KATHMANDU, NEPAL, WAS warm and smelled of muddy rainfall from the night before. It buzzed with electricity unfound in Sokovia—it reminded Wanda of the Big Apple, with the way people rushed around, yelling from all corners and the honking of cars and small mopeds zooming past.

It was a nice change of pace for the group. Pietro, of course, was already darting ahead, zipping past fruit vendors and narrowly avoiding a cow lazily strolling through the street. He was laughing as he called back, "Come on, Wanda! You'll never keep up at this rate!" Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at her lips.

Illyana Rasputin, always the calm and steady one, looked skeptical at the chaos of the streets. She muttered under her breath about finding a shortcut through Limbo if things got too hectic. Meanwhile, Aella Tempest looked entirely in her element, her sharp eyes scanning the busy crowds and her blonde curls bouncing as she strutted confidently. "This is my kind of place," she declared. "Chaotic, alive, and full of possibilities."

They spent their road trip making detours in odd places—Pietro insisted on racing a local bus to the next village, winning easily but getting scolded by Wanda for making a scene. Illyana found a quiet monastery tucked into the mountains and insisted they stop so she could meditate. Aella, on the other hand, charmed a group of locals into showing her the best street food in the city. Wanda tried her first bowl of warm, spicy momos and marvelled at how the flavours seemed to dance in her mouth.

They all shared moments of laughter and awe at the breathtaking views of Nepal's green hills and towering mountains. Pietro even convinced Wanda to use her chaos magic to create glowing orbs to guide their path when the roads got too dark. "See? A little Sokovian magic goes a long way," he teased.

They were tired but oddly rejuvenated when they reached the Sanctum. The journey had bonded them in unexpected ways. Standing before the intricate doorway, Wanda felt a mix of apprehension and excitement. Meeting the Ancient One would be the beginning of something transformative.

The massive doors of the Sanctum Sanctorum creaked open, and the group stepped inside, their expressions shifting from curiosity to awe. The air within was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense and old parchment. The Sanctum was unlike anything they'd seen before—ornate wooden banisters, glowing relics perched on shelves, and the distinct hum of magical energy that seemed to ripple through the very walls.

Wanda's eyes were drawn to the intricate patterns carved into the floor, which seemed to shift and shimmer if she stared too long. On the other hand, couldn't help but buzz around, his usual hyperactivity muted by his fascination. "Okay, I'll admit," he said, whistling low, "this is way cooler than I expected."

Aella tilted her head, watching the flicker of golden sparks forming a portal in the corner of the room. "They're really showing off now," she muttered.

Illyana remained silent, her piercing gaze fixed on the surroundings. She seemed to recognise the echoes of power, her Soulsword glinting faintly as though in response. "This place is alive," she murmured, half to herself.

Before they could explore further, a calm but commanding voice echoed from above. "You're here."

They all turned as the Ancient One descended the central staircase, her saffron yellow robes flowing as if carried by an unseen breeze. Her presence was serene but undeniable, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through each of them in turn.

"You've traveled far," she said, her tone carrying the weight of someone who had been expecting them for far longer than they could imagine. She smiled faintly at Wanda. "Come. Join me for tea."

The others hesitated, unsure whether to follow, but the Ancient One raised a hand to stop them. "This conversation is for Wanda. The rest of you are welcome to explore the Sanctum—just don't touch anything you don't understand." Her sharp gaze lingered on Pietro, who offered a sheepish grin and raised his hands in mock surrender.

Wanda followed the Ancient One into a quiet chamber, its walls lined with scrolls and shelves of glowing artifacts. A low table was set with a delicate tea set, steam rising from the cups in swirling patterns that seemed almost alive.

As Wanda sat, the Ancient One poured the tea with practised precision. "Nepal suits you," she said, handing Wanda a cup. "The chaos of the world outside resonates with the chaos within you. But here, you'll learn to make sense of it."

Wanda frowned, staring into the tea's golden surface. "You know why I'm here, then."

The Ancient One nodded. "I've known for some time. The magic you wield is unlike any other. It is not born of study or discipline but of something primal—something both beautiful and dangerous."

Wanda sipped the tea, her fingers tightening around the cup. "And can you help me control it?"

The Ancient One smiled enigmatically. "Control is an illusion, Wanda. But understanding? I can help you find it."

WHILE WANDA DISAPPEARED into the chamber with the Ancient One, Pietro, Illyana, and Aella exchanged looks. "Well," Pietro said, clapping his hands together. "Guess it's up to us to entertain ourselves. Anyone want to—"

"Touch something you're not supposed to?" a deep, smooth voice interrupted from behind them.

