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Hawk cut straight to the chase!
No beating around the bush, no cryptic word games. There was no need.
Straight to business. He didn't even bother explaining what he wanted the Time Stone for.
Again—no point.
From the moment the Ancient One had addressed him as "Phoenix" when he'd first arrived, to her casual remark that she didn't need to worry about Blackheart creating a new Hell because Hawk had already handled it—
The message was clear.
She'd already used the Time Stone. Probably multiple times. And judging by how comfortable she was with it, she had no problem doing so.
So, Hawk was betting that even if he didn't spell it out, the Ancient One already knew what he needed the stone for.
She probably already knew what promise he'd make to get it.
Hawk kept his gaze steady, his thoughts racing as he waited for her answer.
After a moment, The Ancient One's expression remained calm. She looked at him, then gave a slow nod.
"Yes."
Hawk's face lit up. But before he could thank her—
"Not yet."
His smile faltered. "Why not?"
"The alcohol hasn't fully left your system. If you use the stone now, it'll backfire."
The Ancient One lifted her teacup, her tone as serene as ever. "Besides, Kamar-Taj in winter is quite beautiful. You should take some time to see it."
Hawk processed her words, then nodded. He didn't argue. He just lifted his own cup and drained it in one smooth motion.
Gwen, sitting beside him, followed his lead and did the same.
A little while later, Hawk stood, offering Gwen his hand. Together, they left the hall.
....
The view that greeted them was breathtaking.
The monastery was a fusion of Tibetan, Nepalese, and Eastern temple architecture—ancient, sturdy, and vibrant in equal measure.
Everywhere Hawk looked, he saw towering snow-capped peaks, as if the entire complex had been woven seamlessly into the Himalayas themselves.
The air was thin and biting, but Gwen—who hadn't exactly dressed for high-altitude winter—didn't feel cold at all. The tea, apparently, had taken care of that.
She blinked, then her attention shifted to a courtyard not far away.
A training ground, paved with smooth stone.
A group of apprentices in deep brown robes stood in neat rows, guided by a Master in rough yellow fabric. They were practicing one of Kamar-Taj's foundational spells—the sling ring portal.
As a dozen hands began tracing circles in the air, sparks of golden light burst to life at their fingertips, connecting into rings of fire. The synchronized display was mesmerizing.
Gwen stared, transfixed. Then she turned to Hawk.
"Hawk?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you know magic?"
"Nope."
Hawk shook his head, then smiled at the curiosity written all over her face. "I'm a brawler. Fists and physics."
That was the heart of being a Saint.
A warrior. A fighter. The whole philosophy was built on gladiatorial combat—raw, brutal, hand-to-hand.
Magic?
When he could throw a punch that weighed ten thousand tons and moved faster than light, what kind of mage can stand up to that?
He caught her expression and chuckled. "Why? Thinking about learning?"
Gwen shook her head, her gaze drifting back to the apprentices. After a moment, she looked at him again.
"Could I?"
"Uh..." Hawk raised an eyebrow. Then it clicked. He let out a short laugh. "If you did, you'd basically be handing yourself over as a hostage."
Gwen blinked.
Hawk took her hand and started walking, heading toward a stone staircase that wound up toward the mountain peaks. As they climbed, he gave her the rundown on how supernatural power actually worked in this universe.
The short version:
Normal people can't gain extraordinary abilities through effort alone.
That was why the saying existed—The poor get mutated, the rich build suits, and the gods inherit their power.
Take magic.
You think you can just pick up a spellbook and teach yourself?
Not a chance.
First question: where's the energy coming from?
The answer: extradimensional entities.
Like the Ancient One.
She was a genius—no question. But the reason she could cast spells was because she'd made a pact with the Vishanti. She drew power from them.
Dark magic worked the same way.
Sorcerers made deals with beings like Dormammu or Chthon, borrowing their energy in exchange for... well, usually their souls.
Even witches followed the same rules.
Take Carrie.
She'd awakened her magic on her own—that part was true.
But she could only do it because she carried the bloodline of the Salem witches. That was why the Hell Witch had told him to just find Carrie a teacher who knew the basics. Once her power stabilized, she'd automatically tap into the Salem Dimension and gain access to its knowledge and magic.
Even demons operated on the same principle.
