The heart of London should have been bustling - cars honking, tourists snapping photos, the distant chime of Big Ben echoing through the fog.
But this was not London.
Not quite.
This was the Mirror Dimension, where familiar became foreign, where reality bent to the will of those who understood its secrets. Ancient stone buildings twisted into impossible spirals while glass skyscrapers folded like origami. Streets became vertical walls, and gravity obeyed no earthly laws.
The Mirror Dimension was a place battles could be fought without harming the true Earth and at its center, two warriors clashed.
One moved like shadow given form: a man in a sleek black combat suit, every muscle coiled with lethal precision. The other flowed like golden silk made flesh, her robes rippling with each effortless step, movements that spoke of centuries perfected.
Arthur Hayes and the Ancient One, Sorcerer Supreme.
Four months had passed since the wizarding war's conclusion, and Arthur had seized the Ancient One's offer for intensive training to sharpen his combat instincts.
Nearly every week, he sought her out for grueling fights that tested his limits. The early sessions had ended in seconds, leaving him humbled and bruised. But week by week, battle by battle, he had grown stronger.
Today's dance had already lasted ten minutes.
The Ancient One struck, golden energy forming a whip that sang through the air. Arthur twisted away, the weapon carving through space where his head had been a heartbeat before. As he rolled to his feet, dimensional energy answered his call, coalescing into twin curved blades that gleamed with otherworldly light.
He lunged forward in a series of precise strikes, each one flowing into the next. But the Ancient One was water to his stone—her staff materialized just in time to catch his first blade, redirected his second with the slightest turn of her wrist, and somehow she was beside him instead of in front of him, forcing him to spin away from her counter-attack.
"Your form has improved considerably," she observed, her voice calm despite the deadly dance they performed. Around them, the Mirror Dimension responded to their battle, buildings folding and reforming with each exchange of blows.
Arthur caught his breath, blades still at the ready. "I've had good teachers."
But he wasn't talking about her—not entirely.
With the Ancient One, he gained experience in magical combat—the reflexes to dodge dimensional attacks, the timing to exploit openings in reality itself, the control to wield mystic forces without being consumed by them. But the precision of his footwork, the economy of his movements, the way he read his opponent's intentions before they struck—that knowledge came from someone else entirely.
Someone far less powerful, but no less dangerous.
—
Three months earlier...
Arthur found Ariadne in his drawing room, flipping through pages of intelligence Winky had gathered on the Hand's next hideout. Since the war ended, Winky had grown more eager for action, and she and Ariadne had become increasingly active in hunting the organization.
"It's been months since you started this crusade," Arthur said, leaning against the doorframe. "You're certainly taking your time."
Ariadne didn't look up. "It will be over soon. I found their European headquarters. It's a fortress—hundreds of fighters, military defenses, the works. I'm not ready yet. I just need more preparation."
"You think preparation will save you?" Arthur asked. "If it's anything like their last base, a direct assault won't work. Even with Winky teleporting you inside, you're one person against hundreds of equally skilled opponents."
"I won't be discouraged." She finally met his eyes. "This is my life's purpose. I'll see The Hand destroyed, starting with their European base. If I die trying, at least I'll die satisfied."
Arthur sighed. "You don't have to do this alone. MI6 could—"
"The Hand owns half of Europe's politicians," Ariadne interrupted. "Any official action gets buried in bureaucracy or mysteriously canceled. MI6's hands are tied."
"There must be another way. Form a team with like-minded people. Surely others share your goals."
"I can't trust anyone. The Hand's reach is too vast. Any leak could be fatal." Her gaze hardened. "If you helped, this would be over in days."
"I dismantled them once. They came back stronger." Arthur shook his head. "Unless I personally rule Europe's underworld—which I won't—someone will always fill the vacuum. It's an endless cycle of violence."
"Then I'll be the one to break it," she said,
"What's your endgame? Even if you win, The Hand is global. They'll send reinforcements, rebuild."
Ariadne's jaw set stubbornly. "I'll figure it out when I get there. But unlike you, I won't just walk away and let them return."
Arthur studied her for a long moment. "I won't fight this war. My direct involvement would bring SHIELD, MI6, even the wizarding world into play. With their war over, they have no excuse to ignore the Covenant. But..." He paused. "I could help you train."
"You'd train me?" Interest sparked in her eyes.
"More like we'd train each other. I need real combat experience. Sparring with someone who's survived impossible odds? That's valuable."
Ariadne's fist came at his face, without warning.
Arthur sidestepped smoothly. "Eager, aren't we?"
"I've wanted to hit you for months," she said with a cold grin, already launching another strike.
Arthur laughed, catching her wrist. "Not indoors. I have valuable things here."
"You can fix them with magic."
"The hassle isn't worth it. Besides, I'd never be able to look at those antiques the same way again."
With a crack, he disappeared, reappearing behind her. Another crack, and they stood in the manor gardens.
Ariadne recovered her balance quickly. "No magic."
"Deal."
The fight that followed was humbling.
After months of relying on spells and mystic arts, Arthur had let his martial skills slip. Ariadne found every gap, every hesitation. She left bruises—only his magically enhanced body kept him from losing.
They collapsed on the grass afterward, both bruised—though Arthur's ego bore additional damage.
"Same time tomorrow?" Ariadne asked, not even breathing hard.
"Wouldn't miss it."
Every morning since, they met in the gardens.
She taught him martial styles, how to sense and train his chi, how to read an opponent before they moved. In return, he trained her, gave her magical defense artifacts, and showed her the arsenal he'd collected from fallen criminal networks. Now, she carried weapons, bombs, gear—enough to make her a nightmare for the Hand.