Disclaimer: I do not own the rights for any of the preexisting characters. This novel is made merely for entertainment purposes.
A/N: I decided to divide the trials in two chapters as I ended up making his trial of the Self last for way longer than I originally thought it would. Anyways, enjoy!
…
After passing through a portal to what Damian guessed was Kamar-Taj, he followed the Ancient One towards a direction where there was seemingly nothing at first. As they got closer to the mountain wall, a pair of huge, stone doors materialized, carved in what was a stone wall a second ago. As they opened, he could see a magnificent hall.
To his side, the Ancient One simply said. "This is the place for your next trial. The Trial of the Wellspring. Go ahead."
With a simple nod, Damian walked forward. Silently praying he would be able to finish his trials before Natasha comes back home, otherwise he didn't want to imagine what would happen when a SHIELD agent finds out the kid they are in charge off isn't home, nor will he be responding to her messages.
The door to the inner sanctum of Kamar-Taj faded shut behind Damian, the stone seemingly melting back into the mountain wall. No hinges. No handles. Just sealed fate.
Damian turned slowly, taking the scenario in. With a quiet confidence that wasn't previously there. As he was sure the hardest trial had already passed. And he had come out in one piece, more 'whole' than before.
He was inside the Hall of the Wellspring, as the Ancient One called it.
The chamber was circular and ancient, carved directly from the primal bedrock of the Himalayas. The ceiling rose far overhead in a perfect dome, rimmed with halo-like arcs that glowed with a dim, pulsing white-gold hue. Faint light radiated from the walls themselves. Veins of glowing luminescence running like mystic arteries through smooth stone, forming shifting patterns that hinted at deeper structures beneath. It was as if the chamber itself breathed, pulsing in slow, cosmic rhythm.
The air was thick–not with heat or smoke, but presence. It felt like standing beneath the ocean's surface, not drowning, but surrounded by vastness. Infinite weight pressing gently on his skin. Inside him, Eva stirred, speaking only once in a hushed tone. [This place… it pulsates with energy.]
The floor beneath Damian's bare feet was obsidian black, polished to a mirror sheen but broken by inlaid mandalas, etched in a dozen different mystical languages, all foreign to him. Spiraling out from a raised, circular platform at the chamber's center.
That platform was about two meters wide. Humming faintly as he stepped onto it. Its rim bore ancient inscriptions in Vedic, Tibetan, and other forgotten tongues. The power beneath his soles felt alive, like something sleeping just beneath the skin of the world. As if he was above the mouth of a cosmic well.
Above the platform, multiple spheres of raw energy floated slowly, drifting in orbit like miniature suns. Each glowed faintly with a different spectral hue, but all emitted a low harmonic tone that made Damian's chest vibrate.
And around the edges of the chamber, the smooth walls flickered with faint frescoes, not still images, but living murals, which had yet to fully awaken.
From deep within the chamber, on the far side, Wong and Stephen Strange watched silently from within a shadowed alcove, carved discreetly into the wall, behind an enchantment veil. The air shimmered faintly where they stood, cloaking their presence like a dream only half remembered. From there, they could see Damian clearly, but not disrupt the flow.
In a quiet tone, Wong said. "Are you certain? He's just come through the Trial of the Self. He's still raw."
Watching Damian with a faint smile, the Ancient One explained. "Which is why the next steps must be seen by those who understand weight. Not all stones are carried alone. Also, our little friend is a bit short on time. He wishes to return home as soon as possible."
With a bit of uncertainty in his voice, Wong asked. "He won't stay after his trials?"
To which the Ancient One answered in the same tone. "I'm afraid his heart wouldn't be able to remain focused on the study of the arts while he is away from his loved ones, nor his self-imposed duties. Such is his predisposition."
Wong nodded silently, then glanced to his side, toward Strange, who stood respectfully at his shoulder. Without turning. The Ancient One added. "He will remain silent. Let him witness potential… and consequences."
Strange, speaking in a light tone, with a touch of respectful wit responded. "I can be quiet when it matters."
Finally turning to look at him, the Ancient One said. "Then learn when it matters most," he stepped forward, approaching the dais where Damian now stood centered and still. "You have faced the truth of your soul. Now, you must face the truth of your potential."
Taking a moment to let his words simmer, he furthered his teachings. "Power without control is a storm. Control without power is a cage. To be a sorcerer... you must master both."
He gestured gently, and the mandalas beneath Damian's feet came alive. White-gold lines tracing outward in spirals that interlocked and overlapped, each one resonating with a different primal force: space, time, death, life, nature, harmony, light, darkness.
"Here begins the Trial of the Wellspring. All power begins with energy, not shaped by will, but offered by the cosmos. And to control power, one must first be still within chaos."
The chamber pulsed. The murals began to stir. Suddenly, the very floor beneath Damian vibrated. Not violently, but with a concentrated hum. From the obsidian stone beneath the platform, threads of translucent light rose like serpents of liquid silk. Being guided towards one of the suspended spheres. Charging it.
As the sphere turned a bright, ethereal red from its previous tone. It vibrated like a struck bell. And when it descended towards him, it destabilized. Pulses of raw, uncontrolled mystical energy bursted outward.
Acting on instinct, he tried to forcefully connect with the sphere, to shape it into a calm state. Mold it like he had done so many times already with his omega-level gifts. However, this was not his energy. It was the Wellspring's. And it pushed back. Fiercely.
