"Hello, Master Abel."
"Master Kaecilius." I nodded, matching his politeness like we weren't living inside a timeline where he was scheduled to become a problem. "It's been a while. Do you know where Master Daniel is?"
Kaecilius didn't blink. "Master Daniel is performing a mission. I'm temporarily replacing him as guardian of the New York Sanctum."
A mission.
That word made my shoulders tense automatically. In Kamar-Taj terms, "mission" usually meant "something that would eat normal people."
"I see," I said. "In that case, could you please inform the Ancient One I'd like to speak with her? I need Kamar-Taj's help with something."
Kaecilius paused.
Then, slowly, he nodded as if he'd been expecting this exact request.
"If that is the case, the timing is perfect," he said. "The Ancient One asked me to send you to Kamar-Taj if you came here today. She wants to meet with you."
I blinked. "The Ancient One wants to see me?"
"Yes." Kaecilius's gaze held mine for a beat too long, measuring. "Do you have time to meet her now?"
I did. And the fact she'd anticipated my visit meant she wanted something.
When the Ancient One wanted something, it was never small.
"Of course," I said. "Please, lead the way."
Kaecilius led me upstairs to the Sanctum's fixed doorway connection—the ancient portal threshold that linked directly to Kamar-Taj. It looked like a normal wooden door until you remembered it could throw you across the planet in one step.
"Master Abel," he said, gesturing. "Open it and walk through. It will take you directly to Kamar-Taj. I will be here when you return."
"Thank you," I replied.
Then I opened the door.
Space shifted—the familiar disorienting twist—and reality solidified into stone, incense, and centuries.
Kamar-Taj always felt like history had teeth.
The architecture wasn't just "old." It was intentional. Stone worn smooth by generations of footsteps, prayer flags fluttering like the air itself was breathing, carvings that didn't just decorate but warned.
An Asian man waited near the entrance, stocky, serious, hands behind his back like he was trying to look like a wall.
He bowed slightly. "Master Abel. Please come with me. The Ancient One is waiting."
I already knew who he was, but politeness mattered.
"How should I address you?" I asked.
"You can call me Wong," he replied. "All of Kamar-Taj calls me that."
Of course.
"Thank you, Wong."
He grimaced. "Don't call me 'Master Wong.' That's weird. Just Wong."
"Understood," I said. "As you wish."
He nodded, satisfied.
Wong led me through corridors that smelled like incense and old paper. Students practiced in side rooms, sparks and shields flickering. The place hummed with controlled power—like a monastery built atop a sleeping engine.
Finally, we reached a building with distinctly Chinese architectural style. The Ancient One stood in the center, eyes closed, posture still, as if she was listening to something that wasn't in our dimension.
"Ancient One," Wong announced. "Master Abel has arrived."
She opened her eyes and turned, calm as ever, like she'd been expecting me in the same way she expected sunrise.
"Thank you, Wong," she said. "You may go rest."
Wong bowed and left, and the silence he left behind felt heavier than before.
Tea at Kamar-Taj was always a trap.
Not the poison kind—though honestly, with my life, I wouldn't rule it out—but the emotional kind. They give you something warm, herbal, faintly floral, and for three minutes your brain goes:
Wow. This is peaceful. Maybe I can relax.
Then reality punches you in the face with a portal and a demon cult and a deadline.
The Ancient One and I sat on futons across a low table. The tea set between us looked simple, almost humble—porcelain cups, a little pot, steam curling up like calm thoughts.
I took a sip.
Warm, grounding, slightly sweet.
My shoulders loosened a fraction.
Then I remembered who I was sitting with and tightened right back up, because the Ancient One didn't do "casual chats." She did "quiet conversations that rearrange your future."
I set my cup down carefully.
"Ancient One," I asked, keeping my tone polite and steady, "what do you want me to help you with?"
She placed her own cup down with the kind of deliberate grace that made even the smallest movement feel like an ancient ritual.
"The power of the Dark Dimension has been invading Earth from multiple locations recently," she said. "As the primary force maintaining the safety of the magical world, Kamar-Taj is committed to eliminating all possible crises."
Her expression sharpened slightly.
"Like the girl named Amonsha you encountered. She was a normal person infected by Dormammu's power. One of many."
My stomach tightened.
I didn't like hearing her describe Amonsha so cleanly. "Infected." Like she was a disease sample in a jar. It was accurate, sure, but it reminded me that I'd almost ended up the same way if she hadn't shown up when she did.
"I see," I said quietly.
"This time," the Ancient One continued, "we've discovered a dimensional crack between the Dark Dimension and Earth. A large number of Dormammu's followers have established a stronghold there."
She sighed, and it wasn't exhaustion. It was the kind of sigh someone makes when they've been responsible for the world too long and the world keeps refusing to learn.
"There are too many places for Kamar-Taj to guard and garrison. Our manpower is stretched thin. Therefore, I have invited mages who have good relationships with Kamar-Taj to assist."
Her gaze settled on me.
"Master Abel," she said, "are you willing to help us?"
Perfect.
Not because I loved fighting cultists—hard pass—but because I needed Kamar-Taj. I needed their system. My spells from my previous life were useful, yes, and getting sharper every week. But when the opponent was a cosmic entity's influence bleeding into reality, wand spells alone weren't going to be enough forever.
I needed dimensional techniques. I needed portals. I needed the kind of magic that didn't stop at "blast and bind."
And honestly? I needed to be close enough to Kamar-Taj that when the world started collapsing later—because it always did—I wouldn't be standing outside the gate pounding on it like a desperate tourist.
This was the opening.
So I took it.
"Ancient One," I said sincerely, "of course I want to help. Maintaining Earth's stability is what every mage should do. I'm no exception."
She smiled, faint and approving, and lifted her cup in a small toast. We drank.
Then she said the second half, the part that mattered.
"Then," she asked, "what help do you need? What do you require in return?"