Solomon sought advice from the Sorcerer Supreme about his lingering question: was he truly recorded in the Akashic Records? For some reason, however, the Sorcerer Supreme avoided giving a direct answer, only suggesting that destiny was not necessarily unchangeable.
The Akashic Records, the foundation of existence, holds everything—each soul, each path recorded in its depths. Only something from beyond this world could disrupt fate itself.
This conversation brought Solomon back to the mysteries surrounding his origins and the power of the stigmata. These things were unmistakably foreign to this universe, especially that silver key, whose origins Solomon knew all too well. Perhaps Yog-Sothoth was right; his destiny may indeed have been altered. What Solomon still didn't know was whether this change was passive or active, or precisely when it had begun.
Once his question was answered, the Sorcerer Supreme couldn't resist shifting the topic to Bayonetta. Ignoring the fact that Solomon was not yet of age, the Sorcerer Supreme asked when he planned to have children and made comments like, "Back in the day, men your age were already fathers of two."
Solomon made a hasty retreat.
During the following week back at Eton, Tony Stark tried to call him countless times. But Solomon figured that Stark's motives were either to inquire more about his future daughter or to seek access to magic, so he refused each call. Stark had admitted himself that a simple magical projection could rival the millions he spent on developing holographic devices, revealing an enormous potential for profit in magic. Stark, being a businessman at heart, had a keen eye for lucrative opportunities. Although his work focused on advanced technology, which helped propel Stark Industries to the cutting edge, Stark was still a capitalist, just a more ethical one compared to others who exploited both their employees' lives and their salaries. Stark Industries' benefits were the envy of many, with few labor disputes arising between the company and its employees.
Still, Solomon knew how reckless Stark could be. Without training and strict oversight, dangerous magic in Stark's hands could pose a risk to countless people. Solomon had no intention of trading any magical knowledge with Stark, as that would be irresponsible to everyone involved.
Luckily, Stark wasn't about to show up in Old Windsor to find him, which was a relief. Solomon had half-expected Stark to be as relentless as S.H.I.E.L.D. After all, the last time S.H.I.E.L.D. had visited, they'd landed a Quinjet on his lawn, and it had taken Solomon ages to restore the grass. This incident was one reason Solomon's attitude toward Nick Fury was so poor; Fury's meddling had made him waste so much time replanting someone else's lawn.
The headmaster had remarked that, as a gentleman, gardening was a requisite skill. A respectable, reliable, and charming man needed to master both gardening and landscape design. A lovely flower bed could captivate attention more than a dazzling lady, and no one could bear to see wild weeds and unruly shrubs during morning tea.
This appreciation for beauty was something Americans didn't quite understand—they were too coarse.
The following weekend, Solomon found himself with rare free time and little to do.
Tracking Ghost Rider and Mephisto? Mordo had taken over.
Hunting down cults in East Africa and Canada? Caecilius and Master Daniel had it covered.
Working with the Merlin faction to deal with Morgan le Fay's dark wizards? Master Hamir had volunteered.
The remaining duties were mainly watchkeeping and monitoring the planetary defense system, observing the Eye of Agamotto as necessary. These tasks didn't interest Solomon, and he wasn't about to waste his time on them. So, after finishing his magical studies for the day, he found a quiet corner in the New York Sanctum to focus on his personal project: crafting a pair of gloves. Starting from leather cutting, he worked meticulously to weave magic into every stitch.
This was a painstakingly complex process. Binding and embedding even a third-circle spell into an object required at least several weekends. Such an extended timeline also came from Solomon's disciplined work schedule—he limited himself to eight hours a day to ensure precision.
Fortunately, he had already made some progress back at Eton, so picking up where he'd left off wasn't hard. He was just about to start sewing red thread into the white leather.
---
"I didn't bring you here for anything special. I just wanted to give you a tour of my workshop." Tony Stark stood on the armor docking platform, facing Solomon. The mage, finally unable to withstand Stark's persistence, had agreed to meet him after a brief negotiation. To save time, Solomon had opened a portal directly onto the rooftop of Stark Industries' tower. Behind him, a warm early summer breeze gently lifted the hem of his crimson robe.
"You have great potential in scientific research, Solomon. I still can't replicate your analyzer," Stark said casually. "And since you refuse to take divination fees, I figured I'd let you see Stark Industries' cutting-edge tech. Honestly, you're the one profiting here. Juice?"
"I just hope you understand my boundaries, Stark." Solomon followed Stark inside, his attention immediately drawn to several suits of Iron Man armor. Stark noticed Solomon's gaze and felt a swell of pride; his technology was conservatively estimated to be five to ten years ahead of the rest of the world.
It wasn't the armor's exterior that caught Solomon's eye, but the hidden technology—shock absorption, propulsion systems, and, of course, the ultimate piece embedded in Stark's chest. Without a power source, the suits were just hunks of metal.
"This is my latest and best creation—so far," Stark said, pointing to the Mark VI armor in the center. "The Iron Man Mark VI, featuring a new power source with enhanced propulsion. I also added a laser emitter, so as long as the power's flowing, nothing can stop her."
"'Her'?" Solomon asked, accepting the orange juice Stark handed him. "You call them 'her'?"
"Of course. They're my pride and joy." Stark raised an eyebrow and winked. "But the Mark VI still has room for improvement. I'm working on rapid donning technology. It's challenging—each suit needs assistance to put on. I've streamlined the process, but it still doesn't feel quite right."
"Let me tell you something," Stark leaned in, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial smile. "I've already designed my daughter's suit. I'm planning on adding a support system to the future models. Imagine it—father and daughter fighting side by side! It'll be epic! You think my future daughter would like that?"
"Trust me, she'll love it," Solomon replied, smiling. "Though you should probably explain to Miss Pepper Potts why you're so certain you'll have a daughter. Hello, Miss Potts. I'm Solomon Damonet, student at Eton."
Solomon noticed that Stark Industries' CEO had entered the room holding some documents, heading toward Stark, who was too engrossed in their conversation to notice her arrival. Solomon gave a mock bow, performing a gallant kiss on her hand that made Stark's expression twist in discomfort.
"Ah… welcome, guest from Britain," Pepper Potts said, casting a quick glance at Stark, a hint of awkwardness on her face. "Should I not be here right now? It seems you two have things to discuss."
"No, no, no. Ignore him," Stark quickly wrapped an arm around Pepper's waist. "Remember when I told you that we'd have a daughter someday? He's the one who said it—he's a wizard, a genuine one. I saw him open a portal from London to New York right on the balcony. Smell the air—you can still catch that rainy scent."
"Either way, you still need to review these files. And don't neglect your guest."
"I'm serious, Pepper. I don't need to read the files; you can decide everything. Besides, he's hardly a guest."
"Seems I'm intruding," Solomon murmured, pulling out his wand to create a circle beside him. A bouquet of flowers appeared on a nearby table, startling Pepper.
"Never thought I'd see the day." Solomon downed his orange juice in one gulp. "Clearly, my timing's off. Consider the flowers a gift. I'll be on my way."
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