The Sanctum Sanctorum was never truly silent.
Even in moments of stillness, the mystical energies that coursed through its walls whispered, an ever-present hum in the background. Floating candles drifted along the dim corridors, their flames flickering as if reacting to unseen forces. Ancient tomes stacked haphazardly on an ornate table emitted a soft glow, the arcane scripts within shifting subtly whenever Strange wasn't looking. The Eye of Agamotto, resting upon its pedestal, pulsed with an almost rhythmic cadence—like a heartbeat in tune with the universe itself.
Doctor Stephen Strange stood in the center of the library, absentmindedly adjusting the cuffs of his robes. He had just returned from a rather unpleasant encounter with an extradimensional being who, despite its terrifying visage, had been surprisingly polite in asking for its stolen artifact back.
"Note to self," Strange muttered, rubbing his temples, "never take a relic that looks like a cursed monocle from a realm where everything has more eyes than mouths."
With a flick of his wrist, the Cloak of Levitation zipped over to him, draping itself over his shoulders with the eagerness of a loyal pet. The Cloak, as usual, adjusted its own folds with a slight tug, ensuring it sat just right—as if it had its own sense of fashion.
Strange exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, let's see what horrors the mystical bureaucracy has in store for me today."
He turned towards a massive, gilded tome floating in the air, the Codex of Vishanti. With a casual gesture, it flipped open, revealing a shimmering page of ethereal script. Strange adjusted his stance, raising a hand as he read aloud:
"The astral disturbances across the Seventh Veil remain unstable due to—"
A loud clatter echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls.
"Oh, for the love of Oshtur," Strange groaned, snapping the book shut. "Wong, if you broke another priceless relic, I'm charging you for it this time!"
Wong appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, unimpressed as ever. "If I broke something, you'd be the first to hear me denying it."
Strange smirked. "So you're saying you didn't?"
"Didn't what?" Wong countered with a deadpan expression.
"Break something."
"Who said anything was broken?"
Strange narrowed his eyes. "Then what was that noise?"
Wong glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, that? Just a minor—uh—spatial displacement issue. Nothing to worry about."
Strange sighed. "That's a very concerning way to describe something."
"It's fine. Probably." Wong strode further into the room, eyes scanning the floating books and scrolls. "Anyway, I was just thinking—"
"A dangerous pastime," Strange quipped.
Wong ignored him. "—that it's about time you considered taking on an apprentice."
Strange made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "An apprentice? Seriously?"
"Yes. You are the Sorcerer Supreme, after all."
Strange held up a finger. "Technically, not the Sorcerer Supreme right now—"
"You know what I mean," Wong cut in. "Your responsibilities are growing, Strange. You can't expect to juggle every mystical catastrophe by yourself forever."
Strange rolled his eyes. "Come on, Wong. I don't need an apprentice. I barely needed training!"
"That is an absolute lie," Wong said flatly.
Strange made a dramatic gesture, placing a hand over his heart. "Wong, that hurts. Right here."
"It should," Wong smirked. "Besides, even the best sorcerers train successors."
"Again—not happening anytime soon." Strange waved a hand dismissively. "I'm in my prime. My hands are steady, my mind sharp, and my Cloak still listens to me most of the time. Most of the time." He shot a glance at the Cloak, which wiggled slightly as if offended.
Wong sighed, rubbing his temple. "You have a bad habit of assuming you'll always have time."
"Time is literally what I manipulate for a living," Strange countered.
"And yet, you still run late for meetings with the Vishanti."
Strange made a vague, dismissive gesture. "They'll live."
Wong gave him a pointed look.
"Okay, fine," Strange conceded. "But if I were to take on an apprentice—hypothetically, mind you—where would I even find someone capable of handling this level of magic? You don't just pluck talent out of thin air."
"You'd be surprised," Wong muttered under his breath.
Strange shook his head. "Even if I did find someone, training them would be an absolute nightmare. You remember what I was like as a student?"
Wong smirked. "Oh, believe me, I do. Arrogant, reckless, insufferable—"
"Alright, alright, no need to list my greatest hits," Strange interrupted. "Point is, no apprentice. At least, not for a while."
"Suit yourself," Wong said with a shrug. "But when you eventually get blindsided by some eldritch monstrosity and need someone to bail you out, I'll be the first to say, 'I told you so.'"
"Good to know," Strange said dryly. "Now, since you're here—" He clapped his hands together. "Lunch."
Wong raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
"I want some."
Wong rolled his eyes. "You have the entire multiverse at your disposal, and you're making me go pick up your lunch?"
"Hey, just because I can open a portal doesn't mean I should abuse the privilege. Plus, you know they never get my order right when I do it myself."
"You mispronounced the name of the sandwich last time."
"It's a complicated name!"
"It's literally just 'Pastrami on Rye.'"
"Well, I was under pressure!"
