Disclaimer: I do not own the rights for any of the preexisting characters. This novel is made merely for entertainment purposes.
A/N: Man I'm fucking beat. I've been reading non-stop marvel comics to try and understand the main events ahead of time so I can change the story accordingly. But good lord there's so many reboots/relaunches/reruns that I had to spend a good 2 hours researching just to figure out the proper reading order and best author runs for The Avengers, X-Men and Doctor Strange. Yeah this note was just to bitch n' moan about the woe's of trying to be a good author, emphasis on "trying". Anyways, enjoy the chapter.
…
With one final glance at the bound relics, Damian followed as Drumm resumed walking, leading them out of the Hall of Guardians and into a curved, high corridor.
The atmosphere lightened slightly as the next chamber approached. Arched with golden trims, the scent of old parchment and incense carried faintly in the air. A deep warmth pulsed here. Softer. Calmer.
"The Library of the sanctum," Drumm said as they stepped through its sun-lit threshold. "The mind of the Sanctum."
Damian's eyes widened with child-like wonder at the sight: floating bookcases, levitating scrolls, memory crystals pulsing gently like fireflies. A floor of mirror-like obsidian reflected constellations above that didn't belong to Earth's sky. Some of the tomes looked alive. Some of them probably were.
If you ever asked a bookworm what would be a place they'd die to visit at least once, it would be one of the great libraries of fiction; like The Citadel Library, The Library of Babel, The Endless Library or the Wanderer's Library… maybe the Jedi's Archive if you're one of those.
And if you are a magic fiction bookworm? Then you either have Wan Shi Tong's Library, Lucien's Library or the Library of Worlds among your top 5, maybe Hogwarts library if you are a really boring fiction reader. But hey, Damian didn't judge. Much. You basic nerds…
"Okay," Damian murmured. "This might be even cooler than the killer gauntlets." Looking around for a second longer, he reiterated, with more emotion escaping his voice this time. "Scratch that… this shit is definitively cooler."
Drumm turned his head slightly, pausing mid-step to glance at him. Not stern, not unimpressed. Something else. He studied Damian's expression in silence: the awe, the flicker of reverence in his eyes, the kind of joy only someone hungry for knowledge and understanding could ever wear so openly.
"You have the look," Drumm said at last.
Damian blinked, still craning his neck to take in a floating spiral shelf above.
"What look?"
"The look of someone who came here for more than just power," Drumm answered. "That's rare."
There was no jest in his voice this time. No challenge. Just a quiet acknowledgement.
Damian stood a little straighter, the weight of those words grounding him in the presence of something deeper than architecture or spellcraft.
"I mean… yeah," he said, grinning sheepishly, a rare occurrence. "I've seen what power without knowledge turns people into. I'd rather read first."
Drumm gave a slow nod. "Then you may enter freely. Just don't touch anything that moves unless you ask first."
Damian's grin widened as they stepped further in, his eyes darting between tomes that whispered, glowed, or hissed faintly when he passed.
Behind him, for the first time, Daniel Drumm allowed the faintest smile to touch his lips.
After some minutes of looking around in awe, and as Damian marveled at the grand dome of the Library of the Vishanti, something curious began to stir.
The air shimmered subtly above one of the upper alcoves, and with a gentle hum, three tomes lifted themselves from their resting places. A deep violet-bound book with constellations stitched into its spine drifted down first, opening mid-air to a page adorned with shifting star charts. Then came a slim obsidian volume etched with crimson sigils that pulsed faintly with radiant heat. Lastly, a golden scroll-case snapped open mid-flight, unraveling an ever-extending thread of runes that glowed like a sunrise trapped on parchment.
Damian blinked as the trio hovered around him eagerly, like puppies made of paper and secrets.
"…Does this… count as permission to touch?" he asked, voice half-whispered, unsure whether to be awed or slightly concerned.
Drumm tilted his head. "That's rare, they are... insistent."
The violet book fluttered its pages at Damian like a beckoning hand, and the obsidian tome gave off a low chime as it slowly orbited his shoulder. The scroll rolled out a few feet more, curling protectively around his waist like a sash of light.
Damian reached toward one–just one–but stopped himself.
"As much as I want to dive in and binge-read all of you, I'm kind of on a schedule," he said apologetically to the books. "The Ancient One's waiting. Something about… what does he want to talk about again?" He said, this time looking at the serious Master Drumm.
But even if the tomes understood him, they didn't seem to care, not one bit. They simply followed.
Hovering loyally beside him as he resumed walking, completely ignoring the nudges from the enchantments meant to return them to their shelves.
Drumm raised an eyebrow as the books trailed Damian like enchanted familiars. "They won't go back, it seems," he murmured, almost to himself.
"…Is that bad?" Damian asked while looking at the mystical-looking tomes with wonder.
"It is unusual," Drumm admitted. "But not unwelcome. The library responds to potential. Sometimes it calls out."
"And sometimes it won't shut up until you read it?" Damian grinned.
"Something like that." With a wave of his hand, Drumm spoke a quiet binding word in an old dialect, creating glowing tether-ribbons between the books and Damian's wrist. A temporary, elegant, and sanctioned link.
"Take them. Study them. Return them when you understand them. But remember: knowledge hungers. Don't let it consume you."
Damian nodded solemnly, the weight of the moment briefly settling before he smiled again, thrilled at the prospect of re-starting his only hobby, and one of his only vices. "I'll read responsibly."
Drumm turned, motioning toward another corridor of floating steps and refracted light. "Then let us continue. The Mirror Chambers await."
The corridor leading to the Mirror Chambers narrowed into a long stretch of obsidian-tiled flooring, lined with silvery sconces that emitted no flame—only reflections. The moment Damian stepped past the final archway, the air changed. Thicker. Still. Expectant.
"This," Daniel Drumm said, his tone calm but subtly reverent, "is where the Sanctum sees itself."
Walking away from the library, after a couple minutes they emerged into a vast chamber shaped like a twelve-pointed star. Every wall was a seamless mirror; curved, flat, angled, or floating mid-air. No clear floor. No clear ceiling. Just mirrored surfaces reflecting into infinity. The faintest movements sparked kaleidoscopic echoes–Damian's own form flickering like an endless army of selves around the chamber.
