The Sorcerer Supreme did not use the Eye of Agamotto to rewind time and save Salomon.
That option was… controversial, to say the least.
Many at Kamar-Taj believed tampering with time was a violation of natural order. Stubborn, uncompromising, and not entirely wrong. Even the Ancient One had her reservations. Reversing Salomon's personal timeline might have undone something far more important.
His connection to the Vishanti.
So instead, she turned to white magic from the Book of the Vishanti and forced his body to heal the old-fashioned way, using his own life force as fuel.
That was why he woke up feeling like he'd been wrung dry.
Still, the results spoke for themselves.
A man who should have died from full-body burns had walked away intact. No scarring. No lingering pain. No endless recovery process like modern medicine would demand. No grafts. No agony.
When the Ancient One brought him back, his skin had been completely charred. Beneath it, the flesh had nearly cooked through. He had been seconds away from death.
What saved him wasn't just magic.
It was the fact that his body had already been strengthened by positive energy. Without that, even this method wouldn't have worked.
All he needed now was time.
A few days of rest, and he'd be back on his feet.
Even his long hair had grown back. Shorter than before, but still long enough to feel like himself again.
That alone made the whole ordeal worth it.
Because honestly, having hair the length of fingernails?
Unacceptable.
—
The first time Salomon was able to get out of bed and eat properly, he also got a look at what had been left behind.
His "old skin."
A brittle, blackened shell, like something peeled off a roasted chestnut.
That was exactly how the Ancient One had described it. She had quite literally peeled him out of it.
His new skin was… delicate.
Too delicate.
The calluses he'd built through training were gone. His face had reverted to something smooth and pale, almost annoyingly soft.
Which made him a target.
Every passing female sorcerer seemed compelled to stop and pinch his cheek.
At least twice.
Every time.
"…This is harassment," Salomon muttered, sitting at his desk.
He dipped his quill into ink and continued drawing a scroll across a sheet of parchment.
This whole disaster had taught him one thing very clearly.
He hadn't been prepared.
If he'd brought more scrolls, things wouldn't have spiraled so badly. If not for the two Protection from Good and Evil scrolls he happened to have on hand, both he and Wong would've been in serious trouble.
People possessed by malicious spirits rarely got a second chance.
They wouldn't have survived long enough for rescue.
The Ancient One had ordered him to rest for several more days before returning to normal training.
Zhang Wei, who taught Bajiquan, had taken one look at Salomon's current condition and immediately banned him from defensive training classes.
To this day, Zhang Wei remained convinced that Salomon's "attack by a dark sorcerer" was the result of poor defensive fundamentals.
Which meant—
Salomon had officially become the cautionary tale.
The excuse held up, though.
Aside from the Ancient One and Wong, no one knew the truth.
As for the "dark sorcerer"?
If the Ancient One had intervened, then whoever it was… no longer existed. Not even a soul left to send to hell.
Salomon set down his quill and raised his right hand.
Three rings.
A sapphire on his index finger.
An orange sapphire on his middle finger.
A pink diamond on his ring finger.
They looked pristine. No burn marks. No signs of the inferno they'd unleashed. Under the sunlight, the gemstones shimmered with quiet elegance.
To anyone else, they were just expensive jewelry.
Nothing magical about them.
No aura. No presence.
And yet—
They held the power of the Vishanti.
Salomon carefully tried to remove one.
It didn't budge.
He applied more force.
Nothing.
The rings had adjusted perfectly to his fingers… and now refused to leave.
He exhaled slowly.
"Yeah. Figures."
Like drunk freeloaders, they'd decided to stay.
From what he understood of occult contracts, this behavior meant one thing.
The deal was sealed.
He now had legitimate access to the Vishanti's power.
Whatever their reasoning, whatever their expectations… that part wasn't up to him anymore.
Compared to other practitioners at Kamar-Taj, his arrangement was unusually loose. The contract could, in theory, be broken at any time.
If he could take the rings off.
Which he couldn't.
So for now, refusal wasn't really an option.
Still, the benefits were undeniable.
Not only could he channel vast amounts of Vishanti magic, but he had also gained a preliminary level of control over his stigmata.
That alone was worth the trouble.
He let out a quiet breath, picked up his ruler and protractor, and went back to work.
For now, the best thing he could do—
Was prepare.
More scrolls.
More tools.
No more walking into disaster half-equipped.
—
What happened in Salem didn't go unnoticed.
Incidents like that never did.
Anomalies were the kind of thing certain organizations specialized in… and they had already arrived on-site.
The damage wasn't large enough to escalate to the World Security Council. Remote location. Limited spread.
Still, a senator had raised enough noise to get attention.
So S.H.I.E.L.D. sent someone experienced.
"Mutant? Terror attack? Or just bad luck?"
Agent Coulson, dressed in a black suit, took the tablet from his colleague. He skimmed the data, removed his sunglasses, then handed it back.
Around him, technicians continued scanning the scene.
"Anything else?"
"Nothing solid," Silvert said, shaking his bald head. "But according to Salem PD, Senator Ricky White was robbed that night. Someone used a flash device and took a ring from his finger. Pink gemstone."
He adjusted his glasses.
"We can't confirm whether the robbery is connected to the anomaly."
"No tinnitus," Coulson said, thinking out loud. "So not a standard concussion grenade. Possibly homemade."
He glanced toward the ruined site.
"Witnesses?"
"None. After the flash, the senator realized he'd been robbed. The only useful detail we got was bruising on his wrist."
Silvert tapped his tablet.
"We can estimate the attacker's build from that. But most of the people present were detained by local police. None match."
"The real culprit ran," Coulson said flatly. "And we're not here to chase a petty thief."
He stepped forward, pressing his shoe lightly against the asphalt.
Or what used to be asphalt.
It had melted.
Not randomly.
In a pattern.
Heat had spread outward in a perfect arc. The closer to the center, the more complete the liquefaction. At the very core, the ground had turned fluid before solidifying again.
To an experienced agent, this wasn't just damage.
It was evidence.
He pointed at the ground.
"There's a set of footprints leading into the center. We can reconstruct the subject's physical profile from that."
He paused.
"But there are no footprints leading out."
Silvert blinked.
"You're saying…"
"Either he didn't leave the way he came," Coulson said, "or he didn't walk out at all."
A beat.
"…You think he can fly?"
—
"Achoo!"
"Achoo!"
Far away, inside the Hong Kong Sanctum, Wong and Salomon sneezed at the exact same time.
Completely unaware—
That someone had just started connecting the dots.