At this point, Ronan felt like he'd slipped into sage mode.
No, scratch that—idle mode.
Over at Kamar-Taj, his trusty lieutenants stepped up, handling most of the grunt work.
Plus, Kamar-Taj didn't exactly drown in tedious tasks.
As for Earth's dramas? Most didn't need Ronan's touch—nothing major was popping off.
Ever since Steve Rogers bailed with half the Avengers, the U.S. government went full tilt, like they'd chugged gunpowder, hunting down anyone with powers.
Reason's simple: they wanted a super-team on their leash.
Too bad the capes they dug up were weak as hell.
Forget matching the Avengers—even the strongest were just a smidge above average Joes.
So, the government set its sights on the Obelisk.
Decades back, they'd snagged it from Hydra's grubby hands after crushing them in World War II.
But Hydra slinked underground, infiltrating everywhere—S.H.I.E.L.D. included—and the Obelisk slipped back to them.
Now, Phil Coulson's ragtag S.H.I.E.L.D. crew had tracked it down.
And they'd cracked how to turn regular folks into Inhumans.
None of that mattered much to Ronan, though.
As Sorcerer Supreme, he couldn't meddle in human choices or history's flow.
His gig was shielding Earth from outside, unreal threats.
How humans played their cards? Not his lane.
What did catch his eye? Coulson's team finally sniffing out the Darkhold's trail!
Yup, the Darkhold—the book Ronan'd been chasing a while back.
He'd asked the Ancient One about it once.
She'd said, "When I'm gone, you'll know."
And she was right—once Ronan took the Sorcerer Supreme mantle, the Time Stone showed him everything.
Coulson's squad would find the Darkhold, kicking off a chain of events.
So, Ronan timed it right to swoop in and reclaim it.
And he tapped his "inside line" at S.H.I.E.L.D.
Correction—Skye reached out to him.
—
"So, you called me up just to handle something this gory?"
Ronan sat behind Skye, staring at the wound on her back, half-exasperated.
Yup, first thing he did after linking up with Skye? Patch up her gunshot wound.
No soap opera vibes here—no tender moments.
Just the sharp sting of blood and Skye's hisses as he disinfected it.
Nothing swoon-worthy about that.
"Sorry, I couldn't find anyone else."
Skye's voice lacked the spark it had last time they met.
Last time—maybe 20, full of bounce. Now? She sounded 30.
Even her makeup and hair screamed it.
"I don't mind—friends and all that."
"But are you the same Skye I knew?"
"Not saying you've changed—just, this smoky eye look's throwing me off."
Ronan gently pressed a sterilized gauze pad onto her wound.
Skye's body twitched—obviously, the antiseptic stung like hell.
"Just… life's unpredictable."
Skye grabbed a bottle with her right hand and chugged it like a champ—half gone in one go.
Tsk.
Ronan clicked his tongue, secured the gauze, and stepped around to face her.
Her left hand, in a cast, caught his eye. He shook his head.
Big changes—dangerous ones.
"Anyone ever tell you if you keep using your powers, they'll kill you?"
Ronan plopped onto the couch, tossing out a heads-up.
Skye flicked a surprised glance his way, then smirked like it clicked.
"I forgot—you're a badass mage."
She chuckled, raising her casted left hand.
"You're not the first to say it. But like I said…"
"Life's unpredictable."
"I've got stuff I have to finish."
Skye grit her teeth through the pain—back, body, all of it—and sank into the couch.
Letting out a long breath, she looked wiped.
Ronan knew what she was up to—her goal.
Ever since she learned about her mom and her own roots, she'd shifted.
Name went from Skye to Daisy Johnson.
Whole personality flipped too.
Root cause? The U.S. government's Inhuman Registration Act.
It spun out of the Avengers mess—Terrigen Crystals popping off, spawning Inhumans worldwide.
To rein them in, the government rolled out the act.
But you know the saying: where there's oppression, there's resistance.
Who's right? Both sides had their spiel.
Seeing Skye like this, Ronan sighed.
He raised his right hand, red energy flowing from it into her.
Before she could react, she was floating.
Instinct kicked in—she almost triggered her powers.
"Don't move—I'm not hurting you."
Ronan's words settled her fast.
She knew if he wanted her dead, he wouldn't bother with this.
So she dropped the power play, waiting quiet for his next move.
