The sun hung low over the Himalayan peaks, painting the mountains in amber and gold. Arthur's final practice session had left him drained but satisfied. The golden shield he'd sustained for nearly five minutes represented genuine progress, even if it paled compared to what other students accomplished.
He wiped sweat from his brow and headed toward the secluded balcony where he'd first spoken with the Ancient One. Some instinct told him she would be there.
As he climbed the winding stone steps, the mountain breeze sharpened, carrying the scent of snow and distant juniper. His muscles ached pleasantly from exertion.
The Ancient One stood gazing out at the vista, her back to him, seemingly lost in contemplation.
"Your progress accelerates," she said without turning. "The clarity you've regained serves you well."
Arthur approached the stone balustrade. "You were expecting me."
"Questions follow revelations as naturally as night follows day." She turned to face him, her expression serene but evaluating. "You want to ask about Kaecilius."
The directness caught him slightly off-guard, though it shouldn't have. He'd gradually learned that conversation with the Ancient One rarely included small talk.
"Yes. You know who he is." Arthur kept his voice carefully neutral. "What he becomes."
"I've seen possibilities." Her gaze drifted back to the mountains, fingers lightly tracing patterns in the air. "Many possibilities."
"Then why accept him as a student?" Arthur turned to face her fully. "When you know he'll betray everything you stand for? That he'll turn to Dormammu and try to destroy the sanctums?"
The Ancient One remained silent, her breathing steady as if in meditation. When she spoke, her voice carried neither defensiveness nor judgment.
"We do not discriminate, Mr. Hayes." A faint breeze stirred her robes. "Our knowledge is open to everyone who seeks understanding of the mystic arts."
"This isn't about hypotheticals," Arthur countered, crossing his arms. "His entire purpose for being here is to gain power to bring back his dead family. He'll stop at nothing."
"And yours?" Her eyes met his now, penetrating and uncomfortably perceptive. "What is your purpose for being here?"
Arthur blinked, caught off-guard by the redirection. "To learn. To master another form of magic."
"For what end?" She pressed, stepping closer. "Power? Security? Control?"
"To protect myself and mine," he replied, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. "To be prepared for what's coming."
"A noble intention." She traced a small golden circle in the air. "Kaecilius would say the same about his goals."
"It's not the same thing." Arthur's jaw tightened.
"Isn't it?" The Ancient One's voice remained calm, but something in it sharpened like a blade. "Both of you seek power for purposes you deem worthy. The difference lies only in your judgment."
"My knowledge won't lead to mass destruction," Arthur insisted.
"Are you certain?" Her question hung in the cooling air. "In many potential futures I've glimpsed, you walk paths as dark as his—perhaps darker, given your unique knowledge."
The statement hit Arthur like a physical blow. He stared at her, momentarily speechless.
"What are you talking about?" he finally managed.
"Exactly what I said." Her expression held no accusation, only profound sadness. "In several possible timelines, you become willing to sacrifice anything—and anyone—to achieve your goals."
Arthur stepped back from the railing. "That's impossible. I would never—"
"Never?" Her eyebrow arched slightly. "Can't you think of any reason?"
Arthur fell silent, his certainty suddenly shakier than the hanging bridges connecting Kamar-Taj's towers.
"The only way that happens is if I lose someone important to me. Someone I care about deeply." He paused, frowning. "But will I ever care for someone that much?"
"I cannot answer that."
"Of course not. That would be too straightforward." Arthur's laugh held no humor. "Though I can't imagine myself following such a clichéd villain origin story. 'Wizard gets sad, decides to destroy world.' Hardly original."
The Ancient One's lips twitched, almost smiling despite the gravity of their conversation.
"If I follow such a path," Arthur said slowly, "it would only be because I failed to become strong enough to protect my close ones." His fingers drummed against the stone. "Which means I need to work harder."
The Ancient One studied him, tracing a finger absently along the weathered balustrade.
"Knowing this about yourself," she asked, "are you still so quick to condemn Kaecilius for choices he hasn't yet made?"
