Actually, what Luka wanted to say was:
Since the Ancient One needed the [Hextech Core], why not just hand over four different magical runes directly? And if it wasn't too much trouble, perhaps 'borrow' a miniature arc reactor from Tony Stark's warehouse as well.
With all that, he might even be able to synthesize the [Hextech Core] right on the spot and complete the trade with her—saving a mighty being like the Ancient One from having to wait around.
But to his surprise, she disappeared without so much as a goodbye.
All these big shots… every single one of them speaks in riddles!
Grumbling to himself, Luka mulled over why the Ancient One might want a [Hextech Core].
According to Marvel lore, most mages in this universe don't actually possess innate magic. To cast spells, they need to borrow power from dimensional entities.
And borrowing, of course, comes with the obligation to repay.
The Vishanti, the source of white magic, are relatively benign—if you use their power, it's just like working off a debt.
But with dark entities like Dormammu, even borrowing a sliver of power could lead to corruption and enslavement.
Meanwhile, the [Hextech Core] is essentially an endless source of magical energy.
Luka didn't know where it drew that power from—but with it, perhaps the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj could cast spells directly, without relying on risky cosmic borrowing.
For the Ancient One—someone who's made a habit of never repaying magical debts and even beating up her "creditors"—it might not matter much.
But for ordinary sorcerers at Kamar-Taj, it could revolutionize their practice. No more carefully rationed spells or muscle-bound monks fighting in close combat.
As these thoughts flitted through his head, Luka took one last glance toward Stark Tower.
Just then, he caught sight of Loki picking up the Tesseract.
Even from a distance, he could tell—
The Tesseract in Loki's hand radiated a brilliant white glow, far more intense than anything Luka had seen from previous "core components."
In fact, the glow even seemed to outshine the Tesseract's natural luminescence.
Luka instinctively took a step closer to get a better look.
But before he could move, Loki had already vanished through a hastily opened portal—gone before anyone noticed.
Core component… is it the Space Stone or the Tesseract itself?
That glow—whatever it could synthesize must've been incredible. What a shame.
Recalling the intensity of that glow, Luka shook his head and picked up his backpack again.
It's out of reach for now. Best not to covet what I can't handle. I'll wait and see what it can synthesize if I ever come across it again.
Right now, with his limited power, even if he got his hands on such an item, he wouldn't be able to hold onto it.
With that, Luka joined the crowds fleeing from the Hulk's rampage and began making his way home.
As he walked, he reflected:
Even if I've decided not to interfere further, Loki's escape means the future has already deviated from what I remember. And since this isn't the film timeline, I really shouldn't rely on plot events too much from here on out.
For instance, Luka recalled that the Bifrost was still damaged in the MCU timeline.
Originally, Thor was supposed to use the Tesseract to fix it.
Now that the cube was gone, returning to Earth would be much harder for him.
Also, in Endgame, Captain America returned the Stones—yet he had taken the Mind Stone inside Loki's scepter but returned only the raw Stone, not the scepter. That discrepancy would surely ripple into future events.
But for now, Luka's power and influence were negligible. Even if he could foresee the issues, he wasn't in a position to change much.
While pondering the potential impacts on future events, Luka soon arrived at the base of his apartment building.
Aside from almost being mistaken for an injured civilian by rescue workers a few times, he encountered no real trouble.
Glancing down the alleyway and seeing no sign of the returning Avengers, he prepared to head upstairs.
But just then, he noticed several paramedics rushing out of the building with a stretcher.
Beside it walked a strong, middle-aged woman—someone very familiar to Luka.
"Aunt Samira?"
Luka quickly stepped forward. The woman turned at the sound of his voice and rushed over, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"Master Luka—I thought you were…"
This woman was Samira Belyetskaya, the Oranges' chauffeur and bodyguard.
She was very close to Luka's mother, Gina Orange. Rumor had it she was a battle-hardened ex-soldier who had retired for unknown reasons to become a driver.
In Luka's memory, she'd been with the family since he was a child, with no relatives or social ties of her own—arguably the most trustworthy person around his parents.
Looking past her shoulder, Luka saw it—
Gina, his mother, was lying unconscious on the stretcher.
Still not awake? Well, at least she made it to rescue teams safely. That's something.
A pang of guilt struck Luka for leaving her home alone in critical condition. But he quickly pushed it aside.
Samira, still holding Luka, looked down at his gaze toward the stretcher. Her expression softened with sympathy.
"Sir is gone… But thank goodness you're okay, Master Luka."
She gently held his right arm—the one now missing its prosthetic.
She had intended to ask where he'd been, but instead, she bit her lip and said nothing.
Luka gave a small shake of his head.
"Lost it out on the street. How's my mother?"
He assumed Samira had just come from the company and had seen the rescue up close. She should know something.
A seasoned veteran, Samira composed herself quickly and explained:
"Just some surface wounds, already bandaged. As for the coma, the cause is unclear. They'll have to run tests at the hospital."
"Thankfully, the homeowners' association pulled strings. These rescue teams were among the first on the scene. Whether we'll need private doctors depends on the hospital's diagnosis."
Luka nodded.
Manhattan had been hit hard—center of the city, major devastation, casualties and destruction in the thousands.
But the Orange family's luxury apartment was elite property. Most residents held high social standing.
That meant top priority for both rescue and rebuilding.
Even though their company was in turmoil, the Oranges still had wealth and status. If every hospital in New York was overwhelmed, Gina would still get her private room.
As for the average citizen—many wouldn't even reach a hospital. They'd be treated in makeshift field clinics.
The casualty count was simply too high.
"My father…"
"...Sir's remains have been retrieved. The damage control division will contact a private team to take over."
"The company…"
"Downtown wasn't hit. The facilities are intact."
As they spoke, the two of them boarded the ambulance together, heading toward the hospital.