(AN: By the time I finished, I couldn't believe this one is worth 4k words when it only focused on Elias learning. Anyway, Enjoy!)
Kamar Taj
It was early morning after Elias sent Kristen to protect Wanda just yesterday.
Sunlight filtered softly through the narrow windows of his assigned room, falling across a neatly arranged stack of books resting on the wooden table.
Elias stood there for a moment, arms loosely at his sides, eyes scanning the unfamiliar script inked across the top page.
"Right, Sanskrit…" he muttered under his breath. He remembered this was also the very first book Dr. Strange studied when he began his own journey.
It hadn't occurred to him before. Real power never had shortcuts. Well, maybe not every power, his system was a different matter. It's just that every real power starts with a foundation. In this case, Sanskrit is used along with various ancient, arcane, and coded languages.
A quiet exhale left him as he ran a hand through his hair.
His gaze lingered on the books, but his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere—far beyond the walls of Kamar-Taj, beyond this timeline entirely.
Six days were all he had left here.
"…Will I even learn anything in 6 days? I don't think it will be enough to cover all these foundational books."
The question settled heavily in his chest. Then he thought of a very interesting theory. If he remembered correctly, every Sorcerer Supreme can easily contact each other. Meaning, maybe he can continue his studies back on his own timeline once time here runs out?
Elias clicked his tongue softly and straightened.
"There's only one way to find out."
.
.
.
The inner sanctum of Kamar-Taj was quiet, almost as if no one were inside.
Yet Elias stood just outside the chamber, posture firm but respectful. A master had already gone ahead to announce his request. Now, he waited.
Seconds stretched, then a calm voice echoed from within.
"You may enter."
Elias stepped inside.
Ancient One stood by a window overlooking the mountains, hands loosely clasped behind her back. She didn't turn immediately, as if she already knew he was there long before he arrived.
"Elias," she said gently, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. "Are you settling in well?"
He gave a small nod, though he knew she didn't need to see it.
"I am. This place surpassed my expectations. More than the peaceful environment, it also has a calming feeling that I actually slept comfortably."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Silence often reveals more than noise ever could."
Only then did she turn to face him, her gaze sharp yet serene—like she was looking through him rather than at him.
The Ancient One studied him in silence, as if measuring the truth behind his words. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Having a calm and peaceful mind is often the first step to learning the mystic arts."
Then her eyes softened slightly.
"And why have you come to see me?"
Elias exhaled quietly, organizing his thoughts.
"I wanted to ask…" he began, then corrected himself, "…to confirm something."
He glanced briefly to the side before meeting her gaze again.
"I only have six days here. Maybe less, depending on how things go." His voice remained steady, but there was an edge of frustration beneath it.
"And from what I've seen, learning the mystic arts isn't something you rush. I'll barely get past the basics."
His eyes flicked toward the direction of his room—toward the books.
"So I need to know… when I return to my timeline… will I still be able to continue what I started here?"
For a moment, the room fell completely silent.
Then Ancient One smiled knowingly.
"You are already thinking too far ahead," she said softly.
Elias frowned slightly.
"…Am I wrong?"
"Not wrong," she replied, stepping closer. "But limited."
She stopped just a few steps away from him, her gaze steady.
"You assume that your progress will be insignificant within six days," she continued.
"That you will remain bound to the same pace as every other student who has walked these halls."
Elias didn't respond, but the look in his eyes said enough. Isn't that obvious?
The Ancient One's smile widened just a fraction.
"You underestimate yourself."
Before he could respond, she raised a hand slightly—not to silence him, but to guide the flow of the conversation.
"I have watched countless students begin their journey here," she said.
"Some struggle to grasp even the simplest concepts. Others advance quickly, but only through discipline and time."
Her eyes locked onto his.
"But you…you are different."
Elias's brow furrowed.
"…Because?"
"You don't need to borrow power the way most sorcerers do," she explained.
"The normal way to practice the mystic arts here follows borrowing energy from another dimension before one channels it to form magic spells. However, there is an exchange between the dimension and the sorcerer."
The Ancient One stopped beside him.
"You don't need to follow this since you are already filled with it," she said simply.
"Magic energy flows through you as naturally as breath."
