Seeing the future isn't difficult, not when Leon wields the Sky Blade. With their blessing, his dominion over knowledge expands infinitely, granting him the ability to predict events yet to come.
But for Leon, such measures are unnecessary.
The current timeline no longer resembles the original. His presence alone has altered the trajectory of history, veering it onto an unpredictable path—one that neither the Sorcerer Supreme, the Ancient One, nor the All-Father, Odin, can fully perceive.
Timelines aren't static; they're fluid, shaped by countless possibilities that shift with every thought, action, or decision. Despite this, beings like the Ancient One and Odin have accepted the changes, so long as their broader designs remain untouched. One chose to suspend her own death to traverse the multiverse in pursuit of Eternity, while the other retired to the Valhalla, leaving the mortal plane behind.
Leon shared a kinship with them in this sense—an existence behind the scenes, influencing events with clear objectives in mind. His plans were already in motion, and he awaited the harvest day with quiet patience.
Wanda Maximoff, meanwhile, sat with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
She had moved past her hatred for Tony Stark, but that didn't mean she couldn't indulge in a little mischief. Her mind buzzed with inspiration, conjuring ways to spring unexpected "surprises" on Tony. Letting Bucky off the hook earlier had been a small experiment, a test of the waters.
Now, her thoughts wandered to darker territory. She mused on how much fun it would be to amplify Bucky's and Captain America's abilities with a touch of magic before pitting them against Tony. It would be such a spectacle.
"Hehe..." Wanda grinned sinisterly, her expression so comically devious it was almost cartoonish.
Leon, observing her from the other side of the room, sighed. His "little witch" seemed to be awakening some troubling attributes. He shook his head with a mix of amusement and pity—for Tony, of course.
While Leon was above petty antics, he couldn't help but appreciate the thought of Stark being outwitted. There was no malice in it, just an opportunity too entertaining to ignore.
At the villa's entrance, the sound of maids announcing guests broke the tranquility. Natasha Romanoff entered with Melina and Yelena following close behind.
"Hey, did you enjoy your family dinner?" Wanda asked, draping herself lazily over the back of the sofa, her curiosity piqued.
Natasha had left earlier that morning, mentioning a family gathering with Melina, Yelena, and Alexei. The dinner had been Alexei's idea—a chance for him to play the role of doting father to Melina and their two daughters.
Yelena flopped onto the sofa with a groan, burying her face in a pillow. Her muffled voice emerged, tinged with exasperation. "Believe me, it was awful. Never again."
Natasha and Melina exchanged helpless glances before settling down beside her.
"Wow, sounds like you all had fun," Wanda teased, her curiosity deepening.
The maids arrived with trays of fresh fruit and iced juice, placing them on the table before retreating. Natasha shrugged as she reached for a glass.
"Let's just say Alexei's idea of fun doesn't align with ours," she replied.
"Do tell," Wanda said eagerly.
"You wouldn't believe it," Natasha began. "He decided to fly us to Russia to 'develop our skills.'"
Yelena groaned louder, cutting in. "And then he thought it'd be a great idea to remind us of the 'good old days' in the Red Room."
Leon and Wanda exchanged a glance, their expressions turning serious. Natasha had once confided in them about her traumatic experiences in the Red Room—gruelling training, relentless conditioning, and an unyielding demand for perfection. Even the smallest details, like enduring nauseating "food," had been used to test the trainees' willpower.
"Alexei captured a wild boar," Natasha continued, her tone dripping with disbelief. "He made uncured pork belly soaked in salt—still streaked with blood and smelling, well...you get the picture."
"Don't forget the roasted beef shank and the chaga tea," Yelena added with a shudder.
"And the blintzes, pies, herring salad, and borscht," Natasha said. "Things that should've been good—except Alexei managed to ruin them all."
"The worst part," Yelena groaned, "is that he genuinely thought it was a feast. He kept insisting we eat every last bite, like it was some grand gesture of love. And if we hesitated, he'd get teary-eyed, like a child."
"It was torture," Natasha concluded with a shake of her head.
"Next time someone suggests a family dinner, I'm shooting them," Yelena declared, her face pale at the memory.
Leon and Wanda burst into laughter, their amusement unrestrained. The schadenfreude was too delicious to ignore.
"Want Johnny to whip you up something?" Leon offered between chuckles.
"Nope," Yelena shot back, leaping off the sofa. "I don't want to see food—or that sentimental idiot—for at least two days." She stomped off, leaving the others laughing in her wake.
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