Despite understanding the theory behind the magic, Henry found himself running into a bottleneck. It wasn't a matter of comprehension—he had a solid foundation. The real issue was his current magical energy reserves. They simply weren't strong enough yet.
Much of the white magic contained in The Book of the Vishanti—revered as one of the greatest tomes of arcane wisdom—required immense reserves of magical power to even attempt. While Henry's affinity and aptitude were beyond impressive, his time training had been relatively short, and his internal energy hadn't caught up to his intellect.
The first spell he decided to focus on was something called "Ikeen's Journey."
Its effect was nothing short of astonishing—it allowed the user to create multiple duplicates of themselves, each capable of casting magic independently and with the same strength as the original. The duplication wasn't mere illusion; it was a true splitting of magical focus and output. The stronger one's energy reserves, the more duplicates could be created.
After several exhausting days of effort, Henry had managed to split into two duplicates—barely. That was already an incredible achievement, but it still left him frustrated. His raw understanding of magic far outpaced what his body could currently support.
If only he could get a blessing.
In the magical world, a "blessing" wasn't just a ceremonial term—it meant the direct infusion of power from a higher being, usually one of the ancient gods. The Book of the Vishanti mentioned blessings only in the final passages and described them as incredibly rare and nearly impossible to obtain.
To qualify, one typically had to gain entry into the Supreme Dimension, the higher mystical realm where beings like the Vishanti resided. Only then would one even have the chance to be noticed by such deities, let alone receive their favor. The logic was straightforward: why would godlike beings hand out their power to just anyone?
Henry knew he wasn't strong enough to reach that realm yet.
So, with a resigned sigh, he closed the book and prepared to resume his spell training.
But then, something strange happened.
A golden light flashed before his eyes. It wasn't from the Eye of Agamotto—this light came from within. It poured into his vision and blinded him, flooding his mind with brilliance until he felt like he was floating in an endless sea of chaotic energy.
And at the center of that chaos—was light.
Golden, divine, and all-consuming.
From that light, three enormous heads slowly emerged. They were so vast, Henry couldn't even see their full faces. Their forms dwarfed everything around them, as if they were made of galaxies rather than flesh.
He froze.
His senses were overwhelmed. He couldn't speak, couldn't even think. The sheer pressure from their presence was like standing in front of the sun. Every instinct screamed that this was something far beyond mortal comprehension.
Then, one of the heads spoke.
"Talents like yours are rare among mortals."
A second voice followed. "My child, your future walks a different path."
Then a third. "You are worthy of our blessing."
Each voice carried unimaginable weight. The moment the words fell, the golden light surged in intensity, so bright that Henry instinctively shut his eyes.
When he opened them again—everything was back to normal.
He was once again in the quiet dormitory of Kamar-Taj, seated cross-legged on his floor, surrounded by books. But he knew, without a doubt, that what he had just experienced wasn't a dream or illusion.
It was real.
Because his body felt different.
His veins buzzed with raw energy, his magical core pulsed like never before. It was as if an entire reservoir of mystical energy had been poured into him. Spells that had previously strained his control now felt effortless. His power had grown exponentially in the span of moments.
He had been blessed.
And not just by any being—but by the Vishanti themselves.
To be precise, "Emperor Weishan" was not one god, but the collective identity of three ancient deities: Osh-Tur the Omnipotent, Agamotto the All-Seeing, and Hoggoth the Ancient. Together, they formed the trinity that governed the use of white magic across the multiverse.
Their appearance—three heads surrounded by divine light—confirmed everything.
Henry was in disbelief.
He had expected to wait years, maybe even decades, to become strong enough to earn their notice. And yet, here they were—granting him power not because he asked for it, but because they came to him.
They chased him down to give him a blessing.
He laughed out loud, unable to contain his excitement.
"This is insane...!"
Feeling the overwhelming energy racing through his body, Henry leapt to his feet and immediately began reworking the Ikeen's Journey spell. This time, his aura flared to life like a storm. With a single gesture, he summoned four duplicates—double what he had managed before.
And they held strong.
His control was sharper, smoother, more refined. He was still the same person, but his potential had been uncaged.
Meanwhile, in the Sanctum Hall…
The Ancient One was seated cross-legged on a hovering disc, meditating between dimensions, her consciousness drifting through the multiverse. Yet, something stirred. A wave of divine energy rippled through Kamar-Taj, subtle enough to escape most senses—but not hers.
Her eyes opened immediately.
Kamar-Taj was her domain, her creation. Any unusual fluctuation was instantly registered by her senses. What she felt now wasn't just unusual—it was unprecedented.
A blessing. A divine blessing had been cast directly onto her realm.
More precisely, it had been delivered personally by the Emperor Weishan.
"Impossible," she whispered, stunned.
In all her centuries as Sorcerer Supreme, she had only ever seen mortals receive blessings after monumental trials—like surviving the Dark Dimension or entering the Supreme Dimension unaided. Never had the Vishanti sought someone out.
And yet… here they were. Choosing to bless someone who had barely begun his journey.
Her mind turned to Henry. Of course. Who else could it have been?
"It seems... his talent truly caught their attention," she murmured to herself.
It made sense. The Vishanti governed all white magic, and they monitored those who borrowed its power. With Henry's terrifying rate of growth, it was inevitable they'd take notice. But to offer a direct blessing? That was both logical… and unprecedented.
"Well," she sighed, folding her hands in her lap, "at least now, I can rest easier. With the Vishanti's support, he will grow faster than even I anticipated."
Just then, the doors to the sanctum swung open.
Mordo stepped in briskly, his brow furrowed with concern. "Supreme One," he called.
The Ancient One looked up. "What is it?"
"We have a situation in Kathmandu," Mordo said grimly. "A group of unusually dressed people has been asking around—aggressively. They're trying to find Kamar-Taj."
The Ancient One's expression didn't change, but inwardly, she sighed. She already had a suspicion.
"Thor?" she asked plainly.
Mordo blinked in surprise. "Yes... How did you know?"
"It was only a matter of time," she replied. "Heimdall likely traced the return of Mjolnir to our realm. Thor must've followed the trail."
"Do you want me to intervene?" Mordo asked.
The Ancient One shook her head. "Let them search. If they cannot find it, they'll leave. If they do find it, I'll deal with it personally."
She smiled slightly. "Kamar-Taj hides from those who are not meant to see it."
Elsewhere in Kathmandu…
Thor was seething.
For three days, he and his companions had searched every inch of the city. They questioned vendors, chased rumors, and even barged into temples—but no trace of Kamar-Taj had been found.
"I swear on Mjolnir, if I see one more clueless shopkeeper, I'll—"
"Thor," one of his companions interrupted, "maybe we got it wrong. Maybe this place doesn't actually exist."
"Impossible," Thor growled. "Heimdall saw the hammer return here. He couldn't pinpoint who had it, but he said the energy signature came from Kamar-Taj."
Another friend chimed in. "But if Heimdall sees all, how can there be a place he can't clearly perceive?"
Thor had no answer to that. The whole situation irritated him beyond belief. "Three days," he muttered. "Three whole days, and not even a doorway..."
He looked around the bustling streets, his patience nearly gone.
Among the Nine Realms, Earth was the weakest. And yet here he was—god of thunder—utterly thwarted by a city that refused to reveal its secrets.
Eventually, even Thor had to admit defeat.
"This so-called holy land of magic…" he growled. "If I find out it doesn't exist, someone's going to pay."
With no other leads and no success after three days of searching, Thor turned toward the Bifrost, scowling.
They would return to Asgard—for now.
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