“And you’re sure you’re okay?” Natasha asked Wanda again, still feeling a little sick to her stomach. She was crouched in front of her girlfriend, holding both of her hands tightly.

  Wanda gave her a half-hearted smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Promise.” She looked exhausted, slumping heavily in her chair, but she didn’t seem like she was in pain or anything. Not anymore, at least.

  Nat gnced back at Steve. He was standing off to one side, but his shoulders were still tense and his brow was knitted together in a tight frown. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Something had clearly gone wrong, no matter Wanda’s assurances. Pietro was bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands twitching—Natasha imagined it was taking everything he had not to just grab his sister and run away. He already had: the moment Wanda had clearly emerged from Thena’s mind, he’d dragged the chair she was sitting on about twenty feet away from the Eternals in a second, getting some distance between his sister and whatever the hell had just happened.

  Back where Wanda had been, Thena was leaning forward in her own chair, elbows resting heavily on her knees, cradling her forehead in her hands. She looked about as exhausted as Wanda did. Gilgamesh was kneeling down next to her in a mirror of the way Nat was fussing over Wanda, speaking quietly to his companion in urgent, worried tones, one of his hands gripping her shoulder protectively.

  “What happened?” Pietro demanded. He took a step forward, then a hesitant one back, before settling on just pacing next to where Natasha was crouched down in front of Wanda.

  “The mind of an Eternal is on a bit of a different scale to a human one. It was a little rough, but I got through it.” Wanda looked up at him curiously, as though she wasn’t completely sure why everyone was so distressed. “…What did it look like from out here?”

  Between Nat, Pietro and Steve, they expined that—not long after Wanda had submerged herself in Thena’s mind—she’d started screaming in pain. The chaos magic she’d bound Thena with had shattered and, before even Pietro could react, strands of golden cosmic energy had shed out and bound the two of them tightly together, trapping them in a dome-like wireframe structure that even a double-fisted strike from Gilgamesh hadn’t been able to break.

  Wanda had stopped screaming soon after, but over the next five minutes her condition had seemed to deteriorate. She started looking ill, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and she started sweating profusely. They’d brainstormed ways to break her out of the effect, but nothing had worked. Thena and Gilgamesh’s home was in a cloaked-and-shielded bckspot, courtesy of Phastos, so they hadn’t even been able to call for an assist. Pietro had hesitated—on the one hand, he hadn’t wanted to leave Wanda’s side, but on the other, he was the only one fast enough to potentially get out and back with some sort of help in an amount of time that might have made some difference. Deying, however, had allowed the situation to progress.

  Thena’s eyes had flicked open, milky-white as though she was having a Mahd Wy’ry episode. She hadn’t moved at all, though… She’d just sat there, staring sightlessly at Wanda. A handful of seconds after that, Wanda had seemingly rexed and the dome trapping the two women together had shattered. Pietro had gone to immediately pull his sister away from Thena, but Nat had stopped him. She’d had a hunch that whatever difficulty Wanda had been having had been resolved, and a couple of moments ter her decision was vindicated when Wanda had snapped back into her body on her own, opening her eyes and taking a deep breath as she woke.

  Wanda nodded slowly to herself as she listened to their expnation, then raised her voice to call over to the Eternals. “Thena?” The other woman didn’t respond right away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how much you remember now, but based on what happened in there I’m assuming—”

  “I thought you weren’t going to do anything to her memories?” Gilgamesh snapped angrily, cutting Wanda off as he rose to his feet.

  Thena’s hand snaked out, resting gently on Gilgamesh’s leg. He stopped immediately, looking back at his companion with concern in his eyes. She took a deep breath and rose to her feet. “I remember,” she said quietly, staring at Wanda. “Not just Centuri-Six. Others, too. Mesklin. Tralfamadore. Skako Minor. Korell. It’s only fragments, but there’s so much. So many worlds, so many Emergences…”

  Nat’s eyes widened a fraction and she gnced back toward Wanda. That had definitely not been part of the pn.