Wong sighed dramatically. "Fine. But I'm adding a surcharge for dealing with your nonsense."
"Put it on my tab."
"You don't have a tab."
Strange grinned. "Then start one."
Wong rolled his eyes and turned toward the door. "If I get back and you've somehow summoned a god by accident, I'm quitting."
Strange gave him a mock salute. "Noted, dear Wong."
Wong muttered something under his breath—probably an ancient curse, knowing him—before stepping through a shimmering portal and vanishing.
Silence fell over the Sanctum. Strange leaned against the table, drumming his fingers absently. His gaze drifted toward the swirling, shifting pages of the Codex of Vishanti, but his mind was elsewhere.
An apprentice.
The idea had seemed absurd minutes ago, but now, the thought lingered. It is not just the logistics but the possibility.
For the first time in a long while, Doctor Strange found himself wondering...
What if?
Doctor Stephen Strange exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he forced his thoughts away from Wong's suggestion.
An apprentice? No. That was a conversation for another time—another decade, preferably.
With a flick of his wrist, the Codex of Vishanti floated back into his hand, its gilded pages humming softly as they shimmered with shifting script. He turned his attention back to the text, tracing his fingers over the intricate runes and focusing his mind.
"Seventh Veil disturbances… residual echoes from the Dreaming Realm…" he muttered, reading aloud. "Interesting. That shouldn't be happening unless—"
His words trailed off.
Something felt… off.
At first, it was faint, like a distant whisper threading through the air. The sound wasn't quite reaching his ears but was sinking into his awareness all the same. He paused, his eyes narrowing. The air around him shimmered imperceptibly, like the warping of reality just before a spell took effect.
Then, he heard it.
A voice.
A young girl's voice.
Strange straightened, his gaze darting around the Sanctum as the voice grew clearer, almost as if it were echoing through space itself.
"My servant that existed somewhere in this vast universe," the voice chanted, her tone steady but laced with urgency.
Strange furrowed his brows. He knew the cadence of spellcraft when he heard it.
"My divine, beautiful, and wise servant…"
The air crackled. Strange felt the telltale prickle of foreign magic winding through his surroundings, its unseen threads latching onto something—him.
"By my guidance, I summon thee!"
The moment the final word was spoken, Strange felt the shift.
His senses flared as an unseen force yanked at him, like a hook embedded in his very being, pulling—not from this world, but from elsewhere.
A summoning spell.
Strange's mind raced as he instinctively analyzed its structure. The magic was… strange yet oddly familiar in its construction. It was primitive compared to the intricate spells he usually encountered, but it was powerful—an incantation designed to bind and call forth something or someone.
And I appear to be the target.
"Hmph. Interesting."
Strange was many things, but helpless was not one of them.
With a simple flourish of his hand, he called upon the Counterspell of Vishanti, a tried-and-true method for nullifying unwanted arcane interference. Golden sigils spun into existence around his fingers as he traced the counter-incantation in midair.
There we go. Just a little—
The moment his counterspell collided with the summoning magic, something unexpected happened.
A crackling pulse of raw energy erupted from the interaction, sending a ripple through the very fabric of space itself. Strange's eyes widened as he realized—
This spell is woven differently than expected…
The energies didn't disperse like they should have. Instead, his counterspell had disrupted the binding in an entirely different way.
Instead of negating the summoning spell...
It had reversed it.
Strange blinked.
Well. That wasn't supposed to happen.
The arcane threads that had once attempted to ensnare him suddenly inverted, unraveling through the unseen connections of the spell's origin point—wherever that was in the multiverse.
Strange barely had a second to process this before—
FWOOOOM!
A blinding burst of light exploded into the Sanctum, the sheer force of it sending books fluttering and candles flickering violently. The light twisted, forming a spiraling vortex of raw, untamed magic, churning with hues of violet, blue, and gold.
Strange instinctively stepped back, eyes narrowing against the glare.
The Cloak of Levitation twitched as if bracing itself.
Then—
The light grew brighter, pulsing like the very heartbeat of the universe.
Something was coming through.
And for the first time in a long while…
Doctor Strange had no idea what to expect.
The spring air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of freshly tilled earth and wildflowers from the academy gardens. It was the kind of morning that should have felt invigorating—one of renewal, of promise.
Yet, it was suffocating for Louise Françoise le Blanc de La Vallière.
She stood stiffly on the worn stone of the academy courtyard, her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, her nails pressing into the delicate fabric of her robes. Around her, students whispered in hushed voices, casting occasional glances in her direction, their eyes gleaming with amusement.
She knew what they were thinking.
Zero.
It was the nickname they had given her—a cruel, mocking title that followed her like a shadow through the halls of the Tristain Academy of Magic. A title she had earned, not through great deeds nor any spectacular failure but through an utter, relentless inability to perform magic.
Zero spells were cast successfully.
Zero instances of control.