"Okay," Damian muttered, pivoting slowly in place. "That's trippy."
Drumm stepped forward, his reflection shifting in ways his body did not. "This is not illusion. This is alignment. The Mirror Chambers are layered with dimensional membranes. They reflect more than just your body."
Damian arched an eyebrow. "So… what else do they reflect?"
"Possibility. Thought. Potential," Drumm replied. "The chamber responds to your intentions, your truth. Every reflection here might be you. Or might become you. It's a testing ground for the self and a training ground for sorcerers. You'll return here, often."
As if on cue, one of the mirrored panels rippled like water. Damian's reflection within it suddenly stood apart. Arms crossed, smirking at him in a cocky way.
"…Is it me or is that other me provoking me?" Damian asked, deadpan.
"Yes," Drumm said without missing a beat. "That one's arrogant. Possibly from a timeline where you become such."
Damian grimaced. "Let's not meet that guy."
One of the books still floating beside Damian, the golden scroll, gently pulsed in his peripheral vision, reflecting across dozens of mirrored versions of itself, each one glowing slightly differently. Some pages showed symbols. Others showed Damian himself, standing over cities he didn't recognize.
"Careful," Drumm warned. "The Mirror Chambers like to invite what you don't expect. They tempt you with what could be. And if you're not grounded, you might lose yourself chasing what was never meant to be."
Damian let out a low whistle. "So it's like a multiverse-flavored identity crisis room. Got it."
"Very eloquently put," Drumm said with a rare flicker of dry amusement. "But not wrong."
They walked a bit farther into the chamber, their steps creating no sound, only overlapping echoes of light and selves.
"This place isn't just for reflection," Drumm continued. "Advanced sorcerers use this chamber to rehearse spells, test illusions, even cast warding fields to trap mirrorwalkers–creatures that move between glass and light–the chamber keeps them... contained."
As if punctuating his point, one distant mirror cracked faintly along its edge, though not from impact. Something moved behind it.
Damian squinted. "I'm going to pretend I didn't see that."
"Wise."
They came to a halt at a raised platform in the center of the chamber; hexagonal, inscribed with layered glyphs and ringed by floating mirrors that faced inward like sentinels.
Drumm turned to him. "This room will matter. To you. To your training. And perhaps... to things that haven't happened yet."
"Are you always this cryptic?" Damian asked.
"No," Drumm said. "Sometimes I'm worse."
Damian smirked. "I swear the Ancient One's cryptic speech rubs off on you lot."
The reflection of the scroll behind him flared again, briefly showing a faint silhouette of Damian in white-gold fire standing at the heart of the chamber alone, arms raised, mirrors breaking in slow motion around him.
But only for a second.
Drumm raised his hand and the mirrors dimmed slightly, allowing the chamber to quiet. "There's more to see," he said. As the mirrored hallway behind them slowly sealed itself with a faint shimmer, Drumm led Damian through a winding corridor that felt less ethereal and more grounded. Carved in ancient stone, reinforced with spells woven into every brick.
They stopped before an obsidian arch inscribed in golden script that shimmered as they approached. "The Armory," Drumm said simply, placing a hand against the stone.
The golden script reacted–glowing in sequence like a lock being undone–and the archway pulsed with light. A slow rumble followed as the wall behind it dissolved into swirling dust, revealing a vast room beyond.
Damian's eyes lit up. The space stretched far wider than the outer Sanctum should allow. Arcane distortion. The inner dimension of the Sanctum, perhaps.
Rows of ornate racks held weapons of mystical origin. Staves, scepters, chakrams, and sickles floated upright, humming with idle power. Some were crystalline, others metallic, and a few looked alive… a recurring theme of the sanctum, it seemed. Blades pulsed like beating hearts. One sword was suspended in a stasis field of glowing runes, its very presence humming with celestial dissonance.
To the far left, a wall of enchanted armor sets stood motionless, robes that shifted fabric without wind, some helmets shaped for beings that had never been human.
"This is where the tools of those once favored by the Vishanti are kept," Drumm said, his voice echoing gently through the chamber. "Many are from past Sorcerers Supreme. Some are sealed, too dangerous, or too damaged to be used again. Others await their next wielder."
Damian slowly walked forward, careful not to touch anything. His gaze was caught by a floating arc-blade, wreathed in shifting colors between ultraviolet and blood-red. "And that is…?" he whispered.
"The Blade of Zhered-Na. Forged by a seer who saw the death of all things. It cuts not flesh, but destiny." Drumm answered without looking. "Touch it without preparation, and you might sever your own timeline."
Damian quickly stepped back. "Yeah, no thanks."
Drumm silently looked at him in mild amusement before they resumed their walk. They passed a display of soul-bound rings, and a case holding a pair of ancient boots engraved with Atlantean script. A heavily guarded pedestal bore a sealed orb flickering with demonic fire, warded with over twenty glyphs.
"What's that one?" Damian asked, pointing at a tri-pronged spear suspended in a cylinder of silver light.
"The Trident of K'Varn. It calls upon cataclysmic storms from other realms," Drumm replied. "We don't use it. We contain it."
They finally stopped before a long shelf holding what looked like battle relics; broken hilts, splintered staffs, a frayed red scarf once worn by a war-mage from the Crimson Cosmos.
"You said the Sanctum defends reality," Damian said, eyes still roaming. "But these… this looks like a battlefield's aftermath."
Drumm nodded once. "Because that's what it is."
There was a pause. "So, what about… new relics? Or ones that don't belong to anyone yet?"
"If a relic chooses someone, the Sanctum honors it." Drumm said, folding his arms. "But one does not ask for power. One earns resonance."
"Right." Damian said, putting his hands behind his back. "Noted. No poking glowing blades or touching cursed helmets."
"A promising start," Drumm muttered.
Looking back at Drumm, he asked. "Hey, don't wanna sound disrespectful and the like, but some of these look way too dangerous to be so far from the Ancient One, no? No offense though."
