Chapter 138
Arc 9 - Ch 5: Lamentis-1
Location: Lamentis-1, Edge of Kree Space, 2075
Tyson looked up at the massive moon hanging in the alien sky, surrounded by a swirling nebula of purple and blue cosmic dust. The gravitational pull of something that size would be immense, far beyond anything he had ever attempted with his magnetic abilities. The thing had to be thousands of miles in diameter, maybe more. He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar tingle of magnetic energy coursing through his body.
Could he do it? Could he actually stop something that massive?
He had absorbed Magneto's power completely, drained every ounce of the man's mutant ability along with decades of memories and experience. Those memories flickered through his mind now; feats that defied physics, that rewrote the rules of what should be possible.
But this? This was different. This was a celestial body with its own gravitational field, its own momentum, its own mass beyond comprehension. Even Magneto had never attempted anything on this scale.
Tyson raised his hand toward the descending moon, concentrating. He could feel it, distantly, the trace amounts of metallic elements in its composition. Iron, nickel, cobalt, scattered throughout the rock in veins and deposits. Not much, but enough to grasp.
Maybe.
Sylvie began walking away, her determined stride carrying her across the rocky terrain.
"Where are you going?" Tyson followed, boots crunching on gravel.
"The only way off this planet is that TemPad, and it's not working." She pointed to a cluster of buildings on the distant horizon. "There's a ship launching from that city. Last transport off this rock. I need its energy source to charge the TemPad."
"Alright, great." Tyson fell into step beside her.
Sylvie stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "Where are you going?"
"With you?"
"No, thank you. I work alone."
A chittering, buzzing sound emanated from everywhere at once, setting his enhanced senses on edge.
Sylvie took a defensive posture, her body tensing. Her hand moved to her blade.
"What is that supposed to be?" Tyson's muscles coiled. Then he smelled it—acidic and organic, like rotting vegetation combined with battery acid.
From the cliffs above, a creature descended. It landed with a heavy thud that sent vibrations through the ground. Eight feet tall, covered with an iridescent black-green exoskeleton. Six limbs extended from its segmented torso—four arms ending in pincers and two powerful legs. Its head was dominated by compound eyes that reflected the purple sky in hundreds of tiny facets, and mandibles that clicked together. Antennae twitched atop its head, tasting the air.
"Looks a little like a Chesme, but not quite."
"Trouble," Sylvie replied. "And where there's one, there's usually—"
Two more appeared on the ridge. They communicated with rapid clicks and hisses.
"Can you handle yourself in a fight?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing." Tyson held his hand out, and Nexus appeared.
The first creature lunged forward, wings buzzing. Sylvie backed up. "They hunt in packs. We need to move!"
The insectoid landed just yards away, its mandibles dripping with viscous fluid that sizzled when it hit the ground.
"I'm not running from an overgrown cockroach." Tyson charged forward.
The insect reacted with lightning reflexes, one arm slashing toward his face. He ducked under the attack and twisted. He adjusted his stance and struck. Nexus punched through with ease, and yellowish fluid spurted from the wound.
The creature emitted a high-pitched screech. It thrashed wildly.
"Behind you!" Sylvie shouted.
His spider-sense had already warned him. He spun just in time to see the second creature diving toward him. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding its attack. The insectoid crashed into its wounded companion.
Sylvie had drawn her sword and was facing off against the third. She fought with precise strikes, wasting no energy. "We can't fight all of them. There will be more coming."
The chittering intensified. Movement along the ridge, at least a dozen more.
Tyson's spider-sense screamed. He spun, bringing Nexus up just in time to catch an attack that would have taken his head off. The impact jarred through his arms, sending him stumbling backward. The creature pressed its advantage, all six limbs working in coordinated assault. He parried, dodged, and felt a third scrape across his shoulder. The bruising healed instantly.
The creature lunged again. Tyson was ready. He sidestepped, letting its momentum carry it past, and brought Nexus down in a brutal arc that severed the joint where its head met its thorax.
The third insectoid lunged. Tyson pivoted, bringing the ninjato up in a fluid arc that caught it between its compound eyes. The adamantium blade sliced through, spraying acidic ichor across the rocky ground. Two more scuttled forward. Tyson dropped into a defensive stance. The larger one struck first. Tyson parried with Nexus, spun inside its reach, and brought his blade across in a horizontal slash that severed two of its limbs. The wounded insectoid stumbled backward, screeching. Its companion attacked from the side. Tyson sensed the movement and responded without looking. The blade found a gap in the armor near its thorax.