Silence followed. Elias's thoughts raced, but none of them fully formed.
"That doesn't mean I know how to use it," he finally said.
"No," she agreed. "It means you are not starting from nothing."
She turned slightly, gesturing faintly—as if the very air responded to her will.
"Skill can be learned. Knowledge can be studied."
Her gaze returned to him.
"But potential…"
A brief pause.
"…talent to be precise, cannot be taught."
Elias looked at her, skepticism still present—but quieter now.
"So what are you saying?" he asked.
The Ancient One's smile returned, gentle but certain.
"I am saying…"
"Try first, don't think a lot."
"Begin with what is in front of you," she continued. "Learn the language. Understand the foundation."
A faint glint passed through her eyes.
"The rest… will follow."
.
.
.
Elias left the chamber with more questions than answers.
The only thing he got from here is that he has talent.
Back in his room, the books hadn't changed.
The symbols were still foreign.
Elias stared at the open page for a long moment before pulling out a chair and sitting down.
"…Don't underestimate myself, huh…"
He let out a small breath, somewhere between doubt and resolve.
"Guess we'll see."
Slowly, he picked up the book and began.
Elias settled into the quiet with a book open before him, the unfamiliar curves of Sanskrit script staring back like a challenge he wasn't entirely sure he had the time to meet.
At first, he approached it the way anyone would by comparing each symbol to the guide markings, sounding out meanings in his head, building connections piece by piece.
It should have been slow work. Tedious, even. The kind of foundation that demanded patience more than talent. And yet, something about it refused to stay difficult.
A line he had just struggled to interpret seemed clearer when he glanced back at it. Not memorized but understood and comprehended. The structure revealed itself as if it had always been obvious, the symbols no longer foreign but variations of a pattern his mind had already begun to grasp.
Elias frowned faintly, shifting in his seat as he reread the passage, half-expecting to find that he had misunderstood something. He clearly hadn't.
"…That's… straightforward," he murmured, almost skeptically.
He turned the page, expecting resistance to return, expecting that ease to vanish as quickly as it came—but it didn't.
The next section followed the same logic, and the one after that expanded on it in a way that felt natural rather than complex. He wasn't memorizing rules; he was recognizing them.
Each new line wasn't something to learn from scratch, but something that fit into a growing framework already forming in his mind.
Time passed, though Elias didn't notice when it began to slip away from him.
The morning light shifted gradually across the room, stretching along the floor before climbing the walls, but his focus never wavered long enough to register it.
His hand moved only to turn pages, his eyes scanning, absorbing, understanding with a quiet efficiency that bordered on unnatural.
When he paused, it wasn't from confusion, but from the brief need to align what he had just read with everything that came before it—and once that alignment settled, he continued without hesitation.
By the time the sun reached its peak, he was no longer just working through the basics. He was already deep into the books.
What should have taken days had unfolded in hours, yet to Elias, it felt… normal.
Not easy in the sense that it required no thought, but easy in the way breathing didn't require instruction. His mind simply moved, connecting ideas faster than he could consciously question them.
At some point, the door to his room opened.
A young disciple stepped in quietly, careful not to disturb the silence as she carried a tray of food meant for his midday meal.
She had expected to find him studying, perhaps struggling through the early stages as most newcomers did.
Instead, she found him completely still, seated at the table with an intensity that made the rest of the room feel distant, irrelevant.
She hesitated near the doorway, watching for a moment. Elias turned a page.
The sound was soft, but in the silence, it felt as though it marked the end of one understanding and the immediate beginning of another.
The disciple stepped closer, uncertain whether to interrupt, but something in his calm, focused, and utterly absorbed expression stopped her. It didn't feel right to break whatever state he was in.
Carefully, she set the tray down on a nearby surface, the faint clink of ceramic against wood the only sign she had been there at all. Still, he didn't look up.
After a brief moment, she exhaled quietly and left the room as gently as she had entered, the door closing behind her with barely a sound. The food remained untouched.
By the time the light began to soften into evening, Elias had already moved on from the first book.
He hadn't made a conscious decision to do so. One moment, he had been nearing the end, and the next, he had reached for another text without breaking the rhythm of his thoughts.
