Tony Stark had run through every possible escape plan before deciding to stay put. Not because he didn't want to steal the RV—because he couldn't.
There was no key. He could hotwire a Humvee in his sleep, but this wasn't a Humvee, and he didn't have the minutes it would take before the militants outside swarmed him. Even if he did get it moving, an RV couldn't outrun a column of military jeeps. That chase would end with him face-down in the sand, back in chains.
And Stark hated the idea of torture more than dying.
So he stayed. Sat there, peering through the glass, bracing himself to watch his mysterious "host" shredded in a storm of gunfire.
That wasn't what happened.
Shadows poured out of Li Ming's staff like black smoke given wings. Dozens, then hundreds, swarmed into the desert air. The gunmen didn't flinch. They couldn't see the hooded phantoms circling them like vultures.
The temperature dropped like a stone. In the middle of a blazing Afghan noon, Stark shivered. His breath frosted the glass.
"What the hell are those things?" he muttered, rubbing his arms. "And why do I feel like I'll never laugh again?"
Beside him, the small creature pressed to the window whispered, voice hushed with awe and dread. "Dementors. Master's most terrible creatures. They feed on joy itself. That cold you feel—it is their hunger."
Outside, Li Ming raised his staff and rasped something in a tongue Stark's brain refused to parse. The Dementors obeyed, holding back their craving, weaving a wall of shadow around the terrorists.
Then Li tested them. A lazy flick of the staff, and one gunman shrank and twisted into a skunk. The rest broke instantly, shrieking "Witch!" and "Devil!" as they fired blind and bolted into the dunes.
Li blurred into mist, blinking across the sand, trying spells like a scientist in a lab—Legilimency, the Killing Curse, charms that needed living fear to measure their bite.
Finally, his voice boomed across the desert in the dead tongue:
"Wangcai—dinnertime."
The Dementors dove.
From the RV, Stark watched the feeding. Screams dissolved into sobs, sobs into silence. The Dementors sucked the men dry, and a final flash of green from Li's staff ended it.
Stark sagged back, chest tight, worldview cracking in real time. Mage? Alien? Both? Whatever the truth, this guy wasn't a tourist from Kabul.
When Li finally strolled back inside, leaning on his staff like a man returning from a walk, Stark blurted the only thing that made sense: "You sure you're from Earth?"
Li rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Do I look like an alien to you?"
Stark's gaze dropped to his belly. "I've never seen a pregnant Earth male either."
Li froze, offended. "This spare tire isn't negotiable."
He glanced at the corpses outside. "That's it? That's all you brought me? My pets barely got a snack."
Stark threw up his hands. "What did you expect me to do, show up with catering? I didn't even have a sidearm. At least I supplied the buffet. Now, any chance you've got a phone?"
"Phone?" Li slid into the driver's seat and snapped his fingers. The RV roared to life. "Is that something you eat, or does it blow up terrorists?"
Stark's comeback died when the horizon dropped away. The RV was climbing.
"This… is a plane?"
He cranked the window down. Desert heat blasted in, but the sound was all wrong—engine hum, not turbines. He leaned over the dash, staring at the wheel and speedometer.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "Magic I'll swallow. But why is an RV flying? And why the hell are you steering with a car wheel? Where's your yoke?"
Li grinned. "I only have a driver's license. If the cops pull me over, you think they'll accept a pilot's license? And as for why it flies—maybe it just has dreams."
Stark blinked—then smirked despite himself. "Dreams. Sure. You're going to put every flight instructor in America out of work. Just get a license at the DMV and you're an airline captain. Need investors? I like the margins already."
Li cocked a brow. "So my therapy's working. You're laughing again."
Stark snorted, glancing down at the arc reactor glowing in his chest. "Don't flatter yourself. My sense of humor's still mine. Still—seriously, no phone?"
"No family. No friends. I live here to practice in peace. What would I need a phone for?"
