Marvel's Druidic God ♾️

Ethan moved through the city, his footsteps lost in the ever-present hum of life.

New York was as overwhelming as he had imagined—loud, fast, alive. The sheer weight of it should have consumed him. Yet, strangely, it didn't.

If anything, the city's relentless energy helped him focus. He needed to focus—on survival, on planning his next steps, on understanding the new reality he had been thrown into. Anything to keep himself from drowning in the enormity of it all.

But then—

He saw them.

A father laughing as he lifted his daughter onto his shoulders. A mother adjusting her son's backpack, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead before they crossed the street. A couple sitting close together on a park bench, fingers entwined as they whispered between sips of coffee.

Ethan's breath hitched.

His pace slowed.

A familiar ache crept into his chest, dull at first, but then sharp—cutting deeper than he expected.

Family.

The images bled into his mind unbidden, faces he had spent years taking for granted now painfully clear.

His mother, lost in the pages of a book, her soft humming filling the quiet spaces of their home. The way she always smelled of old paper and lavender. How, no matter how absorbed she was in a story, she always knew when something was wrong.

"Ethan?" she would say, glancing up over her glasses. "You're thinking too much again."

His father, James Carter—steady, unshakable. The scent of motor oil clinging to his clothes, his hands always stained with grease. He didn't speak much, but when he did, his words stuck.

"Hard work won't solve everything, son, but it'll damn sure get you through most things."

And then—

Claire.

His little sister.

Ethan clenched his jaw as her image filled his mind—the sharp-witted, painfully perceptive little menace who could read him better than anyone.

A memory surfaced, clearer than the rest.

The two of them sitting side by side at the piano in their living room, her smaller hands flying across the keys while he struggled to keep up. She was always better than him, but she never let it show—not too much, at least.

"You know, if you actually put your feelings into it, your piano skills would be years ahead of everyone else."

Ethan frowned at the keys. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Claire smirked, not missing a note. "You play like you live—like nothing really matters. No effort, no emotion. You could be amazing, but you're just… coasting."

His fingers faltered, breaking the rhythm.

Claire sighed, slowing down as well. "You always have that look, you know. Like you're watching the world from behind glass."

Ethan forced a laugh. "That's dramatic, even for you."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "You'll figure it out one day."

Now, in the middle of a city that shouldn't exist, Ethan could almost hear the distant echo of that melody.

His throat tightened.

They were gone.

Not dead, but just as unreachable.

He had lost them the moment he opened that tome.

A sharp exhale left his lips. He curled his hands into fists, his nails pressing into his palms.

I can't go back.

He knew that. He had accepted that.

But knowing and feeling were two different things.

He let out a slow breath, forcing his shoulders to relax. He wouldn't break down—not here. Not now.

Because even if he was alone in this world, even if he never saw them again—

He would make this life mean something.

And then—

A chill ran down his spine.

The air shifted.

Ethan slowed his steps, a sudden unease settling over him.

Something was wrong.

The city hadn't changed—the people still moved, the traffic still roared—but something about the world around him felt… off, Dreadfully off.

Like a silent, unseen force had just turned its gaze toward him.

His heartbeat quickened, instinct screaming at him before his mind could catch up.

And for the first time since arriving—

He wasn't sure he was alone.

---

Glimpses of the Unseen

---

The feeling didn't fade.

Ethan kept walking, weaving through the crowds, but the weight of unseen eyes pressed against his back, the hair on his arms standing on end.

It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't anxiety. It was something more.

Something real.

He kept his expression neutral, his steps measured, but his senses stretched outward, searching for anything—anyone—that felt wrong. The noise of the city remained unchanged, people going about their lives without hesitation. And yet, the further he walked, the deeper the unease burrowed into his bones.

It was like the world itself was watching him.

The Tome pulsed against his soul, steady but silent. No warnings, no messages, just presence.

Ethan turned down a quieter street, needing space to think. He passed by storefronts reflecting the bustle of the main roads behind him, their glass catching flashes of movement—people walking, cars passing, streetlights flickering to life.

And then, in the reflection—

A shadow that wasn't there.

Ethan's breath hitched.

He snapped his head to the side—nothing. The alley he had passed was empty, save for a few discarded papers fluttering in the breeze. His reflection stared back at him from the glass, alone.

But he knew what he had seen.

Or rather—what he had almost seen.

A flicker at the edge of his vision, a ripple in reality, something there and not there at the same time.

Ethan exhaled slowly.

"This world is different. This world is wrong in ways I don't understand."

His fingers twitched, the instinct to reach for something—magic, a weapon, anything—bubbling beneath his skin.

The Tome remained steady. No alarm. No fear.

Just a quiet, firm acknowledgment.

Ethan's jaw tightened. Whatever was watching him, whatever had brushed against the edges of his awareness—it had noticed him first.

And now, he had noticed it.