The energy flared around him. A jolt cracked across his shoulder. A bolt of energy whipping at him. The energy swirled like a storm around him, whipping at his hair and clothing, humming louder, testing the edges of his stillness. The energy wanted a reaction. Wanted fear. Resistance.
But it received neither.
Making use of her specialty for understanding all types of energies, Eva advised him. [Don't fight it. Flow with it. Feel it. We cannot forcefully change it… yet. You must understand it first.]
Damian said nothing, but simply listened. He concentrated, closing his eyes. Letting go of his intent to wrestle control. He let the energy whip at him, he let his body feel it. He listened, for once. Let it dance. And slowly, impossibly slowly… it began to connect with him, letting him establish a connection.
He lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling. Motioning for the sphere to approach. And it responded. Slowly, the sphere moved towards him, and in the process it stopped hitting, stopped trashing uncontrollably, not because it was forced to. But because it felt the calmness in Damian's intent, in their newly established connection. Letting the excess energy disperse back into the chamber, so it could stabilize again.
Now it pulsed, not violently. Brightly, with balance. Floating up shortly after to its original place.
This form of control felt so foreign, yet so much easier than his conscious shaping of energy. He didn't have to puppeteer the energy to do as he wanted. He just had to ask. The difference akin to that of having to program code to make a computer follow specific orders versus making a sentient being follow his instructions by telepathic communion. Orders vs understanding.
While he was digesting this new knowledge, the room resonated again. It seemed like the Trial was ready to advance to its next phase. The voice of the Ancient One resonated again in the chamber. "Project only what you can retrieve."
Three more spheres descended. One blue, one amber and the last one green. Circling him in a triangular formation. From the floor, sigils glowed to life beneath his feet. Not static symbols, but living conduits, responsive to touch, thought, breath. The orbs above began pulsing in alternating rhythms–flowing energy into the platform, then into each other, forming chaotic interference.
But this time Damian didn't flinch. He listened. Not with his ears. But with a new sense, like a limb that has always been there but was never discovered, never made use of.
He remembered how energy flowed through him when Eva guided him. He remembered how he shaped things in his own world. He contrasted it with how the previous sphere followed his will, not when he was willing, but when he was feeling.
He extended his awareness, reaching not for control. But for harmony. He could vividly feel it, these spheres of energy. They weren't simply energy. They were alive, each one with a set of instincts. Each one asking him to understand something.
The blue sphere challenged him to understand its path. Sometimes serene, sometimes abrupt, yet it always retained a flow. Moving about with serenity. It asked him to see its movements–not as disarray, but as a pattern he must recognize.
The amber one hummed with an energy he had tried tirelessly to even begin to understand. Yet this one didn't demand logic. It demanded patience, precision. Timing. It danced to a rhythm, moving in cycles, repeating endlessly. It was asking–testing whether Damian can move not just in sync with the moment, but with timing. Not rushing, not lagging, resonating in the now.
On the other hand, the green sphere exuded a beautiful energy. It embodied a feeling of growth, of emotion, and connection. It didn't ask for anything, it didn't demand. It simply wished for Damian's well being, wished for his balance. And had he not overcome the Trial of Self before coming here, he wasn't sure he could've complied with it's wishes.
Each sphere demanded a different type of connection, yet all responded once he understood. All feeling giddy with glee at him finally getting it. Finally understanding their truth. Not as a scientist trying to reach a conclusion from trial and error, brute force repetition, or deduction. But as a child of mother earth, a child that could feel her intention. That could commune with it.
And as his breath synced to their rhythm, the pulsing waves responded. The spheres began to harmonize. Like dancers finding the same tempo, their waves curved inward. The blue flickered, yet remained. The amber slowed. The green held steady. Then, they converged. A single, united pulse fired upward toward the dome overhead.
The ceiling lit with a radiant white-gold bloom, like starlight contained in a single breath.
From the alcove, Strange inhaled softly, his eyes widening. "That's not spellwork…" he whispered to Wong. "That's symphony." Wong said nothing, but his gaze didn't waver.
After the lights gradually dimmed and everything went back to its previous tint. The platform shifted beneath Damian's feet. Not collapsing, but unfolding. A seam opened just beneath him. From its center, a slow, rising geyser of 'Wellspring energy' emerged. Radiant, shapeless, alive. It didn't roar or burn. But it called.
Suddenly, the voice of the sorcerer supreme resonated once more. Throwing yet another hint of what's to come. "You are the vessel. Will you crack, or will you expand to accommodate?"
As the echo of the ancient sorcerer's voice faded away, Damian could feel the energy whispering. Not to his mind, nor to his body. It whispered to a core part of his existence. To that infinite energy grid within him. The one perpetually under Eva's watch, where Damian's soul met genetic code, where his true self had been reborn, given purpose, where Eva was conceived. Where his power waited.
The energy reached upward, towards him. And Damian didn't resist. He closed his eyes one more time. [Don't resist it.] Eva whispered, brimming with confidence. [Remember who you are–remember who we are.]
Grinning from ear to ear. He could only think. 'Testing my capacity for being an energy conduit? Bring it the fuck on.'
The energy surged up through the soles of his feet, flooding through his spine, chest, skull. His whole body. Yet he didn't try to grasp it. Didn't force or cage it. He had learned better. So he let it flow.