  Wanda had a look of simple resignation on her face. “Okay,” she said, nodding again. “Well, we’ve got a lot to talk about, then.”

  --

  After taking a few minutes to collect ourselves, we relocated to the inside of the Eternals’ home to spend some time talking everything through. It was getting fairly te in the afternoon by the time Thena and I finished our respective expnations.

  “I thought we were heroes,” Gilgamesh said once we were done, a morose look on his face. “Turns out, we’re the bad guys.”

  The Eternals’ home was an eclectic mishmash of bits and bobs from various eras, their shelves stacked high with souvenirs and keepsakes from all over the world. There were some things that were essentially modern, such as the appliances—the fridge looked basically brand-new, and the slightly-discoloured microwave sitting on the countertop next to it didn’t look that old—but the more I looked the more obvious antiques I spotted, of varying different styles. I had no idea how long they’d been living here, exactly, but it made sense that they’d accumute a heap of stuff over time.

  The door that we’d entered through was solid wood, with thick rope threaded through and braided into a loop instead of a handle and a rge keyhole below it. The main central living area itself was open pn, lit by some ‘windows’ that were essentially just holes in the walls and a couple of dangling electric mps, a long wooden dining table in the middle. A metal tray rested in the centre of the table, stuck fast to the surface by the overflow of generations of candles that had been burnt there. The test half-dozen dribbly examples—currently unlit—had fused at the base into a single, undifferentiated lump of wax.

  Gilgamesh had sat down at the table with the rest of us, but Thena was agitated and remained standing as she spoke, her body nguage tense. Her memories were spotty. I’d unlocked all the echoes and fragments that had been left within her, but it mostly seemed like just a handful of strongly-held memories from each of her lifetimes. Even so, it was still a lot, comparatively speaking. Their group of Eternals had been preparing worlds for Arishem for millions of years, so she remembered bits and pieces of several hundred worlds now lost and dead. Outwardly, she seemed to be handling it retively well, all things considered, but I couldn’t imagine the scale of the grief and loss she must have been dealing with. The fragmented nature of it probably helped to blunt the impact of it all a little, at least.

  At that point, I had no real choice but to expin essentially everything. Steve wasn’t overly happy at the unexpected change of pns, but he understood the need given the situation.

  I told them what had happened in the mindscape and what I’d had to do to save myself and Thena, and admitted that I’d known all along about Arishem, the Emergence, and everything that went along with it. There wasn’t much point in holding any of the details back, so I had gone ahead and summarised what I knew about the Eternals and what had happened with them in the original timeline as best I could. I glossed over the Blip, for now—I wasn’t sure if we wanted to tell them about Thanos just yet and I wanted to keep us focused on the matter at hand.

  “You’re not the bad guys,” I said firmly. “You were lied to. It doesn’t erase all the good you did. All the people you did save.”

  Thena’s pale gaze flicked over me. Despite her controlled exterior, there was a hint of something cold and angry in her expression. “We were deceived for eons,” she said, voice low and taut. “We fought for so long, overcame so many threats, all to save worlds just long enough for them burn as fuel for a Celestial Emergence.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. I was pnning on telling you the truth eventually, but it wasn’t going to be… like this.”

  “You lied to us, too,” Gilgamesh said. Though the statement was accusatory, there wasn’t much fire behind it. “Said you were only here to see if you could help Thena.”

  Nat shook her head. “That wasn’t a lie. We weren’t intending on asking for your help with the Emergence. Not yet.”

  “We didn’t want to drag you or the others into things, if possible,” Steve agreed. “We’re trying to come up with a solution on our own. Wanda really did just want to help, and you wouldn’t have believed us if we’d led with the full story, in any case.”

  Pietro was pacing along the far side of the room. “One day, my sister will do something without everything becoming much more complicated than it needed to be,” he said, shooting me a look that was half-amusement, half-annoyance. “But it is not this day.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, running a fingernail along the top of the table anxiously. “I was trying to thread a pretty narrow needle between protecting the pnet and doing right by you and your family.” After I said it, I noticed my phrasing and winced a little bit. I really was starting to sound like the Ancient One.