Glancing back at Damian, Drumm explained in the same dry tone. "None taken, but your assumption itself is wrong."
Raising one of his brows, the confused Damian asked for clarification. "What do you mean?"
Turning back and walking to the armory's exit, his voice rebounding in the walls with certainty. "You'd be naive to think anything on this planet is not within the Ancient One's reach."
And with the cool line, they continued on. As the chamber gently darkened behind them, the runes on the arch lit again–sealing the Armory from intruding eyes.
…
Continuing with the tour, they reached a very modestly decorated room, compared with the rest of the sanctum, the only thing that was worth a second glance in the room was a slightly elevated platform at the center of the almost bare room, as the sigils on the platform looked quite intricate and complex.
Following Daniel's lead, they both walked to the center of the platform. There, Daniel looked at Damian, and with two fingers raised and a whisper of arcane breath, Drumm made a gesture over Damian's chest. Not touching, but resonating. The world around them folded like silk in a basin of wind. Damian blinked as his physical body slumped gently backward, caught mid-fall in a protective binding spell before it touched the floor.
He didn't feel a thing. Because he was no longer in it.
Instead, Damian opened his eyes to the crystalline winds of the astral plane; weightless, shimmering, almost musical in its silence. A breath of thought, a heartbeat of will, and next to him… she appeared.
Eva. Her form crystallized out of starlight and silver flame, delicate and beautiful. Long hair floated as if underwater, her eyes glowing with a calm awareness as she regarded the surroundings. She turned to him and smiled softly. "Now this... is beautiful."
Damian grinned, after his surprise phased away. "Told you this whole place is cool."
Drumm, standing a few feet ahead. His own astral form clad in ceremonial robes that shimmered faintly with spells of anchoring as he watched them both, expression unreadable.
"So," he said at last, eyes narrowing just slightly. "That's her."
Eva inclined her head respectfully. "Eva Rossi," she said with perfect composure. "The sentence of Damian's powers." "And my partner." He added, while both shared a smile.
"Hope I'm not intruding," she said, turning to look at Drumm. "You're not intruding," Drumm said slowly. "In fact, I'd be more concerned if you hadn't shown up."
He turned, gesturing for both to follow. "The Astral Watchtower responds only to the spiritual essence of the Sanctum's master or guests marked by either the master or the Sorcerer Supreme. Physical form means nothing here. Only your astral form; presence, will, intent."
The platform beneath their feet was made of prismatic hexagonal crystal, suspended in the void like a crown of light. It wasn't floating. It was anchored in place, its base sunken into the deeper tides of the astral realm. From this spire, they saw layers of dimensional currents spiraling below them. Ribbons of realities, thoughts, echoes of battles not yet fought. That which might or might never be.
Floating orbs around the central hub projected flickering images: a ripple across the Hong Kong barrier, a darkened pulse somewhere near Wundagore, and a brief, sharp flicker in the Mirror Dimension.
Eva stepped closer, gazing out into the impossible space with genuine awe. "This place... feels like it's alive. Watching."
Drumm nodded. "It is. In its own way. The Watchtower doesn't see time or location. It sees motive. Pressure. Pull. Disruption. It is a window and a warning system. Only a few are ever granted access."
Damian stepped forward, his face glowing in the blue-tinged reflections of the currents swirling below. "And now I'm one of them?"
"For the moment." Drumm replied. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late," Eva murmured with a smirk.
Drumm turned to face them both, his tone suddenly more serious. "This place is a gift, but also a responsibility. What you observe here may tempt you to act before you're ready. Resist that. The Watchtower warns–it does not command."
Eva looked to Damian, quiet for a moment. "He's right. This… this isn't just a vantage point. It's a crucible of foresight. If we're not careful, it could become a trap."
Damian nodded slowly. "Noted. I'll… keep the 'cosmic peekaboo' in moderation."
Drumm gave a dry exhale of amusement and stepped back toward the fold he originally opened. "Come. We've one last stop before I send you to Kamar-Taj."
The Watchtower shimmered around them once more, pulsing softly as if memorizing the new presence that had graced its halls. Damian gave it one final look before he and Eva followed Drumm through the veil. Back to the Sanctum's Portal Room.
Concentric rings of glowing sigils rotated gently in the air, marking fixed portals to Hong Kong, London, and most importantly… Kamar-Taj.
Each arch pulsed with its own frequency, held in place by ancient ley locks and the will of the Sanctum itself.
Drumm gestured toward the open portal glowing with golden-white light. "This one leads home. At least, for now."
Damian looked toward it, then back at the man who'd just shown him more in an afternoon than most people saw in ten lifetimes. "Thanks. For the tour. And the warnings. And the insults. Very balanced experience."
Drumm raised a brow. "Balance is the point."
There was a pause–brief, unspoken–but not awkward.
"See you around, I guess?" Damian asked sarcastically.
"If you stay alive. And useful." Drumm's tone was dry, but his eyes glinted with approval. "Besides, the gauntlets still whisper about you. I'll need someone to blame when they go missing."
Damian smirked. "What can I say. I'm charming like that."
"Mm. That's one way to put it." He extended a hand. Not a casual one, but formal, firm.
Damian shook it. "Stay sharp, Mr. Rossi. You're not a sorcerer yet," Drumm said, then added, quieter, "but you walk like one."
With a final glance at the swirling portal, Damian stepped through the golden frame, the world folding again into light.
And just like that, the Sanctum was silent. Drumm exhaled, folding his arms behind his back once more. "Let's hope the master knows how to deal with that one," he murmured to the empty air, before turning and vanishing into the deeper halls.
…
The portal behind Damian shimmered shut, replaced by the crisp, thin air of the Himalayas and the sound of prayer wheels spinning lazily in the wind. For a heartbeat, all he could do was breathe. Then a voice called out ahead of him.
"You're late," said Wong, arms tucked behind his back.
Damian blinked. "Technically, I'm early by New York standards."
