Marvel: The god of balance

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The mist covered the training fields, and the sound of boots striking the damp earth mixed with the shouted orders of the officers. Elias took a deep breath, letting the metallic scent of gunpowder, mud, and sweat settle into his memory. In truth… he didn't remember much of his early years.

Not because his life had been short, but because his existence had always been different.

He had grown up in worlds humans couldn't imagine — a world of gods and races beyond mortal comprehension. But when he chose to walk among mortals, he knew he had to erase a part of himself, at least in appearance. The Wandenreich had taught him to hide, to adapt… and to wait.

Now, he was just another soldier in the ranks of the human military.

He didn't remember exactly when he was born, nor how old he was when he arrived in the human world. All he knew was that, from the moment he set foot on Earth, he had felt the need to see with his own eyes how those his people silently watched over lived and died.

That day, while rations were being handed out at the makeshift camp outside London, he heard an argument near the barracks.

"I told you not to get involved, Steve!"

"And I told you I'm not going to stand by while that bastard beats up a kid, Bucky!"

Elias turned his head.

Two young men were arguing beside a wooden fence. One of them, shorter and slender but with a determined look in his eyes, stood up to a burly soldier who was walking away, leaving a crying child behind. The other, dark-haired and more easygoing, tried to calm him down.

Elias approached without thinking. He'd seen that scene in countless worlds, and it always ended the same way — with a beating, or worse.

The burly soldier turned back to the thin young man, raising his fist.

"I'm gonna break you in two, punk."

Before he could strike, Elias caught his wrist in mid-air.

The gathered soldiers fell silent.

The burly man tried to pull away, but it was useless. Elias's strength was… different.

"Leave the boy alone," Elias ordered in a low, firm voice.

The soldier hesitated, staring into those pale blue, almost inhuman eyes. Then he lowered his arm and stomped off, muttering.

Bucky chuckled.

"Well, damn… that was something. Name's James, but everyone calls me Bucky."

Steve stepped forward, still a little shaken.

"Steve Rogers. Thanks for stepping in — though I had it handled."

Elias gave a faint smile.

—A little help never hurts. Nice to meet you. I'm Elias.

They both gave him a curious look but smiled instead of backing away.

"New around here?" Bucky asked.

Elias nodded.

"Just assigned."

"Well," Steve said, offering his hand, "welcome to hell, buddy."

Elias shook it. And for the first time in a long while, something stirred in his chest… a faint warmth, a distant echo of something he'd heard before, when his father spoke of a man who had been his friend on Earth.

A human who changed his world.

Maybe, in this absurd war, Elias could find something like that too.

It was the beginning of an unlikely friendship between three very different soldiers, in the middle of a war that would change history — a war Elias, without knowing, had seen repeat itself countless times in other worlds.

(Some time later)

The stifling morning sun cast long shadows over the camp's parade ground. Steve and Elias stood in formation alongside other recruits, surrounded by the monotonous noise of military orders and the metallic echo of messages over loudspeakers. An officer shouted:

"First man to bring down that flag gets a ride back to base!"

They said no one had managed it in seventeen years. All the strongest men clumsily climbed the pole, only to be thrown down. When Steve's turn came, Elias watched with interest. Instead of scrambling up the pole, Steve paused, surveyed the situation… and simply removed the bolts at the base, causing the flag to fall gently to the ground.

Elias felt something stir in his chest as he witnessed the act. It wasn't physical strength — it was perspective, intelligence. True power. Steve bent down, picked up the flag, and handed it to the officer, calm as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Later, during a training simulation, someone threw a dummy grenade into the group's midst. Everyone scattered, except for Steve, who hurled himself over it, shouting:

"Get back!" — even before the device "exploded."

Elias felt a wave of respect wash over him. It wasn't just bravery; it was sacrifice. He looked at Steve, panting hard after the exercise.

"You're impressive," Elias said, admiringly.

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Just doing what's right."

Those words — so simple yet so heavy — made Elias realize something fundamental: true power didn't lie in strength, but in the will to act when no one else would. In Steve Rogers, he found more than a comrade-in-arms; he had discovered an ideal.