Spring 1988
The morning of Clark Kent's high school graduation dawned bright and clear, the Kansas sky stretching endless and blue above the Kent farm. In the years since that night in the storm cellar, when he'd learned the truth about his origins, Clark had grown into an impressive young man of eighteen. Standing at six-foot-three, with broad shoulders and an athlete's build, he cut an imposing figure in his red and gold Smallville Crows letterman jacket.
The events at the river had become part of local folklore, with most people attributing the survival of the bus's passengers to a fortunate surge in the current that had pushed them toward shallower water. A few of the more religious folks in town, like Pastor Ross, still spoke of divine intervention, citing how the children had remained remarkably calm throughout the ordeal. Whatever people believed, they all agreed it had been miraculous that everyone survived. Clark's quiet heroism in helping get the younger kids to safety had earned him respect without drawing suspicion to his true abilities.
Martha found him in the barn that morning, looking through old photographs. There was one from his first day of kindergarten - little Clark flanked by Pete Ross and Lana Lang, all three of them grinning with gap-toothed smiles. Krypto was in the photo too, sitting protectively beside them. Thirteen years of friendship, captured in that single moment.
"Your graduation robes are pressed and ready," Martha said, watching him with a mother's mix of pride and melancholy. "Can't believe my little boy is graduating today."
Clark turned, smiling at his mother. At the sound of her voice, Krypto bounded into the barn, his white fur still as pristine as the day he'd arrived on Earth. The dog had aged normally until about two years old, then seemed to stop, maintaining the prime of his life just as Clark showed no signs of normal human aging.
"Mom," Clark said softly, carefully placing the photo album aside. "I need to tell you and Dad something. About what I want to do after graduation."
Martha's expression shifted slightly - she'd suspected this conversation was coming. "Why don't we go inside? Your father's just finished with the morning chores."
They found Jonathan at the kitchen table, looking over some farm accounts. He looked up as they entered, immediately recognizing the serious expression on his son's face. "Everything alright, son?"
Clark sat down across from his parents, Krypto settling faithfully at his feet. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," he began, his fingers absently scratching behind Krypto's ears. "About college, about the future, about... everything I learned five years ago."
Martha and Jonathan exchanged a glance. They'd known this day would come, had seen it in the way Clark had devoured books about different cultures, the way he'd spend hours talking with Kelex about the various peoples of Earth.
"I want to travel," Clark said finally. "Not to college, at least not yet. I want to see the world, learn about different cultures, understand the people I'm living among. These past five years, learning about Krypton through the command key, talking with Jor-El's consciousness... it's made me realize how much I love this world, how much I want to understand it better."
Jonathan leaned forward slightly. "Son, are you sure? The world out there... it's not like Smallville. People might ask questions."
"I know, Dad. But I've learned to control my abilities. I can blend in, work odd jobs, move on if I have to." Clark's voice grew more passionate. "There's so much out there to learn, so many people to understand. How can I decide what to do with my gifts if I don't know the world I'm living in?"
Martha reached across the table, taking her son's hand. "We always knew you'd have to make your own path someday. That you'd have bigger purposes than just staying on the farm." Her voice caught slightly. "We just... we'll miss you so much."
"What about Lana?" Jonathan asked gently. "You two have been together since freshman year. That's not something easy to walk away from."
Clark's expression softened at the mention of Lana. Their relationship had grown naturally from their childhood friendship, blossoming into first love during their freshman year. That first awkward dance at the Fall Festival had led to four years of shared hopes, dreams, and growing understanding. She'd been there through everything - his growing powers, his struggles to fit in, the day he saved the bus. Though they'd never directly discussed his abilities, he knew she understood there was something different about him.
"We talked last night," Clark said softly. "For a long time. She... she understands. She's known me since we were five years old. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself."
"Did you ask her to go with you?" Martha asked gently.
Clark shook his head. "I wanted to. Part of me wanted that more than anything. But she's got her scholarship to Metropolis University, her dreams of becoming a journalist. And this... this is something I need to do alone. Figure out who I am, what I can offer this world."
