⚜️ Saga 0: The Ash Years
📍 Location: Devil May Cry Bar | Lower East Side, NYC
🕯️ Year: Spring, 2007
🎯 Theme: Ritual, Rivalry, Rest
🛡 Sin System Status: Emotional Truce – Homefield Integration Holding
⚠ Anchor Status: Stable / Echo-Tied Sync Active
"Some houses are built with wood and steel.
Others are stitched between shoulders brushing in silence."
—
The first light touched old windows like a balm.
It slid past crooked blinds and flecks of paint on Devil May Cry's front door—the glass warped with time, etched faintly with residue from a life lived half on edge, half in wait.
Inside the loft, Dante woke slow.
Not from alarms.
Not from nightmares.
Just the weight of dawn pressing against his shoulder and Wanda, curled under his chin—hair seeping red across his worn t-shirt, breath warm and mortal.
He didn't move.
Didn't need to.
It was one of those fragile mornings that belonged to no one but them.
[Sin System Alert – "Anchor Field: Quiet Activated"]
Dante Sparda Emotional Integration: 69.1% → 69.8%
Wanda Maximoff Affection Field: 87.7% → 88.1%
Rival Thread: Suppressed – Emotional Rivalry Drift: 9.0%
—
By 7:03 a.m., the kitchen groaned alive.
Pietro was already arguing with the espresso machine. Again.
Wanda hovered at the stove—not spell-heavy, just glowing enough to keep the scrambled eggs from charring. She stirred like it was a performance: a little chaotic precision, a little war training.
Jean swaggered in late.
No makeup. Ancient tee. Boxer shorts. Hair like a supernova collapse.
She snagged Pietro's coffee on sight and flopped into Dante's chair with zero explanation. "Cozy," she said, tugging on his flannel shirt now wrapped halfway around her.
"Looks better on me," she nonchalantly added.
Dante sipped his own mug, unfazed. "Hide my shirts again and I'll hotwire your hairbrush."
Wanda stirred louder.
Not glaring. But her wrist twitched, and her hex-glow arced hot across the air like a sigh made visible.
Jean smirked. "Someone's extra red today."
[System Feedback: Competitive Spark Initiated – Dormant Rivalry Glimmer: 10.5%]
Wanda Maximoff: Possessiveness: +0.4%
Jean Grey: Provocation Register: +0.6%
Dante Integration: +0.8% → 70.6%
Status: Domestic Friction — Harmless for now
Pietro flipped a towel like a ceasefire banner.
"Y'all need less trauma and more toast."
—
Breakfast scattered into ritual.
Wanda adjusted the butter ratio on everyone's plate.
Cinnamon dust on Dante's, like memory.
Burned edges for Jean. Intentionally chaotic.
Honey for Pietro—who winked at her while Jean wasn't looking.
Jean gave Dante side-eyes when Wanda lingered too long over his shoulder. Wanda didn't say a word—but her palm flat on his back stayed longer than it needed.
Midmorning rolled in with sirens and pigeons outside.
Dante slid behind the sealed bar to handle invoices (poorly). Jean leaned in from the other side, watchful, hair still half-wild.
He laughed once—soft, clear. Not performance. Just… true.
Wanda glanced up from her sweeping spell mid-glide.
And watched.
She saw Dante glow when Jean made him laugh.
And clenched the broom.
It hummed under her fingers.
Later, Jean pinned a note to the fridge:
"Don't touch my fries – J."
Five minutes later, it sparkled with added cursive:
"Please ♥ – W."
Ten seconds after that?
Confetti.
Jean narrowed her eyes.
Wanda sipped her coffee. Unmoved.
Dante just raised a brow. "If the fries start floating again, I'm blaming Pietro."
Laundry day came with truce by necessity.
Dante sat on the counter watching chaos unfold.
Jean folded like a creature raised by wolves. Wanda folded like she was laying hexes into cotton.
Sheets tangled.
"So what would you do without us?" Wanda asked without looking up.
Dante smiled.
"Sleep late."
He waited a beat.
"Miss mornings like this."
They both touched his hand.
Uncoordinated.
Lingering.
[System Log: Emotional Echo Thread Detected – Shared Patient Claiming]
❖ Wanda: 88.2%
❖ Jean: 72.0%
❖ Dante Anchor: 70.6% → 71.1%
Rivalry: Soft Ignition – Suppressed by Routine
Night arrived with steady rain tapping the neon-lit windows.
Jazz twirled from the enchanted jukebox like a drunken lullaby.
Pietro passed out mid-pretzel.
Wanda danced—quiet, unaware—bare feet across the bar floor. Dante sat on the stool, watching.
No hunger in it.
Just marvel.
Jean stepped in, saw the angle, claimed the next track out of stubborn impulse—not jealousy.
She spun Wanda once—both half laughing, both glowing under golden light—and collapsed onto the couch beside Dante, head grazing his knee.
Wanda reached, fingertips curled around his hand.
Jean didn't stop her.
She just leaned back.
For that singular exhale of a moment—
There was no system.
No fire.
No name needing spoken.
Just three bodies existing freely. Together.
▫▫▫
[Sin System Log: Home Phase Stabilized]
Jean Grey: 73.0%
Wanda Maximoff: 88.7%
Dante Emotional Integration: 71.1%
Rival Thread: Functioning Peacefully – Dormant Tension Layer (10.9%)
Status: "Home Prototype Confirmed"
Thread Delay Triggering: ∆ None Active
System Response: Let it breathe before it breaks.
▫▫▫
Maybe Lioré wasn't coming tonight.
Maybe no name had to be spoken.
Maybe the bond was stronger simply because they didn't demand to be chosen.
At least—not yet.
Tomorrow could ache again.
But tonight—
They let themselves belong.
_______