Zero reason to be here.
She bit her lip, forcing herself to keep her composure.
Today will be different.
Today was the Summoning Ritual, an event that marked the defining moment in a second-year student's education. This was where every aspiring noble mage proved their worth by summoning their familiar, magical creature that would remain bonded to them for life.
It was a ritual of great importance, one that determined not only the nature of their magic but also their future as spellcasters.
This was her chance.
If she failed today—if her spell exploded like all the others—then she wouldn't just be "Louise the Zero" anymore. She would be Louise the Failure, permanently branded as the noble daughter who couldn't even manage a simple summoning spell.
She refused to let that happen.
Across the courtyard, her classmates were already stepping forward one by one, casting their summoning spells beneath the watchful gaze of Professor Jean Colbert, the balding, bespectacled mage overseeing the ritual. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, his expression patient but unreadable.
"Alright, who's next?" Colbert called, his voice carrying over the courtyard.
A tall, red-haired girl stepped forward, flipping her hair back with a smug grin.
Kirche von Zerbst.
Louise's fingers twitched at the sight of her longtime rival—an effortlessly talented mage who exuded confidence in everything she did.
"I suppose it's my turn," Kirche said, practically sauntering to the center of the summoning circle. She tossed her cloak over her shoulder dramatically, then held out her wand with practiced ease.
Louise scowled. Of course, she'd be next.
Kirche flicked her wand and spoke the incantation in a rich, rolling voice filled with natural charm.
"Oh great flame, grant me a companion worthy of my fire, strong and fearless, to walk with me until the end of my days!"
The air shimmered, and heat radiated outward in waves. Sparks ignite around Kirche's feet, swirling together like molten embers drawn to an unseen force. Then, with a blinding flash, the fire coalesces, shifting, hardening, and taking shape.
A salamander—sleek, crimson-skinned, with glowing golden eyes—emerged from the summoning circle. Flames licked at its back, its body pulsing with raw heat as it slithered up to Kirche, flicking its tongue.
The class burst into applause.
Kirche smirked, stroking the creature's head as if this had been the expected outcome all along. "Ah, a fire salamander," she mused, pretending to inspect her nails. "How fitting."
A voice from the crowd laughed. "Of course, Kirche would summon a creature that breathes fire!"
"And Louise will probably summon an explosion!" another voice snickered.
A ripple of laughter spread through the students.
Louise's jaw tightened. Her nails dug into her palm, but she didn't turn to look at them.
Just wait. You'll all see soon enough.
Colbert smiled at Kirche and gave her an approving nod. "Very well done, Miss Zerbst. You and your familiar will make an excellent pair."
Kirche took a deep bow, clearly relishing the attention.
Louise exhaled sharply.
Then she stepped forward.
The murmurs quieted as the students turned to watch.
This was the moment they had been waiting for—the moment Louise the Zero would try, and inevitably fail, to summon anything at all.
Colbert hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Miss Vallière. You may begin."
Louise lifted her wand.
Her hands trembled, but she steadied them.
She could feel the weight of expectation crushing down on her—expecting her to fail, expecting her to humiliate herself once again.
But she wouldn't.
Not this time.
She shut her eyes and focused, letting her thoughts sink into the incantation. Her voice cut through the air.
"My servant that existed somewhere in this vast universe…"
A faint breeze stirred, whispering against her skin.
"My divine, beautiful, and wise servant…"
The air thickened, humming with energy, rippling outward in unseen waves.
"By my guidance, I summon thee!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A pulse of magic erupted outward, violently tearing through the courtyard.
The force shook the very ground, sending students stumbling backward as the wind roared around them. The air crackled, charged with wild, untamed power, and then—
BOOM!
A flash of light exploded in front of Louise, blinding and brilliant, swallowing the entire courtyard in a searing radiance.
The impact sent Louise staggering back, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as the world shuddered.
Then, silence.
Utter, absolute silence.
The air around Louise felt as though it had been sucked away, leaving only the deafening absence of sound. The blinding light in front of her continued to swell, swirling and pulsing as if it had awareness as if it had been waiting for something—for her.
Louise barely had time to react before the force shifted, the arcane energies suddenly collapsing inward like a vortex of raw power.
Then, without warning—
It pulled her in.
Louise's breath hitched as her entire body was yanked forward. Her feet left the ground as if she had been caught in the grip of an invisible hand, her stomach lurching from the sudden weightlessness.
"Wha—?" The word barely left her lips before she was completely engulfed.
The world vanished.
For the briefest moment, Louise was suspended in a vast, featureless expanse of blinding white light, her limbs flailing in the open air. She felt nothing beneath her—no ground, no sky—just an endless void stretching beyond sight, swallowing all sense of direction.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, panic surging through her veins as she twisted, trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.
This isn't supposed to happen!
The Summoning Ritual didn't work like this!
