[A/N]: Hey everyone! This story is the start of my own DC Fanfiction Universe, a sort of reimagining of the DCEU. It will have its plot, but this is VERY Clark/Lana heavy and is first and foremost about them. This will definitely be long. I'll be posting chapters every week or so, so hopefully there won't be any long waits. I hope everyone who comes across this enjoys it! Thanks for the reviews and favorites so far and thank you so much for reading :)

*Edits have been made to trim and clean things up a bit.

/

Silence filled the white void, accompanied only by a large construction made of metal and crystal. Sound behaved differently here, as if this plane gagged the waves themselves. A being, as it liked to call itself, floated toward the entrance of the massive structure. It believed it was above the physicality of gender, as well as walking. It saw that the entranceway was unobstructed, and so went straight through to follow the long corridors until it found that for which it came. A small cell encased in a circular wall of woven crystal held a man with wavy black hair and a well-kept beard. He wore a black uniform made from some sort of interlaced material, one full piece from the neck all the way down to his feet. The man was facing the being's right side and looked up upon noticing the light emanating from it. His eyes were unfocused. The being spoke.

[Dru-Zod, commander of the forces of Krypton.]

[Until my dying breath leads me to Rao's light,] answered Zod. He squinted but his eyes remained unfocused, belying his composure. His voice came out muffled as it always did in this plane, but for some reason the other's voice was clear.

[Your story is not yet finished.]

Zod's face took on a pensive look. This being produced a small device from its hand and placed it onto the crystal casing of the cell. The entire perimeter melted and disappeared, along with the device. Zod stood up.

[Bring them, the being commanded. All of you have been chosen.]

Zod walked into the corridor and got his first good look at the being. It would have been a bit taller than him even if it hadn't decided to hover a few inches off the ground. It had the visage of a man, but many parts of its body were visibly scarred and damaged. Those that weren't were covered in different metals, some of which Zod recognized and some he did not. Though sure of it at first, he was now reconsidering if this being was Rao made flesh. It spoke Kryptonian flawlessly, yet it did not look like anyone or anything he'd ever seen on his planet. Regardless, he was not foolish enough to decline the opportunity for escape. His eyes flickered to its forehead, where the being's light was coming from. Upon it sat three glowing orbs.

[I do not serve you. Only Krypton, said Zod.]

[Then do what you have been made to do.]

Memories flashed in Zod's mind. Krypton had been a mess of war, betrayal and fear when he was imprisoned. He could remember the treachery of a man he had once called friend. He remembered a Council of fools and an unstable core. Zod was groomed from young to be a soldier. The only things he knew were war, conflict, and devotion to his home. Desperation drove him to seek any means necessary to save Krypton, but even though Zod was imprisoned in this realm outside of time while his planet still stood, he knew in his soul that when he escaped, Krypton would not be waiting for him.

[There is no Krypton to serve. It is gone.]

[It does not have to be,] said his emancipator. [It could be made anew, upon another world. I am sure this is not the first time you have heard this notion.]

[Zod eyed the being warily, but could not get a read on it. What have you to gain from this?]

It did not answer immediately, but looked upon the bearded man with a mildly curious expression, as if in the middle of deciding whether or not to act on a whim.

[Knowledge.]

Zod stared. He did not trust the person in front of him. Unfortunately, it was the only thing with the means to escape the unholy prison in which Zod found himself. He relented, because even more than wanting to escape, he wanted to see his home flourish once more. [Krypton will live again.]

The being produced another device, this one considerably bigger than the last. It handed it to Zod smoothly. [This prison was made from your war vessel, as you know. I presume you still possess the ability to pilot it.]

[I do,] Zod answered flatly. The Council had not expected any of them to escape, and had decided to add insult to injury when sending them to this dimension. How did it know that?

[Then the Phantom Zone will no longer hold you. Activate this when you and the others are ready.] The being began to fly back the way it came before Zod called back to it.

[You have divulged nothing. I know not who you are, nor what you want. What is it you expect from us upon our departure? Why should we follow your direction?]

It turned back to the Kryptonian, a look of something resembling amusement on its face. [Your transport from this place does not have to be one-way.]

Zod's jaw twtitched. Thinly-veiled threats did nothing to enlighten him. Regardless, it seemed he would have to play along. [What is this world we are to conquer?]

The being uttered one last sentence before disappearing. [Those who inhabit it have called it Earth.]

