Everyone who knew Solomon understood that he liked making plans—he liked things to proceed according to schedule.
To achieve this, the somewhat obsessive sorcerer always devised multiple contingencies, ensuring that he had a response for every possible development. Even Wanda, who hadn't known him for long, could sense this about him.
Lying on the hard metal bed of her bulletproof glass cell, the thing she recalled most vividly was Solomon's raven-black eyes. Those eyes, moist and filled with complex emotions, harbored countless schemes, overlapping with the rust stains on the bed frame—both cold and metallic. Wanda Maximoff found herself unable to decipher his thoughts, and that uncertainty felt like a deep abyss pulling her downward. She was filled with post-factum fear over her bold actions today.
She felt she had been reckless, and that man had been far too accommodating.
Replaying the events of the day in her mind, she suddenly realized she might have fallen into yet another trap—one potentially more terrifying and unfathomable than the organization that occupied this fortress.
Was my reaction part of his plan?
Who was that girl he brought?
What role does she play?
Which of his words were true?
What is this "multiverse" he speaks of?
Is that girl really my sister in a parallel world?
Magic! she thought.
Why does he understand my abilities, my magic, my life so well?
Among his many titles, does one hold the key to all these answers?
Which of the things he teaches will have terrible consequences?
What is the price of magic? What must I give? How do I pay it?
Like Wanda, Pietro also drifted into sleep with unease about the future. Today's small adventure had exhausted them both. Whether it was scrounging for food on the streets with inexplicable "luck" or relying on Hydra's rations, neither source provided enough nutrition for their growing bodies. They desperately needed rest.
On the other side of the world, Solomon was still buried under piles of parchment scrolls.
The spells recorded on these scrolls were immensely powerful and costly. Even he had to handle them with care, meticulously copying them into his grimoire while adding his own analyses and conclusions. Each scroll was like a thesis paper, an exam of a spellcaster's ability—one that Solomon had taken countless times before.
Some might envy the power of a sorcerer, but the intensity of magical study far surpassed three years of high school. As he transcribed the scrolls, he had to reference past astrological charts to properly understand the magic within them. He was still young, full of energy, and had the ability to pull all-nighters. It was always a good idea to learn more while one had the time.
Besides, his study hours had been shrinking lately. Matters concerning Merton Academy and the Eternal City consumed his schedule, leaving Diana and Stephanie in a constant battle over every second of his free time.
The Wakandans were making daily advancements using the fraction of Sacred Shield Brotherhood technology he had shared. The Sisters' performance reports—live ammunition drills, swordsmanship training, hand-to-hand combat progress, science education scores, magic theory exams, even their biological cycles—were all compiled into documents submitted to his office by Tita.
Out of responsibility, Solomon at least skimmed through them and issued approvals where needed.
Tony Stark's Asgardian decomposition field prototype had to be sent to Wakanda for further analysis and miniaturization. In return for the technology Solomon had shared, the Wakandans would provide their electromagnetic shielding technology and commit personnel to research its adaptation into portable soldier equipment. Meanwhile, a hundred golden suits of Uru metal armor were still undergoing fine-tuning. Their internal systems—electronic synthetic muscles, servo tendons, biochemical filtration devices, high-efficiency painkillers—were all part of an integrated life support and defense system still under development.
Once installed into power armor, only superhumans with large physiques would be able to wear them.
Even with Solomon's considerable financial resources, sustaining so many research projects simultaneously was a challenge. The Malick family's financial support was barely a drop in the ocean. The researchers they had dispatched blended into the vibrant scientific community of the Eternal City, barely noticeable. Many projects still required Solomon's direct oversight, or even his personal involvement, to solve problems beyond the capabilities of ordinary humans.
Wakandan princess Shuri was practically running on fumes under his leadership—the knowledge within the Eternal City was overwhelming. Stephanie, too, had developed dark circles under her eyes from managing all financial inflows and outflows. And in the highly secured biological laboratories, only Solomon knew what was truly happening inside.
Since Hydra's researchers had entered the facility, Solomon had personally executed two scientists who lost their minds. They had screamed the name of the "Black Goat of the Woods" before tearing off their own skin. To prevent them from affecting others, Solomon had instructed Gideon Malick to issue death notifications to their families. He also introduced a drug—of his own design—that suppressed emotional fluctuations, ensuring that new researchers wouldn't succumb to insanity while studying.
This expensive drug was in short supply and was only administered when others detected signs of mental instability. If someone lost control, the Sisters would incinerate them with flamethrowers, leaving not a single cell intact.
To make matters worse, the Eternal City was located thousands of feet underground, and large shipments could only be transported via Solomon's portals. The most advanced ventilation systems were working at full capacity just to ensure people didn't suffocate. Only limited essentials like food and supplies were being funneled through the ancient underground transport tunnels from Rome—tunnels so narrow that only a few people could pass through at a time to maintain secrecy.
Time was scarce for everyone. Solomon had to read through every useful magical text as quickly as possible.
The simulated flames on his high-tech fireplace flickered on the screen, casting a glow across the study, alongside the soft candlelight from the bronze-rimmed mahogany desk. The candles contained essential oils to keep the mind sharp, their sharp peppermint scent seeping into every strand of the sorcerer's hair.
"Would you like to join us for a movie, dear? If so, please grab some chips. And chocolate—Jeanne bought plenty, they're in the fridge, first shelf on the left."
The witch lounged in a recliner by the fireplace, pulling a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket. With a snap of her fingers, the glasses in her and Jeanne's hands filled to the brim. Tonight, Jeanne planned to catch up on five centuries' worth of missed films, and the study was just the right size for a home theater.
There was nothing more delightful than sipping champagne, watching old movies, and cuddling a plump cat. If anything could improve upon that, it would be reclining on two luxurious chairs (which Jeanne had purchased from Versailles centuries ago) while enjoying bite-sized appetizers.
Diana had spent the entire evening preparing those snacks, and Solomon's tasting would be the highest form of praise for her efforts.
The apartment's wine cabinet had been expanding lately—now it housed nine bottles of champagne. Bayonetta carefully placed them into the ice bucket, planning to finish them all tonight while surrounded by Anna Karenina, War and Peace, The Origin of Species, and The Prince, under the watchful eyes of Apollo and Messiah, the Virgin and the Sage, paired with oysters or caviar to mark their demise.
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