Damn it, I’m surrounded by those who kill their fathers!

"Just because I solved the Sphinx's riddle?"

"Yes, as if it were ordained by the gods and fate."

Zatanna picked up the rabbit. "Fate destined you to find the answer, destined us to meet the Witch Queen, destined the Sphinx to save me. Perhaps, sir, it also destined you to be connected to this secret house."

Peter examined the key in his hand. "Like you said, maybe it really is the will of the gods and fate. But, Zatanna, this is too valuable."

Though he was intrigued by the secret house, he also knew that this was no ordinary object.

"Sir, are you afraid you won't be able to keep it safe?"

Zatanna feigned confusion as she asked the question.

"You're not very good at using cheap tricks to provoke me, Zatanna."

Peter put the key away. "Alright, I'll take it."

"Are you going to continue your career as a magician?" Peter asked after securing the key.

"Yes, I will keep searching for my father, return to the stage, step back into the storm, and cross the dark shores of night."

"A storm? The dark shores of night?"

Peter shrugged and said, "Sounds like you're stepping onto a dangerous stage."

Zatanna blinked. "It's a quote—those lines are from Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven."

Before Peter could respond, she proudly began reciting the poem:

"'And this word, our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting—

'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!

Quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'"

—

"I am now like the raven in Poe's poem," Zatanna murmured as she stroked the rabbit's long ears. A hint of melancholy crossed her face. "It's time to leave this room and fly back into the storm."

"Is that so?"

Peter rubbed his chin, lost in thought for a moment before looking up at her. "Zatanna, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"If you love reading so much, how did you get the book-related riddle wrong?"

Zatanna: "…"

She felt like her soul had just taken a critical hit.

After teasing Zatanna, Peter placed a bank card on the table.

"Alright, no more jokes. There's some money on this card—you might need it on the road."

Since she had given him the rights to use the secret house, he didn't mind helping her financially in return.

Zatanna hesitated as she looked at the card he slid toward her, feeling momentarily flustered.

"No, I—I can't take this. I don't need money."

In truth, her funds were already running low.

"A girl traveling alone… I think the most important things are safety and money. Take it. To me, money is the least valuable thing."

Zatanna looked at Peter's expression, feeling unexpectedly moved.

She let out a slow breath, took the card, and clenched it in her hand. "Thank you… Thank you, Uncle Patrick."

Overcome with emotion, she stood up and gave Peter a hug.

"I'll always remember this story. Always."

Meanwhile…

John was crouched at the stairway corner on the second floor, eavesdropping on Peter and Zatanna's conversation.

He didn't particularly care whether Zatanna stayed or left.

What interested him was the key she had left for his father.

With that key, he could enter the secret house and once again explore the strange visions he had seen the night before.

His eyes gleamed with excitement at the thought.

But then reality hit him—his father had the key.

How could he possibly steal it without getting caught?

His excitement vanished instantly, replaced by a sour expression.

Wait.

He suddenly realized something else—something even more infuriating.

His father had given Zatanna money?

That was his future money!

His mood plummeted, and for a split second, he even considered ambushing Zatanna on the road, pretending to be a robber, and taking the money back.

But the thought quickly faded.

Zatanna was a magician. And if his father ever found out, he'd be in serious trouble.

"Sigh!"

John let out a long, frustrated sigh.

His father was too softhearted. Whether it was Zatanna or Bruce, all they had to do was look a little pitiful, and he'd fall for it.

These parentless people… not a single one of them was easy to deal with.

Noon

After seeing Zatanna off, Peter returned to the farm.

Star-Lord wasn't too happy about the magician's departure.

He had barely learned any magic tricks from her before she left, and that felt like a real loss.

"Dad, is Zatanna really gone?"

"Yes. She has to continue her life as a magician. She was never meant to stay in one place for too long."

Peter casually replied while cutting into his sausage with a fork. "Birds don't stop flying."

Star-Lord took a big bite of his pancake, his cheeks puffing out as he mumbled, "Zatanna is a bird?"

"Yes, she's a raven."

Peter answered without much thought.

"A raven?"

