Earth was profoundly different from my home world.
Even after two months, I still had not grasped all of this planet's common sense. Human customs were strange, their technology stranger still. However, I had learned enough to survive without drawing excessive attention to myself.
Most of that was thanks to Noah.
Over the past two months, he had taken it upon himself to teach me everything—from how to use a smartphone to why humans found it inappropriate to stare at strangers for extended periods.
Apparently, observing people too intently was "creepy."
Humans were odd.
When I had first arrived in this world, I had made the mistake of allowing my temper to control me. The display of strength that damaged the reinforced window in the infirmary had attracted unwanted attention.
Fortunately, they still knew nothing about mana.
The doctors concluded that the unidentified alien artifact the original Ian had been transporting had somehow altered both my body and mind.
My memory loss was likewise attributed to that same object.
For that, I was grateful.
Even so, living under constant observation was unpleasant.
The doctors feared that the artifact might continue influencing me in unforeseen ways. As a result, I remained under probation while undergoing rehabilitation to "regain the muscle mass lost during my coma."
From their perspective, I was recovering.
From mine, I was adapting.
I was learning this body's limits, refining its reflexes, and observing the world around me.
At present, I was doing precisely that.
Training Room Fifteen.
"Yo, captain is here." Noah tapped my shoulder to get my attention.
"Hm?" I looked toward the entrance. "Ah. Right. Today's Thursday."
Two individuals had entered the large training facility.
One was a tall blond man with broad shoulders and an easy smile.
The other was a red-haired woman whose every movement radiated grace and danger in equal measure.
Once a week, I sparred with the blond man.
When I had first encountered him training alone in a nearby gym, I had challenged him immediately.
Noah had proven largely useless as a combat instructor. He excelled at teaching me social customs, technology, and modern history, but he possessed neither the instincts nor experience of a true warrior.
Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was different.
The first time we fought, I immediately recognized it.
He reminded me of my old sword master.
Honorable.
Disciplined.
Resolute.
A warrior in every sense of the word.
He was the ideal opponent for testing this body's capabilities.
He also served another purpose.
By measuring myself against him, I could determine how much power to reveal.
Too much strength would place expectations upon me.
Too little would leave me dismissed and overlooked.
For now, moderation was best.
"Mr. Rogers," I greeted as the pair approached. "It is a pleasure to spar with you again."
Steve grinned and extended a hand.
"Glad to be here too."
His handshake was firm.
Appropriate for a warrior.
Beside him, Natasha Romanoff merely offered a faint smile.
"Well, gentlemen, I'll leave you to it."
She turned gracefully and headed toward the exit.
I watched her go.
Noah had informed me that Agent Romanoff was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest-ranking operatives and among Director Fury's most trusted agents.
An impressive accomplishment.
Though I suspected her decision not to stay had little to do with disinterest.
The training rooms were monitored extensively.
She had no need to watch personally when the cameras recorded everything.
Both Steve and I were subjects of interest.
Steve Rogers—the legendary hero who had recently returned after being presumed dead for nearly seventy years.
And myself—an agent displaying unexplained abilities.
"Uh... I'm gonna head out too," Noah said absentmindedly.
His eyes remained fixed on Agent Romanoff's retreating figure.
He hurried after her like a lovestruck puppy.
I had observed this behavior many times.
His affection was obvious.
Her reciprocation was not.
Steve watched Noah leave before chuckling.
"Poor guy."
I inclined my head.
"Unrequited affection appears to be a common human tragedy."
Steve barked out a laugh.
"You've been reading poetry again, haven't you?"
I had.
Humans wrote fascinating literature.
Steve removed his sweatshirt and tossed it onto a nearby bench before stretching.
I stepped onto the mats opposite him.
"Are you prepared, sir?" I asked.
"Always."
He raised his fists.
"Let's go."
I nodded.
Steve struck first.
He launched a powerful punch toward my head, the force behind it creating a sharp gust of wind.
I tilted my head, allowing the strike to pass harmlessly by.
At the same moment, I drove a jab toward his exposed ribs.
Steve reacted instantly, lowering his elbow to block before retreating several steps.
Excellent reflexes.
The spar continued.
Punches.
Kicks.
Blocks.
Counters.
An hour passed in a blur.
Sweat dripped down my face as Steve launched a high kick toward my temple.
I raised an arm to intercept it.
The impact reverberated through my entire body.
Without hesitation, I trapped his leg and swept his supporting foot out from beneath him.
Rather than fall, Steve twisted in midair and landed on his hands before flipping upright.
"Hah!" he laughed, breathing heavily. "Nice one! You've gotten a lot better."
"I am pleased to receive such praise from you," I replied honestly while regulating my breathing.
Steve shook his head with amusement.
"You know, for a guy in his twenties, you talk like you're from the Middle Ages."
Ah.
My speech patterns.
Humans frequently commented on them.
"There is little I can do about that," I admitted. "This manner of speaking feels most natural to me."
"Fair enough." He grabbed his sweatshirt. "But seriously, stop calling me 'sir.' Makes me feel old."
I considered this.
"Very well... Steven."
He smiled.
"See? Much better."
He headed toward the exit.
"I'm gonna hit the showers. See you next week, Ian."
"Until then."
I remained in the training room for another hour.
Once evening arrived, I returned to my assigned living quarters.
The bathroom had initially proven one of the most confusing aspects of human life.
As beings created directly from Lord Father's light, my people had never required food, sleep, or bodily functions. Mana sustained us completely.
Humans, however, seemed burdened with endless needs.
Food.
Water.
Sleep.
Bathing.
The list appeared infinite.
I still had not memorized all of them.
As I exited the shower, a realization struck me.
Dinner time had already passed.
The cafeteria would be closed.
I stared at the clock.
How unfortunate.
No matter.
I would simply eat tomorrow.
After changing into the small garments humans referred to as boxers, I sat upon my bed with a towel draped over my damp hair.
My attention turned toward the object resting on the bedside table.
Ian's phone.
I had spent considerable time searching through its contents.
There was little to find.
Mostly work contacts, mission reports, and schedules.
Nothing personal.
The room itself reflected its owner.
Everything was arranged with meticulous precision.
Perfect symmetry. Perfect order. Black and white tones only.
The small apartment was devoid of any decorations, photographs, or keepsakes.
No signs that someone truly lived here.
A man ruled by routine, disciplined and reserved, considered reliable. Yet distant.
When I questioned Noah and the others, they described Ian as friendly enough, if somewhat quiet.
Noah was the only personal connection I could find with Ian, a coworker he'd see once in a while. Ian had no family, no lover, no friends. No one, yet when I asked around, people said I was amicable and friendly yet usually silent and I kept to myself. There were no extremes in his personality, he was luke warm to everything. He was in the background.
An empty canvas, is what he reminded me of.
I fall back on to the bed with a plop. I chuckle as I stare at the ceiling. I repeat his name in my mind. My new name.
Ian, Ian King. His name was so ironic I continued to laugh.
I had been chosen to be king, but I refused at that time. The result was catastrophic. Is this fate telling me I can never escape from this title?
Lord father had wallowed in loneliness for eternity before he broke his soul apart to create brother and I. Brother had destroyed our planets' peace and prosperity to satisfy his greed for something that would have been his after father naturally passed.
The crown is too heavy, I've seen the burden that comes with it. The greed to possess it.
I wanted no part of it.
Here, I would live freely. I would owe nothing to kings. No responsibility to the people, to the nation, to the gods of this world.
My fate would belong to me alone.