The group turned to see a tall man in dark robes standing at the edge of the staircase. His striking features were sharp, almost angular, and his piercing gaze made him look like he was sizing them up. His posture was calm, yet something about him felt... off, as though he carried more weight than he let on.

"Kaecilius," he introduced himself, his voice laced with both charm and authority. "The Ancient One has asked me to keep an eye on you while she... attends to your companion. It seems you've caught her attention."

Illyana's gaze narrowed. She could sense something beneath his composed exterior, but she said nothing, only offering a curt nod.

Pietro stepped forward, grinning. "So, you're like her assistant or something? Are we getting the VIP tour?"

Kaecilius's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "You could say that. Follow me."

They followed him through the winding halls of the Sanctum, each step revealing more wonders. Pietro darted ahead, pausing only to admire relics that glowed with faint light or hovered in midair. "This place is insane," he muttered. "It's like Hogwarts but cooler."

Kaecilius chuckled, though it was unclear if he found Pietro amusing or tiresome. "Every object you see here holds a story—some ancient, some dangerous. These are tools of great power, not toys." His gaze sharpened as it landed on Pietro. "I'd advise you to treat them with respect."

Illyana lingered behind the group; she could feel the hum of power in the air, a strange resonance that tugged at her own magic. "This place is more than a Sanctum," she said quietly. "It's a crossroads—a gateway to something greater."

Kaecilius turned to her, his expression unreadable. "You're perceptive," he said. "The Sanctum is a nexus point. It holds the barriers between dimensions in place, ensuring balance and order." His voice dropped slightly. "But balance is fragile. Order is not always just."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, the group exchanged uneasy glances.

"So," Pietro said, breaking the tension, "you're saying this place is basically holding the universe together. No pressure or anything."

Kaecilius smirked faintly. "Something like that." He gestured toward a nearby corridor. "Come. There's more to see."

As they continued, they passed a room with massive circular windows that opened to views of twisting, kaleidoscopic landscapes. Pietro whistled, and even Aella seemed momentarily speechless.

"What is that?" she asked.

Kaecilius stopped, his gaze fixed on the shifting scene. "The Mirror Dimension," he said and continued, "A place where reality can be bent and reshaped without consequence to the world outside. It is a tool for training... and for war."

Illyana's eyes narrowed, "And who decides when it's used for which?"

Kaecilius met her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, "That is the question, isn't it?"

WANDA HELD THE warm cup of tea in her hands, the steam curling up in faint golden tendrils, tickling her nose. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of energy that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Across from her, the Ancient One—no, Yao, as she had introduced herself—sat with a serene expression, her hands resting on the table as though the weight of the multiverse didn't bear down on her shoulders.

Yao tilted her head slightly, observing Wanda with those sharp, knowing eyes that seemed to see through layers of reality. "You've come far, Claire."

Wanda froze, her breath catching in her throat, and whispered a name she hadn't spoken aloud for a long time, "Claire?"

Yao gave a small, enigmatic smile as though she were privy to a secret Wanda didn't know. "You bear the body of Wanda Maximoff, but your essence, your consciousness—there is more to it, isn't there? Something not of this world."

Wanda's fingers tightened around the teacup. She hadn't told anyone—couldn't explain it to anyone—that she wasn't entirely her, "How... how do you know that?"

Yao leaned forward slightly, her gaze soft but piercing. "I've seen many things in my time, Claire. And you... you are a ripple in the natural order. A soul unbound, woven into a body you were never meant to inhabit."

Claire looked away, her grip tightening. "Wanda... she's gone. I didn't mean to take over. It just... happened. I didn't ask for this."

Yao's expression softened and said, "I know you didn't but the Mind Stone has a way of altering the fabric of reality. It saw you, Claire—your pain, your love, your connection to Wanda's story. It reached across dimensions and pulled you here, binding you to her."

Claire swallowed hard, the weight of the Ancient One's words settling over her. "So, what? I'm just stuck like this? Wandering around in a body that isn't mine?"

Yao set her teacup down gently. "Perhaps. But there is a way for you to find clarity."

Before Claire could ask what she meant, Yao extended her hand and lightly touched Wanda's forehead. A shimmering golden light engulfed her, and suddenly, Claire felt her consciousness pulled—as though she were being unravelled from the inside.

Claire blinked and found herself standing in a vast, golden void. The space shimmered with energy, and in front of her stood Wanda Maximoff. Not just the fragmented memories she'd carried, but Wanda, fully formed, her auburn hair glowing faintly in the ethereal light.

Wanda stared at her, a mix of confusion and recognition flickering in her eyes. "You..."

Claire hesitated, her heart pounding. "Wanda. I—I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I don't know how it happened. One minute I was dead and then the next I woke up as you."