Light streamed upward through him, out his hands, his heart, his very soul. Like he'd become a prism, not a barrier. No fear. No doubt. He became the conduit.
The murals on the wall danced now, livelier than ever before. Showing echoes of past initiates, both triumphant and shattered. Yet they all paused as Damian passed his test. The geyser faded. A soft, resonant bell rang through the chamber. It had a soothing ring to it, as if congratulating.
The platform dimmed. The spheres dissolved. The frescoes bowed subtly, as if in reverence. Damian stood in the center of it all, glowing faintly with internal light. His smirk there, but not of a feeling of being triumphant.
It was just still. A stillness that came not from absence of motion. But from knowing exactly where you are in it. From the shadows, Wong watched, arms folded.
"He didn't control it." He murmured.
Strange frowned, not fully grasping what Damian had done. "Then what did he do?" Wong's eyes narrowed slightly. "He let it know who he was. And it listened."
Damian exhaled slowly, eyes open now, looking not up. But looking ahead. Two trials down–and as for the next one, he felt even more ready to meet it. Whichever it might be.
…
For the next trial, Damian followed the Ancient One through a portal. Closely behind them, Wong and Strange trailed behind. He had noticed them from the moment they started following them to the second trial. But as the Ancient One said nothing about them, neither did he. Since he understood these two are the future leaders and guardians of the sanctums.
On the other side of the portal, they ended up in a hall. Silent enough to be able to hear your own heart beat. It seemed wherever they may be, it was far away from the zones frequented by most residents of Kamar-Taj. As the ancient looking doors opened in front of them, they were greeted by a dimly lit, equally ancient looking corridor.
The descent was quiet. Damian followed the Ancient One through the narrow stone corridor that led to a spiraling staircase carved directly into the bones of the Earth. Lanterns floated in the air, flickering to life with gentle firelight as they passed, only to dim again behind them. As though embedded with motion sensors, magical motion sensors.
Each step carried him further from the world above. Further from sound, from thought, from breath. Until only the echo of his heartbeat remained. Eva stirred gently within his mind. [This place… its energy whispers–like it can hear us. Like it knew us.]
He didn't reply, not aloud, not even internally. He just felt it. The way the air had changed. The way it pressed not on his skin, but on his presence. As if the deeper they descended, the more the world became soul instead of stone.
When they reached the bottom, the corridor opened into something vast. A crystalline hexagonal atrium, ancient and breathtaking. Above, a vaulted ceiling of natural quartz shimmered like pale starlight frozen in time. The chamber glowed not with fire or magic, but with resonance. A harmony of presence so fine, so subtle, it made the heart ache.
The walls pulsed faintly with gold-veined minerals, humming in response to his every breath and step. A soft vibration passed through him like the memory of a forgotten song.
At the center of the chamber, a floating disk of smooth stone rotated slowly, suspended in midair. It bore intricate sigils. Vedic, Tibetan, Atlantean, even Celestial. All spiraling inward like a cosmic fingerprint. A silent proof of its creator's abilities and knowledge.
Encircling the disk, twelve obsidian mirror shards hovered silently. They did not reflect Damian's body, but his aura. His potential. The shape of the things unseen.
From a shadowed alcove at the far edge of the atrium, Wong and Stephen Strange appeared. Observing, cloaked behind an enchantment veil. Neither spoke. They merely witnessed.
The Ancient One halted Damian before he stepped onto the disk. In a voice only Damian could hear, he explained. "This version of the Trial of Alignment is meant to test candidates for Sorcerer Supreme. Test how apt they have become for welding the teachings of Kamart-Taj. Yet, the creator of this trial and father of our teachings–Agamotto–originally created one more shard for the test. One we have since hidden, refused to show. It reflects an aspect we deny… that I deny exists. Chaos."
The Ancient One looked at Damian, with a seriousness that wasn't previously there. "I offer you the choice. Harmony with Chaos cannot be forced. To most, it corrupts. To some, it devours."
He paused, to let his words truly sink in. Then he resumed. "But you… you might be different. If you accept, I will add the shard to the trial. Veiled from other's eyes. The others will not know. Not yet."
Hearing this, Damian didn't hesitate for a single second. Fully aware of what the Aspect of Chaos implied for this universe. "Do it." He said. "Eva's ready. And so am I."
In his head, Eva externalized what they both were thinking, calm and certain. [If someone was meant to wield Chaos unaffected, it is us.]
The Ancient One silently observed them. Raising a single hand in response. In the empty space beyond the twelve mirrors, a thirteenth shard shimmered into being. Invisible to the eyes and senses of Wong and Strange.
It flickered madly between colors. Crimson, ultraviolet, void-black. Like oil on fire. But after a moment, it steadied, and took its place among the circle.
Now the ring was truly complete.
Damian stepped barefoot onto the levitating platform.
The moment his skin touched the etched sigils, the disk hummed to life, vibrating softly beneath him. Not violently, but in recognition. As if the chamber had long awaited his presence.
The twelve visible mirrors responded first.
Time pulsed in long, rhythmic waves. Yearning to 'time' itself to Damian's own time. To move along with him, waiting for him to understand her. Syncing with memories Damian didn't know he still held.
Space curved subtly around his outline, as though clinging to his presence. Whispering in the form of blitzes in reality to him. Folding in of itself to accommodate his shape, almost as if trying to embrace him.
