House of El: Reforged

Smallville High – The Torch Office

Monday, 2:31 PM

Background noise: gentle lo-fi beats, the gentle whirr of a printer plotting revenge, and the sound of a teenage coder falling in love with CSS all over again.

Raj sat forward like a surgeon mid-operation, his fingers flying across the keyboard in determined bursts. His brow furrowed in concentration behind his glasses, the faint glow of the screen flickering in his eyes like a holy mission.

Hadrian stood over him, arms crossed and leaning slightly against the table's edge—towering, golden-skinned, his emerald eyes glowing faintly beneath heavy lashes. He looked like someone who'd just walked off a CW poster shoot, all effortless strength and calm brooding, the kind of boy you'd dream about but wouldn't dare approach unless you were 100% ready to set your life on fire.

"So," Raj muttered, scrolling through ancient lines of code, "just to be clear—I'm saving this website from collapsing into the digital equivalent of a haunted turnip."

Hadrian's lips quirked. "That's generous. Most haunted turnips are at least responsive on mobile."

Neville—built like a linebacker and radiating quiet menace with that black hair and pale green eyes—chuckled from the desk beside them. He had a soldering iron in one hand, the other casually flipping through a dusty programming manual like it was light reading.

"Just wait till you find the page that auto-plays Bigfoot moaning whenever someone clicks 'About Us,'" he said.

Raj froze. "Why would that exist?"

Hadrian shrugged. "Maya's design phase was—"

"A fever dream," Neville offered.

"A war crime," Raj muttered.

"—experimental," Hadrian finished, deadpan.

Across the room, Maya was halfway through hanging a new headline—MYSTERY MEAT OR ALIEN INTELLIGENCE? Our cafeteria exclusive!—when she turned to Zatanna and whispered with the kind of dangerous excitement only someone actively crafting a romantic disaster could summon.

"So here's the thing," Maya said, licking sugar off her thumb. "You know I like Hadrian, right?"

Zatanna didn't even look up from the post-it she was scribbling on. "I'm sorry, do you mean Hadrian Kent, my cousin? The one literally ten feet away?"

Maya blinked innocently. "What, like it's a secret?"

Zatanna looked over, her expression dry as the Nevada desert. "The janitor knows. The toaster knows."

"I'm cultivating a slow burn," Maya said proudly. "I have spreadsheets."

Zatanna closed her eyes like she was summoning ancient patience. "You're not building a relationship. You're building a heist."

"Semantics," Maya said with a sugary smile.

She leaned closer, her voice lowering to a dramatic whisper. "He needs a take-charge girl. Someone who knows how to handle a man who thinks brooding is a personality. He needs me."

Zatanna groaned. "He needs therapy. And maybe holy water."

Maya ignored her completely. "I mean—look at him. That jawline. Those arms. That tragic hero energy. He's like if a Greek statue came to life and got lost in algebra."

Zatanna blinked. "He's six foot three and emotionally constipated."

"And I'm five foot one with musical theatre rage and the confidence of a god," Maya said, posing.

Zatanna threw a post-it at her. "That's not a compliment."

"I'm just saying," Maya continued, ignoring it. "Short queens are elite. You tuck us under your chin, we fit in all the right places, and we have the height advantage in certain scenarios."

Zatanna's eyes narrowed. "Maya."

Maya's smile turned wicked. "Think about it. Standing between his legs, chin tilted up, while he—"

"That is my cousin!" Zatanna snapped.

"—holds my face like he's afraid I'll disappear, and tells me I'm chaos incarnate," Maya finished dreamily.

Zatanna looked like she wanted to bleach her ears. "You're an actual menace."

Maya winked. "Wouldn't he love that?"

Zatanna grabbed a gummy worm and flung it at her face. Maya caught it in her mouth like a performing seal and gave a mock bow.

"I also have a Torchroom Slow Burn Playlist called Songs to Break His Emotional Walls To."

Zatanna groaned. "Do not serenade him."

"Too late." Maya pulled out her phone and scrolled. "What do you think—'Feather,' or is he more of a 'Nonsense' guy?"

Zatanna actually slapped her own forehead. "He reads Tolstoy for fun. You think he listens to bubblegum pop?"

Maya's grin turned feline. "Even stoic boys fall for sirens."