Wanda stepped closer, studying Claire with an intensity that made her feel exposed. "You're... not from here. But you know me. You know everything about me."

Claire nodded. "I do. Where I'm from, your story—your life—it's known. People... people watched you. We watched you. And somehow something or someone brought me here. I don't know why."

Wanda's expression shifted, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. "And now you're living my life. Because I... I didn't survive."

Claire swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. If I could give it back to you, I would."

Wanda looked away, her hands curling into fists. "I don't blame you. But it's strange... I feel like I've been watching from somewhere deep inside. Like I'm still here. Just... not in control."

Claire's voice softened. "You are here. I feel you, Wanda. Every day. Your pain, your strength—it's all still a part of me. Of us."

The silence between them was heavy, the weight of two lives colliding in ways neither could fully understand.

Claire gasped as she found herself back in the room with Yao. The teacup in her hands trembled slightly, the warmth grounding her in reality. Her breath shuttered, and then pain spread through her head, and her view turned black.

The scene unfurled like a dark, distorted memory—a vision so vivid that it felt like one was standing in its very midst. A village nestled high in the Carpathian Mountains, the cold wind whipping through the trees as snow gently blanketed the Earth. Erik Lehnsherr, known then as Max Eisenhardt, stood beside his wife, Magda, their hands intertwined as they gazed upon their newborn daughter, Anya, swaddled in a small cradle. Life was simple then, despite the isolation of the mountain village. The peace was only broken by the occasional windstorm or the distant howls of wolves.

Yet, something in Erik was restless. His gaze often drifted beyond the horizon as though the world beyond the mountains held promises that this life of quiet solitude could never fulfil. It wasn't enough. For the sake of his family and for the sake of his own yearning, he sought out a man—Georg Odekirk, a forger known far and wide for his craft.

The vision shifted, showing Erik in a dimly lit workshop, the smell of metal and smoke heavy in the air. Odekirk, hunched over his workbench, hammered at a piece of iron, unaware of the gravity of the moment. Erik spoke, his voice sharp and urgent.

"Create a new identity for us. One that will allow us to blend in among Magda's people. One that will erase the past." His words were quiet but firm, a reflection of his growing desire to shed his former self.

"Max," Odekirk murmured, examining the papers in his hand. "A Sinte gypsy." He nodded as though the name were perfect, his eyes lingering on the man before him. "It will be done."

The vision flickered again, shifting to a bustling Soviet city—Vinnytsia. The buildings rose high above them, stark and imposing, as Erik led his family through the crowded streets. The cold, grey sky hung heavy, matching his mood. Life here was harsh, but it held opportunities for advancement, something Erik couldn't pass up. The contrast was jarring—the small mountain village had been peaceful, but Vinnytsia was alive with the noise of ambition, a place where Erik could rise above his past. But it came with a price.

A fire broke out one evening at the inn where Magda and Anya had been staying, the flames spreading faster than anyone could respond. Panic filled the streets, the mob outside growing restless, preventing Erik from reaching his daughter. She was trapped on the upper floors, screaming for him, her voice carried away by the inferno.

The vision twisted as Erik, driven by desperation and fear, felt something inside him crack. His powers erupted violently—an overwhelming surge of energy that he could not control. Lightning arced from his hands, destroying everything in its path, the heat of his power igniting the very air around him. The men holding him back were consumed in an instant, their bodies scorched and broken. The crowd was next. They scattered in terror, but it was too late. In a flash, the destruction spread across Vinnytsia, taking with it a part of Erik's humanity.

Magda screamed, her voice blending with the chaos as she witnessed the destruction and the death of their daughter. The vision slowed, the image of Magda's grief searing into the mind's eye. She stumbled back, her face pale with horror, her eyes wide with disbelief. She could hardly breathe, the reality of what had just transpired weighing down on her like a thousand stones.

Erik fell to his knees, shaking, his breath ragged as he realised what he had done. The power had consumed him, leaving only devastation in its wake.

But Magda was gone. She fled from him, from the man he had become. The image of her running into the wilderness, fleeing from the broken man she had once loved, was burned into the vision.

In the depths of the wilderness, Magda would give birth to twins, Pietro and Wanda, under the care of Bova Ayrshire on Wundagore Mountain. But the cold of the wilderness soon took her, and the world believed her dead—her heart broken by grief and fear, never to return to the man who had once been her husband.

The vision faded, leaving an aching emptiness in its wake, the weight of loss and betrayal hanging heavy in the air. The scene was gone, but the echoes of that night, of the decisions made and the paths taken, lingered as if the past would never truly let go.

Yao watched her calmly as she pushed the vision out of her mind, her hands folded in her lap. "Are you okay?"

