SLAM!
The office door shook in its frame as Logan stormed out, the echo of his boots thundering down the hallway. The silence left behind was suffocating.
Colossus stood slowly, his large frame unnervingly still. He didn't look angry—he looked… disillusioned. "And what about the kids, Charles?" His voice was low, firm. "I joined the X-Men to see a better future for them. Did you… alter their memories too?"
Xavier swallowed. "Only the ones who were there… who saw what happened to Jean."
Colossus clenched his jaw, nodded once, and stepped away from the table. "Then I've made up my mind." He walked toward the door without another glance. "I won't accept you as our leader—not until you tell them the truth too." He left without slamming the door. That hurt worse.
John Proudstar stood next. He said nothing. Not a word. He simply turned, fists tight at his sides, and followed Piotr out the door. Three down. The silence deepened.
Ororo and Hank rose at the same time. Their chairs scraped against the polished wood like whispers of tension. Hank's voice cracked when he spoke, softer than expected, brittle and hollow. "I need to rest for the night," he muttered. "And leave this room before I say something I'll regret." He didn't wait for acknowledgement. Just turned and walked out, his footsteps slow, heavy. Ororo lingered for a heartbeat longer—then left without a word.
And then there was one. Moira MacTaggert stood near the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around herself—not defensively, but as if trying to keep something from spilling out. She stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "Charles," she said softly, "how could you do this to me?"
Xavier looked up. His voice shook. "Moira…"
"You knew me. On my third life. You knew what I saw. What I suffered through. And yet—" her voice cracked. "I came here. I came back to you in this fourth life because I believed in you."
She stepped closer to the door, pausing just in front of it. She didn't turn around yet. "Ironic, isn't it?" she whispered. "You did what you did to keep us together. To stop us from fracturing." She turned to look at him now—eyes brimming. "Not realizing that's what caused the fracture."
Xavier's lips parted. His voice, small, trembling. "I… was afraid."
Moira's eyes softened, but her expression was full of sorrow. "Have you ever wondered how things might've gone if you hadn't done it?"
Charles looked away. "Every night."
Moira smiled—bittersweet, broken. Her voice was barely audible now, almost a memory. "I bet we'd still be strong as ever." She turned back to the door. Her fingers lingered on the handle. A tear fell down her cheek as she added, "But your trust in us… wasn't as strong as mine." And then she left. The door clicked shut behind her.
Charles Xavier sat alone.
The desk lamp glowed softly, casting warm light across the dark room. The bookshelves stood like silent witnesses. Dust hung in the air like ghosts of unspoken truths. And at the center, in a wheelchair that felt heavier than ever, sat a man who had moved the world with his mind—Now utterly still.
Tears welled up in his eyes. And without anyone left to see him… Charles Xavier broke down. Silently. Utterly. Completely.
…
The great World Council meeting room was nearly empty now.
The holograms of world leaders had long since flickered out, leaving behind nothing but cold silence and blue shimmer stains on the reflective floor. The only ones left were Nick Fury, seated with his coat slung lazily across his shoulders, and the lone remaining hologram—Alexander Pierce.
Pierce's image flickered faintly, standing tall and composed in digital blue. "I'm sorry, Nick," Pierce said, his tone unusually genuine. "I should've cleaned up the Council when I was director. Too many snakes were already nesting by the time I stepped down."
Fury, rubbing tired fingers against his brow, stared at the fading glow of the other holo-podiums. "You were too high up by then. Too busy making deals with suits and keeping the world from falling apart." He gave a dry chuckle. "Didn't have time to think about headaches like this."
Pierce's hologram smiled. "That's what I had you for." Nick smirked.
Pierce continued, "I stand behind your reform motion, Nick. This council needs reshaping—no more cowardice disguised as diplomacy. I suggest you start distributing those black files we tucked away. Might smooth things out with the stubborn opposition ahead of next month's decision."
Nick leaned back slightly, something like pride settling into his posture. "Reading my mind. I already pulled 'em. Got half a dozen piles of files filled with their dirty laundry thicker than Stark's ego." He grinned faintly. "The moment you took me under your wing, I knew I wanted to change this whole system. Burn it down and build something cleaner."
Pierce's smile widened, faint static buzz on the edges of his cheek. "Well, good thing I'm here to help you with your childhood dreams." The two shared a quiet laugh. "Got a candidate for the new council seat yet?" Pierce asked, almost casually.
Nick waved it off. "It's not up to me—but if this international motion passes, I'll throw my recommendation in. Honestly? I want you back in it."
Pierce blinked. "What—me? You can't be serious."
Nick smirked. "You've been out of the field long enough to have credibility and just close enough to still have teeth. You're sharp, seasoned, and nobody could say no without looking like they're blocking a hero."
Pierce chuckled. "Nick, I'm your mentor. The others will call it nepotism and scream about favoritism."
