Wow, it's been a minute, hasn't it?

To be honest, I was busy writing the very best version of this chapter before sending it out, just so I could avoid the fiasco update issues of the last few chapters.

But good news! I've got a new beta reader now! MJ is brilliant and generous with his feedback, as well as his friendship. I probably could've done this without him, but it wouldn't have been as good. ;)

Let me know what you think.

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

…

the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

…

I am the master of my fate

I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus; William Ernest Henley

April 14th, 2027

Stark Residence, Georgia

Isabelle's packing her bags when she feels a presence at the door.

"Gabe and Wong have finished the ritual to secure the lakehouse," Pepper says quietly, arms folded across her chest.

"Good. Now no one's going to be able to portal in - not even them."

"You think the Rider will return to try and finish the job?"

Isabelle instinctively rubs at her chest. The burns haven't manifested in the waking world, but she can still feel the phantom of that terribly cold fire.

Your soul is scorched, Wong had diagnosed.

The Rider, and by extension the Soul World, had removed the Eternal Eye's brand, only to replace it with one of their own. "He's not the type, but it doesn't hurt to have contingencies in place."

The sorcerers might be assured that Morgan will never again be a welcome wagon for malevolent dimensions, but enough complications have arisen since their return for Isabelle to be taking any chances.

In the silence that follows, Pepper's gaze lingers on her packed bags. She slips into the bathroom and emerges with a bag of toiletries. "Morgan's sleeping. It's better if you leave now. She'll have questions if you're here in the morning."

Isabelle's heart sinks. "She'll think I'm bailing again." Her voice is weak.

Time stands still as their eyes meet. Pepper's are like steel - have been since they'd returned from the Soul World, when she'd snatched Morgan away from Isabelle's arms. The sentiment had bled into the lakehouse, which feels cold and distant, as though it too wants her gone. "It'll be better for her in the long run."

Isabelle swallows, reaches for the bag with trembling hands. Her fingers brush Pepper's, who stiffens. A pulse jumps in her neck, and goosebumps break across her arms.

The now-habitual hint of distrust, of fear, is a blow to the chest. Isabelle looks away. "Gabe and Peter will make regular rounds. Happy and F.R.I.D.A.Y. are always on watch. Morgan will be safe."

Translation: you don't need me.

You certainly don't want me.

May 13th, 2027

B.A.R.F. Simulation

Only the wind moves in the town, dragging the salt-heavy air from the cliffs. Waves crash against the harbor, drowning out the cries of seagulls as they take to the night. The tower stands silhouetted against moonlit clouds, its red arched door the only spot of color in an otherwise monochrome setting.

The sound as it slams shut behind them echoes throughout the church.

"Senior year, high school," Collins explains quietly, " - I was failing history. Howard struck a deal with my professor; I could write a paper on my family background for extra credit."

"Let me guess," Daisy says, poking at the lit candelabras beneath the cracked staircase. Then yanks it away sharply - startled by the savage sting of what is technically only a memory of a flame pixelated around her finger. "It all started with Tønsberg, Norway. Where, at the height of World War 2, Red Skull discovered the Tesseract… housed in this very church." She smirks. "Clearly, I was better at hitting the books."

"But some things never made it to the books." Collins walks past a sarcophagus and heads straight for the mural on the back wall.

The wood panels have rotted, but the carvings remain mostly clear - a large tree, with a city nestled within a hollow in its canopy. Coiled amongst the knotted roots are a legion of snakes, somehow exuding menace.

The largest of them peers with a protruding eye. She presses the knob, and out slides a cubical compartment. "The mural was the only thing that survived that night's massacre. Survivors trickled in a few weeks later, found it still standing amidst the ruins. They rebuilt the church - and the village - around it."

"And when the Asgardians lost their homeworld, they chose the very place they left the Tesseract as their new home. Pretty sure that's not a coincidence." Daisy stares at the hollow cavity. "Why are you showing me this, Collins?"

"Because this is also where it all started… for me." Collins takes a deep breath. "This is where I went through Terrigenesis."

The simulation flickers, green pixels reforming into a rocky shoreline, with a steep cliff rising beside them. It's daytime, but the cloudy sky is awash in that specific shade of sick gray that precedes a storm.

Daisy senses motion beside her, turns, then sucks in an unnerved breath. It's Collins, but rendered almost painfully young, huddling into an overly large, fur-lined parka. Wet, stringy hair is plastered across her clammy skin as she stumbles her way across the slippery rocks. "Crap, there's two of you."

It's hard to reconcile the graceful, cold Inhuman with this awkward kid, whom Daisy can't quite bring herself to refer to as 'Collins'. For the first time, the mushy moniker of Izzy finally fits.

"By the time I arrived in Tønsberg, only one of the survivors was still alive." Collins - the older, realer one - is following her younger counterpart with an indefinable expression on her face. Her gait is certain, her hands tucked casually into the pockets of her threadbare jeans. "He held a drastically different point of view than the rest of the townsfolk - the credibility of which wasn't helped by his chronic daydrinking." She paused. "Something compelled me to hear him out, though."

"What did he say?" Daisy asks, falling in line.

"He claimed that the Red Skull didn't originally come for the Tesseract."

"What?"

"Schmidt was apparently looking into the local legends of a mystical site that could grant him, and I quote - 'the power of the gods - for a price.' Which led him to the Tesseract."

"What mystical site?"

"Supposedly a network of seaside caves. Legend has it that it never ends well for those who go looking for it."

Daisy slips, her arm momentarily phasing through the fractured basalt columns lining the shoreline. Her eyes catch on the lump in Collins' left pocket, straining outwards. As though her fingers can't help but reach for the water.

An instinct Daisy understands all too well, post-Soul World, even though for her, it's the other way around. "Oh, God."

"That's giving Them too much credit," Collins murmurs, pulling her up with a bruising grip.

The basalt columns abruptly disappear into a broad, dark opening. Water ripples against rock walls stained with salt. A crab scuttles at young Izzy's approach, darting into a crevice.

It doesn't take them long to find the still lake. Gravel makes the only sound, crunching beneath Izzy's feet as she walks in a daze. The ceiling is lined with the glow of Terrigen Crystals - once a familiar, comforting sight, now heavy with the weight of the fate that binds Daisy. "You really think Schmidt waded into the Water of Sights?"

Collins' toes curl into the sand, as though physically having to hold herself back against the allure of forbidden knowledge. "You know what I've been doing for the past month? Tracking down Clint Barton and Steve Rogers. The only ones to have been to Vormir, the homeworld of the Soul Stone, and lived to tell the tale. Apparently, it has a guardian - a specter trapped in a state of purgatory - warning all those who come looking."

"The Red Skull," Daisy breathes. "That was the price the Norns demanded. To be stuck as a Stonekeeper forever." A thought strikes her suddenly, and she takes a frantic step forward, fingers grasping for the collar of Izzy's parka before she can get too close. "You didn't…?"

"No," Collins says. "I was more fascinated with the petroglyphs and the blue stalactites."

Sure enough, Izzy flicks on a flashlight, swinging it between the rock walls and the ceiling, as though undecided. The carvings are faded after decades of weathering, but still comprehensible.

Rows of crude stick figures - each with a unique hieroglyph over their head - their hands joined in solidarity. They stand beneath a line of crystal clusters, and below them, is an engraving of a dark lake. "Inhumans," she whispers. "The symbols must be a representation of their abilities."

It's only because of the silence, and because she's been expecting it that Daisy hears it - the water suddenly lapping over the edges of the lake. It sloshes over Izzy's galoshes, who utters a muffled oath at the frigid wetness. Her flashlight swings wide, shattering a low-hanging crystal.

A thick mist surges down onto Izzy, making her stumble backward. In the dim light, she doesn't notice the black goo creeping upon her, paralyzing her until it's far too late. Daisy can only bear silent witness as her scream is cut short by the cocoon.

"I flooded the caves when I emerged from the chrysalis," Collins says softly. "The crystals disintegrated, and I was lost to the sea. They found me a couple of months later, beached on the northern shores of Denmark." Her tone is distant, remote - as though she's the observer of an experiment, nothing more. But for the first time, the mask is visible. "Took me this long to realize that neither Schmidt nor I made a choice to come here. Something was pulling our strings all along."

Daisy stares at the dreaded lake. "Collins," she says. "The Norns wanted me in the Soul World to tell me about the Destroyer of Worlds. Why did they want you?"

The Lighthouse

LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

"You made good time."

