The noise and excitement of the day slowly faded.
The setting sun dyed the sky a warm orange-red, drawing a perfect ending to Smallville's harvest festival.
But at the Kent Farm, the real celebration had only just begun.
The wide front yard glowed with bright lights.
Two long wooden tables were pushed together, covered with classic red-and-white checkered tablecloths.
Martha had laid out an entire feast.
Golden-crispy fried chicken glistened under the lights, a mountain of silky potato salad sat temptingly beside it, sweet baked beans filled the air with their aroma, and several bowls of fresh salad surrounded everything.
And at the center of the yard, two grills sizzled and smoked.
Jonathan, wearing an apron, worked up a sweat but still grinned as he flipped huge steaks and sausages. With every turn, he brushed them with his special sauce, letting the mix of meat juices and fruitwood smoke drift across the farm and make everyone's stomach growl.
Amid the lively bustle and delicious smells—
"Uncle!"
At that shout, Clark—who had been standing by another grill, watching over several perfectly roasted cobs of corn—turned toward the voice. He found his nephew Clark (the elder Clark, not the Uncle) frozen in front of a sizable brisket on his own grill, holding tongs and a spray bottle with an embarrassed expression.
"Uncle…"
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I… I forgot to spray the apple cider vinegar halfway through…"
"?!"
Lois—no, this is Loch, the uncle—sucked in a breath and jabbed the surface of the brisket with a finger.
It felt tough. Dry.
His face immediately twisted in heartbreak.
"This is the top-grade brisket I won off Anthony in a bet!"
"And you turned it into firewood…"
"Top-grade?!"
Young Clark gasped too, eyes wide.
"I'm so sorry! What—what do we do now?"
"..."
Seeing his nephew's panic and guilt, Loch's frustration melted away, replaced by amusement.
He rubbed his chin, remembering an old cooking hack he'd once heard.
Not ideal, but…
"Well, may as well try it."
He pointed at the unopened beer nearby.
"Mix that with the meat juices and spray it on. Might save the texture a bit."
"Huh?"
Clark blinked. "But isn't that—"
Before he could finish, Jonathan overheard them and shouted from his grill, shirt already off from the heat, apron on, waving a spatula dramatically:
"Loch! Stop corrupting the boy!"
"The sacred barbecue code, passed down by our ancestors, says apple cider vinegar only! You're defying tradition! You'll be skinned alive!"
"..."
What nonsense.
Loch rolled his eyes.
"Shut up and go grill your sausages."
Ignoring his dramatic brother, he turned back to Clark.
"Don't mind him. Give it a try. Could work."
"Okay…"
Clark hesitantly began mixing beer and drippings in a cup—though he was clearly distracted.
He leaned in closer to Loch and whispered, voice tinged with nerves:
"Uncle… after the barbecue… could I talk to you alone about something?"
"Talk?"
Loch raised a brow, studying Clark's shy expression.
Then his gaze naturally drifted to where Lana stood chatting with Chloe…
Oh?
A knowing grin spread across his face.
He patted Clark's muscular arm, then glanced at Jonathan—half-naked, loud, and fiery beside the grill—and then at his tall, handsome nephew who was surprisingly bashful.
No wonder you need help, kid.
Loch gave a firm nod and a proud, encouraging smile.
"Of course, my boy. Leave it to your uncle. I get what you mean."
"Thank you, Uncle Loch."
Clark visibly relaxed in relief.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the yard—
Chloe and Lana were chatting enthusiastically.
Somehow, the conversation drifted to Clark's unusually normal behavior today.
"I'm telling you—Clark is full-on, 100% a big softhearted dummy," Chloe declared, waving her grilled corn. "Did you see how many people he helped today? He can't refuse anyone!"
"Chloe," Lana protested gently, shaking her braid as the sunset cast soft light across her face. "That's not being simple. That's kindness."
"He's sensitive to people in need and never hesitates to help. That's a rare gift."
"Oh please," Chloe scoffed. "You only say that because he's handsome. That's not sensitivity—that's slow reaction time! The guy is a world-class collector of 'nice-guy cards.'"
"He is not!"
Lana's cheeks warmed, but she stood firm.
"He's thoughtful. Haven't you seen how he treats animals? Or his family?"
