2003
Five Years Later
Spotlights turned the night outside Vought Tower into something between a premiere and a coronation. The carpet was Vought lined with gold stanchions, sponsor banners, and security in black suits with earpieces that never stopped buzzing. Fans pressed against barricades, waving little Seven flags and homemade signs.
A Vought News reporter stood in front of it all on the blue carpet, smile polished, mic held perfectly. Producers in her ear fed her every word she would soon be saying.
"And we are LIVE at the Vought Gala!" she announced, beaming into the lens as camera flashes popped behind her like fireworks. "The Vought Gala finally kicks off with the arrival of Vought CEO, Stan Edgar, and his genius son, Solomon!"
A white limo rolled to the curb, immaculate and slow. Bodyguards immediately covered the car at all angles before one opened the door.
Stan Edgar stepped out first, posture straight, suit tailored with precision. He didn't wave or smile, at least not one that showed his teeth or reached his eyes—just a calm, controlled presence, as if the entire world belonged to him.
Then Solomon emerged at his side.
Five years old, small in a crisp tux that had also been custom-made. His white hair neatly combed, expression peaceful. He looked like a child dressed for his first gala, except he didn't have the annoyed expression or anxiety of others. The way he held himself, chin slightly raised, gaze steady under the barrage of lights, showed a calm and maturity beyond his age.
He didn't even spare a glance at the crowd, but they roared anyway.
"Just last year," the reporter continued, stepping in as if she wasn't terrified of being too close, "Solomon, you found the cure for cancer at a mere four years old. Now five, what can you say about your findings? Many are speculating you were born with super intelligence."
Solomon smoothly turned toward the mic, a smile on his face at the similarity of the press back when he was Romani.
Some things never change. These people truly have no idea what goes on in a world they call their own.
Breathing a deep sigh, Solomon commenced his first public act. His objective? To be as faithful to the Lord as possible.
"I can say God has blessed me with a sound mind and a drive to advance humanity," he said. "But really, I was only finishing up what the great scientists at Vought had already started. It was my faith in God that pushed me to finish their work."
The reporter's grin widened like she was a child being handed a lollipop. "Oh, how humble! Many were wondering, Solomon, if you plan on joining the Seven in the future. With your intelligence, you definitely could, and we're all sure you have more up your sleeve."
Solomon didn't answer; he could tell she had gone off script by the slight frown that appeared on his father's face and the tiny head shake the young reporter gave.
"What do you think about the superhero team founded just a few years ago?"
"As I said before, God has blessed me greatly," Solomon replied, gaze flicking briefly to his father before returning to the camera, "so I plan on repaying the blessing by sharing it with the world, but not by joining the Seven. I know the Seven are all about crime-fighting and saving citizens physically; however, I plan to save the world in a different way. I'll announce it later on the main stage."
With that, Solomon turned away, giving his attention to the crowd and putting his hands in a prayer position. It was truly a treat for him, that anxiety of not knowing people's reaction or the outcomes of the world. He was sure many had already given up faith in God in honor of a particular superhero.
A murmur rippled through the press line. A few reporters leaned forward like sharks that smelled blood.
"The young Solomon doesn't plan on joining the Seven," the VNN reporter said quickly, swiveling to Stan with rehearsed excitement. "Mr. Edgar, how do you feel about this decision, and how do you feel about your son's accomplishments so far?"
Stan's gaze never wavered from the camera. "I'm quite proud of Solomon," he said, voice even. "And as for the Seven… we have something much better planned."
It was a statement that sounded harmless until you realized it wasn't a suggestion. It was a promise, a promise that better things were to come.
Many were already talking of how Homelander and the Seven tended to end their villains since his early debut, undermining the idea of due process America held so dear. Still, they let it be because, well, he was Homelander.
But the idea of something better. It left a lot up to imagination in the eyes of the public.
With that, father and son moved forward, security parting the crowd like a blade. People reached out as they passed, hands in the air, desperate for a touch, a glance, proof they'd been close to greatness.
The doors to Vought Tower opened. Warm light spilled out, along with the sound of orchestral music and a thousand expensive conversations. Stan and Solomon entered with their heads held high, swallowed by the gala's elegance.
Inside, the party was fueled by opportunity, money, and fear. Staff laughed too loudly at Supes' jokes. Executives acted buddy-buddy with politicians. Supes posed like living statues while photographers snapped pictures that would sell their invincible image.
On the carpet outside, another commotion rose: screams, then cheers.
A shadow dropped from the sky.
Homelander landed with practiced precision, cape settling perfectly behind him as if it had been choreographed. Maeve touched down a half-step after, expression controlled, eyes already scanning for the fastest route inside.
The reporter practically jogged toward them, mic up, voice bright enough to drown out the screams.
"Homelander! Maeve! You guys arrived in style as usual. We, on the interview team, would love to thank you guys for saving the city yet again."
Homelander smiled, leaning into the camera like it was his mirror. "Oh, no," he said warmly, "you guys are the real heroes, right, Maeve?"
Maeve's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah," she said. "The real heroes are you guys. Anyway, we should be on our way to the gala. I wouldn't want to keep Mr. Edgar waiting."
"Wait!!" the reporter blurted, sliding in the next question as if her life depended on it, because it probably did. "Have you guys met Mr. Edgar's son yet? He seems to be on a hero streak early on. Any thoughts about his cancer cure and his view on the Seven? Apparently, he has better plans."
Homelander's smile didn't flicker, not on camera. It stayed bright and easy. But for all that knew him like the now fidgeting Maeve next to him, he was burning with an anger that rivaled the pits of hell.
And his eyes did move.
Just a fraction of a second past the reporter, past the gala, and towards the private office that had swallowed Stan Edgar and the boy.
