The low hum of the X-Jet filled the cabin as it cut through the night sky, leaving the wreckage of Magneto's hideout far behind. Inside, the air was thick with exhaustion and tension, the aftermath of battle settling into the bones of those aboard.
Wanda sat near the cockpit, arms crossed, gaze locked on the stars outside. This victory, if it could even be called that, had changed nothing. The world still viewed mutants as a threat, and she knew this would not be the last time they fought to survive.
In the back, Jean and Rogue sat together, Rogue still shaken from how close she had come to being used as a pawn in Magneto's grand design.
Charles sat in quiet contemplation, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He had fought to stop this catastrophe by sitting around like usual. But the ideological fractures between them were deepening. The battle had only proven how different his and Magneto's visions for mutantkind truly were.
Wanda exhaled sharply before breaking the silence.
"This doesn't change anything, Xavier," she said, not even looking at him. "Mutants are still hunted. Feared. Oppressed. And you expect me to believe that if we just 'work together,' the world will suddenly welcome us as equals?"
Charles sighed. "We have to show them a better way, Wanda. Violence only breeds more violence."
She scoffed, finally turning to face him. "Coexistence without power is meaningless. You're asking them to accept us out of the goodness of their hearts when history has proven that people only respect one thing—strength. We aren't equals, Charles. We're stronger. But no one will take mutants seriously unless they know we have the power to back it up."
Charles frowned. "I refuse to believe that might makes right. That is the path of Magneto, and you are dangerously close to walking it yourself."
Wanda's eyes flashed red for a brief moment, but she kept her voice measured. "No, Charles. Magneto uses fear. I intend to use power. There's a difference."
Jean, sensing the tension rise, interjected. "This isn't the time for this argument."
Wanda shook her head, still staring at Charles. "It's always the time for this argument, Jean. Because if we don't figure out what kind of future we're fighting for, we'll be too divided to win anything."
Charles said nothing. Because, deep down, he feared she might be right.
Before the conversation could continue, a sudden pulse of psychic energy rippled through the jet. The lights flickered. The controls rattled.
Jean gasped, gripping her head. A golden fire flickered in her eyes for a brief moment before vanishing. Wanda immediately felt it.
Something old. Powerful. Beyond even mutantkind.
"Jean," Wanda said, her voice softer now. "What exactly are you?"
Jean took a shaky breath, composing herself. "I don't know. I just—there was something. For a second, it felt like something was trying to—" she hesitated, shaking her head. "Never mind. It's nothing."
Wanda wasn't convinced. Neither was Charles, whose face betrayed deep concern.
But no one pressed further—for now.
Rogue had been silent through most of the exchange, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Eventually, she exhaled shakily.
"I just... I don't know if I belong here anymore."
Jean turned to her, frowning. "Rogue, of course, you do—"
"Do I?" Rogue cut in, her voice raw. "I was this close to being used like a damn battery. I can't touch people. I can't live a normal life. And I don't even know what side I'm supposed to be on anymore."
Jean reached for her hand but hesitated, knowing Rogue wouldn't feel it.
"You're not alone, Rogue," she said firmly. "No matter what you're feeling right now, you're not alone."
Rogue's gaze flickered, as if considering her words, but something was still gnawing at her.
Then, Wanda spoke.
"I noticed something back there," she said. "Where's Crystal Frost?"
The question hung in the air.
No one had seen her since the battle ended.
And that, Wanda knew, meant only one thing.
She was planning something.
Somewhere, not far from the X-Jet's path, Mystique stood in the shadows, watching as the aircraft disappeared into the night.
A smirk curled at her lips.
Rogue was doubting her place. That was the first step.
She wouldn't make her move yet. No—this would take time. Carefully planted seeds. A whisper here. A message there.
Rogue would come back to her.
Not today. Maybe not even tomorrow.
But soon.
And when the time was right, she would take Rogue to Sokovia—the only place where she could be truly free.
She vanished into the darkness.
The X-Jet touched down on the grounds of Xavier's School, the weight of everything still pressing down on its passengers.
As they disembarked, Jean felt the weight of Wanda's gaze on her.
"You saw something, didn't you?" Jean asked.
Wanda simply smirked. "We'll talk soon."
She left it at that, but Jean knew—this wasn't over.
Meanwhile, Rogue looked around the mansion, her home for so long… but for the first time, she wasn't sure if she belonged here.
Charles watched them all with quiet worry.
The future was shifting.
And he wasn't sure if he liked where it was headed.
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