Chapter 1
It hurt to breathe. Even the endless cold of deep space felt like a caress compared to the agony that wracked the Guardian's body. Deep slashes furrowed through his carapace, leaking copious amounts of green blood. He hovered in the void, adrift and flickering like a dying lamp. His cloak was torn, and the wound in his side was pulsing a sickly green. Somewhere below, the once-bright world of Oa drifted slowly in its orbit, half of it now little more than blackened glass.
He had known fear in the time before the Founding, but the ring had purged it from him … or so he had believed. He now felt fear once again. The ring whispered at the edge of his mind … not in words, but in images. A thousand years of memories, each as clear as the day they were made. He could see his brothers and sisters huddled around the Central Power Battery, arguing in those last, desperate hours. He could see the shattering of the emerald column. The sound of an entire planet's soul being torn out and devoured was … unsettling to remember. And then the Enemy, the abomination they had sworn could never exist, rose from the core with a stolen ring on its finger and crowned with the ruins of Ganthet's skull.
They had run, and now, he was the last. His brothers and sisters had bravely sacrificed themselves to create one final ring … a ring whose power eclipsed all others. It was their last-ditch effort to destroy the abomination and bring peace to the universe once again. The weight of his failure was crippling.
The ring burned against the scorched flesh of his hand. He could feel it now. Its weight was like a star compressed to the size of a small band of metal. Its mind was searching, sifting the noise of the multiverse for any sign of hope. No Green Lantern remained … he knew that much. The rings were gone, either shattered, perverted, or they simply ceased to exist, just as their owners had. But this ring, the Final Power Ring, was different.
The Enemy was coming. He could feel it. His damaged skin tingled unpleasantly, and he felt fear once again. He didn't fear his inevitable downfall. That was a fate he had long since been ready to meet. No, he feared the ultimate failure and what it would mean for the universe … and all others. As such, he did not look back. There was no time. His wounds were slowing him, causing his flight to sputter and lurch. He drifted like a castoff, falling into the shadow of a dead moon.
'Ring ...,' he thought, but his thoughts were muddy, already dissipating into the void. '... scan for hosts.'
The ring obeyed. In the landscape of his mind, universes bloomed and collapsed, each flaring bright before sputtering out. A trillion sentients … then a trillion more were each evaluated instantaneously for courage, for willpower, for the essential quality that his people had once called worthiness. He saw the endless wars of humankind. He saw the glimmering tenacity of those on Korugar, the stubborn melancholy of the Xudarians, and the people of Maltus striving for technological superiority. All were insufficient.
'Ring,' he managed. 'Look for… anomalies … variants … the impossible.'
The sweep widened. Through the noise, something flickered … a deviation. The ring focused, and there he was … a boy, scrawny and perpetually on the verge of disaster, falling through a collapsing tower as it burned. The boy was screaming, not in terror, but in defiance. His hair was black and wild, and his arms battered and bruised. Clutched in his hand was a stick of crude, primitive technology. However, that crude stick held power, as did the boy. It was perfect.
Harry Potter … He let the name settle in his mind. In all the worlds he had searched, he had never found a less likely candidate who was more worthy than any other. He could feel the Enemy now, radiating from the dark side of the moon. It was angry, and it was here.
He tore at the remains of his cloak and tossed them away. He could not risk a direct transfer. The Enemy would sense it, trace it, and consume the recipient in a breath. He must go himself, through a path the Enemy could not yet comprehend.
He felt the pressure build, the universe itself constricting as the Enemy neared. The Guardian felt space and time warp around him. He did not allow himself to think of Ganthet, of his lost companions. His only thought was of the boy, and of the spark he might someday ignite. With the last of his will, he opened a fracture in space. The portal expanded, flickering with too many colors to comprehend, and on the far side, he caught a glimpse of a stone castle. He pressed the ring to his lips, whispered a word from a language that no longer existed, and flung himself through. Behind him, the Enemy howled in rage, but the fracture quickly closed. There was only the boy and the hope of a better future.
The Last Guardian
It was midnight at Hogwarts' Hospital Wing. Moonlight poured in through the open windows, seemingly making the white bedsheets glow. The inhabitants slept quietly. Their injuries were severe enough to require a sleeping drought in order to get a decent night's sleep. However, there was one patient who looked worse than the others. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was in rough shape.
His eyes, though shut, seemed taut with the memory of his final battle. There were bruises on top of bruises. The entire side of his face was purple and blue, and his scalp was covered in a thick, white bandage. He hadn't moved in days. There were fears he would never wake up.
Somewhere above the castle, a ripple passed through the sky. Directly above the hospital wing, the ripple condensed into a vertical line of shimmering green, seemingly cutting right through the fabric of reality. It shivered, grew, and then opened with a guttural groan. The Guardian stumbled through.
He was small, by most standards, but he possessed a presence that made the air buckle around him. His blue skin was cracked and weeping lines of green. Each step left a dot of phosphorescent blood on the stone floor. Each breath was a shuddery, whistling plea for the end. His battle suit was scorched and torn to shreds. The ring on his right hand glowed with such violence that the bones of his finger were visible through his flesh. He didn't hesitate. He didn't have the time.
Gathering his waning strength, he lifted himself to the foot of Harry's bed. For a moment, he simply regarded the boy. He was short and overly skinny, with a shock of messy black hair sticking out from between the edges of the wrapped bandage. He stumbled to the boy's side. The ring's glow intensified, casting bizarre shadows against everything in the spacious room. The green light made the room hum. Down the ward, one or two of the slumbering students turned over, mumbling as if caught in a bad dream. The Guardian slipped the ring from his finger and reached for Harry's chest. He pressed the ring to the boy's sternum.
The band of green energy hovered just above his skin, suspended by a force more ancient than the magic of this world. The Guardian curled his fingers and squeezed, his own blood now spilling onto Harry's blankets. It hissed as it burned holes straight through.
A whisper impossible for anyone to hear slipped from the Guardian's mouth. The language was older than the atoms of this universe. Every syllable warped the walls and made the glass in the windows flex as if alive. The ring pulsed like a thundering heartbeat. For an instant, nothing happened. Then Harry's body seized, every muscle corded as if about to snap.
His body arched off the bed, and the fractures in his arm snapped themselves straight. The bruises reversed, the color leaching away. The gash across his eyebrow stitched closed, leaving perfectly unblemished skin. His scrawny chest inflated, and his ribs shifted beneath the skin with grotesque pops and snaps. His arms and legs lengthened, and his muscles knotted into definition. Fingers, once broken and crooked, unfurled into strong, graceful hands. The neck thickened, and the shoulders widened. All of it happened at a pace so furious the hospital bed's joints groaned in protest. Finally, his body fell back to the bed, whole and new and entirely too large for the hospital-issued pajamas it wore.
The Guardian collapsed beside him, his blue face ashen and slick with sweat. The ring pulsed one last time before fading from existence. The full power of the ring had been transferred straight into the boy's body. Harry's heart stuttered, then resumed beating. Its beats were strong, relentless, and louder than the ticking of the clock that rested against the wall of the hospital ward. Harry did not wake, not yet at least
.
The Guardian, near death, looked at the boy's face. No trace of the broken child remained. Even in his sleep, Harry looked … almost god-like. His features had shifted into something much more noble. The eyes, when they finally opened, would be sharp and full of wonder. The Guardian touched the boy, leaving a smear of his own blood across the back of Harry's hand. One last thing remained.
