"Escanor Reborn: The Might of the Sun in the Marvel Universe"

The air in the British countryside was thick with tension, a silence broken only by the distant rumble of artillery. Alex adjusted his helmet, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. Though he had fought beside Steve in the European theatre, orders had come from the top—he was to assist the British forces.

As he approached the allied encampment, Alex felt the weight of his reputation. Whispers of the "Golden Soldier" had spread, tales of a warrior who fought with the ferocity of a lion and the resilience of a god. The stories, however, didn't prepare him for the pair awaiting him near a smouldering campfire.

One was tall and rugged, his hair a wild mess, and his eyes sharp as steel. The other, broader and more menacing, carried an air of barely restrained chaos. "You must be Rogers," the taller one said, a cigar clenched between his teeth. "I'm James Howlett. This here's Victor Creed."

Victor grinned, his teeth unnervingly sharp. "You don't look like much, sunshine. Let's hope you can handle yourself when things get ugly."

Alex sized them up, feeling the sun's rays through the overcast sky energizing him. "I'll manage," he said coolly, his voice steady despite the hostility in Victor's gaze.

Their first mission together was brutal. A German outpost nestled deep in enemy territory required sabotage. The trio moved under the cover of darkness, each step measured and deliberate. Alex watched as James and Victor worked like a well-oiled machine, their brutal efficiency unmatched.

It wasn't until they were discovered that Alex truly saw their ferocity. James charged forward, claws erupting from his knuckles with a metallic snikt. Victor followed, his movements animalistic, tearing through soldiers with terrifying ease.

Alex didn't hesitate. The sun's dormant power flared to life within him, golden light spilling from his skin. He tore through the enemy ranks like a force of nature, bullets melting against his radiant aura.

James paused mid-swing, his eyes narrowing as he watched Alex hurl a soldier through a concrete wall with ease. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he muttered.

Victor wiped blood from his face, his grin widening. "Maybe you ain't so soft after all."

Days turned into weeks, and the trio became an unstoppable force. Alex found an odd camaraderie with James, their quiet moments around the fire revealing shared burdens. Victor, on the other hand, was unpredictable—one moment a loyal ally, the next a volatile storm.

"You're different," James said one night, his voice low. "Not just strong. There's something... unnatural about you."

Alex hesitated, his gaze fixed on the flames. "I'm not like other men," he admitted. "But I don't think you are either."

James chuckled, a bitter sound. "Fair enough."

The war's horrors grew with each passing day. Villages reduced to ash, families torn apart—Alex felt the weight of it all, the responsibility to do more. His power was a gift, but it was also a curse.

One mission saw them trapped behind enemy lines. A relentless barrage of gunfire pinned them down, their chances of survival slim. Alex, bathed in the faint light of the morning sun, stood tall.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"What the hell are you doing?" James growled.

"Ending this."

Alex stepped into the open, his body igniting with golden brilliance. The soldiers hesitated, their fear palpable. He moved like lightning, dismantling their defenses with ease. The battle was over before James and Victor could even stand.

Victor whistled, his tone begrudgingly impressed. "Remind me not to piss you off."

It was during a brief respite in London that Alex heard the news. Steve's plane had gone down in the Arctic. His heart sank, a cold, hollow ache spreading through his chest.

"You're sure?" he asked the courier, his voice trembling.

"Yes, sir. Captain Rogers is presumed dead."

Alex staggered back, his knees threatening to give way. The room seemed to spin, the noise of the bustling city fading into silence. Steve, his brother, his compass, was gone.

James found him sitting on the steps of a bombed-out church, his face buried in his hands. "You alright, Rogers?"

Alex shook his head, his voice breaking. "Steve's gone."

James sat beside him, silent for a long moment. "War takes everyone," he finally said. "But you're still here. That's gotta mean something."

Alex looked up at the sky, the sun hidden behind gray clouds. The warmth he usually felt was absent, replaced by a numbing emptiness.

"He was the best of us," Alex whispered. "And now... it's up to me to keep his legacy alive."