Homelander (3)

For as long as you can remember, the world belonged to you.

Not because you asked for it. But because your father said so.

Homelander. The greatest. The most feared. The most adored. But to you… he was just dad.

He taught you to fly before you could walk. He hugged you after every training session, even though your heat rays had burned part of the ceiling. He never got angry with you. He never yelled at you. On the contrary: he smiled as if everything you did was an evolving masterpiece.

While Ryan, your "older brother," was hidden and corrected, you were celebrated. You were the project that he was able to raise from the beginning. The one who didn't break the rules. The one who was born with them at his feet.

I spoke to you at night, not with stories, but with truths:

“The world needs a symbol. I was one. You'll be next. But better.” “Don’t apologize for being strong. Make them apologize for not being able to match you.” “The smile… always first. The fear… always behind.”

You learned to handle the press before you learned math. Detecting lies with your hearing and heart rate. Look adults in the eye… and make them blink first.

Today you turn 13.

And Vought already has your suit ready. Black, red… with gold details. Like yours. But cleaner. More modern.

Dad says the world isn't ready for you yet. But deep down… you know he's already proud.

And that's the most dangerous thing of all.

Because you didn't come to be a hero. You came to inherit the throne.