Coulson felt as though his worldview was being ground into the dirt by a teenager.
"What did you say?" He instinctively pressed for clarification, wondering if the desert winds had played tricks on his ears.
"I said, this isn't rock art—it's a road sign!"
Paul suddenly lifted his head, his dark eyes ablaze with an unsettling intensity. Pointing at the scorch marks burned into the ground by energy discharge, his voice quivered with excitement.
"'The Bifrost Road that shakes'! Coulson, this isn't some mythological metaphor—it's describing a physical phenomenon! What the Asgardians call the 'Rainbow Bridge' isn't a bridge at all. It's a stabilized, controlled 'Einstein-Rosen bridge'—a wormhole!"
Wormhole.
The word detonated like a depth charge in the minds of the seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists present.
Their entire careers had been built on equations, data, and observable physical phenomena. Magic? Mythology? To them, these were nothing more than primitive superstitions—ancient explanations for the unexplainable.
But now, a fourteen-year-old had used the theories they knew best to propose the most insane—and yet, most logical—explanation.
A silver-haired professor of theoretical physics, renowned in his field, absentmindedly adjusted his glasses. Behind the lenses, his eyes were wide with shock and bewilderment. "Impossible… Maintaining a stable wormhole would require unimaginable negative energy. It violates—"
"Laws exist to be understood, then rewritten, Professor," Paul interjected softly but firmly. "While you're still wrestling with conservation of energy, the Asgardians have already discovered an entirely new power source. They call it magic."
He paused, relishing the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of these elite thinkers.
"Uru metal is the perfect superconductor for this energy. And these complex runes? They're programming code—algorithms to control the energy's flow. Power source, medium, program… a complete, learnable, hackable scientific system. Gentlemen, welcome to the real world of magic."
Coulson was the first to shake off his shock.
His expression grave, he swiftly issued a string of orders into his comm-link. "Lock down the site. Initiate Alpha-level security protocols. All data related to this location is classified Level 7. No information leaves without my direct authorization."
His gaze fell on Paul, conflicted—admiration and wariness clashing with something deeper: dread. What the boy had revealed wasn't just valuable—it was revolutionary, enough to overturn the world's energy landscape and military balance.
This was no longer a skirmish between Stark Industries and the Pentagon. It was a lure powerful enough to draw predators from across the globe—and beyond.
"Paul," Coulson said hoarsely, "do you have any idea what you've just unleashed?"
Paul flashed him a brilliant grin. "Of course. It means we just got our ticket to the new era—and I happen to know how to play the game."
---
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s temporary research outpost, erected around Thor's hammer, now resembled a fortified stronghold.
When Paul and Coulson stepped inside, the sight nearly made Paul burst into laughter.
A dozen scientists in full hazmat suits were painstakingly maneuvering clunky robotic arms around the hammer, conducting every conceivable "non-contact" scan.
Laser mapping. Sonic resonance. Neutron diffraction.
One after another, cutting-edge instruments spat back the same results: "Inconclusive." "Energy anomaly detected." "Structural analysis impossible."
"Are you giving it a spa treatment?" Paul quipped, unimpressed. "Or is this some kind of 21st-century scientific prayer circle, hoping it'll just tell you its secrets?"
The lead scientist, a Dr. Hamilton, flushed crimson. "Mr. Stark, this is standard procedure! When dealing with an object of unknown—"
"—So you're basically monkeys poking a supercomputer with sticks. Got it."
Paul strode past him to the control console. With a tap on his smartwatch, a complex holographic schematic erupted into the air—a breathtaking mesh of geometric runes.
The core command sequence of Mjolnir itself.
"You've been looking at it all wrong," Paul announced, capturing the room's attention. "You focused on the hardware but ignored its operating system. The hammer's power doesn't come from the metal—it comes from this."
His finger traced a glowing rune at the diagram's heart.
"The so-called 'worthiness' enchantment isn't mystical mumbo-jumbo. It's the most advanced biometric lock in existence. Neural signature matching. Behavioral ethics modeling. Subconscious value alignment. Only someone the system verifies as 'worthy' gets admin privileges."
Dead silence.
Dr. Hamilton gaped at the hologram, then at Paul. His mind had officially short-circuited.
All this time…
The "divine power" they'd poured resources into deciphering… was just an access protocol?
The scientists' gazes transformed—no longer seeing a prodigy, but a pioneer standing beyond the frontier of human knowledge.
"Can… can it be hacked?" Hamilton managed, voice trembling.
"Hacked?" Paul smirked. "Why bother? Once you speak its language, you could write your own. Maybe even a better one."
As the scientists surged forward with frantic questions, Coulson stepped in.
"Alright, people—let's regroup over food." He clapped his hands, trying to temper the feverish mood. "Dr. Hamilton, arrange some dinner. We've got all night to discuss this 'new world'."
Just then—
"WOOOOP! WOOOOP!"
Sirens wailed.
Red emergency lights bathed the room in pulsating crimson.
"Alert! Unidentified hostiles at perimeter!" a panicked voice crackled over comms. "Approaching at extreme speed! Jesus—it's not flying, it's WALKING!"
Chaos erupted. Scientists scrambled for cover. Agents formed defensive lines, rifles cocked.
Amidst the frenzy, two figures remained unnervingly calm.
Coulson had his pistol drawn, shielding Paul while barking orders into his comm.
Paul, however, wore a smile—delighted, even.
The smile of a hunter whose trap had just snapped shut.
To Coulson's astonishment, Paul reached into his jacket and retrieved something:
A sleek metallic injector. Inside, a shimmering liquid swirled—like melted crystal dusted with starlight.
"Relax, Agent Coulson." Paul's voice cut through the noise, laced with amusement.
"No need for the cavalry. Just my future brother-in-law's older sibling throwing a tantrum."
He flicked the injector's needle with a fingertip.
"Don't worry—I brought the sedative."