Claire looked at her, her voice shaky. "Yes, I'm sorry." She brushed her curly auburn hair out of her view, ignoring the sheen of sweat on her forehead. "She's still... she's still here. Wanda. She's not gone. Not entirely. There was a...vision."

Yao nodded as though this was exactly what she'd expected. "I won't ask for the details of the vision, it seems personal but the Mind Stone's power is vast, and its influence on you both is... unique. You and Wanda are bound together now. Two souls, one body. It will not be easy, but perhaps you can find balance."

Claire exhaled shakily, her mind racing. "And if I can't?"

Yao's gaze turned piercing. "Then you will have to decide whose story this truly is: Wanda's, or Claire's. That choice, my dear, will shape everything to come."

Claire stared into the golden tea, her reflection rippling on its surface. For the first time, she truly felt the enormity of her situation—not just her own struggle but Wanda's as well.

And she had no idea what to do next.

Claire looked down, guilt and confusion swirling in her chest. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. But if I'm here... there has to be a reason, right? Something I'm supposed to do?"

Yao's expression softened. "There is always a reason, even if it isn't immediately clear. But I must caution you, Claire—your knowledge of the future is incomplete. It is an echo of what might be, not what must be. Your choices will shape the path ahead, not what you remember from the life you left behind."

Claire's gaze darted back to Yao, fear flickering in her eyes. "But what if I make the wrong choices? What if I mess everything up?"

Yao smiled faintly, her tone steady and reassuring. "The future is not set in stone, Claire. It is malleable, shaped by the will of those who walk its path. That is both its beauty and its danger."

Claire hesitated, then asked, "If you can see some of the future, why can't you tell me what to do? Why can't you see if I'll succeed?"

Yao's smile faded slightly, her gaze distant as she explained, "My vision ends before the conclusion of your journey. Because my time in this world is limited. I cannot see the end, only fragments of the choices that will lead to it. I know this much: the Mind Stone within you calls for reunion. The stones must come together. Whether that leads to salvation or destruction... I cannot say."

Claire's heart sank and murmured, "Because you die."

Yao's gaze sharpened, her expression unreadable. "Perhaps you've seen that truth, or perhaps you are more perceptive than most. Yes, my time is drawing to a close. But my death is not the point of this discussion. The choices you make are. The power you wield, Claire, is immense, but it is born of chaos and pain. Be wary of how you use it. Even the purest intentions can spiral into destruction."

Claire looked back at her tea, her reflection rippling in the golden liquid. "And the Time Stone? I could make sure we survive, we win. You know I'll need it sooner enough, the other stones demand to be reunited."

Yao's expression grew serious as she said, "The Time Stone is not a tool for correction, Claire. It is a force of nature, meant to be protected, not wielded for personal gain. Its power would only tempt you further into chaos. That path leads only to ruin."

Claire frowned and narrowed her eyes, "Strange uses it or rather will."

Yao sat back slightly, her expression calm but firm, "Because he must, though flawed and arrogant, he will learn humility through loss and purpose through necessity. He will become the Sorcerer Supreme, the wielder of the Time Stone, and the one who will defeat Dormammu—not you."

Wanda scoffed and replied, "I don't need an infinity stone, or infinite tries to defeat him."

"You might be strong Wanda but you have no control, no experience in fighting mythical threats. He's a being of pure darkness and destruction. He seeks to consume all realities, to make this world a part of his endless dominion. Stephen Strange will face him, and the Time Stone will grant him the means to prevail. Without it, Dormammu's victory is assured."

Claire's grip on the table tightened as she seethed, "And I'm just supposed to trust that? Walk away, knowing the stone is here, knowing what it could do for me—for everyone?"

Yao leaned forward, her voice stern, "Trust is not what I'm asking of you. I'm asking for restraint. The stones are dangerous, Claire. Each one exacts a price, and the cost is always more than you are prepared to pay. The Mind Stone has already marked you—hasn't it? It whispers to you even now, doesn't it?"

Claire's breath hitched. The hum of the Mind Stone's presence was a constant in her mind, both a comfort and a weight on her wrist, she couldn't escape.

Yao continued gently, "The Time Stone is no different. It will tempt you, promise you the power to undo pain, fix what's broken. But trust me, using it would bring only more grief. That is not your burden to bear."

"It is my burden to bear, I'm the one who was tasked bringing them together. I was brought here for a reason, and I will fulfill the stone's request and save this world," Wanda told Yao, moving the teacup out of the way and moving to stand. Yao watches her with a knowing look and sighs.

"Perhaps, I do not know what will happen but Strange will use the stone to defeat Doromarru and I will be gone. Then the choice will be yours and Strange's alone," Yao concedes, taking a sip of her tea, and Wanda could tell the conversation was over.