"I hardly have a lot of it to waste, Sergeant Barnes," Phil murmurs, constantly aware of the clock ticking in his head.

Its tempo has been gradually scaling down these past few months, from a frantic race to a menacing deadline. There have been moments where, against his deepest instincts, he's hastened the forward momentum of the clock, driving it towards its ultimate destination.

Because when that clock hits that final, deafening note, his raison d'etre will cease to exist. "Debrief me."

"Came across a mention of this floor when I was going through your Level 10 files," Barnes says as he strides through the rusted corridors. "A 90's mission report, marked resolved - but was still in your cold cases. At first, I thought it was manual error from when the hard copies were converted to digital."

Phil shakes his head. "Process was automated to a V.I. Which means the allocation was done before, deliberately. Someone wanted it to be found." His eyes dart from corner to dilapidated corner. "Wasn't this level flooded?"

"Yeah, and when I had it drained, I realized the flooding was intentional. Overkill, I figured; it was tagged inactive long before the Uprising." Barnes turns a sharp corner, shoves open a heavy, metal door. Its low, menacing groan echoes through the long corridors. "But it seems like HYDRA didn't get the memo."

The room is low, but wide, filled to the brim with tech from the 70's - analog computers, servers and the like - but dim and unresponsive. A condition, no doubt, due to the large scorch marks and bullet holes riddling the hardware. "I assume this isn't your handiwork," Phil says mildly.

"Would've waited till I'd extracted all the evidence. No, this was all my former handlers when Insight fell and they realized I was compromised."

"The Winter Soldier was involved?"

"Only tangentially." He brings up an omni-tool. "I was able to recover partial fragments of a series of mission logs, the last of which was dated 10th December, 1991."

Phil turns sharply. "But that's within the week of…!"

"Yeah." Barnes' lips are set in a thin line. Out of all the assassinations, it's the memory of his old friend that always brings out that haunted expression. "But like I said, tangentially."

An ancient, staticky video projects from the 'tool, filling the room with an eerie blue light. Almost like being at the bottom of a pool, he muses absently - with caustic patterns playing havoc on the walls of the bunker.

The man on the screen is faintly familiar. With a start, he recognizes Colonel Vasily Karpov, former overseer of the Winter Soldier Program. Phil's prosthetic provides the translation from Russian.

'Log 10.07.87: Against my advice, my superiors reached out to the mark. Results were as expected. Mark refuses to take the bait, is immune to bribes, and laughs at threats. We will attempt again.'

'Log 22.03.89: Mark is too careful to get caught in compromising situations, now that she knows someone is watching. She doesn't care to know who - secure in her birthright, despite her low clearance level. My suggestion to apply pressure to her only weakness - her family - was ignored.'

'Log 10.12.91: An unexpected development. Mark reached out without prompting, using the contact information we left. She agreed to our conditions in exchange for a favor. Favor works well for our cause - the recovery of information from the Lodestar is paramount.'

Phil stops breathing.

'In light of these events, the mission to secure the reduplicated serum has been fast-tracked to December 16th, 1991. I have been deployed to Siberia. The Winter Soldier has slept long enough.'

'What follows will further destabilize the mark and help us tighten our grip. I'm officially designating this mission a success.'

'Hail HYDRA.'

Kamar-Taj

A faint yellowish-orange haze lingers around the sturdy bookshelves, heaviest near the far end of the library. Smoke trails upwards from incense burners in lazy spirals. The whir of prosthetic legs is the loudest sound in a stillness that's usually only marred by hushed voices or the rustle of pages.

Gabe trails a light finger over the spines of the chained tomes. His body had not thanked him after the last time he'd taxed his magic. It's a miracle he's still upright.

And for all that, he still hasn't found a way to yank the Ghost Rider back to the world of the living.

A swish of fabric from behind him is the only indication he's no longer alone.

"Last time a sorcerer broke into Kamar-Taj's private collection," Master Wong says, his footfalls light upon the moldy floorboards, " - he suffered a fate worse than death."

"I'm not Kaecilius," Gabe says crossly.

"I was talking about Stephen Strange. He tampered with temporal probabilities more than once, with intentions far more altruistic than yours." Wong's eyes fall on the prosthetics. "Creating dimensional breaches is forbidden, Disciple Reyes."

Gabe rounds on him. "Well then, you'll be pleased to know that my attempts have not endangered reality. As it is, I'll only succeed in killing myself!"

Wong remains impassive at his outburst.

Slowly, Gabe feels the anger drain out of him, supplanted by premature grief. Robbie is trapped in magical stasis, his body unable to sustain itself without the Rider's possession. He runs trembling fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the knots. "Sorcerers channel magic from dimensions. The Soul World is one. But I can't even feel it."

"And you won't ever be able to. The Soul World remains the one dimension no sorcerer can draw upon. Every time you try, you just expend energy from your own soul."

"Then how did we know that it even exists?!"

There's a long silence. Then, reluctantly, Wong walks over to the far end of the collection and tugs out a yellowed, rolled-up parchment from a stack of scrolls. "Throughout the history of the Mystic Arts, there's only ever been one sorcerer who managed to enter the Soul World. The Mighty Agamotto himself - and he was never heard from again."

Gabe scoffs. He's heard the stories during the Decimation. "Conjecture, based on rumors of the research he was doing just before he disappeared."

"And yet, in hindsight, a single line from his treatise on the subject stands out." He hands over the scroll.

Gabe unrolls it. Sanskrit characters leap at him, inked in black but for the last line - which blazes in bold, brilliant red. The handwriting is uneven, as though scrawled by a child just learning to write. "'The Soul World lays bare the souls of the living.'"

The first Sorcerer Supreme has always been somewhat of a mythical figure. There are many works by him in Kamar-Taj, but very little on him. There are no second-hand accounts of sorcerers who knew him, worked under him, admired him.

And yet, Gabe can honestly say he's avoided thinking too much of the legend. He's still resentful that Agamotto had been the one to find and bring the Eternal Eye into the heart of the Sanctums, despite knowing the danger lurking behind the artifact.

But now, right here…this isn't something he can ignore. "Lays bare," he repeats. "Like how it stripped Izzy of her powers, reducing her to a raw human, while overwhelming Daisy's abilities past the point of her control. Crippling them, leaving them vulnerable."

"Similar to what the Stone did to those who called out to it on Vormir," Wong says quietly. "I don't want you to know the price that sacrifice enacts."

"But Robbie…!"

"The Ghost Rider isn't capable of spite. He will return when it's time." Wong moves to the exit, then pauses at the doorway. "Let the realm rest, Reyes. Let the Stones rest."

Systems Alliance Academy (Formerly S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy)

LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

Isabelle's fingers trail across the cafeteria table, coming away grainy and rough with salt granules.

She hasn't stepped foot into this building since her graduation.

Back then, the cafeteria had been the only nexus between Comms, Ops and SciTech. Post-Uprising, the three Academies were overhauled to better reflect Coulson's leadership - cooperation rather than competition - with even more communal spaces.

She's startled back into reality as a hard plastic tray slams down on the table. "Sustenance," Johnson says, taking a seat.

"Did you order the whole menu?" Isabelle asks, bewildered. The tray is piled high with hot dogs, hamburgers, a basket of fries, even pizza slices.

"Not the salads," Johnson says, slurping from a pop can. "Figured we're gonna need a load of junk food for the upcoming conversation."

Isabelle's nostalgia sours. She reaches for an espresso. In between hot mouthfuls, she recounts the nonsensical images she'd been bombarded with upon her exit from the Soul World. "It felt like I was seeing someone's… memories of the future," she concludes. "If that makes any sense."

"As though it's happened before? And it will happen again?"

"Yeah."

Johnson steals a fry, her black-polished nails slick with grease. "Prophecies always suck when they come around."

"If. I'm not ready to admit defeat just yet, Agent Johnson."

"Words to live by," a familiar voice says from behind her. Peter Parker drops into the chair beside her, his hair windswept - he must've been swinging across the campus. "And die by, I suppose."

Isabelle holds out the glasses. Her original motive for borrowing E.D.I.T.H. had been to simulate the vision. But the environment had just fizzled into static. Apparently, those memories hadn't taken physical root in her mind.

Or the Norns hadn't meant those images to be witnessed by anyone else.

"New Asgard is a strange place for a trip down memory lane," Peter says. "Didn't realize you'd been."

