Marvel: Founder of Magic World

Central Park — The Ramble

Near the Stone Bridge, Beneath the Old Willow Tree

8:45 AM

Summer in New York was loud, bright, and heavy with heat. But not here.

The Ramble in Central Park felt oddly… still.

The kind of stillness that prickled beneath the skin. The air was cooler beneath the tangle of branches, and though the city buzzed beyond the trees, this space — under an old, drooping willow near a worn stone bridge — felt like it had been cut from a different world.

Peter Parker stood stiffly between Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

His backpack hung off one shoulder, slightly too big for his frame. In his hands, he held the thick envelope — parchment-like and cream-colored, with green ink and an unfamiliar crest pressed into the wax seal. It hadn't left his sight since yesterday.

They had tried everything.

May had put the letter through the shredder. The blades caught, whined, and stopped. Ben tried burning the corner over the kitchen stove. The flame danced, then flickered out like someone had blown on it. Peter, trembling, once tried to tear it in half — but the paper held, like soft metal.

"I still don't like this," May murmured, eyeing the surroundings warily. "No official names, no phone number, no… anything."

"It's a park," Ben said gently. "At least it's not some back alley."

Peter fidgeted, voice small. "You think it's fake?"

Ben sighed. "If it is, it's the most committed fake I've ever seen. That owl knew your name. Our address. It dropped that thing right in the living room."

 "And we're listening to enchanted mail now?" she snapped, more from nerves than anger.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck. "We agreed we'd hear them out. If it's a scam, we leave."

Peter glanced at the willow. "What if it's not?"

Ben and May didn't answer.

Footsteps sounded behind them — quick, light, familiar.

"Peter?"

He turned fast.

Gwen Stacy jogged up, wide-eyed, hugging her own letter close to her chest. "Oh my god. You too?"

Peter almost smiled. "Yeah."

Behind her came her parents. Captain George Stacy scanned the area like he was responding to a potential crime scene. His hand hovered near his belt — not over a gun, but close enough. Helen Stacy walked beside him, tense and pale, one hand protectively gripping Gwen's shoulder.

"You two know each other?" George asked, voice firm.

"We go to Midtown together," Gwen explained, eyes on Peter.

Helen glanced at May. "You're his mother?"

"His aunt," May said, holding Peter closer. "And you?"

"Her mother. And absolutely not okay with any of this."

 "Peter," May said, stepping closer. "He got the same letter. Same owl."

Helen exhaled slowly. "We thought we were the only ones."

"You're not," Peter said quietly.

George was already scanning the area with a detective's eyes. "You know how many missing person reports come through Central Park every year?"

"Dad," Gwen whispered, embarrassed. "They said we'd meet someone here. A guide."

George narrowed his eyes at the letter in Gwen's hands. "Tried scanning it. Nothing. Copying didn't work either."

"Someone we've never met," George snapped. "With no badge, no paperwork, no proof. You don't follow instructions from owls, Gwen."

Peter piped up, "The owl knew my name, too. It just… stared at me until I took the letter."

May added, "We tried everything. We couldn't even tear it."

Helen added, "We even tried photographing it. Comes out blank. Every time."

May nodded. "We tried fire."

Ben looked uneasy. "Didn't even singe."

Peter added, "And it... hums sometimes. Like... like it's aware of you."

Another voice cut in.

"So we're all going crazy together."

Mary Jane Watson walked into view, clutching her letter tightly, her red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her parents followed closely — her mom unusually quiet, her dad scanning the trees, their usual bickering absent for once.

"MJ?" Peter blinked.

She nodded. "Let me guess — owl, letter, your name in handwriting that looks like it came from a movie?"

"You got one too?" Gwen asked.

MJ lifted the envelope. "I thought it was a prank. Until my dad tried to steam it open and it literally resealed itself."

Her mom turned to the others. "Is anyone actually sure this isn't some trick? Some… dangerous game? We tried to throw the letter away three times. It was back on the counter every time."

Her dad nodded. "I left it on the porch. Locked the door. Next morning it was on the pillow next to her."

Everyone fell quiet.

The air felt thicker now.

Then came the deliberate click of polished heels.

Felicia Hardy walked like she was on a runway — calm, cold, and composed. Her mother, Lydia Hardy, followed with cold poise — immaculate makeup, manicured hands, lips tight. Her father, Walter Hardy, kept behind them both, coat drawn closed despite the heat. His face was unreadable, but his eyes scanned the trees like someone trained to find exits.

