Wanda said, "Here on the panel, it says you can view your future."
I replied, "Yes, it's the original timeline."
Wanda's fingers tightened against the table. "If I remember correctly, you said you've seen the future. Is that why you helped me? Is that why you offered Pietro and me a way out?"
Tony and T'Challa went still, their attention sharp. This was the moment where the "World" revealed his heart.
"When I looked ahead," I said quietly, "I saw fractures. Branches pulling against each other. And in far too many of them… you were alone. You survived—you always survive—but survival isn't the same as living."
Wanda's breath caught.
"In the future where someone reached out early," I continued, a faint smile touching my lips, "where you weren't forced to carry the world's weight on your own... you were stronger. Not just in power, but in the freedom to choose who you wanted to be."
"So you helped me because I might help you someday?" Wanda asked slowly.
"No," I said firmly. "I helped you because you mattered—even in futures where no one treated you that way."
Silence followed. Tony exhaled quietly, the sarcasm completely gone from his face. T'Challa inclined his head, recognizing that this was not the action of a manipulator, but of someone altering probability for the sake of a better world.
"And your future?" Wanda asked softly. "What did you see that made you choose this path?"
I looked toward the throne—still absolute, still watching. "I saw a future where I stood at a crossroads. I could be someone who only watched the tragedy unfold... or someone who acted. I chose the version of myself that doesn't look away."
"So," Tony said, "So this thing can show us our future? The 'original timeline,' as you called it."
I nodded. "You can. It is the path you would have walked had you never been plucked from your reality and brought before the Fog."
Tony tapped the panel. The word FUTURE branching into threads of light that looked like neural pathways.
Wanda studied the display with a uneasy curiosity. "If the path isn't fixed anymore... why look back? Why see a tragedy that might not happen?"
"Because," I replied, "foreknowledge turns inevitability into preparation. To know the shape of the trap is the first step toward dismantling it."
Tony's jaw tightened. "Afghanistan," he muttered.
T'Challa turned toward him, his brow furrowing. "You speak as if the sand is already in your boots, Stark."
"I've been digging," Tony admitted, "Ever since the first meeting. Obadiah. Black market routes. Weapons showing up in sectors they shouldn't. Someone is moving the pieces to have me erased out there. I know I'm walking into an ambush. But preparation isn't the same as certainty."
He looked up at the silhouette of The Fool on the throne, then back to me. "I want to see the path I was supposed to walk. I want to know exactly how I lose."
The panel shifted.
PRICE: 200,000,000
Tony blinked. "Two hundred million? For a movie? That's highway robbery, even by my standards."
"For an uninterrupted, uncensored viewing of the original timeline," I said evenly.
"Every thought, every pain, every choice. The truth is never cheap, Tony."
"Emotionally, this hurts more than physically," Tony grumbled, but he didn't pull back. He looked at the CONFIRM button.
"Wait," I interjected. "There is an option to share the projection. You can view it alone... or you can externalize the vision. Everyone here can witness the forging of the man you were meant to be."
T'Challa raised an eyebrow. "Your most private moments, Stark? Your failures laid bare before a Prince and a stranger?"
Tony didn't hesitate, a grin spread wide. "Oh, come on. If I'm going to nearly die, I'd like an audience. Besides, if future-me looks cooler than current-me, you're all legally obligated to be impressed."
DISPLAY MODE: SHARED
The gray fog thickened, rising like a grand theater curtain. What appeared was not a recording—it was history.
The desert appeared first. Blinding sun. The roar of AC/DC over the hum of a Humvee. They watched Tony on the screen—careless, drinking, a merchant of death who didn't care where his products landed.
Then, the explosion.
Wanda flinched as the convoy vanished in fire. T'Challa's jaw tightened as he saw the Stark Industries logo on the missile that shredded Tony's chest.
Then came the cave. The smell of oil and blood. The car battery is wired to a genius's heart. They watched the introduction of Yinsen—the man who became the conscience Tony didn't know he needed. Together, they built the impossible. The first Arc Reactor bloomed in the darkness like a blue star.
They watched the birth of Mark I. The welding of scrap metal. The sacrifice of Yinsen.
"He saved you," Wanda whispered, her eyes wet.
"He gave his life for a man who didn't deserve it yet," Tony added quietly, his voice trembling.
The vision accelerated. The rescue. The dismantling of the weapons division. The betrayal of Obadiah Stane. The final battle atop Stark Industries—Iron Man versus Iron Monger.
Tony leaned back, exhaling a breath he seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. "So that's how close I came," he said quietly.
Wanda looked at him with a newfound respect. "You didn't just survive that cave, Tony."
T'Challa stood, inclining his head toward the billionaire. "You were forged in it. That man on the screen... he became a protector."
Tony Stark sitting at this table was no longer the man from the vision. He had the knowledge of the trap. He had the metaphysical strength of the Castle. And he had the allies of the Council.
"One week," Tony said, "One week until I land in Afghanistan. And this time, Obadiah isn't getting a battle. He's getting a reckoning."
Tony Stark leaned back, his eyes still burning with the residual images of the "original timeline" future he had just witnessed.
