The last guardian: Rise of Ethan Wilson

"The higher you rise, the more the ground forgets your name."

Two days.

Two days since the chaos had exploded at Crossfield High. Two days since Ethan stood, fists clenched, heart hammering, amidst screams, shattered glass, and the eerie shadows of a boy who used to be just a bully — now transformed into something darker, something worse.

He sat alone now on the cracked rooftop of the orphanage, the night air sharp and indifferent. His hoodie pulled tight over his head, a fragile shield against the emptiness. Above him, stars glittered cold and far away, like silent watchers who couldn't care less.

The silence wrapped around him — thick, suffocating. It was heavier than any armor he'd ever worn. The weight of everything pressed down: the looming threat of Pain, the betrayal that gnawed at his trust, the hope that burned so fiercely it scorched but now smoldered like cold ashes.

He let his breath fog the chill air, each exhale a whisper of questions and doubts.

Why me?

Why did I have to carry this?

His fingers dug into the rough concrete beneath him, nails biting into skin, desperate for something real to grasp.

Then — a quiet hum broke the stillness.

A portal shimmered into existence beside him, edges glowing soft blue, pulsating like a heartbeat.

Rick stepped through, dragging a tired grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You've got mail, Space Jesus," Rick said, voice rough but darkly amused, the usual cynicism clashing with genuine care.

Ethan didn't look up.

He didn't respond.

Rick sighed, louder this time, and dropped beside him on the rooftop's edge.

"Alright, serious mode. Two names for you: Tony Stark and Doctor fcking* Strange."

Ethan's head twitched.

He finally looked at Rick, eyes sharp beneath the hood.

"They saw the footage," Rick continued, waving a glowing tablet. "The whole viral viral thing. You—the kid who glows like a damn celestial light bulb with a bad attitude."

Ethan blinked.

And for the first time in days, something flickered behind his tired eyes: interest.

Inside the orphanage, the kitchen was swallowed by quiet.

The sink gurgled as Natalie washed the same plate again — third time, maybe the fourth.

Her fingers trembled, not from cold, but from the ache inside that no washing could cleanse.

The house felt empty without Ethan's presence — the laughter, the noise, even the anger.

Like a hollow shell echoing with everything unsaid, with every fear she dared not voice.

She paced, biting her lip, clutching at memories like fragile threads.

The world Ethan was stepping into — gods, cosmic battles, destinies beyond comprehension — was one she couldn't follow. She was tethered here, grounded by ordinary fear and heartbreak.

When Ethan finally came through the door, the weight of the universe etched deep in his eyes, Natalie forced a smile.

"That's… amazing," she whispered, voice breaking just a little.

Ethan crossed the room and took her hands, holding them like a lifeline to sanity.

"You're the reason I haven't lost myself," he murmured.

Her breath hitched.

"Don't forget me, Ethan," she begged quietly, the fragile hope trembling on her lips.

He squeezed her hands tight, fierce and sure.

"Never."

Later that night, the air hummed electric, thick with possibility and fear.

Ethan stood inside what Rick called "The Clean Portal" — a swirling chamber of light and tech, forged from magic and science, designed carefully to avoid the last disaster (Rick still joked about the sentient fart clouds).

Rick held a glowing blue bottle, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Welcome to Marvel Universe, Earth-199999," he said with a grin. "They've got working Wi-Fi and sarcasm to spare. Try not to punch any billionaires."

Morty muttered behind him, "Or get smushed by the Hulk. Or get flirted with by Black Widow. Or—"

Rick slapped Morty on the back of the head.

"Shut it, Morty."

Ethan swallowed hard.

This was it.

One step, then—

The portal swallowed him whole.

Ethan hit the ground with a soft thud.

The floor beneath his boots was polished marble, cool and unyielding.

Glass walls soared up, framing a skyline alive with light and sharp edges — a city both beautiful and dangerous.

A voice sliced through the quiet, playful but cutting.

"Nice entrance, sparkle boy."

Tony Stark stepped forward, clad in sleek Stark-Tech armor, sunglasses on indoors — just because he could.

Beside him, Doctor Strange stood tall, arms folded, his cloak swirling with an almost sentient life of its own.

Tony smirked.

"So… you're the kid from the viral vid. The one who went full anime angel on a mutant shadow jock?"

Ethan nodded, uncertain.

Tony laughed — a short, sharp bark of genuine amusement.

"Love it. Let's build you a suit."

Hours slipped by like seconds.

Spider-Man swung in with a cocky grin, tossing Ethan a web-shooter.

"Celestial Bro," he joked, "try not to break anything."

Thor's booming laugh filled the training room as Ethan dodged Mjölnir mid-air during a spar sparring match.

Doctor Strange's teachings were subtle and demanding — the delicate art of bending dimensions, the dance between absolute focus and wild letting go.

But what shocked Ethan most?

No one here worshipped him.

No godlike reverence.

Just... respect.

For a kid who was still scared.

Still human.

Tony studied Ethan with high-tech scanners, eyes narrowed.

"You're powerful. No doubt about that," he said quietly. "But I see fear in your eyes."

Ethan frowned.

"Why's that a good thing?"

Tony shrugged.

"Means you haven't lost your soul yet."

Far away, in the cold, endless void between realities, Pain watched the Avengers' world flicker like a fragile candle on a shard of shattered memory.

His voice was soft, deadly calm.

"Is he ready?"

A figure stepped forward — Calyx the Unweaver.

Her fingers moved like silk through invisible threads of fate.

Her eyes cut futures apart.

"I will test them all."

Pain smiled — a curve of bone and shadow.

"Stark's pride. Strange's control. Natalie's resolve. Time to unravel."

Back on Earth, Natalie sat on Ethan's bed.

The room was impossibly still — as if time itself was holding its breath.

In her hands, the photo they took on Ethan's birthday — two smiles frozen in a moment untouched by chaos.

Her fingers traced the edges, trembling.

"Don't forget me, Ethan..." she whispered.