Jonathan stood up, moving around the table to put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Your mother's right - we always knew this day would come. Doesn't make it any easier, but... we're proud of you, son. For thinking this through, for wanting to understand the world better."
"What about Krypto?" Martha asked, looking at the faithful dog who hadn't left Clark's side in thirteen years.
Clark knelt down, taking Krypto's face in his hands. The dog had been there for every major moment of his life - first day of school, first football game, first date with Lana. "I need you to stay here, boy. Watch over Mom and Dad for me. Can you do that?"
Krypto whined, clearly understanding. He looked between Clark and his parents, then gave a small bark of acceptance, though his eyes held a sadness that was almost human.
Later that day, after the graduation ceremony had ended and the photographs had been taken, Clark stood in the backyard with Pete and Lana. The three of them had been inseparable since that first day of kindergarten, when they'd all ended up at the same blue table in Mrs. Wilson's class.
"Remember that first day?" Pete asked, adjusting his graduation cap. "You were so quiet, Clark, until I started telling stories about my older brothers. Then you couldn't stop asking questions."
"And I was so nervous," Lana added, smiling at the memory. "But Clark showed me how to draw chickens, and you kept making us laugh with your jokes, Pete." She looked at Clark fondly. "Who knew that shy farm boy would turn out to be the best friend we'd ever have?"
"You two were the first real friends I ever had," Clark said softly. "Even before you understood why sometimes I needed space, or why things could get overwhelming... you just accepted me as I was."
The three friends looked at each other, thirteen years of shared memories passing between them. Endless summer afternoons in the Kent's barn, homework sessions at the Lang's kitchen table, Friday nights at the Ross family barbecues. Each memory a thread in the tapestry of their friendship.
Pete was the first to break, pulling Clark into a fierce hug. "We've been best friends since we were five years old," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're my brother, Clark. Not by blood, but by choice. That's never gonna change."
When they separated, both had tears in their eyes. Pete looked between Clark and Lana, understanding passing over his face. "I'm gonna go help your mom with the dessert table. Give you two a minute."
After Pete left them alone, Clark and Lana walked together to their favorite spot in the Kent's orchard. They'd spent countless hours here over the years - studying, talking, sharing their hopes and dreams beneath these same apple trees. Lana looked beautiful in her graduation robes, her red hair catching the evening light just as it had that day at the river five years ago.
"Remember our first kiss?" Lana asked softly, sitting down on the old wooden swing Jonathan had hung years ago. "After you pulled Jamie and me from the river. I was so scared, and then suddenly you were there, strong and sure, like something out of a dream."
Clark smiled, though his eyes held a touch of sadness. "I was terrified that day - not of the water, but of losing you. When I saw you trying to keep Jamie above water, refusing to let go of him even when you were running out of air..."
"That's when I knew," Lana said, looking up at him. "Not exactly what you were, but who you were. When you got us to shore, when you saved my life... I just had to kiss you. Didn't even think about it, just knew I couldn't wait another moment."
"Best first kiss in history," Clark said, moving to sit beside her on the swing. "Even if we were both soaking wet and you were still coughing up river water."
Lana laughed softly. "Jamie still brings it up sometimes. Says it was like watching the end of a movie." Her expression grew more serious. "That day changed everything between us, didn't it? Not just because of the kiss, but because..."
"Because you saw something you couldn't explain," Clark finished. "Something about me that was different."
"I've known you since we were five years old, Clark. I've seen things over the years - little things at first, then bigger ones. But that day at the river, seeing you move through that current like it was nothing..." She touched his arm gently. "I never asked because I trusted you. I knew that whatever made you different, whatever secrets you carried, they were yours to share when you were ready."
"I wanted to tell you so many times," Clark admitted. "Especially after that day, after we started dating. But I was afraid..."
"That it would change things?" Lana smiled. "Clark, I fell in love with you that day not because you saved us - though I'll always be grateful for that - but because I saw your heart. The way you didn't hesitate, the way you risked exposing your secret to save people... that's who you've always been."
