— June 2001, Scottish Highlands —

Arthur’s supply of phoenix tears had run dry.

He’d tried every usual source, but none had any left. That left only one option: Fawkes.

Fawkes had vanished after Dumbledore’s death, and while Arthur had hoped the bird might come to him, Fawkes had chosen silence instead.

The tracking spell pointed to Scotland. Not the Amazon or the Himalayas, as he’d half-expected, but the Scottish Highlands not far from Hogwarts itself. The phoenix had stayed near familiar territory.

Arthur opened a portal and stepped through.

The air that greeted him was clean, almost sacred. Ancient Scots pines rose like pillars of a forgotten temple, sunlight spilling through their branches in golden streams. Moss-covered stones marked the ruins of something older than memory. Wildflowers – bluebells, primrose, wild thyme – blanketed the ground in color and scent.

After months in New York, it felt like stepping into another world entirely.

Fawkes should have been ahead, but the phoenix was nowhere in sight. Only the faint, melodic notes of his song echoed through the forest. Arthur followed the sound until he reached a clearing.

And there, in the center of it all, was something Arthur hadn’t expected.

A woman sat cross-legged in the grass, surrounded by animals that should have fled long before he arrived. A red fox slept at her feet. Sparrows and finches perched on her shoulders. A badger snored softly nearby. Even a young stag lingered at the tree line, calm and watchful.

Above her, Fawkes sat on a low branch, trilling softly while the woman fed him from a small woven basket.

Arthur stopped at the tree line, not wanting to disturb the scene.

The animals should have scattered at his presence. Instead, they remained perfectly at ease.

When the woman finished feeding the creatures, she looked up and saw him.

A stranger appearing suddenly in such a remote location should have startled her—or at least made her wary. Instead, she smiled.

“Oh! Hello there!” She stood in one fluid motion without disturbing a single creature. “I didn’t hear you coming. Are you lost?”

Her accent was Scottish, musical and warm. Auburn hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, with a few wildflowers tucked behind one ear. Brown eyes sparkled with curiosity and not a trace of suspicion. She wore simple hiking clothes—practical boots, worn jeans, a soft green sweater.

She was beautiful, Arthur noted distantly. But then, Ariadne was beautiful. Carol Danvers was beautiful. This wasn’t about beauty.

There was something else. Something indefinable that made his chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.

Fawkes trilled a greeting and flew to Arthur’s shoulder, nuzzling against his cheek.

“You know him!” she gasped, delighted. She stepped closer, wonder shining in her eyes. “Oh, that’s marvelous! I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of bird he is for months. I’ve gone through every field guide and folklore book I could find. Nothing matches.”

Arthur stroked Fawkes’ feathers. “His name is Fawkes.”

“Fawkes,” she repeated, as if tasting the name. “Mysterious. Regal. Perfect.” Her eyes shifted back to Arthur. “So—you travel? You met him nearby?”

“Something like that,” he said vaguely. “We’ve known each other for many years.”

“That’s wonderful! I’ve so many questions. What does he eat? I leave berries and seeds, but I think he only takes them to be polite.”

Arthur’s lips twitched. “He appreciates the gesture. Even if he doesn’t require it.”

She laughed, genuinely pleased. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Eileen. Eileen MacEacharn.” She held out her hand.

Arthur shook it. Her grip was firm, warm. “Arthur.”

“Just Arthur?” she teased.

“For now.”

She laughed again, easy and bright. “Mysterious, just like Fawkes. Are you from around here?”

“No. London, mostly. I came looking for Fawkes.”

“All the way from London? That’s quite a journey for a bird, even one as magnificent as this.” She tilted her head. “Are you a birdwatcher then? Or a researcher?”

“Researcher, actually.”

“That sounds fascinating!” Her enthusiasm was unguarded. “What kind of research?”

Arthur had planned to collect the tears discreetly and leave. The entire trip should have taken five minutes. Get the tears from Fawkes, portal back to New York, return to work.

But something made him hesitate.

