Chapter Twenty-Three: The Legend
"Ah, this place feels just like heaven. I don't ever want to leave here again. How did he even make this? That boy is insane… but in a strange way, he's handsome. His body looks incredible, and with that blindfold, he seems so mysterious. Ugh, what am I even thinking?"
Yelena lay in the warm bath, her body submerged, relaxing as the steam curled around her.
After an hour, she finally stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel, and slipped into a loose men's shirt and trousers. She began drying her hair, ignoring the ache that still lingered in every muscle. Pain was no stranger to her—she had endured far worse inside the Red Room.
From the window, she saw William, still blindfolded, skinning a deer he had hunted. The great white wolf stood beside him, gnawing at the carcass.
"How can he do that without even seeing…?" she wondered.
Yelena pulled on a warm coat and stepped outside.
"Need help?" she asked.
"Oh, Miss Yelena, it's you," William replied. "No, this is my training. But maybe you could help clean the hide. That would be useful." He gave the deer one last precise cut, and the skin came free.
Yelena sighed, picked up the fur, and dropped it into a wooden bucket.
"I know embroidery," she said. "But I've no idea how to clean a hide."
William chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll do it. How about chopping the meat?"
"That's my job," she answered firmly.
"Fine then. I'll clean the hide, you cut the meat. But make sure you separate the clean flesh from the bones—save those for the hungry wolf."
"Woof, woof!" the wolf barked, as if to say "I'm not greedy!"
Yelena smiled at the wolf, who only flicked a calm look at her before continuing his feast.
William tossed her a sharp knife. "Don't cut yourself."
Yelena worked diligently. When William gave her a task, she felt needed—not like a burden, but like she truly belonged. Hours later, she finished and packed the neat cuts of meat into a wooden basin, covering them with ice. She placed the wolf's share nearby.
"Woof…" The wolf's eyes gleamed with approval, and though Yelena couldn't understand its words, she could see its gratitude. She smiled softly.
Soon William returned, ran his hands over the meat, and nodded in satisfaction. Then his gaze lingered on Yelena with quiet admiration.
Later, they sat before the fire. The flames reflected in Yelena's eyes while William sat still, listening.
"You said you know embroidery, Yelena?"
"Just Yelena," she corrected.
He smiled. "Then just William for me."
"Fine, William."
They exchanged a glance.
"Could you embroider a wolf on this fabric?" he asked.
"For your wolf?" she teased.
"No," William shook his head. "Beta doesn't care for such things. This would be my symbol—as a hunter."
"…Alright."
"Thank you, Yelena. Come, I'll show you some cloth to choose from."
They went downstairs into a locked room. Inside, Yelena's eyes widened. Weapons, ammunition, armor, rows of black suits, even her own captured gear—including her electric belt—were neatly arranged.
"Some are war trophies, some for allies, but most are mine," William explained. He pulled out a large bag, revealing folded fabrics of many colors.
"These are made of special fibers—flexible and bullet-resistant. Choose one."
Her eyes sparkled. "Can I choose two colors?"
William smirked. "Of course. And if you want a weapon, take one too—if you ever decide to leave this place."
"…Why are you so kind to me, William?"
He froze for a moment. "…I don't know. Maybe because it just feels right."
She smiled faintly. William quickly turned away, leaving her in the room with her thoughts.
---
A week passed.
The cabin, once cold and lonely, had turned into a place of laughter and warmth. William lived the happiest days of his life, and Yelena felt something she hadn't in years—peace.
Her wounds healed. Secretly, she crafted clothes for herself and William, combining fabric and animal furs, decorating them with her careful embroidery. Together, they trained. William taught her ninja breathing techniques, fluent English with a proper British accent, even bits of other languages. Yelena sparred with him hand-to-hand, testing his strength against her speed and deadly precision. He fought blindfolded yet moved with the force of something beyond ordinary human.
They lived in rhythm: training, bathing, eating, resting, hunting. Step by step, they drew closer.
---
Meanwhile, beyond their snowy world, events unfolded. Reed Richards and Victor von Doom, along with Susan Storm, her reckless brother Johnny, and Reed's loyal friend Ben Grimm, prepared for an unprecedented space mission. They sought to study cosmic rays and their effect on human physiology. Reed's words stirred the scientific community: if proven, this discovery could push humanity into a new age of progress.
Investments poured into Doom's company. In ten days—on the first of the third decade of September, 2005—they would launch into space.
Intelligence agencies, billionaires, secret organizations all waited eagerly. Success or failure, they all wanted one thing: a piece of the prize.
Elsewhere, Tony Stark continued his reckless lifestyle, unaware of the looming threats. His old rival Obadiah Stane lurked like a venomous spider, ready to strike.
And far away, Nick Fury, the bald, sharp-eyed spymaster, quietly built hidden bases across the world with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s money—preparing for something only he seemed to know.
But none of this reached William, Yelena, or Beta. To them, the world outside did not exist. Or perhaps, William simply wanted to believe it didn't.
---
One evening—
"I won! And you lost, William. That means the bathhouse is mine for a whole day!" Yelena laughed.
William groaned, blindfold still in place, while Beta howled in amusement.
Yelena leaned down to scratch the wolf's ear. "Come on, Beta, let's team up. Together, we'll take down the only man here."
"Cruel," William muttered dramatically, though no one cared.
In the end, he was barred from the bath. Yet Yelena forgot one thing: without William, the bath wouldn't even run. Still, William wasn't the type to deny her happiness.
---
Later, in his study, William sat in silence, a heavy book resting on his lap.
After years of effort, he could finally read the ancient script.
A language tens of thousands of years old.
He had found the book by chance—during a mission to stop the theft of the Mona Lisa. Hidden in one of the museum's secret chambers, the book had called to him. When he flipped through its pages, he saw a sketch of a dagger he recognized—the very one he had recovered on his first mission.
So he had taken the book, keeping it for himself.
"Time passes so quickly," he whispered, running his hand over the cover. For a moment, sorrow touched his face. "Time is the only thing that slips away easily, yet is so hard and painful to reclaim."
He thought of lost years, broken memories. There was something hidden in those forgotten moments—something precious, something painful.
He brushed the cover and read the title aloud:
"The Legend of Persian Myths."
Page by page, he delved into a world of gods and heroes.
Zurvan, Ahura, Mithra…
Garshasp, Fereydun, Kaveh, Rostam…
And then—the page he had been searching for.
The sketch of a dagger. Its hilt was encased in shining glass, golden energy flowing from within.
"A dagger forged by Zurvan, God of Time, to aid his son Ahura in defeating the dark demons. When evil ruled the world, Ahura cast the blade to Earth, gifting it to a worthy hero. Throughout history, it reshaped destiny. The last time it was wielded was by the prophet Zoroaster, who entrusted it to Fereydun to overthrow the serpent-shouldered tyrant, Zahhak, upon the peak of Damavand."
William closed the book, heart pounding.
"So vague… it reads like a child's bedtime tale. Unreal. And yet…"
He reached into his belongings.
The dagger was real. The very same, resting in his hands.
He whispered the word aloud:
"Damavand…"
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