He couldn't leave him here. Though the chances were minuscule, if the abomination was able to track him here, it would put everyone on this planet in danger. No, the best thing would be to hide all traces of what had happened here today. He would send the boy somewhere else, to a universe full of superpowered beings. He would fit in perfectly. With the last bit of power left in his failing body, the Guardian lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. The air around the bed shimmered, reality cracking open one more time. Harry vanished, leaving the Guardian behind. With his goal complete, the Guardian gasped out one final breath before his body turned to dust.
The Last Guardian
The sky above Smallville, Kansas, was dark and stormy. Thunder cracked and lightning forked across the night sky, lighting up the surrounding cornfields. At the edge of one of those cornfields, the tall stalks bent beneath the wind's increasing howl. The ground trembled with another deafening crack of thunder, and then the air tore open.
There was a shudder in the fabric of the universe. Three separate forks of lightning struck as one, converging on a single, unremarkable spot in the field of corn. From the tear in space, two young men tumbled out. One landed directly on the circle of scorched earth, and the other tumbled further away, hidden amidst the stalks.
Harry Potter hit the muddy earth and slid a good several meters before the corn stopped his momentum, the stalks bending but not breaking. The storm delivered one last thunderclap and then seemed to pull away, leaving Harry face-down in a frigid, unfamiliar field. He remained there, unconscious, until morning.
The Last Guardian
The bright, midday sun woke Harry from his slumber. Light brushed his eyelids and pounded against his skull. It was the worst headache he'd ever felt. He groaned and pushed himself up, but it was like all the muscles in his neck were fighting against him. His head throbbed with every movement.
He pressed his hands to his temples, but it was no use. The pain didn't stop. It felt… crowded inside his head. It was like someone had crammed a hundred radios in there, all tuned to different stations, and all shouting at once. He could hear voices and see images. None of it made sense. He caught flashes of faces he didn't know, places he'd never been, and words in languages he didn't speak. For a second, he thought he might be going crazy.
The noise grew louder as he tried to focus, and it became impossible to think. His body wanted to curl up and shut down, but Harry forced himself to breathe. It helped a little. He noticed the smell of grass, earth, and something sweet and damp. One thing became instantly clear … his sense of smell was far better than he remembered. He not only could smell the prevailing scents, but also the slight undertones he had never noticed before. It was insane.
He slowly opened his eyes. The world was too bright, but he forced himself to look anyway. The sky was blue, bright, and cloudless, and the air had a chill to it. The strange thing was that the cold didn't bother him. Harry felt perfectly comfortable. He did a quick mental sweep of his body. Other than his throbbing headache, he felt perfectly fine … better than fine, actually. Physically, he hadn't ever felt this good. He pressed the butts of his palms into his eyes and groaned. Amazingly, as he calmed his mind, the voices seemed to hush. Harry could only make out bits and pieces.
'Oa …'
'... strength and power …'
'... in time, you will understand …'
Harry rubbed his eye sockets, and the pain in his head slowly faded. After a few minutes, it was completely gone. Harry sighed in relief and removed his hands from his eyes. "What the bloody hell happened?" Harry asked himself, his voice sounding silky smooth. He thought back to the last thing he remembered.
The battle at Hogwarts … getting hit by spells over and over … then he remembered killing Voldemort as the Dark Lord's final spell brought the entire Astronomy Tower down with both of them in it. That was the last thing he remembered. After that, it was like a dream that never ended. He heard familiar voices cutting in and out through the darkness.
Harry looked around but saw nothing but corn. He knew there were no cornfields anywhere near Hogwarts. 'Where am I?' Harry thought to himself. The answer immediately flashed in his mind. Harry gasped as he saw what had happened to him. It was almost like watching a movie in his head. He saw the Guardian hovering over him and placing the ring on his chest. Harry saw his physical transformation, and then he saw himself disappear before everything went dark. Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He understood. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. He was far, far away from home, and he wouldn't be returning any time soon … if ever. Harry closed his eyes and suffered in silence. The faces of his friends flashed through his mind, clearer than they had ever been. The thought of never seeing them again nearly brought on a panic attack, but he was somehow able to remain calm. He took solace in the fact that he had done his job. He had defeated Voldemort, and he would never be able to hurt his friends again. They could grow up and have the lives they were meant to have.
He stayed there, lying on the muddy ground for over an hour as he came to terms with the fact that he was now a castaway. He had no friends, no money, no possessions. He was all alone in a strange new world. After a bit of necessary sulking, he took a deep breath and decided to do as he always did … survive.
Harry sat up, and it was then that he realized that he was completely naked. After yelping like a frightened girl and jumping to his feet, Harry realized something else. He was way bigger than before. He was significantly taller, and looking down at his body, he saw muscles he definitely didn't have before. He lifted his arm and flexed. His bicep bulged upward, and when he poked it with his finger, he found it to be as hard as a rock. Putting these changes aside for the time being, he looked around, hoping to find his clothes, wand, or anything useful. He found nothing.
"Just great!" Harry groaned. "How the hell am I going to get some …" Harry began to rant. No sooner than he said it, he felt a tingle in his fingertips. When he raised his hand to check it, the tingling disappeared, and a fresh set of clothes appeared out of thin air. Needless to say, Harry was gobsmacked. Snatching the clothes out of the air, Harry quickly pulled them on. Unfortunately, as he pulled up his jeans, he somehow pulled with enough force to rip the waistband right off. The waistband slid up his torso while the rest of the jeans slid down his thighs.
"What?" was all he could say as he looked down with confusion. He then tried to put on his t-shirt, which ended with it torn into pieces. Harry sighed in frustration and ripped the torn clothes from his body. As soon as he wanted another set of clothes, he felt the same tingle in his fingers. An identical set appeared, and when he tried to put them on again, the same thing happened. "I'm either really strong, or these clothes are super cheap," Harry concluded. Once again, he tried. This time, he was extremely careful with his movements.
Once he was fully dressed, Harry decided to try to find some semblance of civilization. Being surrounded by seven-foot-tall corn stalks, he couldn't exactly see over them. When Harry wished he had a broom so he could fly to a nearby town, his entire body flared green, and he began floating. "Whoa!" Harry's voice warbled as he waved his arms to keep his balance. Harry leaned forward, trying to get himself back on the ground. This caused him to shoot forward with blinding speed.
The strange thing was that even though he was moving faster than he ever had, he could still see with crystal clear clarity. Harry cried out, wishing he were back on the ground. Unfortunately, his powers took that as a command to lower himself. The top of his head dug into the soft earth, and Harry's world was suddenly filled with mouthfuls of dirt as he plowed straight into the ground. Eventually, his body tumbled, sending him crashing across a field. When his body stopped tumbling, he took stock of the situation. Harry checked himself for injuries and found none. He felt great … perfect even. He wasn't even bruised. He sat up and looked over his shoulder. His green eyes widened with shock when he spotted a several thousand-foot-long furrow cut deep into the ground. "Okay …" Harry said slowly, barely believing what he was seeing. "I really need to figure this out."
The Last Guardian
"Incendio," Harry said, pointing his finger at a stalk of corn. It didn't feel right. He tried to will it, instead, just like he used to do with accidental magic as a kid. The corn combusted. It wasn't just a little spark either. The entire stalk erupted into a pillar of green fire. Harry yelped and jumped back, nearly tripping over his own feet. He waited for the fire to burn out, but it didn't burn out. It simply winked out of existence like someone had turned off a lamp.