"There are too many," Sylvie shouted.
Tyson pulled Nexus free and charged toward the next group. He moved through them in deadly rhythm. Each strike found a weak point. Each movement flowed into the next. His healing factor sealed the few scratches that made it through his defense. An especially large specimen crashed down behind him, wings buzzing. Tyson whirled. The creature caught Nexus between its pincers. Tyson let the momentum carry him forward, sliding beneath its guard. He dragged Nexus along its underbelly, spilling its innards across the ground.
The acidic smell filled the air as Tyson cut through three more in rapid succession. What he couldn't see, his spider-sense warned. Nexus moved as an extension of his will. He decapitated another insectoid with a backhand slash, its head bouncing across the rocks. Two more rushed him simultaneously. He met their charge head-on, leaving both in pieces.
Silence settled over the area. Tyson flicked his blade, ichor flying off to splatter the ground. He summoned Nexus back into his soul and turned. "What are those things?"
"Local wildlife." Sylvie began walking again. "The better question is, what are you?"
He bowed. "My name is Tyson Smith. I'm a mutant from Earth, Midgard, who was raised to the status of a deity by Odin Allfather. I was tasked with returning Loki to Asgard, along with the Tesseract, but the TVA grabbed us after a battle in my home city." He hesitated. "My mission has been complicated since that hunter pruned Loki. Any chance I could convince you to return with me? While I'm aware you aren't fond of the name, you could meet the criteria of being a Loki."
Sylvie stopped in her tracks. "Let me get this straight. You want me to abandon my mission, which I've been working on for years, to help you complete yours?" She laughed, a sharp sound without humor. "And you think I'd do this because I'm a Loki?"
"When you put it that way, it does sound ridiculous." Tyson gestured to the barren landscape. "But we're stuck on a moon that's about to be destroyed. Priorities might need to shift."
Sylvie studied him. "You said Odin made you a deity? What exactly does that mean?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I'm not sure if the Valravn title bestowed any powers upon me or recognized the ones that I already had. However, it did give me a measure of status in Asgard as well as recognition within their laws and customs."
"And what makes you think I'd be inclined to go to Asgard? I've been trying to reach the TVA. That's my mission. To find the Time-Keepers and make them pay for what they've done to me, to all the variants they've pruned."
"Then perhaps our goals aren't so different. I need to complete my mission for Odin, but that doesn't mean I can't help you with yours first."
Sylvie considered this, then shook her head. "Nice try." She turned and continued toward the distant city. "If you want to survive, keep up. But don't expect me to help you get back to Asgard."
Tyson fell into step beside her. "Fair enough. But we still need to get off this rock before it's destroyed. Truce until then?"
"Truce," she agreed reluctantly.
"So, these Time-Keepers. What exactly do you know about them?"
"Not much. They're supposed to be these cosmic entities that created the TVA and dictate the Sacred Timeline. But I've used enchantment on several TVA agents. None of them had ever seen the Time Keepers. Just their supposed mouthpieces like Renslayer."
"And you think they're responsible for marking you as a variant?"
Sylvie's pace quickened. "I know they are. I was taken from Asgard when I was just a child. I don't even know why."
They walked in silence for a while, the distant city growing slightly larger on the horizon. Small tremors shook the surface every few minutes.
"This planet doesn't have much time left." A particularly strong tremor caused a nearby rock formation to crumble. "We need to move faster. That city is our only hope."
"If we need to charge the TemPad, maybe I can do it."
Sylvie scoffed. "Even if you could charge it, the TemPad needs a massive power source, not a night light."
Tyson grinned. "I'm pretty massive."
"That's what all men think."
As they crested a ridge, a small settlement came into view. Unlike the distant city that still loomed on the horizon, this appeared to be an outpost of some kind, with a collection of utilitarian buildings clustered around what looked like a train station. A train sat on elevated tracks, its design futuristic yet weathered.
"This wasn't part of my plan, but it might work to our advantage."
They approached the settlement. A long line of people queued outside the station, bodies pressed together in desperation. Their clothing was drab and practical, faces etched with fear and exhaustion.
