Khan Sahib walked slowly along Hell's Kitchen's rain-slicked rooftops, walking stick tapping a steady rhythm against wet concrete. The Eternal Watch on his wrist pulsed once—soft green—every few minutes, like a heartbeat checking in. New York at 2:47 a.m. was quieter up here: distant sirens, the low hum of traffic on 10th Avenue, the occasional shout from an open window. The ajrak shawl was damp but warm; the rolling pin stayed tucked under his arm like a talisman.
He had been in this world four days. Four days of listening—really listening—to the city's pulse. He had sat on stoops in Harlem sharing chai with old men who remembered Partition, stood in Brooklyn delis trading stories with bodega owners, knelt in Queens mosques during Fajr prayer. The Eternal Watch rewarded every genuine connection:
Sign-In Location: Harlem Brownstone Stoop (Marvel Universe – Cultural Nexus Point)
Reward: Storyteller's Warmth – Passive: +25% persuasion with elders & community figures
Sign-In Location: Brooklyn Deli Counter (Marvel Universe – Everyday Hero Point)
Reward: Neighborhood Echo – Passive: Locals instinctively trust & protect you (+20% aid from civilians)
Sign-In Location: Masjid Al-Taqwa, Queens (Marvel Universe – Faith Convergence Point)
Reward: Prayer of Resilience – Active: 60-second aura of calm + minor wound healing for allies (30-minute cooldown)
He had not sought out heroes. Heroes, he knew from Ahmed's stories, usually found you when you were listening.
Tonight, he was listening to the rooftop silence of Hell's Kitchen.
A soft rustle—barely audible—behind him.
Khan Sahib did not turn.
"You are very quiet, beta," he said in gentle Saraiki-accented English. "But not quiet enough for an old man who raised six children."
A figure landed lightly ten feet away—red suit, horns, billy clubs at his sides. Daredevil. Matt Murdock. The Man Without Fear.
Matt tilted his head—listening.
"You're not afraid," he said. Voice low, calm, edged with curiosity. "Your heartbeat is steady. Your breathing even. You knew I was here before I landed."
Khan Sahib smiled—the rare, full smile.
"I've raised a son who carried the weight of two worlds. I've heard dragons land softer than you just did."
Matt stepped closer—bil clubs still sheathed.
"You're not from Hell's Kitchen. Not from New York. Not even from this Earth, if your heartbeat and scent are telling the truth. Who are you?"
Khan Sahib turned slowly—walking stick tapping once.
"I am Khan Sahib. Father of Ahmed Khan, who built the Eternal Bridge between worlds. I died four months ago under a mango tree. The One Who Watches All Worlds gave me a second chance. This—" he tapped the Eternal Watch—"lets me carry stories. And right now, this city smells like it needs one."
Matt's head tilted further—listening to truth in the words, to the absence of fear, to the steady rhythm of a father's heart.
"You're not lying," he said quietly. "But you're not telling me everything."
Khan Sahib chuckled softly.
"No father ever tells everything. We leave some stories for our children to discover."
Matt took another step.
"You're not a mutant. Not enhanced. Not magic. Not tech. You're… ordinary. But ordinary people don't walk rooftops at 3 a.m. with a rolling pin and no fear."
Khan Sahib lifted the rolling pin slightly.
"This? Only for dough. And sometimes for naughty children who steal mangoes."
Matt almost smiled—almost.
Then his head snapped toward the east—enhanced senses catching something.
"Gunshots. Three blocks. Multiple heartbeats—panic, anger, one very fast. Someone's in trouble."
Khan Sahib nodded.
"Then we go."
Matt hesitated—listening to the old man's heartbeat again.
"You're not afraid."
"I've seen worse," Khan Sahib said simply. "And I've raised a son who taught me that fear is only heavy if you carry it alone."
Matt exhaled—sharp, decisive.
"Stay behind me."
Khan Sahib smiled.
"Beta, I've been behind my son for sixty years. I know how to follow."
They moved—Matt leaping from rooftop to rooftop with silent grace, Khan Sahib walking below on sidewalks, stick tapping, ajrak shawl billowing. Two generations, two worlds, one purpose.
The gunshots led them to a warehouse near the docks—dim lights, broken windows, the sound of a woman crying and men shouting.