At that exact moment, Hadrian turned from the desk, arching an eyebrow at them.

"Should I be worried about whatever... hormonal chaos is radiating from that corner?" he asked, voice smooth and warm and dry like honey over granite.

Maya gave him her most innocent smile. "Define worried."

Zatanna crossed her arms. "She's planning to sing at you."

Maya didn't blink. "In the dark. With a spotlight. And possibly backup dancers if Raj says yes."

Hadrian blinked once. Slowly. "I feel like this is how cults start."

"You wish," Maya shot back, pointing a Sharpie at him. "You should be so lucky."

Raj, still typing, raised a hand without looking up. "If someone asks me to code lighting effects for a serenade, I'm charging overtime."

Neville snorted. "And hazard pay."

Maya turned to Zatanna and whispered, "I swear to God, if he blushes just once, I'm going full concert mode."

Zatanna held up a warning finger. "You so much as hum in his direction and I'm telling Aunt Lilly."

Maya's eyes sparkled. "I love that woman. I want her to adopt me. We could be family."

Zatanna fake gagged. "I need bleach."

Hadrian returned to the desk, but there was a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth now—a twitch of a smile, almost imperceptible.

Zatanna caught it. So did Maya.

And for one suspended moment in that chaos-infused newsroom, the air shimmered with the unspoken.

Want.

Possibility.

Trouble.

Maya leaned against the bulletin board, smirking like the cat who had every intention of eating the canary, the cage, and possibly setting the whole aviary on fire for dramatic effect.

"You know what he needs?" she whispered to Zatanna. "A soundtrack. And a girl unhinged enough to give it to him."

Zatanna stared at her. Then at Hadrian. Then, reluctantly, back at her.

"…He's so not ready for you."

Maya's grin turned wicked.

"Good."

—

Smallville High – The Torch Office

Monday, 2:48 PM

Mood: That dizzy moment before an espresso hits and your inner monologue turns into a Taylor Swift bridge.

The printer coughed.

It groaned like it had smoked three packs a day since Watergate, choked on a chunk of corrupted toner, wheezed again… and then, miraculously, went quiet.

Raj leaned back from the desk, arms raised in triumph, fingers twitching like they'd just wrestled a demon back into a pentagram.

"Behold!" he declared. "It is done. The site lives. It breathes. It is mobile responsive. It no longer tries to summon eldritch horrors when someone clicks 'Faculty Contacts.'"

Hadrian, leaning one hip against the edge of the desk like he'd just walked off the set of Smallville: The Renaissance, gave him a solemn nod.

"You've brought balance to the Force," he said. "Or at least to the sidebar menu."

Neville snorted, stretching one long leg across the carpet, his black hoodie dusted with solder powder. "He's not a Jedi. He's the guy who rebooted the server after Maya tried to upload a ten-gigabyte GIF of dancing skeletons."

"That was for aesthetic purposes," Maya called out from across the room, where she was mid-dramatic pose in front of a bulletin board, marker clutched like a weapon of mass persuasion. "We don't shame ambition in this newsroom."

"You coded three different fonts into the footer," Raj muttered. "The site wept."

"And then it evolved," Maya said, eyes wide like she was describing a divine visitation.

"Into a haunted cyber-squid," Raj replied. "It tried to bite me."

Maya beamed. "You're welcome."

Hadrian rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is my life now, isn't it?"

"Yes," came three perfectly timed voices—Zatanna, Neville, and Raj—all in deadpan harmony.

"Editorial meeting!" Maya clapped her hands. "First issue of the new year. I want ideas, people. Give me blood. Give me scandal. Give me something that would make the school board sweat."

Zatanna, draped elegantly over the arm of a secondhand chair with the disinterested grace of a pop star at a poetry reading, twirled a pen between her fingers.

"So… not just another mixtape dedicated to your ongoing thirst for Hadrian's jawline?"

Maya gave her a beatific smile. "That's subtext. This is journalism."

"Same thing," Neville muttered, grabbing another gummy worm.

Hadrian exhaled slowly through his nose, that permanent faint furrow between his brows deepening. His emerald eyes flicked to Maya, who had now seized the whiteboard and was underlining the word VIBES so hard it screeched.

Raj raised a hand. "Pitch: a recurring column called Tech Support for the Emotionally Unstable."