/

March had just begun and the days were getting longer still, but hope for spring faded into memories of early winter. The sky appeared to agree, overcast with dark clouds blocking the stars from view. The only solace for the man driving his pick-up truck down an old dirt road was the heat that came with the mild breeze into his open window. The familiar smell of earth and livestock wafted even more strongly as he slowed down and turned left past a sign that read: KENT FARM.

He stopped and cut his headlights off when he got close to the small yellow house at the end of the path. The light was on in the kitchen. Listening to the sounds that came from the house, he could tell someone was watching the news, or at least listening to it on the radio. The man looked at his watch, an old, priceless thing with a worn leather strap and a white face that read 6:02. No matter what, the news was always on at six.

After grabbing a small bag from the passenger seat, he stepped out of the truck and walked to the front door. He slipped the keys in his twill jacket, the beige of which was a stark contrast to the red and black plaid flannel shirt he wore over blue jeans. He rang the doorbell.

The sound of short footsteps came through the closed door. When it opened, a woman in her sixties stood in the doorway across from him, wide eyes accompanying an even wider smile as she realized who it was.

"Clark!" she exclaimed, immediately reaching up to give the man a hug.

"Hey, Ma," the man answered, smiling wide enough to match his mother. She pulled him inside. "Is that apple pie?"

"You haven't even been here ten seconds," the woman laughed. She was wearing a stained white apron over a gray cardigan. Her graying brown hair was pulled back in a loose bun. "But yes, it sure is. It'll be ready soon so wash up and you can have some."

"Yes, ma'am," said Clark, complying enthusiastically. He might be a bit biased, but his mom makes the best apple pie. Hell, he'd just had some in Stockholm a week before but he'd come to the same conclusion then, too – nobody makes apple pie like Martha Kent.

"You should've told me you were coming. I would've cleaned up beforehand," Martha scolded her son with kind eyes. Clark looked around and immediately saw the mess; there was one dirty glass in the sink.

"Yeah, the place is a real pig sty," Clark replied with a smirk. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Color me surprised, then. Where've you been this time?"

"Everywhere," he answered. "I didn't plan to country-hop at first, but I just got swept up in it, you know?"

"Mm-hmm. You were gone a lot longer than I thought you'd be." The small white timer on the counter dinged, and Martha took the pie out of the oven. "Take this for a second?"

The metal pan was scalding hot, but Clark took it easily with bare hands. Martha set her oven mitts together on the table, and Clark set the pan on top of them. Clark bent over the table and blew on the dish softly. A gust of cold air engulfed the pie, and he sustained the breeze just long enough for the dessert to set. Too long and it would freeze. He got a knife and some dishes and cut them both a piece. "I wouldn't really say I enjoyed it, but…it was exactly what I needed."

"How so?" She was in full mom mode now. Clark wondered how best to begin. He remembered the sightseeing, the days spent in libraries speed-reading to learn new languages, the hours of YouTube videos watched to acquire new skills, the hitchhiking, the people suffering from physical and mental disease, the tastes of dozens of different cultures, and every minute he spent talking with someone new. How could he possibly explain how both connected and disconnected he felt with every person he ever came across?

"Dad always said I would change the world. The last time he said it, I said 'what if I don't want to?'" He scooped a bit of pie into his mouth and chewed with a serious face. "He said that one day it wouldn't matter, because I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I didn't understand what he meant until now."

"Your father had a knack for getting to know people better than they know themselves," Martha said, digging into her own slice of pie. She smiled sadly before putting on a much more jovial expression. "Now come on, spit it out. What'd you learn? What did you see?"

He didn't want to put a damper on her mood, but he needed his mother's guidance. It was a big part of his decision to come home. "You and Dad taught me that no matter what, the good outweighs the bad. But...in some places it's just not true. I never thought I'd witness evil the way I have. Or how people ignore it or refuse to acknowledge that it exists at all. Most of us just try to push through, make our own ways in the middle of all the bad. People think it's just the way it is, and they can't do anything about it."

They both sat quietly at the table, finishing their pie. On the television in the living room, a news anchor talked solemnly of a school shooting that had taken place in Lawrence. Nineteen high school students were injured and six were in critical condition. It was a miracle nobody had died. Clark went back to staring at his empty plate. Nothing like that ever happened in Smallville, but he'd heard of another, deadlier one that happened in Florida a couple weeks before.

