Chapter 1: one breath too late
Chapter Text
1
one breath too late
Kara yanked against the cold, jagged manacles, only for white-hot pain to shoot through her wrists like molten steel being poured directly into her bones. The kryptonite wasn't just touching her skin—it was seeping into her, each crystal fragment a venomous parasite burrowing deeper with every second. With each desperate heartbeat, sickly emerald lines spider-webbed through her veins, glowing beneath her once-invulnerable skin. She could actually see it happening in horrifying detail, watching as the poisonous green crept up her forearms, branching into intricate, pulsating patterns that resembled dying constellations against the pale canvas of her flesh.
"Rao," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.
Every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass coated in acid, burning her lungs from the inside out. The fortress spun around her in nauseating waves, the once-majestic crystal walls—normally prismatic with a thousand shades of blue and white—now blurring into a sickening kaleidoscope as her vision flickered erratically. One second crystal-clear enough to count the microscopic facets in the ice sixty feet away, the next so fuzzy the room dissolved into smears of color like an impressionist painting left in the rain. She'd been punched by Daxamite warriors three times her size, thrown through reinforced concrete, even caught the full force of a nuclear blast once, and felt less pain than this.
The kryptonite didn't just hurt—it hollowed her out like a rusted spoon scraping her insides. Her muscles, usually coiled with the strength to stop runaway trains with her bare hands, now trembled uncontrollably. Her knees buckled with a sickening crack. Even her bones felt wrong, no longer the unbreakable Kryptonian steel they'd been since she’d arrived on Earth, but brittle and foreign, like they might crumble to chalky dust inside her at any moment.
Alex would have some science-y explanation, she thought hazily, something about radiation disrupting cellular integrity.
But Kara didn't need the scientific breakdown.
She just knew it felt like dying.
Lex Luthor stood before her, bathed in the eerie blue-white glow of the Phantom Zone projector. The alien light carved deep shadows beneath his hooded eyes and hollowed his cheeks, transforming his face into something skull-like, almost inhuman. His manicured fingers—the hands that had signed death warrants for dozens of metahumans—moved over the crystalline controls with the delicate precision of a concert pianist. Each microscopic adjustment was made with sickening care, his polished cufflinks catching the light, like a surgeon preparing to extract a still-beating heart.
“Don't worry, Supergirl," he sneered, finger hovering over the activation switch. "I hear the Phantom Zone is quite the vacation spot—all that infinite nothingness really clears the mind. Shame you'll have eternity to appreciate the... minimalist décor."
His words faded into the background as a flicker of movement drew Kara's gaze to the shadows behind him. She squinted, her vision swimming with green-tinged darkness at the edges. The kryptonite was messing with her eyes, making everything waver like she was underwater. But she'd know that silhouette anywhere—the one she'd spent four years pretending not to memorize—the proud tilt of her chin, the elegant line of shoulders beneath that tailored coat that hugged curves Kara had accidentally X-rayed through exactly once and never forgotten.
Lena.
Just days ago, Lena had appeared at her apartment door, mascara smudged beneath red-rimmed eyes, the same eyes that had looked at Kara with such hatred only weeks before.
"He manipulated me, Kara," Lena had said, voice cracking. "I was so angry at you for lying that I couldn't see Lex was using me. Using my tech to hurt people."
Even now, with poison crawling through her veins, Kara remembered how badly she'd wanted to pull Lena into her arms, even as part of her had flinched at the memory of Lena's cold voice saying "We're not friends”. The distance between them—a distance that had felt uncrossable for months—had suddenly seemed to shrink with each tear that slid down Lena's cheeks.
And then earlier that day, how Lena had turned away when Kara tried to say goodbye—a fierce refusal that felt both like rejection and protection. The memory still ached—Kara entrusting Myriad to Lena's safekeeping. The shock in Lena’s eyes. The weight of the device felt different this time as it left her fingers—not the leaden dread of a mistake being made, but the lightness of certainty. For the first time in months, Kara knew without doubt. She could trust Lena with Myriad—trust her completely. The memory dissolved as Kara's pain-fogged mind grappled with a new, terrifying question.
Why was Lena here at all?
She was supposed to be with Brainy right now, working to disable Lex's satellites.
Not here, where she could die.
Lex's finger descended toward the switch with theatrical slowness, his lips curling upward into a smile that never reached his cold, calculating eyes. The moment his manicured fingertip made contact, the projector hummed to life—a deep, resonant vibration that Kara felt in her hollow bones. Ancient Kryptonian crystals glowed from within, their lattice structures awakening with geometric patterns of light that hadn't been seen since Krypton's destruction.
Simultaneously, Lena stepped from the shadows, her skin pale as moonlight against the icy backdrop of the fortress, cheeks flushed from the cold. In her hands she clutched a sleek titanium cylinder, its surface etched with pulsing blue circuitry that cast cobalt patterns across her face, highlighting the fierce set of her jaw. Her fingers danced across a holographic interface, activating her device the exact instant the projector powered up.
A high-pitched harmonic trill erupted between the two machines—starting as a whisper that tickled the edge of hearing like fingernails on silk before climbing to a banshee wail. The kryptonite-infused beam shot from the projector toward her, toxic green and writhing like something alive, pulsing with venomous heartbeats, tendrils of radiation reaching hungrily for her already-poisoned flesh. Kara’s muscles tensed instinctively, though she couldn't move, couldn't escape, her body betraying her with microscopic flinches that only drove the manacles deeper into her wrists.
Midway between the projector and Kara’s body, the beam collided with an invisible barrier.
It snapped back like a whip, splintering into fragments of emerald and sapphire energy that hissed and spat like angry cats.
Lex spun, his triumphant smile freezing mid-sneer as he caught sight of his sister. Recognition flashed across his features, followed by disbelief, then horror. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin as pale as the ice walls surrounding them. "You—what have you done?"
"What I should have done months ago," Lena said, her voice steady despite the chaos. "Your game ends here."
Frost crystals vibrated loose from the fortress walls, each one a perfect six-sided snowflake magnified to the size of a dime, catching the competing blue-white and toxic green lights. They created a swirling galaxy of diamond dust that hung suspended in the frigid air before being violently sucked into the swirling nexus between the competing technologies, spiraling inward like water down a drain. The fractured energy crackled wildly through the air with the scent of ozone and burning metal, casting frantic, dancing shadows across the ice walls that stretched and contracted, as though the fortress itself had come alive with ancient Kryptonian magic awakening from millennia of slumber.
A vortex ripped open between the two siblings, a spinning maelstrom of darkness that swallowed light itself, its outer rim ringed with electric-blue and acid-green lightning. The air itself cracked open with a sound like shattering glass, pressure dropping so suddenly that Kara's ears popped painfully and her sinuses compressed into a knife-point of agony behind her eyes. Microscopic ice crystals formed in the air by the thousands, glittering in the strobing light like diamond dust suspended in oil. The temperature plummeted thirty degrees in seconds, and even through the kryptonite burning in her veins like liquid fire, Kara felt the new, biting cold seep into her bones.
"I'm finishing this, Lex," Lena shouted over the dimensional storm. "For good."
Lex stumbled backward from the vortex, his polished veneer crumbling. "You're making a mistake," he shouted back. "We're Luthors! We don't sacrifice ourselves—we make others do that!"
"That's the difference between us," Lena replied, her device pulsing brighter in her hands as she stepped closer to the swirling void.
Understanding crashed through Kara with the force like a meteor impact. The device. The positioning. Lena wasn't just trying to stop the projector—she was going to drag Lex into the Phantom Zone herself. Their eyes met across the chaos, and in Lena's sea-glass gaze, Kara saw the goodbye she wasn't saying aloud.
"Lena, don't do this!" Kara called out, her voice thin and ragged as her kryptonite-poisoned vocal cords strained.
For just a moment, Lena's expression softened. "I wish we had more time," she said, barely audible above the dimensional storm. "There's so much I never—"
A blinding flash erupted, white-hot and electric, searing Kara's retinas with the intensity of a thousand suns. The vortex collapsed inward like a dying star, reality folding in concentric rings of emerald and sapphire. The air itself seemed to bend and distort around the imploding portal, creating a vacuum that pulled at Kara's hair and clothes with desperate fingers. In an instant that seemed to stretch forever—where each heartbeat thundered in slow motion against her ribs—both Luthors vanished. Lex's face frozen in a rictus of disbelief, Lena's eyes locked on Kara's until the very last molecule of her disappeared, swallowed by the hungry void that snapped shut behind them with a sound like the universe taking a final breath.
"Lena!" Kara screamed, the sound torn from somewhere deep inside her.
The Phantom Zone projector tumbled through the air in slow motion before smashing against the crystalline floor. It bounced once with a hollow metallic clang, then convulsed on the ground, spitting final sparks before going dark. Then silence, absolute and crushing.
Kara lay limp in her kryptonite shackles. The physical agony receded beneath the cavernous emptiness expanding behind her sternum, a black hole devouring her from within. Her hair hung in sweat-soaked tendrils across her ashen face, clinging to her bloodless lips. Tears welled from her bloodshot eyes, crystallizing instantly on her cheekbones in the fortress's sub-zero atmosphere, tiny diamonds of grief glittering under the fractured light.
Her mind replayed their history in merciless detail. Twelve months of festering wounds and caustic words exchanged like poisoned daggers. The moment when she'd placed that chessboard between them, voice breaking as she revealed Lex had told her everything. Their subsequent orbit around each other like binary stars locked in mutual destruction, both bleeding, both armored in pride too thick to penetrate. And now, in the cruel instant they'd begun reconstructing their shattered trust, molecule by painstaking molecule, Lena had vanished into dimensional nothingness.
Kara knew the Phantom Zone too well—a timeless pocket dimension where consciousness persisted without physical aging. Lena would be aware in that nothingness. Thinking. Feeling. Existing in that void for what would feel like forever. The thought made bile rise in Kara's throat, a nausea that had nothing to do with the green poison still pulsing through her.
Footsteps crunched on ice, breaking the silence.
"Kara!" Alex's voice, panicked.
Her sister skidded to a stop, fumbling with a specialized DEO tool that snapped open the kryptonite cuffs. The moment they released, Alex kicked them across the ice floor, sending them skittering away with a metallic scrape until they collided with the far wall.
Kara collapsed into Alex's arms, too weak even to hold on.
The angry green lines receded from her veins, slowly at first, then faster as the toxic mineral's proximity diminished. The burn marks around her wrists faded from blistering crimson to raw pink. Strength seeped back into her limbs, each cell in her body gradually reawakening under the fortress's filtered sunlight.
But inside, she remained shattered. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, fingers curled into a half-fist against her lips, trying to contain the sob building in her chest.
"Lena..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "She saved me. She—and Lex—they're trapped in the Phantom Zone."
"What? How?" Alex's eyes widened, her grip on Kara tightening.
"She used some kind of device—it interfered with the projector." Even as her heart broke, Kara's mind pieced together what had happened. "She created a feedback loop. She knew what she was doing, Alex. She knew–"
The truth crashed into Kara's consciousness with the force of a collapsing star. Lena had come back to her, had chosen to stand by her side again—only to be torn away into endless nothing. All the words Kara had swallowed rose like ghosts between them now—the explanations about her dual life left too late, the justifications for years of deception turned to ash, and worst of all, the confession that had lived behind her ribs since that first interview, when Lena's eyes had met hers and something electric had sparked to life in Kara's chest.
"I have to get her back," Kara whispered, pushing herself up on arms that still trembled. The last traces of green faded from her veins, but a new determination flooded in to replace it. "I don't care what it takes."
Chapter 2: fracture
Summary:
Lena expected death.
Instead, she wakes in a place that has never heard of gravity or mercy.The Phantom Zone is not empty—it’s aware. It studies her. It shows her faces she can’t bear to see, uses her thoughts against her, twists Kara into a weapon made of memory and guilt. Lex is here too, but he’s not the worst thing stalking her. The Zone wants to break her down to whatever she is at her core—and it’s very good at peeling people apart.
Lena runs. The shadows follow.
And one of them looks exactly like Kara.
Chapter Text
2
fracture
Lena's world shattered into a kaleidoscope of fractured light and sensation—crimson shards, cobalt fragments, emerald splinters—all spinning through her consciousness like broken stained glass. One heartbeat, she stood in the crystalline fortress, the dimensional device's metal edges biting into her trembling fingers, its weight like a cold stone in her palm. Kara's desperate sapphire eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, locked on hers across a distance that felt both infinite and microscopic. The next instant, she plunged through a void that peeled her apart—first her skin, then muscle, then bone—molecule by molecule, her very DNA unraveling like a cashmere sweater caught on a jagged nail, each individual nerve ending screaming in high-pitched, discordant protest.
The impact came without warning. Her body slammed against a surface that yielded like half-frozen mud before solidifying beneath her, knocking the breath from her lungs in a painful rush that tasted like copper pennies, winter air, and something acrid—like licking a battery. Gravity pulled from six directions simultaneously, making her stomach lurch and twist as if she were both falling from a skyscraper and floating in zero gravity, like that sickening moment before an elevator plummets twenty floors. Lena's palms scraped against what felt like pumice stone mixed with microscopic glass shards, drawing pinpricks of blood that beaded black in this strange light. When she finally blinked away the kaleidoscope afterimages dancing across her vision, the ground beneath her appeared translucent yet impenetrable, shifting like smoke that had somehow been solidified into obsidian mirrors that reflected nothing—not her face, not the strange sky above, not even the blood now dripping from her lacerated palms.
Gasping for breath, Lena hauled herself to her knees. The fail-safe device lay in ruins, its once-gleaming cobalt circuitry now a lifeless lattice of fractured wires and microchips, tiny fragments glinting like scattered beetle shells in the dim light. She froze as the seconds bled into one another, then pressed trembling fingers to the ground. Instantly she was confronted by contradiction. The surface felt as smooth as polished obsidian yet granular like coarse sand; it was cool to the touch, yet emitted an almost electric warmth, a low hum of static under her skin. As she tilted her head, the color of the terrain seemed to shift beneath her gaze—sometimes a void-black that swallowed her vision, other times a bruised ultraviolet purple, then a liquid silver that ran in iridescent veins like living circuitry.
All around her lay an endless expanse without horizon or compass. No sky, no ceiling, only a vast, claustrophobic infinity. A void writhed with suspended geometries—tetrahedrons, dodecahedrons, fractal lattices stretching into infinity, blinking in and out of existence like cryptic runes. Their surfaces shimmered with impossible hues beyond any human spectrometer’s range, sometimes coalescing into the outline of a human face before dissolving into chaotic color once more. No obvious light source—only occasional flickers at the edge of her peripheral vision, as though distant stars were blinking on and off. Her rational mind cataloged every variable even as her heart hammered in panic.
Lena’s scientist mind raced through every quantum theory, every exotic material she’d ever studied, searching for a match. Even the air—if such a word applied—felt alien in her lungs, as though she were inhaling a blend of burning oil, rusty iron, and the metallic tang of old blood. Each exhale formed pale, luminescent motes that spiraled upward in perfect, mathematical arcs before dissolving into nothingness. She forced herself upright, planting blood-soaked palms against her thighs.
"The Phantom Zone," she whispered, her voice sounding strange in the airless space that somehow still carried sound. The dimensional pocket universe she'd read about in Lex's stolen files. A prison realm outside time and space.
A wet, guttural groan sounded to her right—half-human, half-animal, like the death rattle of something caught in a trap. Lex lay sprawled several yards away, his once-immaculate charcoal Armani coat now torn at the shoulder seam, revealing the burgundy silk lining beneath. His face—that face she'd seen on magazine covers and news broadcasts, always composed, always calculating—now contorted in primal fury as he struggled to orient himself, his manicured fingers with their buffed nails clawing at the obsidian ground like pale spiders. Blood trickled from a jagged two-inch cut above his right eye, forming a crimson rivulet that traced the hollow of his temple before collecting in the whorled cavity of his ear like a tiny scarlet pool, stark against his pallid skin that had taken on an almost translucent, wax-paper quality in the Phantom Zone's alien light that cast no shadows.
"You stupid, sentimental fool," he snarled, staggering to his feet. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Lena rose unsteadily, fighting the disorienting sensation of the Phantom Zone's unnatural physics. "Exactly what I intended. Stopped you from killing her."
"By trapping us both in a dimensional hell?" Lex's laugh was brittle as he took a lurching step toward her. "Throwing yourself into interdimensional exile for a woman who flies around in a cape and primary colors? How very... touching. I do hope she sends a Christmas card to whatever corner of non-existence we're occupying."
Lena's lips curved into a smile as sharp as broken glass. "Funny," she said, backing away. "I was just thinking how predictably Luthor of you to assume everyone shares your pathetic obsessions."
Lex lunged suddenly, a blur of expensive fabric and rage, faster than she anticipated. His fingers—cold and dry like talons—closed around her throat with surprising strength, each digit pressing into the delicate hollows between her tendons. The pressure drove her backward until her spine collided with something solid that sent a jolt of pain radiating between her vertebrae. A jagged rock formation jutted from the shifting ground. The landscape itself seemed to breathe and undulate around them, reality stretching thin as mercury, rearranging itself like a living nightmare responding to their darkest thoughts.
"I gave you everything," he hissed, his face inches from hers, spittle flying from his lips. His eyes burned with a madness that had always lurked beneath the surface, now unleashed without restraint. "I made you. Taught you. And you throw it all away for her?"
Lena clawed at his hands, her manicured nails leaving crimson half-moons in his flesh as she fought for air. Black spots like obsidian ink blots danced at the edges of her vision as his grip tightened, his knuckles whitening against the alabaster column of her throat. Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, a strange crystalline clarity washed over her—the bitter irony that after surviving assassination attempts by poisoned champagne, hostile corporate takeovers orchestrated from shadowy boardrooms, and alien invasions that rained fire from emerald skies, it would be her own brother who killed her in this timeless prison where even the dust seemed suspended in perpetual twilight.
"She... flies around in a cape," Lex spat, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "While I tried to save humanity. And you chose her."
With her remaining strength, Lena drove her knee upward, connecting with the soft hollow beneath Lex's ribcage. He doubled over with a strangled grunt and she twisted her body sideways—a move from the self-defense classes she'd taken after the third assassination attempt—breaking his grip. His manicured nails scraped her collarbone as she tore away, her blouse ripping at the shoulder. She staggered back, vision swimming, and hit something hard. The strange not-quite-air of the Phantom Zone filled her lungs—metallic and thin. Each breath scraped her bruised throat, tasting of pennies and ozone.
"I chose what was right," she rasped, massaging her bruised neck. "Something you've never understood."
Lex straightened, his face twisting into something barely recognizable as human—cheeks hollowed into sharp ravines, eyes bulging with rage beneath the ridge of his brow, lips peeled back to reveal teeth that gleamed like wet ivory in the Phantom Zone's spectral light. In the distance, something howled—a sound that shouldn't exist in this airless realm, a keening wail that vibrated through the obsidian ground beneath their feet rather than through the atmosphere, sending ripples of dread up Lena's spine like icy fingers. They both froze, heads turning toward the noise that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Something moved across the gray horizon. Wraith-like entities—humanoid only in the loosest sense—drifted through the non-atmosphere. One had a torso that folded in on itself like origami of flesh, its limbs multiplying and retracting in rhythmic pulses. Another's neck corkscrewed a full three-hundred-sixty degrees while its eyes—milky orbs with vertical pupils—remained fixed on Lena. Their skin, if it could be called that, rippled with translucent patches revealing crystalline structures beneath that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the Phantom Zone's spectral light. They left quantum echoes behind them—afterimages that decayed into particles that defied the laws of physics. They moved with the terrible precision of apex predators who had evolved in this pocket dimension, their bodies perfectly adapted to its warped reality. As they closed the distance, Lena could see how the very fabric of this prison realm bent around them, as though they were gravitational singularities drawing all matter toward their hunger.
"We're not alone," Lex murmured, his fury cooling into something far more dangerous—the cold precision of a predator assessing its options. The sudden shift in his demeanor sent ice through Lena's veins—this was the Lex she feared most, the one whose mind worked like a chess computer, always fifteen moves ahead. He turned back to her, extending a hand, a new light gleaming in his eyes. "We need each other to survive this place, sister dear."
Lena's throat constricted, the phantom pressure of his fingers still burning against her skin. She could feel the bruises forming, tender and throbbing with each heartbeat. The approaching shadows elongated across the obsidian ground, their movements fluid yet wrong—like watching insects skitter beneath water.
"I'd rather take my chances with them," she rasped, the words scraping against her damaged vocal cords.
She turned and ran.
The Phantom Zone's warped physics made each step a betrayal of instinct—one moment her legs churned through invisible molasses, muscles straining against resistance that wasn't there, then suddenly she'd become weightless, stomach lurching as her foot met nothing but absence where solid ground should be. Her lungs burned with each ragged inhalation of metallic not-quite-air, seeming to crystallize in her throat before reluctantly dissolving into her bloodstream. The obsidian ground beneath her shifted and rippled, throwing back reflections that weren't quite right—her seven-year-old self with eyes too knowing, her forty-year-old face lined with cruelties she hadn't yet committed, and sometimes a creature with her cheekbones but scaled skin that smiled with needle teeth.
Behind her, Lex's voice shattered the eerie silence. "Lena! Don't be a fool!" His words seemed to bounce and echo, coming from multiple directions at once. "You don't know what they are! What they'll do to you!"
She risked a glance over her shoulder.
Lex stood where she'd left him, his figure already seeming smaller against the vast gray emptiness, but the shadowy entities had changed course—now moving toward him with predatory purpose. Her feet stopped. Her throat tightened. The boy who'd taught her chess, who'd held her small hand in the observatory and traced constellations with her finger now faced oblivion. His voice echoed in her memory: "Check your knights, Lena. Always protect your knights." But that same hand had locked kryptonite manacles around Kara's wrists. That same voice had laughed as Kara screamed—the woman whose friendship Lena clung to with desperate fingers, while something deeper and more terrifying than the Phantom Zone itself lurked beneath her racing pulse whenever their eyes met. Lena's body swayed forward, then back, caught between two gravitational pulls of equal, terrible strength.
"LENA!" His scream tore across the distance, desperate now as the shadows converged. "WITHOUT ME, THIS PLACE BECOMES YOUR TOMB!"
She made her choice. Her legs pumped harder, each footfall carrying her away from Lex, away from the boy who'd once accepted her and called her "the lost princess" after they'd watched Anastasia together, his arm around her shoulders as the credits rolled and toward an unknown that might kill her. The terrain changed without warning—glass-smooth to jagged and back again. Her designer boots slipped; she stumbled, caught herself with outstretched hands that came away slick with something that wasn't quite blood, wasn't quite oil. The substance evaporated from her palms like dry ice, leaving behind a numbness that crawled up her wrists like guilt.
"YOU'LL DIE OUT THERE ALONE!" Lex's voice grew fainter, distorted. "YOU NEED ME!"
The numbness in her hands intensified, spreading up her forearms like liquid nitrogen flowing through her veins. Panic clawed at her chest with talons of ice. Was this place already changing her? Consuming her? She forced herself onward, the horizon never seeming to grow closer despite her desperate pace, stretching away like a mirage in reverse. The distant, fractured lights overhead—not stars but something more primordial—pulsed in sickly violet and jaundiced yellow, synchronizing with her racing heart, as if the very fabric of this prison realm responded to her fear, feeding on it.
Something flickered in her peripheral vision—a shadow that seemed to peel itself from the obsidian landscape like wet silk separating from skin, leaving behind a wound in reality. Unlike the others converging on Lex, this one moved with singular, terrible purpose, its form elongating and contracting as it glided toward her, sometimes ten feet tall, sometimes compressed to a hunched silhouette barely three feet high. The entity left a trail of rippling distortion in its wake—a shimmering heat-haze effect that bent light into impossible angles and fractured colors into their component wavelengths—as if reality itself recoiled from its touch, leaving microscopic tears in the dimensional fabric that slowly knitted themselves back together.
Lena ran faster, each footfall sending shockwaves of pain through her ankles. The numbness had spread past her elbows now, her arms swinging with a disconnected weightlessness that made them feel like foreign appendages. Her lungs scraped raw against the metallic air that tasted increasingly like blood and copper pennies. The ground beneath her feet shifted treacherously—one moment solid as marble, the next yielding like half-frozen mud.
"Stay away," she gasped, though whether to the shadow or to the creeping panic that threatened to overwhelm her rational mind, she couldn't be sure.
The shadow accelerated, its form no longer merely dark but negatively present—an absence that consumed light rather than blocked it. Its non-substance rippled with quantum instability as it phased partially in and out of dimensional existence. A sound emanated from it—the psychic echo of a thousand prisoners' final moments—that bypassed her ears entirely and reverberated directly against her spine.
Lena risked another glance over her shoulder and stumbled as reality stuttered around her. For a fraction of a second, the phantom's form seemed to contain something else—a flash of gold that might have been hair, a hint of crimson that couldn't possibly be here. The impression vanished before her conscious mind could grasp it, leaving only the dimensional predator bearing down on her.
"Kara?" The name tore from her bruised throat before she could stop it.
The shadow wavered, then took form—Kara floating there, blonde hair defying the non-gravity of this place, wearing that same expression she'd had in the fortress when Lena had revealed her betrayal. Her lips parted, mouthing what looked like "I trusted you" before the apparition began to dissolve at its edges, like watercolor bleeding into wet paper.
Lena's heart seized in her chest. "I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know I broke everything." She reached toward the vision with numb fingers, a desperate plea in her eyes. "But I'm trying to fix it, Kara, I swear I'm—"
Her outstretched hand passed through empty air, fingers closing around nothingness where Kara's solid warmth should have been. The hallucination dissolved like smoke caught in a sudden draft, particles of hope scattering into the void. In its place loomed the advancing shadow entity, now close enough that Lena could make out its impossible anatomy—a roiling darkness that seemed to fold inward upon itself in defiance of physics, its surface rippling with negative light that hurt her eyes to track. Within its depths, crystalline structures briefly formed and shattered, catching what little illumination existed and refracting it into prismatic wrongness. Occasional glimpses of something that might have been eyes, or teeth, or neither—organic geometries that her brain refused to process—pulsed beneath its undulating surface.
Lena's scientific mind clicked into gear even as she backed away. "Neurological manipulation," she whispered, cataloging symptoms with clinical accuracy despite her racing heart. "Visual hallucinations, emotional amplification. The Phantom Zone must operate on quantum frequencies that directly interface with the limbic system."
The shadow entity pulsed, stretching upward into a crown of writhing tendrils, each tipped with a pinpoint of light mimicking the fractured not-stars overhead. Lena observed the hypnotic rhythm of the lights, noting how her own alpha waves seemed to synchronize with them—a textbook entrainment response.
"Fascinating technique," she muttered, pressing her fingertips to her temples to measure her own pulse. The numbness in her arms made the gesture feel clinical, detached. "But predictable. A Luthor knows psychological warfare when she sees it."
The shadow entity emitted that spine-vibrating sound—a frequency that bypassed her ears entirely and resonated directly through her vertebrae, making each individual disc feel as though it might separate from the next. This time, however, Lena could almost discern words within the acoustic distortion, syllables that slithered against her consciousness like cold, wet fingers dragging across the surface of her brain, leaving trails of oily residue in their wake.
Luthor... sister... betrayer…
A fresh surge of adrenaline cut through the mental fog. Lena spun and sprinted away from the entity, her vision blurring at the edges as if someone had smeared petroleum jelly on a camera lens. The hallucination of Kara flickered in and out of her peripheral vision, sometimes ahead, sometimes beside her. The ground beneath her feet began to slope downward, the obsidian surface pulsing like a living thing. Her sense of balance wavered; up became sideways, then diagonal. Jagged formations jutted up without warning—were they growing toward her or was she falling toward them?
You cannot escape what you are, the voice slithered directly into her brainstem, somehow keeping pace despite her desperate flight. The words tasted like copper pennies on her tongue though she hadn't spoken them. You cannot escape what you've done.
"Watch me," Lena hissed through gritted teeth.
The slope steepened without warning, transforming from a gentle decline into a near-vertical sheet of volcanic glass. Her right foot skidded across the mirror-slick obsidian, her leather boot finding no purchase as her ankle twisted with a sickening pop. White-hot pain lanced from her instep to her knee, radiating upward like lightning through a storm cloud. She pitched forward, her arms hanging like dead weights at her sides, fingers tingling with pins-and-needles numbness that rendered them useless. Her left shoulder slammed against the crystalline ground with enough force to send hairline fractures spiderwebbing across the glossy black surface. The impact drove every molecule of oxygen from her lungs in a painful whoosh. For one suspended moment—a heartbeat stretched into infinity—she lay stunned, staring upward at the fractured not-sky where violet-edged fissures pulsed like infected wounds in reality itself.
Then the obsidian beneath her shattered with the delicate tinkling sound of breaking champagne flutes, and the ground simply... vanished.
Lena plummeted into absolute darkness, her stomach lurching into her throat as gravity reasserted itself with cruel intensity. The fall seemed to stretch into eternity, the air rushing past her face growing colder with each passing second until it burned her cheeks.
As she fell, the void around her began to shift and change, taking on shapes and colors that writhed. Faces materialized from the nothingness—Lex's features coalescing like oil on water, his lips curled in a sneer that revealed too many teeth; her mother's glacial eyes materializing first, floating disembodied before the rest of her face assembled itself; Jack Spheer's face forming from particles that seemed to bleed upward against her fall, his expression crumpling like tissue paper soaked in grief; and Kara... always Kara, her golden hair igniting like a corona against the blackness, fingers outstretched with nails that left comet-trails of light, her features contorted in such exquisite anguish that the sight of it carved hollows beneath Lena's ribs.
Something brushed against her face—soft as a whisper, cold as death, leaving a trail of numbness like frostbite across her cheekbone. Her eyes flew open to find tendrils of living shadow wrapping around her falling body, each one undulating with oily iridescence that defied the darkness surrounding them. They coiled around her wrists, her ankles, her waist—constricting with a deliberate slowness that mimicked tenderness. The tendrils pulsed with that same hypnotic rhythm, their surfaces rippling like black mercury, and as they tightened around her limbs, Lena felt consciousness beginning to slip away, her thoughts fragmenting like shards of broken glass.
The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Kara's face forming in the void once more—not a hallucination this time, but a memory crystallizing with painful clarity. Those blue eyes, impossibly deep, shimmering with unshed tears that caught the light like trapped stars behind Kryptonian-blue irises. A single droplet escaped, tracking down her sun-kissed cheek. Kara's lips, slightly chapped from flight, moved in slow motion, forming three words that Lena had never allowed herself to hope for, had never believed could be meant for her—each syllable distinct and devastating in its sincerity.
Chapter 3: rage is a kind of oxygen
Summary:
Kara snaps.
The Tower becomes collateral damage as she learns the truth: Lena walked into The Fortress fully aware that she might be pulled into the Phantom Zone with Lex and she never told Kara because she knew Kara would try to stop her. Brainy reveals he helped build the device. Kara lashes out, grief turning volatile, until the team finally stops treating her like a bomb and starts acting formulating a plan.
J’onn wants a ship.
Alex wants a strategy.
Kara just wants Lena back.
Notes:
Y’all better be damn proud of yourselves because I do not do math or quantum-science-techno-babble for anybody, and somehow this fic has me deep-diving into breach physics, dimensional stability, and tachyon equations like I passed AP Calculus instead of crying in the bathroom the entire time.
I sat down to write a little emotional breakdown scene and suddenly I’m diagramming interdimensional oscillation matrices at 2 AM.
This fandom has me doing algebra.
For lesbians.Anyway—enjoy the chapter. I’m emotionally compromised and legally exhausted.
Chapter Text
3
rage is a kind of oxygen
Kara slammed her fist into the command console, the reinforced titanium-alloy buckling beneath her knuckles with a shriek that echoed off the Tower's vaulted ceiling. Tiny fractures spiderwebbed across the brushed metal surface like lightning strikes, and the holographic display—a constellation of blue and gold data points mapping dimensional anomalies—flickered dangerously before stabilizing with a series of electronic chirps. The sudden violence sent everyone in the Tower lurching backward—everyone except Brainy, who stood his ground with that maddeningly calm expression, his fingers clasped behind his back.
"You will accomplish nothing by destroying our equipment," he said, his voice maintaining that infuriating evenness. "Except perhaps limiting our already constrained options."
"Options?" Kara's voice cracked like thunder. The rage that had been building since the Fortress—since watching Lena vanish into that dimensional nightmare—threatened to consume her from within, burning hotter than heat vision behind her eyes. "Lena is trapped in the Phantom Zone, Brainy! With Lex! And you're standing there telling me you helped her build the device that put her there?"
J'onn stepped forward, his massive frame interposing itself between Kara and the console. "Kara," he said, his deep voice carrying that familiar note of measured authority. "We all understand your distress—"
"No, you don't!" The words tore from her throat, raw and jagged. "None of you understand what that place is like. What it does to you. Every second there feels like an eternity of—" She broke off, memories of her own imprisonment in the Phantom Zone threatening to overwhelm her. The isolation. The distortions of reality. The creatures that fed on fear and despair.
And Lena was there now.
Because of her.
Alex moved to her side, reaching for her arm with cautious fingers. "Kara, breathe. We're going to figure this out."
Kara jerked away from her sister's touch, unable to bear comfort she didn't deserve. Her gaze locked on Brainy again, blue eyes blazing with accusation. "She was supposed to be here, working with you on stopping the satellites. That was the plan. Instead, she shows up at the Fortress with some—some dimensional device?"
Nia shifted uncomfortably from her position near the medical bay where Kelly was silently monitoring the exchange, her eyes missing nothing. "Kara, maybe if we all just—"
"I want answers!" Kara's voice rose to a shout. A tremor ran through the floor beneath their feet—she was unconsciously hovering an inch above the ground, her powers responding to her emotional state.
The Tower fell into a silence so complete that Kara could hear the electrical hum of the Tower's Martian technology beneath the floor. Alex's heartbeat quickened beside her; J'onn's remained steady as a metronome. Brainy's shoulders tensed microscopically before he exhaled and tapped his Legion ring twice with his index finger. Blue-white light erupted between them, coalescing into a three-dimensional schematic that rotated slowly in midair—a sleek titanium cylinder no larger than a thermos, its surface etched with fractal circuitry patterns that pulsed with ghostly light. Kara's stomach dropped as she recognized the Kryptonian glyphs embedded within the alien geometry.
Brainy's hands hovered over the holoprojection, wrists flickering as he adjusted parameters. The hologram expanded to reveal Lena's handwriting—elegant cursive annotations crowding the margins of technical blueprints. Her device rotated slowly at the center: a sleek cylinder bristling with exposed circuitry, unmistakably human-made yet impossibly complex. As Brainy's fingers traced the air, cross-sections bloomed outward like petals—revealing cooling systems, power conduits, and the oscillation chamber designed specifically to counteract the Phantom Zone projector.
“The apparatus Lena deployed—” Brainy’s voice was infuriatingly calm, as though explaining a minor programming bug— “is built around a quantum-entangled oscillation matrix. It leverages inverse tachyon fields, carefully tuned to the Phantom Zone projector’s unique dimensional resonance. In more basic terms, it generates a counter-frequency perfectly harmonized to the projector’s own subspatial signature. When activated in proximity—2.7 meters, to be precise—it initiates a feedback cascade in the projector’s hyperdimensional substrate, causing the interdimensional aperture to collapse inward along its event horizon. The resultant effect is a targeted entropic acceleration that renders the projector inert.”
Alex’s eyebrows drew together in a pained knot, her patience straining. “Brainy, can we get a translation that doesn’t require a PhD in theoretical physics?”
He blinked once. “It makes the bad machine explode, and then it ceases to exist.”
Kara’s hands balled into fists at her sides. The knuckles shone bone-white through her skin, and the air pressure in the room ticked up a notch as her body responded to the spike in adrenaline. “And you didn’t think to tell me that Lena was about to go off and do something suicidal?”
Brainy cocked his head. “It was Lena’s explicit request that you be kept out of the operational loop. She cited statistical models indicating a 94.7% probability that you would attempt to intercept or otherwise impede the mission parameters if you were aware of the details. Her words were, ‘There’s no scenario in which Kara lets me do what needs to be done if she knows what it is’.”
Kara glared at him, the heat vision barely restrained and visible in the gold flare beneath her irises. “She was right,” Kara ground out. “She shouldn’t have had to do it at all. That’s why we’re a team—so one of us doesn’t have to be the idiot hero.”
Brainy’s mouth quirked. “I believe Lena would take exception to your use of ‘idiot’. Her approach was methodical, if highly dangerous. We ran simulations. The highest-probability outcome was destruction of the projector, which, I admit, did occur.” His voice stumbled for the briefest instant. “But there was always a nonzero chance—12.3%—that the interdimensional collapse would pull the nearest non-native consciousness into the Phantom Zone. Lena calculated that risk. She chose to accept it.”
Alex’s voice was tight. “So Lena walked into a live field of cosmic shrapnel knowing exactly what she was risking?”
“Correct,” Brainy said. “She was aware of the quantum bleed effect and the likeliest vector for containment failure. She also knew that, because Lex’s neural signature was already entangled with the device, it was almost guaranteed he’d be drawn in as well.”
Kara was shaking, the tremor subtle but unmistakable. “She went after Lex alone. She didn’t even give me the chance to—” She cut herself off, words snagging and unraveling under the weight of sudden, vast helplessness.
J’onn stepped forward, arms folded tightly across his chest. His voice was a rumble edged with grief. “She did what she always does, Kara. She protected you, even when it meant sacrificing herself.”
Kara’s anger buckled under the statement, replaced by something raw and ragged. She ran both hands through her hair, then let them drop to her sides, her gaze unfocused. “She didn’t have to save me,” she said quietly. “I could have handled Lex. I could have handled anything if she’d just—” She stopped, unable to finish.
The words triggered a ripple across the team. Brainy looked away, unable to meet Kara’s eyes. J’onn lowered his chin in silent agreement. Kelly, who had been standing on the threshold of the med bay, finally stepped forward, her stance as steady as a lighthouse in storm. “Kara, you’re not the only one hurting. Yelling at Brainy isn’t–”
She whirled on Kelly, the force of her movement abrupt enough to make even J’onn flinch. “And what do you want me to do? Sit here and let everyone be okay with the fact that Lena’s gone because of me?”
Kelly’s voice didn’t waver. “No. I want you to do what you do best—fight for the people you love. But you can’t do that if you’re tearing apart the only people who can help you.”
Kara swallowed hard, the fight bleeding out of her. “I just—” Her voice cracked, and she turned away from the group, staring at the still-spinning holoprojection. “Why didn’t she trust me?” She didn’t seem to realize she’d said it aloud.
Alex moved in, her hand landing on Kara’s shoulder with a weight that was both grounding and impossible to refuse. “She did trust you, Kara. She trusted you more than anyone. That’s why she took this on herself. She didn’t want you to have to make the call.” Alex’s words came softer now, meant only for Kara. “She left because she believed she was the only one who could do it.”
A broken laugh slipped past her lips. “She always thinks she has to fix it alone. That there’s never another way.”
Brainy, standing slightly apart, watched them with a sorrow that looked wrong on his face. “It was the only way, given Lex’s unpredictability. If we had delayed, even by minutes, he would have executed his plan. Lena’s intervention stopped a global catastrophe. It saved millions of lives.”
Nia’s eyes narrowed, her voice low. “But no one saved Lena.”
For a long time, no one spoke. The holographic schematic continued its silent pirouette in the air, azure light spilling across their faces as the three-dimensional blueprint of Lena's device rotated on invisible axes. Each crystalline component and circuit pathway was rendered in perfect detail—a reminder of the improbable gamble she had taken and the long odds she'd chosen to play. Kara watched it, her face unreadable beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, but her body language said everything. Coiled energy, a readiness to move that had nowhere to go except inward, where it threatened to consume her from within.
Alex broke the silence first, her voice firmer than before. “If she’s alive—”
Kara's response came without hesitation. "She's alive." Her jaw set, a familiar steel returning to her posture despite the shadows beneath her eyes. "And I'm bringing her home." She bent toward the hologram, fingers hovering just above the glowing symbols, as if she might extract solutions from their light. "There has to be something,” she murmured, voice tight. “Someone who’s done this before...”
Brainy’s voice cut through her hope like a blade. “The primary challenge isn’t merely crossing dimensions—it’s maintaining portal stability long enough for both ingress and egress.” His Legion ring glowed, projecting a second lattice of equations in electric blue. “The Phantom Zone exists on the outside of spacetime. Normal physics unravel at its boundary.”
Alex stepped closer, arms falling to her sides as she absorbed the revelation. “So we need to lock a portal at its event horizon—just long enough to get in and out. And shield ourselves from—”
“No,” Kara interrupted. “I go alone.”
J’onn pivoted, his vast silhouette framed by the amber light. “Absolutely not.” His words reverberated through the chamber. He softened as he saw the flicker of hurt in Kara’s eyes. “We’ll prepare my vessel. No one—especially not you—ventures in alone.”
“J’onn, I appreciate the care, but—”
“It’s not care,” he cut in, voice low and firm. “It’s necessity. You, better than anyone, know that the Phantom Zone preys on trauma. It dredges up every fear, twists memories into torment.” His words hung like stones in the air.
Memories flashed across Kara's mind. Tiny fingers pressed against the curved glass of her pod, watching stars blink out one by one as the void swallowed Krypton's light. The phantom flames that had consumed her world reduced to silent flickers beyond her small sanctuary. She closed her eyes against the memory of that endless suspended animation, the years passing while she remained frozen in childhood.
“My ship can be modified,” J’onn continued, gentler now. “But Martian tech alone won’t suffice for dimensional breaches. We require a specialist.”
Brainy’s head snapped up as though struck by lightning. “Silas White.”
Alex frowned, brows knitting. “The S.T.A.R. Labs engineer? The one who pioneered the breach tech?”
“The very same.” Brainy’s eyes glittered with excitement and caution. “After the Crisis, he withdrew from the world. He’s refined theories on stable interdimensional gateways that could mesh with my 31st‐century frameworks. Yet the community deems him… unorthodox.”
“I don't care if he howls at the moon and wears tinfoil hats,” Kara said, tone razor‐sharp. “If he can get us to Lena, that’s all that matters.”
Nia stepped forward, luminous eyes distant as if peering through time. “I’ve seen him,” she whispered. “In dreams. A man bathed in blue light, constructing a doorway to nowhere and everywhere.” She blinked, shedding the vision. “He’s in Coast City—living in a deserted lighthouse.”
J’onn nodded, decisive at last. “Then that’s our mission. Kara and Brainy will locate Silas White and secure his cooperation. Alex and I will begin retrofitting my vessel for dimensional integrity.” He punched a sequence into the console and the glyphs shifted into schematics. “We’ll need to reinforce the hull with a quantum stabilizer matrix—something that can hold form when reality itself unravels.”
Kelly cleared her throat, voice steady despite the tension. “Even with a ship and a portal, we still have to find Lena in a prison dimension without landmarks.”
Brainy’s gaze darkened under his sharp brows. “The Phantom Zone defies normal space—it’s more a construct of malleable reality than a three‐dimensional realm. However, Lena’s device would have emitted a unique quantum imprint. If we can tune sensors to that precise resonance…”
“We track her,” Kara said, a bright spark lighting her eyes. “Like following cosmic breadcrumbs.”
“Exactly,” Brainy agreed, though a shadow passed across his face. “Bear in mind, these breadcrumbs are unstable—existing in superposed states, potentially hazardous. But it is our best hope.”
"There's something else we need to consider," J’onn said gravely. "The Phantom Zone isn't just empty space. It has... inhabitants."
A chill swept through the room. Kara felt her stomach tighten, remembering the shadowy entities that had stalked the edges of her vision during her imprisonment. Things that weren't quite solid, weren't quite real, but could still hurt you in ways that transcended physical pain.
"What kind of inhabitants?" Nia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Phantoms," Kara answered before J'onn could speak. "That's what they're called. They're... not exactly alive, not exactly dead. They feed on fear, on despair." Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "And they're drawn to new arrivals. Fresh emotions to consume."
The implication hung in the air like a guillotine blade suspended by fraying rope.
Lena had been in the Zone for seventeen hours and twenty-two minutes by Earth time—but in that nightmare realm where physics bent and warped, where moments stretched like taffy pulled to breaking, those hours might have already unspooled into weeks of isolation, months, even years of desperate survival with nothing but phantoms and her brother's malice for company.
"We need to move fast," Alex said, her voice tight.
Kara turned to Brainy. "How soon can we reach Coast City?"
"Approximately forty-seven minutes at your top sustainable flight speed while carrying me," Brainy calculated. "Though I should point out that the atmospheric friction at such velocities would likely incinerate my—"
"I'll fly slower," Kara cut him off, already moving toward the balcony doors. "Let's go."
J'onn's voice stopped her. "Kara." She turned back to find his expression grave but resolute. "Remember what we're facing. The Phantom Zone doesn't just trap bodies—it traps minds. Time works differently there. When we find Lena..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "She may not be the same person who left us."
A vise closed around Kara's heart, crushing the breath from her lungs. She thought of Lena—brilliant, stubborn, complicated Lena—alone in that nightmare realm. Surrounded by entities that fed on pain and fear. How long would it feel to her? What would that kind of isolation do to someone already so skilled at building walls around herself?
"I don't care," Kara said softly, the words carrying the weight of absolute truth. "Whatever state she's in, whatever she's become—I'm bringing her home."
She turned away before anyone could see the tears threatening to spill over. Behind her, she heard Alex begin issuing orders, heard the metallic slide of weapons being checked and loaded, heard J'onn's deep voice. The Tower transformed around her into a hive of determined activity, everyone unified by a single purpose.
As Kara stepped onto the balcony, the night air cool against her face, she looked up at the stars scattered across the velvet sky. Somewhere beyond those pinpricks of light, beyond the fabric of reality itself, Lena was trapped in endless darkness.
"Hold on," she whispered to the void. "I'm coming for you."
Chapter 4: the anatomy of fear
Summary:
Lena expected torment. She didn’t expect the Phantom Zone to know her memories—or wear her mother’s face to weaponize them.
Notes:
I said “psychological horror", and then accidentally wrote “Lena Luthor vs. an eldritch god".
We’re going full Lovecraftian now.
I hope you’re all prepared for cosmic horror, spatial hallucinations, and the Phantom Zone whispering secrets no mortal should hear. I did not mean to go this feral, and yet—here we are.
Chapter Text
4
the anatomy of fear
Water.
Everywhere water.
Lena’s chest seized in violent spasm as the first involuntary breath drew water instead of air, triggering an explosion of pain that radiated outward from her sternum. Her eardrums throbbed with pressure, sounds becoming distant and warped, while her vision blurred into smears of darkness edged with sparkling lights that had nothing to do with the sun above. She kicked desperately, tiny limbs flailing with the frantic rhythm of a hummingbird's wings, fighting against the emerald-black current that dragged her deeper into the lake's murky depths where sunlight never penetrated.
Above, twenty feet that might as well be twenty miles, sunlight fractured through the surface in shimmering, unreachable patterns like broken stained glass. Her mother's face appeared, distorted by the water's cruel lens—eyes wide with the primal terror of a parent watching their child die, mouth stretched into a silent banshee scream that came to Lena as nothing more than a dull, distant vibration against her fading consciousness. Raven-dark hair billowed around her mother's alabaster face like seaweed as she plunged her arms into the water, reaching, straining, fingers spread wide to grasp her daughter's tiny, bluish outstretched hand.
Their fingertips brushed—cold skin against colder skin.
Almost.
Always almost.
Lena jerked awake with a violent gasp, her body convulsing as if still fighting for air, spine arching off the ground, throat working soundlessly. Her hands clawed at her throat, her chest, then scrabbled wildly at the surface beneath her, fingernails digging for purchase in what her drowning mind insisted was lake bottom. Her fingers scraped against something hard where there should have been silt and weeds. Where...? Reality reassembled itself piece by jagged piece. Not the lake bed beneath her fingers, but obsidian—slick, unyielding, and cold as interstellar space. The phantom taste of lake water lingered on her tongue—briny, metallic, a sensory echo from a drowning dream that had no business following her into this crystalline wasteland of obsidian and fractured reality.
All around her, the Phantom Zone breathed—a living emptiness that expanded and contracted in imperceptible rhythms. No. Not empty—worse than empty. Occupied by something ancient and patient that existed between dimensions, between thoughts, its presence felt rather than seen. A pressure against her skin, a whisper of movement at the corner of vision that vanished when directly observed, the sensation of countless invisible fingers hovering millimeters from her flesh.
Something watching with eyes that had never known light.
Waiting with the perfect stillness of a spider at the center of its web.
Overhead, the sky—if such a terrestrial term could apply—fractured into a thousand shattered universes, each shard reflecting a different reality. Each fragment contained its own physics, its own spectrum. Bruise-purple universes bleeding into gangrenous green dimensions, fever-yellow planes of existence twisting through corpse-blue pocket realms. The fracture lines pulsed with sickly iridescence. Where these shards met, reality itself seemed to fold inward, creating impossible angles that hurt her eyes to follow—geometries from universes where parallel lines converged and triangles contained four corners. Shadows moved independently across these boundaries, elongating and compressing with the calculated patience of hunters as they slipped between dimensional fragments.
How long had she been unconscious?
The question bubbled up through layers of disorientation as Lena tried to recall the moment she'd blacked out. The light hadn't changed—or had it? Her limbs felt leaden, her mouth cotton-dry, but these offered no clues.
Minutes?
Hours?
The concept of time felt absurd here, like trying to measure infinity with a ruler. Her watch—a Swiss masterpiece of engineering that had never lost a second—now displayed impossible configurations. Hands spinning backward, numbers rearranging themselves when she wasn't looking directly at them, the second hand occasionally stopping completely before jumping forward several increments at once.
Her bones felt hollow, her limbs weighing a thousand pounds against the obsidian surface. Even lifting a hand required concentration she couldn't summon. She touched her collar, manicured fingertips coming away with rusty flakes of something that resembled dried blood. She stared at the particles, trying to recall any injury. Had she hit her head? Cut herself on obsidian shards? The memory refused to surface, leaving only these mysterious remnants on her fingertips. The particles defied physics, drifting upward in lazy orbits around her fingers like microscopic moons circling dead planets.
Her once-impeccable Armani blazer—$3,000 of midnight-blue Italian wool that had intimidated boardrooms across National City—hung from her shoulders like a surrendered battle flag. The fabric that hours ago maintained knife-edge creases—so sharp they could have sliced paper—sagged in defeated folds against her body. The once-proud fabric surrendered its structure, collapsing into valleys and ridges that mapped her every movement. When she shifted, crystalline dust showered from the deepest creases, each particle diamond-bright and impossibly cold against her skin. The dust caught what little spectral light existed in this fractured dimension and refracted it into prismatic patterns—violets bleeding into indigos, crimsons melting into ambers—that crawled across her skin like living hoarfrost spreading across a winter windowpane at dawn.
Where her brother's fingers had closed around her throat, the skin now radiated a paradoxical cold that burned, each print a negative image of warmth against her flesh. She raised her own fingers to the bruises, wincing as pain radiated outward. The skin felt wrong—too thin, too sensitive. Yet beneath her revulsion lurked a perverse comfort—proof that even here, in this impossible place, she remained tethered to him. Hatred and love, fear and longing tangled together like the DNA they shared. She pressed harder against the bruises, unsure if she was trying to erase his touch or deepen it.
"Lex?" she called, her voice emerging as a whisper though she'd intended to shout. The sound traveled oddly, echoing back to her ears with subtle distortions, vowels elongated and consonants compressed. Her brother's name returned to her as "Leexxsss”, serpentine and mocking.
The landscape offered no response. Its surface stretched in all directions—impossibly smooth, like black glass polished beyond physical limits, mirroring the shattered sky with such perfection that identical broken realities stretched endlessly above and below her. At the furthest reaches of vision, the dark plain subtly bent upward, creating the disorienting impression that she sat at the bottom of a shallow bowl carved from a single massive gemstone. Crystalline formations jutted from the plain at impossible angles—geometric aberrations that hurt the eye, structures that seemed to fold into themselves like origami made of black mirrors. Distance became meaningless—a jagged monolith that appeared miles away would suddenly loom just yards from her when she blinked, while a cluster of needle-like spires receded impossibly with each breath she took, as if the very fabric of space contracted and expanded with her lungs.
The silence pressed against her with physical weight, a vacuum that seemed to pull at her eardrums from the inside out, the absence of sound so complete she could hear the blood rushing through her capillaries. Then—a sound. Subtle at first, barely distinguishable from her own heartbeat, except it originated somewhere off to her left, just beyond her peripheral vision.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rhythmic. Purposive. Like bone against glass. Not random, but patterned—three taps, pause, three taps, pause—in a pattern too intentional to be random, too measured to be natural.
Lena whipped her head toward the sound before her body could prepare for the movement. A white-hot bolt of pain shot from her cervical vertebrae down through each notch of her spine. An electrical current finding the path of least resistance. Three yards away, something disturbed the perfect blackness of the ground. The obsidian surface dimpled outward, as if pressed from below, forming five distinct depressions arranged in the unmistakable pattern of a hand. Each depression left behind a residue that caught the shifting light from above—not quite liquid, not quite solid, but something between states that shimmered with its own internal luminescence. Silver-mercury droplets that moved with apparent sentience, flowing together and apart in hypnotic patterns before sinking back into the blackness.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Who's there?" The question scraped her raw throat, emerging as little more than a rasp. The tapping ceased abruptly and for one suspended moment—a heartbeat stretched into eternity—Lena thought whatever it was had retreated.
Then the obsidian beneath her shifted.
The surface beneath her palms softened—not a tremor or vibration, but a fundamental change in its molecular structure. Glass-smooth obsidian transformed to the consistency of cooling wax, dimpling beneath her weight and forming a perfect impression of her body that deepened with each second, as if the ground itself were gradually melting.
Lena scrambled backward, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated like a marionette with half its strings cut. Panic surged through her nervous system, a chemical flood that momentarily overrode the Phantom Zone's psychic weight. Her manicured fingernails caught on invisible imperfections in the obsidian surface, breaking with sharp, electric pains. Fresh adrenaline coursed through her veins like liquid nitrogen as each desperate push away from the softening ground required more effort than the last, the air itself thickening to the consistency of sun-warmed honey mixed with crushed glass.
Perfect concentric circles spread outward from where the handprints had appeared, dark waves distorting her reflection in the glossy black surface. Lena froze, her spine a column of ice.
From the fathomless depths beneath the paper-thin membrane separating dimensions, a face stared back at her. Her face—but wrong. Younger. Much younger. Four years old, with wide eyes the color of rain-washed jade, pupils dilated to black moons that nearly consumed the irises. Terror lived in those eyes—the primal, wordless horror of a child's first brush with mortality. Dark hair, slick as oil, plastered in chaotic whorls against skin so pale the blue tributaries of veins mapped a delicate network beneath translucent skin. Her lips—once pink and bow-shaped—now curved in a crescent of mottled periwinkle and violet, parted just enough to reveal the pearl-white edges of baby teeth behind them. A silent scream frozen in the moment before sound could form, as water—no, something that only approximated water, something with the viscosity of mercury—infiltrated the microscopic passages of tiny lungs, replacing oxygen with liquid darkness.
"No. No. You're not real," Lena whispered, squeezing her eyes shut against the horror beneath her. The words emerged as vapor that hung in the air, letters forming and dissolving like smoke signals she could somehow perceive through closed lids. "This isn't real."
The tapping resumed, faster now. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. No longer rhythmic but frantic, urgent. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, as if the entire Phantom Zone had become a drum beaten by invisible hands.
When Lena forced herself to look again, the child's face had vanished. In its place, her adult reflection stared back at her—warped beyond recognition. Her eyes stretched wide in their sockets, sclera expanding to pale jade eggs nestled in flesh, while the pupils contracted to hungry pinpricks of darkness. Her mouth contorted, lips peeling back in a grin that crawled too far up her cheeks, exposing not just teeth but something behind them—a glistening network of nerves and vessels that pulsed and twisted into patterns more like written symbols than human anatomy. With every throb, the symbols rearranged themselves into new configurations that burned into Lena's retinas like afterimages.
Nausea surged through her as she recognized fragments of herself in this abomination. That was her chin, her cheekbones—but wrong, as if someone had studied photographs of her face without understanding what made it human. The skin around the thing's mouth crinkled in ways that reminded her of her own laugh lines, yet folded impossibly into microscopic pleats like origami made from living tissue, each fold containing smaller folds in fractal patterns that shouldn't exist in organic matter. It wore her face like a beloved but ill-fitting heirloom, stretched too tight in some places and sagging unnaturally in others, as though her features were merely a mask it hadn't quite learned to wear.