Isabelle had chosen a disused room for the simulation. The walls had been thick enough to prevent even Enhanced hearing. Her face goes dark with anger as she glances at the lines of code on his open omni-screen. "You hacked into my hippocampus?"

"Didn't have to," he shrugs. "The drones have an advanced tracking algorithm. They automatically pinged the coordinates of your B.A.R.F. sim."

Dealing with geniuses is exhausting.

"Weren't you prepping for your valedictorian address?" Johnson asks.

"Already have it memorized." He nods towards the auditorium down the corridor past the exit. "Does this have something to do with the upcoming guest lecture?"

Isabelle is suddenly startled to realize that, even seated, it's apparent he's now taller than her. At least an inch. When did that happen?

The Academy had burned away the last of the baby fat that had been so incongruous on Spider-Man. What's left is hard, muscular lines and stubborn determination intent on ferreting out all her secrets.

She'd been that desperate once.

Newly awakened from Terrigenesis, Isabelle's teenage mind had considered enrollment into the Academy as evidence of her parents' rejection of her change, no matter how much Maria had tried to convince her otherwise. Feeling lost and abandoned, her body forced into a grueling training regimen, this cafeteria had become her only refuge.

Because this building was where she'd met Phil Coulson for the very first time.

He was the only one who had never been deterred by her destructive, untrained abilities. With greater patience than any young adult should possess, he'd worn down her defenses and firmly established himself as one of her best friends before she even knew what the concept was.

But she won't inflict that loss of trust in a parental figure on Peter. A scathing response leaps to her mouth - designed to repel his curiosity - but before it can escape, a memory flashes through her mind.

Commander Shepard, crouching beside Morgan. Getting through to her where Isabelle's cruelty had failed.

That moment had felt so very wrong, and yet so very right. Isabelle exhales quietly and tries. "Look, Parker. I'm grateful for all your help, with E.D.I.T.H. and with the Rider. I really am. But this doesn't concern you. Walk away."

Johnson shoots her a look which she ignores.

He bristles. "Thanos killed me too," he points out curtly, as though she needs the reminder. "The only reason you knew to get help for Morgan is because I backed up your claim. I think that entitles me to the same answers."

"If that were true, the Soul World would've summoned you too. Be grateful."

A bell rings just then, blaring through the hallways. Shoes squeak on the floor as excited students exit from the auditorium, beelining for the cafeteria.

"You know, Izzy," he bites out as he snaps to his feet, glaring at her. The pads of his fingers are white around E.D.I.T.H.'s case. "I get now why everyone says you don't make it easy to trust you."

He stalks off towards the exit, roughly jostling his way through the incoming crowd.

"You heard what Tony said," Johnson says finally. "Time is a circle. If Peter's meant to know, there's not a thing you can do to stop it."

"Yes, well," Isabelle rises and grabs her things. "I've recently found I don't always agree with my brother. Besides, would you've done it differently?"

The conversation is supposed to be about Peter, but it also feels like it's about something far bigger. Johnson hesitates, her gaze going inwards, as though she's looking at an old, troubled memory.

"Daisy…," she trails away when her companion twitches.

It's the first time Isabelle has called her by her given name. "Who would we even be if we didn't even try?"

In the dark, the auditorium is like any other. Tiered seating, acoustic panels on the walls, a teaching platform with a holographic projector. The shadows swallow them whole as they move through the hall silently, unobserved until they're at their target's elbow.

The man looks over his shoulder and utters a startled, unfamiliar oath. Recognition strikes, and he jabs a thick, angry finger towards them. "I'm not getting ambushed into another one of Coulson's hair-brained schemes!" Erik Selvig says, scowling.

"Brazen of you, then," Isabelle murmurs, " - to return to S.H.I.E.L.D. after you ghosted him all these years."

"There's no S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore! You have no jurisdiction here!"

Beside her, Daisy flinches, looking as pale as she had when they'd first spotted the plaque on the grassy lawns outside, with the words 'Systems Alliance Academy' in glossy black. "Exactly," she says with difficulty. "You don't have to worry about getting tossed around by scientific anomalies."

"Yes! With the Alliance, my interest in science can stay purely theoretical… and safe!"

"What about your interest in mythology?"

Selvig falls into silent speculation. "The appeal of Norse legends always peaks whenever Asgardians pop on the nightly news," he says finally. "First time someone's come to me about it, though."

Isabelle pounces. "We need cultural context. S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel file states that your birthplace was Tønsberg, Norway."

His expression turns guarded. "So?"

"Dr. Selvig," Johnson steps forward. "We aren't here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. We wish to talk to you about the Water of Sights."

"Tell me you weren't foolish enough to walk into that lake!" Selvig bursts out almost before Johnson has closed the office door behind them.

"Not that one, at any rate," Isabelle drawls as they sit on the uncomfortable furniture. The office and accompanying quarters are reserved for the guest lecturers, she remembers. Simply decorated, with no personal touches.

They tell him the whole story. By unspoken consent, they don't mention the involvement of Terrigen crystals.

"The true Water of Sights," Selvig says, his voice hushed. "Thor claimed that only reflections exist in mortal realms, because we progress in linear time. Not nearly as potent… or as treacherous."

"Dr. Selvig, why is the Soul World populated by dead Asgardians?"

"Because they know it by another name. An older name." He sighs a shuddering breath. "Valhalla. A paradise for those who died in battle."

"Didn't seem much like one," Johnson grumbles.

"I wasn't sure until you confirmed the resemblance to Asgard, with few differences. Valhallan legends speak of Sessrúmnir, a name given simultaneously to a longship as well as the halls of a golden palace. In front of its doors stands Glasislundr, a grove with red-golden foliage. And finally, the golden Gjallarbru or the Gjöll's Bridge, connecting the world of the living with the world of the dead." He sighs. "Valhalla as an afterlife is said to be a reflection of life."

"Until Thanos reduced it to a stockpile of random souls. Why didn't the rest of the Asgardians ride out with those who got Blipped?"

"And therein lies the rub," he says, jabbing the air with a pen. "Prophecy states that the fallen warriors will only burst through the gates of Valhalla at the onset of Ragnarök, to defeat the forces of darkness. But Ragnarök has already happened. Asgard is lost, its people only just rebuilding. Then why are those souls still trapped?"

Because they're being kept in reserve, Isabelle doesn't say. Beside her, Johnson is stiff, no doubt recalling the same memory - Wong, post-Svartálfheim, his face grave as he makes a dreadful pronouncement.

Ragnarök isn't the end of Asgard, Collins. It's the end of everything.

"We Earthlings have a rather fancy translation for the word, you know," Selvig continues. "'Twilight of the gods'."

Isabelle exhales loudly. Twilight. A purple malevolence, gobbling down a dusk-orange sky. An apt, if flowery description for Dormammu, capable of consuming even gods. She can't imagine the Asgardian survivors' fate - witnessing the cold corpse of one's homeworld floating in an unnamed void.

But there are always worse ways to go.

June 23rd, 2027

New York Sanctum

Peter swings onto Bleecker Street, landing on the Mansard roof lightly. His eyes sweep across the block, assessing for threats. When he finds none, he curves his body backwards, peering through the circular skylight into the interior.

Almost immediately, the four swooping lines start rotating within the frame, overlapping faster and faster in an unnerving emulation of the Eye of Agamotto. The lead divider bars framing the glasswork peel back to reveal an opening in the middle. Peter flips through it and ducks down on the landing.

The Sanctum, as always, is dimly lit, highlighting artifacts scattered around the floor below, and accentuating the shadows in the corners. Peter had always privately believed that along with magic, the students were also schooled in melodrama, which accounted for how they always managed to time their entrances.

Case in point: the shimmer over his shoulder.

A small crack appears in the air, dividing it like the shards of a mirror. It grows larger, until the region seems splintered and broken, reflecting strange colors and sights. A sorcerer shoves his way through the shattered air, pausing when he's half-in, half-out of whatever dimension he'd decided to explore this week.

"You know we have a door, right?" Gabriel Reyes asks. The moonlight hits him at a slanted angle, illuminating the custom style of the Disciple rank of sorcerers, dyed metallic blue and muted gold.

"Force of habit," Peter replies. "I break into most buildings because the residents don't really want me ringing the bell. How does this work anyway?" He gestures towards the skylight. "Some kind of mystical biometric system?"

Gabe hums noncommittally. "How's Morgan?"