He stood, feeling a bit more sure of himself, and tried again. "Lumos," he said, mostly out of habit, and his hand lit up like a thousand-watt bulb. The light was green, and it didn't stop at the palm. It ran up his arm and into his chest, and Harry could see his veins glowing beneath his skin. Harry willed the light to go away, and it did. He then tried it again without saying anything. The light instantly returned. He then focused on changing the color of the light from green to red. The light immediately changed colors. He repeatedly changed the color until he could do it with barely a thought.
He tried to think bigger. He pointed at the furrow he'd made with his body and tried to imagine it filling back in, dirt rising and smoothing out the track. He focused on the idea, the picture in his mind. The dirt moved, slowly at first, and then in a wave. The loose earth tumbled and rolled itself back into place. Within a minute, there was no evidence Harry had ever been there, except for the fact that a long row of corn was suddenly scattered across the ground.
He paced the rows, testing out different little tricks. He willed a handful of pebbles to levitate, and they did, but instead of hovering, they arranged themselves into a spinning ring around his hand. When he stopped focusing, they crashed to the ground. He tried to summon something. He didn't care what. He wanted money, food, or even a book. Instead, a brick appeared in midair and nearly broke his nose. He caught it just in time, the weight of it solid and warm in his palm. The brick glowed with green light, then faded to a normal brick red color. "Okay," Harry said. "Maybe think about what I actually want before summoning it."
As he held the brick in his hand, he noticed that it didn't feel heavy like a normal brick should. It felt lighter than air, actually. He dropped it to the ground, and it made a heavy thud when it hit the damp dirt. It obviously had weight to it. He summoned it back into his hand, and he gave it a squeeze. The brick was instantly pulverized in his palm. Big chunks flew away, leaving only powder in his palm when he opened his hand. He turned his hand over, letting the dust fall. "Huh," was pretty much all he could say about that.
"What else can I do?" Harry asked himself. He focused on his senses. He could already see better than he ever could before. He already discovered that his sense of smell was insanely heightened. Harry then tried to focus on his hearing. Sure, he could hear better than before, but it was nothing out of this world. Then … his head began tingling.
He concentrated, listening. The voices were quiet. Some were in English, and some weren't. Some just felt like shapes or colors. He focused on the nearest one. It was … a kid, somewhere not too far away, thinking about his mother's pancakes. Harry smiled. He looked up and tried to reach out with his mind. "Pancakes are the best," he thought, as hard as he could. The kid's voice stopped, then returned, a little panicked. Harry could tell he'd startled him. "Sorry," Harry said out loud. He felt the apology travel along the green channel in his mind, and the kid settled down. This was dangerous, but also kind of brilliant.
He spent an hour testing the mental connection, pushing and pulling at it. He could listen in on every mind for miles around, but it wasn't overwhelming, not like it had been when he first woke up. He could tune them in or out, just by wanting to. It was like a wizarding wireless, but so much more. At one point, he heard a mind much farther away, moving at an impossible speed. The mind was angry, but also determined. Harry didn't like the feel of it, so he put up a mental wall, the way Occlumency had taught him. The presence faded. As cool as it was, Harry felt guilt at listening in on people's private thoughts. He vowed never to abuse the power.
The sun started to dip, painting the sky with streaks of orange and violet. Harry sat at the edge of the cornfield and watched it. He did feel homesick, and he wanted to see his friends. However, he couldn't deny the excitement he felt for these strange new powers. He pulled his knees to his chest, hugged them, and let his mind wander. The energy in his body thrummed in time with his heartbeat. It felt natural now, not foreign. It was like it was always meant to be there.
He practiced some more, building shapes out of green light. Green glowing little animals and birds danced around the field before dissolving. He made a small shield, just to see if he could, and tried to bounce a rock off it. The rock ricocheted away. He made the shield bigger, shaping it into a wall, then a dome, and finally a bubble. The shapes were only limited by his imagination.
When he tried to fly again, it worked. He just … lifted off, thinking about where he wanted to go, and he went there. He could control his speed and direction perfectly, and stopping was easy now that he understood the importance of using his willpower. He hovered above the cornfield for a while, spinning in lazy circles and letting the wind whip his hair.
He tried invisibility, and it worked … sort of. He didn't disappear, but he refracted the light around himself so that anything looking in his direction just saw empty space. He watched a flock of birds fly right past him, unaware.
Harry flew further away and landed in a crop of trees. He then decided to test how strong he really was. He walked up to a big oak that had recently fallen and wrapped his arms around it. Harry lifted it and squeezed. The tree groaned, the bark splintered, and then the trunk snapped clean in half. The upper part crashed to the ground, taking nearly a minute to fully settle. Harry let go and brushed his sappy hands together. He felt his heart thumping … not with fear, but with a wild sort of joy. Every power he tried worked better than he'd hoped. The possibilities were endless.
He sat back down, took a breath, and listened to the world. There were people in the distance, moving about in their homes, thinking ordinary thoughts. There were animals in the forest, unaware of the changes happening just outside their vision. He leaned back, stared at the sun that was no more than a sliver on the horizon, and let himself relax for the first time in ages. It had been a long time since he'd felt this good. And if this was his new life, then so be it.
Harry grinned at the sky. "All right," he said. "Let's see what else I can do."
Chapter 2
Harry hovered above the outskirts of Smallville, Kansas, invisible to anyone looking up. He held still. The only thing moving was the sound. He heard wind rustling against the water tower, a steady hum from the feedlot west of town, and a few cars on Main Street. The town spread out below him, pockmarked with streetlights and brightly lit windows. Even from up here, he could smell the difference between the two gas stations. The gas in one smelled cheaper … a little more sulfurous. The other had cleaner bathrooms.
He drifted lower, slipping through the air with easy, lazy loops. Down the center of Main, there was an old-timey movie theater that was boarded up. There was a bowling alley with a plastic sign shaped like a bowling pin, and a diner with a hand-painted window reading, "All Day Breakfast." There were a few other shops dotted along the largest street in the small town, but nothing worth noting.
The sun had been down for an hour, and the temperature had cooled. At this hour, pretty much everyone had gone home. Only three cars moved … a beat-up old F-150, a sheriff's cruiser with a cracked windshield, and a battered Chrysler minivan with a Smallville Crows bumper sticker. Nobody noticed him invisibly floating above the post office.
He set down in a narrow alley behind the bowling alley. His trainers scuffed the gravel. The brick walls sweated out a smell that made Harry's nose wrinkle. He could instantly tell what it was. It was a mixture of decades of cigarette smoke and the scent of stale piss. A single bare bulb above a metal door lit the alley in a dull glow. Harry made himself visible again.
Surprisingly, Harry wasn't hungry even though he hadn't eaten all day. No, he was more mentally tired than anything, and all he wanted was to rest for a while. Unfortunately, with no money, his options were limited. It was fine, though. He planned to rest here in the alley for the night and figure out what to do in the morning. He moved further away from the foul smell and slid down the brick wall.
Harry leaned back against the wall of the alley and closed his eyes. Even pressed against the brick wall and sitting on the hard ground, his body didn't feel it. Distant thunder made him look up at the dark sky. Harry could see lightning flashing high in the dark clouds, and he knew a storm was well on its way. He ignored the thunder and listened to the night with his improved hearing. He could hear soft footsteps as a raccoon explored a tipped-over garbage can two alleys over. He heard the gentle thump of a stereo from a basement window and the steady clicks of an old man playing solitaire at his kitchen table. The town was loud in its own small way, though he doubted if anyone else could hear it.
