Disclaimer:
I do not own any characters from DC or Marvel. Characters such as Superman, Jor-El, Zor-El, and Alura In-Ze belong to DC Comics. Only original characters such as Von-Ra El and elements created for this story belong to the author.
NOTE: Don't forget to join my Patreon.com/Argonaut007 to get access to 10+ advanced chapters.
-----
Chapter 7 — Development
The laboratory was quieter than usual.
Not silent—never silent—but softer.
The hum of Kryptonian technology blended into the background, like a steady breath that filled the chamber. Lights dimmed to a comfortable glow, and the once-intimidating arrays of instruments had been reduced to passive observation. Today was not about experimentation.
Today was about watching.
At the center of the room, a small platform hovered just above the floor. Upon it sat a child.
Von-Ra El.
Three years old.
He leaned forward slightly, legs tucked beneath him, completely absorbed in what he was doing. In front of him, a simple holographic construct floated—a basic learning model used for Kryptonian children. Rotating shapes, shifting symbols, small energy patterns meant to teach coordination, recognition, and control.
Nothing advanced.
Nothing dangerous.
And yet…
The patterns moved differently around him.
His fingers lifted, hesitating for a moment, then gently pushed forward. The hologram responded—not abruptly, not forcefully—but with precise alignment. A drifting shape corrected its orbit. A flickering symbol stabilized.
It was subtle.
Too subtle for most to notice.
But not for them.
Across the room, Alura In-Ze stood with her arms loosely folded, her gaze fixed entirely on her son. There was no fear in her eyes now—only something softer.
Something warmer.
"He's been at it for hours," she said quietly.
Zor-El stood beside her, though his posture was far less relaxed. One hand hovered near a console, not touching it, just… ready.
"He hasn't shown any signs of fatigue," Zor-El replied.
Alura glanced at him. "He's three."
Zor-El didn't answer immediately.
"I know."
Von-Ra shifted slightly, tilting his head as one of the shapes drifted off pattern. His brows furrowed—not in frustration, but in thought.
Then, carefully, he reached out again.
This time, he didn't correct the shape directly.
He adjusted the others.
The system responded instantly—balance restored, motion smooth once more.
Zor-El's eyes narrowed slightly.
"He's not fixing errors," he murmured. "He's preventing them."
Alura smiled faintly. "Or maybe… he just doesn't like when things feel wrong."
From a nearby console, Jor-El observed quietly, hands clasped behind his back.
"He's not following the program," Jor-El said. "He's… interpreting it."
Von-Ra suddenly looked up.
Not confused.
Not startled.
Just aware.
His golden eyes moved between them, as if he had heard something… or felt it.
Then, just as quickly, he looked back at the hologram and continued.
A small cube appeared within the construct—a basic exercise.
Stack.
Align.
Repeat.
Von-Ra reached out, lifting one piece with both hands this time. He hesitated again, studying it closely, turning it slightly as if examining something no one else could see.
Then he placed it down.
Perfectly aligned.
Too perfectly.
The system flickered—just for a second—as if recalibrating around his input.
Zor-El stepped forward before he could stop himself.
"Von-Ra," he said gently.
The child looked up again.
"Yes?"
His voice was soft. Calm. Simple.
Zor-El knelt in front of him, lowering himself to his level.
"You don't have to make it perfect," he said. "It's alright to make mistakes."
Von-Ra blinked.
"But if it's wrong," he said slowly, "it changes everything after."
The room fell quiet.
Jor-El exhaled softly through his nose.
Alura's smile faded—just a little.
Zor-El reached out, brushing a strand of dark hair—streaked faintly with red—away from the boy's eyes.
"And sometimes," he said gently, "that's how you learn."
Von-Ra considered that.
Not rejecting it.
Not fully accepting it either.
"…Then I will try both," he said.
Zor-El paused.
Then nodded.
"That's enough."
The exercise shifted again, simpler this time. Colors instead of structures. Movement instead of precision.
Von-Ra relaxed slightly, his small hands moving more freely now. The patterns responded in kind—softer, less rigid.
Alura stepped closer, watching him.
"He's still a child," she whispered.
Zor-El followed her gaze.
Von-Ra laughed quietly to himself as one of the colors spiraled unexpectedly, chasing it with a small, curious motion of his hand.
For a moment—
Just a moment—
There was no anomaly.
No calculation.
No burden.
Just a child playing.
Behind them, Jor-El spoke quietly.
"The readings are stable."
Zor-El didn't turn.
"Are they balanced?"
"For now."
That was enough.
Alura moved closer still, resting a hand lightly on Von-Ra's shoulder.
He leaned into it instinctively.
No hesitation.
No analysis.
Just trust.
Her eyes softened, and this time, she didn't hide the tears.
"He's alive," she whispered.
Zor-El finally allowed himself to relax—just a fraction.
"Yes," he said.
Beneath that small, quiet moment, unseen and unfelt, the deeper processes continued.
Cells adjusted.
Energy flowed.
Three inheritances—Kryptonian, Viltrumite, and something beyond both—shifted in delicate balance.
Not fighting.
Not yet.
Simply… waiting.
But none of that mattered here.
Not in this moment.
Because in the center of the House of El's laboratory—
Von-Ra El was not a weapon.
Not a solution.
Not a miracle.
He was a child.
Learning.
Growing.
And for now…
That was enough.