell you, Lana. Things I'm… afraid to tell you."

Lana's eyes softened. "You have so many secrets, Clark," she murmured. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even know who you are."

Clark swallowed hard, his heart aching. "I—I don't want my feelings for you to be one of them," he said softly.

Lana blinked, her breath hitching. "What… what do you mean?"

"I mean that… I—I care about you, Lana," Clark whispered. "More than… more than I can say."

And before he could lose his nerve, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle, tentative kiss.

Their lips met softly at first, a tentative brush that sent a jolt of electricity racing through him. He could feel the warmth of her breath, the way her body seemed to melt into his as if they were two halves of the same whole. The taste of her—sweet and familiar, with a hint of something unknown—flooded his senses, making his head spin. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing down to the feel of her lips against his, the soft gasp that escaped her as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of movement caught his attention.

Standing just beyond the edge of the porch, half-hidden in the deepening shadows, was Alicia Baker. Her emerald-green eyes were fixed on them, her face pale but composed. She stood perfectly still, her gaze never wavering as she watched them—watched him. And though her hands were clenched at her sides, her expression was not one of despair or defeat.

No, there was something fierce, something determined in the way she held herself, as if she were drawing strength from the sight before her.

Alicia's thoughts churned like a tempest. So, this is how it is… she thought, her chest tightening painfully as she watched Clark kiss Lana. But I'm not giving up. I won't let him slip away.

Even as Clark deepened the kiss, his fingers tangling gently in Lana's hair, Alicia took a slow, steadying breath. This was just another obstacle—another test of her resolve. She would fight for him—fight for their connection—no matter how long it took.

I'll fight harder, Clark, she promised silently, her gaze unwavering. You'll see. You're meant to be with me, not her.

And as she stood there, her eyes glinting with a strange, almost defiant light, she turned sharply, disappearing into the night.

Clark, oblivious to Alicia's departure, pulled back slightly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Lana's eyes fluttered open, dazed and wide, her lips swollen and flushed from the intensity of the kiss.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world faded away, leaving only the two of them, standing together in the soft glow of the evening light.

But as they pulled apart, a faint sound reached Clark's ears—a soft gasp, quickly stifled.

He turned sharply, his heart sinking as he caught sight of Chloe standing at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide and filled with tears.

"Chloe…" he breathed.

But before he could say more, Chloe turned and fled, disappearing into the darkness.

"Chloe, wait!" Clark called, taking a step forward.

"Clark?" Lana murmured, frowning. "What's wrong?"

Clark shook his head, his heart aching. "I—I'm sorry, Lana. I have to go."

Lana's face fell. "But—"

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and then he turned and ran, his pulse racing as he made his way toward the storm cellar.

The air seemed to thrum with energy as he approached, his heart pounding wildly. A faint, eerie glow shone from beneath the cellar doors, casting strange shadows across the ground.

"Kal-El," a deep, resonant voice murmured softly, sending a shiver down Clark's spine. "It is time."

Clark's breath caught. The voice seemed to echo in his mind, filling him with a cold, unfamiliar fear.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and pulled open the cellar doors.

A blinding light erupted from the depths, washing over him in a wave of energy that seemed to pulse through his veins, setting every nerve on fire.

And as he stepped into the light, the world around him seemed to fall away, leaving only the voice—a voice that whispered of destiny, of power… and of a fate he could no longer escape.

"Kal-El… it is time."

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery light over the sprawling fields of Yellowstone Ranch. The only sound was the soft rustling of grass as the breeze swept across the pastures. But in the distance, shadowy figures moved with purpose, their forms blending seamlessly into the darkness.

Two men crept silently along the boundary fence that separated the Duttons' land from the adjacent reservation. Dressed in dark clothing, their faces masked by bandanas, they moved swiftly, their footsteps careful and measured. One carried a set of heavy wire cutters, the gleaming steel glinting faintly in the moonlight.

The taller of the two paused, casting a wary glance over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the surrounding landscape. Satisfied they were alone, he nodded to his companion.

"Make it quick," he whispered.

With a curt nod, the second man dropped to one knee and positioned the wire cutters over the thick strands of the barbed fence. The blades closed with a soft snip, severing the wire cleanly. One by one, the wires were cut, the fence sagging limply as they finished their task.