Energy vibrated. Ever changing in shape. One moment it took the form of arcs, the other of spirals, then it became the opposite. Yet it always came back, harmonizing with Eva's light-construct form.
Life glowed warmly, like sunlight through leaves. Like a mother's smile. Her only purpose to protect, to mend. To help it all be.
Death pulsated with cold serenity. With just indifference. It did not push. It embraced. It did not come, it already was. Mirroring her sister Life's steps, for where one was, so will the other.
Void shimmered in pitch black stillness. Yet it didn't irradiate fear, only peace.
Order aligned perfectly with him. Steadfast. Silent yet heard. Invisible yet present.
Mind reflected not one, but two. Damian and Eva, distinct, yet intrinsically unified. Beckoning to both, asking them to let it reshape the truth. To reach beyond words.
Spirit flared in a gentle surge. A silent supporter. An anchor. A pillar. A lighthouse within the soul.
Light shimmered without distortion. Transparent. True. All-encompassing. Illuminating both the good and the bad.
Shadow curled at his feet, but unlike space, it did not cling to him. Dancing merrily at the edges of perception, always there. Yet unwilling to devour the light. For moments copying shapes, for moments losing all shape.
Will shone gold in the form of his own shape. Unwavering, pulsing with conviction. Unwilling to fall, to compromise with defeat. Seemingly intent on clawing its way out of the deepest pits if it needed to.
Then the 13th Mirror–Chaos–responded.
Chaos did not ignite like the others. It shuddered. Colors twisted like shapes. Images clashed and glitched. A roaring storm of concepts formed within it. Infinite voices screaming in contradiction, a symphony capable of stripping the sanity away. The screams, the pleas, the cries, the whispers. All forming into a cacophony of madness that somehow beckoned, it seduced the soul while eroding the mind. And in the center of that storm stood Damian. Unmoving, eyes closed. His presence did not subdue the chaos. It welcomed it. It witnessed it. Let it be. Yet not let it taint.
Eva spoke their thoughts, with the serenity of Damian's reflection amidst the storm. [We can not fight Chaos… But we can listen to it without obeying. You shape it without letting it shape you. It either is or it isn't. How…]
'Fascinating,' Damian finished for her.
Then… The mirror stabilized.
Promptly after–one by one–the mirrors began to orbit. Slowly. Elegantly. Each aligning itself to his breath. His pulse. Some had split from the overwhelming affinity like Space, Time and Energy, yet all danced to the rhythm of his existence. Even the Chaos shard moved in perfect counterbalance.
The platform beneath his feet flared suddenly. Turning white at the core, edged in radiant gold. A sigil spiraled outward. New. Singular. Never seen before. At most only theorized. It hovered beneath him like a crown cast in light.
The pattern was as regal as its colors. A thin golden circle at the edges, with symmetric lines that weaved in-and-out as fine threads. Connecting each tip from the star in the inside. As for the star. It was a simple but eye-catching, two superimposed, six pointed triangle shapes one on top of the other constructing a twelve pointed gold star, while its inner shape left a void with the shape of a wider star, colored by the white base. Lastly, a smaller six pointed star on the inside with another circle at the center, mimicking the outer one.
The explanation for the colors coming to him from the void itself. The white base symbolized the untainted soul, clarity forged through two lives that held, now without fractures.
The gold on the other hand, represented divine action. Not granted, but chosen. Willed into being by his own self.
From the shadows, the Ancient One stepped forward. "You did not ask for power. Neither did you claim harmony. And yet, it answers you without resistance… This… is not common. It is not even rare. It is a new shape altogether. And it is yours."
Behind the veil, Wong and Strange exchanged a glance, sensing something momentous had just occurred, but unaware of the thirteenth mirror, or the truth that shimmered just beyond their reach.
As the last remnants of radiant energy faded from the levitating stone disk, Damian stepped off in silence. The Atrium of Echoes dimmed, returning to its haunting serenity. The thirteen mirror shards slowly receded into their orbits, vanishing into the crystal walls like ghosts returning to slumber.
The sigil flickered once, then melted into nothingness, unseen by all but the Ancient One, who observed with hands folded behind his back. But the sigil remained. Not in the stone, but in him. Etched first upon skin, on his sternum. Then it dissolved, etched now on his soul. White-gold. Unshaken. Eternal.
Eva exhaled softly through him, and for a moment, they were still. Together. Whole. Done… And seen.
From the viewing alcove just beyond the sanctum's veil of enchantment, Wong and Stephen Strange emerged slowly. Strange's brow was furrowed, not from skepticism, but from sheer fascination.
Wong spoke first, his tone quieter than usual. "Twelve mirrors have never responded in such harmony. Let alone all at once."
Strange crossed his arms, expression taut with wonder. "It wasn't just harmonization. It was as if he was… melding with the Aspects. As if the whole place was breathing with him."
The Ancient One turned, his long robes brushing the crystalline floor, and spoke calmly. "It was."
Strange stepped closer, his tone lightly sardonic, but sincere. "And here I thought I was supposed to be the special one."
The Ancient One smiled faintly, saying with a ripple in his aged voice. "You are, Doctor Strange. But there are many forms of rarity. Some arrive with wounds. Others with wonder."