THE LATE AFTERNOON sun filtered through the ornate windows of the Sanctum, casting intricate patterns of light across the stone courtyard. Wanda, stepped into the open space, the words from her tea time with Yao still buzzing in her mind.

Her companions were scattered across the courtyard. Pietro leaned casually against a pillar, cracking jokes as Illyana and Aella explored the various magical artifacts on display. Aella cautiously inspected a glowing orb while Illyana twirled her Soulsword, its blade gleaming ominously in the light.

Wanda approached them, a small smile tugging at her lips. "So, what kind of trouble have you all been causing while I was gone?"

Pietro grinned and gossiped, "Define 'trouble.' Illyana almost opened a portal to... somewhere to throw someone in, and Aella scared some poor novice with her thunder powers. I've been a perfect angel, though."

Illyana smirked, resting the Soulsword on her shoulder. "It's not my fault this place is practically begging for experimentation."

"I didn't scare him that much," Aella muttered, though the faint flicker of electricity still danced along her fingertips.

Before Wanda could respond, a deep voice interrupted. "Ah, you must be Wanda Maximoff."

They turned to see a tall man stepping into the courtyard, his presence commanding yet oddly approachable. His sharp features and dark robes gave him an air of mystery, though his expression held a hint of warmth.

"This is Kaecilius," Yao announced as she entered behind him, her calm and measured steps contrasting with the hum of energy around her. "He will be another guide for you, Wanda. His knowledge of the mystical arts is unparalleled. He will teach you discipline, focus, and mastery of your abilities."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of the man, especially since she remembered he was in fact a villain. "Aother mentor?" She asked as Kaecilius offered a slight bow. "Only if you're willing to learn. Magic is not just about power—it's about control and understanding. And from what the Ancient One tells me, you have much to learn in both areas."

"I'll try to take that as a compliment," Wanda muttered, crossing her arms.

Yao smiled faintly before turning her attention to the others. Her gaze lingered on Illyana, her expression thoughtful. "Illyana Rasputin, your magic is... unique. Born of both light and darkness, forged in a realm few can survive. Limbo has marked you, but it has also gifted you with incredible strength. Your Soulsword is a reflection of your will, your very soul."

Illyana tilted her head, surprised by Yao's insight. "You know about Limbo?"

Yao's smile widened just slightly. "I know enough to see the potential you carry and the danger. Your journey is far from over, child. Be careful how you wield that blade. It will be both your weapon and your burden." Illyana frowned but nodded, gripping the hilt of her sword a little tighter.

Next, Yao's gaze shifted to Aella, who stood straighter under the Ancient One's scrutiny. "And you, Aella Tempest. A demigoddess, child of both the heavens and the Earth. Your lineage grants you power beyond measure, but it is your heart that defines you. Remember that your strength is not just in the storms you conjure but in the choices you make."

Aella blinked, the faint electricity around her fading as she processed Yao's words. "You... know who my father is?"

Yao inclined her head. "I do. And I know the weight of his expectations. But you are more than his legacy. You are your own storm, Aella. Never forget that."

Finally, Yao turned to Pietro, whose usual smirk faded into an expression of curiosity. "And you, Pietro Maximoff. Fast, reckless, brimming with energy."

Pietro shrugged in agreement,"That's me in a nutshell."

Yao's gaze sharpened a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Did you know that speed is not just a physical trait? It can also be a gateway to magic. Your connection to the world around you—your ability to sense and manipulate energy as you move through it—could make you an exceptional sorcerer, if you so choose."

Pietro's eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face. "Wait... you're saying I could be a wizard? Like, real magic?"

Kaecilius raised an eyebrow. "Magic requires discipline, patience—"

"Did you not hear the part where I'm already awesome?" Pietro interrupted, vibrating slightly in his excitement. "I'm in. Teach me the wizard stuff."

Yao chuckled softly. "Your enthusiasm is... promising. But the path of a sorcerer is not an easy one, Pietro. If you are serious, you will need to commit yourself fully."

Pietro gave an exaggerated salute. "Commitment is my middle name. Let's do this."

Wanda couldn't help but laugh, the tension from earlier easing slightly as she watched her brother's excitement.

Kaecilius sighed, muttering under his breath, "This should be interesting."

As the group began to disperse, Yao placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder, drawing her attention.

"Your companions are remarkable, each in their own way," Yao said softly. "They will be your strength, Wanda. But you must also find strength within yourself. Kaecilius will help guide you, but your journey is ultimately yours to walk."

Wanda nodded, glancing back at her friends. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of hope—a sense that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone in this fight as she thought.

