Under a gloomy sky, rain began to fall.
Fine, steady droplets brought bone‑chilling cold, turning the damp air at Kent Farm into a whisper of winter's breath. Each drop that struck the earth splashed up tiny beads of water, soaking the parched soil that had long suffered drought. The rich scent of wet earth rose like a muted promise as the rain soaked in.
Martha Kent stood in the outdoor corridor, wrapped in a warm coat, quietly watching the rain descend. Her eyes followed the falling droplets until they vanished upon contact with the ground.
Then, with a soft creak, Jonathan pushed the door open and stepped out, placing a dry coat over her shoulders.
"How is it? Any news from the sheriff's station?"
Martha, lost in the rhythm of rain hitting the ground, looked to her husband. "Not yet, but there's no need to worry. We'll find a way."
Jonathan gazed up at the sky without a hint of joy in his eyes. His heart was heavy, the gray clouds above mirroring his mood.
"The station says the explosion was caused by gas igniting in a fire. No one was hurt, but Niel and Lana are both missing."
He paused, then added, "There's one piece of not‑so‑bad news: we haven't received any word about Adrian or Clark going missing yet, so there's still hope."
Martha nodded, though her worry hadn't lessened. She struggled to hold back her fear.
"Do you remember that Halloween when Adrian and Clark were in elementary school?" Jonathan asked gently. "They didn't come home until after midnight, and we searched everywhere. I think we found them around two in the morning."
Martha smiled despite herself. "Of course I remember."
Jonathan continued, his voice soft. "Back then, Clark found that abandoned amusement park in a nearby town. They both ran so far that day. Clark loved it, of course, and Adrian stayed by his side even if he wasn't as excited. Adrian could be calm sometimes."
Martha wrapped her arms around her husband. "They're always growing, Jonathan. What used to be an amusement park might now be something more complex. Maybe something is holding them for a while. But we have to believe they'll find a way."
Martha's eyes filled with tears. "I'm just scared. I always have been. That Halloween night I hid in the kitchen and cried."
Just then, a car drove up through the curtain of rain, its headlights dim behind the watery veil.
The vehicle stopped on the muddy road, and a figure with an umbrella approached.
"Father?"
Martha wiped her tears in surprise when she saw her own father standing there.
"It's been raining a lot lately," he said, lowering his umbrella, "and my knees aren't what they used to be, otherwise I'd have come sooner."
They embraced warmly.
Jonathan watched, his face unreadable. He knew Martha's father had never once visited the farm in the twenty years they had been married, and he still felt that distance between them — a silent judgment that Jonathan didn't measure up, that a Kent farmer could never match his upper‑class standards. So Jonathan turned and walked back into the house, offering only an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
Martha tried to explain, "Father, I'm sorry…"
Her father smiled kindly. "I know. Jonathan's just a Kansas boy who can't leave his farm behind. No matter how many years pass, I think it will always be like that."
Martha frowned slightly. "If you're here to criticize him, then today isn't the right day."
He laughed softly. "I'm not here to complain. I'm here for you, and for Adrian and Clark."
He pulled a stack of documents from his coat and handed them to Martha.
"This is what you wanted on the Lana Blue family and a commercial life insurance policy," he explained.
Martha stared, surprised. She had merely mentioned her suspicions, including Clark's recent fascination with mystical lore. She didn't expect her father to investigate the Lana family or prepare life insurance information.
"My father has been arranging life insurance for both boys every year since they were five," he continued calmly.
"Why didn't we know about this?" Martha asked, stunned. "If they had life insurance, shouldn't we — their guardians — have been informed?"
Her father placed his hat on his head and opened his umbrella again. "Don't forget my profession," he said with a small smile. "I deal in clauses and legal language all day long. Bypassing formalities is simple for someone like me."
He stepped back toward his car.
"Adrian and Clark will be alright," he said. "They aren't ordinary boys. Even if something unexpected happens, you still must endure, for yourself and for the child you carry."
Martha's world tilted in surprise. Did her father know about their extraordinary talents? Since when?
"You love them," she said quietly. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell Jonathan?"
Her father smiled as he opened the car door and looked back at her.
"You are my daughter," he said. "Adrian and Clark are my grandsons. I'm not doing this for gain."
He closed the umbrella, got into the car, and drove off into the rain, leaving Martha standing motionless on the muddy road.
As the taillights faded, a revelation settled deep within her: why she had fallen for Jonathan in the first place. Both men were stubborn, unwilling to shed their pride, but beneath that pride lay a devotion to family that could never be shaken by the world.
Meanwhile, deep in the hellish expanse where the rain seemed to fall upon a place that shouldn't feel weather at all, Adrian stood beneath the sky heavy with water.
The ghostly realm around him, once a landscape of sulfur and death, began to shift and transform as raindrops touched the ground. The pitch‑black horizon dissolved into a sky scarred with dark clouds. Mountains became towering buildings in the style of ancient Greece, and the silent wasteland turned into a sprawling city of stone and monument.
Standing on a wide thoroughfare, Adrian blinked and looked toward the woman he had carefully set down earlier. She rose, holding her head with a look of cautious suspicion.
It was Wonder Woman, a younger version of the Amazon Princess of Themyscira — a warrior far from her own world. As the rain fell around them, she asked in a guarded voice, "Did you save me?"
Adrian observed the slight wound in her armor, where a bullet mark marred her chestplate. "It seems so," he replied, voice cool, "though I'd be surprised if any ordinary firearm could injure an Amazon princess."
"This wasn't any ordinary weapon," she said, brow furrowed. "Those were Eros's golden twin pistols."
Eros, the god of love. Her words carried a bitter edge.
"Then you weren't mistaken to be shot," Adrian said, "because someone with a weapon like that never uses it lightly."