Four years.
For most folks, that's just a few pages flipped on a calendar.
But for the Kent farm, those four years felt like someone hit the fast-forward button.
The wheat fields still glowed golden, but the guy standing on the ridge wasn't the same kid anymore.
Clark stood between the rows, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off lean, powerful forearms. He hefted a bundle of wheat stalks half his height like it was a bag of cotton candy.
Whoosh!
He tossed it to the field's edge, stacking it neatly into a perfect square.
The sun bathed his sweat-dampened neck in a honeyed glow, his blue eyes shining like a clear sky under his straw hat.
"Clark!"
An old but booming voice called from the field's edge.
"Grandpa Bob!" Clark looked up, a bright grin spreading across his face.
Four years had stretched the boy into a tall, strapping young man.
So tall, old Bob had to crane his neck to look at him.
"Good kid!" Bob leaned against his rusty tractor, slapping its hood with a rough hand. "You're working circles around your dad—faster by a mile!"
Clark bashfully rubbed the back of his hand against his nose.
"Grandpa Bob, you want me to harvest that east field for you? I've got time this afternoon."
"Whoa, hold up!"
Bob waved his hands, bits of chaff falling from his fingers.
"I wanna live a couple more years, kid! Your work pace makes me think of my lazy, good-for-nothing grandkids, and my blood pressure's already spiking!" He clutched his chest dramatically, like he'd just dodged a bullet.
"Hahaha!"
Clark burst out laughing, the sound open and hearty.
Bob stroked his white-stubbled chin, his cloudy eyes squinting as he studied the tall, handsome young man before him.
The sunlight carved out Clark's sharp jawline, and for a moment, Bob was transported back twenty-some years, seeing Jonathan and Locke sweating it out in this same golden sea of wheat.
Back then, the tractor wasn't so loud, and wild berries grew along the ridges.
Man, those were the days. Too bad the berries were gone—probably eaten up by the wildlife running rampant these days.
"Your dad and uncle," Bob started, fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one, smacking his lips. "Couple days ago, I talked to them about selling the land. Locke, that sly dog, thought I wouldn't notice, but his offer's enough to get me a condo in Florida."
"Wasn't a waste pulling him out of Gotham's gutters back in the day."
Clark's smile faltered. He crouched down, absently running his fingers over the wheat stalks by the ridge.
"You're really selling?"
"Yup, kid," Bob said, blowing a smoke ring that curled and drifted in the breeze. "The land's just there. What's there to hold onto?"
His cloudy gaze drifted to his crooked old barn in the distance, then out to the sprawling fields.
"I spent my youth scratching a living from this dirt. Middle age, I was driving rigs, come rain or shine. Probably the best thing I ever did was pick up your Uncle Locke. Without him, Smallville wouldn't be thriving like it is. These past few years, farmers around here followed his advice, and life's been better than ever."
"Whoops," Bob chuckled, catching himself. "Sorry, Clark. Old folks ramble."
"Point is, I'm old, I've come full circle, and it's time to retire."
"I've watched you kids grow up, one generation after another, like crops turning into big, strong trees." He paused, the cigarette's ember flickering. "I'm content now."
"I'm leaving it in your hands."
"So take good care of this land that's fed us all."
Buzz.
A ladybug landed on Clark's hand.
When he was five, right here by this ridge, Bob had taught him the difference between a seven-spotted ladybug and a pest.
"Come visit me in Florida sometime."
"As for that old barn," Bob said, clapping Clark's shoulder and pressing a key into his hand with a chuckle, "see if you can make use of it, Clark."
"...Yeah."
Clark didn't say much, just took the key and nodded softly.
He stood up, watching Bob's stooped figure shuffle off into the wheat, the dust kicked up by his worn boots glinting in the sunlight.
The wind rustled the wheat tips, like a long, drawn-out sigh.
Snap!
The sharp sound of a book closing broke Clark's thoughts.
Thud!
A figure dropped lightly from the gnarled branches of an old oak by the ridge, a few leaves fluttering down with him.
Sunlight spilled over a head of dazzling golden hair. A fitted black turtleneck made his pale skin stand out even more.
Tree shadows dappled his face, and his cold, crimson eyes flicked toward Clark.
"Done working? Let's go home," Dio said lazily, shaking the copy of On the Origin of Species in his hand. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started walking along the ridge.
"Alright," Clark said, falling into step behind the tall, proud figure without a second thought.
