Karl Mordo had seen many things in his time. He had seen dimensional doorways open from thin air. He had seen creatures with tentacles that stretched out for miles, and had eyes as black as his skin. He had seen sorcerers pushed to their very limits, leave their bodies behind and ascend into a world that he could not even fathom.

But even this took Mordo by surprise. Outside of his home, a stately little perch found in the outskirts of Nepal, sat a beaten, crushed looking ship. It's outer walls were burned black, and it's wings, looked to be shot off from its main body. Now, Mordo might have been a recluse (living with the Ancient One for so long was bound to make one keep to themselves) but he wasn't entirely stupid. He remembered the alien invasion that nearly destroyed all of New York. Creatures from far beyond the stars looking to invade where they were not wanted.

This craft looked to be of the same origin, and while Mordo intended to discover its secrets, he would not do so without protection. He waved his arms around him, molded his energies into a small force in his palm. He felt the world dissolve into one, singular, radiance. This was a spell he had known since he was a boy. A simple defense against anything that wished to do him harm.

"Hello?" Mordo called out to the ship as he approached. "State your identity." Mordo spoke in soft, methodical spurts. He wanted to seem as nonthreatening as possible, but at the same time, he wanted whoever was trespassing to know he was not unprepared. There was life in that ship, Mordo could sense it. "I'll ask you one last time," Mordo said as he raised his palm, "Come. Out. Now." Always expect the worse when it comes to these situations. That's what kept him alive after all this time.

The doors opened…and outstretched a leg with torn pants, and then a hand as black as Mordo's own. And then a face with a pointed chin, and long cheeks. It was a young man, barely out of his boyhood. Blood oozed from his temple, and his hair, a shortened afro that barely skimmed his scalp, looked to be frazzled and uncombed. He was injured.

Mordo placed his hand down, and slipped it into his sleeve. "Oh my."

Carrying the boy into the house proved more difficult than Mordo believed. Despite his boyish appearance, Mordo's new guest was well built. He had broad shoulders that could probably lift up entire buildings, and strong legs that seemed like the could march through the toughest terrains without losing any step. This was the body of a soldier. Anyone with eyes could see that.

Mordo placed the young man on the couch, and allowed his magic to creep over every place they could manage. Over his shoulders, through his arms, in between his ear lobes. Whatever was ailing him, Mordo had a mind to discover it.

"Is this it then?" Mordo asked himself. "Is this what I'm doing now? Taking in space men and using what magic I have to aid them?" True, he had never been one to aid others (not without a gain for himself) but having someone die on his own property was rather unsightly.

The young man was fine, from what Mordo's magic could deduce. There were no broken bones, or lacerations. That was good, at least now Mordo could rest easy on the stranger's health. But that still did not answer the question of who he was, and what he was doing here.

Well, Mordo thought, no time like the present, right?

Mordo grabbed the stranger by his shoulders, and gently shook him awake. "Hey…I need you to wake up. Alright?"

Slowly, the young man's eyes opened, revealing a dulled confusion in his brown irises. "W-where am I?" he asked. His accent was peculiar for someone who came from beyond the stars. Mordo never expected aliens to have American accents.

"You're in my home," Mordo said as he spread his arms outward, revealing the chiffon carpets, and red curtains that curtailed every inch of his manor. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling and the air smelled of burnt wood, and fallen leaves. The Ancient One always said that worldly items should be as meaningless to the sorcerer as darkness is to the stars, but Mordo never could get used to sleeping on hay.

The young man shook his head, "My name is FN-2..." and then paused, as if regretting his own words. "My name is Finn."

Mordo raised his eyebrow, "Finn, is it?"

The young man nodded.

"And," Mordo continued, "What exactly are you doing here? In my estate?"

Finn shook his head, "I-I don't know. There was this battle, a-and I was trying to help the Resistance get a foothold against…but I was shot down, and-"

"Enough," Mordo said, raising his hand to his mouth. The details weren't important. Mordo looked Finn over once more. He was built like a soldier, but his eyes spoke of a softer tale. Perhaps he was a runaway, perhaps he had tried to escape his old life. Who knew? But the one thing Mordo was certain of, more certain than anything, was that Finn needed help. Mordo already knew that "Finn" wasn't of this earth (he may not even be of this dimension). Every dimension has its own aura, a kind of energy field that is unique to that plane of existence, and Finn's did not match this world's plane at all. It was like the universe was trying to fit a puzzle piece into the wrong place. Of course, sending Finn home would be child's play for Mordo, the hardest part would be locating Finn's home dimension. Afterwards, it would just be a simple matter of getting him home.

But that would take time.

Mordo looked to his ceiling, did he really have time for this? No. No he didn't. He never did. He didn't have time to look after some homesick space man from beyond the stars.

But he was going to anyway.

"Alright," Mordo said. "I'll find a way to get you home, but until then…you'll be staying with me."

And as soon as Mordo said those words, he sensed that he would be regretting them.