The Holy Son in Marvel

Agent Coulson's warm demeanor helped ease the girls' initial distrust. The boldest among them, a red-haired girl named Anne Putnam, volunteered to lead the way, though nine-year-old Elizabeth Paris stayed close behind Solomon, hiding from view. Elizabeth was visibly uncomfortable around Natasha Romanoff; her father had filled her head with horror stories of witches, and to her, a beautiful woman like Natasha was surely connected to witchcraft. Elizabeth's friends were puzzled by her unusual quietness but shared a knowing grin when they saw Solomon's face, half-lit by the fire.

Young girls from the countryside often daydreamed about their future husbands—a young, strong farmer or perhaps a roguish sailor. Solomon's face, softened yet growing sharper with age, seemed to strike a chord with Elizabeth, who couldn't help but imagine her father approving of a London-educated student.

As for Solomon's own thoughts, well… no one had asked him.

Compared to Natasha, whose beauty was rare in a small town, Coulson was easier for the girls to trust. To Anne Putnam, Coulson seemed like a distinguished gentleman, perhaps even a scholar, as he had none of the roughness of sailors or laborers. His skin bore no trace of weathering, and he lacked the smell of livestock. Everywhere he went, anyone would think of him as someone removed from hard labor.

As for Natasha... Anne Putnam found her attire distasteful. The tight-fitting, mysterious material clinging to Natasha's figure seemed far too improper. Even in the big cities, prostitutes wouldn't dress that way. Anne had heard sailors talk about the immoral women in London's Soho District and couldn't help but associate Natasha with them.

Apart from the occasional eerie howl, they heard little else on their way. Coulson walked with Anne Putnam at the front, with the other two girls in the middle, and Solomon and Natasha bringing up the rear. Natasha, aware that this wasn't the time for conversation, kept her questions to herself, though curiosity weighed on her. The girls seemed familiar with the forest path, lighting the way with a lantern and following a well-worn trail concealed by thick bushes. As they walked, Solomon pondered the cause of his sudden journey back in time. Was Abigail Williams connected to it? Or was there something he still didn't know? One thing was certain: the Ancient One had foreseen his role in this event. Otherwise, she wouldn't have sent him to Salem alone.

Could it be… the Stigmata? He thought of that cursed soul lost to madness. Yet, the details were too sparse to draw conclusions. For now, he could only assume that killing Abigail Williams would resolve the situation. If possible, he considered finding a quiet place to open a portal back to Kamar-Taj, where he might consult with the 1692 Sorcerer Supreme. With the Ancient One's wisdom, there might be a solution.

Meanwhile, Coulson's knack for small talk proved useful. As he walked with Anne, he learned that she had a distant cousin named Alice Parker, a devout girl often seen carrying a Bible. Anne also mentioned her tall, athletic friend Margaret, who had many suitors in town, and introduced Mary Walcott, the Putnam family's servant girl.

As Anne's chatter slowed, she began to ask Coulson questions about life in London and Boston, which captivated the other girls as well. Small-town girls often dreamed of seeing the big cities, and these girls were no exception.

Solomon interjected, saying, "Before I entered college, I found a mentor. Mr. Coulson here is my history professor, and I plan to major in his field."

Coulson quickly followed, "I'm not often in London, as my work requires me to travel the world for archaeology. Mr. Damonet recently became my assistant, but we got separated."

"We're here to study local customs and ruins," Natasha added, casting a side glance at Solomon, surprised by his ease with deception. She had assumed mystics were eccentric and straightforward.

"Yes, precisely," Coulson agreed. "This may be related to Native American relics…"

"Native Americans?!" Mary Walcott's voice rose. "It was the Natives who killed Abigail's parents!"

"Exactly!" Elizabeth added with a frown. "My father says they're heathens who've never heard the voice of God."

Solomon shot Coulson a sharp look. Coulson's mention of Native Americans was an awkward blunder in front of these Puritan girls. "Don't worry," Solomon reassured them. "We're not here to sympathize with Native Americans. Even in Oxford, you won't find anyone who thinks that way."

The name "Abigail" brought the Salem witch trials to Coulson's mind. He asked Anne, "What day is it today?"

"April 21st."

Coulson took a deep breath. In just a few days, the infamous Salem witch trials would begin—a date etched in his mind from his studies. Anne then asked a rather blunt question, wondering why Coulson would bring a "prostitute" along on their journey, asking if that was typical for London gentlemen.

Natasha gave the girl a sharp look while Coulson awkwardly fumbled for a response. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no protocols for dealing with 17th-century Puritans. "I'm a servant, Mr. Damonet's maid," Natasha said, adopting Solomon's British accent to defuse the situation. "I care for his needs, even on our journeys."

Solomon glanced at her in surprise, unsure of her intentions. Natasha was, in fact, preparing for their stay in the town; she needed an opportunity to speak with Solomon privately to understand the full situation. Coulson quickly realized Natasha's intent as well, seeing this as a chance to get answers directly from Solomon.

"Everything?" Elizabeth asked shyly, glancing up.

"Of course, little miss, including whatever you're imagining," Natasha said with a wry smile. Elizabeth blushed deeply and lowered her gaze. Solomon shot Natasha an annoyed look, but she just smiled, refusing to explain.

As they neared the village and the warm glow of lanterns, a girl came running toward them, panting heavily. She had long golden hair, adorned with a few cute bows, and wore a shallow black felt hat. Her thin legs, exposed beneath her pumpkin pants, looked particularly pale. Despite the early spring chill, her attire was remarkably thin.

"Anne!" the girl exclaimed, catching her breath as she stopped in front of the group. "I've been looking for you… Didn't we agree not to sing the curse song tonight? Ah, who are they?"

"They're here to study… or dig something up," Anne replied, "Anyway, they're from London."

"Outsiders?" The girl's eyes sparkled with interest. "You must have been to so many places, right?"

The three "outsiders" all nodded. Coulson and Natasha, both trained agents, had traveled widely, and Solomon had visited many places through portals. "You must have been to Boston!" The girl's eyes shone with admiration; in her mind, Boston was the grandest of cities.

"We did pass through Boston," Coulson replied carefully, knowing little of the city's history at this time.

"Could you tell me about the big cities? London, New York, any of them?" she asked eagerly. "My uncle often tells me stories of his adventures, but lately he's been leaving the house early… Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Abigail Williams. You can call me Abby."

No one would have guessed that this slender, tall 11-year-old girl would soon accuse many of her neighbors, sparking the infamous Salem witch trials. Coulson blinked in disbelief, while Solomon straightened, his hand tightening around his wand, ready to cast a spell. But Natasha gripped his hand, holding his gaze firmly.

"Don't tell me you're suddenly a crusader for justice," she whispered. "She isn't that person yet."

"Shut up, Natasha," Solomon muttered, pulling his hand free. "This might be the only way to end this."

"I won't let you do it. You're willing to execute her based on the absurdities of history? Think about the consequences—changing the future…" Natasha held onto the wand, ready to snap it. "And don't try anything reckless, this is wood, and I can break it anytime."

"If you want to die in an explosion, go ahead." Solomon scowled. "Sure, history might be unreliable, but Abigail Williams is central to all of this. This entire thing might not even be real!"

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