LATER, WANDA WENT exploring through the windy hallways of the Sanctuary, her fingers grazing the worn edges of the brick buildings as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The air carried the scent of incense and old parchment, blending with the distant sound of wind blowing through the fauna growing around the temple. She wasn't entirely sure where she was, only that something had pulled her here, a thread of magic tugging at the corners of her consciousness.

As she turned a corner, Wanda's sharp eyes caught sight of a woman standing in the courtyard of what looked to be a small temple, the flickering candlelight illuminating the dark richness of her skin. She was tall and poised, wrapped in a deep burgundy robe embroidered with golden runes, her locs cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of obsidian strands.

The woman moved with the precision of a warrior, her hands tracing symbols into the air, leaving behind shimmering trails of golden energy. Wanda recognised it instantly—magic, powerful and controlled. She watched in fascination as the woman conjured a circular rune, the air humming with the sheer force of her abilities.

"You can come closer," the woman said, her voice smooth yet commanding. She didn't turn around, but Wanda knew she had been noticed the moment she arrived.

Wanda hesitated before stepping forward. "I wasn't trying to intrude," she said honestly, her Sokovian accent softer than usual.

"You weren't," the woman replied, finally facing her. Her eyes, warm yet piercing, studied Wanda carefully. "You were curious."

Wanda nodded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "That's one way to put it."

The woman inclined her head slightly. "I am Imani."

"Wanda."

"I know who you are," Imani's lips curved into a knowing smile as if she could see into the depths of Wanda's soul. "Your magic carries echoes of chaos."

Wanda stiffened, the instinct to guard herself kicking in. "And what does yours carry?"

Imani extended her hand, conjuring a small, delicate thread of golden energy that twisted and curled like a living thing. "Balance," she said simply. "At least, that's what I strive for."

Wanda took a step closer, drawn to the warmth of Imani's magic. "You're different," she observed, tilting her head. "I can feel it."

Imani nodded and told her, "I am Wakandan-born. I trained with the Dora Milaje until my path led me elsewhere."

Wanda's brow lifted in surprise, "You were a warrior?"

"I still am," Imani's gaze flickered with amusement and continued, "But my war is not fought with steel alone."

Wanda exhaled, intrigued, "And where did your path take you?"

"Kamar-Taj," Imani answered. "For the last eleven years, I have trained under the Masters of the Mystic Arts. Learning. Unlearning. Finding new ways to fight. New ways to protect."

Something was calming about her, Imani's presence reminded Wanda of the lessons she had been too afraid to seek out.

"You're still learning," Wanda noted, watching the golden rune dissipate between Imani's fingers.

"A warrior never stops learning," Imani's gaze held hers, steady and unwavering. "Neither should you."

Something in Wanda's chest tightened at the words. For so long, she had been running from herself, from the power that threatened to consume her. But Imani spoke as if she saw more in her—something worth refining and fighting for.

Wanda inhaled slowly before exhaling, nodding once, "Maybe... you can teach me a thing or two."

Imani's lips twitched into a smirk, "Maybe I can."

THE HALLS OF Kamar-Taj were quiet at night, bathed in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Outside, the wind whispered through the temple courtyards, carrying the scent of incense and aged stone. But within the quiet of Illyana's chambers, something was wrong.

Wanda stirred in her own bed, a prickle of magic crawling across her skin. Pietro slept comfortably beside her, arm covering his face as a drip of drool ran down his chin. A familiar pull—like a thread being yanked—drew her toward Illyana's room before she was fully awake. Her connection to magic had always been strange and unpredictable; now it was leading her somewhere without her consent.

Then she heard it.

A muffled cry.

Wanda didn't hesitate. She reached for the door, but the moment her fingertips brushed the wood, something pulled her—no, dragged her—downward. The world around her warped, reality twisting like a spiral.

And suddenly, she wasn't standing in Kamar-Taj anymore.

She was in Limbo—in Illyana's mind.

The sky above her burned in shades of deep crimson, like blood seeping into the heavens. Jagged mountains of black rock jutted out of the ground, casting eerie shadows over a twisted, hellish landscape. Fires roared in the distance, flickering across the ruins of a broken throne.

And at the centre of it all—Illyana.

She was curled on the ground, her hands tangled in her wild blonde hair, shaking violently. Shadows swarmed around her, taking the shape of writhing, clawed hands. They reached for her, whispering in a guttural language that Wanda didn't understand but could feel—voices full of torment, hatred, and fear.

You are ours.

You will never escape.

You are the Darkchilde.

Illyana gasped, her body jerking like she was being held down. Her Soulsword lay discarded a few feet away, flickering with dying light. She was fighting, but whatever she was trapped in—this nightmare, this memory—was suffocating her.

