The days went by calmly — far too calmly for someone who knew what the future held.
Ryan continued his usual routine: homeschooling in the morning, lunch with his mother, and afternoons spent in the backyard pretending to be just a curious little boy. But inside him burned a silent fire — an urgency that wouldn't let him relax.
He knew what was coming.
He knew Homelander would eventually find them, and when that day came, Becca's world would collapse.
He could not allow that.
That was when he began testing his limits.
During lessons, he noticed the first difference. Becca explained a simple math problem, and he already knew the answer before she finished the sentence. When she taught him new Spanish words — a language she used only for fun —
Ryan repeated the phrases with perfect pronunciation after hearing them a single time.
"Muy bien, mi amor !" she said, laughing with pride. "You got that so fast !"
Ryan smiled back, trying to look natural, but inside he felt something else: awe.
It wasn't just good performance. It was something beyond human.
Every word, every concept, seemed to slot into his mind like pieces of a puzzle he had already solved.
This must be part of his legacy… from Homelander.
But what if I can use it to do the opposite of what he would ?
The idea sprouted inside him like a seed.
At night, after Becca fell asleep, he waited for her breathing to grow steady, then quietly slipped out the back door. The cold night air greeted him, along with the distant chirping of crickets and the rustle of leaves.
Behind the house, there was a clearing — a blind spot between the surveillance cameras. He had noticed it days earlier, watching the angles of the lenses when Vought's "employees" came for maintenance. There, hidden by trees, was the only place he could be himself.
And there, Ryan trained.
At first, he simply ran. He ran until he was out of breath, trying to see if his muscles reacted like a normal child's. And they did. He fell, stumbled, felt the burn in his legs — all normal.
But frustration grew.
Why isn't anything happening ?
Why can't I feel anything ?
I have his blood… I know I do. So why am I so weak ?
Every night ended the same: sitting on the cold ground, eyes teary, staring at the starry sky and wondering if fate was mocking him.
Maybe his powers only showed up under extreme stress. Maybe he needed anger like his father.
But the thought alone terrified him.
He didn't want to be like Homelander.
Ever.
Even so, he kept trying. For hours he punched the air, kicked nothing, ran, jumped, fell, and started again. The ground beneath his feet grew marked by repeated steps. His hands became bruised.
Until, on a windy night, his frustration finally erupted.
Ryan stared at a thick tree, its trunk covered in moss. His body shook with anger and helplessness.
"I need to be stronger…" he muttered, his voice hoarse. "I need to protect her…"
Memories flashed — Becca smiling, Becca hugging him, Becca bleeding, screaming, dying in Homelander's arms as he remembered from the show.
His heart pounded, his hands tingled.
I'm not going to let that happen!
The punch came from the depth of his soul. It wasn't calculated or controlled. It was pure instinct, pure fear, pure fury.
The impact echoed like thunder.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
The tree trunk — sturdy, thick, solid — now had a hole through the center.
Splinters flew, and Ryan stumbled backward, stunned, staring at his own hand.
It wasn't hurt. Not a scratch.
His breath shook. His heart raced too fast, but a smile crept onto his face.
He stared at the shattered trunk and, for the first time since awakening, felt something other than fear.
Hope.
I did it…
His legs trembled, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the hole in the wood.
I really did it.
So the power is here. Inside me. I just need to learn how to control it.
He knelt, resting his hand on the damp ground, breathing deeply.
"I promise, Mom…" he whispered, eyes firm. "I'm going to get strong enough to protect you. I'll be better."
The wind swept through the leaves, as if the world heard his silent vow.
And there, under the pale moonlight, a nine-year-old boy — with a heart divided between two lives and the blood of a god in his veins — began, in secret, to walk the path that would make him something new.
Not the monster Homelander was.
But the hope that someone, someday, could be different.