Felicia's eyes flicked across the group. "This is getting weird."

Peter muttered to Gwen, "She got one too?"

Felicia's eyes locked on him. "Yes, Parker. I got one. Though I thought Hogwarts was a fictional place for nerds."

"You read it?" Gwen asked.

"After my mom tried to iron it flat and my dad tested it with gloves," Felicia said dryly. "We figured we should at least hear them out."

Walter finally spoke, voice low. "The material doesn't respond to pressure. Or temperature."

Lydia snorted. "Of course it doesn't. It's not real."

"But we're here," Ben reminded gently.

Walter's gaze swept the clearing. "So are all of you."

Suddenly, there was a yelp.

"Sorry! Sorry—I'm not late, am I?!"

Missy Kallenback stumbled into the clearing, her backpack nearly falling apart, her clipboard clutched to her chest. Her glasses had fogged up slightly from the jog.

"Missy!" Gwen brightened. "You got one too?"

Missy nodded. "Yeah. Owl flew into our apartment window. My mom thought it was a hallucination. I ran data projections."

Her mom, still in blue hospital scrubs, rubbed her temples. "And I tried to put it through the laminator. It jammed and the paper came out whole. Untouched."

Missy's dad, quiet and broad-shouldered, held the envelope like it might still bite.

"Statistically," Missy said calmly, "this many children receiving identical magical letters on the same date, same formatting, delivered by trained birds, suggests intentionality. And design. Not coincidence."

Felicia whispered to Peter, "Is she always like this?"

"Pretty much."

Missy looked around. "Who's leading this orientation?"

No one answered.

Then—

A black car pulled up just beyond the path.

The door opened. Bernard stepped out, eyes alert, movements precise.

Then Harry Osborn.

He looked cleaner, sharper than the others — like he'd already prepared for something grand. But the second he saw Peter, Gwen, and MJ, he hesitated.

"Harry?" Peter blinked.

Harry Osborn climbed out and gave Peter a lopsided grin. "Guess this wasn't just a joke after all."

Peter stepped forward. "You got one too?"

Bernard kept a close distance behind him.

Then Norman Osborn emerged.

He looked impeccable — suit tailored, posture flawless, expression neutral. But his eyes were scanning. Not with suspicion. With calculation.

He had left Emily — his wife, his love — with a full team of doctors. A private hospital floor. He'd cancelled two board meetings, three interviews, and locked his schedule for the next two days.

He needed to see this for himself.

Ordinary children.

With letters just like the one his son had received.

Captain Stacy stepped forward, cautious. "Captain George Stacy. NYPD."

"Norman Osborn," he replied, shaking his hand firmly. "This is my son, Harry."

Ben followed. "Ben Parker. Peter's uncle."

Norman glanced at him. "Peter. He's a bright one. I've heard the name."

He turned slightly, addressing the group.

"So… this wasn't exclusive," he said. "They sent these to children from all over."

Walter Hardy gave a small grunt. "Odd company."

Lydia Hardy gave Norman a once-over. "I didn't expect to see OsCorp here."

"I didn't expect to see my son invited to a magical school," Norman replied smoothly.

Walter Hardy spoke for the first time to him. "It wasn't income-based either."

"No," Norman agreed. "Something else."

Then one final figure walked up from behind the path.

"Parker."

Peter sighed. "Of course."

Eddie Brock stood with a smug grin, hands in his hoodie pockets. His parents — tired, quiet, uneasy — walked behind him.

"You got one too?" Gwen asked.

Eddie shrugged. "Apparently I'm magic now. Pretty cool, huh?"

Missy mumbled, "This is statistically improbable."

"Not if you assume the selection is based on undisclosed magical genetic traits," Eddie said, pulling out his wrinkled letter.

Missy stared. "Wait. You read that?"

"I skimmed," Eddie grinned.

Peter looked around at the group: his friends, his rival, their families — all standing beneath the willow, clutching impossible letters, unsure of what they were walking into.

No one had answers.

But they had questions. And fear. And hope.

And as the silence stretched…

They waited.

For whatever was coming next.

Central Park – The Ramble

Near the Stone Bridge, Beneath the Old Willow Tree

9:00 AM

For the families gathered in the shaded clearing beneath the willow, it was as if the world itself had paused. The usual hum of Central Park—the distant laughter of joggers, the bark of dogs, the occasional rattle of a passing bike—had vanished, swallowed by a silence too deep to be natural.

