"What… is that?"
The words slipped out before Steve Rogers could stop himself. His eyes were locked on the sky above Manhattan, wide with a rare, unguarded shock that didn't belong on a man who had faced wars, monsters, and gods alike.
Lightning tore across the clouds in long, twisting arcs, each bolt resembling a silver dragon carving through the heavens. That alone would have been enough to unsettle anyone, but what truly shattered any sense of normalcy were the golden blooms scattered among the storm.
Flowers.
Golden flowers.
Blooming in midair, shimmering between thunderclaps like something pulled straight out of myth.
Steve's grip tightened slightly on his shield as a cold edge crept into his thoughts. He was stronger than an ordinary person, faster, more durable—but when it came to knowledge, to understanding phenomena beyond science, he had no overwhelming advantage.
This… this wasn't something he could explain.
"Is this another stunt by some supervillain?" he asked, turning to his teammates as if searching for confirmation, or maybe reassurance.
Clint Barton didn't answer immediately. He squinted into the distance, eyes tracking the chaotic movement of lightning, watching as it danced wildly like a storm that had lost control.
"I've never seen anything like this," he finally admitted, his voice low. "That's not normal lightning. It's… moving."
There was no pattern. No randomness either.
It looked intentional.
Behind them, Bruce Banner adjusted his glasses, his gaze analytical despite the tension in his posture. He studied the sky for several seconds before speaking, his tone carrying a quiet certainty.
"This isn't a natural weather phenomenon," he said. "The lightning, the energy fluctuations… and those structures—those 'flowers'—they're being generated. Controlled."
That single word landed heavily.
Controlled.
Steve's brows furrowed at first, the weight of the implication settling in, but then—slowly—his expression eased. If it was controlled, then it wasn't random chaos.
Which meant—
There was an enemy.
And an enemy could be faced.
He stepped forward, raising his shield slightly as he approached the gathered reporters. Cameras immediately shifted toward him, flashes going off as the moment demanded attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Steve called out, his voice firm and resonant, carrying the authority people expected from him. "What you're witnessing over Manhattan is no ordinary event. There's clearly a supernatural force at work."
He paused, letting the tension build before continuing.
"The Avengers exist to protect the people. We will head there, uncover the truth, and ensure your safety!"
The declaration hit its mark.
Applause erupted almost instantly, reporters clapping enthusiastically as excitement replaced fear. For them, this wasn't just danger—it was opportunity.
A story.
A spectacle.
Something far more thrilling than standing around recording speeches and staged charity events.
From their perspective, Steve had just handed them exactly what they needed.
Behind the stage, however, the reaction was far less enthusiastic.
"What the hell is going on?"
Nick Fury stormed out from backstage, his expression dark as he grabbed a pair of binoculars and looked toward the sky. The moment he focused in, his face changed.
Lightning.
Golden light.
And beneath it—
A tree.
A massive, ancient-looking golden tree stood faintly visible within the storm, its silhouette towering and majestic, as if it didn't belong in the modern world at all.
It looked like something pulled from myth.
Something that shouldn't exist.
"The more beautiful something looks…" Fury muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening slightly, "…the more dangerous it usually is."
Years of experience told him this wasn't just some random mutant incident. This was something bigger, something far more unpredictable.
Still, his mind immediately began running through possibilities.
A high-level mutant?
Someone connected to Charles Xavier and his school?
Or worse—
Someone tied to Magneto and the Brotherhood?
Either option spelled trouble.
Serious trouble.
His gaze darkened as he glanced toward Steve.
Reckless.
That was the only word that came to mind.
Steve didn't just represent himself—he represented the Avengers. Every action, every decision, every mistake would be magnified a hundred times over.
And now he had just publicly committed them to confronting something they didn't understand.
Without consulting him.
Without preparation.
Fury's expression hardened further as Steve approached, still carrying that same unwavering confidence.
"This could be our chance to turn things around," Steve said, his tone steady, almost optimistic. "If we handle this right, it'll help restore the Avengers' reputation."
"Or," Fury cut in sharply, "it'll humiliate you in front of the entire world if you don't."
The tension between them spiked instantly.
Steve didn't back down.
"I'll take responsibility," he said.
Fury let out a short, humorless scoff. "You'd better."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Everyone present understood exactly what he meant.
If this went wrong—
There would be consequences.
Steve simply smiled, brushing off the warning as he turned his gaze toward Banner. He knew exactly what kind of power Banner held once he transformed.
If things escalated…
The Hulk would handle it.
Even if something truly dangerous appeared, they wouldn't be helpless.
"Move out," Steve ordered, tightening the strap of his shield against his arm. "Let's go."
The team began to mobilize.
At the rear of the group, Banner hesitated slightly, his expression far less composed than the others. He adjusted his sleeves absentmindedly, clearly uncomfortable with the direction things were heading.
This wasn't what he wanted.
Not anymore.
There had been a time when he didn't shy away from conflict, when the Hulk's presence was something he relied on. But now?
Now he just wanted a quiet life.
Research.
A normal routine.
A job that didn't involve smashing things—or people.
And yet here he was again, being pulled back into it.
He couldn't refuse.
Not like this.
Not in front of Steve.
So he stayed silent, swallowing his reluctance as he followed along. But deep down, something had already begun to take shape.
A decision.
This place—
S.H.I.E.L.D.—
He couldn't stay here much longer.
—
"Hello everyone, it's your favorite host, April, coming to you live."
The camera feed flickered slightly before stabilizing, revealing April O'Neil standing confidently in front of the chaos unfolding behind her. Her voice was clear, energetic, carrying both excitement and sharp intent.
"Right now, above Manhattan, we're witnessing something unbelievable. A massive golden tree has appeared in the sky, surrounded by lightning that looks almost… ceremonial."
She gestured upward, where the storm continued to rage, golden blossoms flashing between bolts of thunder.
"It's like something out of a myth," she continued, her tone rising with intensity. "A miracle. A legend. Maybe even the start of something historic."
Then her expression shifted slightly, a hint of disdain slipping through.
"And according to my sources, the Avengers are on their way to investigate."
She let out a small, almost amused breath.
"I'll say it right now—they're going to fail."
There was no hesitation.
No attempt to soften the statement.
In April's eyes, the Avengers had long since lost their credibility. Behind the polished speeches and heroic image, she saw nothing but hypocrisy.
Ever since their public humiliation—especially that incident involving the so-called heroes getting outplayed—her stance had only hardened.
And now?
She wasn't just another reporter.
She was leading the narrative.
New York was a city built on free speech, and with the backing she had—subtle but powerful—she wasn't afraid to speak her mind.
"Still," she added, her voice firm, "I'll be here to cover everything, no matter what happens."
Behind her, the cameraman shifted position, angling the shot toward the storm just as a new movement entered the frame.
A sleek aircraft hovered briefly—
Then figures dropped from it.
One after another.
Steve Rogers.
Natasha Romanoff.
Clint Barton.
Bruce Banner.
Descending straight toward the storm.
Toward the golden tree.
Toward something far beyond their understanding.
They were walking directly into it.
Into the domain of a god.
.....
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