F-boy answered.
The Stand's ability unfurled silently—invisible to Wong, invisible to the Sanctum's detection wards, operating on a frequency that arcane magic simply didn't have a category for—and the feedback began flowing back to Jordan in real time. Wong's skill architecture opened like a library catalogue, name after name scrolling past his inner eye.
Kamar-Taj Unarmed Combat Techniques.
The Dimensional Gate.
Rings of Raggadorr.
Shields of the Seraphim.
The basics formed the bulk of it, but they were deep basics—the kind built over decades of deliberate practice rather than raw talent. Beneath them, less common workings. More powerful ones. The architecture of a genuine master.
Wong was, Jordan confirmed to himself, genuinely impressive. Not in the flashy way that drew attention, but in the thorough way that actually mattered. As the Kamar-Taj librarian and archivist, he'd had access to every significant text in the tradition and, more importantly, had actually studied them. Combat-capable and magic-capable both, in the way that the Sorcerer Supreme lineage had always required—because in the Marvel universe, a spellcaster who couldn't throw hands was just a liability with good aesthetics.
Even the fully realized Doctor Strange, under conditions of complete magical suppression, could manifest the Axe of Angaruul and use it to rearrange someone's face. That was the standard.
Wong met it. Quietly, without fanfare, in a way that very few people had taken the time to notice.
Jordan was noticing now.
(So yes: helping Wong step into the Sorcerer Supreme role ahead of schedule wasn't flattery. It was accurate. Those were different things.)
(Wong, from somewhere nearby: ...That is genuinely comforting to hear. Why is that comforting? Stop being comforting.)
While F-boy worked through the more complex entries in Wong's skill architecture, Jordan filed away the theoretical overview.
In the Marvel universe, magic was fundamentally the practice of borrowing energy from other dimensions and shaping it according to learned principles. The Sorcerer Supreme lineage drew primarily from the Vishanti—a collective of three ancient entities whose dimensional energy formed the basis of most named Kamar-Taj workings: Oshtur the Almighty, Agamotto the All-Seeing, and Hoggoth the Ancient. The same Agamotto, incidentally, who had crafted the Eye of Agamotto—that distinctive amulet with its all-seeing properties, currently serving as the housing for the Time Stone somewhere in the vicinity of a dead planet several light-years away.
Kamar-Taj had firm policies about which dimensional sources were acceptable to draw from. The Dark Dimension and its lord, Dormammu, were strictly off the list—on the reasonable grounds that entities whose entire motivation was devouring material reality made unreliable power sources and even worse creditors.
The Ancient One and Strange had, of course, been the exception to this rule, because they were the ones who wrote it. Combat pragmatism: if the dimensional demon could be defeated, fight it; if not, negotiate using the Time Stone as leverage; in the meantime, use whatever power was available and available. The Crimson Bands of Cyttorak—those red crystalline restraints that had held Thanos long enough to nearly lose a gauntlet—were from that category. So were the Winds of Watoomb, the Shades of the Seraphim. Most of the named spells with identifiable sources.
Do as I say, not as I borrow from eldritch horrors. An ancient tradition.
"All right," Jordan said. "I'll try the Sling Ring."
Wong had explained the operating principle with the patient thoroughness of a man who had taught this lesson many times: connect the mind to the ring, hold the destination clearly, and draw the circle. The golden sparks would follow the intent if the talent was there.
It was, Jordan reflected, not entirely unlike the way F-boy constructed cards. Conceptualize, commit, execute.
He fitted the ring to his left hand. Held the destination in his mind—the new Avengers compound, the eastern approach, mid-afternoon light—and drew.
Golden sparks erupted from his right hand, crackling and expanding as the circle widened, and within three seconds a stable Dimensional Portal was rotating in front of him, throwing warm light across the Sanctum floor.
Wong looked at it for a moment. "...As expected. With your affinity for spatial working, that difficulty level is nothing for you."
"Well." Jordan put his free hand on his hip. "I am a genius."
In truth, he'd exhaled quietly the moment the portal stabilized. There had been a brief, private concern: what if, of all the possible failure modes, this particular ability simply didn't manifest? What if he turned out to be the one transmigrator in the multiverse who couldn't open a door with a magic ring?
His talent and potential had clearly just relocated to a different department. Magic: easy. Everything else: already handled. Looking back, this was obvious.
He refocused on the portal.
On the other side of it, the Avengers compound was visible in afternoon light—and a familiar broad-shouldered figure had just stepped off a Wakandan aircraft.
Steve Rogers turned, saw the crackling golden circle, and saw two figures framed in it.
"Jo—" He stopped. "Jordan?"
"Hello, Captain." Jordan reached back and drew Wong forward with one hand, steering him through the portal with the cheerful efficiency of a man who had already decided how this introduction was going to go. "Good timing. Let me introduce you. This is the current Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, Mr. Wong—the most powerful spellcaster on the—"
"One of the most capable practitioners currently active," Wong cut in, his expression caught between dignity and alarm. "And I have not formally assumed the title of Sorcerer Supreme—I'm currently managing Kamar-Taj's affairs in an acting capacity—"
"—one of the most powerful," Jordan amended, entirely untroubled.
Steve Rogers, who had no idea about any of the off-screen maneuvering that had produced this introduction, was doing the math visibly: Jordan had been assigned to find the hidden sorcerer organization, and had returned, apparently the same afternoon, with the organization's leader in tow and a working portal to show for it.
His estimation of Jordan's efficiency quietly revised itself upward.
He extended his hand to Wong. "Hello—it's an honor. Sorcerer Supreme."
Wong accepted the handshake with the slightly dazed expression of someone who keeps finding the title attached to them despite their corrections. "Mr. Rogers. It's a pleasure. I've visited your museum before—the photographs don't do you justice."
"That's—kind of you. Though that's all history now."
Jordan, internally: thick eyebrows, square jaw, whole hero aesthetic—and it turns out he can do pleasantries too. Good to know.
Wong, internally: If I keep accepting the title long enough, does it become official? Is that how this works? Is that how the Ancient One intended this to work?
He set the thought aside. There was work to do.
"Time is critical, Sorcerer Supreme," Steve said, his tone shifting to the register he used for actual business. "On behalf of the Avengers, we need your help."
Wong straightened. The uncertainty dropped from his face, replaced by something steadier. "Of course. Protecting this Earth is our purpose."
The cooperation details took approximately fifteen minutes to establish—two experienced leaders, both accustomed to operating with minimal bureaucratic overhead, both currently dealing with an extinction-level problem. The agreement was brief, practical, and mutual.
Jordan watched the exchange and thought: That's what it means to be Sorcerer Supreme.
Not the title. Not the ceremony. Just—showing up, when it mattered, and doing the work.