"Let's get 'em moving," the first man murmured.

Together, they pushed through the gap, the barbed wire brushing harmlessly against their thick gloves as they stepped onto Dutton land. The cattle were scattered across the pasture, their large, dark shapes barely visible in the dim light. The men moved cautiously, their movements slow and deliberate as they began herding the cattle toward the opening they had created.

The cows shifted and shuffled, their ears flicking back in confusion as the men prodded them forward. One of the larger bulls bellowed softly, its deep voice reverberating across the field.

"Shh," the second man hissed, waving his arms to guide the animal toward the gap in the fence. "Easy, boy. Keep moving."

Slowly, reluctantly, the cattle began to file through the opening, their hooves clomping softly on the trampled earth. One by one, the herd crossed onto reservation land, their dark shapes blending into the shadows beyond the fence line.

The two men watched in silence, their faces set in grim determination.

"That's it," the first man whispered. "Just a little more, and they're ours."

But just as the last of the cattle slipped through, a faint light flickered in the distance—the beam of a flashlight sweeping across the pasture.

"Someone's coming," the second man hissed, his voice tense.

"Go, go!" the taller man urged. They ducked low, disappearing into the shadows just as the light swept past the spot where they'd been standing.

A moment later, the sound of a truck engine rumbled softly in the night. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the open fence and the trampled grass beyond. The two men remained motionless, hidden in the tall brush, as the truck slowed to a stop.

"Damn it," the taller man muttered under his breath. "That's Lee Dutton."

Lee Dutton's silhouette was visible in the glow of the headlights as he jumped down from the truck, his gaze scanning the area. He froze as he spotted the severed fence, his face hardening.

"Son of a—" He spun on his heel, racing back to the truck. The engine roared to life, tires skidding in the dirt as he gunned the vehicle around and sped back toward the main ranch house.

The two men remained crouched in silence, watching as the truck's taillights disappeared into the distance.

"What do we do now?" the second man asked, his voice low.

"Nothing," the taller man replied, his gaze fixed on the retreating lights. "Let him run and tell his father. It's already done."

And with that, they melted into the darkness, leaving the fence open and the Duttons' cattle grazing peacefully on reservation land.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, the only sound in the stillness of John Dutton's office. He sat at his desk, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the room. His expression was tense, his gaze distant as he stared at a map spread out before him, lines of barbed wire and pasture boundaries marked in red.

But the quiet was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps pounding up the stairs. The door to the office burst open, and Lee Dutton stormed in, his face flushed with anger and worry.

"Dad!" he shouted, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "It's happened again!"

John's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"

"The fence," Lee growled, his fists clenched at his sides. "They cut it. The cattle—half the herd's already crossed onto the reservation."

John shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. "When?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Just now," Lee spat. "I saw it myself. They knew exactly what they were doing."

John's jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. He turned sharply, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and shrugging it on in one fluid motion.

"Get the men," he ordered. "And tell them to be ready. We're not letting this go."

Lee hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Dad, if we go onto the reservation to get the cattle back, it could turn into a—"

"I don't care what it turns into," John snapped, his voice sharp. "They've crossed the line one too many times. We'll show them that the Duttons aren't to be messed with."

He strode toward the door, his expression set in grim determination. But as he reached the threshold, Lee grabbed his arm, his grip firm.

"Dad," Lee said quietly, his gaze intense. "We need to be smart about this. If we start a fight now, it could end badly—for all of us."

For a moment, John simply stared at his son, his face a mask of controlled fury. Then, slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"Fine," he muttered. "We'll play it your way—for now. But make no mistake, son—this isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Lee nodded slowly, releasing his father's arm. "What do you want to do?"

John's gaze turned cold, his eyes glittering in the dim light. "We'll let them think they've won. Let them take the cattle. But we'll be watching. And the next time they try to pull something like this…" He paused, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "We'll be ready."

He turned sharply, his coat swirling around him as he stalked out of the office, Lee close on his heels.

But as they disappeared down the hallway, the shadows in the corner of the office seemed to deepen, a faint rustling sound disturbing the silence. A lone figure stepped forward, half-hidden in the darkness, their face obscured.

A soft, satisfied smile curved their lips.

"Let the games begin," they whispered.

And then the room fell silent once more, the ticking of the clock the only sound echoing through the stillness.