Brooklyn, New York — Winter.
Snow fell like ash over the narrow streets, coating the brick alleys and horse-drawn carts in pale silence. Smoke crawled from chimneys while the distant echo of factory whistles blended with the coughing of a city exhausted by war, poverty, and disease. The Spanish Flu haunted every corner like an invisible ghost, and men returned from Europe with hollow eyes that never truly came home.
Inside a dim apartment above a tailor shop, a man awoke with a scream trapped in his throat.
Elias Rogers sat upright in bed, drenched in sweat.
For several seconds, he couldn't breathe.
Not because of fear.
Because reality itself felt wrong.
His fingers trembled as he stared at his own hands—rough, older, calloused by labor rather than keyboards or books. The room smelled of coal smoke and old wood. Outside, wagon wheels rolled across wet streets instead of engines.
"…1918…"
The words escaped his lips in disbelief.
Memories crashed through his mind like violent waves.
A modern world.
Towering skyscrapers.
Marvel movies.
The Infinity Stones.
The fall of SHIELD.
Hydra.
Thanos.
And beyond all that…
Another set of memories.
Forbidden memories.
Gray fog.
Ancient pathways.
Sequences.
Beyonders.
The Fool.
The Error.
The Door.
The names alone made his soul feel cold.
Elias pressed both hands against his face, forcing himself to calm down as fragments aligned together. He remembered dying in his previous life after spending years obsessed with a web novel called Lord of the Mysteries. He remembered memorizing every Sequence formula, every ritual, every acting method like a lunatic preparing for an exam no one else knew existed.
Then darkness.
Then this life.
And now…
Marvel.
Not comics.
The movie timeline.
A world destined for gods, aliens, monsters, and endless catastrophe.
He slowly looked toward the cracked mirror beside the bed.
The reflection staring back was not his old face.
He looked to be around thirty-five. Broad shoulders. Tired blue eyes. A scar near the jawline. Someone hardened by life.
Then the final memory surfaced.
Elias Rogers.
Older brother of Joseph Rogers.
Uncle of a frail child named—
A knock suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
"Eli?"
A woman's voice came softly from outside.
"Sarah?" Elias answered instinctively before freezing.
His body remembered before his mind did.
The door opened carefully.
A young woman stepped inside carrying a basket of bread wrapped in cloth. She looked exhausted, though kindness still remained in her eyes. Behind her peeked a painfully skinny boy no older than seven.
Small.
Blond.
Blue-eyed.
Too thin for his age.
Steve Rogers.
The future Captain America.
For a brief moment, Elias simply stared at him.
Not the legend.
Not the super soldier.
Just a sickly child hiding behind his mother's coat.
Steve coughed lightly into his sleeve.
"Mom said you were sick again," the boy whispered.
Elias felt something strange tighten in his chest.
This child would one day stand against gods.
But right now?
The kid looked like the wind could break him apart.
Sarah walked closer and placed the basket down. "You scared us. You didn't answer yesterday."
"I'm fine," Elias replied automatically.
A lie.
He was absolutely not fine.
Because in his head rested knowledge capable of driving people insane.
Not just future events.
Not just Marvel.
But the complete pathways of the Beyonders.
If the formulas truly worked here…
Then that meant one horrifying possibility.
The mystical systems of Lord of the Mysteries had followed him into this universe.
Elias hid his expression quickly.
"Just tired," he muttered.
Sarah sighed. "The docks are looking for workers again. But with the flu spreading…"
"I'll manage."
She looked unconvinced but nodded.
Steve quietly stepped further into the room, curiosity written all over his face. The boy always admired Elias. Unlike Joseph, who worked himself to death trying to survive, Elias told stories. Weird stories. Adventure stories.
Stories about impossible worlds.
"Can you tell me another one later?" Steve asked hopefully.
Elias looked at him silently.
He knew this child's future.
He knew the tragedies waiting ahead.
The ice.
The wars.
The loneliness.
The sacrifices.
And suddenly, for the first time since awakening, the weight of his situation became truly real.
Marvel's timeline had already begun moving.
The world war.
Hydra's rise.
The coming birth of super soldiers.
And somewhere in the shadows…
Ancient things might already exist.
Because if Beyonder powers were real here, then humanity wasn't simply facing aliens anymore.
They were facing madness.
Elias forced a faint smile toward Steve.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'll tell you one tonight."
Steve grinned immediately.
A simple smile.
Small.
Pure.
Dangerously human.
After Sarah and Steve left, silence returned to the room.
Elias sat there unmoving for nearly ten minutes.
Then slowly…
He stood up.
The floor creaked beneath his feet as he approached an old wooden cabinet near the wall. Hidden underneath loose cloth and forgotten belongings was a small metal box.
Inside it were ingredients he barely remembered collecting in this life.
Herbs.
Powders.
Alcohol.
Silver shavings.
Candles.
Elias stared at them with growing disbelief.
His body had already begun preparing.
Almost instinctively.
Like fate itself had guided him here.
His heartbeat slowly accelerated.
He remembered the formula perfectly.
Sequence 9 — Seer.
The beginning of the Fool Pathway.
The safest starting point.
And perhaps the most terrifying.
Because once he drank the potion…
There would be no turning back.
Outside the window, the snow continued falling over Brooklyn.
Meanwhile, somewhere far beyond Earth—
Something ancient stirred.
As though a sleeping existence had suddenly noticed a familiar scent drifting across reality itself.