Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark sat at the edge of the old barn, his hands buried in his face as he tried to push the memories away. His heart still ached with the weight of what had happened.

He'd been in college, far away from Smallville, when the call came. His father, Jonathan Kent, was in trouble. Lex Luthor had captured him, and he was threatening to kill him unless Clark showed his powers.

It had been a trap. Lex had always been obsessed with Clark's abilities, wanting to see them for himself, wanting to control them, to understand them. But that night, it had all spiraled out of control. Lex had goaded Clark, telling him that if he didn't reveal his powers, Jonathan would die.

Clark could still hear the words: "Show me, Clark. Show me what you can really do, or your father dies."

When he arrived back home, he saw Jonathan struggling, and Lex laughing, thinking he had the upper hand. Martha had been nearby, though she'd been powerless to stop the events that unfolded. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable as she watched from the doorway, helpless.

Clark, in a moment of pure anger, had acted. The sound of Lex's neck snapping under his grip still echoed in his mind. Clark hadn't meant for it to happen, but the rage, the fear for his father... it had consumed him.

Jonathan had cradled Lex's lifeless body, and Clark had run to him, but Jonathan stopped him cold. "It's not your fault, son," he said. "I knew what kind of man Lex was. You couldn't have known."

But Clark couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault. His powers were the reason Lex had pushed him so far. And when Lex died, the blame fell on him, even if Jonathan tried to shield him from it. Clark had killed someone with his bare hands, even if it had been in self-defense. It had shattered something inside him.

Martha had stood back, holding her tears in check, but it was clear she was devastated too. "Clark," she'd said softly, her voice trembling, "We've always known you were different. But sometimes, even the strongest people make mistakes."

It wasn't enough. The guilt weighed heavily on him, and despite his mother's support, he couldn't escape the thought that he was too dangerous to control. That night, it had become clear to him: his powers were a curse.

After the funeral, Clark had left Smallville. He didn't trust himself anymore, and he couldn't bear to see the disappointment in his mother's eyes, even though she never voiced it. He couldn't stay there, knowing that his powers had cost a life, no matter how justifiable it seemed.

---

As the memories began to fade, Clark looked back toward the north. The journey to the Wall had been long, but the looming presence of the Wall was growing closer. The horizon stretched out before him, the dark shadows of trees and snow-covered peaks framing the towering structure. The Free Folk had come so far, and now it was almost in reach. But in Clark's mind, something was still haunting him—just like that night in Smallville. The feeling that his powers could hurt someone again.

But there was no time to dwell on the past. They needed to keep moving forward.

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont's POV

The wind howled across the Wall, carrying with it the cold bite of winter's grip. Jeor Mormont stood on the high battlements, his cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he stared out at the vast, white expanse of the frozen wilderness. He had been a soldier for decades, and in all that time, he had never felt so uncertain. Something was coming—he could feel it in the air.

The reports had been coming in for days now, each one worse than the last. The Wildlings were on the move—gathering in greater numbers than before, and not just the usual clans and tribes. There was a unity among them now, something different. Something... dangerous.

"Lord Commander," a voice broke through his thoughts, and Mormont turned to see a Night's Watch ranger approaching, his breath clouding in the cold air.

"What is it?" Mormont asked, his voice tight with the weight of the knowledge that had been gnawing at him for days.

The man hesitated, looking out over the Wall as if he were afraid to speak the words. "The Wildlings… they're coming, m'lord. More of them. From the far north—there's word that they're gathering. A large host, not just a few tribes but whole clans—some that we've never seen before."

Mormont's brow furrowed, the urgency of the situation pressing on him. "How many?"

"A lot, m'lord. Enough to make us worry, at least. They're said to be heading south. Scouts have reported that they're preparing for something."

"Preparing for something?" Mormont repeated, his tone low. "What could they be preparing for?"

"We don't know, m'lord. But they're not just wandering. It's different this time. They're not scattered like before—they're banding together. And there's… there's talk of a leader among them. Someone who commands their respect, someone who's bringing them together like never before."

Mormont's heart tightened. The Wildlings had always been a threat, but this felt different. "And where are they headed?"

"South, m'lord. Closer to the Wall, maybe even beyond it."

The old bear clenched his fists, his mind already racing through the possibilities. The Wildlings were always a threat, but now they were moving in an organized, purposeful way. If this was a new leader—someone capable of uniting these disparate tribes—Mormont feared the worst.

"Send word to the other castles," Mormont ordered, his voice hardening with authority. "Tell them to prepare. We need more eyes on the north. I want scouts at the Fist of the First Men, the Milkwater, and beyond. If they're coming, we'll know it. We'll be ready."

The ranger nodded and turned to leave, but Mormont remained on the battlement, staring out into the darkening wilderness. He had spent years on the Wall, watching the northern horizon, knowing that one day the dangers would return. But now, with the Wildlings gathering, something felt worse than ever before. There was a tension in the air that he couldn't ignore.

They were heading south. It wasn't just the usual raids and small parties. There was a force moving across the frozen landscape, and it was closer than he had ever feared. The Night's Watch had fought Wildlings before, but what if this time was different? What if they were marching to something worse? Something that was more than just a tribe on the move.

Jeor Mormont knew one thing: he couldn't let the Wall fall, not like this.