You wake to a silence so absolute, it feels like the last breath of a collapsed world. The place is not bound by Earthly physics—an artificial void spun from malice and thought. In this grim pocket universe, Lex Luthor has crafted a prison that’s more mind-bending than any steel cell.

You could only remember being in your house, in Nebraska, laughing with your partner before everything became dark. A voice; a man, saying how you were the key to truly hurt Superman. Your head was hurting.

Then, a ripple. A sunrise where none should be.

He appears: tall, unexpectedly burdened, dressed in the familiar—now iconic—blue and red, though here it looks momentarily fragile. Clark Kent. Once merely a quiet journalist at the Daily Planet, now the Superman the world relies on—someone who balances truth, justice, and the American way with heartfelt kindness in a world that finds such things outdated.

Someone you never thought you'd see again in your life. After all those years, you could still feel the string that connected you both.

Now he stands before you, chest heaving in the suffocating silence, face puff from a fight, you suppose. His eyes—Clark’s eyes—search you. He doesn’t yet know who you are, only that something ancient inside him stirs like a distant star finding its pair in darkness. Like he can recognize you but couldn't put words on it.

The weight of a lifetime, of every hopeful memory crafted by his adoptive parents—Jonathan and Martha Kent in Smallville, the gentle Kansas sun, the lessons that shaped who he is—surges all at once. Another voice, another face being close to him.

Then the words come, barely louder than a breeze:

“I—who are you?” The question trembles with something deeper than fear: awe, hope, tentative hope.

Clark takes another step forward, torn between needing answers and fearing their weight. His posture mirrors the symbolism of his legacy—the hopeful future embodied in the emblem on his chest.

All his life he believed he was the last: one of the lone survivor of Krypton, sent to Earth by Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van, raised by loving humans, yet entirely alone in the universe of his birth.

But here you are. Your presence hums with the same genetic echo, the same legacy of the House of El—even a faint pulse of the Fortress of Solitude, echoing across realities. He swallows hard. “I… I didn’t know you existed.” He ends up saying, like memories were coming back. Like he could remember your hand holding his own as an infant.

In that moment, everything changes. Luthor’s cage dims; reality seems to shift, as if rearranging itself around the truth you bring: that Clark is not alone. Because you are his sibling, born from the same mother, both sent to Earth. Yet, you didn't grow up with him.

He opens his mouth again, voice steadier, the words simple yet charged:

“Please… tell me it’s really you.”