"Well I spend more time with—"
And so their argument escalated.
One anxious.
One soft-spoken.
Both absolutely serious in the way only teenage girls can be.
Martha finally stepped over to break them up with a helpless sigh.
"Do they always do this?"
A lazy, curious voice chimed in.
Zatanna had wandered over, chewing on a perfectly grilled skewer, words muffled through the food.
Peter, who was busy demolishing a chicken leg, froze—Was she talking to him?
He swallowed mid-chew.
"Dunno… I'm here for the food…"
"Boring," Zatanna shrugged. She wasn't invested in girl drama OR barbecue philosophy.
Her gaze drifted—first to Loch, who only cared about roasting meat, then finally settling on the one thing that did look interesting:
A strange little boy radiating subtle magical waves.
Seraphiel.
The child sat on the swing set, small legs dangling, but not alone—
He was surrounded by a crowd of fluffy companions:
A shaggy gray wolfdog, a fiery red fox, a couple squirrels holding their paws together, two gentle deer, and…
A full-sized brown bear.
Apparently this was normal.
Seraphiel carefully broke off a piece of dark chocolate and offered it to the wolf-dog.
"Wait, Seraphiel—that's chocolate."
Zatanna rushed in, gently stopping his hand.
"Chocolate is toxic to dogs. It can hurt their heart. It's—"
"…"
Seraphiel looked up with innocent eyes.
"Zatanna auntie, Big Gray is a wolf, not a dog."
To prove the point, the wolf immediately lifted its head—
"Awoo! Awoo—ooo!"
Trying its best to howl, though the pitch was hilariously off.
Oh…
It's a wolf.
Zatanna nodded automatically—
WAIT.
That doesn't fix anything!
Wolves, dogs—any canine can't process theobromine!
But before she could protest, the wolf chomped down the chocolate happily, tail whirling like a helicopter.
Clearly not its first time.
The bear munched loudly on a grilled corn cob nearby, acting as if this farm barbeque belonged to him.
Zatanna stood there in stunned silence.
"…Do you all always do this?"
"Yeah!" Seraphiel nodded happily. "Whenever we have a barbecue, I invite everyone. Dad says we should share good food with our friends."
"Awoo!"
"Grr!"
"Chirp!"
"吼!"
"Skrr!"
All the animals chimed in as if in agreement.
An unbelievable child indeed.
Zatanna couldn't help marveling:
He gets along with animals so naturally…
So kind and perceptive.
Loch really is raising him well…
"No, wait… one more thing." She suddenly remembered something, face darkening. She crouched down.
"Seraphiel—I'm only 21. Call me Zatanna, or Miss Zatara. NOT auntie."
"Oh~"
Seraphiel nodded sweetly, then patted the wolf.
"Okay, Zatanna sister. Do you need something? Is it because you have no friends your age so you have to play with little kids? That's really sad…"
"Yes… I am a lonely a—"
Zatanna began to sigh instinctively—then slammed the brakes.
"I'm a sister! And what's wrong with playing with you? Why is that sad?!"
But faced with this tiny old-soul child, she couldn't help laughing. She ruffled his soft black hair.
"Alright, little one. Want to see some real magic? Real magic?"
"Magic?"
Seraphiel's eyes sparkled like stars.
"Like making things appear or disappear out of thin air?"
Zatanna smiled mysteriously.
She bent down, plucked a tiny wildflower from the grass—then—
Whoosh!
The flower vanished.
In its place—
A snow-white dove burst from her hand and landed on Seraphiel's shoulder.
"Wow!"
His eyes widened, full of awe.
"Cool, right?"
Zatanna puffed up proudly.
"Just wait, I can show you even more."
And so she did—more and more tricks, each dazzling, smooth, masterful.
Cards flickered like living things.
A napkin turned into rainbow ribbons, then back again.
Coins appeared behind ears.
Ropes tied themselves.
Handkerchiefs danced without wind.
People began gathering around, clapping and cheering.
Even Lex Luthor, leaning against the barn wall with a beer and a skewer, allowed the corner of his lips to curl up slightly in appreciation.
When the show finally ended, Zatanna took a bow.
"Ta-da!"
Loud applause erupted.
She blushed faintly, embarrassed by how carried away she'd gotten.