"That's not me," she whispered, even as a terrible suspicion bloomed that perhaps this was her truest reflection—the Luthor beneath the carefully constructed facade. Her breath came in shallow gasps that didn't provide enough oxygen, making the edges of her vision darken and pulse in time with the symbols behind the thing's teeth. Lena found herself leaning closer despite her terror, drawn to this twisted mirror that reflected some essential truth about herself she'd never been brave enough to face.
"It's not me," she repeated more firmly, pressing her palms against her temples where a migraine pulsed with increasing intensity, each throb sending white-hot needles of pain through her skull. Her fingernails dug crescents into her scalp, the physical pain a desperate anchor to reality. "The Phantom Zone is playing tricks on my mind. Manipulating my perception. Feeding on my fear." The logical part of her brain—the Luthor part—clung to what she'd read in Lex's classified DEO files about the Phantom Zone's documented psychological effects. How it fed on neural activity, amplifying fears into hallucinations, reshaping perception until victims couldn't distinguish between memory and manipulation.
The reflection's mouth moved, forming words Lena couldn't hear but somehow understood on a level deeper than sound. Concepts rather than language penetrated her consciousness—ancient, patient hunger; the cold curiosity of a predator studying new prey; the vast emptiness between stars given sentience and purpose. Each concept arrived fully formed in her mind, accompanied by sensory impressions that had no earthly equivalents—colors that existed outside the visible spectrum, textures that could only be perceived by organs humans didn't possess.
A thin film of quicksilver liquid bubbled at the corners of the thing’s mouth as it communicated, mercury droplets that defied gravity by flowing upward along the contours of its face—tracing cheekbones too sharp to be human—before disappearing into hairline fractures that hadn't been there seconds before. The cracks spread across the reflection's skin like a road map to nowhere, geometric patterns of obsidian lightning that branched into fractal tributaries, each new fissure birthing smaller ones. They rearranged themselves when Lena tried to follow them with her eyes, shifting like a living puzzle that refused to be solved, the movement accompanied by a sound like distant glass splintering. Then the reflection raised one hand—fingers elongated beyond human proportion, each digit at least half again too long, with an extra joint that created a sinuous, almost tentacular quality to their movement. The joints bent backward and sideways simultaneously, creating impossible angles that made Lena's brain hurt to process—not just uncomfortable but physically painful, as if her visual cortex was rejecting the information. Bluish veins pulsed beneath its translucent skin as it pressed its palm flat against the underside of the obsidian surface, directly beneath Lena's knees, leaving behind a phosphorescent handprint that glowed with cold, alien light.
The hand pushed upward with unnatural force, the obsidian surface bulging like a membrane stretched to its final tolerance point, thin enough now that Lena could see bluish veins pulsing beneath the translucent skin on the other side. Where each elongated fingertip pressed against the barrier, the obsidian transformed with a soft hissing sound—not shattering or cracking but phase-shifting at the molecular level, solid matter becoming viscous liquid without passing through any intermediate state. Five perfect circles of midnight-black fluid appeared directly beneath Lena's knees, each one the exact diameter of a silver dollar, rippling with quicksilver highlights that caught and refracted the crimson lightning from above into fractured prisms of blood-colored light.
The obsidian beneath her liquefied with a sickening schlorp.
Lena plummeted through the sudden void, her scream tearing from her throat as a physical thing—a ribbon of sound instantly devoured by the sentient darkness.
This wasn't water.
Water had mercy.
Water was mindless.
The sentient liquid coiled around her body with purpose, thousands of obsidian tendrils coiling around her limbs. It slithered into her ears, a high-frequency whine accompanying its invasion, vibrating her eardrums until pain blossomed like frost across her skull. It pressed against her nostrils—the scent a nauseating cocktail of ozone, corroded metal, and something ancient that predated the concept of smell itself. Her teeth clenched against the invasion, jaw muscles straining until pain shot through her temples, but the substance merely waited. It built pressure against her lips. When her jaw finally gave way with a bone-deep crack, the metallic taste of ancient stars flooded her mouth. Down her throat it cascaded, a torrent of liquid darkness. Each swallow was involuntary, her esophagus contracting in useless peristalsis against the invasion. When it reached her lungs, the true horror began. Each microscopic air sac stretched beyond biological possibility, delicate tissues ballooning into grotesque parodies of themselves. The substance filled every crevice, every bronchiole, coating her from within with a metallic film that carried the unmistakable taste of annihilation—the flavor of a universe that had died eons before Earth formed, its death throes preserved in this cosmic embalming fluid.
Not drowning again not drowning again not drowning again
The childhood mantra surfaced from the depths of her subconscious, a desperate prayer to a god she'd never believed in. But this was worse than drowning. Drowning was a human death. This was something else—an unmaking, a dissolution of self that began at the cellular level.
Her body betrayed her with violent convulsions, muscles seizing in tetanic contractions that ground bone against bone. She fought to swim upward, but the obsidian sea mocked her efforts. Each desperate stroke gained millimeters before the substance increased its density, as if calibrating its resistance precisely to maximize her futility.
Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped animal trying to break free, each frantic beat sending waves of ice-cold terror through her veins. Her hands floated before her face, corpse-white and trembling. And all around her, through her, within her, the Phantom Zone watched. Not with eyes but with a distributed awareness that permeated every molecule of the obsidian sea. An ancient intelligence that had witnessed the birth and death of countless universes observed her struggle with the dispassionate curiosity of an entomologist watching a pinned specimen's final twitches.
Focus, Lena. This isn't real. It's manipulating you.
Her rational mind—the intellect that had redefined quantum engineering, that had reverse-engineered alien technology, that had stood toe-to-toe with her brother's genius—fought to reassert control. She clung to scientific principles like a drowning woman to driftwood, reciting physical constants as if they were protective incantations. But the Phantom Zone was patient. It slipped past her intellectual barricades, burrowing into limbic structures where reason held no dominion, where primal fear reigned with chemical authority older than language itself.
A pressure wave rippled through the viscous darkness, concentric rings of force driving her downward. Below her, a vast organic membrane undulated with peristaltic waves, its surface shimmering with impossible colors—ultraviolet purples bleeding into infrared crimsons, punctuated by quantum fluctuations that manifested as pinprick supernovas. Through the opalescent barrier, a shape began to coalesce, its outline initially indistinct but gaining definition with each pulsation of the membrane.
First came proportions—humanoid but subtly, horrifically wrong. The torso stretched impossibly thin, the limbs elongated beyond human proportion, the head swollen and misshapen, one side grotesquely larger than the other like some nightmarish defect come to life. Then details emerged with accelerating clarity, like a nightmare materializing from toxic mist. Fingers pressed against the underside of the membrane, each digit impossibly elongated with extra joints that bent in directions human anatomy forbade, the skin between them webbed with translucent tissue threaded with luminescent capillaries that pulsed with rhythms matching no earthly heartbeat.
A face pressed forward, features distorting as they pushed against the membrane's resistance—nostrils flattening until they were mere slits, lips stretching horizontally until they nearly reached where ears should be, eye sockets elongating and migrating toward the temples. The overall effect was of a human face reflected in a funhouse mirror designed by a sadist with intimate knowledge of uncanny valley triggers.
The chaos of shifting features suddenly locked into place, as if some unseen force had commanded every atom into perfect, horrifying alignment. Lena's heart stuttered in her chest, skipping a beat before resuming its frantic rhythm. Her own face stared back at her—not the predatory version from before, but painfully, perfectly human. Every detail rendered with excruciating accuracy. The small mole beneath her left eyebrow, the nearly invisible childhood scar on her chin, even the slight asymmetry of her lips when she wasn't consciously controlling her expression.
Yet something was still fundamentally wrong.
Technically the features belonged to her, but something inhuman wore them. It was utterly devoid of the thousand tiny movements that make a human face alive—no gentle rise and fall of breath, no infinitesimal tension around the mouth, no momentary crinkle at the corners of the eyes. Eyes that tracked her, pupils contracting to pinpoints then dilating to consume the iris entirely in rhythmic pulses that matched no biological function—more like a camera aperture adjusting than living tissue. The skin had the pallor of deep-sea creatures that evolved in permanent darkness, with an unnatural translucence that revealed a network of blackened veins pulsing with something that wasn't blood but resembled liquid obsidian.
Then the face... shifted.
The transformation wasn't gradual but instantaneous—a quantum leap between states with no intermediate phase. One moment her doppelgänger, the next a perfect replica of her birth mother. Not the idealized version Lena had constructed from childhood memories and old photographs, but something excavated from the deepest strata of her subconscious. Every detail rendered with merciless exactitude. The constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose that Lena had inherited, the asymmetrical curve of her left eyebrow, the tiny scar at her hairline from some accident Lena had never known about but somehow recognized at a cellular level.
Her not-mother's lips parted, the flesh splitting along a seam too perfect to be natural. No bubbles escaped from that widening maw—whatever this entity was, it had no need for oxygen. Beyond those bloodless lips lay not a human mouth but a swirling vortex of midnight blue, like staring into a collapsed star. A voice penetrated Lena's consciousness, bypassing her eardrums entirely to resonate within the soft tissue of her brain.
"You watched me die, Lena."
Each syllable carved itself into her neural pathways like acid etching glass, burning with accusation. The words unlocked compartments in her mind where she'd sealed away her most traumatic memories—not just the drowning but the moments before. Her mother's smile as they walked along the lakeshore, the warmth of her hand, the scent of her perfume mingling with the earthy smell of the forest. Then the splash, the sudden absence, the silence broken by her own small voice calling out.
I was four, Lena thought, the confession forming not as words but as mercury-bright neural impulses. Her consciousness projected the truth with such force that it briefly illuminated the darkness before being absorbed. I couldn't save you.
"You didn't try," the apparition countered, its voice a perversion of her mother's—familiar cadences twisted into something profane. "You stood frozen on the dock. Watching. Always watching, never acting. Just like you'll watch her die."
Her?
The not-mother's features liquefied, flowing like quicksilver as its features rearranged themselves. Bone structure shifted beneath the skin with audible grinding noises that shouldn't have carried through the viscous medium but somehow registered with perfect clarity. Dark hair lightened to sun-kissed blonde. Green eyes transmuted to cerulean blue. The severe angles of her mother's aristocratic features softened into the gentle curves of—
Kara.
Molecule by molecule, cell by cell, the metamorphosis finalized itself with terrifying accuracy. Every detail perfect—down to the tiny scar above her eyebrow, the specific shade of blue in her irises, the almost imperceptible asymmetry of her smile that made it uniquely Kara's. But the expression was wrong—contorted with the same betrayal Lena had seen on Kara's face when she'd stolen Myriad—that raw, wounded look when Lena had finally admitted she'd known for weeks about the cape and boots hidden beneath cardigans and ponytails, courtesy of Lex's dying revelation. That specific wounded look, now magnified a thousandfold into raw anguish.
"Lena, please," not-Kara's voice begged, the sound vibrating through Lena's bones like a tuning fork pressed against her spine. "Help me."
Something fractured inside Lena's chest—a hairline fissure in the walls she'd constructed around her heart since childhood. The crack spread through her sternum, radiating tendrils of heat that dissolved her last barrier of resistance. Even knowing this was manipulation, the sight of Kara's face—those ocean-blue eyes swimming with tears, that familiar quiver of her bottom lip that had always been Lena's undoing—triggered responses beyond conscious control. Her body moved before her mind could intervene, hand stretching toward the membrane as if drawn by invisible filaments, fingers trembling through the viscous darkness that clung to her skin like cold oil.
"Just a little closer," the apparition coaxed, its voice a flawless replica of Kara's gentle tone, the one she reserved for Lena alone. "Let me help you, Lena. Like I've always wanted to."
Rational fragments of Lena's mind screamed warnings—danger signals flaring like emergency beacons behind her eyelids—but the part of her that had always responded to Kara, always trusted Kara despite everything, urged her forward with the gravitational pull of a dying star. Just a touch. Just connection. The membrane between them attenuated further, stretching to quantum thinness, becoming translucent as a soap bubble about to burst, iridescent with colors that existed in no earthly spectrum.
The barrier between them pulsed like living tissue—wet, glistening, and obscenely warm against Lena's fingertips. Their hands hovered millimeters apart, close enough that Lena could feel something like an electrical field crackling across her skin. Goosebumps spread in concentric waves from her wrist to her shoulder. The fine hairs on her arms stood rigidly erect, vibrating like tuning forks as a metallic taste of ozone flooded her mouth, coating her tongue with the flavor of pennies.
Not-Kara's expression shifted subtly, the anguish receding like an outgoing tide, replaced by something hungry and anticipatory that tightened the skin around its mouth and widened its nostrils. Its pupils expanded centrifugally until they consumed the blue irises entirely—perfect obsidian discs that reflected nothing, black holes promising oblivion and the terrible peace of absolute nothingness. The membrane thinned to gossamer where they almost touched, its surface tension stretching to its limit, creating microscopic rainbow fractals that scattered non-existent light. As it became translucent, then transparent as optical-grade diamond, it revealed the horror beneath. The not-Kara's body terminated at the collarbone, where flawless skin gave way to a writhing mass of tendrils. Lena registered this abomination, yet found herself still reaching forward, her scientific mind cataloging details—tendrils thin as capillaries, others thick as cables, surfaces shifting between alabaster white and abyssal black—while something deeper in her consciousness whispered that any version of Kara, even this monstrous approximation, was better than losing her again. The creature's bioluminescent blue-green pulses matched the rhythm of her own heartbeat, synchronizing with her longing, making the impossible seem acceptable.
A microscopic part of Lena's brain—the last bastion of rationality drowning in the flood of emotion—registered the wrongness. Kara's eyes never went fully black, not even in her darkest moments. The realization sparked a momentary hesitation, her fingers pausing their advance.
The entity sensed her doubt. Its facade slipped—just for an instant, a glitch in the projection—revealing something beneath that defied description, a face composed of angles that couldn't exist in three-dimensional space, geometries that violated the fundamental laws of physics. Then the Kara-mask reasserted itself, but now Lena could see the seams where it didn't quite fit, the places where something else peered through.
"You're overthinking again, Lena," not-Kara said, its voice modulating to match the teasing tone Kara used when Lena disappeared into scientific problems. "Just reach out. Take my hand. Let me save you this time."
The words struck a chord in Lena's heart—the desperate wish that Kara could have saved her from herself, from her darkness, from her name. But the dissonance remained. This thing spoke Kara's words but lacked her essence—the fundamental goodness that radiated from her even in her anger, even in her hurt.
Lena's fingers trembled, caught between opposing forces—the magnetic pull of the entity's perfect mimicry versus the instinctive revulsion as she sensed the hunger lurking beneath the mask. The membrane between them thinned to quantum scales, molecules stretching to their breaking point.
Then something seized Lena from behind with bruising force—five distinct pressure points digging into her left side and five more gripping her right, thumbs digging into her lower back while fingers splayed across the soft flesh above her hipbones. Hands—unmistakably human hands with calloused palms and blunt fingernails—clamped around her waist and yanked her backward through the viscous darkness. The pressure change as she ascended made her sinuses compress painfully, a vise between her eyes methodically tightening. Her eardrums popped violently, filling her skull with a high-pitched keening.
Below, the entity's reaction was immediate and terrifying. The Kara-mask shattered like fine bone china struck with a sledgehammer, hairline fractures spreading outward in lightning patterns before whole sections peeled away like wet wallpaper, curling at the edges to reveal the horror beneath. The face that emerged defied comprehension—features arranged in configurations that violated spatial geometry, lidless eyes opening within bloodshot eyes opening within lipless mouths, yellowed teeth spiraling inward in Fibonacci patterns that suggested infinite regression, each tooth curved and barbed reminiscent of creatures that evolved in lightless abyssal trenches. The membrane between them bulged upward as the entity slammed against it with the force of a freight train, its rage emanating in palpable waves that distorted the fabric of the Phantom Zone itself, causing ripples of nauseating color to spread outward like oil on water.
Its mouth—or what passed for a mouth in this abomination of form—stretched wide, unhinging like a python's jaw dislocating to swallow prey ten times its size, revealing row upon row of translucent teeth, each prismatic incisor refracting non-existent light into spectra invisible to human perception but somehow perceptible to Lena's traumatized brain. A sound emerged from that impossible maw—not a scream but something more fundamental, a disruption in the base frequencies that structured reality. The sound bypassed Lena's ears entirely, vibrating directly through her skeleton with the intensity of standing inside a cathedral bell as it tolls, making her teeth ache in their sockets and her vision fragment into kaleidoscopic shards that bled at the edges with colors she had no names for.
Then she broke the surface, erupting from the liquid obsidian back onto the solid plain of the upper Phantom Zone. The substance clung to her like sentient tar, reluctant to release its prize, stretching into gossamer-thin tendrils that maintained their grip on her until the last possible moment before snapping back into the darkness below with an audible, wet slap. Lena collapsed onto all fours, retching violently as her body expelled the invading substance. It poured from her lungs in a torrent of metallic liquid, each convulsive cough bringing up more of the stuff—silver-black with oily iridescence that shifted between ultraviolet and infrared, tasting of burnt circuitry.
The liquid pooled beneath her, refusing to be absorbed, instead forming patterns that resembled written language—ancient glyphs and quantum equations intertwining into a hyperdimensional Rosetta Stone. The symbols rearranged themselves when viewed directly, slithering across the surface like mercury serpents, burning violet-edged afterimages into her retinas that persisted when she closed her eyes, pulsing in time with her racing heartbeat. Then it began to evaporate, not into ordinary vapor but into spiraling tendrils of opalescent mist.
A polished Italian oxford nudged Lena's ribcage, rolling her onto her back. The casual dismissiveness of the gesture cut deeper than any blow could have. A familiar silhouette loomed above her, the once-pristine edges of a tailored suit, now frayed at the cuffs and stained with something that might have been blood, cutting against the writhing crimson-streaked obsidian backdrop of the undulating not-sky of the Phantom Zone, a corona of sickly green light outlining the figure like a toxic halo.
"Pathetic," Lex sneered, his features cast in shadow but his contempt unmistakable. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you're already being consumed by the locals."
Chapter 5: zugzwang
Summary:
Lena hits the obsidian floor coughing silver out of her lungs, furious that the hands dragging her back to the surface belong to Lex of all people. He claims the Phantom Zone feeds on the mind. Fear, desire, grief. It builds illusions out of whatever will break its victims fastest. Lena doesn’t admit what shape hers took. Lex already knows. He saw the look on her face.
Lex insists the Zone can be shaped by will. He proves it, sculpting a shelter from obsidian and spite, only to reveal that Lena was unconscious for three days while the phantoms circled her mind like vultures. They need to work together to survive, but cooperation with Lex Luthor has a body count.
The ground shifts.
The walls breathe.
The Zone is learning them.
And somewhere, far across the void, a structure waits—sharp, geometric, and definitely not natural.
Chapter Text
5
zugzwang
Lena raised her head with effort, blinking away the silvery residue that clung to her eyelashes, leaving prismatic trails across her vision. Lex stood over her, his once-immaculate suit now torn at the shoulder seams and caked with obsidian dust that sparkled with an unnatural iridescence. His forearms and hands glistened with the same silvery fluid she'd been expelling from her lungs, each viscous droplet catching the crimson light before dissolving into nothingness inches above the ground. His face had transformed—the once-pristine shave now covered by a patchy salt-and-pepper stubble, his imperious features, inherited from their father, hollowed by exhaustion, the skin beneath his eyes darkened to the color of old bruises. Even his famously gleaming bald head seemed to have dulled, now sprouting the same aggressive horseshoe pattern their father had worn in his final years—a genetic inheritance Lex had spent millions ensuring would never manifest on his own scalp, yet here it was, as if the Phantom Zone itself was rewriting the rules of his vanity. The polished, boardroom-ready Lex Luthor had vanished, replaced by something feral and desperate. Lena blinked hard, struggling to reconcile the haggard figure before her with the immaculate brother she'd dragged into the portal alongside her. The stubble alone would take days to grow, and Lex would never—never—allow his carefully maintained scalp to sprout that telltale horseshoe pattern. A cold dread settled in her stomach as she realized time must be slipping through her fingers like the silver liquid dripping from her lashes.
The realization that Lex—this disheveled, nearly unrecognizable version of her brother—had pulled her from the abyss left Lena momentarily speechless. "You..." she coughed violently, metallic liquid spattering between them like mercury, her voice raw with disbelief. "You pulled me out?"
"Don't sound so surprised," Lex said, his lip curling with the particular brand of contempt he reserved exclusively for her. "What did you expect? That I'd let my only viable chess piece drown in phantom-infested psychic quicksand? I wasn’t being sentimental when I told you we need each other to survive this place."
Lena pushed herself back to sitting, putting distance between them. "Why should I trust you after you tried to kill me?"
Lex's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Because I've been here before, sister dear. Not physically, of course—though I'm sure you'd have loved to send me here years ago. But unlike you, I didn't waste my research grants on renewable energy and curing cancer. I studied what matters." His eyes hardened as he gestured toward the spot where she'd fallen through. "Those things you saw? They feed on fear, on grief, on desire. They find the cracks in your psyche and widen them until your mind shatters." He fell silent, one hand rising to touch the hollow of his throat while his gaze dropped to the purple-black fingerprints blooming across her throat, a momentary flicker of something—not quite remorse—crossing his features. "What happened before was... regrettable. You always did know exactly how to provoke me."'
Lena deliberately shifted her attention away from Lex's almost-remorseful expression, focusing instead on the obsidian surface that had sealed itself completely. A perfect mirror-black plane now where moments ago a maw of liquid darkness had nearly consumed her. Her fingertips hovered centimeters above the surface, which reflected the fractured lights overhead with such unnatural clarity that the ground appeared both bottomless and razor-thin. She studied its properties with scientific detachment, safer territory than whatever complicated emotion had just flickered across her brother's face.
"I saw my mother," she admitted, the words escaping before she could stop them. "My real mother. And then—" She cut herself off, the confession dying in her throat. Her tongue felt leaden with the weight of unsaid words—how could she admit that Kara's face had appeared to her? That those blue eyes had nearly pulled her willingly into oblivion? The phantom's perfect replication of Kara's features—down to that tiny scar above her eyebrow—had reached past all her defenses, bypassing logic and survival instinct with terrifying ease.
"And then someone else you care about," Lex finished for her. "Someone whose face makes poor little Lena Luthor reach toward oblivion like a moth to flame." His expression shifted suddenly, eyes narrowing as he cataloged her reaction. Then the calculation gave way to something unexpected—a momentary crack in his armor that vanished almost before she could register it. "I saw Mother," he admitted quietly. "And Father. And you."
"Me?" Lena couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.
Lex's jaw twitched. "Don’t read into it. You were just... collateral damage. A footnote in my hallucination, nothing more," he said, his voice too sharp, too quick. His fingers traced the jagged tear in his sleeve, a nervous tic betraying his discomfort, not meeting her eyes. "The point is, they use what matters to you. What frightens you. What you..." He paused, swallowed. "What you desire." His shoulders stiffened, and when he looked up again, his expression had hardened into something more familiar. "And right now, we're easy prey because we're weak, injured, and separated from the only weapons that matter in this place."
"Which are?" Lena asked, struggling to her feet. Her legs still felt unsteady, but she refused to remain in a vulnerable position with Lex looming over her.
He rolled his eyes, the gesture achingly familiar from a thousand childhood lectures. "Our minds, Lena. God, for someone so brilliant, you can be remarkably slow." He tapped his temple with one finger. "The Phantom Zone responds to thought—to will." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "This emptiness is just a canvas. But you need mental strength to paint on it."
Lena frowned. "You're saying we can—what—just think really hard and conjure up a five-star hotel?"
"A five-star hotel? Really?" Lex pinched the bridge of his nose as if physically pained by her sarcasm. "There are limits to what we can manifest, and even those basic constructs require mental fortitude." His eyes narrowed, scanning her face. "And you're far too vulnerable on your own. Your mind is..." He paused, the word hanging between them before he finally released it, "...compromised."
"By what?" she demanded, bristling at the implication of weakness.
"By grief," Lex stated, examining his nails. "By guilt. By that nauseating martyr complex you've been cultivating since you were twelve." He flicked an invisible speck from his torn sleeve. "And by your embarrassing infatuation with that cape-wearing Kryptonian—the same one who's the reason we're both now trapped in this interdimensional timeout corner."
Lena's jaw tightened as heat crawled up her neck. "Her name is Kara," she said, hating how her voice caught slightly on the name, hating even more the knowing smirk that flickered across Lex's face as he registered her reaction.
Her brother’s lips curled as if he'd tasted something rancid. "I know her name," he said, voice dropping to something dangerous. "I know everything about her. Kara Zor-El." Each syllable dripped with contempt. "Last daughter of Krypton. Girl of Steel." He sneered the title like it was profanity. "The Maiden of Might. Cousin to Superman. Adopted by Eliza and Jeramiah Danvers. Her so-called sister Alex Danvers runs the DEO." His gaze flicked to Lena's trembling fingers, lingering there with naked revulsion before he continued. He leaned closer, nostrils flaring. "The creature who turned my sister against her own blood."
"You did that yourself," Lena countered, her voice steadying as she straightened her spine, a fierce protectiveness flaring in her chest—not just for herself but for Kara, whose name felt like a talisman against Lex's venom. "With your lies, your manipulations, your endless schemes to kill innocent people."
"Innocent?" Lex barked a laugh that held no humor. "They're invaders, Lena. Gods playing dress-up in department store clothes while actual humans build statues of them." He looked at her with a strange mixture of pride and betrayal, his voice dropping to a wounded whisper. "And you? My greatest creation? The one person I molded from childhood to continue what I started when I am gone?" His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You traded your birthright for a wink and a smile from a flying pom-pom playing hero."
Lena's hand moved before her brain could intervene, the crack of palm against cheek splitting the silence like lightning. Lex's head snapped sideways, a thin trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth where his teeth had caught the inside of his cheek. The sound echoed in the airless space, hanging between them like a physical presence, a third entity born of their conflict.
For one terrible moment, Lena thought he would retaliate—his eyes flashed with the same murderous rage she'd seen before he'd tried to strangle her, pupils contracting to pinpoints, the vein at his temple pulsing visibly beneath his sallow skin. But then something in his expression shifted, the fury draining away like water through sand, replaced by a cold calculation that frosted his features into something almost more frightening—the look of a predator deciding the most efficient way to dismantle its prey.
"Feel better?" he asked quietly, touching his reddened cheek with careful fingers.
"No," Lena admitted. She flexed her stinging fingers, meeting his gaze without flinching. "But I'd do it again in a heartbeat if you keep talking about her like that." The words came out low and steady, a promise rather than a threat. "Talk about her like that again, and you'll find out exactly how much of a Luthor I can be."
Lex studied her face for a long moment, then nodded as if she'd confirmed something he'd suspected. "Good. Hold onto that anger. It's cleaner than grief. More useful." He straightened his torn jacket with a gesture that would have been comical in its fastidiousness if the situation weren't so dire. "Now, we need to find shelter. The phantoms are more active during what passes for night in this place, and the light is already fading."
Lena tilted her head toward the void above them. The fractured lights overhead—not stars, not quite, but jagged shards of luminescence that had punctured the fabric of this reality—did seem dimmer than before, the ashen void darkening toward something that resembled dusk. Shadows pooled and thickened like oil spills, their edges crawling across the obsidian ground. Not the passive darkness of Earth's nightfall; rather, a darkness that hunted them, brushing against their exposed skin like cold velvet, each touch a question mark. It seemed to pause, assess, then press harder, as if deciding whether they were worth consuming, whether the effort of extinguishing their small flame of existence would satisfy its ancient hunger.
She threw her hands up, her voice rising with barely contained frustration. "Shelter where, exactly?" She made a sweeping gesture at the endless void surrounding them. "In case you haven't noticed, there's nothing here but us and this godforsaken emptiness."
"Then we'll have to make something," he replied, his tone softening with the particular pleasure of a teacher about to demonstrate his superiority to a promising but naive student. He closed his eyes, his face hardening with concentration. The muscles in his jaw worked beneath his skin, tendons standing out along his neck. A vein pulsed at his temple, blue-green against his pallor. His breathing slowed to measured counts—three seconds in, three seconds out—each exhale a controlled hiss between barely parted lips.
For several seconds, the void remained unchanged, and Lena felt the familiar weight of disappointment settling in her chest. She nearly rolled her eyes—because of course his grand demonstration would fall flat. Another Luthor promise about to evaporate into nothing. Then she felt it—a tremor through the soles of her boots, spreading outward from where Lex stood. The ground began to move with the same viscous reluctance she remembered from when she'd fallen through—not fluid like water but sluggish and resistant like melting wax or glass heated just to its softening point, clinging to itself even as it yielded. Walls erupted from the ground—jagged, uneven structures of obsidian glass. Lena stumbled backward with a gasp, certain for one horrifying moment that she would fall through again, back into those reaching tendrils that had almost claimed her before. She found herself stepping closer to Lex, her body betraying years of learned distrust. The walls grew taller, reaching seven feet high, their black surfaces swallowing light rather than reflecting it. Lena's heart hammered as disorienting light fragments danced across her vision. She pressed a hand to her chest, her shoulder nearly brushing her brother's arm. The ground solidified beneath them, though the walls remained—incomplete, like a half-finished sketch where the artist's hand had trembled, leaving jagged openings that revealed the void beyond. A dagger-like shard broke off with a hiss like a dying snake, dissolving back into the floor. Only when Lena realized how close she stood to Lex did she force herself to step away, surveying what he had created. A crown of thorns viewed from above, less protective than menacing, like sheltering inside a predator's ribcage.
Lex's eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and glassy. Sweat beaded on his forehead and traced crooked paths down his temples despite the Phantom Zone's peculiar absence of temperature. He staggered sideways, knees buckling beneath him. The tendons in his neck strained visibly as his right hand shot out, catching himself against one of the newly-formed walls, pale fingers splaying against the dark surface.
"That's... the best I can do for now," he said, his breathing labored. "It takes practice. Concentration."
Lena stared at the structure, equal parts impressed and disturbed. "You've been practicing?"
"Since we arrived," Lex confirmed, lowering himself to sit on the ground with his back against the wall. "While you were unconscious."
Lena blinked, suddenly registering his words. "Wait—you knew I was unconscious? How long was I out?" The question tumbled from her lips before she could mask the vulnerability in it.
Lex's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with something like satisfaction. "I followed you after you ran from me. Watched you collapse." He traced a finger along the obsidian wall, avoiding her gaze. "As for how long... time slips here. Stretches. Contracts. Impossible to measure with any certainty."
"Don't play games, Lex," Lena warned, her patience wearing thin. "How long?"
"Three days," he finally said. "By my count, at least. Though it could be more or less in real-world time."
The answer hit Lena like a sledgehammer to her sternum, forcing the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp. Three days? Her body had lain sprawled and defenseless on that glassy obsidian plain for seventy-two hours, her consciousness floating somewhere in the void while her limbs grew leaden and her skin chilled against the alien surface. Her mind—her most precious asset—left unguarded against those phantoms she'd glimpsed earlier, those shifting, hungry shadows with their tendrils of influence that could slither into an unprotected psyche like smoke through a keyhole.
"That-that's not possible," she said, though she knew it was. Her body felt wrong—not pained, but stiff with the peculiar immobility of having lain utterly motionless for days, muscles stiff, throat parched, stomach hollow with hunger that somehow didn’t feel quite as urgent as it should after such a long period without food.
Lex's mouth curled into that familiar smirk—the one that made her palm itch with the desire to connect with his other cheek. "The Phantom Zone doesn't care about your quaint little notions of possibility, Lena," he drawled, sliding down to sit with his back against the obsidian surface, his head tilted skyward, his movements a choreographed display of exhaustion designed for an audience of one. "It operates by its own rules. Or rather," he added, one eye cracking open to observe the effect of his words, "by no rules at all except those imposed upon it by minds strong enough to do so. Present company included, naturally."
Lena sank down opposite him, measuring the exact distance between them—maximum possible separation within their obsidian prison. The floor beneath her shifted subtly, yielding just enough to acknowledge her weight without offering comfort, like memory foam designed by someone who'd only had memory foam described to them. She traced her fingertips over the surface, noting microscopic imperfections that hadn't been there before.
"Fine. Let's say I believe you," she said, cutting through his self-satisfaction with intentional flatness. "If we can bend reality here with our minds, why haven't you conjured us an exit? You've had three days to practice your little parlor tricks."
Lex's eyebrows lifted a fraction, his mouth twisting into something between a sneer and a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry—did you think we were in a hotel with room service? This is the Phantom Zone, Lena. We can redecorate our cell, but we can't exactly knock down the walls. It's a prison dimension utilized by Kryptonians. Even your darling Supergirl couldn't fly her way out. What makes you think you're special enough to manage it?"
"There has to be a way out," she insisted, her jaw clenching as she leaned forward. "Every prison has a weakness. Every system has a flaw." She couldn't stop the edge that crept into her voice, the familiar defensiveness that always surfaced when Lex took that patronizing tone. Even here, trapped in an alien dimension, her brother's superiority complex managed to crawl under her skin like a parasite.
"Perhaps," he conceded, eyes narrowing as he watched her. "But even a mind like yours would need... supplementation. Mine, specifically." His lips curved into that thin, familiar smile that never touched his eyes. "So you see, sister dear, that brilliant brain I've always admired—even when you've aimed it against me—is only half the equation. We're stuck with each other. At least until we find that flaw you're so certain exists."
In the fading light, Lena examined her brother's face—the knife-edge of his jawline, the sunken hollows beneath his cheekbones that collected darkness like water in a basin. His eyes—those familiar Luthor eyes, gray-blue as winter, a genetic inheritance that had skipped her entirely—studied her with the cold assessment of a tiger deciding whether to pounce now or later. The man whose fingers had pressed into her throat mere hours—no, days—ago now presented himself as her only ally in this nightmare realm. The same hands that had orchestrated countless attempts on Kara's life, weaponized kryptonite against Superman, bombed a courthouse full of civilians, executed his own scientists when they failed him, obliterated entire parallel Earths during the Crisis, and had made attempts on her own life multiple times now gestured expansively as he claimed they needed to cooperate to survive.
Could she trust him? Absolutely not.
Did she have a choice? That remained to be seen.
"I'm not agreeing to anything yet," she said finally, arching one perfect eyebrow. "But I'll refrain from smothering you in your sleep. For now."
Lex's smile widened fractionally. "Such retraint. Though I should warn you—'sleep' here is more like dangling your brain in shark-infested waters. The phantoms circle beneath, waiting for the first drop of weakness." He tapped his temple with one long finger, then again, and again, each tap a metronome marking the rhythm of his certainty. "Those mental fortifications I mentioned? They're the difference between waking up as yourself or as their plaything."
The light continued to fade, the fractured not-stars overhead dimming until they resembled dying embers rather than proper celestial bodies. Shadows deepened both within and beyond their makeshift shelter, taking on shapes that seemed to move when viewed from the corner of the eye—shapes that reminded Lena of those shifting, hungry shadows beneath the ground. Her body tensed as she recalled the sensation of being pulled under that glassy obsidian surface, something ancient and patient and hungry probing at the edges of her mind.
If what Lex said was true, she'd been at their mercy for three days.
Lena pulled her knees halfway to her chest, then stopped, forcing her legs back down. No—she wouldn't curl up like a frightened child, not in front of him. But as the darkness pressed closer, she found her knees drawing up again of their own accord, her arms wrapping around them despite herself. She hated the vulnerability, hated that Lex could see it, and hated most of all that it actually helped.
"So what happens now?"
Something in Lex's expression shifted—a momentary crack in his armor as he registered her involuntary retreat into herself. "Now?" he echoed, his voice already sounding drowsy. He shifted, angling his body slightly toward hers. "Now we rest. Recover our strength." His hand made a small gesture in the space between them, as if reaching for something he thought better of. "And tomorrow," he added, his usual condescension tempered with something quieter, "we begin the real work of finding a way out of this hellscape. Together."
"And if there isn't one?" Lena couldn't stop herself from asking the question that had been circling her thoughts since she'd first opened her eyes in this place—a doubt she'd refused to acknowledge when she'd so confidently declared there must be an escape.
Lex's eyes gleamed in the near-darkness, reflecting what little light remained. "Then we adapt, sister dear. We Luthors always do." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a velvet-soft certainty. "Ruling a pocket dimension might be a lateral move from running LuthorCorp, but I've always excelled at making the best of limited resources. Even hell needs a proper management structure."
The words sent a chill through Lena that had nothing to do with temperature, though her lips twitched involuntarily at their corners. Even here, at the edge of oblivion, Lex's absolute certainty that he could bend any reality to his will was so quintessentially him. She turned away to hide the almost-smile, facing the wall of their obsidian shelter instead. Beyond it, she could hear sounds emerging from the darkness—whispers and scrapes and things that might have been footsteps if they didn't come from too many directions at once.
The phantoms were gathering for the night, drawn to the living minds within their domain like moths to flame.
Lena closed her eyes, pressing her lids until phosphenes bloomed against the darkness. The sounds—wet shuffling, clicks like fingernails on glass, distant moans that might have been wind—receded as she focused on her breathing. Still, the memory persisted. That viscous black surface parting around her body, the sensation of drowning in something thicker than water, colder than ice. Kara's face below, pale as moonlight, blonde hair undulating like seaweed, blue eyes wide with a longing so raw it felt like a physical wound. She tried instead to conjure the real Kara—the specific cadence of her laugh that always started with a surprised intake of breath, the exact temperature of her skin—always 102.3 degrees, warmer than human—the precise way her eyes crinkled asymmetrically when she smiled. The memory of sunlight fracturing into prisms through her golden hair when she landed on Lena's office balcony at 5:17 PM, that magical hour when the light turned honey-thick and caught in Kara's loose curls like a corona.
But these crystalline memories dissolved, replaced by grotesque distortions—Kara's smile stretching until her jaw unhinged like a snake's, her eyes hardening to chips of blue ice, pupils contracting to pinpricks. Her voice, normally warm as summer rain, turned brittle and sharp as it whispered directly into Lena's ear canal. “You left me to rot. You chose this hell over me. You knew exactly what would happen when you activated that device."
"Stop," Lena hissed, pressing her palms against her temples.
The whispers beyond the walls grew louder, more insistent, as if responding directly to her distress.
"They can sense weakness," Lex murmured from across the shelter, his voice, already thick with half-sleep, sharpened to that familiar knife-edge she remembered from childhood chess lessons. "Control your thoughts, Lena," he said, the words clipped and measured, each syllable a test she was failing. "Or they'll control them for you."
She wanted to snap at him, to tell him to shut up, but she knew he was right. Drawing a deep breath that tasted like metal and static electricity, she focused on equations instead. She traced Schrödinger's wave function ψ(x,t) through its complex plane, watching it collapse under observation as h-bar constants stabilized into eigenvalues. She mapped the elegant curves of Maxwell's equations, visualizing the precise way ∇ × E = -∂B/∂t described electromagnetic fields bending around her. The Lorentz transformations followed—γ(x' + vt') calculating exactly how much this hellscape might be dilating time relative to her home dimension. The cold precision of mathematics had always been her refuge, a language that made sense when nothing else did, each differential equation a fortress stone against the chaos.
The whispers receded slightly, becoming a distant hiss like radio interference, but didn't disappear entirely. Lena hugged her knees tighter to her chest, the fabric of her once-pristine slacks rough against her palms. Her back pressed against the obsidian wall that felt strangely warm now, almost flesh-like—yielding slightly with each shallow breath, pulsing with a rhythm just out of sync with her own heartbeat. She jerked away from it, heart racing.
Her fingers dug into her palms until they stung. "Quantum field distortions," she whispered, scientific terminology a talisman against terror. "Just sensory manipulation through dimensional interference."
But when she glanced back, the wall's surface had taken on a subtle texture—no longer obsidian-smooth but mottled with tiny ridges and valleys like skin stretched too tight over bone. A network of hairline fractures spread across it, branching like capillaries beneath translucent flesh. It pulsed once, twice—a visible ripple that traveled from floor to ceiling—then stilled into watchful silence.
Lena scrambled to the center of the shelter, palms and heels digging into the not-quite-solid floor as she scrambled backward, her body instinctively adopting that awkward, desperate retreat that humans resort to when terror overrides dignity. Across from her, Lex had fallen into an unsettling half-sleep, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids that fluttered like moth wings. She was alone with the darkness and the whispers and the walls that might not be walls at all but membranes of some vast, patient organism, digesting them slowly from the inside out.
Sleep came in jagged fragments—micro-bursts of unconsciousness that lasted mere seconds or disorienting minutes before something violently jolted her awake. A particularly guttural whisper that seemed to vibrate the air itself, the wet scrape of something gelatinous against the shelter's obsidian exterior, Lex muttering complex differential equations in his restless sleep, his voice clinical even in unconsciousness. Each time her eyelids grew leaden and her mind began to drift into the merciful nothingness, the phantoms hovered at the threshold of her dreams like patient vultures, showing her glimpses of horrors both remembered and grotesquely reimagined.
Her mother drowning in black water, pale fingers stretching toward her, lips blue and parted in a silent accusation, eyes bulging with betrayal. Lex with a gun pressed to Kara's temple, sickly green kryptonite glowing between them, casting emerald shadows across her best friend's ashen face as veins darkened beneath her skin. The fortress of solitude collapsing around her in crystalline shards, massive spears of alien ice burying her to the neck while Kara watched with cold, indifferent eyes, cape billowing in arctic wind. Jack Spheer convulsing as silver nanites erupted from his pores like mercury sweat, consuming his flesh from within while she stood paralyzed, her scream trapped behind teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.
She jerked awake for the dozenth time, a scream lodged like a jagged bone in her throat. The darkness had deepened to something absolute and suffocating, the kind that pressed against eyeballs with the physical weight of deep-sea pressure, threatening to collapse them inward. Even the walls of their shelter had vanished in the impenetrable blackness, leaving Lena with no sense of boundary between temporary safety and the hungry void that waited beyond.
The darkness pressed in until Lena couldn't bear it anymore. "Lex?" she whispered, her voice small and high like when she was five and convinced monsters lived in her closet.
No response.
"Lex!" Her second attempt came out as a squeak, fingers clutching at nothing.
A shuffling sound came from where he'd been sitting, then his voice—a sigh first, the kind adults make when interrupted by unreasonable children. "For God's sake, what?"
"Just... making sure," Lena said, knees drawing up to her chest, cheeks burning at how pathetically grateful she felt hearing his voice.
"Go back to sleep," he muttered, the words clipped with the particular irritation he reserved for what he considered childish behavior. "Dawn comes quickly here."
She didn't ask how he knew that. The thought of Lex counting cycles of this not-quite-night while she lay unconscious for three days made her stomach clench. Instead, she pinched the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger, hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indentations from her nails. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She recited prime numbers backward from 997. Anything to keep her treacherous eyelids from closing again.
The blackness began to recede after what felt like hours but might have been minutes. The fractured lights overhead rekindled slowly—first a dull crimson, then a sickly amber—casting just enough illumination for Lena to make out the shelter's interior once more. Her cheeks burned with the memory of how small her voice had sounded. She could still hear Lillian's cold voice outside her bedroom door: "Nightmares again? Luthor women face their demons, Lena. They don't cry out for someone to chase them away." The click of heels retreating down the hallway, leaving four-year-old Lena clutching her sheets in the darkness, determined to swallow her tears rather than disappoint Mother again.
The walls had changed during the night. What had been jagged, glassy formations now curved more organically, the surfaces smoother, almost polished, with faint iridescent veins running through the obsidian like capillaries beneath skin. The floor beneath her had developed subtle contours that matched her sitting position, a perfect negative impression of her huddled form—a shallow depression where her tailbone had pressed, twin indentations where her feet had been tucked beneath her, even small valleys where her fingertips had dug into the surface during those fitful moments of micro-sleep.
Lex sat cross-legged across from her, watching her examine their surroundings. His appearance had degraded further—a week's worth of stubble darkening his jaw, clothes hanging looser on his frame, a faint tremor in his left hand that he tried to hide by curling his fingers inward. The sight made her unconsciously run a hand through her own tangled hair, wondering how haggard she must look after days in this place.
The shelter evolved," he said, his voice dropping to a tone of uncharacteristic gentleness that made her skin crawl. His eyes followed her gaze to the altered walls, his expression almost tender. "Responded to our unconscious desires for comfort, security."
"It's not evolving, it's consuming us," Lena snapped, jerking to her feet despite the protest of every muscle. Pain shot through her legs as she stood, her body still raw from whatever had happened in that not-quite-water beneath the obsidian plain.
Her brother’s mouth twitched into something between a smile and a sneer. "Consuming us, evolving around us—semantics. The line between our thoughts and this realm’s influence blurs the longer we stay here." He stood with a grimace, joints audibly popping as he stretched his arms overhead. "Either way, we can't stay in this... nest we've created. We need to move. Find resources."
Lena's laugh came out harsh and brittle. "Resources?" She practically spat the word, her eyebrow arching so sharply it hurt. "Like what, exactly? Food? Water?" Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the rawness in her throat. "Does any of that even exist in this godforsaken place?"
"Not as we understand it," Lex said with the slow, measured tone he reserved for particularly dense board members. "But there are... energy sources." His lips quirked at her scowl. "Things that can sustain us. Strengthen our minds against the phantoms." He ran a hand over his scalp, the gesture incongruously ordinary amid his patronizing explanation. Lex's gaze flickered to her face, then away. "I found something while you were unconscious." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "I'd pace the perimeter while you slept, checking your breathing every hour. On the third night, I spotted a structure about half a day's walk from here." He cleared his throat, his usual clinical tone returning.
Her jaw clenched, ready to spit another retort, but her breath caught in her throat. The image of Lex pacing the perimeter while she lay helpless, checking her breathing, standing guard. Her fingers unconsciously touched her own neck, as if to verify she was still intact after those vulnerable days.
"Structure," she repeated, the word emerging softer than intended. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, scientific curiosity breaking through the crust of her irritation. "What kind of structure?"
"Not natural, if anything in this place can be called natural," he said. "Constructed. Designed. Geometric patterns unlike anything surrounding it." He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity that always accompanied his discoveries, a hint of satisfaction crossing his face at having successfully baited her intellect. "A relic from previous prisoners, I believe. Perhaps even Kryptonian."
The mention of Kryptonians twisted something in Lena's chest—half longing, half resentment. Years ago, when Supergirl had first brought her into the DEO, Lena had stumbled across those prisoner files while reviewing containment specs. She'd studied them meticulously, fascinated by the Zone's physics, never imagining her friend Kara and the caped hero were one and the same.
Had one of Kara's own people built something here—some sanctuary that might save her now?
"Show me."
"The shelter will dissipate once we're both outside its boundaries," he explained with exaggerated patience. "I may need to create another when we reach our destination."
"How generous of you to share your vast wisdom," Lena drawled, already moving toward what appeared to be an opening in the curved walls. Her eyes narrowed.
Behind her, Lex emerged from the shelter, his silhouette momentarily framed against the curved entrance. The moment he crossed the threshold, the structure began to dissolve with an almost musical hiss—the obsidian walls liquefying and retracting into the ground like sentient mercury, leaving not even a depression to mark where their temporary sanctuary had stood.
"This way," he said, gestured with two fingers toward what appeared to be an identical stretch of featureless plain, as if directing a child across a busy street. "And do try to stay close. The phantoms are less active during what passes for daylight here, but they're still present. I'd hate to have to rescue you again."
They walked in silence for what felt like hours across the obsidian plain, each footstep producing the same glassy click-clack that echoed into nothingness. The horizon never changed—a perfect line where black ground met fractured crimson sky. Lena counted breaths to mark time, reaching three thousand before giving up. Her legs grew heavier with each step, muscles burning as if she'd climbed mountains rather than traversed flat terrain. Her tongue felt swollen against the roof of her mouth, throat constricting with a thirst that seemed both physical and metaphysical—as if her body stubbornly remembered it should be dehydrated after so long without water, even while some rational part of her mind understood the Phantom Zone's physics didn't strictly require hydration.
She glanced at her brother's profile, deciding that even his insufferable monologuing was preferable to the endless silence. "So how exactly did you survive those first three days while I was unconscious? Recite Shakespeare to the void? Build a chess set out of obsidian?"
Lex's pace didn't falter. "I adapted. I observed. I survived." His lips curled. "The same techniques that have preserved my existence while your caped paramour and her self-righteous relative attempt to scrub every trace of Luthor from the universe."
"Wow. Vague and self-congratulatory. Shocking."
He shot her a sideways glance, eyebrow arched. "Would you prefer I document my bathroom habits as well? Always the scientist, demanding every tedious detail." His expression hardened. "The phantoms hunt negative emotions, as I’ve stated. I simply... controlled mine."
"And this mystery structure?" Lena pressed, rolling her eyes at both his self-important tone and the absurd notion that her perpetually seething brother had somehow achieved emotional enlightenment in the Phantom Zone. "Let me guess—you divined its location through your legendary Luthor intuition?"
"I explored, methodically," Lex replied, his voice taking on that insufferable professorial tone she'd endured since childhood. "This dimension has... fluctuations. Think of it as geological strata, with certain layers more malleable than others."
"So you're saying there are weak points," Lena cut in, refusing to let him lecture her like a schoolgirl. "Places where dimensional barriers thin out."
"Very good, Lena." Lex's patronizing nod made her want to shove him into the obsidian. "The structure sits precisely at such a junction. Whoever built it clearly understood strategic positioning."
They continued walking, the obsidian ground treacherously inconsistent beneath them—one moment slick as polished onyx where Lena's boots squeaked with each step, the next yielding like volcanic ash that swallowed her boots and released them with reluctant sighs. Twice she nearly stumbled when the surface abruptly transformed mid-stride. Lex maintained a steady pace five feet ahead, his shoulders rigid beneath his tattered shirt, head pivoting in precise thirty-degree sweeps. His eyes narrowed whenever the fractured crimson sky pulsed, casting their elongated shadows in three different directions at once.
"There," he said finally, pointing ahead.
At first, Lena saw nothing but more of the same endless obsidian plain stretching toward the blood-red horizon. Then, as they drew closer, she noticed a distortion in the air—a heat-mirage shimmer that warped and fractured the crimson light, creating prismatic halos around a specific area about fifty yards ahead. Within that distortion, jagged shapes began to resolve themselves from the void. Angular, violet-black crystalline structures thrust upward from the glassy ground like the geometric negative of their makeshift shelter, their facets catching what passed for light in this realm and reflecting it back as deep indigo shadows that seemed to pool rather than spread across the surface.
Lena squinted against the visual distortion. "What is it?"
"If you'd studied xenoarchitecture as thoroughly as I have," Lex replied, "you'd recognize the fundamental principles of Kryptonian crystal matrices, though admittedly—" he tilted his head slightly, a microscopic concession, "—these particular modifications present certain... anomalies that warrant further investigation."
As they approached, the structure revealed itself—a cluster of crystalline formations arranged in a pattern too precise to be natural, like the architectural blueprint of an alien cathedral. The crystals weren't the familiar blue-white of Superman's fortress, but a deeper, almost violet hue that seemed to drink the Phantom Zone's ashen light rather than reflect it, their surfaces simultaneously opaque and translucent depending on the angle of observation. They jutted from the obsidian ground at impossible angles that defied Euclidean geometry, creating a visual paradox that made Lena's scientific mind rebel even as her eyes struggled to follow their trajectories. Between their knife-sharp intersections formed chambers and corridors—negative spaces that seemed darker than the void itself, as if they contained something more substantial than mere absence.
"It's beautiful," Lena murmured despite herself.
"It's a trap," came a voice from behind them.
Chapter 6: the lighthouse at the edge of reality
Summary:
Kara and Brainy track a reclusive scientist, Dr. Silas White, to a remote lighthouse that has been gutted and rebuilt with impossible technology. Silas reveals that the Phantom Zone has fractured into multiple dimensional shards ruled by predatory entities that feed on memory and trauma. He agrees to help only when he realizes someone he cares about may also be trapped there. Together, they begin preparations to build a way in—and a way out—before the Zone consumes the person Kara is trying to save.
Chapter Text
6
the lighthouse at the edge of reality
The lighthouse stood like a lone sentinel against the churning slate-gray sea, its weathered white stone turned quicksilver in the moonlight that filtered through tattered clouds. A solitary beam—brilliant amber against the darkness—cut through the coastal fog, sweeping across the choppy waters every twelve seconds. The steady rhythm had guided ships safely to harbor for over a century, warning of the knife-edged rocks that lurked beneath the surface like prehistoric teeth. Now, its octagonal upper chamber housed not a lighthouse keeper in oil-stained coveralls but a reclusive genius whose equations, scrawled across windows that perpetually rattled in their frames, might hold the key to rescuing Lena from the colorless prison of interdimensional exile.
Kara touched down on the rocky outcropping, her boots crunching against loose stones as she set Brainy gently beside her. The wind whipped at her cape, salt spray stinging her face as waves crashed against the jagged shoreline thirty feet below. She inhaled deeply, tasting brine and ozone and something else—a faint electrical charge in the air that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.
"Are you certain this is the right place?" she asked, eyeing the dilapidated structure. The lighthouse's lower windows were boarded up with splintering plywood, and rust had claimed the metal railings that spiraled up its exterior. Only the top floor showed signs of habitation—a faint blue glow pulsed behind the glass, fluctuating in intensity like a heartbeat.
Brainy adjusted his Legion ring, which emitted a soft hum as it scanned the structure. "Coast City Lighthouse, built in 1887, decommissioned in 2012, purchased by Dr. Silas White in 2018 for the sum of $1.2 million, which represents a 37% depreciation from its estimated market value, likely due to structural concerns and its remote location." He paused, tilting his head. "And yes, I am 99.7% certain this is the correct location."
Kara barely heard him. Her focus had narrowed to that pulsing blue light as she engaged her X-ray vision, peering through layers of salt-crusted glass and weathered stone walls. The lamp room's interior materialized in ghostly blue-white outlines—sleek, curved metal structures interwoven with crystalline components that somehow resisted her penetrating gaze, appearing as dark shadows against the transparent surroundings. Whatever material composed those crystal elements, it blocked her Kryptonian vision in ways only lead typically could.
"Someone's up there," she said, her vision zooming in further. "Working on something."
Without waiting for Brainy's response, she strode toward the lighthouse's entrance—a weathered oak door reinforced with steel bands that had long since rusted to a deep orange-brown. The door was secured with three different locks, each more sophisticated than the last. Kara raised her hand to knock, then hesitated.
"Perhaps I should attempt communication first," Brainy suggested, moving beside her. "Dr. White is known for his... unpredictable responses to unexpected visitors. Particularly those wearing primary-colored uniforms associated with government agencies or superhero affiliations."
Kara stepped back, gesturing for him to proceed. "Be my guest."
Brainy cleared his throat and pressed what appeared to be an ordinary doorbell. Instead of the expected chime, a holographic interface materialized in the air before them—a shimmering blue rectangle that resolved into the face of a man who looked to be in his late forties, though the shadows beneath his deep-set eyes suggested he'd seen enough for several lifetimes. Short dark hair with pronounced silver at the temples framed a broad forehead and angular features. His close-cropped beard—salt-and-pepper like his hair—accentuated a strong, square jawline that remained tense as he studied them. Those eyes, beneath slightly furrowed brows, held an intensity that made Kara instinctively straighten her posture—the controlled, watchful gaze of someone who had learned to anticipate danger.
"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," the man said, his voice surprisingly melodic despite the gruff words. "If you're from the government, I've already filed my taxes. If you're collecting for charity, there's a check in the mail. If you're here to tell me about your lord and savior, I've already met several gods and found them all disappointingly petty." His eyes narrowed as he took in their appearances. "Ah. Costumes. Let me guess—some new task force the DEO cobbled together after the last one failed spectacularly?"
"Dr. White," Brainy began, stepping forward with a slight bow that seemed oddly formal. "I am Brainiac 5 of the Legion of Super-Heroes, and this is—"
"Supergirl," White interrupted, his expression shifting from irritation to curiosity. "Kara Zor-El. Last daughter of Krypton. Well, second-to-last if we're being technical, which I always am." He leaned closer to the holographic interface, eyes suddenly sharp as scalpels. "The question isn't who you are—it's why you're standing on my doorstep at 3:17 in the morning looking like you've been dragged backward through several catastrophes." He paused, studying Kara's face. "Dimensional breach, if I had to guess. The particular pallor around your eyes suggests quantum displacement anxiety. Someone you care about trapped between realities?"