  Thena nodded, then looked at Gil. “Ajak,” she said, simply.

  He nodded back. “We need to speak with her. With everyone.”

  My chest tightened a little bit and I straightened. “Um. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, actually,” I said hurriedly. “Thor’s off-world, trying to find a way to avert the Emergence—maybe he’ll discover some cosmic workaround. If you confront Ajak now, Ikaris—”

  “I’m not afraid of Ikaris,” Thena interrupted, a hardness in her voice. “Or even Ajak, if it comes to that. She has much to expin. She owes us that, at least.”

  “Ajak’s still loyal to Arishem right now. Ikaris and Ajak, together, could be extremely dangerous if they decide that we’re a threat,” I argued.

  This was far too soon. We weren’t ready to deal with this yet. Ikaris was strong enough that I wasn’t sure we could beat him without any casualties, and having ‘one of the greatest healers in the universe’ backing him up was probably the worst possible scenario.

  “Ajak could be swayed,” Gilgamesh argued. “We’ve been family for thousands of years. If we talk to her…”

  “She deceived us this entire time, Gil. Lied about everything,” Thena said. Her voice was cold, with a hint of barely-restrained fury in it. “She knew what Mahd Wy’ry truly was. Perhaps she even lied about there being no cure—she might have left me like this deliberately, if the alternative was to restore the memories that had been sealed away.”

  “Thena…” Gil said, a concerned expression on his face. “You can’t believe that. She wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t she?” Thena shook her head. “To protect Arishem’s secrets? She’s done this hundreds of times, Gil. I remember other times, other pces, where one of us developed Mahd Wy’ry. It’s always the same.”

  “It gets even more complicated if you bring in the others, too,” I said. “Sprite will almost certainly side with Ikaris. When Ajak wasn’t around, most of the Eternals decided to try to stop the Emergence, but if she’s still alive and argues in favour of it going as pnned, will she be able to convince some of the others?”

  The two of them exchanged a reluctant gnce. “When Ajak speaks, we listen. But I think Sersi and Druig will want to protect humanity, even if it means Eternals fighting each other,” Gilgamesh said slowly, thinking it through. “Phastos, I hope, would as well, but if Ajak tells him to stand down, I can’t say what he’ll do. Kingo may still refuse to fight, or he may yield to Ajak’s leadership. Makkari is… complicated.”

  “Beyond that,” Steve said. “If Ajak feels like she’s losing control of the situation, she might call for backup. Wanda says she has a way of reaching out directly to Arishem.”

  I nodded. “I have no idea how Arishem would react to this exact situation. At the very least, he’d take you away and reset your memories again. Even if you kept quiet about our involvement, Arishem would be able to look through your memories and would find out that the Avengers are pnning on stopping the Emergence. In the future I saw, with Tiamut already dead, he was willing to judge Earth on the basis of your memories rather than immediately destroying the pnet in retribution. With Tiamut still viable, though, if he thinks the Emergence is at risk…”

  “He will destroy you to safeguard it,” Thena said. “The lives of a small group of mortals, banced against a Celestial? To him, it wouldn’t even be worth considering.”

  “Please.” I took a deep breath, putting my hands on the table as I shot them both a pleading look. “I’m not saying don’t confront Ajak or talk to the others. All I ask is that you hold off for a little while. If you could wait until Thor gets back, at the very least, we might be able to find a solution to the Emergence independently. Work around Arishem. It’ll be easier for you to resolve things with Ajak and the others if you’re not also arguing about the fate of the world. If we have to fight them… Look, I’m just trying to work through this in a way that keeps everyone as safe as possible. Your family and mine.”

  Thena stared at me for a few moments, blue eyes boring into me, then she exhaled slowly and nodded. “I owe you more than I can repay. If you ask that we wait… then we’ll wait. For a time. But there are other Eternals out there as well—other Emergences. Other worlds that could be saved. Ajak and Tiamut will not be the end of this.”

