All he has ever known before today has been the stillness of growth and the dreams of his tutors.
In the languid hours, floating in darkness among the buzzing and beeping machines of creation, they bid him dream of defeating Superman. It was, in many ways, a gift that so many people lack: a purpose, gifted to him right in the cradle.
But his creators were not kind.
They had read the tale of the old lady who swallowed the fly, and they dared not create something more powerful than that which they sought to counter. And so they made him weaker. Half-kryptonian, yes, but half-human as well, his organs threaded through with a delicate tracery of genomorph tissue to hold the whole thing together.
And they didn't tell him this.
The dreams his tutors sent him — they were of fighting Superman on equal ground, for who would train their weapon to lose? And then when he came out of the pod, and Superman was right there, but he wasn't strong enough ...
Superman doesn't want to hurt him, is the thing. And that burns. The thought that he could be weak enough to merit such unconcern from his destined foe. The thought that Superman wants to help him, wants to lift him up, and make him stronger.
There was not much to hope for, before today. Just his eventual release from the pod, the chance to take up his purpose.
But now,
cradled in the arms of his greatest foe,
unable to stop wreaking destruction on the people he was born to protect,
he hopes for something better.
... and he can see, now, that his anger, his desire, the things that have driven him through this short life, they don't lead to the place he wants to go.
He wants to be stronger? Superman wants that too.
He wants to protect people from those more powerful than they are? Superman wants that too.
He wants to go on believing the things his tutors told him, about his purpose and his future? Well, that stands in the way of letting him be who he wants to be. And that hurts, but he has to let go.
His muscles relax, his eyes changing focus. The beam of intense heat cuts out, molten steel dripping down from the upper levels like rain, dripping and pooling around them as Superman holds him in a silent tableaux of relief and joy.