The desert wind roared as Tony Stark stood before the gathered soldiers and officers, arms wide as the Jericho Missile split the sky. Dust billowed, the shockwave rolled over the dunes, and Tony grinned — the showman in his element.
"...and that, gentlemen, is how America ensures peace," he quipped, spreading his arms as debris settled behind him.
Rhodes laughed and shook his head. "You're gonna get us court-martialed for style one day."
Minutes later, Tony sat in the Humvee, sunglasses on, chatting easily with the soldiers — until the convoy exploded into chaos. A rocket streaked past, vehicles went up in fire and sand. Tony hit the ground hard, pain searing through his chest.
The dragon scale charm Alan had given him slipped from his pocket — and as the second explosion went off nearby, the scale flared, expanding into a faint golden shield that enveloped Tony for a heartbeat before shattering like glass.
When Tony awoke hours later, bleeding and disoriented in the cave, the charm lay cracked beside him. He picked it up, staring at the intricate surface, eyes wide.
"...What the hell was that?" he whispered. "That wasn't Stark tech."
As the terrorists left him alone, he turned the fragment in his fingers, faint light pulsing under the dirt. "Alan... what did you give me?"
At the Draconis Tavern, the mood was heavy. News of Tony Stark's disappearance had swept the world. The TV above the bar replayed the headline in a loop.
Alan leaned against the counter, Red Queen's holographic form shimmering faintly in his earpiece.
"Stark Industries' stocks have dropped twenty-eight percent. We're buying on every dip."
"Keep buying," Alan murmured. "He's not dead. Not yet."
Two and a half months later,
Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan entered the tavern — exhausted, grief lining their faces.
"Alan," Pepper began, voice soft, "Get us two lunch, please"
"Friday Specials, coming right up!"
While eating Pepper talks, "You were the last person Tony talked about before he left. He liked your food."
"He's still alive," Alan said simply, wiping his hands.
Happy frowned. "How do you know that?"
"Come with me," Alan said, motioning toward the stairs.
Upstairs, in Alan's room beneath the slanted dragon-emblazoned roof, the air shimmered with faint enchantments — floating candles, softly glowing runes, and a massive circular mirror framed in carved wood.
Pepper froze. "What... is this?"
Alan smiled faintly. "My secret. I'm a wizard."
Before either could respond, Alan waved his wand, and the mirror rippled like water. A desert appeared within — a cave, dimly lit. Tony was there, hammering at metal, his face gaunt but alive.
"Tony!" Pepper gasped.
"He's fine," Alan said calmly. "But I'll need something of his — hair, anything personal. I can find him."
Pepper pulled out a small pouch from her bag. "I... found this on his jacket."
"Perfect," Alan murmured, taking it carefully.
He turned to John Wick, who had been leaning silently by the door, watching. "John, feel like a trip?"
The former assassin smiled faintly. "Been a while since I've been to a warzone."
They left the tavern in trusted hands — the old Chinese chef nodding solemnly as Alan entrusted him with the keys.
"Keep the fire warm," Alan said.
At The Continental, Charon greeted them with his usual calm professionalism. Winston raised an eyebrow as Alan approached.
ohn Wick stepped into the grand lobby, eyes scanning the familiar polished floors and muted golden lights. Winston's gaze immediately fell on him, raising an eyebrow.
"John," Winston said evenly, masking curiosity with formality. "I didn't expect to see you back here, not after retirement. A special occasion, or are you just restless?"
John's expression remained neutral, but there was a faint smirk. "Let's just say the world isn't done with me yet. And I have a friend who needs discreet transportation."
Winston's lips quirked. "Ah. Discreet, of course. And this friend…?"
Alan stepped forward, bowing slightly in acknowledgment. "Alan Ashbourne. I handle… special circumstances. I trust this is the correct place to arrange passage to a high-risk zone?"
Winston studied him for a moment, taking in the boyish yet imposing figure, the faint shimmer of molten draconic eyes. "Impressive," he said quietly. "And unconventional."
Alan smiled faintly. "I assure you, Mr. Winston, discretion is guaranteed — and speed is appreciated."
Winston turned to Charon, who was already preparing the manifest. "Very well. Bring the usual. Security discreet, fleet ready, and make accommodations for two adults and one… unique assistant, I gather?"
Charon nodded once, silent as ever.
Winston finally looked back at John and Alan. "Then let us proceed. And Mr. Wick… it is good to see you again, even under these circumstances."
John inclined his head slightly. "Likewise."
With pleasantries concluded, Winston gestured toward the private elevators. "Follow me. Let's discuss your journey and the specifics of this… extraction."
Alan and John followed, the echo of their footsteps blending with the hum of the Continental, knowing they were walking into a dangerous but necessary mission.
