"Are you sure that's what you really want, Adonai?" Storm asked, studying him with a quiet concern that she made little effort to hide.
"I'm afraid so, teach," Adonai replied softly. "I've done my best to heal the survivors who were critically injured. It's about time for me to leave."
After Magneto had arrived and delivered his impassioned rhetoric, nearly half of the surviving Morlocks had chosen to leave with the Brotherhood of Mutants, which was hardly surprising. They had endured a genocide, watched friends and family slaughtered before their eyes, and then a powerful man had appeared before them promising both safety and vengeance. Under those circumstances, it would have taken a remarkable amount of restraint to refuse him.
The remaining survivors, those who were simply too exhausted and broken to devote themselves to hatred, chose to accompany the X-Men instead. They wanted peace, recovery, and a chance to rebuild what little remained of their lives. As a result, the past two weeks had been spent trying to accommodate the sudden influx of displaced mutants into the Academy. Dormitories had been reorganized, resources stretched thin, and every member of the X-Men had found themselves carrying more responsibility than ever before.
Adonai's own contribution had been straightforward. From sunrise until well into the night, he had used [Tranquil Deer] to heal the wounded. And it was more exhausting than he expected.
The more severe the injury, the greater energy he needed to expend to heal them, and many evenings ended with him barely able to remain conscious long enough to collapse onto his bed. There were days when every muscle in his body felt hollow and drained, when simply remaining standing required effort, but he had continued because there had been no one else capable of doing what he could. But even that exhaustion was preferable to the part he truly hated.
It was the way they looked at him. Everywhere he went, he found the same look in their eyes - a mixture of awe, gratitude, reverence, and dependence. To them he was the miracle worker who had emerged from the darkness of the tunnels when all hope had seemed lost. The reason their children still breathed, their loved ones had survived wounds that should have killed them. Some of them looked at him as though he were a savior sent to deliver them from suffering, as though he possessed answers to questions that had haunted them their entire lives.
It unsettled him more than he cared to admit. People were always searching for something to worship. If they could not find a god, they found an ideology or a person. Adonai wanted no part of that. Every individual was responsible for their own happiness, their own purpose, and their own path through life. He could heal wounds. He could not live people's lives for them. Yet every day he saw more and more people beginning to lean on him, to look toward him for reassurance, guidance, and hope. It felt as though invisible chains were slowly being wrapped around his wrists, forged from gratitude and expectation alike.
Now, most of the critically injured have recovered. Those who remained would heal with time, whether he stayed or left. As far as Adonai was concerned, there was no reason to linger any longer. It was time to step out into the world, time to find an answer to Magneto's questions, and, most importantly, time to figure out what the hell he actually wanted to do with his life.
"That's not what I mean, Adonai," Storm said, her voice carrying a note of sadness. "Every one of us is grateful for what you've done. For the past two weeks you've pushed yourself to the brink of exhaustion day after day without asking for recognition, simply because there were people who needed your help. There would have been many more funerals if you hadn't been here. Nobody could ever adequately express how much that means."
She paused smiling at him with gratitude before continuing. "What concerns me is your decision to leave the X-Men altogether. You've endured something unimaginably traumatic, and you're standing at a crossroads while the wounds are still fresh. Are you absolutely sure that walking away right now is the path you truly want to take?"
Adonai had come to Professor Xavier's office to inform him of his decision, and Storm, Logan, and Dr. McCoy had happened to be present, which at least spared him from having to repeat the same conversation multiple times.
"I agree with Storm," Dr. McCoy said, offering a sympathetic smile. "What we experienced in those tunnels was among the darkest moments any of us have ever endured, and it pains me that someone your age was forced to witness such horrors. I understand the frustration that comes from being unable to prevent a tragedy, and I understand the powerful urge to seize control of your life afterward, to make a decisive change simply because remaining still feels unbearable.