Wong's mouth twitched. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close enough to suggest amusement. His gaze shifted to the three tomes hovering around Damian like curious birds. Their covers glowed faintly: one crackled with spatial glyphs, hovering around his shoulders. One hummed with kinetic pulse, floating besides Damian's chest, and the last pulsed softly in a golden loop of time symbols, curled around his waist like a glittering sash.
"The Sanctum let you borrow those? Did Master Drumm let you borrow those?"
"Borrow's a strong word." Damian replied. "They kind of… insisted."
Wong narrowed his eyes. "Insisted?"
"They followed me. Refused to shelve themselves. Drumm tried ordering them, but they latched onto me like overly friendly pets." Damian gestured lazily toward the books, which responded by nudging his shoulder and spinning mid-air.
"I was just doing the tour, you know? Drumm showed me the Armory, the Mirror Chambers, the Astral Watchtower–and when we got to the Library of the Vishanti, well… that's when they found me. Figured I'd make for a good reader, I guess."
"They bonded…" Wong murmured, more to himself than to Damian. "That's rare."
The two began walking through the monastery's halls. Monks passed in silence, a few casting discreet glances at the floating tomes. Damian noticed one of the books flaring a little brighter in response to attention.
"I wasn't even trying-" Damian continued. "-Drumm eventually just said I could keep them. Temporarily, I mean. Said to return them once I understood what they wanted me to learn."
Wong gave a sideways glance, appraising but not unkind. "Then you've already begun your training, whether you knew it or not."
They stopped before a large wooden door, carved with concentric mandala-like sigils. The scent of incense wafted gently from its cracks, and something older than the building itself stirred behind it. Wong turned toward him.
"He's expecting you."
The doors opened soundlessly, revealing a wide room with open walls on one side, overlooking a plunging valley of green and snow. Cushions were arranged at the sides, and the central dais was simple but radiant with enchantments woven into the stone itself. Overall it had a pretty similar vibe to the MCU's version of the room.
The Ancient One stood near the edge, looking out toward the mountains. His saffron robes fluttered lightly in the breeze. Without turning, he spoke in a calm and measured voice. "Thank you, Master Wong."
Wong gave a respectful nod, then cast one last look at Damian. Half warning, half reassurance. "Do try not to bond with any other dangerous relics before lunch." He said, before stepping out and pulling the doors closed behind him.
The Ancient One finally turned from the open mountain vista, the Himalayan light casting a golden edge along his profile. His gaze, ancient and still, fell not first upon Damian. But upon the three floating tomes now orbiting the young man like faintly pulsing moons.
"Curious," he said, stepping forward without hurry. "Energy, Space, and Time. Three of the most unruly domains in the Mystic Arts… and yet they hover around you like students waiting for a teacher."
Damian offered a lopsided smile. "I think they're expecting me to be the student, honestly."
The Ancient One's lips curved subtly. "Then they are wise."
He let the words linger, then asked without ceremony. "Tell me, Damian Rossi… what is it you seek from the Mystic Arts?"
There was no rush in his voice, but it struck with the weight of purpose. To which Damian pondered, not because of doubt. But out of the need to articulate himself in an honest manner. That and the fact that he found it a little funny how the old man was asking this after taking him in. As if he understood Damian already.
Taking a breath, he started. "To be completely honest. I first sought this power to protect myself," Damian said. "And those I love. I didn't want to be powerless anymore… or helpless to stop someone I care about from getting hurt."
The Ancient One observed him carefully, quietly. "And has that changed?"
Damian's eyes lifted to meet his. "Yes," he said simply. "Now… after the Trial of the Self, I realized it goes beyond that. I realized I wish to extend my protection to the people that need it most, too. Out there, my people are suffering, being persecuted, tormented and cast away out of irrational fear and bigotry, not that bigotry is ever rational anyways. I simply want to help the people that no one really shows up for."
He paused, saying this as much an explanation as it is a judgment on the truly powerful of this world, including the man before him, as unfair as it may seem to normal observers to ask even more out of them.
"I won't pretend I'm some noble, pure-hearted hero. Or the champion of minorities, because I'm really not. I don't feel capable of filling those shoes. I'm merely doing this for my own selfish peace of mind. Because if my powers and potential are as great as they seem, I can't stand by and watch the world break people like it once broke me and do nothing. I want to help, yes. But because I want to be able to live with myself after. That's the truth."
There was silence. The Ancient One stopped to analyze him and his answer. Then he nodded once, slowly. "Good. The truth is a powerful beginning. And even if you don't believe yourself. Your cause is powerful too as much as it is demanding."
He circled around Damian, his robe whispering across the floor like falling leaves. "To seek power only for oneself is to court imbalance. But to seek it only for others without grounding in the self is no less dangerous. Take too many steps one way and you become a tyrant. Take too many steps the other way and you become a martyr, a slave of the ideals you represent. On the other han, what you carry is intention. And intention, in our craft, shapes far more than spellwork. It shapes reality."
He gestured toward the tomes. "These books followed you not only for your potential… but for the intent that flourishes within you. You cannot see it, but your soul radiates your intention like a beacon to the eyes of the mystical, as you have yet to learn how to hide yourself from it's eyes. And the mystical, it responds to a desire that aligns with their truth."
He turned fully to face Damian again. "So you wish to protect. Then we begin where all true protection begins. Not with shields, nor incantations, nor sacred relics. But with the self."
The floor around them shimmered subtly, a spiral of cushions appearing on it, joining the mandalas who were growing warmer, brighter. The wind beyond the chamber stilled. "Sit."
Doing as instructed, he sat. The Ancient One joined him, cross-legged, hands resting lightly on his knees. "Before you can wield the true power of sorcery without it breaking you… before you can draw upon true power without it corrupting… you must first know the foundation on which you stand."
A single candle appeared between them, floating midair.
"Your first lesson, Damian Rossi, is to observe the flame. Not to change it, not to analyze it, but to know what it stirs within you. What does it reflect to you."
The candle flickered, casting shadows not just on the stone, but inward, into Damian himself. "Let's begin."
The candle hovered in the still air of the chamber, a single wick burning without smoke. Its golden flame swayed not with wind, but with rhythm, as if breathing.