Maeve shifted her weight and turned away.
Homelander chuckled softly. "Met him?" he repeated. "Not yet, but I sure have heard about him."
Maeve kept her voice as uninterested as possible. "No."
"And? The plans." The reporter moved closer to the two. "He doesn't want to join the Seven, but what could be better?"
Homelander laughed yet again, this time a bit heavier. "Wow, a bit early, aren't we? The Seven is a team of elite superheroes, and we don't yet know his powers. Maybe he isn't cut out for the Seven."
The reporter's eyebrows raised, and she spoke without thinking, "If there's one thing I have faith in, it's Stan Edgar; if he says Solomon has better plans, I'd have to believe him. Maybe he believes he will be the next you, Homelander."
Maeve's jaw tightened. Was she trying to get the kid killed?
"As Homelander said, it's still a bit too early to tell; he is a kid after all." She put on her best smile as she looked at Homelander. "He should deve--"
Homelander cut in smoothly, patting Maeve on the back to show he wasn't mad, but she knew he was. "The boy's special," he said, as though the number of lives he had saved so far could amount to anything close to a cancer cure.
"It's truly amazing what he's done." He turned towards the camera. "He's truly a hero, and that's why Maeve and I are going to meet him. That cure he made... That's hope." He said, pointing towards the crowd.
"Aww." The people in the press couldn't help but smile, imagining the scene of Homelander mentoring the boy.
Maeve stared off into the distance, already done for the night that would undoubtedly be very stressful. She flexed her arms and hands like she wanted to drag him away or push the press away.
Homelander continued, "The Seven is the symbol of hope for the world." Homelander leaned back casually. "We haven't seen what his symbol has formed into yet, so we'll see in the future. As for better plans, time will tell."
Getting ready to turn away, he finished with, "We all hope to save the world, so I can't wait to see how he'll do it."
The reporter stood mesmerized as the two heroes stepped away. "We do! Ahhh, Deep, how do you feel about joining the Seven?"
Now inside the Gala, Maeve leaned in closer to Homelander without turning her head. And whispered so low only he could hear it.
"Don't."
"Don't what?!" he responded, acting surprised.
"You know what."
Homelander hummed, as if thinking it over. "It's funny," he said, voice low, almost playful. "Everyone keeps saying he's Stan's son."
"And you think he's not?"
"Of course he's not. Have you seen the kid? He looks like some mutant. I even see a bit of myself in him. They probably have a bit of you, too."
"So you're saying..."
"I'm saying they're trying to replace us, Maeve, with that child."
"He doesn't even want to join the Seven."
"Yeah, I'm the leader of the Seven; they probably want to create a new team entirely to get rid of my legacy. We have to get rid of it."
"Oh, John, I wonder why they would want to replace you, of all people, especially with a child."
"Don't get smart with me, Maeve. You know it, that fucking child is trying to replace us."
"You think Edgar would show his son, or what you believe to be an experiment, in the open without protection? His powers are probably so strong that you wouldn't be able to hurt him anyway."
"We'll just have to find out."
Maeve didn't answer. She just walked further into the building.
Inside the lobby, the music was louder, the air warmer, the smiles sharper. Vought employees in matching black moved like they'd rehearsed every step.
At the top of the stairs, a handler appeared instantly, a young man with a headset on.
"Homelander! Queen Maeve! So glad you could make it. Mr. Edgar is expecting you."
Across the ballroom, Stan Edgar stood near an office in conversation with executives and donors. Beside him, Solomon sat in a too-tall chair, feet not touching the floor, hands folded neatly in his lap.
He slowly looked up, eventually meeting Homelander's eyes.
For a moment, the noise of the party seemed to dim. Homelander's smile stayed fixed, but the warmth was gone.
Solomon's gaze held steady.
Not scared. Not impressed. Like he was looking at a random painting from a museum, and he didn't know why it had grown popular.
Just… watching.
Homelander's eyes narrowed slightly.
Maeve felt it immediately. She stepped in, casual, blocking the line of sight just enough to interrupt.
"He's five," she said under her breath. "Leave it alone."
Homelander blinked once, slowly.
"Maeve," he said sweetly, "Please don't get in my way again."
Maeve glared at him before moving out of the way.
As they crossed the ballroom, the crowd parted for them, admiration, fear, worship, all blending into one.
Stan Edgar turned as they approached, expression unchanged.
"Homelander," Stan said. "Maeve."
Homelander's voice was honey. "Stan." He looked down at Solomon as if he were examining a product he disapproved of. "And this must be the genius. Put 'er there."
Homelander tried a fist-bump.
Solomon tilted his head slightly, calm as a monk. His voice was soft, polite, and perfect.
"Hello," he said, not offering his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Homelander's smile only grew wider as he pulled his hand away, wondering why this child seemed keen on annoying him.
Stan's tone didn't shift. "Solomon," he said, "these are two of Vought's finest."
Solomon nodded. "I've seen you both on TV."
Homelander leaned down a little, bringing his face closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret with a child.
"Yeah?" he murmured. "And what do you think of me?"
Solomon's eyes stayed steady, gold and red, catching the ballroom lights.
"I think," Solomon said carefully, "You're too cruel to be a real hero. If I were all powerful and willing to truly help people, what use would I have in killing the villain without trial. "
For the first time all night, Homelander's smile twitched.
Maeve's stomach sank.
Stan Edgar looked from one to the other, and if there was any concern in him at all, he didn't show it. He only said, smooth as stone:
"The stage announcement starts in ten minutes."
Homelander straightened slowly, smile back in place as if nothing had happened.
"Perfect," he said. "I can't wait."