At 10880 Malibu Point, the Pacific Ocean was currently having a very loud argument with the cliffs below. Inside the glass-and-steel sanctuary of his workshop, Tony Stark was having a similar argument with a classic red sports car.
"JARVIS," Tony said, "if this fuel pump decides to redecorate my face again, I'm donating you to a community college."
"Sir," JARVIS replied, "statistically speaking, you are responsible for eighty-seven percent of the unplanned pyrotechnics in this facility."
Tony snorted, reaching for a wrench. "Innovation requires sacrifice, JARVIS. Preferably things that cost more than a small country's GDP."
Then, the world blinked. One moment, Tony was smelling motor oil and salt air; the next, he was inhaling the scent of ancient dust and cold stone.
"Okay," Tony muttered. "Either the coffee was spiked, or I've finally broken the space-time continuum. I'm leaning toward the coffee."
He wasn't alone. To his left stood a man who looked like he had stepped off a recruitment poster for 'Warrior Kings of Legend'—broad-shouldered, radiating a lethal dignity. To his right, a young girl in threadbare clothes, looking like a stray cat that had suddenly realized it was standing in a tiger's den. But the real problem was at the end of the hall.
There, upon a throne that looked as though it had been carved from the very concept of 'Eternal Silence,' sat a silhouette. It wasn't just a person; it was a hole in reality.
The Fool
Tony's sarcasm, usually his most reliable shield, shattered like cheap glass. His brain, capable of calculating complex physics in a heartbeat, gave him one very clear piece of data: This being is operating on a level where my greatest intellect is merely… incidental.
In the heart of Wakanda, T'Challa had been wiping sweat from his brow after a sparring session. The transition was seamless—one breath in a high-tech gym, the next in a fog-choked nightmare. He did not panic because the prince of Wakanda does not slouch, even when facing a cosmic entity that could likely delete his entire continent with a flick of a finger.
Meanwhile, in a shivering apartment in Sokovia, Wanda Maximoff was waiting for her brother. In the next moment, she found herself inside a fog-filled castle.
The silence in the hall was so heavy it felt like it had its own gravitational pull. Then, at the edge of the long stone table, a man stood. He looked like... a guy who had clearly read the employee handbook.
And that man—Aryan—began. His voice was almost conversational, as he recited a list of titles that made Tony's skin crawl.
"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era."
"The Mysterious Ruler above the gray fog."
"The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."
"The True Creator who embodies luck, deception, and fate."
"We pray for your grace."
"We pray for your blessing."
"We pray for the mercy of your gaze."
Tony stared at Aryan. This guy isn't a guest, Tony thought, his genius-level pattern recognition kicking in. He's the one who knows the exit signs.
The silhouette on the throne—The Fool—leaned forward. "I acknowledge your arrival," the voice said. "This is Sefirah Castle... where fate is weighed."
Tony Stark leaned forward. "Alright, I'll bite. You've got the castle, the fog, and 'The Fool' titles. Let's talk business. Why did you call us to this castle? What do you want?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
"The world you inhabit is a fragile clockwork," The Fool's voice resonated. "You see the gears—the wars, the technology, the politics. But you do not see the hands that wind the spring. There are entities in the deep cosmos, and forces in the hidden dimensions, that view your world as nothing more than a feast. Some are already here. Others are coming."
"I have watched the 'Endless Loops' of history," The Fool continued. "In every version of fate, I see the same tragedies. I see heroes fall because they were too weak. I see civilizations ash because they were too late. I see the same scripts played out by different actors, leading always to the same silence."
T'Challa's voice sharp. "You speak as if you are outside of time. If you see the end, why interfere now?"
"Because a destiny that is known is a prison," The Fool replied, and the temperature in the room truly did plummet. "I have established Sefirah Castle as an anomaly—a place outside the reach of the 'Script.' You were invited because you are the variables. You are the few who possess the will to change the ending, but lack the means to survive the beginning."
