Adam stepped out of the spirit world with a practiced calm. One moment the world was all drifting hues and silent echoes, the next he was standing on the cracked sidewalk of Bleecker Street, New York. The New York Sanctum rose before him, its heavy doors marked by age and an unmistakable aura of warding. He adjusted the hem of his jacket and exhaled once.
The last round of the talent show had ended just hours ago. His song had carried him through, the judges nodding, the crowd cheering. It was progress, but Adam's mind had already shifted. The stage was a temporary game. This was something he had planned for some time now. While he waited for the next round, he would pursue the path that had piqued his curiosity: sorcery.
He flexed his right hand toward his mother's puppet. Her flesh turned and folded in on itself in a grotesque way until it curled into a snake, thin and pale. It climbed up his leg, wrapping itself around his torso beneath his clothes. Close enough to remain within his influence. Always close.
He looked once more at the Sanctum's doors. It would be easy to slip in unseen, but he had no interest in making enemies. Not here. Not now. He raised his hand and knocked. The sound echoed, dull and heavy, against the wood.
Moments later, the door creaked open. A tall man stood framed in the doorway, dark-skinned, bald, and dressed in the robes of a guardian. His posture was controlled, steady, his gaze sharp. Adam recognized him from the movie; he looked like his actor version—though not completely. Master Daniel Drumm, guardian of the New York Sanctum.
"Can I help you?" Drumm asked, his tone cautious but not hostile.
Adam inclined his head slightly. "I'm here to speak with your master."
Drumm studied him for a long second, weighing him. Something in Adam's presence—a faint distortion in the air, the quiet weight of his spirit—spoke of the mystic, though in an unfamiliar form. At last, Drumm gave a short nod.
"She's expecting you," he said simply, stepping aside.
Adam's lips twitched into the faintest trace of amusement. Of course she was. The Time Stone left little room for surprise. He entered without hesitation, following Drumm through the Sanctum's halls. The building carried the faint hum of layered wards and hidden relics, the air alive with protective enchantments. Adam felt them brush against him, testing, recognizing, then retreating as Drumm led him forward.
They reached a circular chamber where a shimmering gateway flickered open with a wave of Drumm's hand. Through it, Adam glimpsed distant mountains, prayer wheels spinning slowly in the wind, and the faint silhouettes of robed figures moving about.
"Kamar-Taj," Drumm said. "She's waiting."
Adam stepped through. The world twisted, and the bustling noise of New York fell away, replaced by the cool air of the Himalayas. Stone courtyards stretched out before him, monks in saffron robes training in ordered silence. Beyond them rose the sanctuary of the Masters of the Mystic Arts.
At the top of the stairs, in the shade of the great hall's entrance, she waited.
The Ancient One.
Clad in flowing yellow robes, her head shaved, her expression serene yet unreadable, she stood as though she had been there for hours.
Adam walked up the stairs without bowing or hesitation. His eyes met hers evenly. She looked at him with the calm of one who had already seen a thousand possible outcomes, and he returned that gaze with the steadiness of one who had already expected this exact meeting.
When he stopped a few paces before her, she spoke first.
"Welcome to Kamar-Taj," she said. Her voice was soft, but it carried easily in the mountain air.
Adam inclined his head slightly, neither deferential nor arrogant. "I imagine you already know why I'm here."
Her lips curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile. "There are many reasons someone seeks us. Power. Knowledge. Salvation. Which one is yours?"
Adam considered the question for a moment. He could play coy, but there was little point. "Knowledge," he said at last. "And perhaps power. Salvation, though…" His mouth quirked faintly. "That depends on who you ask."
The Ancient One tilted her head, studying him. "You carry yourself differently than most who find their way here. You've already walked paths few dare to tread. You know what lies in the shadows of the soul."
Adam didn't deny it. "I've learned to survive. And survival often requires embracing what others avoid."
She let silence linger between them, as though weighing his words against countless futures. Then, with a slow turn, she gestured toward the hall behind her.
"Walk with me."
Adam followed her inside. The hall smelled faintly of incense, the air filled with drifting dust motes illuminated by narrow shafts of sunlight. Around them, students practiced weaving sparks of energy, some stumbling, others shaping clean, precise mandalas.
"You seek knowledge," she said as they walked. "But knowledge alone is not enough. Sorcery demands discipline. Humility. Surrender."
Adam's eyes slid across the training students. "I can do discipline. As for humility… I know what I am, and I don't pretend otherwise. Surrender, though—that's a word I've never found useful."
The Ancient One glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Every sorcerer must surrender something. Pride. Fear. Even the illusion of control. The mystic arts are not mastered by force of will alone."
"Oh, I already gave up the illusion of control long ago. I also don't have pride or fear, so I should be all right."
She stopped at the center of the hall and turned to face him fully. "You're not here by accident. You've walked your own path to our doorstep, and still, you've chosen to knock instead of intrude. That shows… something. But the path forward isn't easy. Are you prepared to be tested?"
Adam met her gaze, steady and unwavering. "I wouldn't have come if I wasn't."
For the first time, a glimmer of approval ?