June 2010 — Sokovia, Abandoned Church
The ruined church creaked with every gust of wind. Its stained glass was shattered long ago, leaving fractured light to fall across broken pews and a cracked stone floor. Dust floated in the air like forgotten prayers.
Didi stood in the middle of it all, arms folded across her chest. Her expression was unreadable, though her presence carried the weight of eternity. In front of her, two children—no older than sixteen—sat on rickety wooden chairs.
The boy had a lean frame, restless energy radiating from him as though he might bolt at any second. His blond hair was unkempt, his sharp blue eyes glaring with suspicion. His clothes were threadbare, his shoes worn through at the edges. Beside him sat his sister, pale but striking, her long Reddish brown hair tangled around her face. Her eyes were heavy with shadows that no child should carry. Their clothes were little more than rags, patched too many times to be whole. Hunger lingered in their gaunt cheeks.
Behind Didi stood Angelica and Kitty, trying to mask their unease.
Kitty glanced at the two siblings, then leaned toward Angelica. "This feels like we're interrogating criminals… except we're not cops."
Her attempt at humor broke the heavy silence for a moment. Angelica gave a soft laugh, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. More like babysitters who walked into the wrong movie. But it feels wrong. They're just kids." She turned back toward the pair, her voice softening as she tried to bridge the gulf between them. "We're not here to scare you, okay? Just… talk."
But Pietro and Wanda only stared back, hollow-eyed, as if the strangers before them were thieves who had stolen their last scrap of bread.
Didi finally moved. A gentle smile softened her otherwise inscrutable face. She stepped closer, her tone calm and patient, as though speaking to lost lambs.
"Tell me," she asked softly, "why children your age are robbing tourists?"
The question was not an accusation, only a statement laid bare.
The silence stretched until Kitty filled it. "We know you stole from us. And a few others too. We tracked you here. Maybe it was survival. Maybe it was something worse. That's what we're here to find out. If someone is forcing kids into this… we need to know and maybe we can help you guys out."
Still, neither child spoke. Pietro sat rigid, jaw clenched, refusing even to blink. Wanda's gaze, however, flickered toward Didi. Something in her presence—something unexplainable, beyond words—made the girl's chest loosen. She didn't understand why, but she felt… safe.
Her brother noticed the shift and shook his head. "Don't," he whispered sharply. "They could be Mutants. Or worse. Brainwashers."
Kitty bristled instantly. "Excuse me?" she snapped. "We're not your enemy. And for the record, we're friends with a hero. Maybe you've heard of him—Aeon. Ethan Carter?"
Angelica smirked before throwing her thumb toward Didi. "And Didi here?" She smirked. "She's his girlfriend."
Didi shot both women a deadpan stare. It was not the first time these two had managed to leave even Death herself speechless. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head.
But the effect on Pietro and Wanda was immediate. Their eyes widened. They exchanged quick glances—because yes, they had heard of Ethan Carter. Whispers of his name reached even their broken corner of Sokovia.
Kitty, pulling out her phone, swiped quickly to a picture and held it up. Ethan, standing between Kitty and Angelica, smiling in the sun.
This time, Pietro's suspicion wavered.
Wanda whispered, almost to herself, "It's true…"
Her brother scowled. "Don't trust them."
But Wanda shook her head firmly. "I do." She turned back to Didi, her voice trembling as words finally broke free. "Our parents… they were killed. By a missile. It had Stark industries name on it." Her voice trembled, eyes glazing with memories she could not erase. "We were trapped under the rubble of our home for days. Waiting to die. Until they pulled us out."
Her hands trembled in her lap. Pietro's fists balled tight, his jaw rigid.
She drew a breath and pressed on. "After that, we were sent to an orphanage. We thought we would be safe in there. But it wasn't safe. The director sold us… sold us to men who promised power. Promised we could have revenge."
Angelica's eyes narrowed, her fists flexing. "He sold you?" Her voice shook with anger.