Kara's breath caught in her throat. "How did you—"
"Lucky guess," White said with a dismissive wave, though his eyes remained fixed on her face. "Plus, no one comes looking for me unless they're desperate enough to believe the rumors. The brilliant Dr. White, master of interdimensional physics, driven mad by his own discoveries." He chuckled, the sound hollow and bitter. "Mad enough to hide in a lighthouse, at least."
"We need your help," Kara said, stepping forward. The hologram flickered as she moved closer, White's face fragmenting into pixels before reassembling. "Someone important—someone I—" She faltered, the words sticking in her throat.
"Someone she loves is trapped in the Phantom Zone," Brainy finished for her, his voice gentle. "Along with one of Earth's most dangerous criminals."
White's eyebrows shot up. "The Phantom Zone? Kryptonian prison dimension? Exists outside normal spacetime? That Phantom Zone?" He whistled low. "Well, that's certainly more interesting than the usual interdimensional mishaps that land on my metaphorical desk." He studied them for another long moment, then sighed. "I suppose you'd better come up. Third floor, past the equipment room. Don't touch anything that glows, hums, or looks expensive. So basically, don't touch anything."
The hologram vanished, and the heavy door swung open with a pneumatic hiss.
Inside, the lighthouse bore little resemblance to its weathered exterior. Where salt-worn stone had once dominated, polished titanium panels now lined the circular chamber, their surfaces etched with fractal patterns that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. The ancient spiral staircase had been replaced with a sleek elevator tube of what appeared to be liquid glass, its transparent surface rippling like disturbed water while somehow remaining solid. The walls, once bare stone, now housed intricate circuitry that pulsed with the same cerulean light they'd seen from outside—veins of luminescence that throbbed in perfect synchronization, as though the entire structure shared a single heartbeat. Brainy approached the elevator, his fingers hovering over a holographic control panel that responded to his presence by blooming into existence, illuminating the air with glyphs in Interlac script—the flowing, mathematical language of the 31st century that resembled constellations more than letters.
"Curious," Brainy murmured. "This technology shouldn't exist for at least another century."
"I've made some modifications," came White's voice from a hidden speaker. "The elevator recognizes Legion tech. Your ring is practically broadcasting your identity to every piece of equipment in this building."
The elevator ascended smoothly, transparent walls offering a view of the laboratory that occupied what had once been the lighthouse's middle floors. Kara's eyes widened as they passed workstations filled with technology that defied categorization—half-assembled devices that bent light around them, containers holding what appeared to be solid smoke, and in one corner, a perfect sphere of water that maintained its shape without any visible containment field, tiny fish swimming through it in geometric patterns.
When the elevator doors opened on the third floor, they found themselves in what had once been the lamp room. The massive Fresnel lens that had guided ships for decades now served as the centerpiece for White's primary laboratory—refitted and augmented with technology that made even Brainy pause in appreciation. The original glass prisms had been interwoven with crystalline structures that captured and refracted light in impossible ways, creating pockets of space where colors existed that had no names in any human language.
Dr. Silas White stood with his back to them, hunched over a lens structure like a pianist at his instrument. His faded jeans hung loose at the waist, frayed at the cuffs where they dragged against his mismatched socks—one navy, one burgundy. The threadbare MIT sweatshirt had once been navy blue but had faded to the color of a bruised storm cloud, its collar stretched and unraveling. With his sleeves pushed carelessly to his elbows, his forearms revealed an intricate network of silvery-white scars that branched and intersected, each one raised slightly against his olive skin.
"Dimensional breaches are tricky," White began, not bothering to glance up from the crystalline keypad built into the lens housing. His long, nimble fingers—stained with graphite at the tips—tapped out a rapid sequence across the translucent keys that pulsed with cerulean light at each touch, as if he were coaxing a reluctant melody into existence from some invisible instrument. “They’re like lacerations in reality—never heal without leaving scars.”
He finally swiveled around, brushing his hands on a grease-stained rag. Up close, his amber eyes caught the lab's blue light, transforming the cold glow into something almost welcoming, fixing Kara with an intensity that felt like he was mapping her quantum state.
“The Phantom Zone is particularly insidious. It doesn’t sit above or beside our universe but at right angles to it—perpendicular in every sense. Physics as we know it doesn’t apply there.”
Kara clenched her fists. “Has anyone tried before?”
White tossed the rag onto a workbench scattered with tools. “Your cousin, actually—came by about six years ago. Fort Rozz, if memory serves.”
“Kal worked with you?”
“In passing. He didn’t care for my… experimental methods. Too many unknowns.” He gestured at hovering holograms. Kryptonian glyphs woven with differential equations from Jor-El’s archives. “I've been mapping the Zone's quantum architecture since before the Crisis rewrote reality. It's not merely a dimensional pocket—it's a non-Euclidean manifold where consciousness itself becomes a variable in the wave function. The Kryptonian architects designed it so that a prisoner's own neurological patterns generate a personalized containment field. Quite brilliant, actually—a prison that requires no walls because thought and matter are computationally equivalent there."
He pressed his palm to a nearby console. The room’s hum quickened, blue displays flickering into life with cascading models of the Zone’s quantum lattice.
White’s gaze flicked back to Kara. “Your friend—how long inside?”
“Twenty-six hours, fourteen—" Kara's voice caught. She swallowed hard, hating how precisely she'd been tracking the time, how she couldn't stop herself from doing it. "Almost fifteen minutes now," she finished, the words scraping her throat raw. Part of her wanted to scream that every moment was unbearable; another part whispered that this desperate rescue might only make things worse.
White's amber eyes narrowed as he studied her, his scarred fingers tapping a staccato rhythm against the edge of the console. "Counting to the minute, impressive," he murmured, eyebrows climbing toward his disheveled salt-and-pepper hairline. "Keep in mind, twenty-six hours our time could represent anywhere from minutes to weeks in the Zone. The non-Euclidean geometry creates quantum temporal instabilities—chronons become untethered from standard relativistic constraints. The effect resembles a Calabi-Yau manifold with eleven-dimensional perturbations, where time behaves as a non-linear variable rather than a constant. We've observed temporal compression ratios ranging from 0.03 to 97.4, with no discernible pattern to predict the fluctuations."
Brainy stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracking the temporal models on White's display. "Your compression ratios align with our calculations. We considered a standard Martian gate breach to test these temporal theories, but our simulations showed catastrophic results—the dimensional feedback loop would have amplified beyond containment. The Zone's geometry rejects conventional entry points like an immune system attacking a foreign body."
White circled him, amber eyes narrowing. “A Coluan from the future, by your tech signature. Twelfth-level intellect, I presume. Intriguing.” He paused. “Show me your approach.”
Brainy’s expression sharpened. He removed the Legion ring from his finger; under the cerulean glow it scattered starlike reflections. “This quantum-processor ring houses our schematics. It can interface with your systems to display full specs.”
“May I?”
Brainy surrendered the ring.
White's scarred fingers closed around it, his eyes widening as though he'd been handed not technology but something miraculous—a fragment of collapsed cosmos, still warm from creation.
Kara swallowed past her fear. “Once we’re in—how do we locate her? The Zone’s vast.”
White’s posture shifted, tentative caution replaced by feverish excitement. He set the ring on a scanner; azure holograms erupted around them. "Vast. And fractured—shattered into quantum shards when the Crisis rewrote reality. The Zone's architecture couldn't withstand the multiversal collapse." His scarred fingers traced invisible patterns in the air. "But every conscious being still emits a unique quantum signature—like a vibrational fingerprint. If you have anything she touched recently, something embedding her neural resonance—"
Brainy's fingers traced a complex waveform on the holographic display. "Lena's quantum interference device generated a distinctive Bose-Einstein condensate signature at the subatomic level," he interjected. "The phase-space topology of her disruption matrix exhibits non-linear eigenvalues that correspond to her unique engineering parameters—essentially a quantum fingerprint embedded in the probability distribution itself."
White leaned in. “A quantum echo,” he breathed. His fingers danced through the floating equations, isolating frequency patterns. “If we isolate that resonance—”
“We use it as a homing beacon,” Brainy finished, stepping beside White. “The device’s signature will guide us through the fractured topology straight to her.”
Hope ignited in Kara’s chest.
White already raced through calculations. “I'll recalibrate the Higgs-Boson tether matrix for bidirectional quantum tunneling. The entangled echo functions as our dimensional anchor point, but extraction stability requires femtosecond-precise chronon synchronization to prevent phase-space collapse. Your 31st-century Coluan tech contains the necessary n-dimensional processing algorithms to navigate the non-Euclidean topology of the fracture planes."
He turned to Kara, his expression sobering. The excitement of scientific breakthrough faded, replaced by something graver, more cautious. "And you, Supergirl," he said, voice dropping lower, "will need preparation of a different kind."
Kara straightened. "What kind of preparation?"
"Mental fortification," White replied, unconsciously touching one of the circuit-like scars on his forearm. "The Phantoms will sense your connection to this woman immediately. They'll recognize the emotional tether between you—the bond that drives you to such lengths to retrieve her."
A flush crept up Kara's neck at his words, but she didn't look away. "I've been in the Zone before. I know what to expect."
"Not like this," White countered, his voice softening with what might have been compassion. "Not when someone you love is their bait."
The word 'love' hung in the air between them.
Kara didn't correct him.
"They'll use her against you," White continued, each word measured and careful. "Distort your reality—transform cherished moments into horrors, reshape your deepest wishes into snares. The line between truth and illusion will blur until even your most basic perceptions become suspect."
"I'm aware of the risks," Kara said, her voice hardening. "But I'm not leaving her there." Her fists clenched at her sides. "Not for another minute longer than necessary."
White studied her face, something shifting in his expression. "'Her’," he repeated softly. His eyes drifted toward a silver frame half-hidden among the tools on his workbench—a man's face visible in the glass—before returning to meet Kara's. Something unspoken passed between them, a recognition of shared experience that needed no words.
He turned abruptly, moving to a workstation cluttered with holographic schematics that hovered like luminous architectural plans. "The good news is I've been theorizing about Phantom Zone access points for years," he said, voice shifting back to professional efficiency. "The bad news is I've never actually built one that works both ways."
His fingers manipulated a three-dimensional model of what appeared to be a portal structure, components separating and reassembling in new configurations. "Getting in is relatively simple," he explained, the model expanding to show a swirling vortex of energy. "Getting out..." He trailed off, the model collapsing into chaotic fragments. "That's the tricky part."
"We have Martian technology," Brainy offered, stepping closer to the workstation. "J'onn J'onzz has offered his bioship for modification. The psycho-responsive metamaterials in its hull contain unique Martian phase-variance properties that, when subjected to tachyonic bombardment, could generate a Klein-Gordon field capable of stabilizing the quantum fluctuations at the dimensional boundary. If we recalibrate your tethers to match the ship's natural resonance frequency of 1.6 × 10^43 hertz, my 12th-level intellect can formulate the necessary eleven-dimensional algorithms to maintain topological coherence during transit."
"Martian tech?" White's head snapped up, genuine excitement flashing across his features. "Well, why didn't you say so?" His fingers flew across the interface, equations materializing and resolving faster than Kara could follow. "That changes everything."
The holographic model transformed, incorporating new elements that pulsed with emerald energy. "Still need a quantum tether, though," White muttered, more to himself than to them. "Something to maintain connection between dimensions when the phase-shift destabilizes."
Kara's hand moved to a hidden pocket in her suit, the one sewn just beneath the House of El crest, where her fingers closed around the small device she'd brought from the Fortress. She withdrew it carefully—a perfect hexagonal prism no larger than a chess piece that pulsed with soft white light like a captured star, its translucent body seeming to contain swirling nebulae when tilted at certain angles. Ancient Kryptonian glyphs, sharp and angular yet somehow fluid, were etched deep into each faceted surface, each one glowing with a blue-white luminescence that intensified with her touch.
"What about this?" she asked, holding it out. "It's Kryptonian. From the Fortress."
White's hands stilled above the holographic controls. He turned slowly, eyes fixing on the crystal with an intensity that made the air between them seem to vibrate.
"May I?" he asked, extending his hand with the same reverence he'd shown toward Brainy's ring moments earlier—a scientist encountering something beyond even his understanding.
Kara gently placed the crystal in White's outstretched palm. The moment it touched his skin, the hexagonal prism pulsed with intensified luminescence, bathing his scarred fingers in opalescent light that seemed to seep into the circuit-like patterns etched into his flesh. The Kryptonian glyphs along its facets brightened in sequence—not random, but a deliberate pattern that reminded Kara of the way the crystals in the Fortress would respond to her presence, acknowledging her Kryptonian heritage.
"Extraordinary," White breathed, turning the crystal. His pupils dilated as he studied the object, the amber rings in his irises seeming to expand and contract as he absorbed every microscopic detail. "A quantum entanglement matrix with self-sustaining harmonic resonance."
Brainy leaned forward, his expression shifting from polite interest to genuine scientific curiosity. "The crystalline structure appears to incorporate non-Euclidean geometries at the molecular level," he observed, fingers hovering millimeters above the surface without touching it. "Fascinating. The internal lattice configuration suggests it was designed specifically for interdimensional navigation."
"More than navigation," White murmured, holding the crystal beneath a scanning beam that materialized from the ceiling, bathing it in cobalt light. Holographic data erupted around them, cascading equations and atomic models spinning in three-dimensional space. "This is a dimensional anchor point. The Kryptonians used these to maintain stable connections between pocket dimensions within the Phantom Zone."
He looked up at Kara, eyes wide with realization. "Where did you get this?"
"My cousin's fortress," Kara replied, watching the crystal pulse in rhythm with the holographic data. "It was labeled as a 'phantom beacon' in the archives."
White's eyebrows shot up. "A phantom beacon? That's... that's not just rare, it's practically mythological." His fingers traced the air around the crystal without touching it directly, following invisible energy patterns only he could perceive. "The crystalline matrix exhibits a quantum entanglement signature operating on a pan-dimensional frequency band. Based on the oscillation patterns and the Kryptonian glyphs—which appear to be navigational markers rather than warning symbols—I'd hypothesize these were designed as locational anchors. The molecular configuration suggests they maintain coherence across dimensional boundaries specifically calibrated to the Zone's unique physics. Someone at the Science Guild must have created these to establish stable reference points between our dimension and the Zone."
Hope surged through Kara's chest, so intense it felt like physical pain. "So we can use it to find Lena?"
"Better," White said, setting the crystal carefully on a specialized scanning platform where it hovered a centimeter above the surface. "We can use it to create a stable pathway both in and out of the Zone." His fingers flew across holographic controls, manipulating variables faster than human eyes could follow. "The quantum pairing means it's already calibrated to find its way back to our dimension, regardless of how fractured the Zone has become."
Brainy's eyes narrowed as he analyzed the equations materializing around them. "The beacon's harmonic frequency oscillates at 1.6 × 10^43 hertz, calibrated specifically for Kryptonian DNA's unique carbon-nitrogen bonds," he noted, three-dimensional equations materializing around his fingertips. "We'll need to reconfigure the phase variance to accommodate non-Kryptonian atomic structures or risk molecular destabilization during interdimensional transit."
"Which is where your Legion ring becomes crucial," White replied, eyes fixed on the cascading variables. "The polyphasic quantum entanglement matrices in 31st-century chronometric stabilizers exhibit non-local causality similar to Kryptonian n-dimensional mathematics, but with adaptive eigenvector modulations that permit trans-species molecular cohesion across the Calabi-Yau dimensional boundaries." He adjusted a coefficient, the equation rebalancing instantly. "We'll need to synchronize the hyperbolic decay functions to prevent catastrophic waveform collapse during the trans-dimensional crossing."
Brainy's fingers danced across the holographic interface, splitting into tripartite formations as his consciousness operated on multiple computational tracks simultaneously. "Precisely. If we modulate the beacon's n-dimensional eigenvalues to establish quantum coherence with the Legion ring's chronometric field generators, we could create a hyperbolic manifold with sufficient topological stability to maintain molecular cohesion during trans-phasic transit—even for entities lacking Kryptonian cellular resilience to dimensional stress fractures."
"While simultaneously using the quantum echo from your friend’s device as our targeting parameter," White added, his excitement building as the pieces aligned in his mind. A holographic simulation appeared between them—a swirling vortex of energy that coalesced into a stable tunnel, its walls pulsing with interlocking patterns of Kryptonian symbols and Legion code.
Kara stepped forward, her patience wearing thin as the scientists exchanged increasingly complex theories. "This is all very fascinating, but how long will it take to build?"
White glanced up, seeming almost surprised to remember she was there. "Build? Oh, the physical apparatus will be relatively straightforward." He gestured to a half-assembled device in the corner of his laboratory—a circular framework of interlocking metal rings, similar to a gyroscope but with crystalline components embedded at precise intervals. "I've been working on a prototype for years. With your Kryptonian crystal and the Martian ship as our foundation, we could have a functional portal within three days."
"Three days?" Kara's voice rose with distress. "That's too long. Lena's already been in there for days—who knows how much time has passed for her?"
"It's the absolute minimum," White countered, his expression softening with unexpected compassion. "And that's assuming we work without breaks and everything goes perfectly." He hesitated, then added more gently, "I understand your urgency, but rushing interdimensional physics tends to create the kind of problems that end with planets being torn apart."
Brainy placed a steadying hand on Kara's arm. "Three days here to potentially save years in the Phantom Zone is a favorable exchange rate," he reminded her. "And the probability of success increases exponentially with proper preparation."
Kara closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. The image of Lena—trapped, alone, possibly being tormented by those shadowy entities—threatened to overwhelm her rational thought. But Brainy was right. A hasty rescue attempt might leave them all trapped, or worse.
"Fine," she conceded, opening her eyes. "Three days. Not a minute more."
White nodded, already turning back to his workstation, but Kara wasn't finished. "And you're coming with us to National City. We have facilities at the Tower where you can work directly with J'onn on integrating the Martian technology."
The scientist froze, his shoulders tensing visibly. "I don't leave the lighthouse," he said, his voice suddenly tight. "Everything I need is here."
"Everything except a Martian spacecraft and the full resources of the DEO," Kara countered.
White turned slowly, his expression hardening. "You don't understand. I can't leave." His hand unconsciously rose to trace one of the circuit-like scars on his neck. "These aren't just decorative. They're dimensional tethers—keeping me anchored to this reality after my last... experiment."
"The lighthouse is your anchor point," Brainy deduced, studying the scars with newfound understanding. "The modifications you've made to the structure—they're not just for research. They're maintaining your dimensional stability."
White nodded grimly. "Precisely. I ventured too close to the boundaries between realities. Saw things I shouldn't have. These—" he gestured to the scars, "—are the price I paid to find my way back. The lighthouse keeps me here. If I leave..."
"You risk dimensional slippage," Brainy finished for him. "Your consciousness could become untethered from your physical form."
"Among other unpleasant possibilities," White agreed dryly. "So you see why I prefer to work remotely."
Kara stepped closer, her desperation mounting. "We need you there. In person. The equipment is too specialized to move, and we're running out of time." She hesitated, then added, "The woman we're trying to save—her name is Lena Luthor."
White's head snapped up, eyes widening. "Luthor? As in Lex Luthor?"
"His sister," Kara confirmed, watching White's expression carefully. "But she's nothing like him. She's brilliant, compassionate—she sacrificed herself to stop Lex from using the Phantom Zone projector against me."
"A Luthor sacrificing themself to save a Super," White murmured, eyebrows rising. "That's... unexpected."
"She's the most unexpected person I've ever met," Kara said softly, unable to keep the emotion from her voice. "And right now, she's trapped in a nightmare because she chose to protect me."
Something shifted in White's expression—a flicker of recognition, perhaps even empathy. He glanced at a framed photograph on his workbench—a smiling man with kind eyes and a salt-and-pepper beard, arm slung casually around White's shoulders against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains.
"My husband," White explained, following Kara's gaze. He touched the frame gently. "He was banished to the Phantom Zone. Years I spent searching across dimensions before I found a way to bring him home." His eyes met Kara's, recognition passing between them like an electric current. "I know that look on your face. I wore it myself."
He turned to a cabinet behind him, unlocking it with a retinal scan. Inside lay what appeared to be a modified exoskeleton—a network of slender metallic components interspersed with the same crystalline technology that lined his laboratory.
"I built this for emergencies," he explained, removing the apparatus carefully. "A portable version of the lighthouse's tethering system. It won't be as stable, but it should keep me anchored long enough to complete the necessary modifications at your facility."
"So you'll come?"
White sighed, already beginning to strap the exoskeleton to his forearms. The metal seemed to meld with the circuit-like scars, creating an unbroken pattern that pulsed with subtle blue light.
"Three days," he said firmly. "We build the portal, we retrieve your Luthor, and I return here immediately." His expression softened slightly. "No one should be left in that place a moment longer than necessary."
As White gathered essential equipment into a specialized case, Brainy approached Kara, keeping his voice low. "The statistical probability of success has just increased by 47.3%," he informed her, a rare note of optimism in his tone. "Dr. White's expertise in dimensional physics is unparalleled in this century."
Kara nodded, watching the scientist work. For the first time since Lena had disappeared into that swirling vortex, she allowed herself to feel something dangerous.
Hope.
Chapter 7: the fifth princess
Summary:
Lena and Lex aren’t alone in the Phantom Zone.
A woman steps out of the violet crystal haze—beautiful, unsettling, and entirely wrong.
Nyxly. Fifth Princess of the Fifth Dimension.
A survivor who has turned a Kryptonian’s abandoned research into her personal throne room.She wants out.
And she wants them to help her break reality open.
Inside her crystalline sanctuary lies a dimensional anchor—a way home—but every word from her mouth feels like a knife slipped between Lena's ribs. She reads minds, feeds on secrets, and peels back Lena’s guilt and Lex’s rage like she’s studying insects under glass.
The only thing more dangerous than the Phantoms…
is hope.
Chapter Text
7
the fifth princess
A woman blocked their path.
Violet light from the surrounding crystals caught in her wide-set eyes and reflected back with unnatural intensity. Her straight brown hair fell in perfect layers around a face too symmetrical to be human, skin glowing with an inner luminescence that made the hairs on Lena's arms stand up. Unlike the phantoms they'd encountered, she cast a solid shadow that stretched behind her. Something in her expression—the particular tilt of those softly arched brows, perhaps—conveyed both formidable intelligence and imminent threat.
"Who are you?" Lena's voice came out sharper than intended as she retreated a half-step, her heel catching on uneven ground.
The woman's head tilted at a precise angle, her shoulders rolling forward as she prowled a step closer as her lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. "Someone who's been trapped here far longer than you, Lena Luthor." Her gaze shifted to Lex. "And you. The brother. The one who hates the House of El."
Lex's posture changed subtly—shoulders straightening, chin lifting. Lena recognized his negotiation stance, the one he adopted when facing potential allies or enemies of equal power.
"You know us," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Yet we don't have the pleasure of your acquaintance."
"Pleasure?” the woman asked, her laugh shattering the air like a wine glass thown against stone. “There is no pleasure in the Phantom Zone, human. Only survival." She cocked her head to the side with that same feline grace that made Lena's skin crawl. "I am Nyxlygsptlnz," she said by way of introduction, each syllable distinct and otherworldly, "though you may call me Nyxly. Fifth Princess of Xanadoth, rightful heir to the Cosmic Crown." Her eyes narrowed. "And I've been waiting for someone like you to arrive."
"Someone like us?" Lena asked, wariness creeping up her spine like cold fingers.
"Humans," Nyxly said, circling them. "Flesh-bound, two-legged puzzles with answers that walk. Riddles wrapped in skin that breathe solutions." She stopped directly in front of Lex, studying his face with unnerving intensity. "Especially you. The one whose hatred burns so bright I wonder how you walk these wastelands unmolested. Such delicious rage should draw phantoms from every shadow—yet here you stand. Curious." Her eyes narrowed, studying him like a specimen. "You've found a way to mask it. Or perhaps… channel it."
Something electric passed between them—a look of mutual recognition that sent alarm bells ringing through Lena's mind. Nyxly's pupils dilated slightly, her head tilting forward like a predator scenting blood, while the corner of Lex's mouth twitched upward for a fraction of a second. His expression quickly reset to carefully neutral, but she knew her brother too well to miss the calculating gleam in his eyes—that particular hardening of his irises that always preceded his most dangerous schemes.
"You built this structure," he said.
Not a question.
"I claimed it," Nyxly corrected, voice silken with pride. "From its previous occupant. A Kryptonian scientist who spent decades constructing it. I watched him from the shadows as he worked, muttering to himself, until the day he activated his prototype." Her smile turned cruel, teeth gleaming like polished quartz in the violet light. "He came closer than most—close enough that one could, perhaps, salvage his work."
Lena's jaw tightened as understanding crystallized. "So that's why we're here. You need us to finish what your Kryptonian couldn't."
Nyxly turned those unnervingly bright eyes on her. "I know you can. Both of you. The brother's hatred and the sister's..." She tilted her head, studying Lena with uncomfortable scrutiny. "Interesting. Your mind is harder to read. Clouded by..." Her lips curled back, revealing teeth too perfect to be human as she pronounced the word like it was a child's crayon drawing hung on a refrigerator. "Love. How adorably primitive."
Lena's spine straightened as if someone had replaced it with titanium. She lifted her chin, one eyebrow arching—the same look that had made Fortune 500 CEOs stammer. "Perhaps you've failed to grasp the situation," she said, her voice cool and crisp as winter air. "A Luthor does not follow. We lead. And we certainly don't jump through hoops for anyone. So forgive me if I'm not particularly impressed by someone who, despite apparent telepathic powers, remains trapped in her own prison. Perhaps you should explain what makes you worth our considerable talents."
"Such spirit," she purred, circling closer until Lena could feel the unnatural chill radiating from her skin. "My little Lost Princess." Her eyes lingered on Lena's face with uncomfortable familiarity. "The Phantom Zone has ways of... extinguishing such flames. But if your considerable talents require incentive beyond mere survival," she gestured toward the crystal structure, "perhaps this will interest you."
She turned and walked toward the nearest crystal formation, placing her palm against its violet surface. The material responded to her touch, rippling like water before parting to reveal an entrance—a doorway into the structure's interior.
"Come," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "See what the Kryptonian left behind. What I've preserved. What might just be your ticket home."
Lex moved forward without hesitation, his once-polished leather shoes, now scuffed and dulled with dust, clicking against the crystalline floor as he strode toward the entrance, shoulders squared with the confident posture of a man accustomed to discovering secrets. Whereas Lena remained rooted at the threshold, her fingers curling into her palms, nails leaving crescent indentations in her skin. The violet light cast Nyxly's shadow in elongated, distorted patterns across the ground between them. Every instinct in Lena's body hummed with warning—the way the woman's joints seemed too fluid when she moved, how her smile revealed teeth arranged in perfect symmetry, like pearls set by an obsessive jeweler.
But the scientist in Lena couldn't ignore the technological marvel before her. If those crystals housed Kryptonian technology—if there was even the faintest possibility of finding a dimensional anchor that could tear a hole through the fabric of this prison—she might find her way back to the fortress, back to the moment of separation, back to Kara's outstretched hand... Her Kara…
"Lena," Lex called from the entrance, his voice taking on that cajoling tone he used when trying to convince her to join one of his projects. "You'll want to see this."
Lena's feet finally carried her forward. She crossed the crystalline threshold, lungs seizing as amethyst radiance washed over her. In that suspended moment between breaths, her mind flashed to the Fortress of Solitude, watching Kara's hands dance across consoles similar to those she passed, blonde hair catching the blue-white glow as she smiled. But this light was wrong—violet instead of azure, invasive where the Fortress had felt welcoming.
The passageway widened into a chamber that should have felt familiar but instead hollowed her chest with longing. Lex's footsteps echoed ahead while Nyxly glided just ahead of him, her movement eerily silent against the crystalline floor. The three moved through a corridor lined with twisted versions of the Kryptonian script—symbols that had once consumed her nights at L-Corp as she'd hunched over her tablet, decoding them with single-minded purpose to understand Myriad. The same glyphs she'd wielded like daggers against Kara now blurred before her eyes, each curve and line a reminder of betrayals she couldn't take back. Each step pulled her deeper into this mockery of a sanctuary.
At the end of the corridor, they found it—a machine of translucent crystal rods arranged in concentric hexagonal patterns, each rod inscribed with pulsing Kryptonian glyphs that seemed to float within the material itself. Burnished metal components connected the crystalline structure, their surfaces etched with the same mathematical perfection Lena had seen in the Fortress. The entire apparatus surrounded a circular platform inlaid with what appeared to be liquid metal that rippled despite being perfectly still, its architecture unmistakably Kryptonian yet twisted by the Phantom Zone's corrupting influence.
In another context, Lena might have found it beautiful.
Instead, it stood as a cruel reminder of everything she'd lost, humming at a frequency that raised the hair on her arms.
"What is it?" she asked, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.
"A dimensional anchor," Nyxly said, running her fingers along one of the crystal rods with something like affection. "Designed to create a stable point in the Zone from which a portal could be opened."
Lex circled the device, his expression hungry with fascination. "The Kryptonian was trying to build an escape route."
"And nearly succeeded," Nyxly confirmed. "But he lacked one crucial component." She tapped the symbol on her forehead again. "Fifth Dimensional energy. The only force powerful enough to punch through the Zone's barriers."
Lena's scientific mind raced, analyzing the device's structure, its probable function. If what Nyxly said was true—if this machine could indeed create a stable anchor point for a dimensional portal—then perhaps escape wasn't impossible after all.
But something didn't add up.
"If you have Fifth Dimensional energy," Lena said slowly, "why are you still here? Why haven't you activated the device yourself?"
Nyxly's lips curled into something that might have been a smile if not for the contempt hardening her eyes. "Oh, look at you," she said, voice dripping with honeyed venom. "Playing detective when you can barely comprehend what you're seeing." She tapped the symbol on her forehead with one perfectly manicured finger. "This pretty little mark? A mere shadow of what I once commanded. My true power—my totems—were ripped from me. I retain just enough to keep this pathetic sanctuary intact, to prevent the phantoms from tearing that soft human flesh from your bones. But power the anchor?" She released a short, brittle laugh. "Hardly."
"And you think we can help you recover these... totems?" Lex asked, his voice returning to that careful neutrality.
"No," Nyxly said. "The totems are lost to me here. But you—" she pointed at Lena, "—you created a device that breached the Zone's barriers. That knowledge, combined with this anchor and what remains of my power, might be enough."
Lena's eyes met Lex's across the chamber, his pupils dilating with that familiar gleam she'd witnessed a thousand times before—a look that preceded his most dangerous innovations. Her stomach tightened into a cold, hard knot as acid rose in her throat. She could already see the mental chess game playing out across his marble-smooth features—the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the infinitesimal narrowing of his gaze beneath those thick eyebrows that had always reminded her of their father. If he returned to Earth with this technology... She glanced back at the machine, violet light dancing across its alien contours.
Perhaps there was a way to sabotage the calibrations, to ensure only one passenger made the journey home.
Perhaps staying trapped here in this amethyst hell with her brother was the lesser evil compared to unleashing him upon an unsuspecting world again.
"We'll need time," Lena said finally. "To study the device, to understand how it interfaces with the Zone's dimensional properties."
"Time is the one thing the Phantom Zone has in abundance," Nyxly replied with a sardonic smile. "But I should warn you—the longer you stay here, the harder it becomes to remember who you were before. To hold onto your... humanity." She spat the last word as if it tasted foul.
"We'll keep that in mind," Lex said smoothly, already turning his attention back to the device, his fingers hovering over the controls with barely contained eagerness.
Nyxly watched him with those unnervingly bright eyes, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. When she caught Lena observing her, the smile widened fractionally.
"Your brother's mind is remarkable," she said, her voice pitched low enough that Lex, absorbed in his examination, couldn't hear. "Such focused hatred. Such clarity of purpose."
"And what purpose is that?" Lena asked, though she already knew the answer.
Nyxly leaned closer, her breath cold against Lena's ear. "The destruction of the House of El. The death of the Supers." She pulled back, fingertip tracing the air inches from Lena's temple, as if turning pages. "Your hatred burned so bright once. I can see it here—the betrayal when you learned her secret, the laboratory where you built weapons against her kind, the tears on your pillow." Her nail tapped an invisible point between Lena's eyes. "The exact moment you imagined her dying."
"Stop it," Lena said, jaw clenched.
Nyxly's lips parted in delight. "But then—oh!—the forgiveness. How it aches in you still." Her eyes widened, pupils dilating. "You love her. How perfectly tragic."
Before Lena could respond, Lex called out from the other side of the device. "Lena, observe the hexagonal lattice structure here—the crystalline matrix exhibits quantum entanglement properties at the subatomic level. If we modulate the harmonic resonance to match your dimensional transducer's eigenfrequency, we could establish a cross-dimensional interference pattern that amplifies the portal stability by an order of magnitude."
Lena moved away from Nyxly, grateful for the distraction. As she joined her brother at the console, she couldn't shake the feeling that they'd just made a deal with something far more dangerous than the phantoms that haunted the Phantom Zone's empty wastes.
But what choice did they have?
Lex's fingers danced across the crystalline surface, his expression alight with that familiar intensity he always showed when solving complex problems. "If we can calibrate the anchor to match the resonance frequency of the breach you created," he murmured, more to himself than to her, "we could theoretically generate a localized Einstein-Rosen bridge with terminus coordinates identical to the initial breach event's spacetime coordinates."
"The Fortress," Lena said, understanding immediately. "Where the dimensional collapse occurred."
"Precisely." Lex glanced up at her, that rare look of intellectual camaraderie in his eyes—the one that had made her love him as a brother despite everything else. "Your device created a tear. This anchor could reopen it."
For a moment, Lena's breath caught. Her fingers trembled against the cool crystal surface as she imagined stepping through a portal onto L-Corp's balcony, the California sunset warming her skin after this endless purple twilight. She'd call Kara immediately. Or would she? After everything with Lex... She swallowed hard, tasting phantom coffee from their morning ritual at Noonan's. The memory felt impossibly distant, as if the months since her betrayal had stretched between them like the vast purple emptiness of the Zone itself, a chasm no portal could truly bridge.
When she glanced up, Nyxly stood watching from across the chamber, head tilted at an unnatural angle, eyes unblinking. The Fifth Princess's lips parted in a smile that revealed too many teeth, and Lena's momentary warmth crystallized into something sharp and cold that lodged between her ribs.
"And what happens if we succeed?" she asked quietly. "If we open a portal back to Earth?"
Lex's expression didn't change, but something shuttered behind his eyes. "Then we go home, sister dear. Back to our lives."
"All of us?" Lena pressed, glancing meaningfully toward Nyxly.
"That remains to be seen," Lex replied, his voice dropping to ensure the Fifth Princess couldn't overhear. "One problem at a time."
Lena studied her brother's face—the calculation in his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw that always appeared when he was planning several moves ahead. A cold realization settled in her stomach She couldn't tell if the "problem" he referred to was Nyxly... or herself.
Whatever grand scheme Lex was plotting, Lena had no doubt it would end with Kara and Clark Kent lying dead at her brother's feet.
Chapter 8: the morning before the storm
Summary:
While Brainy and Silas race to open a portal into the Phantom Zone, the Tower becomes a pressure cooker—science, adrenaline, and barely contained fear. Kara refuses to rest, haunted by the possibility that years are passing for Lena while only hours slip by here. When James arrives with a package Lena sent before her sacrifice, Kara unravels the twine and finds a confession disguised as tech: Lena designed her a suit to keep her safe—proof that she planned for the worst long before Kara ever knew.
Chapter Text
8
the morning before the storm
Kara paced the Tower's operations center, her boots wearing an invisible track in the polished floor. Thirty-seven steps from the med bay to the balcony doors. Turn. Thirty-seven steps back. The rhythm had become a meditation of sorts—each footfall a heartbeat, each circuit another minute that Lena remained trapped in the Phantom Zone.
The Tower hummed with activity around her.
Brainy and Silas White hunched over the central console, their faces ghostly in the blue glow, fingers dancing across translucent keypads that materialized and dissolved with each command. Their voices formed a duet of scientific terminology—quantum resonance matrices, tachyon emissions, phase-shifted harmonics—that might as well have been another language. Between them, holographic schematics hovered like spectral jellyfish, their translucent tendrils of light pulsing with data streams that twisted and reconfigured as they worked. The three-dimensional models occasionally fractured into jagged error messages, bathing their concentrated faces in sudden crimson flashes that carved deep shadows beneath their eyes before collapsing back into new configurations of glittering azure geometry.
"The quantum resonance matrix requires recalibration," White muttered, his fingers dancing across the holographic interface. The exoskeleton strapped to his forearms pulsed with cerulean light that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat—a visual reminder of his tether to this reality. "The harmonic frequency keeps destabilizing at the event horizon."
Brainy's brow furrowed as he manipulated a three-dimensional model of what appeared to be a vortex. "Perhaps if we modulate the tachyon emitters to match the Phantom Zone's natural phase variance..."
Kara forced herself to keep walking rather than hover over their shoulders. The last time she'd interrupted, White had nearly thrown his coffee at her.
Through the reinforced glass ceiling panels that dominated the Tower's roof access, J'onn and Alex, their silhouettes dwarfed by the Martian ship, hunched over its iridescent emerald hull panels splayed open like petals of some alien flower. Beneath the armored exterior, a labyrinth of pulsating organs and crystalline circuitry intertwined—veins of liquid copper threading through translucent membranes that contracted rhythmically beside quantum processors no larger than thumbnails. The vessel's exposed innards cast undulating amber shadows across Alex's face as she lay on her back beneath the ship's concave belly, her combat boots crossed at the ankles, only her legs visible from Kara's vantage point. Her voice echoed metallically from within the living machine's chambers as she called out measurements in decimals precise to three places, which J'onn, his brow furrowed in concentration, entered into a tablet that glowed with Martian script.
"The quantum stabilizers need to be integrated with the ship's psychic interface," J'onn said, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Otherwise, the dimensional stress could tear the hull apart when we breach the Zone's outer boundary."
Near the kitchen area, Nia and Kelly worked together preparing food for the team. The scent of coffee—strong enough to cut through even the metallic tang of the equipment—filled the air as Kelly arranged sandwiches on a tray. Nia yawned beside her, dark circles beneath her eyes testifying to another night spent searching her dream-space for glimpses of Lena in the Phantom Zone.
"Any luck?" Kara asked, pausing her pacing long enough to approach Nia.
Nia shook her head, frustration evident in the tightness around her eyes. "Still nothing concrete. Just... fragments. Shadows. Purple light." She rubbed her temples. "It's like trying to tune a radio to a frequency that keeps slipping away."
"You should rest," Kelly said gently, placing a hand on Nia's shoulder. "Pushing your powers too hard won't help anyone."
"I can't rest," Nia replied, her voice tight with determination. "Not while Lena's trapped there."
The words landed in Kara's chest with the weight of a collapsing building, but beneath the rubble stirred something worse—doubt. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, then uncurled, then curled again. She knew Kelly was right—exhaustion made them all useless to Lena—yet how could anyone rest when Lena might be experiencing years of isolation in that timeless void? She resumed pacing, her super-hearing unconsciously tuning to the conversations around the room while a voice inside whispered that maybe she deserved this punishment, this helplessness, for letting Lena slip away in the first place.
"...need to account for the temporal variance," White was saying to Brainy. "The chronometric distortion could mean minutes for us but days for them..."
"...structural integrity should hold if we reinforce these junction points," Alex muttered to J'onn, pointing at a schematic of the ship's hull.
"...had another nightmare about drowning," Nia whispered to Kelly, glancing toward Kara with concern. "She needs to sleep..."
Kara pretended not to hear that last part.
Sleep had become her enemy—each time she closed her eyes, she saw Lena disappearing into that swirling vortex of violet-black energy, her pale hand outstretched, fingers splayed desperately, sea-glass eyes locked on Kara's with a quiet resignation, her gaze softening in the final moment as if to say this was always how it would end. The moment played on endless loop in high-definition clarity, every microsecond preserved—the way Lena's dark hair whipped across her face, the silent scream forming on her lips—a personal torture device Kara’s subconscious had constructed with sadistic glee.
"Kara." Alex's voice cut through her thoughts. Her sister stood before her, hands on hips, concern etched into the lines around her eyes. "You need to eat something."
"I'm fine," Kara replied automatically, the words so practiced they'd lost all meaning.
"You're not fine," Alex countered, her voice softening. "None of us are. But you're no good to Lena if you collapse from exhaustion."
Kara's jaw tightened. "Lena doesn't have the luxury of rest right now."
"We don't know that," Alex said carefully. "Time works differently there. For all we know—"
"For all we know, she's been there for years," Kara snapped, immediately regretting her tone when Alex flinched. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't stop thinking about what she might be experiencing."
Alex's expression shifted from concern to something deeper—understanding mixed with a sadness Kara couldn't quite place. "I know," she said simply. "But wearing yourself down won't bring her back any faster."
Before Kara could respond, a triumphant shout erupted from the central console. "We've got it!" White exclaimed, his scarred hands hovering over a pulsing holographic model. "The quantum resonance pattern is stabilizing!"
Everyone converged on the console, chairs scraping against the floor, coffee sloshing in abandoned mugs. White's fingers danced across the interface, leaving trails of light like fireflies in their wake. A three-dimensional model of the Phantom Zone materialized in the air—a fractured, multi-layered representation that resembled shattered glass reassembling itself in slow motion, each jagged shard glowing with a sickly violet luminescence that cast eerie shadows across their upturned faces. Translucent layers shifted and rotated independently, occasionally passing through one another like ghostly geological strata. Within the model's chaotic heart, a tiny blue dot pulsed rhythmically, its cool cerulean light a stark contrast to the surrounding purple darkness.
"Is that...?" Kara couldn't finish the question, hope rising in her chest like a physical force.
"Lena's quantum signature," Brainy confirmed, his expression uncharacteristically animated, his fingers tracing the blue light. "Her device is leaving fingerprints in the Zone's dimensional fabric—exactly as our equations suggested it would."
"We can track it," White added. "Use it as a beacon to guide us directly to her location within the Zone's fracture planes."
"How accurate is this?"
"Within approximately 0.47 spatial units," Brainy replied, "which translates to roughly 500 meters in conventional Earth measurement. However, given the Zone's non-Euclidean properties, spatial distance becomes somewhat... metaphorical."
"It's enough," J'onn said, stepping forward to examine the model. "The ship's psychic interface can narrow the range once we're inside the Zone. If Lena is conscious, her thought patterns will create ripples in the psychic field that the ship can detect."
"And if she's not conscious?" Kelly asked, voicing the question no one wanted to consider.
A heavy silence fell over the group.
"Then we search every inch of that 500-meter radius," Kara said firmly, breaking the silence. "For as long as it takes."
White manipulated the hologram, zooming out to reveal more of the Zone's fractured topology. "The breach point needs to be precisely calibrated," he explained, indicating a swirling vortex at the model's edge. "We'll create a quantum tunnel here, using the Kryptonian crystal as our anchor point. The Martian ship will maintain the tunnel's stability while we navigate to Lena's location."
"How long will the tunnel remain open?" Alex asked, her tactical mind immediately focusing on the extraction.
"Thirty-seven minutes," White replied without hesitation. "After that, the quantum fluctuations become too unstable to maintain coherence."
"Thirty-seven minutes to find her and get out," Kara murmured, the time frame simultaneously feeling like an eternity and not nearly enough.
"It's all we can manage without risking catastrophic dimensional collapse," White said, his expression grave. "Push it any longer and we could create a cascade effect that would tear holes in reality across multiple dimensions."
"Then we'll have to be quick," J'onn said, his deep voice steady and reassuring. "The ship can reach maximum velocity almost instantaneously once we're inside the Zone."
Kara stared at the holographic model, at the tiny blue dot that represented Lena—brilliant, stubborn, complicated Lena who had sacrificed herself to save her. Thirty-seven minutes to navigate an alien prison dimension, locate Lena, and extract her before the portal collapsed.
It would have to be enough.
"How soon can we launch?" she asked, already mentally preparing herself for what lay ahead.
Brainy and White exchanged glances. "The portal generator requires twelve more hours of calibration," Brainy said. "And the ship's hull modifications need at least eight hours to fully integrate with the quantum stabilizers."
"So tomorrow morning," Kara concluded, a mixture of anticipation and dread coiling in her stomach. Less than a day until she would face the Phantom Zone again—the place that had haunted her nightmares since childhood.
"We should all get some rest," J'onn said finally, breaking the heavy silence that settled. "Tomorrow will test us in ways we can't fully prepare for."
The group began to disperse, each member returning to their respective tasks with renewed purpose. Alex squeezed Kara's shoulder as she passed, a silent gesture of support that spoke volumes. Nia and Kelly retreated to the kitchen, their whispered conversation about dream monitoring and psychological preparation fading as they moved away. J'onn returned to the ship, his massive frame silhouetted against the vessel's pulsing amber light.
Only Brainy remained beside Kara, his expression unusually hesitant.
"There is a 73.4% probability that Lena has experienced significant psychological trauma during her time in the Phantom Zone," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the holographic model where the blue dot continued its steady pulse. "And a 42.8% chance that her memories and perceptions have been altered in ways that may be... difficult to reconcile with reality."
"I know," Kara replied, her gaze never leaving the tiny blue light that represented her best friend, her... whatever Lena was to her now. Whatever she had always been.
"What I am attempting to convey," Brainy continued, "is that your expectations may require adjustment. The human psyche is remarkably fragile when subjected to dimensional distortions, and Lena's particular psychological profile—her history of abandonment, her complex relationship with her family, her feelings regarding your dual identity—all create potential vulnerabilities that the Zone would exploit with maximum efficiency."
"Brainy," Kara said softly, finally turning to meet his gaze. "I appreciate the concern. But I need you to understand something." She took a deep breath, the words she'd never spoken aloud finally finding their way to her lips. "I love her. All of her—not just the version I remember, but whatever version exists now. Whatever she's become, whatever she believes, whatever scars the Zone has left on her mind... I will love her through it."
Brainy blinked rapidly, processing this declaration with visible surprise. Then his expression softened into something almost tender. "I see," he said simply. "In that case, I calculate the probability of successful psychological reintegration increases to 87.9%." He hesitated, then added, "Love, while statistically difficult to quantify, appears to be a remarkably effective healing modality."
Despite everything, Kara felt her lips curve into a small smile. "I'll take those odds."
As Brainy moved away to rejoin White at the console, Kara turned her attention back to the holographic model of the Phantom Zone. Her eyes fixed on that pulsing blue dot—Lena's quantum signature, her scientific fingerprint left on the fabric of reality itself. Tomorrow, she would follow that light into the darkness between dimensions, into the prison that had haunted her nightmares since childhood.
And this time, she wouldn't be leaving without Lena.
Hours passed.
Kara remained at the window long after the others had gone to find whatever rest they could. She watched the city lights dim as dawn approached, the skyscrapers' silhouettes gradually sharpening against the navy-blue canvas of night. Her reflection ghosted in the glass—blonde hair disheveled, the House of El crest on her chest barely visible in the low light. She counted each heartbeat like a countdown to their mission, the steady rhythm in her chest a metronome marking time. When the first pale glow of morning touched the horizon—a thin line of amber bleeding into indigo—she finally moved, muscles stiff and protesting from standing sentinel through the night.
The elevator doors slid open behind her with a soft mechanical hiss, followed by the subtle displacement of air. Kara didn't turn, assuming it was Alex or J'onn coming to check on her. But the heartbeat was wrong—a deeper, slower cadence, familiar yet unexpected. Not one of her team.
"Kara?"
She whirled around, surprised by the voice she hadn't heard in months. "James?"
James Olsen stood in the doorway, his six-foot-four frame nearly filling the space, shoulders squared beneath his worn leather jacket. The warm amber light from the hallway caught the edge of his jawline, highlighting the tension there. His dark eyes, usually so steady, darted briefly to the holographic display before settling on her face. One hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles whitening slightly, while the other hung at his side, fingers curled around something she couldn't quite see. The confident photojournalist she remembered had been replaced by a man holding himself too carefully.
"I came as soon as Kelly called me," he said, stepping fully into the room. "I was already on my way back to National City when—"
"James?" Kelly emerged from the medical bay, surprise evident in her voice. "I didn't expect you until tomorrow."
"I drove straight through." His eyes moved from his sister to Kara. "Kelly filled me in on what happened to Lena. I'm so sorry, Kara."
Kara managed a nod, her throat suddenly tight.
James had been dating Lena before he'd left National City. Kara's stomach twisted into a familiar knot—the same one she'd felt watching them from across rooms, James's broad hand covering Lena's pale fingers, Lena's crimson lips curving into that same smile Kara had once believed was meant only for her, a smile she'd catalogued and replayed in her dreams until James appeared and claimed it for himself. Kara remembered the weight of the wine glass in her white-knuckled grip, the taste of forced laughter in her mouth as she'd averted her eyes from Lena wearing James's navy jacket, the collar turned up against her neck, drowning her small frame. Night after night, she'd stared at her bedroom ceiling, counting cracks in the plaster while her mind replayed their casual touches, wondering if the hollow ache beneath her ribs was because James had chosen someone else or because Lena had.
Now he stood before her, six-foot-four of shared history and complicated emotions, the ex-boyfriend of the woman whose blue dot pulsed on the hologram behind them—James, who'd once been her own boyfriend too, her confidant before either of them had known Lena existed. She hovered in indecision, caught between the urge to collapse against the familiar chest that had once been her sanctuary or turn away from the memories they both carried with them.
"We're going to get her back," she said instead, the words coming out more fiercely than intended.
"I know you will." James shifted, adjusting the thing he carried—a package wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a shoebox. "That's... actually why I'm here. Or part of it."
Kara frowned, her gaze drawn to the package. "What is that?"
James glanced down at it, his expression growing more somber. "It's for you. From Lena." He held it out, the brown paper crinkling slightly under his fingers. "She sent it to me about a week ago, with a letter. Said if anything... if things went 'wrong’, I should bring it to you personally."
Kara's heart stuttered in her chest. "A week ago? Before she..."
He nodded, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "She mailed this just before everything happened at the Fortress. The postmark shows it was sent hours before she stepped between you and Lex."
Kara's hands trembled slightly as she took the package. It was heavier than it looked, with something solid and weighty inside. The brown paper wrapping was secured with twine tied in a perfect, precise knot that was so quintessentially Lena that Kara felt her throat constrict.
"She knew," Kara whispered, staring down at the package. "She knew what might happen. That's why she had the device ready, why she was prepared to—" Her voice broke, unable to complete the thought.
James nodded grimly. "The letter she sent me... she didn't explain everything, but she said she was working on something dangerous. Something that might be necessary to stop her brother." His expression darkened. "She asked me to wait a specific amount of time before bringing this to you, unless I heard that something had happened."
"And when Kelly called you..." Kara trailed off, understanding dawning.
"I knew it was time," James finished. His gaze moved to the package in Kara's hands. "She was very specific that only you should open it. That it was meant for you alone."
The weight of the package seemed to increase in Kara's hands, as if responding to the gravity of James's words. What had Lena sent her? What could be so important that she'd arranged this contingency, this final message if things went wrong?
"Do you know what's inside?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
James shook his head. "The letter didn’t say. Just that it was crucial you receive it if... if the worst happened."
Kara's fingers tightened around the package.
The worst had happened—Lena was trapped in the Phantom Zone, that colorless void between dimensions where time had no meaning and the mind played tricks on itself. Each second there meant another moment Lena might be losing her grip on reality, her brilliant mind unraveling thread by thread in that place of endless nothing. Kara swallowed hard against the knot in her throat. The blue tracking dot on the monitor pulsed like a fragile heartbeat, a lifeline they couldn't afford to lose. They were going to fix this. They had to.
"Thank you for bringing this," she said, meeting James's concerned gaze. She opened her mouth to say something more, but found only empty air where words should be. Her fingers tightened around the package instead.
"Whatever you need, I'm here," James offered, his voice firm with the same steadfast loyalty that had made him one of her closest allies for years. "If there's any way I can help with the rescue—"
"James," Kelly interrupted gently, placing a hand on her brother's arm. "There's something else you should know. About who else is trapped in the Phantom Zone with Lena."
Kara watched James's expression shift as Kelly quietly explained about Lex about the dangers they were preparing to face. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"I'm coming with you," he said when Kelly finished, his tone brooking no argument. "If Lex is there, if Lena's in danger—"
"The ship can only safely accommodate five," J'onn interjected, having approached silently during their conversation. "And the team has been selected based on the specific skills needed for this mission."
James looked ready to argue, but after a moment, he nodded reluctantly. "Then I'll help here. With preparations, with maintaining the portal, whatever's needed."
"We could use another set of hands," Alex called from across the room, raising a steaming mug in their direction, the rich scent of coffee cutting through the tension as she approached. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. "Especially someone who knows their way around advanced tech."
As James moved to join Alex, Kara slipped away to the balcony, holding the package to her heart as though it might shatter if she breathed too hard. Her fingers, capable of bending steel, trembled as they worked at the twine. The knot gave way, and the brown paper fell open. Inside lay a simple cardboard box that made her pulse quicken. Kara's breath caught in her throat. Heart hammering against her ribs, she opened it.
Inside, nestled in custom-fitted foam, lay what appeared to be a bracelet—a slender band of polished titanium. Beside it, a small data drive and a handwritten note on L-Corp letterhead, folded precisely in thirds.
Kara unfolded the note, Lena's elegant handwriting swimming before her eyes.
Kara,
If you're reading this, I've failed in some way I can't predict. I hope not catastrophically.
The bracelet contains a complete suit of my design. Nanotechnology, Kara—it will replace your current uniform when activated, generating concentrated yellow solar radiation against your skin beneath the protective outer layer. I couldn't stop thinking about you falling that day during the eclipse—the way the world seemed to stop when you did. I'd spent every night since in the lab, working until dawn, though I should have given this to you months ago. I let my hurt pride stand between you and something that could save your life. I'm sorry for that. No one should ever see you helpless like that again. Especially not because of my family.
The data drive has everything else. All my research, all the projects. I've made sure it's unhackable, unbreakable. It belongs with someone who'll use it properly.
I wish I could be there to see what you do with it all. I wish for so many things, Kara.
You deserved better than what I've put you through. You deserved a friend who could be as good as you are. I tried to be that person. I wanted to be. Maybe in some universe, I managed it.
Please don't waste time wondering if you could have saved me. Some debts can only be repaid one way.
Take care of yourself.
Lena
Kara traced her fingers over the signature, a single tear falling onto the paper. The bracelet caught the blush of dawn breaking across the horizon, its metallic surface transforming from shadow to liquid fire. With trembling hands, she slipped it onto her wrist, feeling the cool metal warm instantly against her skin.
Chapter 9: the only move
Summary:
Lena spends days pretending to cooperate with Lex as they work on stabilizing the dimensional anchor in the Phantom Zone. While he unravels and Nyxly grows bored, Lena quietly sabotages the machine one microscopic change at a time—altering resonance frequencies and bio-signature locks so the portal will leave Lex trapped. When Lex discovers her betrayal, his mask shatters, violence erupts.
Lena tears out the keystone component and runs.
As Lex hunts for her, an unknown figure emerges from the void—bearing a familiar Kryptonian crest.
Notes:
My deepest condolences to the community.
You’ll know....
And I’ll make it up to you. Eventually. I swear.
Chapter Text
9
the only move
Lena’s fingers danced across the spidery keys with a delicacy she’d never employed even in the lowest levels of L-Corp’s cleanrooms, where a single stray touch could cost millions. The dimensional anchor’s control panel was a hemisphere of obsidian crystal that pulsed with sickly violet light, each glyph flickering as if aware of her presence. She’d spent four days pretending to be an indifferent prisoner, letting Lex believe her compliance was motivated by hunger and dismay, but every moment she’d been mapping this alien interface in her mind. Lex was a genius, but he was arrogant in a way that grew more cartoonish with every hour; he didn’t think she could outpace him in this dead world where time itself seemed to leak away.
She glanced sidelong at him now. Lex had found a military overcoat in the ruin where Nyxly had led them. He wore it like a costume, shoulders squared and collar up, the fabric hanging off his shrinking frame. The hollows under his eyes were matched only by the hollows in his cheeks. He still shaved twice a day—Lena could see the raw, pink lines where he’d nicked his jaw this morning, using the razor Nyxly had produced with a flourish from the depths of her own battered satchel. He looked, for the first time in his life, exactly like what he was—a dying animal, cunning and desperate.