Wanda's heart clenched. Without thinking, she reached out, "Illyana!"

The moment Wanda's fingers brushed Illyana's shoulder, a surge of magic snapped between them. Crimson met gold, a collision of raw power, and suddenly—

Illyana's eyes flew open.

They weren't their usual piercing blue. They glowed with molten fire, a reflection of the demon-infested realm she had ruled for so long.

She lunged.

Wanda barely had time to react before Illyana tackled her, pinning her down in the scorched dirt. A growl rumbled from her throat, her hands wrapped around Wanda's neck, fingers trembling as if she was fighting herself.

"Illyana, it's me!" Wanda gasped, her hands covering the ones wrapped around her neck. For a moment, those glowing eyes flickered—confusion, recognition. Then, Illyana sucked in a breath, hands flying off Wanda's throat like she'd touched fire. She scrambled backward, shaking.

"You—" Illyana's voice was raw, her breath ragged. "You're in my head."

Wanda slowly sat up, rubbing her throat but nodding, "Yeah. Not on purpose."

Illyana clenched her jaw, looking away. She was still shaking, her chest rising and falling too fast. The shadows around them shifted, flickering like dying embers, but they hadn't vanished completely.

"I—" Illyana started, but the words wouldn't come.

Wanda softened. She'd seen this before—trauma buried under layers of strength and sarcasm. Illyana would never ask for comfort, but that didn't mean she didn't need it.

Carefully, Wanda reached out again, but this time, it was slower. "It's okay," she murmured. "You're okay."

Illyana tensed but didn't pull away when Wanda's fingers curled around her shoulder.

A breath.

A moment.

The shadows receded. The fires in Illyana's eyes dimmed, returning to blue. She swallowed hard, looking down at her hands like she wasn't sure they were hers.

Wanda squeezed her wrist gently. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Illyana let out a shaky laugh, though it held no humour. "I always do."

"Not anymore."

Something in Illyana's expression cracked—just a little. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. And then, before Wanda could say anything else, Illyana shifted closer, hesitantly resting her forehead against Wanda's shoulder. It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Wanda stayed still, letting her take whatever comfort she needed.

"I hate this place," Illyana muttered.

Wanda looked around at the broken throne, the jagged cliffs, the weight of a past that refused to let go.

"We'll leave together," Wanda said. "Whenever you're ready."

Illyana huffed softly, "That easy, huh?"

Wanda smirked and joked, "I have some experience with rewriting reality."

A beat of silence. Then, Illyana sighed, pulling back slightly just enough to meet Wanda's gaze, "...Thanks."

Wanda only nodded. Then with a flick of her fingers, red energy pulsed around them, and the nightmare faded—Limbo vanishing into darkness until the only thing left was the quiet of Kamar-Taj.

THE NEXT MORNING, the sun had barely begun to rise over Kamar-Taj, casting soft golden light over the temple's rooftops. The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of incense and old parchment. Most of the other students were still asleep, but Wanda found Illyana sitting alone in the courtyard, her Soulsword resting across her lap.

Wanda hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

Illyana scoffed without looking up, "Sleep and I aren't on good terms."

Wanda sat beside her on the stone steps, close enough to show she wasn't leaving but not enough to crowd her. Silence stretched between them, comfortable yet expectant.

Illyana's fingers trailed over the blade of her sword as if gathering her thoughts. "You saw my nightmares," she finally said, voice quiet but edged. "You saw Limbo."

Wanda nodded. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Illyana huffed a humourless laugh. "You're not the first person to see glimpses of it. But you're one of the few who haven't run away."

She turned her head slightly, studying Wanda as if weighing her next words. The moment stretched, then she exhaled, looking forward again.

"I was six when I was taken," Illyana began, voice steady but distant. "One minute, I was in my family's home, safe with my brothers. The next, I was in a place that should not exist."

Wanda listened, watching as Illyana's hands tightened around the hilt of her sword.

"Belasco—the ruler of Limbo—wanted me. Not just as a prisoner, but as his apprentice, his heir." Her jaw clenched. "He wanted to corrupt me, mold me into something monstrous."

Wanda's stomach twisted. "What did he do?"

Illyana's lips curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. "At first? He kept me in a cage."

Wanda's breath hitched, but she stayed silent, letting Illyana continue.

"I don't know how long I was there before I realised time didn't work the same in Limbo. Days, weeks, years—everything blurred together. I was a child when I arrived, but I didn't stay one for long." Her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeve. "I learned magic, fought for my survival. The demons there—Belasco's creatures—they treated me like prey, like property. I hated them."

A pause.

"I hated myself more," she admitted quietly. "Because part of me started to become what they wanted."