  “We both owe you,” Gilgamesh added, looking up at Thena, a brief smile flickering across his face. “It’s been seven thousand years and, if what you say is true, we have time. A few more weeks or months shouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

  I let out a small sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension in my chest rex. “Thank you. We really appreciate it.”

  Steve nodded and stood up. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, so we’ll leave you be for now. We can touch base again ter.”

  Gilgamesh let out an incredulous snort and shook his head. “Are you kidding? Thena’s cured. Tonight we’re celebrating, and it’d be a sad sort of party if it was just the two of us. You’ll stay. I’ll cook.”

  Thena looked at him, smiled—the first completely open and genuine one I’d seen from her—and nodded. “That does seem appropriate.”

  Excitedly, I grinned and gnced in Steve’s direction. “I mean, I can drop you at the compound if you really want to go, Steve. But I am absolutely down to celebrate.” My eyes flicked over to Pietro and Nat, who both smiled and gave me small nods of acceptance.

  Steve let out a small chuckle. “I suppose we can stay for dinner.”

  Turning back to Gilgamesh, I shot him a hopeful look. “I, uh, hear that Odin might’ve taught you a secret brew after you helped Asgard defeat Laufey’s army?”

  “Cutting right to the matter at hand, eh?” The Eternal’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “Brewing’s a bit of a hobby of mine. Asgardian ale might be a bit much for you to handle, though. I have some other things that are more… human-appropriate.”

  “Don’t underestimate me,” I countered, meeting his gaze challengingly. “Thor gave me Asgardian liquor once before and I’ve acquired a bit of a taste for it.”

  “Oooh, big talk! Alright! We’ll have to see if you can keep up, then,” Gilgamesh said, still grinning as he stood up. As he did, a small look of realisation crossed his features and he turned to Thena, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly. “You can finally drink some of my brews again! No more kids’ stuff.”

  She nodded, smiling back, and Gilgamesh bustled off toward the front door, a small spring in his step. As he went, Thena looked at me again, her expression stilling for a moment. “Truly. Thank you,” she said, her tone soft. “I won’t forget this. There’s still a debt between us.”

  This time I had to look away, dropping my eyes to the table. God, it always felt so good to get that sort of acknowledgement. I swallowed and shrugged, running a finger along the grain of the wooden table, trying to py it off. “I wanted to help, so I helped. You don’t owe me anything.”

  Gilgamesh returned promptly, carrying a variety of assorted bottles and jugs stacked precariously in his arms with the skill and ease of someone who’d carried such loads hundreds of times before. Hanging from the crook of one elbow—as easily as someone else might casually sling a handbag—was an honest-to-god, Greek-style cy amphora, long enough that its bottom was level with his knee.

  My eyes widened, an eagerly expectant grin spreading across my face as I took in the beauteous bounty he had brought before us. Gil saw my expression, matching it with a grin of his own as he id the collection out on a side table. He seemed almost as excited to share his passion for alcohol with us as I was to indulge in it. Before settling us with our drinks, though, he flicked a bottle through the air toward where Thena had sat down—she caught it easily, a small smile touching the corners of her mouth before she leaned back in her chair to drink and watch the rest of us quietly.

  Steve sampled a few out of politeness, but quickly settled on a lightly spiced mead that apparently reminded him of something he’d tasted in Norway once. Nat became rather quickly enamoured of a mix of wine, beer and mead that Gilgamesh cimed was drunk by the soldiers of Troy during their short-lived victory celebration toward the end of the Trojan War, which she sipped at sparingly.

  “What is this?” Pietro said, a small amount of wonder in his voice as he sipped at a tankard of frothy beer. “It’s really good, but it’s not like any beer I’ve had before.”

  “Chicha,” Gilgamesh supplied, smiling at my brother’s praise. “Corn beer, from the Inca Empire.”

  Nat paused, side-eyeing the Eternal. “Made the traditional way?” she asked.

  He spread his arms, a look of mock offense on his face. “Of course! What do you take me for? I chew each kernel myself and ferment it in my spit.”