Watching him pace the perimeter each night, muttering calculations under his breath until his voice grew hoarse, had become its own form of insomnia. She'd always been able to get by on little sleep, but in the Phantom Zone, sleep was no longer a refuge. She’d learned quickly to close her eyes only when Nyxly and Lex bickered themselves into exhausted silence, and then only in short stretches. She'd catalogued her nightmares by now, knew them like old enemies. The drowning ones returned most often—water filling her lungs while something heavy pressed her down. In others, Lex stood above her bed, a blade balanced on his palm, waiting for her to choose which part of herself to sacrifice. Then the ones where Nyxly crooned lullabies about all the ways Lena had failed, each verse more honeyed and true than the last. But the worst ones, the ones that left her gasping awake with her heart hammering against her chest, were always of Kara—inert and gray, floating just out of reach in dark water, her cape torn and undulating like seaweed, her lips blue, her eyes open and empty. These left Lena curled into herself at dawn, knuckles jammed between her teeth until the skin broke, tasting copper as she silently heaved, desperate that neither Lex nor Nyxly would hear the raw, animal sounds trying to claw their way out of her throat.
Waking was worse, in a way, because it came with the knowledge that she’d soon have to play the game again, to be exactly as Lex needed her to be, while hunting for the one opportunity to ruin his plans for good.
Water was rationed to a quarter-cup per person per shift, dispensed from the cracked hydrocell Nyxly guarded with a zeal that bordered on religious. The food was worse—Lex had produced some kind of gray protein bar that he claimed to have synthesized himself, though from what materials in this barren place, Lena couldn't begin to guess. It tasted like a blend of yeast and mildew, and left her tongue fuzzy for hours. Nyxly didn't seem to mind; she ate slowly, splitting her ration into pea-sized pellets that she swallowed without chewing.
Lex had made quick work of the dimensional anchor’s core. He spent his days “troubleshooting” the power output, but Lena knew he was really searching for the failsafes, the self-destructs, the backdoors. He would lose patience every hour or so, rapping his knuckles on the console and pacing the length of the console room, reciting aloud whatever insults he’d catalogued since the last outburst. He was growing less careful, more erratic.
That was good.
It meant he was scared.
Lena, for her part, had become adept at moving when he wasn’t looking. She’d learned to chart the intervals of his attention. When he squinted at a formula, when he turned away to shout at Nyxly—who delighted in finding small ways to get under his skin—when he sat, exhausted, on the cold stone slab they used as a table and ran his trembling hands over his jaw. In those moments, Lena would slip in a recalibration, a corrupted data packet, a new line of code. Once she even managed to swap out a cracked focusing crystal for an almost identical shard she’d scavenged from the debris field outside. She’d learned that the device responded to intent—the glyphs would shudder and rearrange when she lingered on a particular pattern, and once, when her mind wandered to Kara so fiercely it felt like prayer, the entire console had gone dark for a full ten seconds. Lex had blamed Nyxly for it, but Lena was beginning to suspect something more. The machine was aware. Not sentient, but alive in the way a virus or a fungus was alive. It wanted something.
Now, as she leaned over the console, she could feel Lex watching her. He was pretending to read one of the old Kryptonian data cylinders, but his reflection in the obsidian surface told her otherwise. Lena razed all trace of expression from her own face, becoming the cool cipher she’d perfected long ago. With each tap, she sent a micro-fluctuation through the system, logging which glyphs responded, which resisted. She was building a map, one error at a time.
In the other corner of the room, Nyxly swayed on her feet, humming a lullaby that might have been beautiful if it hadn’t been warped by her forked, double-pitched voice. She watched Lena and Lex as if they were insects in a petri dish, and Lena had learned never to meet her gaze for more than a second. Nyxly was unpredictable, but not stupid. There would come a moment when she decided Lena was a liability, and probably not long after that, Lena would die. That knowledge made everything crystalline and sharp. Her fingertip, its nail bitten to the quick, traced a microscopic adjustment to the resonance frequency—exactly two degrees lower than what Lex had specified in his meticulous instructions.
"The calibration is almost complete," Lex announced, his voice carrying a familiar note of triumph. "Once we synchronize the anchor's resonance frequency with the tear you created at the fortress, the portal should stabilize enough for passage."
Lena nodded, not trusting herself to speak as her fingers continued their delicate dance across the luminescent control surface. The crystalline interface hummed beneath her touch, its violet glow casting ghastly shadows across her bitten fingernails. For days, she'd been making microscopic alterations to the anchor's control matrix—rerouting quantum pathways with a flick of her wrist, inverting polarity nodes when Lex turned to berate Nyxly, adjusting dimensional parameters by mere picometers while feigning frustration at nonexistent errors. Each change was imperceptible alone, like individual raindrops, but together they formed a rushing current that would sweep Lex away when the moment came. Nothing that would prevent the portal from opening, but everything that would determine who could pass through it—and who would remain trapped in this purgatory. The violet glow beneath her fingers pulsed once, as if in acknowledgment of her plan.
"Your brother is quite brilliant," Nyxly remarked, sidling closer to Lena while Lex focused on his portion of the console. "But you... you're something else entirely, aren’t you? You understand intuitive leaps his logical mind can't quite grasp."
Lena kept her expression neutral, though her pulse quickened. "We complement each other's approaches," she said carefully. "Always have."
Nyxly's lips curved into that knowing smile that made Lena's skin crawl. "And yet you're working against him even now."
Her fingers froze momentarily over the controls before she forced them to resume their work. "I don't know what you mean."
"No?" Nyxly leaned closer, her breath cold against Lena's ear. "Those little adjustments you're making...” She leaned closer, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They're not part of his calibration sequence, are they? Naughty, naughty little Luthor."
Panic flared in Lena's chest, but she maintained her composure with the same iron will that had carried her through boardroom coups and assassination attempts. "The anchor's crystalline lattice exhibits quantum decoherence under non-Euclidean stress. I'm applying inverse tachyon modulation to the subharmonic resonators to prevent catastrophic dimensional bleedthrough at the event horizon."
Nyxly's lips curved into a mocking smile. "My, my, what a talent. Did they give you a special certificate at Academy for that performance, or is bullshitting just part of the family DNA?" She glanced toward Lex, who remained absorbed in his work, then back to Lena. "Don't worry, little sister. Your secret is safe with me. At least until it no longer amuses me."
"Why?" Lena couldn't help asking, though she kept her voice low enough that Lex couldn't hear.
"Because your brother's ambitions bore me," Nyxly replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He’s just another man obsessed with killing a Kryptonian.” She yawned, stretching her arms overhead with exaggerated languor. "I've been trapped with megalomaniacs for centuries, and they all have the same tired screenplay." Her gaze finally flicked to Lena, one eyebrow arched. She traced a fingernail down Lena's arm. "You, on the other hand, have layers I've yet to peel back."
Before Lena could respond, Lex called out from across the chamber. "Lena, I need your input on the final sequence. The dimensional harmonics are fluctuating beyond expected parameters."
Nyxly stepped back, that unsettling smile still playing at her lips. "Better not keep him waiting. Brothers can be so impatient when their sisters don't follow the script."
Lena crossed the chamber toward Lex, each footfall echoing against the crystalline floor. Her fingertips still tingled from the violet energy of the console, and sweat had gathered at the nape of her neck despite the perpetual chill. She could feel Nyxly's gaze burning between her shoulder blades as she approached her brother, who hunched vulture-like over the main control panel. The Fifth Princess's knowing smile lingered in Lena's mind—a crescent moon of malice in an otherwise unreadable face.
What game was Nyxly playing?
Her silence about the sabotage felt more dangerous than any threat.
"Look at this," Lex said without turning, his finger tracing a pattern of pulsing light across the display as if he'd known exactly when she would arrive at his side, never doubting for a moment that she would obey his summons. "The harmonic resonance is shifting. Almost as if..." His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing as he studied the readouts more closely.
Lena's heart skipped a beat. The adjustments she'd made to the secondary matrix were beginning to affect the primary controls—subtle changes cascading through the system faster than she'd anticipated. She needed to distract him, to buy more time.
"The dimensional boundaries are in constant flux," she offered, reaching past him to adjust a control that would temporarily mask the anomalies. "It's the nature of the Phantom Zone. We need to compensate for the drift."
Lex's eyes followed her movements, something dark and suspicious flickering in their depths. "Strange. I've accounted for the drift in my calculations." As she withdrew her hand, his fingers snapped around her wrist like a trap, pressing against the delicate tendons until she felt the dull throb of circulation being cut off. "Yet the system keeps shifting back to parameters I didn't set."
Lena met his gaze, years of boardroom poker faces serving her well. "Perhaps the anchor has its own intelligence. Nyxly mentioned the Kryptonian who built it incorporated adaptive algorithms."
"Did she?" Lex's grip tightened fractionally. "How convenient."
He released her wrist and turned back to the console, but something had shifted in his posture—a new rigidity in his spine,each finger striking the controls with measured care. His peripheral vision never left her hands. He was watching her now, really watching her, with the focused intensity that had made him such a formidable opponent in chess when she was a child.
Lena retreated to her side of the console, mind racing like a trapped hummingbird. Her fingers moved swiftly across the interface. She completed the final sequence of adjustments while appearing to simply monitor the energy levels, her face a careful mask of concentration. The console hummed beneath her touch, a sound like distant cellos, as the violet glow intensified from lavender to deep amethyst. Tiny fractal patterns spiraled outward from her fingertips as the anchor began to draw power from the ambient dimensional energy of the Phantom Zone itself, pulling wisps of spectral matter toward the console like a miniature galaxy forming around a hungry black hole.
"Remarkable," Lex murmured, momentarily distracted by the anchor's response. "The power curve is exponential. At this rate, we'll have sufficient energy for a stable portal within minutes rather than hours."
Lena inclined her head slightly, her face a practiced mask.
Three more calibrations and it would be ready.
The console erupted in crimson warning lights, a harsh electronic shriek piercing the chamber's stillness. Across the room, Lex's attention jerked toward her, his gaze fixing on her hovering fingertips with sudden, dangerous comprehension.
"What did you do?" he demanded, already moving around the console toward her.
"Nothing," Lena insisted, stepping back. "The system is just—"
"Don't lie to me!" Lex's voice cracked like a whip. He lunged forward, seizing her arm and yanking her away from the console with enough force that pain shot through her shoulder. "Show me what you've done."
Lena tried to pull free, but his grip was like iron. "Let go of me, Lex."
"You've been sabotaging the anchor," he snarled, dragging her back to the console and forcing her to look at the display where her alterations were now clearly visible in the system's diagnostic readout. "Changing the resonance frequencies, recalibrating the bio-signature locks." His eyes widened with realization. "You were going to leave me here."
"You tried to trap Kara here," Lena countered, still struggling against his grip. "You would have killed her if I hadn't stopped you."
Lex's face contorted, a muscle jumping violently in his jaw as his eyes narrowed to burning slits. "So this is about her. Again." He spat the final word like it was poison on his tongue.
"This isn't about Kara," Lena shot back, though the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. "It's about you being willing to murder anyone who gets in your way."
Something dark and dangerous flashed in Lex's eyes—a look she'd seen only a few times before, usually right before someone died. His grip on her arm tightened to bruising force. The pain tore a sound from her throat—small, involuntary, betraying weakness she couldn't afford. "Fix it," he demanded, his voice deadly quiet. "Undo whatever you've done to the anchor."
"No."
Lex's control snapped like a high-tension wire. His face contorted into something barely human—nostrils flared, veins bulging at his temples, teeth bared in a rictus of hatred. With a guttural sound that echoed off the crystalline walls, he shoved her backward with both hands. The force sent her stumbling across the polished obsidian floor until her spine slammed against a jagged formation of violet crystal. Pain exploded across her back like lightning, white-hot and momentarily paralyzing, as the razor-sharp edge sliced through her blazer and bit into the tender flesh beneath her left shoulder blade.
"You ungrateful—" He stalked toward her, hands curled into white-knuckled weapons. "After everything I've done for you. Everything I taught you."
Lena straightened, ignoring the throbbing pain in her back. "You taught me to survive, Lex. That's exactly what I'm doing."
She feinted left, then darted right, trying to circle back to the console where she could complete the final sequence. But Lex anticipated her move, cutting off her path with surprising speed for a man who'd spent his life in boardrooms rather than battlefields.
"Always so predictable, Lena," he sneered, backing her against the wall again. "Always thinking you're three steps ahead when you're really just following the path I've laid out for you."
"Is that what you think?" Lena's eyes flicked toward the console, calculating distances, angles, possibilities. "That I'm following your lead? I stopped being your puppet a long time ago, Lex."
She drove her knee upward, aiming for his groin with the desperation of someone who knew they were outmatched physically but unwilling to surrender. Lex twisted at the last second, taking the blow on his thigh instead. He grunted in pain but didn't retreat.
Instead, his hand shot out, fingers tangling in her hair, yanking her head back with vicious force. "You think you're so clever," he hissed, his face inches from hers, spittle flying from his lips. "But you've never understood what's really at stake. The existential threat these aliens pose."
"The only threat I see is you," Lena gasped, trying to pry his fingers from her hair. "You and your pathological need to control everything and everyone around you."
Rage contorted Lex's features into something barely recognizable as human. With a wordless snarl, he slammed her head sideways into the wall. The impact sent fractures spiderwebbing through the violet crystal. Blinding pain exploded behind Lena's eyes, the world tilting sickeningly on its axis as warm blood trickled down the side of her face.
"Fix it," her brother demanded, his voice seeming to come from miles away despite his proximity. "Or I'll make sure you never leave this place."
Lena blinked, trying to clear her vision. The room spun in nauseating circles. Console lights stretched into smeared neon trails, leaving violet tracers that lingered too long in her sight. Objects appeared in duplicate, then merged back together. A high-pitched ringing screamed in her ears, making it impossible to gauge how loudly Lex was speaking. But through the haze of pain, she saw something that Lex, in his rage, had forgotten—Nyxly, watching from the shadows, those unsettling eyes gleaming with something that might have been amusement.
Or opportunity.
"She can't fix anything if you damage her brain, Lex Luthor," Nyxly's voice cut through the chamber, sharp as broken glass. "And I need both of your minds intact if this portal is to open at all."
Lex's grip on Lena's hair loosened fractionally, but he didn't release her. "Stay out of this. This is between me and my sister."
"Nothing in the Phantom Zone is private," Nyxly replied. "Especially not when it threatens to destroy my only chance at freedom."
Lena seized the momentary distraction, twisting violently out of Lex's grasp. She staggered sideways as the room tilted around her, each movement sending waves of nausea through her body. Her vision blurred and doubled, making the console seem to drift in and out of focus as she lurched toward it. When she finally collided with its edge, her fingers fumbled across the control surface until they found what she needed—the octahedral crystal component they'd calibrated earlier, cool and jagged beneath her touch, pulsing with violet light. The keystone of the dimensional anchor.
She yanked it free, the console emitting a high-pitched whine of protest.
"What have you done?" Lex roared, lunging for her again.
Lena stumbled backward, one heel catching on the uneven floor, sending her lurching sideways before she righted herself, clutching the crystal component to her chest like a talisman. Her vision swam, doubling and trebling until there were three Lexes advancing on her, three Nyxlys watching with those too-bright eyes.
"Interesting choice," Nyxly murmured, making no move to help either sibling.
Lex's fingers brushed her sleeve, his nails scraping the fabric as they nearly caught hold but Lena jerked away, her spine colliding with the jagged crystalline arch of the chamber's entrance. The impact sent fractures of pain radiating across her already-battered back. The world tilted sickeningly beneath her feet like the deck of a storm-tossed ship, darkness crowding the edges of her vision in pulsing, inky waves. Concussion, the analytical part of her mind supplied with clinical detachment, even as her stomach threatened to empty what little it contained. Severe, based on the metallic taste flooding her mouth, the nauseating kaleidoscope effect transforming one brother into three, and the way sound seemed to arrive seconds after she saw lips moving.
"Give it back," Lex demanded. "That component is essential to stabilizing the portal."
"I know," Lena managed, her own voice sounding strange to her ears. "That's why I'm taking it."
She turned and ran, or tried to—her movements were uncoordinated, body listing like a damaged ship as the floor threatened to rise up and meet her with every stumbling step. Crystalline walls fractured into kaleidoscopeic patters—first one corridor, then three, then one again—as violet light stabbed her retinas in rhythm with the hammering inside her skull. Her stomach heaved. She swallowed copper and bile, forcing herself forward through a world that refused to hold still.
Behind her, Lex's footsteps pounded in pursuit, his rage-filled shouts echoing off the walls. "Lena! You can't escape! There's nowhere to go!"
He was right, of course.
The Phantom Zone offered no refuge, no sanctuary. But she couldn't let him have the component. Couldn't let him finish that portal. If Lex returned to Earth, his obsession would turn the world into a battlefield—with Kara and Clark as his primary targets, and every innocent bystander just collateral damage in his personal war.
The corridor ahead split into three branches—or at least she thought it did. With her vision still swimming from the head injury, Lena couldn't be certain if the crystalline structure truly forked in three directions or if her concussion was creating phantom pathways where only one existed. Lena chose the rightmost path either way, her fingertips dragging against the jagged wall for balance as she ran, leaving smears of blood where sharp edges caught her skin. The octahedral component pulsed against her sternum where she clutched it, its violet energy throbbing in time with her racing heartbeat, resonating with something ancient and aware deep within the structure itself. The translucent walls around her responded to its presence, the amethyst glow intensifying from dull lavender to electric purple, creating a luminous pathway that beckoned her deeper into the labyrinthine formation where shadows danced like living things at the edges of her doubled vision.
Was the structure itself helping her?
Or was it Nyxly, playing some game Lena couldn't begin to understand?
The corridor ended abruptly, the glossy obsidian floor shearing away into nothingness. Lena's momentum carried her to the precipice before her brain could process the danger. Her boots skidded on the crystalline edge, sending tiny violet shards spiraling into the abyss below—a chasm of such profound darkness that light itself seemed to surrender at its threshold. No bottom was visible, no opposite wall, only a near-vertical descent into absolute void. Lena's stomach contracted violently, acid burning the back of her throat as her concussion-addled brain struggled to process the spatial disorientation. The ravine exhaled upward, a cold breath from some impossible depth that carried no scent, only the whispered promise of oblivion.
"End of the line, sister dear."
Lena turned slowly, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through her skull. Lex stood at the corridor's entrance, chest heaving, face flushed with exertion and rage. His eyes fixed on the crystal component still clutched in her hand.
"Give it to me," he said, advancing slowly now, as if approaching a cornered animal. "And I might still let you come home when the portal opens."
"We both know that's a lie," Lena replied, taking a small step backward. Her heel met empty air, pebbles dislodging beneath her foot to tumble into the darkness below. "You'd never let me leave now that I've defied you."
"Is that what you think this is about? Defiance?" Lex shook his head, a mockery of brotherly disappointment. "This is about survival, Lena. Human survival. Something you seem to have forgotten in your infatuation with that alien."
"Her name is Kara," Lena said, the words coming automatically, a defense she'd repeated so many times it had become reflex.
"I don't care what she calls herself," Lex snarled, taking another step forward. "She's the enemy. All of them are. And you—" His face twisted with disgust. "You've chosen their side over your own species. Over your own family."
"Family doesn't try to kill family, Lex." Lena's vision swam again, darkness encroaching further. She had to stay conscious. Had to keep the component away from him. "You crossed that line a long time ago."
Lex lunged suddenly, covering the remaining distance between them. His hand closed around her wrist, squeezing with bruising force as he tried to pry the component from her grasp. "Give it to me!"
Lena clawed at his face, her fingernails catching the taut skin beneath his right eye. Lex howled as four crimson lines bloomed across his alabaster cheek, beads of blood welling up like tiny rubies against the stark white of his complexion. His grip loosened just enough—a momentary slackening and she yanked her arm free with a desperate jerk that sent the prismatic room careening around her, violet and obsidian surfaces blurring together. Her foot slipped on the edge of the ravine. And for one suspended moment, she hung in perfect balance between solid ground and empty space before gravity claimed her.
The fall seemed to happen in slow motion.
Detached, as if watching herself fall from somewhere outside her body, Lena observed the rage drain from her brother’s face, replaced by genuine shock—what might have been genuine fear for her safety? A flicker of the brother who had once carried her on his shoulders through Central Park? Who’d hidden her in his treehouse when she’d stolen their father’s favorite fountain pen? His hand shot forward, grasping only at the ghost of where she had been. The violet glow of the crystal structure receded above, pulsing once, twice, as she plummeted into darkness.
The impact came not at the ravine bottom, but against an outcropping barely twenty feet below. Her left shoulder struck first—a sickening crack followed by a pop that sent white-hot lightning down her arm. Something tore deep inside, fundamental connections severing as her body tumbled across the obsidian ledge. Each impact brought new torment—grinding bone, ripping tissue, the distinct sensation of something in her chest giving way against crystalline edges. Blood welled warm and copper-bright beneath her tongue. Every shallow breath drew fire through her ribs, the world around her pulsing in and out of focus as pain became the only reality Lena could comprehend.
The crystal component remained secure in her grip, pressed against her sternum by her uninjured arm as she sprawled across the narrow outcropping. From twenty feet above, Lex peered down into the chasm, his face a ghostly ellipse framed by the corridor's pulsing amethyst light.
“Lena!" His voice cracked with something she hadn't heard in years. It echoed through the ravine, bouncing off unseen walls, distorting but never quite disguising the tremor in it. "Lena, please... can you hear me?"
She remained silent, fighting to stay conscious despite the pain radiating from her shoulder and ribs. If he thought she was dead, or too injured to move...
"I know you’re alive down there," he called, his tone sharpening to cover the tremor. "Don't make me waste time hunting for you. That component is worth more than your life—though I'd prefer not to test that equation." He paused, then added more quietly, almost to himself, "Just answer me, damn it."
Lex vanished from the edge. Footsteps scraped against crystal somewhere above—he was hunting for a path down to the ledge. Lena had to move. Had to find somewhere to hide before Lex found a to her. She attempted to push herself upright, but where her left shoulder should be, there was only a sickening void that sent lightning down to her fingertips and up into her neck. Her collarbone jutted visibly against skin, a sharp ridge beneath the blood-spattered wool of her blazer. Her useless arm hung like a foreign object, simultaneously numb and screaming with pain. Each shallow breath brought a grinding sensation deep in her chest, as if broken glass were shifting between her ribs.
Lena's eyelids fluttered as she fought to remain conscious. Through pain-blurred vision, she detected movement—a shifting absence within the shadows. From the abyss emerged a silhouette—or perhaps two silhouettes, her concussed brain couldn't decide which was real—tall forms wrapped in material so dark it devoured what little light touched it. Where a face should have been visible beneath the hood, there was only an impenetrable shadow, a pocket of perfect darkness. She instinctively tried to scramble backward, but her left side collapsed beneath her. The movement ignited another lightning storm beneath her skin. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears, drowning out whatever sound she might have made. The world tilted again, colors smearing like wet paint across her vision. Her stomach lurched violently, acid burning the back of her throat.
"S-stay back," she managed, the words emerging as little more than a rasp, unsure if she'd actually spoken aloud or merely thought the command. Her good arm clutched the crystal component tighter, its violet pulse warming against her palm like a living heartbeat—the only constant in her swimming reality.
The figures paused at her words, heads tilting in perfect synchronicity. As they advanced again, the twin silhouettes wavered like heat mirages, their edges blurring into one another until, with each step closer, they merged—two becoming one as her vision steadied, her concussed brain momentarily grasping reality through the fog of injury.
"Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer.
Instead, it crouched beside her, the movement surprisingly human in its caution. The hood of the cloak fell back slightly, revealing not a void or cosmic expanse, but the face of a man—ordinary in its features yet extraordinary in its presence here, in this dimensional prison. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, with a trim beard framing a strong jawline. Short dark hair, slightly wavy and neatly kept despite their surroundings, crowned a face that spoke of intelligence and wariness in equal measure. His eyes, dark and alert, studied her injuries with clinical detachment. A hand emerged from the folds of the cloak—entirely human. Long fingers, steady and sure, reached toward her face.
Lena flinched away, sending a fresh wave of nausea through her stomach as her injuries protested the movement. "Don't—"
The man hesitated, then spoke—a stream of syllables that made no sense to Lena's ears. The language was nothing she recognized, with rhythms and phonemes that seemed to rise and fall in patterns unlike any Earth tongue. Yet something about it tugged at her memory—the cadence, the tonal qualities.
Kryptonian?
The man frowned at her lack of comprehension, then tried again, pointing to her bleeding temple and making a gesture that clearly asked permission to examine her. When Lena didn't pull away this time, his fingers gently probed the wound, his touch clinical rather than threatening. As he leaned closer, his cloak fell open at the chest, revealing the edge of a faded insignia on his undershirt—an unmistakable 'S' shape enclosed in a diamond. Lena's eyes widened, her pain momentarily forgotten.
"Kara," she whispered, her trembling fingers reaching toward the symbol. "Please... help... please" The words dissolved as darkness rushed in from the edges of her vision, swallowing her consciousness whole.
Chapter 10: the seventh son
Summary:
Between fever, pain, and the pull of the Zone, Lena drifts through memory and nightmare—drowning in water that isn’t water, surfacing into the hands of a stranger who speaks like Kara’s ghosts. As he resets bones and binds wounds, fragments of past and present bleed together until the crest on his chest resolves into something impossible.
In the ruins of the Phantom Zone, the man who saves her carries the sigil of the House of El.
Chapter Text
10
the seventh son
Drowning again.
Not in water this time, or the viscous liquid from days—weeks?—ago, but pressure. A vise closing from all sides at once, squeezing her thoughts into a pinpoint of awareness while her body turned distant, foreign, impossibly heavy. Her body thrashed instinctively, which only accelerated the sinking. Her lungs burned for air but found only liquid, each desperate gasp flooding her chest with crushing weight that pressed against the jagged something in her left side, sending white-hot lightning through flesh that wouldn't respond to her commands. She couldn't scream underwater—only bubbles escaped as consciousness began to dim and the ringing in her ears intensified into a high-pitched whine, her eardrums compressing painfully. Above her, pale light wavered, growing more distant and unreachable with every second. Her functioning limb clawed upward, fingers spread wide, grasping at nothing while her pulse thundered in her ears, each beat slower than the last, until a child's voice—her own voice—cried out from deep in her memory as darkness claimed her vision from the edges, tunneling inward until nothing remained.
Then she was four years old again, nestled in her mother’s lap. The soft click-click of knitting needles measured the seconds like a lullaby. “My clever Lena,” her mother murmured, fingers weaving her hair into a neat, shining braid. The scent of oiled wool and talcum powder curled around her. Happiness felt like a soap bubble—perfect, fragile, iridescent—ready to burst at the slightest touch. Lena tasted warm cocoa on her tongue, watched the hearth’s firelight dance on wooden floorboards, and believed with every fiber of her being that she was safe and loved.
The phantom water returned, dragging her back down. A strangled whimper lodged in her throat, tearing free in a raw, animal howl when rough hands crashed onto her right shoulder and sternum. Her teeth chattered as cold sweat slicked her temples. “Hold still,” a man’s voice growled—deep, foreign, not her brother’s familiar, arrogant tone. Through tears, she glimpsed the bearded face from before hovering above, its features smeared like wet paint. A woman’s voice—soft, lilting with an Irish accent—whispered behind him, “Don’t move her. The vertebrae could be compromised”. Then Lex’s distant call, thunderous in her ears, calling her name from above. The stranger’s firm hands cradled her skull, molding her neck so that her spine remained aligned. His harsh reprimand cut through her confusion when she tried to turn her head toward Lex's voice, her body responding to her brother's call before her mind could remember why that familiar voice now sent ice water through her veins.
The stranger's fingers brushed her carotid, slid down to press against her shoulder where bone met chest. A lightning strike of agony exploded through her body, blazing across her ribcage like molten steel, leaving her lungs paralyzed in its wake. He traced invisible highways along her arm, every nerve firing in bursts of pins-and-needles, then plunging into icy numbness. When her fingertips finally twitched—a tiny triumph—his stern expression softened, though her agony dragged her back in.
Then Lena sat cross-legged on a velvet carpet in Lionel Luthor’s study, the air heavy with smoke and the tang of spilt whiskey. Her father swayed on a leather armchair, a cut-crystal tumbler balanced in one unsteady hand, amber liquid sloshing perilously close to the brim. “If you can’t predict the next three moves,” he slurred, tapping her knight with a stubby finger, “you’re already dead.” His bloodshot eyes locked on hers with an unsettling warmth—an affection he never extended to Lex. Lena studied the curve of his mouth, the flicker of pride in his gaze—a contradiction that haunted her childhood nights, her small hands tracing chess pieces in the dark, replaying moves as if the right sequence might unlock why one child earned the light in his eyes while the other lived in perpetual shadow. Sometimes she'd freeze mid-move, knight suspended above the board, struck by the terrible thought that Lex watched from doorways as their father smiled at her, that each of Lionel's approving nods drove another splinter of resentment into her brother's heart.
The stranger from the depths tore a strip of dark cloak and wrapped it around her torso, binding her injured arm snugly against her chest. The coarse fabric bit into raw skin, but it held her shoulder steady and kept her spine from twisting. Before oblivion claimed her again, strong arms lifted her onto a broad back, each movement measured and careful. Lena slid between waking and nightmare—visions of violet skies fractured by silver flashes, the sting of pain her only constant companion.
Her mind drifted into another gilded moment.
She was twenty-two, dancing with Jack on a rooftop that glowed beneath a tapestry of city lights. The skyline sprawled below like a circuit board alive with electric possibility. Jack's hands rested warm and sure on her waist, his thumb tracing small circles against the silk of her dress, sending electricity up her spine. Every breath he exhaled tasted of cheap champagne and promise, mingling with the night air to raise goosebumps along her bare shoulders. They spun in joyous circles until his lips met hers—soft, insistent—and the world stilled. She felt the brush of his eyelashes against her cheek, his skin beneath her fingertips as they slid up his neck into his hair, the dizzying sweetness of belonging as his body pressed against hers. She arched into him, memorizing the curve where his shoulder met his neck, inhaling the cedar and citrus scent that was uniquely his—and believed in nothing but that perfect forever. Then, in the blink of an eye, pain yanked her back into the present.
A new voice—higher, softer—murmured in her ear as heavy footsteps slowed. The clammy, electric air gave way to a mineral chill that tasted of ash and stone. Gentle hands laid her onto a slab of polished obsidian hewn from the Phantom Zone’s crystalline bedrock. Her vision blurred as the strange man knelt beside her, testing her pulse, flexing her wrist, one by one pinching her fingers like a caretaker reading signs of life. Satisfied, he cradled her elbow and applied slow, deliberate traction to her dislocated shoulder. There were no abrupt cracks, only the muffled pop of cartilage sliding back into its socket. She held her breath as pain flared in a brilliant arc—then dissipated into a dull, aching hum.
Something wider replaced the thin strip across her chest. The stranger's fingers tucked something soft into her armpit—a folded cloth that lifted her injured arm slightly. The world tilted sideways as pressure circled her body—once, twice—each loop bringing a new wave of fire that made her vision turn white at the edges. Her breath caught as her supported arm was secured against her chest, the padding preventing her shoulder from dropping. She couldn't remember why it hurt or what had happened, only that each methodical movement of those hands brought equal measures of agony and relief. Through the fog, a distant part of her mind recognized the technique. Field medicine, proper immobilization. But the thought slipped away like water through fingers as another careful tug sent fresh lightning through her shoulder.
All the while he whispered measured words in Kryptonian, or a tongue nearly identical, each syllable vibrating through her bones. He laid a gentle palm on her chest, tracking her breath and checking for concussion. Uneven pupils, a racing pulse. When she whimpered, he pressed a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, his tone soothing though she could not understand the words.
She drifted again, slipping into L-Corp's executive suite, rain tapping against the windows like hesitant fingers. Kara perched on Lena's swivel chair, spinning slowly, boots brushing against the polished floor. The day was so ordinary it hollowed her chest. When she stepped forward, her heart hammered against her ribs like something caged trying to reach its mate. She brushed Kara's hair behind her ear, allowing herself this one small liberty, this momentary crossing of the boundary she'd drawn between worthiness and want. Kara's smile broke across her face like sunlight through clouds, illuminating everything Lena had convinced herself she could never have. “I’ll always protect you, Lena. Promise.” Those words were a lifeline.
Lena clutched them as reality dissolved back into inky dark.
A roar filled her ears—sirens, or maybe the pounding of her own blood. The pressure around her ribs felt like an embrace that hurt in all the right ways. Her core burned, yet her fingers and toes might as well have belonged to a corpse—cold, distant, barely her own. Two rooms spun around her, edges blurring whenever she tried to fix her gaze on anything solid. Her head fell sideways, heavy as stone, revealing the stranger's face—a pale oval that refused to stay still, features hardening and softening like clay in invisible hands. A question formed about the symbol on his chest, but dissolved between mind and mouth, her thoughts slipping away like fish darting through fingers in clear water. Her lips parted, but produced only a low, animal sound of pain. She tried again, forcing air through her throat with desperate determination, fingers clutching weakly at nothing.
"Ka—" The single syllable escaped her lips like the last breath of a dying star, her consciousness already collapsing inward. Her eyelids fluttered once, twice, then sealed shut as she plummeted into a void without memory or dreams—a merciful nothingness where even pain could not follow.
How long she drifted in that darkness, she couldn't say. When Lena's eyelids fluttered open, the world coalesced from a gray blur into something... familiar. Her bedroom? No. The walls jutted at awkward angles, rough-hewn crystal fragments cobbled together like a madman's puzzle. Each shard bore half-erased script, scratched and weathered beyond recognition. Broken equipment surrounded her—cannibalized tech parts held together with what looked like melted wire and desperation, their exposed circuits blinking erratically in the gloom. A dull ache throbbed behind her temples as she struggled to place herself. The gentle hum, the quality of light. Something in her chest tightened. The Phantom Zone. She was trapped in the Phantom Zone.
She lay on a makeshift pallet, body positioned at an odd angle that her foggy mind dimly recognized as intentional. Her head and shoulders rested higher than her hips, propped carefully on her uninjured right side. Something bulky supported her knees, keeping them bent and elevated. The arrangement sent blood flowing strangely through her body—away from her throbbing head, toward her center. A rough-spun blanket, patched in several places, covered her from chest to toes, its frayed edge brushing against bruised flesh. Beneath it, bandages torn from what might have once been a sail formed a complex web around her torso and left arm. The binding immobilized her fractured clavicle and supported her recently relocated shoulder, while allowing just enough give for her broken ribs to expand with each breath—a careful balance between necessary stability and the sharp, inevitable agony that radiated through her left side with every shallow inhalation.
Lena blinked, then blinked again. The walls breathed, contracting inward before expanding outward in slow, nauseating rhythm. Fragments of recognition floated through her consciousness but her thoughts moved like honey in winter. When she tried to follow the light dancing across the crystalline surfaces, it smeared into streaks of color that made her stomach roll. She closed her eyes and counted—one-two-three—before opening them again, hoping for clarity. Instead, the shelves before her multiplied, doubling and tripling as she struggled to focus on what might be tools or weapons or both or neither.
Waves of heat washed over her skin, slightly out of sync with the flames she could see dancing in a pit nearby. The firelight was too bright, intensifying the throbbing where Lex had—what had he done? Something about running, then falling. Her stomach clenched again as memories slipped away. She fixed her gaze on a dented metal bowl, a single point of stillness in the spinning room.
Movement drew her attention. She turned her head and immediately regretted it as white-hot pain exploded behind her eyes. When the fog thinned, she made out the man from the ravine standing by the fire, the symbol on his chest—the crest of El—wavering as if underwater. His features seemed to slide and reform as he approached with something steaming in his hands. Her ribs protested as her stomach convulsed again, acid burning up her throat while the room tilted around her. His lips moved, forming words she couldn't grasp as his silhouette doubled against the firelight, both versions extending the bowl toward her broken body.
When Lena made no move to take it, he lifted the bowl to his own lips, tilting his head back in a gesture meant to show her. Then he pointed first to the bowl, then to her swollen chest. Broth or medicine, he meant. Her eyes narrowed, vision swimming as she tracked his movements. Even with her thoughts fragmenting like broken glass, instinct whispered warnings—strange man, unknown substance. "N-no," she choked out, the word scraping her throat raw. She tried to lift her free hand to push it away, but it fell back into the cool linen with a muted thud, betraying her.
Again he offered the bowl.
Words formed in the air between them—not alien syllables but careful, accented English. "You need to drink this. It will help with the pain."
Lena's eyes widened, her mind struggling to process the improbability.
A Kryptonian captive speaking her language?
The man seemed to sense her hesitation. "Ah," he said with understanding, then took a small sip from the bowl himself. He held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, then extended the bowl again. "See? Safe." The gentle insistence in his gesture reminded her, oddly, of Kara's stubborn concern whenever Lena worked too long without eating.
The thought sent another pang through her chest. She pushed it aside and reached for the cup with her good hand, her fingers trembling. The man helped steady her grip, his calloused fingers warm against hers.
Bitterness bloomed across her tongue, then doubled, tripled, as if her taste buds were echoing. She tried to track the unfamiliar herbal notes but they slipped sideways in her perception. The first swallow nearly came back up—her throat tightening in protest. The second went down easier. By the third, the room's spinning slowed. The hammer behind her eyes softened to a dull thud, the white-hot knife in her shoulder joint cooling to merely scalding. She emptied the cup, each swallow a silent bargain with this stranger who offered relief when she had nothing left to give but tenuous trust.
When she finished, the man took the bowl and set it aside. Then, to her surprise, he reached into a pocket and withdrew the crystal component she'd stolen from the dimensional anchor. It pulsed with that same violet light, though the glow seemed subdued now, as if dormant.
"You risked much for this," he said. "Few would understand its true value." His fingers traced the facets with the reverence of someone handling a sacred relic.
Lena heard his words but couldn't process their meaning. Though the medicine had cleared her head somewhat, her attention kept sliding to the emblem etched across his chest—the stylized "S" against its diamond background. The edges of the symbol wavered in her vision, doubling then merging back together as her concussion played tricks on her perception. She blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to focus on that impossible sigil.
Kara's crest.
The House of El.
Here, in the depths of the Phantom Zone, worn by a stranger who had saved her.
Her heartbeat quickened, each pulse sending a fresh wave of pain through her broken collarbone. The room tilted again. She squeezed her eyes shut against the vertigo, then forced them open again, refusing to let this revelation slip away.
"Who—" The word caught in her throat, scraping against tissue raw from screaming or silence—she couldn't remember which. She swallowed hard, her tongue feeling swollen and foreign in her mouth. The bitter herbal aftertaste of the medicine coated her palate as she struggled to form the question burning through the fog of her pain. "Who... are you? House of... El?"
Her good hand lifted weakly from the blanket, trembling fingers gesturing toward the symbol on his chest. The effort sent tiny lightning bolts shooting up her arm, but she needed to know. Needed confirmation that her damaged brain wasn't manufacturing hallucinations from desperate hope.
The man's expression shifted, surprise washing across his features before settling into something more complex—caution tempered with a fragile, dawning hope. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes studying her face with new intensity.
"You do know my house," he said, the words not a question. His gaze sharpened, scanning her face as if searching for something familiar in her features. "You said her name before. In the ravine, when you first... And again, in your sleep."
Lena's breath caught in her chest, sending a fresh spike of pain through her ribs. "Her?" The question emerged as barely more than a whisper.
"Kara," he said simply. The name hung between them, filled with weight and meaning beyond its two syllables. "My daughter's name."
The room seemed to freeze around her, time itself suspended in the space between heartbeats. Lena's vision tunneled until all she could see was his face—the strong jawline, the dark eyes that now seemed hauntingly, impossibly familiar. Features that belonged to a ghost.
"You're..." Her voice failed her as realization crashed through the barriers of pain and medication. Her fingers clutched weakly at the blanket, anchoring herself against the impossible truth unfolding before her. "Kara's father?"
The man’s eyes softened, the lines of his face smoothing as if the very act of recognition had unlocked some ancient, long-restrained reservoir of gentleness within him. Then, with greater composure than Lena imagined herself capable of, he placed his right fist over his heart. The movement was not brusque; it was precise, ceremonial. “I am Zor-El,” he said. “First Scientist of Argo City. Seventh Son of the Noble House of El. Father to Kara Zor-El—Last Daughter of Krypton.” The syllables rang and reverberated around the hollow chamber, each title a knell sounded for worlds lost and ages past.
The last phrase lingered, heavy and precious, as if he’d extracted it from the marrow of his memory at no small cost. His gaze bore into her, a mixture of pride and grief and—yes—something like the raw, animal hope of a parent who yearns for proof that their child survived. The words seemed to stagger him, like he’d never expected to speak them again, or that saying them aloud confirmed all the generations of loss that had etched themselves into the bones of his house.
Lena did not immediately answer. She lay very still on the makeshift cot, her mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts and half-memories, watching the man’s posture, the way he squared his shoulders even as his hands betrayed the faintest tremor. Finally, swallowing hard, she did her best to mimic his gesture with her good hand, pressing her fist awkwardly to her bruised chest. "Lena Luthor," she managed, "CEO of L-Corp, daughter of… Friend to Kara Zor-El—" She hesitated, her hand shaking involuntarily. The word “Earth” hovered in her throat, foreign and provisional, as if she couldn’t quite believe in its sanctity in this purgatorial place. She forced it out anyway, the syllables catching on her tongue like burrs. “—of Earth.”
The man—Zor-El—watched her with a strange tenderness.
The formality of the House of El was a shield, but now she saw it could also be a bridge. She saw herself reflected in his eyes, not as an enemy or a stranger, but as something else. A supplicant at his family’s altar, an acolyte bearing witness to the unthinkable survival of hope.
His expression flickered, and for a moment Lena saw the face of a man who had not only lost his planet and his people, but every possible future for his daughter. He studied her, his gaze flickering from her injuries to her eyes to her trembling hand, and Lena realized he was searching for pieces of Kara in her. The thought made her chest ache in ways that had nothing to do with her broken bones.
He bowed his head, a slow, intentional motion. “It is an honor,” he said. “I did not think any would remember Krypton here, let alone a friend of my daughter.” He paused, and the words that followed were softer. “You mourn her.” It was not a question.
Lena felt her throat close. She swallowed, hard, and let her hand fall to her side, the effort of holding it up suddenly more than she could bear. “She was—she is—my best friend,” Lena managed, the word "friend" catching in her throat like a barb. After everything—the betrayal she'd felt at Kara's secret, the walls she'd built, the friendship she'd torched—what right did she have to claim that title? What right did she have to the warmth that still bloomed in her chest at the memory of Kara's smile, the way her heart had raced whenever their hands brushed, the dreams she'd never dared speak aloud? Her fingers twisted in the blanket as she looked away, blinking fiercely against tears that carried the weight of both grief and longing. “Sh-she saved me. Over and over.” In her mind, she replayed every moment. Kara’s laughter, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the light in her eyes when she talked about her family. She wondered what Kara would think of her now, shattered and stranded in the Phantom Zone, clutching at the scraps of her own courage.
A silence opened between them.
For a time, neither spoke. Lena watched the fire pit, its blue-white flames blurring at the edges, doubling then merging as the medicine pulled her back under. Her eyelids grew heavy, the pain dulled to a distant throb. She felt gentle fingers brush hair from her bruised temple.
"Sleep," Zor-El murmured, his voice seeming to come from very far away, his features swimming in the shifting light.
Lena wanted to protest, but her body betrayed her. The shelter's interlocking ceiling panels blurred above her, their geometric patterns swimming in her vision as consciousness began to slip away again. The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was Zor-El returning to his position by the blue-white flames, his expression thoughtful as he glanced between her and the violet-pulsing crystal component.
Chapter 11: echoes of the house of el
Summary:
Under the watchful care of Zor-El, Lena begins the slow, painful process of recovery while the two forge an uneasy understanding born of loss, guilt, and shared devotion to the same woman. As her fractured memories knit together, Lena tells Kara’s father about the daughter he thought he’d never see again—Supergirl, savior of Earth. In turn, Zor-El gives her something she never expected: the first true glimpse of Kara’s past and the man who shaped her.
Between grief and revelation, their conversation becomes a bridge between two worlds—and two people who love the same impossible girl.
Chapter Text
11
echoes of the house of el
Lena drifted back to consciousness like a body rising through murky water—in slow, disorienting stages. First came sound. The soft crackle of the blue-white fire, the distant hum of alien technology, the whisper of movement as someone shifted nearby. Then sensation. The rough fabric beneath her fingertips, the dull throb radiating from her shoulder in steady waves, the metallic taste coating her tongue. Finally, sight. Her eyelids peeled open to reveal the same obsidian ceiling, its jagged edges catching the firelight and scattering it in fractured patterns that hurt to follow.
She blinked once, twice, each movement sending tiny daggers into her skull. The ceiling refused to hold still, wavering like heat rising from pavement. She closed her eyes again, counting slowly to five before attempting another look. This time, the world stabilized somewhat, though the edges of her vision remained blurred, as if someone had smeared petroleum jelly around the periphery of her sight.
"You're awake."
The voice came from her right—low, measured, with that strange accent that seemed to elongate vowels and sharpen consonants in ways that reminded her of the way Kara said certain words when she was excited or overly tired. Lena turned her head fractionally, careful not to trigger the spinning that had plagued her earlier. Zor-El sat on what appeared to be a makeshift stool fashioned from debris, his hands occupied with some small mechanical device. The House of El crest caught the firelight as he leaned forward, setting his work aside to study her.
"How long?" The question emerged as a rasp, her throat raw and parched.
Zor-El's expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes—a flicker of what might have been concern—betrayed him. "You've been unconscious for approximately sixteen hours since our last conversation." He reached for a battered metal cup. "You should drink."
Sixteen hours. The information slid through Lena's mind like oil, leaving an impression but no traction. In this place where shadows stretched without sun and night never truly fell, time had become a foreign concept, something she'd once understood but now slipped between her fingers like phantom sand. She tried to nod but abandoned the movement when pain flared behind her eyes. Instead, she attempted to push herself up with her good arm, but the world tilted violently, sending waves of nausea rolling through her stomach.
"Don't move," Zor-El cautioned, his hand appearing at her shoulder to gently press her back down. "Your injuries are significant."
Lena let herself be guided back, frustration burning beneath the fog of pain. "How... bad?" The words felt thick on her tongue, as if she were speaking through cotton.
Zor-El's mouth tightened. He gestured at the bandages wrapping her torso. "Three ribs, cracked here, here, and here," he said, his fingertips hovering above each location. "Your shoulder—" his hand moved to indicate her immobilized left arm, "—was out of socket. I had to push it back into place while you were unconscious." His expression softened slightly. "And your collarbone has a clean break that will need time to heal. The distance of your descent was approximately six meters. The pattern of injury suggests primary impact on your left side." His fingers hovered near her right temple where a purple bruise had bloomed beneath her hairline, his brow furrowing. "Yet this cranial trauma appears... incongruous. It suggests a separate impact, perhaps before your fall. Though your mental faculties during our previous exchange indicate no permanent neural damage."
The clinical assessment triggered a flash of memory—Lex's face contorted with rage, the sensation of falling backward into emptiness, the sickening crack as her body collided with the ledge. Her breath hitched, sending a fresh spike of pain through her chest.
"Lex," she murmured, the name bitter on her tongue. "My brother."
The clinical detachment in Zor-El’s expression gave way to something darker, the lines around his mouth deepening, his jaw tightening until a muscle jumped beneath the skin. His eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Your brother?" he repeated, the words emerging with a controlled fury that sent a chill down Lena's spine. "The man I heard calling down the ravine after your fall? That was your own blood?"
Lena managed a small nod, immediately regretting the movement as pain lanced through her temple. "We don't... see eye to eye on certain things." The understatement tasted like ash on her tongue.
Zor-El's hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles blanching white beneath olive skin and, for a moment, he looked so much like Kara on the verge of unleashing her rage that Lena's breath caught in her throat. The resemblance was uncanny—the same furrow between the brows, the same tightening around the eyes.
"He struck you," Zor-El said, not a question but a statement, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Before you fell. He caused this." His finger hovered again near the bruise at her temple. "And then pursued you when you fled with the component."
Panic flared, cutting through the fog. "The component—"
"Is safe." Zor-El gestured to a small alcove carved into the wall, where the octahedral crystal pulsed with its steady violet light. "I've shielded its energy signature. Your brother won't be able to track it here."
Relief washed through her, though the emotion felt strangely distant, as if happening to someone else. She closed her eyes briefly, gathering what fragments of coherent thought she could muster. When she opened them again, the world seemed marginally clearer.
"Thank you," she said, the words inadequate for the magnitude of what this stranger—this ghost from Kara's past—had done for her. "For saving me. For... everything."
Zor-El inclined his head slightly, the tight lines around his mouth softening. The anger that had darkened his features receded like a wave pulling back from shore, replaced by something gentler as her thanks registered. For a heartbeat, Lena glimpsed the father beneath the survivor. "When I found you, her name was on your lips." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "That alone would have been enough."
He helped her drink, supporting her head with a gentle but firm hand while she sipped the cool water. Each swallow was a small victory against the desert her throat had become. When she finished, he eased her back down, adjusting the makeshift pillow beneath her head with surprising tenderness.
"You should rest," he said, rising to his feet.
"No." The word came out sharper than she intended, fear spiking through the haze. Sleep meant losing this tenuous grasp on reality. "I need–I need to stay awake. To... think." The sentences fragmented as her thoughts scattered, the effort of stringing words together suddenly monumental.
Zor-El hesitated, then nodded once. "Very well." He returned to his stool, retrieving the small device he'd been working on. "Then perhaps you could tell me how you came to know my daughter. And how you came to be in the Phantom Zone with a man who bears such hatred for his own kin."
The request hung between them, simple yet impossibly complex. Lena stared at the ceiling, trying to organize her thoughts into something coherent.
The task felt like attempting to gather smoke with her bare hands.
"Kara is..." She paused, searching for words that wouldn't come. How could she possibly explain Kara? The brightness that radiated from her, the unwavering belief in goodness that had both infuriated and captivated Lena from the moment they'd met. The years of friendship shattered by Kara's secret identity—how the revelation had turned trust to ash. The walls Lena had methodically constructed afterward, each bitter thought another stone in her emotional barricade. The way she'd responded with her own betrayal, using Kara's weaknesses against her when hurt had eclipsed reason. The way her heart still raced whenever Kara entered a room, a reaction she'd spent years pretending was nothing more than the natural response to her best friend's presence.
"She..." The word hung suspended between them. Lena turned her face slightly away. "They call her Supergirl." She whispered the name like a secret not meant for her to share. "She flies through the sky in this... ridiculous cape that somehow looks..." She bit her lip. "She catches planes. Stops bullets. Smiles at everyone like they deserve it." A tear tracked silently down her temple, disappearing into her hair. "And I—" The sentence died, replaced by a shaky exhale.
Zor-El's hands stilled on his project, his eyes lifting to meet hers with unmistakable confusion. "Super...girl?" he repeated, the unfamiliar word halting on his tongue. His brow furrowed deeply, as if trying to make sense of a fundamental impossibility. "My daughter catches planes? How could Kara possibly—" He shook his head, the concept clearly beyond his comprehension.
Lena blinked slowly, trying to process his confusion. "Yellow sun," she managed, the words coming in fragments through the pain. "Earth's sun... gave her powers. Like her cousin. She flies through the city with your family symbol—" Her fingers traced an 'S' shape over her own chest. "Saving people who don't even know her real name." Her voice caught on the last words, betraying the complicated ache beneath them.
Zor-El studied her with those penetrating eyes. "And you? How did you come to be her friend?"
Her lips curved into what might have been a smile if not for the pain lacing through it. "I'm a Luthor," she said, as if that explained everything. When his expression remained unchanged, she elaborated. "My brother... Lex... he tried to kill her cousin. Superman. Many times." Each sentence sent tiny needles into her skull, but she pushed through. "I wanted to... be different. To help. She believed I could be... more than my name."
The effort of speaking had drained what little energy she'd gathered. Her eyelids grew heavy despite her determination to remain awake. The ceiling blurred again, edges softening as exhaustion pulled at her.
"You became her friend despite this family history," he observed quietly. "You chose to see her, not just her cousin's shadow."
Lena shook her head, immediately wincing at the pain it caused. "No," she whispered, "it was Kara who saw me. Who looked at me and didn't see Lex's sister. Everyone else..." Her voice trailed off as her fingers curled weakly into the blanket. "I won't let him take that from her. From us."
Zor-El was silent for a long moment, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the device in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice carried a new weight. "You care deeply for my daughter."
It wasn't a question, but Lena answered anyway. "More than... anything." The words emerged unbidden, stripped of the careful guards she'd placed around them for years. Perhaps it was the concussion, or the strange intimacy of this place outside time, or simply the knowledge that she was speaking to the father of the woman who had changed her life. Whatever the reason, the truth slipped past her defenses with startling ease.
Zor-El nodded slowly, as if confirming something he'd already suspected. "Rest now," he said gently. "We will speak more when you're stronger."
Despite her intention to resist, Lena felt consciousness slipping away once more, the blue-white flames blurring into streaks of light as her eyelids fluttered closed. This time, however, the darkness that claimed her felt less like an abyss and more like a respite.
* * *
Time lost all meaning in Zor-El’s shelter.
Lena drifted in and out of consciousness, each period of wakefulness lasting slightly longer than the last. Sometimes she opened her eyes to find Zor-El working on what appeared to be a modified communication device, his fingers moving with the practiced ease of a lifetime scientist. Other times he was nowhere to be seen, though she never woke to find herself truly alone—as if he had calculated exactly how long he could be gone before she might regain consciousness.
During one such awakening, Lena found herself clearheaded enough to take proper stock of her surroundings. The shelter appeared to be a natural cavern in the crystalline formations, its walls reinforced with salvaged materials that bore the unmistakable aesthetic of Kryptonian design—geometric patterns etched into metal panels, glyphs carved into support beams. A makeshift laboratory occupied one corner, with equipment that looked cobbled together from disparate technologies. The fire pit at the center burned with that strange blue-white flame that required no apparent fuel source. Small alcoves had been carved into the walls, serving as storage for what little Zor-El had managed to salvage or create during his time in the Phantom Zone.
How long had he been here? The question formed in Lena's mind with newfound clarity, though attempting to follow the thought still felt like wading through thick syrup. Krypton had been destroyed decades ago. Had Zor-El been trapped in this timeless prison all those years, believing his daughter dead along with their world?
The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Zor-El entered the shelter, carrying what appeared to be a small container. He paused when he saw her watching him, his expression shifting from caution to something more measured.
"You're awake again," he observed, approaching her bedside. "And your eyes are tracking properly. That's good."
Lena attempted to push herself up slightly, gritting her teeth against the pain that radiated from her shoulder and ribs. This time, the world remained relatively stable, though moving too quickly still sent waves of dizziness washing over her.
"How long have I been here?" she asked, her voice stronger than before.
Zor-El set the container down and helped adjust her position, adding another folded cloth behind her back so she could recline at a slight angle without putting pressure on her injuries. "Three solar cycles have passed since I brought you here," he stated. "Though temporal mechanics within the Phantom Zone do not correspond to conventional reality."
The information settled more solidly this time, her brain beginning to process temporal concepts again. "And you?" she asked. "How long have you been in the Phantom Zone?"
A shadow passed over his features. "By Earth's calendar? Approximately thirty-eight years."
Thirty-eight years.
The magnitude of that number hollowed Lena out, leaving her breathless. Thirty-eight years in this colorless purgatory, believing his entire world—his family, his daughter—had perished. The magnitude of such isolation was nearly incomprehensible.
Lena hesitated, weighing what to reveal. "Kara believes you’re dead," she said softly. She swallowed hard. "When Supergirl went to Argo–"
"Argo City?" Zor-El whispered, the words emerging with such raw hope that Lena felt something crack inside her chest. His face transformed before her eyes—decades of careful stoicism crumbling like sand castles. The man's measured composure vanished, replaced by something naked and desperate. "And Alura—" His voice broke on his wife's name, the syllables fragmenting like glass. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing beneath his beard. When he spoke again, the words emerged as barely more than breath. "My wife... is she alive?"
The rawness of his question made Lena's throat tighten.
Here was Kara's father—a man who had survived thirty-eight years trapped in this void between worlds, who had built a shelter from nothing, who had saved her without hesitation—suddenly reduced to something achingly human by the mere possibility that his family might still exist.
"Yes," Lena said carefully, watching his face for signs that hope might shatter him completely. "Yes, Argo City. Kara found it. And her mother—your wife—is alive."
