Ajak leaned forward. "What method are you referring to?"
"Mahd Wy'ry is a memory problem. That kind of damage isn't exclusively a Dragon Ball problem." Smith kept it measured. "There's someone I know who works with the architecture of consciousness at a level most people can't access. I can ask. No guarantees, but the inquiry is worth making."
Ajak absorbed this. When she spoke, her gratitude was genuine — not effusive, but real. "Whatever the outcome, I won't let this visit go unrewarded. Sersi can produce a batch of whatever materials your organization needs. Consider it a gesture of good faith."
Smith nodded. The offer was more useful than it might have appeared to someone who didn't know what he was working with.
"Vibranium," he said. "And primary adamantium."
Sersi's composure held, but something shifted in her expression — a brief recalibration, the look of someone mentally adjusting their energy budget upward. "Both are achievable. Vibranium more easily — the molecular structure is complex but I've worked with similar configurations before. Primary adamantium is considerably more demanding. I can produce meaningful quantities of each, but not unlimited."
She was thinking in terms of veins — she knew there was more than one vibranium deposit on Earth, which meant she understood the scale involved. She was being honest about her ceiling, not deflecting.
"Understood," Smith said. "I'll be in touch once I've confirmed the other matter."
Ajak looked at Sersi and said quietly, "Wait outside for me."
Sersi's curiosity was visible, but she didn't push. She rose and walked out of the office without comment, closing the door behind her.
Smith waited.
Ajak folded her hands. "What I'm about to tell you may be difficult to hear. I'd ask you to hear it fully before responding."
"Go ahead."
"Above the Eternals," Ajak began, "are the Celestials. They are the architects of life in this universe — they seed the conditions for living worlds, create stars, establish the foundations for intelligent civilizations to develop. Asgard has gods. The Celestials are something else entirely." She paused. "The Eternals were created by them. Our purpose is to protect developing civilizations and guide them toward the threshold the Celestials require."
Smith said nothing. He'd read this far already in what he knew of this universe.
"New Celestials are not born the way other beings are," Ajak continued. "They are seeded into planets — a nascent entity embedded in the planet's core, drawing energy from the intelligent life that develops on the surface above it. When a civilization reaches sufficient scale and complexity, the Celestial matures and emerges." She met his eyes. "The planet does not survive the birth."
She watched his face for reaction. His expression didn't change.
That seemed to unsettle her more than an outburst would have.
"There is a Celestial gestating in Earth's core. Twenty years, perhaps thirty, before it emerges."
Smith let the silence hold for a moment. Then: "You want me to rally enough force to destroy it preemptively."
Ajak shook her head quickly. "No. Each Celestial is irreplaceable — the mission they carry is genuine. I'm not asking you to prevent the birth." She took a breath. "What I'm asking is whether a Dragon Ball wish could restore the Earth after the emergence. Rebuild the planet. And a second wish to bring back the lives that were lost in the breaking." A pause. "It's the best solution I've been able to construct."
Smith looked at her steadily. "You've thought about the casualties in between the breaking and the restoration."
"Yes."
"Billions of people, Ajak. Between the moment the planet cracks and the moment a wish reverses it."
She didn't look away. "I know."
Smith was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice stayed even. "This problem belongs to the Eternals. You created the conditions for it. You maintained the mission. You are the reason a Celestial is growing in this planet's core." He kept his eyes on hers. "If you want the wishes that solve it, compete for them. That's how this works."
Ajak's composure held, but her jaw tightened. "You'd require the Eternals to earn a wish through tournament competition? For a crisis of this scale?"
"I'd require the party responsible for the crisis to take responsibility for it. That's not unusual." A pause. "The alternative — if the Eternals decide this isn't their problem to solve — is that it becomes mine. And if I have to solve it myself, the method will be different. Less careful about what stays standing on the Eternals' side of the ledger."
He released his power — not an attack, not a threat in the tactical sense, just the weight of what he was. It filled the room the way a pressure front fills a space before a storm.
Ajak sat very still.
She had spent thousands of years in the presence of Celestials. She understood power on a scale that dwarfed most things that called themselves powerful. But the man across from her registered on senses that she trusted, and what those senses were telling her was that the distance between Smith Doyle and the Celestial gestating beneath Earth's crust was smaller than she'd assumed.
She had made an error in coming here and laying it all out.
Smith settled back and let the pressure recede. "I know about the Celestials. I knew about Tiamut before you walked into this room." He watched her face absorb that. "Which means I've been watching this situation for some time. And I expect to see the Eternals in future tournament performing as though they understand what's at stake."
Ajak looked at him for a long moment.
"I see," she said at last.
The words carried the particular weight of someone recalculating everything they'd planned to say in a conversation that had not gone the direction they expected.