Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel Comics either.
The Physics of a Soul
III. Magic
Bit by bit, piece by piece, the world was slowly but surely explained. The world was not flat - one couldn't simply fall off its edge. Prophets, self-proclaimed or not, would always be questioned. Gravity fixed things firmly in place - but those places weren't always permanent places. Scientists announced theories and laws that had no penalties. Arthur did his best to wrap his hand around it all. He did his best to keep up with something past his fascination for the weapons that were changing and advancing. He did his best to look up at the starry night sky and smile when he noticed it wasn't blaze with fire. Things could be explained now; the magic of the world had been lost.
There was no fated bond that drew Empire to colony time after time, again and again. There was nothing other than an apparent set of personal choices that so often put him and Francis at odds. There was nothing significant about the time of day one's baby was born and they could even turn that once sacred, wholesome ritual over to machines, medicine, and strangers to care for.
Arthur would like to say that the magic in the world was gone for him the moment he could bring himself to realize what he had done to that beloved portrait of his. But he knew that wasn't the case. Solemn, he approached the fire pit and picked the solid pieces of what he assumed used to be the thick wooden frame from the pile. Silent, he held them close to his chest.
But magic in the world still existed then. The once British Empire just failed to see it now. Younger nations would insist it was still possible. He would watch a certain bright-eyed young man wave his arms excitedly as he tried to explain yet another magic deprived formula and how it was getting applied elsewhere. The same young man would just as eagerly tug at his arm and force him onto his stomach in front of either of their televisions and turn on some mindless, brightly colored cartoon. On days when the young superpower had somehow forced his way into his London home, Arthur tended to keep his eyes down. He ignored the comments about how big and old his house was, he ignored how awesome it would look if the walls were slathered with posters of some Marvel Comic superhero, but most importantly, he ignored the aching desire to show that once great portrait off to someone.