A spellcaster never got caught in their own summoning—they were the summoner, the one who called something forth. But now… she was the one being pulled.
A spark of horror ignited in her mind.
Had she… failed so spectacularly that she had reversed the spell on herself?
A sudden pressure built up in her chest, like an unseen force crushing the air from her lungs. She tried to scream, but no sound escaped.
Then—
The light shifted.
The sensation of weightlessness collapsed, and in the next instant, Louise felt herself falling.
Falling.
Fast.
The wind rushed past her ears, roaring like an untamed storm. She could feel gravity's pull again, dragging her downward into the unknown. Her stomach flipped wildly as she plummeted into the void.
Through the blinding haze, shapes began to form—a room, its dimensions twisting and warping as if space itself had yet to fully decide what it wanted to be.
Then—
With a jarring impact, Louise landed hard on a smooth, solid surface.
The force knocked the breath from her lungs, and for a moment, she simply lay there, blinking rapidly as the world spun violently around her.
The light around her dimmed, fading from her vision, and with it came… sound.
The flicker of candle flames, the soft rustle of parchment, the low hum of unfathomable arcane energy.
And then, a voice.
A deep, distinctly unimpressed voice.
"...Well. That's new."
Louise's breath caught in her throat.
Slowly—hesitantly—she lifted her head.
Her vision swam, and she was still adjusting to her new reality. However, through the fading glow, she saw him.
A tall, robed figure standing before her, arms crossed over his chest, the crimson fabric of his flowing cloak shifting slightly as if it had a will of its own.
Dark hair streaked with gray, sharp, piercing eyes that glowed faintly with restrained magic and a look of mild exasperation resting on his face.
The man regarded her with an expression that suggested he was debating whether this situation was mildly annoying or utterly ridiculous.
Louise's heart skipped a beat.
She knew immediately, without question—
This wasn't Tristain.
And this wasn't her familiar.
Her lips parted, but all that escaped was a breathless, stunned whisper.
"Where… am I?"
Doctor Stephen Strange sighed.
"Great."
Louise's head spun.
The lingering haze of light from the summoning spell still clung to her vision, flickering at the edges like an afterimage of something that should not have happened. Her breath came in short, rapid bursts, and her fingers clutched the fabric of her robes as if grounding herself to something tangible would make sense of what had just transpired.
She wasn't in Tristain.
She wasn't standing in the courtyard of the academy.
She was—somewhere else.
The air was thick with magic, humming in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. It wasn't the kind of magic she was familiar with—not the structured, elemental forces of nobility, but something… different.
And standing right in front of her, arms crossed, wearing a deep red cloak that seemed to move on its own, was the strangest man she had ever seen.
He hadn't moved since she landed, simply watching her with a look of sheer, unfiltered dumbfoundedness.
For several beats, neither of them spoke.
Then Louise screamed.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Strange flinched. "Alright, alright, there's no need to—"
"WHAT IS HAPPENING?! WHERE AM I?!" Louise shrieked, scrambling to her feet. "WHAT IS THIS PLACE?! WHO ARE YOU?! WHY DOES YOUR HOUSE LOOK LIKE IT WAS BUILT BY A MADMAN?!"
Strange lifted a single finger. "First of all, my house is not built by a madman. It's an ancient sanctum dedicated to preserving the balance of mystical forces—"
Louise wasn't listening.
She spun in a circle, taking in the tall shelves lined with ancient tomes, the levitating candles, the eerie floating relics in glass cases, and—oh God—was that a sentient cloak that just twitched in response to her voice?
She grabbed her head. "This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real—!"
Strange sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great. Another hysterical summoning accident. That's just what I needed today."
Louise snapped her gaze to him. "HYSTERICAL?!"
Strange gestured vaguely toward her. "Well, you are flailing around and screaming."
Louise clenched her fists, her face turning red—whether from fury or embarrassment, even she wasn't sure.
"I AM NOT HYSTERICAL!"
"You're standing in my house, screaming at me."
Louise huffed, straightening her posture. "Listen, commoner, I don't know what kind of trickery this is, but I demand that you explain where I am this instant!"
Strange blinked.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't loud—it was barely more than an amused exhale—but it was there, clear as day.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," he muttered.
Louise's eye twitched. "Excuse me?!"
Strange gestured vaguely toward her with both hands. "Alright, let's take a step back here, Miss Loud and Entitled. You're the one who suddenly appeared in my Sanctum, screaming at the top of your lungs. And now you're acting like I'm the one who owes you an explanation?"
Louise stomped her foot. "OF COURSE YOU DO! You're the one who brought me here!"
Strange tilted his head, his expression deadpan. "No, I'm really not."
Louise hesitated, then frowned. "W-what do you mean?!"
Strange exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight onto one foot as he studied her. She was young—probably no older than sixteen—dressed in what looked like some aristocratic school uniform, complete with a high collar and an unnecessarily dramatic cloak.
