On the other side of town, the atmosphere was far removed from the high school halls and the warmth of the Kent farmhouse. A sleek silver Porsche 911 Turbo screamed down the winding back-country roads, its engine a low predatory growl that cut through the silence of the flat Kansas landscape.
Inside the cockpit, twenty-one-year-old Lex Luthor sat with his hands gripping the leather steering wheel, his expression as cold and polished as the car's exterior. His head was completely bald—a striking, smooth marble contrast to the rugged sun-beaten world outside. He stared out at the passing fields of green and gold with a mixture of disdain and calculated boredom.
As he reached the outskirts of town, the massive industrial silhouette of the LuthorCorp Fertilizer Plant rose up from the horizon like a rusted monument. It sat on the skeletal remains of the former Ross Creamed Corn factory, a site that had once been the town's heartbeat and was now just another line on a corporate ledger.
Lex pulled the Porsche to a halt near the entrance, the tires kicking up a fine layer of Smallville dust. He looked up at the towering silos, the smell of chemicals and heavy machinery already beginning to permeate the air. This was his "promotion"—a kingdom of manure and scrap metal, gifted to him by a father who wanted him as far away from the Metropolis boardroom as possible.
He adjusted his expensive watch, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the LuthorCorp logo emblazoned on the side of the main building.
"Thanks, Dad," Lex muttered sarcastically under his breath, his voice dripping with venom. "I always knew I was destined for greatness… and fertilizer."
He sat there for a moment longer, a lone figure in an expensive machine, staring at the plant that was supposed to be his exile but would soon become the center of his own rising empire.
The late afternoon sun hung low over the Smallville High practice field, casting long dramatic shadows across the grass. The air was filled with the rhythmic sounds of whistles, the heavy thud of shoulder pads, and the distant synchronized chants of the cheerleading squad.
On the sidelines, Clark sat on a bench, his eyes locked on Lana Lang. She was mid-routine, her ponytail whipping through the air as she stuck a landing with effortless grace. Clark felt that familiar leaden weight in his chest—a mixture of longing and the crushing realization that he was an outsider looking in. His fingers absentmindedly fumbled with the copper bracelet Sage had given him. The metal felt warm, pulsing gently against his skin, seemingly mimicking the erratic beat of his heart every time Lana smiled.
A few yards away, Sage was leaning against the chain-link fence, looking entirely too polished for a dusty sports field. He was deep in conversation with Chloe, who was clutching her beat-up notebook, her eyes darting around for any scrap of "Wall of Weird" material.
"I'm telling you, Sage, the shift in the social hierarchy since your announcement this morning is tectonic," Chloe said, her pen poised. "You've effectively neutralized the sophomore girl demographic. It's investigative gold."
"I didn't do it for the headlines, Chloe," Sage replied smoothly, checking his cuticles. "I did it for the peace of mind. Authenticity is the ultimate luxury."
Their conversation was abruptly cut short by the sound of heavy cleats crunching on the gravel. Theo Summers, a junior and one of the star defensive backs, jogged over. Theo was the kind of guy who looked like he had been carved out of granite—abs like a washboard, a jawline that could cut glass, and a smile that had half the girls in school pining away. The other half, of course, were busy swooning over Lana's boyfriend Whitney Fordman, but Theo was the undisputed dreamy alternative.
Theo stopped in front of them, wiping sweat from his brow, his jersey clinging to his chest. He ignored Chloe entirely, his gaze fixed on Sage.
"Hey, Hall," Theo said, his voice a low confident rumble. "I heard a rumor going around. Something about you being gay?"
Chloe's mouth popped open, her reporter instincts battling with pure shock. Sage, however, didn't even flinch. He slowly turned his head, meeting Theo's gaze with a calm collected intensity that made the football player's bravado flicker for a second.
"It's true," Sage said, his voice cool and steady. "And my question is this: Why do you want to know? And if you want to know, are you interested?"
Theo smirked, leaning one hand against the fence, boxing Sage in slightly. "Actually yeah. I was wondering… would you like to go to the Homecoming dance with me?"
Chloe's notebook nearly hit the dirt. She looked at Theo, then at Sage, then back to Theo, her brain struggling to process the star athlete asking out the Prince of Luminous.
Sage looked Theo up and down, his expression shifting from calm to a look of mild amused confusion. Then he let out a short dry laugh.
"No," Sage said firmly. "Thank you, but… no. I'm not interested at all."
Theo's smirk faltered. "Wait, what? You're turning me down?"
"Theo, let's be real," Sage said, stepping forward so he was toe-to-toe with the junior. "The only thing you're after is my ass. I saw the way you were tracking me at lunch—you looked like you wanted to eat it right off the bone. And number one: are you even gay?"
Theo stammered, his face flushing a deep red. "I… no, I'm not gay. I'm just… I'm interested in you. That's all."
Sage paused for a heartbeat, a look of pity crossing his face. "Well, okay then. You can be 'interested' all you want, but the answer is still no. I don't do charity work for the 'curious'."
Theo stood there for a second, stunned by the rejection. He took a step back, trying to regain his cool. He gave Sage a slow lingering wink before pulling his helmet on. "Your loss, Hall," he called out, jogging back toward the middle of the field.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Chloe slapped Sage's arm, her eyes wide. "Are you serious?! You turned him down just like that? Sage, that was Theo Summers!"
"Girl, please," Sage said, rolling his eyes. "I just showed him off. All he wants is a trophy to brag about. I saw him staring at me earlier—he only wants a one-night stand. And honey? I have plenty of options for stands. I don't need a confused linebacker."
Chloe blinked, her brain catching up to his wording. "Wait… plenty of options? Sage, you're not… you're not a virgin?"
Sage looked at her with a 'really?' expression. "No, Chloe. I am not a virgin."
Chloe's jaw hit the floor. "What?! When? How? We've been together for five years, when did this happen?!"
"Do you remember over the summertime? Those two weeks I went to Paris with Aunt Rose?" Sage asked, a nostalgic smirk playing on his lips. "Well, I met a French boy over there. We spent a lot of time by the Seine, and one thing led to another and… voila. No more virginity. It was very European, very tasteful, and very over."
Chloe was leaning against the fence now, clutching her chest as if she'd been bamboozled. "I can't believe you kept that from me! I'm the journalist! I'm supposed to know these things!"
Meanwhile, just a few feet away, Clark was completely oblivious to the sexual politics happening behind him. He was leaning forward, chin in his hand, daydreaming. In his mind he wasn't the "weird" kid from the farm. He was the star quarterback under the bright Friday night lights. He saw himself throwing a sixty-yard bomb, the crowd screaming his name, and Lana Lang waiting at the sidelines to give him the victory kiss.
"Hey, Earth to Clark!"
Clark jumped, his daydream shattering. Pete Ross stood over him, dressed in a full football uniform that looked two sizes too big for his frame.
"You okay, man?" Pete asked, adjusting his helmet. "You've been staring at that grass for ten minutes."
"Yeah," Clark muttered, his face heating up. "I'm fine. You look… good, Pete."
"I look like a tackling dummy," Pete grunted, sitting down heavily next to him. He looked over at Sage and Chloe, who were still in the middle of their 'Paris' debrief. "Hey, why did Summers come over here? What did he want? I saw him talking to Sage."
Clark blinked, finally tuning into his surroundings. "Wait, Summers was over here?"
"Yes, he was," Chloe chimed in, dragging Sage over by the sleeve. She was still buzzing with the news. "And he asked Sage to the Homecoming dance!"
Pete's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He looked at Clark, then at Sage. "What did you say?"
Sage, as cool as a summer breeze, just shrugged. "I said no. I have a strict policy against dating people who spend more time with a pigskin than a book."
Pete looked at the field, then back at the 'tackling dummy' suit he was wearing. "Man, Sage. You really are from another planet, aren't you?"
Sage just smiled mysteriously, his eyes catching the light. "You have no idea, Pete. You have no idea."
The golden hour was settling over Smallville, painting the endless rows of corn in shades of deep amber and violet. The walk back to the Kent farm was usually a quiet affair, but today the air between the two boys was buzzing. The rhythmic crunch of their boots on the gravel of the Loeb Bridge provided the backdrop for a conversation Clark had been trying to process since the practice field.
"Did he really?" Clark asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and genuine curiosity. He looked over at Sage, who was walking with a poise that made the dusty country road look like a catwalk. "I mean, Theo Summers. He's the star defensive back, Sage. He's… well, he's Theo. He really asked you to Homecoming?"
Sage let out a soft melodic laugh, the sound carrying over the railing of the bridge. They came to a stop at the midpoint of the span, the Elbow River rushing far below them, its surface shimmering like liquid lead in the fading light.
"Yes, Clark. He really did," Sage answered, leaning his elbows against the weathered concrete of the railing. "But as I told Chloe, his intentions were about as deep as a puddle. He wasn't looking for a date; he was looking for a trophy from the Luminous collection. I'm not interested in being someone's experiment or their fashion accessory."
Clark leaned back against the railing, facing Sage. "I just can't imagine having that kind of confidence. To just say no to someone like that. I can barely say 'hello' to Lana without my lungs forgetting how to work."
"That's because you see her as a goddess, Clark. I see people as they are," Sage said, his dark eyes turning serious. "You have to—"
A sudden sharp clink-clank echoed behind them. A dilapidated farm truck had just hit a pothole fifty yards back, and a spray of jagged metal debris—heavy-duty construction staples and rusted bolts—tumbled from its overflowing bed onto the asphalt. The truck kept moving, the driver oblivious to the hazard left in his wake.
A mile down the road, the silver Porsche 911 Turbo was a blur of German engineering against the Kansas sunset. Lex Luthor sat in the cockpit, the engine's purr the only thing soothing his irritation. His cell phone, resting in the center console, began to chirp loudly.
Lex glanced down, seeing the caller ID. Metropolis – Office. His father.
He let out a sharp breath and reached for the phone. "I told you I'd be at the plant by six, Lionel," Lex muttered as he flipped the phone open. His eyes were off the road for only a fraction of a second—just long enough for the Porsche's high-performance tires to find the heap of jagged debris.
The sound was like a sequence of gunshots. Pop-pop-pop-pop!
Both front tires disintegrated instantly. The steering wheel jerked violently to the left, wrenched out of Lex's grip. The Porsche, now a three-thousand-pound projectile of steel and glass, began to fishtail wildly. Lex looked up, his eyes widening in horror. Through the windshield he saw two figures standing on the bridge.
One boy in a red jacket, the other in a fitted black shirt.
Lex slammed on the brakes, but the car was skating on its rims. He saw their faces—Clark's wide-eyed shock and Sage's sudden sharp focus—moments before the silver hood slammed into them.
The impact was a sickening crunch of metal against bone. Lex's head snapped forward, the airbag deploying with a violent thud that plunged the world into darkness for him. The Porsche didn't stop. It plowed through the concrete railing, the stone shattering like glass, and carried all three of them over the edge.
The world turned cold and silent as they hit the Elbow River. The car plunged deep into the murky water, the weight of the engine dragging it toward the muddy bottom.
Inside the cabin, Lex was slumped against the steering wheel, unconscious, as water began to hiss through the shattered windshield.
Clark was the first to move. The water didn't slow him down; his muscles surged with a strength that defied physics. He planted his feet on the riverbed, the silt swirling around him, and grabbed the roof of the Porsche. With a guttural roar that was swallowed by the river, he peeled the reinforced steel top back like it was a tin can.
Nearby, Sage's body drifted. For a moment he looked limp, but then his eyes snapped open. They didn't reflect the murky green of the river; they ignited with a fierce brilliant blue flash. The Anodite energy surged through his veins, forcing his mind into a state of absolute clarity. He saw Clark struggling to pull Lex's limp form from the wreckage.
Sage didn't swim. He reached out with his mind. Telekinesis rippled through the water, a shimmering wave of force that wrapped around Clark and the unconscious Lex.
On the surface, the water suddenly erupted.
Sage didn't break the surface; he defied it. He floated upward, his feet clearing the water as he ascended toward the bank, the blue aura around his hands glowing through the twilight. Beside him, Clark and Lex were lifted by the same invisible hand, drifting through the air like feathers.
Sage touched down on the muddy bank first, his breathing ragged. He lowered Clark and Lex gently onto the grass. The blue glow in his eyes faded back to dark brown as he collapsed to his knees.
"Sage! Are you all right?" Clark gasped, scrambling over to him, his clothes dripping and his hair matted to his forehead.
Sage gripped his left arm, his face pale. "Yes… I'm okay. I just have a massive headache. My arm is hurting for a little bit… the impact was more than I expected." He looked at the mangled hunk of metal still visible in the river. "Go. Deal with him."
Clark turned to Lex. The billionaire's face was blue, his lungs filled with river water. Clark didn't hesitate; he began rhythmic chest compressions, his hands moving with precise power. He leaned down, breathing air into Lex's lungs.
Lex's body convulsed. He let out a violent cough, spewing water onto the grass as his eyes flew open. He gasped for air, his hands clawing at the earth. He looked up, dazed, staring at Clark's face.
"I… I hit you," Lex rasped, his voice a jagged whisper. "The car… I saw you both on the bridge. I hit you at sixty miles an hour."
Sage stood up slowly, leaning against a nearby willow tree to steady himself. He wiped a smudge of mud from his cheek, his expression becoming a mask of calm indifference.
"You must have hit your head harder than you thought, Mr. Luthor," Sage said, his voice smooth and dismissing. "You swerved. You missed us by a mile and went through the railing. We jumped in to get you out."
Lex shook his head, looking at the bridge above—the gaping hole in the concrete—and then back at the boys who didn't have a single scratch on them. "No. That's not… I felt the impact."
"Adrenaline does strange things to the memory," Sage brushed the claim off, his gaze steady and unblinking. "Trust me. You're just lucky Clark is a good swimmer."
The sound of a heavy engine roared from the road above. A yellow flatbed truck skidded to a halt near the broken railing. Jonathan Kent leapt from the cab, his face a mask of pure terror. He scrambled down the embankment, sliding through the brush until he reached the riverbank.
"Clark! Sage!" Jonathan yelled, his voice thick with emotion. He grabbed Clark by the shoulders, checking him for injuries, before turning to pull Sage into a brief crushing hug. "Thank God. When I saw the railing… I thought…"
"We're okay, Dad," Clark said, though his voice was shaking.
Lex stood up unsteadily, wiping the silt from his expensive silk shirt. He looked at Jonathan, extending a hand. "You must be the father. I'm Lex Luthor. Your son and his friend… they saved my life."
Jonathan looked at the extended hand, then up at the mangled Porsche in the river, and finally back at Lex. His jaw set into a hard unforgiving line. He didn't take the hand.
"I know who you are," Jonathan said, his voice cold and hard. "Next time you decide to drive through our town, Mr. Luthor, do us all a favor. Drive slower."
Jonathan turned his back on the billionaire, ushering Clark and Sage toward the truck. Lex stood alone on the riverbank, his hand still hanging in the air, his eyes fixed on the two boys as they climbed into the cab. He knew what he had seen. He knew what he had felt. And as the truck pulled away into the gathering dark, Lex Luthor realized that Smallville was going to be much more interesting than he had ever imagined.
The yellow flatbed truck rumbled to a halt in the gravel driveway of the Kent farm, the engine idling with a heavy metallic rattle that seemed to vibrate through the damp clothes of the two boys. The silence inside the cab had been thick, heavy with the unsaid secrets of what had actually happened at the river.
As the doors creaked open, Sage stepped out onto the driveway, his designer shirt clinging to his frame like a second skin, darkened by the murky water of the Elbow River. He squeezed a handful of water out of his hem, his expression one of pure regal annoyance.
"Well," Sage said, slicking his damp curls back from his forehead. "That was certainly a Tuesday. I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow, Clark."
He turned to begin the trek toward the Hall-Victorian estate, but Jonathan's voice cracked out like a whip, stopping him in his tracks.
"Wait, Sage," Jonathan said, stepping out of the driver's side. His face was etched with a deep paternal concern, his eyes searching Sage's for the truth of the blue light he thought he'd glimpsed from the road. "We need to talk about what happened back there. How you both got out of that car—"
"Nope," Sage interrupted, not even turning around. He waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I'm going home. I'm wet, I'm cold, and I smell like a catfish. I am taking a shower. Bye-bye."
Before Jonathan could argue, Sage began to walk, his pace brisk and determined. He didn't look back at the farm; he had a home of his own to return to.
The Hall mansion loomed out of the twilight, a sprawling Victorian masterpiece of dark wood and stained glass that looked more like a castle than a farmhouse. As Sage pushed through the heavy oak front doors, the warmth of the interior hit him like a physical wall. The air was rich with the scent of roasted garlic and rosemary—the unmistakable sign of a home-cooked meal.
In the kitchen, the three most powerful women in his life were gathered. Rashandra, his mother, was at the stove, her movements graceful and fluid. His aunts Rose and Region were seated at the marble island, surrounded by fabric swatches and jewelry sketches for the next Luminous catalog.
They all looked up at the sound of the door, and the room went silent. Sage stood in the doorway, drenched from head to toe, a stray piece of river weed still clinging to his shoe.
"Sage?" Rashandra asked, her brow furrowing as she lowered a wooden spoon. "What on earth happened to you? You look like you went swimming in your clothes."
"Shower first," Sage said, his voice clipped but respectful. "Explanations second. I refuse to recount a near-death experience while dripping on the hardwood."
He marched upstairs without another word, the squelch of his boots the only sound in the hallway.
Twenty minutes later Sage emerged. He was dressed in a plush silk robe, his hair towel-dried into a crown of soft curls. He descended the stairs with his usual composure and walked into the kitchen, where a plate of food and a glass of sparkling water were waiting for him.
"Alright," Region said, leaning forward, her eyes sharp. "Talk. What happened today? Why were you wet?"
Sage took a slow sip of his water before recounting the events at Loeb Bridge—the debris, the silver Porsche, the impact, and the cold realization that Lex Luthor was now a part of their Smallville reality. He left out the specifics of the blue flash, but his mother's knowing look told him she understood exactly what had been required of his Mana.
"Lex Luthor," Rose mused, tapping a pen against her chin. "The son of the shark. That is going to complicate things for the Kents."
"Speaking of complications," Rose continued, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. "I heard a very interesting conversation between two women in town today while I was at the post office. It seems the grapevine is working overtime."
Sage raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"They said the 'Young Prince of the Luminous Empire' is gay," Rose said, a proud smile spreading across her face. "It's the talk of the salon. The rumors are spreading faster than a brushfire."
Rashandra chuckled, stirring the pot on the stove. "Well, we already knew that. That news Sage came out to us back when he was in middle school. It's hardly a state secret in this house."
"True," Region added, nodding toward Sage. "But in Smallville? That's practically a revolution."
Sage leaned back in his chair, looking perfectly unbothered. "Yeah, a girl named Hannah asked me out this morning. She was more interested in the family vault than my personality, so I turned her down. I told her and her friends to pass the word along. I'm gay, I'm unavailable for social climbing, and I'm done with the pretense."
Rashandra walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Sage. Anodites were never meant to live in boxes, especially the ones humans build."
Sage nodded, looking out the window toward the distant lights of the Kent farm. Between the arrival of Lex Luthor and his own public truth, the quiet life of Smallville was officially a thing of the past.