1999, the turn of the century.
December skies over Kansas hung heavily above Smallville.
Christmas was drawing near, but closer still
was the vanguard of a blizzard.
The biting wind began howling as it swept up powdery snow from the ground, lashing it against the windows in a fine, dense rustling that made the bone-deep chill palpable even through the glass.
But the pickup's fully cranked heater kept the desolation outside at bay for the time being.
Dio leaned against the window in boredom, the tips of his golden hair swaying gently with the truck's bumps. He stared at the sky outside as it was swiftly swallowed by gloom, his gaze unfocused.
Clark sat in the passenger seat, turned sideways as he chatted with Locke, who was driving.
A trace of barely noticeable concern lingered in his eyes.
"Is Saraphiel really okay, Uncle Locke?"
"Clark, that's the fifth time you've asked." Locke's voice came from the driver's seat. "Saraphiel isn't just fine—he's even healthier than most children."
This family of mine...
The thought made Locke laugh soundlessly.
Saraphiel had only sneezed a few times and coughed a little.
Yet Martha and Jonathan had become deeply worried, looking as though they could neither eat nor sleep.
Unable to refuse them, he had no choice but to let the two of them take Saraphiel to the clinic in town.
While he went to the neighboring farm.
"Then..."
"Grandpa Bob and the others will be okay tonight too, right?" Clark could not help asking. His voice came through especially clearly over the engine noise. "The snow seems to be getting heavier."
"Relax, Clark." Locke gripped the steering wheel, his eyes sweeping over the increasingly blurred outline of the farm in the rearview mirror. "We reinforced old Bob's livestock shed, which was practically falling