Peter sighs, leans against the cold stone walls. The trip wasn't planned, but he's glad he made it. He's been restless since graduation, and the Sanctum softens the noise of Manhattan, giving his enhanced senses some much needed relief. "Still doesn't remember a thing. Not about the Soul World, not even about the window she was knocking on. Last memory she has is of drowning. Doesn't even know how she got into the lake."

"Good. We live in a world where the past haunts even those who weren't victims to it. I'm glad she's broken that cycle." Gabe looks terrible - pronounced bags under his eyes, as though drained of all strength.

"Still no change, then?"

Gabe shakes his head. "Tried something new this time," he gestures to his disembodied self. "The Rider went to the Soul World through the Astral Plane. I figured the dimensional barriers between the two would be thin enough for me to feel him. But there's nothing. Not since the anchor was dissolved."

Peter stays quiet.

Gabe sighs. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound bitter."

"You have every right to be. You sacrificed your family to save mine. Nobody else has bothered acknowledging it," he mutters, turning back to the skylight. It offers a far more majestic view of the sleeping borough than its height from the ground would imply. Beyond the throng of skyscrapers, the Hudson shines and ripples under the star-studded ultramarine night. "I'm guessing Wong was no help."

"He thinks every sorcerer who disrupts the status quo is headed down a dark path."

Peter nods. His insides are churning with heat. "They forget sometimes that we aren't kids anymore. They keep us around only as long as they need to, but refuse to give us details, for 'our own protection'."

"When we haven't needed their protection for a long time."

"Exactly. Because when we did… they weren't there." Peter runs fingers through his hair roughly. "I'm always the last one to be looped in. Part of it is my fault; I set up a precedent. With Ebony Maw, I leaped before I looked, and I died for that mistake. With the Battle of Earth, I lost a whole lot more." He punches the stone wall hard enough to crack it. "I'm so sick of losing!"

His hoarse shout rings throughout the Sanctum. His chest is heaving, and there's an angry prickling behind his eyes.

In the following silence, Gabe's eyes shine with empathy. "What do you wanna know, Peter?"

Peter's gratitude is almost overwhelming. "Why did Izzy and Agent Johnson dream about the Soul World, while I never did?"

Gabe takes a minute to gather his thoughts. "That answer lies with the Soul Stone. They were touched by it, and it chose them to bear its remnants. It's not just them. Around the universe, each Stone has left something of itself behind. Jane Foster for the Aether, Erik Selvig for the Mind."

"Is it just people?"

"No. They could be anything - weapons, technology, mystical artifacts. But the Stones were born at the dawn of time. Thanos almost died using them. That kind of power, even diluted, will burn through anything not strong enough to contain them. The Stones would've had to be very careful in their choices." Gabe shrugs. "Inhumans were designed to withstand a lot of punishment."

"That should narrow our options considerably. But the Stones were destroyed. Why do we keep sensing their presence?"

"Maybe it was a last ditch attempt to stave off their own extinction? Or maybe…"

The truth arrives with a rush of comprehension. "It's an order…," Peter breathes, " - to Avenge them."

The Peak

Despite his secretive, paranoid personality, Fury has always kept his offices spacious and well-lit, with an outstanding view that allows him to keep an eye out for threats.

That hasn't changed, Phil reflects as he gazes upon the gentle, blue curve of the Earth. Floor-to-ceiling length windows, rendered shatterproof with a transparent oxide and nanofiber compound standing in for glass. Onboard spaceships, the material would break the vast sea of outer space into a breathtaking fusion of deeper, richer hues.

But here, space remains stark black, empty but for pinpricks of light from distant celestial objects. An infinity that would make anyone feel small - but now laid bare under Fury's scrutiny.

"I don't know about this," Fury exclaims, throwing up his hands. Holograms flicker around him. "How do I not know about this?! I had both eyes in '91!"

Lately, Phil's exhaustion feels permanently welded to his bones. "Turns out Peggy Carter was even better than you at keeping secrets. The mission report was never filed - because as far as the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. was concerned, it never happened. She buried the report, encrypting the redaction to the biometrics of two agents."

"You… and Isabelle Collins."

"I'm guessing you have hers on file."

Fury's fingers swipe across a series of holograms. The censor peels away to reveal large chunks of text. There's one word that's repeated frequently, standing out from all the rest, not least because it's highlighted. "So. What's Lodestar?"

"An unofficial op. Carter briefed me personally."

Fury raises his brow.

Phil knows what he's thinking - the founder and then-Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing a then-Level-4 agent? "I was sent to destroy highly sensitive information before it could land in the wrong hands. Things didn't go as planned. I was trapped - no backup, no way out. It was bad, boss - bad enough that I knew S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't have bothered extracting me even if they'd known about it."

"I remember this part," Fury says, snapping his fingers. "Collins came to me, out of her mind with worry. You'd disappeared, but it was your annual leave so I didn't pay much attention. She must've gone behind my back, reached out to people who knew a lot more about what was really going on behind the scenes. People like Alexander Pierce."

"I don't think she knew at the time what she was getting herself into. She told me later that her contact wasn't S.H.I.E.L.D., and that, for a price, they could get her to me. And they did, and she fished me out."

"So," Fury says, running a hand down his face. "Collins joined HYDRA to save you."

"And lost everything that mattered to her in the process."

There's a moment of silence. "Bury this. And destroy that level in the Lighthouse. She doesn't need to know that she might have advanced the assassination of her parents."

"I think on some level, she already knows." He doesn't quite manage to suppress the melancholy in his voice.

Fury, who'd been archiving his copy of the Lodestar reports into a highly encrypted black hole of a server, pauses. "You didn't come here just to tell me this, did you?"

"Willing to brainstorm retirement plans?" Phil asks bitterly. "Because my mind is blank."

Fury cocks his head, looking at him thoughtfully. "You know, Coulson: you've made a lot of decisions that I haven't really gotten, but this one really takes the cake. Tell me: why does a move as brilliant and brave as dissolving S.H.I.E.L.D. into the Alliance requires your resignation?"

Phil takes a moment to answer. "I was barely out of high school when S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited me," he murmurs. "Never regretted it, never had reason to look back. Even when we took hits, we sprung back. But now, without S.H.I.E.L.D…" His throat tightens with the weight of loss. "I've got nothing. I am nothing."

"What the hell are you jabbering about?"

"Excuse me?"

"Looks like it's back to basics for you, soldier," Fury snaps. "You've been top dog for too long, forgotten what we do here!"

"I never…!"

"Really?" Fury springs up, his abrupt motion scattering the datapads on his desk to the floor. His good eye glints, and his trench coat billows angrily in an non-existent wind. "You wanna know what I call this? Wasting my goddamn time! But hell, I've worked with less. So perk up your ears, rookie, cuz you better not be needing to hear these pearls of wisdom ever again: there was an idea, to bring together a group of remarkable people - "

Phil suppresses a sigh. "- and see if they could become something more… yeah, I've heard your Avengers spiel before, boss. You practiced it on me!"

"Yeah, but I never said it was my idea."

"… what?"

"I'm a risk-taker, Coulson, but you really think I'd have brought those nuts together if there wasn't a successful precedent?"

"Then who…?" The answer comes to him with blinding certainty as his eyes fall on the snapshot of the Lodestar mission's handler. "Oh."

"Yeah. Carter was a better Director than me in a lot of ways. And she knew what it took to keep the world safe." Fury shakes his head, walks over to stare out of the windows. "S.H.I.E.L.D. was never an organization. It was an idea. Brought to fruition by the people who believed in it."

"And now it's dead! Because I helped it along!"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't gone, Phil… it's just become a part of something bigger. You know my stance on that."

Phil's heart stutters as he recalls Fury's famous speech. "'A person can do anything once they realize they're a part of something bigger.'" It's a lesson he's had to relearn more than once over the years.

There's a long, thick pause as he digests all that. "Thank you, sir."

Fury makes a disgusted sound. "Get lost, Coulson."

Stark Mansion

The sweat cools on their naked, entwined bodies. They clutch at each other with desperation tinged with spent desire.

"You didn't have to wait till the last minute," Isabelle murmurs, running fingers down Rhodey's forearm, before curling them gently around the wedding band on his finger. Her own hangs from her neck, and is pressed between their chests, echoing with their out-of-sync heartbeats. "If you'd come earlier, we could've had more time…"

"To prolong the inevitable?" Rhodey asks. "Or maybe to convince me otherwise?"

"I wouldn't have tried to do that. Not after… not after Morgan." There's a painful lump in her throat - she had choked on a different name. It would've even fixed this - the distance between Isabelle and her husband, as they drift further and further away from each other until neither can see the other anymore.