  Steve coughed into his fist, clearly fighting back either a ugh or mild horror. Pietro froze and, after a second, very carefully put the tankard down on the table. He stared at it a moment, then turned to me and shot me an accusatory look, as if I must have known and should have warned him. I mean, I did know and could have warned him, but he still shouldn’t assume.

  “You don’t want it?” I asked innocently. “Give.”

  Pietro made a small noise of frustration and disgust in the back of his throat and gestured toward the tankard, looking as though he didn’t believe I would actually drink it.

  Grinning, I picked it up and took a swig. It was sweeter than I expected, with a slightly sour tang and a pleasantly earthy aftertaste. Pietro was right—it was really good, and a bit different to anything I’d ever had before. I made an appreciative noise and had another mouthful.

  “That’s…” Pietro said, pulling a face, torn between expressing his disgust and not wanting to insult our host.

  “It’s fermented,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s fine. You are weak and would not survive the winter.” With that, I knocked back the rest of the tankard.

  Gilgamesh ughed, cpping me on the back with enough force that, if I wasn’t enhanced with the Heart-Shaped Herb, I probably would have stumbled forward a step or two. “Oh, I like you! Here,” he said, turning to fish out a pair of tall, half-litre bottles of unbelled dark beer. “Asgardian ale, as requested. Cold as a Jotun’s balls.”

  I took one of the bottles and cradled it reverentially in my hands for a moment—it was ice-cold and oddly heavy in my hands. “Thank the All-Father,” I murmured, popping the flip-top. Gilgamesh opened his own and we clinked them together before I lifted mine to my lips.

  It was so good.

  I took a long draught, savouring the rich, creamy mouthfeel and intense, nutty fvour for a few moments then smacking my lips afterwards. It even had a noticeable kick to it—I could already tell that I’d probably be feeling a little tipsy by the end of the bottle. A potent brew, worthy of the gods indeed.

  Once everyone was settled with drinks, Gil returned to the kitchen to cook, donning a ‘kiss the cook’ apron that hugged his muscur frame. I followed, intending on offering him my assistance—or maybe to see if he was interested in anyone following the instruction now pstered across his chest—but the Eternal firmly returned me to the table with everyone else: the kitchen was his domain. After a few minutes of seeing him work, I had to admit that he was right… even with magical aid, I would have only gotten in his way.

  Gilgamesh swept through the kitchen like a force of nature—I watched, eyes wide, as he chopped vegetables and prepared meats with a speed and precision that I was pretty sure would have surprised even the most battle-hardened professional chef. He obviously loved to cook and, when it came down to it, seven thousand years of practice probably made him one of the best chefs in the world. As the air filled with the heady aromas of cooking meat and fragrant spices, I felt my mouth begin to water and, looking around, I could tell I wasn’t the only one who was looking forward to the meal.

  A little while and the rest of my bottle of Asgardian ale ter, I was feeling the start of a pleasant buzz and staring in amazement as Gilgamesh stacked the dining table with more than a dozen different dishes—two different hearty-looking stews, one with plump dumplings and one without, a tray of charcoal-grilled skewers of spiced meat, a mountain of roasted vegetables, a rich chicken and orzo dish, a pair of pies with golden-crusted pastry (one filled with a thick beef and pepper gravy and the other with a rich, sweet blueberry mixture), a deep dish of moussaka, a huge bowl of fresh and spicy corn sad, and more.

  I was at a complete loss. Gilgamesh had ducked outside to use the outdoor oven as well as essentially every appliance in the kitchen at the same time, but even with the ridiculous level of ability he’d dispyed in the kitchen I was certain that he physically hadn’t had enough time to actually cook all of it.

  I exchanged a look with Pietro over the table and mouthed ‘oh my god’—he nodded his agreement, eyes wide—before turning to Natasha with a pleading look, catching her eye before looking significantly between the bottle of godly beer and the insane feast that he’d id out before us. “Can I keep him?” I asked in a fervent whisper, tilting my head slightly in Gil’s direction.