"Let 'em," Fury said with a shrug. "We've survived worse."
A moment of silence passed between them.
Pierce's expression softened. "Well, it's late. Get some rest, Director."
"Yeah," Nick said, standing slowly. "See you tomorrow, Pierce."
"See you tomorrow." The hologram fizzled and blinked out.
…
Alexander Pierce's private study – undisclosed location.
In a dark-paneled room filled with antique maps and surveillance monitors, Alexander Pierce stood from his desk, the hologram projector still warm. He adjusted his cuffs slowly. In the silence, a smile spread across his face—not warm, not nostalgic. Cold. Satisfied.
'Smoother than I thought,' he mused to himself. 'Fury thinks he's building something new. Something better.' He walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back. 'And all I have to do is keep letting him think that.'
A subtle click from a hidden panel. A monitor lit up, showing a list of Hydra high operatives—one name already nominated for a new council seat. 'A reformed council, built on the ashes of incompetence, ripe for Hydra's hand…'
He turned back toward his desk, face half-lit by screen glow. "Good, Nick. Your willingness to change the world... is exactly what we needed."
…
Cut back to Nick Fury, alone in his quiet room. He poured himself a coffee and sighed, looking over the files marked "Re: World Council." Most were blackmail fodder, buried secrets, and carefully cultivated leverage. "Maybe," he muttered, "Jack Hou was the damn blessing in disguise I didn't know I needed."
He looked toward the night sky through the floor to ceiling windows. "I thought I'd need more of the Council's screw-ups to get this thing moving. Turns out one missile strike on a magic island was enough."
He pulled open his tablet, pulling up schematics for a new UN-embedded command chain. A bold dream for global reform. "And with Pierce backing me... maybe I can pull it off." Unaware that the man he trusted most… was the one guiding Hydra's hand from behind the curtain.
…
The wind rolled gently across the courtyard atop Mount Huaguo, nestled within the peak of Jack's soul. A perfect blend of sacred peace and casual chaos.
Here, the air smelled like old incense and spring air. Golden clouds swirled above like lazy dragons, circling a grand temple—Jack's main soul shrine, flanked by five smaller temples, each representing a chapter in his growth.
Jack sat cross-legged in the courtyard, floating in meditation. His brow twitched. Then his eyes opened. He blinked once.
In the distance, Ruyi Jingu Bang, the golden staff, was sprinting and spiraling like a hyper puppy chasing its own shadow—trying to catch Zephyr, his soul-bound cloud, who zoomed in circles to taunt it.
Jack stood and walked toward them. "Heyyy—hey now! Don't hurt each other, okay?" he said with mock authority. "I'm going down the mountain. Try not to knock down the courtyard while I'm gone."
Zephyr formed a little misty nub and gave a soft wave. Ruyi Jingu Bang swayed side to side in a slow wobble—mimicking a hand wave, if a stick could wave.
Jack grinned. He turned toward the winding path that snaked down the mountain slope—stones carved from ancient understanding, he started to ramble to himself—like a monk possessed by a talkative squirrel. "Whew. Alright. What a day. Today's been, what's the word… ah right. Insane. Fought a sentient island. Punched a missile. Accidentally flashed a satellite. Not my proudest moment."
He waved to nothing, his gaze drifted down to his clothes. Even here, in his soul, his clothes reflected what he wore in the real world—currently, an oversized trainee X-Men shirt and no pants. "Why does Krakoa get to change form, huh? That's so unfair! Giant flower boy gets a cool misty body and what do I get? A criminal record and a drafty butt."
He squinted at the sky, pouting.
"Can you imagine me changing shape? I'd sneak into places I absolutely shouldn't be in. Like…" He pointed his finger dramatically. "The kitchen of McDonald's! Finally find out what they do to the ice cream machine… tell me what you did, Ronald!" He trailed off, then chuckled to himself. The descent led him through the quiet, ancient terrain of his mind
Eventually, he arrived at the base of the mountain trail—the Fifth Temple. Unlike the others, this temple had no grand feelings, no shifting energy, no swirling aura of power. It sat there. Still. Quiet. Unchanged.
Jack frowned. "Weird. Usually when something changes in me, these temples throw a party. Peach petals, fireworks, dramatic shits—I was expecting a banner that says 'You Leveled Up, Dumbass.' just now."
He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Didn't I do something today? That petal thing... That's gotta count, right?" Still… nothing. The fifth temple didn't even stir.
Jack frowned harder. Then, a thought flickered—quiet but sharp. He looked inward, his voice low and contemplative now. "Wait…" He crouched, eyes narrowing. "Maybe… it's not about the petals."
Jack's tone shifted, deepened. His usual manic energy faded as the pieces clicked together. "All the others… Lessons given to me. The first—controlling my body, energy, learning to cast spells. A gift from my master." He pointed to the distant First Temple, its doors now etched with golden Taoist calligraphy.
