Doctor Strange, Mordo, Celeste, and Ghost Rider rushed through the familiar corridors of Metro-General Hospital, the place that had once been Stephen Strange's professional domain and personal kingdom. Between the four of them, they guided the Ancient One's gurney down the sterile hallway toward the emergency room, her breathing shallow and labored.
"Christine!" Doctor Strange shouted, his voice echoing off the hospital walls with desperate urgency.
Dr. Christine Palmer looked up from her position at the nurses' station, her expression shifting from routine professionalism to complete bewilderment as she recognized her ex-boyfriend. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered under her breath, but the moment her eyes fell on the critically wounded woman on the stretcher, her medical training overrode everything else.
"What happened?" Christine demanded, falling into step beside them as they rushed toward the trauma bay.
"Dimensional blade through the chest," Strange replied tersely. "She's lost a lot of blood, and she's been unconscious since we pulled her out."
They quickly wheeled the Ancient One's gurney through a set of double doors while Strange stepped aside to grab surgical scrubs from a nearby supply closet. His hands, still bearing the scars and tremors from his accident, shook slightly as he tried to dress himself.
"I'm sorry, but you three need to stay here," Christine said firmly, blocking Celeste, Mordo, and Ghost Rider from entering the trauma bay.
"I understand," Mordo said, his voice heavy with resignation and barely contained grief.
"Why does he get to go in while we're stuck out here?" Ghost Rider asked, his burning skull turning toward Strange as the former surgeon pushed through the doors.
"He may have lost the use of his hands, but his mind is still intact," Christine explained without hesitation. "Stephen Strange is the best neurosurgeon this hospital has ever had. If anyone can save her, it's him."
Before the three could argue further, the trauma bay doors swung shut, leaving them standing helplessly in the hallway. Christine quickly directed them to an observation window where they could watch the medical team work.
From behind the glass, they could only stand and observe as the Ancient One was wheeled to the center of the room, a flurry of doctors and nurses moving with practiced efficiency around her still form.
Strange quickly donned the sterile surgical gown, his mind racing through countless scenarios and procedures that might save his mentor's life. Not mystical solutions—purely scientific ones. He had spoken with the chief of surgery beforehand, explaining that while his hands prevented him from performing surgery directly, he could still guide others through complex procedures if given the opportunity.
As he entered the trauma bay and positioned himself where he could observe without interfering, he noticed the extent of the Ancient One's injuries. The dimensional blade had done more than just physical damage—Muur's attempt to absorb her power had left traces of dark energy that seemed to resist conventional healing.
Just then, the heart monitor began to emit an irregular pattern of beeps.
Strange's eyes snapped to the readout, then to the observation window where Mordo, Celeste, and Ghost Rider stood watching. His gaze lingered particularly on the two sorcerers, and understanding passed between them.
Without hesitation, Strange tilted his head back, and his astral form separated from his physical body in a burst of translucent light.
A moment later, Celeste and Mordo joined him in the astral plane, their spiritual forms shimmering as they spotted the Ancient One's translucent figure floating in the distance, moving slowly toward the hospital's upper floors.
They glanced back at Ghost Rider, who—surprisingly—seemed aware of their astral presence despite remaining in his physical form. The Spirit of Vengeance nodded and gestured for them to follow their teacher.
The three spirits quickly caught up with the Ancient One's soul as it drifted through walls and floors with serene purpose.
"Master," Mordo called out, his astral voice carrying a weight of desperation.
"What are you doing?" Strange demanded. "You need to return to your body. You're dying!"
They followed her through rooms and corridors, past bewildered patients and oblivious medical staff, until she finally stopped on a balcony overlooking the rain-soaked city. The Ancient One stood at the railing, her astral form gazing out at the lights of New York as droplets of rain passed harmlessly through her translucent figure.
"You have to go back to your body," Strange insisted, his usual commanding tone replaced by something closer to pleading. "There's still time."
"Time is relative, Stephen," the Ancient One replied with perfect calm. "Your physical forms haven't even finished falling to the ground yet."
"Master," Mordo's voice cracked with emotion. "Please."