"I still want to ask you to come with me," Clark said, taking her hands in his. "Even knowing you've got your scholarship to Metropolis University, even knowing you've dreamed of being a journalist since we were kids... part of me still wants to be selfish and ask."
"And part of me wants you to," Lana admitted. "But we both know that's not our path right now. You need to find answers out there in the world - about who you are, about what you can do with your gifts. And I need to follow my own dreams."
"Your writing is incredible, Lana. You're going to make an amazing journalist."
"Just like you're going to do amazing things," she squeezed his hands. "That day at the river was just the beginning. I've seen how you light up when you talk about helping people, about understanding different cultures. That's who you've always been - someone who puts others before himself."
Clark touched her face gently. "You know this isn't about loving you any less, right?"
"I know," Lana's eyes were bright with tears but her smile was genuine. "That's what makes this possible - knowing that what we have is real enough to survive this. We're not ending our story, Clark. We're just... starting new chapters."
"I don't want you to wait for me," Clark said seriously. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, or where this journey will take me."
"I'm not waiting," Lana assured him. "I'm living my life, following my dreams. And if someday our paths cross again..."
"When," Clark corrected softly. "When our paths cross again."
Lana laughed through her tears. "Ever the optimist, Clark Kent." She looked at him intently. "Promise me something?"
"Anything."
"Don't hide who you are out there. I don't mean your abilities - I know you have to be careful with those. I mean your heart. Don't let the world make you harder or colder. Stay the Clark Kent I fell in love with - the boy who jumps into raging rivers to save his friends, who sees the best in people, who wants to help even when it costs him something."
Clark pulled her close, kissing her with all the love and gratitude he felt. In that kiss was every shared moment, every laugh, every tear, every quiet understanding they'd built over their four years together. When they separated, both had tears on their cheeks, but there was peace in their expressions. This wasn't an ending - it was a transition, a necessary step in both their journeys.
"I'll always love you," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. His fingers gently traced the line of her jaw, memorizing every detail of this moment. "No matter where I go, no matter what I find out there, that won't change."
"And I'll always love you," she replied, her hands resting over his heart. "That's why I can let you go. Because I know that the kind of love we have doesn't need to hold on too tight. It trusts. It hopes. It believes in each other's dreams." She smiled through her tears. "And we've always been good at believing in each other, haven't we?"
They sat together on the swing until the sun began to set, reminiscing about their years together. They talked about homecoming dances and football games, about late-night study sessions and early morning walks. They remembered their first date at the Smallville Fair, how Clark had won her a stuffed penguin at the ring toss that still sat on her bed. Each memory was precious, a treasure they could carry with them into their separate futures.
When it was finally time to go, Lana stood and straightened his collar one last time - a gesture so familiar from their years together that it made both their hearts ache. Her fingers lingered on the fabric, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
"Go find what you're looking for, Clark Kent," she said softly, her voice steady despite her tears. "Just remember that no matter where your journey takes you, you'll always have a piece of my heart. And you'll always have a friend in me." She pressed a final kiss to his cheek, then stepped back.
Clark walked to the storm cellar one last time, descending the familiar steps. Kelex's liquid metal form shifted in greeting, the sun crystal and command key safely housed within its matrix. In the corner sat the trunk containing his father's cape, the red fabric still as vibrant as the day he'd first seen it.
He knelt beside the trunk, opening it carefully. His fingers traced the 'S' symbol - the crest of the House of El, the symbol of hope. The fabric felt alive somehow, as if it held all the dreams and hopes his birth parents had placed in him. He didn't take it - he wasn't ready for that yet - but he allowed himself this moment of connection, this quiet acknowledgment of where he came from.
"I'll make both my families proud," he whispered, closing the trunk gently.
"The sun crystal and command key are secured within my systems," Kelex announced, its liquid metal form condensing into a more compact configuration that could be easily transported. "I am ready to accompany you on your journey, Kal-El."
