The sky burned. A deep, seething red stretched across the horizon, swallowing the last remnants of blue as Rao dipped beneath the towers of Kandor. The city lay in twilight, its great spires casting a long mournful shadow against the streets. Jor-El stood at the edge of his balcony, fingers tightening against the cold metal railing. He should have been working. Calculating. Planning. Instead, he listened.
No laughter. No distant hum of speeders. No voices arguing in the streets below. Only silence—the kind that swallowed a world whole.
'I have waited too long.'
He turned sharply, pushing away the thought as he strode into the chamber behind him. The holoscreens flickered, charts and calculations hovering in the dim light. The evacuation list was incomplete. The ships—his ships—were still being prepared. They had hours, maybe a day if fate allowed.
A chime echoed through the room.
"Enter."
The door slid open, revealing General Zod.
Jor-El exhaled through his nose and straightened his posture. He did not have time to be lost in idle thoughts.
Zod entered without hesitation, his boots striking the floor with sharp precision. Even without speaking, his presence filled the chamber—rigid posture, sharp eyes that gleamed like tempered steel. A soldier. A man who had already prepared himself for the death of their world.
Jor-El did not turn from the console. "I assume you have news, General."
"More delays with the civilian transports." Zod's voice carried the same clipped efficiency as always, but there was something underneath it tonight. Something restrained. "The council's loyalists have been interfering. I've had them removed." Zod spoke tone ever unflinching.
Jor-El looked up, to finally meet his old friend gaze."Define, 'removed.'"
Zod's jaw tightened. "They're no longer a problem."
A beat of silence passed between the two. Jor-El exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his temple. "Krypton is already dying, Dru-Zod. Must we stain its last hours with blood?"
Zod stepped closer, expression unyielding. "If that blood ensures our people's survival, then yes. You waste time mourning a world that is already gone." He motioned to the evacuation schematics glowing on the console. "If we hesitate, if we allow sentiment to dictate strategy, we will fail. We do not have room for the weak."
Jor-El stepped to Zod."I do not mourn the death of a world, I mourn the passing of the people gone with it, Zod." Jor-El snarled, his jaw tightening and hands curled into fist."And who is weak,Zod?"What about the children?The scientist? The Artist? The ones who carry our culture, our knowledge are they weak, Zod?"
"If they cannot defend themselves, they will be liabilities." Zod's tone did not waver. "You know as well as I do that we will not be welcomed wherever we land. If we are to carve a place for New Krypton, we must be strong enough to take it."
"No" Jor-El closed his eyes briefly. "I will not allow our people to regress to the tyrants we once were. Krypton will not be built on a mountain of corpses."
He closed his eyes, steadying himself. "I will not allow our people to become conquerors once more."
Zod scoffed, shaking his head. "You think too small, Jor-El. You want to save everyone, but survival is not about kindness. It is about strength." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Mark my words—when the time comes, you will thank me for making the decisions you could not."
Jor-El did not answer. He did not need to.
The countdown to Krypton's death continued, and with it, the countdown to a future neither of them could control.
A chim was heard cutting through the deafly silence in the room.
"Enter" They both yelled. Never taking their gaze from each other.
Lara Lor-Van entered the room swiftly not letting a breath go to waste."Both of you seize with you're needless squabbling. The rest of the council is waiting on you in the chamber."She said leaving just as quickly as she came in."Come on, let's go"
They both looked back at each other before following suit.
The council chamber, once a place of endless debate, now felt like a crypt—its ornate pillars and glowing glyphs mere echoes of a civilization on the brink of oblivion.
The leaders of Krypton's remaining guilds gathered in a semi-circle, their faces a mixture of defiance, fear, and exhaustion.
"We do not have time for another argument," Jor-El began, his voice firm but measured. "Our window for departure is closing."
Kor-Vex, the leader of the Labor Guild, crossed his arms. "Easy for you to say, Elder. You had the privilege of planning this exodus for months. We were only informed when it was too late to save everyone." His words were sharp, his distrust palpable.
Zod, standing to Jor-El's right, gave a humorless smirk. "Perhaps if the Labor Guild had spent less time complaining and more time reinforcing the ships, we wouldn't be in this position."
Kor-Vex's eyes burned with fury. "You—"
Jor-El raised a hand. "Enough." His gaze swept over the room. "I will not allow our final hours to be spent on infighting. We must focus on the evacuation."
Var-Tann, the head of the Science Guild, adjusted his long, silver-trimmed robe. "Then let us be efficient, Jor-El. We cannot take everyone. I assume you have refined the selection criteria?"
Sera-Lon, the philosopher, scoffed. "Selection criteria. As if our people are mere data points to be sorted." She gestured to the city beyond the glass. "The Kryptonian spirit is more than just its mind and muscle, Jor-El. You ask us to flee, but what will remain of us once we do?"
A rare flicker of something—perhaps regret—crossed Jor-El's features. "That is a question for tomorrow. Right now, we must ensure there is a tomorrow."
Faora-Ul, ever the soldier, finally spoke. "Security is paramount. We are vulnerable in these final hours, and we will be just as vulnerable when we land. We cannot afford to take those who will weaken our defenses."
"Survival is not just about strength," Jor-El countered. "It is about continuity. If we only save warriors and engineers, we will not be a civilization. We will be a warlord's army."