She was clearly noble-born, judging by the way she carried herself. Spoiled, temperamental, and demanding—fantastic.
"Let me take a wild guess," Strange said dryly. "You were trying to summon a familiar, weren't you?"
Louise blinked. "...How did you—?"
"Because I was supposed to be on the receiving end of that spell," Strange said, waving his hand lazily. "But when I tried to counteract it, something weird happened, and instead of me getting pulled to you—" He gestured at her. "You got pulled to me."
Louise paled slightly. "T-that's not possible. That's not how the Summoning Ritual works!"
"Apparently, it is now," Strange muttered.
Louise shook her head, her pink hair swaying as she tried to process this. "But… But that means…"
Strange gave her a moment, waiting for it to click.
Louise's face contorted in absolute horror.
"...I SUMMONED MYSELF?!"
Strange smirked. "Yup. Congratulations, kid. You're your own familiar."
Louise let out a strangled, unintelligible noise that could only be described as pure existential despair.
"This is a disaster," she wailed. "A noble cannot be their own familiar! This is worse than if I had summoned a bug! This is worse than nothing! This is—"
"A cosmic joke?" Strange supplied helpfully.
Louise rounded on him, pointing an accusatory finger. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
Strange's brows shot up. "Oh, really? And how exactly is this my fault?"
"You must have used some kind of commoner magic to interfere with my summoning!"
Strange choked on a laugh. "Commoner magic?"
Louise nodded furiously. "Yes! That has to be the only explanation! No true noble would make such a mistake!"
Strange just stared at her for a long moment.
Then, rubbing the bridge of his nose, he said in the most unimpressed tone possible—
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
Louise folded her arms. "A commoner dressed in a ridiculous outfit."
Strange took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself. "Okay. First of all, rude. Second of all, I am Doctor Stephen Strange—Sorcerer Supreme, Master of the Mystic Arts, and Guardian of the Multiverse."
Louise stared at him.
Then, she snorted. "Hah! That's ridiculous. That's not a real title!"
Strange just stared at her. "Oh? And what's your title, then?"
Louise straightened proudly. "I am Louise Françoise le Blanc de La Vallière, daughter of the noble Vallière family, student of the prestigious Tristain Academy of Magic, and a mage of high—"
"Blah blah blah, fancy words, fancy words," Strange interrupted with a mocking hand gesture. "Yeah, I got it. You're nobility. Congratulations, you're officially the least interesting noble I've ever met."
Louise gasped, offended beyond belief. "HOW DARE YOU?!"
Strange shrugged. "Easily."
Louise gritted her teeth, but before she could launch into another tirade, Strange raised a finger.
"Alright, princess, let's cut the theatrics. You're in my world now, and we need to figure out how to send you home. So, unless you want to spend the rest of your days as an out-of-place magical aristocrat in New York City, I suggest you start cooperating."
Louise hesitated.
She hated the idea of cooperating with a commoner, but… he was right.
She was in a completely different world.
And as much as she loathed to admit it…
She needed him.
Louise crossed her arms and huffed dramatically. "Fine. But I expect to be treated with the respect due to a noble!"
Strange smirked. "Sure, kid. Whatever you say."
The Sanctum's candles flickered, casting long shadows as Strange turned toward his desk.
"Now," he muttered, "let's see if we can fix this mess…"
Doctor Stephen Strange had dealt with plenty of strange phenomena before—pun fully intended.
Reality warping? Been there.
Time loops? Handled it.
Demonic invasions? Just another Tuesday.
But an accidental interdimensional reverse summoning? That was a new one.
Louise sat across from him at the large wooden table in the Sanctum's study chamber. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression one of pure, noble indignation.
The air between them was tense, filled with unspoken questions and mystical energy that still lingered from the botched summoning. The only sound was the occasional rustle of parchment as Strange flipped through an old tome, one hand lazily resting against his chin while the other trailed over the text.
He had barely even started deciphering the mechanics of what had happened, but something was already nagging at him—a puzzle piece that refused to fit.
Strange frowned, flipping another page. "This doesn't make sense."
Louise huffed loudly. "Finally, something we agree on."
Strange ignored her, deep in thought. "Your summoning spell should have been nullified completely. That's how counterspells work—you cut off the magical tether before it can take hold. But something on your end… stopped that."
Louise blinked. "What?"
Strange leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "When I sensed the summoning magic trying to pull me, I cast a spell to disrupt it—forcefully sever the link before it could complete the ritual. That should have been enough to undo it entirely."
Louise frowned. "Then why wasn't it?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Strange muttered. He glanced at her, his mind working through the logistics of spell interference. "For your spell to push through my counterspell, it would have required immense magical power—far beyond the level of an average spellcaster."
Louise stiffened at that.
Strange caught the change in her expression.
"...What?" he asked, raising a brow.
