chapter 2

Chapter 2: The First Step

The streets of New York thrummed with life, but above them, in the quiet shadows of his sanctuary, Aldric sat in silence. The flickering of candlelight reflected off his sharp, calculating eyes. He wasn't one to rush into conflict without strategy, but the subtle stirrings in the universe could not be ignored any longer.

He could feel it in the air—a growing disturbance. A shift. His father's magic, while cleverly masked, was distinct to Aldric. Loki had always had a way with illusion, but Aldric's Almighty allowed him to pierce even the most complex veils.

Loki was coming to Earth, but for what purpose?

Aldric's fingers tapped lightly on the table before him, a thoughtful gesture as his mind raced. Centuries ago, when Loki abandoned him on Midgard, Aldric had promised himself he would never care for his father's fate. They were two beings with vastly different ambitions. But now, as the fabric of reality rippled with the stirrings of Asgardian power, Aldric found himself unable to ignore the pull.

His eyes shifted to the ancient blade resting beside him. Ryūjin Jakka. The sword hummed quietly, as if sensing the coming battle. Its raw, destructive power called to him, but Aldric knew better than to rely solely on brute strength. His intellect, much like that of Kisuke Urahara, always favored cunning over carnage. If Loki had returned, Aldric would not simply confront him head-on. He would wait, watch, and choose the precise moment to intervene.

Yet something felt off. The tremors of power were not just Loki's doing. There was something larger at play—a convergence of forces.

In his small, dimly lit shop, Aldric rose from his seat and waved his hand through the air. In an instant, the room filled with the soft glow of magic—arcane symbols appeared, flickering in hues of blue and violet. They floated, suspended, until he reached for one, his fingers curling around it.

The spell ignited, revealing the faintest image of Loki, standing atop what appeared to be Stark Tower, the Tesseract in hand. Aldric's lips curled into a knowing smile. So, the game begins, he thought.

But before Aldric could relish the moment, a sharp knock echoed through the shop's door.

He frowned. No one had ever dared come to his shop twice in one day—especially not uninvited.

With a flick of his wrist, the arcane symbols vanished, and Aldric made his way to the door, his steps unhurried. As the door creaked open, he found himself face-to-face with a tall man in his mid-30s, wearing an expensive coat but with a desperate look in his eyes. Aldric noticed the man's trembling hands, each movement jerky and awkward, as if his fingers were no longer his own.

"Are you Aldric?" the man asked, his voice hoarse, almost as if he'd been searching for answers for far too long.

Aldric's gaze narrowed slightly. He wasn't fond of being interrupted, but the man's magical potential—still dormant—faintly echoed around him. This was no ordinary visitor.

"I am. Who are you to seek me out?" Aldric's voice was measured, neither hostile nor welcoming.

The man swallowed hard before speaking. "My name is Stephen Strange. I—" he hesitated for a moment, clearly struggling to find the right words. "I was a surgeon. One of the best. But an accident destroyed my hands." He lifted them slightly, showing Aldric the scars and the subtle, painful tremors. "No doctor, no medical procedure has been able to fix them. I've spent my fortune looking for answers, and now... I've been told that you—can heal them."

Aldric's sharp eyes scanned Strange's hands, his expression inscrutable. He knew exactly who Stephen Strange was and the role this man would play in the fate of the world. But Aldric wasn't one to hand out solutions on a silver platter.

"You seek to restore what was lost," Aldric began slowly, stepping aside to allow Strange into the shop. "But you misunderstand the nature of your problem."

Strange blinked in confusion but stepped inside cautiously. "What do you mean?"

Aldric turned, leading him through the shop, past shelves of strange, ancient artifacts, until they reached a small sitting area. The room was bathed in warm light, contrasting the icy air of the outside world.

"You believe your hands are the key to your identity, to your purpose," Aldric said, his voice low but sharp. "But they are not. You seek healing, yet the path you've embarked on requires you to look beyond mere physical restoration."

Strange frowned, irritation crossing his face. "I didn't come here for a philosophical lecture. I came here because I was told you could help me."

Aldric chuckled softly, amused by Strange's bluntness. "You're impatient. A fatal flaw in someone of your potential."

"My potential?" Strange echoed, his irritation deepening.

Aldric nodded, stepping closer to Strange. "You don't need your hands to be a healer, Strange. You need something far more powerful." With a fluid motion, Aldric waved his hand, and a portal of shimmering blue magic appeared in the air, revealing a distant sanctuary atop a hill in the heart of New York.

Strange's eyes widened in disbelief. "What... what is that?"

Aldric smiled faintly. "That, Stephen, is where you will find your answers. The New York Sanctum. Within its walls, you will meet a master who can teach you to transcend your limitations, to harness magic far beyond anything you've ever imagined."

Strange stared at the portal, a mixture of awe and disbelief filling his gaze. "Why... why didn't you just tell me this from the start?"

Aldric's smile faded, his tone growing more serious. "Because you needed to understand that your journey is not about fixing what is broken. It's about accepting that your hands—your former life—are no longer your path. Magic is. Only then will you be able to see beyond the scars, beyond the pain."

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Strange seemed to be processing Aldric's words, his mind racing with questions and doubts. But deep down, something resonated with him. The cold reality that his old life as a surgeon was truly gone—and something new awaited him.

"Who... who will I meet there?" Strange asked finally.

Aldric's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if recalling an old memory. "The Ancient One. She and I once trained under the same master, long ago. She's... a powerful sorceress, one who can show you the way, but her teachings are not for the faint of heart."

Strange seemed hesitant but resolute. "And you? You won't help me?"

Aldric shook his head. "I've given you the first step. But my path is not yours, Strange. I walk a different road, one that doesn't concern you... for now."

Strange glanced at the portal, then back at Aldric. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

Aldric smirked, crossing his arms. "Few ever are. But the universe rarely waits for anyone to be ready. Either step forward or continue searching for something that doesn't exist."

Strange took a deep breath and, without another word, stepped through the portal, vanishing from Aldric's sight.

As the portal closed, Aldric turned back toward his desk. The game was moving forward, and the pieces were beginning to fall into place. Strange was on his way to fulfilling his destiny. But there was still the matter of Loki's impending arrival—and the Tesseract.

Aldric's thoughts briefly drifted to the Ancient One, their time together under the same master, and the diverging paths they had taken. He knew she would guide Strange well, but there were forces at play even beyond her control.

With a sigh, Aldric lifted Ryūjin Jakka once more, the blade humming with power. He would need to be ready. For when Loki arrived, Aldric's neutrality might not be enough to keep him out of the coming storm.

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