"I don't know," Wanda finally said, "but they are very strong."
Pietro nodded.
"That blonde one," Pietro said, "has absurdly great strength. I punched him several times, and he was completely unharmed."
Wanda glanced at him. "You hit him?"
Pietro shrugged. "It was a mission, but honestly, when I hit him, he didn't even dodge. It was like... my fists were just tickling him."
Wanda fell silent.
"And that black-haired one," Pietro continued, "when he uses magic, I feel... Wanda, your magic is a bit different from hers."
Wanda's fingers tightened slightly.
Her magic was indeed different.
After all, their abilities were not learned from books, nor were they trained through practice, but came from the Tesseract.
In HYDRA's experiments, the Tesseract activated their abilities, and they survived, but the cost of surviving was that they became HYDRA's weapons.
"Perhaps they are just like us," Wanda softly said, "having been modified?"
Pietro thought about it and shook his head. "It doesn't quite feel like it... Their eyes are different from ours."
Wanda looked at him. "What kind of eyes?"
Pietro weighed his words. "Back at the Base, those who were modified had very complicated emotions in their eyes—fear, anger, or emptiness. But not them; their eyes are very clear."
Wanda did not answer.
She watched Mavuika put down the watering can, walk out of the garden, and head towards the Villa along the flagstone path.
Moonlight shone upon him, illuminating the faint, warm smile on his face.
Wanda suddenly felt that she could temporarily lower her guard.
Just temporarily.
"Come in," Mavuika walked to the steps, looking at them, "it's cold outside."
Wanda nodded and turned to walk into the house.
Pietro followed behind her, turning back to give the garden one last look.
The lavender under the moonlight swayed gently in the wind, like a purple wave.
This place was indeed very beautiful.
In the living room, Thor was curled up on the sofa watching TV.
He was wearing a dark gray hoodie and black casual pants, sliding into a pair of slippers on his feet, looking entirely like any ordinary, idle young man.
He was holding a remote control in his hand, changing channels with a focused and serious expression, as if he were doing something of great importance.
Loki sat on the opposite single-person sofa, holding a glass of red wine in his hand while reading a book.
He was wearing a dark green shirt and black trousers, barefoot, with a posture as elegant as a painting.
His reading speed was very fast, flipping page by page, occasionally stopping to take a sip of wine before continuing to flip.
Wanda and Pietro walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa on the other side.
The two sat very close together, their shoulders almost touching—a habit they had developed back at the Base, back-to-back, looking out for each other.
Thor looked up at them and grinned, "Don't stand on ceremony. Big sis says you'll be staying for a while, so this is your home now."
Wanda didn't speak, and neither did Pietro.
Thor didn't mind and continued watching TV.
Loki put down his book and looked at Wanda and Pietro, those emerald-green eyes carrying a pensive gleam.
"You don't need to be so nervous. Big sis is a very gentle person; as long as you don't cause trouble, everything else is fine."
Pietro glanced at him. "We don't cause trouble."
Mavuika walked out of the kitchen, holding a plate of cut fruits—Apples, oranges, strawberries, and a few pieces of cantaloupe.
He placed the plate on the coffee table and sat down next to Thor.
"Have some fruit," he said, "dinner will still take a while."
Thor reached out and took a piece of cantaloupe, took a bite, and squinted his eyes in satisfaction.
"This melon is sweet."
Loki also took a strawberry, elegantly put it into his mouth, chewed twice, and nodded.
"It's indeed not bad."
Wanda looked at the plate of fruit without moving, and neither did Pietro.
Mavuika didn't rush them, simply picking up a piece of Apple and eating himself.
The living room fell silent for a moment, with only the sound coming from the television—a certain news channel was reporting on the daytime "military exercise" with vague wording that glossed over the key points.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s movements were fast, having already packaged the helicarrier incident into a "routine test".
Ordinary people wouldn't know the truth, nor should they know.
Pietro suddenly spoke up.
"Your... abilities," his tone was somewhat hesitant, "how did they come about?"
Thor turned his head to look at him, still chewing cantaloupe in his mouth. "What?"
"Abilities," Pietro repeated. "Strength, magic, and that kind of—Fire."
He looked at Mavuika. "How did you get them? Did you also do some experiments like HYDRA, injecting some kind of drugs?"
Thor froze for a moment, then shook his head.
"No," he said, putting down the melon in his hand and straightening his posture. "We were born with them."
Pietro's brows furrowed. "Born with them?"
Thor nodded. "We are Asgardian, born with divine power. My strength comes from my bloodline, from the heritage of my father, Odin, and from thousands of years of battle and tempering."
He stretched out his hand, and a weak electric light condensed in his palm, crackling and illuminating a corner of the living room.
"This is my power, not given to me by anyone, nor can anyone take it away."
Pietro looked at that cluster of electric light, his pupils contracting slightly.
It was his first time seeing Thor's power up close—not the violent, destructive lightning seen in battle, but compressed into a small, quiet cluster of light resembling a blue star.
"Asgard..." Pietro repeated the unfamiliar name.
"There are records of our stories on Earth, which you call Norse mythology." Loki took over the conversation, his tone as casual as if he were telling an ancient story.
"The realm of the gods, the home of the Æsir, one of the Nine Realms."
He put down his wine glass, his fingers gently tracing through the air, leaving a glowing trail of green magic light that fluttered in the air like a ribbon.
"Our abilities are not modified, but innate."
Wanda looked at that green strip of light, her eyes widening slightly.
She could feel that Loki's magic was completely different from hers.
Her Chaos Magic was wild, uncontrolled, like a Beast ready to break free from its reins at any moment.
And Loki's magic—precise, elegant, every fraction of power meticulously calculated without a trace of waste.
"Your magic..." Wanda began, her voice somewhat tight, "how did you learn it?"
Loki looked at her, a rare, nearly tender gleam flashing through those emerald-green eyes.
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