"Come now, Mordo," the Sorcerer Supreme chided gently, her tone carrying centuries of affection for her troubled student. "You know as well as I do that my wound is mortal. I think we've bent the rules of the natural order quite enough for one lifetime, don't you?"
Celeste remained silent, her expression torn between grief and the disciplined acceptance her Jedi training demanded. Though she knew tears were impossible in astral form, her eyes still shimmered with regret and sorrow as she realized she was witnessing her new teacher's final moments.
"I have spent so many years peering into this exact moment through the Eye of Agamotto," the Ancient One continued, her voice growing distant. "But I could never see past it. I prevented countless terrible futures, averted disaster after disaster. Each time I thought the work was finished, another catastrophe would emerge on the horizon. They led me here, to this moment, but I can never see what lies beyond."
Strange looked between Celeste and Mordo, and all three suddenly understood the weight of what she was telling them.
"You think this is where your story ends?" he asked quietly.
"I've known it since I was young," she revealed, her astral form seeming to grow more translucent as she spoke. "Not long after I first stumbled upon the London Sanctum as a child. The Black Death had taken everyone I had ever known and loved, and I was terrified that I would be next."
While Celeste had no frame of reference for the Ancient One's words, both Strange and Mordo understood immediately—the medieval plague of the mid-1300s that had devastated millions across Europe, Asia, and Africa.
"That's when you first began drawing power from the Dark Dimension," Strange said, the pieces finally falling into place. "The Black Death had destroyed everything you knew."
"It decimated the mystic order to a catastrophic degree," the Ancient One confirmed. "After the surviving practitioners saved me, I made them a promise—to maintain the natural order. So I did everything in my power to rebuild what had been lost."
"But you stayed far longer than you should have," Mordo said, his voice carrying a mixture of accusation and pain. "The Dark Dimension is inherently unstable and dangerous. What if you had lost control?"
"I was always aware of the risks," she replied. "And I made certain I would take action if such a thing ever came to pass."
"You taught us that drawing from Dormammu's realm was forbidden," Mordo continued, his centuries of faith crumbling. "Yet you did it anyway. Now Kaecilius and his zealots are following the same path, and we're all living with the consequences of your deception."
The Ancient One nodded sadly. "Yes, I did. You were always such an exemplary student, Mordo. In the end, this failure is entirely my responsibility. Those who refuse to allow themselves to change are doomed to repeat the same mistakes again and again."
Mordo closed his eyes and turned away. "I... I don't know how to change. Everything I believed was built on a lie."
"That's not true," the Ancient One said gently. "You may not realize it, but you are not the same person who first came to me at Kamar-Taj all those years ago."
Mordo opened his eyes and met his mentor's gaze, remembering: "You told me you would teach me to defeat my demons."
"And so I ask you once more, my friend—let go of your need for absolute control, just as you did when Stephen first arrived among us. You, Stephen, Celeste, and Wong will need to guide the future of our order together."
She drifted back slightly, a flicker of what might have been guilt crossing her features.
"I know what I did was selfish," she admitted. "But after catching that first glimpse of the future, I wanted to see how my own journey would end. I simply never knew which path would lead me to this particular moment."
The Ancient One turned to gaze out at the rain-swept cityscape, her eyes reflecting the lights of a million windows.
"I have lived far longer than any human should, and I've lost more friends and loved ones than I ever imagined possible when I first extended my natural lifespan." Her voice grew soft, almost wistful. "But in all my centuries of existence, I have seen people at their very worst find their way back to the light. Find a way to begin again."
She turned back to her three students with a smile that radiated pure joy and contentment.
"Do you think I've done well enough?"
When they remained silent, she continued without waiting for an answer.
"Do you know what I see when I look at all of your futures?" The Ancient One's smile grew even brighter. "Endless possibilities. Infinite capacity for growth, for kindness, for good."
She didn't need to look at them to sense their doubt—not of her words, but of themselves.
"I have never seen futures as bright and undefined as yours. Nothing is carved in stone. You will face many struggles, encounter many failures, but most importantly, you possess a tremendous capacity for compassion that will touch and transform countless lives."