"But life-altering decisions made in the immediate aftermath of immense grief rarely benefit from urgency. I am worried that you're leaving because you feel compelled to find answers immediately. Don't place the weight of fixing the world upon your shoulders before you have even had time to process what happened. You have your entire life ahead of you, Adonai. There is no deadline forcing you to decide your future today. Why not allow yourself a little more time to breathe, to recover, and to reflect before committing to such a significant choice?"
Adonai knew their concerns came from a place of genuine care. At the end of the day, he was still only eighteen years old. From their perspective, he was a teenager talking about abandoning school and setting off into the world alone shortly after witnessing a massacre. It was only natural that they worried he was making a decision driven by emotion rather than careful consideration.
"Stay and do what?" Adonai scoffed. "Pretend everything can go back to normal? Pretend we're all supposed to continue exactly where we left off?"
"We aren't asking anyone to forget what happened," Storm replied, her gaze lowering briefly. "None of us could, even if we wanted to. The scars of what happened will remain with us for the rest of our lives. But scars don't have to define the rest of our story. These are difficult days for all of us, and grief has a way of convincing people that they must face their burdens alone.
"But every meaningful thing the X-Men have ever accomplished was achieved because people chose to stand together when isolation seemed easier. What happened in those tunnels was meant to break us, to convince us that fear and hatred would always prevail. The fact that we are still here, still helping one another, still choosing compassion despite everything that was taken from us, is proof that it failed.
"We can't undo what happened, Adonai, just as we can't bring back those we lost. What we can do is honor them through the lives we continue to live and through the future we choose to build. We have an opportunity to create something better than what existed before, a world where tragedies like this never happen because people were willing to fight for something greater than themselves.
"You don't have to carry that burden alone, and you don't have to figure out your future by yourself. Sometimes strength is found in moving forward together with people who understand your pain because they carry it too. Whatever comes next, I would rather see us face it side by side than allow this tragedy to scatter us in different directions."
"How do you intend to do that?" Adonai asked calmly. "Magneto is a bitch, but he made valid points. It won't be long before the existence of mutants becomes public knowledge on a global scale, and what we just experienced is just a prelude of something far worse to come."
Adonai sincerely hoped that not every catastrophe he remembered from the comics would come to pass in this reality, but the Mutant Massacre had already shattered much of that optimism. If events continued down their current path, mutants would endure further persecution, discrimination, and likely more genocides in the years ahead.
The reasons were painfully obvious. It had always struck him as strange that so many ordinary people within Marvel's world could admire individuals like Captain America, Iron Man, the Fantastic Four, and countless other enhanced beings, only to turn around and fear mutants with an almost irrational intensity. But the more he thought about it, the less irrational it seemed.
People like Captain America were exceptional because they were rare and understandable. Becoming Captain America required an extraordinary series of events that could not simply happen to anyone. Iron Man was a genius billionaire who built his own power through technology and resources that few could ever replicate. The public could understand them, categorize them, and convince themselves that such people existed far outside the boundaries of ordinary life.
Mutants were different because a mutant could be anyone: your child, your neighbor, or the quiet kid sitting beside your daughter in school. A mutation could awaken at any moment without warning and with consequences nobody could predict. One day a frightened teenager might discover that his body released a deadly virus that killed everyone within several miles. Another child might accidentally reduce an entire building to rubble because she lost control of her emotions for a few seconds. Someone else could awaken the ability to manipulate minds, to create earthquakes, to summon fire, to kill with a thought.
Most mutants had never asked for such power and would have no idea how to control it, but the damage their abilities could cause would occur regardless. People feared what they could not understand, and there would always be opportunists eager to exploit that fear for their own purposes. Men like Sinister and countless future extremists would seize every accident and every tragedy as evidence that mutants represented an existential threat to humanity. Fear would breed hatred, hatred would justify oppression, and the cycle would continue unabated.
"I founded the X-Men because I believed there had to be another path," Professor Xavier said suddenly. "When I was younger, I met countless young mutants who were terrified of themselves. Children who had been rejected by their families. I created this school so they would have a place where they could learn to understand themselves. A place where they could master their abilities before those abilities harmed either themselves or others. A place where they could discover that possessing extraordinary gifts does not diminish their humanity."
