Sorry for the late update—the past couple of weeks have been a bit busy. But here it is: the next chapter in the saga. I'll hopefully be posting a couple more today, so stay tuned. Thanks for your patience and support!
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The Mirror Dimension lay cloaked in an unbreachable silence.
No birds. No wind. Not even the faint tick of cosmic time.
Only the scorched breath of aftermath.
The ground was a fractured tapestry of broken stone and blistered soil. Crimson skies drooped overhead, bruised and heavy, like stained glass shattered across the heavens. Smoke coiled lazily, hanging in the air with the mournful grace of funeral incense. It carried the acrid scent of ash, charred energy, and something darker—burnt magic. Every breath Pietro took was thick with memory—bitter, irreversible.
He knelt at the epicenter.
The place where she had stood.
Wanda.
Gone.
His hands were coated in soot and blood, trembling faintly—but he did not stir. Not when the storm collapsed upon itself. Not when the last ripple of red magic vanished like a dying star. Not even when the stillness pressed down, suffocating as snow on a battlefield.
Behind him, the Avengers lingered—Thor, Natasha, Clint, Bruce, Tony, and Rin. They stood at a respectful distance. Their faces were solemn, carved with exhaustion and grief. No one spoke. No one disturbed the sacred hush that blanketed the battlefield like a requiem.
Time stretched.
Minutes felt like hours. Hours bled into centuries.
Then, the veil of the Mirror Dimension stirred.
A golden light shimmered into existence, as if time had turned a page. A portal unfolded, its edges humming softly with the breath of forgotten gods. From within stepped the Ancient One.
Her presence shifted the very nature of the air.
She moved slowly, deliberately—each footstep like a prayer etched into stone. Her eyes drifted across the broken realm, taking in every fracture with the reverence of a historian reading sacred texts. Her golden robes glimmered in the half-light, catching dust motes like stardust, but even they could not cleanse the mourning thick in the air.
She said nothing at first.
With a flick of her hand, a second portal appeared—this one leading back to the real world.
The others turned to it, slow and reluctant, as though motion itself had become a burden.
But Pietro remained.
The Ancient One walked to him. She knelt beside him—not imposing, but present. Her hand hovered just above his shoulder, never touching.
Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper.
But it split the silence like moonlight on dark water.
"Some fires cleanse," she said, "but others leave ash that speaks forever."
Pietro didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on the crater where Wanda's final moment had lived. Her last smile. Her last word.
Run.
The Ancient One turned her gaze to the others. She paused, as if listening to something only she could hear.
"The world is not saved by the living," she said, "but by what the dead leave behind."
She breathed.
"You survived—but not without cost. The battlefield takes more than lives; it steals fragments of the soul."
"You made the impossible choice. Not for glory, but for the greater good. That pain you feel—it is not a weakness. It is proof you still carry love."
"Grieve her. Remember her. Let sorrow shape you—but do not let it shatter you. The world needs those who have walked through fire and still choose to heal."
The dimension exhaled. One last breath before letting go.
She stood.
The portal shimmered like a sunrise glimpsed through tears.
One by one, the Avengers stepped through—worn, hollow, forever changed.
Only Pietro stayed.
The Ancient One waited, patient as the turning stars.
Eventually, he rose.
Wordless. Slow.
Together, they walked into the light.
Back to a world that did not yet know what it had lost.
.................
Avengers Tower greeted them with sterile light and mechanical hums. Steel and silence. Familiar rooms, unfamiliar weight.
Because something—someone—was missing.
No one spoke her name.
But her absence reverberated across the halls.
Everything was as it had been, and yet fundamentally changed. The Tower's core hummed quietly, as though mourning in its own way. Reflections shimmered on polished floors, catching the ghosts of those who once walked beside them.
Rin turned toward Pietro, lips parted—but he was gone. A breeze stirred the air in his place.
She looked to Tony. He met her gaze, heavy with understanding.
"Let him go," he said softly. "He needs time. I'll keep tabs—quietly. Just... in case."
The team scattered like embers.
Thor claimed Loki's scepter, promising to return it to Asgard with dignity and ritual.
Even Hulk disappeared into the skyline with a single leap, leaving behind only the echo of his departure.
Steve paused before his room, resting a hand on the wall. He closed his eyes, as if imprinting a silent farewell.
And slowly, the Tower dimmed once more.
Even heroes need silence. Even gods mourn.
...................
Back in the Mirror Dimension, where battle had ended and silence reclaimed its throne, the Ancient One lingered. She sealed the last portal with a wave, its shimmer dissolving into the quiet.
Then she turned.
To someone the Avengers hadn't seen.
Not because he was invisible.
But because he had made himself unseen—his illusion flawless enough to fool even the universe.
He stood amidst the smoke and ruins, still and poised. A boy—no older than twelve—yet he held himself like a monarch.
His hair shimmered gold, tousled like sunlit threads, and his eyes were a deep, impossible crimson.
He wore regal robes, embroidered with runes and lined in gold. Chains and circlets, faint but refined, whispered of ancient power. Not ostentatious—deliberate.
Untouched by chaos.
Untouched by grief.
But within his composure was a softness. A mourning of his own. A quiet ache that only those who carried prophecy could know.
The Ancient One regarded him carefully.
"What do you intend to do?" she asked softly, with politeness unusual even for her.
The boy's gaze wandered over the battlefield as if reading an elegy etched in stone.
Silence answered first.
Then:
"This world amuses me," he said, the words playful but weighty. "So I think I'll remain. For now."
He tilted his head, a trace of irony ghosting across his expression.
"Would you like to form a contract with me?"
The Ancient One smiled, soft and tired.
In the ruins of what had ended, something ancient and new stirred.
A beginning.
Rising from the embers of sacrifice.
Born in the ashes of the mirror.