Matt perched on a fire escape.
"Six armed men. One hostage. Female. Mid-30s. Elevated heart rate—scared but alive."
Khan Sahib looked up.
"Six sons," he said softly. "Afraid of tomorrow. Afraid of empty pockets. Afraid of being nothing."
Matt glanced down.
"You can tell that from here?"
Storyteller's Insight Activated
Six Hostiles (Mercenaries – Low-Level)
Emotional State (collective): Greed + fear + desperation
Hidden Story: Hired muscle for a low-rent arms deal gone wrong. Terrified of their boss. One has a daughter with medical bills. Another has a sick mother. All chose wrong paths for right reasons.
Khan Sahib tapped his stick once.
Story Echo Activated: Pathanay Khan – "Merra ishq vi tu"
Effect: 60-second aura of calm + emotional memory surge in 40-meter radius
He walked to the warehouse door—unhurried, unafraid.
Matt hissed:
"What are you doing?"
Khan Sahib looked up.
"Talking. Listening is the first bridge."
He knocked—three gentle taps.
Inside, shouting stopped.
A voice—rough, nervous:
"Who's there?"
Khan Sahib answered—clear, calm, carrying like a father's voice at bedtime.
"Beta log, it's just an old man with chai and questions. Open the door. Let's talk."
Silence.
Then footsteps.
The door cracked open—six men, guns raised, eyes wide.
Khan Sahib smiled.
"Assalamu alaikum. May I come in?"
They stared.
One whispered:
"He's… not scared."
Khan Sahib stepped inside—stick tapping.
The woman—hostage, mid-30s, lab coat torn—looked up from the floor.
Khan Sahib met her eyes.
"Beta, you are safe. These boys are scared. They won't hurt you."
He turned to the men.
"You have families," he said softly. "Daughters. Mothers. Sons. You took this job for them. But this—" he gestured to the guns, the fear—"this is not love. This is fear wearing love's clothes."
Story Echo Activated: Bulleh Shah – "Bulleh ki jaana main kaun?"
Effect: Forces targets to question identity/ego (45-second stun/confusion)
The men froze—eyes glazing.
One whispered:
"Who… am I?"
Khan Sahib stepped closer—grandfatherly.
"You are someone's father. Someone's son. Someone's story. And stories can change."
He reached into the shawl—pulled out the thermos (Eternal Hearth magic never runs out)—and poured six tumblers of steaming chai.
"Cardamom. Three boils. Just like my wife makes."
He handed them out—one by one.
The men took them—hands shaking.
They drank.
Tears fell.
The leader dropped his gun.
"I… I have a daughter. She's sick. I needed money for medicine."
Khan Sahib placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then go home, beta. Tell her you love her. And never pick up a gun for money again."
The men left—changed.
The woman stood—shaking.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Khan Sahib smiled.
"Go home, beta. Hug your family. That's the strongest medicine."
She ran.
Matt swung down from the skylight—landing silently.
"You just disarmed six armed men. With tea. And stories."
Khan Sahib chuckled.
"Stories are the oldest weapons. And the kindest."
Matt looked at the empty warehouse—guns on the floor, no blood.
"You could have fought. You didn't."
"I didn't need to," Khan Sahib said. "I listened. Listening is the first bridge."
The Watch beeped.
Sign-In Location: Hell's Kitchen Warehouse (Marvel Universe – First Non-Violent Resolution Point)
Reward Unlocked: Hearth of Mercy – Active: Recipe of Forgiveness (Tell a story of redemption to calm/hostile NPCs + remove aggression debuff, 45-minute cooldown)
Bonus: First City Bond – Hell's Kitchen
Bond Effect: +25% persuasion & trust from street-level civilians & low-level criminals
Matt exhaled—almost a laugh.
"You're dangerous, old man. In the best way."
Khan Sahib looked at the city—lights reflecting in puddles, sirens wailing, life continuing.
"I am a father," he said simply. "That is enough."
They walked into the night—Spider-Man swinging above, Khan Sahib tapping below—two generations, two worlds, one story.
The bridge had crossed another city.
And Amina Begum—Hearthkeeper—had just begun to walk.
The story grew.