Just as he was beginning to calm down, the tingle returned at the base of his skull. He rubbed it, expecting the sensation to go away, but it only grew. Harry took a slow breath and let his mind drift, trying to pinpoint the cause. He reached out, feeling the pressure build.
There were minds everywhere. Each was a slight noise, but together they were quite loud. Harry sorted them without much effort, scanning for anything that felt wrong. He found it almost immediately. There was a cluster of minds, all bunched together, pulsing with terror. Harry's eyes snapped open.
He focused on the voices. At first, it was chaos. Screaming, crying, prayers spoken under ragged breaths. Then, as he concentrated, the background noise fell away. Harry saw the scene in perfect clarity, as if he were there. An airplane high above was flying through a storm. It was in a free fall, and alarms were shrieking in the cockpit. Harry could practically taste their fear.
"Shit," Harry said, and bolted to his feet. He reached for the sensation, looking for a heading, a distance, anything useful. The minds on the plane were moving fast … falling. Without thinking twice, he slightly bent his knees and rocketed straight up into the sky.
The Last Guardian
Lana Lang sat in row seventeen, a window to her left, some guy in a fleece vest to her right. She pressed her forehead against the cool plexiglass. Outside was the blackest night she had ever seen. Lightning pierced the sky all around them, momentarily brightening the massive wing of the plane.
She was supposed to sleep. The second leg of her flight, Atlanta to Metropolis International, had left late, and she'd already lost a night to jetlag and the endless bluster of Charles de Gaulle's departure hall. The airline-provided pillow provided almost no comfort. Her blanket, polyester and thinner than a t-shirt, sat bunched around her neck. She couldn't sleep.
The man behind her, who looked like a balding insurance adjuster, snored with comic violence. He sounded like someone drowning a pig in a bathtub. Every minute or so, he'd rattle himself awake, snort, then drift right back into it, his mouth gaping open.
Lana tried earplugs, but they didn't help. She switched to music, but the tinny earbuds from the amenity kit did nothing against the snorer. She gave up and listened to her own thoughts. She imagined a warm, manly set of hands on her scalp, kneading her temples with the gentle pressure. She wondered what Clark was doing right now. He was probably sleeping better than anyone on this flight. He would laugh at the snorer, and so would Chloe. Even Pete would find a way to make it funny.
"Can I get you a drink?" The flight attendant leaned over, her face puffy and tired. The skin beneath her eyes was slightly dark, probably from working too many hours.
Lana nodded her head and managed a polite smile. "Could I have some water?"
The woman poured her a cup, and carefully handed it to her. Lana drank it down. Her mouth tasted stale from the airline coffee and recycled air. Somewhere up front, a baby started to cry. Lana tried not to get annoyed. The baby was just as exhausted as she was. She took slow breaths and visualized her heartbeat slowing. She counted backwards from one hundred, letting the numbers form and dissolve on the inside of her eyelids.
The plane shuddered, not hard, but just enough to make the plastic cup vibrate. Lana glanced out the window, but there was only darkness, lightning, and rain. She told herself it was nothing. She'd flown this route before. Summer storms over Kansas were routine.
The seatbelt sign came on. The cabin lights dimmed and then flared back up. There was an announcement asking them to remain in their seats and keep their belts fastened. They were running into some turbulence. People muttered and shifted in their seats. She heard the snorer behind her wake up, cough, and say, "Goddamn."
Lana clicked her belt. She did it a little faster and tighter than necessary. She tugged it twice to make sure it was secure. The man next to her did not. He grunted and left his belt hanging, absently playing Tetris on his phone.
The turbulence hit again, this time hard enough to make the cup in her hand jump. The plane dropped, then rebounded. Someone screamed, high-pitched and then silent. Luggage bins popped open overhead, and a few carry-ons spilled into the aisle. The flight attendants stumbled, grasped for the seatbacks, and barked instructions to stay seated. Lana's head smacked the window. Her first thought was to check for blood, but she felt nothing wet. Her teeth ached from where they'd snapped together.
A series of pops and thuds came from above, like something throwing rocks against a sheet metal roof. Something banged the top of the fuselage, then another, louder crash. The snorer behind her started to whimper, and then he was praying, not quietly. Hail. It had to be hail, Lana thought.
Lana gripped her armrests until her knuckles turned white. Her heartbeat was racing. The overhead lights flickered. For a moment, the whole plane was dark except for the glow of reading lamps and cellular phones. Then the lights came back, twice as bright, and she blinked away the dots dancing in her vision. The captain's voice came on, rushed and too loud. "Flight crew, take your seats immediately. Everyone, remain buckled, remain calm. We are encountering severe weather. Please …"
The rest was cut off by another wave of turbulence, this one much worse. The aircraft jerked violently to the left, then righted itself with a teeth-grinding groan. It felt as if a giant hand had picked up the plane and tried to wring it out. Several people behind her vomited. She smelled it before she heard it, an acid tang that filled the cabin. The crying baby shrieked, and Lana braced her feet against the floor and sucked in air, desperately trying to keep from hyperventilating. There was a moment where everything seemed suspended … noise, motion, even the growl of the engines. The plane held itself together for one last, momentary heartbeat. Then her world went insane.
The plane dropped. It wasn't like before … just a shudder. No, it was a freefall, a vertical plunge. The ceiling and floor switched places. Her stomach crushed itself against her lungs. She screamed, and so did everyone else. It was a chorus of hysteria that merged into a single wordless howl. The man next to her reached for her hand, but missed. His phone pinwheeled into the aisle and vanished. He clawed at the air and started to cry, gasping in jagged breaths.
There was a bang. A colossal, impossible bang that rattled her bones flooded her body with terror.
The cabin seemed to invert, bowing and flexing in impossible ways. The air was full of objects … magazines, bags, a child's stuffed rabbit, hundreds of tiny things all tumbling through the cabin. She heard metal screeching, and then another sound. It was deeper and possibly more frightening … a snap, like the breaking of bone.
The jet began to spin. It wasn't a gentle spiral, but a sickening, out-of-control rotation. The g-forces pinned her to her seat. Her face felt stretched, like her skin was about to peel off. Lana couldn't even lift her hands from the armrests. She forced her eyes open. She saw people upside down, right side up, and sideways, all at once. Their faces were frozen in mask-like expressions of terror and disbelief. She managed to turn her head. Through the window, she saw nothing but shards of metal and fire, flickering past so fast they became one continuous smear.
The wing nearest to her had ripped off. All that was left was a jagged stump belching out a long streak of impossibly bright fire. Something hot and wet splattered her cheek. Lana wiped at it instinctively. It was blood. Whose, she couldn't tell. The snorer behind her was silent now. She didn't want to look.
Another bang made her scream louder than she ever had. This one caused the floor to buckle beneath her feet. The coldest wind she had ever felt pulled the air from her lungs and threatened to rip the hair straight from her scalp. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing but a gaping hole where the tail section used to be. It was gone. She thought, in a strange moment of clarity, that she'd never see Aunt Nell again, never ride her horse, never get married. It was over. She almost felt relieved.
The air turned cold … not just normal cold, but vacuum cold. The frigid air was so sharp it made her teeth ache again. The last thing she heard was her own scream. Then the floor vanished, and she was ripped free, flying up and away and hurtling through darkness. Lana Lang knew that this was the end.
