The years had settled around Arthur Hayes like a well-worn coat - comfortable, familiar, and lined with quiet moments most people took for granted. It wasn't the life he'd once imagined for himself back when he'd first realized he'd been reborn into this familiar yet dangerous world.
But it was better. Far better.
He'd become a husband, then a father - twice over. Elena had arrived in June 2004, all fierce determination and boundless energy. Tristan followed in November 2007, calm and observant where his sister was chaos incarnate.
Arthur Hayes, who'd once craved nothing but silence and solitude, couldn't imagine his life any other way now.
But this happy life didn't slow him down. If anything, it drove him harder. He needed to keep growing stronger, strong enough to one day rival beings that transcended gods themselves. He already had one powerful enemy in Mephisto, and he knew he would make more. And if that wasn't enough motivation, there was a freaking Celestial sleeping inside the Earth itself.
He had no time to rest. No room for complacency.
So he and his clones worked tirelessly. Training. Researching. Preparing for threats that might not manifest for years or even decades.
Arthur's actions could also be traced around the world during these years. Small interventions, careful nudges, quiet changes. He'd helped AIM advance their accessibility research while keeping Extremis safely contained. He'd even taken steps to change the fates of those he knew from canon - ensuring better outcomes, preventing tragedies before they could unfold.
But those stories would reveal themselves in their own time.
For now, what mattered was the present. The family waiting for him at home. The life he'd built and would protect with everything he had.
— The Present —
December 21, 2008
Eileen Hayes stood in the doorway, cradling Tristan against her hip, snow dusting the shoulders of her woolen cardigan like starlight caught in fabric.
Even after five years of marriage Arthur still felt that familiar, breathless pause in his chest when he saw her.
She hadn't changed. Not truly. Auburn hair still escaped its messy bun in soft curls. Her eyes, warm brown, still held that rare gift: the ability to dissolve his shadows just by looking at him.
"Daddy!"
Little Tristan called out, and once Eileen set him on his feet, he wobbled toward Arthur as fast as his unsteady legs allowed. Barely one year old, yet already developing faster than most. Arthur's son, through and through - eager, rambunctious, and certain the world would catch him if he fell.
Arthur caught him mid-stumble, lifting him into the air. The boy shrieked with laughter, tiny hands grabbing for his father's ears.
"How was shopping?" Eileen asked, her Scottish accent still thick after all these years in America. It was something Arthur never wanted her to lose.
"Exhausting," Arthur said, bouncing Tristan who squealed with delight. "Your daughter is a tyrant. I fear her teenage years."
"My daughter when she's being difficult, but your daughter when she's sweet?" Eileen teased, stepping aside to let them in. "Come inside, it's freezing. I've made cocoa."
The house embraced them with warmth — cinnamon, fresh bread, and the calm hum of home. Elena was already in the living room, arranging her purchases with serious focus, instructing Winky exactly how each gift should be wrapped and whose name should be written. Winky listened like an eager student, occasionally suggesting ribbon colors or bows.
"Mommy, I got exactly what everyone wanted!" Elena announced without looking up. "Even the Game Boy James wanted. Daddy will make sure it works at his house!"
"That's wonderful, love," Eileen said, settling onto the couch. "Did you have fun with Daddy?"
"He complained the whole time," Elena announced without looking up. "But I think he liked it."
"Not my fault someone remembered gifts only now, during the busiest season," Arthur muttered as he joined Eileen on the couch.
"It's Mom's fault," Elena declared immediately. "She didn't remind me."
"Yes, all my fault," Eileen agreed cheerfully, completely unbothered by the blame shifting.
Arthur sat back, using his magic to float Tristan gently around the room, the boy laughing and reaching for the ceiling. This life - this warmth, this family - was something he'd never dared imagine for himself years ago. The crushing solitude that had defined his early life felt like a distant memory now.
"Daddy, can we watch a movie?" Elena asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
"After dinner," Eileen said, firm but smiling.
The evening passed peacefully. Dinner was its usual cheerful chaos, with Tristan throwing more food than he ate and Elena negotiating for extra dessert. They watched a Disney movie, Elena curled between her parents while Tristan dozed in Arthur's arms.
Once both children were tucked into bed and the house quieted, Arthur rose from the couch, pressed a soft kiss to Eileen's hair, and slipped away to his study.
Without a sound — he Disapparated.
—
Arthur's secret base materialized around him like breath condensing on glass — faint, then solid. Hidden deep beneath the earth at a location known only to him, the space served as his true workshop.
It was a magnificent fusion of magic and science. Magical instruments hummed alongside technology that wouldn't be available to the public for decades, if ever. The sheer processing power here would make Stark weep and demand a guided tour.
And the base was not empty.
Two of his clones moved through the space with practiced efficiency, each absorbed in their own domain.
The first stood at a vast workbench strewn with advanced tools and glowing monitors. Arthur's old Kree suit lay on one side—battle-worn but functional, its alien alloys gleaming under harsh light. Beside it, suspended in a containment field, floated the skeleton of a new suit—sleeker, lighter, woven with strands of synthesized vibranium Arthur had perfected years ago.
The second clone sat cross-legged on the floor, encircled by floating holographic screens filled with symbols no Earthly language had ever known. A prominent pendant hung from his chest - the modified Ravenclaw diadem that Arthur had transformed years ago. The clone was deeply engrossed in a leather-bound book whose pages seemed to shimmer with an inner light. The language wasn't Latin or Sanskrit or any script found on Earth.
There were more clones, of course - some practicing combat techniques in pocket dimensions, others studying ancient magic in locations better suited for such dangerous work.
"Welcome back, Master," came a pleasant voice from the unseen speakers.
Arthur moved to the central command chair, running a hand over its armrest as screens flickered to life around him, displaying global feeds, magical anomaly reports, and encrypted comms from filtered networks.
"Eve," he said, his voice low but steady. "The hit today. Were you able to dig into it?"
"Nothing online, sir," the AI replied, and Arthur could hear the frustration in her synthesized voice. "I've been monitoring every dark web channel, every encrypted communication network since the moment of the attack. No digital contract. No chatter. No trail whatsoever."
Arthur exhaled slowly. "Connect me to Ariadne, then. She'll know more."
The screens shifted.
And somewhere far away, someone picked up.