Neville perked up. "Counterpitch: Conspiracy Corner. Is our chem teacher secretly a Russian sleeper agent or just bad at grading?"

"I want both," Maya said immediately. "Zatanna, fact-checking. Neville, source gathering. Raj, visuals."

Zatanna scribbled something on a post-it without looking up. "Is this where we finally publish my exposé: Spirit Week or Satanic Ritual?"

Maya nodded solemnly. "You've been preparing your whole life for this moment."

Neville tilted his head. "Real suggestion. Article on the haunted microfiche in the library. Legend says if you scroll fast enough, it predicts your GPA… and your death."

"I can confirm that," Raj said. "I saw it flash '3.8' and a headstone emoji."

Maya underlined LIBRARY DOOM? on the board. "Genius. Add it to The Wall."

Hadrian's gaze flicked back to Raj. "Didn't you say there was a spike in electromagnetic disturbances around town?"

Raj sat up straighter. "Yeah. There's something weird happening. Static interference. GPS malfunctions. Low-grade radiation bursts that don't match weather patterns."

"Could be solar," Zatanna said.

"Could be alien," Raj countered.

Hadrian's jaw tightened. Just slightly. "We should look into it."

Maya's eyes lit up like a kid with a conspiracy board. "Yes. YES. Z, give me a headline."

Zatanna didn't even pause. "'When the Weird Gets Wired.'"

"I want that tattooed on my soul," Maya said reverently. "Raj, build me graphics. Zatanna, pull public records. Hadrian…"

She turned to him, eyes sharp and glittering.

"You're writing it."

"I don't write," he said flatly.

"You could," Maya countered. "You've got the whole haunted-farm-boy vibe. Brooding metaphors. Emotional depth. Literally the main character in someone's Wattpad."

"I'm not writing poetry about tractor beams."

"What if I said 'please'?"

"No."

"'Pretty please'?"

"No."

"I'll let you veto the backup dancers in your next playlist tribute."

He arched an eyebrow. "There are more?"

"Oh, honey," Maya purred. "There's always more."

Hadrian blinked. Slowly. Then sighed like a man handing over a piece of his soul. "Fine. But I swear to God, if the headline includes the word eldritch, I'm walking."

Zatanna leaned toward Neville and stage-whispered, "Last time he used that word, Maya tried to turn it into a scented candle."

"It smelled like haunted bookstores and trauma," Neville said.

"Delicious," Maya said brightly.

Zatanna groaned. "We need something lighter. We can't have every article sound like a Marvel subplot."

Maya nodded. "Okay. Fluff content. Gimme."

Zatanna raised a hand. "Quiz: Which Local Cryptid Are You Based on Your Spotify Wrapped?"

Neville immediately said, "I'm the emotionally unavailable swamp ghost."

"I'm the angry sentient vending machine that dispenses trauma," Raj offered.

Maya scribbled it down. "Perfect. We'll run it next to the horoscopes."

Then she turned, a slow smirk curling across her lips. "Last one. The big one. Feature piece. I want danger. I want drama. I want horny with deniability."

Neville made a sound like a dying kazoo. "Oh no."

Maya stepped to the center of the room like she was about to declare war. "Anonymous op-ed column. Theme: High School Crushes. Real or fake, doesn't matter. We call it: Hearts on Lockdown."

Zatanna buried her face in a throw pillow. "Absolutely not."

"I love it," Neville said immediately. "Can I write about the time I fell in love with the girl who punched me in the nose during dodgeball?"

Raj raised a hand. "Can I code a secret submissions box and include random romantic encryption algorithms?"

Maya turned slowly to Hadrian. "You. You're writing the first one."

"No," Hadrian said, voice low and steel-edged.

"Oh come on," Maya crooned. "You're full of secrets. You probably crush poetically. Like—'her eyes were a galaxy I couldn't map.'"

Hadrian stared at her. "Are you having a stroke?"

Zatanna sat up and said seriously, "He will leave the group."

Maya stepped closer. "Or maybe you've got a crush on someone in this room."

She winked.

Hadrian didn't flinch.

But Zatanna saw it—the way his jaw shifted just barely. The flicker in those impossible green eyes.

The room went quiet. For half a second, everything slowed.