At that, Zod exhaled a sharp breath of amusement. "And yet that is precisely what we will need if we wish to carve out a place among the stars."
The room fell silent. Each of them knew the truth: survival would not be kind.
Ral-Kar, the former council member, leaned forward. "What of the loyalists? There are still those who do not accept this exodus. They will resist."
Zod's expression darkened. "They will not be a problem."
Jor-El stiffened but did not argue. He knew what Zod meant.
"Then we are decided." His voice carried a finality that even the most hesitant among them did not challenge. "The evacuation begins now."
The halls of the launch complex were packed with bodies, the air thick with the scent of metal, sweat, and desperation. Blue emergency lights pulsed along the walls, casting the crowd in ghostly shadows. The countdown to Krypton's death continued, but here, time felt suspended—stretched thin between the past they were abandoning and the uncertain future ahead.
Vara-Tel, a young astrophysicist, adjusted the strap of the data tablet slung across her chest. Even in the chaos, her mind churned with calculations—flight trajectories, atmospheric exit vectors, gravitational stabilizers. There was no time for grief. Only equations. Only survival.
A child clung to her robe as she passed, wide, frightened eyes reflecting the dim emergency lights. For a moment, she hesitated.
Krypton was burning. Their legacy would be scattered among the stars. The child—this child—would never see Kandor's towers again.
She crouched, forcing a smile. "Do you know how many stars are out there?"
The child shook his head, sniffling.
"Billions." She tapped his forehead lightly. "And do you know what that means?"
He blinked.
She stood, glancing toward the massive evacuation ships towering in the distance. It means Krypton is not ending. She couldn't say the words out loud. Instead, she walked on.
Kor-El had spent his life building the spires of Kandor, only to watch them crumble in a sky of fire. His calloused hands clenched as he stared at the elite pressing forward into the ships. Scientists, military officers, politicians—all ushered in with priority.
His people? The workers? They were shoved behind, waiting. Always waiting.
His wife clutched his arm. "Kor, please. We have to get on."
He turned to her, jaw tight. "Do we?" He gestured at the ships. "Do you think they would have told us if they didn't need the laborers to load their precious cargo?"
His wife's grip tightened. "Please."
A voice crackled over the comms, calling the next wave forward. Kor-El's body stayed rooted in place, his pride warring with his fear.
His wife didn't wait. She grabbed his hand and pulled.
He followed.
The walls of the ancient temple trembled as the planet beneath it groaned. A robed figure knelt before the central obelisk, pressing his forehead to the cold stone.
"We were meant to endure." His voice was steady, his conviction absolute. "Krypton does not fall."
A soft tremor ran through the foundation.
The temple doors burst open. Armed soldiers stepped inside, their armor gleaming under the emergency lights. "High Priest Ra-Zin," one called, voice sharp. "The ships are leaving. This is your last chance."
Ra-Zin did not rise. His hands stayed clasped. His breath was slow, measured.
"We were meant to endure."
Another tremor. This one stronger. Dust rained from the ceiling.
The soldier hesitated, jaw clenched. Then he turned and left.
Ra-Zin closed his eyes and whispered his final prayer.
The evacuation ships groaned as their systems engaged, metal expanding under the sudden surge of power. The air was thick with murmurs, hushed prayers, and the quiet sobs of those who had left behind loved ones they would never see again.
Jor-El stood near the command console, his eyes scanning the figures packed into the ship's main hold. Faces he would never forget. Faces that would carry Krypton's last breath into the stars.
The comms crackled. "All vessels report status."
A chorus of voices followed, some steady, others shaking.
"Launch sequence initiated."
He exhaled. The weight of his decisions pressed into his chest, heavier than any atmosphere.
A soldier stormed into the command chamber, breathless. "Elder, the final group has not boarded. The security perimeter is collapsing—there are still people outside."
Jor-El stiffened. His gaze flicked to the viewport. Figures moved beyond the ship's ramp, running. Some pounded on the hull, their voices lost in the mechanical hum of the engines.
The officer hesitated. "We are already behind schedule. If we open the doors now—"
A hard voice cut in.
"We do not open them."
Zod.
He stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "We delay, we die."
Jor-El's heart clenched. He could still see them. Hands slamming against the glass. They had come too late.
A woman turned her gaze upward, her eyes locking with his.
She didn't plead. She knew.
The countdown continued.
Jor-El closed his eyes and turned away.
The ship trembled as it left the ground, artificial gravity struggling to compensate for the sudden surge. Those inside felt the weight press into their bones, the force of ascent pushing them deeper into their seats.
And below—
Krypton burned.
The once-great cities, illuminated by millennia of progress, were reduced to ruins beneath the quaking sky. Towering structures shattered as the planet's core destabilized. The ground cracked open, swallowing entire districts into endless chasms. Fire erupted from the wounds of a dying world, painting the atmosphere in molten streaks.
In the distance, the last evacuation ships struggled to rise—one failing mid-ascent, its thrusters flickering before it spiraled downward in a trail of smoke.
A final, distant explosion.
Then—silence.
A civilization, undone in a matter of moments.
Jor-El kept his eyes on the viewport. He did not look away.
Behind him, murmurs filled the cabin. The quiet sobs of children, the broken breaths of those who had lost everything.
Zod exhaled sharply. "We cannot mourn the past. Only claim the future."
Jor-El said nothing. There were no words that could hold the weight of an entire world's extinction.