Someone glanced at their phone.

"Is it nine o'clock?" a voice asked quietly.

"Yeah," another replied. "Just turned."

Peter Parker stood near the edge of the stone path, still gripping Aunt May's hand. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. Uncle Ben stood firm beside them, tense and alert.

Then it happened.

The willow tree moved.

Its long, curtain-like branches didn't sway—they rose, slow and deliberate, like they were being pulled by invisible strings. The massive trunk behind them glimmered faintly, as if it were made not of wood, but something else—something living.

Helen Stacy caught her breath. "George… the tree…"

Captain George Stacy instinctively stepped in front of Gwen, arm outstretched across her chest, the other hand lowering to the holster at his hip. "Everyone stay back."

Aunt May pulled Peter closer. "Ben, what is that? What's happening?"

"I don't know," Ben said, his voice low. "But we're not alone."

Peter's eyes were locked on the tree. "It's glowing," he whispered. "Trees don't glow."

Across the path, Missy Kallenback's parents froze. Her mother clutched her purse tightly, as if reason or logic might be buried somewhere inside it." Her father instinctively stepped in front of Missy, shielding her from the glowing trunk.

Missy, unusually quiet, stared wide-eyed at the tree. "That's… not normal," she whispered. "It's like a door—but there's no door. It just… opened by itself."

Mary Jane Watson let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

Her mother wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "We shouldn't be here."

Her father narrowed his eyes, still holding a half-empty coffee cup, now forgotten in his hand.

Felicia Hardy stood motionless. "Mom?" she asked quietly.

Lydia Hardy didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on the tree, lips parted. She moved closer to her daughter and gripped her wrist tightly. The earlier scorn in her voice had vanished. Walter Hardy stood beside them, eyes locked on the tree, posture calm—but too calm. Calculating.

"That's not sleight of hand," Walter murmured. "That's real."

Norman Osborn didn't speak. His eyes moved from the tree to the children. To the other parents. Measuring everything. Judging. Preparing.

"Bernard," he said simply.

The older man stepped between Harry and the tree at once. "Yes, sir."

Harry tilted his head. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"No," Norman replied coldly. "It isn't."

Even Eddie Brock's usual swagger faltered. His brows drew together. "Okay, that's… different."

His mother whispered to his father. "This is insane.

His father said nothing, just placed a steadying hand on Eddie's shoulder.

Then, the tree opened.

Not like a door. The bark itself peeled back, ancient and groaning, revealing a narrow passage of gold-tinged light within the trunk.

And from it, a figure emerged.

There was no smoke. No spell. Only quiet certainty.

A woman stepped forward, cloaked in deep indigo robes embroidered with silver thread. Her skin was a warm brown tone, her black hair streaked with silver and tied in a coiled braid. She carried no staff, no wand, no obvious tool of power. And yet the air shifted subtly as she moved.

She came to a stop in the clearing, posture tall, presence unshakable.

"I am Aradia Vance," she said. "Senior magical guide on behalf of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The silence that followed was deafening.

George Stacy spoke first. "You came… through a tree."

"I did," Aradia replied calmly.

"That's impossible," MJ's mother said.

Aradia turned to her. "Yet here I stand."

Walter Hardy took a slow step forward. "Illusions don't make entrances like that without prep teams."

"This is no illusion," Aradia said. "What you witnessed is an ancient magical portal, hidden from the non-magical world. It opens only when summoned."

May's hands trembled on Peter's shoulders. "This is insane."

"Or perhaps it's long overdue," Aradia said. "Tell me—have your children done things you couldn't explain? Things you convinced yourselves were tricks, accidents, odd coincidences?"

Gwen's voice came softly. "The hallway lights at school blew out when I got angry."

Helen nodded slowly. "We blamed faulty wiring."

"The time I fell off the garage roof…" Peter whispered. "I should've broken something. But I didn't. I… floated."

Missy blinked behind her glasses. "The thermometer that melted in my hand. The magnets. The time I heard someone's thoughts…"

"It was magic," Aradia said. "All of it. Each of your children was born with magical potential. They are what we call Magi. And they have been invited to study at Hogwarts."

Norman Osborn finally spoke. "You're telling us our children are… wizards."

"I am telling you that they are part of a world that has existed for thousands of years," Aradia said. "A world hidden from your own. Hogwarts is a school founded centuries ago to safely teach magical children to understand and control their gifts. It is not a fantasy. It is real."