"The Ark leaves tonight, and we've been waiting in line for hours!" someone shouted from the crowd. Others joined in with similar complaints, their voices rising in a chorus of desperation.
"They're only taking the wealthy!"
"What about our children?"
"We have rights too!"
Guards in uniforms stood at intervals along the line, maintaining order with electric batons that crackled with energy.
Sylvie leaned closer. "I'm going to enchant a guard, have him lead us through the crowd, and if anyone gives us any trouble—"
"Uh, I'm pretty good with illusions. Why don't you let me take a crack at this one? Enchantment seems neat, but it looked like you were limited to a single person affected at a time." He tapped his temple. "I'm not."
Sylvie raised an eyebrow. "By all means, then, great Valravn, appointed by Odin."
A person near the front of the line suddenly broke ranks, lunging toward the entrance. "They're only giving tickets to the wealthy, what about us?!" he screamed before guards quickly subdued him, dragging him away as the crowd murmured uneasily.
Tyson observed the scene, taking in the details of the guards' uniforms, their posture, the way they interacted with the wealthy passengers who bypassed the line entirely. He concentrated.
"Follow my lead. And try to look important."
Tyson walked directly toward the entrance, projecting an illusion that they were wearing clothes in a similar style to the wealthy passengers. The illusion wasn't just visual; it affected all senses, making the guards hear the subtle sounds of their uniforms and smell the same perfumes. The guards at the entrance parted without question.
The platform was significantly less crowded; there were only a few well-dressed passengers waiting patiently for boarding. Tyson and Sylvie walked behind a pair of people who were obviously wealthy. Their outfits were lighter and looked more like dress robes than the baggy coats everyone else wore. As they approached the boarding stairs, a guard with a tablet-like device stood checking passengers.
"Tickets?" he asked the wealthy pair.
The couple handed him their tickets. He inspected them briefly before gesturing them on to ascend the stairs.
When the guard turned to Tyson, he held out his empty hand confidently, creating the illusion of ornate tickets with holographic security features, destination codes that matched the wealthy couple's, and boarding passes that felt real to the touch even though nothing existed in Tyson's palm.
The guard reached for them, fingers closing on air that his mind insisted was paper. For a heartbeat, he examined the nothing in his hands while Tyson maintained the projection. Then the guard handed back the invisible tickets and gestured them forward.
— Rogue Redemption —
The dining car swayed gently as the train cut through the Lamentis landscape. Wealthy passengers in fine attire chatted over drinks, oblivious or uncaring of the impending apocalypse. Sylvie grabbed a table in the middle of the car, sliding into the booth so her back faced neither entrance. She patted the curved seat beside her.
Tyson hesitated, unsure why she sat in the middle instead of a position where they would be across from each other.
"I can't sit with my back to a door," Sylvie explained.
Tyson looked around, spotting entrances at both ends of the car. "Ah, I see. Doors on both sides, so you need to sit in the middle. Got it." He slid into the booth to her left, leaving enough space between them to avoid crowding her.
A server approached with glasses of amber liquid, setting them down before departing. Sylvie took a cautious sip.
"How did you do that? I didn't see anything."
Tyson swirled his drink, watching as outside, another meteor streaked across the sky. "I didn't project the illusion for you."
"Why not?"
"When I first went to Asgard, I fought Loki. I tried using my illusions on him, and his will was too strong. It worked only for a moment before he saw through them." He shrugged casually, even though the memory still carried a sting. Being outmaneuvered by Loki had been a lesson in humility he hadn't appreciated at the time. "I figured it would be the same with you, so I didn't bother. If you'd like, I can show you what it looked like." Tyson's voice lowered. "You might have to relax your guard, though. I don't know if you trust me enough to do so."
Sylvie considered silently. "Show me."
The air above the table shimmered, and a miniature scene materialized. Their earlier encounter with the train guard replayed in perfect detail. The tiny guard examined nonexistent tickets. Sylvie watched his mind fill in all the details, the texture of the paper, the security features, the correct destination codes. The illusion captured the guard's satisfied nod before letting them board.
She leaned forward, fingers hovering near the miniature scene without touching it. Her breath caught slightly, and for a moment, she looked almost childlike in her fascination. She bit her lower lip, barely perceptible, but Tyson caught it. Whatever walls she maintained, whatever armor she wore, this glimpse of magic from her stolen childhood had pierced through.
Then Sylvie seemed to realize how she looked and settled back, reassembling her careful composure. But something had shifted.
