Since its debut in 2021, Power Book III: Raising Kanan promised to dive deep into the origin story of one of the franchise’s most enigmatic villains, Kanan Stark. But four seasons in, let’s call it what it is: this was never really his story — not in the way fans might’ve expected. Mekai Curtis delivers as the young, impulsive, trauma-scarred teen, but the real engine of this series has always been Patina Miller’s Raq. From her precision in power plays to her vulnerability as a mother, Raq is the gravity that everything else orbits.
If that sounds familiar, it should. Raq is the Ghost of this prequel — the protagonist whose decisions, for better or worse, drive the narrative. Kanan? He’s not the center. He’s the reflection. A mirror. Much like how Tariq operated in Power — a conflicted, sometimes reckless presence shaped by legacy, pressure, and pain — Kanan is that “love-to-hate” figure. And just like Tariq didn’t truly become the central character until after Ghost’s death, Kanan won’t fully come into his own unless the Queen falls.
Season 4 doubled down on that dynamic. As Raq wrestled with betrayal, grief, and loss of control over her empire, it became clear that the cracks in her family’s loyalty might do what rival crews never could — destroy her from the inside out. And still, she stood tallest. This season, Patina Miller gave us a Raq who was still a tactician but also a woman unraveling. She navigated betrayal by Unique (Joey Bada$$), a final stand with her mother, and the slow estrangement of her last true ally: Jukebox (Hailey Kilgore).
Meanwhile, Kanan spun into isolation, grief, and paranoia. The deaths of Krystal and Famous — both of which he wrongly pinned on Raq — fractured what little humanity he had left. But his motivations are messy and reactive. Unlike Raq, who moves with foresight, Kanan is all feeling. It’s no surprise fans are calling him “dumb” or “frustrating.” But isn’t that the point? As showrunner Sascha Penn puts it: “Kanan is 17 years old. Of course he’s dumb.” And yet that rawness, that inability to see past emotion, is exactly what makes him dangerous.
And let’s not ignore the other elephant in the room — Breeze. The long-whispered name finally manifested in the Season 4 finale in the form of Shameik Moore. If Season 5 will be the final installment, Breeze may very well be the bridge between Raising Kanan and the origin of the Power trinity: Ghost, Tommy, and Kanan. But don’t expect Breeze to save this series or Kanan to suddenly claim narrative dominance. Even Breeze’s emergence might be too late to unseat who’s really been running the show.
Kanan ends the season at a crossroads — holding a gun to the mother who shaped him, whose truths broke him. Did he pull the trigger? Did he kill Raq? The camera cuts, the gunshot rings, but fans are left wondering. Here’s our bet: he doesn’t. At least, not yet.
TRESIXTY PREDICTION:
Kanan may aim the gun, but it’s Jukebox who stops him. The same cousin who once sang with him on stoops and protected his innocence may become the final tether to his humanity — and eventually, the one he severs permanently. A foil. A future corpse. A family tragedy waiting to happen. It tracks too cleanly with the legacy of the Power universe to be coincidence. Raq’s death isn’t Kanan’s alone to orchestrate — and STARZ knows that.
Despite the title, Raising Kanan has always been about the people who shaped him. The ones he loved, betrayed, and eventually buried. And no matter how much STARZ tries to convince us otherwise, Kanan has never been the lead of any Power series. He wasn’t in the original, and he isn’t now.
Unless the upcoming Origins spinoff — with Ghost, Tommy, and Breeze — repositions him with clarity, the final curtain will close the same way it opened: with Patina Miller carrying this empire on her back. As Raq.
Time will tell.