  Thena, who’d mostly been sitting back and quietly listening and observing—only really speaking when spoken to—let out a warm chuckle at that, her eyes crinkling in amusement. I looked at her and grinned, a small blush reaching my cheeks. I still had no idea if Gil and Thena were just BFFs or actually together and had sort of said it without thinking, but the ugh was at least a good sign that I hadn’t inadvertently offended her by horning in on her territory. Despite how much had just happened, Thena seemed… calmer than earlier. Happy. Even if a little bit of tension did still linger in her shoulders.

  Throughout and after the meal, I matched Gilgamesh drink for drink, ignoring the warm flush creeping through my cheeks and the tingling rush that spread from my stomach to my head. During one refill, I noticed Gil giving me a surprised and considering look—he probably hadn’t met too many humans that could keep pace with him.

  “Wanda,” Steve said in a warning tone as he saw me grab a fresh mug. “You might want to—”

  But I was already halfway through it, relishing the rare, blissful warmth that was making me feel genuinely giddy. The rest of the evening passed in a blurred haze of ughter and conversation.

  A while ter I was listing to one side, the floor beneath my feet stubbornly refusing to remain level and still, when I announced that I was going to step outside for a moment for some fresh air. Natasha stood, a long-suffering smile on her face, and pced a gentle hand at my waist to help guide me as I stumbled a little bit. We slipped through the wooden door and out into the cool evening.

  “Are you going to be sick?” Nat asked me gently as I tottered away from the house.

  “No, I’m good,” I responded, moving purposefully beyond the small stone fence that enclosed the Eternals’ homestead, walking the short distance to the top of a small hill that y next to it. I felt light, like my feet were barely touching the ground. Nat followed a few paces behind.

  Finding a likely spot, I flopped down onto the ground and sighed happily. The dry, red dirt beneath my palms was already pleasantly cool, so I y down, resting the back of my head on the bare earth as I enjoyed the feel of the dull, happy buzz thrumming through my veins. Nat sat down next to me, stretching out and propping herself on her elbows for a moment before joining me in lying back fully.

  We y together like that quietly for a time, side-by-side, just enjoying each other’s company. This far from civilisation, the unclouded sky above us was id out in an almost-dizzying tapestry of brilliant stars. It was breathtakingly beautiful, even if it was spinning a little bit. If anything, that enhanced the effect, and for a moment it felt a little like I was floating weightlessly through space.

  After a little while, Nat nudged me gently with her elbow. “Don’t fall asleep,” she said, a light teasing edge to her voice. “You’re everyone’s ride home, remember?”

  I pretended to start snoring and she chuckled softly and elbowed me again, a little harder this time. Another minute passed as we y there.

  “Can you hear that?” Nat asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  The night was still and quiet. We were just far enough from the noise of the house that we could hear muffled ughter and Gil’s booming voice in the distance, but it felt like we were worlds away. Even with my enhanced senses, the only other thing I could really hear was our breathing and the sound of my own heartbeat—no crickets, no breeze, nothing.

  “No,” I said.

  “Exactly.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s nice.”

  “You like the sound of silence?” I asked, grinning to myself as I summoned lyrics to my alcohol-addled mind.

  “If you start singing, I will punch you,” Natasha warned me, anticipating exactly what I had been intending on doing. “But yes. This sort of quiet, just, far from everything… it’s my favourite sound.”

  I fought off the urge to be a brat and sing anyway—she’d caught me already, it wouldn’t be as funny—and let the moment pass, spending another few seconds enjoying the silence before I responded. “I like it a lot, too.”

  “What’s your favourite sound?” she asked.

  I tried to resist for a moment, but no, the urge to be a brat had grown too powerful. I took a deep breath and made the loudest, most drawn-out, ridiculous, utterly-inappropriate-for-the-romantic-moment noise that I could: “Tweeeeeeeeeee-oooooooooo-eeeeeeeeeee!” When I was done, I turned my head to look at Natasha to gauge her reaction.

  She was smiling, her eyes bright in the starlight, and I could see a subtle flush in her cheeks. Part of me realised that she’d done that deliberately, knowing I was going to do something stupid. “I like that, too,” she said softly.