The void of space was a silent, indifferent witness to the final flight of the House of El. The silver pod, a jagged sliver of Kryptonian hope, sliced through the vacuum with a single-minded purpose. Inside, the infant Kal-El lay encased in a stasis-like slumber, his tiny chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence that defied the impossible speed at which he traveled.
Behind him, his world was nothing but a memory of emerald dust. Ahead, a vibrant blue marble hung in the darkness, teeming with life and primitive promise. As the ship hit the upper reaches of Earth's atmosphere, the silence was replaced by a violent, screaming roar. The hull turned a brilliant, searing white as friction fought against the alien alloys, but the ship held true. It descended like a falling star, trailing a plume of fire across the midnight sky of the American Midwest.
—--------
Smallville, Kansas
Smallville was a town where the clocks seemed to tick a little slower, and the air always smelled faintly of dry hay and impending rain. For Jonathan and Martha Kent, however, the silence of the town was currently a heavy, suffocating weight.
The interior of their old Chevy truck was dim, lit only by the green glow of the dashboard. Jonathan gripped the steering wheel with hands calloused by years of labor, his jaw set in a hard line. Beside him, Martha stared out the window at the passing rows of corn, her reflection in the glass looking older than she felt.
The city had been a disaster. The business venture they had poured their life savings into—a hope for a future that didn't involve back-breaking farm work—had evaporated in a web of legal technicalities and scams. They were returning to the farm with empty pockets and a hollow ache in their hearts.
"We'll make it work, Martha," Jonathan said, his voice rough but steady. He reached over, covering her hand with his. "The land is still ours. We've survived lean years before."
Martha turned, offering a weary smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know, Jon. It's just... I thought this would be the year things changed. For us. For a family."
The topic of children was a ghost that haunted their marriage—a dream they had chased for over a decade before finally, quietly, letting it go. Jonathan squeezed her hand, unable to find the words to fill that particular void.
The silence returned, but only for a heartbeat.
Suddenly, the sky above them didn't just brighten; it ignited. A streak of white-hot light tore through the clouds, illuminating the cornfields with a terrifying, artificial noon.
"Good Lord!" Jonathan shouted, slamming on the brakes.
The truck skidded on the gravel road, tires screaming as they came to a halt. Less than a hundred yards away, the object slammed into a fallow field. The impact wasn't just a sound; it was a physical force that rocked the truck on its springs. A massive plume of dirt and fire erupted into the air, followed by a low, rhythmic thrumming that made the very marrow of their bones vibrate.
For a long minute, neither of them moved. Smoke curled into the air, illuminated by the truck's headlights.
"Jon..." Martha whispered, her hand clutching his arm. "What was that?"
"I don't know," he breathed, his protective instincts warring with a deep, inexplicable curiosity. "Stay here."
"Not a chance," she countered, already opening her door.
Together, they stepped out into the cool night air. The smell of ozone and scorched earth was overwhelming. They climbed over the fence, their boots sinking into the freshly churned soil as they approached the rim of a steaming crater.
In the center of the pit lay something that defied logic. It was sleek, metallic, and etched with crystalline patterns that seemed to pulse with a faint, internal light. It wasn't a meteor. It was a machine.
"It's a craft," Jonathan said, his voice hushed with awe. "Martha, this is... I think this is a spaceship."
As if responding to his voice, the ship hissed. A seam appeared in the center of the pod, releasing a cloud of freezing white vapor. The metal plates retracted with a fluid, musical chime, revealing a small, padded interior.
And there, wrapped in a shimmering red cloth that looked like woven fire, was a baby.
—-------
(Kal-El's POV)
The transition from the peaceful dark of the stasis pod to the sensory assault of Earth was like being dunked in ice water. My ears popped painfully as the pressure equalized, and the sudden weight of the planet's gravity felt like a lead blanket draped over my tiny limbs.
Okay, Kyle. Focus. You're on Earth. You made it.
My head was spinning. The air here was thick, heavy with the scent of wet grass and something metallic—probably my ship. I felt a surge of panic. This was the moment. The "Origin Story" moment. If this went wrong, I was a government lab rat for the rest of my life.