His eyes drifted toward the window. "The X-Men were intended to be an example. And ideal! I wanted young mutants to see what they could become when guided by compassion and purpose. I wanted frightened parents to see that mutants were not monsters lurking in the shadows. I wanted ordinary people to see men and women who used their gifts to protect others rather than dominate them. I wanted to show the world that a mutant is still a person. Someone who laughs, dreams, loves, fears, succeeds, and fails just like everyone else."
As the Professor's gaze settled on him and a warm smile crossed his face, Adonai found himself understanding at last why Magneto and the Professor had once been such close friends. Both men were deeply idealistic, remarkably charismatic, and gifted orators capable of inspiring others to follow their vision, whereas he often felt as though he was stumbling through life while only half aware of what he was doing.
"The dream was always larger than the school itself," The professor said. "I envisioned a future where humans and mutants could live alongside one another without fear. A future where neither side viewed the other as an enemy. Perhaps it is an impossible dream. Many have told me as much throughout my life. But every meaningful advancement in human history began with someone believing that an impossible future could become reality."
"You want to create heroes," Adonai said with amusement.
"I do," the professor replied with a warm smile. "The world has always been shaped by individuals willing to rise above their circumstances. People who choose compassion when hatred appears justified. People who continue moving forward despite setbacks, failures, and tragedies. Did you know, Adonai, that less than a century ago there were places in this country where a black man could not sit wherever he pleased on a bus? There were schools he could not attend and restaurants where he could not eat. Entire communities lived under laws specifically designed to deny them equal treatment.
"And for generations, people insisted that such inequalities were natural and permanent. Many sincerely believed society could never change. And yet it did. The civil rights movement endured unimaginable resistance. People were beaten, imprisoned, humiliated, and murdered simply for demanding equal treatment. Progress was painfully slow and often frustrating, yet they persisted, and today the world is better because of their efforts."
His gaze drifted downward as he remembered how many people in his previous life had treated the mutant issue as an allegory for the civil rights movement or other minority struggles, and while he could see certain similarities, Adonai had never fully agreed with that interpretation because, unlike those groups, mutants possessed abilities that gave people a rational reason to fear them, making the comparison ring hollow in his eyes.
"Or consider the Jewish people, who have endured centuries of persecution. Entire nations attempted to erase them from existence, millions suffered and millions died. And yet the Nazis were defeated. The survivors rebuilt their lives. Humanity learned from that tragedy, imperfectly perhaps, but learned nonetheless. Throughout history there have always been groups declared inferior, dangerous, undesirable, or incapable of coexistence. Time and time again those prejudices were eventually challenged and overcome by people courageous enough to reject them.
"Humanity possesses an extraordinary capacity for cruelty but extraordinary capacity for growth. I don't believe mutants represent a unique challenge unlike anything history has faced before. I believe this is simply the next great obstacle that humanity must overcome. The road ahead will be difficult. But I refuse to believe that fear and hatred are the final destination of our species."
Adonai considered the professor's words. There was something admirable about such optimism, and a part of him even envied it. But another part could not help but feel that Xavier's perspective belonged to a man who had spent most of his life protected by privilege, wealth, and influence. It was easier to preach patience when society had never truly placed its boot upon your neck. And regardless of the professor's convictions, Adonai knew enough about the future to doubt that the struggle for mutant coexistence would be won easily.
"A good little minority that eats all their vegetables and goes to bed on time has never contributed much to improving their treatment," Adonai said with a faint smile. "Don't get me wrong, coexistence is possible. I simply don't think that creating costumed symbols and hoping people conclude that mutants can be good is enough. Pacifism by itself has rarely accomplished meaningful change."
"We can only do our best and hope for the best, Adonai," the professor replied.