Maybe it was the way she looked at him—with interest but no calculation. No fear, no hidden agenda, just genuine curiosity about another person who appreciated rare birds.

Or maybe it was the indefinable something about her that made the world feel… softer.

“Various fields,” he said. “Physics. Engineering. Computer science.”

“How long have you been coming here?” he asked, surprising himself by continuing the conversation.

“I was born here,” Eileen said, settling back into the grass. The animals resumed their places as if choreographed. “Home for the holidays. I study at Cambridge—business management, of all things.”

“Of all things?”

She made a face. “Everyone says I’m good with people. That I should go into management, leadership, that sort of thing. My professors, my family, even my friends.” She reached down to stroke the fox’s head absently. “But if I’m honest, I’d rather have studied something nature-related. Environmental science, maybe. Or ecology.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Practicality, I suppose. Management has better career prospects. Student loans don’t pay themselves.” She smiled, but it was tinged with something wistful. “Besides, I can always spend my free time in places like this. Best of both worlds, really.”

Arthur found himself sitting on a nearby stone. Fawkes remained perched on his shoulder, quiet and content.

“Did you raise them?” he asked, nodding at the gathered animals. “They seem remarkably comfortable around you.”

Eileen’s cheeks flushed. “No, nothing like that. They just… come. It’s been that way since I was little. The village calls me a friend to wild things. I don’t do anything special. They just seem comfortable near me.”

Arthur studied her carefully, extending his magical senses as subtly as possible.

Nothing.

No magic signature. No hint of druidic bloodline. No trace of mutation or magical ancestry.

She was completely, utterly, impossibly ordinary.

And yet the animals trusted her absolutely. Fawkes, who was notoriously selective about human company, had chosen to be around her.

It defied logic. And it fascinated him.

“So, Arthur from London,” she said, breaking the silence. “Since you’ve come all this way, would you like a proper tour? The village is lovely this time of year.”

Arthur should have declined. Fawkes had already given him the tears—now safely sealed in a vial in his pocket. He could leave right now.

But something about her made him want to.

“That sounds… pleasant,” Arthur heard himself say.

Eileen’s smile could have lit the entire forest. “Brilliant! Come on, I’ll show you my favorite spots.”

—

They walked for hours. She showed him hidden waterfalls, standing stones older than Rome, cliffs that overlooked valleys painted in mist and heather. Fawkes followed silently above, as though approving.

She talked easily, asking questions but never prying. Arthur found himself answering more honestly than he’d intended. For once, he wasn’t Arthur Hayes, vanquisher of evil villains. Just a man walking through sunlight with someone who listened.

They eventually made their way to the village—a small collection of stone cottages and narrow streets that looked like it hadn’t changed in two hundred years. Eileen greeted everyone they passed with warm familiarity, and everyone greeted her back with obvious affection.

She introduced Arthur simply as “a friend from London, interested in the local wildlife.” No one questioned it. They welcomed him with the easy hospitality of small communities, asking if he’d tried the local whisky yet, recommending the best walking trails, warning him about the unpredictable weather.

It was pleasant. More than pleasant.

Then Eileen suggested they stop by her house to meet her family.

Arthur hesitated, but something in her hopeful expression made him agree.

What could go wrong?

—

Everything and nothing went wrong.

Her family welcomed him with open arms. Her mother was kind and talkative, her father cheerful and curious. Her younger brother challenged him to cards.

He was even invited to stay for dinner. Arthur accepted.

Dinner was simple but hearty—roasted chicken, vegetables from the garden, fresh bread. The family laughed and talked, teasing each other with obvious affection.

And Arthur sat there, watching them, and felt something crack inside his chest.

This was what a family looked like. Sounded like. Felt like.

Warmth. Connection. He’d had this once. Many years ago.

He’d forgotten what it felt like. Had buried those memories so deep that watching this brought them rushing back.

Everything he’d lost. Everything he’d spent decades trying not to think about.

Arthur grew quiet. Withdrawn. He responded when spoken to but contributed little else.

Eileen noticed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Arthur lied. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

When dinner ended, Arthur stood abruptly. “I should go. I have matters to attend to in London.”