The transition felt natural, inevitable—like turning a page that simply happened to belong to a different book. Around him, the table began to fill.
Volumes lay open or stacked in uneven piles, each one marking progress he hadn't bothered to measure.
The principles of language bled seamlessly into the foundations of mystic theory, and those, in turn, into deeper frameworks that described the unseen structures of reality itself. None of it felt disjointed. None of it felt overwhelming. It all… made sense.
The door opened again sometime later.
The same disciple returned, this time carrying his evening meal, the aroma of freshly prepared food drifting gently into the room. She stepped inside, already expecting to see him immersed in study. But when her eyes landed on the table, she stopped short.
The earlier tray was still there. Exactly where she had left it. Untouched and now cold.
Her brows drew together, a flicker of frustration breaking through her usual composure. She looked at Elias, still seated, still reading, as though nothing else existed beyond the page in front of him.
Letting out a quiet, exasperated sigh, she crossed the room, picking up the cold tray before replacing it with the fresh one in her hands.
For a brief moment, she lingered again, studying him more closely this time. The scattered books, the unwavering focus, the complete disregard for something as basic as food.
This isn't normal, she thought.
And with that, she turned and left, the door closing a little more firmly behind her than before. The decision had already formed in her mind. This wasn't something she could simply ignore.
By the time the matter reached her master, and from there, to Ancient One, it had been distilled into a simple report: a new student who hadn't eaten, hadn't rested, and hadn't stopped studying for an entire day.
The Ancient One listened without interruption. And then, she smiled.
"Do not disturb him," she said calmly.
There was no hesitation in her voice, no concern—only quiet certainty.
"Allow him to come to us when he is ready."
Night settled over Kamar-Taj, wrapping the sanctum in a deep, tranquil stillness broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against stone.
Inside Elias's room, the lamp's flickering light casts shifting shadows across the walls and the many books now surrounding him.
At the center of it all, Elias remained seated and focused, along with the steady turn of pages.
The book in his hands now was Maxim's Primer, a foundational text known among sorcerers as essential reading—one even Wong had once pointed Doctor Strange toward in the early days of his training. To Elias, however, it was simply the next step in a chain that had yet to break.
Around him lay the others he had already finished: Codex Imperium, Vedic Sanskrit, Book of the Invisible Sun, and Astronomia Nova—each one opened, studied, and set aside as though they had merely been stepping stones leading him here.
He read without pause, the ideas flowing into him with the same quiet certainty that had guided him since morning. Concepts layered over one another, forming a structure far more complex than anything he should have been able to grasp in such a short time, yet nothing resisted him. Nothing slowed him down.
The hours passed unnoticed. And then, almost without warning, the darkness began to recede.
The first light of dawn crept through the window once more, pale and soft, brushing against the edges of the room as Elias reached the final page of the book in his hands.
He stopped. Not because he had to—but because there was nothing left to read.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the page, as if expecting more to appear, as if his mind had yet to catch up to the fact that he had reached the end.
"…That's it?"
His voice was quiet, almost distant. Slowly, he closed the book, the soft thud echoing faintly in the stillness. And only then did he feel the exhaustion.
It came all at once, heavy and undeniable, crashing into him as though his body had finally decided it could no longer be ignored. His shoulders sagged slightly, his vision blurring for just a second as the weight of an entire day—and night—without rest settled in.
"…Right…"
He pushed himself to his feet, movements slower now, lacking the sharp precision that had carried him through hours of uninterrupted focus.
The untouched meal sat nearby, long forgotten, but he didn't spare it a glance. Hunger never came. It was as though his body had chosen to postpone everything in favor of something else.
The bed was impossible to ignore.
Elias reached it without another thought and let himself fall onto it, the tension leaving his body almost instantly as his eyes closed.
Sleep took him before he could even consider anything else.
And just like that, the room fell silent once more.
Books are scattered across every surface. Meals left untouched. The faint glow of morning light illuminated the quiet evidence of something extraordinary that had unfolded in complete isolation.
.
.
.
Time, for Elias, passed by so fast that he was already in front of Mordo. This time, it was a test for him to be recognized as a master. Before he came to this situation, let's go back in time first to understand.
.
.