It's not about trust. Just like with Peter, she won't taint Rhodey's memory of his best friend.

"I took some time off from Arcturus," he murmurs, " - claimed a family emergency. Of course, by the time I found out about it, the emergency had already been dealt with. Spent a few weeks at Pepper's, coming to terms with the fact that I've become a courtesy call."

"Morgan was dying, and we were running out of time. There was nothing you could've done."

"She is my niece too, Izzy. I was there when she was born. I was there when she took her first steps, when she spoke her first words. In a universe cracked in half, she was the only beacon of hope." He exhales a shaky breath. "While for you, she's only ever been a reminder of what you lost."

There's a long, pregnant pause. "No, Jim," she says finally, meeting his gaze. "You were."

Their hearts have been crumbling for a long time now, but she feels the moment his finally shatters; the shards twisting into the same hollow, soulless organ that beats sluggishly in her own chest because it doesn't know when to just quit.

"Morgan…," she croaks with difficulty. " - was the push I needed to let go."

That, inexplicably, makes him smile. It's a devastated smile, like the sun rising over a blood-drenched battlefield, with millions dead or turned to ash. "And here I thought it'd take Tony himself to get you to move on from him."

When something new is born, something old is broken. She should've remembered that.

Untangling himself from their embrace, he slowly sits up. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, then twists the golden wedding band from his finger.

Cold seeps into her bones, but she clamps down on the urge to reach out.

"But somehow, I always knew…," he murmurs, placing the ring in her hand and curling her fingers around it. She trembles when he kisses her forehead. " - that if I ever lost him, I'd lose you too."

Transhuman Symposium

Systems Alliance Base [CLASSIFIED]

London

Glenn Talbot comes to an abrupt halt a few feet away from the wide door - just shy of the sensors that would automatically slide open upon confirming his identification.

He misses doorknobs.

Beside him, Daisy Johnson arches an eyebrow at him inquisitively. They've already discussed this to death, but Glenn still feels compelled to impart something before they cross the point of no return. "A word of advice, Agent Johnson… don't be too honest with these people. Some of them aren't fans of you and yours."

And therein lies the problem, doesn't it? The fact that humanity still rejects a significant portion of the population because they're too afraid of anything 'other' disturbing their fat, complacent worldview. The terminology is just a symptom - one that he's been forced to adopt in situations like these, where openly acting for Daisy's benefit would only hinder her efforts.

He's not blind to the fact that the committee had elected for him to accompany her because they'd expected his presence to be an unpleasant reminder - one meant to throw her off her game.

Daisy's eyes shine with complete comprehension of the facts. "Lying to them isn't gonna get me anything, Major," she says quietly. "Sooner or later, the truth comes out."

The room is long, and reminds her of the galley of a spaceship - minimal seating around a low, rectangular table, illuminated harshly by yellow lights fitted into a false ceiling. A window that takes up the length of a wall looks out at the blue, sparkling waters of the Thames. She glimpses the reclaimed island this building stands atop of, before the glass turns black and opaque, somehow shrinking the room even further.

The cramped affair is undoubtedly a deliberate slight, meant to imply that the matter was beneath the consideration of the one who had called this symposium in the first place.

"Agent Johnson. You've finally decided to grace us with your presence." General Thaddeus Ross, Systems Alliance rep says, smiling as though he's already won.

Shows what he knows. "Yeah, sorry about that," Daisy says, taking her position at the far end of the room. She hooks an OSD to the console and powers up the projector. "I was in a coma for three months, after taking the brunt of an explosion that would've killed a whole bunch of civilians otherwise. Not that I'd expect you to know anything about that, of course."

That wipes the smile off his face.

Opposite him is Pamela Hawley, former member and only survivor of the World Security Council, and current rep for the UNIN. She is sympathetic to Daisy's situation only so far as it lets her stand against Ross. Her disdain for the Secretary of State is legendary - Daisy has strategies in place to stoke that fuel.

Her eyes then fall on an unknown party. Tall, with white hair and rectangular glasses, in a deliberately nondescript suit. She barely has a moment to wonder at his identity before a frisson of unreasonable, deep-seated hatred wells up inside her. With immense strength of will, she suppresses it. So, General Talos is here too, representing the Skrulls as well as S.W.O.R.D.

Learning of the existence of an enemy she's genetically wired to destroy hadn't been nearly as shocking after coming face to face - so to speak - with the Norns. But Talos has got just as much reason for being here as anyone else. No way to know which side of the argument he'd be leaning towards, of course.

And finally, Talbot himself, presenting a neutral front to the whole affair.

There are others who have not made it personally, but will join the conference online. This is a global issue, and as such, her very last opportunity to present transhumans in a potentially positive light.

No pressure.

They're going in circles.

"Much as I wish I could admit otherwise," Vera Safin of the European Union says, " - Inhumans have proven to be dangerous. What's to say these… eezo-Enhanced won't pose the same threat level?"

"The projected genetic transformation isn't as extreme," Daisy says, bringing up the slides to further showcase her research. The symposium is free to verify them. "Most might not be able to even tap into the bulk of their abilities without technological amplifiers, as has been demonstrated by red-sand users."

"But the sand-blasters still posed a risk," a member of the Chinese People's Federation points out.

"As could a panicked human with a gun or the codes to a nuclear missile," Daisy argues. "Self-control is possible. I'm living proof that with appropriate, empathetic guidance, even the most undisciplined mind can be taught restraint."

"And you expect us to trust you of all people with that?" Ross sneers.

Hawley looks at him coldly. "How is Harlem these days, General? Has it recovered from the Abomination's rage yet?"

Ross purples.

Daisy resists the urge to massage the migraine building up in her temples. "We're getting nowhere," she whispers, then her eyes meet Talos'. He hasn't spoken up once since the meeting started. She's pretty sure most of them have forgotten he even exists.

He cocks his head, curiosity mixed with well-deserved revulsion in his eyes. For some reason, that sends a spark of rebellion inside her.

Because Talos, of all people, has faced the threat of Inhumans up close. Some of them had been unleashed upon Skrull worlds before the Kree experiments had been finally stopped.

Destroyer of Worlds.

It's him she has to convince, above all others. It's impossible, but if she aims higher, she might reach somewhere.

Daisy turns to her audience, spreads her hands beseechingly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I've answered each and every one of your questions. But my actions have always spoken louder than my words, for both good and ill."

"These last few decades, we've observed the rise of new types of Enhanced and Gifted individuals on Earth. People who have had little to no say in the ways their bodies are changed, mutated into something else by otherworldly interference." She takes a deep breath. "But it's not just them that's changing. It's their families. It's all the people they affect post-transformation. The change is happening to the whole world."

"In the past, we've not dealt well with change. We have feared it and we have fought it. I myself rejected my Terrigenesis at first. But change comes, like it or not. Evolution is inevitable. And who better to understand and accept it… than those who have already been through it? Who better to teach these new, frightened people into a better tomorrow than someone who has already made that journey?"

Ross jumps up. "I know where this is going! Was this your plan, Johnson? Coerce us to giving control over ultra-powerful transhumans to one of their own? In the army, that would be called a strategically unsound move!"

"You planning on returning to the army anytime soon?" Talbot drawls.

"We're not at war, General," M'Baku, the delegate of the Wakandan Kingdom chides quietly. "This isn't about making warriors that fight our battles for us. It's about reaching mutual understanding between our species."

"No need to waste Alliance resources on that," Ross says, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The UNIN can make conditional provisions under the Sokovia Accords…"

"No," Daisy says, her voice sharp enough to cut steel. "The Sokovia Accords cataloged and dehumanized us under the pretext of an umbrella of protection for the mundane population. They divided the Avengers, leaving Earth exposed to Thanos and his solution - of which even you were a victim, General Ross."

There's a storm growing on Hawley's face. "Allow me to remind you, Ross, that while you may have stolen influence over the UN-based Accords when it was first formed, the Systems Alliance is a completely separate entity from the UNIN, and as such, neither can speak for the other in any legal capacity. Know your place."

That sparks a brilliant idea. "On a related note," Daisy says, a thrill shooting down her spine, making her skin tingle. "As a fully recognized representative in this symposium, I declare the Sokovia Accords null and void for all Inhumans, future eezo-enhanced and everyone else in the future that would fall under the category of transhuman."

The room erupts into chaos. "You can't do that!" The Federation's rep blurts. "You've signed a contract…!"