Lydia Hardy crossed her arms. "And you want us to just hand them over to some… secret society?"

"I want you to understand what's at stake," Aradia said. "Your children's powers will grow, whether or not they are trained. Without guidance, magic can become unstable—even dangerous. But in the right environment, it can be one of the most beautiful forces in existence."

Ben raised a brow. "And this Hogwarts place? Where is it?"

"Hidden," Aradia said. "But reachable from our world. It is protected by layers of ancient enchantments. Students live there during the school year, but remain in contact with their families. They are taught not just spells and theory—but discipline, history, ethics, and control."

"And who oversees all this?" asked MJ's father.

"There is a Headmaster," Aradia said. "A board of governors. And an international body of magical law that monitors magical education in every region of the world."

MJ's father narrowed his eyes. "Wait—international? You mean there are more schools like this? In other countries?"

Aradia nodded. "Yes. Magical education exists across the globe. Hogwarts is one of the oldest and most renowned, but there are others—each adapted to their culture and traditions. Your child was chosen for Hogwarts based on magical lineage, potential, and proximity to our North American network. The magical world is vast, hidden, and very much alive."

Walter folded his arms. "You expect us to believe that all this has been going on in secret?"

"Yes," Aradia said. "Because secrecy has protected both worlds. But now, your children stand at the threshold. Their gifts have awakened, and we can no longer wait."

Norman's eyes narrowed. "Prove it."

Aradia knelt down and picked up a small plastic bottle cap from the grass. She turned it in her fingers, then stilled.

Without a word, the cap twisted. Warped. A soft shimmer passed through it like ripples on a pond. The color deepened, the texture changed, and from her hand, a small sparrow unfolded, blinking at the sunlight.

Gasps filled the clearing.

Peter stepped back.

Gwen pressed a hand to her mouth.

MJ whispered, "That's real."

Helen Stacy's knees nearly gave out. George caught her.

The bird took flight, wings fluttering as it soared over their heads before vanishing into the trees.

"That," Aradia said, "is transfiguration. The rewriting of matter. No trick. No illusion. And yes… your children can learn it."

Silence. Then George spoke again.

"What happens if we refuse?"

Aradia's tone softened. "You go home. Your memories fade over time. But your child's magic remains. Wild. Untamed. Prone to emotional surges. Some manage. Others… don't."

Ben looked at May, then down at Peter. "And if we go with you?"

"Then I will guide you to Diagon Alley," Aradia said. "A hidden magical district in New York. There, you'll be introduced to our world, gather school supplies, and speak to others like yourselves. You'll have time to ask questions. Nothing is final today."

Walter glanced at Lydia. "And if we say yes—do we still have a say in our child's life?"

"They'll always be your family," Aradia said gently. "But now, you'll watch them grow into something more than you ever imagined.

"Norman Osborn's voice was like ice. "You're asking us to surrender control."

"I'm asking you to have the courage to let them grow," Aradia said.

The silence that followed was long.

Peter turned to Ben. "What do we do?"

Ben looked at him, then at May. "We go. Together."

He took Peter's hand and stepped forward.

The golden light shifted in the willow's hollow—but did not pull them in.

Aradia extended her hand. "You are free to come. Or to leave. I will not compel you."

Bernard looked to Norman, who gave him a nod. The older man walked toward the tree, shoulders square. He passed through the light without a sound.

Norman followed, jaw tight, giving Harry a long, unreadable and gave a short nod, then followed his son.

One by one, the others made their choice.

George and Helen. MJ's parents. Missy's stunned mother and father. Walter, silent but alert. Lydia, lips tight, following Felicia reluctantly.

Brocks father looked at his wife, then at Eddie. "You sure about this?"

Eddie looked at the light, then back at Peter. "We're already here, aren't we?"

He stepped forward.

Each family stepped forward. Not because they trusted.

But because their world had already changed.

And they had to see where the path would lead.

Author's Note:Hey everyone — thanks for sticking with me through this chapter! I know it was a long one, and I've been wondering if the length might be too much for some readers. But at the same time, I really wanted to give each character and family a chance to react realistically to something as impossible as magic becoming real.

If I made it shorter, I felt like those moments — the fear, the disbelief, the emotion — would've been lost or rushed. But I'd love to know your thoughts:Do you prefer longer, detailed chapters like this one, or should I try breaking them into shorter parts in the future?

Your feedback really helps me improve and shape the story better for all of you. Please feel free to drop a comment, rating, or review. It means a lot!