By the time the second day gave way to the third, Elias had fallen into a rhythm that felt both unnatural and inevitable—one where rest was minimal, distractions nonexistent, and purpose singular.
He read. Not because he forced himself to, but because stopping felt more unnatural than continuing.
The texts that once would have demanded patience now unfolded before him with a quiet obedience, their meanings aligning almost as soon as his eyes passed over them.
Sanskrit had ceased to be a barrier; it had become a tool. Concepts that would have confused even seasoned learners arranged themselves neatly in his mind, each one connecting seamlessly to the next.
It was no longer a matter of studying—it was a matter of recognizing what was already there, waiting to be understood.
By the third day, Elias had moved far beyond the introductory texts. The foundations laid in those first hours had deepened into something far more structured, allowing him to approach increasingly complex works without hesitation. He did not question how quickly he progressed.
He did not stop to measure it. He simply continued. It was only on the fourth day that his path shifted. The stillness of study gave way to motion.
And that motion came in the form of Karl Mordo.
The training grounds were stark in their simplicity—open space, stone underfoot, and no room for abstraction. Here, knowledge had to translate into action. Here, understanding was tested not by thought, but by survival.
"If you hesitate," Mordo said, his voice calm but firm as he circled Elias, "you lose."
There was no time to respond.
Mordo moved first, his strike sharp and deliberate. Elias reacted on instinct, raising his arm just in time to intercept the blow—but the force behind it sent a shock through his body, breaking his stance.
The follow-up came immediately, precise and unforgiving, and Elias found himself hitting the ground before he could properly recover.
The impact rattled him. Pain followed. And then he stood again. The pattern repeated.
Mordo did not slow down, nor did he offer guidance in the form of explanation. His lessons were delivered through impact, through pressure, through the relentless dismantling of every mistake Elias made. Each hesitation was punished. Each inefficiency is exposed.
At first, Elias relied on what had once given him an advantage—his enhanced strength, his sharpened senses. But against someone like Mordo, those traits proved insufficient. Raw ability without refinement was easily redirected, easily countered.
So he adapted. Not gradually, but rapidly.
Each fall became a lesson. Each strike he failed to block became something he understood the next time it came. Kristen's teachings—once theoretical, foundational—began to take form in real combat. If she had given him the structure, then Mordo forced that structure to hold under pressure and turn it into his most reliable weapon if spells failed him.
By the end of the fourth day, Elias was no longer being overwhelmed. He was keeping up.
Their exchanges grew longer, more balanced. Elias's movements became sharper, more deliberate, his reactions guided not just by instinct but by understanding. He began to anticipate rather than simply respond.
And then, sometime during the fifth day, the balance shifted.
Mordo struck. Elias deflected. The counter that followed was clean, precise in a way that hadn't been there before. Mordo stepped back. It was a small movement, but it carried weight.
From that point on, the outcome felt less like a question and more like a matter of time.
Before the fifth day came to an end, Elias did what no new disciple should have been capable of doing.
He defeated Mordo.
But even that was only part of his progress.
Between the fourth and fifth days, Elias had begun to explore Astral Projection, and with it, he had effectively removed the limitation of time itself. While his body rested—if it could even be called rest—his astral form remained active, continuing his studies in a state unbound by physical fatigue.
Night became an extension of day.
In that state, he delved deeper into the Mystic Arts, studying disciplines that required both precision and control. He learned to form Eldritch constructs, shaping energy into tangible forms. He practiced the Shield of the Seraphim, refining both its structure and its timing.
He explored the principles of magical reading and transmutation, understanding not just how to alter matter, but why such transformations were possible.
Alongside all of it, he trained something less visible—but no less important.
Fundamental Focus.
The ability to quiet his mind, to direct thought without distraction, to control not just energy, but the intent behind it. It was this discipline that allowed everything else to fall into place, anchoring his rapid growth in something stable rather than chaotic.
By the time the sixth day arrived, Elias stood on a threshold few ever reached so quickly.
And that was when he joined the others.
The courtyard was alive with the sound of effort—frustrated exhalations, the crackle of unstable sparks, the occasional murmur of encouragement or complaint. A group of disciples stood in a loose formation, each one wearing a sling ring, each one attempting to do the same thing with varying degrees of success.
At the front, Karl Mordo observed them with a critical eye.