Kitty muttered, "That bastard. I swear—"
Wanda continued, though her brother's hand tightened over hers in warning. "We agreed. We didn't see another choice. They experimented on us. We struggled at first. But then… they burned."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, haunted. "Burned alive. All of them. And we ended up here."
Angelica's breath hissed between her teeth. Kitty muttered under her breath, "I swear, that orphanage director…" Her eyes burned with fury.
Didi, however, kept her focus on the children. She saw it—the flicker of something vast and untamed inside Wanda. Something raw, ancient, and dangerous. Power that might one day change the course of worlds. Power that even Death herself could not ignore.
She let the silence linger before she knelt in front of the children and spoke in a gentle tone. "You've been hurt more than anyone your age should ever know. But you don't have to stay alone." She held Wanda's gaze, then Pietro's. "Come with me. I promise you that no one will use you again. Not while I live."
Pietro's lips parted, then closed. He still looked doubtful. But Wanda—she felt it. That strange warmth, that safety that clung to Didi like a second skin. She placed her hand over Pietro's before whispering, "We can trust her."
He glared at her, then at Didi and asked if they could take revenge, but Didi only shook her head gently. "I can't promise you that," she said before meeting his eyes.
Wanda placed a hand on her brother's shoulder.
"But I can promise you this," she said softly. "I'll make sure the both of you have a good life. As for revenge… we can talk about it later. After all, one has to live in order to do anything at all."
Later, he didn't move when she reached out her hand.
Behind them, Angelica and Kitty shared a look. Didi's gaze flicked toward them, silent but clear. The director of the orphanage. Take care of it.
Both women nodded grimly, already planning their next move.
As the group walked out into the fading Sokovian sun, Didi allowed herself a sigh. She had not expected this—children bound to futures of power and pain. Children who, if left unchecked, could fall into darkness. Wanda especially.
Her gaze drifted skyward, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Ethan Carter's smile surfaced in her memory, stirring a warmth deep in her chest. Since meeting him—and falling for him—even Death of the Endless had begun to feel more human with each passing day. He had changed her, taught her to live like a human, to feel like a girl in love. And because of him, she would not let these children fall into shadows.
Sliding into the back seat of the waiting car, she settled between Pietro and Wanda. The girl leaned unconsciously against her. Didi rested a hand gently on her shoulder, her eternal calm seeping into the broken child's heart.
For the first time in a long while, the Maximoff twins felt they were not alone.
Meanwhile, Kitty and Angelica made their way to the orphanage to confront the director. They couldn't sit still after learning the truth. First, they would beat him down—and then they would make sure he paid for what he had done to those children.
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The outskirts of Puente Antiguo, New Mexico.
Inside a small room, Coulson and Susan stood in quiet anticipation, their eyes fixed on Ethan Carter. He stood calmly in the center of the room, one hand extended with a faint smile curling at his lips.
"It's an honor to meet you… Thor, son of Odin."
Silence followed. Thor's eyes narrowed slightly, surprise flashing across his face. His voice was deep, cautious. "How can you tell?"
Coulson's head snapped toward Ethan, frowning. "Wait—you know him? How… and from where?"
Ethan's smile only widened as he lowered his hand. "I'll get into that. But before we dive into introductions—let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?"
He snapped his fingers.
The cracked walls and dusty chairs of the room shimmered away, reforming into a lavish meeting chamber. Rich carpets replaced the floor. Golden lamps flickered with soft light. Plush sofas arranged themselves in a neat circle.
Ethan sat back with Susan at his side, calm as though nothing unusual had happened. Coulson blinked, his jaw slightly slack, while Thor stared in open surprise at the transformation.
"By the Norns…" Thor muttered before scanning the room in disbelief.
Even Coulson, who had seen Ethan perform feats before, leaned back in shock. 'I knew he was powerful… but this? This is a whole different level.'
Susan only sighed before shaking her head. The awe that Coulson and Thor shared was something she had already grown used to. She had reacted the same way the first few times… but eventually, she got used to Ethan bending reality like clay.
In fact, he hadn't bent reality at all—it was merely a trick, a clever use of his matter manipulation.
