The biting Himalayan cold whipped through the central courtyard of Kamar-Taj, carrying the heavy, ancient scent of burning sandalwood and frozen stone. But Karl Mordo didn't feel the chill. A different kind of ice was spreading through his chest, sharp and paralyzing.
He stood in the courtyard and rigidly worked through the jagged pieces of reality. The Ancient One had possessed another Dragon Ball. She had not told him. Instead, she had bypassed her most devoted student and given the cosmic artifact directly to Kaecilius.
Mordo's fists closed at his sides, the rough, woven fabric of his green robes biting into his palms. He had nearly died representing Kamar-Taj in the last cycle. He had asked trusted colleagues to cover his absences, had bled his own magic out onto an alien arena floor, and had carried the crushing, apocalyptic weight of the tournament entirely alone. And he had done it while Kaecilius was still sitting in the library, struggling to master intermediate portal work.
Now, the next opportunity—the ultimate validation—had sailed straight past him.
If Kaecilius won, whatever fragile standing Mordo still held in the Ancient One's estimation would plummet even further. The path to the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme ran directly through this kind of crucible. Mordo could see that clearly enough. What he couldn't see, as his dark eyes locked onto the towering figure standing in the frost, was how to insert himself into a situation where the tournament's organizer had already breached their walls.
He gestured sharply to a novice mage, sending them sprinting toward the library to find Kaecilius.
Standing in the center of the flagstones, Smith watched Mordo's jaw work. He felt the rigid, self-righteous fury radiating off the sorcerer, and found it incredibly difficult not to be entertained. Mordo was drowning in resentment over a Dragon Ball, desperately clawing for a title he believed was his birthright. Smith knew the cosmic joke: the man would be considerably more distressed when he eventually learned that the title he'd structured his entire adult life around was already destined for a brilliant, arrogant surgeon who hadn't even started training yet.
Smith kept his expression perfectly neutral, letting his sheer, divine authority radiate outward. The heavy, suffocating aura he projected forced Mordo to swallow his pride and stand down. Smith simply waited.
Minutes later, Kaecilius arrived.
He didn't rush, though ten mages trailed closely behind him. Kaecilius walked with a studious, earnest precision. His posture was perfectly straight, his breathing controlled and measured. His sharp eyes immediately snapped to the lingering, jagged blue cosmic energy dissipating around Smith, analyzing the impossible physics of the arrival rather than merely fearing it.
Smith ran a rapid, tactical assessment of the ten mages following him. He recognized several faces. Not by their names, but by their tragic trajectory. These were the people Kaecilius would eventually pull into the dark, seducing them into something they had no business touching. Right now, they were just trusted colleagues, bright-eyed scholars being brought to a cosmic sporting event. The line between loyal student and fanatical zealot was significantly thinner than Kaecilius currently understood.
"Mr. Smith." Kaecilius stopped a respectful distance away and offered a precise, shallow bow. "I'm sorry you had to come personally. A simple message would have brought me to the venue on my own."
"No trouble," Smith said, his deep voice carrying easily over the wind.
Mordo looked at the group of ten assembled behind Kaecilius, and the final, infuriating piece fell into place. Ten spectators. A full tournament allocation. Kaecilius had given every single slot to people inside Kamar-Taj's walls.
"Kaecilius." Mordo's voice was tightly controlled, a vibrating string one twist away from snapping. "You're bringing ten mages. Are you entirely sure you want Dragon Ball information circulating inside the order?"
Kaecilius didn't flinch. He turned to Smith with unfailing politeness. "One moment, please."
Smith gestured magnanimously for him to proceed, highly amused by the internal politics of wizards.
Kaecilius turned to face Mordo directly, his earnestness shining through. "You've forgotten what we're for, Karl. The library has no locked sections—that's been true since the Ancient One who came before ours. Every mage reads what they need to understand the universe."
He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to. His conviction was absolute. "Mr. Smith released the Dragon Balls to give living beings a chance at something better. We have ten spectator spots. Keeping them empty to protect a secret that serves absolutely no one would contradict everything we claim to stand for. I trust these people. That's my decision to make."
Mordo's complexion darkened, a shadow falling over his rigid features. "If any of them develop inappropriate ambitions because of what they see, that falls squarely on you."
"I'll accept that," Kaecilius said simply.
Kaecilius knew the bloody shape of the previous cycle. The Ancient One had told him the truth: Mordo had gone alone, kept everything guarded and close to his chest, nearly gotten himself killed for his pride, and had come home having learned all the wrong lessons. Kaecilius had drawn radically different conclusions from the same history. The teacher had placed two consecutive balls with Kamar-Taj. She wasn't doing that to keep the knowledge contained in the dark. She was doing it to spread something. To refine the heart.
He turned back to Smith, his posture re-centering. "My apologies for the delay. I'm ready."
Smith raised one hand. He didn't draw a glowing, geometric circle. Instead, a space-time portal simply tore open across the width of the courtyard, the edges screaming with raw, blue cosmic power. The far side of the rift revealed the blinding, bright Pacific light of the tournament island's spectator area, the warm ocean breeze immediately clashing with the Himalayan frost.
"You and your ten go through," Smith instructed. "You'll be met on the other side and briefed on the competition rules."
Kaecilius nodded. Without a single backward glance at Mordo, he led his group of scholars through the tear in reality.
Smith watched them cross the threshold, the cosmic light playing across his dark coat. Once the last mage was through, he turned slowly. He walked toward Mordo with the relaxed, sprawling pace of a man who owned the very ground he walked on and had nowhere to be in the next thirty seconds.
"Tell Master Ancient One I said hello," Smith said pleasantly, the taunt resting smoothly beneath the polite veneer. "I'll come by to visit soon."
Mordo's jaw clenched so tight it threatened to crack his teeth. He had absolutely no available response that wouldn't make the situation infinitely worse. "Yes, Mr. Smith."
Smith offered a cold, knowing smile. He stepped backward through the blue portal, and the rift snapped shut, leaving behind nothing but the smell of ozone.
In the freezing courtyard, Mordo stood perfectly still, his hands rigidly at his sides, while the few remaining novice mages exchanged terrified glances and began quietly whispering, asking each other what Dragon Balls were.
Deep within the sanctum, in the incense-heavy silence of her meditation room, the Ancient One sat cross-legged.
She wasn't staring at the wall. She was gazing into a shimmering, shifting mandala of golden light—a fractal reflection of the mirror dimension that allowed her to view the flow of time and space in the courtyard below. She watched Smith's deliberate, taunting exit. The wild, unstructured nature of the cosmic energy he wielded contrasted sharply with the geometric, disciplined spells of Kamar-Taj.
She picked up her delicate porcelain teacup, took a slow sip, and set it back down on the wooden tray.
She closed her eyes and shook her bald head, a faint, weary smile touching her lips. Completely, utterly incapable of letting anything go.
Back on the sun-drenched Pacific island, the wind tore across the indestructible adamantium platform. Smith emerged from the portal, his heavy coat settling around him.
He spotted a Fraternity staff member in a crisp black suit standing near the perimeter and pointed a gloved finger toward the shaded spectator area where Kaecilius's bewildered group of mages had just arrived, blinking against the sudden sunlight.
"Get them seated," Smith ordered, his voice returning to its absolute, clinical baseline. "And run the rules briefing."
"Yes, Chief."