Brooklyn, 1924.
Winter loosened its grip slowly over the city.
Snow became rain.
Rain became mud.
And life continued as though ancient horrors were not quietly awakening beneath reality itself.
That was humanity's greatest talent.
Ignoring the abyss until it opened directly beneath their feet.
Elias Rogers stood behind the bookstore counter reading a newspaper while jazz music crackled softly through the radio nearby. To anyone watching, he looked ordinary—a tired shop owner with ink-stained fingers and too many books.
Only the silver coin rolling endlessly across his knuckles betrayed otherwise.
It spun over his fingers smoothly without falling once.
A Clown's dexterity.
A Magician's control.
The paper's headline spoke about rising tensions overseas, economic shifts, and strange disappearances near Atlantic shipping routes.
Elias cared only about the final article.
Three cargo ships vanished within two months.
No wreckage recovered.
No survivors.
Witnesses reported unnatural fog.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Coincidence no longer existed in his worldview.
Not after the gray fog.
Not after the entity.
Not after seeing the Hanged Man card appear physically in his ritual room.
That card now remained locked inside three separate containers lined with silver and salt beneath the shop basement.
Even then, Elias still felt uncomfortable whenever he thought about it.
The card was real.
Mystically real.
And every divination involving it ended the same way:
Blindness.
Distortion.
Whispers.
So he stopped asking questions.
For now.
The bell above the bookstore door rang.
Steve Rogers walked inside carrying sketchbooks beneath one arm.
Fourteen years old now.
Still short.
Still thin.
Still infuriatingly incapable of minding his own business.
But stronger than before.
Elias' training had changed him over the years. Not physically—not enough to overcome Steve's frail body entirely—but mentally.
Steve moved with better balance now.
Better awareness.
He observed exits automatically.
Watched hands during conversations.
Positioned himself instinctively where he could see the room.
Small habits.
Survival habits.
The kind soldiers learned too late in war.
Steve dropped his bag beside the counter.
"You're doing the coin thing again."
Elias caught the coin mid-spin. "And you're late."
"I had class."
"You had class two hours ago."
Steve looked away immediately.
Elias sighed.
"A fight?"
"…Maybe."
"With?"
"Three guys."
"Only three? You're improving."
Steve grinned despite himself before wincing slightly from a bruise near his jaw.
Elias noticed instantly.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Sit before I throw you through the window."
Steve sat.
Elias retrieved a small tin from beneath the counter and began applying herbal ointment to the bruise.
Steve hissed. "That burns."
"That means it works."
"You always say that."
"Because you continue getting punched."
Steve muttered something under his breath.
Elias raised an eyebrow.
"…Nothing."
Silence settled comfortably between them afterward.
Not awkward.
Familiar.
Over the years, Elias had unintentionally become more father than uncle. Steve still lived with Sarah, but the bookstore became his refuge from the world. They read together. Argued together. Sometimes played chess late into the night while rain hammered against the windows outside.
And every now and then—
Elias forgot the future.
Forgot the ice.
Forgot the wars.
Forgot the fact this boy would one day carry an entire nation's ideals on broken shoulders.
Those moments frightened him most.
Because attachment made people weak.
The bell rang again.
This time both Elias and Steve looked up simultaneously.
A woman entered the bookstore.
Tall.
Elegant.
Dark green coat buttoned neatly against the cold.
Golden hair partially hidden beneath a hat.
And eyes—
Her eyes glowed faintly silver for less than a second before normalizing.
Elias' spirituality exploded with warning.
Danger.
Not immediate violence.
Something worse.
Recognition.
The woman paused upon entering.
Then slowly turned toward Elias.
For several silent seconds, neither moved.
Steve frowned, sensing the tension instantly.
The woman smiled politely.
"I'm looking for a book."
Elias already knew that was a lie.
People like her never entered random bookstores accidentally.
Still, he answered calmly.
"What kind?"
"Occult history."
Steve blinked.
Elias' coin stopped spinning.
The woman walked slowly between the shelves while speaking casually.
"European mythology. Hidden religions. Ancient pathways of enlightenment."
Pathways.
There it was again.
Not roads.
Not spiritual traditions.
Pathways.
A deliberate word choice.
Elias kept his expression neutral. "You'll need to be more specific."
The woman stopped beside a shelf near the back.
"You have books not displayed publicly."
Steve immediately looked toward Elias.
Elias mentally prepared several emergency actions simultaneously.
Paper substitute.
Flame jump.
Air bullet.
Escape route through the basement.
The woman noticed his caution and laughed softly.
"Relax, Mr. Rogers. If I meant harm, we wouldn't be speaking."
That was not comforting.
At all.
Steve stood slowly now, instinctively positioning himself slightly closer to Elias.
The woman noticed that too.
Her expression softened strangely.
"He protects you," she said quietly to Steve.
Steve frowned. "Who are you?"
Instead of answering him, she looked directly at Elias.
"You've climbed surprisingly fast."
Every muscle in Elias' body tightened.
Only pathway members would phrase advancement like that.
"You're a Beyonder," he said flatly.
The woman tilted her head.
"A crude term. But acceptable."
Steve looked completely lost now.
"A what?"
"No," Elias said immediately.
The woman smiled faintly.
"You haven't told him."
"He's a child."
"He's important."
The room became still.
Very still.
Elias' eyes sharpened dangerously.
"You know who he becomes."
Not a question.
The woman looked toward Steve again.
"No," she said softly. "I know what gathers around him."
That answer disturbed Elias far more.
Because it implied destiny itself behaved differently now.
The woman removed one glove carefully.
On the back of her hand was a symbol resembling an eye surrounded by stars.
Elias recognized it instantly.
Not from Marvel.
From Lord of the Mysteries.
The Secret Order.
His spirituality fluctuated violently.
Impossible.
The Secret Order should not exist here.
Unless—
"You're from another world too," Elias said quietly.
The woman finally smiled genuinely.
"There it is."
For the first time since transmigrating, Elias felt true shock.
Not fear.
Not caution.
Shock.
Another transmigrator.
Another person carrying pathway knowledge.
The woman extended her gloved hand calmly.
"My name is Celeste."
Elias did not shake it.
"That tells me nothing."
"Wise."
Steve looked between them helplessly.
"Can someone explain what's happening?"
"No," both adults answered simultaneously.
Steve frowned deeply.
Rude.
Celeste slowly lowered her hand.
"I came because you attracted attention."
"I noticed."
"The thing above the gray fog noticed too."
Elias' pupils contracted slightly.
She knew.
Not guessed.
Knew.
Celeste walked closer to the counter now.
"Most worlds reject the pathways eventually. This one didn't." Her silver eyes darkened slightly. "It adapted."
Every instinct inside Elias screamed at the implications.
Marvel's universe was integrating Beyonder concepts