The Holy Son in Marvel

Solomon slowly sat up in bed, his eyes still closed, though his mind was already alert. He knew exactly where he was without needing to look—the arrangement of the room was all too familiar.

The dorm supervisor had already warned him: no posters of Japanese schoolgirls in the room. The posters had been replaced with a silver-green tapestry, part of the supervisor's personal collection. Silver threads formed vines winding across dark green wool, carefully stopping just short of the yellow border, curling shyly away.

Before returning to school, Solomon had informed the Sorcerer Supreme and Mordo about the traps he'd set. Kaecilius, after helping capture Mephisto's avatar, had gone to Canada to track a cult, while Mordo had stayed behind to recover from a spinal injury Mephisto had inflicted. Though Mordo could move freely, pain haunted his every step, leaving him to focus on paperwork and administrative tasks.

The Sorcerer Supreme wasn't entirely pleased with Solomon's plan, but since there was no way to know if S.H.I.E.L.D. would digitize the Book of Eibon, the method was a necessary compromise. The Ancient One reluctantly agreed and instructed the sorcerers guarding the three sanctums to monitor any magical surges from other dimensions or across the Aetheric Plane.

Solomon rubbed his eyes and reluctantly opened them. Fortunately, Windsor's morning chill wasn't too harsh, and with spring nearing, he could hop out of bed in his pajamas and bare feet to put on his freshly laundered clothes. It had been five days since his return to Eton. After leaving New York and returning to London, he'd been pulled back into an endless, mind-numbing academic routine. The theology classes, which he loathed most, were the worst. Eton had mandatory theology classes and its own chapel, much to Solomon's irritation.

The Church of England allowed him no peace; every Saturday, he was expected to join in the chapel's Latin hymn recitations. He had no idea what Martin Luther's spirit would think of all this.

It wasn't just him who was busy. Kamar-Taj's other members were constantly at work, too. The sorcerers guarding the planetary defense systems had reported several times to the Sorcerer Supreme about frequent, incomplete teleportation arrays appearing in the deserts of New Mexico. But each time, the Sorcerer Supreme denied their requests to investigate. She insisted they remain stationed at the three sanctums to handle the dimensional rifts these spatial disturbances were causing and eliminate any intruders from other dimensions.

Solomon had heard about this before returning to Eton, and he could roughly guess what it was all about. Unlike the other sorcerers, he didn't ask the Sorcerer Supreme for more information. To him, the upcoming battle would be a trial for humanity—a chance for people to confront the reality of their arrogance.

No wonder Nick Fury hadn't reached out to him; the man was probably overwhelmed.

Solomon's thoughts wandered as he brushed his teeth. It had been five days since he'd rejoined civilian life, yet Nick Fury had ignored him, and Coulson had seemingly vanished. No one from S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided any update on Johnny Blaze and Roshan, either.

Before returning, Solomon had sent a warning message to Nick Fury out of goodwill, informing him of the considerable risks involved with the New Mexico experiments. But there had been no response, no agents sent to brief him, and even Level 8 Agent Victoria Hand was nowhere to be seen. It was odd, to say the least.

Was S.H.I.E.L.D. really not monitoring him in the civilian world? Solomon spat out the toothpaste foam, examining his pristine white teeth in the mirror while his thoughts drifted beyond the atmosphere. He didn't believe for a second that S.H.I.E.L.D. would let its guard down. His encounter with Coulson at the art exhibit had likely been no coincidence. That was a gathering for wealthy elites, not a tech convention, with a formal dress code. While not as strict as the Royal Opera House, it required more than sneakers—unless you were Tony Stark or Elon Musk. Coulson and his girlfriend didn't fit that profile.

Even setting aside how Coulson obtained tickets, the cost of formal attire alone would be a stretch for a typical agent. It was likely S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided them with clothes and orchestrated their attendance. It wasn't likely that a cellist from Portland would just know about an art exhibit at the Four Seasons in Manhattan.

Coulson's look of surprise when they'd met was probably an act. From what Coulson had mentioned, he'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D. straight out of high school. Given his talent, he'd bypassed the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, completing only the standard agent training, yet he had nearly fooled Solomon. But Solomon had little time to worry about S.H.I.E.L.D. now. The Sorcerer Supreme was handling the Tesseract, leaving Solomon free to focus solely on the Book of Eibon copies. To this end, he had to inspect the planetary defense logs every night.

Solomon pulled the silver key hanging from his neck, which lay warm against his chest. Fascinated by the intricate patterns on the key, Solomon examined it as he did every day. Although the patterns didn't yet form any spell, tracing them had given him glimpses into the boundless truths of the chaotic cosmos. It was a safe way to learn, much like wild sorcerers in another realm who found magic's traces in nature, seeking out, deciphering, and studying them.

While the silver key had yet to provide a spell, Solomon now understood Randolph Carter's technique for recreating Salem in 1692. The spell, called "Temporal Trap," was originally meant to pull a single creature five miles through time. But Randolph Carter's version had brought nearly all of Salem's people from three centuries ago to the present and returned them without their knowledge. It was no wonder Carter claimed he couldn't repeat the feat.

According to Carter, Solomon's next focus would be a spell called the "Temporal Gateway," which allowed travel across eras, dimensions, or worlds. Unlike the Quantum Realm's probabilistic approach, this spell enabled direct timeline travel within a single timeline.

The Sorcerer Supreme had reviewed the spell but strictly forbade Solomon from using it in this realm to avoid disrupting history. Having witnessed the consequences of time travel through Bayonetta and Cereza, Solomon heeded her warning. The Sorcerer Supreme had explained that Solomon, as an outsider, had no place in the closed loops of past timelines.

Though the explanation was somewhat confusing, Solomon took her warning seriously. Until he fully understood, he wouldn't attempt the Temporal Gateway—a lesson learned from the Flash next door.

Solomon washed his face, dressed, put on his sling ring, and stepped into the Mirror Dimension before class. Like martial arts, magic required daily practice to build muscle memory and speed in casting. Novice spellcasters, in moments of panic, often forgot spells. Kamar-Taj couldn't allow that to happen, so he followed their training regimen even while at Eton.

Today he planned to work on a new spell—a fresh attempt based on the Third Circle spells he had mastered. This spell, unlike others, would be crucial for him in the future and, more importantly, safer to cast.

Safety was the key point; any unsafe spell was off-limits without the Ancient One's supervision.

Since Solomon didn't have spell slots, he wasn't sure if he had truly mastered this spell, which was why he was testing it in the Mirror Dimension.

Slowly, a dark tendril of shadow rose from the ground before him.

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