Winston led them through the private corridors of the Continental, the soft golden lights reflecting off the polished floors. Charon silently guided their bags onto the waiting armored vehicle.
"Before we proceed," Winston said, stopping at a sleek terminal, "protocol requires registration for all passengers — unusual circumstances notwithstanding."
Alan raised an eyebrow. "I take it aliases are permitted?"
Winston smiled faintly. "Only for security purposes. Your name will be recorded, but discretion is paramount." He tapped a few keys. "How shall you be listed?"
"Magus Draconis" Alan replied simply, eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light.
"Dragon Wizard," Winston repeated, nodding. "Very well. Passenger 'Magus Draconis' is registered. All systems green. Security and clearance for travel to the Middle East are in place. You may proceed."
Charon gave a curt nod, wheels already rolling toward the hangar where a discreet jet waited.
John leaned slightly toward Alan. "I still don't know if I should be impressed or scared by your alias."
Alan smirked. "You'll be fine. Just call me Alan when we're in the field — keeps things simple."
Winston gestured toward the jet, speaking for both men and machines. "Everything has been prepared for a high-risk transport. You will have supplies, communications, and armored support en route. I trust this meets your… magical friend's requirements?"
Alan chuckled softly. "It does. And thank you. Trust me — I'll make it worth the trouble."
Once airborne and away from the public eye, Alan prepared. The small pouch of Tony's hair, carefully collected by Pepper, rested on the seat beside him.
"Red Queen," Alan said quietly, activating his neural interface. "We're live. I'll need precise location analysis on the Middle East coordinates for Stark's mission."
"Coordinates acknowledged," Red Queen replied. "I will cross-reference satellite imagery and local intel. Magical augmentation ready."
Alan drew his wand and whispered the incantation. "Point Me, Tony Stark."
A faint golden thread of light arced from the wand tip, stretching invisibly across miles, pointing precisely toward Tony's location in Afghanistan.
John watched silently, gripping his weapons. "You're sure this works?"
Alan's molten eyes glimmered. "Positive. But I'll need your help on the ground. The moment we arrive, it's going to get ugly."
The jet touched down in a secure airstrip arranged through Winston's contacts. Alan, John, and Nyx were transported quickly to the desert coordinates. The dust kicked up around armored vehicle, the sun barely cresting the horizon.
Alan retrieved Tony's hair and other personal items from the pouch. Placing them on a small circular sigil he traced with wand, he murmured, "Locatus Vitae."
A shimmering aura expanded from the circle, solidifying into a faint, ghostly projection — Tony trapped inside a crude makeshift armor, surrounded by terrorists.
Alan glanced at John. "Watch closely. I'll handle the spellcasting; you cover range and suppress any remaining threats."
"Hope I'm not too late," Alan muttered, with a flick of his wand, snakes burst from the ground, slithering toward armed guards — Serpensortia — magical but aggressive, designed to distract without lethal intent.
John moved beside him, methodical and lethal, his guns barking in rhythm with Alan's spells.
John's eyes went wide, almost frozen in disbelief. "Seriously… snakes?!"
Alan smirked briefly. "Wizard. Told you."
The battle erupted — Alan firing ranged spells, transfigured animals, and controlled blasts while John's pistols barked in rhythm, taking down guards in tandem. Fifteen minutes later, the camp lay silent, bodies unmoving, smoke curling around the debris.
Inside, Tony lay weak, his armor battered, Yinsen barely breathing. Alan rushed over, placing hands over Yinsen as soft golden magic pulsed from his palms.
"Not today," Alan whispered. "Not today, doctor."
The wounds closed slowly, Yinsen taking a deep breath, alive.
Tony blinked up at Alan, disbelief and gratitude mingling in his expression. "Three months… you said three months."
Alan smiled faintly. "Told you."
They destroyed the camp site, ensuring no trace remained. Alan contacted Colonel Rhodes, coordinating extraction. The team lifted off, leaving Afghanistan behind.
Back in America, John returned to the Tavern, carrying his weapons but leaving the desert behind. Tony was escorted to debriefings and medical care, still recovering.
Agent Coulson approached Alan quietly.
"Dragon, I assume?" he said with a faint smile.
"I'm Phil Coulson from Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, we need information about Mr.Stark's escape".
Alan grinned. "Son of Coul, you know the drill. Privacy. Ask Stark if you need answers. and...."
Coulson nodded, intrigued. "And?"
"Also", Alan clapped him on the shoulder. "If you ever need hair growth, though, I'm your guy."
As they parted, Alan turned to Red Queen.
"Check the Stark Industries stock. When it hits the lowest point, buy as much as possible."
"Already monitoring," Red Queen replied.
As Tony was driven away, Alan turned to the horizon, exhaustion creeping in.