But whether it was mages, witches, or warlocks—the one thing they all had in common was this:
Their power didn't come from talent.
Talent determined your ceiling. But what made you supernatural in the first place was selling your soul to whatever dimension was willing to supply the juice.
"So..."
Hawk, still walking beside Gwen on the stone path, finished his explanation and looked at her with a faint smile.
"Now you see why I said if you learned magic, you'd just be handing them a hostage to use against me?"
Sure, the Vishanti seemed friendly enough right now.
But nothing lasted forever. The future was unpredictable.
Better safe than sorry.
His sister had died in the crossfire and ended up trapped in Hell, on the verge of becoming Mephisto's leverage against him.
He wasn't about to let the same thing happen to his fiancée.
Gwen listened to his explanation, her expression shifting as the pieces fell into place. She nodded slowly.
Then—
She stopped walking.
Something had just occurred to her. She turned to face him.
"Hawk... what about you? Which dimension did you sell your soul to?"
As she asked, she remembered the spectral phoenix she'd seen materialize behind him more than once. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Is there a... Phoenix Dimension?"
"Haha!" Hawk froze for a second, then burst out laughing. When he'd composed himself, he looked at her, his expression turning serious.
"I don't borrow power from anyone. I am the power. And eventually, people will be borrowing from me."
Forty-seven Bronze Saints.
Twenty-four Silver.
The twelve Zodiacs of Gold.
And the hundred and eight Specters of the Underworld.
Hawk's mind churned through the numbers, imagining the sheer scale of energy he'd one day be channeling outward. He shook his head, then met Gwen's gaze again.
"A lot of people. And actually—you already have some of my power."
Gwen blinked. "I do? Since when?"
"Since Christmas."
Hawk's eyes dropped to the pendant hanging around her neck—the one she'd been wearing as a necklace ever since he'd given it to her.
Gwen followed his gaze. She reached up, pulling the chain out from under her collar.
The pendant gleamed in the light.
At first glance, it looked pink. But on closer inspection, it was a deep, vivid crimson—intricate and beautiful, shaped like a miniature suit of armor.
The Andromeda Cloth.
Hawk had forged it from the same batch of materials he'd used to make his backup Phoenix Armor.
His Sixth Sense Cosmo had evolved beyond the Fifth. And with the Reality Stone amplifying his power, he now had the ability to ignite the remaining forty-seven Bronze constellations.
In simple terms—
Once his Phoenix parallel universe fully manifested in reality, anyone else who practiced the way of Cosmo would draw their power from him, not from some distant constellation.
He wasn't planning on doing that. At least, not anytime soon.
But that didn't stop him from forging a Saint Armor and giving it to Gwen as a gift.
Because Gwen was family.
She wasn't a Saint. She couldn't fight. But with the Andromeda Cloth infused with a fragment of his Phoenix Heart, the armor would activate automatically if she was ever in danger, shielding her from harm.
Like this—
Hawk's thought rippled outward.
WHOOSH!
The pendant around Gwen's neck suddenly lifted, floating in the air before her. It began to expand, growing larger and larger until—
SNAP!
The Andromeda constellation blazed to life behind it, a shimmering nebula of stars.
The armor disintegrated into countless fragments.
Piece by piece, they began to move.
Starlit plates.
Elegant bracers.
Flowing chains.
The disassembled components of the Andromeda Cloth, bathed in the soft glow of the constellation, began their dance.
First came the signature circular lock, arcing gracefully through the air before settling at Gwen's slender waist. Then the chains—gleaming, cold, and impossibly light—unfurled like living things, coiling around her arms from wrist to shoulder, each link clicking into place with a sound like distant chimes.
The shoulder guards followed, descending like folded wings, perfectly contoured to her frame.
And finally, the helmet.
Ornate and regal, with abstract feathers of pure starlight adorning each side, it lowered gently over her head. The faceplate unfurled like a veil of crystallized stardust, protective yet elegant, leaving her eyes—bright, green, and wide with shock—clearly visible.
As the helmet clicked into place, a wave of icy-blue energy—the symbol of Andromeda—erupted from her, a formless shockwave that sent a stray lock of her hair fluttering across her forehead.
Gwen stood frozen, speechless.
Hawk looked at his fiancée, now clad in the full Andromeda Cloth, and his expression softened into something warm and tender.
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