Wanda raised her hand, and a small ball of dark red light lit up in her palm. It no longer flickered erratically as it once had, but pulsed steadily, rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
She could feel that energy responding to her.
She clenched her fist, and the light extinguished.
Perhaps she could truly learn to control it.
In the days that followed, Kamar-Taj settled into a calm and rhythmic life.
Every morning, before dawn, the young sorcerers would gather in the courtyard to begin their morning exercises.
They sat cross-legged on the stone slabs, hands forming seals, eyes closed, surrounded by a faint golden glow of energy.
Mordo stood before them, hands behind his back, his gaze piercing, saying nothing.
Stephen Strange was among them. His posture was stiffer than the others; the old injuries in his hands made it difficult for him to hold a position for long, but his progress was visible to the naked eye.
A few weeks ago, he couldn't even manage the most basic energy perception, but now, he could steadily maintain a magic shield for over ten minutes.
The Ancient One would occasionally come to watch them practice, but more often, she sat in the tea room, playing chess with Loki.
The Ancient One placed a piece and picked up her teacup to take a sip.
"Your Highness's mastery of illusion is recorded in the scriptures of Kamar-Taj."
"The magic system of Kamar-Taj is also quite interesting…"
Loki looked at the chessboard, tapped his chin twice with his fingers, and then placed a piece.
"Check."
The Ancient One looked down at the board and smiled. "Your Highness's chess skills are not bad either."
Loki bowed slightly. "You flatter me."
Wanda went to see the Ancient One every afternoon.
It wasn't for classes or training, but for conversation. The Ancient One would sit in the tea room, pour her a cup of tea, and listen to her speak.
Wanda didn't say much, but the Ancient One never rushed her. Sometimes they would sit together for an hour without saying a word, just drinking tea and looking at the snowy mountains outside the window.
But Wanda could feel that the Ancient One was teaching her how to find calm in her own way.
"Your power comes from your emotions," the Ancient One said.
"Anger, fear, sadness—they are your fuel, and they are your cage. You cannot be without them, but you cannot be controlled by them either."
Wanda held her teacup, head bowed.
"I have tried to control my emotions, but sometimes, they are too strong."
The Ancient One smiled gently. "There is no need to control them. Feel them. Let them come, let them go. You are not a slave to your emotions; you are the one who controls them."
Wanda looked up at the Ancient One.
The Ancient One's face held a faint smile. In those eyes, there was no pity, no instruction, only a calm, almost certain conviction.
"You will learn," the Ancient One said. "Not because I say you can, but because you are already on the path."
Wanda looked down at the tea in her cup. The tea was clear, reflecting her face.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The Ancient One shook her head. "No need to thank me. I merely gave you a mirror; what you see is your own doing."
Pietro would run in the mountains around Kamar-Taj every day.
His speed was so fast that the young sorcerers couldn't see him at all. They would only feel a gust of wind, and then Pietro would already be halfway up the mountain.
He would run from the foot of the mountain to the peak, from one peak to another, leaving deep footprints above the snow line, then return to the courtyard, panting, and say with a smile, "The air here is so good."
Once, Stephen Strange asked him, "Are you not tired?"
Pietro thought for a moment. "Tired, yes. But that kind of fatigue is different from the fatigue in the HYDRA Base. The fatigue there was a fatigue of the heart; the fatigue here is a physical one. When the body is tired, the heart is not."
Stephen Strange looked at his young face and fell silent.
He remembered when he had just fallen from the operating table; he, too, had used frantic work to numb himself. But later he discovered that work could not heal the wounds; it only made them deeper.
"Pietro," Stephen Strange said, "you are a smart man."
Pietro was stunned. "What?"
Stephen Strange did not explain, turned around, and continued practicing magic.
Pietro scratched his head, not understanding what this serious Doctor was talking about.
Days passed by like this.
Mavuika would occasionally go to the tea room to drink tea with the Ancient One, occasionally go to the courtyard to watch the young sorcerers practice, but most of the time, she sat in her room, eyes closed, feeling the pulse of the three forces within her.
The battle with the Dark Dimension had pushed her integration one step further.
They were like three rivers flowing into the sea; although they still occasionally kicked up waves, they now had a common direction.
She opened her eyes and looked out the window.
Sunlight spilled onto the snowy mountains, the snowy peaks appearing exceptionally pure against the backdrop of the blue sky. In the distant valley, a few eagles were circling, their wings gleaming with golden light in the sun.
This feeling was good—not the thrill of battle, but a quieter, more lasting satisfaction: being with friends, in a safe place, watching the sunlight shine on the snowy mountains.
A week later, the Ancient One summoned everyone to the tea room.
That afternoon, the sunlight was perfect, spilling through the bamboo curtains onto the wooden table, drawing streaks of gold. The Ancient One sat by the table with a cup of tea in front of her; the tea had gone cold, and she had not drunk it.
Stephen Strange and Mordo stood opposite her, both wearing Kamar-Taj robes, their expressions serious. Mavuika sat in the corner, holding a teacup, watching quietly.
Loki leaned against the window with his arms crossed, a faint smile on his lips. Wanda and Pietro stood at the doorway, not entering, but not leaving either.
The Ancient One spoke, her voice calm and clear.
"Today, I am stepping down from my duties as Sorcerer Supreme."
The tea room fell silent for a moment.
Stephen Strange's brows furrowed slightly. Mordo's expression did not change, but his clenched fists betrayed his inner turmoil.
The Ancient One continued, "I have guarded this World for hundreds of years. I have taught what needed to be taught, and I have done what needed to be done. Now, it is time to pass it on to the next generation."
She looked at Stephen Strange and Mordo.
"The next Sorcerer Supreme will be chosen from between the two of you."
Mordo spoke, his voice low. "Master, Stephen Strange has been learning magic for less than a year—"
The Ancient One raised her hand to interrupt him. "Time is not the only standard for measuring ability. Stephen Strange's Talents are clear for all to see. Mordo, your diligence and loyalty have also been seen by me."
She stood up and walked over to them.
"I will not appoint a successor. The two of you will compete."
Stephen Strange looked at the Ancient One. In his eyes, there was no retreat, only the coolness of a Doctor.
"Compete in what?"
The Ancient One's lips curved slightly. "In what you are best at: magic."