The portal deposited them in a forest that shouldn't exist—ancient pines reaching toward a sky far warmer than the frozen peaks they'd left behind.
Golden sunlight filtered through the branches at odd, almost impossible angles, and the air vibrated with a subtle energy that made Arthur's senses tingle.
"So… we're in K'un-Lun?" Ariadne asked, slowly turning in place to take it all in.
"The dimensional pocket containing it," Arthur corrected, studying the trees. He'd expected mystical flora like the enchanted groves around Ta Lo, but at first glance, the trees looked perfectly ordinary. "The city should be past this forest. Let's move."
They followed a path worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. The quiet was eerie—no birds, no wind, just the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots. Arthur kept his senses alert, half-expecting glowing-eyed beasts or spirit guardians to emerge, but the silence held.
Ten minutes in, two figures dropped from the canopy with lethal grace.
Both wore gray robes layered over segmented armor that looked ancient but well-maintained. One held a long staff, the other twin dao swords. Their stances were flawless—balanced, coiled, ready to strike.
"Intruders! Kill!" the staff-wielder shouted in Mandarin.
Arthur understood the language perfectly. Kamar-Taj's libraries had required fluency in dozens of tongues. But speaking it? That required tones and timing he'd never bothered to master.
Ariadne immediately raised her hands peacefully, responding in fluent Mandarin. "We're not intruders. We come seeking—"
But the staff came down toward her head in a blur. She twisted back just in time, the strike grazing past her as the swordsman lunged in from the side with practiced precision.
"So much for peaceful first contact," she muttered, drawing her weapons.
"They're hardly in the mood to talk, given we appeared inside their supposedly impenetrable sanctuary." Arthur remarked. He brushed snow off a nearby boulder, sat down comfortably, and pulled out an apple. "You should be able to handle them. They're all yours."
"You're not going to help?" Ariadne asked, blocking a vicious slash that would have taken her arm off.
"And rob you of valuable training? Your recent fights against the Hand have been… lackluster." He took a thoughtful bite. "Consider this extra practice."
The guards attacked with silent coordination—one striking high, the other sweeping low, constantly shifting angles to keep Ariadne off balance. Their teamwork was seamless, like a well-rehearsed dance.
"Watch your left shoulder," Arthur commented between bites. "You're dropping it before every counter. Might as well hang a sign saying 'hit me here.'"
Ariadne spun through a complex evasion, her blade singing against the staff. "Your commentary—" she gasped, "—is deeply appreciated!"
"I live to serve." Arthur leaned back, watching like a coach from the sidelines. "Oh, watch your left—there you go. Better. Much cleaner."
The fight was genuinely impressive. The guards were fluid and precise, their attacks flowing together seamlessly. They'd clearly trained together for years. Ariadne was holding her own, but it was taking everything she had.
Then, the swordsman slipped through her defense, his blade cutting across her shoulder. Blood bloomed across her shirt.
"And there's the consequence of that dropped shoulder," Arthur observed. "This is precisely why the Hand has been giving you trouble. Sloppy fundamentals."
"These aren't street thugs!" Ariadne snarled, channeling her pain into a vicious counter-sequence. "They're actual warriors!"
"Excuses are the refuge of the defeated." Arthur examined his apple as though discussing the weather. "Want me to step in?"
"No!"
"Sure? That wound appears quite painful."
"I said no!"
"Alright then. Let me know if you change your mind. I'll be here. Watching. Judging."
The pain seemed to sharpen her focus. Ariadne had fought through worse before; pain was practically an old sparring partner. And Arthur's taunts were motivating her to shut him up the best way she knew how: by winning.
She caught the staff between her crossed blades, twisted hard, and yanked. The guard refused to let go, stumbling forward. Her knee slammed into his solar plexus, followed by a sharp elbow to the back of his neck.
One down.
The swordsman attacked with renewed fury, but Ariadne had found her rhythm. She baited him into overextending, sidestepped at the last moment, and slammed the pommel of her knife into his wrist. The sword dropped. A quick palm strike to his temple finished it.
Two guards down. Both unconscious in the snow.
Arthur stood, dusting off his robes with deliberate slowness. "Good work. Though that took far longer than it should have. Efficiency, Ariadne. Efficiency."
Ariadne was catching her breath, ready to deliver a scathing response, but the forest interrupted her. Figures emerged from between the trees—at least a dozen of them, clad in robes of yellow, green, and blue. At their head walked a man in deep crimson.
"The cavalry's here," Arthur announced casually.
But his demeanor shifted the moment he studied the red-robed leader. This man moved differently—controlled, deliberate, lethal. Arthur recognized the kind of precision that came from decades of mastery. Arthur had a feeling that If he limited himself to purely physical combat, no spells or mystic arts, he would lose. Badly.
The red-robed leader surveyed the scene: two unconscious guards, Ariadne's bloodied shoulder, Arthur still holding his half-eaten apple.
"Who are you?" he demanded in Mandarin. "How did you breach the Celestial Gate?"
Arthur understood perfectly but stayed silent, letting Ariadne handle diplomacy. His current mischievous streak would only make things worse.
Ariadne stepped forward, hand pressed against her wound. "My name is Ariadne Anderson. My father, Marcus Anderson, trained here twenty years ago. I've come to follow in his footsteps."
Something flickered in the man's eyes at the name—recognition, perhaps respect. His gaze shifted to Arthur, and he switched to accented but fluent English. "And you, outsider? You sit in amusement while your companion bleeds?"
"Arthur Hayes," Arthur replied with an easy smile. "A humble mage, merely curious about K'un-Lun's legendary disciplines. And you are?"