"Well?" she asked, crouching down to meet Seraphiel's shining eyes.
"Pretty magical, right?"
"Yes!!"
Seraphiel nodded vigorously.
He was already thinking how great this would be for Dad's birthday show.
Even—
"Brother, knock this woman out! Let me read her memories!"
The voice of God's Dominion snarled eagerly inside Seraphiel's mind.
"I've wanted this for ages! Kekekekekeke!"
"…Your laugh is terrible," Seraphiel thought silently.
He kept smiling outwardly.
"Zatanna! Teach me!"
She laughed lightly and patted his head.
"Sure. But magic isn't something you learn casually."
"You'll need to get Loch's permission first."
At once, Seraphiel zipped off toward his father.
Loch already knew.
He wiped his hands and bent down.
"Dad!" Seraphiel's face glowed with excitement.
"Zatanna says she'll teach me magic if you agree!"
Loch smiled gently.
"And do you and Dominion want to learn magic?"
"Yes!"
"Then go," Loch chuckled. "Take her to the barn. You'll have space and won't disturb anyone."
"Thank you, Dad!"
Off he sprinted.
Animals scattered, the yard's noise faded, and Loch watched him go with quiet pride.
Maybe this was the last missing piece…
After all, in another timeline…
This child had once been the greatest sorcerer of an entire era.
Jonathan nudged Loch with an oily elbow.
"Hey, bro, I think—"
"Childish."
Loch shoved a huge piece of meat into Jonathan's gossiping mouth.
Jonathan howled from the heat and glared but went back to grilling.
---
### The Barn
The heavy doors shut, muffling the party outside.
The scent of hay, wood, and grain hung thick in the air.
A single lamp cast warm shadows from the rafters above.
"Zatanna," Seraphiel said eagerly, "can we start now?"
She smiled at his excitement.
But instead of starting, she leaned down conspiratorially and whispered:
"Seraphiel… I have a secret."
"I'm not just a magician."
She paused for dramatic effect.
"I'm a real sorceress."
"Uh-huh."
Seraphiel nodded calmly.
"…?"
Zatanna blinked.
"No surprise? Seraphiel—I use real magic. Real magic!"
"Surprised?" He tilted his head, thinking.
"Like the kind on TV where things appear out of nowhere?"
"Yes!" Zatanna said, relieved at a normal reaction.
"Most of my tricks use real magic power."
"That's amazing, Zatanna!"
She nodded proudly—
"…"
"Can we start learning the magic tricks now?"
"…The tricks?"
"Yeah!" Seraphiel said sincerely. "You told your secret. So now it's magic-learning time."
"For Dad's birthday."
"..."
Zatanna was speechless.
He wanted… trick magic more than real magic?
"Seraphiel," she said carefully, "don't you like magic magic? Look—it can do incredible things."
She raised her gloved hand.
She spoke a backwards incantation clearly:
"Ekalbat Revog!"
Magical energy surged—
The pile of dry straw suddenly sprouted green shoots.
Stalks thickened.
Golden heads of wheat swelled, ripening unnaturally fast.
A miracle of life.
But—
"Well… it's not that I don't like it," Seraphiel admitted, staring at the wheat.
He hesitated.
But this was Dad's friend. Good people only came to Kent Farm.
Dad had said so.
He decided he could trust her.
So he leaned in, mimicking her secretive posture, and whispered:
"Zatanna, I have a secret too."
He opened his palm.
A small orb of pure white light appeared—soft, warm, alive.
Not magic.
Something deeper.
He pressed his glowing hand to the dirt.
Immediately—
Life burst forth.
Grass sprouted, spread, grew lush and brilliant in seconds.
Vibrant, healthy, powerful.
Far beyond Zatanna's spell.
"..."
No chant.
No gesture.
No magical fluctuation.
Just raw, overwhelming power.
Untamed.
Innate.
This wasn't magic.
This was his essence manifesting.
Zatanna tried to regain her bearings.
She needed to guide him properly.
"Seraphiel… that was incredible," she said gently.
"But that was pure power. Magic is different. Magic is shaped by will. Like this—"
She snapped her fingers.
A flame sparked to life on her fingertip.
But in the next second—
A gust of wind erupted—
And the flame went out instantly.