Starborn

I had not seen someone this beautiful in a few decades. This woman was nothing short of divine, with her dark hair and hourglass figure, walking in the room with a commanding posture and a blank and subduing stare. I was sure there was nothing that could stop her, should she want something. Others seemed to know it, too, as they scrambled around her, offering drinks, appetizers and what they hoped was pleasant conversation. She was not phased by it, waving them all off softly and graciously.

My interest was piqued. Who was this woman? Why hadn’t I known of her or met her? I would have most assuredly met her, if she had any relevance at all in this city. Or so I thought. The way people seemed to react to her presence, yearning for her attention and approval, told me there was still much to learn about this city.

“I see the Luthor progeny has caught your eye.” Said my friend, with a smile gracing his face. I looked at him for a moment, assessing the possible implications of his statement. James had a glint of mischief in his eyes, and his white teeth shone behind his amused smile. He meant to tease me; I could tell. Instead of calling it out or engaging in our usual sharp banter, I decided to ignore it altogether. It seemed to stun him a little, as I asked him who she was, not bothering to hide my curiosity in the slightest.

He proceeded to explain all her family history, which frankly almost bored me to death, but when he told me she was the last of her name, I felt a sudden pull at my attention once again. “How come that?” I asked.

“Her father died several years ago, but just last year, her brother held her and her mother hostage at gunpoint before shooting them both and killing himself. Her mother’s wound was fatal, hers wasn’t.” He stated somberly, downing the entire content of his cup before signaling the wait staff for another.

“Gloomy. And oddly convenient.” I said as I stepped away from him, walking towards the circle of people surrounding the woman my eyes had followed all night.

“Kara, stop! You can’t be seriously thinking about this, tonight.” Came James’ words, with a pull to my left arm. “Look, tonight is not about coven, I told you that.”

Our coven, as James would frequently put it (a term commonly used in Kansas to describe our people, apparently), had been whispering for two or three years of an inner circle looking for the appropriate last heir of a powerful human family bloodline, to marry off to the Chancellor of the Ex-Astra Council, Morgan Edge, and produce the powerful heir destined to save our kind from oppression, fulfilling some centuries-old prophecy. “Marry off” is a description to be taken loosely, breeding could define it better, perhaps.

“Alright.” I grimaced, annoyed. My intention in approaching her had not at all been related to what he was implying. “Forgive me.” I offered, as we receded deeper into the party, playing nice among National City’s elite. Their compliance was very much needed, if I were to drop some heads and right some wrongs. James, of course, had not known this night was, in fact, all about coven.

Ours had been a culture centered around power. One not naturally pertaining to humans. Alien invaders had granted us this power, albeit perhaps indirectly. They had been a species slowly dying of environmentally induced infertility, seeking a way to protect and prolong their legacies, their culture. Genetically engineered to carry the alien genetic material and live safely on this Earth, the first generation of our kind had lived under the invaders, learning their history, their culture, their customs, tasked with passing down their teachings and establishing a race that would best humans and take over the world as humans had done before. They couldn’t.

As resourceful as they were in making the first generation adaptable to Earth, the aliens could not find a way to live here themselves. The atmosphere was taxing, and they unknowingly burned, rapidly oxidized, being able to accompany the first generation only through their infancy and early adolescence. Thus, the young new race was left to its own devices.

In their youthful glow, the first generation saw in the human civilizations a reason to coexist instead of dominating: in all their wisdom, the invaders had failed to provide knowledge as to how a people might survive on this planet without the aid of the foreign devices they operated, and the prospect of learning it from humans was, at the very least, appealing. This coexistence became more seamless than expected, and soon, the first generation gave way to a new generation, but this one was composed of halflings as well as pureblooded children.

From the merge, came power in an unexpected way: the strength of the alien genetic aligned with human DNA had struck gold, forging a connection to the planet and its living organisms in a way no human nor alien alone could have done. These children drew a rift between humans and the alien descendants, and the peaceful coexistence was forgotten. Cast away were the ancestors, and the few humans who would collude with them. It would be a thousand years before they could be accepted into human civilization again.

As miscegenation progressed, the power contained in their blood seemed to be diluted into a much more acceptable form, becoming the meek parlor tricks that would get them accepted back into the courts of eccentric kings and noble estates. Pureblooded children showcased slightly more prominent aspects than miscegenated children, developing better strength and endurance regardless of the physical conditioning, and so, some families kept purity of blood in the highest of values, clinging to the old teachings of the long-gone alien invaders. They proudly called themselves Ex-Astra.