I opened my eyes, my vision still a blurry mess of shapes and light. Two figures were looking down at me. They were silhouetted against the night sky, but I could see the outlines of their faces. They looked terrified. Stunned.
I recognized the man's rugged jawline and the woman's soft, worried features from a thousand comic book panels and movie screens. The Kents.
They were hesitating. Jonathan looked like he wanted to run, and Martha looked like she was seeing a ghost. I needed to bridge the gap. I needed to be a baby, not an alien anomaly.
Forgive me, pride, I thought, and then I let out the most ear-piercing, lung-shattering wail I could manage.
'Waaah, waah, wahhh!'
It was a strange sensation—crying with the lungs of a Kryptonian. The sound seemed to echo off the distant hills, raw and demanding.
—--------
The sound of the baby's cry acted like a physical trigger for Martha. The fear that had paralyzed her moments ago vanished, replaced by an ancient, overwhelming maternal instinct.
"Oh, the poor thing!" she cried, sliding down the side of the crater, heedless of the heat still radiating from the hull.
"Martha, wait! We don't know what—" Jonathan started, but he was too late.
She reached into the pod, her hands trembling as she scooped the infant into her arms. The baby was warm—unusually warm—and his skin felt like silk. As she pulled him close, his cries transitioned into small, hitching breaths. He looked up at her with eyes that were a deep, startling sapphire, filled with an intelligence that seemed far beyond his size.
"He's just a baby, Jon," Martha said, her voice cracking with emotion as she began to rock him gently. "Look at him. He's beautiful."
Jonathan climbed down after her, his eyes darting between the alien ship and the child in his wife's arms. "Martha, he came out of a starship. He's not... he's not human. We have to call the authorities. The Sheriff, or the base at Wichita."
Martha looked up at him, and the fierce protectiveness in her gaze made him flinch. "And tell them what? That we found a miracle in a hole in the ground? You know what they'll do to him, Jonathan. They'll put him in a cage. They'll poke and prod him like an animal."
The baby reached out a tiny hand, grasping Jonathan's thumb. The strength in that grip was surprising, firm and grounding. Jonathan looked down at the infant, seeing the vulnerability there. This wasn't an invasion; it was an escape.
"We can't just leave the ship here," Jonathan said, his voice softening, signaling his defeat. "If someone sees this..."
"Then we hide it," Martha said firmly. "We take him home, and we hide the ship in the storm cellar. We can use the tractor to pull it."
Jonathan looked at the sky, half-expecting to see black helicopters cresting the horizon. "This is crazy, Martha. This is federal-offense crazy."
"No," she whispered, kissing the baby's forehead. "This is a gift. We asked for a sign, Jon. We asked for a way forward."
—--------
The next hour was a frantic blur of adrenaline and manual labor. Jonathan backed the truck as close to the crater as he dared. Using a series of heavy-duty chains and the truck's winch, he struggled to drag the pod out of the smoking earth. The ship was deceptively heavy, but as they worked, it seemed to assist them, its underside emitting a faint blue pulse that reduced the friction against the soil.
By the time they reached the farm, the first hints of grey were touching the eastern horizon. They worked in a feverish silence, opening the large wooden doors of the old storm cellar. With one final, agonizing heave, the truck pulled the ship onto the cellar's ramp, and it slid into the darkness below.
Jonathan slammed the doors shut and covered them with a heavy tarp and several bales of hay. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, his shirt soaked with sweat.
"It's done," he panted, walking into the kitchen.
Martha was sitting at the wooden table, the baby draped in a clean flannel blanket. She had managed to warm some milk, and the infant was drinking it with a surprising gusto.
"He's quiet now," she said softly.
Jonathan sat down across from her, his hands still shaking. He looked at the child—the Last Son of Krypton—who was currently falling asleep in a farmhouse in Kansas.
"What are we going to call him?" Jonathan asked.
Martha looked at the sleeping boy, a sense of peace finally settling over her. "My father's name was Clark," she said. "Clark Kent."
Jonathan nodded, a slow smile finally spreading across his face. "Clark it is."
In her arms, the baby let out a tiny, contented sigh. Clark, he thought as darkness claimed him. I can work with that.