"With the United Nations… that no longer exists," Talbot cuts in sharply. He leans forward. "And even if a court were to declare that the UNIN qualifies just as well, Daisy Johnson is a part of the Systems Alliance now, not the UNIN, and as such, not accountable to any. Other. Organization." He turns to Hawley. "Isn't that right, Councilwoman?"

Hawley nods unhappily.

Talbot had butted in at the appropriate time, Daisy realizes. To the others, it would seem like he, as a member of the Alliance, is just trying to wrest control of the Transhumans like Ross, but through legal means that no one could contest.

Time to drive in the nail a little deeper. "We could put it to a vote," Daisy says coolly. "But my goal today is to build a home for transhumans. For all those who are persecuted for being other, despite having shed sweat and blood and tears to save the universe from extinction. If you wish to focus more on the difference between our species than our similarities, ladies and gentlemen, then I have no problem telling you that we'll walk."

She meets the eyes of every individual. "Every Enhanced, every Gifted, every potential who is willing to accompany me will leave Earth and settle somewhere else. Somewhere where we won't be abused. I'm sure Terra Nova will love to have us."

Something like panic glimmers in Ross' eyes. "You have a responsibility to your homeworld! An obligation to use your abilities to defend humanity from those who would destroy us!" He slams a hand on the table. "Even if it means going up against your alien creators!"

"Oh, we have obligations, but no rights accompanying them?" She retorts. "That sounds an awful lot like slavery to me, which definitely won't go down well with anyone."

He laughs. It sounds a little unhinged. "You'll never win this."

Daisy places both hands on the table and rises. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to propose a subcommittee for studies on transhumans - Inhumans, eezo-Enhanced, and any others that might pop out of the woodwork in the future. It will oversee a safe haven, a training ground -," and she steels herself for this, " - as well as an instrument of last resort if one of us goes rogue. And I propose Major General Glenn Talbot of the Systems Alliance to direct it."

Talbot's eyebrows twitch.

She meets his gaze squarely. "All those in favor..."

The voting is just a formality. They know the consequences if she loses. Daisy has just shown them that, for all their good intentions, or at least the appearance of such - they have, in reality, misused the power they'd been given. As such, they stand to lose a lot more than mere control over a powerful section of the population.

The European Union, the UNIN, the Kingdom of Wakanda as well as Talbot vote aye. Ross refuses, naturally, as does the Chinese People's Federation. Talos, to her surprise, abstains.

A majority.

Daisy is free.

Talbot waits until the last delegate has departed to turn on her with eyebrows raised. "Could've used some warning before I got that bomb dropped on me."

Daisy powers down the console and gathers her files. "They needed to see you were just as surprised so it wouldn't look like we planned this."

"Was it always the plan?" He asks, his tone is edging from curious to incredulous.

At least he doesn't sound angry at the realization that they went behind his back. She shrugs. "You know better than anyone how dangerous I can be. You almost died because of me."

"That wasn't you, Daisy… I realized that long ago."

"You're right, it wasn't." She meets his gaze. "Because if I were trying to kill you, I wouldn't use a gun. I could just Quake your heart apart, or burst your head like a ripe melon. Can't come back from that."

There's a cool pause. "Are you trying to make an enemy out of me?"

"I'm trying to get you to realize I'm not just dangerous… I'm deadly," she insists, urgency coloring her tone. She places her palms on the table and leans forward. "And I'm not the only one. If, someday, it's me who poses a threat to you or the world, you're going to need all the help you can get. And the only people who are going to be able to stop me… are the ones like me."

"Risky, Agent Johnson - giving me an army to mobilize against you. Aren't you worried I might preemptively decide to take you up on the offer?"

"That's what Coulson's for. He'll stop you."

"But you don't trust him to stop you," he says shrewdly.

She sobers. "Would you?"

August 8th, 2027

Stark Mansion

The few people who visit the mansion usually ask her why she never bothers to get fish for her aquariums.

She brushes off their inquisitiveness with a few well-timed jokes ranging from how she always forgets to feed the poor things all the way over to how fishes are only meant for sushi. But the truth, as ever, is very different.

Fishes remind her of herself. Creatures that belong to and yearn for the deep blue, that would prefer to forget and be forgotten by the surface world. But above all, rootless souls, floating aimlessly, with nothing and no one to bind them.

She'd always felt apart from the world she'd been assigned to save. Drifting from place to place, mission to mission, partner to partner. She'd found a little stability after the Uprising, when she'd married Rhodey, and now again, with Pepper and Morgan.

Isabelle doesn't hesitate before placing the call.

There's a lag of a few minutes before it connects; the Peak must be orbiting the far side of the solar system. An unexpected face flickers into being on the hologram. "Collins," Maria Hill says, surprised. "Think you got the wrong number. Though, Nick is dealing with something else right now."

"I wasn't looking forward to listening to his 'I told you so's' anyway," Isabelle says. "Besides, it was you I wanted to get a hold of."

Hill's brows arch upward. "Decided to get your head out of your ass, have you? Why the sudden change of heart?"

The caustics from the aquarium dance over the wedding bands on the table, along with the water-logged frame of Tony's very first miniaturized arc reactor. The symbology isn't lost on her. "Figured it was time to move on. The universe outside is changing, and I've been playing catch up this whole time. I need to get ahead of the curve, and N7 seems like the best way to do that."

Hill deliberates, before forwarding something from her omni-tool. "Nick wouldn't want me to show you this. But I thought you should know before you commit."

Isabelle opens the document. It's ICT's list of final recruits - mostly officers from every branch of Earth's military complex, divided into different squads. Her stomach tightens as she finds a familiar name in her own. James Buchanan Barnes; Sergeant, 107th Infantry Regiment.

"Doesn't change a thing," she murmurs after a moment.

"I'll put you on the roster." Hill nods. "So, where do I come into all this?"

"You have closer connections to the Marines than Fury, with a contact pool that's probably a lot bigger than it used to be. I'm looking for someone." Isabelle takes a deep breath. "A Shepard. Female, exceptionally skilled, probably ranks lower than a Commander."

"Doesn't ring a bell. Would've noticed someone of a caliber that caught your attention. Hell, I would've signed her up for ICT."

"One day, you just might."

Hill looks at her oddly, then shrugs. "First name?"

Isabelle feels a strange sensation settle inside. "I never asked." Something so huge, and she'd missed it. Moreover, she's not even surprised that she missed it.

Shepard had been just... Shepard.

The Castle

A surprising voice emerges from the atrium when Gabe steps through a portal into an adjacent hallway.

"Your decision to dissolve W.A.N.D. before the Alliance comes conscripting was smart, Wong," Commander Soren is saying. "But S.W.O.R.D. stands independent, and Fury wants to continue the affiliation with the Sanctums. Magical threats aren't just limited to Earth."

Gabe pauses at the edge of the doorway, his eyes drawn to the familiar stone walls and the high, arched windows curving around steep stairways. Unlike every other prospective student, he hadn't trained in Kamar-Taj - but within the Castle itself, under the rather rushed tutelage of Pandora Peters. Having never found a suitable replacement for a Director, W.A.N.D. has been in steady decline.

He shakes away the memories and tunes back into the conversation.

"…sorcerers don't venture beyond this world for good reason," Wong is saying. "It's dangerous to call upon magic from vacuum."

"We can keep that in mind - deploy sorcerers to planetary colonies exclusively. Honestly, Wong, even one candidate would do. Fury's eyeing the guy currently eavesdropping on us."

Gabe swallows his surprise and steps fully into the Great Hall. There's a silent storm growing on Wong's face.

"Despite the strides he's made these past few years," Wong says, " - Disciple Reyes is still too young and inexperienced."

"My youth offers me a distinct advantage," Gabe retorts, " - considering I had more experience with the Mystic Arts even before I started channeling. I've faced the evil of the Darkhold firsthand. I'm also the only one in living memory to have managed to calm the Ghost Rider's rage, more than once."

"Proving my point, once again," Wong says. "You cannot separate your emotions from your mission."

"ICT will whip him into shape," Soren says, her eyes thoughtful. "We've been looking to gear training for Enhanced and/or Gifted individuals who rely on their powers to the almost complete exclusion of weapons. He has the makings of a leader, Wong… but from what I can see, his potential is just going to waste down here."

Frustration wells up in Gabe when he realizes Wong's not convinced. But he's caught off guard by the sudden, desperate desire to accept the invitation, even when the realization behind it is all too easy to decipher. "Commander Soren," he says, " - may I have a moment to confer with the Sorcerer Supreme?"