Damian sat opposite the Ancient One, legs crossed, spine upright but not rigid. His hands rested on his knees, open. The three tomes floated a respectful distance behind him, quiet now but ever-present, like stars awaiting for the night to show themselves once more.
"There is no trick here," the Ancient One said softly. "Only presence."
Damian nodded, trying to clear his mind, trying to focus on the flame… but his thoughts chattered anyway. 'What am I supposed to feel? Should I see a vision? Does the candle represent something? What if nothing happens?' Thoughts ran incessantly in his mind.
"You are trying," the Ancient One murmured. "But trying is not the same as being."
Damian exhaled. "I'm just… not good at clearing my head," he admitted, eyes never leaving the fire.
"You do not need to silence the mind," the Ancient One replied. "Only to observe it, without judgment."
Silence returned. The candle flickered. Damian stared into the flame again. He watched the way the light rippled across the melted wax. The subtle color shift at the base of the fire. First blue, then white, then gold. The small halo that kissed the edge of its heat.
Then, something began to shift. It wasn't the candle that changed. It was him. He wasn't just seeing the flame anymore. He was reflecting it. Feeling.
A hospital room. Fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic mixed with masked sadness. A woman–his mother, asleep, hooked to machines. And his hands clenched, powerless, at his sides.
Then another memory. An alleyway. Breath caught in his throat. Boots pressing down. Voices slinging slurs and taunts, mockingly daring him to fight back. No one coming. No one caring.
The flame seemed to pulse in time with the ache in his chest. And then… something else. A third memory. But this one hadn't happened. A man–himself–standing in front of a crowd. Gazes of overwhelming confidence in trust at his back, afraid people at his front. Power dancing at his fingertips like starlight. His eyes calm. People now safe.
The candle wavered. Damian blinked. Holding back profound emotion behind his eyes.
The Ancient One had not moved. "What did you see?" he asked gently.
Damian didn't answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was rough, but honest. "…I saw why I can't afford to be weak," he said. "And I saw what it might look like if I wasn't."
The Ancient One gave a soft smile. "Then you have seen what many sorcerers never do. Not just the fear, greed or hunger that doesn't let them stop… but the hope that calls them forward too."
He lifted one hand, and the candle snuffed itself out. Not with smoke, but with a whisper. "This was your first lesson. Not to control. Not to cast. But to witness the fire within you. Understand truly what moves you forward, your north. As long as you don't lose sight of it. You won't lose sight of yourself."
Damian exhaled slowly, grounding himself. The tomes stirred behind him. The one on Energy shimmered faintly, as if resonating with that something he saw within himself.
The Ancient One rose. "Come," he said. "There will be plenty of time for shaping the world later. Now, you must continue shaping yourself. Shaping what you carry."
He turned and walked calmly toward the corridor. Damian stood, a little bit steadier than he felt before arriving, as exaggerated as that may feel for him. Before he followed, he glanced once more at the space the candle had hovered. It was gone. But the warmth remained. The reflection fresh in his memory.
The dim light from the lamps bathed the stone corridors of the night of Kamar-Taj in their warmth, and the scent of incense lingered in the air. As Damian walked alongside the Ancient One through the temple's walkways, as the occasional greeting and bow from the early birds or night owls of the sanctuary walked through the corridors.
As they passed by the few masters walking around, they all made sure to bow and some of higher seniority greeted him with a simple but respectful: "Ancient One."
The Ancient One returned their reverence with calm nods, a kind expression in his face, and phrases like: "May your path be clear," in response to those that added greetings to their bows.
Damian, walking a pace behind, feeling a bit awkward at the respectful salutes. He wasn't used to this kind of thing, more so when he shamelessly referred to the Ancient One as "old man" from time to time.
"Do they always do that?" he whispered as they turned into a larger, open courtyard, where circular etchings marked the stone floor.
Yao glanced back. "Only when they believe it is worth to do so."
"So all the time. Gotcha." Damian answered while looking ahead.
The training grounds were surrounded in a cloister, shaded and ancient, yet sufficiently illuminated by lamps. The cold wind of dawn stirred softly, bringing the scent of distant jasmine, and in the center of the courtyard instead of a tree, a still sphere of water hovered singlehandedly, suspended in the air without container or support.
"This," the Ancient One said, walking into the circle, "is where your first hands-on lesson begins."
He turned to face Damian, the water sphere behind him shimmering under the sunlight.
"You have begun to observe your inner flame. Now you will learn to light it… without burning."
Yao raised a hand, and as if in answer, the air grew quiet. Focused. "Due to the uniqueness of your existence, your initiation has been anything but customary." Letting the words stir in his increasingly familiar sagely teacher fashion, he took a moment before explaining. "However, you are due proper guidance like any other student of Kamar-Taj."
Motioning with his hands, he made two mats appear on the ground opposing each other. And with the same hand, he motioned for them to sit down as The Ancient One started to hammer the 'basics' onto him. "To start properly, we must go back to the inception of our world… According to our scripts, it is said that the first being to come into existence was the life-force of our planet itself, a being called Demiurge, though we know not if it was a self-given name or a mere title adopted later. Be it as it may, the Demiurge was the one who later ushered the Elder Gods into existence, using concepts that embodied his own being to do so."
While the Ancient One explained the story of the arts, Damian could feel a really subtle film of mystical energy around the training grounds, although he doesn't know if it was there from the moment they stepped in or was it a tweak of his whimsical master. But if he had to guess, whatever the old man was telling him didn't seem like it was your everyday history lesson.
"Although it is not of importance to know the whole story for our lesson, later on I can give you the books to read it yourself should you be interested to know more." Hearing this, Damian simply nodded before the old man continued. "What it's important to know is that among those Elder Gods, there was Oshur, the giver of Light and Justice. The one who one day give birth to the first Sorcerer Supreme and father of the arts, Agamotto. The story of his birth itself is one worth reading about too, in my opinion." The Ancient One smiled after the last comment, as if reminiscing about a beautiful story of ages past.
