"I was still a newborn when you were already in charge of the New York Sanctum, and you've watched over most of my life. Even though I've faced enemies so powerful that only the Sorcerer Supreme could stand against them, I've never blamed anyone for the dangerous life I've led. I've never cried out to the heavens, asking why I had to bear such a terrible burden. Do you know why?" Solomon raised an eyebrow. "Because I believe my life has been full of love. But that doesn't mean my compassion is limitless."
"What does that mean?" Daniel Draum asked.
The Draum family's curse likely originated as a calculated sacrifice by an ancestor in pursuit of the arcane path—splitting one soul into two and raising each separately, then reuniting them at the right moment to enhance spiritual power. Solomon had to admit the curse was both highly creative and incredibly powerful. There were no signs of dissociative identity disorder or schizophrenia, since the two consciousnesses were fundamentally one and the same. It was a curse and a blessing, a legacy built on bloodline cultivation that propelled the Draums from obscure wizarding roots to one of South America's most powerful schools of mysticism.
"Think about where your gifts come from. Think about what the Ancient One told you. That's the Draum family's bill," Solomon said. "The Ancient One paid her bill. I've paid mine. What makes the Draum family special? Do I need to remind you of the cost of evasion? I don't make demands of the Draum family. I make no demands of any school that honors the ancient laws of Kamar-Taj. But your duties must be fulfilled. The Sanctum must remain guarded. The safety of the human race outweighs the Draum family."
"You're really starting to sound like a ruler, Solomon." The Guardian gave a slight bow and walked out of the office naturally, his expression unbothered by Solomon's words. In fact, every Sanctum Guardian was a handpicked successor of the Sorcerer Supreme. Daniel Draum's talent was immense—he was one of the twins. That fact came from the records Solomon found from when the Ancient One recruited Daniel into Kamar-Taj. His incredible longevity was tied to that truth. One soul, two minds. The power that came with it could make any single bearer a gifted caster, especially in a bloodline-based school like the Draum family. As long as they chose the right marital partners, the talent of their descendants would only grow stronger.
Stephanie confirmed that the Sanctum Guardian Daniel Draum had departed the teleportation chamber in the Ministry of Internal Affairs before returning to Solomon's office. Their conversation hadn't been private—when she learned there was a visitor, she immediately put down her work and came to the office. That was a habit Solomon tacitly accepted. Stephanie was one of the few in Eternal City allowed to touch the inner workings of Kamar-Taj.
"Fixing genetic defects shouldn't be difficult for the Bio Lab. The Terminal Virus can already cure many hereditary diseases," she said. "Wouldn't it be better to use that technology to gain the loyalty of a reasonably capable magical lineage?"
"After curing them, the Draum family would become worthless. More powerful bloodlines and schools would quickly outclass them. But I've already given him the answer, and I gave him the choice. I've fulfilled my promise to the Draum family. Whatever they decide to do is no longer my concern—so long as my payment remains untouched," Solomon said, shaking his head. "As for the Draums… once the Ancient One hands me the title and the crown, they'll still have to swear fealty. The old man's just trying to cut corners. It's meaningless. Same old sly fox."
"Bring me the logistics files. I know how heavy the burden is—I'll help you sort it out."
"So sweet!" Stephanie chirped playfully, winking. Though she desperately wanted to push Solomon into claiming the title right now, she knew saying that would only make him angry. She understood him too well. The Sorcerer Supreme was one of the few people Solomon cared about and refused to measure in terms of value or numbers.
"This transfer operation isn't that troublesome, really. No one's died of overwork—yet! If anything comes up, I'll just send Diana to handle it. She needs the training; otherwise she'll end up like a silly goose just standing around doing nothing."
Of course, Diana Lyst wasn't a silly goose. She wasn't foolish at all.
The moment the order came down last night, she departed from the offshore platform alongside members of the Sisterhood, boarding an assault transport craft en route to the S.W.O.R.D. orbital station (after receiving an anti-nausea injection). Clad in an administrative uniform modified from the Brotherhood of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s silver armor, she spent her time directing logistics personnel, checking and confirming inventories.
Weapons, vehicles, ammunition, fuel, soldier rosters—everything except what the Sisterhood handled internally fell under her jurisdiction. She had to double-check the details of the Anti-Skrull Infiltration Act to prevent post-battle infiltration, coordinate with field commanders to assess troop readiness, and cross-reference with Mars Foundry technicians to ensure the missile launchers were operational. She wasn't a trained quartermaster—but reality had forced her to start learning how to prepare everything soldiers might need, and to verify every single transmission from Eternal City.
Were the hemostatic sprays and synthetic skin canisters in the medkits sufficient? Did every soldier have two fragmentation grenades? Were the batteries in the anti-tank rocket launchers fully charged? Had prefabricated bunkers been loaded onto the trucks? Were the field hospitals stocked with enough surgical tools and medicine? Were the fire suppression systems within their service life? Had the nuclear weapons issued to the special assault teams been properly maintained? Did the support technicians have enough repair tools?
She hadn't slept since the night before. Once she reached the orbital station, Earth time lost all meaning. Only instinct and passion kept her going. Fortunately, the externally enhanced neural units of the administrative staff took care of most of the calculations. Otherwise, Diana might have died from exhaustion before finishing the space station's logistics prep.
She worked relentlessly, confident that the Monarch would notice her efforts.
She refused to be seen as someone unfit for responsibility. Eternal City was not a mundane corporate bureaucracy—connections might have gotten her into the Ministry's upper floors, but that didn't mean her position was secure. If she showed weakness or incompetence, it would prove she was unfit for her role. The Lyst family, who had barely squeezed into the center of power, would be devoured by the other Hydra families.
Today's work was critical, she reminded herself, then downed a dangerously high dose of caffeine and alchemical stimulants to stay alert. Today's target was North America's largest known Skrull gathering. Destroying them would mark the opening of a long, shadowy war beneath a black ocean surface. The Monarch would not tolerate failure in such a pivotal battle.
"And it's also a perfect opportunity to test our new weapons," Stephanie said, rising and opening the weapons locker in the corner of the office. "I know you want to see the Skrull settlement burn."
She placed her hand on a pair of curved twin blades mounted in the cabinet. Their rear ends were fitted with mechanical power modules for energy supply and retractable blade extension, designed to be mounted on the armguards of powered armor. A melee weapon—meant to dance with death on the enemy's blade.
"Why don't we watch the process unfold with our own eyes," she said, "and personally hunt down the Skrulls who try to run?"
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