Eileen looked disappointed but masked it quickly. “Of course. You’ve probably been away longer than you meant to.”

“Yes.”

There was silence as Eileen walked him out.

At the end of their yard, she fidgeted with a strand of her hair. “Well… thank you for spending the day with me. It’s been lovely having someone to share this place with. And thank you for telling me about Fawkes. It’s nice to finally know his name.”

“Thank you for the tour,” Arthur replied, his voice carefully neutral.

“If you’re ever back in the area…” Eileen trailed off, uncertain.

Arthur nodded noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

He made it to the village outskirts before vanishing with a soft crack of displaced air.

—

Behind him, Eileen stood quietly as Fawkes landed on a nearby fence.

“Well,” she sighed. “I lost my chance, didn’t I?”

Fawkes tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming.

“Just when I found a handsome, good man who seemed perfect,” Eileen continued, as if the bird could understand her. She didn’t know that he could. “And I scared him off. Too enthusiastic. Too forward.” She laughed, but it was tinged with disappointment. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him home so soon. Maybe meeting the family was too much.”

Fawkes trilled, a sound somewhere between amusement and sympathy.

“I know,” she murmured, stroking his feathers. “If it’s meant to be… we’ll meet again.”

— July 2001 – Dec 2001 —

Arthur returned to New York and threw himself into work with single-minded intensity.

He did not think about auburn hair or genuine laughter. Did not remember how the world had seemed gentler in her presence, or how her family’s warmth had broken something open inside him that he’d kept carefully locked away.

He especially did not think about his own cowardice. How he’d fled from a simple family dinner because it reminded him too much of what he’d lost.

The shame of it gnawed at him in quiet moments. He’d faced down dark wizards, ancient beings. But confronted with ordinary human warmth and connection, he’d run like a frightened child.

He never went back. Told himself it was better this way. He did not want to put her and her warm family in danger. They deserved a normal life.

Arthur focused on his projects instead. Safer. More controllable.

The vibranium synthesis progressed. His ancient magic techniques became more refined. Combat training continued. Eve’s capabilities expanded daily.

Sometimes, she appeared in his dreams. Always smiling. Always alive. He’d wake with an ache in his chest he couldn’t name.

“If it’s meant to be,” Arthur told himself one night, staring at the ceiling, “fate will arrange another meeting.”

It was easier than admitting he was too much of a coward to go back himself.

—

By late 2001, most of his major projects were showing positive results. Some were even completing.

The vibranium synthesis achieved a stable matrix. Ancient magic became more structured.

Success after success.

And with each achievement, the empty feeling grew worse.

Arthur tried to fill the void with hobbies.

Racing became one attempt.

Tony Stark challenged him to races in Monaco, Dubai, Nürburgring. Arthur won them all, effortlessly, but the thrill evaporated before the checkered flag.

Nothing worked. Nothing filled the void.

The Marvel events he’d been preparing for were still years away. Stark wouldn’t become Iron Man until 2009. Thanos was decades in the future.

What was he supposed to do until then? Just exist? Accumulate more wealth he didn’t need?

His parents’ voices echoed faintly in memory: Promise us you’ll try to be happy.

He’d promised. And failed.

— Jan 2002 —

Arthur made a decision.

If he couldn’t fill the void, he would at least do something worthwhile.

With Eve’s help, he filtered through thousands of charities, research initiatives, grassroots movements. Not the flashy ones. The quiet heroes: labs curing rare diseases, shelters rebuilding lives, engineers bringing clean water to villages.

Phoenix Group began donating. Quietly, efficiently, globally.

Arthur read the impact reports Eve compiled. It should have felt good.

It felt like… something. Not nothing. But not enough.

He was still just moving money from one account to another. Creating change he’d never see.

Better than nothing, but still hollow.

Arthur wanted more. He wanted to actually do something. Create something. Make a difference he could see and touch and know was real.

That’s when he remembered AIM. Advanced Idea Mechanics.

The company he’d invested in three years earlier, then forgotten.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep