Clark had heard all of his life that his mother couldn't have children. She'd desperately wanted them, and she always said that having Clark made up for it, but Clark had met other adoptive families since then. He wasn't sure it quite worked that way, and a little part of him worried about whether his parents would still love him as much when they had kids of their own.

But any fear was overshadowed by his joy. Clark was going to be an older brother.

To twins, no less! His parents wouldn't let the doctors tell them whether the babies were boys or girls. It didn't matter. Clark was going to have two little brothers, or two little sisters, or one of each. He had never been so excited for anything in his entire life, and his happiness—as well as his mother's—literally doubled when he found out that he was going to be having two baby siblings instead of one.

Nothing could take away his happiness. Not even the slight—probably irrational—worry that he might be his parents' third favorite child. He was going to be the best older brother in the world, and nothing could stop him.

Then he met Jor El. His birth father. And everything was thrown into turmoil.

It happened down in the storm cellar. His ship floated a few feet off the ground. Glowing, as if illuminated from the inside, the light brightening the entire cellar.

When Clark closed his eyes, he could still hear the humming, almost buzzing in his mind, and the firm male voice from the night before:

Fear not, Kal-El.

I am Jor-El. Your father.

I am his memory, his will. I am to fulfill his promise and guide you all the days of your life.

You are the last son of Krypton. When you traveled through the cosmos, you carried the hopes and dreams of your people. They now live through you, Kal-El. It is time.

By the setting of the sun Sol, you will return to me. Your destiny will be fulfilled.

You have no choice, Kal-El.

Clark had spent every waking moment since trying to figure out how to get out of the ship's calling. Everything and everyone he loved was in Smallville; he didn't want to leave or to fulfill someone else's ideas of his own destiny. He wanted to make his own future, like his father—his real father, Jonathan Kent—had always taught him.

He wasn't sure what the ship was capable of. Come to think of it, he wasn't even completely sure what it was wanting him to do. He just knew he didn't want it to be interfering with his life. And the last thing he wanted was to think it might somehow hurt his little siblings.

He would do anything before allowing that to happen. Even follow the ship's calling.

The deadline to return to his birth father was fast approaching, minutes away. Clark stood in his loft, watching the sunset. Any minute now, Jor El would call out to him again. Force him to leave his family.

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"I figured this is where I'd find you."

Clark turned to find his dad walking toward him. He looked back out the window. "Just watching the sunset. I hope it's not the last one I see from up here."

"It won't be, Clark." His father put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Son, it's just another sundown."

Clark took a deep breath, his muscles tightening as the sun disappeared at the horizon. The sun had set, and he hadn't heard anything . . .

His dad smiled and clapped his back. "Come on. Your mother's got dinner ready."

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."

His father nodded and took a few steps toward the stairs.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?" His dad turned back to face him.

"Thanks for always believing in me."

His dad's smile widened. "You're welcome, son," he said, and he left the barn.

No sooner had his father left than he heard the voice again, more in his head than audibly: It is time, Kal-El. Come to me.

Clark breathed in to call out for his father. He considered running. But in the end, it compelled him. He had to go down to the cellar and face the ship.

There it was, glowing and floating again, wind rushing through the cellar, just like it had the night before.

You will obey me, Kal-El.

"You're not my father," Clark yelled to be heard over the rushing wind. "I won't let you control me!"

The ship turned to face Clark. A blinding white light blasted from the ship, and Clark felt himself being lifted as though by his feet, flipped upside down, his back slamming hard into the ceiling, struggling but unable to move his arms. His chest burned, as though it was on fire, and he ripped open his shirt as a glowing crest appeared, branded into his skin.

This is the mark of your ancestors. You cannot fight it, Kal-El.

Clark barely processed the words. He couldn't stop screaming. It was the worst pain he had ever felt.

At the zenith of the star, Sol, you will begin your journey. If you do not, you will hurt the ones you love most.

The ship lowered to the ground, and Clark fell. This time, the impact with the ground didn't hurt. His chest still throbbed, though.

Clark tried to pull himself up, but he didn't have the strength. His mind still reeled.

His biological father had tortured him.

Or rather, the ship had. He wasn't convinced that voice was really his biological father. Jor El was dead; this was some kind of program stored in the ship, and it had hurt him. That answered that question. It had the power to torture, to kill.

He had no choice. He had to follow its calling.

Unless . . .

Unless he could get rid of the ship.

The ship had come in handy a couple of times. They'd once found an octagonal key for the ship, and putting it in the keyhole had been what had cured his mother when she had that fever that had almost killed her. And that healing had been what allowed her to get pregnant in the first place—or maybe it had somehow made her pregnant?

But if the ship was going to start causing bigger problems, he had to get rid of it, even if that meant he didn't have a way to heal his mother if she got sick in the future. The only problem was, the ship was as indestructible as he was. The only thing he knew of that could hurt him was kryptonite.

The ship had once neutralized a piece of kryptonite that was held near it for a long time, turning it from green to clear. Maybe it didn't like kryptonite anymore than he did. Maybe if he had a copy of that octagonal key, but made of kryptonite . . .

He swallowed hard. That duplicate already existed. Lionel Luthor had duplicated that octagonal key with kryptonite, in his lab.

All at once, Clark knew what to do. He could neutralize the ship with the kryptonite key. Getting the key from Lionel would have been easier if he was still friends with Lex—and he wasn't going back to the mansion—but maybe he could call in another friend for help. Sam was going to be in town soon . . .

He could do this. He could steal the kryptonite key and destroy the ship. And then he'd be free from his so-called destiny, he could live in safety and peace with his family, and he could make his own future.

And his little siblings would be safe.