The Masters of the Mystic Arts bore the sacred duty of safeguarding their reality—a mission intrinsic to their existence. A mantle perpetually handed down, from one Sorcerer Supreme to their successor, and then on to their disciples, and their disciples' disciples. The Ancient One, a staunch adherent to tradition, was resolute in upholding this legacy throughout her lifetime.

However, a dire alarm had erupted within the sanctum, resonating from the fabled Orb of Agamotto—an artifact attuned to detecting magical and mystical disturbances. This was no minor tremor; it was an upheaval of unprecedented magnitude, unrivaled in the expanse of her many years on this earthly plane. She stood in the orb's presence, her hands clasped behind her back, bearing witness as the alarm blazed with an intensity that birthed a profusion of magical particles, scattering like stardust.

In a swift ingress, one of her disciples materialized in the chamber. It was Mordo, his eyes widened to saucers as they locked onto the Orb—an apparition that, in its novelty, mirrored his own astonishment. The disciple turned to his venerable teacher, his countenance etched with a palpable unease.

"Master?" his voice quavered, extending the query to The Ancient One. She stood there, a contemplative stance held, an outward appearance belied by the profound cogitations transpiring within.

This—this was unfamiliar territory, unprecedented in her experience. She wielded the Time Stone, its powers harnessed time and again to glimpse into the tapestry of the future, to traverse countless potentialities. Yet, never had her discerning gaze captured this anomaly. What entity, or perhaps what enigma, had breached the boundaries of her reality? The sensation of control, once as inherent as her being, had now, for the first time, slipped from her grasp.

"Summon those who are prepared," she articulated, her directive aimed at the waiting disciple. "Prepare for conflict, but no action shall be taken without my express command."

Having received her charge, Mordo offered a wordless affirmation before hastening toward the sorcerers' quarters—a dormitory nestled within the sanctum. His steps were imbued with urgency as he roused the denizens of mystic lore, a clarion call echoing through the hallowed halls. All were summoned to brace for the impending cataclysm, a tempest on the horizon yet to unfurl. At least, that’s what they’ve expected.

===DnDnD===

The Ancient One found herself now standing within one of New York's damp alleyways, the moist surroundings casting an eerie atmosphere. Her disciples, forming a protective perimeter, poised themselves to heed her every command. A swift scan revealed emptiness; there were only discarded debris, scuttling rats, murky puddles, and walls adorned with graffiti. Odd, she mused, for there was an absence of any discernible presence. It was as if the warning had been unfounded.

However, in a sudden twist, her seasoned instincts picked up on an unexpected presence behind her. Reacting on pure reflex, she pivoted and assumed a stance of readiness, conjuring her defensive incantations. Yet, instead of confronting a grotesque monster or an interdimensional conqueror, she was met with the visage of a mere child.

This young boy, garbed in a hospital gown, regarded her with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “This world has magic? Like real magic?” the boy inquired. A subtle intrusion brushed against her consciousness, as if he were delving into her thoughts, leaving her astonished and she was powerless to stop it. “Amazing… it really is magic…” the boy remarked in awe.

A ripple of unease began to spread through her disciples; appearances, as they say, often proved deceptive. Beneath the facade of innocence, a cataclysmic force might be lurking.

"And who might you be, child?" The Ancient One inquired cautiously, her wariness still intact.

"Jason," came the simple reply. "Jason Carter."

"From where do you originate?" she further questioned.

“Not from here, I guess..” he said. “Where I’m from doesn’t have magic at all. At least I don’t think so.”

Curious, she sensed an absence of falsehood in his words. "How did you find yourself here?"

“I don’t know, honestly,” he answered. “Who are you though? Are you a sorcerer? A wizard? Or a warlock? Or maybe the three of them at once?”

“A sorcerer.” she simply said. “You claim where you’re from doesn’t have magic, but you know those terms?”

“Table top games used it.” the little boy shrugged. “Can you stop standing like that? It feels like you’re trying to attack me.”

Remaining cautious, she couldn't help but notice a gradual shift in her feelings of ease as she observed the child's behavior. The way he spoke and moved exuded no trace of hostility, or it was becoming increasingly apparent that he didn't perceive her as a threat.

With this realization, her wariness began to wane. She consciously released the defensive magic she had summoned and straightened her posture, finding herself more receptive to the situation. “You are a strange one. How old are you?”

“Ten.” he replied simply, his tone carrying an air of innocence once again. His next question followed naturally, “How old are you?”

“I’ve lived long enough to care to count.” she responded with a touch of wistfulness. Her curiosity was mounting as she probed further, “Do you truly don’t know why and how you’re here?”

His small head shook gently, red hair swaying. “Maybe you know something about it? You seem pretty quick to come here.”

Regrettably, she shook her head in return, her demeanor solemn. "I'm afraid not. However, our sanctum sensed a formidable power within you, child."

“I guess there is something like that…”

Observing his reactions keenly, the Ancient One's brow furrowed as her concern deepened. "So there is more…"