Over the next few days, Stephen kept his distance, his raven form allowing him to remain undetected as he observed Stark's captors. He perched on rocks and ledges, his sharp eyes and enhanced senses taking in every detail of their movements, their routines, their conversations. He learned their names, their personalities, their fears. He watched as they brought food and supplies into the cave, as they argued among themselves, as they tried—and failed—to intimidate their captive.
And then there was Stark himself.
Stephen couldn't see him directly, not without risking detection, but he could feel him. The energy radiating from the cave was unmistakable, a chaotic blend of intellect, determination, and desperation. Stark was building something, that much was clear, and the timeline seemed to ripple with anticipation every time Stephen focused on him.
It was strange, watching from the shadows. In his own universe, Stark had been larger than life, a force of nature that seemed to bend the world to his will with technology alone. But here, in this moment, he was just a man. A man fighting to survive, to escape, to reclaim his freedom. And yet, even now, Stephen could sense the spark of greatness in him, the potential that would one day shape the world.
.
Days turned into a week, and Stephen's resolve began to waver. He had promised himself he wouldn't interfere, but the more he watched, the harder it became. The guards were growing restless, their tempers flaring as Stark's progress dragged on. Stephen could feel their impatience, their frustration, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew how this was supposed to end, but that didn't make it any easier to stay out of it.
He perched on a ledge one evening, the desert wind ruffling his feathers as he stared at the cave below. He couldn't stop thinking about the Ancient One's words, about her cryptic mention of Stark. Was this why she had brought him here? To watch? To wait? Or was there something more she wasn't telling him?
Stephen sighed, his raven form trembling slightly as he fought the urge to intervene. He had promised himself he would rest, that he wouldn't take on any more burdens until he was ready. But now, as he watched the timeline unfold, he couldn't shake the feeling that rest was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Just a watcher, he reminded himself. For now.
And so he waited, the weight of the promise pressing heavily on his shoulders as the desert sands shifted around him.
.
Stephen perched on a rocky outcropping overlooking the Ten Rings' compound, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the desert. His raven form had served him well, allowing him to study the guards' movements from above, but it wasn't enough. Observing from a distance left too many gaps in his understanding—too many questions unanswered. If he wanted to know what Tony Stark was building in that cave, though he had an idea, if he wanted to understand why the Ancient One had chosen to mention him at all, he needed to see it for himself.
It doesn't count as interfering, he told himself for the hundredth time. I'm just… looking.
The justification felt thin, but he pushed the guilt aside. With a flicker of magic, he transformed again, his feathers melting away into black fur, his wings becoming paws. He stretched, his cat form lithe and nimble, and began his descent toward the compound.
.
Stephen waited for the right moment, his sharp eyes watching as a truck rumbled into the compound, its bed piled high with supplies. The guards moved sluggishly in the heat, their weapons slung lazily over their shoulders as they waved the vehicle through the gate. Stephen darted forward, his movements quick and silent, and slipped beneath the truck as it passed.
The engine's hum masked the sound of his claws on metal as he clung to the underside of the vehicle. The ride was brief but jarring, every bump and rattle sending vibrations through his small body. When the truck finally stopped, he dropped to the ground and scurried into the shadows, his heart pounding with adrenaline.
He didn't have to wait long before one of the guards noticed him. A gruff voice broke through the din of unloading supplies: "Who brought a damn cat?"
Stephen froze, his ears twitching as the guard's footsteps approached. He turned to face the man, his blue eyes wide and unassuming, and let out a soft, pitiful meow.
The guard frowned, his rifle slung loosely across his chest. "Where'd you come from?"
"Probably snuck in with the truck," another guard called out, his tone dismissive. "It's just a cat."
The first guard muttered something under his breath and gave Stephen a half-hearted wave. "Go on, shoo."
Stephen didn't move. He sat perfectly still, his tail curled neatly around his paws, and tilted his head as if waiting for permission to stay. The guard sighed, already losing interest, and walked away.
Stephen allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. Humans are so predictable.
.
The next few days passed in a blur of observation and careful movement. Stephen stayed in his cat form, using it to blend in and move freely around the compound. The guards barely gave him a second glance, too preoccupied with their routines to care about the stray that had taken up residence among them.
Stephen, on the other hand, was hyper-aware of everything. He couldn't help it—his eidetic memory cataloged every outpost, every room, every detail of the compound's layout. He knew where the guards stationed themselves during the day, where they stored their weapons, and which areas were most heavily fortified. It was information he didn't need, information he wasn't even trying to gather, but it stuck with him anyway.
Old habits die hard, he thought bitterly.
During the day, he lounged in the shade, his eyes half-closed as he pretended to nap. At night, he wandered the compound, his black fur blending seamlessly with the darkness. He avoided the cave at first, unwilling to draw attention to himself by getting too close too soon. Instead, he listened, piecing together bits of conversation and whispered arguments between the guards.
He learned that Tony Stark was building something, though none of the men seemed to know exactly what. The guards were growing restless, their frustration bubbling over in heated exchanges that often ended with threats of violence. It was clear they didn't trust Stark, but they needed him—at least for now.
Stephen's curiosity grew with each passing day. He told himself it was only natural, that anyone in his position would want to know what was happening. But deep down, he knew the truth. This wasn't just curiosity. This was Tony. The man he lead to his death in his world, to make the accursed snap.
.
It was late on the third night when Stephen finally ventured into the cave. The guards were distracted, their focus split between a heated argument near the supply truck and the dim glow of a television set in one of the outposts. Stephen slipped past them easily, his paws silent on the rocky ground, and made his way toward the entrance.
The air inside was cool and damp, a stark contrast to the dry heat of the desert. Stephen's nose twitched at the scent of oil and metal, mingled with something faintly acrid—burnt wiring, perhaps. The cave was dimly lit, the flickering light of a makeshift lamp casting long shadows on the walls.
He moved cautiously, his body low to the ground, his ears swiveling to pick up any sound. The deeper he went, the stronger the energy became, a chaotic swirl of ingenuity and defiance that prickled against his senses. And then, finally, he saw them.
Tony Stark sat hunched over a workbench, his movements precise and deliberate as he welded a piece of metal into place. His face was partially obscured by a pair of goggles, but Stephen could see the determination etched into every line of his expression. Beside him stood another man, his hands steady as he held a piece of machinery in place. The two men worked in silence, their focus unbroken, the faint hum of machinery filling the space around them.
Stephen hesitated, his tail flicking nervously. He had promised himself he wouldn't interfere, but now, seeing them like this, he felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt. They were fighting for their lives, and he was just… watching.
He padded closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until he was just a few feet away from the workbench. Tony didn't notice him at first, his attention fixed on whatever he was building. But the other did. The older man glanced down, his expression softening as he caught sight of the small black cat sitting quietly in the shadows.
"Well, hello there," man said, his voice gentle.
Tony looked up, his goggles pushed onto his forehead. His brow furrowed as he followed the man's gaze. "What is it now, Yinsen?"
Yinsen gestured toward Stephen. "A visitor."
Tony stared at the cat for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Great. Just what we needed. A rescue cat."
Stephen's ears twitched, but he stayed where he was, his eyes fixed on Tony. He didn't move, didn't make a sound, just sat there and watched.
And for the first time since he'd arrived in this universe, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.