Smallville: the asgardian
The Rhythm of the Asgardian Heart
The dust had finally settled in Smallville, or at least as much as it ever did in a town built on top of meteor rock and secrets. For three months, the shadows of the Brazilian Syndicate had vanished, retreating into the dark corners of the globe like beaten dogs. Her father, Marcus, had even stopped sleeping with a tactical knife under his pillow, though he still spent his Saturday mornings teaching Veena how to dismantle a man’s balance using nothing but a thumb and a well-placed elbow.
It was a rare, stiflingly hot Kansas afternoon. The humidity was thick enough to remind Veena of the Amazon, though the scent was all wrong—dust and dry grass instead of damp earth and blooming orchids. The school day had ended, but the courtyard of Smallville High was buzzing. The football team was running drills on the nearby field, their rhythmic grunts and the whistle of Coach Teague providing a soundtrack to the afternoon.
Veena sat on a low stone wall near the center of the courtyard, her back to the main building. She felt a strange, restless energy thrumming in her veins—the celestial hum that usually signaled she needed to train. But today, she didn't want to fight. She wanted to remember.
She pulled her oversized headphones over her ears, the padded cushions sealing out the sounds of Smallville. With a flick of her thumb on her MP3 player, the world changed. The opening piano chords of "No Me Ames" began to swell, the soulful, dramatic melody of Marc Anthony and Jennifer Lopez filling her head.
It was a song her mother used to play in their kitchen in Rio, a song that felt like home.
Veena didn't just listen to music; she felt it. As the beat kicked in, her body began to move of its own accord. She stood up from the wall, her movements fluid and unconscious. She wasn't thinking about the students milling about or the fact that she was in the middle of a public space. She was back in Brazil, under a canopy of green, dancing with the ghosts of a life she’d left behind.
She began to sway, her auburn hair whipping around her shoulders as she spun. Her feet moved with the precision of a Capoeira master, but softened by the grace of a ballroom dancer. She stepped, turned, and dipped, her hands tracing patterns in the air that seemed to leave faint, shimmering trails of blue light in their wake—light so subtle it was almost invisible in the harsh afternoon sun.
She was lost in the lyrics, her lips moving silently to the Spanish words. *No me ames, porque pienses que parezco diferente...*
She didn't notice the silence that was beginning to spread across the courtyard.
On the practice field, the football team had slowed to a halt. Whitney Fordman stood with a ball tucked under his arm, his mouth slightly open as he watched the new girl move. It wasn't just dancing; it was a display of athletic prowess that made their drills look like clumsy stumbling. She moved with a center of gravity that seemed to defy the laws of physics, her body snapping into sharp, powerful poses before melting back into liquid grace.
Near the school entrance, Chloe Sullivan and Pete Ross froze. Chloe’s jaw dropped, her notebook forgotten in her hand.
"Is she... is she doing a mid-air flare into a contemporary spin?" Chloe whispered, her journalistic instincts momentarily paralyzed by sheer awe.
"I think she’s just being Veena," Pete replied, a wide, impressed grin spreading across his face. "Man, she’s got moves I didn't even know existed."
Standing between them, Clark Kent felt the air leave his lungs. He had seen Veena fight; he had seen her eyes glow with celestial fire; he had even seen her trip over her own shoelaces. But he had never seen her like this. She looked free. She looked like the star she was named after, burning bright and beautiful in the middle of a mundane Tuesday.
Clark’s X-ray vision wasn't active, but he felt like he could see right through to her soul. Every tilt of her head, every extension of her fingertips, felt like a message written just for him. He felt that familiar pull in his chest—the gravity of her—and for once, he didn't try to resist it.
"She’s incredible," Clark breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
Just then, a group of middle schoolers on bicycles came pedaling down the sidewalk that cut through the edge of the courtyard. They were laughing and racing each other, oblivious to the high school drama. The lead boy, a kid of about twelve with a mop of blond hair, glanced over at the girl dancing on the stone wall.
He was so transfixed by the sight of Veena—who had just performed a slow, controlled backbend that looked like a work of art—that he completely forgot he was steering a vehicle. His front tire clipped the curb, and he went flying over his handlebars, his bike skidding across the pavement. His two friends, equally distracted, slammed into each other in a pile of tangled metal and limbs.
The sound of the crash finally cut through Veena’s headphones. She blinked, the music still playing in her ears, and spun around to see the wreckage of three bicycles and three dazed boys.
She pulled the headphones down around her neck, her face flushing a deep, vibrant red as she realized she wasn't alone. The entire courtyard was staring at her. The football team, the cheerleaders, and her best friends were all frozen like statues in a gallery.
"Oh, no," Veena muttered, her Asgardian poise evaporating instantly. "Not again."
She rushed over to the middle schoolers, her movements now back to their usual, slightly frantic human pace. "Are you guys okay? I am so sorry, I didn't mean to... to be a distraction."
The lead boy looked up at her, rubbing his scraped knee, his eyes wide with hero worship. "You were like... a ninja ballerina. That was awesome."
Veena helped him up, checking his arm for any serious injuries. "I’m just a girl with a loud playlist. Let’s get your bike out of the way."
As she moved the tangled bikes, Clark was suddenly there, lifting the heaviest one with a single hand as if it were made of balsa wood. He caught her eye, and the warmth in his gaze made her heart do a double-time beat that Marc Anthony couldn't hope to match.
"Nice footwork, Parker," Clark said, his voice low and teasing.
Veena groaned, hiding her face in her hands for a second. "Please tell me the whole school didn't just watch me have a solo dance party to early 2000s Latin pop."
