Themyscira.
A land of women only.
Something there was beginning to change.
Meanwhile, high in the Himalayas—
Kamar-Taj.
A story unlike the one recorded in history was quietly unfolding.
It was well known that the Marvel Universe housed many sanctuaries of magic, but none stood above Kamar-Taj. It wasn't just the secluded monastery where the Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One, resided in meditation—it was also the most complete and profound repository of magical knowledge in existence.
Knowledge is heritage.
Because Kamar-Taj preserved such a vast and structured magical tradition, many sorcerers across Earth regarded it as the ultimate sanctuary for spiritual cultivation.
Normally, Kamar-Taj never turned away seekers of wisdom. As a result, countless apprentices came here to study and refine their craft.
Most of them were young—teenagers still in the bloom of youth.
Few adults stayed for long years of study. After all, most sorcerers reached the limit of their talent within a few years of training. For them, continued practice at Kamar-Taj brought little further progress.
Some, after years of unfulfilled study or isolation, grew disheartened and left to wander the mortal world. They sought meaning outside the monastery's walls, chasing purpose or adventure.
Not everyone was a prodigy like Doctor Strange. To become the Sorcerer Supreme, one needed not only skill but a vast potential for growth—a mind capable of grasping infinity itself.
Because most sorcerers lacked that potential, many eventually strayed into darker paths, pledging themselves to the service of shadowy deities.
"Training every single day is killing me!"
"Yeah! Why can't we have vacations? Even the slaves back home get days off!"
"I miss fried chicken and burgers!"
...
After a day of lessons, clusters of young apprentices would gather and complain about the strict discipline of Kamar-Taj.
They were, after all, still teenagers—restless, curious, and easily bored, even when studying the wondrous art of magic.
Only what one cannot have seems truly valuable. For them, learning magic felt no different from endless classroom lectures.
Especially for the boys and girls caught in the haze of adolescence. If not for the Kamar-Taj library regularly updating its shelves each month with newspapers, periodicals, and magazines from the outside world, many might have quit long ago out of sheer boredom.
In a way, Kamar-Taj was remarkably open-minded for such an ancient order.
During this era—before the Internet existed—magazines and newspapers were the only windows to the wider world. Were it not for the monastery's high altitude and isolation cutting off radio and television signals, these apprentices would likely have spent their evenings watching dramas instead of meditating.
"Hey, the little mustache guy's making big moves again! God, when will this war ever end? The outside world's gone completely insane!"
"Why aren't we allowed to intervene? Shouldn't sorcerers stand against tyrants like him?"
"I couldn't care less about geopolitics—I just wanna know when they'll legalize same-sex marriage. Don't look at me like that, man, I'm just curious."
...
Because they had access to information from the outside world, the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj were not as isolated as one might imagine. Their understanding of world affairs was about the same as that of ordinary people.
And, as with any group of young people, there were plenty of idealists—and hotheaded patriots among them.
Many of the apprentices wanted to aid their homelands or rise up against the tyrannical "little mustache." However, such actions were strictly forbidden by the Sorcerer Supreme's decree. Sorcerers could descend the mountain to help the world, yes—but only after having their magic sealed away.
Though many failed to understand this rule, no one dared to openly question the Sorcerer Supreme's judgment. All they could do was complain in secret. Even then, they risked being caught by the Sorcerer Supreme's zealous followers.
"You're discussing the Sorcerer Supreme's decision again!"
A slender man appeared behind the young apprentices. Though not physically imposing, his very presence carried authority. His voice snapped like a whip.
"Sorcerer Kaecilius!"
One of the younger sorcerers blurted his name in alarm. Kaecilius—one of the Ancient One's most trusted disciples and a respected figure within Kamar-Taj.
To outsiders, he was the Ancient One's pride, her most brilliant pupil. Kaecilius himself carried that reputation with pride.
But perhaps only the Ancient One herself—and Herman, who knew the true flow of history—understood what Kaecilius would one day become.
He was the disciple of the Sorcerer Supreme, the senior apprentice to Doctor Strange. Yet in the future—long before Doctor Strange's rise—Kaecilius would fall to darkness and swear allegiance to Dormammu. He would even become the direct cause of the Ancient One's death in the original timeline, though that too had been part of her plan.
