What Luca actually wanted to say was:
Since the Ancient One needs the [Hextech Core], could she just give me four different magical runes—and, if it's not too much trouble, "borrow" a small Arc Reactor from Tony Stark's vault?
That way, he might be able to synthesize the [Hextech Core] on the spot and trade it with her—saving a being as powerful as the Ancient One from having to wait.
But who would've thought she'd just vanish without a word?
"These big shots… they're all Riddlers!" he thought to himself.
Still, Luca had a pretty good guess as to why she wanted the [Hextech Core].
According to the lore, most sorcerers in the Marvel universe didn't actually possess magical power. To cast spells, they had to borrow energy from dimensional entities—daemons, really. And borrowing meant repayment.
With the Vishanti—the source of white magic—it wasn't so bad. No matter how much power you used, you were essentially just working off your debt. But tap into something like Dormammu's dark magic? Even a sliver could corrupt you, twist your mind, and turn you into a drooling puppet.
The [Hextech Core], though—that was different. It was essentially an inexhaustible source of pure magical energy. Luca didn't know exactly where it drew its power from, but if Kamar-Taj mages could channel it, they might finally cast spells without going into hock with interdimensional loan sharks.
Sure, someone like the Ancient One wouldn't care—she'd never repay a debt anyway, and rumor had it she'd once beaten up a bill collector from the Dark Dimension. But for ordinary mages? This could be a game-changer. Less bookkeeping, more blasting. Maybe even enough to swing them toward melee combat roles.
Lost in thought, Luca cast one last glance toward Stark Tower.
And froze.
Loki was picking up the Tesseract.
Even from this distance, it was obvious: the cube in his hand wasn't just glowing—it was radiating a brilliant white light, unlike anything Luca had seen from any core component before. The light was so intense it almost drowned out the Tesseract's usual blue shimmer.
Instinctively, Luca took two steps forward.
But before he could react, Loki—seizing the moment while everyone was distracted by the Hulk's rampage—ripped open a portal and vanished.
"Core component… the Space Stone… or the Tesseract itself?" Luca muttered under his breath. "That level of white light… I could synthesize something insane with that. What a waste."
He shook his head, the ghost of that luminous energy still burning in his mind. With a sigh, he hoisted his backpack again.
"Not mine to have—not yet. That hot potato's way too dangerous to grab right now. I'll wait for my shot. When I'm strong enough, I'll see what I can actually make with it."
After all, even if he did get his hands on something that powerful, he wouldn't be able to hold onto it in his current state.
Turning away, he slipped into the panicked crowd scattering from the Hulk's path and hurried toward home.
As he walked, a new thought nagged at him.
"I said I wouldn't interfere… but Loki leaving like that means the future's already changed from what I remember."
And now it was clear—this wasn't the MCU timeline he thought he knew. They couldn't rely on canon events playing out as expected.
At the very least, Luca recalled, the Rainbow Bridge in Asgard was still shattered.
Originally, Thor was supposed to use the Tesseract to repair it.
Now? Without it, his comings and goings between Earth and Asgard would be a lot more complicated.
Also, in Avengers: Endgame, although Captain America ultimately returned all the Infinity Stones to their proper timelines,
he initially took Loki's scepter—which contained the Mind Stone—from 2012 New York. Crucially, he returned only the Mind Stone itself, leaving the empty scepter behind. This subtle but significant detail would inevitably ripple through the timeline… though for now, those consequences remained hidden in the shadows of a fractured reality.
However, Luca's current strength and influence were far too limited. Even if he'd grasped the implications, he was powerless to intervene.
Weighed down by exhaustion and the surreal chaos of post-Blip Manhattan, Luca soon made his way back to his family's apartment building.
Aside from being nearly mistaken for an injured survivor and almost carted off to a triage center by disaster relief workers a few times, he hadn't encountered any real trouble.
He glanced down the alleyway—no sign of the returning Avengers from Endgame. With a quiet sigh, he turned toward the stairwell.
But just then, Luca noticed several medical personnel rushing out of the building, carrying a stretcher.
Beside it stood a sturdy, middle-aged woman he recognized instantly.
"Aunt Samira?"
He took a few quick steps forward. At the sound of his voice, the woman turned—eyes wide—then hurried over and pulled him into a fierce embrace.
"Young Master Luca… I thought you'd vanished too…"
The woman was Samira Beretskaya, the Orange family's longtime driver and personal bodyguard. She'd been close to Luca's mother, Gina Orange, for as long as he could remember. Rumor had it she was a decorated combat veteran who'd retired from active service under mysterious circumstances—only to take a quiet job behind the wheel of a luxury sedan. To Luca, she'd always been a second mother: loyal, unshakable, and fiercely protective.
His gaze drifted past her shoulder.
There, on the stretcher, lay his mother.
She hasn't woken up yet… But she's alive. That's something.
A sharp pang of guilt stabbed through him—he'd left her alone, unconscious, in a ruined apartment—but he shoved it down. Survival demanded pragmatism, not self-recrimination.
Samira, still holding him, followed his eyes to the stretcher. Her expression softened with pain.
"Thank goodness you're alright, Young Master," she said, her voice thick. She gently touched his prosthetic right arm—hesitating, as if wanting to ask where he'd been, or how he'd survived—but she merely pressed her lips together and said nothing more.
Luca shook his head. "I lost her on the street during the chaos. How is she now?"
Samira, ever the soldier, quickly composed herself. "Only minor external injuries—already bandaged. The cause of her unconsciousness is unclear. They'll run full diagnostics at the hospital."
She lowered her voice. "The building's homeowners' association acted fast. Their private emergency team was on-site within minutes. Depending on the hospital's findings, we may bring in our own doctors."
Luca nodded. Though the Snap's reversal had struck the heart of Manhattan—leveling blocks, crushing infrastructure, and overwhelming emergency services—the Orange family's luxury high-rise stood in a district where wealth still bought priority. Its residents were CEOs, diplomats, and legacy elites; their recovery would be swift, discreet, and well-resourced.
Even now, with New York's public hospitals swamped, Gina would be given a private room. Meanwhile, thousands of ordinary New Yorkers would be treated in field clinics or makeshift tents.
"The… gentleman's body," Samira said carefully, "has already been recovered. The disaster response unit is coordinating with a private medical team for transport."
Luca's throat tightened. Father.
"And the company?" he asked quietly.
"The Lower City offices were untouched. Operations are stable—for now."
Without another word, they climbed into the ambulance. As the doors slammed shut and the siren wailed to life, Luca stared out the window at the smoke-choked skyline—wondering which fractures in time and reality would heal… and which would bleed forever.