The Jedi Council Chamber occupied the highest spire of the Temple, its circular walls opening to Coruscant's endless sky. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating twelve seats arranged in a perfect circle—though several remained empty, their occupants serving in the field as generals in this endless war.
Wanda Maximoff stood at the center of that circle, her crimson coat a splash of blood against the muted browns and beiges of Jedi robes. Behind her, six Avengers formed a loose line: Steve with his arms crossed, Pietro vibrating with barely contained energy, Natasha still as a statue, Vision's hands clasped behind his back, Rhodey in full armor, and Sam with his wings folded against his shoulders.
The contrast was stark. Deliberate.
Wanda had chosen this outfit knowing exactly how it would look in this room. The Nightsisters' gift, dyed in the crimson of her power, her identity. She wouldn't apologize for it.
"Ms. Maximoff." Yoda's gravelly voice broke the weighted silence. The ancient Jedi Master sat forward slightly, his eyes ancient and assessing. "A pleasure to finally meet you, it is. Great concern, your friends have shown. Much effort, they have made to find you."
The backwards cadence should have been jarring. Instead, Wanda found it oddly calming—like listening to a language that operated on different rules but still conveyed perfect meaning.
"I understand," she replied, inclining her head with genuine respect. "And I'm grateful. Thank you for sheltering my friends while they searched."
"Express our gratitude to the Avengers, we cannot," Yoda continue"Great service they have provided, in this difficult war."
Wanda said nothing, simply absorbed the weight of their attention. Every Jedi in this chamber was watching her—not with suspicion, exactly, but with the focused awareness of predators encountering something unknown.
She could feel them reaching out through the Force, their minds brushing against the chaos that coiled inside her soul like a living thing.
"Much, we sense from you, Ms. Maximoff." Yoda's eyes remained closed, his expression peaceful despite the intensity of his scrutiny. "Great power. Unique power."
"Not the Force," Ki-Adi-Mundi clarified, his elongated cranium tilting slightly. "Similar to Vision. To your brother. To Peter Parker. Different, yet resonant."
Wanda's eyebrow arched. Peter has abilities beyond the Force?
She'd sensed something in him—something that didn't quite align with this galaxy's energy signature. But the Jedi had noticed it too?
"We are all curious about this, Ms. Maximoff," Mace Windu said, and his tone suggested he'd read her unspoken question directly from her expression. "But Mr. Parker is not our focus today." His dark eyes swept past her to the Avengers standing in support. "We wish to discuss what you brought back from Dathomir."
Adi Gallia leaned forward, her hands steepled. "Mother Talzin has sent word. A request for aid in locating someone called Gethzerion."
"Not only her," Ki-Adi-Mundi added. "Multiple clan leaders have made similar appeals."
"Tell us about this witch," Shaak Ti's holographic projection requested, her montrals and lekku giving her an almost predatory elegance. "For so many leaders to request our intervention, she must pose a significant threat."
Wanda nodded slowly. "She does."
She let silence hold for a beat before continuing, her arms crossing as she organized centuries of Nightsister history into something comprehensible.
"Gethzerion was one of the most powerful Nightsisters before her exile. That was centuries ago. She was cast out not for lacking strength, but for her methods—her willingness to sacrifice anyone and anything for power." Wanda's jaw tightened. "She's been scheming ever since. Calculating. Patient."
Then she lifted her hand, and crimson energy spiraled around her fingers.
Several Council members straightened. Obi-Wan, standing to the side as an observer, remained still—he'd seen this before. The others hadn't.
The energy coalesced into a three-dimensional map, showing Dathomir's terrain with glowing markers scattered across its surface. The image rotated slowly, almost hypnotic in its complexity.
"She tried to recruit me," Wanda said quietly. "Appeared out of nowhere using Nightsister magick—a form of teleportation I'm still trying to understand. We fought." Her smile was sharp and humorless. "She tested me. Measured my power against hers."
"She fled through sorcery?" Mundi's tone carried disbelief.
"The Witches of Dathomir utilize the Force in ways we don't fully comprehend," Mace explained, his voice taking on the cadence of someone who'd studied this extensively. "Their tradition predates the Jedi Order. Some clans lean toward the dark side. Others embrace the light. Most exist somewhere between."
"They understand something the Jedi and Sith refuse to acknowledge." Wanda's voice cut through the room like a blade. "That darkness isn't something to be conquered from outside. It exists in every living being. In every heart. In every choice." She met each Council member's gaze in turn. "Trying to eliminate it is self-deception. The Force encompasses all aspects—light and dark, creation and destruction. You can't suppress half the spectrum without consequences."
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush stone.
Several Jedi exchanged glances—brief, loaded with unspoken conversation.
Then their focus returned to Wanda with renewed intensity.
"Deep understanding of the Force, you possess," Yoda observed. "Rare, this is, for one not trained in our ways."
"I learned on Dathomir," Wanda said simply. "The Nightsisters taught me enough to form my own opinions."
"You have reservations about our teachings." Mace didn't phrase it as a question. It was an observation, delivered with the flatness of someone stating an obvious fact.