Clark nodded, shouldering his backpack. The few clothes and supplies he'd packed seemed insignificant compared to what he was leaving behind, but then again, he'd never needed much. His real treasures were in his heart - the love of his parents, his memories with Lana and Pete, the lessons this small Kansas town had taught him.
Martha was waiting by the porch steps, a bundle of homemade cookies in her hands. When she hugged him, it was with the fierce love that had welcomed a strange child from the stars and made him her son. "Be safe," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And remember, no matter where you go, you always have a home here. These walls will always know you, this land will always welcome you back."
Jonathan's embrace was just as powerful, the strong arms that had taught him to farm, to fix engines, to be a good man holding him close one last time. "We're so proud of you, son," he said, his own eyes glistening. "Not just for what you can do, but for who you are. For the choices you make, for the heart you show. You carry the best of two worlds with you - never forget that."
Krypto pressed against Clark's legs one last time, letting out a soft whine. Clark knelt down, hugging his faithful companion. "Take care of them for me, boy. I'm counting on you."
As Clark walked down the long driveway, his family and friends watching from the porch, he felt both the weight and the lightness of his decision. Behind him lay everything he'd known - the safety of home, the comfort of familiar faces, thirteen years of friendship and love with Pete and Lana.
He paused at the end of the driveway, turning back one last time. The setting sun painted the farmhouse in shades of gold, his parents and childhood friends still visible on the porch. Krypto sat at attention, his white fur glowing in the evening light. It was an image Clark knew he would carry with him always - not just in his perfect memory, but in his heart.
Then he turned and began walking toward the horizon, toward his future, toward whatever destiny awaited the last son of Krypton. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew he would recognize it when he found it. For now, it was enough to be moving forward, carrying with him all the love and lessons of home while seeking to understand the world he had been sent to protect.
As the sun set over Kansas, Clark Kent took his first steps into manhood, into his journey, into becoming whoever he was meant to be.
—
The world beyond Smallville opened before him like pages of an endless book, each new destination a chapter waiting to be read. His first stop was Mexico, where he spent months working alongside migrant farmers in the sun-drenched fields of Oaxaca. He started keeping a journal, something his mother had suggested, filling its pages with observations about the techniques passed down through generations - the way certain plants were companion-planted to protect each other, how the phases of the moon influenced planting schedules, the ancient wisdom that modern agriculture had forgotten.
The Spanish he'd learned in high school was formal and stilted at first, but it transformed through daily use. He learned to think in the language, to dream in it. Doña Rosa, the elderly matriarch who had taken him in, would correct his grammar with patient amusement. "No, Carlito," she would say, her weathered hands gesturing as she explained the subtle differences between similar words. By his third month, he was helping translate for American agricultural students who came to study traditional farming methods.
In the evenings, after the work was done, Clark would sit in the village plaza with the elders. Don Miguel, a man whose face was as lined as the ancient valleys, taught him to play dominoes while sharing stories that stretched back to the Mexican Revolution. Clark learned about Zapata and Villa not as distant historical figures, but through the memories of those whose grandparents had fought alongside them. He filled notebook after notebook with these oral histories, discovering his own passion for storytelling in the process.
Sometimes, he would help Don Miguel's grandson Miguel Jr. with his English homework, and in return, the teenager would teach him local slang and curse words that made the old men laugh and the women pretend to be scandalized. These evening sessions often evolved into impromptu community gatherings, with families bringing out chairs and coolers of beer, children playing soccer in the dusty street, and everyone sharing whatever food they had prepared that day.
Late at night, when the village was asleep, Clark would float high above the Valley of Mexico, watching the sprawl of Mexico City glitter like fallen stars. From this height, he could see both the massive metropolis and the ancient pyramids of Teotihuacán, past and present existing side by side. He spent countless hours hovering above the Avenue of the Dead, studying the precision of the astronomical alignments, wondering if his Kryptonian ancestors had ever visited Earth, if they had influenced these magnificent structures. In his journal, he sketched the pyramids from angles no ordinary person could see, noting patterns that archaeologists had missed.
