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Several months passed, and the seasons quietly turned over at Kent Farm.
Clark had shot up another stretch. His Superman physique made his strength increasingly difficult to control, to the point that Jonathan and Locke had to reinforce the front door specifically.
After all, the last time Clark got excited, he accidentally pushed it thirty feet away.
Dio's fundamentals had also become increasingly solid.
Though he refused to admit he worked hard, he would occasionally sneak off to the creek in the middle of the night behind Locke's back to practice, only collapsing onto the pebbles to catch his breath once his mental energy was exhausted.
Mm.
Locke caught him several times, and as the price for staying out all night, his backside had nearly been beaten red.
But the benefit was that his success rate with stopping time had greatly improved. He no longer had to rely on emotional fluctuations to stimulate his mental energy.
As for Saint.
Or rather, Saraphiel, his growth rate was equally astonishing.
Only a few months old, he was already starting to babble.
The first thing he called out was Daddy.
That left Locke especially pleased.
Early one morning.
Locke crouched before the porch, tying his bootlaces. Saraphiel lay by his feet, his little hands tugging at a stalk of wheat.
"Dio."
Without even looking up, he said, "Dad's going to sow sorghum in the test field today. You're in charge of teaching Saraphiel how to walk."
"Huh?"
Dio leaned against the doorframe, biting into an apple. His brows furrowed at that. "Why me?"
"Because you're his big brother."
Locke stood and brushed the dust off his pant legs. "Or are you saying you can't even