"Agamotto was a profoundly curious child since his younger days, always posing questions that Oshtur always had answers for. They made the perfect pair of mother and son, one loving to watch her son learn and the other equally enamored with learning. Their relationship was harmonious for many years until. Yet, as Agamotto grew from a boy to a man, Oshtur knew he would have to forge his own path in life. And when she herself explained this to young Agamotto, she disappeared in front of him that same day."
"Unsure of what to do for the first time, young Agamotto waited for his mother to return, yet once he realized she would not do so, he assumed she had given him an answer, like she always had. So he turned to look inwards, turning to look for clues on Oshtur's whereabouts, he embarked on a journey of introspection where he would stumble upon the rudiments of what would later be known as the First Form of Magic, the Arcanum Ego, and embarked on what became recognized as the First Path of Power, or the Lapis Pass. At the culmination of this path, the mystical artifact now known as the Eye of Agamotto materialized, guiding him further along his quest."
After finishing his first point, the Ancient One extended one hand and materialized energy in a pure state. "The Arcanum Ego, or Egocentric Magic as we call it, is the school of magic that uses the mystic potential–the inborn amount of spiritual energy every living being posseses–in order to manifest itself. This is the path most novices start with and usually the path with the most limitations in terms of energy amounts. However, there are exceptions to this soft rule."
"I'm assuming I fall into the 'exception to the rule' category." Damian said.
"Exactly, your mutant powers allow you to shape energy however you want, and I will assume mystical energies are no exception." Seeing Damian nod in response, he resumed. "As I thought, your later trials were as such due to this nature of yours. I believe you will thread on this path of power further than most beings ever will, that is the why of my emphasis on your training of the self." Explained The Ancient One
"I see, makes a lot of sense. But that's not the only path right, old man?"
Giving the shadow of a smile, the Ancient One said. "Perceptive as always Mr. Rossi. As I was saying, Agamotto had discovered the First Path of Power and created the Eye of Agamotto, yet he still couldn't find Oshtur, so he kept searching. Convinced that Oshtur had intended for him to forge his own destiny, Agamotto envisioned himself through his mother's eyes, gaining a newfound understanding of his own inner strength. Opening his eyes, he was met with the manifestation of the Eye of Power, empowering him with expanded vision but offering no sign of Oshtur. Undeterred, Agamotto embarked on a seven-year journey across the globe, called the 'Emerald Road', tapping into the teachings of his aunt Gaea to master the Arcanum Eco, or Ecocentric magic. Along the way, he uncovered the Orb of Agamotto, or the Eye of Prescience."
After saying so, the Ancient One extinguished the ball of energy in his hand as he drew energy from his surroundings to create a new sphere, this time one of swirling winds. "Ecocentric Magic, the Second Path of Power. This one is the opposite of Egocentric Magic, it is about drawing upon the energy that surrounds you to cast magic. This is also what most students learn once they master all they need from the Egocentric path."
"And I'll assume again that's not how things will go for me?" Asked Damian, this time a little less sure of his guess.
"And again you would be right in doing so. As it is in your nature to be a conduit of all types of energy without being weighted down by their influence, your future journey in this path may be as equally long as your Egocentric path."
"First time I'm happy to hear I have a lot of homework to do." Said Damian with a genuine smile at the prospect of a long goal to pursue.
"Yes, but everything in its time, young Rossi. First, let us finish learning the basics. As I was saying, Agamotto established the Ecocentric Path and uncovered the Orb of Agamotto, the Eye of Prescience, yet still found no trace of Oshtur on Earth. Realizing the illusory nature of time and space, Agamotto laughed in revelation at the old acacia tree. Embracing the vastness of the cosmos, he ventured into space, where tranquillity enveloped him, and he relinquished his quest. In this moment of surrender, the Eye of Agamotto, or the Eye of Truth, was born, unveiling the mysteries that had eluded him."
While recounting the tales of Agamotto, The Ancient One let the sphere of wind above his palm disperse. "Using the Eye of Truth, Agamotto delved into the mystic realms for his final journey, 'The Golden Way'. Through this journey he came to understand his third and final Path of Power, Exocentric Magic. A path that let him draw power from extradimensional entities. Once Agamotto understood these three paths, he used them all simultaneously. That is when he was faced again with the face of his mother Oshtur and the two reunited once more."
Finishing his lesson, The Ancient One murmured inaudibly under his breath and suddenly invoked a sphere of fire over his palm, but this fire was unlike normal flames, it felt stronger, mystical in nature.
'Oh shit, now that's a classic.' He said to Eva, making her chuckle as The Ancient One said. "These are Faltine Flames, mystical flames fueled by the energy of the Faltine, beings of pure magic from another dimension."
"Neat." Damian commented at the side.
"That's one word to describe them," responded The Ancient One "and there are many such examples, for magic is as endless as the universe allows. But about those examples you will learn in the future. For now, let us go back to the basics. The subject of today's training. Energy manipulation."
Rising an eyebrow at the old man, Damian waited for him to continue.
"No matter which of the three paths you are using, they can only be as useful as you can control them, of course their control varies depending on their nature. As you can't control how much of their powers your contractor lends you, similarly most can't control the size of their Arcanum Ego's reserves. Yet once the energy is in your hands, it all functions under the same type of control." Said The Ancient One, levitating to a standing position from the mat where he was sitting.
"That is why your first spell is a simple one. Based on the manipulation of natural elements, in this case water. And this time you must start not from the Ego, but from the Eco." Stepping aside, he motioned for Damian to take his place in front of the sphere of water.
Damian stepped forward, eyes narrowing in thought. He looked at the floating pristine water and instinctively tensed his fingers.
"So do I just… move it?" he asked.
"Shape it," the Ancient One corrected. "Guide it with your intent, harmonize. We do not order nature, we commune with it."
Damian nodded, straightening his posture. He closed his eyes, recalling what he had experienced yesterday. Retracing the sensation of 'hearing' the aspects speaking to him, even if water wasn't an aspect, at least for Kamar-Taj standards, it must have its own voice too.