"That armor…" he said slowly, his fingers twitching as if already shaping holographic interfaces. "It actually fits my stress tests. I imagined something like that years ago, but without a stable arc reactor? I shelved it. Too many inefficiencies. Too many compromises." He shrugged, a self-deprecating smirk playing on his lips. "And, okay—maybe I was a little lazy."
Tony stretched his arms behind his head with an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I've officially watched myself almost die in high definition. Twice. Ten out of ten experiences would not be recommended."
"You looked very heroic," I noted.
Tony shot me a look of playful suspicion. "You say that like you weren't enjoying the explosions."
Wanda let out an unexpected laugh, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to dissipate.
T'Challa, ever the stoic observer, raised an eyebrow. "The armor was crude at first. Inefficient. And yet, a man in a cave built something that rivaled nations."
"Careful, Your highness," Tony quipped. "Keep talking like that and I'll start charging Wakanda licensing fees."
Wanda had grown quiet again. I noticed her gaze lingering on the spot where the projection of the Ten Rings' cave had been.
"You're thinking about something," I said gently.
Wanda hesitated, her voice coming out steady but tight. "The missiles. The ones in Sokovia. They weren't random collateral, were they?" She looked at Tony—not with the blinding rage of a victim, but with the cold clarity of a woman who had finally seen the face of her ghost. "They were Obadiah's. He did that everywhere. Profits. Deals. Death… all signed in your name."
"Yes," he said firmly. "And in my world—or whatever version of it survives—he doesn't walk away. If he tries… I'll stop him."
Wanda studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "That's enough," she said.
"Truth sharpens resolve," T'Challa observed, "but it also sharpens hatred."
"Anger without knowledge is chaos," I added, grounding the conversation. "Anger with clarity becomes a choice. You now have the clarity to ensure that history doesn't repeat itself."
Tony exhaled, looking at me with a mix of amusement and bafflement. "You know, for a guy who looks like he should be worrying about rent, you talk like a therapist god. This definitely didn't come with the user manual."
Tony Stark leaned back, his eyes still bright with the residual data of the future he had just witnessed.
"Okay, let's talk shop," Tony said, his tone shifting back to the rapid-fire cadence of a man who had found a new set of variables. "I've seen the armor. I've seen the 'Metaphysical' upgrades. It's all very... comic book. Very 'larger than life.'"
He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling—or the endless void where a ceiling should be.
"But I'm an engineer. I like to know the specs of the machine I'm working in. In the vision, I saw things that don't fit into a physics textbook. So, I have to ask—purely as a hypothetical stress test—what are we actually dealing with here? If there are beings out there who play with reality like it's a game of LEGOs... can they be hit? Can a man-made system—given enough juice—eventually punch something that claims to be a 'God'?"
Tony smirked, "I mean, if the universe is big enough to have a place like this, it's big enough to have things that think they're divine. And I've never liked people who think they're above the law."
"That depends," I said calmly, "on what kind of 'divinity' you're talking about. In this era, the word is often misused."
"There are categories to the power in this world," I explained, "Most things mortals call 'Gods' are simply Trans-Human Entities. Think of them as beings of flesh and blood who happen to have a much higher energy output. Asgardians, for instance."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Asgardians? Like the Norse myths? Thunder and hammers?"
"Precisely," I nodded. "They are long-lived, incredibly strong, and possess technology that looks like magic to the uninitiated. But they have bodies. They have nervous systems. They can bleed, and they can be killed."
Tony's grin widened. "So... if I build a big enough battery and a dense enough alloy, I can knock the crown off a 'King of Gods'?"
"With enough preparation, strategy, and a very expensive repair budget," I added, "yes. You could fight them. They are players on the board, just like you—only they've been playing much longer."
"But," I raised a finger, "there is a second category: Conceptual Entities. And Tony, don't even think about punching those."
Tony's grin faltered. "That bad?"
"Much worse," I replied. "Conceptual entities don't have bodies. They aren't 'beings' in the way we understand. They are ideas given form—Time, Fate, Death, Luck. You don't fight them. You don't even touch them. Challenging a conceptual god is like trying to punch the law of gravity because you tripped on the stairs."
T'Challa, who had been listening with a grim intensity, nodded. "A warrior can challenge a king. But no blade, no matter how sharp, can cut the rules that govern the world."
Tony leaned back, "So my 'Anti-Deity' protocols have a ceiling. I can take on the guy with the lightning, but I can't take on Time itself. That's deeply offensive to my ego, Aryan."
"Against a conceptual force, strength is irrelevant," I said. "The moment you act against it, you are already inside its domain. You are using its rules to try and break it."
Tony sighed dramatically. "There goes my 'Anti-Chronology Punch.' Guess I'll stick to the guys I can actually see."
Wanda, who had been quiet, looked up at me. "And what about him?"
Every eye in the room flickered toward the throne where Mr. Ruler sat in silent, absolute shadow.
"That question," I said softly, "answers itself. Some powers aren't meant to be challenged. They are the reason the challenge exists in the first place."
Tony nodded, "Yeah. Message received. Know your limits, don't pick a fight with the guy who owns the building." He smirked. "Still gonna try my luck with the thunder guy, though."
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