Five days had passed since the sky bled over New York. Five days since the world had irrevocably changed.
For most of Midtown High, the change meant hushed, excited conversations in the hallways, debates over who the strongest Avenger was, and a new, tangible awareness of the universe's terrifying scale. For Hawk, sitting by the window in a droning afternoon physics class, it meant the old world had ended and his real work had just begun.
The teacher, Mr. Anderson, was explaining the principles of thermodynamics, his voice a monotonous drone that faded into the background of Hawk's thoughts. The classroom was warm, the air thick with the smell of chalk dust and teenage apathy. Outside, the city was slowly, painfully, stitching itself back together. But inside Hawk's notebook, beneath a half-finished equation on entropy, he was sketching out the blueprint for a power this universe had never seen.
Three words, written in a stark, determined script, dominated the page. They were a secret language, a trinity of myth.
Orichalcum.
Gammanian.
Silver Star Sand.
Individually, they were meaningless nonsense. Together, they were the formula for a legend: the Saint Cloth.
In his memories, the Cloth was more than just battle armor. It was a Saint's second skin, a sacred vessel that connected the warrior to their guardian constellation, amplifying their Cosmo to divine levels. It was a second life, capable of withstanding the blows of gods. Without a Cloth, he was a warrior with a nuclear reactor in his chest but no shielding to contain the fallout or focus the blast. He was incomplete.
The good news, according to the information unlocked within him, was that he didn't need to be a divine blacksmith. He was the sole inheritor of the Cosmo in this reality. If he could gather the three essential, mythical materials, his awakened constellations would do the rest, forging an exclusive Cloth for him.
The bad news was a universal conundrum of cosmic proportions. How in the hell was he supposed to find materials from the Saint Seiya universe inside the Marvel Universe?
A familiar headache began to throb at his temples. Still, he had time. He hadn't even fully lit his first constellation yet. But it was always better to prepare than to be caught defenseless. He had to become an alchemist, transmuting the elements of this world into the components of his own power.
His finger tapped the first word. Orichalcum. In the legends, it was a living metal, warm to the touch, capable of absorbing and nullifying ordinary impacts. His pen moved, and next to it, he wrote a single, heavy word.
Vibranium?
It was a perfect theoretical match. A legendary metal that didn't just resist impact, but absorbed kinetic energy, making it virtually indestructible. Captain America's shield was the ultimate proof of its potential. It was priceless, unique... except it wasn't. Hawk knew that deep in the heart of Africa, the nation of Wakanda sat on a mountain of the stuff, a literal treasure trove of his first ingredient. They hid their wealth from the world, pretending to be a struggling third-world country.
A cold, resolute look settled in Hawk's eyes. He would get it. His desire to grow, to become strong enough to master his own fate, was a non-negotiable principle. Wakanda's secrecy, their hoarding of a resource that could change the world, was, in his opinion, a monumental act of selfishness. He would ask. He would offer to trade. And if they refused… he would take. His destiny was more important than their isolationism.
Next, his finger moved to Silver Star Sand. The stardust of the gods, the essence of dead stars that granted a Cloth its miraculous ability to self-repair. His pen scratched another word next to it.
Meteorites.
The logic was simple, if brutal. Meteorites were fallen stars. The challenge wasn't just finding one; it was transforming it. He would have to use his own burning Cosmo to pulverize the inert rock, to forcibly imbue it with his own cosmic energy until it was reborn as a worthy substitute.
Finally, he looked at the last, most critical component. Gammanian.
If Orichalcum was the body and Silver Star Sand was the blood, then Gammanian was the soul. It was the mysterious, living element that gave a Cloth its consciousness, transforming it from a mere suit of armor into a symbiotic partner, an entity that could move on its own to protect its master.
He chewed on the end of his pen, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Then, he wrote two words, followed by a large, emphatic question mark.
Gamma Rays?
It was a terrifying, brilliant leap of logic. The name was the first clue. But the function was the key. He thought of Bruce Banner and the Hulk. Gamma radiation was a force of chaotic, life-altering mutation. It had created a living, breathing monster from a man. Could a controlled, focused application of that same world-breaking energy imbue an alloy of Vibranium and cosmic dust with a form of life? The danger was immense. Playing with Gamma radiation was like trying to bottle lightning. But the potential… the potential was everything.
"Hawk."
He felt a gentle nudge on his elbow. He blinked, the cosmic theories dissolving as the mundane reality of the classroom snapped back into focus. He turned to see Gwen Stacy looking at him, a flicker of concern in her intelligent eyes.
"Mr. Anderson is calling on you," she whispered.
Hawk looked up. The entire class was staring at him. At the front of the room, Mr. Anderson, a kind teacher with hair that was more white than grey, was smiling patiently.
"Hawk, since you seem to have finished your own calculations, perhaps you could help us with this one?"
He had been caught. But as he rose from his seat, his gaze fell on the complex quantum mechanics problem on the board. His mind, now operating on a level that processed the birth of stars, analyzed the equation in a microsecond. He gave a perfect, concise answer, even adding a small insight that made Mr. Anderson's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
"Well... yes, that is absolutely correct," the teacher said, momentarily dumbfounded. He gave Hawk a look that said, you got lucky this time, and told him to sit down.
Hawk sat, the whispers of his classmates dying down. He was about to dive back into the Gammanian problem when a neatly folded note slid onto his desk. He glanced at Gwen, who was now studiously facing forward. He unfolded it. Her handwriting was as neat and precise as she was.
Has the independent application hearing been confirmed?
The question yanked him from the world of gods and monsters back to the world of court dates and paperwork. His apartment building was a pile of rubble. The city's bureaucracy was a black hole of inefficiency. He knew he'd be eighteen before they ever got around to rehousing him, at which point they'd kick him out of the system anyway. He needed to be able to rent an apartment, to exist as a legal adult. He needed to be free.
He scribbled a reply beneath her question.
Confirmed. This afternoon.
He slid the note back onto her desk. He knew she only asked because, as the student assistant for their grade, she was the one who processed the leave-of-absence forms he'd been submitting for his trips to the Queens Family Court. It was an impersonal, administrative connection. A small, mundane piece of a life that was rapidly becoming anything but.