In the quiet elegance of Akira's private office, sunlight filtered through enchanted glass panels, casting faint geometric patterns across the polished floors. The city outside buzzed with life, but in here, time seemed slower — deliberate, like the calculated moves of a master chess player.
Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Black Widow, stood by the doorway, arms crossed, her emerald eyes scanning every corner with cautious precision. Despite her impeccable training, there was something different about this place. Not just technology, but... something older. Deeper.
Akira leaned casually against the marble desk, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips. His eyes, green as polished jade, held an impossible depth — not just the gaze of a man, but of someone who had seen centuries unfold.
"You know, Natasha," he began, his voice smooth, carrying that enigmatic calm, "SHIELD must have told you everything they know about me."
Her gaze sharpened, though her expression remained cool. "They told me the files don't add up. No age records. No medical history beyond basic data. And that you... never seem to age."
Akira chuckled softly, the sound warm yet filled with quiet amusement. "It's funny how people always try to fit the unknown into their little boxes of logic." He tilted his head. "But here's the truth — I haven't aged because I don't follow the same rules you do."
Her posture tensed, fingers flexing by her side. "What exactly are you saying?"
Instead of answering directly, Akira's eyes drifted upward, unfocused for a moment — but only to her. In truth, his thoughts stretched beyond space.
Father, Akira's mind whispered, telepathically reaching beyond mortal perception.
The familiar, amused voice of God echoed in his thoughts, filled with ancient humor. You're showing off again, aren't you?
Only a little, Akira replied, hiding a smirk. She deserves at least some truth.
God's laugh rumbled like distant thunder, affectionate and teasing. Careful, son. Humans get funny when you crack their reality open too fast.
Meanwhile, Natasha's sharp mind worked overtime, her instincts warring with curiosity. Everything about Akira screamed impossible — yet he stood there, undeniably real.
"You said 'the same rules I do'," Natasha pressed. "Meaning?"
Akira's eyes settled back on hers, calm, unwavering. "Meaning... I know past, present, and future, Natasha Romanoff. I walk through them as easily as you cross a street."
Her breath caught — involuntary, subtle, but there. The precision assassin, trained to show no weakness, felt the cracks of disbelief widening.
"And let me guess," she quipped, masking uncertainty with sarcasm, "you're some kind of time traveler?"
"Something more complicated." His smile deepened, holding secrets she couldn't decipher. "But I know enough to say this — your world isn't as fixed as it seems. And your fate?" He leaned in slightly. "It's still very much unwritten."
Natasha hated uncertainty. She lived by control, by calculated risks. But this man — no, this being — unraveled all of that with a few words.
Before she could respond, Akira reached into his coat and tossed a sleek, unfamiliar device onto the table. A phone — but unlike anything she'd seen, far beyond modern tech.
"I could tell you everything," Akira said softly, "but where's the fun in that?" His eyes glinted with quiet rebellion. "Besides, knowing your future isn't as interesting as shaping it."
Father, Akira whispered again, mind to mind. She's beginning to question things.
Good, came the warm, amused reply. That's where the real growth starts. Let her figure it out herself. But stay close — you'll like where this leads.
Akira smiled, turning his full attention to Natasha once more.
Her walls remained, but cracks had formed. And Akira, with infinite patience, knew how to wait.