Then Hadrian pushed off the desk and said calmly, "I'll fix the grammar. That's all."

Maya smirked. "That's where it starts."

And just like that, the meeting dissolved—into laughter, into caffeine, into teenage chaos. But underneath it, behind the banter and fake headlines, something simmered.

They were young. They were writers. They were messes with opinions and heartbreaks disguised as pitch meetings.

And the sparks?

Oh, they were everywhere.

—

Outside The Torch – 4:17 PM

Weather: Warm breeze, golden hour sun painting everything in honey and secrets.

The Torch's battered, rust-red door creaked open, and the group spilled out like a flash mob of caffeine-fueled conspiracy theorists. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and impending teenage drama.

Hadrian shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, squinting skyward like the clouds held some cosmic memo just for him. The faint crease between his emerald eyes deepened—part thought, part brooding invitation to trouble.

Neville padded alongside him, sleeves pushed up, muscles relaxed but ready, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he fought to keep straight-faced after Maya's last theatrical rant about the travesty of censoring yearbook quotes.

Raj lagged a few steps behind, glasses sliding down his nose as he blinked against the sun. "Okay, so I'm heading east. Maple Avenue, two blocks past Carter Street."

Neville raised an eyebrow, voice rough with disbelief. "Dude, that's practically next door to us."

Raj blinked, then smirked. "Wait... you three live near Kent Farm?"

Hadrian's smile was lazy but sharp. "Technically at Kent Farm."

Zatanna, leaning back against the building with casual elegance, arched a brow and deadpanned, "Where else would we go after school? The Fortress of Solitude?"

Raj laughed—half disbelief, half awe. "Honestly, that'd be less weird than Neville telling me his workout bench came from 'a Kryptonian estate sale.'"

Neville shrugged, unbothered. "It did."

Raj's laughter faded into an incredulous chuckle. "Okay, you guys win. Walk me home, sons of space Moses."

Hadrian exchanged a glance with Neville and Zatanna, then started down the sidewalk, their shadows stretching long and thin in the sinking sun, like the universe was writing a soundtrack just for them.

Then—

"Ow!"

Maya's voice burst through the gentle murmur like a spotlight snapping on. Everyone stopped, heads turning.

There she was, clutching her ankle, face the picture of tragic suffering. The kind that could only be genuine if it came with an Oscar nomination.

Hadrian arched an eyebrow so high it nearly disappeared under his tousled hair. "No."

"I sprained my leg," Maya said, wobbling dramatically. "Totally could've happened to anyone wearing boots with a five-inch heel and way too much ambition."

Zatanna rolled her eyes, arms crossed. "You tripped over your own ego."

"Rude," Maya sniffed, then fixed Hadrian with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Hadrian, piggyback. Be a gentleman."

"No."

"Please?" She batted her lashes like it was a weaponized glitter bomb.

"No."

She stepped closer, voice dropping an octave, sultry and teasing. "If you do this, I swear I won't write another editorial about your cheekbones for a whole week."

Hadrian blinked. "Fine. The day. I promise—for the whole day."

He sighed, muttering, "I'm surrounded by theater kids with a death wish," then crouched low.

"Climb on, drama gremlin."

Maya squealed and vaulted onto his back, gripping him like she was holding the last ticket to the apocalypse. "Onward, my noble steed!"

Neville shook his head, grin wide and full of teeth. "She's milking this for weeks."

Zatanna snapped a quick photo, smirking. "And we're never letting him live this down."

Hadrian adjusted his grip, muscles taut but steady. "She weighs less than your ego."

"She heard that." Maya sang softly into his ear. "Also, I'm taking this as proof you secretly love me."

"No. You threatened a fake coma if I didn't write that fluff piece about crushes."

"Worked like a charm," she chirped.

They moved through sleepy blocks, the town bathed in golden light and the kind of quiet that hums with hidden stories. Hadrian's eyes flicked sideways to Neville, whose hoodie shifted as he floated an inch off the sidewalk when no one was watching.

Zatanna's fingers traced invisible sigils in the air, weaving protection without so much as a glance.

Raj shook his head, taking it all in. "Okay, real talk: you three are seriously weird."

Neville grinned, flashing just a hint of fang. "You don't know the half of it."

Zatanna bumped Neville's arm lightly. "Don't spook the tech support. He still hasn't signed the NDA."