"You've got spatial expansion tech. Why not rent a warehouse in the city and live like a person? What do you even eat out here?" Stark asked. "Don't tell me you conjure dinner out of thin air."
Li let the RV steer itself and led Stark to a four-door cabinet. "Open it."
Stark did—and froze. Chickens, ducks, cows—an entire farm behind a wardrobe door. He stepped back, squinting at the ordinary frame, then back at the livestock.
"Flight school made you bitter, didn't it?" he muttered. "Stick with real estate. That's where the future is."
Li smirked. "Builders put them up. You tear them down. Natural enemies."
"Not anymore," Stark said sharply. "I'm done being called an arms dealer."
He cut himself off with a sigh. "Got anything to eat? Those tomatoes are calling my name."
"Help yourself," Li said. "Kreacher—start dinner. Our guest's hungry."
"Yes, Master," the elf answered, already bustling.
Stark bit into a tomato raw, juice running down his chin as he prowled the storeroom. "What's behind the other doors?"
Li's eyes gleamed. "Plenty. Enough to shatter your worldview."
"Try me," Stark shot back, grinning.
Li flicked another door open. "Welcome to my collection."
Artifacts glimmered on shelves—grimoires, relics, arcane devices. Stark's gaze snagged on a glass case holding an hourglass-shaped device.
"What's that? Pricey?"
Li kept his face straight. "A Time-Turner. Lets you slip back through hours. Tied to quantum fields, really. Like your theories about tunneling. Imagine stepping through time instead of building the bridge."
Stark's eyes narrowed, sharp with hunger—the scientific kind. Exactly what Li wanted. If he could pull Stark into the quantum domain, the man's genius would dig answers Li could never reach alone. Add Hank Pym to the mix, and he'd have both minds chasing the same prize: quantum energy stable enough to break every boundary of time and space.
For now, he just smiled. "Take your time. Dinner will be ready soon."
Just as Stark was winding up to dismantle Li Ming's whole "quantum equals magic" pitch, Li unlatched the layered wards around the display stand, lifted the Time-Turner, and dangled it by its chain.
"Want to try a quick jump?" he asked.
Before Stark could answer, Kreacher rapped on the cabinet door. "Master, dinner is ready for you both."
Li slipped the Time-Turner back over his neck. "Food first. After we eat, you'll feel what a time hop is like. But I'm laying down ground rules—last thing I need is you breaking causality and half the sorcerers on Earth coming after me."
Food beat wonder. Besides, Stark's brain had taken enough hits today. A full stomach sounded sane.
Kreacher served four dishes and a soup, the usual spread—except tonight an extra set of chopsticks sat at the table. Whether Stark could use them wasn't Kreacher's problem.
Either Stark was starving or Kreacher was Michelin-grade. Between bites, Stark gave the elf a thumbs-up. "Kreacher, career change? Be my chef. I'll pay you ten times whatever you're making now."
Kreacher's ears snapped back, muttering darkly. "Filthy mud-blood… insulting Kreacher… vile, vile—"
"Kreacher." Li's voice cut through. "Check the herb garden."
Stark frowned. "What did I say? I don't know what 'mud-blood' means, but it didn't sound friendly."
When the elf vanished into the pantry, Li answered, half-truth, half-shield: "House-elves are bound to wizards. Serving without pay is pride. Offering wages is like calling him worthless."
Stark scratched his temple. "You say that and all I hear is: I need a house-elf. And the more you talk about magic, the more it sounds like… unknown energy. Lucky me, I engineer energy for a living. That makes me a wizard too, right?"
Li raised his glass. "Wizards are very good at controlling energy," he said dryly—while thinking, we also outlive you, Tony. That's the difference.
After dinner, Stark eyed the RV's lazy cruising speed and scoffed. "If this thing can fly, why crawl? At this rate, by the time we hit the coast, Stark Industries'll be bankrupt."
"In a hurry? Say so." Li rose. "Where to?"
"America. Nearest airport's fine. I'll call my jet. I'll show you real speed."
