…Only the old photograph in his hand confirmed Soren's existence.
Perhaps it was because Soren's face was not captured in that photo that some unseen force had erased all traces of Soren's existence, leaving this image behind.
It allowed him to reclaim his true, painful, and unfortunate memories in this perfect and smooth world.
Realizing this, he was suddenly gripped by sheer panic.
A colossal, overwhelming fear attacked him, making even his steel body, which had never faced a threat, tremble slightly.
The most terrifying thought surged into his mind.
If Soren didn't exist in his life, where could he ever find Soren?
What if Soren didn't exist in this world at all?
What if Soren had completely vanished from this reality?
Not even a shadow left behind, not even a trace of memory to cling to.
Where, then, could Clark Kent find Soren?
If this world had no Soren, then he might as well be dead.
Dying might even be more blissful than his current existence, for he wouldn't have to confront the truth that he would never again see Soren in this world.
Losing Soren was perhaps more painful than death itself.
Death would easily end his life, bringing an eternal peace in darkness, where he would find rest.
But losing Soren...
He didn't even dare to use the slightest bit of imagination to envision this possibility.
If he lost Soren, how would he live on?
"Have you seen him, Mom?" Clark asked, showing Martha the photo, holding onto the last glimmer of hope. "Do you recognize the person in this picture with me?"
Martha looked at the photo in confusion, trying to identify the boy beside him, but she couldn't recall his name at all.
"...Who is this? Clark, is this a classmate from high school? But when did you go to New York with your classmate?" Martha asked.
Clark lowered his gaze, tracing the image of Soren in the photo.
Even though Soren's face wasn't clearly captured, his memories had already filled in the expression on Soren's face.
At that time, Soren's biggest worry was simply that he had worn too many heavy clothes when going out.
He slightly furrowed his light golden brows, sniffled, and complained under the dazzling Christmas tree, "If I'd known we were taking pictures, I wouldn't have worn so many clothes!"
He smiled at him, pulling the boy he liked into his embrace, using his strong arms to hold Soren, capturing this moment in the photo together.
They could never have imagined that this photo, which Soren always complained was poorly taken, would become the only treasured possession he carried with him in hell.
Even if he forgot everything, choosing to abandon it all due to pain, he still couldn't bear to part with this small photo, keeping it close in his palm every day.
That Soren didn't recognize himself in the photo, so Kal-El held his hand and pointed, saying, "This is you, Soren."
"But my hair isn't that color," Soren said playfully, nuzzling against his chest, curling up in his embrace and using a coy tone to say, "I'm sleepy…"
Kal-El stubbornly held his hand, insisting that Soren remember the two people in the photo.
"This is me, Kal-El, and this is you, Soren," he said in a low voice.
Soren seemed to dislike Kal-El repeatedly emphasizing the identities of the two people in the photo.
He turned his head and rested on Karl's shoulder, yawning.
Kal-El remained determined, saying again and again, "Soren, you have to remember, this is me and you; this is yourself."
Still drowsy, Soren half-closed his eyes, mumbling, "Got it, this is Kal-El… this is me…"
His fingers lazily traced over the photo, as if to acknowledge Kal-El's wishes and remember the two people in the picture.
Kal-El quietly watched as Soren drifted off to sleep, seeing the memories of their past flow away like water, the most painful thing in the world.
Now, this photo, spanning over a decade, had become proof to tell everyone that Soren had once existed in this world.
Clark anxiously said, "This is Soren, Dad, Mom, this is Soren. You should remember him; we used to… we used to be best friends."
Martha and Jonathan exchanged glances, and Jonathan said, "But, Clark, isn't your best friend Peter? We've never heard you mention Soren…"
"No, it's Soren."
Clark lowered his gaze to the photo, carefully placing it in his shirt pocket, close to his heart.
"Dad, Mom, I'm going to find him back."
On the evening of March 18, 2021, he left Kent Farm, stepping onto an uncertain path.
Just as he had every time he left this home.
He had asked everyone in his memories who had intersected with Soren about his existence.
He went to the Hargreaves family in Manhattan, showing them the photo amid their panicked expressions and asking if they had seen Soren.
The Hargreaves shook their heads, telling him, "Our son's name is Benjamin; he passed away over twenty years ago."
He arrived at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, stopping everyone to inquire if anyone recognized a boy named Soren.
No one nodded in response, except for Captain Steve Rogers, who recalled, "I once knew a soldier named Soren, but that was over eighty years ago."
Clark latched onto this like a lifeline, desperately asking Steve to show him a photo of that soldier.
Steve replied, "It's been too long… I didn't keep any photos of him. Perhaps you can check the archives for his records."
Clark felt a surge of hope as he rushed to the National Archives.
He pored over every World War II soldier's record tirelessly, without sleeping or eating, until he finally found the name in a long-forgotten, heavy ledger.
…But that "Soren" was a Black soldier who had fallen in the Battle of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.
Once again, hope slipped away.
He sat on the floor of the archives' information hall, tilting his head back as he swallowed a choked "Soren."