What that meant would then be lost to historical records, as the catholic church sought to erase the Ex-Astra people, from history as well as existence, succeeding only in the former, but not without losses to the deeply miscegenated Ex-Astra, unaware of the imminent danger and lulled by the deceitful notion that their adherence to their human heritage would save them. Those who fled were now in charge of keeping record of their history, living among humans but never losing sight of their true heritage. There are, roughly, eight hundred Ex-Astra families across all Americas, five hundred in Europe and Asia and two hundred in Africa. These families and bloodlines remained linked through secret councils and summits over the centuries, still fearing the backlash of the purge attempts Catholics had inflicted upon them. Miscegenated bloodlines soon adhered to these councils and summits, looking to protect themselves under the resources the Ex-Astra amassed.

As for Chancellor Edge’s alleged pursuit of a powerful human woman who was the last of her family bloodline, there was no way of knowing if the matching of a pure starborn father and a pure human mother would make the powerful child old prophecies told. These stories are part of the Ex-Astra collective conscience, but there is little to no evidence to support it can happen now. In all cases of recent history, mating between a human and a pureblooded starborn is naturally impossible and heavily discouraged, with miscarriages happening not too long after insemination, if there is any insemination at all. Despite this, there was genetic evidence proving that miscegenated Ex-Astra families are legitimately related to pureblood families to some degree, while also maintaining some of the human genome, which told it was once possible to occur, but there haven’t been successful halfling pregnancies in over a century, and cross-race pregnancies have more chance of being completed the weaker the starborn genes are in the parent.

If the whispers were true, I felt truly sorry for Lena Luthor. Morgan Edge was not a good man, and he certainly wasn’t a man to respect others' wishes. The best I could do for her was set my plan in motion and take him down.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Thoughts of revenge and murder kept me awake. Thoughts of my mother, of my father. Thoughts of Lena, of her cloudy eyes and her firm, commanding posture. I wanted to meet her, but what I wanted had little to do with what would happen. My life was not my own, not until everyone who did me wrong was put to the ground. Still, Lena was nice to think about, and I fell asleep as the sun came out, dreaming of green eyes and red lips.

It was a calm morning. The first in a few weeks. Sunlight warmed my skin as people walked past me, left and right. The hardness of the wooden bench underneath me was soothing, as I sat with my thoughts, the city sounds serving as background noise for my wandering mind. For the first time in a week, I let myself think back to the woman I had not yet met, but who took my attention for an entire night. A night that was meant to be spent on swaying new investors for my media startup. Something so vital to my plan of making things right for the Ex-Astra, and I had let myself get distracted by this Lena Luthor. There was no way of knowing whether the outcome of that night would have been better had she not been there. Still, I felt angry for my lack of focus.

Before I could properly introduce myself to her, she was gone. James had told me she only stayed for a short amount of time, as a favor to him. Everything about that explanation sounded strange to me. I found myself more and more intrigued by this woman’s existence, as I learned more about her. I couldn’t give a good reason as to why she was such an alluring point of focus for my thoughts, and the best I could do to rationalize it was to attribute this curiosity to the fact that I believed I knew everything there was to know about this city and its elite.

Furthermore, I wondered about her. About things that had no relevance to my plan, digressions that had no connection to her potential part to play in it, and it was setting me off balance.

As I sat there, in that park, realization hit me: I had not heard her voice. In hindsight, this was nothing to be so torn up over, but my imagination ran rampant, trying to find a voice that would fit her best. Was her voice soft and soothing, lulling her competitors into a false sense of superiority before she capitalized on their underestimation and struck them down? Was it high in pitch, with a delicate lilt to it? Did she dominate a world built by men for other men in pencil skirts and feminine grace? Was her voice raspy and breathless sounding? Shallow, cunning, and dangerous. Perhaps it was full and powerful, leaving no option but to acquiesce and allow oneself to be led by her. Did she lead when she danced?

Before I could follow that tangent, my phone beeped with a distinctly high-pitched ping, bringing me back into the present moment in a sudden, almost physical, pull. It was a text message from Ms. Grant. She had yet to address me via assistant, which told me she was still not used to having a new person taking on that role. She also seemed to conveniently forget I was not meant to be bringing her coffee any time we had a meeting.

Cat Grant was a media mogul, owner of CatCo Worldwide Media. She was my former employer and a friend, as well as a shareholder in my new media company and a member of the Astra Council. When I first imagined bringing Morgan Edge to justice, I knew I needed a source from within the Council, to help me build my arsenal against him. Ms. Grant had been a trusted ally, having procured me back from Midvale and the Danvers home, offering me a way back into Astra society. It felt only right to come to her about taking back my family place in the Council and bringing down the man responsible for the downfall of the house of El. Having her own quarries against Edge, she helped me strategize a way to oust him from his role as Chancellor and take back my family seat at the Council.

As I peered into the screen, the text message read “Clear out the afternoon. Meeting with investors at 2pm. Don’t be late.” I couldn’t tell if she meant to clear my afternoon or hers.