Chapter 3 — The Awakening of Clark
Three more years had gone by since I was reborn into this world. Life in Smallville was steady, filled with familiar routines and warm afternoons. But something had started to change. Something... extraordinary.
It was Clark.
Even though he had always been different — after all, he was adopted and I was Jonathan and Martha Kent's biological son — he never felt like an outsider. He was my brother, plain and simple. But now, his difference was becoming undeniable.
It all happened one peaceful evening. I was sitting in the backyard, lounging on the old bench by the tree, reading an old comic book we'd found at a thrift store in town. The pages were worn and smelled like history — the kind of thing that made you feel connected to something bigger.
Clark came running up to me, full of energy as always.
"Arthur! Come play with me!"
I didn't even glance up. I was in the middle of a particularly epic battle scene, and, like any proper older brother, I ignored him.
But Clark wasn't the type to take "no" for an answer.
He kept insisting, pulling at my sleeve, whining, trying every tactic in the little brother handbook. I rolled my eyes, about to tell him off — when he suddenly screamed in frustration.
And that's when it happened.
He lifted Dad's old pickup truck. Like, really lifted it — straight off the ground. It hovered there for a second, as if defying every law of physics, then came crashing back down with a loud thud.
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Dreaming? Was this a prank?
Nope.
The back door swung open and my parents came rushing out. Jonathan ran to Clark first, kneeling in front of him with wide eyes. Martha followed, her expression a mix of shock and worry — not fear of Clark, but fear of what this meant for him... for us.
That day changed everything.
From that moment on, they started teaching Clark to control his strength. They sat him down and explained, gently but seriously, that he had to be careful. That a simple touch could hurt someone. That he had to keep his powers a secret. He was still just a kid, but now he carried a weight far heavier than any child should bear.
Later that night, Dad called me into the living room. The TV was on, playing some news show, but neither of us was watching.
"Arthur," he said, using the kind of voice that made it clear he was about to say something serious. "You can't tell anyone what you saw today. About Clark. It's dangerous. For him… and for all of us."
I nodded without hesitation, like the obedient son they knew me to be.
"I understand, Dad. I promise I won't tell anyone."
He looked relieved. His shoulders relaxed. Then he smiled and ruffled my hair.
"You're a good kid, Arthur. I knew we could count on you."
He stood and went to join Martha in the kitchen, where she was now helping Clark with another lesson in self-control. They had him squeezing clay — soft, fragile clay — and trying not to break it. Every time he succeeded, Martha would smile, and Dad would nod proudly.
I watched them from the stairs, a strange mix of emotions bubbling inside me.
"Poor Clark," I thought. "You won't be able to use your powers to get out of trouble anymore… or make easy money like in the movies. Welcome to responsibility, little bro."
I sat down on the railing, swinging my legs.
"Should I tell them about my powers? Not a chance. If they knew, they'd be watching me like hawks. And how would I manage to visit my wives in the second dimension with them breathing down my neck?"
Yeah, that's right.
Wives. Plural.
In the second dimension, I had freedom — real freedom. My own little paradise with girls who adored me, powers that obeyed my every command, and zero parental supervision. I had kingdoms, adventures, and romances that no one here could even begin to imagine.
So yeah... I wasn't about to give that up just because Clark decided to lift a truck.
"Clark's going to be my shield. He's the one they'll focus on. The golden child. The miracle. Let them worry about him — I'll fly under the radar. Like a true older brother, I'll protect him… and take full advantage while I'm at it."
From the kitchen, I heard Martha's voice drifting through the house, warm and gentle.
"Even with all the attention we've been giving Clark, Arthur still seems happy to see us helping his little brother."
Jonathan, stirring something on the stove, replied with the kind of quiet pride only a father can carry:
"He's a good boy."
I looked out the window and saw our family, gathered in the soft kitchen light. A mother teaching. A father guiding. A boy with powers no one else could understand. And me — watching it all, knowing more than they could ever guess.
Sure, we were an unusual family. One adopted alien, one secretly gifted son, and two loving parents trying their best.
But maybe… just maybe… this new life was the fresh start I needed.
And I wasn't going to waste a second of it.