Louise suddenly looked very uncomfortable. She shifted in her chair, avoiding his gaze. "That… doesn't make any sense."
"Why not?"
Louise hesitated, then sighed, rubbing her temples.
"Because," she muttered through gritted teeth, "I'm the worst mage at the Tristain Academy of Magic."
Strange stared at her.
"Come again?"
Louise let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "I can't cast spells! Or, well, not properly." She glanced away, her fingers tightening around the edges of her sleeves. "Every single spell I've ever tried to cast… has failed."
Strange's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the way he was looking at her now.
"Failed?" he echoed.
Louise nodded stiffly. "Every spell I've tried to cast explodes. Every single one. It doesn't matter what element I try to use—fire, water, wind, earth. It always ends in an explosion."
Strange leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.
"...Huh."
Louise scowled. "Oh, don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm some kind of weird anomaly!"
Strange gestured vaguely. "Well, aren't you?"
Louise opened her mouth, offended, and immediately closed it because, if she was being honest, even she couldn't argue against that.
She slumped slightly. "I… don't know why my magic doesn't work. Everyone calls me 'Louise the Zero' because of it."
"Zero?" Strange repeated.
Louise gritted her teeth. "As in zero success, zero spells, zero talent."
Strange tilted his head, watching her closely. The way she had clenched her fists, the way her voice had wavered just slightly on that last sentence—he knew that kind of frustration all too well.
He had seen it before.
In himself.
The old version of himself.
The arrogant, bitter man who had once lost everything and hated the world for it.
The difference was that he had once been a world-renowned surgeon, while Louise had never even had a chance to prove herself.
Strange drummed his fingers on the table. "So let me get this straight… You've never successfully cast a spell in your life?"
Louise hesitated, then shook her head.
"And yet, somehow, your summoning spell—a spell that, by all accounts, shouldn't have worked—overpowered my counterspell and pulled you here instead."
Louise's expression twisted in frustration. "I don't know why! Maybe I just messed it up so badly that it broke reality!"
Strange rubbed his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly. "Or…"
Louise frowned. "Or what?"
Strange tapped the table. "Or maybe you're not a failure at magic, Louise. Maybe you've just been trying to use the wrong kind of magic."
Louise froze.
For a long moment, she just stared at him, her mind grinding to a halt.
Then, her face twisted in a scowl.
"Are you mocking me?" she snapped.
Strange held up a hand. "No, I'm being serious."
Louise crossed her arms. "That's impossible. Magic is magic. If I were actually talented, I'd be able to use any element."
Strange gave her a flat look. "Says who?"
Louise opened her mouth—then stopped.
Strange leaned forward. "Look, I've seen a lot of magical disciplines across different dimensions. Magic isn't just about fire, water, air, and earth. It's about understanding what you're connected to, what you channel." He gestured toward her. "Maybe your explosions aren't failures. Maybe they're a byproduct of something deeper—something you haven't been taught how to use."
Louise swallowed. "That… doesn't make sense."
"Neither does summoning yourself across dimensions," Strange pointed out.
Louise scoffed, crossing her arms even tighter. "This is ridiculous. Magic isn't some vague mystical force—it's structured. It follows rules. It's about the four elements: fire, water, earth, and air. Everyone knows that."
Strange gave her a look that screamed, Oh, you poor, clueless child.
"Really? That's what they teach you?" he said, tilting his head. "Magic is just those four elements?"
Louise narrowed her eyes. "Yes! And since I can't use any of them properly, it means I'm a failure."
Strange sighed, rubbing his temples. "You sound exactly like me when I was a surgeon. Thinking magic was just a simple set of principles, like stitching wounds or setting bones. Thinking that if I couldn't control it my way, then it meant I had failed. But the truth is—" He leaned in, fixing her with a sharp gaze.
"You're looking at magic through a keyhole."
Louise blinked. "What?"
Strange took a step closer, folding his arms. "You've spent your whole life believing that magic is just the four elements because that's all you were allowed to see. But that's like looking through a tiny crack in a door and thinking you can understand the entire universe on the other side."
Louise frowned. "That's nonsense."
Strange smirked. "Is it?"
Louise scowled. "Of course it is! That doesn't even mean anything!"
Strange sighed, shaking his head. "I figured you'd say that." He raised his hands, cracking his fingers. "I could explain it all day, but you're just going to keep arguing, aren't you?"
Louise huffed. "Obviously."
Strange smiled in a way that made her stomach twist with unease.
"Then let me show you."
Before Louise could react, Strange reached forward and lightly pressed two fingers against her forehead.
Everything exploded.
Not in the way she was used to.
Not in a way that sent fire, smoke, and debris flying everywhere.
No. This was something else entirely.
Louise's breath vanished from her lungs as she felt herself being pulled backward at an impossible speed. The room around her—the Sanctum, Strange, the table, the shelves, even the air itself—folded in on itself like a collapsing canvas, warping and stretching outward into an endless void.