Wong nodded faintly, eyes still fixed on Damian. "That boy… He didn't channel the energy from the mirrors. He mirrored them."
Damian tilted his head, seeing as the little watch party finally decided to announce itself. A crooked grin formed on his lips. "You know… I didn't know the mystical arts teachings included peeping."
Strange raised both brows. "We were invited observers–for educational purposes."
Damian gestured toward the slowly fading sigils. "Well, next time y'all decide to shove me in an underground quartz cathedral to get all buddy-buddy with the fundamental forces of the universe the least you can do is warn me, or introduce yourselves, you know?
Strange smirked. "I'll try to keep that in mind for the next time, then."
The Ancient One allowed an amusement sigh to escape from his mouth. "Enough."
He turned to Damian, expression composed but warm. "Damian Rossi, meet Doctor Stephen Strange. He is still very much a student… as you will be from now on."
Damian nodded, extending a hand he spoke his name in greeting. "Strange," while Strange gave a lightly annoyed smile as he extended his hand in kind. "It's Doctor Strange, Rossi."
With a smirk he shaked Strange's hand. "I know." There was a brief silence between them, unspoken understanding passing like a current, expressed through simple smiles. Then the Ancient One added. "Though I suspect the two of you will have much to learn from each other."
Damian opened his mouth to speak–likely to make another quip–but the Ancient One raised a finger before he could. "However," he said calmly, "I believe your aunt will soon return to an empty house."
Damian's eyes widened significantly.
"Ah shit… there was that. What time is it in New York again?"
With the serene tone of an amused old man, he said. "She will not appreciate finding your absence unexplained. Especially as she already seems to have doubts about your… changes."
Damian winced. "Right," looking to the Ancient One he said while thinking of the fastest way back. "You gotta teach me about that whole clairvoyance-thingy old man. I can put it to better uses than to cryptically creep out your students."
As Strange forced himself not to laugh, Wong looked at Damian with a stern gaze, saying. "Be respectful with the-" But he was cut off by Yao himself.
The Ancient One extended his hand and with a cryptic face he revealed a Sling Ring resting upon his palm. Its surface gleamed faintly in the starlit glow of the Atrium.
"A tool," the Ancient One said. "Used to traverse space… and, with enough control, moments of time." The last part of his explanation made both Damian and Strange raise an eyebrow.
Damian reached for it, cautious. The Ancient One closed his fingers around the ring before releasing it. "But," he added with narrowed eyes, "I will not tell you how to use it." Damian blinked. "Come again?"
"If you desire to return in time," the Ancient One continued, placing the ring into Damian's hand. "Then earn it. Master its use, not by instruction… but by understanding."
Damian stared at the ring. "Are you mad because I called you old man?" To which the Ancient One simply smiled at him, refusing to answer. "Aw c'mmon, saying "the Ancient One" is too long. You're too old to be so petty, old man."
Seeing how things were turning out, this time Strange couldn't hold it in and laughed out loud as Wong did his best to retain a stoic expression, but the quirk on his lips betrayed his intentions.
The Ancient One gave a small shrug. "Trial and error are the greatest teachers."
Strange stepped beside him, glancing at the ring, then at Damian. "Don't take it personal, kid. He did the same thing to me, you know. Dropped me in the Himalayas and waited to see if I'd freeze or fight."
Damian squinted. "What is it with you people and not giving straight answers?"
Strange chuckled. "You'll fit right in."
Wong folded his arms, but the corner of his mouth curved slightly. "Don't encourage him."
The Ancient One merely turned away, his voice faint as he walked toward the crystal staircase that led back to the surface.
"Good luck, Mr. Rossi. The path ahead is not one of instruction… but of revelation."
Damian looked down at the ring in his palm. Light, metallic and ancient. Eva whispered in his mind. [Well, whining won't help us anyways. Let's just figure this one out, like we always do.] Saying the last word with much mirth.
He closed his hand around the Sling Ring. 'Yeah' this time muttering to himself. "Let's do that."
As he tried to make head or tail about how to use the ring, the Ancient One slowly vanished from the chamber as he was walking away, in true ancient sorcerer fashion. 'I swear he just likes to act mystical and sagely.'
[Maybe it's a quirk of age.] Eva added while laughing. Damian stood in the center of the chamber, staring at the Sling Ring in his hand like it might suddenly bite him.
Wong lingered at the far edge, arms folded. Strange remained beside him, relaxed but quietly observant, watching Damian the way a scientist might watch an unstable particle discover fire.
"Right," Damian muttered to himself. "How hard can it be? Just… little wrist flick and some sparks." He flexed his fingers and slid the Sling Ring onto his right hand. He raised his left in front of him, drawing a circle in the air as he'd seen in the Doctor Strange movie in his past life.
Nothing happened.
He tried again; faster, slower, with more focus. Still nothing. "…Eva?" he whispered internally. [I can't channel it for you.] She said gently. [This is about flow. Connection. Find it, just like you did before.]
Damian let out a breath, looking between his hands. Strange finally spoke, voice dry but not unkind. "You somehow know the shape. But you're missing the rhythm."
Damian looked over at him. Strange walked a bit closer, gesturing casually. "Mystical energy isn't conjured. It's conducted. Like pulling silk through your soul. It's always there, but your mind resists what your soul wants to open."
He tapped his own chest. "The key isn't in your hands. It's in your resonance. Feel, don't force," Wong added. "You are not the source. You are the channel."
