Palmer poured out far more disinfectant than necessary and slapped it directly onto Strange's wound with a sharp smack.
The intense pain twisted Strange's face, but he didn't dare cry out. He could only grit his teeth and breathe heavily.
"I know I was a bastard. I broke your heart. Back then, I really felt hopeless—like the whole world had abandoned me. I couldn't find any purpose in life. And I even thought… you deserved someone better…"
The moment those last words left his mouth, Strange regretted them. He saw the look in Palmer's eyes—cold, yet brimming with tears. That warmth instantly melted his heart.
"Oh really? Then I want to know what exactly happened over these past few months."
After securing the bandage, Palmer gave his wound another firm smack.
"This goes back to when I realized Western medicine had no answers left. At the time…"
Strange began recounting everything—from his journey to Kathmandu, to his training, all the way to being blasted into the New York Sanctum and suffering the injuries that brought him here. He held nothing back as he told Palmer the full story.
"So… you're a sorcerer now? And those two who came with you—they're sorcerers too?"
Palmer could hardly believe what she'd heard. She would've thought Strange had lost his mind, if not for everything she had just witnessed proving otherwise.
"That's right. I'm now a full-fledged sorcerer of Kamar-Taj."
Strange gently reached out and caressed Palmer's face.
"But your hands…"
Palmer grabbed his hands, noticing they were still trembling just as badly as before—no improvement at all.
"This was my choice, Christine. Like you said, life shouldn't stand still. There are many meanings to life—and now, I've found a new one."
Palmer already understood what he meant. It also meant he would never return to being a doctor.
Once the bandaging was done, Strange immediately tried to get up, but Palmer stopped him.
"Wait. Where are you going? Your wound was just treated—you need rest."
Strange ignored her and insisted on standing. His movements were smooth, giving no sign that he had been critically injured just moments ago.
"Saving the world."
He knew his own condition. Though he appeared fine on the surface, he was still extremely weak—his steps slightly unsteady.
Palmer supported him as they walked toward the storage room.
"I must be crazy, Stephen. I can't believe I'm actually believing all this."
She said it out loud, yet continued to help him without hesitation.
"Yeah. I guess we're both crazy."
Strange replied softly, never slowing his pace.
"Where are you going?"
Palmer quickly asked.
"Actually, I need to return to the Sanctum. And the best way is through the portal in the storage room."
By the time he finished speaking, they had reached the door. Seeing Palmer's disbelief, Strange politely opened it and gestured for her to enter.
As the door swung open, golden light spilled out, illuminating Palmer's stunned face. She stepped inside, and Strange closed the door behind them.
In the center of the room floated a circular portal crackling with golden sparks. On the other side was an ancient-looking corridor. Beside the portal hovered a blue cloak, which immediately flew over and wrapped itself around Strange the moment he entered.
Palmer felt her entire worldview collapse. Like Strange once was, she had been a staunch materialist, never believing in gods or spirits. But witnessing this scene firsthand left her no choice.
Before her shocked eyes, Strange—now draped in the blue cloak—stepped through the portal and stood in the corridor beyond.
"I have to go, Christine. Wait for me—I'll come back."
His voice was calm. The portal slowly closed, and his figure vanished from her sight.
Palmer stood there blankly, staring at the fading sparks in midair. Her mind drifted—perhaps thinking of something, or perhaps completely empty.
Back at the New York Sanctum, Mordo had just arrived.
"Strange! Thank goodness you're alright!"
When Mordo first reached the Sanctum, all he saw was devastation—and the corpse of its guardian. He had assumed Strange had met the same fate. Seeing both Strange and the Sanctum intact, he couldn't help but feel relieved.
"You could say that. I'm… mostly fine."
Strange replied casually. Having just brushed against death, calling it "fine" wasn't entirely inaccurate.
"That Cloak of Levitation…"
Mordo pointed at the blue cloak draped over Strange, surprise evident on his face.
"I can tell—it likes you."
"That's right. And not just anyone can obtain a cloak like this."
The Ancient One's voice suddenly rang out as she stepped out from the shadows.
"There were originally two Cloaks of Levitation. This blue one chose you. As for the red one—you've already seen it. It's with Karl."
Strange nodded. He had already wondered about this—the two cloaks were identical in every way except for their color.
"This cloak…"
Just as he was about to ask, the Ancient One continued,
"Like the one Karl has, this cloak was crafted by the same master. Aside from their colors, the only difference is their personalities."
"Personalities? Cloaks have personalities?"
Strange couldn't help but touch the cloak.
"That's right. Every magical artifact is unique. Like humans, they each have their own temperament. You'll come to understand that in time."
The Ancient One said no more. Any magical artifact required its wielder to explore and bond with it gradually.
Strange nodded, then said, "Sorry—I let him escape."
"Kacilius?"
the Ancient One asked.
"Yes. He can fold space at will, and open portals extremely quickly."
"You're saying he can manipulate space outside the Mirror Dimension? In the real world?"
A slight change crossed the Ancient One's expression—she hadn't expected Kacilius to reach that level.
"That's right."
Strange nodded.
"How many people does he have?"
she continued.
"Two. One was trapped by me in the desert. The other had his soul burned away by Karl."
Strange didn't hide anything, his gaze drifting downstairs.
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