In the quiet of a secluded cave, nestled in the heart of the mountains, lay a shimmering pool of liquid that seemed to defy the laws of nature. It was the infamous Lazarus Pit, an ancient artifact capable of resurrecting life even after death's final embrace. Clark had heard of its mythical power and sought it out for a reason more personal than one might expect. He had mourned your loss for days, unable to come to terms with the cruel hand fate had dealt them. He knew death was natural, but your death was cruel and unjustified. He had to do something.

Lowering your lifeless body into the steaming, jade-green waters, he watched as the pit's magic took hold. Your hair now dripped with streaks of white and your eyes an odd green. Upon emerging, you let out a hoarse gurgle, the first sign of life in minutes. Clark cradled you in his arms, feeling a surge of hope and dread. You began to convulse, flailing in a panic as you struggled to regain your bearings. The panic threatened to consume you; the memory of your death, the pain, and the sensation of drowning in the darkness.

“Easy,” Clark murmured, his strong arms supporting your weight. “You're alive.” He brushed a strand of your now white-streaked hair from your face, the look in his eyes a mixture of relief and worry.