"The second—Ruyi Jingu Bang. The day I learned to control it, to make it my weapon. Not just a relic I borrowed, but something bound to me."
Then to the Third Temple, nestled in the roots of a flowering tree. "The third… the hair clone. The moment I turned pieces of myself into avatars. That was freaky. Still don't know if I gave them souls or just really good AI."
Then the Fourth Temple, gleaming faintly with flickers of gold. "The gaze… yeah. The golden gaze that could see sin. Then it evolved to something deeper. Past guilt. Into truth."
And now… the Fifth. He looked up at it, quiet. "And I thought… the peach petals were the next step." He closed his eyes.
"Every temple was about something given to me. Something awakened. But this time—it wasn't gifted. It wasn't taught. It was mine."
He smiled. "It came from me." And suddenly… the wind shifted. Not violently. But… like an exhale. A single peach blossom drifted down from nowhere and landed gently on the steps of the Fifth Temple.
"No wonder this one's been quiet. I didn't awakened anything today. I made something. And it's about damn time." His smile softened. "Guess I'm not just a monkey with tricks anymore, huh?" The wind blew again, carrying a soft laugh with it—his own.
…
The sunlight bathed the island in a warm, golden glow as Jack Hou opened his eyes from meditation. Still seated on Zephyr, now floating lazily in the sky just above a grove of peach trees Krakoa had shaped overnight, Jack took in the early morning air with a big grin.
He stretched his arms, hair messy, oversized shirt flapping loosely. "Morning already," he muttered. "Feels like I just sat down." A nearby vine crept forward, holding a bundle of bright tropical fruit. The vine stopped near Jack, gently presenting it like a small, proud offering. Krakoa's floral form shimmered beside it. "You are… happy," it said curiously, petals shifting. "I thought humans needed sleep to be happy."
Jack blinked. "Who said that?"
"The Pilot did," Krakoa replied. "One time I wanted to keep playing, but he said he needed to sleep to be happy."
Jack burst into laughter. "Kekekeke! Ohhh you poor sweet island. You're still naïve."
Krakoa puffed its leafy chest. "No. I'm smart."
Jack gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, yeah. Sure you are."
He reached for a piece of fruit, about to bite in—when he suddenly froze. Then—JOLT. His eyes widened. "Shit—SHIT!" He jumped up, nearly slipping off the cloud. Krakoa flinched in surprise, vines rearing back. "W-what?! Is there something attacking us again?"
"No, worse!" Jack shouted as he sprinted off—barefoot and pantless, flapping down the hill like a wild man. "My boat!"
Krakoa's form rippled into petals and rushed to keep up, blown forward by wind and worry. Jack dashed toward the eastern shore—the exact place he'd washed up days ago. He hit the sand fast, eyes darting along the shore like a madman. Krakoa, mid-flight, hovered nearby. "Your… boat? Why? We don't need it anymore. You have Zephyr."
"No no no," Jack said frantically, kicking up sand. "It's not about the boat. There's something important on it!" Just then, Zephyr zipped down from the sky, bobbing beside him, curious. Jack looked up. "Not now, Zeph, I gotta—" Krakoa pointed. "Is that it?"
Jack turned. Half-buried in a sandbank, the remnants of a dingy wooden boat jutted from the ground like a forgotten relic. "YES!" Jack cried. He ran toward it and dropped to his knees. With a speed that defied logic, he started to dig it out, sand flying everywhere. Krakoa and Zephyr hovered back as Jack ripped through the sand.
Then, he stopped. His fingers touched something soft. Slowly, carefully, he pulled out a slightly dusty but still vibrant blue scarf—Billy's scarf. It smelled faintly like sea salt and campfire. Jack looked at it, blinking, then hugged it tightly to his chest. "Thank the heavens," he whispered. "Thank me, I left you here thinking you'd be safer… I almost forgot."
Krakoa tilted its leafy head. "Is it a sentient scarf?"
Jack snorted. "No. It's… it's a gift."
He ran his thumb along the worn fabric. "I got this from a kid. A sweet, shy, but stubborn kid named Billy." Krakoa blinked. "Your people?" Zephyr floated down beside him, curious. Jack looked up and laughed. "Oh? You want to try it on?" He held up the scarf.
Zephyr shifted, mist rippling like a child nodding. "Alright then." Jack stood, grinning. With exaggerated ceremony, he gently tied the blue scarf around Zephyr, looping it just once. "There. Sir Zephyr, first of your name. Scarf-bearer, Cloud-floater, Spirit of Style."
Zephyr spun joyfully, whirling in circles above the sand—its form glowing faintly with pride. Jack leaned back, hands on his hips, still pantless. "Kekekeke… I think it suits you better than it ever did me."
**A/N**
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**A/N**