Come to think of it…
"Dio, are you, like, half a head taller than me now?"
"Duh."
"So you're the big lug now?"
"…"
Clark shut down the conversation with surgical precision.
They walked in silence, one behind the other, the ridge path winding ahead.
Then Clark's gaze caught a glimmering stream nearby, and his steps slowed.
There, in the soft grass by the water, knelt a small figure, maybe five years old.
Soft black hair swayed in the breeze, a stubborn tuft sticking up on his forehead. The sleeves of his dark red tunic were damp from the stream, but he didn't notice. The boy was completely focused, gently stroking a wild rabbit in his lap.
And the crazy thing?
The skittish animal was curled up calmly on his knees, letting the boy's delicate fingers check its clearly injured, awkwardly twisted hind leg.
"Saraphiel!"
Clark's heart warmed. In one swift step, he crossed the distance, his tall frame blocking some of the sunlight as he crouched down, concerned. "What're you up to? What's wrong with the little guy?"
"Brother Clark!"
The boy looked up, his pure smile lighting up his face, his black eyes clear as crystal.
"It got caught in some thorns. I think it sprained its leg joint."
Whoosh.
As soon as he spoke, a soft, almost transparent milky-white glow flowed from Saraphiel's tiny palm, gently wrapping around the rabbit's injured leg.
The glow vanished so fast it could've been a trick of the light!
But Clark saw it clearly—the rabbit's limp, twisted leg snapped back to normal, its tense muscles relaxing instantly.
Anyone else would've been floored by the sight.
But Clark?
He wasn't surprised.
This ability had been popping up since Saraphiel was three.
Sometimes, when he or Dio got scraped up from roughhousing, the kid would just touch them, and the wounds would vanish.
"Dio, check it out!" Clark turned excitedly, wanting to share his little brother's good deed. "Saraphiel's at it again—"
No one was there.
The golden-haired young man was already a hundred yards away, not even bothering to look back.
"Dio, that guy," Clark muttered, his brows knitting with a mix of frustration and exasperation.
"It's okay," Saraphiel said softly, the glow fading from his fingertips. "Brother just… doesn't approve of me messing with nature."
He paused, mimicking Dio's cool, rational tone:
"'Saraphiel, stop doing that.'"
"'You're meddling with nature, disrupting the balance of survival of the fittest.'"
Saraphiel stroked the rabbit's soft ears and set it gently by the bushes. The rabbit perked up, nuzzling his wrist like it was thanking him before hopping off into the undergrowth.
Watching it go, Saraphiel smiled contentedly.
"I just can't stand seeing them hurt and suffering…"
"I can't look away."
Clark sighed, helpless, and showed his support the way he always had when they were younger.
"Saraphiel, I think you're doing the right thing." He ruffled his brother's hair. "Don't mind Dio. He's like that with everyone."
"Come home for dinner," Clark said, standing up. "If you need me, just holler, no matter where I am."
"You'll come like a bolt of lightning, right?"
Saraphiel tilted his little face up, his smile chasing away the earlier gloom. "I know."
"You little rascal." Clark couldn't help but grin, infected by Saraphiel's smile. He gave his brother's hair another playful tousle. "I'm heading out. Make sure you come home for dinner, okay? No eating random stuff in the wild! And definitely don't eat anything the animals give you! You'll get a stomachache."
"Got it," Saraphiel said with a obedient nod, smiling as he watched Clark's tall figure stride through the wheat fields, swallowed by the golden waves.
The streamside fell quiet again, just the trickle of water and the rustle of grass in the breeze.
Saraphiel stayed kneeling, his gaze fixed on his reflection in the clear water.
Sunlight filtered through the treetops, scattering flecks of light across the surface.
But in that peaceful, serene moment—
"Why? Why?! Brother!"
A voice, identical to his own but sharp, cold, and tinged with manic frustration, erupted from the small shadow beneath his feet.
It was thick with resentment, aimed straight at the golden-haired figure long gone.
"Why do you put up with that man's arrogance?!"
"We're the ones Father truly loves. He's just a—"
Saraphiel didn't react.
It was like the malicious whisper was just a breeze skimming the water.
He calmly dipped his hands back into the cool stream, letting countless tiny, barely visible specks of soft light flow from his fingertips, like miniature stars, silently blending into the current.
It's so hot today, he thought. The fish in the stream seem kind of sluggish.