"If your illusions don't work on me unless I let them," she said thoughtfully as the projection faded, "does that mean my enchantment won't work on you unless you allow it?"
Tyson took a drink before answering. "I'm unsure. As I mentioned previously, Amora, an Asgardian enchantress, cast a spell on me last year. But my resistance to such things is greater now. There's no way to know without trying it."
At a nearby table, a wealthy couple clinked glasses, celebrating something trivial while their world hurtled toward destruction.
"Would you trust me enough to try?" The question came out quieter than Sylvie seemed to intend. She looked down at her glass, as if the amber liquid held the answer to something she was afraid to ask directly.
Tyson studied her face, searching for something in her eyes. "Did you trust me enough?" He gestured toward where the illusion had been. "Or did you shield your mind and only see the projection and not my true illusion?"
Sylvie's lips curved into a half-smile. The server returned, offering refills which both accepted. When they were alone again, she traced a finger along the rim of her glass.
"I saw the illusion." The admission hung between them like a confession.
The weight of that simple statement settled over the table. For someone who worked alone, who trusted no one, lowering her mental guard was more intimate than any physical touch could be. Tyson felt the significance of it in the way she wouldn't quite hold his gaze, the way her fingers trembled slightly against the glass.
The train car swayed as they rounded another bend, and Sylvie's shoulder brushed against his. She didn't pull away. The contact lasted perhaps two seconds before the train straightened, but neither of them acknowledged it. Outside, the purple sky had darkened further.
"What was Asgard like?" Her voice was softer than Tyson had heard it before, almost fragile. The vulnerability in the question seemed to surprise even her.
Tyson leaned back, considering his answer carefully. "The first time I went, I never got past the Bifrost Bridge. I only saw the city from afar. It was like a golden futuristic paradise that I never got to step foot into." He took a sip of his drink, eyes distant with the memory. "But just this week, I finally made it to the throne room. It was like a combination of far future and far past aesthetics from my perspective. It seemed heavy with tradition, but honorable. Very different from the time I came from."
"Odin was strong, yet kind." He watched her reaction carefully. "I'm sorry, but I didn't have a chance to speak with Frigga, not really."
Pain flashed across Sylvie's face at the mention of Frigga's name, so quick she almost hid it. Her jaw tightened. For several heartbeats she didn't speak, just stared out the window at the dying landscape. The purple sky reflected in her eyes, making them look distant, lost.
"What was she like? When you saw her?"
The question cost her something. Tyson could see it in the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her knuckles had gone white around her glass. This wasn't casual curiosity. This was a woman asking about a mother she'd been torn from, seeking any scrap of connection to what she'd lost.
"Regal," Tyson said carefully. "But warm. She had this way of making you feel seen, even in a brief encounter. Like you mattered." He paused, choosing his next words with care. "She wore her power lightly, if that makes sense. You knew she had it, but what struck you was her kindness."
Sylvie blinked rapidly. When she spoke again, her voice was rougher, the words scraped raw. "You know, when I was young, she'd do these little bits of magic for me. Like turn a flower into a frog or cast fireworks over the water. What you do reminds me of that."
Her fingers stilled on her glass, knuckles whitening slightly. The train swayed, and this time when her shoulder pressed against his, it lingered. Just for a moment. Just long enough.
"It all seemed impossible. She told me that I'd be able to do it too because..." She swallowed hard, throat working with the effort. "Because I could do anything."
The train car seemed to fade away around them. The laughter and conversations of the other passengers became distant, meaningless noise. Tyson understood that one wrong move would shatter this moment, send Sylvie retreating back behind her walls. "She seemed to take to Amora," he ventured carefully, his voice matching her quiet tone. "I almost got the impression that she wanted a daughter."
Sylvie choked out a laugh, but it was hiding a sob. The sound was raw, broken in a way that made Tyson's chest tighten. She quickly lifted her glass to her lips, using the motion to compose herself. Her hand shook slightly, amber liquid trembling in the glass. A single tear escaped, tracking down her cheek before she could swipe it away. The gesture was quick, almost violent, as if she could erase the vulnerability with enough force.
The server passed by, and Tyson waved them off before they could interrupt the moment.
"If you never learned magic, how can you use Enchantment?" He kept his voice gentle, giving her space to recover.
