Whoosh!
A current of crisp winter air swept through the woods of Smallville. Pine needles, frosted with snow, exhaled the scent of winter into the night.
Adrian streaked across the sky, moving with uncanny speed, his silhouette cutting through the moonlit horizon.
Minutes later:
Thud!
He landed heavily atop the windmill tower, the cold wind whipping around him, carrying the scent of frost and snow. From this height, the entire countryside sprawled beneath him — the silvery pines dusted with snow, distant town lights glittering white and pale yellow, weaving a scene of surreal beauty.
Thud!
The air trembled with the force of Clark sprinting through the woods at full speed. He skidded to the base of the windmill tower and looked upward.
"Hey, Adrian, you said you could teach me to fly, but... why here?" Clark shouted, excitement and confusion blending in his voice.
"Anywhere works," Adrian called back, calm as ever, "I just wanted somewhere quiet, where you could enjoy the view and clear your mind."
Clark paused, a little flustered. "Alright… but one thing — when you teach me to fly, don't be as reckless as when you trained my Heat Vision."
"Of course. Come up." Adrian's voice was flat, indifferent, yet carrying that unshakable authority that made Clark obey instinctively.
Clark ascended the windmill stairs, finally standing beside Adrian at the top.
"What do we do next?" Clark asked, eyes darting nervously over the dizzying height.
"You need to remove all fear," Adrian said. "Embrace the sky, don't resist it. You dream of Lana and wake floating for a reason — your subconscious already knows how to fly, but your body hasn't yet. You'll experience it physically, the same as in your dreams."
Clark's ears flushed. "Wait… you know about my dream?"
Adrian smirked faintly. "I know enough. Now focus."
With that, he gave Clark a gentle but firm push. Clark lost balance and plummeted toward the ground.
Thud!
He landed like an iron ball, scattering stones and leaves across the snowy floor.
"Ugh…" Clark groaned, his face pressed into the cold earth, his clothes dusted with debris.
Adrian looked down, shaking his head slightly. "Still not getting it?"
Clark grimaced, rubbing his sore wrist. "I don't see how this is supposed to teach me to fly."
"Fear is your enemy," Adrian replied, unflinching. "Once you're suspended in the air, you must forget it completely and feel the freedom, the bliss you had in your dreams."
Clark blinked. "Blissful feeling…?"
Adrian's smirk widened just slightly. "Yes. That's what you'll feel. Now, up again."
Before Clark could respond, another push sent him plummeting once more.
"Ugh!" Wind roared in his ears. The fleeting weightlessness left him disoriented, the sensation teasing the edge of freedom his body hadn't yet accepted.
Thud!
He hit the ground again, leaves and dust scattering in all directions.
"Whew…" Clark exhaled, the repeated falls pounding his chest, but slowly, something in his mind shifted.
Meanwhile, in Gotham, Bruce Wayne's own memories were stirring on this Christmas night.
Awaking with a jolt, he gasped, recalling the dream of his childhood fall into the Batcave. Waist-high weeds stretched endlessly as he ran alone through wilderness, trying to outrun grief and fear.
Then his foot slipped.
He fell.
The helpless weightlessness, the impact of mud, and the flurry of bats — the nightmare replayed itself vividly in his mind.
"Master Bruce, should you not rest?" Alfred's voice broke through the echoes of memory.
Bruce, still at his satellite console, shook his head. "The meaning of Christmas has been lost to me," he said solemnly, voice heavy. "Since that night, I've never felt the joy it brings."
Alfred's voice softened. "Christmas is a day of reflection, a new beginning. Perhaps even you can take a moment to breathe, Master Bruce."
Bruce's gaze lingered on the Gotham skyline through the monitors, shadowed by white crystalline snowflakes drifting down. "Falling…" he muttered. "If I continue this path, fighting endlessly in darkness, will there come a day when I will truly fall, like I did as a child?"
"No, Master," Alfred said carefully, "some people never change, even broken, wounded, or unable to fight. You are one of those people."
Bruce nodded, conflicted. "But nothing is constant. Human thought is ever-changing. And some forces, if they fall… who would oppose them?"
Alfred said nothing, leaving Bruce to stare at the monitors, catching sight of criminal activity in the streets below.
"I'll go out," he said finally, slipping into the Bat-suit. "Keep the apple pie for yourself, Alfred."
Vroom!
The Bat-Motorcycle roared through Gotham's sewers, the water rippling violently beneath its wake before settling into quiet again.
Minutes later, Batman arrived at a familiar alley. His heart tightened.
This was Crime Alley. The alley where his parents had died.
Snow fell, and he caught a delicate flake in his hand. Memories of gunshots, screams, and the pearl necklace swirled before his eyes — then vanished, leaving only the present.
Thud!
A dark figure leapt from the shadows, katana gleaming.
Batman rolled to evade the horizontal slash, then launched his grappling gun at the attacker, ready to confront yet another menace in Gotham's relentless night.