The light had returned to the League.
But the Watchtower itself felt colder than ever, its metallic halls echoing with a silence that weighed heavier than any alarm siren. Vita Nova stepped down the ramp with absolute control, each movement fluid yet deliberate. Her wings, luminous and golden, folded neatly behind her, catching the overhead light like twin banners of command.
She did not glance at Clark. She did not smile. She did not speak. She merely existed—radiant, commanding, untouchable. A living reminder of everything he had lost, everything he had wished back into existence, and everything he could not yet touch.
Clark's chest tightened painfully. Five years. Five years of unanswered questions, of silences that had screamed, of distance that had grown into mountains between them. And now, here she was, standing as though she had never left.
"Vita," he said finally, his voice low, breaking against the tension like fragile glass. "I—"
"Not here. Not now," she interrupted, holding up a hand. Her tone was crisp, formal, absolute. The hurt, the betrayal, the years of running—they had forged walls around her heart that no words could breach. No apologies, no pleas, no touches would reach her. Not yet.
Diana appeared silently at her side, her presence a calm, protective anchor. Batman leaned against the observation wall, arms crossed, eyes piercing as he observed Clark and Vita like two intricate chess pieces locked in a match he had yet to decipher. Flash hovered near the edge of the platform, sensing the tension in the air as if it were electricity—an invisible storm waiting to strike.
Before any words could continue, the Watchtower's alarms pierced the silence, red lights blaring and sending a ripple of urgency through the room. A deep, vibrating hum underlined the chaos: **Metropolis was under attack. Citizens trapped. Explosions downtown. Unknown threat. Full-scale emergency.**
Diana's voice cut through like a sword. "This isn't a moment for words. This is a moment for action."
Vita's eyes narrowed, the gold of her irises flaring faintly. Instinct took over. Wings spread wide, unfurling in a cascade of shimmering light. "Coordinates," she said, every word sharp and commanding. "I need the full scan. Give me civilians, hazards, threat priority."
Clark moved to her side instinctively, muscles coiled, ready to act. His first instinct was to intervene, to shield, to fight, to be near her—but she had already assumed control. He had no choice but to follow.
Within moments, they were airborne, streaking toward the burning city below.
From above, Metropolis was a tableau of chaos. Flames licked steel and concrete. Smoke curled into the sky in thick black plumes. Civilians screamed from balconies, trapped by falling debris. Cars were crushed beneath toppled lampposts, streets running with a torrent of shattered glass and water from broken mains.
Hovering above the chaos, Vita's laser eyes scanned the environment with precision. Every structural collapse, every heat signature, every energy spike analyzed in milliseconds. She calculated trajectories, weak points, escape routes. Her focus was absolute.
Clark's heat vision carved safe paths through rubble, while his super strength lifted beams and debris off trapped civilians. And yet, between them, an invisible wall remained. No shared glance. No hand on a shoulder. No soft reassurance. Only the cold professionalism of two soldiers in the field, executing flawless moves.
Then, in the center of the chaos, a new threat appeared: a genetically enhanced mercenary, releasing swarms of nanobots into the city's infrastructure, sparking fires and electrical explosions.
"Target acquired," Vita said, her voice cold, detached, clinical. Clark positioned himself at the opposite end of the attack, herding civilians to safety zones she had cleared in advance.
Vita fired a concentrated blast. Steel girders bent, flames were redirected, debris vaporized in streaks of golden light. Clark coordinated evacuation, guiding terrified civilians to safety while simultaneously blocking falling rubble with superhuman precision.
They moved in perfect synchronization, each anticipating the other's moves—but without acknowledgment, without trust. Every step was deliberate, every action measured. There was no room for error, no room for softness. Lives depended on them working as one, and yet, emotionally, they remained worlds apart.
Finally, the mercenary fled toward a collapsing bridge, carrying what appeared to be a dangerous energy core. Clark prepared to intercept, but Vita raised her hand. "Hold him. I'll disable the nanobots."
With a single, concentrated blast, she melted the swarms into harmless vapor. Clark restrained the mercenary, breathing heavily, muscles trembling from exertion and unspent emotion.
Back at the Watchtower, alarms faded. The silence returned, thick and suffocating. Batman's voice finally broke it: "Impressive execution. Despite personal history. Do not let emotions interfere next time. The world cannot wait."
Vita nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Clark remained silent, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. The words neither of them spoke hung in the air like unbroken glass.
Diana placed a steadying hand on Vita's shoulder. "You've returned. But the League—and Clark—will need time to understand that your light is not just power. It is presence. Influence. Strength."
Vita's eyes flickered, a faint glow beneath her skin as emotion stirred her power. She had performed flawlessly, yet she had made one thing abundantly clear: **she was back, yes—but she would not be anyone's anchor. Not yet.**
Clark's hands twitched as if to reach for her, to ask, to apologize—but he knew better. For now, he would watch. He would wait. He would follow.
Outside the Watchtower, the sunset glimmered against the burning skyline of Metropolis. Vita's wings caught the fading light, shimmering gold against streaks of red and smoke—a symbol, a warning, and a promise all at once.
And in that heavy silence, Clark realized something undeniable:
Vita Nova had returned.
Stronger. Sharper. Untouchable.
And the League—along with him—would never be the same again.