"Maybe," Adonai said with a shrug. "Who am I to claim your way is wrong or that another way is right? In any case, the conversation only reinforces my decision. I don't belong among the X-Men. Wearing costumes and fighting crime is not something I would enjoy."
"You are eighteen years old, Adonai." Professor Xavier regarded him quietly for several moments. "You're legally an adult. If you wish to leave the Institute, no one here will attempt to prevent you. The purpose of this school has never been to control people or dictate the course of their lives. But, I believe there is tremendous good you could accomplish here, even if you struggle to see it yourself.
"You have gifts that extend beyond your mutation, and I suspect your impact on those around you is greater than you realize. I would ask you to reconsider, because I think you still have much to gain from being here and much to offer in return. But regardless of your choice, you will always be welcome among the X Men."
"I don't think I should be," Adonai said softly, the words barely more than a whisper.
Storm tilted her head. "Why not?" She asked, tilting her head curiously.
"Because heroes don't burn people alive."
The professor grimaced visibly at that. "Why...why did you burn Sabretooth?" he asked at last, his voice measured and calm despite the obvious discomfort behind the question.
"I told you already, didn't I?" Adonai replied with a casual shrug. "I wanted the problem dealt with permanently, especially with men like Sinister still operating in the shadows."
"So you have said," the professor acknowledged. "And this Sabretooth revealed everything he knew about this Mister Sinister?"
"You would be amazed how quickly even the most stubborn individuals discover a desire to communicate when the alternative involves being slowly roasted alive. From what I learned, Mister Sinister is one of the most dangerous threats facing both mutants and humans. Whatever his ultimate goals may be, he had a hand in what happened to the Morlocks. I would strongly recommend investigating him. We still have survivors, and if he was willing to orchestrate a massacre once, I see no reason to assume he won't attempt to finish the job."
It was a convenient explanation. He could conceal much of his meta knowledge behind the claim that Sabretooth had provided the information, and there was no practical way for anyone to dispute it. Logan, however, seemed less convinced. The older mutant had been watching him throughout the conversation with a faintly suspicious look in his eyes, though he wisely chose to keep his thoughts to himself.
Adonai did not particularly care. If the X-Men turned their attention toward Sinister, then so much the better. The less freedom Sinister had to pursue his schemes, the better things would be for everyone involved. If the X-Men managed to deal with him entirely, that would be one less nightmare for Adonai to concern himself with in the future.
"But even so," the Professor said slowly, "to burn a person alive is a terrible thing. It is wrong. Every human life possesses an inherent dignity, and no one deserves to die in such a manner."
"If you had seen the sheer joy Sabretooth took in hunting children, you wouldn't be saying that," Adonai replied, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Perhaps," Xavier replied softly. "Perhaps you are even correct in that assessment. But the moment we begin deciding which lives possess value and which don't, we place ourselves upon a very dangerous path. The moment a person concludes that he alone has the wisdom to determine who deserves mercy and who deserves destruction, he has already begun drifting toward tyranny, regardless of how noble his intentions may appear. The law exists because human beings are imperfect. Justice exists because emotions are unreliable. Vengeance often disguises itself as righteousness, and anger frequently convinces us that our actions are necessary when they are merely satisfying.
"The principle is the same whether one kills a murderer, a thief, or a tyrant. If a person appoints himself judge, jury, and executioner, then sooner or later he will make a mistake. Eventually he will encounter a situation where certainty proves false, where anger clouds reason, where vengeance masquerades as justice. When that day arrives, there will be nobody left capable of questioning him because he will have already convinced himself that he alone is qualified to decide. I am telling you this because I don't wish to see that happen to you. The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
"That is certainly a perspective," Adonai said with a faint smile. "I will give it some thought."
The statement earned an approving nod from Xavier.
In truth, Adonai already knew he would not. Call him callous if one wished, but no accusation, no matter how justified, would change his opinion on the matter. He could not bring himself to feel guilty for what had happened to Sabretooth. The man had spent decades murdering, torturing, and terrorizing innocent people for little more than his own amusement. Leaving someone like that alive struck Adonai as the greater evil, assuming one cared to divide the world into such categories in the first place.
