Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [210] [30 PS]

"What nonsense are you rambling about again?"

Bruce shook his head, quickly steering the conversation in a different direction. "You sound pretty comfortable lately. Judging by your tone, things must be going well?"

"Not bad. The people here treat me with a lot of respect," Kathoom replied, lying leisurely on a soft bed, exuding an air of idleness.

Currently, he was being served nine meals a day by Kamar-Taj's staff, as if the Ancient One was intent on pampering him into staying put rather than wandering off.

But how could a free-spirited owl ever be content with being someone else's plaything?

"Bruce, I've been studying something quite fascinating recently," Kathoom said. "The magic of the Marvel universe is very different from Hogwarts'. Are you interested in learning it?"

Marvel magic?

"Wait a second." Bruce frowned. "Weren't you supposed to be looking for Tony Stark? Why are you suddenly talking about magic?"

"Well, plans change. Isn't that the nature of life?" Kathoom said nonchalantly. "Anyway, just tell me if you're interested. If you are, I can find you study materials—authentic ancient texts that are impossible for outsiders to access."

Interest in learning?

Of course, Bruce was interested. He might resist wielding certain types of power, but he would never turn down the chance to learn. Knowledge was an investment that never failed.

After Bruce gave his enthusiastic agreement, Kathoom said, "Good. Finish your school day first. I'll come find you after class!"

"You're coming back?" Bruce asked.

"No need for that," Kathoom chuckled. "Just wait—you'll see something amazing soon enough!"

---

Inside Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One was engaged in a discussion with several sorcerers.

The debate was calm, but it was clear that each participant had their unique perspectives to offer.

Few ever found their way to Kamar-Taj, and even fewer were deemed worthy of learning its secrets. The Ancient One was highly selective about whom she shared her knowledge with.

This was why she valued these discussions—new viewpoints often brought unexpected insights.

Now, as the conversation wrapped up, the Ancient One addressed the group.

"Thank you all for coming."

The sorcerers bowed and stepped through their portals, returning to their distant homes.

Afterward, the Ancient One noticed Mordo lingering nearby, watching her intently.

"Master Mordo, is there something on your mind?" she asked with a serene smile.

"It's about the owl you recently brought back," Mordo began, bowing respectfully before voicing his concern.

"It seems far too intelligent," he said. "Its behavior is almost human-like. It's been flying all over Kamar-Taj these past few days, and it seems particularly drawn to the library..."

After some hesitation, Mordo carefully phrased his real question.

"Master, is it your new apprentice?"

"An apprentice? Absolutely not!"

The Ancient One winced inwardly at the thought of that owl's antics. If it truly became her apprentice, her already limited lifespan might diminish drastically from the sheer stress.

"In truth, that is no ordinary owl," she explained. "He is also a magician. He came to Kamar-Taj to exchange knowledge with me."

"Oh?"

Hearing this, Mordo's anxiety eased considerably.

If the owl was a guest magician, then surely the Ancient One had a clear grasp of its actions and a method for managing it.

In truth, Mordo had more to say about Kathoom.

In the few days the owl had been at Kamar-Taj, it had been nothing short of a menace.

It bullied students, pulled pranks, and caused havoc wherever it went.

The librarian Wong had been shaved bald and left with indelible graffiti on his scalp. Master Hamir's beard had been tied into elaborate butterfly knots. Even Mordo himself hadn't been spared—he had awoken one morning to find himself inexplicably transported to a cotton field.

All these incidents were undoubtedly the work of that cursed owl.

Yet the Ancient One seemed aware of everything and had even allowed it to continue.

But why?

Mordo scrutinized the Ancient One, hoping to discern some hint from her expression.

He found nothing.

Asking her directly seemed like an option, but their teachings emphasized the importance of comprehension. Relying too much on direct answers risked exposing a lack of insight.

Think, Mordo. You're clever enough to understand the master's intentions!

After much deliberation, a revelation struck Mordo like a bolt of lightning.

The Ancient One had said Kathoom was there to exchange knowledge of magic...