"So," Tony said, "We're the 'Plan B' for the universe?"
"We are the creators of a new path," Aryan added. "The Fool provides the stage and the tools. What we perform upon it is up to us. The forces that want our world to fall are already moving. If we want to stand against them, we'll need more than just money and titles. We'll need the kind of power that doesn't exist in our history books."
Aryan stepped forward, "You may call me 'The World.' I was the first invited. Every first Monday of the month, at 2 PM—we meet here. Perhaps, to continue our conversation, you should all introduce yourselves first."
Tony, unable to help himself, "I'm Tony Stark. I build things, I pay for things, and I'm currently wondering if I left the stove on in California. Nice to meet you, silhouettes."
The name Tony Stark hung in the air for exactly one second. Then, the air detonated.
A violent eruption of scarlet energy hissed out from the smallest silhouette across the table. It was pure grief. The fog turned blood-red as the girl's silhouette lunged forward, though an invisible force kept her pinned to her seat.
"You," she snarled, "Murderer."
Tony nearly tipping his heavy stone chair. "Whoa! Hey! Murderer? That's a bit strong for a first date. What did I do? Overcharge you for a gun?"
"You destroyed my family!" the girl screamed, "You killed my parents!"
Tony's defensive reflex kicked in. "Look, kid, I sell technology to the military. I don't pick the targets. I don't start wars! If you have a grievance, take it up with the Pentagon!"
The Fool lifted a single finger. The world went silent.
"Calm yourself," The Fool said.
The girl stilled instantly, her silhouette trembling.
"She does not see your face, Tony Stark," The Fool continued, his voice echoing from the throne. "She sees the name on the metal that tore her world apart. When Wanda was ten, a missile struck her home in Sokovia. Her parents were erased in a heartbeat. A second missile landed beside her bed, inches from her face. It did not explode."
The hall grew cold. Tony felt a chill that had nothing to do with the fog.
"For two days," The Fool whispered, "she stared at a single word etched into the casing: Stark."
Tony went completely silent. The snarky comeback died in his throat. He looked toward the small, trembling silhouette across the table. For the first time, the "Stark" legacy wasn't about stock prices or weapons. It was about a little girl trapped in the rubble.
"…I didn't know," Tony said, his voice hoarse and stripped of all bravado. "I... I will investigate. If my name was on that bomb, I'll find out how it got there. I'll give you an answer, kid. I promise."
The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of a debt.
Aryan stepped back in, sensing the need to shift the mood before the atmosphere became too grim for business.
"As I was saying," Aryan said, his tone dry and professional, "this is a place of exchange. Since Mr. Stark has introduced himself, perhaps the rest of you would like to follow? Or should we move straight to the catalog?"
The translucent panels hovered before them, glowing with a soft light that defied the laws of physics. Tony Stark leaned in, his eyes darting across the scrolling data. His fear had been replaced by a much more familiar sensation: professional skepticism.
T'Challa finally spoke. "I am T'Challa... crown prince of Wakanda. And I find this 'catalog'... highly improbable. Yet, the energy I feel here cannot be faked."
"I am Wanda," the girl whispered, her voice still shaky. "From Sokovia."
"Alright, 'The World,'" Tony said, pointing a finger at the list of biological enhancements. "I'm looking at this 'Perfect Super Soldier Serum.' Fifty-five for the dose. It sounds like a sales pitch from a guy selling snake oil in a back alley."
Aryan leaned back, "I had the same doubts when I first arrived, Mr. Stark. But in this castle, the 'merchandise' is as real as the stone you're sitting on."
T'Challa spoke, "In my country, we have our own ways of enhancing a warrior. But the scope of this... it is beyond anything in our records." He turned his gaze toward Tony's silhouette. "Mr. Stark, you are a man of science. Do you truly believe a 'System' can bypass the laboratory?"
Tony snorted. "In a room where a man is sitting on a throne of literal primordial fog? Yeah, I'm willing to entertain the possibility that my chemistry textbook is outdated. But fifty-five million for the dose? That's a hell of a leap of faith."