Damian narrowed his eyes, taking the words in. Even if he had done this already, it was hard to not instinctively try to act like the source, not the channel. As Wong said. His shoulders dropped. He let his breath slow. Silence filled the chamber, except for the soft, crystalline hum of the Atrium itself. He closed his eyes and went back to listening.
At first, there was nothing… Then came whispers. Not in words, but in something akin to feeling. Currents of energy brushing against his skin, beneath his feet, against his hair. Like the ones flowing through his being. Coiling in his stomach. Singing in his bones.
It wasn't like the blinding infinity of his deeper power. This was gentler, more patient. Like if the World itself was breathing around him. He focused on that hum. That current. The Aspect of Space; he didn't know how he knew, but he just knew. It wasn't something to dominate. It was a thread to touch.
His arm moved. Not rigidly, but fluidly–drawing the circle in the air.
Golden-orange sparks flared as Strange's eyebrows rose in response.
Damian's ring hand tilted instinctively. The circle ignited; glowing brighter, expanding. And with a shimmering thrum, the air split open into a golden portal. On the other side a familiar, slightly messy, bedroom in New York.
His bedroom.
Damian stared in silence. He hadn't even tried to picture it yet. But there it was. As if the aspect of time was reading his mind's intent. He turned back to the others, as confused as they looked. "Uhm… Like that?"
Strange gave a small, incredulous laugh. "I hate how easy that was for you-Wait, is that how my training pace feels to you?" He said, turning to Wong.
Wong tilted his head, more intrigued than irritated. "Not everyone is a narcissist like you, Strange." Then he looked at Damian. "He didn't pull from the ring. He pulled from the space between the ring and himself by using the ring to communicate with space directly. Truly a unique application, if wasteful."
Strange looked at Wong. "That's not supposed to be possible, right?"
Wong's lips pressed into a thin line. "Not unless he's…" He didn't finish.
Damian shrugged, feigning innocence. "Guess I'm just a natural."
Strange pointed. "Don't get cocky. The portal's still open."
Damian grinned, stepping halfway through it. "Tell the Ancient One I'll be back by tomorrow. Probably," then he took a second to find the right words. Looking back at Strange. "Thanks. For the nudge."
Strange nodded, a tad bit more of acknowledgment in his expression. "Don't waste it."
And with that, Damian stepped through. The portal snapped shut behind him, sparks dispersing into the air like fireflies.
Strange let out a long breath. "Wong… I think we just met a future problem."
Wong's gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the portal had been. "Or a future answer."
…
Back at his bedroom, Damian looked to his alarm clock and saw that it was already close to 12 p.m. "Shit. She's about to arrive. Gotta cook something, something quick."
Rushing to the kitchen, still bare-footed and shirtless thanks to his last trial, he went downstairs to try and cook something fast, already thinking of 'I was feeling lazy', 'Got absorbed in my studies and lost track of time' excuses to give Natasha, when he suddenly felt a shift in the air. By reflex, he looked at the dark living room as he caught a book that was thrown at him. As a thousand thoughts and possibilities ran through his mind, the next to the couch was lit as he was greeted by a familiar voice.
"A bit late for somebody your age to be out, no?" Said Widow while looking at the confused Damian.
"Hi there, sexy. Didn't hear you coming, I fell asleep. Hectic day, haha."
Narrowing her eyes, Natasha was having none of it, looking mad at him for the first time. "How curious, I didn't see you when I entered your room earlier. And you weren't at any of your friends' houses either, I called. Were you sleeping on the roof, half naked?"
'Ah shit.' [Shit indeed.] Eva quipped.
Quickly making a side note, he said. 'Eva, remember me to ask for my clothes back tomorrow. I really liked that sweater.'
[I think you have bigger problems than losing a sweater, buddy.]
As Damian was thinking of how to address the conversation while Eva seemed to be having all the fun in the world at seeing him in a pinch, Natasha continued. This time with a sigh. "Look, Damian. We all got secrets, I too have my own secrets as you might've guessed by now." She said, addressing the fact that she indeed wasn't oblivious to Damian knowing it wasn't normal for her work to make her be busy all day, most days.
"However, don't let those secrets interfere with your normal life too much. Believe me when I say that it will cost you more than you might think." She said to him in a much more soothing and relaxed tone while she got up from her seat.
Walking up to him and caressing his face with her right hand, she continued. "And if you ever need somebody to talk about it, I want you to know you can always come to me, Malysh."
That's where her words ended. No reproach, no pushing for the truth, no questioning. Simple, genuine concern and consideration.
Feeling a warm sensation creeping up on his chest, Damian truly felt grateful to be blessed with such good people around him, in spite of having lost his family, he was not alone anymore.
And after his Trial of the Self, he had faced and acknowledged the fear he felt at the prospect of forming all these new deep relationships. But he wasn't going to let his own fear of getting hurt again come in between the possibility of making real human connections anymore. Arming himself with newfound bravery, he was about to speak when Eva intercepted him.
[Are you sure about this? It will be dangerous to let her know of your powers. She will make the connection when we inevitably become formal superheroes. You can always tell her after you become strong enough to deal with Fury.]