"You get over it eventually," she murmured under her breath.
Ethan chuckled. "It's not that difficult. I'm a sorcerer, and I've studied many things. And among those things, the Asgardians are not strangers to me."
Thor's eyes sharpened. He said nothing at first, jaw tightening. His mind was elsewhere—burdened by guilt, haunted by his brother's words, and the bitter weight of his father's death.
The storm inside him dulled his voice when he asked, "So what now, sorcerer?"
Coulson raised a hand, cautious but curious. "Hold on. Ethan, you know who he is… Can you tell me more about him? Because right now, this is all a little too much."
"You'll learn soon enough," Ethan replied smoothly. Then he turned back to Thor, voice measured. "I saw Mjolnir earlier…" he gestured toward Thor— "It seems you cannot lift it. Tell me, Odinson. Are you exiled from Asgard? And stripped of your power?"
Coulson froze, trying to piece the words together. Something stirred in the back of his mind, scraps of old mythology. His eyes went wide. "Wait a minute… Thor? Odin? Are you… Are you saying he's the Thor? The one from Norse mythology?"
Susan's eyes widened as well. She turned toward Thor, her disbelief clear. "So… you're saying you're that Thor. The God of Thunder from bedtime stories?"
The room fell silent. Thor didn't answer. His silence was its own admission.
Coulson's face mirrored Susan's confusion. Both were caught between skepticism and shock.
Coulson then turned to Ethan. "And that hammer… it's his, right. What was its name again? Mejoalnir?"
"It's Mjölnir," Thor corrected firmly.
"Yes, that's it," Coulson said before glancing back at Ethan. "The hammer no one can lift… unless they're worthy. And you lifted it."
Thor's eyes widened, as though the very foundations of his world had cracked. "You… lifted Mjölnir."
Susan's breath caught, her voice barely a whisper as the weight of it sank in. "Ethan… just what kind of world are we living in now?"
Ethan only smiled gently at Susan. "Sue, my darling… you have no idea how many absurd things are out there. Let me make it simple: every myth you've ever heard? It's real. Or at least, most of them are. Every god, every legend—they exist. Some are even walking around, kicking things over." His smile turned sly. "And really, why are you shocked? You've already met Galactus—the guy who eats planets for breakfast."
Susan let out a disbelieving laugh. "That's not the same comparison, Ethan! A bedtime story god and a cosmic monster aren't on the same level."
Her tone was playful, but her eyes betrayed the lingering disbelief. Coulson wasn't much better, his mind racing to reconcile everything he was hearing.
Thor finally broke the silence, his tone restrained but edged with disbelief. "You… how can you lift Mjölnir?"
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. It's not like the world's gonna end because I lifted a hammer. Man up—you're not the god of hammers that enchanted it so that only you could lift it, are you? No need to look so shocked."
The words struck Thor, grounding him. He drew in a steady breath, his expression easing as realization set in. "You are right," he admitted at last. "But it seems you are worthy, that'll make you trustworthy too—and far too knowledgeable for one so young… wizard."
Ethan inclined his head with a small smile. "Thank you. Now, let's return to the matter at hand. You're exiled. That much I can sense. Odin must have stripped you of your power, left you unworthy of your hammer. Am I correct?"
Coulson sat forward, his mind spinning with the implications. Susan's brows furrowed, her mind piecing together questions she dared not voice aloud.
Neither doubted Ethan's words—his track record, his certainty, made lying unnecessary.
Thor clenched his jaw, guilt flickering across his features. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to expose his weakness… but Ethan's insight cut too deep.
Ethan rose from his seat, walking slowly until he stood before the Asgardian prince. His tone softened. "No need to look so down, everyone makes mistakes, Mr. Odinson. Even gods. Especially gods. No one is perfect. What matters is what you do next—what you learn from those mistakes. That's how you live on."
Thor's eyes lowered and his pride faltered.
Suddenly, the door to the room burst open. A SHIELD agent stood frozen in the doorway, eyes darting between the luxurious chamber and the bewildering sight of Ethan, Thor, and Susan seated together.
