---
The darkness in my room was never truly dark. Not to me. In the quiet hours before dawn, I could see the gentle pulse of energy in the walls—the slow, sleeping current of electricity in the wires, the faint residual heat in the wood of the floor. It was all just a soft, silent hum, a background noise to my thoughts.
I didn't need an alarm. I felt the sun coming long before it crested the horizon. It was a pressure change in my soul, a deep, resonant chord being struck in a room a million miles away. The power inside me, that ocean of a million suns, began to stir, its surface rippling in anticipation. I lay there, letting the feeling wash over me. This was my normal. This quiet, cosmic communion.
When the first true sliver of gray light pierced the window, I finally moved. The floorboards were cool and solid under my bare feet. I walked to the window and looked out. The Kent farm was still shrouded in shadow, the fields a sea of undefined shapes. This view, this place… it was the anchor that kept the ocean of my power from flooding the world. I was Robert Kent. This was my home.
The walk to the bathroom was a silent ritual. The house was asleep, filled with the soft, rhythmic sounds of my family's breathing. I closed the bathroom door and flicked on the light.
And I faced myself.
The mirror showed a fifteen-year-old guy. My jawline had gotten sharper over the last year, losing the last of its childish softness. My hair, that same impossible steel-gray, fell over my forehead. I was tall, just over six-three, and lean from years of farm work. I looked… normal. Or as normal as a guy with metallic hair can look.
But my eyes. They were just blue. Human. Ordinary.
A thought, unbidden, surfaced from the depths of that inner ocean. I knew what I was. I knew the scale of what slept inside me. I controlled it every second of every day, a constant, effortless act of will that had become as natural as breathing. But I never really looked at it. What was the face of that power? Not in anger or defense, but in its pure, unvarnished state? What would I see if I let just a little of the real "me" peek through?
Okay, I thought, the decision made. Let's see.
I didn't strain. I didn't grit my teeth or clench my fists. It was more like relaxing a muscle I'd been holding taut my whole life. I turned my focus inward, past the flesh and bone, down to the core of my being where the golden light blazed eternal. I didn't pull it up. I simply invited it to show itself. I focused the intent on my eyes.
The change was instant and absolute.
The blue of my irises vanished. It didn't glow or shine; it was replaced. My eyes became pools of liquid, swirling gold. But it wasn't a flat color. Within that gold swam a thousand, a million, pinpricks of intense, brilliant light, like a living galaxy had been condensed into each socket. They weren't projecting light onto the mirror; the light was within them, a density of energy and creation so profound it was beyond mere brightness. My pupils were gone, consumed by this cosmic vista.
The boy in the reflection was gone.
In his place was a god.
The face was the same—the sharp jaw, the gray hair—but it was now a mask for something ancient and terrifying. The eyes held the birth and death of stars. They were ageless, knowing, and held a power so vast it made the air in the small bathroom feel thin. A shiver, cold and hot at the same time, raced down my spine. This wasn't an alien wearing my skin. This was me. The truest, most fundamental version of myself, stripped of all the human pretense.
The sight was breathtaking. And a little frightening.
Enough, I commanded, the thought a quiet, firm order in the vastness of my mind.
As quickly as it had appeared, the vision ended. The swirling galaxies collapsed, the liquid gold receded, and my simple, human blue eyes returned. I was just a kid staring into a bathroom mirror again.
I let out a long, slow breath, my hands braced on the sink. My heart was beating a little fast. That was… more than I expected. It was one thing to know you have the power of a million suns. It's another thing to look it in the face.
I shook my head, a wry smile touching my lips. Note to self: cosmic self-reflection is a hell of a way to start the day.
The shower was a welcome return to the mundane. The hot water was a purely physical sensation, and I leaned into it, letting the steam and the sound ground me. This was real, too. The feel of water on skin. The smell of soap. This was the life I had chosen.
After I toweled off, I got dressed. My clothes were simple. A pair of boxers—my body was, in most ways, stubbornly human, a fact for which I was sometimes grateful. A comfortable pair of jeans, broken in from work around the farm. A soft, heather-gray T-shirt that stretched across my shoulders. This was the uniform of Robert Kent. I wore it like a shield.
