The Kansas evening was cool, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and fresh grass, like a field after a monsoon shower. The sky, once lit by the fiery streak of a falling spacecraft, had settled into a quiet dusk, stars peeking through the fading purple. In the middle of a cornfield, a crater smoldered, its edges glowing like a tandoor oven. Wisps of heat and dust curled into the air, and the silence was broken only by the cautious chirps of birds returning to nearby trees.
At the crater's edge, two figures stood, their silhouettes sharp against the dying light. Jonathan Kent, tall and broad, looked like he'd been carved from the land itself. His rugged face, etched with years of hard work, was set in a wary frown. Gray streaked his brown hair, and his plaid shirt and jeans were dusted with dirt from a long day's labor. His rough hands clenched into fists, ready for whatever this strange night might bring.
Beside him, Martha Kent stood with a hand over her heart, her green eyes wide with worry and wonder. Her golden-brown hair fell in soft waves, catching the last of the twilight. Even in her forties, she was striking—her fitted blouse and jeans hugging her curves, her face warm and wise, like a favorite auntie who always knew what to say. She was the kind of woman who could calm a storm with a smile, but right now, her lips were parted in shock.
Jonathan let out a slow breath, his voice low. "Martha… what in God's name is that thing?"
Martha shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know, Jonathan. But it's… not from here."
Jonathan took a step closer, his boots crunching on the scorched earth. The spacecraft's sleek surface gleamed, unmarred despite the crash. "Hit the ground like a meteor and didn't even crack," he muttered. "That's not normal."
Before Martha could reply, a sharp hiss cut through the air. The ship's hatch began to open, steam curling from its edges like morning mist.
Inside the ship, Kara Zor-El stirred, her body aching from the crash. Her torn Kryptonian suit clung to her small frame, the House of El's sigil glowing faintly on her chest. At ten years old, she was far from home, carrying a weight no child should bear. Her blonde hair was tangled, and her blue eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dim light filtering through the hatch.
Then she saw them—two humans, a man and a woman, staring at her from the crater's edge.
Her heart raced, and she sat up sharply, every muscle tense.
Jonathan stepped in front of Martha, his instincts kicking in. Protect your own, his mind screamed. His eyes narrowed, taking in the girl's strange clothes and the glowing symbol on her chest. "Easy, now," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.
Kara swallowed, her throat dry as sand. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice hoarse from the crash and hours without water.
Jonathan tilted his head, his gaze steady. "Think we should be asking you that, miss. This is our land you crashed into."
Martha touched Jonathan's arm, her touch gentle but firm. "Jonathan, she's just a child," she said softly, like she was soothing a spooked horse. She crouched slightly, her green eyes warm and reassuring. "Sweetheart, are you okay? Do you need water?"
Kara hesitated, her guard still up. These people were strangers, and she was in a strange world. But there was something in Martha's voice—warm, steady, like her mother Alura's when she'd tucked her in as a little girl. It made Kara's chest ache for home.
She nodded slowly. "Water… would be good."
Martha smiled and turned to their old pickup truck, parked haphazardly at the field's edge. She rummaged in the cab, pulling out a metal flask, while Jonathan stayed put, his eyes flicking between Kara and the open hatch. "You're not from Kansas, are you?" he said, his tone half-question, half-statement.
Kara wincing as her ribs ached. "Not even close."
Her gaze darted to the pod behind her, where Kal-El lay, wrapped in his Kryptonian blanket. His tiny chest rose and fell, untouched by the chaos. She had one job: keep him safe. No matter where they'd landed, she'd protect her cousin with her life.
Inside the pod, Clark was awake. His tiny body was weak, his vision blurry, but his mind was sharp, alive with memories of another life.
Through hazy eyes, he studied the Kents. Jonathan's rugged face, Martha's warm smile—they were familiar, like characters from a comic he'd read a thousand times. Even in this new universe, the Kents were the same: good, grounded, the kind of people who'd take in a stranger without a second thought. It made Clark's chest tighten, a mix of gratitude and something else—ambition.
His gaze lingered on Martha. She wasn't just kind or motherly. She was… striking. Her curves, her green eyes, the way she moved with quiet confidence—it stirred something in Clark's mature mind. He wasn't just a baby; he was a man reborn, with desires and plans. Martha Kent, he thought, was going to make this new life very interesting.
A faint smirk played in his mind, though his infant face stayed still. "Well," he thought, "this is a hell of a start."
But there was more. Deep within him, Krypton's will pulsed, a quiet instinct woven into his cells. It wasn't just about power or love—it was about legacy. Rebuilding Krypton, creating a family, leaving a mark across universes. It merged with Clark's own goals, fueling his hunger to rise, to conquer, to live fully.
Martha returned with the flask, kneeling beside Kara. "Here you go, sweetheart," she said, offering it with a gentle smile.
Kara took it, her small hands trembling slightly. She sipped the cool water, letting it soothe her parched throat. The kindness in Martha's eyes was disarming, but Kara couldn't let her guard down completely. She was a Zor-El, trained to think, to protect.
"What's your name?" Martha asked, her voice soft as a lullaby.
Kara hesitated, then decided truth was the safest path—for now. "Kara. Kara Zor-El."
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Martha.
"Where you from, Kara?" he asked, his tone cautious but not harsh.
Kara's fingers tightened around the flask. How much could she say? These humans seemed kind, but kindness could hide danger. She glanced at Kal-El, still asleep in his pod. He was her priority.
"My cousin and I… we were sent away from our home," she said carefully. "We weren't supposed to crash here. It was an accident."
Jonathan's eyes flicked to the pod, where the infant lay, his dark hair soft against the glowing blanket. The baby looked peaceful, almost too calm for a crash survivor. "Your cousin?" Jonathan asked.
Kara nodded, her posture stiffening. "Yes. His name's Kal. Kal-El."
Martha knelt beside the pod, her heart melting at the sight of the tiny boy. His small face, his steady breathing—it stirred something deep in her, a longing she'd carried for years. She and Jonathan had wanted children, but life hadn't granted that wish. Now, here was a child, alone, with no one but a young girl to care for him.
"He's beautiful," Martha murmured, brushing a gentle finger over Kal-El's cheek. His skin was warm, almost too warm, like he carried a spark inside him.
Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. This was crazy—a spaceship, a girl with a strange name, a baby who looked like he'd just taken a nap through a meteor crash. But Martha's soft gaze told him what she was thinking. She was already falling for these kids.
Martha turned to Kara, her voice full of sincerity. "You must be worn out, Kara. Why don't you both come with us? We've got a warm house, food, a place to rest."
Kara's eyes narrowed, weighing her options. Trust was a risk. But Kal-El needed safety, food, a bed. These people weren't threatening them—not yet. And something about Martha's warmth, Jonathan's steady presence, felt… right.
She glanced at Kal-El, then back at Martha. "Alright," she said finally. "Thank you."
Martha's smile widened, and she carefully lifted Kal-El from the pod, cradling him against her chest. His tiny body nestled into her warmth, and he let out a soft coo, as if content.
Clark, inside that infant body, suppressed a grin. Safe, comfortable, and already in good company. This new life was off to a damn good start.
Jonathan stepped forward, offering Kara a hand to help her up. "Let's get you both home," he said, his voice softer now.
Kara took his hand, her small frame steady despite the crash's toll. As they walked toward the pickup truck, the crater's heat faded behind them, and the Kansas night wrapped them in its quiet embrace.