The World nodded, "As you said, it isn't cheap."
Tony looked at T'Challa. Two of the most powerful men on Earth were suddenly like two partners deciding whether to invest in a startup that promised the moon.
"Tell you what, Your Highness," Tony said, "I'll take the plunge. If I wake up tomorrow and this was all a dream, at least I'll know what a fifty-five dollar hallucination feels like. But if it's real? I want the full package."
T'Challa inclined his head slowly. "If the Crown of Wakanda hesitates while a private citizen acts, then the Crown is unworthy. I will also commit to the full transition. Fifty-five million."
Tony cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his "Stark" energy. "Now that we've decided, how should I buy the 'Captain America' starter pack without my CFO asking why I spent fifty-five dollars on 'magic fog juice'?"
"The funds are deducted from accounts you already control," Aryan explained. "No paper trail. No intermediaries."
"Terrifyingly efficient," Tony shrugged.
Tony tapped the panel with a shaky finger. He watched as the numbers scrolled—a total of $55,000,000 vanished from his account. T'Challa followed suit, the wealth of a hidden nation moving through.
The moment the 'Confirm' icons were pressed, the air in the hall hummed with a frequency that made their teeth ache.
Tony exhaled a breath he'd been holding since Malibu. "Right. Well. If my bank calls to ask why I'm suddenly broke, I'm blaming the fog."
T'Challa, a man whose life was built on the foundations of duty and sovereignty, was the first to voice the question that hung like a guillotine blade over the table. "If I purchase something here…" the Prince's voice was low, "…can it be taken back?"
Aryan—the man they knew only as 'The World'—looked at him. His gaze was calm. "Yes."
The word hit the stone table like a lead weight. Wanda's breath hitched; Tony's fingers froze over the glowing panel.
"At any time," Aryan continued. "The power granted through this place remains… conditional."
"You mean it can be revoked," Wanda whispered.
"Yes."
Tony exhaled, "Great. So even omnipotence comes with a 'terms and conditions' page. I knew there was a catch. There's always a remote off-switch."
"Nothing worth having is unconditional," Aryan met his gaze. "But do not mistake the nature of the bond. The power you acquire here is not borrowed from the throne. It is not siphoned from The Fool, nor is it sustained by his will."
"Then why the leash?" Tony snapped, his defensive genius flaring. "If it's mine, it's mine. Unless you're holding the puppet strings."
Aryan turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the indistinct outline of the throne in his peripheral vision. "Imagine the universe," he said, "Endless, expanding, filled with stars beyond counting. The power you acquire here—the strength in your veins, the secrets in your mind—is one such star."
"And Him?" Tony whisper.
"He is the cosmos that contains it," Aryan replied.
"So even if we took everything available," T'Challa said, "it would not diminish Him."
"Not even slightly," said Aryan. "You could drain every panel dry, exhaust every possibility in this hall, and The Fool would remain unchanged. Stars matter to those of us who live among them, but to the cosmos? A star is but a flicker."
"So... no puppet strings?" Tony asked.
"No," Aryan said. "Only consequences. Loyalty is not required here. Respect, however, is sufficient. Power gained here does not make you an extension of the throne. It makes you… visible to it."
Tony's bitter sound escapes him. "Yeah. That's somehow worse. Like being a mouse that suddenly caught the cat's eye."
But for Wanda, the fear was beginning to melt into clarity. The power would be hers. Her choices would remain her own. Above it all, The Fool would simply watch—uninterested in her worship, interested only in what she would become.
It was an invitation to stand in the light of a star, knowing the universe was watching to see if she would burn or shine. Wanda, however, remained pale. She had no millions. She had no kingdoms.
Then, the throne stirred.
"You need not buy anything, Wanda " The Fool said softly to the girl. "You just have to wait. Time will let you know."