The Last Guardian
Harry felt nothing but pure velocity and a raw sense of determination as he punched through the lower storm cloud. His eyes burned green as the world below shrank fast. Rain hammered his face and the wind made his clothes vibrate against his skin, but his body ignored it. He could smell the lightning and fire, and something else … uncontrollable fear. He kept rising.
The clouds were as dense as concrete, and inside, lightning turned the world white for a half-second. Thunder rattled his ears, and he saw the bolt come for him. It struck him in the chest and threw him into a flat spin. The pain was sharp, but Harry absorbed it, twisted his body, and forced himself upright. He couldn't help but grin. This was the first time he truly got to test his new powers. His shirt was a smoldering wreck, but one quick thought from him fixed that.
He burst out of the cloud and kept going, higher and higher, pushing against the force that so desperately tried to keep his feet on the ground. The temperature dropped dramatically. Hail the size of cricket balls stung his arms and face. He could see the hail smashing against his skin, but he could barely feel it. The hail shattered against his head, leaving icy slush on his eyebrows. He laughed, feeling the surge of adrenaline that always came during one of his crazy adventures.
The noise in his head grew sharper. He heard the hundreds of minds full of panic and chaos braided together. He looked and found the source instantly.
There was a passenger jet above, no more than a few seconds away. It tumbled nose-down, and Harry could see the ripples in the metal along the fuselage. He blinked, and his vision magnified. He could easily see the skin of the plane. The elevators on the tail were heavily damaged. In the cockpit, two pilots fought the controls, sweating and crying out. Through the windows of the cabin, he could see oxygen masks pinned to the ceiling and dozens of people screaming.
Harry took aim, leaned forward, and flattened his body into a dart. He accelerated, leaving a green vapor behind him. The storm tried to stop him, but he was built for this. He was built to break through.
At five miles out, the jet lost a wing. The left side detached with a sound so loud Harry could feel it in his bones. The stub spat fire and a black smear of fuel. The whole aircraft rolled once, then began to come apart.
A chunk of debris tumbled end over end through the air. A row of seats, still attached to the floor, peeled away like a scab. He saw people in the row … some limp, some flailing. Another seat, separate from the others, twisted away. A young woman with dark hair was awake and aware, and even as she hurtled into the sky, she never let go of the armrest. She vanished behind the spinning, detached tail.
Harry felt her terror in the noise of the storm. He changed course, hard. The g-force would have liquified him once, but now it felt like a slight strain on his muscles. He reached her, caught up with the falling seat, and grabbed the back of her chair with both hands. The force almost tore it from his grasp. He reached around her and felt for the belt.
Her name burned through his mind … Lana Lang. It was like her entire life had flashed through her mind in those few seconds, and she screamed as he crushed the seatbelt buckle in one hand and let the metal frame drop. The wind twisted her long, dark hair around his neck. She was shivering, mouth open but unable to speak. He didn't have time to comfort her. Instead, he enveloped her in his green power to keep her warm and safe. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and they were suddenly one moving as one, falling and spinning toward the wreckage.
Below them, the rest of the plane was breaking apart. The cockpit fell away. Dozens of human bodies pinwheeled through the blackness. Harry heard every heartbeat, every scream, every thought. It was too much to process, so he focused on one thing … saving them.
He gathered his willpower, just as he had with the dirt in the field. Only this time, it was heavier and much harder. He put out his left hand, fingers splayed. The ring inside him burned, and he felt it climb up his arm. The green light turned blinding. He aimed at the spinning pieces of the plane, the loose rows of seats, and the cargo tumbling behind.
Every piece jerked to a halt, frozen in the air as if time itself had seized up. The green light wrapped every shard, every person, every seat. Lana clung to him so hard he could feel her nails digging into his skin.
Harry willed the debris together. It was slow at first, then he put more will behind it, and the pieces moved with speed, slotting back into place. The cockpit sealed to the front. The torn fuselage wound itself shut, smooth as silk. The wings reattached, and the fire snuffed out as the fuel lines fused together. Every human who had been ejected from their seat or torn loose from the aisle floated gently back to their place. It took less than three seconds. When it was done, the entire jet hovered in the air, green light throbbing around it like a second skin.
Harry shifted Lana into both arms and cradled her. She was still shaking, but alive. He hovered beside the jet, then reached out and touched the metal underbelly. He felt the cold and the vibration of the passengers inside. He thought, "Fly," and the jet began to descend.
He guided it, slow at first, then faster as he grew confident. The storm gave way to clear sky below. The plane descended, engines still dead, and glided on a sheet of Harry's green power. Harry and Lana floated beside it, unbothered by the speed. Down below, the lights of Smallville grew closer, then the flat black line of a highway, and then the green squares of cornfields.
He steered the jet toward an empty stretch of road. There were no cars, just blacktop and the distant glow of city lights. Harry slowed the jet as they neared the ground. He found it slightly amusing that the pilots dropped the landing gear just in time for the plane to be smoothly set on the ground. He set it down so softly that the tires barely squeaked. The emergency slides popped. People poured out as fast as they could, falling to their knees and crying on the road. It was a reasonable response, Harry figured. At least no one was dead. Even the pilots stumbled down the stairs, shaking and pale but alive.
Harry set Lana down gently beside the highway, away from the crowds. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. He brushed the hair out of her eyes and examined her forehead. It was wet and sticky with blood that wasn't hers. He let his hand rest on her shoulder until she stopped trembling.
She looked at him, at the impossible color of his eyes, and whispered, "What are you?"
Harry smiled kindly, wiped the rain from his face, and said, "Just someone with a saving-people-thing … or so I've been told."
Lana stared, then started to laugh. It was one of those unnerving, hysterical laughs that only occur when you survive some horrible event. Harry heard sirens in the distance. They were getting closer by the second. That was his cue to leave. "Sorry, but I've got to go. I really don't want anyone to know about me," he told her, but she wasn't going to let him get away that easily. Her hand gripped his wrist with surprising strength.
"Can I see you again?" she asked with utmost seriousness. Harry froze for a second and thought about it. He was alone with nothing to his name. It would be nice to have a friend. He slowly nodded his head, and Lana breathed a sigh of relief. The grip on his wrist loosened, and when he took a step back, Lana took a step forward. "Will you meet me tomorrow?" she asked quietly, her eyes wide and innocent. Again, Harry nodded, and Lana gave him a shaky smile. She was obviously still traumatized by what had just happened. "I live in Smallville. Can you meet me tomorrow night in front of the Talon … nine o'clock?" she asked one last time.
"I'll be there," Harry promised. By then, the sirens were very close, so Harry ducked into a nearby cornfield and made himself invisible. He watched for a while as police, ambulances, firetrucks, and finally news crews arrived in mass. Just by listening closely, he discovered that several people were badly injured, and many more had various minor injuries. From what he heard, it was hopeful that everyone would eventually make a full recovery. Harry watched as Lana was looked over. She had a few scrapes and bruises, but other than that, she was given a clean bill of health. Eventually, she was shuttled away to wherever they were taking her. Once she was gone, Harry flew invisibly back into town and settled in his quiet spot in the alley. He sat back down in his spot and went over everything in his mind.
