"Hungry?"
Ben Parker set a paper plate on Li Feng's knee—steak still hissing in its own heat. Li Feng's gaze flicked from the meat to the cloth-wrapped bundle at his side, alien armor hidden under campsite shadows, then down to his threadbare clothes.
"Just hiking," he said lightly. "First trip this far. Forgot a razor."
Ben eased down beside him, easy smile in place. "That's life. We grow through the misses—wrong turns, small mistakes. That's how boys become men."
Li Feng bit into the steak—tender, perfectly salted—and shot a thumbs-up toward the glow of the barbecue. "Compliments to the chef."
"Got a destination?" Ben asked.
Li Feng hesitated. The truth was simple: avoid people, avoid noise, get stronger in peace. He stared across the water. "Three years ago, my parents died. Two years ago, a crash scrambled my head. Lost the language. Still haven't found the rest. So… I walk. When I'm tired, I'll settle."
Ben studied him, the sympathy in his eyes clean, unforced. This wasn't pity. It was recognition.
"Sorry," Ben said quietly. Then May waved from the campsite, and he rose. "When you're ready to stop moving, try Queens. Best neighborhood I know."
Li Feng smiled despite himself. "I'll remember."
Ben took a few steps, turned back, and pressed a razor into Li Feng's palm. "Keep it. And if our paths cross again—my door's open."
When Ben rejoined his family, the lake filled with the small, bright noises of a life Li Feng didn't have. From across the water, a boy's laugh carried on the dark—"Dad!"—and the sound cut straight through him. He saw another child in another world, reaching hands he couldn't catch.
He wiped at his eyes, finished the steak, and looked back toward the campsite. Food. A razor. A seat by the fire. You bought a promise, Ben Parker. He set his jaw. Unless time takes you, nothing else will. Not while I draw breath.
He packed, waited until the Parkers were only murmurs in the trees, then spun a ring of orange light and stepped through.
—
Kamar-Taj was hushed at this hour. The Ancient One sat alone, steam curling from a cup of tea, a slim spellbook open in her hands. She felt the shift before the portal bloomed—space thinned, then parted—and lifted her gaze as Li Feng stumbled through, road-worn and raw around the edges.
Her eyes slid past him, through the fading circle, catching a last glimpse of the dark New York suburbs beyond. One brow ticked up.
"You opened a portal straight from a roadside to here?" she asked, rising, already pouring tea.
Li Feng pressed his palms together in greeting. "Yes, Master. Problem?"
"A serious one," she said, passing him a cup. "A portal is a door. It answers power. An apprentice should not have the strength to turn that lock across half a world."
Li Feng blinked. "So by the usual rules I should barely make it across a city?"
His mind flashed back—first attempt, thrown to Argentina; every try after that a little cleaner. He'd chalked it up to practice. Maybe not.
She tipped her head. "There's a reason the Sanctums maintain permanent gateways. If any novice could step anywhere, those doors would be decoration." A pause, then a measured smile. "I underestimated your grasp of space."
Her attention drifted to the wrapped bundle at his feet. "You've brought souvenirs."
Li Feng unfolded alien metal and green-tinted plates across the table, then told her, in broad strokes, about Lawson's ship and a woman who glowed like a star. "If possible, I want to forge a blade and armor. The rest I'll trade. Tuition for learning how."
She skimmed the alien alloys with practiced fingertips, eyes narrowing. "Conquerors from the sky," she murmured. "I watch demons at the door and forget the armies that build ships."
He kept his face still. S.H.I.E.L.D. would pick the cruiser clean soon enough. Earth would leap forward whether mystics liked it or not.
She clapped once. Hamir stepped in from the hall, one sleeve pinned at the shoulder. "Storage," she said, nodding to the gear. "And bring the forging texts."
When the door closed, she returned to Li Feng. "Your old room is ready. We can speak later—unless you prefer now."
He picked up the long Kree blade and a green tunic, flashed Hamir a cordial smile on his way out, then looked back to her. "Now. Sleep can wait."
It wasn't a lecture. It was a probe.
She pressed him on the Dark Dimension—no sermons, only clean warnings. He named what he'd learned from Balthazar's notes, careful to keep the edges dull. She asked about time. He showed her what he'd built: the way his astral work lasted longer now, the way his mirror constructs held without tearing, the way casting had become less effort and more breath.