Pop!
A faint crack echoed from her bones.
Then, a warm energy crept through her body.
Fractures from her powers—tiny ones—started knitting up.
The bad spots healed slower, but they were healing.
Her left hand, useless for ages, sparked back to life.
The nagging pain that'd plagued her faded bit by bit.
For the first time in forever, Skye felt good.
Since she'd started using her powers, it'd been kill after kill—disaster after disaster.
Then the chorus of her bones cracking, patched with meds, breaking again.
She'd almost gotten used to it.
S.H.I.E.L.D. pals gave her drugs to speed bone repair—but no pain relief.
Nights, she'd crash in agony; mornings, she'd wake in it.
Endless loop.
Now, this warm wave washed through her, breathing life back into her wrecked frame.
Left hand? Good as new. Back wound? Pain slashed in half.
Thump.
Ronan pulled his hand back, and Skye dropped onto the couch.
"Healing magic's not my forte."
"This is the best I can do."
Ronan glanced at her, totally relaxed now.
She didn't reply.
Next second, he caught it—Skye's snoring.
Soft, but definitely her.
Ronan shook his head.
No clue how long it'd been since she'd slept decent.
If he had to crash every night in bone-deep pain, he'd lose it too.
No wonder the smoky makeup—hiding those dark circles, maybe?
He didn't bug her.
With a flick of his right hand, Skye floated horizontal on the couch.
A blanket zipped out from the bedroom, settling over her.
Done, Ronan stood to bounce.
"Hello?"
"Anyone here? I'm checking out the place."
A woman's voice hit from outside.
Ronan raised a brow as a gun-toting lady eased through the door.
Door wasn't locked.
No idea if Skye meant it or just spaced—leaving it wide open.
Ronan'd sensed someone earlier, figured it was a neighbor—didn't expect them here.
Guess this wasn't Skye's pad.
"You the owner?"
Gemma Simmons clocked Ronan.
Her gun stayed up, though—she'd spotted the bloody gauze on the table.
Skye's blood.
"Nope."
"Just here fixing a friend's wound."
Ronan shrugged, recognizing her.
He'd seen her in Coulson's car once—part of his crew.
"Wound?"
Gemma blinked, thrown.
She was here to scope the house—should've been the landlord waiting, not some young guy and a table of bloody gauze.
"Yup. If I'm right, you know her."
Ronan shifted, revealing Skye on the couch.
Gemma froze when she saw Skye's face.
Then her eyes snapped to Ronan—warier now, finger on the trigger.
"Chill, agent. She's alive—just out cold."
"Check if you don't buy it."
Ronan stepped aside. He wasn't scared of bullets—just didn't want a pointless scrap.
He needed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s help to snag the Darkhold.
Might as well play nice.
Gemma peered at Skye again.
Sure enough, her chest rose and fell steady—she was asleep.
"Sorry, I overreacted."
She bought it, holstering her gun.
Still, a flicker of confusion crossed her face.
Something about this guy felt familiar—she couldn't place it, just a gut hunch.
"No biggie. She's yours now."
Ronan grinned, brushing off her puzzled stare, and headed out.
Gemma watched him go, that odd vibe gnawing at her.
Skye's boyfriend?
Teammate?
Another Inhuman like her?
Looked too young, though.
In a flash, her brain ran through a dozen guesses.
Never crossed her mind that the guy brushing past her was the mage who'd once sat in their backseat, threatening their lives.
She didn't go there.
Just pegged him as Skye's mystery pal—one she'd never met.
Sitting by the snoozing Skye, Gemma knew her deal better than Ronan.
Skye sleeping this deep? Shocker.
She pulled her phone to ping Coulson with Skye's location.
But after a long pause, she stashed it.
No doubt Skye was dodging S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar.
As her friend, Gemma figured she should back her play—keep this quiet.
Skye luring her here, crashing like this? Had to be something big.
She just didn't know how tough that "something" would get.
Meanwhile, Ronan ducked into an alley nearby.
Skye'd slipped him some Darkhold intel.
More like names tied to it.
Those ghosts.
No question—they were Darkhold spawn.
Looked like Inhumans at a glance, but nah—not even close.
Sure, they had human shapes, talked, moved, acted human.
But really? Slaves to the darkness.
And that's how Ronan finally pinned down the Darkhold.