After days of fruitless searching through the winding streets of Kathmandu, Thor and his party finally gave up and returned to Asgard.
From her perch in the sanctuary of Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One felt the shift immediately.
She didn't need to be told—they were gone.
Still, Master Mordo rushed into the hall not long after, clearly having kept a watchful eye on the group's activities. "Supreme Mage," he reported breathlessly, "those Asgardians have finally left the city."
"I know," the Ancient One said calmly, not even opening her eyes. "Their departure was inevitable."
Seeing that she was already aware, Mordo paused awkwardly before shifting to another matter that had been weighing on his mind. "There's something else I wanted to bring to your attention."
The Ancient One turned her gaze toward him. "Yes, Mordo?"
"It's about Henry. He hasn't left his room once since he borrowed those books," Mordo said, his tone carrying a hint of concern.
"He's probably immersed in study," she replied with a serene expression.
"That's what I thought too," Mordo admitted. "He checked out a huge number of texts from the library nearly a week ago and hasn't emerged since."
The Ancient One raised an eyebrow at the remark. "Is there a reason that troubles you?"
Mordo hesitated, then decided to speak his thoughts plainly. "I went to check the list of books he borrowed."
"And?"
Mordo took a breath and began listing: "The Book of the Vishanti, The Compilation of Time, The Concept of Space, and others of that level."
The Ancient One's expression remained composed, but Mordo couldn't help asking, "You're not surprised?"
"No," she said softly. "Those are excellent texts—deep, but worthy of study."
Mordo frowned, not entirely satisfied. "Supreme Mage, forgive my frankness, but isn't that a bit… ambitious? Henry hasn't even studied for a month. Those books are extremely advanced. Most apprentices don't touch them for years—if ever."
She didn't interrupt, so he continued.
"I'm just concerned he might be wasting time or overwhelming himself. Normally, a mage follows a sequence. We start with foundational magic—The Supreme Complete Collection, then A Brief History of Secret Techniques, followed by The Complete Secret Techniques... only then do we graduate to something like the Book of the Vishanti."
"But Henry skipped the second and third books entirely. He went straight from beginner material to endgame theory. That's what worries me."
Mordo wasn't wrong.
There had been mages before who, driven by ambition or arrogance, skipped over essential stages of study and dove into higher realms of magic far too early. Inevitably, they ended up confused, burnt out, or worst of all—lost to the dangers of magic they couldn't understand.
Whenever Mordo encountered someone taking that path, he would usually intervene and offer guidance. But Henry's case was… complicated.
So he brought the matter to the Ancient One.
"Do you think I should say something to him?" he asked.
The Ancient One fell quiet, then finally shook her head. "No. Let him learn in his own way. If he needs help, he will ask. If he doesn't ask... then perhaps he doesn't need help."
Though a part of her shared Mordo's concern, she recalled the blessing from the Vishanti—the direct divine infusion of power into Henry's very soul. That was more than enough proof that he was no ordinary student.
"His talent is beyond what we're accustomed to," she said gently. "Let him be. If he reaches out, guide him. But don't impose a path upon him."
Mordo nodded reluctantly. "Understood."
He turned to leave, but the unease gnawed at him. Instead of heading to the training yard as he'd intended, his feet turned of their own accord toward the dormitories. Curiosity and concern weighed equally in his steps.
Moments later, Mordo stood outside Henry's room.
He hesitated.
Then he knocked.
After a brief pause, the door cracked open. Henry peeked through, still chewing on something.
Mordo immediately noticed the smell—hot pot?
"Are you… eating?" he asked, startled.
Henry nodded with a friendly smile. "Yeah, want to join me?"
Mordo shook his head, amused but confused. "Mind if I come in and sit?"
"Sure, come in." Henry opened the door wider.
Mordo stepped in—and froze.
Good heavens.
The small dormitory had been completely transformed. At the center of the room was a large round table with a steaming hot pot boiling atop it. Surrounding it were neatly arranged plates of vegetables, sliced meats, tofu, mushrooms, seafood—even condiments and dipping sauces.
And sitting beside the hot pot was an open book of ancient magic glowing softly with runic light.
"…This is not a dorm room," Mordo muttered in disbelief. "This is a cafeteria."
"It's hot pot," Henry said cheerfully, scooping some enoki mushrooms into his bowl.
"I know what hot pot is," Mordo replied, rubbing his temples. "Where did you get all this? You haven't left the room once."
Henry gave a matter-of-fact nod. "I used the Ring of Raggadorr."
Mordo blinked. "You mean… the spell that summons objects from thought?"
"Exactly," Henry said proudly. "It saves time. I've got too much to study to be walking to markets."
Mordo stared at him, dumbfounded. "…You're using sacred mystical artifacts… to fetch groceries?"
"I mean, yeah," Henry said. "If I can summon dinner while reading about astral projection, why not?"
Mordo felt something inside him snap. Still, he composed himself and tried to stay focused on his original purpose.
"So… how's the studying going?"
"Not bad," Henry said. "I've made decent progress."
Not bad? Mordo thought, barely restraining himself.
"You borrowed some of the most advanced books in the entire library," Mordo said slowly. "Most of which I spent years studying and still haven't mastered."
Henry gestured to the open volume on the table. "Right now I'm on the Book of the Vishanti. It's complicated, but manageable."
Mordo tried to stay calm. "You're reading the Book of the Vishanti… while eating hot pot?"
"Yes."
"…And how far are you into it?"
Henry casually replied, "About halfway."
Mordo choked on nothing. "Halfway?!"
"It's been a week," Henry added, looking a bit troubled. "But it's really dense stuff. After I finish it, I still have twelve more books to get through."
Mordo's eye twitched.
"Twelve… more…"
"I'm starting to worry," Henry admitted, sounding genuinely distressed. "If it takes me a week per book, that's like three months stuck in this dorm. I can't hide in here forever."
Mordo's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Three months… to finish what takes others a lifetime?
He wanted to scream.
This wasn't just talent. This was insanity.
"I've trained under the Ancient One for decades," he muttered aloud. "I've bled, meditated, failed, and clawed my way through every tier of mystic discipline. And here you are—cooking beef slices in a magical hot pot while casually absorbing the entire White Magic canon like it's light reading!"
Henry looked puzzled. "Was that a compliment?"
Mordo groaned. "It's an existential crisis, Henry."
He stood up and turned to leave before his pride took any more damage.
"Don't burn the soup," he muttered as he exited.
Henry just smiled and went back to flipping the page.
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