Xavier lay unmoving in the center of the isolation chamber, the bed buried under layers of runes, seals, and old symbols carved into the floor. The chamber wasn't built for comfort—just control. The walls hummed faintly with restrained power, and the air itself felt heavy, like the room was trying to keep whatever was inside from stepping out.
It had been a few days, but he was still in that strange half-slumber, the kind where his chest rose and fell but nothing behind his eyelids moved. The healers circled him, whispering their chants and forcing down elixirs one after another. It looked like they were treating a corpse that refused to stay dead.
Luther stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, watching the scene. Elders gathered behind him, all curious but keeping distance. They looked at Xavier like he was something that shouldn't exist.
One of the elder healers finally stepped forward.