I opened my bedroom door at the exact moment Clark opened his. We'd gotten our own rooms when we turned ten, a milestone that had felt like a real step into growing up. He stood there, his dark hair a damp, tousled mess from his shower, a easy, sunny grin already on his face. He radiated a kind of wholesome, all-American energy that was as natural to him as his super-strength.
"You look like you're heading to your own execution," he said, falling into step beside me as we headed for the stairs.
"Just contemplating the profound existential horror of another pop quiz in Mr. Grady's class," I deadpanned.
Clark chuckled. "Just let me glance at your paper. I'll have all the answers in two seconds."
"That's cheating, Clark."
"It's efficient!"
We pushed through the door into the kitchen, and the world shifted again. This was my center. The heart of everything.
The smell hit me first—rich, dark coffee, sizzling bacon, the sweet, warm scent of pancakes on the griddle. It was the smell of home, of safety, of unconditional love.
Jonathan Kent sat at the head of the old wooden table, his large, capable hands holding the Smallville Ledger open. His reading glasses were perched on his nose. Martha was at the stove, her movements a fluid, practiced dance as she flipped golden-brown pancakes, a soft, contented hum on her lips.
Dad looked up as we entered, the paper lowering. His eyes, crinkled at the corners, found ours, and his smile was a thing of pure, uncomplicated joy. "Mornin', boys." Two words, but they held the weight of the world. They said, You are safe here. You are loved.
"Morning, Dad," we chorused, sliding into our familiar chairs.
Mom turned, her face lighting up with a warmth that could rival my inner sun. "Pancakes are just coming off the griddle. Sleep well?"
"Like the dead," Clark said, already reaching for the giant bottle of maple syrup.
"Well enough," I said, my voice softer. "Thanks, Mom."
As she brought a towering stack of pancakes to the table, Dad folded his newspaper, giving us his full attention. "So," he began, his tone light but his eyes keen and knowing, "everything on track at school? Nothing causing you two any… trouble?"
It was a loaded question. We all knew it.
Clark launched into an animated story about his history project on ancient Egypt, his words tumbling out with a speed and clarity that was far beyond normal. He talked about dynasties and architectural techniques like most kids talked about video games. I just listened, adding a quiet "It's fine" or a nod when the conversation drifted my way.
The unspoken truth was a comfortable presence at the table, a fourth member of our family. School wasn't a challenge. For Clark, it was a triviality; his mind could process information at a rate that made textbooks look like children's picture books. For me, while I didn't have his kind of super-cognition, the immense mental focus and clarity that came with my power made academic work a simple, almost boring, exercise.
And our parents knew. They knew Clark could lift a truck with one hand. They knew I had… abilities. They had seen glimpses, and they had accepted it without question. Yet here they were, worrying about our grades and whether we had clean socks. The profound normalcy of their love was, to me, more miraculous than any power.
This is it, I thought, watching Mom refill Dad's coffee cup, her hand resting on his shoulder for a moment. This is what makes them the greatest people in any universe. They were the unwavering constants. The moral compass that guided a Kryptonian and a cosmic accident with equal measure. In all the fictions I'd consumed in my past life, I had never encountered parents as purely good as Jonathan and Martha Kent.
The conversation drifted, as it always did, from school to the farm. The post that needed replacing in the south fence. The almanac's prediction for a dry fall. It was all so normal. So mundane. And I cherished every second of it. I committed the scene to memory—the warmth of the kitchen, the clatter of cutlery, the sound of their voices. This was the life I protected. This was the life I would unleash the void itself to preserve.
After breakfast, we grabbed our backpacks and headed down the long gravel drive to wait for the bus. The morning air was crisp, carrying the smell of damp earth and distant rain. Clark was bouncing on the balls of his feet, full of restless energy. I just stood there, hands in my pockets, soaking in the peace.
When the familiar yellow bus rumbled into view, it felt like a portal to another, more complicated world.
The doors hissed open, and we were hit by a wall of sound. Shouted conversations, laughter, the rustle of nylon backpacks, the thump of bass from someone's headphones. It was chaos. A beautiful, human chaos.