She raises her eyebrows, but nods and swiftly makes her exit.

"You want to follow in Agamotto's footsteps," Wong says quietly once they're alone.

"He traveled the stars," Gabe says. "Journeyed to distant galaxies, observed extraordinary worlds - all while learning about and drawing upon magic that we've allowed to be lost to the ages."

"And for good reason. You of all people should remember why it was so necessary for Agamotto to shield the Eternal Eye."

Gabe steels himself before his thoughts can plunge into deep, dark coldness. "But he brought the orb back to the Castle," he points out. "Not because he wanted dominion over an otherworldly Entity, but because he believed threats needed to be understood if we are to defend against them!"

"Careful, Master Reyes. Those sound like Pandora Peters' words."

"Would you instead like to listen to certain truths that you've refused to acknowledge? Agamotto was responsible for creating the relic that housed the Time Stone. And, by your very own admission, he was the only one to have ever entered Valhalla alive!"

"You're seeing connections that aren't there."

Gabe finally loses his patience. "Oh, come on, Wong! There are only three ways to enter the Soul World! Remnants - like Izzy and Daisy - can do it through dreams if it calls to them. Anchors like Morgan can do it with great effort if the Soul World allows them in. But both Remnants and Anchors are post-Decimation phenomena. Agamotto wouldn't have had access to those!"

Wong says nothing.

"There's only one other way to access the Soul World. Through the Stone. And we all know what that requires." Gabe sighs. "It's not a move for anyone but the truly desperate."

There's a long, heavy silence. "The thought that our founder may have possessed two Infinity Stones is… troubling."

Gabe slumps in his relief. Understatements are how the older man expresses that he's finally come around. "The only way to wake Agamotto's secrets is to walk in his footsteps, Wong. You're needed here; the Sanctums look to you for support. But you can spare me."

"And in the process, if you happen to find a way to return the Rider into your brother's body… well, I can hardly fault you for multitasking."

Wong pauses for a moment, then sighs. "Don't make me regret this, Reyes."

The Lighthouse

LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

"Given a thought to our offer yet, Parker?" General Talos asks.

He stands before Peter, but he's also a million miles away. The Quantum Entanglement Communicator has limited bandwidth; only Talos' form is rendered wholly, while the backdrop and the table he is leaning on are little more than flickering pixels.

"You're sending me a long way away from New York," Peter says.

"You think your turf's the only place with trouble? There's something dark moving on the horizon, Spider-Man… and I think you got a little taste of it not too long ago."

Peter shoves his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. "What do you get out of interning me at mankind's first extraplanetary outpost?"

Talos smiles faintly. His hologram swipes at a datapad.

On Peter's side, his omni-tool pings. He goes through the proposal. "Armstrong's gonna be a high-end training facility? It's on the moon. You're going to need cutting-edge tech to offset the limitations." He stiffens. "Like E.D.I.T.H."

"Stark Combat Drones, integrated with illusion tech and outfitted with weapons to simulate convincingly realistic battle scenarios. Will be dangerous, but not lethal. We're banking on your Synthetic Intelligence double major to help with her installation. And in return - maybe you get to take a look under the hood of some Prothean - or even Skrull tech."

"More opportunities for you to rub in some Skrull superiority," Peter snorts, then his voice turns shrewd. "Fury was there during ULTRON. It's probably why he decided to let me have E.D.I.T.H. in the first place. Otherwise he could've just as easily hoarded her and I wouldn't even have known. What changed his mind?"

Talos looks uncomfortable. "He wants E.D.I.T.H. placed in a closed network, with no access to external systems. Which includes her backdoor to the telecoms network."

"No."

"Parker…"

"You know what that would do to her! If you want a glorified V.I., I can build one for you!"

"Tony Stark had two rules that he refused to break for anyone: no weapons… and no artificial intelligence. That is, until you died. And then he created those drones and E.D.I.T.H., just so he could bring you back. You no longer have an excuse not to honor his wishes."

"Cheap shot, General," Peter bristles. "You're starting to sound more and more like Fury everyday. A Stark A.I. with access to weaponized drones isn't something he'd risk letting loose upon the galaxy. What's his contingency plan?"

"One that was provided by Pepper Potts, actually," Talos retorts. "The glasses might've been willed to you, but you don't actually own the drones - not on paper. They reside within Stark satellites. She sold them to S.W.O.R.D. to prevent them from falling into more… unscrupulous hands."

"So if I refuse your offer, I can keep E.D.I.T.H… but she'll be neutered anyway."

"With us, she can do some good work. A closed network will ensure no one else like Riva can tamper with her again." Talos sighs. "We're not your enemies here, Parker. We just want what's best for everyone."

August 31st, 2027

The Windy Ship, River's End

The pub is rather overt in keeping with the nautical theme - from the ship's wheel on the sign outside and the anchor mounted on the wooden paneling over the counter, to the starfish or compass coasters scattered across every table. Drunk patrons are singing and thumping beer glasses in concert with a naval swashbuckler film, playing on the wall-affixed flat-screen.

Phil's eyes keep flickering to the large, framed picture of the Lighthouse and the town, a wide-angle taken from the sea. He's always admired the shot, but now he's not quite sure how to feel about it.

The door opens with a squeak, ushering in Izzy and Daisy. His mouth quirks up as he watches them scan the room almost automatically and then make a beeline for his booth.

S.H.I.E.L.D. or not, constant vigilance isn't something any of them are going to be able to shed.

"Had no problem finding the place, I hope?" He teases.

The plastic cushioned seat sighs as Izzy sinks into it heavily, scowling. He carefully doesn't react when Daisy, without missing a beat, crams next to her. "Laugh it up, Phil - it's the only time you're gonna be able to."

Daisy arches an eyebrow. "Not your kind of scene?"

"Izzy's a lightweight," he says before she can reply, a smirk pulling at the edges of his lips.

"Downside of hydrokinesis -," she explains, scowling harder, " - alcohol dehydrates me faster than most. Never bothered building up a resistance."

"Well," Daisy says, fighting a smile of her own. "Can't miss out on this - it's tradition."

The good humor fizzles slightly as it dawns on them just what they're here for. Phil suppresses a sigh, and forwards the final wording of the Systems Alliance charter to their omni-tools. "As of midnight, S.H.I.E.L.D. as an organization will no longer exist."

He's picked the quietest corner - their conversations would be easily muffled by the general ruckus of the evening crowd. Just because he can't see any spies doesn't mean they aren't there. But he does wish he could find a way to remove the wooden sign over his head without calling attention to himself - it's particularly distasteful.

Daisy's the first to break the quiet. "Systems Alliance," she reads, " - representing the interest of humanity as well as its sister races - including all individuals officially categorized as Enhanced or Gifted. Wow."

"I couldn't be prouder," Phil tells her.

"We get to keep our ranks?" Izzy says.

"Alliance hierarchy is a mess. They're still new, so S.H.I.E.L.D. will legitimize their operations - we made enough of an impact during the Decimation. But assigning us military classification is just asking for trouble. So they graciously decided to let us keep our titles as 'badges of pride' for our accomplishments - in return for certain concessions." He grimaces. "They want compartmentalization back. We're going to have to incorporate Levels again."

"'We'? Thought you were retiring with Agent May."

Phil shrugs. "Thought about it. Wanted to explore the world, maybe even the galaxy - find out if Tahiti really is all that magical." He smiles apologetically when they flinch. "But then, after everything that's happened - I don't think I'm meant for that. She understands… but she won't wait."

"I'm sorry, Coulson," Daisy says. "But, even though it's selfish, I'm glad." She sighs. "So many things are changing - for better and for worse. At least I'll get to have this. Wouldn't be the same without you."

He waves down a bored-looking waitress, presses a heavy tip into her hand. "Keep 'em coming," he points to his shot glass.

"To that end," he continues, tossing the shot in one go. "I could really use a second-in-command. Deputy Director Johnson has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

She gapes. "I… I thought," she swallows, eyes flitting to her neighbor. "Coll… Isabelle has seniority, she…"

" - is not interested in being thrust into a leadership position," Izzy says firmly. "Besides, I've accepted another offer."

"Fury's little pet project - the Interplanetary Combatives Training. Some interesting candidates you're going up against." Nick had asked him to recommend someone, but Phil doesn't know nearly enough about S.W.O.R.D. and its operations to risk subjecting someone to whatever this is. "You going to be okay with that?"