A sound escaped him—not quite a sob, not quite a laugh, but something that seemed torn from the deepest part of him. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the floor beside her bed, his hands covering his face as his shoulders shook with silent tremors.
"How?" he managed, his voice muffled behind his palms. "How did they survive?"
Lena pressed her good hand to her forehead. The effort of stringing together memories—let alone sentences—was still Herculean, so she clung to the immediate details: blue-white fire, gritty blanket, the mineral tang of cave air, the presence of Kara's father who watched her now with a focus that was almost feral. The world outside her battered skull felt distant and insubstantial, as if she had tumbled through so many layers of unreality that even the most basic task of recalling facts became a trial by combat. But Zor-El’s question rattled around in her mind, demanding a response she almost didn’t have the resources to provide. She forced herself to breathe, tried to pretend she was sitting across from Kara in the CatCo break room, fielding some half-remembered science fiction trivia. "The Harun-El," she said finally. She watched as his attention sharpened further, the words obviously familiar to him.
"Black Kryptonite," she clarified, her voice growing fractionally steadier as she repeated knowledge that had once been the subject of academic curiosity, not life or death. "I don’t know exactly how it worked, but..." She hesitated, realizing she had never asked Kara for the full story. She’d always been too afraid of what the truth might do to her own sense of self, let alone Kara’s. "From what little I learned..." Lena paused, stumbling over which version of her friend to reference. "Supergirl told me about the shield, explaining how you created a dome that protected part of the city when Krypton exploded."
"My contingency plan," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "It actually worked."
She nodded, the movement making her wince as the swelling in her temple jabbed another spike of pain through her skull. But she pressed onward, determined to give him every scrap of solace she could manage. "About two years ago," she said, her voice thinning a little, "she made a trip there to find out what she could about separating merged identities—a friend of ours had been... possessed, I suppose you could say. Half of her was still the woman we knew, while the other half had become something destructive, something that needed to be stopped. Supergirl needed Kryptonian knowledge to save one without destroying the other."
For a long moment neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint crackle and pop of whatever fueled the fire at the center of the room. Then Zor-El seemed to notice her discomfort, or perhaps simply needed a task to keep himself grounded in reality. He stooped and retrieved the container he'd set down, turning it over in his hands as if to assure himself it had not somehow dissolved into vapor in the intervening seconds. He opened it and extended it toward her, the gesture oddly formal, almost ceremonial.
"You should eat," he said, steadying himself with effort. "Your body needs strength to heal." His voice was gentle, but Lena caught the undertone of command—a man used to being obeyed, who had rarely, if ever, needed to plead for compliance. She stared at the offering, her analytical mind noting the unfamiliar texture and color of the contents, the faintly iridescent sheen on the gelatinous surface.
But she didn’t reach for it. Not yet.
Instead, she let her gaze rest on the container, using it as a visual anchor while she tried to make sense of the emotional detritus that Zor-El’s reaction had just unleashed. She saw now, with painful clarity, the blueprint of Kara’s character reflected in her father’s face. The capacity for hope that bordered on delusion, the stubborn refusal to give up on the impossible, the drive to save even when there was no logical reason left to try. And beneath it all, the deep and abiding loneliness of those who are defined not by what they have, but by what they have been forced to lose.
Lena’s own grief was a different animal—sharp, compartmentalized, weaponized—but seeing its cousin across the fire from her made her want to reach out, to find some bridge between their parallel solitudes. She found herself wondering what it must have been like to design a lifeboat for your entire species, knowing the odds of success were infinitesimal, knowing your only daughter would be launched into the arms of an alien sun, never to be seen again. And to live, somehow, in the gulag of the Phantom Zone, sustained only by the hope that something—anything—you had done might have left a mark on the universe.
She looked up and found Zor-El still watching her, the container unwavering in his grip. She realized he was waiting not just for her to eat, but for her to speak—to confirm that this was not a hallucination conjured by deprivation or madness, that the world he had left behind had not simply vanished into the void.
"She said you were the only one who could have pulled it off," Lena offered, her voice barely above a whisper. She tried to smile, the effort more draining than she expected. "The shield. The city. All of it. She never stopped believing you had a plan."
Zor-El exhaled, a sound heavy with relief and regret woven into a single thread. His posture softened, the rigid lines of his body giving way to something almost paternal. "I had hoped," he said, the words trembling with the weight of decades. "But hope is a dangerous thing in this place." He gestured vaguely to the obsidian walls, the endless horizon of the Phantom Zone beyond. "It becomes a poison if you take too much of it at once."
Lena considered this, the analogy resonating in a way that made her stomach churn. How could she explain to him that hope was all that had ever kept Kara alive, through every betrayal, every heartbreak, every impossible choice? How could she confess that her own relationship with hope was more adversarial than aspirational—that for every day she had believed herself capable of redemption, there were ten more where she’d convinced herself she was doomed to repeat the sins of her family?
She reached out, finally, and accepted the container from his hands. The substance inside quivered slightly; it was clear, with a faint blue tint that reminded her of the artificial lakes in the Fortress of Solitude. She scooped a small portion onto her finger, hesitated, then put it in her mouth. The texture was alien but not unpleasant, the taste vaguely mineral with a hint of sweetness. It was nothing like the food she knew, but it didn’t make her gag or wretch, and she managed a second, more substantial bite.
Zor-El watched her with something like cautious pride. "It will accelerate your recovery," he promised, as if the science behind it were self-evident. "I engineered it myself. There is very little here that is not toxic to your physiology, but this should not harm you."
Lena swallowed, feeling the substance slide down her throat. "Thank you," she said, surprising herself with the sincerity of it. She had never been one to let her guard down in the presence of strangers, but something about Zor-El’s mixture of brilliance and vulnerability reminded her so keenly of Kara that she found herself actually wanting to trust him.
They sat in silence as Lena continued to eat, Zor-El’s eyes never leaving her. She could see the questions bubbling up behind his gaze, the desperate need for more information about his wife, his daughter, the fate of the world he’d left behind. She tried to anticipate what he would ask next, to prepare herself for the emotional carnage of reliving Kara’s story through the lens of a father’s longing.
Instead, he surprised her.
"Why did you come here?" he asked, the words gentle. "To the Phantom Zone, I mean. You are not Kryptonian. You are not a criminal that I am aware of. What could possibly have driven you to this place?"
Lena looked down at the half-empty container in her lap, the blue gel catching the firelight and refracting it into tiny prisms. She thought of all the reasons she could give. Her loyalty to Kara, the wrongs she had committed, her guilt over every time she’d failed the people she loved. None of them felt sufficient.
"It was the only way to save her," she said finally, her voice shaking with the truth of it. "Kara needed help, and I was the only one who could give it. I didn’t come here because I wanted to. I came because there was no other choice."
Zor-El nodded, as if this explanation satisfied some equation inside his mind. "You care for her," he said, not for the first time, the certainty in his tone leaving no room for denial. "So much so, that you would risk everything for her."
Lena's throat tightened. She set the container down beside her, the blue gel trembling with the slight shake of her hand. "I would," she admitted softly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting in that same way Kara's did when she was piecing together a puzzle. "I've noticed something curious," he said, leaning forward. "When you speak of my daughter saving people, flying through the sky, you call her 'Supergirl’. But when you speak of personal moments between you, she becomes 'Kara’."
Heat crept up Lena's neck. She hadn't realized she'd been doing that—separating Kara into two distinct entities even now, after everything. The observation forced her to confront a habit she'd cultivated during those bitter months after learning the truth.
"I..." She swallowed hard. "For a long time, I didn't know they were the same person."
Zor-El's eyebrows rose fractionally. "She concealed her identity from you? Her friend?"
"For years," Lena whispered, the old hurt rising like bile in her throat. She looked away, focusing on a crystal formation jutting from the far wall, its facets catching the blue-white light. "Everyone knew but me. Alex, her sister. James. Even Lex." A bitter laugh escaped her, sending fresh pain through her ribs. "I thought I knew her better than anyone."
"And when you discovered the truth?" Zor-El asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Lena closed her eyes, memories washing over her in waves. Lex's smug face as he told her about how Kara had been lying to her. The sickening lurch in her stomach as years of memories rearranged themselves like puzzle pieces finally fitting into place. Her fingers trembling against the glass of scotch that night as she rewatched every news clip of Supergirl she could find, searching for the friend she thought she knew. The cold satisfaction she'd felt when she'd taken Myriad right in front of Kara, proving that Luthors were always destined to become monsters.
"I broke," she admitted, the words barely audible. "Everything between us broke. I said terrible things. Did worse." Her eyes opened, meeting his with painful honesty. "I became everything she feared I might be."
Zor-El was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice carried no judgment. "On Krypton, identity was sacred. Our House, our name—they defined us in ways your world might not understand." His fingers traced the crest on his chest absently. "But here, in this place between realities, I've had decades to consider what truly matters." His gaze returned to her face. "And I find myself wondering why my daughter would risk losing someone who clearly means so much to her."
"She was protecting me," Lena said automatically, the defense rising to her lips before she could stop it. "From her enemies. From the danger of knowing."
Even as she spoke the words, she recognized the irony. After months of rejecting this very explanation, here she was offering it to Kara's father as if it were gospel truth.
"Is that what she told you?" Zor-El asked.
"Yes." Lena's voice cracked on the syllable. "But it wasn't just that. She was afraid I'd see her differently. That I'd only see the cape, not the person." Her fingers twisted in the blanket, knuckles whitening. "And maybe she was right to worry. When I found out, I couldn't separate them anymore. Couldn't trust that any part of our friendship had been real."
Zor-El leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Yet here you are, trapped in the Phantom Zone, injured and separated from your entire world—all to protect her." He gestured to the crystalline component pulsing in its alcove. "You stole that to prevent your brother from returning to harm her, didn't you?"
Lena nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Actions reveal truth when words cannot," he said quietly. "Whatever damage existed between you, your choices speak volumes."
The simple observation undid something in Lena's chest—a knot that had been pulled tight for so long she'd forgotten it wasn't part of her anatomy. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could blink them back. "I miss her," she whispered, the confession breaking free like water through a cracked dam. "Every day since I dragged us into this place, I've thought about her. Wondering if she knows how sorry I am. If she understands why I had to do this."
Zor-El reached out, hesitating briefly before resting his hand on her uninjured arm. The touch was light but steady, offering comfort without demanding response. "My daughter always had the capacity to forgive," he said. "Even as a child, her heart was open in ways that sometimes frightened me."
Lena looked up, surprised by the admission. "Frightened you?"
A shadow passed over his features, old grief momentarily eclipsing them. "To love so deeply is to invite pain," he said simply. "I feared the universe would not be kind to one who felt everything so intensely." His mouth curved into a sad smile. "But perhaps that very quality is what has allowed her to survive all she has lost."
The observation hung between them, delicate and profound. Lena felt something shift inside her—not healing exactly, but a realignment, like bones setting properly after being broken. For the first time since waking in his shelter, she felt truly present, her mind clearing enough to grasp the full weight of where she was and who sat before her.
"Will you tell me about her?" she asked suddenly. "About Kara as a child? Before Earth, before everything changed?"
Chapter 12: sanctuary of the lost
Summary:
Forty minutes to cross worlds. Forty minutes to find the woman she loves in a place where time stands still. As Kara leads her team into the Phantom Zone, the void strikes back—taunting her with the faces of everyone she’s ever lost. In the end, even light has to learn how to fight the dark.
Notes:
This chapter marks the start of the endgame for the Phantom Zone arc.
Things will get darker before they get better, but I promise—it’s all leading somewhere worth it.
Chapter Text
12
sanctuary of the lost
Kara stood on the Tower's rooftop, the wind whipping her cape around her legs like crimson waves against a shore. Thirty stories above National City, the morning sun caught in her golden hair as she watched J'onn's ship power up. The bioship—part technology, part living organism—hummed with a sound like distant cellos playing in an underwater cathedral, its emerald hull pulsing with veins of amber light that traced complex Martian hieroglyphs across its beetle-smooth surface. Each crystalline node embedded along its vertebrae-like spine flared and dimmed in rhythmic sequences, blue-white to gold to deep orange, the entire vessel seeming to breathe as it prepared for interdimensional travel, expanding slightly before contracting with each power cycle.
Brainy emerged from the ship's open hatch, his green-skinned hands dancing across a holographic interface that hovered at chest height. His slender fingers moved with mechanical precision, each motion triggering ripples of code that expanded like digital blossoms. Numbers and alien glyphs cascaded through the translucent display—Coluan algorithms too complex for human comprehension—casting azure reflections across his concentrated face. The three illuminated dots on his forehead pulsed in sync with the data stream, their white-blue glow intensifying whenever he paused to recalculate a particularly difficult variable.
"Final calibrations are complete," he announced, dismissing the hologram with a flick of his wrist. "The quantum stabilizers are operating at 98.7% efficiency, which exceeds our minimum threshold by 3.2 percentage points."
"Is that enough?" Kara asked, her fingers unconsciously tracing the sleek titanium bracelet on her wrist—Lena's final gift. The metal was cool against her skin despite the morning sun, its surface etched with microscopic circuitry that caught the light like diamond dust.
"It will have to be," J'onn replied, emerging from the ship behind Brainy. The Martian's face was set in grim determination, his broad shoulders squared beneath his tactical gear. "Dr. White says the dimensional window won't remain stable for more than forty minutes. We need to move now."
Kara nodded, swallowing past the knot in her throat.
Forty minutes to find Lena in an interdimensional prison where time itself bent and warped.
Forty minutes to navigate a nightmare realm that had haunted her dreams since childhood.
The odds were impossible.
But, as Nia had reminded them, she'd faced impossible odds before. It was kind of their brand.
Alex appeared at the rooftop access door, her black DEO tactical suit hugging her athletic frame, red accents highlighting the armor panels across her chest and shoulders. The specialized pulse rifle she carried—designed specifically to disrupt the energy signatures of the phantoms—gleamed dully in the morning light. Behind her came Kelly in similar tactical gear, though hers bore the Guardian shield emblem at the shoulder, and Nia in her sleek blue and silver Dreamer suit, its intricate energy-channeling patterns shimmering across the fabric, her face exposed without her usual mask.
"Everything's loaded," Alex said. "Medical supplies, tactical gear, the sun bombs—all secured in the cargo hold."
Kara's gaze lingered on the sun bombs clipped to Alex's belt—spherical devices no larger than tennis balls, their surfaces etched with the same circuitry as Lena's bracelet. They'd been the only blueprint on Lena's data drive that they'd had time to fabricate—concentrated bursts of yellow solar radiation that could both supercharge Kara's powers and, theoretically, temporarily drive the phantoms back into the shadows.
Another gift from Lena, who had somehow anticipated everything they might need.
"James just called," Kelly said, adjusting the strap of her medical pack. "He's at the DEO. Medical teams are standing by, and he's coordinating with Director Vasquez to ensure we have a secure location ready if... when we bring Lena back."
Kara caught the slip, the momentary doubt in Kelly's voice. She met the woman's eyes—warm brown irises ringed with amber flecks that couldn't quite mask the shadow of professional concern lurking beneath. Kelly's lips pressed together, the corners pulling downward almost imperceptibly. A psychologist's measured worry. None of them knew what condition Lena might be in after an indeterminable amount of time in the Phantom Zone—if time had stretched or compressed into nightmarish density, if the psychological trauma had carved canyons into her mind too deep for even Kelly's gentle expertise to bridge.
"She'll be okay," Kara said, the words emerging with more certainty than she felt. "Lena's the strongest person I know."
Alex approached, her hand coming to rest on Kara's shoulder. "The strongest person you know, huh?" she said, one eyebrow arched, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then her expression softened, and she squeezed Kara's shoulder. "We're going to bring her home," she promised, her voice dropping to that steady, certain tone that had anchored Kara through countless crises. "No matter what."
The weight of the mission settled into her bones like lead, even as another part of her thrilled at the chance to finally act. She wanted to believe they'd succeed, needed to believe it—yet couldn't silence the voice whispering that this reckless gamble might cost her everyone she loved. If they failed, if the portal collapsed with them inside, if Lena wasn't even…
She pushed the thoughts away, focusing instead on the bracelet at her wrist. Her thumb brushed over a nearly invisible seam in the metal, feeling the slight vibration as the nanotechnology within responded to her touch. Lena had created this for her—had spent countless hours in her lab designing a suit that would protect Kara even when Kara couldn't protect herself. The thought sent a wave of warmth through her chest, temporarily displacing the cold fear that had taken up residence there since Lena's disappearance.
"Dr. White is ready at the console," Nia reported, tapping her earpiece. "He says the dimensional coordinates are locked and the portal generator is at full power."
"Then it's time," J'onn said, his deep voice carrying across the rooftop. He gestured toward the ship's open hatch. "Everyone aboard."
Kara watched as her friends filed into the vessel one by one.
Alex paused at the threshold, looking back with an expression that spoke volumes—fear, determination, unconditional love. The morning light caught the auburn highlights in her short hair, making them glow like embers against the dark tactical gear. She nodded once to Kara, a quick downward jerk of her chin, then disappeared into the ship's shadowed interior.
Kara took a deep breath, filling her lungs with Earth's air—crisp with the scent of concrete, exhaust, and that indefinable city-morning freshness—one last time before stepping toward the ship. The metal beneath her boots vibrated slightly, a gentle hum that traveled up through her soles, the living vessel responding to her presence like a cat acknowledging a familiar touch. She paused at the hatch, her hand resting on the smooth emerald surface that felt neither warm nor cool, but somehow expectant.
"I'm coming, Lena," she whispered, the words carried away by the wind. "Hold on."
Inside, the ship hummed with activity. The interior stretched far beyond what the exterior suggested—a TARDIS-like quirk of Martian bioengineering that still disoriented Kara despite her previous flights. Consoles arranged in a circular pattern pulsed with amber and emerald light, their translucent surfaces responding to J'onn's thoughts as he settled into the organic-looking pilot's chair at the center. The curved, ribbed walls glowed with bioluminescent patterns that shifted between deep red and burnished gold, contracting and expanding with subtle movements that reminded Kara of breathing. Overhead, the domed ceiling displayed a perfect real-time projection of their surroundings, creating the unsettling illusion that they were floating exposed in open air.
"Portal activation in thirty seconds," Brainy announced from his position at the navigation console. His fingers danced across holographic controls, adjusting parameters with microscopic accuracy. "Quantum resonance patterns are holding steady."
Kara strapped herself into the seat beside J'onn, her fingers automatically checking and rechecking the harness. Behind her, Alex and Kelly secured the medical equipment while Nia settled at the tracking station, her eyes fixed on the pulsing blue dot that represented Lena's quantum signature.
"Twenty seconds," Brainy continued, his voice steady despite the tension that radiated from him. "Portal stability at 94.2% and holding."
Through the ship's translucent viewport, Kara watched as the air began to shimmer, at first just a faint vibration like the surface of water disturbed by a single droplet. The distortion intensified, molecules of atmosphere seeming to separate and realign themselves, spreading outward in concentric ripples that bent light at impossible angles. Colors inverted at the edges—blues shifting to oranges, greens to magentas—until the anomaly formed a perfect circle approximately thirty feet in diameter, its perimeter pulsing with a rhythm that matched Kara's heartbeat. The edges of the portal crackled with electric-blue energy, each arc of power leaving behind the scent of ozone that somehow penetrated the ship's sealed interior. The lightning danced and forked like luminous veins spreading across dark skin, each bolt leaving ghostly afterimages that lingered for seconds before fading, as if reality itself couldn't quite heal from the wound they were about to tear through it.
"Ten seconds," Brainy intoned. "Nine... eight..."
Kara's fingers tightened around the armrests, the metal creaking beneath her grip.
"Seven... six... five..."
J'onn's hands hovered over the ship's controls, his expression a mask of concentration.
"Four... three... two..."
Kara closed her eyes, Lena's face appearing in her mind with perfect clarity—the arch of her eyebrow, the curve of her lips, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.
"One. Portal stabilized. Proceed, J'onn."
The ship lurched forward with a bone-deep vibration, propelled by J'onn's thoughts rather than conventional engines. Kara's eyes snapped open as they accelerated toward the shimmering vortex, her stomach dropping like she'd missed a step in the dark. The blue lightning at the portal's edge intensified as they approached—no longer mere static discharges but writhing serpents of plasma that uncoiled with hunger. The bolts lashed out with crackling hisses that penetrated the hull, each tendril of energy caressing the ship with electric fingers that left frost-breath condensation in their wake. Where they touched, trails of cerulean light crawled across the emerald surface like living veins, pulsing with their own heartbeat before being slowly absorbed into the crystalline matrix with an audible sigh.
"Brace for dimensional transition," J'onn commanded, his voice steady despite the strain evident in his rigid posture. "This will be... unpleasant."
The ship pierced the portal's boundary with a sound like tearing silk magnified a thousandfold.
Reality folded around them in undulating waves of matter that shouldn't exist. Kara's stomach lurched violently as every molecule in her body simultaneously compressed to pinpoint density and expanded beyond recognition. Crimson became electric blue, ochre transformed to vibrating purple, and the steady hum of the ship's engines crystallized into something she could feel scraping against her skin like sandpaper dipped in liquid nitrogen. For one terrifying moment that stretched into eternity, her consciousness separated from her physical form—her thoughts scattered like mercury droplets on glass while her body remained trapped in the ship's seat, mouth frozen in a silent scream.
Then came the transition—like breaking through three feet of glacial ice into water so cold it burned, every nerve ending igniting as they punched through the dimensional barrier.
The Phantom Zone unfurled before them.
Kara's breath caught as she took in the vast wasteland where dark rock formations twisted into geometries that hurt the eye to follow. Perpetual twilight bathed everything in a sickly, violet-tinged glow, revealing jagged mountains that rose at impossible angles, their peaks curving inward like grasping claws. Between these formations, ravines yawned like hungry mouths in the ancient stone—bottomless pits that seemed to breathe. Light seeped not from any sun but from jagged fissures in the fabric of reality, creating shadows that slithered and stretched with wills of their own, divorced from the objects that should have cast them.
J'onn guided the ship over a dried riverbed whose fractal patterns suggested it had once flowed with something far more viscous than water. Its surface was etched with glyphs in no language ever spoken by human tongues. Beyond this, Fort Rozz's ruins stood like the skeleton of some titanic beast, broken spires reaching upward as if in supplication.
Kara shivered as memories clawed at her sanity—twenty-four subjective years trapped in this timeless void where nothing truly died because nothing had ever truly lived.
"Rao," she whispered, the word escaping her lips unbidden.
Her childhood nightmares hadn't done justice to the reality. The Phantom Zone wasn't merely empty—it was wrong, a fundamental aberration in the natural order of things. Every instinct in her body screamed that they didn't belong here, that nothing living should exist in this place between dimensions.
"Portal transition complete," Brainy reported, his voice slightly strained. "Ship's quantum stabilizers are compensating for dimensional stress. Hull integrity at 92% and holding."
J'onn guided the ship lower, the vessel responding to his mental commands with fluid grace despite the alien physics that surrounded them. "Nia, do you have a lock on Lena's signal?"
Nia's fingers moved across her console, adjusting parameters as she focused on the pulsing blue dot at the center of her display. "Signal is stronger than expected," she reported, a note of surprise in her voice. "Approximately 18.7 kilometers in that direction." She pointed toward a cluster of crystalline formations that rose like jagged teeth against the featureless backdrop.
"That's... good, right?" Kelly asked, leaning forward to peer over Nia's shoulder. "If the signal's strong, it means she's—"
"Alive," Kara finished, a hope so fierce it bordered on pain expanding beneath her sternum, pressing outward against her ribs like something alive and desperate to break free. "It means she's alive."
"Not necessarily," Brainy cautioned, his expression grim. "The quantum signature could persist even if—" He caught Alex's warning glare and quickly amended his statement. "But yes, a strong signal is promising."
J'onn banked the ship toward the formations, the vessel's hull reflecting fractured patterns of violet light as they skimmed over the obsidian plain. "I'm detecting unusual energy readings from those structures," he reported, his brow furrowing. "They appear to be artificial, not natural formations."
"Kryptonian?" Kara asked, leaning forward in her seat.
"Possibly," J'onn conceded. "The energy signature has similarities to the technology in Superman's fortress, though with significant differences."
Kara's pulse quickened.
If there was Kryptonian technology here, perhaps Lena had found shelter.
"Movement detected," Brainy suddenly announced, his fingers flying across his console. "Multiple signatures approaching from the northeast quadrant."
The ship's viewport shifted, magnifying a section of the obsidian plain where something wrong was happening to space itself. Figures moved across the surface—not walking so much as gliding, their forms rippling between states of matter with each motion, leaving reality bruised in their wake. They cast three, sometimes four shadows that stretched in contradictory directions, as if light itself couldn't decide how to behave around them. Their silhouettes suggested humanoid forms, but with subtle, nauseating proportions—limbs too long, joints bending at angles that made Kara's mind recoil from fully processing them. The longer she stared, the more details emerged that shouldn't be there, shapes that existed in dimensions beyond normal perception.
"Phantoms," Kara breathed, ice forming in her veins. "They've sensed us."
"How many?" Alex demanded, unslinging her pulse rifle.
"I count seventeen distinct entities," Brainy replied, "though their quantum signatures are unstable, making exact enumeration difficult."
“They're between us and Lena's position," Nia observed, her voice tight with tension.
J'onn's expression hardened. "Then we go through them." He accelerated the ship, the vessel responding instantly. "Alex, Kara—prepare for possible engagement. Kelly, monitor life support systems. Nia, keep tracking Lena's signal. Brainy, maintain portal stability."
Kara unstrapped herself from her seat, moving to stand behind J'onn. Her hand went to the bracelet at her wrist.
"Ready," she said, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach.
As they approached the phantoms, reality itself seemed to recoil.
The entities stopped moving, hanging in space like oil suspended in water, their bodies neither solid nor gas but something that defied classification—darkness given form. They turned as one toward the ship, seventeen bodies moving in perfect unison, not like soldiers following a command but like fingers of the same hand. Something about their movement—too fluid, too coordinated—triggered an instinctive revulsion in Kara's hindbrain, a primal warning that whispered: this is wrong. For a moment that stretched beyond the boundaries of conventional time, they remained motionless—seventeen abyssal apertures in the fabric of existence, their very stillness an obscene parody. Frost crystallized along the viewport's edges as the temperature plummeted, the creatures' gaze seeming to devour warmth itself from the ship's interior.
Then, as one consciousness inhabiting seventeen vessels, they surged forward, their bodies streaking through the void like comets, leaving trails of fractured light that hung suspended in the air long after they had passed.
"Evasive maneuvers!" J'onn barked, banking the ship hard to port as the first phantom lunged toward them.
The creature—if such a term could apply to something so fundamentally alien—passed through the space the ship had occupied moments before. Its form elongated as it moved, stretching like dark taffy before snapping back into a vaguely humanoid shape. Where a face might have been, there was only a swirling void of deeper darkness.
"They're trying to surround us," Alex observed, her tactical mind immediately assessing the threat pattern. "Classic flanking maneuver."
"These aren't mindless entities," J'onn agreed grimly. "They're hunting us."
The ship banked again as three more phantoms converged from different directions. One managed to brush against the hull, leaving a trail of frost-like patterns across the emerald surface. The crystalline matrix at that point darkened momentarily before the ship's self-repair mechanisms engaged, pushing the corruption outward.
"Hull breach imminent if direct contact continues," Brainy warned, his fingers flying across his console. "The phantoms appear capable of phase-shifting through solid matter."
"Then we need to give them something else to focus on," Kara decided, moving toward the ship's rear hatch. "I'll draw them away while you continue toward Lena's signal."
"Kara, no!" Alex protested, grabbing her sister's arm. "We don't know what they could do to you out there."
"We don't have a choice," Kara countered, gently but firmly removing Alex's hand. "If they breach the hull, we all die." Her gaze softened as she met her sister's worried eyes. "I'll be okay. Lena's bracelet will protect me."
She pressed the activation node on the bracelet before Alex could argue further. The titanium band pulsed once, twice, then began to flow like liquid mercury, spreading up her arm in a wave of gleaming metal that caught the ship's emerald glow. The nanites moved with incredible speed, each microscopic machine interlocking as they enveloped her torso—contouring to every muscle and curve—before cascading down her legs in rivulets of molten silver. The material reached her fingertips with an electric tingle, then climbed her neck and finally enclosed her head in a second skin that left only her face exposed. The suit seemed to breathe with her, absorbing and amplifying the ambient light until she shimmered like a star against the void. The House of El crest formed last, materializing over her chest in bold relief—not merely appearing but rising from the surface, its edges sharp and definitive as the suit completed its transformation.
Kara felt the difference immediately.
Warmth spread through her body like honey in her veins as microscopic solar collectors in the suit's surface began converting even the dim, violet light of the Phantom Zone into yellow-sun radiation. Strength flowed back into her muscles—first her core, then radiating outward to her limbs—the familiar tingle of her powers reawakening after being dulled by the dimensional transition. Her vision sharpened, the Phantom Zone's murky twilight suddenly alive with details previously invisible to her.
"Lena thought of everything," she whispered, flexing her fingers as the nanites adjusted to her movement, the suit becoming a perfect second skin.
"Take these," Alex said, pressing two sun bombs into Kara's palm. "Emergency reserves, just in case."
Kara nodded, securing the devices to her belt. "Keep going toward Lena's signal," she instructed. "I'll catch up once I've dealt with our shadows."
J'onn's expression was grim but resigned. "Be careful, Kara. The Phantom Zone plays tricks on the mind. Don't trust anything you see out there."
"Thirty-two minutes remaining before portal destabilization," Brainy added, his tone clinical despite the concern evident in his eyes. "Please be efficient in your heroics."
Kara managed a tight smile before moving to the airlock. The ship's internal systems adjusted as the outer door prepared to open, compensating for the Phantom Zone's alien atmosphere—or lack thereof. Kara took a deep breath, centering herself as the hatch slid open, revealing the twilight void beyond.
"I'll see you soon," she promised, meeting each of her friends' eyes one last time. Then she stepped into the abyss, the nanites in her suit immediately hardening to protect her from the Phantom Zone's hostile environment.
The sensation was unlike anything she'd experienced before—no atmosphere to push against, only the twilight void that somehow still pressed inward on her body like an invisible vise. The ashen emptiness consumed all sound except the pounding of her own heart, a deafening reminder she was alive in this dead place. Floating above the abyss, Kara maintained a careful distance from what lay beneath—a surface like obsidian glass that undulated with quicksilver movement, caught between states of matter just as the phantoms were. She shifted her weight almost imperceptibly, and Lena's nanite suit translated her intention into motion, the microscopic machines humming against her skin. The dark plane below seemed to register her presence; rings of violet energy—the same eerie shade that permeated this dimension—rippled outward from the spot directly beneath her, then faded to nothing like ripples in oil rather than water. Here, in the Phantom Zone where time stretched beyond conventional boundaries, the rules that governed distance and gravity felt negotiable rather than absolute, another trick played on the mind just as J'onn had warned.
Above, the ship continued its course toward the crystalline formations, its emerald hull shimmering against the ashen void.
The phantoms, sensing Kara's presence, immediately altered their trajectory.
Twelve of the seventeen entities peeled away from the ship, their amorphous forms coalescing into a loose semicircle around her position.
Kara raised her fists, the nanites in her suit pulsing with stored solar energy.
"Come on then," she challenged, her voice steady despite the fear churning in her gut. "Let's dance."
The phantoms paused, seemingly surprised by her direct confrontation.
Then, with movements that seemed to occur in dimensions beyond the three she could perceive, they began to change. Their forms twisted inward, folding through themselves like origami crafted by mad gods. The darkness rippled and puckered, revealing glimpses of impossible microstructures beneath—angles that bent in ways that made Kara's eyes water and her stomach lurch. Features emerged from the void—not faces but terrible approximations that human minds were never meant to comprehend. What might have been eyes opened vertically, horizontally, and in spiraling patterns all at once, each pupil a different shade of emptiness. Mouths gaped in concentric rings, revealing not teeth but crystalline structures that hummed with discordant frequencies. Some appendages stretched outward only to loop back through themselves, existing in multiple locations simultaneously, leaving trails of oily iridescence that hung suspended like torn veils between worlds.
One phantom—its mass somehow greater yet simultaneously less substantial than the others—drifted forward in a way that suggested it wasn't moving through space so much as rearranging reality around itself. As it approached, its unfathomable contours collapsed into a singular point of wrongness before blooming outward into a face Kara knew better than her own.
Lena stared back at her, pale and perfect, sea glass eyes wide with terror.
"Kara," the phantom-Lena whispered, her voice a perfect replica that froze Kara’s blood. "Help me. Please."
Kara's breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs despite the rational part of her mind screaming that this was a trick, a manipulation.
The phantom-Lena drifted closer, one hand outstretched, fingers trembling with desperate need.
"It hurts," she whispered, tears welling in those perfect eyes. "They're tearing me apart. Why didn't you come sooner?"
Kara's fists lowered fractionally, the accusation striking deeper than any physical blow could have.
Why hadn't she come sooner?
Why had she wasted precious days while Lena suffered in this nightmare realm?
Guilt threatened to overwhelm her, a wave of self-recrimination that momentarily clouded her judgment.
The phantom sensed her weakness, drifting closer still. Its features solidified further, becoming an even more perfect replica of Lena—those piercing jade eyes framed by dark lashes, the sharp jawline softened only by the small scar beneath it, that signature crimson lipstick against porcelain skin. Even the way one eyebrow arched slightly higher than the other when she was concerned—that familiar arch Kara had studied during so many late night meetings, her gaze lingering whenever Lena looked down at financial reports, the blue light of monitors catching on her features while Kara pushed potstickers around with chopsticks, feigning distraction.
"I've been waiting for you," phantom-Lena said, her voice breaking on the last word. "I knew you'd come. You always save me."
Kara’s resolve wavered, heart aching with the need to reach out, to take this apparition in her arms and promise that everything would be alright.
She drifted forward a few inches before catching herself, her body hovering in the dimensionless void, J'onn's warning echoing in her mind.
The Phantom Zone plays tricks on the mind.
Don't trust anything you see out there.
"You're not her," Kara said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Lena's still alive. I can feel it."
The phantom-Lena's expression shifted, disappointment flickering across those perfect features before they began to distort in ways that defied euclidean geometry. The face stretched along axes that shouldn't exist, the mouth opening to reveal not teeth but an abyss of swirling darkness where colors Kara had never seen before writhed in patterns that made her sanity fray at the edges. The eyes, once green and alive with emotion, melted into empty sockets that seemed to pull at Kara's very essence—windows into a cosmos of madness that existed perpendicular to reality itself.
"You failed her," the phantom hissed, its voice no longer Lena's but a chorus of discordant whispers that scraped against Kara's mind like fingernails on slate, each syllable echoing from somewhere impossibly distant yet horrifyingly intimate. "Just as you failed everyone. Your parents. Your planet. Everyone you love dies, Kara Zor-El. Everything you touch turns to ash."
The remaining phantoms twisted into impossible shapes, their forms folding through dimensions Kara couldn't comprehend. They transformed into the faces of everyone Kara had lost. Her mother's features collapsed into themselves like a dying star; her father's face folded inside-out, eyes bulging from sunken sockets; Astra appeared shattered across overlapping planes of existence; Mon-El's features stretched and warped along axes that shouldn't exist. Each familiar face twisted in ways that violated reality itself, their expressions frozen in silent accusations that made Kara's vision blur and her thoughts scatter. They encircled her in a blasphemous gallery of grief, their whispers emanating not from mouths but from wounds in reality itself.
"You let us die."
"You weren't strong enough."
"You forgot us."
Kara's vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes, each word striking at her deepest insecurities, her most carefully guarded fears.
For a moment, she felt herself beginning to drown in the sea of guilt and regret that had always lurked beneath her sunny exterior.
Then, cutting through the chorus of accusations, a single memory surfaced—Lena at her L-Corp desk, the blue-white desk lamp casting sharp shadows across her features, illuminating her obsidian hair pulled back in that severe ponytail she wore like armor against the night. Her alabaster skin had been tinged blue from the glow of her tablet as she worked despite the bruise blooming along her left cheekbone. The memory was so vivid Kara could almost smell the familiar blend of expensive perfume and antiseptic that lingered in Lena's office after the Reign attack. Those jade eyes had locked onto Supergirl's with such fierce determination, pupils contracting against irises so green they seemed almost artificial. Kara had never forgotten the conviction in her voice, the way it dropped half an octave when she was passionate. Though Lena had no idea at the time that she spoke to her best friend beneath the cape, her words now reaching across dimensions to give Kara something solid to grasp amid the swirling madness—a lifeline of hope thrown unwittingly by the very person she'd come to save.
"Even Supergirl can't be everywhere at once," she'd said, not looking up from her tablet. "The world needs heroes who keep trying anyway."
The memory pulled Kara back from the edge of despair. She straightened her spine, squaring her shoulders as determination replaced doubt.
"Nice try," she said, her voice ringing with newfound strength. "But I know what you are now. And I know you're not them."
She reached for her belt, fingers fumbling over the smooth metal canisters until they closed around one of the sun bombs Alex had pressed into her hand. The device felt impossibly small against her skin—this tiny sphere meant to replicate Earth's star. With trembling fingers, she twisted the activation ring until it clicked into place, the mechanism humming to life against her palm. She hurled it into the center of the phantom circle, watching it arc through the dimensionless void, trailing golden particles like a miniature comet. The sphere hung suspended for a heartbeat before detonating in a supernova of artificial yellow sunlight, so intense it seared away the twilight murk and transformed the colorless void into a blinding dome of noon-day brilliance that hurt even Kryptonian eyes.
The phantoms recoiled, their shadowy forms dissipating like smoke in a strong wind. The faces they had stolen melted away, revealing the empty voids beneath as they retreated, fleeing from the light that burned through their darkness, their silent screams vibrating through Kara's bones.
The surge of yellow-sun radiation washed over her, absorbed and amplified by the nanites in Kara's suit. Strength flooded her muscles. Her suspended hovering transformed into true flight—the difference between treading water and swimming freely through an ocean. She shot forward with purpose now, tracking the ship's progress toward the crystal formations in the distance. It had nearly reached the outer perimeter, the remaining phantoms still in pursuit but falling behind as the vessel accelerated. Kara rocketed ahead, the nanites in her suit streamlining as she cut through the dimensionless void with the precision and power that had once made her National City's guardian.
The sensation of flight in the Phantom Zone was disorienting.
Without air to push against, without wind to guide her, Kara relied solely on her innate connection to her powers. She moved through the twilight void like a bullet through water—not slowed, exactly, but altered, the physics of this place bending around her Kryptonian biology in ways that defied explanation.
She caught up to the ship just as it reached the edge of its destination. The structures loomed before her—towering spires of violet-tinged crystal that twisted upward like frozen lightning, branching into fractal patterns too mathematically precise to be natural formations. Each facet caught the non-light of the Phantom Zone, refracting it into shimmers that hurt her eyes when she tried to focus on them. Ancient Kryptonian glyphs had been meticulously carved into their translucent surfaces, the symbols both achingly familiar and disturbingly altered—as if someone had reconstructed her native language from memory alone, the serifs and curves of each character just slightly wrong in ways that made her stomach tighten.
The ship slowed as it navigated between the crystal spires, its emerald hull reflecting fractured patterns of violet light. Through the viewport, Kara could see J'onn's concentrated expression as he guided the vessel deeper into the formation, following Nia's directions toward Lena's signal.
The remaining phantoms had fallen back, seemingly unwilling to follow them into the crystalline maze. Kara glanced over her shoulder, watching as the shadowy entities hovered at the perimeter, their formless bodies undulating with what might have been frustration or caution.
Something about this place repelled them—or perhaps frightened them.
Kara accelerated, catching up to the ship and flying alongside it as they penetrated deeper into the crystal forest. The structures grew more complex as they advanced, no longer simple spires but elaborate constructions that resembled buildings, archways, even what appeared to be a bridge spanning a chasm of absolute darkness.
"Someone built this," she murmured, the realization sending a shiver down her spine.
The ship's external speakers activated, Brainy's voice emerging with electronic clarity. "The architecture appears to incorporate elements of Kryptonian design, though with significant deviations from historical records. I estimate these structures are at least forty years old, based on visible degradation patterns."
Forty years. The number echoed in Kara's mind, triggering a cascade of impossible thoughts. Who could have survived in the Phantom Zone for four decades? What Kryptonian would have had the knowledge and resources to create something so elaborate in this prison dimension?
Before she could pursue the thought further, Nia's voice came through the speakers. "Lena's signal is getting stronger. We're close—less than a kilometer now."
Kara's heart leapt in her chest, hope surging through her veins like liquid sunlight. Close. They were close.
"Wait," Alex's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp with alarm. "I'm picking up another life sign. Someone's with her."
Kara's blood ran cold. "Lex," she whispered, the name like poison on her tongue.
"The signature is Kryptonian," Brainy corrected, his voice tight with confusion. "But that's impossible. There shouldn't be any Kryptonians in the Phantom Zone except—"
"Except prisoners from Fort Rozz," J'onn finished, his tone grim. "And we have no way of knowing if they're hostile."
Kara's mind raced, calculating possibilities and risks. If a Kryptonian criminal had found Lena—if they were holding her captive, using her as bait—
She pushed the thought away, unwilling to consider what that might mean for Lena's safety. "I'm going ahead," she decided, accelerating past the ship. "I'll scout the area, see what we're dealing with."
"Kara, wait—" Alex's protest was cut off as Kara shot forward, leaving the ship behind.
The crystal formations grew more intricate as she advanced, their violet-tinged structures forming what appeared to be a city—or the memory of one. Fractal spires twisted into recognizable shapes. Hexagonal plazas with fountain-like structures at their centers, tiered buildings with sweeping balconies that caught the non-light in prismatic bursts, and interconnected walkways that arced between structures like crystallized rainbows. These weren't random formations but intentional architecture that mimicked the soaring, gravity-defying designs she dimly remembered from Argo City—though distorted, as if Krypton's elegance had been reimagined by someone working only from faded memories and limited resources. The entire complex hummed with a subtle energy that resonated with something deep in Kara's DNA, a vibration that made her skin prickle with goosebumps.
Lena's signal led her to a structure on the furthest edge of the crystal forest—a geodesic dome-shaped building that stood apart from the surrounding spires, its faceted surface reflecting the void in hundreds of tiny mirrors. Kara landed silently at what appeared to be the entrance, a curved archway inscribed with Kryptonian glyphs that pulsed with the same violet light as the surrounding crystals, casting long, angular shadows across the threshold. The text was familiar yet archaic. She traced the symbols with her fingertips, translating slowly.
"Sanctuary of the Lost," she whispered, the words sending a chill down her spine.
Beyond the archway, a corridor stretched into darkness, illuminated only by occasional pulses of violet light from formations embedded in the walls. Kara hesitated at the threshold, her super-hearing straining to detect any sound from within.
Nothing.
Not even a heartbeat.
The emptiness struck her as wrong—Lena's signal was strongest here, but the place felt abandoned.
Kara ventured deeper, her boots making no sound on the polished crystal floor. Violet light pulsed through veins in the walls, illuminating a laboratory space where tables had been overturned, instruments scattered. Her fingers traced the edge where crystalline controls had been partially melted, leaving behind glassy rivulets frozen mid-drip. The air itself felt charged, as if molecules still vibrated from recent energy discharge. In the center of the room, a perfect circle of scorched floor radiated outward in fractal patterns—unmistakable evidence of a temporal portal attempt that had either failed catastrophically or succeeded in whisking away its creator.
A dark smear caught her eye—blood, unmistakably human, at almost exactly Lena's height on the far wall. More blood marked a nearby console, five distinct fingerprints smeared into a desperate handprint where someone had clutched their wound before reaching out to steady themselves, the crimson trail ending abruptly where something had been forcibly removed. Kara's stomach twisted violently, her invulnerable body suddenly feeling hollow. The metallic scent filled her nostrils, triggering a primal fear no superpower could quell. Her vision tunneled, the room's edges darkening as she whispered a single word.
"Lena."
She activated her comms with trembling fingers. "Alex, J'onn, I found something." Her voice caught. She tore her eyes from the blood trail, refusing to connect it to Lena. "Alex, I need you and Kelly here with a full medical kit. Someone's injured." Her voice hardened with intentional vagueness. "J'onn, Nia—I need you both armed and ready. If we find her—when we find her—we'll need protection while Alex and Kelly work." She pressed her fingers against the comm harder. "Brainy, stay with the ship. Keep the engines hot and prep the medical bay. We might need to leave quickly."
Kara stepped through the archway, the nanites in her suit adjusting to the dimmer light within. The corridor curved gently to the right, leading deeper into the structure. She'd only gone twenty paces when the soft crunch of boots on crystal announced the arrival of the others. Alex appeared first with her DEO-issue XR-7 pulse ray gun drawn, its blue power indicator glowing at maximum chargemedical kit clutched in her steady hands, Kelly following close behind, a compact medical kit balanced in one hand while the other held a tactical flashlight whose beam cut sharp white lines through the violet darkness. J'onn followed with a plasma pistol in his hands, while Nia's hands glowed with the shimmering blue energy of her Dream Force powers, tendrils of precognitive energy already weaving between her fingers. Kara nodded gratefully at them as they reached a junction where the corridor split in three directions. The leftmost path was dark, the crystals in its walls dormant and cold. The rightmost path pulsed with a sickly violet light, revealing a trail of dark smears along the wall—handprints where someone had braced themselves while stumbling forward, each one slightly lower than the last. Droplets of blood marked an uneven path into the darkness. The central passage remained pitch black, while the left corridor showed only dead, dormant crystals.
Kara chose the right path, the others following close behind. The blood trail grew more erratic until the corridor ended abruptly at a sheer drop into darkness. Kara stared into the void, her heart hammering. "Nia," she whispered.
Nia stepped forward, her hands weaving blue energy that enveloped them all in a shared vision.
Ghostly figures shimmered into existence—translucent blue echoes of recent history, their edges rippling like disturbed water. Lena staggered toward the drop, crimson blood cascading from her right temple in rivulets that disappeared into the collar of her once-pristine blazer. The fingers of her left hand fumbled desperately along the jagged crystal wall, leaving smeared vermilion trails that glowed eerily in Nia's dreamlight, while her right arm remained curled protectively against her chest, clutching something small that pulsed with the same violet energy as the crystals around them. Her eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, darted wildly, pupils dilated and unable to focus as she swayed precariously at the precipice, her slender frame listing dangerously toward the void. Then Lex materialized from the shadows. His mouth moved in what must have been a vicious tirade, though the dreamlight vision carried no sound. Lena's lips formed words back before he lunged forward, seizing her forearm. His knuckles blanched white against her skin as her face contorted in silent pain, the ghostly blue afterimage preserving every detail of their confrontation except the words that might have explained everything. Despite her injury, Lena's eyes blazed with defiance—a Luthor to the last—as she twisted violently away from her brother, raven hair whipping across her blood-spattered face like ink through water. For one breathless heartbeat, she hung suspended at the precipice, the void yawning hungrily beneath her.
Kara lunged forward with superhuman speed, her arm outstretched toward Lena's falling form. "No!" tore from her throat as her fingers passed through Lena's reaching hand like mist, the dreamlight image dissolving into blue particles that scattered and faded as gravity claimed the woman she loved, the ghostly echo of her body arcing backward into impenetrable darkness below.
Chapter 13: ash and bone
Summary:
Seventy-six hours after Lex’s attack, Lena’s body is mending—but peace in the Phantom Zone never lasts. When Nyxly and Lex track them to Zor-El’s shelter, the fragile safety Lena has found shatters. Trapped, outnumbered, and barely standing, she’s forced into one final act of survival that could cost her everything she’s just begun to heal.
Chapter Text
13
ash and bone
The shelter's hexagonal facets caught the blue-white firelight from the makeshift hearth, casting prismatic shadows that danced and shifted with each restless flicker of flame. Lena sat propped against a makeshift backrest Zor-El had engineered from salvaged materials—an intricate framework of slender titanium-alloy rods he'd bent, cushioned with layers of folded synthetic fabric in faded Kryptonian blues. It supported her spine at precisely the right angle while keeping pressure off her three fractured ribs, the bones knitting together beneath the purpling bruises that spread like watercolor across her pale skin. Zor-El's handiwork wrapped her broken body in a complex web of bandages—a figure-eight pattern crossing over her shoulders and upper back, the ends tucked neatly behind her, pulling her posture into proper alignment despite her body's desire to curl protectively around her injuries. The broad rib binder circled her torso twice, covering from just beneath her breasts to above her waistline, each breath a careful negotiation between necessary oxygen and tolerable pain. A diagonal swathe crossed from her right shoulder down across her chest to her left flank, securing her injured arm against her body in a position that allowed her fractured clavicle to heal without displacement. Her left hand rested just visible above her right breast, fingers occasionally twitching with returning sensation as nerve pathways slowly recovered from trauma. The layers of fabric interlaced across her chest and shoulder in a cross-pattern of overlapping bands, replacing her ruined blazer entirely with this functional, minimal covering that stretched from collarbone to waist—a medical garment born of necessity and ingenuity that somehow preserved her dignity while binding her broken pieces together.
Seventy-six hours since her fall.
Seventy-six hours since Lex had nearly killed her.
The thought still sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the Phantom Zone's perpetual coolness.
Across the shelter, Zor-El worked at his makeshift laboratory bench, his back to her as he carefully measured drops of iridescent liquid into a small metal bowl. The familiar rhythm of his movements—precise, methodical, yet somehow graceful—reminded her so much of Kara that her chest tightened with an ache that had nothing to do with her fractured ribs. The same focused tilt of the head, the same unconscious habit of tapping the fourth finger against the thumb when deep in thought.
"You're staring again," he said without turning, a hint of amusement coloring his accented English.
Lena blinked, caught. "Sorry," she murmured, her voice slightly raspy. "Just... thinking."
Zor-El turned, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile she'd come to recognize over the past three days. "About Kara?"
Heat crept into Lena's cheeks. She looked down at her good hand, studying the bitten nails and healing cuts as if they held some fascinating secret. "Is it that obvious?"
"You get a certain look," he replied, carrying the bowl toward her. Steam rose from its surface in lazy, opalescent spirals that caught the firelight and refracted it into miniature rainbows. "The same one I imagine I wear when thinking of Alura."
The mention of Kara's mother sent another pang through Lena's chest. Over the past days, between periods of healing sleep and careful medical attention, Zor-El had shared stories of his family—of brilliant, compassionate Alura with her unwavering sense of justice; of Kara as a child, stubborn and curious, constantly asking questions that left even Krypton's greatest minds struggling for answers. Each tale was a gift Lena hoarded like precious stones, adding them to her mental collection of everything Kara.
"Time for another dose," Zor-El said, kneeling beside her pallet. "Your body is responding well to the treatment, but healing requires consistent care."
Lena eyed the steaming liquid with a mixture of gratitude and trepidation. The elixir—a combination of mineral compounds and plant extracts Zor-El had somehow cultivated in this barren place—tasted like liquid metal mixed with bitter herbs. But its effects were undeniable. The fog in her mind had begun to clear, the constant vertigo reduced to occasional waves that struck only when she moved too quickly.
"Bottom's up," she muttered, accepting the bowl with her good hand.
The first sip was always the worst—a shock of bitterness that made her taste buds recoil in protest. She forced herself to swallow steadily, the warm liquid tracing a path down her throat and spreading through her chest like tendrils of heat seeking out damaged tissue. By the third sip, the taste became almost tolerable, the medicinal properties numbing her tongue enough that she could finish the dose without grimacing.
"You're getting better at that," Zor-El observed, taking the empty bowl. "The first time, I thought you might throw it back at me."
"I considered it," Lena admitted with a small smile. "But that would have been poor repayment for saving my life."
Zor-El inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression sobering. "How is the pain today?"
Lena took a careful inventory of her body's complaints. The throbbing in her temple had dulled to a persistent but manageable ache, like a thumb pressing against her skull rather than the ice pick of previous days. Her ribs protested with each breath, but the stabbing agony had subsided to a tight, pulling discomfort. Her shoulder and collarbone remained the worst—a deep, bone-level throb that intensified whenever she forgot herself and tried to move.
"Better," she said finally. "My head feels clearer. Ribs still hurt when I breathe too deeply, but not like before." She gestured vaguely toward her immobilized left arm. "This is still... unpleasant."
"The collarbone will take longest to heal," Zor-El confirmed, his eyes clinically assessing her. "Even with the accelerant properties of the elixir, bone knits slowly." He moved to adjust the binding that secured her arm against her chest, his touch professional yet gentle. "The bruising is fading, though. That's a good sign."
Lena glanced down at what she could see of her chest and shoulder. The violent purple-black bruising had indeed begun to transition to sickly yellows and greens around the edges—the color palette of healing, however unattractive.
"Little victories," she murmured.
Zor-El settled on the stool beside her pallet, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. Over the past days, she'd learned to read his moods despite his Kryptonian reserve—the slight furrow between his brows that appeared when he was working through a problem, the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes when pain from old wounds flared up, the way his hands stilled completely when he was about to broach a difficult subject.
His hands were still now.
"You are strong, Lena Luthor," he said after a moment, the words carrying weight beyond their simplicity. "Stronger than most humans I've encountered."
Lena arched an eyebrow, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at her healing temple. "You've met many humans in the Phantom Zone?"
"More than you might think," Zor-El replied, surprising her. "Few survive long. This place..." He gestured to the crystalline walls surrounding them. "It feeds on weakness, on fear. It finds the cracks in your mind and widens them until you shatter." His gaze returned to her, assessing. "Yet here you are, with injuries that would have killed most, still fighting."
"Luthors are hard to kill," Lena said, the words emerging with more bitterness than she'd intended. "It's practically the family motto."
Zor-El studied her, head tilting slightly in that way that reminded her so painfully of Kara. "You speak your family name like it's a burden."
"It is." The words emerged before she could stop them, raw and honest in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the concussion, or the strange intimacy that had developed between them, or simply the knowledge that in this timeless prison, pretenses seemed absurdly irrelevant. "Being a Luthor means carrying the weight of every terrible thing my family has done. Every life they've taken, every person they've hurt."
"Including my daughter," Zor-El said quietly.
Lena's throat tightened. She looked away, focusing on the blue-white flames in the fire pit. "Yes," she whispered. "Including Kara."
A silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire and the distant hum of alien technology that permeated the shelter. Lena opened her mouth to respond, to explain the complicated tangle of guilt and responsibility she carried—how she'd tried to be different, to escape the Luthor legacy, only to find herself falling into the same patterns of secrecy and manipulation that defined her family.
Before she could speak, a sound froze them both—a scraping against the shelter's exterior wall. Not random or accidental, but methodical, like fingers testing for weaknesses. Zor-El's posture changed instantly, his scholarly demeanor vanishing as his muscles coiled with the tension of a predator sensing danger. He moved with surprising speed to the entrance, engaging a complex locking mechanism she hadn't noticed before—interlocking crystalline rods that slid into position with soft clicks, their facets glowing violet as they sealed the doorway.
Lena's pulse quickened, her mouth suddenly dry. "Is it—?"
Zor-El silenced her with a sharp gesture, his eyes never leaving the entrance as he retrieved something from beneath his pallet—a device she now recognized as a weapon of Kryptonian design, its sleek lines and crystalline core unmistakably from the same technological lineage as the artifacts in Superman's fortress. He positioned himself between her and the door, his body a shield between whatever lurked outside and her broken form.
The scratching intensified, moving along the wall in a purposeful pattern—testing, probing, searching for structural vulnerabilities. Lena's good hand clutched at the blanket covering her legs, fingers twisting in the coarse fabric as she strained to identify the source.
Was it the phantoms, drawn to their shelter by some unfathomable hunger?
Or had Lex finally tracked them down?
"What is it?" she whispered, her voice barely audible even to her own ears.
Zor-El pressed a finger to his lips, the gesture universal.
His eyes narrowed as he tracked the sound's movement around the shelter's perimeter. There was no panic in his expression, but the calculated vigilance of someone who had faced similar threats before and survived. The crystal component in its small alcove began to pulse, its violet glow intensifying as if responding to the proximity of whatever circled them. The light caught in the planes of Zor-El's face, carving deep shadows beneath his cheekbones and transforming his familiar features into something ancient and formidable.
The scratching stopped abruptly, leaving a silence so complete that Lena could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Zor-El remained motionless, weapon raised, every muscle tense as his gaze swept the shelter's interior. Then, from directly above—a new sound. A slow, deliberate tapping on the domed ceiling, the impact reverberating through the crystalline structure.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The same rhythm she'd heard before the phantoms had nearly consumed her beneath the obsidian plain.
