He looked like a true master—possibly even more powerful than Alan.
Strange's gaze toward the elderly man became filled with respect. Deep down, he was convinced that this was Ancient One Alan had mentioned.
He bowed deeply and respectfully to the elder. This "Ancient One" had to be extremely powerful.
Perhaps, once he learned enough magic, he could heal his own hands. That thought alone filled Strange with determination—his ultimate goal was to become a doctor again.
He didn't want to be a sorcerer at all. It went entirely against his understanding and worldview.
Strange found it puzzling—why was this master called "Ancient One"? Was it a title or some kind of magical alias? He didn't believe it was a real name.
"Mr. Karl... this 'Ancient One'—is that his real name?" Strange tucked his hands into his sleeves and whispered the question.
But Karl Mordo merely shot him a cold glance. He tilted his head slightly and said seriously,
"Don't say such meaningless things. Remember—once you enter the Sanctum…"
His voice drifted like the slowly burning incense smoke on the altar, ethereal and distant:
"Forget your self-righteous beliefs. In this place, we are all seekers of the unknown."
Strange nodded awkwardly. He hadn't expected his first words upon entering to already be a mistake.
He glanced at Alan and noticed how quiet they had all been since coming in.
Their eyes didn't roam around curiously like his did.
Strange thought to himself—maybe he should follow their example: keep quiet and stop speaking out of turn.
Karl Mordo gestured for everyone to sit. Alan responded with a faint smile and a nod, then calmly sat before the altar.
From the moment Strange entered, Alan had been watching his reactions.
It was clear Strange was still conflicted—after all, at heart, Stephen Strange was a materialist.
In the mind of a strict materialist, things like magic were no different from jokes.
But the fact that he had made the call at all meant he was already half-convinced—he was leaning toward acceptance.
Strange looked reverently at the elderly man who still had his eyes closed.
Even when they all sat down, the old man didn't open them—his presence remained unfathomably deep.
Suddenly, a few cups of tea appeared in front of them.
The elder hadn't even moved his hands—the teacups slid smoothly toward them, as if guided by invisible wheels.
"Have some tea. Take a moment to rest," the elder finally opened his eyes, his gaze fixed solely on Strange.
It seemed clear: this was the person Ancient One had been waiting for.
"Thank you... for the hospitality, Ancient One..." Strange began to reply, but before he could finish, the elder had already stood up and walked away.
As he watched the elder leave, Strange felt more confused than ever, and a subtle unease grew in his heart.
He assumed Ancient One was trying to put on airs—maybe he needed to show more sincerity.
He raised the cup of tea to his lips, but just then, a voice suddenly came from behind him, soft and hard to identify by tone or age:
"You're welcome, Strange."
Ancient One calmly emerged from behind the carved bamboo door, hands clasped behind her back.
She had known that when the Emperor promised something, he would fulfill it.
She had been worrying about how to get Strange started down the path of a sorcerer—yet unexpectedly, things had worked out.
Now, looking at his pale face and astonished expression as he turned toward her, she knew:
The moment had come.
...
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