I moved through it with a quiet purpose, slipping into a window seat near the back. A second later, Pete Ross dropped into the seat beside me with a grunt.
"Man, I did not finish that algebra homework," he groaned, running a hand through his hair.
"Clark did," I said, nodding toward my brother.
"Clark always does," Pete sighed. Then he elbowed me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey. Don't look now, but your fan club is here."
I didn't need to look. I could feel it. A specific, soft pressure on the side of my face. Lana Lang. She and her friends had taken the seat directly behind Clark and Chloe. I could hear the whispered giggles, the subtle shifts in their conversation. I kept my gaze fixed on the passing fields.
For a single, fleeting moment, the option presented itself in my mind with crystal clarity. Telepathy. It would be so easy. The slightest extension of my will, a gentle brush against the surface of her thoughts, and I would know. I would know the reason for the glances, the secret behind the smiles. All the mystery would be gone, replaced by cold, hard data.
I let the temptation rise, and then I let it fade away.
No.
What would be the point? Where was the fun in that? The not-knowing, the guessing, the slow, agonizing, and utterly human process of trying to read someone… that was the whole point of the experience. To use my power here would be to cheat. It would be like using a supercomputer to solve a simple riddle. It robbed the moment of its meaning. It violated the sanctity of her private thoughts. I was trying to live a human life, and humans had to deal with uncertainty.
"See?" Pete whispered, mistaking my silence for ignorance. "She's totally staring. You're like a block of ice, man. If Lana Lang was looking at me like that, I'd probably spontaneously combust."
From across the aisle, Clark chuckled, though I didn't miss the way his shoulders stiffened just a little. He was talking to Chloe Sullivan, who was in the middle of a passionate, rapid-fire explanation of her lead story for the Torch. Her words were sharp, intelligent, her mind a whirlwind of activity.
But her eyes… when she looked at Clark, they were different. Softer. Warmer. The intellectual fervor was still there, but it was layered with something else. A fondness. A deep, lingering look that lasted a second too long.
Ah.
The realization clicked into place with quiet certainty. Chloe likes Clark.
It made perfect sense. The brilliant, curious reporter, instinctively drawn to the greatest mystery in all of Smallville. And Clark, for all his ability to see through solid lead, was completely, endearingly blind to the heart that was quietly being offered to him just inches away.
A new thought began to form in my mind, slow and amused. My invincible, super-smart brother is a complete idiot when it comes to girls. The idea was strangely charming. He could handle alien threats and natural disasters, but the subtle signals of a high school crush left him baffled.
Maybe, I mused, a slow, plotting smile forming on the inside. He needs a little help. A nudge in the right direction. Some brotherly advice on the complex art of romance. The prospect of playing guide for Clark through the treacherous waters of dating was suddenly very appealing. It was a human problem that required a human solution. Well, mostly.
The bus ride continued, a capsule of teenage life hurtling toward our destination. Pete kept up a steady stream of jokes, Chloe continued her animated debate with a blissfully unaware Clark, and Lana's glances from behind me continued like a soft, persistent rhythm. I let it all wash over me, a silent observer in the beautiful, complicated play of ordinary life.
When the bus hissed to a final stop in front of Smallville High, I slung my backpack over one shoulder and followed the crowd out. The facade, the performance of being normal, wasn't a burden. It was a privilege. This peace, this simple, messy, human life, was everything I had ever wanted. And I, Robert Kent, would stand in the sunlight and the shadow to keep it safe.
----///----------///---------///
[Ok tell me how was that,am i doing good at building talks with there fr and parents and that's my first novel that i used to Write with my heart]
[In first i have been useing chatgpt to write novel and then post them,then i got many reviews that i wasted my Story potential and after that i read more novel gain knowledge, how they write etc that the story of 7 months ago now i am back with my own upgrade version of me, if i motivated by this novel good respond then i will start writing fanfic manhwa like-lookism,windbreaker,reality quest,Tower of gods,swordmaster youngest son,omniscient reader,Northern blade. also games like -DMC, new "dispatch" game,doom slayer, Metal Gear,Hitman,Dying light,Resident Evil...]