John sat alone in the workshop, surrounded by stacks of blueprints and open toolboxes. The place was dim, lit by a few overhead lamps that buzzed softly. Sparks from a nearby forge had long cooled down, and the smell of metal hung heavy in the air.
His fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the table as he stared at the mess before him. Papers were scattered everywhere—scraps of notes with calculations and hand-drawn symbols, and a few broken prototypes, twisted out of shape or burnt from the inside.
He let out a long breath, running a hand through his slightly greasy hair.
"I've thought of dozens of ways to build one," he muttered, the tiredness clear in his voice. "Uru would've been ideal. Adamantium? Too rigid. Carbonadium—if I even had access to that... but none of them are here. All I have… is this."
He turned his gaze to the small chunk of Vibranium sitting at the center of his workbench. It was a smooth, oval piece no larger than a lemon. Its surface had a faint, almost invisible shimmer, and every few seconds, it gave off a gentle, rhythmic pulse—like the heartbeat of something alive.
He picked it up, rolling it between his fingers. It was light, surprisingly light for something so dense with potential. Vibranium. Rare. Powerful. Expensive.
"Vibranium absorbs energy…" he said quietly to himself. "Kinetic energy. Vibrations. Maybe I can get it to hold space itself."
He stood and began pacing, holding the Vibranium as if it might whisper answers to him. The idea wasn't new. Vibranium was always known for its absorption properties—but spatial energy was different. It wasn't kinetic. It wasn't movement. It was structure, reality, gravity—all folded together.
"If I force it to act as a spatial anchor…" He stopped. "No, it'll collapse the field. It needs something more. Something to balance the absorption."
He looked around the lab. On the far wall was a cabinet filled with labeled drawers. He opened one—Titanium rods. Strong. Light. Easy to work with. Another drawer—Silicon Carbide powder. Excellent at resisting heat and high-frequency energy. And next to it—Copper wiring. Simple, but one of the best conductors on Earth.
He smiled, just a little.
"Vibranium alone isn't enough. But maybe… just maybe… I can build something new."
---
John pulled on his gloves, secured his protective visor, and powered up the forge. The flames roared to life, casting flickering shadows across the lab walls. He placed the Vibranium into the crucible first, watching it slowly soften under the intense heat. It took time—Vibranium didn't melt easily.
Once it began to lose its shine, he added the Titanium, letting the two metals begin to fuse. Then came the Silicon Carbide, added carefully in small amounts, like seasoning into a fine dish. Lastly, thin threads of Copper—not just for conduction, but for bridging the metal's internal response to the human touch. Specifically—his touch.
Each addition was followed by a moment of silence as he monitored the reactions. The colors changed—silver, gray, soft blue, then a dull, metallic black with a faint, glimmering undertone.
"Hold together…" he whispered.
As the final compound cooled under the vacuum pressure, John watched in amazement. The metal didn't crack, didn't split, didn't reject itself. It was stable.
He lifted the cooled ingot with tongs and brought it close to the light. The new alloy didn't shine like Vibranium, nor was it lifeless like raw steel. It had a quiet depth, like something forged under pressure for a very long time.
"It's not perfect," he said, turning it in his hand. "But it doesn't need to be. Just reliable."
He placed it on a clean cloth, hands shaking slightly—not from fear, but from excitement.
"I'll call it… Aetherium."
---
With Aetherium ready, John started shaping the ring. He didn't want anything flashy—this wasn't for show. Just a clean band that could do its job.
He used his metal manipulation to turn the Aetherium into a small, simple ring—the width just enough to be sturdy, the thickness minimal enough to be worn comfortably. He polished it gently until it had a soft matte finish, then focused on the most important part: the groove inside the ring.
He etched a thin, circular groove on the inner side of the band—no more than a hair's width deep. In that groove, he used a fine-tipped laser tool to engrave a sequence of binding runes and microcircuit channels. These weren't just symbols—they were a hybrid code, part science, part mysticism, designed to tether a dimensional pocket to the ring and to his own bio-signature.
Once the etching was complete, John pricked his finger with a small needle and let a single drop of blood fall into the groove. The moment it touched the metal, the ring pulsed. Just once.
A connection had been made.
"Bonded," he said softly.
He held the ring in his palm and closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts. Not forcefully—just with intention. Slowly, he willed the ring to open its space.
A tiny ripple appeared just above the band. Silent. Smooth. Then, like a ripple on a pond, it spread into a swirling hole the size of a coin—dark within, but stable.
He could feel it. An internal space, completely detached from the world. 100 cubic meters—like the inside of a large room. Enough to store dozens of crates, tools, or small machinery.
"Just what I asked for," he whispered. "Compact. Quiet. Exactly 100 cubic meters."
---
John walked over to his tool bench and picked up a metal spanner. Holding the ring in his other hand, he gently passed the tool through the opening. It vanished smoothly into the pocket dimension with no sound, no delay.
He reached in again—this time with his hand—and pulled the spanner back out. Cold to the touch, but otherwise unchanged.
He repeated the process with a thick book, a small bag, and a thermos of coffee.
Each time, the ring worked perfectly.
He even tried with a folded table and a stack of small metal crates—items he had lying around for just such experiments. Everything fit, and the space inside remained stable.
"No gravity interference… no energy drain… it just holds it all like a sealed box floating in nothing."
Looking at the ring on his finger, John felt proud of himself. As far as John knew, in the Marvel Universe, no one used a storage ring.
"The first storage ring in the Marvel Universe, huh… Not bad at all." John murmured to himself.
( Don't look for too much details in this chapter.)