"So many want to make the world a better place," he said. They just don't know how. It would take all night to tell you all the places I've been, but each new place only ever made me surer. Dad was right. I don't want to sit here focused on just myself and my life."

Martha smiled. She and her late husband Jonathan had talked about this day many times, and she couldn't have been more proud of her son. She only wished Jonathan could be here.

"Will you be using your powers?" she asked, sensing Clark's hesitation to continue.

"That's the part I can't decide. For the past few months I only used them sparingly and never in front of people. I've been trying to live like a normal person. Loads of people have made positive impacts on big and small scales without powers, so I figured I'd see if I could do the same. Starting small, of course." Clark smiled sheepishly. He and his mom both knew he had a natural desire to come rushing out of the gates in every situation that made him excited, even though his tendency to over think things usually made him careful. "So what do you think?"

"I think that I'm very proud of my darling little boy," Martha answered.

Clark chuckled. "I'm six-three, Ma."

Martha dismissed him with a good-natured wave of her hand. She looked across the table into her son's blue eyes and sighed. "Your father and I knew this day would come. Ever since that time we thought you disappeared. Remember that, around eighteen years ago? Gave us quite the scare."

"Sorry."

"I'm not mentioning it so you can apologize again, honey. It's about where we found you. You were at the Lang farm. You'd finished helping Jonathan with the chores so you walked up the road to see if they needed any help with theirs."

"How could I forget," muttered Clark. "It's the only time I saw Dad lose his temper. It was pretty scary."

"Until you told him why you left. Then he hugged you and cried like a baby straight out of the womb, he was so proud. Nobody ever had to teach you how to be a good kid. You just were." Clark could tell she was reliving that day in her mind. His mother's face was full of too many emotions to count. "Now, I can't tell you what to do with your powers. You'll have to figure that part out on your own. All I know is that the two most important things someone needs to change the world for the better are a good heart and a good mind, and you've had those since you crashed here in that hunk of metal. But I will say this, too: you don't owe this world a thing. I love that this is something that you want, but always remember that you don't have to. Okay?"

Clark hadn't expected that response, but was happy his mother supported him either way. He nodded.

"Good," she said, picking up their plates and forks and handing them to Clark. "Now you can start by doing the dishes. And you can only have one more slice of pie while you're here. I'm saving the rest for the Langs since they're coming over tomorrow to finalize our sale of the farm."

Oh, right. He'd forgotten that they'd talked on the phone about selling the farm and moving to Keystone City a couple months before. Clark wouldn't be in Smallville forever and Martha was getting old trying to tend the farm herself, even if she did have help from the neighbors' three sons.

"Is Lana coming?" he asked. Martha smirked. Her son had had a crush on Lana since they were thirteen, and even though they'd gone their separate ways after high school Lana would always call to see if Clark was around whenever she made it back to Smallville.

"I don't know, honey. I haven't heard from her in a while. Last time I checked she was still at the university in Central City. Why don't you go and visit? It's just a little over an hour out and I'm sure she'd love to see you."

Clark shuffled across the kitchen awkwardly and silently started with the dishes. Not one to be ignored, Martha followed and leaned against the counter a foot away from him with an expectant look. He sighed.

"I don't want to bother her. She's off doing her own thing and she loves the city. I don't want to distract her or remind her of home. She never exactly loved Smallville."

"Small towns ain't for everybody, Clark, but I doubt she'd have a problem with seeing those baby blues." Clark rolled his eyes. His mom patted him on the arm. "Give her a call. It's Friday and it's early. That's what you've got a cell phone for, ain't it? To use it?"

"Okay, Mom." Done with the dishes, he took his phone out of his pocket.

"Those two love science so much but wouldn't notice chemistry even if it bit them in the booty," his mother mumbled.

"You know I can hear you, right?" Clark called. Martha sat back on the couch to continue watching the news, not answering. Clark shook his head. "I'm gonna head out to the storm cellar to check on my ship, okay?"

"Okay, but if you see any little green people, don't tell them I'm home."

The storm cellar was surprisingly clean, at least as clean as a small underground bunker can get. Clark was starting to wonder if all mothers were neat freaks. He had never been a slob by any definition, but he didn't exactly mind some clutter either. Not that he'd ever leave anything resembling a mess here at home, of course.