Sylvie set down her glass with deliberate care, as if the simple action required all her concentration. "I taught myself."
"You taught yourself that magic? That's incredible. I had a magic tutor for months, and I didn't get as far as you have."
Sylvie smiled but tried to hide her appreciation of the flattery, ducking her head slightly as she adjusted her sleeve. A faint blush colored her cheeks, barely visible, but there. The train curved around a mountain, momentarily darkening the car before light returned.
"What did you learn?"
"Blood Magic, a bunch of runes." Tyson ran his hand along the hilt of his sword, which rested against the booth beside him. "I made my sword."
"I didn't want to say anything, but I could feel the magic on it." Her eyes moved to the weapon. Safer ground, talking about weapons and magic instead of lost mothers and stolen childhoods. "It's an impressive weapon."
"I like yours, too. It's a unique style. I like the curved blade. We'd call that a falchion or scimitar where I come from."
"Did you ever wonder what your life would have been like if things had been different?" The question came suddenly, without preamble. Sylvie still wasn't looking at him, her gaze fixed on something distant through the window. "If you had grown up somewhere else, or if certain things hadn't happened?"
The shift in conversation felt deliberate, like she was testing waters, seeing if he would meet her vulnerability with his own.
"I was in love with one of my schoolmates, my best friend." The words came out steady, but something dark flickered across Tyson's face. "She was killed in front of me. I took the life of the man who did it, but I often wonder what if it hadn't happened." His eyes held a distant quality, seeing something that wasn't the train car. "Would I have become as strong as I am now otherwise? Would I be here?"
The train rattled over a rough section of track, jostling the passengers. No one else seemed to notice the moment of vulnerability that had passed between them.
Sylvie studied him with new interest, her gaze more penetrating than before. The hardened exterior she maintained had momentarily softened, recognizing a kindred spirit in loss.
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen. It happened last year." Tyson looked down at his hands, turning them over as if seeing someone else's. These were the hands that had killed, that had taken a life in vengeance. That still remembered what it felt like.
"Barely an adult by Midgard's standards, yes? Some of us never get to be children for very long."
A moment of understanding passed between them. They were both survivors of theft; her childhood stolen by the TVA, his innocence ripped away by violence.
"I remember the gardens." Sylvie's voice was quiet but clear, each word carefully chosen as if she hadn't spoken them aloud in years. Perhaps she hadn't. "In Asgard. There was a section with flowers that would change color depending on who approached them. Mine always turned this deep blue color." She paused, fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the table. "Frigga said it meant I had a complex soul."
Tyson leaned forward slightly, recognizing the gift she was giving him with each memory. This wasn't just a conversation; it was trust, raw and unprecedented.
"The palace had these massive columns. They were carved with the history of the Nine Realms. I used to trace the patterns with my fingers when no one was looking." She took a small sip of her drink, her eyes distant with memory. "And there was a balcony that overlooked the Bifrost. You could see the rainbow bridge stretching out to Heimdall's observatory. At sunset, it would glow so brightly it almost hurt to look at."
Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality, and Tyson could see the child she'd been—curious, bright, wandering palace halls and marveling at magic.
"It sounds beautiful."
"It was." The dreaminess vanished, replaced by something harder. "Until it wasn't anymore."
Tyson nodded, not pressing for details she clearly wasn't ready to share. "I understand loss. After Jubilee died, I felt like I was carrying around this hole inside me. Everything I did was just me circling around that emptiness."
"Jubilee." Sylvie repeated the name as if testing it, giving weight to someone she'd never met but whose death had shaped the man across from her. "That was her name?"
"Yes. She had this laugh that could fill a room. Made everyone around her feel special somehow." A faint smile touched Tyson's lips, sad and fond at once.
Sylvie's fingers traced a pattern on the table—something that looked almost like a rune. "And the man who killed her?"
"A mutant who could control magnetism. He was hunting me. She came to defend me. When I saw her die..." He made a grasping motion with his hand, fingers curling into a fist. "I drained the life from him. Took everything he was into myself."
The train passed through a tunnel, plunging them into darkness for several seconds. When light returned, Sylvie was watching him with an unreadable expression. In the dimness, they had both instinctively leaned closer across the table, drawn together by the weight of what they were sharing. The distance between them had narrowed to inches. Close enough that Tyson could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
"That's how your power works? You take from others?"