Her attention turned first to Strange.
"Stephen, you have always struggled with your sense of self-worth, which led you to believe you needed to control everything around you. But your desire to excel doesn't come from a love of success—it comes from a terror of failure."
"That's what made me a great surgeon," Strange protested mildly.
"That's exactly what prevents you from achieving true greatness," she corrected. "Arrogance and fear continue to blind you to the simplest and most vital lesson of all."
She gestured toward the city below them. "When you first came to me, you asked how I had healed Jonathan Pangborn. The truth is, I didn't heal him at all. Through my teachings, he learned to channel dimensional energy directly into his damaged spine."
"He uses magic to walk?"
"He made a choice—to return to his small life, or to serve something greater than himself."
Understanding dawned in Strange's eyes. "So I could have my hands back? My old life?"
"You could," the Ancient One confirmed. "But the world would be a much smaller place for it."
She turned to the obviously conflicted Mordo, floating over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I had to hide the truth from you for so long," she said softly. "Sometimes we must compromise, bend the rules for something greater than ourselves. And yet, every time I drew power from the Dark Dimension, I hated myself a little more. I wish I could have been a better teacher, a more honest guide."
Finally, the Ancient One turned to Celeste, whose expression showed deep distress and sorrow.
"I'm so sorry to leave you so suddenly, dear child," the Ancient One said, her voice filled with genuine regret. "I wish I could have stayed longer, taught you more about bridging the gap between the Force and the mystic arts."
"You taught me everything that mattered," Celeste replied, her voice trembling with emotion. "You gave Bucky and me a home when we had nowhere else to turn, in a universe that wasn't even our own."
The Ancient One's smile grew even more radiant at those words.
"Is there another way—" Strange began desperately.
"Death gives meaning to life, Stephen," the Ancient One interrupted gently. "To know that your time is limited makes every moment precious."
She drew a shaky breath, her form becoming increasingly translucent. "I thought after all these centuries, I would be ready for this moment."
She looked out at the rain-soaked city one final time.
"You will need to work together to stop not only Dormammu, but Muur as well. The corruption in that creature runs deeper than any of us realized."
"I'm not ready for this responsibility," Strange said honestly. "None of us are."
"No one ever is," the Ancient One replied with infinite compassion.
She looked back at her three students one last time, her expression filled with love and pride.
"Please give my regards to Wong and Bucky," she said softly, though she knew she would not hear their response. "And make certain the Time Stone remains safe."
They tried to speak, to say goodbye, but she had already turned back to watch the gentle rainfall over the city.
Her students wanted to say so much more, but the last thing they felt was the warmth of her presence surrounding them like an embrace.
When they looked again, the Ancient One was gone.
Her soul was no longer there.
She no longer existed.
Back in the trauma bay, the heart monitor's steady beep gave way to the long, flat tone that every medical professional dreads.
The three mystics returned to their physical bodies to find Ghost Rider still standing vigil, his flaming skull bowed in what could only be described as prayer.
Time of death was called moments later.
Strange separated himself from the others, needing a moment of solitude to process what had just occurred. He didn't have long before Christine found him at the hand-washing station outside the trauma bay.
She wanted to comfort him.
She wanted to be there for him.
The time he'd spent away from her—first at Kamar-Taj, then in these last desperate hours—had been the most transformative period of his life, changing him in ways he was still struggling to understand.
He found himself thinking of the Ancient One's parting words, of the new people who had become so important to him over these past months.
His thoughts drifted to Bucky and Celeste, the unlikely pair who had found love despite being displaced from their own universe entirely. It reminded him of what he'd once had with Christine, what part of him still wanted.
He realized that she still held a piece of his heart, that the love between them hadn't died despite everything that had changed.
But he also knew that he now carried a greater purpose, a responsibility that transcended his personal desires.
The world faced threats that most people couldn't even imagine, and he was one of the few with the power to stand against them.
So, with a heavy heart and the weight of destiny on his shoulders, he said goodbye to the life he might have had, and embraced the one he was meant to live.