Not with confidence, but rather faith in his tone, Damian explained himself. 'Yeah, a lifetime of putting a barrier between me and all the people that try to care about me was enough. Besides, I've seen what hiding your identity as a superhero does to your relationships and that shit won't be me. Also, all things considered, if anyone is capable of handling my nature as a super, it's Natasha. Let's just trust that she won't betray us.'
Taking a deep breath, he gently held the hand that was caressing him, and looking at Natasha with complete seriousness, Damian took his second leap of faith in the day. "Look, Nat. I don't want to keep my secrets from you if I don't have to, I want to build our relationship with honesty." He paused for a second before continuing. "But you have to promise me this stays between us, at least until I say otherwise."
Trying to lighten the mood, almost by instinct, she gave Damian her usual half-smile, trying to reassure him. "Sure, how bad can it b-"
But before she could finish her sentence, he cut her off. "I'm serious, Natasha. Swear on everything you care about that you will keep this secret to yourself, or you can pack your shit and leave through that door."
Being caught off guard at the seriousness in Damian's tone and the intensity behind his gaze, as well as his words, she momentarily went quiet. Losing all the playfulness in her expression, Widow looked at Damian dead in the eye, for what felt like minutes, before answering him. "Fine. But on one condition." And before he could say anything, she resumed. "Promise me that your secret doesn't involve doing anything bad. I won't let you go astray, I owe you and your father that much."
Without missing a beat, Damian responded. "Don't worry, I promise nothing about what I'll say has anything to do with me performing wrongdoings."
Looking at him some more, as if to try and see if he was being truthful, Natasha finally relented. "Fine, I promise nothing you will say tonight will leave my mouth unless you allow it."
Gesturing to the couch she was seated on, he said. "Alright. You might want to take a seat before I talk though." And to lead by example, he took a seat first.
Making heed of his somewhat ominous words, Natasha sat back on the couch next to Damian, motioning with her head for him to continue.
Looking at his aunt with a world of meaning, and the long forgotten nervousness of expecting something from someone again, he started. "Haa… I guess there's no gentle way to say this but-" raising one hand, Damian concentrated on his connection to the "nexus", as he settled to call the portal between himself and the seemingly infinite source of creation energy. A second after, a ball of fire materialized above his opened palm.
Widening her eyes, Natasha took a second to understand just what had happened. After which she blinked and looked at Damian's face again. "How?"
Measuring how much to reveal aside from his powers, Damian explained. "My parents… the day I learned of their sudden deaths, I awoke a 'special' ability, to say the least."
Unprepared for the reason behind his sudden supernatural ability, Natasha looks at Damian, not with pity in her eyes, but with remorse at not having noticed him going through such huge changes all on his own, with no one to rely on.
Suddenly hugging him, she didn't need to offer words of pity or comfort, her actions conveyed all he needed to understand. Dispersing the ball of fire, Damian said while hugging her back with gentleness in his gaze. "It's alright, Nat. I'm fine now. Matter of fact, I've never felt 'lighter'. It's not like it doesn't hurt anymore, but I still have you."
After another minute of hugging, Natasha broke the embrace and while looking at Damian, she began a barrage of questions. "How did you learn to control fire? Is that your power or can you do something else? How much have you experimented with your power? Does anyone know that you have these abilities?
Damian chuckled as Natasha bombarded him with questions, the warmth of her concern wrapping around him like a blanket he hadn't known he missed. Raising both hands in mock surrender, he replied, "Alright, alright! Slow your roll, Nat. I'll give you the full tour."
He leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair as he gathered his thoughts.
"So... fire isn't the only thing I can do. It's just one of many. Ever since that day-" he paused, his tone dimming a little, "the day I found out about Mom and Dad, it was like something cracked open inside of me. I was drowning in grief and suddenly… I could feel something in me change. Like a new form of energy was now inside me. I didn't understand it at first. Hell, I still don't fully understand it."
Natasha's gaze was quiet, focused, but not judging. Just listening.
"I can manipulate… this energy. Make it transform. Fire, air, space, even light. The more I focus, the more I realize it's not just about moving stuff around. It's deeper than that. Like… I'm learning to use a limb I always had but never knew I had. Like learning a new way to breathe. It doesn't make me do magic, not exactly, but I can make things happen. My new body too is a result of making this happen."
He exhaled, a slow breath. "I did some digging online. You know, conspiracy forums, science blogs, all the nerd stuff. And everything weird always gets lumped in one category lately: 'mutants.' People with the strange powers born out of mutations, right? Maybe that's what I am. Maybe I'm something else. But… if I had to guess, I'd put my money on that."
Natasha was silent, eyes unreadable. Damian could see the wheels turning. She stood, paced once, then finally turned back to face him.
"Well… that changes things." Her voice was quiet, no longer surprised, just thoughtful. "I was going to wait until you get a little older to tell you this. But if we're laying our cards out…"
She sat next to him again, but this time with more weight in her shoulders. Sighing, she started. "...My name isn't just Natasha Romanoff… My original name was Natalia Alianovna Romanova. I was raised as a child soldier in one of Russia's deepest, darkest programs. The Red Room. There they trained me to become the perfect spy, the perfect tool." She paused in her speech, her body seemingly having a reaction at remembering the darkest moment of her life. "...They brainwashed me, suppressed my memories, altered my body, trained me since I had memory. Made me and the others ghosts, shadows whose work was rewarded with survival. Whose failures were rewarded with the blood of innocents."