"Powers, memories, life force, soul. It's all connected. Back then, I couldn't control what I took at all. Her death was the catalyst that led me to be able to control it. But I still have his memories inside me. And others. I can still feel what it was like to be him."
Tyson's voice dropped lower, and a shadow that made him look older, haunted. His hand trembled slightly before he pressed it flat against the table, steadying himself. "I still remember killing her. Not just witnessing it. I remember his contempt, his justification, his complete absence of remorse."
He met Sylvie's eyes, and she saw raw guilt and horror and a self-loathing that went bone-deep. The vulnerability in his expression was almost painful to witness, like watching someone tear open their own chest to show you their wounded heart.
"Sometimes I wake up, and I'm not sure which memories are mine. I'll remember living in the sewers, or through the Holocaust, or..." He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet between them. "Or I'll remember what it felt like to murder someone I loved, and I have to remind myself that I wasn't the one who did it. That I'm Tyson, not the collection of people I've absorbed." He pressed his hands flat against the table, as if the physical contact could anchor him to the present, to himself. "You asked what it's like. It's like carrying ghosts who won't stay dead. They whisper in languages I shouldn't know, dream dreams I never lived, want things I never wanted. And they're all me now. Erik Lehnsherr is as much part of who I am as Victor Creed, the boy who killed his brother and hunted one of my friends for decades."
"That sounds..." Sylvie searched for the right word, her expression shifting between horror and empathy. "Overwhelming."
"It is. Was." Tyson shrugged, but the gesture was more honest than dismissive. "You learn to compartmentalize. Build walls between yourself and the others you carry inside. Then eventually, you learn to accept it as part of you."
A comfortable silence settled between them as the train continued its journey. Outside, the landscape had changed to rolling hills dotted with strange crystalline formations.
"We're running out of time," Sylvie said quietly, but she didn't move. Neither did Tyson. They sat there in the swaying train car, watching their borrowed world die around them, and somehow the ending made the conversation more urgent rather than less. If these were to be the last hours, the last moments, then what was the point of maintaining walls?
"Have you ever thought about what you'd do if you succeeded?" Tyson finally asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the growing chaos. "If you managed to confront the Time Keepers and... whatever comes after that?"
Sylvie's expression grew distant. "I've been running and fighting for so long, I'm not sure I know how to do anything else." She looked down at her empty glass, then back up at him. "But I'd like to find out."
"I understand that feeling. When you've defined yourself by a mission for so long, it's hard to imagine life beyond it."
"Is that why you're here? Following Loki through a portal into an apocalypse? Looking for something beyond your mission?"
The question hit closer than Tyson expected. He looked down at his hands, these instruments that had killed, that had absorbed powers and memories and souls. Sylvie was watching him, as if she could see the war happening behind his eyes, and was curious which side would win.
"Maybe." The admission felt dangerous, like acknowledging a weakness he couldn't afford. "Or maybe I'm just trying to find my way home and finish the mission." He glanced around the train car at the oblivious passengers, then back to Sylvie. "Though I have to admit, this is quite the detour."
That drew a genuine laugh from Sylvie, brief but real. The sound seemed to surprise her as much as him. It transformed her face for that fleeting moment, and Tyson caught a glimpse of who she might have been without the TVA's interference—someone who laughed easily, who trusted freely.
"What about you? If you could go anywhere, do anything after this is over, what would it be?"
"Maybe return to Asgard?" Tyson leaned forward slightly. "It would be a hell of a story to tell. And I think they enjoy a good tale." He traced the rim of his glass. "I wonder if you and Amora would get along?"
Sylvie tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes, but something guarded crept back into her expression. "You've mentioned her a few times. Who is she?"
Tyson settled back against the booth, aware that he was about to reveal something that might complicate the fragile connection they'd built. "Amora is an Asgardian sorceress. Thor had been banished to Earth and stripped of his powers as a test of his worthiness. But Odin fell into the Odinsleep, and Loki became acting king."
He watched Sylvie's reaction carefully, saw the flash of pain at Loki's name, the way her jaw tightened slightly. But she gestured for him to continue, so he did.
"Loki appointed Amora to oversee Thor's trial, but it was really meant to keep others from helping him, ensuring he remained mortal. I was on Earth and interfered, and it brought Amora and me into conflict."
Sylvie's attention sharpened, fingers stilling on her glass. "Another enchantress."