She fell.
Or maybe she wasn't falling—maybe space itself was being ripped away from her, leaving her to plummet through nothingness. The world around her shifted, twisted, and unraveled into a kaleidoscope of colors, shapes, and impossible structures.
Her body—was it even her body anymore?—was no longer bound to any single space. She felt herself shrink to the size of a grain of sand, then stretch into something massive, larger than mountains, larger than planets.
Her mind screamed in confusion, but no sound came out.
Then—
She wasn't falling anymore.
She was everywhere.
Her eyes snapped open, and she saw it.
She saw realms upon realms, stacked like endless reflections in an infinite mirror, each one bending into the next.
She saw a galaxy forming, a swirling cosmic storm of fire and gas, condensing into a single, bright-burning star.
She saw an ancient city made of floating rings of golden energy, endless staircases leading to nowhere, bridges that looped into the sky and vanished into new realities.
She saw a vast ocean of liquid light, stars floating within it like drifting embers, and creatures—shimmering, formless beings—swimming through it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
She saw the past, the future, and moments that had never been, all unfolding at once.
She tried to breathe, but she didn't have lungs anymore.
She tried to scream, but she didn't have a mouth.
Then—
She saw herself.
A thousand versions of her.
Each one slightly different.
One was taller, wearing golden robes lined with intricate runes, an ethereal glow in her eyes.
One had no face, just a shifting void of stars where her features should be.
One was standing on a mountain of stone, holding a staff that crackled with blue fire, her presence commanding entire armies of magical beings.
And one was nothing but a whisper, barely existing at all.
Then—
Something looked at her.
It wasn't a person.
It wasn't a creature.
It was something vast, something ancient, something that existed beyond understanding.
She couldn't see its form—only feel its presence.
And when it spoke, it wasn't with words.
"OPEN YOUR EYES."
Louise gasped—
She snapped back into her body, the force of it sending her stumbling backward so hard that she crashed onto the floor of the Sanctum.
Her lungs burned as she sucked in the air, her entire body shaking violently. The world spun. The room twisted.
It took her a full five seconds to realize she was screaming.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
She flailed, gasping for air, her limbs twitching from the overwhelming flood of sensations.
Strange, standing over her, casually crossed his arms. "Huh. That was a louder scream than usual."
Louise jerked her gaze up at him, her pupils dilated, her breathing ragged. "W-WHAT… WHAT… WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
Strange smirked. "A wider keyhole."
Louise clutched her head, her entire body still shuddering. "That wasn't a keyhole! That was—THAT WAS EVERYTHING!"
Strange shrugged. "Yeah, that happens the first time."
Louise stared at him, mouth open in sheer, speechless horror. "THE FIRST TIME?! YOU MEAN THERE'S MORE?!"
Strange chuckled. "Oh, yeah. Lots more."
Louise scrambled away from him, putting as much distance between them as possible. "Y-you—You're INSANE!"
Strange nodded. "So I've been told."
Louise buried her face in her hands, her mind still spinning, still grappling with everything she had seen.
For her entire life, she had been told that magic was strict, rigid, bound to rules and limitations. That it was the four elements. That she had failed because she couldn't use them.
But now—
Now, she had seen something so much bigger.
And worse—she couldn't unsee it.
Strange knelt beside her. His tone, for once, was calm.
"You think you know magic, Louise," he said quietly. "But you've only ever been shown one tiny piece of it. One small, controlled, carefully packaged version."
Louise slowly lifted her gaze, her breath still unsteady.
"Your magic isn't weak," Strange continued. "It's something else. Something they never taught you about."
Louise swallowed hard. "W-what are you saying?"
Strange stood up, offering her a hand.
"I'm saying," he said simply, "that it's time you actually learn what magic is."
Louise stared at him, her heartbeat still pounding in her ears.
Slowly—hesitantly—she reached up and took his hand.
Strange, still standing over her, grinned smugly. "Yeah, that's the usual reaction."
Then, behind them—
FWIP.
A portal hummed into existence just a few feet away. A golden-rimmed circle of glowing energy spiraled outward, opening into a small, cluttered New York deli where a few confused customers momentarily glimpsed the Sanctum's interior before the portal snapped shut.
Through it stepped Wong, two takeout bags in hand. His eyebrows were already furrowing, and he immediately sensed that something was off.
He stopped mid-stride, his expression darkening as he noticed the utterly wrecked state of the room—the slightly warped space, the unsettling aura of lingering cosmic energy, the girl on the floor shaking as though she had just stared into the void itself.
He blinked.
Then he looked at Strange.
Then back at the girl.
Then, back at Strange.
A long beat of silence passed.
Finally, Wong said in his usual, dryly unimpressed tone:
"…Strange. Who is the girl?"
Strange smirked. "Good news, Wong. You were right."
