stone. She had to think of something sufficiently important to paint on it, and so far she hadn’t come up with the right idea.
As they completed their own massive project, Ora and Lor-Van had noticed a difference in their daughter’s attitude; Lara frequently caught them giving her sidelong smiles and amused glances. They seemed to know whenever she was thinking of Jor-El. Well, let them think what they wanted! She went back to work.
Her young brother, bouncing a half-levitating green ball, walked up to her. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the sketches. Ki-Van tossed the ball high above his head, then ran around his older sister as he waited for it to slowly descend so he could catch it. “You’re trying to show off for Jor-El, aren’t you?”
“I am creating a new project,” she replied too quickly. “This is Jor-El’s estate, so I hope he’ll be impressed.”
“Mother and Father say you like Jor-El. They say you want him to notice you.” Even though he was a good-natured boy, Ki had a knack for being annoying.
Lara said defensively, “He already has noticed me, thank you very much.”
Ki tossed the ball up in the air again, waited for it to drift back down into his hands. “I think he likes you.”
“You don’t know what Jor-El thinks at all.” But I hope you’re right, little brother. “Now leave me alone so I can concentrate.”
The creative technicians and apprentices began to take down the scaffolding against the long wall of the main house, where her parents had completed their intricate mural. The artwork showed the seven armies dramatically rallying against Jax-Ur. Too distracted to continue her sketches, Lara paced around the work site, admiring the art. She noted with satisfaction that her mother and father had accurately painted the Valley of Elders. After all, Lara was one of the few living Kryptonians who had ever visited there.
Back then, she had wanted to be a historian, an archaeologist, a documenter of her civilization’s past. Her teachers had expressed frequent skepticism about her career choice, though. “History has already been recorded, so you would be wasting your time. The chronicles were written long ago. There is nothing to change.”
“But what if some of the details are incorrect?” she had asked, but no one gave her a satisfactory answer. From that point on, Lara had begun to keep her own journal, recording her impressions of events so that there might be at least one independent chronicle.
Several years ago, after completing their cultural and historical instruction, Lara and five fellow students—all considered audacious by their conservative instructors—had left Kandor to see the long-abandoned places for themselves. Among their group was an opinionated young woman named Aethyr-Ka, the rebellious child of a noble family.
On their expedition, the group had been rained on, and some of the mapped “roads” had turned out to be little more than quagmires of mud. Paths were overgrown with foliage. The marshes were infested with biting insects—not at all like the romantic glory Lara had seen in legendary images or read about in poem cycles. She and her companions had trekked out to the Valley of Elders and stood at the intersection of two rivers where Kol-Ar, Pol-Us, and Sor-El had fashioned the resolution that turned Krypton forever away from the dangers of ambition and greed.
While Lara had stared awestruck, Aethyr had simply shaken her head. “So this is where it all began. This is the place we should blame.”
“Blame?” Lara had asked. “This is where we gave up all warfare, all violence and death.”
“We gave up a lot more than that. Have you looked at the noble families lately? Have you studied Kryptonian history over the past several centuries?”
“Of course I have!”
“Then you can explain in a sentence everything we’ve achieved since proclaiming our society ‘perfect.’ Stagnant, more like!”
“What about…Jor-El?
As they completed their own massive project, Ora and Lor-Van had noticed a difference in their daughter’s attitude; Lara frequently caught them giving her sidelong smiles and amused glances. They seemed to know whenever she was thinking of Jor-El. Well, let them think what they wanted! She went back to work.
Her young brother, bouncing a half-levitating green ball, walked up to her. He leaned over her shoulder to look at the sketches. Ki-Van tossed the ball high above his head, then ran around his older sister as he waited for it to slowly descend so he could catch it. “You’re trying to show off for Jor-El, aren’t you?”
“I am creating a new project,” she replied too quickly. “This is Jor-El’s estate, so I hope he’ll be impressed.”
“Mother and Father say you like Jor-El. They say you want him to notice you.” Even though he was a good-natured boy, Ki had a knack for being annoying.
Lara said defensively, “He already has noticed me, thank you very much.”
Ki tossed the ball up in the air again, waited for it to drift back down into his hands. “I think he likes you.”
“You don’t know what Jor-El thinks at all.” But I hope you’re right, little brother. “Now leave me alone so I can concentrate.”
The creative technicians and apprentices began to take down the scaffolding against the long wall of the main house, where her parents had completed their intricate mural. The artwork showed the seven armies dramatically rallying against Jax-Ur. Too distracted to continue her sketches, Lara paced around the work site, admiring the art. She noted with satisfaction that her mother and father had accurately painted the Valley of Elders. After all, Lara was one of the few living Kryptonians who had ever visited there.
Back then, she had wanted to be a historian, an archaeologist, a documenter of her civilization’s past. Her teachers had expressed frequent skepticism about her career choice, though. “History has already been recorded, so you would be wasting your time. The chronicles were written long ago. There is nothing to change.”
“But what if some of the details are incorrect?” she had asked, but no one gave her a satisfactory answer. From that point on, Lara had begun to keep her own journal, recording her impressions of events so that there might be at least one independent chronicle.
Several years ago, after completing their cultural and historical instruction, Lara and five fellow students—all considered audacious by their conservative instructors—had left Kandor to see the long-abandoned places for themselves. Among their group was an opinionated young woman named Aethyr-Ka, the rebellious child of a noble family.
On their expedition, the group had been rained on, and some of the mapped “roads” had turned out to be little more than quagmires of mud. Paths were overgrown with foliage. The marshes were infested with biting insects—not at all like the romantic glory Lara had seen in legendary images or read about in poem cycles. She and her companions had trekked out to the Valley of Elders and stood at the intersection of two rivers where Kol-Ar, Pol-Us, and Sor-El had fashioned the resolution that turned Krypton forever away from the dangers of ambition and greed.
While Lara had stared awestruck, Aethyr had simply shaken her head. “So this is where it all began. This is the place we should blame.”
“Blame?” Lara had asked. “This is where we gave up all warfare, all violence and death.”
“We gave up a lot more than that. Have you looked at the noble families lately? Have you studied Kryptonian history over the past several centuries?”
“Of course I have!”
“Then you can explain in a sentence everything we’ve achieved since proclaiming our society ‘perfect.’ Stagnant, more like!”
“What about…Jor-El?
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