The girl looked as though she might cry. She felt as though her heart had been stopped by a physical hand. Her breath was trapped in a throat that had forgotten how to swallow. He knows my name, the realization ringing in her mind like a funeral bell.
Tony Stark felt a cold prickle of sweat crawl down his spine. He shifted in the heavy stone chair, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm against the armrest. This isn't just a power play. He's choosing favorites.
As a man who had spent his life being the smartest person in any room, Tony found The Fool's directness deeply unsettling. The entity hadn't spoken to him—the billionaire, the "Merchant of Death," the genius. It had spoken to the girl. It had bypassed the money, the titles, and the ego to address the raw, untapped energy across the table.
He chose her, Tony realized, and the thought was a bitter pill to swallow. He didn't speak through 'The World' or through riddles. He went straight to the source. That means he doesn't just watch us; he understands the architecture of who we are.
The lack of control was gnawing at him. In Malibu, Tony controlled every electron in his house. Here, he couldn't even control his own heartbeat. The Fool was a scientist observing an experiment, and Tony Stark—for the first time in his life—wasn't the lead researcher. He was just another specimen under the glass.
T'Challa sat perfectly still, his posture a masterclass in royal composure. But beneath the surface, his mind was a whirlwind of strategic calculations and ancient philosophy.
In Wakanda, leadership was a heavy mantle, a duty to the ancestors and the soil. He knew the weight of a crown. He knew that true authority didn't need to shout to be heard. But this? This was something far beyond the kingship of men.
Only one who fears nothing can afford such kindness, he thought, a deep sense of respect beginning to override his initial suspicion. A tyrant would have demanded she kneel for her outbursts. A god would have punished her for her rage. But he... He simply offered her the truth.
T'Challa looked at the silhouette of The World—the man who sat at the edge of the table with such casual familiarity. He saw the bridge between the absolute power on the throne and the fractured mortals at the table.
"I request a private conversation with Wanda,"I said calmly.
The grey fog surged, isolating the two of them into a quiet alcove. Here, away from the freezing aura of the throne, the air felt human again. Aryan looked at the girl. She wasn't the Scarlet Witch of legends yet; she was just a shivering teenager in a thin sweater who had spent her life staring at the business end of a missile.
"I have a proposition for you, Wanda," Aryan said.
She looked up, her dark eyes red-rimmed and guarded. "Everyone who comes to Sokovia has a 'proposition.' Usually, it involves a gun, a cage, or a needle. Which one is yours?"
Aryan didn't flinch. "None of the above. I'm offering a job. And if you're interested, a sanctuary."
"I know about the apartment in Novi Grad. I know how you and Pietro share stale bread and listen for the sound of boots in the hallway. Sokovia is a graveyard waiting for the next storm, Wanda. I'm offering you a way out. A place in America—private, safe, and far from the reach of the people who want to turn you into a miracle or a corpse."
Wanda's laugh was brittle. "And why? You sit at this table like you belong here. You speak The Fool's language. Why care about a girl from a city the world forgot?"
Aryan paused, "Because I know what it's like to be a 'resource' instead of a person. You aren't a tool, Wanda. You're a person. And frankly? I'd rather have you as an ally than see you broken by the people who are coming for you."
"You want to buy me," she whispered, "Just like the man in the expensive suit."
"I'm not buying your soul," Aryan countered gently. "I'm investing in a future where you actually have a say in what happens to you. I need people I can trust—people who know the value of a second chance. Talk to Pietro. Tell him there is a man named 'The world' who has a home for you both. No experiments. No missiles. Just work, a roof, and the peace of mind to wake up without checking the sky for falling metal."
Wanda searched his face. She found a strange, quiet kindness.
"You speak as if you've already seen my future," she said softly.
"I've seen enough of the world to know what happens to people with your kind of spark if they stay in the dark," Aryan replied with a small smile. "Think about it. You don't have to decide today. But the next time the world feels too heavy, remember—I'm just a member of this club, but I'm a member who has a guest room."