He couldn't deny that he had felt an incredible rush. It was a feeling of excitement, adventure, and the innate sense that you had done something good. His entire body was still tingling from the excitement, and he found it difficult to close his eyes and rest. 'Maybe this is what I was brought here for,' Harry told himself. Upon finishing his thought, he could tell that whatever the power was that was now inside of him, agreed with his sentiment.
Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Slowly, his eyes closed, and his mind was able to rest.
Chapter 3
Harry woke up when a noisy garbage truck passed down Main Street. He was still sitting with his back against the brick wall. He didn't remember falling asleep, but it must have happened right after the adrenaline crash. It was early morning. Thin sunlight lit the alley, turning puddles of last night's rain into little shimmering spots on the cracked concrete.
He expected to feel like absolute shit. Instead, he felt fine. Better than fine, actually. He rolled his shoulders. There was no ache, no stiffness, nothing except an itchy spot where a beetle was crawling up his ankle. He gently picked up the small bug and set it aside safely. He looked down at himself. His t-shirt and jeans were soaked and muddy. His skin was sticky and smelled like old beer and cigarette smoke from the bowling alley's nearby dumpster. He snorted in amusement. He had just saved many lives last night, and here he was, living like a hobo.
Harry pushed himself to his feet and checked his pockets before remembering that he had nothing. They were empty, of course. There was no wand, no money, nothing. In another life, this would be a major problem. In this one, it was just a mild inconvenience. He considered conjuring up a fresh set of clothes, but the last time he tried, he'd nearly pantsed himself. He needed something less dramatic.
"Let's see," he muttered. He closed his eyes and focused. He pictured his clothes dry, clean, and crisp as new. The ring of green energy shimmered just beneath his skin. With a gentle push, he felt the magic slide down his arms and legs. When he opened his eyes, he saw that his shirt was spotless, his jeans were stiff with starch, and even his shoes looked like they'd never been worn. The dirt on his hands vanished. The foul scent of the alley vanished, and even his constant unruly and messy hair was clean and soft.
He did a quick once-over of his clothes and overall health. Everything felt perfect. "Not bad," Harry said. He glanced up and down the alley. There was no one to be found, just the slow trickle of water from a busted drainpipe and the distant hum of a leaf blower somewhere on Main Street.
His stomach growled loudly, and he felt the uncomfortable pull in the stomach that people get when their bellies are completely empty. He realized he hadn't eaten since … he didn't even know when. It must have been sometime at Hogwarts. He sighed. For all the cosmic power in his veins, he was still broke and hungry. He walked to the edge of the alley and peeked out. The diner was across the street, its window painted with the words "ALL DAY BREAKFAST." The neon sign flickered in the weak morning light. He could smell the bacon grease from here, and his mouth began to water. He looked both ways, then slipped down the sidewalk. He moved with the loose, relaxed pace of someone who didn't have a care in the world.
He stopped outside the diner. Inside, two old men in flannel shirts were arguing over a newspaper. A woman in a pink apron topped off their coffee. Harry's stomach did another flip from hunger. He needed money. He stood for a while, just watching the traffic roll by. There was a flash of movement and a glint in the gutter. He reached out and called it to him. A coin, crusted with dirt, zipped across the road and landed in his palm. It was a quarter. Harry laughed and flipped it into the air. It wasn't enough for breakfast, but it was a start.
He closed his fist around the coin. The power inside him shifted, almost eager. He pictured the quarter multiplying. His power flared, and when he opened his palm, four quarters were now present. He laughed again. "Brilliant," he said with a smile. He focused harder, picturing paper money instead. It was harder. He could feel the resistance, like a lock not quite wanting to turn. He bent his will around it. Finally, a battered dollar bill appeared between his fingers, damp and reeking faintly of mildew. Harry moved back into the alley and out of sight. He focused again and waited. Eventually, an equally dirty five-dollar bill landed in his hand. Harry looked around to make sure he wasn't being watched and used his powers to clean both bills. Once he was done, they looked brand new. Harry then concentrated and multiplied both bills. He continued this until he had two hundred dollars' worth of fives and a small stack of ones. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. He didn't even need to rob a bank. He stashed the coins in his pockets and folded the bills tight, then strode into the diner like he belonged.
The warmth hit him first. It smelled like coffee, slightly burnt toast, and maple syrup. He slid into a booth and scanned the menu. Everything looked good, especially since he was starving. The waitress arrived and looked him over. "You new in town?" she asked.
Harry gave her a smile. "I was passing through, but I think I'll stay a while."
She nodded, taking this at face value. "What'll it be?"
"Orange juice," Harry said. "And the Hungry Man Special … Eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, pancakes, and toast."
She raised her eyebrows. "You want the works?"
Harry tossed her a boyish smile. "I'm starving."
She scribbled the order. "Be right back, hun."
He leaned back, feeling the bench squeak under his weight. It occurred to him that he might have overdone it with the duplication thing. He reached into his jeans, pulled out the bills, and held them up. Each was a perfect copy, down to the imperfections. Then he noticed something else. The serial numbers were the same on all the ones and on all the fives. If he wasn't careful, he'd be caught out in two seconds flat.
He set the bills out on the table and focused, imagining them unique. The numbers blurred and shifted, one by one, each settling into its own random sequence. Harry swept the bills back into his pocket just as the food arrived. It was even better than he imagined … eggs hot and fluffy, bacon crisp, and pancakes the size of his head. He inhaled half of it before he even touched his juice. The waitress came by twice to refill his cup. "You got somewhere to stay?" she asked.
Harry shrugged with a smile. "Just visiting," he said. "I'll find a place."
She smiled. "Well, if you need anything, you let us know." She meant it, too. People here were that way.
Harry finished every last crumb. He paid in cash and then put some extra on the table when he remembered that they tipped in the US. He wandered out into the sunlit street and just walked. The feeling of being full was great, but not as good as the feeling of being in control for the first time in his life. Harry had gone from broke to flush, from dirty to clean, from hungry to stuffed, all in less than an hour. He wondered what else he could do. It was then that he realized he could do anything. Finally, he was free.
The Last Guardian
Harry walked down Main Street, just checking out what this small town had to offer. He passed the bank, the barbershop, and a furniture store with a dusty window. Smallville was fully awake now. People spilled from the diner, arms crossed against the crisp morning. Old men sat on benches, sipping coffee and watching everything with sharp, wrinkled eyes.
He listened to what the townspeople were saying. Conversation bloomed on every sidewalk. Words like "miracle," "plane," and "the hand of God" traveled in low, urgent tones. A woman in a green sweater said, "My cousin's best friend was on that plane." A boy on a bicycle told his friend, "The wings were all messed up, but then … BOOM … they fixed themselves." The grocery clerk added, "I heard someone saw a green ghost, right over the field."
Harry smiled at that. He slowed to watch a large, green tractor slowly roll through town. He heard a middle-aged woman say, "I don't know if it was a miracle or not, but I'm going to church this Sunday regardless." No one noticed him. No one recognized him. Yet everywhere he walked, the story followed, growing stranger with each telling. Harry tucked his hands in his pockets and walked on, smiling to himself.
He eventually left the busy part of town as he continued his walk through Smallville. As he passed the town center's edge, the shops fell away and fields took over. Corn grew in neat lines that stretched to the horizon. The air changed, too. It now carried the scent of manure and last night's rain. Harry followed a rutted gravel lane that paralleled an old railway. With every step, his mind picked over the same problem. What was he supposed to do now? He could keep saving people, sure, but he didn't want to live like a ghoul, always waiting for the next disaster. Harry sighed, wishing he had somewhere to go, something definite to do. He almost missed the field to his left. It was fenced off, and the gate was falling off its hinges and held closed by a twisted loop of rusty wire. Beyond the fence, the grass was wild and overgrown. Most of the field was covered in waist-high weeds, but at the far edge, something caught Harry's eye.
