Annie's pulse drummed in her ears, nearly drowned out by the continuous, overlapping bursts of camera flashes flanking the red carpet. The crowd pressed hard against the metal barriers, arms waving, mouths open in shouts that coalesced into a single, deafening chant. They were calling her name. The name she had chosen. The sheer volume rattled her ribs, making her steps falter slightly, her balance thrown off by a sudden disconnect between her feet and the asphalt.
Starlight. Starlight. Starlight.
She looked down at the white fabric and gold stars. She had drafted this design in spiral notebooks for years, adjusting seams and silhouettes until it materialized exactly as she had pictured it. People had called it naive. She hadn't argued. It matched the name.
Fingers clamped around her upper arm. She turned.
Her mother stood there, lips trembling into a smile that didn't quite reach her wide, glassy eyes. Her grip was tight, her breath shallow. The tension in her shoulders remained rigid, anchored in years of anticipation that refused to unclench.
How could this be anything other than a dream?
Her mother's voice echoed from a dozen childhood memories: You are chosen. Your powers are a gift from the Lord. You were born to be a hero. Annie had learned to sew costumes, had smiled through local hero pageants, and had trained daily without complaint because the destination was always this. Vought International. The Seven. The world's stage.
Walking down a carpet toward a building where she could finally deliver the one thing she had pitched to the judges: hope. They hadn't cared for the sentiment. But she still believed in it. And now, bathing in the afternoon sun, the reality mirrored the promise.
A woman in a sharp business suit stepped into her path.
"Welcome to New York, Starlight." She extended a hand, her smile practiced and her posture relaxed. "Ashley, Director of Talent. We've been looking forward to having you."
"Thank you." Annie shook her hand. "Are all of these people here to... for me?"
"For you, absolutely." Ashley's eyes flicked past Annie's shoulder, scanning the far end of the barricades. Her smile thinned as she searched the perimeter. "And for another hero as well."
"Another..." Annie looked back at the crowd. "I thought one member of The Seven was retiring. One replacement, one new position."
"The Seven is becoming The Eight, actually. The decision was finalized recently, so there's no reason you would have known." Ashley offered a quick flash of teeth. "I'll introduce you when he arrives."
Annie blinked. Eight. The group had been The Seven since before she could read. The number anchored the mythology, the branding, the entire identity. Eight shifted the foundation.
Ashley's chin jerked upward, her eyes locking onto the sky.
"There." Ashley exhaled, her shoulders dropping a fraction. "Finally. If they'd been any later we'd have had a scheduling problem."
Annie followed her gaze.
A figure descended from the sky. He dropped slowly, eclipsing the sun. His suit was bright red and deep blue, the primary colors stark against the skyline. A heavy cape drifted behind him, and the large S across his chest caught the afternoon glare. Annie raised a hand to shield her eyes. The halo of light framing his silhouette made it hard to look directly at him.
Like a god coming down to earth, she thought.
"I'm not a god, actually." His tone carried a soft, apologetic edge. He touched down on the carpet without a sound, his boots meeting the fabric smoothly. "Sorry. The hearing is a little hard to turn down."
He smiled. Annie had spent years navigating the pageant circuits and the polished, aggressive attractiveness of local heroes. She knew how to read the performative charm of public figures. This smile lacked that entire framework. The lines around his eyes crinkled. He offered no angle, no calculation, just open, unguarded warmth. She felt a brief, strange urge to look away, as though she were staring into a bright light.
"I'm Clark," he said. "You can call me Superman, if you prefer, but Clark is fine." He extended his hand. "I think you're Starlight?"
"Yes," Annie said, taking his hand. His grip was careful, measured. "Yes. That's me."
"I'm looking forward to working with you. For what it's worth, I'm just someone with a few strange abilities who wants to be useful. Same as you, I imagine."
The crowd registered the arrival. The roar swelled, doubling in volume and washing over the barricades. Microphones thrust forward. Voices clamored over each other.
"Superman! Are you related to Homelander?"
"Superman! Over here! One photo!"
Clark's smile tightened at the corners. He raised a hand in a brief, polite wave, his posture stiffening slightly as the noise washed over him.
Ashley appeared at his elbow. Her stance shifted, leaning slightly toward him, her focus absolute. The casual professionalism she had shown Annie evaporated, replaced by an intense, laser-focused deference.
"Superman, we're so glad you made it." She tapped her earpiece, holding a black folder against her chest. "Madeline sends her personal welcome. We're going to need to move through fairly quickly. The timing inside is tight. Is there anything you need before we go in?"
Just treat him like a second Homelander, Madeline Stillwell had said. Handle him accordingly.
"I think I'm ready," Clark said. "Lead the way."
Inside the Vought International Convention Centre, the auditorium seated several hundred shareholders and press. Madeline Stillwell paced the stage. She wore a crisp white shirt and a dark skirt, a wireless microphone clipped to her collar. She spoke at an even, measured pace, letting her voice fill the cavernous space.
"Without any question," she said, her lips curling upward as she looked across the front rows, "this is the ideal moment to be in the superhero industry." She clicked the remote in her hand. The slide advanced. "Net income up fourteen percent on last year. Our most recent film: one point seven billion worldwide, which sets a new record for the third consecutive release. Beginning this autumn, construction begins on a superhero-themed park outside Paris." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "Ladies and gentlemen. Our brand influence is without ceiling."
Applause erupted. The clapping was sharp, loud, and sustained.
"What matters most, of course," she continued, lowering her pitch, "is the work of managing, supporting, and guiding our heroes."
The screen behind her lit up. A fast-paced montage filled the display: low-angle shots of capes billowing, rapid cuts of energy blasts, all set to a swelling orchestral track. The visuals communicated high stakes while carefully avoiding any actual violence or consequence. The shareholders watched the screen, their applause fading into an ambient murmur.
Backstage, on the other side of the heavy velvet curtain, Starlight and Superman stood side by side in the shadows, waiting for their names to be called.