Damian exhaled, trying to center himself.
The Ancient One watched, not giving any extra advice.
The Tome of Energy, still quietly orbiting him since his arrival, pulsed once–softly–as if in encouragement.
He closed his eyes, giving away the impulses for rational control of his ego, leaving room for the spiritual contact of his surroundings, trying to hear what the water wanted to 'say'. And maybe it was because water wasn't a major aspect, or due to its malleable nature, but this time it didn't even take him half of the time he spent on listening to the spheres in his Trial of The Wellspring.
The water voice came alive to his senses, it didn't quite talk per se, but instead it transmitted. Feelings. Intent. It spoke about what it was meant to be to Damian, of its desire to fit shapely into its surroundings. Its desire to bring forth life. To bring change. To either flow or wear away what resisted.
Once Damian listened, he transmitted back with his intent. He communicated his willingness to guide the water into fulfilling its role in exchange for listening to him, letting him decide the shape and change. Then the water shimmered. Twisting upward into a thin ribbon, spiraling around Damian's wrist like a living stream. It moved with a grace that mirrored his breath, responsive and light. Glad at being heard, at being promised to fulfill its purpose.
Damian opened his eyes, watching it float around him.
"How unique," Yao said with a nod, "even without chants or mudras, you are able to commune with the elements. As if…" 'I was watching a reenaction of Agamotto's tale.' Was what he was thinking yet refused to mustet–afraid of muddling his new student's thoughts with his own premature speculations.
Unaware of the thoughts behind his master's measured expression, Damian kept juggling the water around. Curling it upward into a circle above his head, changing its shape into different constructs as though it was filling a mold. Then he gently spread it around the edges of the training ground, irrigating the plants and fulfilling his promise with the water sphere.
Damian's expression flickered with wonder, marveling at the residual feelings of gratitude he could feel coming from the places the water dispersed to.
"...Does that mean I don't need to do all the… mystical sorcerer stuff, the hand signs and chanting stuff?" He turned to Yao and asked, taking a second to choose the most polite words for magic mumbo jumbo as he mentally called it. Something that in his opinion looked cool but was a waste in combat.
"Perhaps." The Ancient One replied. "You may have no need for following the traditions of our school, but that does not mean you shouldn't learn of our ways."
Damian laughed lightly at the old man's polite way of saying 'Nuh uh, you are learning this shit.'
"Naturally, I still need to understand what the mudras and chants mean so I can respond properly in battle."
Yao acknowledged his reasoning with a small nod, then he made a sign and motioned to the place where the water sphere used to be, and a ball of pure wind gathered from thin air to replace it instead.
"Try once more. This time with a different element. Let us see if this was a fluke or something more."
Yet again, Damian started the process by trying to hear the 'voice of the wind'. And yet again, his efforts were rewarded shortly after by a voice that transmitted a sense of mischievousness and child-like wonder. If Water was a mix of the personalities of the aspects of Life and Time. Then Wind sounded as if Energy and Space had a child–this voice whispered with glee of its desire to move, to dance and roam freely.
And that's exactly what Damian promised in exchange for the wind to follow Damian's rhythm momentarily, and follow it did. For reasons he can only guess, the wind followed his instructions with even more ease than the water. Becoming rotatory chakrams of pure wind for a second and turning into a mellow breeze at the next. After playing around with it for a bit as the wind wished to 'play' with him too, he let it disperse and join the currents of air in the surroundings, becoming aimless and ever-roaming once more.
A few watching disciples in the background murmured softly.
The Ancient One gave no outward praise–only that calm, deep nod.
"Truly a unique way of using the arts. Although the control is nowhere close to perfect, that can be corrected with time and practice. But how is it that you do this, Mr. Rossi?" The Ancient One inquired, his tone more curious than demanding.
Looking back at the Ancient One, Damian spoke without reservations, a bit confused at the Ancient One not being able to recognize the way Damian 'casted' 'spells'. "Well, I just hear what the elements want and promise them that in exchange for letting me 'guide' them, as you said before. Isn't that what the hands signs and chants do anyways?"
If his explanation was satisfactory, surprising or lackluster, Damian could not tell from looking at his new master. Yet the Ancient One took a second to process his thoughts before he answered back. "In a way, you are not wrong. The mudras and chants we use function as our communication tools with the world when it comes to Ecocentric sorcery. However, most sorcerers use them because we can't 'hear' the voices of the aspects or the elements like you did just now."
Taking a moment of his own to process this new bit of information, Damian cautiously muttered. "Come again? If none of you can hear the voices of the elements, who came up with the 'language tools' to communicate to begin with?"
Giving a little smile of his own, the Ancient One explained patiently. "I said most of us can't hear the voices, but as it is with any rules, there are exceptions. The words of power we chant and the mudras we motion were created by the father of the mystical arts, Agamotto, throughout his long life. He did so in order to pass down his knowledge to his future successors."
"But how do you create new spells then?" Asked Damian.
"Valid concern you have, and you are not the first to ask it either. Yet the answer lies in the root of the question, the tools are already created. It is upon us to combine them in new ways that can satisfy our needs." Explained the Ancient One.
Looking intrigued, Damian asked the question that was most prescient in his mind. "Still, how do you know what the mystical energy wants in exchange?"
"There is the difference in our ways, those of us who can't communicate with the aspects in the direct way you seem able to do, give ourselves up. We surrender control momentarily and choose to embody the aspect we call upon. That is how we harmonize and fulfill our end of the 'deal'."
After finishing his explanation, he turned, his cloak shifting as the wind stirred. As he walked away in measured steps, spheres made of different elements inundated the training field. "I have other matters to attend, but your task for the day is to interact with the elements in the same way you have today. Learn to commune with them so as to be able to do so at any point by yourself in the future."
Seeing the large amount of elements in front of him, Damian looked at the time of NY on his phone and grunted under his breath, then he turned to the Ancient One. "Just say your knees are not what they used to be or that is tea time, old man. No need for the mysterious act."
