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In the midst of the snow, Kal-El did not expect to find Kon-El and Kara Zor-El laughing and screaming in front of the Fortress of Solitude.
Kon let out a yelp as he narrowly dodged a snowball thrown by Kara, twisting in midair before packing another and sending it back. It burst against her shoulder in a spray of white.
They played like children. Kal-El did not intervene. This world was theirs, and he intended it to remain a place where they could move without restraint.
Dru-Zod was nowhere in sight; likely with Jimmy, as had become usual. The Kryptonian had finally begun to warm to humans. The adjustment had taken longer than expected, but it had occurred, even if the man in question was centuries older than Kal-El himself.
He descended without sound, his boot sinking into the untouched, glistening powder. Above him, Kon and Kara were still in the air, colliding and separating again with careless speed.
Kal-El pinched the bridge of his nose, the tension easing from his expression.
“Kon.”
The boy startled, lost his balance, and took a snowball square in the face.
“Uh, yeah, Paps?” Kon said, landing more carefully this time and sending snow up against Kal-El’s chest.
Kal-El brushed the flakes away without comment. “You are aware you shouldn’t remain exposed when the temperature drops below negative twenty?” He raised an eyebrow when Kon groaned and crossed his arms.
“I’ll be fine. I have been cooped up in incubation for months! I need to get out a little.”
Kal-El studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
“Five more minutes,” he said. “Then you go back.”
Kon stared at him for a moment before grinning and returning to Kara, hurling another snowball with renewed enthusiasm.
Kids.
Kal-El remained where he was, watching as the wind curled around them and tugged at their capes; at Kara’s, and at his own. Kon’s jacket flapped unevenly, already dusted white.
Kara dropped abruptly from the air and drove her hands into the snow. The ground shuddered as the surface began to ice beneath her palms.
Kon paused, then laughed, recognising it instantly.
“We can do that in five minutes?” he asked, crouching to scoop up a lump of snow and compressing it between his hands. “Shucks. I don’t have ice breath,” he muttered.
He looked up at Kal-El. “Dad. Can you lend a hand?”
Kal-El straightened, one hand settling at his waist as he surveyed their work.
“What do you require my assistance for?” he asked.
Kon held up the misshapen pile of snow he had, admittedly, failed to compress.
“Just turn it into ice,” he said. “Kara and I are making an igloo.”
Kal-El’s gaze flicked briefly to the uneven mass in Kon’s hands. He sighed— not in irritation, but in quiet resignation— and leaned down, gathering a fresh handful of snow from the ground. The flakes shifted easily at first, loose and uncooperative.
“You do not need ice breath to create stable blocks,” he said, bringing his hands together around the snow. Gradually, the resistance changed. The snow compacted, hardening under controlled pressure, its surface smoothing as sharp, deliberate edges formed. Within moments, it had become a shiny cube as big as Kal-El’s palm.
He turned it once, inspecting the angles.
“Power alone is inefficient,” Kal-El continued. “If you apply too much force, you fracture the structure before it has time to settle. If you apply too little, it will never hold.”
He placed the cube into Kon’s hands.
“Control how much pressure you use,” he said. “Move deliberately. Precision is what makes it stable.”
Kon stared at the cube in his hand for a long moment before nodding. He lowered himself to the snow, settling into a cross-legged sit, and scooped up a fresh handful. He brought his hands together carefully, remembering the weight of the cube Kal-El had made.
Too careful.
The snow compressed unevenly, breaking apart into loose clusters that slipped through his fingers and scattered back onto the ground. Kon frowned and tried again, adjusting his grip, pressing harder this time. The surface resisted briefly; then fractured, collapsing inward with a soft crunch.
He huffed under his breath and brushed the remnants aside.
Kal-El did not intervene. He remained standing, gaze distant but fixed, tracking the minute changes in Kon’s movements: the hesitation in his hands, the way his shoulders tensed when he applied pressure, the impatience that crept in when the result failed to match the intention.
Kon tried again. And again.
Some attempts held longer than others, forming rough, uneven blocks that lacked definition. He stacked two together experimentally. The upper one slid off and crumbled against the snow.
“Hey-” Kon muttered, catching the remains before they could scatter too far.
Nearby, Kara had progressed faster, but not cleanly. Her cubes were solid, but too solid. She piled them with enthusiasm rather than precision, setting one atop another with force. The structure leaned, corrected itself, then listed again.
She crossed her arms, staring at it like it had personally offended her.