The same patient, measured cadence that had preceded her plunge into nightmare.
Zor-El's expression darkened with recognition. He moved to the center of the shelter, weapon now aimed at the ceiling, tracking the tapping as it traversed the dome. His lips moved in what might have been a prayer or a curse in Kryptonian, the syllables too low for Lena to catch.
The tapping stopped directly above the fire pit.
For a single suspended moment, nothing happened. The flames danced undisturbed, casting their blue-white light in undulating patterns across the crystalline walls. Then a voice filtered through the interlocking panels—not Lex's, but feminine, melodic, and chillingly familiar.
"I know you're in there, Lena Luthor," Nyxly called, her tone conversational despite the barrier between them. "You and the Kryptonian scientist. How cozy."
Zor-El's eyes widened at the sound of Nyxly's voice, a flash of recognition—or was it fear?—crossing his features before his expression hardened once more. He glanced at Lena, clearly wondering how she knew the entity outside.
"Did your new friend tell you who he is?" Nyxly continued, her voice taking on that mocking lilt that made Lena's skin crawl. "Did he explain why he's been hiding in this pathetic shelter for decades rather than escaping?"
Lena looked at Zor-El, whose jaw had tightened at Nyxly's words, a muscle jumping beneath his beard. There was history here, clearly—some prior interaction between the Kara’s father and the Fifth Princess that Zor-El hadn't shared during their conversations.
"Your brother is quite upset with you, Lena," Nyxly called, her voice moving around the dome as she circled the shelter. "He wants his component back. And I... well, I find myself in the unusual position of agreeing with him."
The crystal component pulsed faster, its violet glow now so intense it cast stark shadows across the shelter's interior. Zor-El snatched it up with his free hand, the device humming against his palm as he shoved it deep into an inner pocket of his worn Kryptonian garment, all while keeping his weapon trained on where Nyxly’s voice came from.
"I'm not alone this time either, little Luthor," Nyxly's voice continued, the words slithering through the panels like poison. "Your brother can be quite persuasive when properly motivated. He's gathered quite the collection of... friends."
As if on cue, new sounds emerged from outside—multiple footsteps circling the shelter, some heavy and dragging, others light and quick. Voices murmured in languages Lena didn't recognize, their tones unmistakably hostile. How many were there? Five? Ten? More?
"Prisoners," Zor-El whispered, his voice tight. "From the deepest sectors of the Zone. Criminals even Krypton deemed too dangerous to rehabilitate."
Lena's blood ran cold.
Of course Lex would find allies here—he'd always had a talent for recruiting the desperate and the dangerous, for finding those whose moral compasses aligned with his own twisted version of north. And Nyxly, with her Fifth Dimensional powers, however diminished—she'd be a formidable partner in his vendetta.
"I'm giving you one chance, Lena," Nyxly called, her voice hardening. "Return the component willingly, and perhaps we can negotiate your continued existence. Your brother is quite eager to... discuss your recent betrayal."
Lena forced herself to sit up straighter despite the pain that lanced through her ribs and shoulder. If they broke through—when they broke through—she refused to face them lying down. Her good hand gripped the edge of her pallet until her knuckles whitened, using the pain to anchor herself against the fear threatening to overwhelm her.
"They can't get in," she said, trying to convince herself as much as stating fact. "Your shelter has held for decades, right?"
Zor-El's expression was grim. "Against phantoms and the occasional lost prisoner, yes. Against a coordinated attack led by a Fifth Dimensional being and a human genius with knowledge of Kryptonian technology?" He shook his head slightly. "The structural integrity will hold for a time, but eventually..."
A new sound interrupted him—a high-pitched whine that made Lena's teeth ache, followed by the unmistakable hiss of superheated metal against crystal. A point of molten orange appeared on the wall nearest the entrance, the surface bubbling and distorting as something cut through from outside.
"Ah, there it is," Nyxly's voice came again, smug satisfaction dripping from every syllable. "Your brother's ingenuity at work. Remarkable what he can construct with salvaged Fort Rozz technology, isn't it?"
The orange point expanded into a line, then began to trace a slow, deliberate circle through the shelter's wall. Molten metal dripped to the floor, hissing as it cooled against the obsidian surface. Zor-El moved to position himself between the breach and Lena, his weapon humming as it powered up.
"When they break through," he said without turning, his voice low and urgent, "stay behind me. If I fall, there's an escape tunnel beneath the fire pit. The release mechanism is the third crystal from the left, the one with the fracture. Press it three times in rapid succession."
Lena's heart hammered against her fractured ribs. "I'm not leaving you to face them alone."
"You must," Zor-El insisted, finally glancing back at her. Something in his eyes—determination mixed with a father's protective instinct—silenced her protest. "My daughter would never forgive me if I let harm come to you when I could prevent it."
Before Lena could respond, a new voice joined the chorus outside—masculine, cultured, and achingly familiar.
"Sister dear," Lex called, his tone carrying that particular blend of condescension and false concern that had haunted Lena's nightmares since childhood. "You've led us on quite the chase. I'm almost impressed."
The cutting tool continued its inexorable progress, the circle now nearly half complete. Sparks showered from the incision point, casting erratic shadows across the shelter's interior. Zor-El adjusted his stance, weapon raised and ready.
"I know you can hear me, Lena," Lex continued. "I want you to know I'm not angry anymore. Well, not excessively angry. These things happen between siblings—betrayal, attempted murder, theft of irreplaceable alien technology. All water under the bridge."
A bitter laugh escaped Lena's throat before she could stop it. Even now, with a cutting tool slowly carving through their only protection, Lex maintained his façade of reasonable magnanimity.
"All I want is the component," Lex said, his voice softening. "Give it to me, and we can put this unfortunate episode behind us. We can work together again, just like old times. Brother and sister, changing the world."
The circle was three-quarters complete now, the wall glowing orange-red around the incision. Zor-El's finger tightened on his weapon's trigger mechanism, his body tensed for the inevitable confrontation.
"And if I refuse?" Lena called out, her voice stronger than she expected.
A pause, then Lex's chuckle—soft, almost intimate. "Then I'm afraid my new associates will have to express their... disappointment. They're quite eager to meet the Kryptonian who's been hiding in their midst all these years. And you, dear sister?" The cutting tool completed its circuit, the circle of crystal now connected by a continuous molten line. "Well, let's just say Nyxly has some fascinating ideas about human physiology and its limits."
The cut section of wall began to shift inward, pushed by unseen hands from outside. Zor-El raised his weapon, its core pulsing with energy as he prepared to defend their sanctuary.
Lena's fingers found the edge of her makeshift cot, her mind racing through possibilities, calculations, desperate plans. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and she was injured to the point of near-immobility. Yet surrender wasn't an option—not when the component in Lex's hands meant death for Kara and Clark, not when it meant unleashing her brother's twisted genius back onto an unsuspecting world.
The circular section of wall crashed inward, landing on the obsidian floor with a crystalline shatter that sent fragments skittering across the shelter. Through the newly created aperture, shadowy figures crowded forward—misshapen silhouettes backlit by the Phantom Zone's perpetual twilight. And at their center, stepping through the breach with the confidence of a conqueror entering a fallen city, came Lex—his gaunt face illuminated by the blue-white flames in the firepit, his eyes gleaming with triumph as they fixed on Lena.
"There you are," he said, his lips curving into that familiar smile that had never quite reached his eyes. "Did you really think you could hide from me forever?"
Lena thrust herself upward. Her ribs immediately protested with a white-hot flare that stole her breath—three distinct points of agony where bone had only just begun to knit together. The sudden movement sent her fractured clavicle grinding against itself, the sensation like two pieces of rough concrete scraping together inside her flesh.
"Zor-El!" she gasped, her voice barely audible as she lurched toward the fire pit.
Her body pitched forward awkwardly, balance compromised by the immobilized left arm bound against her chest. Each faltering step sent shockwaves through her torso, fractured ribs compressing with nauseating pressure that radiated outward like hot needles beneath her skin. The shelter's obsidian walls tilted violently around her—a side effect of the lingering concussion that made the crystalline surfaces seem to ripple and warp—as black spots like ink droplets in water danced at the edges of her vision.
Behind her, crackling energy discharge illuminated the shelter with harsh blue-white light that cast knife-edge shadows across the floor as Zor-El fired his weapon at the intruders. A scream cut through the chaos—not human, something higher and more guttural, like metal being twisted beyond its breaking point. The acrid scent of burning flesh filled the air, copper-sweet and sulfurous, coating the back of her throat with each desperate breath.
"Lena, go!" Zor-El shouted, his voice strained with effort.
She reached the fire pit with trembling legs, her right hand fumbling along its edge where the polished obsidian met crystalline Kryptonian alloy. Third crystal from the left, the one with the fracture—a hairline crack that spiderwebbed through the translucent blue-white material like frozen lightning. Her fingertips, slick with cold sweat, slid across surfaces smooth as wet glass until they found it—a jagged imperfection that caught against her skin like a splinter of ice. She pressed once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each compression requiring force that sent white-hot tendrils of agony through her shoulder as the muscles connected to her shattered collarbone tensed and pulled against bone fragments.
The obsidian floor beneath the fire pit slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing a narrow vertical shaft that disappeared into absolute darkness—a black so complete it seemed to devour the dim light around it. Above this void, the blue-white flames continued their hypnotic dance, suspended in midair six inches above the opening, their ethereal glow casting eerie shadows across the shelter's walls while they flickered and twisted without fuel or heat, suspended by alien technology that defied every natural law she had ever studied.
"Zor-El!" she called again, twisting to look back.
The movement wrenched her left side, tearing a strangled gasp from her throat as her immobilized shoulder pulled against the rough-hewn fabric bindings that cut into her swollen flesh. Through the haze of pain, she saw Lex advancing through the jagged breach, his alabaster skin ghostly in the blue-white glow, flanked by creatures that barely resembled anything humanoid—twisted forms with limbs that bent at impossible angles like broken spider legs, skin that rippled with oily iridescence, shifting between putrid greens and bruise-purple. One had eyes scattered across what might have been a torso, blinking in asynchronous patterns. Nyxly glided behind them, her dark hair floating as if underwater, her eyes gleaming with the malicious delight of a predator scenting blood.
Zor-El backed toward her, still firing his weapon, each pulse of cobalt energy finding its mark with deadly accuracy, the air crackling with ozone and the scent of burning flesh. Three bodies already lay crumpled at the entrance, their misshapen forms twitching with electrical aftereffects, limbs contorting in death even more grotesquely than they had in life, leaking fluids in shades no Earth creature ever produced.
"Jump!" he commanded, not looking at her. "I'll follow!"
"Not without you," Lena insisted, her good hand reaching out to grasp his wrist.
Her fingers closed around the worn fabric of his sleeve, pulling with desperate strength born of pure survival instinct. The sudden exertion sent her broken ribs shifting beneath her skin like tectonic plates, grinding bone against nerve endings until crimson-tinged pain exploded behind her eyes, so intense that darkness threatened to swallow her consciousness whole. She tugged anyway, throwing her weight backward toward the obsidian maw of the opening.
Zor-El, caught off-guard by her unexpected strength, stumbled back with arms windmilling. His weapon discharged one final time with a high-pitched whine—cobalt energy spiraling through the air like liquid lightning before catching Lex's shoulder, spinning him sideways with a howl of pain and rage that echoed off the walls. Then they were falling together through absolute darkness, Lena's white-knuckled grip on his sleeve never loosening as they plummeted through the opening like stones dropped into a bottomless well.
The shaft was narrow, barely wide enough for two bodies, its glassy-smooth walls rushing past with no handholds or features. Lena felt Zor-El's arms wrap around her like living restraints, his strength evident as he twisted mid-fall, trying to position his body beneath hers to absorb the inevitable impact. The fall lasted only seconds—five, maybe six feet—but in the pitch blackness it felt endless, a suspended moment between heartbeats. Her stomach lurched into her throat like a living thing trying to escape, the sensation of weightlessness disorienting her already-compromised equilibrium until up and down became meaningless concepts in a universe suddenly reduced to falling and fear.
They hit the ground with bone-jarring force, the impact reverberating through Lena's body like a tuning fork struck against concrete. Despite Zor-El's attempt to shield her, she landed awkwardly on her right hip and side, the obsidian floor unyielding as granite beneath her. The impact sent lightning bolts of white-hot agony through her fractured ribs, the bones shifting with an audible wet grinding that she felt more than heard—a nauseating internal percussion of splintered calcium scraping against raw nerve endings. Her clavicle, barely beginning to heal, popped partially out of alignment with a sickening click that echoed through her skull, the sensation like a superheated iron poker being driven through her shoulder joint and twisted with surgical precision to find every pain receptor.
All air evacuated her lungs in a silent scream that never found voice. Her diaphragm seized, paralyzed and trembling, unable to expand against the crushing vise-like pressure constricting her chest. Blackness crowded her vision from the periphery inward—not simple darkness but a throbbing void that pulsed in perfect synchronization with her racing heart, each beat sending another wave of encroaching nothingness as her oxygen-starved body fought for air that wouldn't come.
Beside her, Zor-El recovered first. He rolled to his feet with the fluid grace of someone accustomed to combat, his weathered hands immediately finding a control panel embedded in the wall—a hexagonal array of crystalline touchpoints that glowed cobalt blue beneath his fingertips. The hatch above them sealed shut with a decisive click like a massive deadbolt sliding into place, cutting off the cacophony of pursuit.
Lena lay sprawled on the cold obsidian floor, its polished surface leaching warmth from her battered body while each thunderous heartbeat sent fresh waves of white-hot agony radiating outward from her core. Her lungs finally remembered how to work, dragging in a ragged breath that rattled wetly in her chest and immediately triggered a violent spasm in her damaged ribs. She rolled onto her right side, copper-tinged bile rising in her throat as her stomach violently rebelled against the overwhelming pain signals flooding her nervous system.
She retched with such force that her abdominal muscles seized in rigid bands, bringing up nothing but bitter acid that burned like caustic chemicals down her esophagus before spattering against the obsidian floor in viscous amber droplets. Each convulsion wrenched her damaged torso, every heave sending fresh shards of agony lancing through her chest and shoulder as though someone were twisting a serrated blade between her joints. Tears streamed unbidden down her face, cutting clean trails through the gray-brown dust and salt-crusted sweat that coated her skin like a second epidermis.
"Lena," Zor-El's voice came from somewhere above her, concern evident in his tone. His hands gently supported her as another wave of dry heaves wracked her body. "I need to move you. They'll breach the hatch soon."
Through the fog of pain, she registered the urgency in his voice. The escape wasn't over—merely delayed. Somewhere above them, Lex and his nightmarish allies would be working to follow them down. Time was measured in heartbeats now, each one bringing their pursuers closer.
"Can you stand?" Zor-El asked, his arm already sliding beneath her good shoulder.
Lena tried to nod, but the movement sent the world spinning again. "Try," she managed, the single word scraping her raw throat.
With Zor-El's support, she struggled to her knees, then to her feet. Her body screamed in protest, every injury announcing itself with renewed vigor. Her left arm hung uselessly in its binding, the shoulder joint now a molten core of agony that radiated outward in pulsing waves. Her ribs protested each shallow breath, the bones grinding together with microscopic movements that sent white-hot sparks through her nervous system.
"Tunnel," Zor-El said, gesturing to a narrow passage that led away from the hatch. "Not far."
Lena leaned heavily against him, her good arm wrapped around his shoulders for support. Each step was an exercise in endurance, her body threatening to collapse with every movement. The tunnel stretched before them, illuminated by the same blue-white bioluminescence that had lit the shelter above. The light pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat—or was that just her concussion playing tricks on her?
"Where does it lead?" she gasped between careful breaths.
Zor-El's expression was grim, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "Somewhere they won't expect us to go."
Above them, the first muffled explosion reverberated through the stone, followed by the sound of metal striking metal. The hatch wouldn't hold for long.
"Hurry," Zor-El urged, his arm tightening around her waist as they staggered forward into the unknown darkness.
Chapter 14: lightfall
Summary:
Kara’s search through the crystalline labyrinth of the Phantom Zone ends where she least expects it—with Lena’s heartbeat, her father’s face, and a battle that will tear the veil between worlds. As Lex and Nyxly descend, truth, love, and fury ignite in the same breath—and when the sun bomb explodes, nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter Text
14
lightfall
Kara hovered in the tunnel's entrance, the nanites in her suit adjusting to the dim light as she scanned the labyrinthine passageways stretching before them. Crystalline formations jutted from the walls at odd angles, each facet catching the faint violet glow and refracting it into ghostly patterns that danced across the obsidian floor. The air here felt different—heavier, charged with an electric potential that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end despite the suit's protection.
"Lena's signal is moving," Brainy's voice crackled through her comms, the connection weakened by layers of crystal and stone. "Approximately three hundred meters ahead, bearing northwest through what appears to be an underground tunnel system."
"Moving?" Alex's voice cut in, sharp with concern. "Under her own power or—"
"Impossible to determine," Brainy replied, his tone clinically detached despite the tension vibrating beneath it. "The quantum signature maintains consistent strength, which suggests she remains... intact." The slight hesitation before his final word spoke volumes.
Kara pressed her fingers against her earpiece, willing the connection to stay strong. "Any other life signs?"
"One additional biosignature detected in close proximity to Lena's," Brainy confirmed. "Species unknown, though cellular density suggests non-human origin."
Lex? A phantom? Some other prisoner from the depths of the Zone? Kara's mind raced through possibilities, each worse than the last. She glanced back at the others—J'onn with his plasma pistol drawn, Alex checking her pulse rifle's charge, Kelly adjusting the medical kit strapped to her back, Nia's hands glowing with Dream Force energy that cast eerie blue shadows across her determined face.
"We need to move," Kara said, already turning toward the tunnel Brainy had indicated. "They're getting farther away with every second we waste."
J'onn stepped forward, his expression grave. "Carefully, Kara. We don't know what we're walking into."
She nodded, though every molecule in her body screamed to fly ahead at super-speed, to tear through the stone itself if necessary. The rational part of her mind knew J'onn was right—rushing blindly could endanger Lena further. But standing still, knowing Lena was somewhere ahead, possibly injured, possibly with Lex...
"This way," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady as she led them into the tunnel.
The passage narrowed as they advanced, the rough-hewn walls pressing in from both sides until their shoulders nearly brushed the cold stone. The ceiling dropped precipitously, forcing J'onn to duck his seven-foot frame, his knuckles occasionally scraping against the jagged overhead surface. Crystalline formations grew more pronounced with every step—first as delicate filaments no thicker than spider silk, then as robust structures that jutted from the walls like frozen lightning bolts captured mid-strike. Each crystal facet refracted light in hypnotic patterns, their deep violet glow pulsing in an irregular rhythm that mimicked a dying heartbeat. The air thickened with an electric charge that tasted faintly metallic on Kara's tongue. The nanites in her suit responded to the strange energy, humming against her skin like millions of microscopic bees, absorbing what little power they could from the ambient light. Yet the energy they harvested felt anemic, a mere whisper compared to the sun bomb's brilliant surge that had previously flooded her cells with near-limitless power.
"Take the next junction left," Brainy instructed through the comms. "The signal is moving faster now."
Kara quickened her pace, the others following close behind. The tunnel branched into three separate passages, each identical to the naked eye. She veered left without hesitation, trusting Brainy's guidance. The floor beneath their boots sloped downward at a gentle angle, taking them deeper into the crystalline labyrinth.
"Twenty-three minutes remaining until portal destabilization," Brainy reminded them, his voice thinning as they descended further. "The connection is... deteriorating. Quantum fluctuations are... interfering with..."
Static crackled through the comms, Brainy's voice fragmenting into unintelligible syllables before cutting out entirely.
"Brainy?" Kara tapped her earpiece. "Brainy, do you copy?"
Nothing but empty static answered her.
"We've lost contact," Alex said, her voice tight with controlled alarm. "The crystal formations must be blocking the signal."
Kara's stomach twisted into a knot of dread.
Without Brainy's guidance, finding Lena in this maze would be nearly impossible. The tunnels branched and intersected in patterns that defied conventional mapping, each passage looking identical to the last. They could wander for hours and never find her.
"What now?" Nia asked, her Dream Force energy flickering as her concentration wavered.
Kara closed her eyes, shutting out the visual confusion of the tunnels. She took a deep breath, focusing inward, reaching for the powers that defined her. If she couldn't see Lena, couldn't track her quantum signature, perhaps...
She pushed her super-hearing to its limits, filtering out the ambient sounds one by one—the soft scrape of boots against stone, the subtle hum of J'onn's plasma pistol, the steady rhythm of her companions' heartbeats. She reached further, past the immediate surroundings, into the network of tunnels that sprawled in all directions. Distant drips of moisture, the crystalline structures vibrating at frequencies just below human perception, the whisper of air currents through narrow passages.
And then—so faint she almost missed it—a heartbeat.
Not just any heartbeat, but one she'd memorized years ago. One she'd listened for across crowded rooms, through city blocks, during sleepless nights when worry kept her hovering above Lena's penthouse. A rhythm as familiar to her as her own, though now altered—too fast, irregular, each beat followed by a subtle flutter that spoke of distress.
Lena's heartbeat.
Kara's eyes snapped open. "I can hear her," she said, the words emerging as barely more than a breath. "Lena—I can hear her heart."
Before anyone could respond, Kara broke into a run, the nanites in her suit streamlining as she accelerated. The tunnel blurred around her, crystalline formations passing in streaks of violet light as she followed that precious sound, that irregular rhythm that meant Lena was alive but hurting.
"Kara, wait!" Alex called behind her, but her voice was already fading as Kara pulled ahead, her Kryptonian speed carrying her deeper into the labyrinth.
She took turns without conscious thought, her entire being focused on that heartbeat growing steadily stronger with each passing second. Left, right, straight through a junction where five tunnels converged like spokes on a wheel. The passages widened, then narrowed again, the ceiling rising into cathedral-like vaults before dropping so low she had to duck.
None of it mattered.
Nothing mattered except getting closer to that sound.
Lena's heartbeat quickened suddenly, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath that Kara's enhanced hearing caught despite the distance still between them. Pain. Lena was in pain.
The realization sent a surge of protective fury through Kara's veins. She pushed herself faster, the nanites in her suit struggling to keep up with her acceleration, the material heating against her skin as it worked to maintain integrity. Her boots barely touched the ground now, her flight powers activating instinctively as she rounded another corner, then another.
The final tunnel opened abruptly into a larger chamber, its ceiling soaring upward into darkness while crystalline formations created a forest of violet-tinged pillars. Kara skidded to a stop, her momentum carrying her several feet across the smooth obsidian floor before the nanites in her boots adjusted their traction.
And there, partially hidden behind a massive crystal formation, were two figures.
One—a bearded man in tattered Kryptonian garments—supported the other, his arm wrapped carefully around a slender waist. The second figure, head bowed and leaning heavily against her companion, wore what remained of a once-elegant outfit, now torn and bloodied, dark hair falling forward to obscure her face. But Kara didn't need to see her face to know.
Lena.
The sound that escaped Kara's throat wasn't quite her name—more primal than language, a raw expression of relief and fear and longing all tangled together. At the noise, both figures turned, the movement causing Lena to gasp in pain, her free arm clutching at her side as she raised her head.
Sea glass eyes, clouded with pain but instantly recognizable, widened in disbelief.
"Kara?" Lena's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, cracked and hoarse, as if she'd been screaming or hadn't used it in days.
Kara took a step forward, then another, her focus narrowing until nothing existed except the woman in front of her. She barely registered the man's startled expression, the way his arm tightened protectively around Lena's waist, the strange familiarity in his features that tugged at the edges of her consciousness.
All she saw was Lena—alive, breathing, looking at her with an expression of such naked hope and disbelief that it made Kara's chest ache. But also Lena injured, one arm bound against her chest in what appeared to be a makeshift sling, her face pale beneath smudges of dirt and dried blood, her posture betraying pain with every shallow breath.
"Lena," Kara managed, her voice breaking on the name as she closed the distance between them in three long strides. "I found you. I finally found you."
She reached out, hands hovering inches from Lena's face, suddenly afraid to touch her, to confirm that this wasn't another phantom trick, another cruel illusion designed to break her spirit. Lena swayed slightly, her weight shifting as she attempted to stand straighter, and the movement drew a soft sound of pain from her lips—a sound that cut through Kara's hesitation like a blade.
Real.
This was real.
"Careful," the man cautioned as Kara moved closer, his accent strangely familiar though she couldn't place it. "Her injuries are significant. Her rib cage has sustained three fractures, the clavicular bone has separated, and the glenohumeral joint has been displaced from its socket. There is also trauma to the cerebral tissue—what you might call a concussion."
Each word of his medical inventory struck Kara like a hammer against glass, each injury catalogued making her stomach twist with renewed fury at whoever had hurt Lena this way. Her gaze swept over Lena's body, x-ray vision activating instinctively to assess the damage beneath the surface. The nanites in her suit enhanced the ability, allowing her to see with perfect clarity the hairline fractures in Lena's ribs, the clean break in her collarbone, the swelling around her shoulder joint, and the subtle bruising at her temple that indicated the concussion.
"Who did this to you?" Kara asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous register she rarely used. "Was it Lex?"
Before Lena could answer, footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind them—Alex, J'onn, Kelly, and Nia finally catching up. They burst into the chamber with weapons raised, ready for a fight, only to freeze at the tableau before them.
"Lena," Alex breathed, lowering her pulse rifle as relief washed over her features. She stepped forward, medical training already kicking in as she assessed Lena's visible injuries. "Kelly, I need the med kit. Now."
Kelly was already moving, shrugging the pack from her shoulders as she approached. "I've got morphine, stabilizers, everything we need for emergency field treatment."
Lena's gaze flickered between them, confusion evident in her expression. "How...?" she began, then winced as the effort of speaking pulled at her injuries. "How did you find me?"
"Your quantum signature," Kara explained, still hovering close, unwilling to move away even as Alex and Kelly approached with medical supplies. "From the device you used. We tracked it."
"The device," Lena repeated, her eyes widening with sudden urgency. "Lex—he's after the component. He can't get it back. If he does—"
"It's safe," the man beside her assured her, his hand patting a pocket in his tattered garment. "They won't find it."
Something about his voice—the particular cadence, the way he formed certain syllables—nagged at Kara's memory like a half-forgotten lullaby. She turned her attention fully to him for the first time, taking in his features with growing bewilderment. The strong jawline beneath the silver-streaked beard, the proud set of his shoulders despite years of hardship, the distinctive way his eyes crinkled at the corners with tiny starburst wrinkles she'd seen thousands of times in her childhood dreams. His hands—those same hands that had once adjusted her first microscope—were calloused now, scarred across the knuckles.
It couldn't be.
The universe couldn't be this cruel, this kind.
The man met her gaze steadily, something like wonder spreading across his weathered features as he studied her in return. His eyes—the exact shade of amber-flecked blue as her own—widened slightly as he swallowed hard, his throat working with emotion. His arm slowly released Lena, transferring her weight to Alex and Kelly's support as he took a small, hesitant step forward, like a man approaching an altar.
"Kara?" he whispered, his voice catching on her name. "My little star-racer?"
The childhood nickname—one only her father had ever used—hit Kara with such force that the world tilted beneath her feet. She stumbled backward, her invulnerable legs suddenly unable to support her weight as the impossible truth crystallized in her mind.
"Father?" The word emerged strangled, barely audible.
J'onn and Nia exchanged confused glances, while Alex froze in the middle of examining Lena's injuries, her head snapping up to stare at the bearded man.
"It can't be," Kara continued, her voice strengthening even as her mind struggled to process what stood before her. "My father died on Krypton."
The man took another careful step toward her, his hands outstretched in a gesture both placating and pleading. "I was trapped," he said, each word measured as if afraid speaking too quickly might shatter this fragile moment. "When Krypton exploded, I was working in my laboratory. The dimensional portal I was developing activated, but not as intended. Instead of Argo City, it sent me here."
"Thirty-eight years," Lena murmured, her voice strained but determined. "He's been here for thirty-eight years, Kara. Alone."
Kara's vision blurred as tears filled her eyes, hot and sudden. "That's not possible," she insisted, even as her heart recognized the truth her mind couldn't yet accept. "I watched our world die. Everyone died."
"Not everyone," Zor-El said gently. "Your friend—Lena—she told me. Argo City survived. Your mother..." His voice broke on the word, emotion finally cracking through his scientific reserve. "Alura is alive."
The confirmation—hearing her mother's name on her father's lips after all these years—broke something loose inside Kara's chest. A sob tore from her throat, raw and primal, as the walls she'd built around this particular grief began to crumble. Her father. Alive. Here, in the Phantom Zone, all this time.
She took one stumbling step forward, then another, until she stood directly before him. Her hand reached out, trembling, to touch his face—to feel the warmth of his skin, the texture of his beard, the solidity of his presence. He remained perfectly still, allowing her this moment of confirmation, his eyes swimming with unshed tears that matched her own.
"Father," she whispered again, the word both foreign and achingly familiar on her tongue. "It's really you."
Zor-El nodded, a tear finally escaping to track down his weathered cheek. "My beautiful daughter," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Look at you. A woman now. So strong. So—"
His words cut off abruptly as Kara flung herself against him, arms wrapping around his torso with careful restraint despite her desperate need to hold him tight enough to ensure he couldn't disappear again. His arms encircled her in return, and for a moment, Kara was a child again—safe in her father's embrace, the universe reduced to the sound of his heartbeat against her ear and the familiar scent that even thirty-eight years couldn't completely erase.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she murmured against his shoulder, words muffled by fabric and emotion. "I thought you were gone forever."
"I never stopped hoping," Zor-El replied, his hand coming up to stroke her hair as he had when she was small. "Even here, in this place where hope is poison, I never stopped believing I might see you again someday."
The reunion might have lasted hours if not for Lena's sudden gasp of pain. Kara pulled back from her father's embrace, turning immediately toward the sound. Alex and Kelly had managed to get Lena seated on a smooth obsidian outcropping, where they were carefully examining her injuries. Kelly held a syringe of what Kara recognized as a powerful painkiller, while Alex gently probed Lena's bound shoulder, her expression grim.
"We need to get her back to the ship," Alex said, looking up to meet Kara's gaze. "These injuries need proper medical attention, and we're running out of time."
"How long?" Kara asked, reluctantly stepping away from her father to approach Lena.
"Seventeen minutes until portal destabilization," Nia supplied, checking her watch. "We need to move now."
Seventeen minutes to navigate back through the crystal labyrinth, reach the ship, and escape the Phantom Zone before their only way home collapsed. It would be cutting it dangerously close.
Kara knelt beside Lena, her hand hovering near but not quite touching. "Can you walk?"
Lena's eyes met hers, determination burning through the pain clouding them. "If it means getting out of here, I'll fly if I have to."
Despite everything, a small smile tugged at Kara's lips. "That's my job," she said softly. Then, making a quick decision, she turned to the others. "I'll carry Lena. We'll move faster that way."
Before anyone could object, Kara carefully slid one arm beneath Lena's knees and the other behind her upper back, mindful of her injuries. The nanites in her suit automatically softened at the points of contact, creating a cushioning layer between her unyielding Kryptonian strength and Lena's fragile, broken body.
"Easy," Alex cautioned, hovering close as Kara began to lift.
The first tremor hit before Lena was fully in Kara's arms—a vibration that rippled through the obsidian floor like a stone dropped in still water. Crystalline formations along the walls resonated in response, their violet glow intensifying to an almost painful brightness. A distant rumble echoed through the chamber, growing louder with each passing second.
"They're coming," Zor-El warned, his hand instinctively moving to the pocket containing the component. "We need to—"
The far wall exploded inward.
Crystalline shards erupted like a supernova in slow motion—thousands of prismatic daggers catching the eerie violet light as they sprayed across the chamber with lethal velocity. Kara twisted with superhuman reflexivity, her body becoming a living shield over Lena's vulnerable form. The deadly projectiles pinged against her nanite suit in rapid staccato, leaving not even the faintest scratch on the responsive material that rippled like liquid mercury at each impact point. Across the chamber, J'onn's skin darkened to forest green as he expanded his Martian physiology, his massive frame unfurling to create a living canopy over Alex and Kelly's crouched forms. Simultaneously, Nia's fingers danced in practiced patterns, cobalt energy spiraling from her fingertips to weave a translucent Dream Force shield that shimmered like gossamer as it caught and deflected the worst of the crystalline barrage.
Through the jagged breach poured nightmares given flesh.
The first creature through resembled a man only in the vaguest sense—bipedal but with limbs that bent at impossible angles, joints that flexed backward and sideways simultaneously, bones visibly shifting beneath skin that stretched like melted taffy. Its flesh rippled with oily iridescence, shifting between putrid green and bruise-purple as it moved, leaving a glistening residue that sizzled against the obsidian floor. Where a face should have been, a cluster of writhing appendages twitched and curled like sea anemones sensing prey, each tentacle tipped with a tiny, gnashing mouth ringed by microscopic teeth.
Behind it came others—each more grotesque than the last. A hulking brute with translucent skin that revealed internal organs pulsing with unnatural rhythms, its three-chambered heart visibly pumping a viscous yellow fluid through veins that glowed like toxic fireflies. A slender, serpentine figure whose body seemed composed of interlocking metal plates that clicked and whirred with each sinuous movement, steam hissing from the seams between segments as it undulated forward on a trail of corrosive slime. Something that might once have been female, her features beautiful but wrong, eyes too large and entirely black like polished onyx marbles, mouth stretching impossibly wide to reveal three rows of needle-like teeth that dripped with phosphorescent saliva.
And at their center, gliding through the chaos with regal poise, came a woman. Her dark hair floated as if underwater, defying gravity in lazy coils that never quite settled. Her eyes—unnaturally bright, even in the dim light—fixed immediately on Zor-El with predatory focus, pupils contracting vertically like a cat's while the irises shifted through a kaleidoscope of impossible colors.
"Found you," she purred, her voice melodic yet discordant, like two people speaking in almost-perfect unison. "Did you really think you could hide from me, Zor-El? After all these years?"
Kara felt her father stiffen beside her, his posture shifting from scientist to soldier in an instant. "Nyxly," he said, the name emerging as barely more than a breath.
The woman—Nyxly—smiled, the expression never reaching her too-bright eyes. "And you've brought friends." Her gaze slid to Kara, then to Lena, still half-cradled in Kara's arms. "How convenient."
The chamber erupted into chaos.
The creatures surged forward like a nightmarish tide, joints cracking as limbs elongated with each loping stride. J'onn and Alex opened fire in perfect tandem, their weapons discharging with pneumatic hisses. Plasma bolts carved sizzling tunnels through the stale air, striking with wet thuds that released clouds of sulfurous vapor. The chamber strobed between pitch darkness and harsh blue-white illumination, freezing the battle in grotesque tableaus. Nia planted her feet wide, fingers splayed as Dream Force energy coalesced around her hands—first as dancing motes, then as ribbons that thickened into crackling tendrils. The cerulean power lashed forward with the precision of a bullwhip, slicing through the fetid air to wrap around the nearest attacker's throat, its skin blistering on contact.
Kara gently set Lena back on the obsidian outcropping, her movements careful despite the urgency of the situation. "Stay here," she instructed, eyes already tracking the battle unfolding behind her. "I'll be right back."
"Kara—" Lena began, her good hand reaching out.
"I won't let them hurt you again," Kara promised, the words emerging with steel beneath the velvet. Then she turned, nanite suit hardening into combat mode as she launched herself into the fray.
The first creature never saw her coming. Kara's fist connected with its midsection—a sound like wet cement hitting pavement—the impact launching it backward into the crystalline wall with enough force to fracture the violet formations into a spiderweb of hairline cracks that glowed with internal light. The second creature, its skin glistening like oil on water, managed to swipe at her with elongated obsidian claws that left silver scratches across her nanite-reinforced suit before she caught its emaciated arm—the bones visible beneath translucent flesh—and used its own momentum to hurl it into two of its companions with a sickening crack of colliding exoskeletons.
Across the chamber, Zor-El had retrieved a weapon from somewhere beneath his tattered garments—a sleek Kryptonian design with pulsing blue circuitry that spiraled around its barrel like luminescent veins. It fired pulses of concentrated energy that cut through the stale air with the scent of ozone and burning metal. Each shot found its mark with a high-pitched whine followed by a wet thud, dropping creatures where they stood in heaps of twitching limbs. The mild-mannered scientist vanished completely, replaced by a hardened warrior whose eyes reflected decades of survival in this hellscape—eyes that had witnessed horrors beyond imagination and had grown cold with the necessity of violence.
"The component!" Nyxly shouted above the din, her voice carrying an otherworldly resonance that made the crystals vibrate in response. "Get the component!"
Three creatures broke away from the main fight, their misshapen bodies leaving trails of phosphorescent slime as they angled toward Zor-El with single-minded purpose. Kara intercepted the first, her heat vision lancing through the chamber in twin ribbons of molten crimson that caught the creature mid-stride, boring through its gelatinous torso with a sizzling hiss. The second fell to J'onn's plasma pistol, its exoskeleton shattering like brittle obsidian as superheated energy liquefied its internal organs. But the third—faster, more agile than its companions, with backward-jointed legs that propelled it in erratic zigzags—slipped past their defenses. It lunged at Zor-El, obsidian claws extended from six-fingered hands, only to be met with a point-blank energy blast that reduced its bulbous head to a smoking crater of charred tissue and iridescent ichor.
In the momentary lull that followed, Kara scanned the chamber, her enhanced vision cutting through the swirling mist of crystalline dust and acrid smoke. J'onn and Alex stood back-to-back, their breathing synchronized, holding their position near the tunnel entrance where violet light pulsed in hypnotic rhythms. Nia had created a protective barrier of shimmering cobalt energy around Kelly, who was frantically digging through her medical kit with blood-slicked fingers. Zor-El had taken up position near Lena, his weathered face set in grim determination as his weapon hummed with building energy, its circuitry glowing like veins of blue fire beneath his white-knuckled grip.
But something was wrong.
The math didn't add up.
There were fewer enemies than there should have been, based on the initial assault. And Nyxly—where had she...?
A scream cut through the chaos—raw, primal, edged with agony.
Kara's head snapped toward the sound, her heart seizing in her chest as she recognized the voice.
Lena.
Through the swirling dust and crystal fragments, Kara saw him—Lex Luthor, materializing from a shadow that shouldn't have been able to conceal him. He stood behind the obsidian outcropping where she'd left Lena, one arm wrapped around her throat in a cruel parody of an embrace. In his other hand, he pressed something sharp against her bandaged left side—a jagged shard of crystal, its violet edge pressed into the exact spot where her fractured ribs created the greatest vulnerability.
"Hello, sister dear," he murmured into Lena's ear, though his eyes never left Kara's. "Did you miss me?"
Lena's face had gone chalk-white, lips pressed into a bloodless line as she fought to remain conscious through what must have been excruciating pain. Her bound left arm was trapped between them, the position forcing her broken collarbone to grind against raw nerve endings. But it was her eyes that caught Kara's attention—sea glass green, clouded with pain yet burning with defiance.
"Let her go, Lex," Kara demanded. She took a step forward, only to freeze when Lex pressed the crystal shard deeper, drawing a sharp gasp from Lena.
"Ah, ah," he chided, his smile never reaching his eyes. "Not another step, Supergirl. Or should I say... Kara Zor-El?" He spat her name like it was poison on his tongue. "Yes, I know who you are. I've always known."
Nyxly materialized beside him, her form seeming to coalesce from the shadows themselves. Her unnaturally bright eyes gleamed with triumph as she surveyed the scene. "The component, Kryptonian," she demanded, addressing Zor-El directly. "Give it to us, or watch your daughter's precious human die."
Zor-El's hand moved to his pocket, fingers closing around the violet crystal within. His eyes met Kara's, a silent question passing between them.
"Don't," Lena gasped, her voice thin with pain. "Kara, don't let them—" Her words cut off in a strangled cry as Lex twisted her injured arm, the movement sending fresh waves of agony through her shattered collarbone.
"Shut up," Lex hissed, his cultured voice cracking with barely contained rage. "You've said quite enough, traitor."
Kara's vision tinged red at the edges, heat building behind her eyes as fury threatened to overwhelm reason. Her fists clenched at her sides, the nanites in her suit responding to her emotional state by hardening further, their surface taking on a metallic sheen that reflected the violet light in dangerous glints.
"If you hurt her again," she said, each word precisely measured, "there won't be enough left of you to bury."
Lex's smile widened, revealing too many teeth. "Such passion," he observed, his tone mockingly conversational. "One might almost think you care for my sister beyond mere friendship." His eyes narrowed, something calculating and cruel flickering in their depths. "Oh, Kara. Don't tell me you've succumbed to something as primitive as feelings for my sister?" He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "How disappointingly... human of you."
Lena's eyes widened fractionally at his words, her gaze finding Kara's across the chamber. Something passed between them—unspoken yet profound, a recognition that hung suspended in the charged air.
"The component," Nyxly repeated, impatience edging her melodic voice. "Now."
Zor-El slowly withdrew the crystal from his pocket, its violet surface pulsing with internal light that cast eerie shadows across his weathered features. He held it up, the faceted object catching and refracting the ambient glow into prismatic patterns that danced across the obsidian floor.
"Take it," he said, his voice steady despite the tension evident in his posture. "But release her first."
Lex laughed, the sound echoing off the crystalline walls. "I don't think you're in a position to negotiate, old man." He pressed the jagged shard deeper into Lena's side, drawing a thin line of crimson that immediately soaked into the fabric of her bandages. "The component first. Then, perhaps, I'll consider letting my treacherous sister live long enough to watch me tear your daughter apart."
Kara's mind raced, calculating angles, distances, probabilities. She could move fast—faster than human reflexes could track—but was she fast enough to reach Lena before Lex could drive that crystal shard between her ribs? The risk was too great.
She needed a distraction.
Her eyes flicked to Alex, who stood tensed and ready, pulse rifle still raised. A lifetime of sisterhood allowed for communication without words—a subtle shift in posture, a fractional tilt of the head, a microscopic nod that would be imperceptible to anyone else.
Alex understood immediately.
"What do you even want with the component, Lex?" she called out, her voice carrying across the chamber. "You're trapped in the Phantom Zone. What good does it do you here?"
Lex's attention shifted slightly, his megalomaniacal ego unable to resist the opportunity to explain his brilliance. "What do I want with it?" he repeated, contempt dripping from each syllable. "I want to go home and finish what I started. To rid my world of the alien infestation that threatens humanity's very existence." His grip on Lena tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her throat. "With this component, I can complete the dimensional anchor. Create a stable portal back to Earth. And this time, there will be no one to stop me from—"
The sun bomb detonated.
Chapter 15: radiance and ruin
Summary:
The sun bomb ignites a single impossible moment of golden brilliance in the Phantom Zone—long enough to expose every monster, every lie, and every intention. Empowered by borrowed sunlight, Kara moves faster than thought… but not fast enough to stop Lex.
As the chamber collapses into chaos and the portal begins to fail, Kara faces an impossible race against time: save her father, save Lena, and carve a path back home before the Zone devours them all.
Notes:
Listen.
Before anyone comes at me with pitchforks, kitchen knives, or emotionally charged death threats—please reread the tags. Slowly. Out loud, if needed. At no point do I say “Major Character Death.” Not once. Not even in the fine print. Your girl may stab feelings, but she does not lie in the metadata.
So take a deep breath, unclench whatever you’re clenching, and keep that in mind as you proceed. Trust the ride. Trust the tags. And maybe hydrate—you’ll need it.
Okay. Onward.
Chapter Text
15
radiance and ruin
The sun bomb detonated with a silent flash that transformed the chamber into a miniature nova.
Brilliance erupted from the small sphere—pure, concentrated yellow sunlight that banished shadows and filled every crevice with golden radiance. The crystalline formations caught and amplified the light, each jagged facet becoming a prism that scattered solar energy in dazzling rays of amber, gold and honey. The obsidian floor reflected the light upward, creating pillars of illumination that seemed to hold up the ceiling itself. Dust particles suspended in the air became tiny stars, swirling in eddies of heat and light. For a single suspended moment, the Phantom Zone's perpetual twilight surrendered completely, its gray nothingness obliterated by the fierce, living warmth of Earth's noonday sun.
Kara felt the difference instantly—like plunging from ice water into a warm bath. The nanites in her suit hummed against her skin, a million microscopic mouths drinking in the artificial sunlight with greedy efficiency. Her bones lightened, her muscles densified, her skin tightened and tingled as if carbonated from within. Behind her eyes, heat gathered like a storm front. Her hearing expanded outward in concentric rings until she could detect the crystalline formations singing at frequencies beyond human perception. Heartbeats thundered in her ears—Lena's rapid and fluttering like a wounded bird's, Lex's steady and arrogant, Alex's controlled but elevated with battle-readiness, Kelly's measured yet concerned, Nia's quick with anticipation, and J'onn's ancient Martian rhythm, slower and more powerful than any human's.
Time itself seemed to slow, the world reducing to a series of perfect, frozen images, each microsecond stretching between her fingertips.
Across the chamber, the creatures recoiled from the light, their misshapen bodies convulsing as if the sunlight itself was acid against their phantom-adapted flesh. They writhed and twisted, elongated limbs curling inward like burning paper, translucent skin blistering where the golden rays touched them. Bubbles formed beneath gray-green epidermis, swelling to the size of grapes before bursting in sprays of opalescent fluid that hissed and evaporated upon contact with the obsidian floor. Their screams—high-pitched and discordant—vibrated through the air at frequencies that made the crystal formations resonate in sympathetic agony, sending hairline fractures racing through the smaller structures.
Nyxly's form wavered like a mirage in desert heat, her outline blurring at the edges as she raised an arm to shield her too-bright eyes. The Fifth Dimensional energy that sustained her physical presence in this realm flickered beneath her skin like lightning trapped under ice, electric blue veins of power crackling across her cheekbones and down her throat. Her carefully maintained human appearance fractured—skin peeling away in translucent layers that dissolved into motes of light, revealing glimpses of something ancient and terrible beneath. Chitinous plates the color of bruises, a jawline that extended too far, and pupils that split vertically like a cat's, then horizontally like a goat's, before shattering into kaleidoscopic fragments.
But Kara saw none of this.
Her entire focus narrowed to a single point across the chamber where Lex, anticipating the attack, had yanked Lena backward into the shadow of a massive crystal formation. The movement was brutal, deliberate—his fingers digging crescents into the pale flesh of Lena's throat as he twisted her already broken body to shield his own. The jagged edges of the violet crystal caught the golden light in fractured patterns across his face, transforming his features into something demonic. Sweat beaded on his shaved scalp, each droplet a tiny prism, while his pupils contracted to pinpoints against the assault of radiance that spilled around their makeshift shelter. His lips pulled back in a grimace that revealed clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw pulsing beneath skin gone alabaster with rage.
"No!" Kara shouted, already in motion, her body cutting through the air faster than human eyes could track.
But not fast enough.
Time fractured into a million suspended fragments as Lex's arm began to move. Kara's enhanced vision captured every excruciating detail in slow motion. Veins stood out like taut cables beneath Lex's moonlight-pale skin, blue-green rivers mapping his forearm in stark relief, his knuckles whitening to around the jagged violet crystal—barely three inches long but deadly sharp, its facets irregular like broken teeth—as he positioned it against the vulnerable curve of Lena's ribs. The shard's uneven edge caught the golden light from the sun bomb, casting tiny rainbows that danced across Lena's face, turning her terror-widened eyes into kaleidoscopes of jade and gold beneath lashes spiked with unshed tears.
Horror froze Kara in place.
Each microsecond stretched into eternity as the crystal arced up, finding the space between Lena's ribs with terrible accuracy. Kara's hearing picked up the wet, sickening puncture as it slid through fabric, then skin. She heard the resistance of flesh yielding frame by frame—first epidermis, then muscle, then the delicate membrane beyond. A tiny bubble of air escaped as the pleural cavity breached, the sound impossibly, unbearably loud.
Lex's arm tightened around his sister, steadying her as he twisted the crystal deeper. Bone scraped against the translucent blade. Lena's face transformed in that suspended heartbeat—brow crumpling, mouth stretching wide in voiceless agony. Her lips blanched to bone china white. Perspiration beaded along her hairline, each droplet catching light as it carved glistening paths down her skin, now ashen with shock.
Her body jerked, a staccato spasm that ran from her shoulder to her hip, bound arm slung helplessly against her chest, and the half-mended clavicle groaned under the torque, cartilage and bone fragments rasping together in a sound that cut through Kara’s mind like steel shards. The bandages at the entry point darkened instantly, the crimson bloom seeping outward like a grotesque flower in full, terrible blossom. Her knees buckled, and Lex tightened his grip, half supporting her weight while ensuring she couldn’t slip away. Raven hair tumbled over her face, strands clinging to sweat-slick skin and smeared blood, offering no shield against the gasps that escaped her throat—broken, wet inhales that rattled her chest and dragged at the embedded crystal.
Through Kara’s eyes, the internal carnage revealed itself in haunting flashes. The shard’s tip nicking the surface of the lung, crimson liquid surging into the pleural cavity, oxygen levels plummeting as organ and tissue conspired in violent shock. The crystal trembled with an unnatural, inner glow—an eerie heartbeat synced to Lena’s own, as if it fed on her very life force.
Behind her lids the familiar burn of heat vision threatened to ignite, pressure building in her temples like a coiled spring of wrath. She willed it back, blinked away the flare of anger when Lex hissed low enough that only her ears could catch the menace. One wrong flick of that cosmic energy, and the beam meant for her captor would sear through Lena instead.
In that suspended instant, Lena’s glassy green eyes met Kara’s—fierce, sorrow-drenched, and startlingly lucid. A wordless exchange passed between them. Not capitulation, but a fragile understanding, a final acknowledgement that Lena would not survive this violation. The faintest nod—perhaps forgiveness, perhaps plea, or both entwined in a single, heart-rending gesture.
"Fascinating," Lex murmured, clinical detachment in his voice as he twisted the makeshift blade deeper, watching Lena's face contort. "How your pet Luthor's pain immobilizes you so completely. A vulnerability I should have exploited years ago, Supergirl."
Something fundamental broke inside Kara—a dam that had held back the primal rage she'd suppressed beneath years of careful control. Her vision tunneled until nothing existed except Lex's smug face and the spreading crimson stain blossoming across Lena's bandages. The chamber around her faded to insignificance, all sound compressing into a distant roar like ocean waves crashing against her consciousness.
Kara's throat constricted, vocal cords struggling against the pressure of her rage.
What emerged wasn't words but something ancient and Kryptonian—a sound between a growl and a keening wail that made the crystal formations around them vibrate in sympathetic resonance. Her eyes, burning white-hot at their centers, fixed on the blood staining Lex's hands.
She hit Lex with the full force of her Kryptonian strength, enhanced by the sun bomb's energy and fueled by a fury so pure it transcended thought. Her body became a living missile, crossing the chamber faster than a bullet. The impact drove the air from Lex's lungs in an explosive whoosh as they collided with a massive crystal pillar. The structure cracked beneath the force—first hairline fractures that spread outward in lightning patterns, then deeper fissures that split the violet formation from base to apex. Crystalline shards exploded outward in a deadly halo, each fragment catching the golden light in prismatic bursts before raining down around them like deadly confetti.
Lex's body crumpled against the pillar, what was left of his expensive shirt shredding against the jagged crystal edges. Blood—startlingly red against his pale skin—welled from a dozen small cuts across his face and neck. His eyes widened with genuine fear as Kara's hand closed around his throat, lifting him until his shoes dangled inches above the obsidian floor.
Behind her, the battle had erupted into coordinated chaos.
Alex and J'onn moved in perfect tandem, years of fighting side by side evident in their synchronized attacks. Alex's pulse rifle discharged in rhythmic bursts that dropped creatures where they stood, while J'onn's Martian strength sent others flying into crystal formations with bone-shattering force. Nia's Dream Force energy lashed out in cobalt whips that sliced through flesh with surgical accuracy, each strike calculated to disable rather than kill. And Zor-El—her father, impossibly alive and fighting with decades of hard-won survival skills—had abandoned his weapon in favor of catching Lena's collapsing form, his weathered hands moving to stem the bleeding even as Kelly rushed toward them, medical kit already open.
Lex's face contorted with righteousness. "She betrayed me," he spat, blood flecking his lips as he struggled against Kara's grip. The words hung between them, a perfect distillation of his twisted logic that somehow made the unforgivable sound inevitable, that rendered Lena's suffering a natural consequence rather than his choice. His fingers clawed uselessly at her arm, nails breaking against the nanite-reinforced material. "Betrayed her entire species for you. She deserved—"
Kara's grip tightened, cutting off his words. "She deserved better than you," she snarled, heat building behind her eyes as her heat vision threatened to activate. The air between them shimmered with thermal distortion, Lex's skin reddening from the proximity of such concentrated energy. "She deserved a brother who loved her. Who protected her."
"I did love her," Lex managed, the words emerging as barely more than a whisper through his constricted airway. "In my way."
"Your way?" Kara's laugh held no humor, only the hollow sound of rage. "Your way was to use her. Manipulate her. Break her."
Her free hand curled into a fist at her side, trembling with the effort it took not to drive it through Lex's chest. The nanites in her suit responded to her emotional state, hardening into a surface like tempered steel, their edges sharpening into microscopic blades that would slice through human flesh with terrifying ease.
"Kara!" Alex's voice cut through the red haze of her fury. "We need to go! Now! Portal destabilization in twelve minutes!"
Twelve minutes.
The information penetrated the fog of rage surrounding her consciousness.
Twelve minutes until their only way home collapsed.
Twelve minutes to get Lena—bleeding, dying Lena—back to the ship and through the portal.
"You're lucky," Kara whispered, bringing her face inches from Lex's. "That she needs me more than I need to end you."
She released her grip suddenly, letting him drop to the obsidian floor in an undignified heap of once-expensive fabric and bleeding flesh. Before he could recover, her foot connected with his chest—a carefully calculated blow that contained just enough force to crack three ribs without puncturing a lung. The impact drove him back against the fractured crystal pillar, the breath leaving his body in a pained whoosh.
"Stay away from her," Kara said, her voice deadly quiet. "If I ever see you near Lena again, there won't be a prison dimension in existence that can save you from me."
Kara turned away from Lex, the nanites in her suit still humming with barely contained energy, their surface rippling like mercury as her focus shifted. The chamber spun around her in a kaleidoscope of violet crystal and golden sunlight, every detail rendered in excruciating clarity. Across the debris-strewn floor, Lena lay cradled against Zor-El's chest, her head lolling against the weathered fabric of his Kryptonian garments as his arms formed a protective cage around her slumping form, her body caught in the strange limbo between Kelly's desperate medical intervention and gravity's insistent pull. The precise arrangement of her limbs—one arm bound uselessly across her chest, the other limp at her side—spoke of a body surrendering to shock. Where the crystal shard had pierced her side, a wet stain spread across her bandages—dark red seeping outward in an ever-widening circle that told Kara exactly how little time they had left.
Enhanced hearing caught the wet, rattling quality of Lena's breathing—each inhale shallow and uneven, catching painfully as fractured ribs ground against each other with microscopic movements that sent fresh waves of agony through her nervous system. The sound was unmistakable to Kara's ears—the distinctive flutter of a punctured lung struggling to expand, air escaping into spaces where it shouldn't be, fluid gathering where only oxygen belonged.
Lena's head listed slightly to the right, dark hair falling in sweat-dampened tendrils across her forehead. Her skin had taken on a gray translucence, the blue-green network of veins visible beneath like rivers on a winter map. Her lips, usually so precisely defined in crimson, had faded to a pale blue at the edges, each exhale pushing a fine mist of pink-tinged moisture into the air. The fog that had clouded her eyes earlier had deepened into something more dangerous—pupils blown wide and struggling to focus, the sea-glass irises reduced to thin rings around bottomless black.
Kelly knelt beside her, hands already slick with blood as she pressed a field compression bandage over the wound with one hand while the other worked to prepare a pneumatic seal from her medical kit. "Stay with me, Lena," she urged, her voice steady despite the tension evident in her shoulders. "I need you to keep breathing, okay? Nice and slow."
Alex crouched at Lena's other side, her tactical training overriding the panic that flashed across her features whenever Lena's breathing hitched. "Kelly, we need to stabilize that lung before we move her," she said, hands already reaching for a syringe in the medical kit. "The portal transfer will kill her if we don't."
"Working on it," Kelly replied, her movements precise despite the urgency. "Kara, I need you to hold this in place while I set up the seal."
