Smallville: the asgardian

Smallville, Kansas, was a far cry from the humid, vibrant chaos of Brazil. Instead of the lush greenery and the rhythmic pulse of the city, Veena Parker was greeted by endless rows of corn and a sky so vast it felt like it could swallow her whole. As she stepped out of her father’s rugged SUV in front of Smallville High, the crisp autumn air nipped at her skin.

Veena adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, her auburn hair catching the morning light. She looked like any other freshman—perhaps a bit more exotic with her blend of Korean and Brazilian features—but beneath the surface, she was anything but ordinary. Her father, a man whose scars told stories of a mercenary past he’d tried to bury, had spent years training her in Krav Maga, Jiu-Jitsu, and Capoeira. Her mother, a woman who could dismantle a firewall in seconds, had taught her how to stay off the grid.

What they hadn't taught her was how to control the heat that sometimes simmered in her palms or the way animals seemed to bow their heads when she walked by. That was her Asgardian blood, a secret her father kept locked behind a stern expression.

"You okay, V?" her father, Marcus, asked from the driver’s seat. His eyes scanned the perimeter out of habit.

"Just a new school in a new country, Dad. No big deal," Veena lied, flashing a witty grin. "I'll try not to accidentally flip anyone in the cafeteria."

"Just stay under the radar," he reminded her.

Veena waved him off and turned toward the school. She didn't get more than ten steps before the bustling energy of the hallway swept her up. She was looking down at her schedule, trying to decipher where 'Room 104' was, when she rounded a corner and collided with something that felt remarkably like a brick wall.

"Oh! I am so sorry," a deep, resonant voice said.

Veena stumbled back, but a pair of large, steady hands caught her shoulders. She looked up, and for a moment, the world simply stopped.

Standing before her was a boy who redefined the word 'broad-shouldered.' He was towering, at least six-foot-three, with wavy dark brown hair that fell slightly over his forehead. But it was his eyes that did it—a deep, navy blue that felt strangely familiar, like a clear night sky over a distant world.

"I wasn't looking where I was going," he continued, a sheepish, gentle smile tugging at his lips. "I’m Clark. Clark Kent."

Veena blinked, her usual wit momentarily failing her. "Veena," she managed to say, her voice regaining its strength. "Veena Parker. And unless you’re actually made of granite, I think I’m the one who should be apologizing."

Clark laughed, a warm sound that made the strange energy in Veena’s chest hum. "Just a lot of milk and farm work, I guess. You’re new here, right? I haven't seen you around Smallville."

"Just moved from Brazil," she said, finally finding her footing. "Is the whole town this... yellow? Or is it just the corn?"

"It’s mostly the corn," a new voice chimed in.

A girl with a sharp, inquisitive gaze and short blonde hair stepped up beside Clark, followed by a boy with a wide, infectious grin.

"I’m Chloe Sullivan, editor of the Torch, and this is Pete Ross," the blonde said, her eyes already scanning Veena with professional curiosity. "A Brazilian transplant in the middle of the Wheat State? That’s front-page news for the school paper."

"Ignore her," Pete said, stepping forward. "She thinks everything is a headline. Welcome to Smallville, Veena. If you need a guide to the best spots that aren't cornfields, I'm your guy."

"Thanks," Veena said, feeling a genuine warmth from the group. "I was just looking for the history wing."

"That’s on our way," Clark said, his blue eyes lingering on hers for a second longer than necessary. "We can walk you there."

As they moved through the halls, Veena listened to the easy banter between the three friends. She noticed the way Clark moved—there was a grace to him that didn't match his size, a controlled strength that reminded her of the predators she used to watch in the wilds of the Amazon. He was humble, almost to a fault, constantly deflecting Chloe’s teasing remarks about his 'hero complex.'

"Seriously, Veena," Chloe said, gesturing to Clark. "Last week he pulled a cat out of a tree, and I’m pretty sure he apologized to the tree for climbing it."

"It was a very old oak, Chloe," Clark defended himself, blushing.

Veena smiled, but her instincts were prickling. She felt a strange resonance coming from Clark, a vibration in the air that she had only ever felt back home when her father spoke of the 'Old Worlds.'

They were interrupted as a girl with dark hair and striking hazel eyes walked toward them. The air seemed to shift as she approached, and Veena saw the subtle change in Clark’s posture—a longing that was painful to witness.

"Hey, guys," the girl said, her voice soft.

"Hi, Lana," Clark replied, his voice dropping an octave.

"Veena, this is Lana Lang," Chloe introduced, though her tone held a hint of something complicated. "Lana, this is Veena. She just moved here from Brazil."

"Brazil? That sounds amazing," Lana said, offering a kind smile. "I’ve always wanted to travel. Smallville can feel a bit... small sometimes."

"It has its charms," Veena said, though her eyes drifted back to Clark. He was looking at Lana, but when he caught Veena watching him, he quickly looked away, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

The bell rang, signaling the start of first period.

"See you at lunch?" Pete asked.

"Definitely," Veena replied.

As the group dispersed, Veena felt a sudden chill. It wasn't the air conditioning. It was a sensation of being watched—not by the friendly eyes of her new peers, but by something sharper. Something cold. She glanced toward the main entrance and saw a man in a dark suit standing by the trophy case. He didn't look like a parent or a teacher. He looked like the men her father used to fight in the favelas of Rio.