"Wait, NDA?" Raj's eyebrows knitted in confusion.

Hadrian's smile was perfectly neutral. "Nothing. You'll know if we trust you."

Raj squinted. "So… Tuesday, then?"

Neville clapped him on the back. "Maybe."

Maya yawned theatrically on Hadrian's back. "God, I love this town. Like Riverdale but without the murders. Yet."

"Yet?" Raj's voice pitched with alarm.

"Oh, don't worry," Zatanna said, tone dry as dust. "You'll know when the body drops. There'll be a playlist."

Hadrian's green eyes caught Maya's, and the world narrowed just a little, a secret folding between them like a well-read letter no one else could see.

—

Kent Farm Road — Late Afternoon

The sky burned like a faded Polaroid—apricot, rose, and the kind of gold that made you want to freeze time.

Hadrian's hands were shoved so deep in his jacket pockets they might as well have been lost in Narnia. His emerald eyes scanned the horizon with the kind of brooding intensity that said I'm thinking, or plotting, or just thinking about plotting.

Neville floated beside him, hoodie sleeves pushed up, muscles relaxed but coiled like a cat ready to pounce. He wore that half-smile—like he was trying not to laugh but failing spectacularly.

Zatanna sauntered alongside, fingers lightly tracing sigils in the air, casting low magic like she was tuning the universe to her favorite indie playlist.

The peaceful scent of rain and earth hung heavy—right before everything went to hell.

VROOM

A blistering Carmine Red 2025 Porsche 911 thundered past, eating up the highway bridge like it was a racetrack. The engine growled—like a beast that knew it was untouchable.

Hadrian's eyes snapped to it, cold and sharp. "Distracted driver," he muttered, voice low.

Neville squinted, catching the driver's silhouette—phone glued to his ear, fingers clutching the wheel like a lifeline. "Oh, great. Multitasking and speeding? Genius move."

Hadrian's jaw tightened. "Never a good combo."

The car fishtailed—too fast, too wild for that curve.

Time stretched and slowed, the kind of moment that feels like the universe just paused to watch the disaster unfold.

Metal screeched as the Porsche slammed against the guardrail. A banshee's scream that ripped the quiet apart.

Then—SMASH.

The barrier gave way like paper, and the car tumbled off the bridge in a fiery streak of red against the river's blue-green calm.

"Shit." Hadrian didn't hesitate.

He exploded into motion—a green blur tearing down cracked asphalt. Neville was right behind, feet barely touching the ground, moving with impossible speed.

Zatanna cursed under her breath, sprinting at human pace, magic sparking around her fingertips like wildfire waiting to ignite.

They reached the riverbank just as the car slammed into the water with a roar, sinking like a wounded beast.

Hadrian dove in, shock biting into his skin, but his Kryptonian muscles flared to life like a furnace.

The convertible top was up—of course. He slammed his fist into the glass with a thunderous crack that shattered the door clean off.

Neville followed, powerful strokes cutting through the icy current.

Inside, a young man with black hair floated, unconscious, blood staining his temple where his head had collided with the steering wheel.

"Gotcha." Neville wrapped an arm around the kid's waist, steady as a rock.

Hadrian grabbed the collar of the soaked jacket, pulling him free.

Together, they hauled the limp body to the shore, muscles straining but steady.

The water was freezing, but Hadrian's heart was blazing hotter than ever.

Zatanna arrived moments later, stepping gingerly onto the muddy bank, water dripping from her fingers like magic melting away.

She shook her head, lips tight but a smirk twitching the corner of her mouth. "Stupid Kent boys and their saving-people complex."

Hadrian, gasping for air, shot Neville a glance. "Think he's going to make it?"

Neville pressed a hand to the kid's forehead, checking the pulse like it was a life-or-death pop quiz. "Alive. Just barely. Lucky we were here."

Zatanna pulled her cloak tighter, eyes darting toward the darkening woods lining the river. "Lucky, or fate. And fate usually means trouble."

Hadrian's emerald gaze flicked back to the water, where the broken red car bobbed quietly, a wounded scar against the current.

"Neither do I."

Zatanna tossed a dry laugh over her shoulder. "Guess we're not getting to Kent Farm anytime soon, huh?"