It was a tractor … or what was left of one. It was an old, boxy type that was probably new in the early 60s. The once-vibrant red paint was now faded to an ugly pink. The tires were sunken deep into the mud, the steering wheel looked to have been chewed up by rats, and the seat cushion was falling apart. It had clearly been dead for years. Vines crawled up the side and over the big steel wheels, as if trying to drag it into the earth. Even from a distance, Harry could see the animal tracks in the mud beneath it.
He hopped the fence with a quick pulse of his power and walked across the uneven ground. Each step crunched through dry stems, crackled across sticks, and crushed discarded seed pods. When he got to the tractor, he brushed a hand along the rusted edge of the fender. His touch left a streak in the grime.
Harry circled the tractor, examining the collapsed seat, the broken instrument panel, and the gnarled steering wheel. He ran his fingers along the hood, peeling back a strip of paint. The engine block was barely visible under the layer of filth, and something inside it smelled old and spoiled. He looked at the treads, which were flat, brittle, and pretty much eroded by time.
Harry squatted down next to the big rear wheel. He thought of the plane last night and of all the pieces floating in the air and the green light stitching them together. That was different. There had been lives at stake … a reason to act. This was just a piece of old machinery, slowly eroding. Still, the urge to fix it was strong.
He set his palm flat on the tire and pictured it whole. Not just the rubber, but the steel cords inside, the patterns of the treads, even the tiny bolts that held it to the axle. The power inside him thrummed, eager to help. He concentrated, willing the tractor to fix itself … to be new again.
The change started slowly. At first, the grime just slid away, peeling off in greasy, dark sheets. The steering wheel puffed back to its original shape, and the torn seat seemed to heal, stitching its foam and vinyl together like a closing wound. The rust vanished, and the paint smoothed out and brightened. The tires filled out, stretching and reshaping until they looked like they had just left the factory.
Harry stood up and stepped back. The tractor looked brand new. Even the decal reading, "Massey Ferguson" looked shiny and new. He climbed up and settled into the seat. The key was still in the ignition. He turned it. The engine caught instantly, roaring to life with a deep, healthy purr. The vibration rattled up through his feet and into his spine. Harry laughed out a quick, sharp bark that surprised even him.
He let the tractor idle and watched the field in front of him. The weeds looked smaller, less threatening, as if they were waiting for someone to take charge and cut them down. Unfortunately, Harry had no idea how to actually use a tractor. He killed the engine and hopped down. He stood with his hands on his hips, grinning like an idiot at the gleaming machine. This was something he could definitely do to earn some money. He could find old, broken items for cheap or even for free and turn them into something useful. He could charge very low prices and still make more than enough money to keep himself comfortable. It would even help out the local community.
Harry remained there for a little while and then turned back toward the town, already thinking of what else he could fix. He walked away from the fence, not even bothering to jump it this time. He just ripped off the old, twisted wire and let himself through. By the time he got to the edge of the gravel lane, he'd made up his mind. He was going to do it. Maybe that was what it meant to be a hero in a place like this … not saving the world every day, but just making things a little easier for his neighbors.
The sun had climbed higher now, painting the fields with a green so bright it hurt to look at. Harry took one last glance at the tractor, then shoved his hands in his pockets and started the walk back to town, whistling as he went.
The Last Guardian
The Talon was dark except for the single light on inside. The town was mostly empty, and only a few other shops had their lights on as well. Some things never changed, she thought. Under the overhanging marquee, Lana Lang fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve and glanced at her reflection in the glass.
It was almost nine. He'd said he'd be here. She'd showered, put on makeup, changed her clothes three times, and finally given up, settling for jeans, a powder blue t-shirt, and a cardigan that her aunt had gifted her.
The memory of last night's crash kept playing in her head. She'd tried to do normal things all day, but the memory always came back … the shriek of wind, the flash of green, and the way the guy's arms had wrapped around her and kept her from falling. In the daylight hours, it seemed impossible. She wondered if she'd made the whole thing up.
A car passed by slowly, stereo rumbling. She blinked, shifted her weight, and pressed closer to the door. The wind blew an old flyer past her, and she watched it get caught against the curb. Last night had been a blur. She'd been checked out and shuffled from one pair of rubber gloves to the next. First the paramedics, then the police, and then the NTSB. She'd said the words "I don't remember" so many times that they'd stopped believing her. She didn't mention the boy who'd caught her, or the green light, or the feeling of complete safety when the green light encapsulated her body. She kept those to herself. It was all she had left that belonged to her.
She'd spoken with her friends, and of course, they asked her about it. Lana kept a tight lip, and they just assumed that she was too traumatized to talk about it. It was an assumption that she was happy to allow. Thankfully, Lex was quick to let it go and even let her live in the apartment above the Talon. She didn't even remember getting to the Talon. Someone must have driven her. The next thing she remembered was waking up on the couch upstairs, clutching a throw pillow and shivering from the horrible dreams.
A dark shape crossed the street. For a second, she thought it was a trick of the light. Many weird things had happened in Smallville after all. Then he stepped under the streetlamp, and she recognized the cut of his jaw, the wild black hair, and the eyes that seemed to radiate green light. He wore a t-shirt that clung to his chest, and jeans that emphasized his long, powerful legs. She watched him approach, heart thumping, and for one mad second, she considered running away. He stopped a few feet away from her. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a small, careful smile.
"Hi," he said. His voice made her heart thunder. Lana's mouth opened, but nothing came out. She tried to remember the sentence she'd practiced in her head. It was gone.
"You're early," she said, and immediately wanted to vanish. What a stupid thing to say, she chastised herself.
He looked over his shoulder at one of those rectangular digital clock displays in the window of Johnson's Hardware. "Am I? It's nine oh-one," he said with a boyish smile.
The smile was contagious. Lana tried not to grin but failed. "I guess I'm early, too," she lamely joked and laughed. She then looked at the ground. A silence bloomed between them. She glanced up and realized he was waiting, patient and kind, like he had all the time in the world for her to get her bearings.
She had to ask. "Are you… him?" she whispered.
He nodded once. "I am."
She looked at his hands, then at his face, then back at his hands. He caught the gesture and held up his right hand. For the briefest flash, green light sparkled along the palm. It was gone before she could blink. A thousand questions rushed into her head. None made it to her lips. She settled for, "Is this your first time in Smallville?"
He looked up at the sign above her head, and for a second, his face twisted like he was remembering a joke. "Yeah," he said. "I kind of … dropped in a couple of days ago."
Lana smiled softly. The tension that had been aching in her neck and shoulders for hours let go all at once. "Well, welcome to Smallville. Sorry you had to start with … that."
He shrugged. "It certainly wasn't boring. Besides, I like to help people."
She wanted to say something clever, something Chloe would say, but the words just tangled up in her head.
"Do you want to come in?" she finally asked.
He gave her a slow, gentle nod, then followed her to the door. His footsteps were so quiet that she had to check over her shoulder to make sure he was still there. She unlocked the front door and pushed inside. The Talon was silent, the tables and chairs turned upside-down, and the stale air thick with the memory of coffee and patries.