"She used Enchantment on me. But when she kissed me, I gained her powers and used it on her in turn. When I touch someone, I get a flash of all their life experience and learn everything about them. When I used enchantment on her, I did the same to her."
A wealthy passenger stumbled past their table, clearly intoxicated despite the impending apocalypse. Neither Tyson nor Sylvie paid him any attention, locked in their own conversation bubble.
"Immediately, we weren't enemies anymore."
Sylvie leaned forward, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You used a love spell on each other?"
"In a sense, we did, and we both know it. She's convinced I'm to be king and her, my queen. Though Earth and most of its countries don't have kings."
"And you just... accepted this arrangement?" There was something in Sylvie's voice that Tyson couldn't quite identify. Not quite jealousy, but not indifference either. Interest, perhaps, in how he navigated relationships built on magic and manipulation and feelings that might not be entirely his own.
"She just considers my other relationships as me having mistresses. It's a strange situation." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "I think part of me accepted it because it was easier than figuring out what I actually wanted. When you absorb someone's feelings along with their memories, it gets complicated. Am I attracted to Amora because of what I took from her, or because of who I am? Or because of those spells? I don't know, and I don't know that it matters."
The admission hung between them, raw and honest. Outside, another massive chunk of moon debris crashed into the landscape, close enough that the impact rattled their glasses. The train's speed increased, the conductor clearly trying to outrun the apocalypse, as if speed could save them from the moon's death throes.
Sylvie studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then something shifted in her eyes, not quite softening, but opening. "At least you're honest about not knowing," she said quietly. "Most people pretend they have all the answers. But I'm curious, why did you take from her exactly?"
Tyson leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. The train swayed beneath them, but he barely noticed. "When I absorb someone, I get the flash of their life, and their experiences, their powers. But I also get an understanding of them, their motivations, and who they truly are."
Sylvie's fingers had stilled completely on her glass, her attention focused entirely on him. The air between them felt charged, electric.
"I feel the emotions they've felt and am tied to those memories, and if we're actively maintaining contact, I can get their unfiltered thoughts and emotions in real time, too." He paused, searching for the right words to explain something he'd never fully articulated before. The weight of it pressed against his chest. "In a sense, during those moments while I have their memories, I know them as intimately as I know myself. It goes beyond friendship or lovers. It's like I'm seeing directly into their soul."
The weight of that admission settled between them. Outside, the landscape had become a hellscape of falling debris and fire, but inside their booth, the moment felt strangely intimate, protected from the chaos.
"But it makes it hard for me to hate someone, or hurt them." Tyson's voice dropped lower, and vulnerability crept into his expression, raw and unguarded. His hands trembled slightly on the table. "Because I know what they know, experience what they experience. How much harder is it to hurt someone when you know all their fears, hopes, dreams, and desires? That's what happens when I touch someone."
Sylvie's throat worked as she swallowed. Her eyes had widened slightly, pupils dilating in the low light of the train car. He could see her processing the implications of what he'd just revealed. The power he described wasn't just about strength or magic. It was about connection, forced intimacy, the complete dissolution of boundaries between self and other.
"Even though Amora is guarded, and she has barriers to keep me out of her deeper thoughts, I know she has feelings for me, interest, and love." He met Sylvie's gaze directly, unflinching. The green of her eyes seemed brighter somehow, more vivid against the dim lighting. "So how could I push her away, feeling what she feels? And it's like that with all my lovers, and many other people in my life."
The train lurched again, throwing a passenger into the wall. Someone was crying in the next car. The apocalypse pressed closer with every passing second.
"Even non-romantically, if I know my friend like they're my brother, how could I hurt or betray them, or not want the best for them?" Tyson spread his hands on the table, palms up, as if offering something. "It's a gift and a curse. I can't maintain the distance most people use to protect themselves. Every person I touch becomes part of me, and I can only hope to make enough impact on their life to become part of them."
Sylvie stared at him. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, nearly lost beneath the train's rattling and the distant explosions. Her breath came a little faster, chest rising and falling visibly. "That sounds terrifying."
"It is." Tyson didn't look away. The space between them felt smaller somehow, the air thicker. "But it's also the most honest thing I've ever experienced. No lies, no pretense, no walls. Just raw truth."
She studied him, and a playful ease entered her expression that hadn't been there before, breaking some of the intensity. "And what do you think about her plans for your future?"