She saw it—how his power tilted toward space and brushed against time. Not corruption, not yet. But shadowed. Potent.
When he finished, she leaned back, thoughtful, and began to draw time in shapes he could hold: currents and eddies, rapids and still pools; where to stand and when to move; how rushing drowned you and patience carried you farther.
He listened, the slow grin unspooling despite himself.
Space. Time.
I am not the same as the others.
—
Dawn crept through the high windows of Kamar-Taj, painting golden stripes across Li Feng's face. He sprawled on the bed in an X-shape, groaning as the chants of disciples outside thundered through the courtyard.
"Hng-ha! Hng-ha!"
He dragged a pillow over his ears. Weren't sorcerers supposed to meditate in silence? This sounded more like a demolition crew.
By the time he shuffled outside, tea steaming in one hand and a stack of Foundations of Alchemy texts under his arm, the apprentices were already deep in drills. He ignored the curious stares, settled beneath a tree, and cracked open a book with a long sip of tea.
Boots appeared in front of him—enchanted, rune-threaded. Li Feng didn't even look up at first. "Mordo. You need something?"
Baron Mordo stood with arms folded, staff slung across his back. His tone was polite but clipped. "The Ancient One says you have a gift for space magic. She's tasked me with pushing that gift further. Portals. The Mirror Dimension."
Li Feng snapped his book shut. "And she's… where exactly?"
Mordo shrugged. "The Sorcerer Supreme has other duties. She won't spend her hours babysitting an apprentice. But she's clear—your training continues."
He gestured toward a practice ground. "We'll start with portals. Combat application."
Li Feng trailed after him reluctantly. "Here? You're not worried about me ripping a hole in reality and shredding an unlucky disciple?"
"Then don't miss," Mordo replied flatly.
He tapped his boots, the soles glowing as he hovered a handbreadth above the ground, and produced a glowing baseball in one hand, his staff in the other. "Lesson one: survive."
Before Li Feng could protest, Mordo swung. The ball rocketed toward him like a cannon shot.
"Are you insane?!" Li Feng dove aside, the ball whistling past.
Mordo smirked. "If that's too fast, you'll never last in battle." Another swing.
Li Feng cursed and rolled to safety again. Then he noticed the shimmer—the bat and ball were tethered. Every miss curved back toward Mordo, who hammered it forward again with increasing force.
"You call this training? You're trying to pulp me!"
"Then learn faster," Mordo said, sending another blazing arc his way.
The morning dissolved into chaos. Li Feng ducked, dived, and shouted until his lungs burned. Sweat plastered his shirt to his skin. Each ball came faster, each dodge closer. Finally, desperation cracked him open.
He thrust his Sling Ring forward. Sparks tore reality open—just a handspan wide—and the ball vanished through.
It reappeared behind Mordo's head.
The master launched skyward on his enchanted boots, twisted midair, and plucked it from the void with infuriating ease. He caught Li Feng's eye and gave a tight smile. "Better. The Ancient One was right—you adapt quickly. Let's see if you can sustain it."
Li Feng collapsed to his knees, gasping. His arms trembled, mana nearly tapped. "Can I… at least drink some water first?"
Mordo's response was another swing. "Enemies won't stop for your thirst."
And so it went for days. Baseball after baseball, until Li Feng dreamed of them chasing him through the Mirror Dimension. Meals were his only reprieve. Even then, his astral form studied theory above his sleeping body, desperate to keep up.
By week's end, he could snap portals open in the blink of an eye—small, yes, but precise enough to snatch projectiles from midair and redirect them with control.
The final test came when one of his portals swallowed a ball and spat it out over the Atlantic, far beyond Mordo's reach. The enchanted link strained, snapped, and the glowing projectile vanished into the stratosphere.
Mordo lowered his staff, expression unreadable. "Acceptable. For now."
Li Feng slumped against a pillar, every muscle aching, but a grin tugging at his lips. He'd survived Mordo's hell week. More than that—he'd learned.
Somewhere above the ocean, a glowing baseball screamed toward the horizon. If S.H.I.E.L.D. tracked it on their sensors, well—good luck to them. Kamar-Taj remained hidden, untouchable.
Li Feng exhaled and sipped what was left of his cold tea. "Guess I'm really getting the hang of this."
--
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