She led him through the shop and up the stairs. The apartment upstairs was small and clean. There wasn't much in there since she didn't have time to stock up on supplies. The only sound was the hum of the fridge and Lana's own nervous breaths. She stood in the middle of the living room, not knowing what to do with her hands. The boy stopped at the top of the stairs, leaned against the wall, and waited.
"I never got your name," Lana suddenly realized.
He smiled. Lana had to admit that he was very handsome. She particularly liked the way his full lips stretched playfully across his chiseled jaw. "Harry."
"Harry," she repeated, letting it settle into her mind. "I'm Lana." He nodded like he'd already known, but didn't want to show off.
She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. "Thank you," she said. She truly meant it.
He shook his head. "There's no need to thank me, but you're welcome anyway." There was another silence, but this one felt softer. Strangely enough, it didn't bother her at all.
She took a step closer. "How did you do it?" she asked.
He looked down, then back at her. "I don't really know. I've always been … strange, I guess."
She nodded, like that explained everything. This wasn't exactly a shock to her, considering the strange things that happened here. He cleared his throat. "Can I… is it okay if I sit down?"
She smiled and waved at the couch. "Yeah. Please."
He dropped onto the couch with a sigh, then watched her with the same careful patience. She stayed standing, rocking a little on her heels. Lana tried to say something else, but her brain and mouth weren't seeing eye to eye at the moment. In her head, she was still falling, still hearing the plane ripping apart and feeling the impossible cold of high altitude. She looked at Harry and saw the green flicker behind his eyes, and it calmed her. She sat beside him, close but not touching. He didn't move. Lana took a deep breath and gathered her courage.
"Tell me everything, please," she asked. When he hesitated, she reached out and placed her hand over his and looked him in the eyes. "Please …" she practically begged. Lana had been in the same position with Clark, and he never confided in her. It was very hurtful, and she didn't know if she could take it again.
Lana could see him thinking it over while she held her breath. Finally, a small smile stretched across his handsome face, and he nodded. "Can I try something?" he asked, and Lana immediately gave her consent. She didn't even care what he was going to try. At this point, she was desperate for answers. Harry stared into her eyes, and his emerald green irises suddenly began to glow brightly.
The brightness in Harry's eyes was not a trick of the light, she quickly decided. Lana felt it settle across her retinas, crawling through her eyesockets and into her mind. Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow, but the muscles in her throat barely worked. The world around her blurred. She reached for his wrist, and then …
Everything became green. It wasn't the color, but the feeling. It was vibrant, intense, and alive. It caressed the seams of her skull and then peeled her mind, layer by layer. At first, she felt herself falling. The floor under her shoes dropped away, and the couch, the Talon, all of Smallville, vanished in a flash of bright green energy. Her body no longer existed. It was left somewhere far behind.
The first thing she saw was a castle. It sat majestically next to a massive lake. It was the dead of night, and every window was luminated with golden light. The castle shimmered as if underwater, but when she blinked, she was inside it. Hundreds of candles hovered in the air while dozens of kids sat at four long tables. She recognized Harry, except not quite. His hair was shorter, his chin was less defined, and his body was all elbows and knees. He gripped a stick … a wand … and pointed it at a cruel blond boy in black and green robes.
There were classrooms, corridors, and shifting stairs that moved beneath one's feet. There were endless days of running from one disaster to the next. She saw a teacher with a disgusting face sticking out of the back of his head. His hands were melting away as he tried to grab Harry. She saw a massive snake too big to be real. She saw Harry shove a sword down its throat. She saw flying demons in black robes and bony, scabby hands. She saw a graveyard, and then a strange circular room with many doors. It kept going on and on. Faces blurred past her mind. She saw a girl with wild brown hair, a redheaded boy with a happy smile, and many more. There were secrets behind every door, all of them reaching for Harry, all of them wanting something from him. Sometimes they wanted his blood. Sometimes they just wanted him to smile.
She saw his life as a series of events … each year, a new enemy, each day a new battle. The faces changed, but the weight of responsibility never did. It pressed in on him, even when he was just sitting by a lake or watching the snow fall. It never left, not for a second. Time began to speed up, then slow down, then fracture into a hundred fragments.
The castle burned. She felt the heat on her face. Ash drifted down like snow. People ran and screamed, some with wands out, some without. The night sky was filled with arcs of green and red. Somewhere in the middle of it, she found Harry again. He was taller now and bleeding from the scalp, one arm dangling at his side. His eyes were ferocious. They locked onto another figure … a man with eyes full of hatred and a skull-pale face. Spells then ripped everything apart. Chunks of stone fell from the ceiling. The fight was a blur, a mess of pain and fear and violence so intense that Lana wanted to look away. She couldn't, though.
She saw the final spell, a flash of green that buckled the snake-like man's knees. He sputtered one last time and dropped face down on the stone floor. She felt Harry's chest deflate in relief. She saw him stand over the body, shaking with exhaustion, unable to move. Then the tower shook, and the floor beneath his feet vanished. Harry fell through the darkness, weightless and twisting. The memories stuttered and stopped. Lana felt her own breath catch. She tried to reach for him, but she had no hands in this place. Then everything was dark, and she was somewhere else.
It was a field with rows and rows of corn. He was now in Kansas. Harry lay sprawled in the mud. He was naked and alone. She saw him recover faster than anyone had a right to. She followed him as he tried his new powers. He learned them fast. Harry would make a mistake and pick himself up when he crashed. It was like watching a child grow up in a matter of minutes. Lana experienced every sensation … the rush of the wind, the taste of dirt, the excitement as he discovered new ways to use his powers.
The next vision was of a jet. For a crazy moment, Lana felt herself split as if living the memory from both inside Harry and inside her own skin. There were screams. The plane broke apart. She saw her own face reflected in the warped glass of the window, her eyes wide, mouth open, and terrified. She felt her own panic, but also Harry's single-minded focus as he ripped through the sky and closed the distance between them.
She watched as he caught her. The memory of his arms was warm and comforting. It was like a blanket wrapping her whole body. She felt the heat of the fire and the crack of the wind. Then she was back on the ground, safe and sound. Her mind began to spin as time reeled backward, then forward, then folded in on itself.
Lana gasped. She was back in her own body, but her head was still spinning. She looked at Harry. The light in his eyes had faded, but the feeling remained. It was warm like the summer sun. Her breath was ragged. Every cell in her body hummed with the aftershock of what she'd seen. She stared at Harry. He was subtly checking her over to make sure she was okay. There was a softness in his eyes now, something raw and honest.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned for her well-being. Lana pressed a hand to her chest. She didn't trust her voice. After a moment, she nodded.
"That was …," she said, and stopped. She couldn't finish the thought.
Harry nodded, as if he'd expected that. "Intense," he finished her sentence. Lana nodded, not knowing what else to say.
Lana looked away, blinking away tears that she didn't even know had fallen. She wiped them with the back of her hand, then let her head fall to Harry's shoulder. The feeling of their connection was still there. It almost felt like their minds were still touching. It wasn't uncomfortable at all. It actually felt quite pleasant.
She laughed softly into his shirt. "So, I guess you're really not from around here, are you?"
Harry laughed too, and she felt it vibrate through his chest into her own. "No, not even a little bit."
Lana sat up and wiped away the last of her tears. They spent the next few hours just talking and getting to know one another. Harry thought it was a really nice way to start a new friendship.