Coulson straightened immediately. "What happened?"
It took some time for the agent to come back to reality—seeing a five-star room inside their tent was hard enough to process. But then he hesitated, swallowing hard, before pointing a trembling finger at Thor. "Someone's here… for him."
Coulson's blood ran cold. His instincts screamed danger. 'If this is Odin… or anyone like him… we're dead men standing.'
If the myths were true, they stood no chance.
He shot Thor a wary glance before forcing a smile. "Mr. Odinson, please—be comfortable here. I'll be right back."
He practically ran out the door, urgency in his steps.
Susan leaned back, "So… you think it's Thor's family?"
Ethan's voice was calm, but sharp. "Didn't you hear me? He was banished. Families don't come for the banished unless it's a matter of life and death."
Thor glared at him before snapping, "You don't have to repeat it every five seconds."
Ethan raised his hands in mock surrender. "My bad. No offense intended." Then, with a smile, he turned to both Thor and Susan. "Now then… let's continue our little discussion, shall we?"
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High above the clouds, cloaked in secrecy, a colossal structure drifted silently like a phantom of war. To the naked eye it was almost invisible, hidden behind layers of atmospheric distortion and technology—an empire in the sky.
The Red Room.
Its architecture was cold, militaristic, and merciless—like a scar upon the heavens themselves. Steel corridors stretched endlessly inside, lined with reinforced plating and screens pulsing with streams of red data. Control rooms were manned by women known as Widows—elite operatives molded since childhood, trained to perfection in combat, espionage, and obedience. Every gesture of theirs was disciplined, every glance mechanical.
The command center was alive with quiet efficiency. Holographic projections displayed global maps, tactical overlays, and coded transmissions. Rows of widows sat at their stations, their hands moving over sleek consoles, eyes sharp, ears tuned to every incoming alert.
No anomalies detected. No threats approaching and no deviation from control.
It was calm... Too calm.
Then—
A deafening BOOM ripped through the stillness.
A splitting crack across the sky like a sonic boom tearing reality apart.
Before alarms could blare, before sensors could recalibrate, something slammed into the floating fortress with the force of a meteor.
The structure groaned as something streaking at sonic speed slammed into the fortress's hull. The impact sent a ripple through the chamber floors. Lights flickered. Smoke poured into the corridors as panels cracked and walls shuddered. Metal screamed. Walls buckled. Sirens began to shriek belatedly, their red light casting the room in a chaotic strobe.
"All units—breach detected!" one widow barked into her comm. "Sector Seven compromised!"
"We didn't see it on radar!" another cried, disbelief cutting through her usual discipline.
Their voices overlapped, tension growing as the realization hit them: the Red Room's sensors, flawless against jets, missiles, and even S.H.I.E.L.D.'s satellites—had failed.
Through the smoke, a female figure emerged from the wreckage.
She stood tall, her presence radiating both danger and confidence. Green fabric clung to her athletic frame, trimmed in bold yellow accents—the costume unmistakable to anyone who knew the stories.
A cropped green jacket rested over her shoulders, open to reveal the sharp "A" insignia stretched across her chest. Long auburn hair cascaded in waves, caught in the flickering glow of the fires. And her emerald eyes burned with challenge.
It was Anna Marie AKA Rogue.
Her lips curved into a sly smirk as she brushed dust from her gloves. Her Southern drawl carried easily over the crackle of flames and alarms.
"Magic sure is convenient, ain't it? Makes hidin' our presence real easy. That's why y'all couldn't detect me."
Several widows appeared, their boots clattering against steel as they surrounded her with disciplined precision. They moved like shadows—silent, lethal, waiting for a command.
Rogue tilted her head, her expression somewhere between playful and deadly.
"Now then…" She flexed her gloved fingers, that infamous mix of danger and allure in her stance. "As Ethan likes to say in moments like this…"
Her smirk deepened, emerald eyes flashing with the promise of chaos. "Let's dance, babies."