M
The first month at Kamar-Taj was nothing like Mark expected.
There were no mystical weapons handed out. No ancient scrolls describing forbidden techniques. No immediate flashes of light or lightning at his fingertips.
There were brooms. Chores. Silence. And endless hours of meditation.
And then came the Sling Ring.
"Focus your mind," Master Hamir signed, standing beside him in the sand garden. "See where you want to go. Then feel your intention cut through the veil."
Mark exhaled. Kneeling, he extended his arm and moved his fingers in a tight circle, the Sling Ring on his hand glowing faintly.
A spark.
Then nothing.
Three Weeks In
"I swear to god, I know this!" Mark grunted, sweat dripping down his temple. "I know how this is supposed to work."
"No," said Master Mordo flatly. "You know how it looked in the film you watched. This is not a film. This is your life."
Mark bit down on his frustration.
Still, the sparks came easier each day. He began to picture not just places, but the feeling of movement—the intent of arrival.
And then, one day, it happened.
With a hiss of gold and orange, a full portal opened. Rough around the edges, but stable.
Mordo didn't smile, but his nod carried weight.
Month 3: Obsession
By now, Mark was opening portals to Kamar-Taj's furthest corners on command. From library to kitchen. Dormitories to rooftop.
Then he tried something different.
He tossed the Sling Ring on the floor.
"Madness," Mordo muttered.
But the Ancient One watched silently.
Mark sat cross-legged. No tool. No hand movement. Only focus.
He remembered America Chavez—portals without a ring. He remembered Strange himself learning to break rules. And he remembered the Ancient One's words:
"Play your piece. Not in fear, but in clarity."
A week passed. Then two.
And then—snap.
A sliver of a portal flickered in midair. No ring. No movement. Just will.
Month 6: The Threshold
Mark could now open a portal in under three seconds. He no longer used hand signs, only subtle shifts of thought. And now he challenged himself in other ways.
Blindfolded. While dodging weapons. While meditating. In his sleep.
He crafted intricate routines—one moment stepping through a portal while a blade came at his back, the next leaping through three portals in succession to appear behind a phantom opponent.
Wong took notice. So did Mordo.
"He learns recklessly," Mordo said. "Like Strange."
"But he learns," Wong replied. "Like Strange."
Month 8: The Silent Gate
Mark stood before the cliffs outside Kamar-Taj. A deep drop. Strong winds. No ground beneath him—only space.
No ring. No hand signs. No movement.
He breathed in.
He pictured the courtyard behind him.
And stepped forward into air.
The portal opened before his foot could fall.
He passed through it as naturally as breathing, landing in silence behind the monks.
Mordo turned, arms crossed. "Show off."
Mark smiled faintly.
But deep down, it wasn't pride. It was purpose.
He was preparing. Not for applause. But for the moment he knew was coming.
The moment Stephen Strange would walk through Kamar-Taj's doors, broken hands trembling, seeking the same path.
And Mark would be ready.