Wanda's heart ached at the admission, at the raw honesty in Illyana's voice. "But you fought back," she said softly.

Illyana nodded. "I had to. Or I would have been lost."

She shifted, running a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply. "I found allies. Some of the beings in Limbo weren't entirely loyal to Belasco. They helped me—trained me. I learned to wield the Soulsword, learned to control the magic inside me." Her eyes darkened. "But the more power I gained, the more of myself I lost. Limbo...it left marks on me."

She didn't elaborate, but Wanda understood. The magic, the demons, the title of Darkchilde—they weren't just scars. They were wounds still bleeding beneath the surface.

Illyana sighed. "Eventually, I killed Belasco. Took his throne. But ruling Limbo was never freedom—it was just another kind of cage. I didn't escape until I tore open a portal and stepped through. But by then, years had passed for me, and barely any time at all had passed here."

Wanda blinked. "So when you came back..."

"I was a different person," Illyana's voice was flat and controlled, but Wanda could hear the grief buried beneath it. The weight of something vast, something too big to be spoken aloud. "To everyone else, I had only been gone a few moments, but I had lived a lifetime." Her fingers flexed over the hilt of the Soulblade, a restless movement. "My family barely recognised me. I barely recognised myself. Then the Smiley Men took me. I traded one prison for another."

A tremor passed through her words, something almost imperceptible—but Wanda caught it. Talking about the Smiley Men had brought them to the surface. Belasco, Limbo, all of it—Illyana could compartmentalise those things. She had survived, mastered, and become stronger in their wake.

But the Smiley Men... they had left scars she could not bury.

Illyana had just begun to believe she was safe.

It had been months since she clawed her way out of Limbo since she escaped the realm that had stolen her childhood and twisted her into something more and less than human. She had expected relief and had thought returning to Earth would bring peace. But instead, she felt untethered, like a spectre drifting between realities.

The girl she had been before Limbo was gone, and the world no longer fit her the same way.

She had no time to adjust before the shadows came for her again.

It started with a soft, almost playful sound like a child's laughter in the dark. Illyana's pulse quickened. She turned, the Soulblade forming instinctively in her grip. The air around her was wrong, thick with something sickly sweet.

Then she saw them.

They stepped out of the darkness, one after another, identical faces stretched into grins too wide, teeth too white. A man who was many men, their bodies moving like puppets with strings cut loose.

"Little lost thing," one of them cooed.

"Escaped one prison only to find another," another finished.

She swung her blade, slicing through the first with a flare of eldritch light. He crumpled like paper—only for three more to rise from his shadow.

They surged toward her, multiplying faster than she could cut them down. The world tilted. A sharp sting at the back of her neck.

Darkness swallowed her whole.

Later, she woke to the hum of machinery.

Cold steel pressed against her back. Straps bound her wrists and ankles. The air smelled of antiseptic and something acrid, metallic—like blood burned into metal.

A voice droned in the background, clinical and detached. "Subject demonstrates extraordinary resilience. No signs of cellular degradation from exposure to interdimensional energies. Proceeding with neural mapping."

Illyana clenched her jaw as something cold pressed against her temple, sending a static-like tremor through her skull. Lights flickered behind her eyes.

Limbo called to her in the distance, but the room was lined with sigils and restraints that dulled her power.

"You don't belong here," a voice whispered close to her ear.

She twisted her head, but no one was there.

Then she saw them.

The Smiley Men, peering at her through the glass. Waiting.

Watching.

She had traded one hell for another. And this time, there was no Belasco to fight, no throne to seize. This was a different kind of torment that did not crave her power but sought to unmake her. Piece by piece.

She closed her eyes, steeling herself.

She had survived Limbo.

She would survive this, too.

And when she did, the ones who had taken her would learn—

Even hell could be burned to the ground.

Illyana snapped out of it as silence settled between them. Wanda let it linger, let Illyana have space after laying bare the weight of her past.

Finally, Illyana let out a dry chuckle. "So. That's my story. Told you it wasn't pretty."

Wanda shook her head. "It wasn't just ugly. It was survival."

Illyana turned to her, something unreadable in her expression. "And now you know what I am."

Wanda met her gaze, unwavering. "I know who you are."

For a long moment, Illyana just stared at her. Then, slowly, she let out a breath and leaned back, resting her sword across her knees.

"Thanks," she muttered, as if the word tasted foreign.

Wanda smiled slightly. "Anytime."

They sat there as the sun continued to rise, two souls haunted by the past but no longer alone in it.

—————-
We got some cute family fluff this chapter but it wont stay like that for long mwahahah. Any thoughts on what's gonna happen?

vote and comment x
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