The Ancient One was not omniscient.
Her wisdom pierced through time like a lantern in darkness, but even her sight had boundaries. She did not know what exactly had happened in the span of time when she had sent Mordo to fetch the crippled surgeon. She had chosen not to look, out of trust, and also because she understood the weight of watching everything.
She had believed that Strange would arrive unsettled but curious, unaware of anything beyond his quest for healing. That assumption cracked the moment she looked at him.
Strange's demeanor was all wrong.
Instead of focusing on her, or on the promise of Kamar-Taj's hidden miracles, he stood stiffly at the threshold, hands clutching at the hem of his tattered coat as if it were the only anchor keeping him upright. His feet shifted with restless tension, heels grinding against the stone floor as though he were preparing to bolt at the faintest sign of danger. His sharp and proud eyes, once accustomed to glaring down colleagues in an operating room, now flickered nervously toward Mordo, who sat cross-legged in meditation.
The Ancient One's gaze softened for only a second, then sharpened like a blade.
She had lived far too long not to notice such details. Every subtle twitch, every hesitation, every thread of fear, she saw it all. Very few mortals on Earth could hope to conceal themselves from her perception. Strange was practically transparent.
And yet, what puzzled her was not simply his unease, it was the direction of it.
According to her knowledge, Strange's obsession should have been singular: his shattered hands. He should have been focused on whether Kamar-Taj could heal them. But instead, his wary glances kept circling back to Mordo, almost flinching whenever the man shifted slightly in meditation.
The Ancient One's brows furrowed faintly. Something had gone very wrong.
What did Mordo do?
Her eyes drifted from Strange's pale face to her disciple's unmoving figure. Mordo's posture was immaculate, but that very perfection felt like a mask. The stillness of someone pretending far too hard.
"Mordo," she said suddenly, her tone clipped, her voice carrying the weight of command. "Come here."
The sound cut through the courtyard like a blade of ice.
Mordo opened his eyes slowly, but even that movement betrayed him. He dared not meet her gaze. His body carried the guilt of a child caught red-handed.
The Ancient One did not move, but her presence grew heavier, filling the air like a tightening net. She had been patient with him in the past, but Gul'dan's warning echoed in her mind: keep a low profile, stay unseen. And yet, one of her most trusted disciples had clearly ignored that command, dabbling with forbidden energies where the world could see.
Her tone chilled further. "What did you do while fetching Mr. Strange?"
The place fell silent.
Mordo's heart thudded in his chest. He could hear it in his ears, a drumbeat of panic. He knew instantly that denial was useless, her eyes were already peeling away the layers of his soul.
"I… he was being attacked," Mordo finally admitted, voice trembling. "Three men, robbers. I… I dealt with them."
He did not elaborate, but he didn't need to. The Ancient One's eyes narrowed, a green shimmer flaring faintly within them. Her disappointment cut deeper than any blade.
"You used it."
It wasn't a question.
Before Mordo could even stammer a defense, her hand rose, calm, deliberate, and completely merciless. A surge of green light leapt from his body, drawn back into her palm with terrifying ease.
Mordo gasped. His knees buckled as the Fel energy was ripped from him, dragged out like threads of his very soul. His face twisted with horror, because he knew exactly what this meant.
Fel was not separate from life. For him, it was fused into bone and blood. Having it extracted was like being drained of years, decades. His flesh withered in seconds, youthful skin hollowing into the weary lines of a man twice his age. The dark braids of his hair streaked with grey.
He clutched at his chest, coughing, his body trembling under the invisible weight of lost vitality.
But he dared not resist. He couldn't.
The Fel within him had not been born there, it had been a gift. And what was given by his master could just as easily be reclaimed. His life was tethered to her will, just as her own existence was ultimately chained to the shadow of Gul'dan.
The Ancient One stopped at last, withdrawing her hand with controlled calm. Only half the energy had been reclaimed, but the lesson was written all across Mordo's prematurely aged face.
"You were careless," she said coldly. "Careless, and disobedient. Have you at least dealt with the bodies?"
Mordo's lips trembled. "N-no…"
"Then see to it. Now." Her words cracked like thunder, though she did not shout. "And be more cautious in the future. Do not make me repeat myself, or else…"
She didn't need to finish the threat. The silence that followed pressed harder than any explicit punishment.
Mordo bowed his head, shame burning in his chest, and left quickly, dragging his weakened body toward the exit.
Only when he was gone did the Ancient One turn back to Strange.
The man looked stricken, wide-eyed, face even paler now, his body shaking like a leaf. He had witnessed power, yes, but also corruption. The spectacle had carved terror into him.
So this was why he had looked at Mordo with fear. He had seen the green energy, felt its danger, and now his instincts screamed at him to flee from this place entirely.
The Ancient One's heart sank slightly. Winning him over through trust and persuasion would no longer be possible. She sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder with sudden firmness.
Strange flinched violently, trying to jerk away, but her grip was immovable.
"Mr. Strange," she whispered, almost mournful. "I would have preferred this to be your own choice."
But she knew better. He was upright, stubbornly principled. The kind of man who would never bend to temptation, not willingly.
Which left her only one path.
The green light in her eyes blazed. A wave of Fel surged from her arm, flooding directly into Strange's body.
He gasped as the energy invaded, swelling his veins with fire. His knees hit the ground. His thoughts frayed at the edges, unraveling under the sheer, intoxicating pull of that corrupting force.
He tried, oh, he really tried to resist. But resistance was meaningless. He was no sorcerer yet, no guardian of the realm, just a broken man searching for healing. Against Fel, his will was paper before a storm.
Visions danced in his mind, power, knowledge, the ability to bend the impossible. His body trembled, and then… he relaxed.
Within seconds, his eyes gleamed with a faint green shadow. His expression softened into something dangerously close to bliss.
The Ancient One withdrew her hand only after minutes, letting the last trails of Fel settle into him. This time, she had given generously, far more than she had ever risked with Mordo or any other disciple. For Strange was her biggest investment, her chosen one.
…