"The whole school watched," Pete chimed in, walking up with Chloe. "And I’m pretty sure the scouts from the dance academy just materialized out of thin air. Veena, that was insane. Where did you learn to move like that?"
"Rio," Veena said, finally lowering her hands and trying to regain some dignity. "My mom says that if you don't dance, the soul gets stiff. I guess I just... forgot where I was."
"Don't apologize," Chloe said, her eyes sparkling. "I think you just single-handedly improved the morale of the entire athletic department. Look at Whitney. He looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe."
Veena glanced over at the football field. Whitney and the others were slowly returning to their drills, but they were still casting frequent, confused glances her way. She felt a twinge of discomfort; she hated being the center of attention when it wasn't on her own terms.
"I should go," Veena said, reaching for her bag. "My dad is probably waiting, and he has this thing about punctuality and perimeter checks."
"Wait," Clark said, stepping forward. "I’ll walk you to your car."
Chloe and Pete shared a look—one that Veena knew meant they would be interrogated later—and waved them off.
As Clark and Veena walked toward the parking lot, the silence between them was comfortable, filled only by the distant sounds of the town. The heat of the afternoon was beginning to fade, replaced by a gentle breeze that smelled of ripening corn.
"You really were amazing, Veena," Clark said after a moment. "I’ve never seen anyone move with that much... I don't know, joy? It was like you were part of the music."
Veena looked down at her sneakers, a small smile tugging at her lips. "In Asgard—at least in the stories my dad told me—music isn't just sound. It’s an echo of the creation of the realms. When you dance, you're supposed to be connecting to that rhythm. I haven't felt it in a long time. Not since we left Brazil."
Clark stopped walking, turning to face her. "Is that why you were so sad when you first got here? Because you couldn't hear the music?"
Veena looked up at him, struck by his insight. Clark Kent might be a bit 'thick' about romance, as Chloe put it, but he had an emotional radar that was sharper than any technology her mother possessed.
"Maybe," she admitted. "Smallville is so quiet, Clark. In Rio, the city breathes. Here, it feels like the world is holding its breath. It took me a while to realize that the quiet isn't empty. It’s just... waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Veena stepped closer, the space between them crackling with that strange, beautiful energy they shared. "Waiting for us to make our own noise."
Clark laughed, a soft, genuine sound. "I think you made enough noise today to last us a month. Those kids are going to be telling stories about the dancing ninja for years."
"Great," Veena sighed, though she was smiling. "Just what I need. More local legends. Chloe’s going to have a field day."
They reached her father’s SUV. Marcus was leaning against the hood, his eyes scanning the parking lot with their usual intensity, but his expression softened when he saw Clark. He respected the boy, mostly because he knew Clark was one of the few beings on the planet who could actually protect his daughter if he wasn't around.
"Ready to go, V?" Marcus asked.
"Ready, Dad."
Veena turned back to Clark. She felt a sudden, impulsive surge of courage—the kind that usually only came when she was mid-dance. She reached out, squeezing his hand briefly. Her skin buzzed against his, a warm, comforting hum.
"Thanks for the walk, Clark. And for not laughing too hard at my taste in music."
"I would never laugh," Clark said, his navy eyes fixed on hers with a depth that made her feel like she was floating. "I’ll see you tomorrow, Veena."
"Tomorrow," she promised.
As the SUV pulled away, Veena watched Clark in the side mirror. He stood there for a long time, watching her leave, a solitary figure against the vast Kansas sky. She put her headphones back on, but she didn't hit play. She didn't need the music anymore.
She could hear the rhythm of Smallville now, and for the first time, she knew exactly how to dance to it.
***
Later that evening, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold. Veena sat on the porch of their farmhouse, her feet dangling over the edge. She was practicing a small manipulation of light, a tiny blue bird flickering between her fingers, its wings beating in time with her pulse.
"You're getting better at that," her mother said, stepping out onto the porch with two glasses of iced tea.
"It feels natural now," Veena said, letting the bird dissolve into mist. "I think... I think I’m finally stopping the fight against myself, Mom. I’m not just a refugee from Brazil or a hidden Asgardian. I’m just Veena. And Veena likes to dance."
Elena sat down beside her, handing her a glass. "It’s a powerful thing, sweetheart. Knowing who you are. The Syndicate came for us because they wanted to use your power as a weapon. They didn't realize that your greatest strength isn't your fists or your energy. It’s your spirit."
Veena sipped her tea, looking out at the dark silhouette of the cornfields. "Clark said I looked like I was about to fly."
"Maybe you were," Elena said softly.
"I think I’m falling instead," Veena whispered, the confession tasting like sugar and mint. "But I think I like the way it feels."
Elena smiled, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. "Just remember, V. Even stars fall sometimes. That’s how they become part of the world."
Down the road, at the Kent farm, Clark was sitting in his loft, looking out at the same sunset. He held a small, crumpled piece of paper in his hand—a sketch he’d made during study hall of a girl with auburn hair and eyes like the deep ocean.
He thought about the way she had moved in the courtyard—the strength, the grace, the pure, uninhibited joy. He had spent so much of his life trying to be still, trying to be small so he wouldn't break things. Veena Parker didn't care about being small. She was a storm, and she invited him to dance in the rain.
He tucked the sketch into his journal, a secret smile on his face. He didn't know what the future held—he didn't know about the trials of Jor-El or the destiny that awaited him in the sky. All he knew was that for the first time, he didn't feel like an alien trapped in a human world.
He felt like a boy who had finally found his rhythm.
And as the first stars began to twinkle over Smallville, the silence of the night didn't feel empty at all. It felt like the beginning of a song.