Ben stared at the screen. The file metadata read:

Audio Commentary, Behind the Scenes, Alternate Cuts

The cursor blinked on the cheap laptop, a green pulse in the dim light of Ben’s childhood bedroom. His father had died three weeks ago. The house was quiet, save for the hum of an old radiator and the occasional creak of the roof settling.

Ben clicked it.

It was his father. Thirty years younger. Thinner. Dark hair, no glasses. But the same nervous way of shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Inside was a small, geometric object. It looked like a snow globe without the globe—just a metallic base with a crystalline shard floating an inch above it, rotating slowly.

The crystal flared. A low hum filled the room, and for a split second, Ben saw symbols projected onto the wall. Not Kryptonian—not like the movies. These were sharper, angular, almost mathematical.