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Most people experience childhood as a blur—fragments of laughter, warmth, and innocence.
For me? It was a prison.
Being reincarnated with the memories of an adult wasn't a gift. It was a curse. Imagine being trapped in a body too weak to stand, too uncoordinated to even hold a spoon properly.
I wanted to scream.
Every day, my mother, Leela, would smile at me, her eyes full of love and joy. She would hum old Hindi lullabies, feed me with the utmost care, and look at me like I was her world.
And I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say, "I'm not a child. I understand everything." But my mouth couldn't even form coherent words yet.
So, I stayed silent.
I observed. I learned.
By the time I was two, I could understand Sokovian, Hindi, and English. Conversations weren't a mystery to me anymore.
By three, I noticed patterns. I saw the way people in the village whispered when soldiers passed by. I saw how food was becoming scarce. I noticed the fear in their eyes.
And I began to understand.
Sokovia was dying.
War was creeping closer, wrapping around us like an unseen noose.
I knew what was coming.
Ultron. The fall of Sokovia. Thousands of deaths. My mother's death.
The knowledge burned inside me like a wildfire.
But I was powerless.
For now.
---
By four, my body had finally caught up with my mind.
I no longer stumbled when I walked. My hands were steady. My speech was fluent.
And so, I stopped pretending.
One evening, as my mother sat by the fireplace, humming softly while mending my worn-out clothes, I spoke.
"Mama, why do people fight?"
She paused, needle hovering mid-air. Her warm brown eyes met mine, surprised by the depth in my voice.
"Where did you hear such things, beta?" she asked gently.
I shrugged. "I see it. The men with guns. The fear in people's eyes."
Her expression darkened, sadness creeping into her features. "War is… complicated." She hesitated, then sighed. "Sometimes, people hurt others because they think it will make the world better."
I frowned. "That's stupid."
She blinked, then chuckled softly. "Yes, it is."
That night, as she tucked me into bed, she ran her fingers through my hair and whispered, "Never lose that mind of yours, Arjun. You see the world differently. That is a gift."
I held onto her words, not knowing how much they would mean to me in the years to come.
---
It happened on an afternoon like any other. The sun was high, the air thick with dust as children played near the village square.
That's when I saw her.
A girl with chestnut-brown hair and bright green eyes, standing near the well. Her twin brother, a boy with silver-white hair, sat on the ground, scribbling something in the dirt with a stick.
I recognized them immediately.
Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.
A surge of emotions hit me. These were the future Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver. Two kids whose lives would be torn apart by war, by HYDRA, by loss.
And in that moment, I made a decision.
I would change their fate.
I approached cautiously, hands in my pockets. "What are you drawing?"
Pietro looked up, his blue eyes narrowing. "A wolf." He tilted his head. "Who are you?"
"Arjun," I said, sitting beside him. "That's a good drawing."
He scoffed. "It looks nothing like a wolf."
I smirked. "Then you just need to practice more."
Before Pietro could respond, Wanda spoke. "You're not from around here, are you?" Her voice was soft but curious.
"My mother and I moved here a few years ago," I said. "What about you?"
She hesitated. "We've always lived here. But…" Her gaze dropped. "Things are getting worse."
I understood what she meant.
The soldiers. The rising tension. The impending doom.
"I know," I said quietly. "But we'll be okay."
Pietro snorted. "How do you know that?"
I gave him a small smile. Because I won't let anything happen to you.
---
By six, my intelligence had become impossible to hide.
I could solve complex equations in my head, build intricate models with scraps of wood, and understand engineering concepts far beyond my years.
One day, my mother walked into our small home to find me dismantling an old radio.
"Arjun! What are you doing?" she gasped.
I held up a tiny circuit board. "Fixing it."
Her eyes widened. "You… know how to fix a radio?"
I nodded. "It's simple. The wiring was damaged, but I can reroute the connection."
She stared at me like I had grown a second head. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"My little genius."
From that day on, she brought me books. Old, tattered ones from the village marketplace. Physics, engineering, mechanics.
I devoured them all.
At night, when the village was silent, I experimented.
I built small machines from scrap metal. I modified broken electronics. I learned.
Because I knew the truth.
One day, Sokovia would fall. My mother would die.
Unless I became strong enough to stop it.
---
By seven, the war had come to our doorstep.
Gunshots in the distance. Smoke rising from nearby villages. Soldiers patrolling the streets, their eyes scanning for threats.
Fear settled over Sokovia like a thick fog.
One night, my mother woke me, her face pale. "Arjun, we need to leave."
I blinked, disoriented. "What? Why?"
"There's been an attack. The militants are close." Her hands trembled as she packed a small bag. "We need to go."
But we never got the chance.
A loud bang echoed through the night.
The door burst open.
Black-clad men stormed inside.
And my world changed forever.
---