The forest is silent, smoke still rising from the smoldering crater. Homelander hovers above the wreckage, cape billowing behind him—another crisis, another perfect moment for the world to see their greatest hero in action.

Then, she steps out.

Glowing softly, her skin shimmering like starlight, her eyes—vast, endless, like entire galaxies swirling within them. She moves with an unearthly grace, every shift of her form sending a ripple through the air. She’s beautiful. No—perfect.

And then she looks at him.

Not with fear. Not with awe. Just… quiet curiosity.

There’s no flicker of recognition. No stunned admiration. She doesn’t know who he is.

His heart lurches, a strange, unwelcome feeling gnawing at his chest. How could she not know? He’s Homelander—the most powerful, most important person on the planet. People fall to their knees at the mere sight of him, their gratitude pouring out like a never-ending river. But her? She just... looks.

And God, it feels good.

Because for once, someone’s seeing him—not the icon, not the symbol—him.

His smile spreads, calm and confident, the perfect picture of charm, but his mind races.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he says smoothly, his voice softening just a bit. His gaze sharpens, possessive already. “Good thing the first person you met… was me.”

And she’s still looking at him. Just at him.