Of course!

Mordo finally understood. A smile of realization spread across his face as he brought his hands together and bowed deeply to the Ancient One.

"I understand now, Master!"

He said earnestly, "We won't let you down!"

---

Later that day, Mordo summoned his fellow disciples for a meeting.

"Mordo, what's the plan for today?"

A younger sorcerer, his face smeared with all manner of absurd doodles, couldn't contain his eagerness. He held a rope in his hand, looking like he was ready to act.

This young sorcerer had suffered greatly at the hands of the owl. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wash off the oil paint on his face. Revenge had been brewing in his mind for days.

All it would take was a single word from Mordo, and he'd storm into Kathoom's quarters, tie him up, pluck every feather, and return the favor with his own set of creative doodles.

It was time for the owl to taste the same humiliation he'd inflicted.

But to everyone's surprise, Mordo suddenly turned serious.

"Plan? What plan?"

He snapped, his tone stern. "How can you hope to achieve enlightenment with such impulsiveness?"

"Huh?"

The young sorcerer was taken aback. Wasn't this the same Mordo who had first proposed the idea of retaliating against the owl? Had the Master opposed their plan?

The confusion wasn't limited to him. The other disciples looked just as puzzled.

If Mordo didn't provide a convincing explanation, there was no way this conversation would end peacefully.

Mordo understood their skepticism and decided to come clean.

"Today, I sought the Ancient One to inquire about the owl's origins," Mordo began calmly. "She told me that the owl is not an ordinary creature. He is a magician invited here to exchange knowledge with her. All his actions? The Ancient One is fully aware of them."

"What?!"

The group erupted into exclamations of disbelief.

"Why?" one of them asked. "We train so hard, but why would the Master invite someone here just to torment us?"

"That's because you still lack the insight to grasp the Master's intentions!" Mordo shook his head. "You've read those stories about Buddhist teachings, haven't you?"

Kamar-Taj, situated in Nepal, was steeped in the culture of the region, including its ties to Buddhist philosophy. The disciples were no strangers to the koan stories of Buddhism—parables meant to challenge and enlighten through seemingly perplexing acts.

These stories often tested the disciple's comprehension and ability to see beyond the surface.

Such tales had even inspired modern humor, like the famous "Youth and the Monk" joke:

A young man said to a monk, "I'm often bullied and can't stand tall in life."

The monk smiled and took out a snake.

The youth exclaimed, "Ah, you mean I should be flexible, like a snake?"

The monk replied, "No. Put this in their bed."

While this was a humorous exaggeration, it reflected the essence of ancient koans—challenging disciples to think in unconventional ways.

Mordo's explanation seemed to click with the others. Though their understanding was still tentative, they began to nod as if a revelation had dawned.

"Brother Mordo, I think I understand now!" one disciple exclaimed. "You mean the owl's pranks... they're actually lessons in disguise?"

The owl's bizarre antics were meant to provoke their thoughts and spur their spiritual growth?

"Yes!" Mordo said with a satisfied smile. "The fact that you've realized this shows you have potential for insight. Think about it: the Ancient One loves all her disciples equally. Why would she allow us to be bullied without purpose?"

That was true.

Mordo's reasoning was impeccable. The disciples couldn't help but feel a sense of shame for their earlier doubts. Compared to Mordo's wisdom, they still had far to go.

"But how do we interpret the Owl Master's actions?" someone asked hesitantly.

"Simple," Mordo replied. "Keep reflecting on them. If you don't understand right away, imitate him. Emulate the Owl Master's actions to uncover his deeper intentions!"

And furthermore—

"Remember, the Owl Master often makes sounds during his teachings," Mordo continued. "Previously, we dismissed those as mocking laughter. But now it's clear—we misunderstood. Those are words of guidance in his own language. We simply lack the ability to comprehend them."

Fortunately, understanding the owl's language wasn't an impossible task.

Kamar-Taj had magic for communicating with animals.