Clark sat at the bottom of the stairs and made the call. It rang a few times, and then he heard her voice. "Hey there. You've reached a female person's voicemail. If you recognize this voice, leave a message. If you don't, feel free to never call again. Bye!"

Hearing Lana's voice made him realize how much he'd missed her. It had been months since they last spoke. "Hey Lana, it's Clark...which you could probably tell from the caller ID. I was, uh, just calling to see how you were doing. I know we haven't spoken in a while so I was hoping we could catch up. Call me back when you can. Bye."

He stood up. Not the smoothest message but certainly not the worst, he thought. In the far corner of the room was a giant brown tarp, which he pulled to reveal a silver ovoid-shaped metal object whose sides were streamlined into soft edges. It was almost as long as he was tall yet just as wide as he, and not for the first time he wondered why a child so small would need something this large for travel.

It had taken him years after his parents explained the circumstances of his "adoption" to figure out how to open the thing. The onset of puberty (and his powers coming in full force) probably hastened his parents confession, but Clark remembered being more scared and confused than angry at their dishonesty. Finding out he was more than just a human with abnormal abilities - a real live alien - was more than he could handle at eleven years old. He ran away upon hearing the news, running faster than he ever had before, and didn't stop until he'd climbed the windmill in Evan's Field. Clark remembered spending the rest of the day up there wondering where he was from for the first time, imagining what life could have been like some place far away.

He placed his palm on the underside of the pod, close to the front. In the center of the top face glowed a small symbol: a pentagon with what looked like the letter "S" inside of it. The glow subsided, but the glyph stayed. Clark pressed it and felt it sink lower into the surrounding metal before it disappeared under the top layer. The metal surrounding the newly-made hole slid backward into itself, making the hole bigger until the entire top half of the pod was open.

There were three objects inside. One was a small, round, opaque crystal that was much softer to the touch than expected. The second was a dodecahedron the size of a softball, seemingly made of both metal and crystal and with a hole through the center of it. The last object was a long red sheet that was impossibly soft. The material was unlike anything he'd seen before or since.

Clark's phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out with one hand while picking up the metal and the crystal with the other. Lana's name appeared on the screen. He opened the text message.

Hi! Sorry I'm in class right now but I'll call you right after. Your mom told me you went on a trip, so you better tell me all about it :)

Clark smiled at the message and responded immediately. Deal. Now pay attention to your professor.

She texted back just as quickly. NO .

Deciding not to be a distraction, he stashed his phone and let his hands fiddle with the other two objects. He scanned the 12-sided shape for buttons or switches for the thousandth time before inserting two fingers into the empty space at its center. Thinking it was an oddly pretty thing, he examined it closer, seeing that the metal of it was fused on top of the crystal in a way that made it hard to discern where one ended and the other began. His fingers skimmed the edge while he rotated it, flexing his hand so that they pressed against the sides to hold it in place. The crystal's edge began to push back.

Clark yelped and dropped the object in surprise. He watched it hit the dirt with a soft thud and waited. Nothing happened, so he picked it back up and looked at the hole up close without touching it this time. The hole had tried to close around his fingers. Obviously something was supposed to fill the whole, but his fingers didn't seem to be a plausible solution. So what the hell was supposed to go in there? The only other thing he had was –

Oh. Duh.

Clark realized he was still holding the smooth round crystal from the pod in his other hand and brought it up to measure it against the hole in the other object. He chastised himself for being so dense. Granted, he hadn't looked inside his ship often, but either way it made him feel hilariously stupid for not thinking of it. Slipping it into the hole, he watched as the two different crystals started to fuse together before the outer metal casing melted away. A few seconds later, he was left with a small octahedral crystal as clear as glass.

The crystal in his hand seemed to take on a life of its own, shining and vibrating so strongly that even he had to tighten his grip to keep a hold on it. He looked around to find the cellar awash in a blue-white light as the intensity of the vibrations reached its peak. The crystal flashed, and the light became too bright to see anything at all.

For a few moments, he stood motionless with his eyes shut. The crystal seemed to be done with its show, now calm and unmoving in his outstretched hand. All seemed normal again, save for the violent gust of wind that blew into his right side. That was odd. One does not normally feel wind when inside a closed underground space. He opened his eyes.

All around him was white. Wisps of mist flew this way and that, blending with the frost that rose off the ground. Clark looked down and realized he was standing on ice. Where the hell was he?