Perhaps Xavier feared the consequences of allowing individuals to decide who deserved death and those concerns were understandable.
Adonai simply valued the lives of future victims more than the life of a predator who had devoted his existence to creating them. If given the choice again, knowing everything he knew now, he suspected Sabretooth would burn exactly the same way.
POV: Charles Xavier
"Do you think he was telling the truth?" Charles Xavier asked the question after Adonai had finally left the room, though it was directed at no one in particular.
Silence settled over the office for a few moments. He looked toward his colleagues and closest friends, people he trusted more than almost anyone else in the world, and found that each of them wore a thoughtful expression.
As a matter of principle, Charles rarely used his telepathic gifts to peer into the minds of those close to him. He considered the sanctity of one's thoughts to be among the most sacred forms of privacy a person possessed, a belief that many might find ironic given the nature of his powers. Yet Charles had always believed that possessing the ability to violate a boundary made respecting it even more important.
"I doubt it," Logan said at last, his voice low and rough.
The oldest mutant in the room leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening as he considered the conversation they had just witnessed.
"The kid's good at keepin' himself under control. Real good. Most liars give themselves away sooner or later. Heart starts racin', pulse jumps, breathing changes, muscles tighten. Usually I can pick up somethin'. With him, not so much."
Logan's jaw tightened. "But I've known Sabretooth a hell of a long time. Fought him more times than I care to count. That bastard would gut his own mother before he started handin' out secrets. He ain't loyal to many people, but he sure as hell ain't the type to start confessin' everything he knows because somebody scared him a little."
"A little?" Storm asked dryly.
"Alright, fair enough." Logan snorted. "Threatenin' to burn somebody alive ain't exactly a little. Even so, I don't buy it. Sabretooth might scream, curse, and beg when he's hurt enough, but he wouldn't spill every secret his employer ever trusted him with. Somethin' about that story doesn't sit right with me."
"Then where did he learn about this Sinister?" Storm frowned thoughtfully. "He knew far too much for someone hearing the name for the first time."
"I'd sure as hell like to know," Logan muttered, his jaw visibly clenched.
Charles noticed the concern in Ororo's expression. More than anyone else present in the room, she seemed troubled by Adonai's mysteries. She had grown deeply attached to the young mutant over the past months. His decision to leave had already wounded her, yet what troubled her even more was the realization that despite everything they had experienced together, there remained enormous parts of him that none of them truly understood. Adonai always seemed to know things he should not know. And despite their best efforts, none of them had ever managed to understand why.
"Perhaps he used one of his powers to make Sabretooth talk," Dr. McCoy suggested thoughtfully. "As far as we know, we have yet to witness the full extent of his abilities. While I am unaware of any mutation that would allow him to compel information directly, the sheer scope of his powers makes it difficult to dismiss the possibility entirely. We may simply be operating with an incomplete understanding of what he is capable of."
"That's certainly possible," Charles acknowledged.
But even as he spoke the words, he found himself unconvinced. There was something else at work here, something he could sense but could not quite identify. For all of Adonai's openness, there remained a hidden layer beneath everything he said and did, as though he were carrying knowledge that did not belong to someone his age. The thought unsettled him even as it fascinated him. But regardless of how curious those mysteries were, Charles found himself unwilling to pursue them.
"But I don't believe it matters any longer," Charles continued after a moment. "Adonai has chosen his path, and I would rather not tarnish the memory he leaves behind with unnecessary suspicion. Whatever secrets he possesses are ultimately his own. During his time here, he has done nothing but help those around him. The greatest trouble he caused was taking a handful of students on some rather unconventional nightly excursions. He has earned the right to keep certain things private if he wishes."
A quiet chuckle escaped Hank, and even Logan's mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile.
"That's true, I suppose," Storm said softly.