"Yes." Arthur met her gaze without hesitation. "I make no claim to nobility or selflessness. I'm comfortable with my contradictions. But I'd never allow someone I knew to be dangerous to gain power they'll misuse."
"You have more in common with him than you realize." She nodded toward the courtyard below, where evening lanterns had begun to glow like earthbound stars. "Both brilliant. Both driven by loss. Both certain of your own righteousness."
"Maybe so." Arthur leaned against the railing. "But unlike him, I understand that my actions will have consequences. I cannot say the same about him."
"You know his future actions, not his present mind," she replied. "Just as I cannot know if your future paths will mirror what I've glimpsed."
"And yet you train us both," Arthur observed.
"Yes. Because potential is not destiny."
"I just hope your faith in him proves justified," Arthur sighed and said. "Though I wouldn't bet on it."
They stood in silence as darkness claimed the mountains, stars emerging in the deepening indigo sky. The air grew sharper with cold.
"How do you bear it?" Arthur finally asked, his voice quieter. "The weight of seeing all these futures, knowing the tragedies that might unfold, but choosing not to prevent them?"
The question seemed to surprise her. She considered it with genuine thoughtfulness.
"I am guardian of reality's mystical integrity, not its author," she replied, her fingers absently tracing patterns that left faint golden trails. "I observe. I prepare. I intervene only when dimensional threats emerge."
She turned to him fully. "You struggle because you still believe you can—and should—control everything. That the burden of the universe rests on your shoulders alone."
"I know of so many pointless deaths," Arthur admitted, his voice tight. "The simplest actions could prevent them."
"And create new ones you cannot foresee," she countered gently. "The greatest arrogance is believing we can predict all consequences of our interventions."
Arthur stared out at the darkened valley, lights of distant villages twinkling like fallen stars. "These possible disasters haunt me."
"Then let them be ghosts, not chains." Her voice softened. "Act with compassion when opportunity presents itself, but release the illusion that you must orchestrate every life and death."
The mountain wind stirred, carrying the distant sound of a meditation bell.
"Your evening practice awaits," she observed. "Master Singh speaks highly of your progress."
Arthur recognized the gentle dismissal. "Yes. Now that I know I have the potential to go full supervillain, I should definitely practice harder." He offered a sardonic half-smile. "Nothing motivates like existential dread."
"One last thing, Mr. Hayes." She turned back to the mountains. "Watch Kaecilius closely in the coming weeks. Not as an adversary to be defeated, but as a mirror. You might learn more about yourself than you expect."
Arthur descended the stone steps, the Ancient One's words following him like shadows.
—
The following morning brought a tense new dynamic to the training courtyard. Kaecilius joined the beginners' circle, his grief-hollowed eyes surveying the other students with barely concealed impatience.
The desperate drive to learn—to find whatever knowledge might reunite him with his family—radiated from him like heat from fire.
Arthur watched from across the courtyard, where he practiced more complex shielding patterns. He couldn't help but notice how the other students unconsciously made space for Kaecilius, responding to something in his demeanor that marked him as different.
Master Lhakpa's instructions floated across the courtyard. "Channel the energy. Do not force it. Allow it to flow through you."
Arthur refocused on his own practice, determined not to be distracted. But he couldn't help glancing over when exclamations of surprise erupted from the beginners' circle.
Golden sparks danced between Kaecilius's fingers—not the faint flickers Arthur had struggled for weeks to produce, but bright, sustained energy that formed perfect circles in the air.
"Exceptional, Mr. Kaecilius," Master Lhakpa praised. "You have natural affinity for the mystic arts."
Arthur's shield flickered and died as his concentration broke. A familiar burn of competitive fire ignited in his chest. In a single session, this man—this future villain—had accomplished what had taken Arthur weeks of grueling effort.
The display shouldn't have surprised him; Kaecilius had been a prodigy in the timeline Arthur remembered. But witnessing it firsthand sent a jolt of competitive energy through him.
He needed to work harder. He would not let a future villain surpass him.
And he would never, under any circumstances, become what the Ancient One had foreseen. Some futures simply weren't acceptable.