It was the last week of summer break, and most high school seniors accepted to the same university as Solomon had plans lined up—mostly trips or volunteer work. However, Solomon's future classmates were a bit different. Their destination, Merton College, Oxford, was steeped in ancient wealth and an intense academic atmosphere. For most of them, learning wasn't just an obligation but their only passion.
Solomon shared that focus.
Unlike the rowdy Oriol College students obsessed with athletics or the politically charged Bellatons, and certainly different from the notoriously queer-friendly Wadham College crowd, Merton's students were the quintessential "bookworms." Contrary to popular assumptions, though, Merton's atmosphere wasn't somber. It hosted Oxford's only Christmas ball each year, a tradition Solomon had no intention of participating in. He didn't even want to attend the six mandatory formal dinners held each week.
Unfortunately for him, attendance wasn't optional, so Solomon had to figure out a way to negotiate with the college administration.
The tranquil stained-glass windows, the silver organ pipes, and the serene, academic air of Merton College resonated deeply with Solomon's aesthetic sensibilities. Apart from Kamar-Taj, there might be no better place to pursue magical (or academic) research than here.
After partially wiping Coulson's memories, Solomon had been preoccupied with this matter—an issue so pressing it ranked alongside his magical studies. Avoiding formal college dinners felt as daunting as confronting Dormammu. And if Solomon couldn't return to New York for evening meals, Jeanne d'Arc would likely barge into Oxfordshire with a gun in hand to retrieve him.
Jane Foster had come to his rescue.
What better excuse could Solomon have than being mentored by a Nobel-nominated scientist? If Jane Foster could write to Merton's Dean, explaining that Solomon needed to commute to her London-based "lab" daily, he'd have a perfect alibi to skip dinners and return to New York for his meals.
This favor, however, came with a steep cost. Solomon had to help Jane Foster analyze the Rainbow Bridge, an extraordinarily stable Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Jane dreamed of building her own Rainbow Bridge to reach Asgard instead of waiting for Thor to descend to Earth.
Of course, the tales Frigga had told Solomon about the Rainbow Bridge—a story involving a wizard falling in love with an extradimensional entity and crafting the bridge—were dismissed by Jane as Asgardian fairy tales. To her, such a natural phenomenon couldn't possibly have been created by humans.
Jane believed the Asgardians hadn't invented the Rainbow Bridge but merely harnessed its properties.
"I don't have the time for this, Professor," Solomon grumbled. While Jane had helped him gain entry to Merton, he couldn't dedicate all his time to her "lab," which was nothing more than her book-filled apartment with a couple of whiteboards.
He had bigger priorities. His synthetic army was nearly ready to emerge from their vats, and the armor designs he'd created for them were in their final stages, awaiting Tony Stark's refinements.
Unlike Stark's Iron Man suits, Solomon's synthetic soldiers' armor would lack flashy weapons or nerve-controlled systems like the MK42. Instead, they'd use traditional force-feedback exoskeletons—akin to Stark's earlier pre-MK42 designs.
For Stark, the challenge wasn't technical. He could finalize the designs during breaks from deciphering Asgardian tech. His real complaint lay in Solomon's aesthetic choices.
This damned medieval barbarian wizard!
Solomon had vetoed Stark's idea of integrating a full-coverage suit like the MK5, arguing it would sacrifice armor thickness and protection. He rejected Stark's plan to place the power core on the chest, considering it an obvious target for enemies. He even dismissed the inclusion of jet boosters on the armor's feet. Instead, Solomon took inspiration from medieval leg armor, opting for alloy-crafted high-heeled boots—a design Stark begrudgingly admitted was clever.
Worst of all, Solomon refused Stark's red-and-gold color scheme, demanding minimalist black and white instead. Even the helmet's design underwent numerous revisions before Solomon finally approved an external designer's take.
The result looked nothing like a cutting-edge technological marvel. It resembled modern, clunky medieval armor—thick, heavy, and devoid of the sleek lines associated with advanced tech. Stark's frustration boiled over as he muttered curses about Solomon's lack of appreciation for technological beauty.
Still, Stark focused his efforts on the life-support system, a critical component Solomon valued most. The synthetic soldiers were expensive, and with the additional development and manufacturing costs, Solomon couldn't afford to lose even one.
This wasn't even Solomon's most pressing task. In fact, it barely demanded much of his time. Far more significant was an unexpected project within the Immortal City: Maya Hansen's latest "idea."
She had begun studying alchemy.
The brilliant biologist planned to integrate alchemical principles and the Philosopher's Stone into her genetic research. With access to Solomon's office, she could delve into resources unsuited for Kamar-Taj storage, including alchemical and dark magic texts. This forced Solomon to compile reading lists and tutor her in alchemy—a course he tied to the Sola Redlin Druids' mysticism lessons. Without the endless stamina granted by his Holy Seal, Solomon doubted he could endure such a hectic schedule.
Maya's goal was to refine the Extremis virus through genetic micro-adjustments while using alchemical transmutation to manipulate reversible epigenetic expressions. She hoped to imbue subjects with specific traits like bravery or caution. Solomon fully supported this endeavor; the last thing he wanted was his genetically modified soldiers betraying him.
If successful, Maya could win a Nobel Prize in Physiology—though she cared little for worldly accolades. Death remained an unavoidable hurdle. Even with carefully tailored gene samples, not all subjects would survive the procedure. The inclusion of magical elements added further unpredictability.
Maya knew this all too well.
Earlier, Solomon had urged her to prepare herself mentally. Her solution was to combat her doubts head-on. Through research, she sought to minimize casualties—a way of fighting back against the grim reality of her work.
"We'll have test subjects soon," Solomon reassured her. "They're all base-level scum from terrorist organizations. I promise you, Maya, these people are irredeemable. Experiment on them without guilt."
"I'm the professional here, Solomon. Even mature Extremis strains can fail catastrophically. Introducing complex genetic modifications without guarantees is reckless. Even if early tests succeed, I can't promise long-term viability," Maya said, looking disheveled from overwork. She had thrown herself completely into her research, neglecting self-care. Without the help of ROOT's newly installed server matrix, her condition might have been even worse when Solomon returned to the Immortal City.
"When do you plan to act?" she asked.
"After I start university, Maya."
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