⚜️ Saga 0: The Ash Years
📍 Location: Abandoned Safehouse | Slovakia – Common Room
🕯️ Year: Winter 2006
🔥 Theme: Domestic Suspension | Rivalry Repressed | Affectional Exhaustion
They hadn't sat at the table in days. Not truly.
Not as opponents.
Not even as allies.
Just… people.
But something had shifted since the sky.
Since Jean kissed him beneath the morning frost.
Since Wanda stood beneath the cellar—not yelling, not screaming—just choosing to hold her thread without word or pride.
Tonight, for reasons none of them admitted...
They all came.
▫▫▫
Dante was the first to move.
He set the table with layered action—uneven forks, dulled knives, mismatched plates. A linen napkin on one seat only.
Routine. Almost reverent.
His shirt was half-buttoned. Scar peeking out across his clavicle.
There was no announcement.
Only presence.
Wanda entered second. Not in red. Just in warmth.
A long wool tunic, fingers curled around a basket of bread freshened by minor chaos runes whispered low — just enough to feel like home, not like spell.
She said nothing.
And Jean came third. No coat. Just jeans, sleeves rolled. Her hair in a braid. She turned meat over the fire with the ease of someone raised in grief, not kitchens.
Her flame didn't show.
But it breathed, low under her skin.
[Sin System Update: Emotional Equilibrium Achieved]
❖ Wanda Maximoff: 75.3%
❖ Jean Grey: 48.9%
❖ Dante Anchor Integration: 40.3%
⏳ Rivalry Status: Suppressed | Ceremony Flag Repressed
Pietro entered last.
Scarf looped. Snow dripping from his collar. Brows raised.
He blinked at the scene like walking into someone else's memory.
"Are we… seriously playing house?" he muttered, pausing at the door.
Dante didn't look up. "If this is house," he said coolly, "I'm not doing dishes."
A beat.
Pietro smirked. "Fair."
They began to eat in silence.
Steel slicing softly over meat.
Hands ghosting near platters.
No fire sparked. No chaos bloomed.
Just the clink of forks and the sound of people pretending this was fine.
Jean reached across Dante briefly for the water jug—a sleeve brushed his knuckles. She didn't apologize.
Wanda's blade work was meticulous—too smooth to be casual. Like every movement translated love into control.
Pietro, mid-chew: "So. What next? Scented candles? Singalongs?"
"Shut up, Pietro," Wanda and Jean said simultaneously.
For the first time in what felt like months—
Dante laughed.
It caught low in his throat.
Soft, unforced. Real.
Pietro blinked.
Victory. Scored.
[Sin System Log – Emotional Recovery Event]
Event: Anchor-Based Humor Exchange
Emotional Sync Surge:
❖ Wanda: +0.3% → 75.6%
❖ Jean: +0.4% → 49.3%
❖ Dante Core Integration: 40.3% → 41.5%
❖ Rivalry: "Contained Harmony" Activated
Then—quiet again.
Wanda looked down, hands still.
Her voice came soft:
"…Do you think it could be like this?"
All eyes turned.
"Not forever," she amended. "Just… a week. A real one."
No one laughed.
Jean was the first to respond.
"We're not made for peace," she said honestly. "But maybe that's exactly why we reach for it instead of power."
Pietro leaned back, exhaling.
"You still dream of children, don't you?" he said. Not teasing. Just knowing.
Wanda nodded through the silence.
"I see echoes. Not illusions. Not spells. Echoes that shake when I'm near him. Like someone's still waiting to be born."
Pietro didn't reply.
He tore a corner from her bread, popped it into his mouth, and didn't pretend it meant nothing.
[System Feedback: Domesticity Registered]
Wanda Maximoff: Emotionally Active | No Instability
Jean Grey: Observing | Heartline Coordinated
Anchor Field Holding: 41.5% (Stable Oscillation)
▫▫▫
After, Dante rose to clean.
Jean stood. So did Wanda.
They both tried to reach for the plates.
He waved them off.
"Let me cook, you handle ghosts," he said flatly.
It wasn't meant as a blade.
But it landed.
Jean's magic pressed back into her veins. Wanda set her plate down with unusual gentleness.
He cleared the dishes anyway.
Because some moments didn't need anchoring. They needed space.
▫▫▫
Later, after warmth had dimmed, wine poured again.
Jean offered Wanda a glass.
Wanda didn't speak. Just took it.
No flame marked the rim. No chaos sealed the bowl.
They drank.
Together.
In an amber silence too universal for description.
The fire bled low.
As if bowing.
Like the room knew—
something about this night was sacred, even if it wouldn't last.
[Sin System Alert: Emotional Event Flagged — "Almost Family"]
❖ Anchor Core: Drift Stabilized to 42.7%
❖ Wanda Maximoff → 75.6%
❖ Jean Grey → 49.3%
Status: Dreamless Unity Phase Reached
Risk Level: DORMANT | Rivalry Suspended
System Comment: "Peace is not permanence—but it's real."
▫▫▫
Much later—
Everyone dispersed.
Soft footsteps. Glances not spoken.
Upstairs—
Jean settled in the library loft, her knees tucked high, a small flame covering her fingers like lullaby light. She whispered Dante's name once—barely audible.
Not summoning. Just remembering.
Wanda lay beneath thick blankets on the far hall, her hands over her lower stomach.
Palm curled around nothing.
Yet everything.
She hummed something.
A song never written, but woven from hope and ache.
And in the common room—
Dante sat again by dying fire.
Not silent from fear.
Just… heavy.
Pietro took the armchair across from him.
A beat passed.
"You're playing a slow war," Pietro said tiredly. "That your plan?"
Dante didn't answer.
Pietro leaned in. Elbows on knees.
"Tell me something."
"Okay."
"Which one do you dream of?"
Dante stared into the coals.
Voice low.
"…Lately?"
He paused.
"I dream… of both. But not at once. Different fires. Same warmth. That's the problem."
Pietro leaned back with a soft scoff.
"Then you're already f***ed, my friend."
Dante didn't deny him.
He just closed his eyes… and let them burn.
[Sin System Update — Mixed Bond Field Flagged]
❖ Wanda Maximoff → 75.6%
❖ Jean Grey → 49.3%
❖ Anchor Core: 42.7%
Emotional Stability: Holding
Fragment Forecast: ✶ Soft Interruption Approaching
Pietro Maximoff — Observer Trace Registered
Intervention Risk: LOW / Perception HIGH
▫▫▫
Down below, rituals waited.
Up above, dreams twisted.
And at the center?
A man built for battle.
Now haunted by something much harder—
being loved, and unable to choose.
________