Chapter 27 - A Leader in the Dark,The Ones Who Leave
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet.
Scott Summers sat alone in his room, visor resting heavy on the bridge of his nose. The light from his desk lamp painted his face in sharp lines, throwing the rest of the room into shadow. His suitcase lay half-packed on the bed.
A shirt folded. A photo frame turned down. A choice half-made.
He rubbed his temples, muttering to himself. They're right. They've grown. We all have. Maybe this place... maybe it isn't home anymore.
But then his eyes drifted to the corner of the room, to the faded banner that still hung there. A relic from their earliest days as X-Men. A scrap of cloth with the letter X stitched into it. Charles had insisted they hang it in their dorms, a reminder that they were more than lost kids. They were a team.
Without this place... who am I? Just a man who can't open his eyes without destroying everything he looks at. Out there... I'm dangerous. In here... I had purpose.
He stood, pacing. His boots thumped dully against the floor. His hands clenched, unclenched.
"Leave or stay," he whispered. "Be a brother, or be a soldier. Be free, or..." His throat tightened. "Or be alone."
Scott pressed his palms against the desk, head hanging low. His reflection stared back at him in the glossy wood-visor glowing faintly, like an ember refusing to die.
Maybe I never had a choice. Maybe this place isn't just where I live-it's the only place I can live.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the ticking of the old wall clock. When dawn's light finally slipped through the curtains, his suitcase was still there on the bed, untouched.
He hadn't added another thing to it.
He hadn't taken anything out, either.
The choice lingered, unmade, heavy as the mansion's walls pressing in around him.
The morning sun streamed through the mansion's tall windows, too bright for the mood it fell upon.
In the main hall, the old X-Men stood with their bags at their sides:
Jean Grey, her fiery hair catching the light, though her eyes looked dim. Bobby Drake, Iceman, with forced humor gone missing for once.
Lorna Dane, Polaris, holding tight to Alex's arm but glancing back at the walls like they still owed her something.
Warren Worthington, Angel, tall and proud, but his wings drooped ever so slightly, feathers brushing the floor.
Alex Summers, Havok, shifting uncomfortably, caught between family and freedom.
And at the front of it all-Scott Summers, Cyclops, though no bag sat at his feet.
Across from them sat the new X-Men-Storm, Colossus, Thunderbird, Nightcrawler, Wolverine, and Sunfire-silent, watching, unsure if they had the right to speak.
At the head of the table, Professor Charles Xavier looked smaller than ever in his wheelchair. His hands trembled slightly on the armrests. His voice wavered when he asked, "Why?"
Jean answered for them, her voice steady but heartbreakingly soft.
"Charles... we joined because we were young. Because we didn't know who we were, or how to control what we had. You gave us that. You gave us discipline... and family."
She swallowed hard, fighting her own words. "But we're not those children anymore. We've grown. And we want to... live our own lives."
Charles's lips parted, but no words came.
The silence was heavy, broken only when Warren stood and placed his hand on Xavier's shoulder, feathers rustling. "We'll always be grateful. But this isn't goodbye forever. Just.... goodbye for now."
One by one, the old X-Men rose. Chairs scraped, bags lifted. The air was thick, suffocating with everything left unsaid.
Alex lingered, stopping by Scott. His voice was low, almost pleading.
"Are you coming, brother? Or staying?"
Scott's jaw worked, but no sound came out. His throat burned. Finally, he shook his head, whispering hoarsely, "I... I won't."
The words cut Alex like a blade. He turned away, leaving without pressing further.
When they reached the door, Jean hesitated. She turned back-just once. Her green eyes locked on Scott, shimmering with the weight of years.
She crossed the hall slowly, every step a
battle, and when she reached him, she lifted her hand to his visor, just brushing the edge of it with trembling fingers.
"I wish..." she whispered. The sentence broke before it could end.
Scott's hand caught hers, held tight for a heartbeat-and then he let go.
Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped back, forcing herself to turn and follow the others out the door.
The sound of it closing echoed like a gunshot through the mansion.
The new X-Men stood frozen, watching. They hadn't earned the right to speak into this kind of grief. Not yet.
And Scott-Scott remained in the hall, visor glowing faintly, staring at the door as though he could burn it down with the force of his gaze alone.