Turning to look at the ground, afraid of the face Damian might make at knowing her past, she resumed. "After years of working as a loyal assassin, a loyal tool for the Red Room, I started to question the morality of my missions. As the collateral damage as they called it, the lives of innocents. Mothers caught in blasts meant for targets. The children orphaned for the sake of leverage. It all started to weigh on me… I had never known anything other than following orders, but those people…"
Finding it difficult to re-tell her past, afraid of being judged by her actions by the only person left in this world she could truly trust, Natasha suddenly felt a warm hand on her own. Looking up, she was met by the unwavering gaze of Damian, a gaze that transmitted not judgment, but trust and concern. Silent support.
Feeling a sense of warmth she has rarely felt in her troubled life, Natasha took a deep breath before continuing. "I was many times ordered to assassinate, manipulate and deceive. And as many times I've seen how my actions ruined lives, innocent lives. Irreparably changing them forever… And every time I asked questions, I got punished. So eventually, I stopped asking."
Hardening his gaze, Damian felt his blood boil at the implications.
"Then I was sent on what should've been a straightforward infiltration mission. Sabotage Tony Stark. Steal whatever cutting-edge technology he was hiding. I got close. Real close." She smirked, then it vanished. "That's when I met your father. Christopher Rossi."
At the mention of his name, Damian's gaze shifted, sharpened by a sudden weight in his chest.
"He was undercover. S.H.I.E.L.D. sent him to track me, learn what the Red Room was planning. He was supposed to manipulate me. And I was supposed to manipulate him. But Chris… he saw me. Saw through me. Not just the cover, the mask. He looked at me like I could be better, like I was better."
Her voice faltered for a moment. She blinked rapidly, then continued.
"There was a moment. An ambush. My cover was blown, the Room decided I was expendable. S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten what they wanted. I should've died… But he stayed. Chris fought off a death squad to protect a woman who, for all he knew, might still kill him the moment she got the chance."
She looked away, rubbing at the corner of one eye.
"He saved me, not because it was protocol. But because that's just who he was. That's when I decided to defect. I burned my ties to the Red Room and joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Chris helped me start over. Trained me. Protected me. Believed in me when no one else did."
Damian looked at her, his heart tightening with something between grief and gratitude. He had assumed his father couldn't be a normal lawyer like he said he was. No normal lawyer becomes best friends with someone like Natasha. But not this. Not this.
"That's why I've been watching over you," Natasha said finally, voice steadier now. "Not just because he asked me to. But because you're his son. And I owe him everything."
Damian didn't say anything for a few moments, he simply went for a hug, a hug that was reciprocated. His eyes were wet, but not a single tear fell. "Thank you, Nat. For telling me."
She nodded, but something else still lingered behind her gaze. "And now that you've told me what you can do… I think we need to talk about what comes next."
Damian closed his eyes for a second, the inevitable next moment had come. "Go on."
Separating from each other, she locked eyes with him. "I know a place," she said. "A safe one. With resources, equipment, people who can help you control this… whatever this power is. I can take you to S.H.I.E.L.D., introduce you to the right people. People I can trust. We can make sure you're protected, trained-"
But Damian shook his head gently. "I appreciate the offer, I really do. You already telling me all this is more than what I could ask for," he said. "But I already have someone that can guide me." 'And I only trust Fury or the board of directors as far as I can throw them,' he finished in his head.
Natasha blinked. "What do you mean?"
Damian smiled a little and reached for the Sling Ring he had put in his pocket. "Truth is, this is the second leap of faith I make today. And I met someone today. An old man who likes to act all mystical and whatnot, but for all his quirks, he has helped me a lot. And he can teach me a lot too."
He slipped the ring onto his fingers and raised his hand, making the motion as he'd just learned. The orange sparks sputtered for a moment; then roared into life, swirling into a round, fiery window that opened to reveal a breathtaking view.
Natasha stood up again, stunned.
"Damian… is that-?"
The dark ocean crashed against towering cliffs of green and gray, moonlight glinting across the waves like scattered stars. A cool wind could be heard howling faintly through the portal.
"The Cliffs of Moher. If you are asking about the place." He said with a smirk. "If you're asking how I'm doing this, remember I said my powers aren't quite like casting spells? Well, that's because this is actual spell casting."
She looked at the portal, then back at him, stunned. "…That's magic." He laughed this time. "Yup. Turns out I've got a knack for it. How do you feel about a little walk before dinner?" He said, offering his hand to her.
Natasha stared at the portal for a moment, visibly torn between awe and the mental checklist of questions no doubt running through her trained mind. Then, slowly, she smiled–this one genuine, tinged with emotion.
"Well… don't just stand there, malysh. Show me the cliffs." Damian offered his hand again at her. "Milady."
With a roll of her eyes and a laugh under her breath, Natasha took his hand. And together, they stepped through the glowing gateway into the Irish night.
…
After some more talking, convincing and explaining, as well as reminding her to promise not to say anything about this to S.H.I.E.L.D., which she again agreed to. They decided to eat at the cliffs of Moher, something made possible with the help of some more portaling around, which also allowed Damian to dress himself again, since as much as he didn't mind Natasha's teasing, he still had some sense of decorum left in him.
Returning back after the experience, Damian felt more whole than ever before. Who would've known forming a real connection built on trust and care for one another could feel so nice, right?