GUARDIAN OF THE MARVEL REALM

Under the gentle glow of the moonlight blanketing the quiet beach, Shen He and Jeanne d'Arc sat closely together, the tide lapping gently at their feet as their voices mingled softly with the sounds of the waves.

They spoke at length—of memories, of life before war and power.

Shen He described his past as an ordinary human in a world untouched by superheroes or mysticism. His life had been steady, uneventful. In school, he had always hovered in the middle—not top, not bottom. His university had been the same, decent but not elite. He had eventually settled into a decent job that paid the bills but never ignited his soul. His most vivid memory of passion had been chasing fleeting dreams back in high school, when everything still felt possible.

Joan listened intently, her eyes warm with quiet admiration.

She then began to recount her own story, not as the Heroic Spirit of Chaldea, but as Jeanne the girl—before Orleans, before the fire, before the myth. She spoke of her mother, of her younger siblings, and of a childhood in a small French countryside. Though war would later claim the final chapters of her life, her early days had been filled with the kind of joy only simplicity could bring.

"I was a wild girl," she confessed, laughing softly. "I got into fights all the time, and because I wasn't strong, I mastered the noble art of poking people in the eyes with one hand."

"I wish I could've seen you then," Shen He said with a wistful chuckle.

"If you could, you might regret it," Jeanne smiled with a faint blush. "Our village had nothing close to modern medicine or comfort. Even without war, people died easily—especially children. I only became devout because of a high fever that should have killed me. When I survived, I believed it was God's will."

"…That part doesn't make it into the history books," Shen He murmured, running his fingers absentmindedly across her soft, pale back. The warmth beneath his touch was deeply human, and the subtle curve of her spine felt like a whispered invitation from a divine sculpture.

"The history books won't mention an ordinary village girl who never did anything extraordinary until her last two years," Jeanne said, eyes avoiding his. "But for me, those seventeen years were everything. And now, Master… you're in love with a peasant girl who still knows very little of the world."

"That's alright," Shen He said, voice gentle. "Then I'll teach you."

Their eyes met. So close. Her lips, flushed with life, shimmered under the moonlight. There was no flaw to her—none of the slight imperfections that normally dot a face. Heroic Spirits, after all, were formed from ideals, not randomness.

A faint scent, reminiscent of blooming violets, reached him.

He hesitated only a moment before leaning forward, giving in to impulse. Their lips met—softly, reverently—as if time itself paused to watch.

"Mnnh…"

Joan's eyes widened in surprise, and her body trembled like a startled bird. Her face, already flushed, ignited into full-blown crimson. And just as suddenly—

Her form vanished.

Shen He found his arms empty. She had turned to spirit form and retreated.

He let out a sigh, licking his lips. "Tch… coward…"

But Jeanne reappeared a heartbeat later, flustered yet dignified, standing nearby while maintaining a visibly cautious distance, caught between flight and approach. Her cheeks were ablaze, and the blush extended even to the tips of her ears.

"B-big… the big dog's about to pick us up…" she stammered.

That "big dog," of course, referred to the Attilan aircraft that would soon arrive.

"Got it." Shen He chuckled softly and nodded.

He knew not to push her further. Time would bring its own moments. Emotions as delicate as hers needed space. Still, as he lay awake that night—his body buzzing with unsatisfied longing and a wide grin splitting his face—he realized he was now experiencing the small joys of companionship that once seemed distant dreams.

And though sleep eluded him, the euphoria of having someone to hold, even if just emotionally, propelled his soul.

What changed from single to taken?

It wasn't anything grand. Just the subtle shift—being woken by a soft voice, working with someone at your side, or having permission to stare at someone beautiful without being weird. Holding hands. Feeding each other. Knee pillows. The small, stupid things that mean everything.

Still, not all was peaceful.

As Chaldea continued expanding, with more agents and factions allying, Shen He found himself buried in work. Steve Rogers' public hearing had been nothing but a show. Thanks to Tony Stark's contacts and groundwork, everything had been smoothed out in advance.

The fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. had changed the political landscape. Shen He had been noticed by the World Security Council. But with his steadily increasing strength, and the backing of allies both human and otherwise, the Council dared not challenge him directly. Not yet.

On the fifth day, the Kingdom of Attilan formally sent its delegation—an event that marked a turning point.

This time, it wasn't just emissaries.

Black Bolt, king of the Inhumans—also called the Black Bat King—had arrived in person.

He was accompanied by Queen Medusa, and several high-ranking attendants, all clad in traditional Attilan armor etched with ancient glyphs.

After a respectful greeting, Shen He cut straight to business.

"Hill. Bring up the report."

Agent Maria Hill, now effectively operating as one of Chaldea's core officers, stepped forward and activated the holo-screen.

"Yes, sir. Following the coordinates obtained from the detained subjects, we've been monitoring the primary Inhuman enclave. Their scouts nearly detected us several times, so we've had to use deep-cover cloaking."

The projections shifted—drone surveillance footage. The most frequent presence was a woman with striking facial scars and a commanding aura.

"That's her," Lincoln muttered from his secured seat nearby, a specialized inhibitor collar still around his neck. "That's Jiaying."

Shen He turned to him. "She gave your group sanctuary. But her isolationist policies and radical indoctrination are worsening the divide between Inhumans and humans. If we show up now, it'll end in blood."

Black Bolt stood without a word and approached Lincoln. Medusa translated his silent gestures.

"Do you know who we are?"

"…Yes," Lincoln replied after a pause. "The King and Queen of the Inhumans."

Shen He had already briefed Lincoln on Attilan's existence and history, a lost sovereign Inhuman nation once hidden on the moon.

Black Bolt made another sign.

"You're one of us. If offered the chance, would you return to your true home?"

"…I would… my King."

The weight of that title—my King—hung in the air like a solemn oath.

Though Jiaying had instilled a militant identity in Lincoln, the moment he stood before true royalty of his kind, the illusion of her leadership cracked.

Without a word, Black Bolt rested his palm on Lincoln's shoulder.

Shen He gave a subtle nod to Hill. She pressed a button, and the inhibitor collar snapped open and slid off.

"They're just looking for a place where they belong," Black Bolt gestured to Shen He, his expressions grave yet composed. "Let us approach them first, as Inhumans."

Shen He agreed. "That might be the best way. It'll lower resistance. But we'll have agents nearby in case anything goes wrong."

Then, as if remembering something, Shen He turned to Hill.

"What about Skye? How has she taken the news… about her heritage?"