The fog thinned, and they returned to the main table.
Wanda thought that the way he spoke made it seem as if he knew her entire life. He didn't treat her like an 'asset' or a 'miracle'; he treated her like a neighbor. If he is right…
Tony Stark felt a cold prickle of sweat crawl down his spine. This The World—he's the key. Tony found the lack of control gnawing at him. He chose to talk to her, not me.
T'Challa sat perfectly still, his posture a masterclass in royal composure. He realized then that Sefirah Castle was not a marketplace. It was a school. And Aryan was the senior student showing them the ropes. We are here to be witnesses to our own evolution.
Then, The Fool spoke.
His voice merely filled the room. "The loom of fate has been re-threaded," he intoned, "This gathering of the stars ends here."
To Tony, T'Challa, and Wanda, the world began to fray at the edges. The great stone simply lost its substance, turning into a mist that tasted of copper and old memories. The magnificent dome above them dissolved into a swirling vortex of pale brilliance, as if the sky itself were being folded away into a drawer.
Aryan, standing at the edge of the fading table, watched them go. He simply watched as the puppets were returned to their stages. His own form began to blur, his consciousness slipping away from the puppet.nBack on the throne, Aryan—The Fool—sighed and let his shoulders drop. The act was exhausting, but the board was set. His mind flickered to the ledger of the system. The numbers were staggering.
In a single afternoon, the " Tarot Club" had moved from a concept to a gold mine. Between Tony Stark's desperate leap of faith and T'Challa's royal commitment, a staggering $110 million had been siphoned from the coffers of the world's elite and converted into the currency of the fog.
"Money truly is the greatest superpower," he whispered to the shadows.
He was to be the architect of this new world, he could not afford to be fragile. He opened the system panel, his eyes bypassing the Epsilon and Delta tiers, landing on a power that promised the one thing every ruler craves.
[High-Speed Regeneration (Wolverine Type) — $100,000,000]
The price was steep—nearly his entire afternoon's profit—but the security was absolute. He confirmed the purchase. Aryan's body on the throne jerked as a torrent of primal energy flooded his veins. It wasn't the measured heat of the Super Soldier Serum; this was an inferno.
Inside his mind, he felt the change. If his heart were to be pierced, it would beat again. If his skin were torn, it would knit before the blood could hit the floor. He was no longer just a man with a system; he was a self-healing fortress.
With his own survival secured, Aryan turned his attention to the "merchandise."
He looked at the two lingering echoes of the transactions—the $55 million portions from Stark and T'Challa. With a thought, he reached out through the dimensional threads that now connected Sefirah Castle to the physical bodies of the two men.
He wove the power. He projected the blueprint of the Perfect Super Soldier Serum directly into their systems. He watched as the grey fog acted as a bridge, carrying the transformative energy across thousands of miles.
In a workshop in Malibu and a palace in Wakanda, the process began. It was a invisible rewriting of their biological destiny.
But as Aryan channeled the power, his eyes flashed with a cold light. He gripped the arms of the throne, feeling the tether he held over them.
"They think they've bought freedom," he murmured.
He felt the "off-switch" in his mind. Because the power was granted through the Castle, it remained anchored to the Castle. With a single flick of his will, he could reach across the world and strip the strength from Tony's bones or the speed from T'Challa's heart. He could leave them as shells, weaker than they had been before they ever heard his name.
"Everything has a price," he reminded the empty hall. "And the price of my gifts is that they belong to me... as long as I allow it."
PS: To improve clarity and avoid confusion about who is speaking, we will use the following terms consistently:
• The being seated on the throne will be referred to as The Fool.
• The visible intermediary(clone) and narrator will be referred to as Aryan (protagonist's POV)
P.S. If you're enjoying the journey through the mist and can't wait to see what happens next, consider supporting my work on Patreon! You can unlock 10 Advance Chapters right now and stay ahead of the curve. Your support helps me keep the updates coming daily!
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