Star-Lord thought about Zatanna's usual attire—black clothes, a black top hat. He nodded. "Yeah, she does look a bit like a raven… a raven that does magic tricks."

Peter glanced at John, noticing his distracted expression.

"What's wrong? Something on your mind, John?"

John snapped out of it. "N-No, it's nothing."

In truth, he was still sulking over the money Peter had given Zatanna. But he'd never admit that.

"I was just…"

He quickly searched for an excuse.

"I was just worried about Clark."

"Clark? What happened to him?"

Peter asked curiously.

"Yesterday, during biology class, he accidentally set the projector screen on fire."

John revealed Clark's embarrassing mishap.

"You didn't tell me about this, John. What exactly happened?"

John organized his thoughts and said, "I don't know. It was just a normal biology class. Clark was sitting in the back, and then, out of nowhere, the projector screen caught fire."

"After that, everyone ran out of the classroom."

Peter listened carefully before asking John, "Was there anything unusual in the biology class?"

"I don't know," John replied after thinking for a moment. "But Lana was there."

"Lana?"

Hearing Lana's name, Peter immediately had a rough idea of what might have happened.

"Dad, can I tell you a secret?"

John suddenly spoke in a mysterious tone.

"What secret?"

Peter looked at him in surprise. Since when did John become a "secret informant"?

"It's about Clark."

John leaned in and whispered, "Clark has a telescope in the 'secret fortress' inside his family's barn. At night, he likes to use it to spy on Lana."

Peter: "..."

"That's not spying. Maybe Clark just likes looking at the stars," Peter coughed lightly and defended Clark.

Come to think of it, he had a telescope in his own barn as well. Did this little rascal think he was spying on people too?

"Clark isn't like you, Dad. He doesn't care about stars at all."

John declared confidently, "He only likes Lana. But I don't think Lana likes him."

"What do you know about liking and not liking someone?"

Peter was a bit surprised. Did this eleven-year-old really understand these things?

"Of course, I understand!"

John insisted that despite his young age, he had plenty of life experience.

"They say Lana is the school beauty, and a lot of people like her. So, it's not surprising that Clark does too. But Clark doesn't really stand out in any way. I mean, the Clark who hides his abilities is kind of a fool."

"Dad, when it comes to attraction between men and women, there has to be something unique about the person, right?"

Peter took a sip of his juice, silently giving John's philosophy on love a thumbs-up.

But if you understand so much, why are you completely invisible to the girls at school?!

Peter fell into deep thought.

Nighttime. Ranch.

Lana tied Tyson to the stable and gently stroked the horse's mane.

"Lana."

Neal walked over and called out to her from outside the stable. "Is Tyson feeling any better?"

Tyson hadn't been in good spirits lately. They had even called a veterinarian earlier that day.

But the vet couldn't determine what was wrong and had only prescribed some basic medication.

Lana had been staying by Tyson's side, hoping he would recover.

"Still the same," she said in a low voice. "The vet thinks it might be stomach pain. Tyson is getting too old."

"Tyson will be okay," Neal comforted her.

After chatting for a bit, Lana and her aunt returned to the house.

Feeling down, Lana sat on her bed, unable to sleep.

After a long while, she got up.

Unable to fall asleep, she suddenly had the urge to open her locked drawer and look at the keepsakes her mother had left her.

Neal had given them to her just a few days ago.

Lana's parents had died in a tragic car accident during a meteor shower—a pain she had never been able to let go of.

That's why she had been hesitant to open the drawer. But tonight, she finally gathered the courage.

Just as she reached for the handle, her finger accidentally brushed against a metal wire on the side.

She let out a soft grunt of pain.

Looking down, she saw a tiny bead of bright red blood welling up on her left index finger.

She instinctively put the wounded finger in her mouth, sucking on it lightly before continuing to take out a photo album and a notebook from the drawer.

Flipping through the album filled with pictures of her parents, Lana's expression turned sorrowful.

After a few minutes, she closed the album, took a deep breath to steady her emotions, and then noticed a thick, old-looking book at the bottom of the drawer.

Curious, she opened it—completely unaware that a drop of her blood had fallen onto the pages, seeping into the paper.

At that moment, the mark on her arm began to glow faintly with an eerie light.

...

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