Wong's eyes narrowed. "About what, exactly?"
Strange gestured toward Louise. "I did go and get an apprentice."
Louise—still sitting on the floor—snapped out of her trance just long enough to whirl toward Strange with an expression of pure, unfiltered horror.
"WHAT?!"
Strange clapped his hands together. "Yep. You called it. I went ahead and got myself a student."
Wong stared at him, then slowly looked back down at Louise, taking in her pink hair, her aristocratic-looking uniform, her trembling hands still gripping her skull as she muttered to herself.
Then, back to Strange.
"You kidnapped her, didn't you?"
Louise gasped, offended beyond reason. "I AM NOT KIDNAPPED!"
Strange rolled his eyes. "No, Wong, I didn't kidnap her. She summoned herself to me."
Wong stared at him harder. "She summoned herself to you."
Strange held up a finger. "Technically, she was trying to summon something else, but my counterspell backfired, and instead of stopping her spell, it reversed it—"
Louise bolted upright, flailing her arms. "WHICH IS YOUR FAULT!"
Strange turned to her. "You're still on that, huh?"
"OF COURSE, I'M STILL ON THAT!" Louise stomped her foot. "YOU SHOWED ME A NIGHTMARE DIMENSION!"
Strange shrugged. "I showed you reality."
"REALITY IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BREATHE!"
Wong let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. "You gave her the keyhole speech, didn't you?"
Strange grinned. "Oh yeah. And she took the trip."
Wong shook his head, muttering. "You always overdo it."
Louise threw her hands up. "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
Wong ignored her, sighing as he set the takeout bags down on the table. "Alright, let's rewind this. Who exactly is she?"
Strange gestured toward Louise. "Meet Louise de La Vallière. Sixteen, aristocrat, comes from a world where magic is somehow even more outdated than ours."
Louise scowled. "I resent that!"
Strange ignored her. "She was supposed to summon a familiar but somehow managed to pull herself across dimensions instead."
Wong's eyebrows lifted slightly. "That's… not an easy mistake to make."
Strange nodded. "Exactly. Which is why I think there's something weird about her magic. I tried to counter the summoning spell, but something on her end pushed through my nullification and forced the spell to complete."
Wong paused, taking that in. Then he looked at Louise, studying her. "You're saying she did that?"
Strange nodded.
Louise sputtered. "I DID NOT! I CAN'T EVEN CAST MAGIC PROPERLY!"
Wong frowned. "You… can't?"
Strange leaned against the table, folding his arms. "Oh yeah. That's the fun part."
Louise gritted her teeth. "It is NOT fun!"
Strange gestured toward her with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Louise the Zero!"
Louise twitched violently. "DO NOT CALL ME THAT!"
Strange smirked. "Her words, not mine. She's apparently so bad at casting spells that she's never gotten one right."
Wong's brows knitted together. "But if she's never successfully cast magic, how did she override your counterspell?"
Strange pointed. "EXACTLY."
Louise crossed her arms, huffing. "I don't know! Maybe the spell just went so wrong that it broke the rules entirely!"
Wong shook his head. "That's not how magic works."
Strange grinned. "Tell that to her explosions."
Louise flushed, looking away. "I-I can't control them…"
Strange nodded. "Which means she's not dealing with normal elemental magic. Something else is at play here."
Wong studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. "So what's the plan?"
Strange grinned mischievously. "Simple. We test her. Figure out what's really going on."
Louise visibly paled. "Oh, NO."
Strange grinned wider. "Oh, YES."
Wong sighed and turned toward the table, opening one of the takeout bags. "You do that. I'm eating."
Louise gawked. "How are you so calm about all this?!"
Wong pulled out a sandwich, unbothered. "Strange does this kind of thing all the time."
Louise turned to Strange, horrified. "YOU DO?!"
Strange shrugged. "Eh, once or twice a month."
Louise looked like she was about to have a breakdown.
Strange clapped his hands together. "Alright, kid. You've been through a lot, so let's start with something simple—like figuring out whether your explosions are actually magic or just divine punishment for being loud."
Louise sputtered. "I AM NOT LOUD!"
Strange and Wong both stared at her.
Louise turned beet red. "...Shut up."
Strange smirked. "This is gonna be fun."
Louise groaned loudly, flopping onto the chair in utter defeat.
And thus, her training began.
Whew! Okay, so, uh… yeah. This idea has been living rent-free in my brain for way too long, and I finally decided to do something about it. I mean, come on—Louise and Doctor Strange? That's a comedy goldmine and a magical disaster waiting to happen.
I have no idea where this is going, but I do know that watching Strange deal with Louise's noble tantrums and Louise trying (and failing) to act like she's in control of anything is pure entertainment. Wong, of course, is just here to suffer through it all like the tired, underappreciated king he is.
If you've stuck around this far, bless you. More magical chaos is absolutely coming.
Till next time!