One morning, he helped deliver Doña Rosa's great-granddaughter. The local midwife had been delayed by a washed-out road, and Clark's super-hearing had detected the baby's distressed heartbeat. He used his x-ray vision to identify the problem - the umbilical cord was wrapped around the infant's neck. With careful guidance from the mother's grandmother, who had assisted in dozens of births, Clark helped ease the baby into the world. When the tiny girl took her first breath and cried, he understood viscerally why he had been sent to Earth - not to rule or dominate, but to help, to protect, to serve.
His journey south through Central America was marked by similar moments of connection and learning. In Guatemala, he spent two months helping rebuild a village destroyed by landslides. His strength allowed him to move debris that would have required heavy machinery, but he was careful to work at human speed, to appear to struggle with weights that would challenge a strong man. More importantly, he learned about community resilience, about how people could lose everything and still find reasons to smile, to celebrate, to help others.
He met Antonio, a local journalist who documented both the disaster and the recovery efforts. Antonio taught Clark about the power of words to effect change, showing him how well-crafted stories could attract aid, influence policy, and give voice to those who often went unheard. Together, they wrote articles for local papers about the reconstruction efforts. Clark's byline appeared for the first time: "By Antonio Ruiz and Clark Kent." Seeing his name in print gave him a thrill almost as powerful as flying.
In Honduras, he worked with doctors at a rural clinic, where his ability to move quickly and go without sleep allowed him to assist with more patients than should have been possible. He learned basic medical procedures, his perfect memory absorbing textbooks of information in hours instead of years. Dr. Maria Suarez, who ran the clinic, marveled at his ability to remember every detail about every patient. "You have the memory of an elephant, Clark," she would say, not knowing how right she was.
The children at the clinic particularly touched his heart. Many were suffering from diseases that would have been easily preventable with better infrastructure and resources. Clark spent his evenings teaching them English, using games and songs to make learning fun. Ten-year-old Sofia, recovering from dengue fever, taught him to play the guitar in return. His super-dexterity made it easy to master the instrument, but he deliberately made mistakes, understanding that the joy was in the learning, not just the accomplishment.
Panama brought him face to face with both environmental destruction and hope. He joined a team of researchers studying the impact of development on rainforest ecosystems. His enhanced senses allowed him to track animal movements that others missed, though he had to find plausible ways to explain his discoveries. He learned about the complex web of relationships between species, about how the loss of one seemingly insignificant plant could affect an entire ecosystem.
Dr. James Wong, the lead researcher, became both mentor and friend. Over meals of sancocho and plantains, they discussed the challenges of balancing human needs with environmental protection. "The easy answer is to say 'stop all development,'" Dr. Wong told him, "but people need homes, jobs, food. The hard part is finding solutions that work for both humanity and nature." These conversations helped Clark understand that true heroism often lay not in dramatic rescues, but in finding sustainable solutions to complex problems.
His time in Brazil's Amazon rainforest was transformative. Living with the Kayapó people, he learned to see the forest not as a wilderness to be conquered, but as a living entity to be respected and protected. The tribe's chief, Raoni, taught him their language and customs, showing him how every plant, every animal, every natural process was interconnected. Clark's enhanced senses allowed him to experience this interconnection in ways even the indigenous people couldn't - he could hear the sap flowing in trees, the microscopic movements of insects, the subtle changes in air pressure that predicted weather patterns.
When logging companies began encroaching on Kayapó land, Clark witnessed the tribe's peaceful but determined resistance. He helped document their protests, using his journalism skills to bring attention to their cause. His articles, published under a pseudonym in environmental magazines, helped rally international support. At night, he would secretly disable logging equipment, making it appear that the machines had failed naturally. It was a small intervention, but it bought time for legal challenges to work their way through the courts.