"I have a suggestion for everyone," Mordo concluded. "Learn the magic of conversing with animals. We mustn't miss a single teaching from the Master. If you do, it's your loss!"

"We will follow your advice, Brother Mordo!"

The disciples clasped their hands together in gratitude.

Their hearts burned with determination. An animal-shaped magician—a likely druid, no less—surely embodied the culmination of years of profound practice.

His teachings, masked as pranks, must represent the essence of his hard-earned wisdom.

Some disciples resolved to uncover the true meaning behind the owl's actions.

And if they couldn't, they would simply replicate them.

Some of the more enthusiastic disciples were already preparing.

If the Owl Master could graffiti Wong's bald head, so could they!

And they'd find even better canvases—

Wait...

Come to think of it, wasn't the Ancient One bald too?

---

Bruce's first day at school had come to an end.

To him, it was unremarkable. Apart from Peter Parker's relentless chatter in his ear, everything proceeded as expected.

No sudden conflicts. No unexpected encounters.

This was real school life—mundane, uneventful, yet oddly grounding.

For Pietro and Wanda, however, the day had been exhilarating.

By the time Mr. Hall drove them home, their spirits were soaring.

For them, regaining a normal school life felt like a gift.

Even its ordinariness was a kind of happiness.

"Wanda got confessed to today!"

As soon as Pietro slid into the back seat, he couldn't wait to share the day's events.

"A tall guy—really pushy—demanded she be his girlfriend!"

"And then?" Bruce glanced at Wanda, who still wore her detached, otherworldly expression. It was as if the event Pietro described had absolutely nothing to do with her.

"There wasn't any 'then.'" Pietro shrugged. "That guy was all bark and no bite. Wanda took him down in no time. He cried and called for his mom."

That wasn't surprising.

A boy raised in a peaceful, sheltered life had no chance against Wanda.

Even if she didn't have the physical advantage, her ruthlessness far outstripped any average kid's.

Without real survival skills, she wouldn't have made it this far.

"Sigh, why don't girls confess to me?"

Pietro lamented, throwing himself into a melodramatic sulk. His silver hair had drawn curious stares all day; many of his classmates assumed he had some congenital illness.

Their gazes were filled with pity.

Bruce, listening quietly from the side, offered no comment.

Instead, his thoughts turned to what Kathoom had mentioned earlier—teaching him Marvel-world magic.

How could it be any different?

Bruce wondered. Magic is magic. Could there really be such a vast difference?

Speculating wouldn't bring answers. All Bruce could do was wait for Kathoom's arrival later that night.

Perhaps the owl's demonstration would open a completely new door for him.

---

In Bruce's room, the young detective-in-training lay wide awake.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for Kathoom.

"Damn owl," Bruce muttered, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was already 2 a.m.

How could Kathoom be so heartless as to make a child stay up this late?

As Bruce silently cursed him, a sudden gust of wind swept through the room.

The windows were closed, the door firmly shut, yet the air swirled unnaturally inside.

Bruce's instincts kicked in. Sitting up, he furrowed his brow and called out, "Kathoom? Is that you?"

There was no reply.

The wind continued to howl, and an eerie voice seemed to drift closer, faint at first but growing louder.

"Bruce Wayne... Bruce Wayne..."

The voice moaned, "Return what you owe me... return what you owe me..."

The wailing, ghostly tone was straight out of a horror film. Any normal child would have been scared out of their wits.

But Bruce, instead of panicking, narrowed his eyes and made a firm declaration.

"Kathoom, I know it's you!"

He barked, "What's with this spooky act? I recognize your voice!"

The moment he said it, the noises ceased.

The wind stopped, and the room fell silent.

"How boring," Kathoom's voice grumbled as the owl appeared in the room.

"You couldn't just play along for a bit?"

"Why would I play along with this nonsense?" Bruce snapped, but his voice trailed off mid-sentence.

Something was off.

Kathoom looked... different.

His entire body was translucent, and he didn't appear alive.

Instead, he resembled—

A spirit?

---

T/N: poor ancient one