Her smile carried a hint of sadness. Charles knew exactly what she was feeling. The young mutant possessed an unusual ability to draw people toward him despite his reluctance to form attachments himself. There was a sincerity to him that people found difficult to resist. His departure would leave a void.
"What concerns me more," Dr. McCoy said, steering the conversation back toward practical matters, "is this Mister Sinister. Assuming even half of what Adonai told us is accurate, we can't simply ignore an individual connected to the Morlock Massacre."
"No," Charles agreed immediately. "We will not."
The warmth disappeared from his expression. If there truly existed someone operating behind the scenes who had orchestrated the slaughter of hundreds of innocent mutants, then that individual represented a threat far too dangerous to overlook.
"I will begin reaching out to our contacts and see what information can be gathered. If this Mister Sinister has been active for any significant length of time, then traces of his activities must exist somewhere."
Logan grunted. "And if they don't?"
"Then we search harder."
Adonai walked back toward his room, already mentally preparing for his departure. As he moved through the halls of the Institute, he found himself considering what exactly he intended to do once he left.
His greatest advantage, at least for the moment, was timing. This world was still in the year 2000, standing at the dawn of a new millennium. Thanks to his memories, he possessed a rough understanding of how the world would develop over the coming decades, and more importantly, he knew enough to take advantage of opportunities long before anyone else recognized their value. For once in his life, he actually had a roadmap. At least in theory. Whether he intended to follow it was another question entirely.
Reaching his room, he opened the door and raised an eyebrow at the unexpected visitor waiting inside. Of all people, Scott Summers was not someone he had expected to find sitting on his bed.
"Before you ask," Adonai said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, "I don't have any revolutionary masturbation techniques to share with you."
Scott stared at him through his ruby quartz visor. "What?...Why would I ask you that?"
"Well, judging by your gloomy expression, I figured the conversation had to be serious."
"And masturbation is what you consider serious?"
"Of course." Adonai nodded gravely. "There are few activities more universally human than spending quality time alone with one's own joystick. Nations rise and fall, economies crumble, but a man's relationship with his own ding-a-ling remains eternal. I mean, think about it logically. Entire wars have been started because powerful men were frustrated. The ability to spend some quality time alone and return to society in a calmer state of mind may very well be humanity's greatest super power. It is the ultimate expression of self-reliance. No bureaucratic bullshit. Just a man, his thoughts, and an unwavering commitment to personal happiness. If every world leader dedicated a few minutes each day to self-reflection of that variety, global conflict would probably decrease by at least thirty percent."
"I am begging you to stop."
"It's the purest form of democracy because every stroke counts equally."
"Please stop," Scott begged.
"It's the final frontier of individual liberty and it may very well be the key to world peace."
"I really don't want to have this conversation with you."
"Wait," Adonai said, frowning. "You do masturbate, right?"
Scott straightened defensively. "I don't do that kind of stuff."
The look of horror on Adonai's face could not have been more dramatic if Scott had confessed to eating children.
"What?!" Adonai shouted at the scandalous admission. "Oh my God! Oh my god! Jesus christ! that explains everything!"
"Can you ever have a normal conversation?" Scott said with a groan.
"Sure I can." Adonai dropped onto his chair. "The problem is that normal conversations are usually boring. Speaking of which, why are you in my room?"
He had originally planned to follow that question with another inappropriate joke, though he discovered he lacked the energy for it.
Scott's expression immediately became more serious. "You're leaving, aren't you?"
"How did you guess?" he asked with mock hurt. "I was planning to tell everyone later today. Honestly, Summers, the least you could do is pretend to be devastated. Have the decency not to celebrate what must undoubtedly be the greatest day of your life right in front of me."
The joke was lighthearted, but Scott did not laugh, instead looking notably unhappy, as though his suspicions had just been confirmed.
"I don't hate you, you know," Scott said suddenly.
"Terrible decision," Adonai said lightly. "Come on summer, you're not gonna cry because I am leaving, are you? Just so you know, I only comfort hot girls."