The man's expression didn't soften, but after a moment, he gave a curt nod. "I am Lei Kung. Protector of this realm."
Arthur blinked. The name meant nothing to him. His past-life knowledge of K'un-Lun was limited to one thing: Iron Fist Danny Rand.
Beside him, Ariadne stepped closer, wincing as she pressed her hand against her bleeding shoulder. "Arthur," she said pointedly, nodding toward the wound.
"Ah. Right," he said, as if just remembering.
With a flick of his fingers, golden light washed over Ariadne. Her wound sealed instantly, skin knitting together like time reversing. Another gesture erased the bloodstains from her clothes. Within seconds, she looked untouched, as if the fight had never happened.
The gathered warriors froze. Murmurs rippled through their ranks. It was clear they had never seen real magic before.
Lei Kung's eyes narrowed. "Is this what you call humble?" His voice was calm but dangerous. "Power radiates from you like heat from a forge. You're the one who breached our sacred barriers."
"Guilty as charged," Arthur admitted cheerfully. "Although 'breached' sounds dramatic. I simply persuaded them to let us through. Temporarily. They're perfectly intact."
Lei Kung studied him with an intensity that would have broken lesser men. Arthur noticed the minute tension in his stance—not fear, but the coiled readiness of someone who recognized a genuine threat.
Finally, Lei Kung spoke. "You will follow me. I cannot decide your fate alone."
"Delightful," Arthur said. "And let's keep the violence to a minimum, shall we? Very time-consuming."
Lei Kung's eye twitched, but he simply turned and began walking. The other warriors formed a precise formation around the outsiders—not quite an arrest, but certainly not an honor guard.
As they walked deeper into the forest, the trees began to thin. A ridge rose ahead. When they crested it, K'un-Lun revealed itself in all its glory.
Arthur had heard that the city was built on the remains of an alien spaceship that had crashed eons ago. He'd expected to see some evidence of that - strange metals, unusual geometries, something obviously extraterrestrial.
Instead, he saw something lifted from an ancient Chinese painting. Traditional buildings with curved roofs, training courtyards where students moved through synchronized forms, gardens that somehow thrived despite the altitude. If alien technology existed here, it was either completely hidden or so thoroughly integrated that it had become invisible.
Their procession drew immediate attention. Training stopped. Conversations halted. Everyone turned to stare at the outsiders being escorted through their sacred city.
Lei Kung led them toward the city's central hall—a structure that stood out with its massive doors carved with dragons that seemed to shift and writhe in peripheral vision.
Inside, the air was still, heavy with incense and age.
Lei Kung gestured for them to wait near the entrance. He strode alone toward a raised dais at the far end, where a single figure sat in shadow—hooded, ancient, face completely obscured by darkness that seemed almost solid.
Their conversation was conducted in hushed tones, but Arthur's enhanced hearing caught fragments:
"…breached the Gate…"
"…powers unlike anything…"
"…dangerous… but claims only to seek knowledge…"
Lei Kung spoke with urgency. The shadowed figure listened, unmoving.
After a long silence, the figure raised a hand.
Lei Kung turned and walked back. His expression was unreadable—but his posture had shifted. Less hostility. More caution.
"You will be allowed to stay," he announced, each word carefully measured. "You may train. You may study. But you will be watched. Closely. Any deviation from this purpose will result in immediate expulsion."
Ariadne bowed respectfully. "Thank you for this honor."
Arthur gave a small, genuinely respectful nod. "We mean no harm to your city or traditions. We only seek knowledge."
Lei Kung studied them a moment longer, something unreadable in his dark eyes, then gestured to someone waiting in the shadows near the door—a man in simple brown robes. "Master Wei will show you to your quarters."
As they left the hall, Arthur's enhanced hearing caught the low murmur from the dais—words spoken with grave weight:
"Let us pray we are not inviting another catastrophe into our midst."
—
Outside, Master Wei led them through winding stone paths. Students stared openly—Arthur and Ariadne were the only non-Asian faces in the entire city.
"We don't often have foreign visitors," Master Wei said, apparently noticing their observation. "Actually, we currently have no foreigners training here at all. You two are... unique."
"Lucky us," Arthur muttered.
They were brought to a simple building near the edge of the training grounds. Two rooms, side by side, with basic furnishings—a bed, a small table, a meditation cushion, and little else. A little similar to the room Arthur had at Kamar Taj.
"These will be your quarters," Master Wei said. "Meals are served in the communal hall at dawn, midday, and dusk. Training begins at first light. Someone will come to collect you."
After he left, Ariadne glanced around her sparse room. "Not exactly luxury," she muttered.
Arthur studied his own quarters with mild interest. They were simple, yes, but there was a calming charm to the minimalism. Still, he had no plans to actually sleep here most nights. He preferred the comfort of his own bed back home. A simple clone left under the covers would be enough to fool anyone who decided to check in.
Of course, the real reason he wouldn't stay overnight wasn't that. He didn't want to leave Winky alone in the big manor. She'd get lonely. It definitely wasn't because he couldn't bear to part with her cooking. Definitely not.
"It'll do," he said aloud. "Besides, we're not here for comfort."
"No," Ariadne agreed. "We're here to get stronger."
Arthur nodded, though his thoughts had already moved ahead. He'd never had a true martial arts teacher. His combat training had been self-taught or learned through observation and sparring with Ariadne. The prospect of learning from masters who had spent centuries perfecting their art was genuinely exciting.
"Tomorrow should be interesting," he said.
Ariadne was already arranging her room. "That's one word for it."
Outside the window, K'un-Lun continued its ancient rhythms. Students trained, masters supervised, and life went on as it had for countless generations.