The transition to Africa began with a storm-tossed flight across the Atlantic. Clark could have flown himself, of course, but he chose to travel as humans did, to experience their vulnerability to natural forces. The ancient DC-3 cargo plane he hitched a ride on hit severe turbulence halfway across. While other passengers gripped their seats in terror, Clark found himself appreciating their courage - choosing to fly despite their fears, trusting in human ingenuity to carry them safely across vast oceans.
Kenya welcomed him with an explosion of color and sound. He arrived during a Maasai celebration, the warriors' red shukas bright against the golden savanna, their jumping dances defying gravity in ways that resonated with his own ability to fly. The Maasai elders welcomed him into their community, teaching him about their traditions of living in harmony with nature's most dangerous predators.
Working with wildlife conservationists, Clark helped track elephant herds across the Serengeti. His hearing could pick up their infrasonic communications from miles away, though he had to pretend to rely on radio signals and GPS tracking. He learned about elephant social structures, their intelligence, their capacity for grief and joy. When poachers struck, he would ensure their shots mysteriously missed, their vehicles developed mechanical problems, their paths became hopelessly confused.
In Ethiopia, he discovered the birthplace of coffee. In the highlands of Sidamo, he learned the entire process from seed to cup. The ceremony of coffee preparation became a meditation for him - the careful roasting of green beans over hot coals, the grinding with traditional tools, the multiple pourings that brought out different aspects of the drink's character. His enhanced senses could detect hundreds of distinct chemical compounds in each cup, but more importantly, he learned to appreciate the social aspects of the ceremony, the way it brought people together and facilitated conversation and connection.
Egypt's ancient mysteries called to him in ways that felt personal. Standing before the Great Pyramid at dawn, he used his x-ray vision to see the hidden chambers that archaeologists had only theorized about. But he also saw how the modern city pressed up against these ancient monuments, how people lived their daily lives in the shadow of history. He studied Arabic at Al-Azhar University, losing himself in the mathematical precision of the script, the poetry of the language.
The call to prayer became the rhythm of his days. Five times daily, the muezzin's voice would rise above the cacophony of Cairo's streets, and for a few moments, the city would pause, remember, reflect. Clark found himself appreciating these regular reminders to stop and connect with something larger than oneself. He thought often of the Kawatche caves back home, of the prophecies painted on their walls, wondering about the intersection of faith and destiny in his own life.
Throughout his journey, his powers remained both blessing and burden. In Luxor, he prevented a tour bus from plunging into the Nile, making it seem as though the driver's quick reflexes had saved the day. In the markets of Addis Ababa, he used his speed to catch a child who fell from a balcony, positioning himself so it appeared he had simply been in the right place at the right time. Each intervention required careful planning to avoid detection, teaching him the importance of working within human limitations even while using his extraordinary abilities.
His journalism skills continued to develop. He wrote human interest stories for English-language papers in Cairo and Nairobi, learning to capture the essence of people's lives in words. His perfect memory allowed him to conduct interviews without taking notes, putting subjects at ease while retaining every detail. He developed a reputation for finding stories others missed, for seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary.
In India, the philosophy of ahimsa resonated deeply with his own instincts about the use of power. The great teacher Sri Ramanathan helped him understand that non-violence wasn't passive acceptance of wrong, but active engagement with conflict in ways that sought to minimize harm to all parties. These lessons would later influence his approach to confrontations, always seeking solutions that protected even those who meant harm.
The Buddhist monasteries of Tibet taught him to master his super-senses in ways he had never imagined possible. High in the Himalayas, where the thin air would have challenged ordinary humans, he learned to filter the constant input of his enhanced perceptions. The elderly monk Tenzin showed him meditation techniques that helped him focus on single sounds among millions, to see both the microscopic and the panoramic without becoming overwhelmed.
Through it all, the sun crystal in his backpack seemed to pulse with growing urgency, as if responding to his increasing understanding of his place in the world. His dreams filled with crystalline structures and geometric patterns that felt like memories of a place he had never been. But he knew he wasn't ready yet. There was still more to learn, more to understand about the world he would someday help protect.