Kara crossed the distance in less than a heartbeat, nanite suit adjusting to allow for delicate touch as she replaced Kelly's hand on the compression bandage. The material was already soaked through, warm and slick against her palm. Beneath her fingers, she could feel Lena's heartbeat—too fast, too shallow, like a hummingbird trapped beneath her ribs.
Lena's eyes, clouded with pain and shock, searched through the crystalline dust and golden light, finally finding Kara's face hovering above her. Recognition flickered in their depths, followed by something that might have been relief.
"K-Kara," she managed, the word emerging as barely more than a breath. A bubble of pink-tinged saliva formed at the corner of her mouth, then broke, leaving a glistening trail down her chin. "You... came."
"Of course I came," Kara whispered, her free hand moving to brush damp hair from Lena's forehead. The nanites receded from her fingertips, allowing her to feel the clammy coldness of Lena's skin. "I will always come for you."
Around them, the chamber hummed with frenetic energy. J'onn positioned his massive frame to block the largest breach in the wall, while behind him, Nia's fingers sparked with cobalt arcs of Dream Force energy, creating a second barrier of defense should anything get past him. Crystalline debris continued to drift down like violet snow, each fragment catching the fading light of the sun bomb and refracting it into prismatic patterns that danced across the obsidian floor.
"Almost there," Kelly murmured, her fingers working as she prepared the pneumatic seal—a transparent patch designed to create an airtight barrier over the wound. "Alex, I need the stabilizing agent."
Alex handed her a syringe filled with cloudy liquid. "This will buy us time," she explained, her voice tight with controlled urgency. "But we need to get her to the ship now. Portal destabilization in ten minutes."
Ten minutes.
The number echoed in Kara's mind like a death knell.
Lena's fingers twitched against the obsidian surface, seeking something to hold onto as Kelly pressed the pneumatic seal into place. The transparent patch hissed as it activated, creating a vacuum-tight barrier over the wound. A small indicator at its center turned from red to amber—not ideal, but functional.
"Kara," Lena whispered again, her voice fading as her eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry... I couldn't..."
"Don't," Kara interrupted, her thumb gently wiping away the blood at the corner of Lena's mouth. "Save your strength. I'm getting you out of here."
Lena's gaze sharpened momentarily, a flash of her usual fierce intelligence cutting through the shock and pain. Her good hand rose with visible effort, trembling fingers catching Kara's wrist. "Your father," she managed, each word costing her. "Take him... too."
Before Kara could respond, Kelly inserted the syringe into Lena's upper arm, bypassing the torn and bloodied bandages to find a vein. The stabilizing agent—a DEO-developed compound designed specifically for field trauma—entered Lena's bloodstream with a soft hiss. Almost immediately, her breathing steadied slightly, though the blue tinge at her lips remained.
"That will keep her stable for about twenty minutes," Kelly said, already packing up the remaining medical supplies. "But we need to move. Now."
Kara nodded, decision made. With infinite gentleness, she slid one arm beneath Lena's knees and the other behind her shoulders, the nanites in her suit once more forming a cushioning layer between her Kryptonian strength and Lena's broken body. She lifted her, angling Lena's torso at a careful forty-five degrees against her chest, one arm supporting her shoulders while keeping the wounded side elevated, the other braced beneath her knees—a position that both minimized pressure on her injuries and kept her upright enough that each blood-tinged exhale could escape her lips rather than flow back down her throat.
Lena's head lolled against Kara's shoulder, her breath coming in shallow puffs against Kara's neck. Each exhale carried the metallic scent of blood, a reminder of how precarious her condition remained despite Kelly's intervention. Through the nanite suit, Kara could feel the unnatural heat radiating from Lena's body—the first signs of infection taking hold in a system already compromised by days of injury and stress.
"Father," Kara called, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her chest. "We need to go."
"The tunnels will be dangerous," he warned. "Nyxly and the prisoners know these passages better than we do."
"We'll create our own path if we have to," Kara replied, her arms tightening protectively around Lena as a tremor ran through her slender frame. "I'm not leaving either of you behind."
J'onn approached, his massive green form towering over them. "I'll take point," he said. "Alex and Nia will cover our flanks. Kelly, stay close to Kara in case Lena's condition changes." His red eyes shifted to Zor-El, recognition and respect evident in his gaze. "You know these tunnels. Guide us."
Zor-El nodded, his hand moving to the pocket containing the crystal component. "This way," he said, gesturing toward a narrow passage that branched off from the main chamber. "There's a more direct route to the surface."
As they moved toward the tunnel, Lena stirred against Kara's chest, her eyes opening to reveal pupils still dilated from shock and medication. "Kara," she whispered, each syllable a victory against the pain that threatened to pull her under. "If I don't—"
"You will," Kara interrupted, her voice fierce with conviction. "You're going to make it, Lena. Both of you." Her gaze shifted momentarily to her father, then back to the woman in her arms. "I'm taking you both home."
Lena's lips curved into the ghost of a smile, blood staining her teeth crimson against the unnatural paleness of her face. "Home," she repeated, the word slurring slightly as the stabilizing agent pulled her toward unconsciousness. "With you."
The simple statement sent a wave of warmth through Kara's chest, momentarily displacing the cold fear that had taken root there. "With me," she confirmed, pressing her lips briefly to Lena's forehead as they entered the tunnel, leaving the chamber and its violet-tinged nightmares behind.
The passage narrowed immediately, the ceiling dropping until J'onn had to hunch his massive shoulders to avoid scraping against the crystalline formations that jutted from above like frozen daggers. The walls pressed in from both sides, their violet surfaces pulsing with internal light that cast eerie shadows across their faces. Kara adjusted her grip on Lena, careful to keep her injured side away from the jagged crystal edges that threatened to snag on her bandages.
Eight minutes until portal destabilization.
Eight minutes to navigate this labyrinth, reach the ship, and escape the Phantom Zone before their only way home collapsed forever.
Eight minutes to save the woman who had sacrificed everything to protect her.
Chapter 16: the last exit
Summary:
Every second counts.
With the tunnels collapsing behind them and Lena fading fast, Kara leads the team through the Phantom Zone’s labyrinth in a race against a collapsing portal—and a horde of creatures closing in. Their only path home lies upward, through unstable crystal, failing systems, and a sky full of nightmares. Kara refuses to lose anyone—not Lena, not her father—but the Zone might have other plans.
Chapter Text
16
the last exit
The tunnel constricted with each desperate step forward, amethyst-hued crystalline formations pressing in from all sides like the calcified throat of some ancient, petrifying beast. Needle-thin stalactites hung from the ceiling mere inches above their heads while knife-edged protrusions jutted from the walls at unpredictable angles. Kara's shoulders occasionally brushed against these jagged edges, triggering an instant response from her suit—nanites flowing like liquid metal to form microscopic shields that hardened with a barely audible hiss. Violet light pulsed through the translucent walls in hypnotic, arrhythmic patterns, each surge illuminating the mineral veins running through the crystal like frozen lightning. The unnatural glow cast elongated, distorted shadows that twisted and danced across their sweat-slicked faces, painting them in sickly lavender and indigo patterns that transformed their familiar features into alien masks.
"Watch the ceiling," Zor-El warned, his voice echoing strangely in the confined space. He ducked beneath a particularly vicious crystal formation that jutted downward like a frozen waterfall caught in mid-cascade. "The structure becomes unstable the closer we get to the surface."
J'onn followed close behind, his massive green frame hunched nearly double, one hand pressed against the low ceiling to steady himself while the other kept his plasma pistol ready. The weapon's power indicator glowed cobalt blue in the violet darkness, its soft hum a counterpoint to their labored breathing.
Kara adjusted her grip on Lena, whose head lolled against her shoulder, having surrendered to unconsciousness. Each of Lena's exhales released a fine mist of pink-tinged moisture that caught in the violet light, tiny droplets of blood suspended in the air before dissipating like ghosts. The pneumatic seal Kelly had applied pulsed amber at its center—functioning but struggling against the internal damage. Through the nanites in her suit, Kara could feel Lena's temperature rising, her skin radiating unnatural heat.
"Her pulse is weakening," Kelly murmured beside them, her fingers pressed to Lena's wrist. Her face was grim in the eerie light, shadows pooling beneath her eyes as she checked the pneumatic seal for the fifth time in as many minutes. "The stabilizing agent is keeping her breathing regulated, but she's losing too much blood internally. We need to get her to the ship's medical bay."
"How much farther?" Kara asked, her voice tight with controlled urgency. She could feel each precious second slipping away, measured in the increasingly shallow rise and fall of Lena's chest against her arm.
Zor-El paused at a junction where three identical passages branched outward like the spokes of a wheel. His weathered hand traced a series of glyphs carved into the crystalline wall—ancient Kryptonian script, eroded by time but still faintly legible to those who knew where to look. "Not far," he said, his finger settling on a particular symbol. "This way."
Behind them, Alex and Nia maintained vigilant watch, their backs to the group as they scanned the darkness they'd left behind. Alex's pulse rifle hummed with charged energy, its blue indicator matching the cobalt glow of Nia's Dream Force powers that coiled around her fingers like living smoke.
"Anything?" Kara called back, her enhanced hearing already straining for sounds of pursuit.
"Nothing immediate," Alex replied, her voice steady despite the tension evident in her shoulders. "But something's moving in the tunnels. I can feel it."
"We need to keep moving," J'onn urged, his deep voice resonating through the passage. "Portal destabilization in six minutes."
Six minutes.
The number sent a fresh wave of fear through Kara's chest, cold and sharp.
"This way," Zor-El said, choosing the rightmost passage. "The tunnel widens ahead. We can move faster."
True to his word, the passage gradually expanded, the ceiling rising until even J'onn could stand upright. The walls receded, creating a corridor wide enough for them to walk two abreast. The violet light intensified, pulsing through the crystal with greater urgency, as if the very structure sensed their desperation.
Lena stirred in Kara's arms, a soft moan escaping her lips as consciousness briefly returned. Her eyelids fluttered, revealing slivers of sea-glass green beneath heavy lashes. "Kara?" she whispered, the word barely audible.
"I'm here," Kara assured her, adjusting her grip to better support Lena's head. "We're almost out. Just stay with me."
Lena's good hand lifted weakly, fingers trembling as they sought purchase against the nanite suit. "Cold," she murmured, her voice slurring slightly as shock continued to claim her system. "So cold."
Kelly immediately pressed two fingers to Lena's carotid artery, her expression darkening. "Her blood pressure's dropping," she reported, already digging through her medical kit with her free hand. "She's going into hypovolemic shock."
"What can we do?" Kara demanded, fear clawing at her throat as Lena's eyes rolled back, consciousness slipping away once more.
"Keep moving," Kelly replied grimly, extracting a second syringe from her kit. "This is the last of the stabilizing agent. It will buy us a few more minutes, but that's all."
As Kelly administered the injection, the tunnel around them shuddered. Crystalline formations vibrated with discordant frequencies, sending microscopic shards raining down like deadly diamond dust. A distant rumble echoed through the passage, growing louder with each passing second.
"They've found us," Zor-El warned, his hand moving to the pocket containing the component. "Nyxly's using her powers to collapse the tunnels."
"Run!" J'onn commanded, his massive frame already accelerating toward the faint violet glow that marked the tunnel's exit.
Kara summoned lifted herself and Lena mere inches off the ground. The nanites in her suit hardened to create a protective shell around them both as she propelled forward through the air. Her trajectory was perfectly level, eliminating any risk of jostling Lena's broken body while still maintaining urgent speed. Kelly sprinted alongside them, one hand stretched upward to Lena's side, fingers pressed firmly against the pneumatic seal as they moved.
The tunnel's vibrations intensified, the crystalline walls groaning like a living thing in pain. Larger fragments broke free from above, crashing to the obsidian floor with explosive force. One jagged shard the size of a dinner plate narrowly missed Alex's shoulder, shattering against the wall behind her in a spray of violet shrapnel.
"Faster!" Zor-El urged, his voice barely audible above the growing cacophony. "The entire network is destabilizing!"
Kara's enhanced vision caught movement in the tunnel behind them—shadowy figures pursuing with unnatural speed, their misshapen silhouettes elongating and contracting with each loping stride. Creatures from the deepest sectors of the Zone, drawn to the chaos like sharks to blood in water.
"Alex!" she called in warning.
Her sister glanced back, eyes widening as she registered the approaching threat. Without breaking stride, Alex pivoted, her pulse rifle discharging in three precise bursts that illuminated the tunnel in stark blue-white flashes. The energy bolts found their marks, dropping the lead creatures in heaps of twitching limbs that blocked the passage behind them.
"That won't hold them long," Alex warned, turning back to resume her run. "They're determined."
The tunnel curved sharply upward, the gradient steepening until they were climbing rather than running. The obsidian floor gave way to rough-hewn steps carved into the crystalline rock, each one glowing with internal violet light that pulsed beneath their boots. Zor-El led the way, his decades in the Zone evident in the sure-footed ease with which he navigated the treacherous ascent. J'onn followed, occasionally extending a hand to help the others over particularly difficult sections.
Kara hovered inches above the steps, rising steadily upward with Lena cradled against her chest. Though flight came as naturally as breathing, she held back, intentionally keeping pace several feet behind J'onn and her father. Her eyes never left Lena's ashen face as she made constant, minute adjustments to her trajectory—each microscopic correction maintaining perfect stability for the pneumatic seal. One jarring movement, one moment of carelessness, and the damaged lung beneath that seal would collapse completely.
"Portal destabilization in four minutes," J'onn announced, checking the chronometer on his wrist. "We need to move faster."
Four minutes.
Kara's heart hammered against her ribs, each beat a countdown they couldn't afford to ignore. Four minutes to reach the surface, signal the ship, and escape this nightmare realm. Four minutes to save Lena, whose breathing had grown so shallow that each inhale was a victory against the inevitable.
The stairway ended abruptly at a circular platform, its surface etched with concentric rings of Kryptonian glyphs that glowed with the same violet light as the surrounding crystals. Above them, a domed ceiling of interlocking hexagonal panels separated them from the open void of the Phantom Zone.
"The surface access," Zor-El explained, his hands moving to a control panel embedded in the wall. "This will open to the exterior."
As his fingers danced across the crystalline interface, the vibrations in the tunnel below intensified. The stairway they'd just ascended began to collapse, massive sections of crystal breaking free and tumbling into the darkness with thunderous crashes. The platform beneath their feet trembled, hairline fractures spreading across its surface like spiderwebs.
"They're destroying everything," Nia observed, her Dream Force energy coiling protectively around her hands as she watched the destruction below. "Making sure we can't go back."
"We don't need to go back," Kara said firmly, her arms tightening around Lena. "We just need to get out."
Zor-El's manipulation of the control panel yielded results. The hexagonal panels in the ceiling began to retract, sliding into recesses in the walls. Violet light from the Phantom Zone's perpetual twilight spilled through the widening aperture, bathing them in its eerie glow.
"Hurry," Zor-El urged, stepping back from the panel as the opening expanded. "The system is failing. It won't stay open long."
J'onn moved first, his Martian physiology allowing him to float upward through the opening without assistance. He extended a hand down to help the others, his massive green fingers wrapping securely around Alex's wrist as he lifted her to the surface with effortless strength. Nia followed, her Dream Force powers creating a cobalt platform beneath her feet that carried her through the aperture like a living elevator.
Kelly hesitated, glancing at Lena. "The transition might destabilize the pneumatic seal," she warned. "We need to be careful."
"I've got her," Kara assured her, the nanites in her suit already adapting to form a more secure cradle around Lena's broken body. "Go."
As Kelly accepted J'onn's hand and was pulled to the surface, Kara turned to her father. "You next," she said, her voice brooking no argument.
Zor-El glanced at the widening aperture, then back at his daughter hovering inches above the platform with Lena in her arms. The nanite suit gleamed in the violet light, its surface rippling like liquid metal as it adjusted to Kara's movements. His eyes—the same shade of blue as her own—studied her with a mixture of wonder and pride that made her throat tighten.
"You're magnificent," he said softly, his voice barely audible above the structure's groaning protests. "Everything I dreamed you would become."
"Father, please," Kara urged. "We don't have time for this."
The platform beneath them shuddered violently. A deep, resonant crack split the obsidian surface, jagged lines spreading outward like black lightning. The control panel sparked, sections going dark as power fluctuated through the failing system. Above them, the hexagonal panels began to stutter in their retraction, the opening narrowing by increments as the mechanism failed.
"Kara!" J'onn's voice echoed down from above, his green hand reaching through the shrinking aperture. "We need to move! Now!"
Zor-El's gaze darted between the failing controls and the narrowing exit, calculations running behind his eyes with the speed only a Kryptonian scientist could manage. His hand moved to his pocket, fingers closing around the crystal component that pulsed against his palm with violet energy.
"Together," Kara insisted, her voice leaving no room for argument. The nanites in her suit flowed down her extended arm, creating a reinforced grip as her fingers stretched toward her father. "I'm not losing you again."
Zor-El lunged forward, his weathered hand clasping Kara's with desperate strength. The moment their fingers interlocked, the nanites flowed across the connection, creating a seamless bond between father and daughter.
"Hold on," she commanded, muscles tensing as she prepared to lift both Lena and her father through the rapidly closing aperture.
The platform gave way beneath them with a thunderous crack, obsidian fragments tumbling into the abyss below. Kara's body surged upward, accelerating toward the shrinking opening with Lena cradled against her chest and her father's weight pulling at her extended arm. The nanites in her suit strained to maintain integrity, their surface heating against her skin as they distributed the load across her frame.
They shot through the narrowing gap with inches to spare, the hexagonal panels scraping against Zor-El's boots as they sealed shut behind them with a decisive click. The sudden transition from enclosed space to open void sent them tumbling momentarily, the Phantom Zone's strange physics making conventional flight patterns unreliable.
Kara stabilized their trajectory with practiced ease, her body instinctively adjusting to compensate for her passengers' weight. She hovered ten feet above the obsidian plain, Lena secured against her chest while her father dangled from her extended arm.
"You did it," Zor-El breathed, his expression a mixture of disbelief and wonder as he gazed up at his daughter. "You actually did it."
"I told you," Kara replied, a tight smile breaking through her concentrated expression. "We go together."
The surface stretched before them—a vast obsidian plain beneath a fractured violet sky. In the distance, crystalline formations jutted from the black glass surface like frozen lightning bolts, their facets catching the eerie non-light in hypnotic patterns.
J'onn, Alex, Kelly, and Nia stood in a defensive circle, weapons raised as they scanned the horizon for threats. Relief flooded their faces as Kara descended toward them, Lena still cradled in one arm while the other maintained its nanite-reinforced grip on her father.
"You got him," Alex said, her voice thick with emotion as she registered what Kara had accomplished. Her eyes darted between Zor-El and Kara, noting the unmistakable resemblance between father and daughter—the same determined set of the jaw, the same intensity in their blue eyes.
"I wasn't leaving without him," Kara replied simply, carefully lowering her father to the obsidian surface before adjusting her hold on Lena. The nanites retracted from her extended arm, flowing back across her suit to reinforce the cradle supporting Lena's broken body.
A tremor ran through the obsidian plain beneath them, the surface rippling like water disturbed by a stone. The formations in the distance vibrated in sympathetic resonance, their violet glow intensifying to near-blinding brightness. The shadows moving between them accelerated, their misshapen forms becoming more distinct with each passing second.
"Portal destabilization in two minutes," J'onn announced, his deep voice cutting through the eerie silence. "We need to signal the ship."
Kara nodded, forcing herself to focus on the immediate crisis. "Comms," she said, shifting Lena's weight to free one hand to activate her earpiece. "Brainy? Brainy, do you copy?"
Static crackled in her ear, punctuated by fragments of what might have been words. The distance between them and the ship, combined with the Phantom Zone's unique properties, made communication nearly impossible.
"Brainy!" she tried again, desperation edging her voice. "We need extraction! Now!"
More static, then suddenly—
"—ara? Is that—can you—" Brainy's voice broke through, distorted but recognizable. "—losing the portal—minutes—where are—"
"We're on the surface!" Kara shouted, hoping volume might compensate for the deteriorating connection. "Near the crystal formations! We need immediate extraction!"
"—ing coordinates—hold—" The transmission dissolved into unintelligible fragments before cutting out entirely.
"Did he get that?" Alex asked, her pulse rifle sweeping the horizon as something moved in the distance—shadows detaching from the crystalline structures, elongating as they approached.
"I think so," Kara replied, her enhanced vision scanning the violet sky for any sign of the ship. "He sounded... different. Panicked."
"Not like Brainy," Nia agreed, her Dream Force energy intensifying as she tracked the approaching shadows. "Something must be wrong with the portal."
Kelly crouched beside Kara, her fingers gently probing the pneumatic seal on Lena's side. The indicator had shifted fully to red, the transparent patch bulging slightly as pressure built beneath it. "She's deteriorating," she reported, her professional demeanor slipping to reveal genuine concern. "The seal is failing. Her lung is collapsing again."
Zor-El knelt beside them, his weathered hands moving as he examined the pneumatic seal. "The pressure is building too rapidly," he observed, his mind immediately assessing the problem. "The membrane needs to be reinforced."
"With what?" Kelly asked, her eyes widening as she registered his expertise. "We've used all our medical supplies."
Zor-El's fingers moved to a pocket in his tattered garment, extracting a small vial of iridescent liquid. "This will stabilize the tissue temporarily," he explained, uncapping the vial. "It won't heal the damage, but it will slow the deterioration until we can reach proper medical facilities."
Kelly hesitated, her medical training warring with the desperate need for intervention. "What is it?"
"A Kryptonian regenerative compound," Zor-El replied, his eyes meeting Kara's with quiet assurance. "I've been using it to treat her injuries for days. It's compatible with her physiology."
Kara nodded, trust in her father overriding any lingering doubts. "Do it," she said, carefully adjusting her hold on Lena to allow him better access to the pneumatic seal.
With steady hands, Zor-El applied the iridescent liquid around the edges of the seal, his movements precise and economical. The substance glowed faintly as it made contact with Lena's skin, seeming to sink into the tissue beneath with a soft hiss. The pneumatic seal's indicator flickered, then shifted from angry red to cautious amber.
"It's working," Kelly breathed, her fingers checking Lena's pulse. "Her oxygen saturation is stabilizing."
Relief washed through Kara's chest, a momentary respite in the storm of crisis surrounding them. In her arms, Lena's breathing eased slightly, the wet, rattling quality giving way to something more rhythmic, if still dangerously shallow.
"Thank you," she whispered to her father, the words inadequate for the weight of gratitude behind them.
Zor-El's hand briefly touched her shoulder, the contact warm and solid through the nanite suit. "Always," he replied simply.
A sound cut through the Phantom Zone's eerie silence—the distinctive hum of Martian engines, growing louder with each passing second. Kara's head snapped up, hope flaring in her chest as a familiar shape appeared on the horizon. The ship—J'onn's bioship, its emerald hull gleaming against the fractured violet backdrop, approached at maximum velocity, leaving a trail of distorted reality in its wake.
"There!" she cried, relief flooding her system. "He found us!"
The ship decelerated with impossible suddenness, its living hull adjusting to the Phantom Zone's unique physics with fluid grace. It hovered twenty feet above them, the entry hatch sliding open to reveal Brainy's anxious face.
"Thirty seconds until portal destabilization!" he shouted, his voice carrying an urgency rarely heard from the typically composed Coluan. "We need to go NOW!"
J'onn reacted first, his Martian physiology allowing him to lift Alex and Kelly toward the open hatch in one smooth motion. Nia followed.
"I'll take him," J'onn called, dropping back down to the obsidian plain with a heavy thud. He reached for Zor-El, his red eyes meeting Kara's. "You focus on Lena."
Kara nodded gratefully, adjusting her hold. The nanites in her suit flowed to create a more secure cradle, no longer needing to split their protection between two passengers.
"Thank you," she murmured as J'onn wrapped a powerful arm around her father's waist.
"Twenty seconds!" Brainy called from the hatch, his fingers dancing across a portable control panel as he monitored the portal's deterioration.
With a surge of power, Kara lifted off from the obsidian plain, J'onn following beside her with Zor-El secure in his grip. The ship grew largern, its emerald hull pulsing with welcome. Behind them, the crystalline formations began to collapse, massive sections breaking free and crashing down in violent explosions of violet shards. The shadows moving between them surged forward, their misshapen forms elongating as they gave chase.
"Fifteen seconds!"
They reached the hatch with a final burst of speed, J'onn propelling himself and Zor-El through first. Kara followed, her entire focus on keeping Lena stable as she maneuvered through the narrow aperture, the nanites of her suit continuously adjusting to cushion every movement that might cause further harm.
"Ten seconds!" Brainy announced as Kara cleared the hatch. "Initiating emergency return sequence!"
The ship's interior hummed with frantic energy, crystalline consoles pulsing with amber warnings as Brainy's fingers danced across holographic interfaces. The vessel shuddered beneath them, its living hull vibrating with strain as it prepared for dimensional transition.
"Secure yourselves!" J'onn commanded, his massive frame already strapped into the pilot's chair as he guided the ship into position. "This will be rough!"
Kara cradled Lena against her chest as she crossed to the medical bay, lowering her onto the narrow treatment platform with trembling hands. Lena's head lolled lifelessly against the metal surface, dark hair splayed in stark contrast to her pallid skin. Alex rushed forward, snapping restraint bands across Lena's torso and legs as the ship lurched violently. Kelly stumbled against the supply cabinet, catching herself on the edge as vials and instruments clattered to the floor. She snatched at floating medical scanners, her fingers closing around one just as another violent shudder rocked the ship.
"Five seconds!" Brainy called, his fingers flying across the controls. "Brace for dimensional transition!"
Kara felt her father's hand close around hers, the contact grounding her as the ship lurched forward. His weathered fingers interlaced with hers, a lifetime of separation bridged in that simple gesture. Their eyes met as the ship accelerated toward the rapidly collapsing portal.
"Three seconds!" Brainy announced, his voice barely audible above the ship's straining engines.
The dimensional barrier approached with terrifying speed, its edges already contracting inward like a dying pupil. Blue-white energy crackled along its perimeter, each arc of power leaving ghostly afterimages that lingered for seconds before fading.
"Two!"
Kara lunged for the overhead support bar, her fingers locking around the cold metal as the ship lurched. To her left, Kelly braced herself against the medical console, knuckles white with tension, while Alex dropped into a crouch, one hand gripping the edge of Lena's gurney. No time for safety protocols—only desperate, instinctive grasping as the dimensional barrier approached.
"One!"
The ship pierced the portal's boundary with a sound like the universe itself tearing apart.
Chapter 17: between worlds
Summary:
After tearing through the collapsing dimensional barrier, the team returns to Earth only to face a new nightmare: Lena’s injuries cascade into catastrophic failure. As the DEO races to save her life—cardiac arrest, emergency interventions, a desperate sprint to surgery—Kara is forced into brutal stillness, watching the woman she loves fall further from the edge. With her father newly returned, her powers useless, and her confession finally breaking free, Kara holds vigil by Lena’s side as doctors fight to pull her back from the threshold.
Survival is no longer guaranteed… but neither is surrender.
Chapter Text
17
between worlds
Reality folded back into itself as they punched through the dimensional barrier, the ship lurching violently as it transitioned from the Phantom Zone's non-physics to Earth's familiar laws. Colors inverted then reassembled—violet becoming gold, black becoming blue—as spacetime recalibrated around them. Kara's stomach dropped in that sickening way it always did during interdimensional travel—like falling from a skyscraper while simultaneously being compressed into a singularity, her bones vibrating at frequencies that threatened to shatter them. The nanites in her suit rippled like mercury across her skin, their microscopic forms glowing electric blue at the edges as they desperately tried to stabilize her molecular structure against transition forces that would tear ordinary matter apart.
Then, with a final shudder that sent loose equipment clattering across the floor, they were through.
Sunlight—real, yellow sunlight—streamed through the viewport in golden rivers, casting long shadows across the metal floor and illuminating dust particles that danced like microscopic fireflies. The light bathed the interior in warmth that felt almost sacred after the Phantom Zone's perpetual chill. Kara's cells drank in the radiation like a woman dying of thirst, each photon penetrating her Kryptonian biology, strength flooding back into her muscles with tingling intensity. Her enhanced senses sharpened to painful clarity—suddenly she could hear the labored flutter of Lena's heart, smell the metallic tang of blood mixed with antiseptic, feel every vibration of the ship's hull as it cut through cloud layers.
"Dimensional transition complete," Brainy announced, his voice tight with controlled relief. "Hull integrity at 89% and holding."
None of that mattered.
All Kara could focus on was Lena.
The pneumatic seal on Lena's side bulged outward suddenly, the transparent material straining against increasing internal pressure. Its indicator flashed from the cautious amber to urgent red as a thin line of crimson appeared around its edges. The Kryptonian compound Zor-El had applied was failing, unable to maintain its integrity against the radical pressure changes of dimensional travel.
"The seal's rupturing," Kelly said, already moving toward Lena, already trying to reinforce the edges with medical tape. "Alex, I need the thoracic kit. Now."
Alex lurched across the medical bay, her boots sliding against the metal floor as the ship continued to stabilize. She yanked open a compartment, extracting a sealed case emblazoned with red medical glyphs. "Here!"
Lena's chest barely moved beneath the restraint bands. Each breath came as a shallow, wet rasp that Kara's enhanced hearing picked up with merciless clarity—the sound of a lung drowning in its own fluids, of tissues failing beneath the weight of trauma and internal bleeding. The bluish tinge around her lips had deepened to an alarming slate-gray.
"Her O2 sat is crashing," Kelly reported, attaching a small monitor to Lena's finger. The device beeped once, then emitted a continuous warning tone as the numbers on its display plummeted. "She's at 72% and dropping. We need to get this lung reinflated."
Kara hovered at Lena's head, her hands gentle but immovable on either side of Lena's face, keeping her perfectly still despite the ship's continued turbulence. Up close, she could see the microscopic beads of sweat gathering along Lena's hairline, the tiny capillaries breaking beneath the surface of her skin, the flutter of pulse at her temple growing weaker with each beat.
"What can I do?" she asked, her voice tight with controlled panic.
"Keep her steady," Kelly replied, not looking up as she prepared a needle that seemed impossibly long and thin. "This has to be precise or we'll make things worse."
The pneumatic seal failed with a soft, wet pop. Blood immediately welled around its edges, soaking through the layers of bandages with alarming speed. The metallic scent slammed into Kara with the force of a speeding freight train—copper and salt and something uniquely Lena beneath it all.
"Damn it," Alex muttered, already moving to stem the flow with a pressure bandage. "Kelly, we're losing the seal completely."
"I see that," Kelly replied, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. She positioned the needle between Lena's ribs, guiding it with the steady hand of a veteran surgeon. "This will release the trapped air compressing her good lung. On three. One, two—"
The ship lurched unexpectedly as they hit a pocket of turbulence.
Kelly's hand remained rock-steady, but Lena's body shifted fractionally beneath the restraints.
"Hold her!" Kelly commanded, waiting for Kara to readjust her grip before continuing. "Three."
The needle slid between Lena's ribs with a sound that made Kara's stomach clench—the subtle resistance of flesh giving way, the whisper of metal against tissue. A soft hiss followed as trapped air escaped through the hollow shaft, relieving the pressure that had been compressing Lena's functioning lung.
"Got it," Kelly confirmed, securing the needle with medical tape. "That should buy us a few minutes."
Lena's breathing eased slightly, the desperate rasp giving way to something still labored but less immediately catastrophic. The monitor's warning tone shifted to a slightly less urgent beeping as her oxygen levels stabilized—not good, but no longer in free-fall.
"Her pressure's still dropping," Alex warned, checking another monitor. "She's lost too much blood."
Kelly nodded grimly, already reaching for an IV kit. "Wide-bore line, now. We need volume."
Kara watched helplessly as they worked, her thumbs tracing gentle circles against Lena's temples—a gesture of comfort that was as much for herself as for the unconscious woman beneath her hands. The nanites in her suit had receded from her fingertips, allowing her to feel the clammy coldness of Lena's skin directly.
"Stay with me," she whispered. "We made it, Lena. We're home. You just need to hold on a little longer."
The heart monitor shrieked—a single, unbroken tone replacing the steady cadence of Lena's heartbeat. The sound sliced through the ship's atmosphere, transforming the air itself into something brittle and dangerous. Outside the viewport, the DEO's landing pad materialized through dissipating clouds, a concrete island surrounded by flashing emergency lights.
"Cardiac arrest!" Kelly's hands were already positioned over Lena's sternum, fingers interlaced, elbows locked. The first compression made a sickening crack as cartilage gave way. "Alex—crash cart—now!"
"No," Kara breathed, the word emerging as barely more than an exhale. "No, no, no—Lena, please."
Kara stood frozen, her godlike strength rendered meaningless as Lena's life ebbed away. The nanites in her suit retracted into their dormant state, the sleek black nanites retreating across her skin like a metallic tide, flowing back into the slim bracelet at her wrist where they condensed with a final silver ripple, mission complete. Her fingers trembled—fingers that could bend steel, that had caught falling planes, now unable to grasp the simplest thing… Lena's fleeting heartbeat.
The ship touched down with a bone-jarring thud, hydraulics hissing as the landing gear absorbed the impact. Before they'd fully settled, the ramp descended with a mechanical whine, letting in a blast of cool morning air. Medical personnel in black tactical gear with red medical insignias swarmed up the incline, their gurney's wheels clattering against metal grating, portable monitors and trauma kits bouncing in their hands.
Alex’s voice shifted to rapid-fire medical shorthand as the team surrounded them. "GSW-like trauma, left thoracic, fifth intercostal. Tension pneumo progressed to hemo. Field seal failure during transport. Multiple rib fx, displaced clav, previous L shoulder dislocation with extensive STI. GCS 9 on scene, now unresponsive. BP crashed to 60/30 before bottoming out. Arrest commenced thirty seconds ago. No ROSC after first defib attempt. One epi pushed. Type O neg if you have it."
The medical team transferred Lena to a gurney, simultaneously disconnecting ship monitors with sharp clicks and reconnecting DEO equipment. The transition created a momentary silence before the new machines erupted into synchronized wailing, their digital readouts flashing urgent red warnings as they registered her critical condition.
As they wheeled Lena down the ramp, Kara followed in a daze, each step leaden with dread. One of the medical team straddled the gurney with knees planted on either side of Lena's torso, delivering uninterrupted compressions at 100-120 per minute, another ventilating with the BVM in a 30:2 ratio. A third monitored the cardiac rhythm on the portable defibrillator while administering epinephrine.
Behind her, Kara was vaguely aware of the others disembarking—Alex supporting Kelly; J'onn guiding Zor-El; Brainy directing additional personnel while casting worried glances toward Nia, who stood apart from the group, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face streaked with tears she wasn't bothering to wipe away.
But all Kara could focus on was the team leader calling out compression counts and medication times as they raced toward the building's medical wing. "Two minutes! Rhythm check!" They paused compressions just long enough to confirm asystole still present on the monitor before immediately resuming, never breaking their cadence even as they navigated the ramp's incline.
Kara's super-hearing strained beyond the flat, terrible tone of the cardiac monitor, searching desperately for the flutter of a heartbeat the machines couldn't detect. "Come on, Lena. Fight. Please fight."
The DEO's medical wing doors parted with a pneumatic hiss, releasing the sharp tang of antiseptic and copper. The trauma team's boots squeaked against the polished floor as they rushed Lena inside, the gurney's wheels leaving smeared trails of crimson in their wake. Dr. Hamilton appeared in the doorway, surgical mask pulled down around her neck.
"You need to stay out here," Hamilton said, her palm firm against Kara's sternum. "Let us work."
"I can't leave her," Kara's voice cracked. "She needs me."
"What she needs is a thoracotomy before she exsanguinates," the doctor replied, already backing toward the doors. Her voice softened. "We'll do everything we can."
The word 'exsanguinates' struck Kara with the force of a kryptonite bullet, her knees nearly buckling as the clinical term for 'bleeds to death' echoed in her skull. She strained desperately for the sound she'd memorized years ago—the distinct rhythm of Lena's heartbeat—but found only the shrill cacophony of medical equipment where that precious cadence should be—monitors shrieking their digital panic, the hiss of oxygen, the mechanical click of the defibrillator charging. The doors sealed with the cold finality of a vault sealing shut. Through the narrow windows, Kara watched as they transferred Lena to the operating table, leaving a trail of crimson droplets across the pristine floor.
Kara pressed her palm against the glass, then her forehead, the cold surface fogging with her breath as she stared at Lena's still face. Inside, the medical team flowed around Lena like a single organism, each person anticipating the others' movements without a word——scissors glinted, peeling away blood-soaked bandages like petals from a dying flower, revealing skin gone ghostly white. Defibrillator pads adhered to Lena's chest. An arterial line needle gleamed under harsh lights.
One minute and forty-seven seconds.
That's how long Lena's heart had been silent.
Kara's vision tunneled, the room's edges dissolving into blurs.
The wound pulsed—a dark mouth opening and closing with each compression, blood bubbling forth in hypnotic crimson beads. Tubes floated into place, serpentine and dreamlike, disappearing into Lena's body. Gloved hands moved in slow arcs, passing instruments that seemed suspended in invisible molasses. Voices stretched and warped, medical terminology elongating into underwater chorus despite Kara's enhanced hearing.
Each compression on Lena's chest seemed to take minutes—the doctor's arms descending through thick air, the sternum yielding with excruciating slowness, the release extending like a drawn breath as time itself congealed around her.
"Clear!" someone’s command penetrated Kara's fog.
She watched as the defibrillator paddles descended to Lena's bare chest.
Lena’s body arched with the electrical current, then settled back with terrible stillness.
The monitor's line remained flat, accusatory in its simplicity.
Two minutes and twelve seconds.
"Again! Push another epi!"
Kara's fingers pressed against the glass, five pale stars against the sterile brightness of the trauma room. The simple barrier felt both impossibly fragile and impenetrable. Shatter it? The thought bubbled up and burst before her hand had already curled into a fist, then uncurled again. Water seemed to fill her lungs with each breath, pressure building behind her sternum as her breath clouded the window—gasping for air that wouldn't come. She swiped at the fog, leaving streaks behind. The numbers floated around her like debris: 1200 newtons to break the hinges of the door, 0.21 seconds to cross the room, 37.2°C optimal body temperature that Lena no longer maintained. Her ribs ached with each desperate attempt to breathe, as if she were sinking deeper, the weight of an ocean crushing her chest. Through the smeared glass, the doctors' hands moved over Lena's body.
"Kara."
Alex's voice reached her, distorted and distant. A hand touched her shoulder—warm, solid, familiar—but Kara couldn't tear her eyes from the window, from Lena's ashen face beneath the intubation tube.
"Kara, you need to sit down."
"I can't." The words scraped her throat raw. "I can't leave her."
Two minutes and fifty-seven seconds.
Inside the trauma bay, a new doctor had taken over compressions, biceps flexing with each downward thrust as they maintained the perfect 2-inch depth at 110 beats per minute—a mechanical rhythm that Lena's heart refused to adopt on its own. Blood had soaked through the blue surgical drapes, transforming them to a glistening purple-black under the harsh LED lights, pooling beneath her on the stainless steel table in a spreading crimson stain that seemed too vast to have come from one person. It dripped steadily onto the floor tiles, each droplet joining a growing constellation at the surgeon's feet.
"You're not leaving her," Alex said, her voice gentle but firm. "But you're in shock, and you need to let them work."
Kara shook her head, a tiny movement that felt like moving mountains. "If I look away, if I stop watching, she'll—" The words died in her throat, the superstition too terrible to voice.
Three minutes and twenty-two seconds.
"Kara." A different voice now—deeper, accented, achingly familiar despite decades of separation. Her father stood on her other side, his weathered face lined with concern. "Your sister is right. You must conserve your strength."
"For what?" Kara's voice cracked. "What good is strength if I can't save her? What good are any of my powers if I can't—"
The cardiac monitor changed tone.
Kara's head snapped up, her enhanced vision focusing through tears she hadn't realized were falling. The flat line had developed the faintest irregularity—a single bump.
Then another.
Then a third.
Not a proper heartbeat yet, but something trying to become one.
"V-fib!" one of the doctors called. "We've got electrical activity!"
"Push 300 of amiodarone!"
The medical team's movements took on new urgency—not the grim determination of those fighting a losing battle, but the focused intensity of those who glimpsed possible victory. Kara's own heart seemed to restart with Lena's, her lungs expanding with a breath she'd been unconsciously holding.
"She's fighting," Alex murmured, her hand tightening on Kara's shoulder. "That’s good."
The irregular bumps on the monitor coalesced into something more rhythmic, still chaotic but undeniably alive. One of the doctors gave a short, sharp nod of satisfaction before barking new orders.
"Get her to OR 2 now! We need to repair that lung before she crashes again!"
The trauma team transferred Lena to a mobile surgical table without interrupting the lifesaving measures. Tubes and wires shifted with her, a complex web of technology fighting to keep her tethered to life.
"Where are they taking her?" Kara asked as the surgical team disappeared through the double doors, taking Lena from her sight.
"To the operating room," Alex explained, gently tugging Kara away from the now-empty trauma bay. "They need to repair the damage to her lung and stop the internal bleeding."
"How long will that take?"
Alex exchanged a glance with Kara’s father, a silent communication that Kara was too numb to interpret. "Hours, probably. The damage was... extensive."
Hours. The word echoed in Kara's mind like a sentence. Hours of not knowing. Hours of imagining Lena's heart stopping again, this time beyond revival. Hours of picturing those sea-glass eyes never opening again.
"Come," Zor-El said, his hand gentle on Kara's elbow. "There is a place where we can wait, yes? Where her friends have gathered?"
Kara allowed herself to be guided away from the trauma bay, her feet moving automatically while her mind remained with Lena, as if she could will her heart to keep beating through sheer concentration. The DEO's sterile corridors passed in a blur, the black-clad agents and medical personnel appearing and receding like figures glimpsed through fog, their government-issue tactical gear blending into the facility's sleek architecture.
The waiting area outside the surgical suite was already occupied when they arrived—a sterile, windowless box with institutional blue chairs bolted to the floor in neat rows. Nia sat hunched in the corner, her dark hair falling forward to curtain her face, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had blanched white—fingers interlaced like someone deep in desperate prayer. Brainy stood three careful feet away, beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, his normally perfect posture rigid with tension, eyes fixed on a middle distance as though calculating the precise respectful space to maintain around her silent vigil. J'onn stood against the far wall, his broad silhouette unnaturally still. His eyes fixed on the sterile white ceiling tiles as if searching for stars in the windowless bunker. James wore a path in the thin industrial carpet, his powerful shoulders bunched beneath his leather jacket, each turn at the wall punctuated by a sharp exhalation. Kelly perched on the edge of a chair in borrowed scrubs that hung loose on her frame. She'd changed after Lena's blood had soaked through her clothes, though traces of pink still rimmed her fingernails despite vigorous scrubbing.
They all looked up as Kara entered with Alex and Zor-El flanking her like sentinels. Five pairs of eyes locked onto them, scanning their faces for any hint of news about Lena, hope and dread battling across each expression in waves.
"Kara." James was the first to approach, his steps hesitant, as if unsure of his welcome. "How is she?"
The question hung in the air, weighted with all the history between them—James who had once been Jimmy Olsen from the Daily Planet, Superman's friend turned Kara's confidant, their almost-romance fizzling before it began; Guardian with his shield standing beside Supergirl; the CatCo editor who'd initially distrusted Lena for her last name before falling for her, then leaving her and National City behind. Now he stood before Kara again, returned when Lena needed them most. Kara searched for words and found none adequate to describe what she'd witnessed in the trauma bay.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her voice emerged like something mechanical, stripped of emotion to deliver the unbearable. "She flatlined. They got her heart beating again. They're operating on her now."
A collective exhale passed through the group—not quite relief, but the temporary reprieve of a crisis deferred rather than resolved.
"The surgical team is excellent," Kelly offered. "Dr. Hamilton trained at Metropolis General's trauma center before joining the DEO. If anyone can save her—"
The word "if" cracked something brittle inside Kara’s chest. Her head snapped up, eyes suddenly wild, the careful numbness she'd wrapped around herself shattering. "What do you mean, 'if'?" Her voice climbed higher with each word, the last syllable breaking as oxygen seemed to vanish from the room.
Kelly's expression softened. "Kara, I'm not going to lie to you. Lena's injuries are severe. The pneumothorax, the blood loss, the cardiac arrest—any one of those could be fatal. Combined..." She trailed off, clearly unwilling to voice the grim statistics.
"She's going to make it," Kara countered, her voice unnaturally high and tight, fingers digging into her own palms. She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "She has to."
No one contradicted her, but the heavy silence spoke volumes.
Zor-El guided Kara to a chair, his weathered hands firm yet tender on her trembling shoulders. The institutional blue plastic molded against her spine as she collapsed into it. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everyone in a sickly pallor that made them all look half-dead. Her lungs constricted as the past hours replayed in violent flashes. The cavern's shadows giving way to reveal Lena—injured but alive—then the impossible recognition of the man beside her; her father's face beneath decades of hardship. Lex materializing from darkness, Lena's body jerking as he yanked her against himself, the crystalline shard catching light before disappearing between Lena's ribs. Then came the white-hot rage, the weight of Lena's failing body in her arms as she flew, the terrifying stillness that had settled over her during the flight home, and finally, helplessly watching the woman she loved die.
The woman she loved.
The realization detonated in her chest like a supernova, hot and bright enough to burn away everything else. She loved Lena Luthor—had loved her through board meetings and betrayals, through late-night potsticker dinners and world-ending crises. Had loved her since that first day in L-Corp's gleaming office, when those eyes—green as Kryptonite but infinitely more dangerous—had pierced through her carefully constructed facade.
And she'd never told her.
"I never told her," Kara whispered, the words escaping before she could contain them.
Alex, who had taken the seat beside her, reached for her hand. "Told her what?"
Kara looked up, meeting her sister's concerned gaze. Her lips parted, but what emerged wasn't words so much as a sound like something vital breaking inside her. "That I love her," she finally whispered. "That I'm in love with her. That—" Her voice disappeared entirely as her face crumpled. When she found breath again, it came as a gasp between sobs. "Alex, she might die thinking I chose everyone else over her. Every single time."
Alex slid closer, wrapping an arm around Kara's trembling shoulders. Her voice dropped to that particular softness she'd perfected over years of Kara's nightmares and heartbreaks. "She knows," she whispered, her thumb making small circles against Kara's arm. "The way she looks at you when you enter a room—trust me, Kara. She knows."
Kara's voice came out tiny, like a child's. "How?" The word barely escaped before her shoulders caved inward, her body folding in on itself as if trying to disappear. "I never—" The sentence dissolved, tears burning trails down her face. Her next words emerged fractured, each one a struggle. "I thought we had time." A sob escaped her. "The last thing she'll remember is me just... standing there... watching Lex hurt her." Her voice disappeared completely on the final words.
"That's not true," Zor-El interjected, crouching in front of Kara's chair to meet her gaze directly. "The last thing she'll remember is you coming for her. You, crossing dimensions to find her. You, carrying her to safety despite impossible odds." His weathered hand covered hers, warm and solid. "That is love, Kara. Not just words."
Kara stared at her father, really seeing him for the first time since their chaotic reunion in the Phantom Zone. His face was older than in her memories, lined with years of hardship and survival. His hair had grayed at the temples, and his beard—something he'd never worn on Krypton—concealed the jawline she remembered. But his eyes remained the same—kind, intelligent, filled with that quiet strength that had anchored her childhood.
"You're really here," she whispered, the full impact of his presence finally penetrating her shock. "You're alive."
Zor-El's smile was tinged with sorrow. "Yes, my daughter. Though the journey has been... longer than I anticipated."
A thousand questions crowded Kara's mind—how he had survived Krypton's destruction, how he had ended up in the Phantom Zone, how he had found Lena there. But before she could voice any of them, the surgical suite doors opened, and Dr. Hamilton emerged, still wearing her operating gown with Lena's blood staining the front.
Kara was on her feet instantly, the world narrowing to the doctor's face, searching for any sign—good or bad—of Lena's condition.
"She's stabilized," she said without preamble, her voice carrying the weary satisfaction of a difficult battle not yet won but no longer being lost. "We've repaired the most critical damage to her lung and controlled the arterial bleeding. She's still critical, but her vitals are holding."
The relief that flooded through Kara was so intense it nearly brought her to her knees. Alex's arm around her waist kept her upright as the room seemed to tilt and spin around her.
"When can I see her?" Kara asked. The only question that mattered in that moment.
"She'll be in recovery for at least an hour, then we'll move her to the ICU," Dr. Hamilton replied. "She's heavily sedated and will remain intubated until her lung function improves. But—" she added, her expression softening slightly, "—one person can sit with her in recovery. Just one, and only if they promise not to interfere with the medical equipment."
"Me," Kara said immediately. "I'll go."
No one contested her claim, not even James, whose history with Lena might have given him cause. Instead, he nodded his acceptance, his expression a complex mixture of concern and something that might have been understanding.
"This way," Dr. Hamilton said, holding the door open for Kara. "I should warn you, she's connected to a lot of equipment. It can be... overwhelming to see someone you care about like that."
Kara followed her through the surgical suite doors, the sharp tang of disinfectant assaulting her senses. Her boots squeaked against the polished linoleum as she left the others in the waiting area with promises to update them on any change in Lena's condition.
The recovery room waited at the end of a short corridor lined with the DEO's signature black tactical panels and recessed blue lighting. Its interior was visible through a reinforced observation window—a high-tech fishbowl where alien-modified medical equipment and holographic monitoring displays projected vital signs in three-dimensional space, their readouts pulsing in blues and greens behind the bulletproof glass, the same security-focused design as the trauma bay where she'd first surrendered Lena to the agency's medical team.
Lena lay on a narrow bed, lost in the white expanse of hospital linens. Without her four-inch heels and perfect posture, she looked impossibly small—a hundred and thirty-five pounds dwarfed by the looming medical equipment that beeped and whirred around her like mechanical sentinels guarding a fallen queen. The intubation tube jutted cruelly from between her colorless lips. IV lines pierced her arms. Kara's superhearing caught everything—the mechanical whoosh-click of the ventilator forcing air into damaged lungs, the rhythmic drip-drip-drip of medication through IV lines, each droplet hitting Lena's bloodstream with a microscopic splash that sounded like thunder to Kara’s ears. These mechanical intrusions threatened to drown out what Kara strained most desperately to hear. The precious, thready flutter of Lena's heart, so faint it reminded her of a hummingbird's wings beating against a hurricane.
For the second time since returning to Earth, Kara felt something inside her chest shatter like glass. Lena's face told the story of her time in the Phantom Zone. A watercolor of yellowing-green bruises bloomed across her right cheekbone, fading at the edges but still stark against skin drawn paper-thin from dehydration. The surgical dressings, stained faintly pink at the edges, couldn't hide the mottled purple-black radiating outward from where her collarbone had fractured and her shoulder had been wrenched from its socket, only to be forced back into place—not once, but twice in her ordeal. Her once-glossy hair lay limp beneath a utilitarian cap, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck where a central line now violated skin Kara had never allowed herself to kiss. This broken, diminished version of Lena bore little resemblance to the woman who commanded boardrooms and outsmarted supervillains with equal ease. Kara pressed her fist against her mouth, trapping a sob.
"You can talk to her," Dr. Hamilton said as she guided Kara to a chair beside the bed. "Some studies suggest coma patients can hear even when they can't respond. Just... keep your expectations realistic. She's been through severe trauma. Recovery will take time."
Kara nodded mechanically, unable to tear her eyes from Lena's face.
Even unconscious, malnourished, dehydrated, bruised, and surrounded by medical equipment, she was the most beautiful thing Kara had ever seen—because she was alive. Breathing. Her heart beating in a rhythm that, while assisted by medication and machinery, was undeniably her own.
As Dr. Hamilton left to continue overseeing Lena's care, Kara reached for her hand—the one without the IV line—and gently entwined their fingers. Lena's skin felt cool to the touch, lacking its usual warmth, but definitely alive. Definitely real.
"I'm here," Kara whispered, leaning close enough that her words would reach Lena even without super-hearing. "I'm right here, Lena. And I'm not going anywhere."
The cardiac monitor beeped steadily, each peak a reminder that Lena fought on, that despite everything—Lex's betrayal, the Phantom Zone's horrors, the crystalline shard that had nearly taken her life—she refused to surrender. That stubborn Luthor determination that had always both frustrated and amazed Kara now directed toward the most important battle of all: survival.
"You have to keep fighting," Kara continued, her thumb tracing gentle patterns on the back of Lena's hand. "Because there's so much I need to tell you. So much we haven't done yet."
The ventilator hissed and clicked, forcing Lena's chest to rise and fall in a rhythm that looked painful in its artificiality. A nurse entered quietly to check the monitors, adjust an IV, and note something on Lena's chart before leaving again, her practiced efficiency a reminder that this was routine for the medical staff, if not for Kara.
Kara's voice caught in her throat. "My father’s alive," she whispered, the words still impossible even as she said them. She squeezed Lena's limp hand, shaking her head in disbelief. "You know that already—you were there—but Lena, my father’s alive. He's breathing Earth air right now because somehow, in that nightmare place, you found each other. You did that. You brought back someone I buried years ago."
Tears welled in Kara's eyes again, blurring her vision until Lena's face became an impressionist painting of pale skin and dark hair. She blinked them away impatiently, needing to see clearly, to memorize every detail of Lena's features as if they might change or fade if she looked away.
"I don't even know how to thank you for that," she whispered, tracing the blue veins visible beneath Lena's pale wrist with her fingers. "Only you could manage to save someone else while trapped in literal hell. Only you would find my father among countless prisoners and bring him back to me."
The cardiac monitor's rhythm changed slightly—a barely perceptible acceleration that might have been coincidence or might have been some part of Lena's unconscious mind responding to Kara's voice. Kara froze, watching the display with laser focus, but the change stabilized into a new pattern, neither better nor worse than before.
"You're going to be okay," she whispered, the words half-promise, half-prayer as she tried to fill the silence with something other than the mechanical sounds of the machines keeping Lena alive. "I know the doctors said recovery will take time, but you'll get through this. Even if it means months of those green smoothies you pretend to like but actually hate. You have to be okay, Lena. You have to."
She leaned closer, her lips nearly brushing Lena's ear as she lowered her voice to a whisper meant for Lena alone. "Because I love you." The words fell from her lips. Her fingers tightened around Lena's limp hand. "Not just as my best friend. I'm in—I love you, Lena. I've been in love with you since that first interview in your office, when you said that thing about making a name for yourself outside of your family. And I was just—I couldn't even talk right, remember? Said something stupid about your office being bigger than my apartment, which it is, but that's not—I couldn't look away from your eyes. They're so green in the center with that ring of blue, like looking at Earth from space. So beautiful, and I need you to open them again so I can tell you this when you're awake. Please."
Chapter 18: the vigil
Summary:
Kara refuses to leave Lena’s side as the DEO stabilizes her after surgery, keeping vigil through the worst of the recovery: machines breathing for her, vitals barely holding, her body a map of everything the Phantom Zone took. Alex and the others rotate in and out, but Kara stays—tethered to the sound of Lena’s fragile heartbeat and the words she never got to say while Lena was awake. When Lena finally stirs, she’s still confused, still hurting, still fighting her way back through sedation and trauma, but she’s alive—and that’s enough. For now.
Chapter Text
18
the vigil
Time passed in that strange, elastic way unique to hospital rooms—minutes stretching into hours that felt simultaneously endless and instantaneous. The recovery room's dimmed lights cast everything in a bluish pallor that made Lena's skin look translucent, the map of veins beneath visible to Kara's enhanced vision like rivers. Each heartbeat registered as both the electronic beep from the monitor and the actual wet thump-thump that Kara's superhearing locked onto like a lifeline.Sixty-three beats per minute. Steady but weak. The ventilator pushed and pulled with the relentless persistence of a metronome—sixteen breaths per minute, each one forcing Lena's chest to rise in a way that looked almost painful, nothing like the gentle rhythm Kara had memorized during movie nights at her apartment when Lena would drift off halfway through, her head gradually tilting until it found Kara's shoulder, the week's exhaustion finally claiming her as Kara watched the gentle flutter of her eyelashes instead of the screen.
The drainage tube from Lena's chest cavity produced a slow but steady trickle of pink-tinged fluid, each drop accumulating in the collection chamber with a microscopic splash that thundered in Kara's ears. Four surgical dressings marked Lena's torso—one over the initial wound site, another where they'd inserted the chest tube, a third covering the thoracotomy incision, and a fourth where they'd repaired a laceration to her spleen discovered during surgery. Each one required checking every fifteen minutes by the rotating nurses, their gloved hands gentle but clinical as they assessed for fresh bleeding or signs of infection.