"Only if I graduate," she replies, deliberately misunderstanding. "Talos has promised me six levels of grueling trials, very little sleep or sustenance - and a whole lot of hostile zones for the next couple of years." She shrugs. "Trying his best to get me kicked out was implied."

"And you've got a position at the Corsairs waiting at the end of it," Daisy says. 'Corsairs' is their codeword for S.W.O.R.D. - ostensibly a covert-ops initiative, deployed on missions beyond the Alliance's jurisdiction. If Izzy graduates the N7, she'd officially be a part of Alliance Special Forces, assigned to missions that they can claim plausible deniability on.

Phil had been given the green-light for 'oversight' - which in reality means doing nothing except filing endless false reports.

Regret and guilt war with newly-formed affection in Daisy's eyes. Phil feels for her situation. She's only just formed a bond with Collins after years of misplaced resentment, and now she's going to have to lose her again.

He'd always privately believed that if only they could get their heads out of their asses, they'd find they have a lot more in common.

Izzy's eyes soften. "I was never meant for the spotlight, Daisy. And the Alliance can't work in the shadows, not with… the multi-limbed," she grimaces at the wooden octopus symbol on the wall above them, its large tentacles wrapped around an overflowing treasure chest, " - Damocles Sword hanging over our heads. The Corsairs can only be an ace in the sleeve for any threats out there."

"Besides," Phil says, as the waitress delivers their order with a flourish. "Since only the two of us in the Alliance know the truth, we'll be communicating more, not less." He slides one of the shots towards Izzy with a smile. "Lots of opportunities to build up your resistance."

Daisy looks cheered by the prospect. "What shall we toast to? S.H.I.E.L.D., new horizons - not a spy's goodbye to each other?"

Isabelle huffs in amusement. "I have a better idea." She meets her eyes in silent, mutual understanding. Phil itches to understand what exactly turned the tide - oh god, the pub's decor is rubbing off on him, too - between the two Inhumans.

He suspects it might have to do with an eight-year-old.

They clink their glasses together. "To balancing the scales," they say in unison.

"I'll drink to that."

They chuckle when Izzy pulls a face. He can tell she's not going to down too many; an advantage, he supposes - because if the tradition continues the way it always does, he and Daisy are gonna need someone to drive them home…

His smile flickers. Not home. Not back to the Lighthouse, which has already been sold to the Alliance. No, they'd be heading for the motel in town, then taking a Quinjet to Vancouver HQ in the morning.

"On that note," Daisy says. "Since we're striving for equality here, there are some things that remain… foggy." Her eyes drift up to the octopus. "How did Carter turn you into a triple agent?"

Izzy jerks in her seat. "That came out of left field," she says in a strangled voice.

Phil is stiff. He and Daisy are too close for him to keep Lodestar to himself, but he should've known she wouldn't let it go at that. But at least Izzy can still pretend she's not owed debts that can never be repaid.

"She was the one to identify my parents' bodies," Izzy says.

Their booth catches in a bubble of stillness, detached from the raucous uproar of the other patrons. Even the wait staff gives them a wide berth.

"I was on a… mission, and Tony was being Tony." Izzy tosses back her shot then reaches for Daisy's and downs that too. Phil slides his without comment. "Guess she figured out something was up, kept a close eye on us afterwards." She laughs a little hysterically. "God, I was in way over my head. Aunt Peggy caught me in six months - made me spill. There's a reason HYDRA never reared its head when she was around - that woman was terrifying."

Another fact creeps around to the forefront of his memory. "Director Carter retired in the fall of 1992."

Izzy nods. "Recruited me into the cause. I reported back to her for years before she got diagnosed with Alzheimer's." There's something dark in her eyes - like a ship finally succumbing to a deadly storm and being pulled into the depths of the ocean. "Didn't think I could win after that, so I sabotaged every mission I could until Fury had no choice but to bench me."

Phil shuts his eyes, breathes through the tightness in his chest.

This is the part he could never figure out. His best friend had become cold and withdrawn in the years following Lodestar. He'd thought it was because her career had suffered - she'd broken countless rules getting him out - while he had grown by leaps and bounds.

It had been a petty thought, but his youthful naivety couldn't have conceived of HYDRA. It couldn't have conceived of an Isabelle Collins who would deliberately cripple her career so she wouldn't rise in the ranks. So she wouldn't give any more to her slavers than she already had.

"But Carter had evidence," Daisy whispers. "Proof of your innocence, even after she got admitted. She must've had other people working to undermine HYDRA."

Isabelle shrugs. "Never figured out who they were. Guess I owe them a massive thank you."

Phil's throat aches. She's blasé about it, an attitude probably helped by the alcohol, but he can hear the undercurrent of her revelation. Collins had been pulled in three different directions for more than twenty years just because she'd chosen to save a lowly agent few would've missed.

Her loyalty is not easily earned, and Phil had almost wrecked it. "I'm sorry," he blurts.

She blinks thrice. "Not your fault. Was my decision."

It's not the best time to apologize, but he's hardly ever seen her so loose and easy with her emotions. Despite feeling wretched, he's still going to take advantage of the situation. "Not about that. About… about Loki. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was alive."

Some semblance of clarity returns to her eyes. "Why didn't you?"

He could tell her what he'd been telling himself all these years - that he hadn't wanted to disturb the glue holding the Avengers together, that the world and all the villains cropping up had taken precedence.

But she doesn't want to know why he hadn't told the Avengers. She wants to know why he hadn't told her.

Balance the scales.

"I was afraid you'd react exactly the way you did," he admits. He still remembers the look on her face when he'd emerged from the ruins of the Statue of Liberty. Disbelief, raw, unprocessed grief, finally settling into that cold aloofness she'd carried with her for months. "But there was also a part of me… that didn't believe you cared."

Because he hadn't known what she'd sacrificed for him.

Because he'd believed she regretted the decision to save his life.

There's silence. "I mourned you," she murmurs.

"I know."

"... moron."

He chuckles. That's as good as forgiveness. "I know."

She's listing sideways, and her eyes are a little unfocused. Phil's gonna have to reconsider their transportation plan; he hadn't been kidding about her being a lightweight.

Daisy eyes the table cluttered with empty shot glasses, most of which the older Inhuman had consumed. "I think it's about time we changed the tradition."

"What do you say for dinner?"

Mass Effect Context

Subcommittee for Transhumans

This is the beginning of what will eventually become the Systems Alliance Parliamentary Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies. Canonically, in 2185, one Chairman Burns was the head. In Mass Effect 1, he was kidnapped by a group of transhuman extremists, and players have the chance to rescue him. I figured it was a small, but nice callback. Callforward? Dunno.

Quantum Entanglement Communicator

The QEC was a technology used by Cerberus in Mass Effect 2, and the Alliance in Mass Effect 3. It is ridiculously expensive, but secure as hell, so I figured the Lighthouse would definitely have one, as will S.W.O.R.D.

E.D.I.T.H. in Armstrong

Canonically, Armstrong is a training facility on Luna monitored by a shackled - ahem - virtual intelligence in charge of drones and simulations. Incorporating E.D.I.T.H. was a no-brainer, not least because of her name, but also because it also solved the issues I was having with Peter Parker's arc. Honestly, sometimes this story writes itself.

Corsairs

In canon, Corsairs is a division within the Alliance that had more autonomy than most, comprised of Marines that served under an independent starship captain. They worked on missions outside of Alliance jurisdiction, which would allow them to be easily disavowed if something went horribly wrong. Jacob Taylor from ME2 was a Corsair before he joined Cerberus.

I figured the description is pretty accurate for S.W.O.R.D., while also portraying as though, i) it is not that big and ii) it's a part of the Systems Alliance, instead of being a wholly separate organization. Both of which are untrue, of course, but it works because the existence of S.W.O.R.D. is highly classified.

General Context

William Hurt

In the past, I have portrayed Thaddeus Ross as not an entirely likeable character, because to me, he always seemed like a man of resilient, stubborn principles that he refused to deviate from, even when the world provided irrefutable contrary evidence. There's a strength to that - to sticking to your guns even when everyone you think should support you, well, doesn't. It's the mark of a true artist if they can make you love or hate a character, because indifference would be much, much worse. And, regardless of personal beliefs, I don't think anyone could have remained indifferent to Thaddeus Ross, who was portrayed oh-so-magnificently by the late William Hurt.

Rest in peace, Thunderbolt. You will be missed.