Part 1: The Room They Gave Him
Location: Sublevel Training Wing, Avengers Compound Time: Early Morning
The room they gave him wasn't much.
Just steel walls, reinforced supports, two mounted cameras in opposite corners, and a built-in gravity stabilizer Tony had explained with too many words. It was silent now, humming faintly with the breath of the compound around it.
Riven stood barefoot in the center of the padded floor. The lights were dimmed by his request. Shadows clung to the corners. He didn't want light. He didn't deserve it.
His fists were clenched, arms loose at his sides. Sweat had already soaked through the collar of his shirt.
He had been coming here every day. Quietly. No announcements. No instructors.
And every day, he pushed a little harder. Lifted more weight. Ran until his legs gave. Jumped until the ceiling groaned.
But none of that was why he came.
He came to feel it.
The invisible weight that coiled behind his skull. The pulse at the edge of thought. The force he couldn't name, couldn't see, but could almost grasp.
Telekinesis.
His body had adapted. His muscles obeyed. His healing was getting faster. But this? This wasn't muscle. This was mind.
He exhaled. Focused on the steel ball in front of him. It sat idle, heavy, solid. He extended a hand.
Nothing.
He narrowed his eyes. Remembered pain. Screaming. The kids.
The ball twitched.
A spark. A tremor in the air. His fingers curled tighter. Blood dripped from his nose.
The ball slid forward half an inch.
Then dropped dead still.
He gasped and staggered back, clutching his head. The pressure inside his skull flared and receded.
Behind the one-way mirror, Steve Rogers watched silently. Tony stood beside him, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
"He's not ready," Steve said softly.
Tony didn't respond.
In the training room, Riven sat on the ground, chest heaving, staring at his hands.
One inch today.
More tomorrow.