"I know we never really saw eye to eye," Scott said, ignoring his attempt at comedy. "Half the time I honestly have no idea what goes on inside your head. Even so, I am glad you were here. I am glad you came to the Institute and I am glad you were with us through all of this. And I'd be happy if you stayed."
The sincerity in Scott's voice caught him off guard, as Adonai had not expected anyone here in the Institute (perhaps with the exception of Rogue) to really care whether he stayed or left, especially since they had not known each other for very long.
"Who knows?" Scott continued. "Maybe we could figure out whatever it is you're looking for together. The team could use someone like you, especially now. After…"
The sentence died there. Scott's gaze drifted into the distance, and Adonai immediately recognized the expression, for everyone who had survived the tunnels now carried it - the memory still fresh, the screams, the blood, the bodies, the helplessness - and he knew Scott would carry those memories for the rest of his life, while he himself struggled to find something to say that was even remotely useful or comforting.
Unfortunately, wisdom was not one of his mutant powers.
"I'm sorry, Scott," he said with a rueful smile. "But I've already made my decision. If I stay much longer, I might never leave at all. Sometimes you've got to move before overthinking murders whatever momentum you managed to build. At least that's what people keep telling me."
"I suppose that was expected," Scott said slowly.
For a moment neither of them spoke, and Adonai could see the weight pressing on Scott's mind as he no doubt considered his X-Men duties and the future of mutantkind, or something equally serious and equally exhausting. Truth be told, he had always respected Cyclops as a leader, one of the few in Marvel who truly walked the talk and kept moving forward despite everything he had endured.
"Why do you think Sinister did it?" Scott asked softly at last.
"Who can understand the mind of a sociopath?" Adonai leaned back. "Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe the Morlocks offended his idea of what mutants are supposed to be. Maybe he simply enjoyed it. I honestly don't care about his motivation. Whatever reason he had doesn't change what happened."
Scott looked exhausted. "It's not going to get any easier for us, is it? It'll be a constant fight just for the right to exist for the rest of our lives."
"No," Adonai replied honestly. "It's not going to get easier. If anything, things are probably going to get worse from here."
Scott let out a tired laugh. "That's encouraging."
"I know." Adonai nodded sympathetically. "But look on the bright side. God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers." He paused. "Which is exactly why I stopped going to the gym. I wasn't taking any chances."
To his surprise, Scott let out a genuine laugh, the first Adonai had heard from him in quite some time.
"Well, I'll leave you to your packing," Scott said, standing up. "Oh, by the way. Can you check on Jean?"
The request immediately caught Adonai off guard. "Are you sure I'm the right person to comfort someone dealing with severe trauma?"
Scott's expression grew sad. "Neither my words nor anyone else's seem to be reaching her. Maybe yours might. You have a certain joie de vivre about you."
"A what?"
"A way of looking at life." Scott opened the door. "You have a habit of making people believe things can get better. Usually by being the worst alternative."
"I'll go see her," Adonai said with a laugh.
Scott offered a quiet, grateful smile before turning and leaving the room, the door closing softly behind him. And for the first time since deciding to leave, Adonai found himself wondering whether saying goodbye would be harder than he had expected.
AN: This story won the poll on Patreon! We're back! For this story, I decided to go with the X-Men: Evolution characterization of Professor X because, honestly, I think that version of him is much stronger than his comic counterpart.
I feel like comic writers, in their efforts to make Xavier more morally grey and complex, gradually piled on so many flaws that he occasionally crossed the line into outright villain territory. I've never been a huge fan of that interpretation. For me, Xavier works best as someone with genuinely good intentions who is trying to do the right thing, but who is still flawed enough to make mistakes and sometimes cause harm despite those intentions. That's what made him compelling in X-Men: Evolution, and it's the version I'm drawing inspiration from here.
Advanced chapters are available on my Patreon. If you want to read ahead, vote on which story gets updated each week, or simply support my writing so I can focus more on it, you can check it out here: /abeltargaryen?