For now, however, the Kaecilius standing here was still a man of conviction. He had not yet been consumed by his own ambition. Loyal, upright, devoted—he still believed in the Ancient One with absolute faith.
Only when he later reached the limits of his potential would that faith twist into resentment, and his desire for greater power drag him into corruption.
"The Sorcerer Supreme forbids us from interfering in mortal wars because she knows how they must end. Focus on your training—that's all you need to do!"
Kaecilius' tone was sharp as steel.
"The Sorcerer Supreme can… see the future?" one of the young apprentices asked, eyes wide in astonishment.
"Of course," Kaecilius replied without hesitation. As one of the Ancient One's personal disciples, he knew far more than most. The Sorcerer Supreme wielded the power of time itself.
"Incredible…"
The apprentices exchanged looks of awe, their respect for the Ancient One deepening even further.
"Enough talk! Back to your studies!"
Kaecilius scolded them once more before finally leaving the plaza. The young sorcerers reluctantly resumed their spells—but the moment he was gone, they dropped their concentration and went right back to chatting.
Just like students slacking off after a teacher leaves the classroom.
Hidden nearby, Kaecilius witnessed it all. He sighed heavily. After a moment of hesitation, he made up his mind to visit the Ancient One in her secluded chamber. The attitude of the younger generation needed to be corrected.
"Master… are you there?"
Kaecilius knocked on the door to the Ancient One's meditation chamber.
No response.
He waited, but silence persisted. Another sorcerer might have left—but Kaecilius was not one to be easily deterred.
What powerful new spell was the Sorcerer Supreme studying in secret? Curiosity gnawed at him. After a brief pause, it overpowered his restraint. He slowly pushed open the door—without permission.
It was an improper act, but his need to know was stronger than his discipline. He leaned forward, peering into the quiet chamber.
He expected to see the Ancient One seated in meditation, perhaps surrounded by runes of light. For a fleeting moment, he even thought he might learn something forbidden.
But what he saw instead froze him in place.
"Master…!"
Kaecilius' face drained of color.
Lying motionless on the floor was a charred, lifeless body—her eyes hollow, her skin blackened.
The Ancient One.
Had Herman been present, he would have been stunned to discover that this version of the Ancient One had died in exactly the same manner as the one from his original timeline before his time travel—an impossibility that defied all logic.
At that same moment, it was as though every incarnation of the Ancient One across the timelines had perished simultaneously.
And Herman—did not receive her soul.
"How could this be! How could the Supreme One be killed so silently!? Not even those dimensional demon gods could do something like this!"
Kaecilius, of course, knew nothing of what had truly happened to the Ancient One, but the sight before him filled him with horror.
He rushed into the chamber, and upon confirming the identity of the charred corpse, his face twisted into an expression of pure terror and disbelief.
What kind of joke was this?
The Sorcerer Supreme—whom he had always revered as a being close to godhood... the very god of Kamar-Taj—had died silently within her own sanctum!
And in such a gruesome state!
What kind of terrifying existence could have done this? Chaos surged in Kaecilius's heart, his fear reaching its peak.
"This is..."
Suddenly, in his dazed panic, Kaecilius noticed something on the Ancient One's forehead—a mark. The sigil of the Dark Dimension, belonging to Dormammu.
As a sorcerer of great knowledge, Kaecilius recognized it instantly. His expression shifted from terror to utter disbelief.
"How could the Supreme One bear the Dark Mark!?"
He shouted again, his voice cracking under the weight of shock.
For a long moment, he couldn't process it—couldn't accept that the Ancient One, the guardian of balance, not only had died, but had once wielded the power of the Dark Dimension herself.
"Could this be... the secret behind Master's strength!?"
Kaecilius's mind reeled. He began to suspect that the Ancient One had perished because of the backlash from the dark power she had harnessed. His voice trembled with confusion, disbelief—and something else.
Hidden within his cry was a trace of... envy. And realization.
Clearly, though history had changed...
Some things would always find a way to happen—just in different forms.