Neville cracked a grin. "Looks like the day's about to get a hell of a lot more interesting."

Hadrian smirked, wiping water from his brow. "Great. Just what I needed."

Zatanna winked, fingers already weaving a faint glow of protective wards around them. "You say that like you don't secretly love the chaos."

Hadrian's eyes glinted, dark and unreadable. "Don't get me wrong. I do."

—

Moments Later

The shrill cry of sirens tore through the late afternoon stillness like a bad mixtape dropped on vinyl. Two medics' trucks screeched onto the gravel shoulder, kicking up mud and gravel like fireworks gone wrong. Behind them, Sheriff McAllister's cruiser rolled in, tires crunching the dirt with that slow, deliberate authority you only get from a guy who's been Smallville's law since before the internet was cool.

Zatanna stood a few feet off the road, cloak wrapped tight, fingers twitching with sparks of magic barely contained — like a teenager trying not to curse in front of their parents.

Hadrian's emerald eyes locked on the approaching squad, a crease of impatience flickering across his brow. He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, as if hiding a secret — or maybe just trying to keep the frostbite away.

Neville hovered beside him, hoodie sleeves pushed back, those pale green eyes calm but alert. His mouth quirked up at the corners with a grin that said, Well, here comes the fun.

The Sheriff stepped out first — tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that looked carved from decades of worn leather and small-town politics. He gave the trio a nod that was half greeting, half You better have a good explanation.

"Hadrian. Neville. Zatanna. What's the score today? Just messing around, or breaking more laws than usual?"

Hadrian smirked, voice low and edged with tired humor. "Sheriff. You wound me. Just out for a walk. And maybe saving a drowning idiot."

Neville chuckled softly. "Same old, same old."

Zatanna rolled her eyes but smiled. "You guys really know how to pick your afternoon entertainment."

The medic, a no-nonsense woman with sharp eyes and a clipboard clutched like a weapon, knelt by the young man wrapped in a soggy blanket. Her fingers moved expertly, checking pulse, eyes scanning for trouble signs.

"Concussion, possible internal bleeding," she said, voice clipped but not unkind. "We're stabilizing him before transport."

The black-haired kid stirred, blinking open dark eyes heavy with confusion and pain. Blood trickled from a scrape on his temple, mixing with water and mud.

"Name?" the medic prompted.

A slow, deliberate smile curled at his lips, faintly smug and chilling all at once.

"Alexander Joseph Luthor… Junior."

Hadrian's breath hitched. The air thickened. Neville's expression sharpened, lips tightening like he'd just swallowed a lemon. Zatanna's eyes flickered dangerously — subtle, but electric.

The medic glanced at the Deputy, who had sidled up with a skeptical arch to his brow.

"You don't say," he muttered. "Son of Lex Luthor, huh? That's… a name that comes with baggage."

Alexander's voice dropped, smooth and mocking. "Baggage? Maybe. But some of us carry the world's load better than others."

The Deputy glanced briefly at Hadrian, Neville, and Zatanna, like he was searching for confirmation he didn't want but somehow expected.

Sheriff McAllister cleared his throat, stepping forward with the weight of small-town justice on his shoulders.

"Alright, Junior. We're taking you back to the station to make sure you're not gonna drop dead from a headache."

Hadrian exchanged a glance with Neville, the kind that said this just got way worse.

"Trouble's got a name," Hadrian muttered under his breath. "And it's got daddy issues."

Neville's grin flickered, less amused now. "Well, you know what they say. Blood's thicker than water — but sometimes it's just thicker."

Zatanna's fingers twitched, casting a faint, protective glow around them all — a promise.

"No matter how messy it gets, we handle our own."

The weight of the moment settled over them like a storm cloud, but none of them flinched. Because family, even when it's this complicated, is the only thing worth fighting for.

—

The walk back from the crash site had that end-of-an-episode feel. The kind where everything looks normal — golden skies, fresh-cut fields, birds chirping — but your head's a chaos blender and you're just waiting for the next punch.

Hadrian kicked a stray rock down the dirt path, emerald eyes stormy under dark lashes. "I'm just saying, any universe where I have to share air with a Luthor Jr. is one that's clearly glitched."

Neville chuckled beside him, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the very picture of too-cool-to-be-bothered. "You mean besides the one where you're a half-alien magic-born accidental messiah raised by Clark Kent?"

