The night was thick with wind and rain when Rachel let out a startled, "Eek!" Instinctively, she reached for something Adrian had just taken from her, her large dark eyes filled with longing.
Adrian stood steady, holding the book in one hand and Rachel with the other. He placed both books just beyond her tiny reach, high on a shelf.
"These aren't something you should be exposed to right now," he said, his voice calm and controlled. "Even if one day you become something… extraordinary, these dark entities are still far beyond what you need now."
Carefully he set the books — one on Cthulhu and the other on black magic — on the highest shelf of the bookcase where Rachel couldn't grab them.
Rachel blinked in confusion, her small face scrunching as she stared at the books and then at her brother holding her. Her bottom lip trembled, and suddenly she erupted into a wail.
"Waaah! Waaah!" The sound cut through the room, louder even than the patter of rain against the windows. Adrian's expression remained impassive at first, as if nothing could shake him, but then his brow creased ever so slightly.
Adrian was usually a man unmoved by trouble, someone capable of standing firm in the face of danger, someone rarely rattled by anything that crossed his path. Enemy threats, strange phenomena, pressure — he handled them all without hesitation. But facing his little sister's cries, he seemed unsure for the first time.
He tried to soothe her, but her wailing not only persisted, it grew more intense. Apparently Rachel's idea of crying far exceeded what Adrian had ever expected from a toddler.
Resigned, he quietly went downstairs, fetched a bottle filled with milk, and returned. Gently he tried offering it to her, hoping she would calm with the familiar comfort. But Rachel, pacifier in mouth, only cried louder, her tiny voice now matching and overpowering the storm outside.
Adrian sighed, rubbing his temple. He knew he had to try something else.
Slowly, he took the two forbidden books from the shelf and placed them in front of Rachel. The instant the books touched her sight, her crying stopped. She stared at them, her dark eyes wide and captivated.
Rachel reached out for the illustrated Cthulhu book first. Though heavy for someone so small, she gripped it determinedly and opened the first page.
The image there was grotesque, depicting a mermaid-like creature with cracked skin and slimy flesh, perched upon a jagged rock by a stormy sea. Most would find it disturbing, but not Rachel. She stared with genuine curiosity, blinking as though trying to understand why the creature looked the way it did.
Turning the page, she saw a sleeping monster beneath murky green waters. Its massive form was drawn with scaly wings and a viscous, eerie background, the words Atlantis Casonra scribbled in the corner.
Rachel leaned in, tracing the image with her finger, clearly lost in fascination. It was as if she wasn't just looking at the drawings, but seeing into the world Adrian had imagined.
Watching her, Adrian paused thoughtfully, then retrieved his favorite box of crayons — ones he believed would become nothing more than forgotten dust. Now, he handed them to her.
Instinctively, Rachel grasped the crayons, learning how to hold them with surprising ease. With concentrated effort, she began to draw, her little strokes forming shapes that were more than random scribbles.
Adrian realized she was trying to depict figures, simple yet human-like, though faceless. She used many colors, filling the page with unique, vivid silhouettes. Despite their simplicity, the gestures and forms made them unmistakably intentional.
A hint of awe flashed across Adrian's face. His sister, it seemed, might possess a rare and remarkable talent.
As Rachel continued, she took a black crayon and began outlining shadowy figures, each engulfed in swirling darkness. The shapes had a sinister feel despite her innocent strokes, as though she was unknowingly expressing something deeper.
Adrian reached out and gently stroked her hair, his gaze shifting inward. Maybe she wasn't just drawing aimlessly. Maybe she was visualizing something she understood in her own way.
Soon, Rachel grew tired and set the crayons down. She looked up at Adrian, her little hand reaching out for him. He lifted her, pinching her cheek affectionately, a rare warmth softening his expression.
"If I ever become a full-time writer," he murmured, "you'll be my exclusive illustrator."
Rachel's eyes sparkled with excitement. She brought Adrian's hand to her mouth, suckling on his finger calmly, her tiny gaze locked with his as though communicating her joy.
Adrian placed the Cthulhu book back on the highest shelf, then carried the somewhat sleepy child to her bed. Unbeknownst to him, something invisible had already awakened between them — a silent thread of connection woven through spirit and emotion.
Though Rachel was just an infant, the vast magical power she possessed far exceeded that of most mages alive. Through contact with Adrian's art — impressions formed in a world constructed by his own consciousness — she had absorbed fragments of his emotions and memories, connecting her soul to his in ways neither fully understood yet.
Adrian, unaware of this profound bond forming, laid Rachel down and fell asleep himself soon after.
Meanwhile, at the medical center, Martha Kent sat in a hospital room beside her husband. Fatigue and worry had finally taken their toll, and she dozed with her head resting on Jonathan's arm.
Knock… knock… knock…
The sudden sound of someone at the door jolted her awake. Brushing her hair back, she rose and opened the door, expecting a nurse or doctor. Instead, she found someone entirely unexpected.
"I apologize for disturbing you so late, Mrs. Kent," said Lionel Luthor, smiling politely.
"Mr. Luthor?!" Martha exclaimed, startled. "What brings you here?"
"I had planned to come before nightfall, but encountered some difficulties on the way," Lionel said, glancing down the corridor, then back at her. "May we step outside and talk?"
After a quiet moment, Martha agreed and followed him into the hallway.
Martha did not share her husband's wariness toward the Luthor family, especially not toward Lex, for whom she had always held a favorable impression.
"First, I want to apologize," Lionel began, his tone sincere. "If Lex hadn't run for State Councilor and taken such an aggressive stance against Mr. Kent, I don't believe Jonathan would have suffered a heart attack."
Martha shook her head, brushing off his concern. "No, it's not Lex's fault. Jonathan had been pushing himself for days, and this — this was of his own doing, not because of anyone else."
She gave Lionel a gentle but firm look. "Jonathan chose to participate in the election with us, and that was our decision together."
Lionel nodded, pulling an envelope from his pocket and handing it to her.
"What's this?" Martha asked, surprised as she took it.
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Powerstones?? (´ε｀ )
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Patreon = _Zeph