Li twisted a sling ring, amber sparks spinning. "By the time you place the call, we'll already be over New York."
They stepped through. Desert heat vanished. Atlantic wind slapped their faces. Manhattan rose in full glittering arrogance.
Stark breathed deep, hands lifted in mock surrender. "Okay. Magic logged. But one day I'm proving it's a practical wormhole. Also—no flying RVs over Manhattan. I'd rather not get chased by SAMs."
"They have to see us first." Li patted the wall. "Repelling charms blur us out. Unless someone has internal energy like you." He tapped the arc reactor. "Layer invisibility on top and even you won't see it."
"Head for Midtown," Stark said, pointing. He glanced at his chest light, thoughtful. "Optical invisibility fools eyes and cameras. But thermal, radar? You'll still light up."
Li shrugged. "Hazard of the trade. This rig's layered for defense. Missiles can scratch the paint for a while."
"And if there are lots of missiles, you just—what—open another one of those desert-to-New York doors?"
"A sling ring portal," Li said. "And no, I'm not explaining without the Sanctum's sign-off."
"So there's a club," Stark mused. "Where are they? Why don't they come shake my hand? I can bankroll—whatever you people need. Temples, robes, crystal balls."
Li chuckled. "They're busy keeping nightmares out of our dimension. And money? Even if your net worth multiplied by ten, you'd still look broke to them."
It wasn't bragging. He'd seen the Ancient One's halls—teacups older than empires. You didn't "sponsor" that.
Minutes later, the RV settled like a whisper on Stark Tower's top deck. Li swung the door open, frowning at a flicker of voices that brushed his ears. Nothing visible. He let it go.
"What?" Stark asked.
"Nothing. Show me how the other half lives."
When Tony Stark—dust-streaked, alive—walked into his own building, the place erupted. He shot Li a look. "A jacket wouldn't kill you?"
Li spread his hands. He wasn't giving the world's nosiest tinkerer a single enchanted thread. Stark would reverse-engineer it into a Mark Anti-Li suit before breakfast.
Pepper Potts reached them at a run, relief breaking into a shaky laugh.
Stark cocked an eyebrow. "Eyes red. Miss me?"
"I'm just glad I don't have to job-hunt," she said, half laughing. "I hate job-hunting."
"Vacation's over." Stark jerked a thumb at Li. "Get him whatever he wants. Also, press conference."
Pepper eyed the grime and torn clothes. "Hospital first? And how exactly did you get here? Plane?"
At "plane," Stark pointed up. "Nobody goes to the roof. Trust me—it's worse than a plane. Breaks your worldview."
Pepper blinked, decided her worldview could stay intact, and started making calls.
With time to kill, Stark led Li into his office. "Well? Beats your RV."
Li sank into the couch. "Still smaller than my pantry. Don't sprain anything."
Stark's jaw worked. He'd seen the pantry. Couldn't argue. "One day I'll crack your spatial trick and build a teacup bigger than your barn."
Pepper returned with a fresh suit. "Press is ready. Change, then we start."
Stark stripped without shame, talking over his shoulder. "Austin, you coming? If I say you saved me, you'll own tomorrow's headline."
Li rolled his eyes. "Hard pass. If I wanted my face on front pages, I wouldn't live in a desert. The less people know me, the better."
Stark clipped his tie, then pointed at the chain on Li's neck. "Great. Do your mysterious wizard thing. When I'm done, you're showing me that little clock. Up close."
Li shrugged. "Follow the rules, sure. Bring your wife—Miss Potts—if you want."
Three months in a cave had rearranged Stark's priorities, but not his timing. He shot Pepper a glance, cleared his throat, and strode out a little too quickly.
Pepper, cheeks faintly pink, fell in behind him.
Li leaned back, listening to the tower hum like a living machine. New York outside. A genius on the hook. Dinner digested. Rules to write.
Time to see what kind of future he could engineer.
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