"Semantics," Hadrian muttered.

Zatanna let out a low whistle behind them, her cloak catching the breeze like it had better stage presence than all of them combined. "Okay, but can we all agree that the vibe? Terminally cursed. That kid had serial killer cheekbones."

Neville grinned over his shoulder. "Says the girl whose ex literally used dream demons as party favors."

"I dated him, not recruited him for a Netflix docuseries."

Hadrian smirked, mood lifting just a notch. "You're right. Way more goth of you."

They crested the final rise and Kent Farm came into view — sun spilling honey over the red barn and the wraparound porch, laundry flapping on the line, smoke curling from the chimney like a Norman Rockwell fever dream.

But something was… off.

There were more voices than usual, and not the comforting background hum of farm life. Laughter. Unexpected, uncalibrated.

Hadrian slowed. Neville's eyes narrowed. Zatanna's fingers twitched.

They hit the porch in silent sync, boots thudding against old wood, shoulders squared like they were heading into a battlefield, not Sunday dinner.

The door creaked open.

Clark Kent stood in the kitchen doorway — tall, immovable, and dressed like a man who didn't need to try to look like a Greek god but somehow still made plaid look intimidating. His arms were crossed, but his expression was… soft.

Lilly Kent leaned against the counter beside him — auburn hair twisted up, sleeves rolled, a dish towel over one shoulder. That same cool intensity that made her both mom and myth, her gaze flicking instantly to Zatanna with that silent mother-aunt mind-meld that said I know everything and you will tell me more later.

Martha Kent was perched in her rocking chair, a cup of tea in hand, smile warm enough to melt through tectonic drama — but even she looked like she knew the tension behind the trio's entrance.

And then there was Roslyn.

Hadrian's thirteen-year-old sister — all sarcasm and restless energy packed into a flannel shirt and cargo boots — was curled up on the couch with her arms around a blonde girl. Blonde girl was maybe their age — fifteen or sixteen — with a halo of sunlit hair and the kind of piercing blue eyes you didn't forget. Ever.

"Auntie Kara!" Roslyn chirped, clinging to her like a barnacle.

Hadrian froze. Neville blinked. Zatanna tilted her head like a cat watching a ghost walk in.

"Wait," Hadrian said slowly, voice pitching into that barely restrained disbelief he only pulled out for world-shattering revelations. "Did she just say Auntie Kara?"

Kara — the girl in question — looked up from the couch and gave them a grin that was half awkward, half "Hi, I could probably break you in half, but I'm trying to be friendly."

"Oh. Hey," she said brightly, accent ever-so-slightly off, like she wasn't from here here. "You must be my nephews."

"Your nephews?" Zatanna repeated, blinking like she missed a line in the script.

"Okay," Neville drawled, crossing his arms. "Someone explain why she gets a hug and we get life-threatening surprise relatives."

Clark stepped forward before things could combust, his voice warm but calm. "Kids, this is Kara."

"She's family," Lilly added gently, placing a hand on Zatanna's shoulder — grounding her, like she always did.

"From your side or his?" Hadrian asked, sharp now, like a pressure valve starting to hiss.

Lilly gave a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "His. Technically."

Roslyn popped up with all the subtlety of a firecracker. "She's our dad's cousin! Or, like, space cousin. You know. Kryptonian."

Silence dropped like a hammer.

Hadrian's jaw ticked. "She's—what?"

"I thought you were the last one," he muttered to no one in particular.

Clark stepped forward again, arms open, the universal dad-who's-about-to-explain expression in full effect. "We were going to tell you. We were just—waiting for the right moment."

"Of course," Hadrian muttered. "Nothing screams 'perfect moment' like us walking in from a run-in with a Luthor."

Zatanna narrowed her eyes at Kara, then at Clark. "Is she staying?"

"Yeah," Kara said before anyone else could. "Hope that's okay."

Neville's voice cut through, dry as a sand dune. "You'll fit right in. We're all very emotionally stable and normal here."

Martha, still sipping her tea, murmured, "Don't scare the poor girl, Neville."

"She's Kryptonian," he muttered. "She can handle it."

Kara lifted an eyebrow, then smirked. "Well… this is gonna be fun."

And just like that, normal left the building.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!

If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!