Kara didn't move.
Couldn't move.
Her body hummed with a strange, electric exhaustion—muscles simultaneously leaden from the Phantom Zone's drain and vibrating with adrenaline that refused to subside. Her eyes burned from refusing to blink, terrified that in that millisecond of darkness, Lena's heart might stop again. The cardiac arrest timer reset in her head with each beat. One second since Lena's heart stopped. Two seconds. Three. Four. The counter never advancing beyond five before the next beat reset it, yet never fully banishing the image of that monitor's unbroken horizontal line stretching across three minutes and twenty-two seconds of eternity.
Kara leaned in, her voice cracking from hours of one-sided conversation to fill the silence. "The nurse—the one with the Star Wars scrubs, not the grumpy one—she said your color's better. Something science-y about hemoglobin levels? Alex explained it but I was too busy watching your monitors. They had to give you two whole bags of blood during surgery, which is terrifying but also kind of amazing how they can just do that, ya know?"
She brushed her thumb across Lena's knuckles, careful to avoid disturbing the arterial line taped to her wrist. The skin there felt papery and cool—nothing like Lena's usual warmth.
"Alex also managed to sneak a look at your chart—she says the doctors here actually know what they're doing." Kara attempted a smile. "Your lung will be good as new. Shoulder might be sore for a while, but nothing a superhero's best friend can't handle. Right? And maybe some physical therapy." Her voice caught on a tremor. "And those ribs—Rao, Lena. I guess we're twins now in the 'getting-thrown-across-rooms-by-bad-guys' department."
The ventilator hissed and clicked in response. Kara's enhanced hearing picked up the subtle bubbling sound from deep in Lena's chest—fluid still present but less than before. An improvement the doctors had noted with cautious optimism.
"My father can't stop talking about you," she continued, her voice catching slightly on the word 'father'—still strange on her tongue after years of absence. "He said you have my mother’s brilliance and her unflinching courage—how you managed to move even though you were, like, super hurt, just to make sure he got to that escape tunnel with you." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "He even mentioned how your eyes flash the same way when you're about to prove someone wrong. 'Formidable and beautiful, just like my wife’, were his exact words. High praise from a scientist of the House of El."
Kara leaned closer, her fingers maintaining that gentle contact with Lena's as if it were the only thing anchoring both of them to this reality.
"He told me how you found each other. How you recognized the crest on his shirt after your fall." Her voice cracked, the words coming out hollow and raw. "I saw it. Nia used her powers to..." She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I saw you fall. I watched you hit the ground, and I couldn't—" She stopped, unable to finish.
The cardiac monitor registered a slight uptick—63 beats per minute becoming 65, then 67. Kara froze, eyes darting between Lena's face and the monitor, searching for any sign of consciousness or distress. The numbers stabilized at 66.
"Just a normal fluctuation," the nurse explained as she entered to check the IV lines. "Her body's still adjusting to the medication changes."
Kara nodded mechanically, not entirely convinced. Something in the timing of that heart rate increase felt responsive rather than random, though she couldn't be certain if that was wishful thinking or science.
When the nurse left, Kara resumed her quiet monologue, unable to bear the silence filled only with mechanical breathing and electronic beeping. She talked about nothing and everything—recounting their first meeting at L-Corp when Clark had dragged her along for that interview and how Lena had tilted her head slightly, those sea glass eyes narrowing with that curious intelligence as she'd said, "I did't see your name on the byline." and how that casual observation had planted a seed, made Kara suddenly imagine herself as something other than Cat Grant's assistant; their late-night conversations over potstickers and kale salad where Lena would kick off her heels under the coffee table and curl her stockinged feet beneath her; the time Lena had argued passionately against The Little Mermaid during their Disney marathon, gesturing with her wine glass as she dissected how Ariel literally gave up her voice for a man she'd never even spoken to, and how Beauty and the Beast normalizes the idea that women can transform cruel men through sheer devotion, that if they just endure enough abuse with a smile, their captor will magically become Prince Charming instead of the monster he's repeatedly proven himself to be—"textbook abuse dynamics packaged as romance"—until her impassioned critique had given way to exhaustion, her head dropping onto Kara's shoulder halfway through Aladdin and Kara had scooped her up with gentle arms, depositing her on cool sheets and drawing the blanket up to cover her.
"I should have told you then," she whispered, her voice dropping so low that no human ear could have detected it. "When you looked so peaceful. I should have left a note or something. 'By the way, I'm completely in love with you. Sweet dreams’." A broken laugh escaped her. "But I was scared. Of losing you. Of ruining what we had. I mean, you knew me—the real me, the Kara who stress-eats donuts and cries at dog food commercials—but you didn't know all of me. Not the cape part. Not the flying part. I kept thinking there'd be this perfect moment to tell you everything, but then I'd imagine your face changing when you realized I'd been lying all that time, and I just... I couldn't. Which is stupid, because you're you and I'm me and we're... we were... we are... I don't even know anymore."
The EEG monitor registered a slight change—a ripple in the otherwise consistent pattern of sedated brain activity. Kara's breath caught, her eyes fixed on the display as the pattern shifted again before settling back into its previous rhythm.
"Lena?" she whispered, leaning closer. "Can you hear me?"
No response came, but the oxygen saturation numbers on the monitor ticked upward by a single percentage point—from 94% to 95%.
"That happens sometimes with sedated patients," the night nurse explained when she came to document vitals. "Random fluctuations in consciousness levels. The brain is still processing some external stimuli, even under sedation."
Kara nodded, but something inside her chest lightened fractionally. Even if it was just a coincidence, the idea that some part of Lena might hear her, might know she wasn't alone, was enough to keep Kara talking through the night.
Dawn had just begun to lighten the eastern sky when the alarms went off.
Kara jolted upright from where she'd been slumped forward, her forehead pressed against the starched edge of Lena's bed, leaving behind a faint crease in her skin. The cardiac monitor shrieked—not the hollow, continuous tone of cardiac arrest but a frantic, jagged rhythm that painted digital peaks and valleys across the screen, each one sending ribbons of ice through Kara's veins. Lena's body tensed beneath the thin hospital sheets, her spine forming a shallow arc as her oxygen levels plummeted from 95% to 87%, then 82%, the numbers flashing an angry red against the black display.
"She's fighting the vent," a nurse announced as she rushed into the room, immediately silencing the alarm and checking the ventilator settings. "Her sedation's wearing off."
Dr. Hamilton appeared seconds later, moving to Lena's side with practiced efficiency. "Lena?" she called, her voice loud and clear. “Lena, you're in the DEO medical bay. You're on a ventilator to help you breathe. Try to relax."
Lena's eyelids fluttered like moth wings against pale skin, revealing disoriented slivers of sea-glass green beneath heavy lashes. A fog of confusion clouded her gaze—pupils contracting sharply under the blue-white glow of the lighting panels overhead—before widening with immediate, animal panic as her dry lips registered the foreign plastic tube invading her throat. Her right hand lifted weakly from the crisp white sheet, trembling fingers grasping at nothing, reaching desperately toward her mouth with the uncoordinated movements of someone emerging from deep sedation.
"Don't try to pull it out," Dr. Hamilton instructed, gently restraining Lena's hand. "It's helping you breathe."
Kara swallowed the rising tide of her own terror and moved closer, her pulse thundering in her ears as she positioned herself where Lena could see her. "Lena," she called softly, her voice a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters as her fingers found Lena's. "I'm here. You're safe."
Recognition flickered in those green eyes—a momentary clarity cutting through the sedation fog and panic like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. The dull, medicated glaze lifted for just a heartbeat, revealing the sharp intelligence that was quintessentially Lena. Her pale fingers, cool against Kara's warm skin, tightened fractionally around Kara's hand—the pressure barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings against her palm, but as unmistakable as a lighthouse beam cutting through midnight darkness.
"That's it," Kara encouraged, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. "Just focus on me. The tube is temporary. Just until your lung heals."
Lena's gaze remained fixed on Kara's face, the panic gradually receding as her breathing synchronized with the ventilator's rhythm. The cardiac monitor's frantic beeping slowed as her heart rate stabilized.
"Good," Dr. Hamilton said, checking the monitors. "Her vitals are improving. This is actually a positive sign—emerging from sedation means her body's getting stronger."
"Should we keep her awake?" Kara asked, hope rising in her chest.
"Not yet," the doctor replied, already preparing a syringe. "Her lung needs more time to heal before we can extubate. We'll adjust her sedation to keep her comfortable but not completely unconscious. She'll drift in and out."
Kara nodded, her eyes never leaving Lena's face as Dr. Hamilton administered the medication through the IV line. The clear liquid traveled down the thin plastic tubing, disappearing into the bruised crook of Lena's elbow. Kara watched as Lena's eyelids fluttered, growing heavier with each passing second. The sea-glass green of her irises disappeared millimeter by millimeter beneath dark lashes, the brief spark of consciousness dimming like a candle flame in a growing wind.
Just before her eyes closed completely, Lena's slender fingers tightened once more around Kara's—a deliberate squeeze that carried more meaning than words could have, her pale fingertips pressing into Kara's palm with surprising strength. Then her hand went limp, the warmth of her touch lingering even as the sedative pulled her back under into chemical darkness.
The room fell quiet again, save for the steady beep-hiss-click of the machines—the ventilator's mechanical inhale and exhale, the cardiac monitor's digital heartbeat, the IV pump's methodical drip. Kara remained standing, her hand still holding Lena's, their fingers intertwined against the stark white sheet. Without warning, her body began trembling, starting as a fine vibration in her fingertips before cascading through her limbs like an earthquake—as if all the fear and exhaustion she'd been holding at bay crashed through her at once. Her knees buckled beneath her, the room tilting sideways as she caught herself on the edge of the bed, the metal frame bending slightly under her desperate grip.
"She knew me," she whispered, the words emerging as a sob. "She recognized me."
"That's a very good sign," the nurse assured her, placing a gentle hand on Kara's shoulder. "Why don't you sit before you fall down? You've been here for hours."
Kara sank into the chair, her body betraying her with violent tremors that rattled her teeth. The adrenaline that had sustained her through the Phantom Zone, through the desperate flight home, through Lena's surgery and the endless night of waiting—it evaporated all at once, leaving her hollow and shaking. Her vision blurred, the room tilting at odd angles as her superhearing suddenly amplified every sound to painful intensity—the squeak of the nurse's shoes against linoleum, the rustle of Lena's hospital gown as her chest rose and fell, the distant voices of DEO agents changing shifts in corridors she shouldn't have been able to hear through reinforced walls.
"Breathe," the nurse instructed, her voice gentle but firm. "You're having a stress reaction."
Kara tried to focus, to pull her senses back under control, but the trembling only intensified. Her fingers clutched at Lena's hand with desperate strength that she immediately feared was too much, too dangerous for someone so fragile. She forced herself to loosen her grip, terrified of causing more harm.
"I can't—" she began, her voice breaking. "I need to stay with her."
"And you can," the nurse assured her. "But you need to take care of yourself too. When was the last time you ate? Or slept?"
Kara couldn't remember. Time had lost all meaning since they'd entered the Phantom Zone. Had it been hours? Days? Her stomach cramped suddenly, a hollow ache that reminded her that Kryptonian metabolism required constant fuel, especially after solar depletion.
"Alex is outside," the nurse continued, already moving toward the door. "Let me get her. You need someone right now too."
Before Kara could protest, the door opened and Alex slipped inside, her face drawn with exhaustion but eyes alert with concern. She crossed to Kara's side, crouching beside the chair to meet her at eye level.
"Hey," she said softly, her hand warm on Kara's knee. "The nurse said Lena woke up?"
Kara nodded, unable to form words as tears spilled down her cheeks. The relief was so intense it felt like physical pain, a pressure in her chest that threatened to crack her ribs open.
"She squeezed my hand," she managed finally, the words emerging broken and raw. "She knew me, Alex."
Alex's own eyes filled with tears, though she blinked them back. "Of course she did," she said, her voice steady despite the emotion evident in her expression. Her lips quirked up at one corner, her eyebrow arching in that sisterly way that had always meant I-love-you-but-I'm-going-to-tease-you-anyway. "You're pretty unforgettable, you know.”
A sound escaped Kara—half laugh, half sob—as the tension fractured like ice breaking on a spring lake. She leaned forward, her forehead coming to rest on Alex's shoulder, the familiar scent of her sister's shampoo and tactical gear filling her nostrils. Her sister’s hands moved instinctively—one arm wrapping around Kara's shoulders while the other hand cradled the nape of her neck, fingers threading gently through tangled blonde hair. Kara’s shoulders shuddered with each ragged breath as her body surrendered to the release, tears dampening the fabric beneath her cheek as Alex's thumb traced small, soothing circles against her scalp. For the first time since carrying Lena's bloodied body through the tunnels, Kara felt the fragile hope that Lena might actually survive this.
"I can't leave her," she whispered, the words muffled against Alex's tactical shirt.
"You don't have to," Alex assured her. "But you do need to eat something. And maybe change clothes." She pulled back slightly, her nose wrinkling as she gave an exaggerated sniff. "Eau de Phantom Zone," she said with that particular Alex blend of sarcasm and affection. "Bold choice for hospital wear. Very avant-garde."
Kara glanced down at herself, suddenly aware that she was still in her Supergirl suit—the blue fabric darkened with Lena's dried blood across the chest, the House of El crest barely visible beneath crystalline dust from the Phantom Zone. The cape hung heavy and torn at her shoulders, singed at the edges from the acrid energy of dimensional travel. The nanite bracelet at her wrist gleamed dully against the suit's sleeve, its surface dormant but somehow expectant, as if ready to activate at a moment's notice.
"I can't—" she began again, her eyes returning to Lena's face.
"Fifteen minutes," Alex countered, her tone gentle but brooking no argument. "Just to shower and change. There's a locker room two doors down. I brought you fresh clothes." She squeezed Kara's hand. "I'll stay with her the entire time. I promise she won't be alone for a second."
Kara hesitated, torn between the desperate need to remain at Lena's side and the undeniable logic of Alex's suggestion. Her super-senses were beginning to register her own state—the dried sweat and blood stiffening her clothes, the grime coating her skin, the tangled mess of her hair.
"Fifteen minutes," she agreed finally, her voice barely audible. "Not a second more."
Alex nodded, already pulling the chair closer to Lena's bed as Kara reluctantly released her hand. "I've got her," she promised. "Go take care of yourself so you can take care of her."
Kara stood on unsteady legs, pins and needles cascading down her calves as circulation returned to muscles gone numb from hours of vigil. The DEO's polished concrete floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet, a subtle vertigo that made her reach for the bed rail to steady herself. She leaned down, her blonde hair falling forward like a curtain around them both, and pressed her lips to Lena's forehead—skin cool and paper-thin against her mouth, smelling faintly of antiseptic. The gesture flowed from her with such instinctive tenderness she didn't question it until she was already pulling away, her lips tingling with the lingering warmth of contact.
"I'll be right back," she whispered against Lena's skin. "Alex is staying with you. Just... keep fighting."
As she moved toward the door, each step feeling like a betrayal, Kara cast one final glance over her shoulder. Alex had already taken her place, one hand holding Lena's while the other gently smoothed a strand of dark hair away from her face. The sight should have reassured her—her sister would guard Lena with the same fierce protectiveness she'd always shown toward Kara herself—but something cold and heavy settled in her stomach nonetheless.
What if Lena woke again while she was gone?
What if her condition changed?
What if—
The cardiac monitor's steady beeping followed her into the corridor, each tone a reminder that Lena's heart continued to beat, continued to fight. Kara clung to that sound, letting it guide her toward the locker room where she could wash away the physical remnants of their ordeal, if not the emotional ones.
Fifteen minutes.
She could do this.
For Lena.
Chapter 19: when the world comes back
Summary:
As days pass, Kara keeps an unbroken vigil at Lena's side.
But the more Lena heals, the more her memories return—Lex’s attack, the Zone, and the soft, impossible words she thinks she heard Kara whisper while she was unconscious. Kara’s devotion only deepens Lena’s guilt, and as she confronts the wreckage she’s left in her wake, one truth settles like a stone in her chest: she may survive this, but she doesn’t deserve the love she’s beginning to realize Kara feels for her.
Chapter Text
19
when the world comes back
Lena drifted.
Consciousness came in fragments—jagged pieces that didn't fit together properly.
One moment she was drowning, lungs burning as she sank through black water thick as oil, surrounded by writhing shapes with too many limbs and too few faces. The next, the crushing pressure of the Phantom Zone's void collapsed her chest, that sickly violet-green-gray light filtering through a dimension where physics bent wrong, where whispers echoed without speakers and shadows hunted. Then suddenly she was burning with white-hot pain that had no source and no end, her very atoms seeming to vibrate at frequencies that threatened to tear her apart. Time stretched and contracted like molten glass pulled too thin, then snapped back with brutal force, leaving afterimages of horrors her mind couldn't—wouldn't—process.
The first concrete sensation was sound—a mechanical whoosh-click that repeated with metronome-like consistency, each cycle pushing air into resistant lungs. Then came the pressure in her throat, foreign and invasive, like swallowing a plastic tube that refused to go down completely, triggering a primal panic that clawed up from her chest before darkness claimed her again. Later—minutes? hours? days?—she surfaced to feel something warm against her hand. Fingers interlaced with hers, slightly calloused at the tips but impossibly gentle, a thumb tracing feather-light spirals across her knuckles. The gesture felt achingly familiar, like a half-remembered lullaby from her childhood, though she couldn't place why through the cotton-wool fog of her thoughts.
A voice came next, floating through the darkness like sunlight filtering through deep water. The words themselves remained indistinct, but the cadence—that gentle rise and fall, the way certain syllables lilted upward at the end of sentences—was unmistakable. Kara. Always Kara. The realization tugged her closer to consciousness, a golden thread pulling her through layers of fog, though her eyelids remained weighted with lead, impossible to lift. She tried to respond, to squeeze the hand holding hers, to move even a single finger against that warm palm, but her body lay traitorous and inert, refusing even the simplest neural commands as though the connection between mind and muscle had been severed.
Darkness swallowed her again, then fractured as light—harsh, blue-white, clinical—seeped through her closed eyelids like acid. The breathing tube lodged in her trachea seemed to expand, scraping against raw tissue with every mechanical inflation of her lungs. This time the panic broke through completely, primal and electric. Her eyes flew open to blinding brightness that sent white-hot daggers into her skull, turning her vision into a kaleidoscope of pain-induced stars. She tried to gasp, to cry out, but the rigid plastic cylinder blocked her airway, transforming her scream into a muffled gurgle that tasted of antiseptic and copper. Her right hand lifted in desperate, uncoordinated movements, fingers trembling and clumsy as they scrabbled at her neck, reaching for the layers of medical tape that confined the invasive tube to her throat.
“Lena.”
That voice sliced through her terror, an anchor in the storm.
Kara.
Recognition flooded her system like a warm current, momentarily overriding the searing pain and cold terror. Kara was here—golden hair haloed by the harsh fluorescent lights, worry etched into the tiny crease between her eyebrows. Kara had found her. The realization settled deep into her marrow with the spreading warmth of absolute certainty—the one fixed constellation in a universe of shifting, nebulous shadows. She tried to form Kara's name, forgetting the rigid plastic tube wedged between her vocal cords, and choked instead. Fresh panic surged through her chest as her lungs spasmed violently around the foreign object, each desperate attempt to breathe scraping raw tissue against unyielding medical-grade polymer.
“Don’t try to talk,” Kara said, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “You’re intubated. It’s helping you breathe.”
Lena forced herself to focus on Kara’s face, using it as an anchor against the rising tide of confusion and pain. She registered other voices in the room—clinical, authoritative—but they faded to background noise as she clung to Kara’s gaze. Her fingers found Kara’s again, clutching with what little strength she could muster.
Something cold entered her veins—medication through an IV line she hadn’t noticed until now. The room began to blur at the edges, darkness creeping in from the periphery of her vision. She fought against it, desperate to maintain this tenuous connection, but the sedative pulled her under with inexorable force. The last thing she saw was Kara’s face, tears tracking silently down her cheeks as she whispered something Lena couldn’t quite catch before consciousness slipped away again.
* * *
The second awakening was gentler.
The invasive pressure in her throat was gone, replaced by a burning rawness that flared with each shallow breath, as if she'd swallowed broken glass and chased it with an acid shooter. An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth, its plastic rim digging into her cheeks while the cool medicinal flow tickled her skin. Her eyelids fluttered open to a dimmer room—night, perhaps, or merely lowered lights for comfort, the shadows gathering in corners like silent observers. The pain was immediate and all-encompassing—a constellation of agony mapped across her body, each nerve ending a separate star of suffering in a galaxy of hurt that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Her left side throbbed, the surgical site burning as if someone had pressed a branding iron between her fourth and fifth ribs. Each wave of pain radiated outward in concentric circles of agony, from searing crimson at the center to a dull burgundy that spread across her torso. Her ribs protested with knife-edge clarity whenever her chest expanded beyond the shallowest breath, the broken ends grinding together like porcelain shards beneath her skin. Her shoulder and collarbone felt fused together in wrongness, immobilized by what she gradually recognized as a complex stabilization brace beneath the paper-thin hospital gown that smelled faintly of industrial bleach. A constant, dull ache pulsed behind her eyes in time with the LED lights overhead—the lingering reminder of the concussion that had left her consciousness fragmenting like shattered glass, drifting in and out of lucidity in the oppressive, airless void of the Phantom Zone for three days.
“You're awake.”
Kara's voice, soft with relief, came from her right. Lena turned her head fractionally, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain cascading down her neck. Kara sat in a chair pulled so close to the bed that her knees pressed against the metal frame, leaving indentations in her skin. Her shoulders curved forward in the distinctive hunch of someone who had maintained a bedside vigil without respite. Her blonde hair hung in damp tendrils from a hastily-secured elastic, the ends still darkened with shower water that had left tiny wet patches on the collar of her heather-gray DEO-issue T-shirt. The fabric clung to her collarbones, wrinkled from what must have been days of wear. Dark half-moons shadowed her eyes, making the blue of her irises seem to glow with an almost feverish intensity—the same otherworldly azure that sometimes flared just before her heat vision activated.
Lena tried to speak, but her throat produced only a dry rasp that triggered a coughing fit. Each cough felt like broken glass grinding against her ribs, tears springing to her eyes as she struggled to control the spasm.
“Here,” Kara said, immediately reaching for a cup of ice chips on the bedside table. She gently lifted the oxygen mask and placed a small chip against Lena’s parched lips. “Just let it melt. Don’t try to swallow yet.”
The ice dissolved on Lena’s tongue, the moisture heaven against her raw throat. When she tried again, her voice emerged as a whisper. “How long?”
“Three days since we got back,” Kara answered, her thumb absently tracing patterns on the back of Lena’s hand—a gesture so natural it seemed she didn’t realize she was doing it. “You were intubated until this morning.”
Three days. The information settled like a stone in Lena’s stomach. Three days of lying unconscious while her body fought to repair the damage her own had inflicted. Three days of Kara waiting, watching, wondering if she would survive.
“The doctors said you’re doing better than expected,” Kara continued, her voice taking on a forced brightness that didn’t reach her eyes. “Dr. Hamilton says your lung is healing well. The surgery went perfectly. They had to repair your spleen too—apparently it was lacerated, which they didn’t know until they were already in there. And your collarbone will need more time, but they’ve set it properly now.”
The clinical litany of her injuries made Lena's head spin, the lights above her blurring into smeared halos. She'd known it was bad when she felt the crystalline shard sliding between her ribs, the alien material parting flesh and scraping bone with a sound like ice cracking across a frozen lake. But hearing her broken body catalogued so methodically, each damaged organ and fractured bone tallied like items on a grocery list, brought home the stark reality. She had hovered at that gossamer threshold where life surrenders from the mortal coil.
“I almost died,” she whispered.
Kara’s expression crumpled, the careful composure she’d been maintaining fracturing. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice breaking on the single syllable. “Your heart stopped for over three minutes.”
The monitor beside the bed registered Lena’s shock with an accelerated beeping. Her heart stopped. She hadn’t almost died. She’d been clinically dead. The knowledge settled into her bones with cold certainty.
“But you’re here now,” Kara added quickly, her fingers tightening around Lena’s. “You’re alive. You’re healing.”
Lena nodded fractionally, unable to form words as images flashed behind her eyes—Lex's face contorted with rage, his upper lip curled back to reveal teeth clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his jaw. The crystal shard caught the bright flare of light from what she could only guess had been a sun bomb—one of her design—its facets fracturing into rainbow prisms before disappearing between her ribs with a wet, sucking sound that ended in a sickening pop as it penetrated the pleural cavity. She remembered the warm rush of copper-scented wetness spreading across her her bandages, the sensation of drowning as her left lung filled with liquid, each desperate gasp producing less oxygen than the last until darkness swallowed her vision from the edges inward. Then, strangely, fragments of what came after—a sensation of floating in cool nothingness, of voices speaking above and around her like distant echoes underwater, of Kara's presence radiating warmth like sunshine through a frosted window, a golden thread anchoring her to life when every other connection had frayed.
“Zor-El?” she asked suddenly, the memory of Kara’s father surfacing through the haze of memory. “Is he—”
“He’s fine,” Kara assured her, a smile—the first genuine one—breaking across her face. “He’s with J’onn at the Tower. They're discussing his plans to return to Argo City.”
Relief washed through Lena like cool water, momentarily eclipsing the constellation of pain mapped across her body. The tightness in her chest loosened, and she felt her next breath come easier. At least she'd managed to do that much—to bring Kara's father back from that nightmare realm where shadows moved of their own accord and the air itself tasted of despair. One good thing, one tiny point of light, amidst the chaos and destruction that seemed to follow her like a curse.
A nurse entered, breaking the moment. She checked Lena’s vitals with, her expression warming slightly when she saw Lena conscious. “Good to see those eyes open,” she said, adjusting the IV drip. “On a scale of one to ten, how’s your pain?”
Lena's lips parted to form the practiced lie—a lifetime of Luthor training commanding her to project strength—but the white-hot daggers stabbing between her ribs with each shallow breath and the molten lead seemingly poured into her shoulder joint made the word "fine" shrivel on her tongue. The truth clawed its way up her throat, raw and undeniable as the sweat beading along her hairline and the involuntary tremor in her left hand. “Eight,” she admitted, the word barely audible.
The nurse nodded, unsurprised. “I can give you something for that. It’ll make you drowsy, though.”
“That’s fine,” Lena said, already exhausted from the few minutes of consciousness. The idea of slipping back into painless darkness held more appeal than she cared to admit.
As the nurse administered the medication through her IV line, Lena felt Kara's gaze on her face, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle despite the drugs beginning to cloud her system. Those blue eyes—the color of a Santorini sea at midday—held something that transcended mere concern or relief. It was a look that seemed to memorize every line of her face, every flutter of her eyelashes, as though Kara were creating a mental photograph of this moment. The slight furrow between her brows deepened, her pupils dilated slightly, and her lips parted just enough to reveal the edge of her front teeth pressing into her bottom lip. It was an expression Lena couldn't quite decipher through the thickening fog of painkillers—something raw and unguarded that made her heart monitor skip a beat.
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Kara promised, her thumb still making those small, soothing circles against Lena’s skin.
The medication worked quickly, pulling Lena toward sleep with gentle but insistent hands. The hospital room blurred at its edges, the lights overhead smearing into watercolor halos. As consciousness began to slip away, a memory surfaced through the narcotic haze—fragmentary and dreamlike, yet rendered in high definition. The scent of antiseptic mixed with Kara's familiar vanilla-and-sunshine perfume, the weight of fingers interlaced with hers, the tickle of blonde hair against her cheek. Then Kara's voice, trembling with emotion, each syllable crystal clear despite the cotton wool filling Lena's head, whispered words that couldn't possibly be real.
“I love you, Lena. I’ve been in love with you since that first interview in your office…”
The memory faded as quickly as it had appeared, dissolving like sugar in hot tea, sweet particles breaking apart until nothing remained but the darkness that claimed her. Her last coherent thought floated on the surface of her consciousness like a fallen autumn leaf on still water. Her mind must be playing cruel tricks, conjuring phantom whispers of love in Kara's voice—the one impossible treasure she'd locked away in the most fortified chamber of her heart, behind walls thicker than her family's vaults, where even she rarely dared to look.
* * *
The DEO's blue-tinged lights pulsed at their lowest setting overhead, casting ghostly shadows across the medical equipment that surrounded Lena like technological sentinels. Days slipped past in a blur of PCA pumps with their amber-lit buttons and quiet mechanical sighs, vital‐sign readouts that painted her existence in jagged green peaks and valleys, and fleeting moments of clarity that broke through the narcotic haze like sunlight through storm clouds. Lena marked time by the rhythm of DEO nurses' shift reports—hushed voices at 7 AM and 7 PM discussing her solely in clinical terminology—by the cadence of analgesics that flooded her veins with blessed coolness before retreating to let pain's hot pokers reclaim her nerves, and by the procession of visitors whose whispers filled the sterile ward whenever she let her eyelids flutter closed while her consciousness remained stubbornly alert.
Alex came first each morning, her clinical assessment of Lena's condition tempered with a warmth that would have surprised them both a month ago, when Lena's betrayal still hung between them. Kelly appeared nearly as often—occasionally arm in arm with Alex, their quiet laughter echoing down the corridor before they slipped into Lena’s room. James showed up once, lingering in the doorway before depositing a Guardian key chain on the bedside table, his posture awkward with unspoken apologies. J’onn’s visits were brief but anchoring—a solemn nod, a hand laid on Lena’s shoulder. Nia arrived bearing sunflowers so bright they seemed out of place among the DEO’s white walls; the flowers’ golden petals somehow calmed the nightmares that jolted Lena awake. Brainy and Nia occasionally arrived together, Brainy consulting a digital tablet while Nia steered him away from statistical probability debates into small talk about Lena’s mood.
Yet Kara was the constant thread.
Whether Lena woke at noon or three in the morning, Kara was there—sometimes dozing in the uncomfortable chair, sometimes talking quietly with the medical staff, sometimes simply tracing the edge of Lena’s blanket with a finger, her gaze so full of worry that Lena’s own heart ached.
On the fifth day, Dr. Hamilton announced that the chest tube could come out. The DEO’s senior trauma specialist worked with practiced efficiency, loosening the transparent plastic catheter that had drained fluid from Lena’s lung. What should have taken mere seconds stretched into an eternity of exquisite torture. Each millimeter of removal felt like shards of volcanic glass grinding through raw muscle, scraping against the tender pink tissue of her pleural cavity. Lena's breath caught in her throat, the sterile room narrowing to a tunnel of white-hot agony that pulsed behind her eyelids in crimson bursts. Sweat beaded at her temples, trickling down to dampen the collar of her hospital gown as her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms. Kara gripped her hand so tightly that her knuckles went pale. Her golden hair fell forward; she leaned in close, voice trembling as she whispered a steady stream of encouragements and apologies.
“You’re almost there,” Kara murmured, thumb stroking the back of Lena’s hand as the tube slid free. The doctor pressed a sterile gauze pad against the wound. “Just a bit more pressure.”
Lena sank her teeth into her lower lip, breaking capillaries beneath the skin until metallic warmth flooded her mouth. Her jaw locked against the scream building in her chest, but her body betrayed her anyway—tears cutting silent tracks down her face as the tube slid from between her ribs with a wet, sucking sound that made her stomach heave. The sudden absence left a strange hollow sensation, both relief and new pain flooding the space where foreign plastic had been. Dr. Hamilton applied Steri-strips in a neat crosshatch pattern before covering the angry red puncture with a thick gauze pad. She pressed a gloved finger lightly above the dressing. "The removal of the chest tube will improve mobility, Ms. Luthor, but I'd advise against any rotation of the thorax or elevation of the affected arm beyond forty-five degrees. Those three fractured ribs and the comminuted clavicular fracture need a minimum of six weeks to achieve primary ossification." She made a notation in the chart. "We'll continue pain management at the current dosage for the next 72 hours."
After the doctor left, Kara eased Lena up with the gentlest patience, settling a pillow against her back and smoothing each wrinkle in the pillowcase. The simple shift sent electric jolts from the bandaged site up through Lena’s shoulder blade and down to her fingertips. She inhaled sharply, the DEO’s recycled air burning her lungs. Lena forced herself not to wince out loud. Feeling Kara’s hand on hers, she fought the instinct to pull away.
“Better?” Kara prompted.
Lena forced a short nod and whispered, “Yes.” It wasn’t true—every inch of her body throbbed—but admitting the full extent of her pain felt like surrender.
Kara didn’t press further.
Instead, she leaned back, fingers still entwined with Lena’s, as though afraid to let go. “My father asked about you,” she said, voice lifting. “He’s tied up in a project with Brainy, but he’d like to see you soon—when you’re up to it.”
Warmth bloomed in Lena’s chest at the thought of seeing Zor-El. “I’d like that,” she whispered. “He… saved my life.”
Kara’s blue eyes grew distant for a moment. “He told me—finding you in that ravine, treating your wounds...”
Lena's gaze dropped to Kara's DEO T-shirt, the emblem stark against cotton. "I remember... pieces," she said, the lie bitter on her tongue. What she wouldn't say was how clearly she recalled asking Zor-El to tell her about little Kara on Krypton—the color of her childhood bedroom, her favorite science projects, the way she'd looked under a red sun—desperate to collect these fragments while believing she'd never see her Kara again.
Kara's voice fell to a near-whisper, the words catching in her throat before she managed to continue. “He also told me about Lex…”
Her pulse doubled, the cardiac monitor's beeping accelerating in sharp staccato. The hospital room dissolved into the memory—Lex's cold smile hovering above her—then snapped back to fluorescent lights before dissolving again. A whimper escaped her lips. Past and present collided in disorienting array. The antiseptic smell of the DEO's medical bay mingled with the metallic scent of blood. Kryptonite cuffs glowing sickly green that seeped into Kara’s veins under the blue-white ambient light of the Fortress. The pressure of the mattress against her fractured ribs morphed into the sensation of falling. Lex brandished the Phantom Zone projector while the IV catheter pulled at her vein. Her breathing quickened to shallow gasps. Crystal cracked against her skull as the oxygen saturation alarm began chirping. Through the fog, she glimpsed Kara leaning forward, mouth forming words she couldn't hear. Sweat beaded along her surgical incision. His fingers grazed her blazer. The ceiling tiles above blurred. Twenty feet of empty air. The pulse oximeter slid off her trembling finger as she heard herself making a strangled sound. Bone snapping. Her diaphragm spasmed. Kara's panicked eyes swam into focus briefly before darkness claimed her vision again. Copper flooded her mouth as she bit through her lip. Lena's fingers curled around the bed rail, knuckles white, tachycardia making the room swim.
"Kara..." she rasped, vocal cords constricting against the phantom sensation of falling.
Kara's hand found hers, warm and solid, an anchor in the storm. The pressure of those fingers against her palm—real, present, alive—pulled her back from the precipice. As the room stopped spinning, Kara's voice filtered through the panic. "—right here with you, Lena. I've got you. Just breathe with me." Lena focused on the gentle circles Kara's thumb traced across her skin, each rotation drawing her further from the memory of Lex, of shattering crystal, of plummeting through empty air. The panic receded like a tide, leaving her drained and shivering in its wake.
"I'm sorry," Kara breathed, voice small. "I shouldn't have—"
“It’s okay,” Lena managed, though her voice sounded hollow. “He’s… still in the Zone?”
Kara nodded, lips pressed thin. “Both him and Nyxly.”
Relief washed over Lena, damping the raw edges of fear.
Lex locked away where he could never again wrap his fingers around Kara's throat or turn his twisted genius against the people she loved—a phantom trapped in his own void.
“Good,” she whispered, though “good” scarcely seemed enough.
Kara leaned in, eyes intense. “You saved me,” she said softly. “Your brilliant mind saw what he was planning with the Phantom Zone projector before anyone else could. You'd already calculated the only possible countermove. And then—" Kara's voice caught, "—even knowing what it would cost you physically, you still lunged for that piece, because you understood if Lex ever made it back to Earth, none of us would be safe."”
Lena turned her face slightly away, the corner of her mouth lifting in a brittle approximation of a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I just did the math," she murmured, each word careful and measured. "The probability of survival was..." She paused, fingers picking at a loose thread on the blanket until it frayed further. "...negligible either way. But the odds of you surviving if I didn't act were zero."
"No," Kara said firmly, catching Lena's chin with her fingertips when she tried to look away. "Don't diminish what you did. The math wasn't cold calculation. It was—" Her thumb traced Lena's jawline, the touch so delicate it felt electric. "You fought to stay alive when it would have been easier not to," she whispered, her fingertips trembling against Lena's skin. "That kind of courage... I've seen gods with less strength than you."
The words reverberated through Lena's chest like a bell. She didn't feel strong—she felt like a porcelain doll that had been dropped from a great height, hairline fractures spreading beneath her perfect painted surface. Soon enough, the cracks would deepen, and she would shatter completely. Her own fingers trembled against the hospital sheet, terrified of what they might break next—hadn't her hands always been the ones to shatter everything they reached for?
And yet here was Kara, looking at her as though she were made of steel instead of fragile ceramic, her faith in Lena as absolute as gravity.
A softer memory flickered at the edge of her consciousness. Kara's voice, raw and trembling, whispering against Lena's temple in the haze after surgery—"…I love you…not just as a friend." Lena's bottom lip betrayed her with a subtle quiver. She blinked rapidly, fighting the sudden burning in her eyes as Kara's fingertips traced her jawline. The touch was so tender it hurt worse than her broken bones. Kara's eyes held something raw and unguarded—hope, perhaps—and that terrified Lena more than plummeting through crystal, more than Lex's cold smile, more than the endless void of the Phantom Zone ever could. Because if this was real, what then?
“Miss Luthor?” The nurse peered in, tablet in hand. “Are you both okay? Physical therapy arrives in twenty minutes.”
Lena forced a smile, pulling away from Kara’s touch. “We’re fine. Just resting.”
Kara gave a small nod, though worry lingered in her eyes. She pressed a kiss to Lena’s knuckles before settling back.
As sleep pulled her under, the dream-memory returned in vivid color. Kara’s trembling confession, her tear-wet cheek against Lena’s, every syllable exquisitely real and utterly impossible. Lena’s heart clenched. If Kara truly felt that way—if her devotion was so fierce—it only underscored the chasm between them. The legacy of Luthor darkness, the calculated cruelties, the blood on her hands. None of it could ever be washed clean.
In the quiet of the DEO ward, Lena exhaled the truth she couldn’t speak aloud.
She didn’t deserve Kara’s love.
Not after everything.
Not ever.
* * *
Physical therapy was worse than Lena had imagined.
At exactly fourteen hundred hours, Agent Diane Westlake strode in—a compact powerhouse with cropped silver-gray hair buzzed military-short at the temples, the black DEO emblem stark against her regulation navy sleeve, and a sleek carbon-fiber tablet already synced to Lena's chart, its blue glow illuminating the hard angles of her face. Kara hovered by the foot of the bed, her fingers curled around the metal rail, determination and dread flickering across her cornflower blue eyes as Diane offered a curt nod of greeting.
“All right,” Diane said, voice brisk but not unkind. “We’ll begin with passive range-of-motion—right side only. Then we’ll see if you can shift up to a seated position.”
Lena managed a thin nod, her neck muscles protesting even that small movement. The fentanyl drip in her arm had dulled the worst of the agony to a distant throb, but she knew that once she moved, pain would slice through the medication's haze like a serrated blade through tissue paper. She swallowed hard against the rising nausea, tasting the metallic residue of fear at the back of her throat, her tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth as if that pressure alone could keep the bile from climbing higher.
“Agent Danvers,” Diane instructed, tapping her tablet. “Stand on Ms. Luthor’s left. Be ready to support if needed.”
Kara moved into position with such fluid speed that Lena almost caught the telltale blur at her edges—that whisper of superhuman motion quickly reined in as her shoulders tensed. For a moment Lena simply watched those familiar lines of worry etched around Kara’s mouth—Kara who'd been holding her hand for days, a constant anchor. The memory wrenched at her chest.
Diane began with Lena’s right wrist, bending it gently until Lena’s teeth clenched. Elbow, ankle, knee—each rotation felt like sandpaper sliding over bone. Lena’s breathing hitched. Kara made a small sound, as if she wanted to reach out but feared doing more harm.
Then Diane raised the bed’s head just an inch. “Use your right arm to push. I’ll support your left. Agent Danvers, standby.”
Lena nodded, bracing her feet against the thin mattress, toes curling beneath the starched hospital sheet. On Diane's count—a crisp "one, two, three" that cut through the antiseptic air—she shoved upward. The world exploded in technicolor agony. Each fractured rib flared like molten metal poured into her chest cavity, the six-inch stitched incision on her torso seared as if someone were dragging a lit match along its length, and her collarbone inside the rigid white brace ground with such feral intensity that black spots danced at the edges of her vision. An involuntary gasp tore free, raw and ragged, scraping past her dry lips.
“Easy,” Diane murmured, stabilizing Lena at the hip. “Breathe.”
Kara’s hand hovered, trembling. “Should I stop her?” she whispered.
Lena shook her head, teeth gritted. “No. Keep going.”
She forced herself another inch higher. Sweat beaded at her hairline. Vision dimmed at the edges. Waves of nausea crashed against her diaphragm. But she refused to yield.
When her torso finally cleared the bed’s incline, Diane slipped a pillow behind her back. “Hold for thirty seconds. Then we’ll lower you.”
Thirty seconds stretched into a gauntlet of white-hot shards coursing through her body. Lena locked her gaze on Kara’s face—those fierce, luminous eyes that swirled with pride, fear, and something unspoken that tightened Lena’s throat.
“Ten more,” Diane prompted. “You’re stronger than you think.”
Her right arm shook like a leaf, muscles trembling on the brink of collapse. When Diane gently guided her down, the relief was almost as sharp as the ascent had been.
Once Lena lay back, Diane tapped on her tablet. “Excellent for day one. We’ll push a little further tomorrow. For now—rest.”
As Diane exited with a final crisp nod, the pneumatic door hissing shut behind her, Lena closed her eyes and sank deeper into the thin institutional pillow. She counted each shallow breath—one, two, three—as waves of dull crimson pain radiated outward from her fractured ribs, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. The hospital mattress dipped and creaked slightly as Kara perched on its rightmost edge, her weight carefully distributed to avoid jostling Lena's injured left side, her warmth a stark contrast to the room's clinical chill.
“You were incredible,” Kara said softly, reaching for Lena’s uninjured hand and squeezing. “Honestly, I don’t know if I could’ve done it.”
Lena forced a bitter smile. “You’ve survived explosions, alien invasions, brainwashed clones. A few physio exercises shouldn’t faze you.”
Kara gave a small, wry laugh, her thumb tracing those same lazy circles on Lena’s knuckles. “My Kryptonian physiology means I barely feel pain. Not the way you do. What you just did—pushing through that kind of pain—that takes a different kind of strength.”
Lena opened her eyes to find Kara watching her with that same intensity she’d worn since Lena first regained consciousness. Relief, worry—and maybe, just for a heartbeat, something deeper that made Lena’s heart stutter.
Impossible, she reminded herself. She didn’t deserve that kind of devotion—not after betraying Kara so many times. Not after stealing Myriad, trapping her in the Fortress, uttering those final, icy words: “We’re not friends.”
A new voice cut through her thoughts—Lex's quiet, clinical drawl. "You chose her over your own blood." The accusation echoed in her mind, each syllable precise as a scalpel. She had, hadn't she? Abandoned Jack and their life together to move to National City after Lex had detonated his earthquake device in Metropolis, killing thirty-seven people. She'd fled the wreckage of her family name while her brother was led away in handcuffs, chasing the silhouette of hope against a new city's sky. Betrayed Lillian time and again, dismantling her mother's xenophobic schemes while Supergirl hovered above the city, cape billowing in triumph, her proud smile visible to all National City—the same radiant smile Lena had grown to cherish in Kara Danvers, never suspecting they belonged to the same woman who'd been gently dismantling her defenses, building a friendship Lena had come to need more than she could admit. Even pulled the trigger on her own brother after he’d revealed Kara's secret, his blood pooling beneath him while the truth of her best friend's deception pooled in her chest.
“Lena?” The question in Kara’s voice pulled Lena back. "Where did you go just now?"
“Nowhere,” she lied, blinking. “Just… tired.”
Kara studied her, brow furrowed but silent. She settled the thin blanket over Lena’s legs. Her voice softened to a whisper. "Close your eyes. I'll still be here when you open them again."
As exhaustion tugged at her, Lena watched Kara's silhouette against the window. Sunlight caught in her golden hair, creating a halo effect that seemed cruelly appropriate. Self-loathing coiled in Lena's stomach, acidic and familiar, for every precious second Kara wasted in this sterile purgatory. The city needed its guardian; somewhere a siren wailed in the distance, barely audible through the triple-paned glass. A hot, shameful flare of resentment burned in Lena's chest at the sound—that selfish part of her that wanted to grab Kara's wrist and whisper "stay" whenever duty called. How long before that red cape would flutter away from her bedside? How long before those cerulean eyes, now creased with worry, would finally see through her facade to the broken, unworthy creature beneath—the one who'd always secretly wished Kara belonged to her alone? Kara's shoulders—shoulders that had carried the memory of Krypton's destruction, that bore the weight of Earth's constant peril—shouldn't also bear the burden of Lena Luthor's fragile body, her fractured trust, and her possessive heart.
And Lena?
She was nothing but ballast—a liability dressed in a DEO-issued medical gown.
Maybe, when she could stand on her own again, she'd finally be strong enough to make the only choice left.
Walk away before she dragged Kara under.
Those thoughts trailed her into her dreams, where Lex’s laughter rippled through violet corridors and Kara’s voice reached for her—fading like a star at dawn.
Chapter 20: a quiet kind of leaving
Summary:
Lena recovers just enough to stand, just enough to walk, and far less than enough to face the weight of everything she remembers—and everything she fears she doesn't deserve.
While Kara keeps vigil at her bedside, exhaustion finally wins.
When she wakes, Lena is gone, leaving only the echo of her confession and the hollow space where hope had blossomed too late.
No battles.
No explosions.
Just the quiet fracture of two hearts pulling apart in the aftermath of survival.
Notes:
You absolute menaces.
You followed me—a brand-new gremlin to the Supercorp fandom — straight into the Phantom Zone. You trusted me not to murder our beautiful Lena Luthor even as I yeeted her life out of Kara’s hands with all the tenderness of a brick through a stained-glass window. You let me rip open the beginning of Season 6 and stitch something new together with vibes, tears, and eldritch nonsense.And you stayed.
I joke a lot in comments, because chaos is my love language, but I need you to know something real: I am so, so grateful you took a chance on a newbie like me. I came in here with Lovecraftian horror muscles and dark gothic fantasy reflexes, and suddenly I’m writing sci-fi angst and contemporary heartbreak like I know what I’m doing. Supercorp dragged me kicking and screaming into entirely new genres, and the fact that so many of you connected with my style means more than I can put into words.
Thank you for riding this rollercoaster with me. For trusting the cliffhangers. For trusting me.
And yes—this ending is bittersweet and heartbreaking, but I will never leave these two suspended in emotional purgatory forever. Stick with me. I promise I will close this arc, and I promise they will get a happy(-ish) ending worthy of everything they survived.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go scream into a pillow and then dive back into writing emotions like a feral raccoon in a dumpster full of feelings.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
20
a quiet kind of leaving
Kara's eyes snapped open as her body launched itself upward, chair falling away behind her as she found herself standing, fists clenched, heart racing. The abandoned chair skidded backward several inches, metal legs screeching against polished concrete.
No.
No—she'd only meant to rest her eyes for five minutes.
And now the room felt wrong—empty in a way that sent ice water cascading through Kara’s veins. The steady beep-beep-beep of the cardiac monitor that had become her metronome these past days was silent. The ventilation system that had hummed at 60 cycles per second, the IV pump that had clicked precisely every 3.7 seconds—all still. Even the subtle scent of antiseptic mingled with that scent that had been purely Lena’s had dissipated, leaving only the sterile, recycled air of the DEO's medical wing and the bitter taste of her broken vigil.
"Lena?" Her voice cracked on the name, sleep-rough and edged with panic.
No response.
Kara's superhearing activated instinctively, searching for that familiar heartbeat—the one she'd heard stop when Lena flatlined the moment they’d finally escaped—the rhythm that had anchored her through endless days of waiting. She filtered out the background noise one by one—the hum of the lights, the distant murmur of agents changing shifts, the subtle electronic pulse of medical equipment in adjacent rooms. Her hearing expanded outward in concentric circles, sweeping through the medical wing, then the entire DEO complex.
Nothing.
Lena's heartbeat was gone.
Kara's own pulse thundered in her ears as she scanned the empty DEO medical bay bed. The silence—that terrible, familiar silence where Lena's heartbeat should be—catapulted her back to the moment they'd first arrived at the DEO, Lena's body limp on the medical table of J'onn's ship, that flatline tone screaming through the medical bay as doctors counted past three minutes with no pulse. Now, just as then, Kara felt her world collapsing. The sheets were rumpled but cool to the touch. The IV stand stood abandoned beside the bed, its plastic tubing coiled neatly on the mattress. Lena's DEO-issued sweats and the small bag of toiletries Alex had brought her were missing from the chair in the corner.
"No, no, no," Kara whispered, panic rising in her chest. She'd promised to stay awake. Promised to watch over Lena. But exhaustion had finally claimed her after nearly two weeks of vigilance, her Kryptonian physiology surrendering to the bone-deep fatigue that had accumulated since their return from the Phantom Zone.
Her gaze swept the room once more, catching on something she'd missed in her initial panic—a folded piece of paper on the bedside table, its crisp hospital-white corner peeking out beneath the shadow of the abandoned water cup. Kara's heart seized in her chest as her fingers closed around it. The paper was expensive, substantial between her trembling fingertips, crackling with finality as she unfolded it. The sound echoed in the empty room like the closing of a door.
The DEO's letterhead stared back at her, the embossed black and silver logo a stark contrast to the flowing emerald script beneath it. Lena's elegant handwriting was unmistakable—those distinctive loops and precise angles that Kara had memorized from countless thank-you notes and shared research journals. Written with what could only be Lena's personal fountain pen. The last letter Kara had held had been in that package from James, delivered just before she'd flown into the Phantom Zone to find Lena—another goodbye she'd refused to accept. Lena must have taken the stationery from the director's office or a nurse's station—the kind of meticulous, thoughtful detail only Lena would consider even while executing a hospital escape in her weakened state.
Kara,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Please don't look for me.
I've watched you these past days, the sunlight dimming in your hair as you refused to leave my side. Each time you reached for my hand, I felt myself wanting to hold on forever. That's why I have to go.
Heroes don't belong in shadows. You were meant to soar above this city with nothing weighing you down—especially not someone whose name will always be written in opposition to yours.
You've saved me more times than I deserve. The way you look at me—as though I'm something precious—it breaks what's left of my heart because we both know I can never be what you whispered to me in the dark.
I'll heal somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from the light you cast.
Maybe someday I'll find the courage to face what I'm running from now.
Until then, let me go. It's the kindest thing I can do for both of us.
—L
The paper trembled in Kara's hands like a wounded bird, its crisp edges softening beneath her fingertips as hot tears welled and spilled, transforming Lena's emerald ink into watercolor blooms. The sterile hospital room tilted and swam around her, gravity itself seeming to shift as though she were suddenly floating in the vacuum of space, untethered and alone. “…we both know I can never be what you whispered to me in the dark.” Heat crawled up Kara's neck and blazed across her cheeks, painting them the same crimson as her cape. The realization struck with the force of a planet's collapse—Lena had heard every whispered "I love you," every broken plea for her to fight, every secret confession that Kara had poured out during those endless nights, her fingers intertwined with Lena's unresponsive ones.
And she left anyway.
A sob tore from Kara's throat, raw and primal, scraping against her vocal cords like shattered glass. Her knees buckled beneath her as she sank to the cold concrete floor, that antiseptic scent rising to meet her. The letter trembled in her white-knuckled grip before she clutched it against her chest. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of anguish radiating outward from that point of contact, the ache spreading through her chest cavity like dark ink in water. Her shoulders convulsed with each ragged breath, hot tears carving glistening trails down her flushed cheeks to drip onto the paper, transforming Lena's precise emerald signature into a constellation of watery stars.
"Ms. Danvers?" A nurse appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from professional inquiry to concern as she took in Kara's crumpled form. "Are you all right? We were going to inform you when you woke—Ms. Luthor checked herself out against medical advice about two hours ago. She had all the proper paperwork, and legally we couldn't stop her, though Dr. Hamilton tried to convince her to stay."
Kara nodded mechanically, unable to form words as her throat constricted around the grief lodged there like a jagged meteorite. Two hours. Lena had been gone for two hours while Kara slept, her superhuman senses dulled by exhaustion, the soft click of the door, the hum of the elevator carrying Lena away. She could be anywhere by now—a sterile private hospital with armed guards at the door, her steel-and-glass penthouse with its balcony Kara had landed on countless times, or more likely, given the finality of her letter, a sleek Luthor Corp jet already cutting through cloud layers, bound for some remote location where not even Supergirl with her X-ray vision and supersonic flight could penetrate the carefully constructed barriers Lena had always excelled at building.
"Did she say where she was going?" Kara managed finally, her voice barely audible.
The nurse shook her head. "No. Just that she had arrangements in place." She hesitated, then added gently, "She did ask us not to wake you. Said you needed the rest."
Even in her escape, Lena had thought of Kara's well-being. The realization sent a fresh wave of pain through her chest, so intense it felt like kryptonite shards lodged between her ribs. Kara pressed the letter harder against her sternum, as if the pressure might somehow ease the ache spreading beneath it.
The nurse retreated, clearly recognizing Kara's need for privacy. Sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden rectangles across the empty hospital bed where Lena should have been. The warmth touched Kara's skin but couldn't penetrate the cold that had settled in her bones.
With effort, she pulled herself to her feet, the paper still clutched in her fist. She moved to the window, her free hand pressing against the glass as her eyes scanned the horizon. Somewhere out there, Lena was running—from the DEO, from her injuries, from the weight of the Luthor name that hung around her neck like an heirloom noose, from memories of betrayal, from nightmares, from Kara. Running because she believed herself unworthy, because she thought she was a burden, because the walls she'd built around her heart were still too high for even Kara's confession to scale.
"I'll wait," Kara whispered to the empty room, her breath fogging the glass. "However long it takes, Lena. I'll wait."
The letter crumpled further in her fist as her fingers tightened unconsciously, the paper crinkling with a sound like breaking ice. Kara's gaze remained fixed on the distant skyline, her jaw set with determination even as her eyes reflected the devastation that threatened to consume her from within. The horizon offered no answers, no glimpse of where Lena might have gone, yet Kara couldn't tear her eyes away.
Maybe someday I'll find the courage to face what I'm running from now.
A promise, buried in the goodbye. A tiny flame of hope in an ocean of uncertainty.
It would have to be enough.
Notes:
Thank you for coming on this chaotic, unhinged, sleep-deprived trip with me. Truly. This entire arc was one long fever-dream sprint powered by caffeine, vibes, and the muse grabbing me by the hair and dragging me into the Phantom Zone with Lena and Kara.
And since several of you threatened to haunt me for that ending… I went ahead and created the full collection and posted Chapter One of the next arc for you. Chaos gremlin productivity at its finest.
Originally, these were the three paths you could choose next:
Option 1: The Ireland Arc
Lena disappears overseas to uncover her mother's lineage, and Kara does not cope gracefully.
(Angst. Letters. Witchcraft. The works.)Option 2: The Slow-Burn Healing Arc
Post–Phantom-Zone recovery: therapy, raw honesty, emotional rehab.
(The softest version of pain.)Option 3: The Reunion Arc
Months apart. Older, bruised, changed.
Then a collision that rewires the earth’s magnetic field.
(Chemistry so loud it screams.)…Except you all yelled loud enough that I just decided to combine the chaos and give you everything.
If you want to cry at me, cheer at me, threaten me lovingly, or request additional suffering, you can find me at:
Twitter & Bluesky: @into_the_never
Tumblr: onehawtwriterAnd if you need more Supercorp in your bloodstream while you wait, there’s always my AU starting with Celebrity Status and running into Masterpiece Theatre.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I desperately need to clean my house. My living room currently looks like I lost a fight with a clothing avalanche and three different notebooks.
Thank you again. Truly.
— Rae
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