The halls of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had never felt quieter.
The echo of footsteps down polished floors mingled with the faint hum of electrical lights, a stark contrast to the chaos the team had endured just hours before. Liberty Island was behind them, but the tension it left in its wake clung to the walls like a stubborn shadow.
In the grand foyer, the X-Men gathered, their bodies aching from the battle, their faces betraying the weariness they refused to admit aloud. Wolverine leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a fresh set of claw marks still visible through his torn uniform. Cyclops stood stiffly near the center, his jaw clenched tighter than usual, while Jean Grey and Storm exchanged knowing glances from across the room.
But it was Wanda Maximoff who commanded the most attention.
She stood near the grand staircase, the Chitauri Scepter resting lazily against her shoulder, its faint glow casting crimson shadows across the marble floor. Her eyes flickered with residual chaos magic, but her expression was unreadable—calm, almost amused.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Cyclops finally muttered, his voice carrying the brittle edge of barely concealed resentment. "Magneto's locked up. The world's safe. For now."
Wanda arched an eyebrow. "You're welcome," she replied dryly.
The corner of Jean's mouth twitched into a smirk. "Come on, Scott. You're not really going to downplay Wanda knocking Magneto out with a glowing baseball bat, are you?"
"It was impressive," Storm added with a grin, crossing her arms. "I mean, the sound it made alone was worth the mission."
Wanda chuckled softly, twirling the scepter in her hand like a baton. "What can I say? He practically begged for it."
Cyclops's lips thinned behind his visor. "We were supposed to work as a team."
"And we did," Jean shot back, stepping closer to Wanda with an almost protective stance. "But sometimes, Scott, it's not about how you win. It's just about winning."
Wolverine snorted from the doorway. "I'd rather take style points over a lecture any day."
Cyclops's glare flicked to Wolverine, but he bit back whatever retort was bubbling on his tongue. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "reckless showboating."
Wanda sighed, the amusement fading from her face as the tension lingered in his absence. "Well, he's fun at parties. This coming from the sunglasses guy who loves to take breaks."
Jean touched Wanda's arm gently. "Don't let him get to you. He's just… Scott."
"Yeah," Storm added with a wink. "Which means he's always like that."
Wanda smiled, but the edges of her thoughts were frayed. Magneto's words echoed in the recesses of her mind like a ghost refusing to be exorcised.
"You're fighting your own family."
Later that evening, the mansion was wrapped in an uneasy stillness, broken only by the faint hum of distant conversations and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside.
In her room, Rogue sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her phone. The screen glowed faintly in the dim light, displaying a single, unread message from an unknown number.
"I'm still here if you need me. – Mystique."
Her thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding against her ribcage like a war drum. She knew she shouldn't respond. She knew what Mystique had done—what she was. But none of that erased the truth that burned beneath Rogue's skin.
Mystique had saved her. More than once. And Rogue couldn't ignore that.
With a deep breath, she tapped out a simple reply.
"Where?"
The response was almost instant.
"Somewhere safe. But I'll come to you when you're ready."
Rogue swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She couldn't tell the team—not after everything that happened. But there was one person she could trust.
The Mansion Gardens were quiet, the moonlight casting silver patterns across the manicured hedges and stone pathways. Wanda stood near the edge of the fountain, the soft ripple of water providing a soothing backdrop to the chaos in her mind.
"You're fighting your own family."
The words gnawed at her, refusing to fade, but she pushed them aside as she sensed Rogue approaching.
"Hey," Rogue said softly, her voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind.
Wanda turned, offering a small smile. "Hey, yourself. Couldn't sleep?"
Rogue hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of her jacket. "Actually… I needed to talk to you."
Wanda's brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, gesturing to the bench nearby. They sat in the quiet for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.
"It's Mystique," Rogue finally said, her voice a hushed confession. "She reached out to me."
Wanda didn't react immediately, letting the words settle like dust in the moonlight. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, steady.
"And what do you want to do about it?"
Rogue looked down at her hands, her gloves a constant reminder of the powers she couldn't control. "I don't know. I mean, I know she's done terrible things. But… she saved me. More times than I can count. I don't know if I can just… ignore that."
Wanda nodded slowly, understanding the pull of complicated relationships all too well. "Sometimes the people who save us aren't perfect. But that doesn't mean they don't care."
Rogue glanced at her, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "You think I'm making a mistake?"
Wanda smiled softly, her gaze distant. "I think you need to follow your heart. But just… be careful."
Rogue exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Thanks, Wanda."
They sat in silence for a while longer, the bond between them solidifying in the quiet of the night.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in Washington, D.C., Mystique slipped through the shadows of a high-level government meeting, her disguise impeccable as she took the form of a trusted official.
The room buzzed with tension, the bureaucrats hunched over documents and maps detailing mutant activity across the country. Mystique listened intently, her sharp mind picking apart the conversation, looking for weaknesses to exploit.
But what she heard chilled her to the bone.
"…and with Magneto in custody, our next priorities are clear," one official said, his voice low and authoritative. "Charles Xavier and Wanda Maximoff pose the greatest threats to national security."
Mystique's breath caught in her throat, though her expression remained perfectly composed. She had expected Magneto and Xavier to be targets—but Wanda?
"And Sokovia?" another voice asked.
"Collateral damage," came the cold reply. "If Wanda doesn't fall in line, we'll make sure Sokovia pays the price."
Mystique's mind raced. No matter how much she hated Charles Xavier's pacifist ideals or Magneto's ruthless methods, she knew one thing for certain: this was bigger than their philosophical divide. This was war.
And Wanda Maximoff was now at the center of it.
Back at the mansion, Wanda stood at her window, staring out at the moonlit grounds. The conversation with Rogue lingered in her mind, but it was Magneto's words that haunted her.
"You're fighting your own family."
A knock at the door broke her reverie. Jean slipped inside, her presence soft and grounding.
"Hey," Jean whispered, crossing the room to stand beside Wanda. "You okay?"
Wanda smiled faintly, leaning into Jean's warmth. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
Jean's hand found Wanda's, their fingers intertwining with ease. "You know we've got your back, right?"
Wanda squeezed her hand gently. "I know."
As the night stretched on, the weight of impending conflict settled over them like a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, in this fleeting, quiet moment, they were safe.
Still, Wanda's mind wasn't at ease. She knew there were unresolved issues waiting for her back in New York.
Like dealing with a certain overbearing police chief—Gwen's father—who was undoubtedly fuming over his daughter's sudden disappearance. Gwen had been away from home for days, and Wanda could already imagine the lovely conversation that would follow when they returned.
Meanwhile, crime was beginning to pile up in New York without Spider-Woman on patrol. That presented a different kind of challenge.
If Wanda wanted her harem to stay with her—to build something lasting—she couldn't ignore the responsibilities they were leaving behind.
An organization would need to be created, something to handle the obligations and chaos they left in their wake while traveling together.
Because if there was one thing Wanda knew for certain—it was that power came with a price, and it was time to start collecting.
Join my patreon today to read up to chapter 522 in advance your support is my inspiration join for only to 3 to 5$ and to read my patreon exclusive stories.
patreon.com/everstone