Kal-El lifted his head at last and turned toward her. He watched as she adjusted one block, then another, only for the top layer to shift out of alignment.
“Your base is uneven,” he said calmly.
Kara shot him a look. “It’s fine.”
She placed another cube on top. The stack shuddered and partially collapsed, scattering heavy blocks outward. Snow dusted her boots.
Kara groaned. “Okay. Maybe it’s not fine.”
Behind her, Kon snorted despite himself, then winced when his own half-formed block cracked in his hands.
Kal-El stepped closer to the half-built igloo, studying it as a whole rather than its pieces. The curve was there, conceptually sound, but the structure lacked balance; too much force in some places, not enough restraint in others. It looked like someone had tried to smash a mountain full of snow.
“You’re both rushing,” he said. “An igloo holds because every piece carries the weight of the next. If one fails, the structure corrects itself by collapsing.”
Kon looked up at him. “So… slower?”
Kal-El subtly nodded his head. “Deliberate.”
Kon nodded, more seriously this time, and returned to the snow. His next attempt took longer. He adjusted his grip, applied pressure in increments, and waited. The snow resisted, then settled. When he opened his hands, the block wasn’t perfect. There were some oddities in terms of shape and angles, but it was holding up.
His face lit up, just a little.
Kara glanced over, then scoffed. “Beginner’s luck.”
But she adjusted her own placement, easing the next cube into position instead of forcing it.
Kal-El watched in silence as the structure began, slowly, to take shape.
With measured steps, Kal-El circled them, the snow barely shifting beneath his weight. He watched the way they worked, where Kara moved too quickly, where Kon hesitated. He noted the details automatically, snow tangled in Kara’s hair, clinging to her lashes; Kon’s legs half-buried beneath collapsed blocks and failed attempts, the cold creeping in where enthusiasm had outpaced endurance.
He exhaled, quiet and controlled.
Reaching back, Kal-El unclasped his cape. The fabric lifted easily in the wind before he folded it once and stepped closer. Kon looked up just in time to see the shadow fall over him.
Kal-El settled the cape around Kon’s shoulders, drawing it in and fastening it securely. The warmth was immediate. Kon startled, then stilled, glancing down at himself in surprise.
Kal-El’s hand lingered for only a moment, adjusting the edge where it slipped unevenly.
“If you intend to remain outside longer than five minutes,” he said evenly, “and spend that time correcting your mistakes, it is preferable that you do not allow your body temperature to drop unnecessarily.”
Kon closed his eyes for a moment, nodded, and smiled up at Kal-El. “Thanks.”
Kal-El nodded once and stepped back, returning to his position a short distance away.
Kara shifted another block, paused, then pulled it free again with an irritated sound. Only after a moment did she rotate it and set it down between the others. The structure held.
Kal-El shaped the ice throne behind them without comment, the surface rising smoothly from the snow as he worked. By the time Kara noticed what she’d been doing wrong, the throne was already finished.
The sun was setting when Kon finally figured out how to make stable blocks and helped Kara place them on top, both of them floating on the igloo and moving with careful movements.
In the end, around midnight, they had finished the igloo, starting a fire inside and talking animatedly to each other. Kal-El was on his computer, still sitting on the ice throne and writing about how today went in Kryptonian.
His eyes darted around the screen before his hands stilled, his body tensing upon hearing something getting closer from a distance.
Dru-Zod flew in a flash and stopped mid-air, then gradually landed on the snow, his eyes tracing the igloo. “I do not recall that structure being present,” He hummed, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Kon and Kara built it.” From inside the igloo, laughter flared again. Zod’s eyes landed on the entrance of it.
“They seem to be having a pleasant time.” Dru-Zod’s gaze lingered on the igloo before sliding back to Kal-El. “Shouldn’t your hybrid son be in confinement?”
Kal-El did not answer immediately.
The fire inside the igloo flared, shadows shifting against the ice. Kon’s voice rose again, indistinct, followed by Kara’s sharper laugh. Snow settled along the structure’s outer curve as the heat inside softened it unevenly.
“His incubation cycle has concluded,” Kal-El said at last. His tone did not change. “Extended confinement is no longer necessary.”
Zod’s expression remained unreadable. He looked back toward the igloo, then up toward the sky above the Fortress, as if recalculating something that had already been decided once before.
“And you are confident,” Zod said, “that this degree of freedom will not compromise stability?”
Kal-El’s hands returned to the holographic display, finishing the interrupted line of Kryptonian text.
“Kon-El has lived up to expectations.”