He caught her eye and nodded once, a gesture that wasn't a greeting, but a warning.

Veena’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her father had moved them here to escape his past, but it seemed the past had a long reach. She felt a surge of heat in her fingertips and quickly tucked her hands into her pockets.

Not here, she thought. Not now.

---

The first few months of freshman year passed in a blur of yellow school buses and football games. Veena became a fixture in the trio of Clark, Chloe, and Pete. She found herself drawn to the Torch office, helping Chloe dig up local legends, though she was careful to steer Chloe away from anything that looked too much like her own family’s trail.

Her bond with Clark grew in the quiet moments. They were both outsiders in their own way. One afternoon, while sitting on the bleachers watching the football team practice, Veena watched Clark standing on the sidelines. He wasn't playing—his parents were strangely adamant about that—but he was watching the game with a look of profound isolation.

"You want to be out there," Veena said, leaning back on her elbows.

Clark started, not having heard her approach. "I... I don't know. My dad thinks it's too dangerous."

"Dangerous for the other players, maybe," Veena quipped, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Clark looked at her sharply. "What makes you say that?"

Veena shrugged, looking out at the field. "I grew up around warriors, Clark. My dad was a mercenary before he met my mom. I know what power looks like when it's being held back. You walk like you’re afraid you might break the world if you step too hard."

Clark was silent for a long time. The wind picked up, whistling through the bleachers. "Sometimes I feel like I don't belong here, Veena. Like I’m just pretending to be one of them."

Veena reached out, her hand brushing his arm. A small spark of golden light flickered between their skin—so fast it could have been static electricity. Clark pulled back slightly, his eyes wide.

"You belong wherever you decide to stand," Veena said softly. "Biology isn't destiny. My mom says that all the time. She’s a tech genius, but she chose to be a mother in a cornfield. It’s the choice that matters."

Clark looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, the self-loathing he usually carried seemed to lift. "You’re very wise for a freshman, Veena Parker."

"I’ve had a few lifetimes of practice," she joked, though the truth of the statement sat heavy in her gut.

Their moment was shattered by the sound of a screeching engine. A black sedan tore across the grass of the practice field, heading straight for the bleachers.

"Get down!" Clark yelled, reaching for Veena.

But Veena didn't move like a normal girl. As the car barreled toward them, she saw the driver—the man from the trophy case. He wasn't looking at Clark; he was looking at her. In his hand was a device that hummed with a sickly green light.

"Veena, run!" Clark shouted, but he was already moving toward the car with a speed that shouldn't have been possible.

Veena realized in that split second that if Clark intercepted the car, he would reveal himself. And if she stayed still, the men from Brazil would take her.

She stood her ground, her auburn hair whipping around her face. She felt the ancient, dormant power of Asgard stir in her blood. It wasn't just martial arts anymore. She reached out, not with her hands, but with her will.

A stray dog that had been wandering near the fence suddenly bolted forward, barking with a ferocity that sounded like a lion’s roar. It leaped at the driver’s window, distracting the man just long enough for him to swerve.

The car slammed into a heavy equipment shed, the impact echoing across the field.

Clark was at the car door in an instant, tearing it open with his bare hands—realizing too late that Veena was standing right behind him. He froze, the metal door crumpled in his grip like a piece of tin foil.

He looked back at her, his face pale, his navy eyes filled with terror that he had finally been seen for what he was.

Veena didn't scream. She didn't run. She walked up to him, looked at the ruined car, and then looked at the man unconscious in the driver’s seat. She saw the tattoo on the man’s wrist—a serpent coiled around a dagger. The mark of the Syndicate back home.

"Clark," she whispered.

"Veena, I can explain," he started, his voice trembling. "I... I’m not..."

"You’re not human," she finished for him, her voice calm.

Clark slumped, the weight of the secret finally crushing him. "No. I’m not."

Veena stepped closer, leaning in so only he could hear. "Neither am I, Clark. Not entirely."

She opened her palm, and for a fleeting second, a small, ethereal bird made of pure blue light flickered into existence before dissolving into mist.

Clark’s jaw dropped. "What... what was that?"

"A long story," Veena said, her eyes turning toward the school where Chloe and Pete were running toward them. "But right now, we need to get that guy out of here before Chloe sees the door you just ripped off. And I think my parents have some explaining to do."

Clark looked at the crumpled metal in his hand and then at the girl who wasn't afraid of him. For the first time since he had landed in the cornfield, he didn't feel like an alien. He felt like a boy who had finally found someone who spoke his language.

"We’re going to be okay, aren't we?" Clark asked.

Veena looked at the horizon, sensing more of the Syndicate men approaching the town limits. She felt the strength of her father’s training and the untapped power of her father’s heritage rising within her.

"No," Veena said, a witty, dangerous smile playing on her lips. "We’re going to be legends."

As Chloe and Pete reached them, screaming questions and waving their arms, Veena and Clark stood side-by-side. The farm boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the celestial trainer from the heart of Brazil.

Smallville was no longer just a place to hide. It was a battlefield, and for the first time, neither of them had to fight alone.