Still, the Ancient One kept walking in silence, but the disciples watching from afar wore surprised expressions–not because they heard Damian, as they haven't been able to hear anything that happened on the training grounds, but because they could see the smile of amusement on the Ancient One's ever-serene expression.
Once Yao was outside his field of view, Damian turned around while hearing. [Let's go 100% mode, with your affinity and my enhancements it should take you 1 to 2 hours to finish this.]
'Look at that, the sleeping beauty decided to grace us with her presence,' he commented, to which he could feel Eva rolling her eyes in response, 'What happened to you, thought you might be dealing with something.' He said, this time with more worry in his tone.
[Everything's fine, really. I just have my reservations about speaking when the old man is hearing.] She answered.
Smiling mischievously, he asked. 'Little Eva is shy around strangers? Guess you couldn't be as perfect as you seemed.'
[Hmph, shy my glowy ass. I just don't like others listening in on our conversations, feels like they are intruding in our link.] She said with mock distaste.
Thinking about her words, his expression changed to one slightly more serious. 'Mm, if you put it that way, I guess you have a point.'
[I always have a point, Watson.]
'Wow wow, hold your horses pal. Everybody knows I am Sherlock and you are Watson.'
[Would seeing me cry change your mind?] She asked with metaphorical tears in her eyes.
'Yo, that's emotional manipulation. My mama warned me about girls like you!'
[Womp, womp. Tough luck buddy, a tad bit too late to worry about the type of gal you married after you signed the papers. And guess what, you forgot the prenup, so on with it Watson, we have other matters to attend.] She said while pointing forward, as though a boss ordering his choffer around.
After both had a laugh to their usual banter, Damian went 100% mode, getting ready to get this over with as soon as possible. Eva may have been joking, but she was right in that they can't give all of their time to the study of the mystical arts.
As he repeated the process of hearing the voices coming from the spheres, he was suddenly overwhelmed by hearing all the voices at the same time.
'Well, that fucking hurt my spiritual ears.' He commented.
[Seems your task has more than one layer of difficulty. Smart way to up the difficulty while giving a sample of how chaotic it will be to communicate in the real world, where all the elements coexist together to a certain degree.] Eva analyzed.
'Yeah, like they said back in my previous homeland; The Devil ain't wise for being the Devil, but for being old as fuck.' He said.
[Pretty sure you added words at the end.] She said with a chuckle.
'Details, details.'
While having another little back and forth, Damian hadn't stopped for a moment to try and isolate the voices to try and hear them one at a time, and this method did show some progress. However, after 5 minutes he realized even if this method were to work, it would take far too long for his own taste.
He also tried 'lowering the volume' of all voices but one, as Eva suggested. And yet again, the method showed promise but it was too slow, as he couldn't fine-tune his spiritual ear due to a lack of familiarity and practice. He lacked the finesse that came with time and experience.
Trying to look for the most efficient solution in the short term, both pondered on the best solution until Damian suddenly spoke through their connection. 'Got an idea.'
[Which is?]
'If it takes too long to externally filter out all the voices before letting one in, how about we do the filtering ourselves.'
[...That… could work. But can you handle it right now?] She asked the last part with some concern.
'Think so, yeah. If my intelligence + Nightwing's + 15-20% of Mr. Terrific ain't enough for a task of this level, I'll be damned.'
Taking a moment to calm himself, Damian stopped trying to hear one voice at a time and instead started to hear all the voices. Even if the cacophony of sounds was annoying to the ears, he accepted it all.
Once all the voices were being registered by his brain, he started to filter them manually. The process felt a bit alien and uncomfortable, like trying to constantly breathe consciously, as if trying to intervene in a process that your body felt was already good as it was.
But with a bit of work, and a lesser headache than he expected, he managed to 'filter' the voices simultaneously. It was a weird and novel experience, being able to hear multiple people talk collectively and understand them individually. But with this brute force method, Damian managed to listen and communicate with the spheres.
First he tried with fire since its intent was unexpected to him, he expected to hear a desire to consume and destroy. Yet what he heard was the opposite, partially at least. Fire desires to bring forth life as much as water does, yet it wants to consume what was in order to birth what will be, or so he gathers. The voice was passionate about its wish to transform, to say the least. It demanded passion, boldness and defiance while being wielded, aside from its wish to either consume or transform. So that is what Damian did, he manipulated the fire in a bold spectacle before letting it consume the fallen leaves on the training ground.
Then he tried multitasking with more than one element, choosing the ones he previously practiced with; wind and water. Although it was a bit difficult at the start, soon enough he got the hang of it and manipulated both in quite a pretty show, if he said so himself.
From there on, it became a much more streamlined effort, in the next half an hour he 'got to know' the different elements and what they desired in exchange for lending themselves to him. Overall, it was a beautiful experience for him, he not only got to satiate his inner child's desire for performing real magic, but he also got to understand more of this world, to feel how the elements came alive when combined with mystical energies. Earth, Fire, Water and Wind were all somewhat as he expected them to be. Yet Metal, Ice, Ash and Smoke surprised him, as even when they were products of the combination of the main four, they showed quite distinct 'personalities'.
Still, the one that gave him the biggest surprise was the sphere of lightning, the intent coming from this one was much more raw than the others. Lightning didn't communicate, it stated. Its desire was a reflection of the aspect of Energy if said aspect was tainted by chaos. It was sudden, explosive, unpredictable, barely contained by a will to retain its shape only to be acknowledged by the world before it struck. This one demanded Damian to be sharp and fearless, to make the world know lightning couldn't be ignored before he struck true to its target, whichever might be.
Thankfully for him, the training ground had some training dummies laying around, and after testing the capabilities of the lightning, he was amazed by the sheer energy contained in such a small shape. He weaved the lightning with precision and focus throughout the training grounds before he suddenly motioned to a training dummy close to him.
The result was quite something, as even with the reinforced sigils crafted on the dummy, it could not resist one of the mightiest forces of nature and got an 80% reduction in size, most of its body scattering as black ash around its remains.
Feeling quite satisfied with this training session, he turned around to go look for the old man, wanting to see how he'd react at his 'task for the day' being completed in a little less than an hour.