"Again," he instructed, his voice carrying easily across the space.
"You are not forcing the portal open. You are aligning with a destination that already exists. If your focus wavers, the connection fails."
A student tried. Sparks flared—brief, chaotic—before vanishing. Another attempt ended the same way.
Frustration lingered in the air. It was into this that Elias stepped.
At first, only a few noticed him. Then more. Conversations quieted, attention shifting almost instinctively toward the newcomer who was no longer just a rumor among them.
The one who had defeated Mordo.
Mordo himself turned, his expression unreadable as his gaze settled on Elias.
"You're late," he said.
Elias adjusted the sling ring in his hand, slipping it onto his fingers with a calm that contrasted sharply with the tension in the courtyard.
"I was studying," he replied simply.
There was no challenge in his tone. No excuse. Just a statement.
Mordo held his gaze for a moment longer before stepping aside slightly, gesturing toward the open space.
"Then show me."
Elias nodded once and stepped forward. The murmurs around him faded as he came to a stop, his attention narrowing—not outward, but inward. The noise, the watching eyes, the expectation—all of it seemed to fall away as he focused on the task.
He remembered the instruction. Not force. Align.
His mind settled, not empty, but precise. He pictured his room—not vaguely, but in detail. The placement of the table. The scattered books. The angle of the light against the wall. The exact feel of the space.
Then he moved.
Sparks answered immediately, but unlike the others, they were not chaotic. They followed his motion smoothly, forming a clean arc that traced a perfect circle in the air.
The ring stabilized almost as soon as it appeared, its surface rippling once before clearing, revealing his room.
Silence fell. For a moment, no one spoke.
"…He did it," someone whispered, disbelief evident.
Elias studied the portal briefly, as though confirming its stability, before closing his hand and allowing it to collapse just as smoothly as it had formed.
"…That should be it," he said, almost absently.
The reaction was immediate.
"That was incredible!"
"How did you stabilize it that fast?"
"Can you teach us?!"
The students gathered around him, their earlier frustration replaced by curiosity and excitement. They had already known of him—his rapid progress, his victory over Mordo—but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely.
Elias hesitated only briefly before answering.
"You're thinking of it as distance," he said, glancing at one of them.
"It's not. The destination already exists. You don't need to reach it—you need to connect to it."
He gestured lightly, demonstrating the motion again without activating the ring.
"Focus on the place itself. Not where it is in relation to you."
Some of them tried again.
This time, the sparks lingered longer.
One student managed to form a small, flickering circle before it collapsed.
Another followed, achieving something similar.
Excitement built as progress spread unevenly through the group. Not all succeeded—some still struggled, their focus breaking too easily, their control insufficient—but enough improvement was visible to shift the entire atmosphere.
At the edge of the courtyard, Mordo watched in silence.
And beside him, unnoticed by most, stood Ancient One.
Her expression was calm, almost pleased, as she observed Elias guiding the others—not with authority, but with clarity.
"They're learning faster than earlier," Mordo said after a moment, his tone controlled.
"They are," the Ancient One replied softly.
Mordo's jaw tightened slightly.
"He is ready."
Mordo turned his head toward her.
"For what?"
The Ancient One's smile deepened, though it remained gentle.
"To be recognized as a master."
Understanding flickered across Mordo's expression, followed by something sharper—something more personal.
"I see," he said quietly.
His gaze shifted back to Elias, who was still surrounded by students, answering questions with a patience that only seemed to draw them closer.
"I'll prepare," Mordo continued, his voice carrying a quiet edge.
"This time, I won't limit myself."
The Ancient One inclined her head slightly.
"I would expect nothing less."
As Mordo prepared, already considering the methods he would employ—not just combat, but the Mystic Arts and the use of artifacts—his attention briefly flicked toward the students gathered around Elias.
Although they were asking for instructions from Elias, they were distracted. Most are lost admiring him. His students are being undisciplined.
A lesson would be necessary. One they would not forget.
Almost as if in response to that thought, the students paused.
A subtle chill passed through the group, quiet but collective, settling into their instincts before their minds could understand it.
"…Did you feel that?" one of them asked under their breath.
No one answered. But the unease lingered.
End of Chapter