"Maybe. Maybe not." Wanda's tone remained carefully neutral.
"What," Shaak Ti asked, her hologram flickering slightly, "do you think of our Order?"
Here it is, Wanda thought. The real question.
She glanced over her shoulder. Steve gave her the smallest nod—not encouragement, not discouragement. Just acknowledgment that whatever she said next was her choice.
Natasha's expression remained unreadable. Pietro grinned like he was watching his sister about to punch someone who deserved it.
Wanda took a breath, turned back to the Council, and spoke truth.
"I think your view of the Force is too narrow. Your view of life itself is too narrow."
She'd expected anger. Defensive posturing. Perhaps dismissal.
Instead, the Jedi simply... listened.
"When you say narrow," Yoda prompted gently, "mean what, do you?"
"Self-restriction," Wanda answered immediately. "You've convinced yourselves there's only one way to understand or use the Force. That kind of absolutism is dangerous. The universe is vast and contradictory and messy. Conflicts arise not because of some grand cosmic plan, but because sentient beings make choices."
She stepped forward, her energy pulsing faintly around her like a heartbeat.
"You talk about compassion. About protecting the galaxy. But you're so afraid of attachment that you deny yourselves the very connections that make compassion mean something." Her voice dropped, intimate and challenging. "Don't you care about each other? Isn't the bond between master and apprentice itself an attachment? Yet you embrace it because it serves your structure."
"Our duty, Ms. Maximoff," Mace replied calmly, "is to spread compassion to all beings. Not to prioritize one person above billions."
Wanda shook her head. "You're rigid."
"Yet peace has endured for a thousand years."
"Has it?" Wanda's laugh was sharp and bitter. "I hate to be blunt, Master Windu, but you're confusing peace with stagnation. The Sith didn't disappear. They've been here all along." She smiled without humor. "You just didn't notice them until they were ready to be noticed."
The barb landed. She saw it in the slight tightening around Mace's eyes, the way Ki-Adi-Mundi's fingers curled against his armrest.
"And before you think I'm defending the Sith," Wanda continued, her voice dripping with disdain, "they're no better. Power-hungry tyrants who burn themselves out chasing dominance. They're so blinded by ambition they can't see past their own egos long enough to achieve anything lasting."
Memories flickered through her mind—Darth Traya's bitter wisdom, Ajunta Pall's quiet regret over the failures of both philosophies.
"You're both trying to play god," she said, softer now but no less intense. "The Jedi want to guide the galaxy toward enlightenment. The Sith want to dominate it. But neither of you understands that the Force doesn't care about your grand designs. It flows through all living things, and those things make their own choices. You can't control it. You can only respond."
She gestured broadly at the windows, at Coruscant sprawling below them.
"Wars still rage. Slavery thrives in the Outer Rim. Corruption runs so deep in the Senate that you need a team of offworld heroes just to accomplish what your Order should be doing." Her eyes blazed. "Maybe if you spent less time meditating in your Temple and more time actually acting, the Sith would be nothing but a historical footnote."
"You suggest," Luminara Unduli said, her tone frosty, "that we enforce our will across the galaxy through tyranny."
"No." Wanda's voice snapped like a whip. "I'm saying you should be more proactive. Stop hiding behind traditions that clearly aren't working. The Sith returned on your watch. This war is burning the galaxy on your watch. At what point do you take responsibility?"
"You blame the Jedi for all the galaxy's suffering." Mace's voice carried a dangerous edge now, disappointment and anger warring beneath his controlled exterior.
Wanda opened her mouth to respond—
"Excuse me." Vision stepped forward, positioning himself beside Wanda. His voice was gentle but carried effortlessly through the chamber. "Council members, if I may?"
Mace's eyes narrowed, but he nodded.
"Master Windu, I've considered your earlier remarks carefully." Vision inclined his head respectfully. "I find myself agreeing with part of your philosophy. The same critique applies to the Avengers."
Behind them, the other five Avengers looked up sharply.
"Our team is incomplete," Vision continued. "More members might remain scattered across this galaxy, waiting to be found. Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, and T'Challa's arrival suggests there may be even more individuals from Earth present. Our power grows with each reunion."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"But Ms. Maximoff's observation about causality is relevant here. In our world, Captain Rogers was the first publicly known superhero. He emerged to combat a fascist threat—the Red Skull and HYDRA. During his decades in the ice, other heroes arose quietly. Dr. Hank Pym and Janet van Dyne became Ant-Man and the Wasp. Then Tony Stark revealed himself as Iron Man."
Vision's gaze swept the Council.
"In the eight years Mr. Stark operated openly as Iron Man, the number of enhanced individuals on Earth increased exponentially. But so did the threats. Alien invasions. Rogue artificial intelligence. Interdimensional incursions. Each new hero seemed to attract a corresponding villain. Each victory created the conditions for the next crisis."
"Vision," Steve said quietly, a warning in his tone.
But Vision pressed on. "Have you examined the pattern of your conflict with the Sith? Truly examined it?"
The Jedi looked at each other. No one spoke.
Vision's synthetic voice carried a weight of sorrow. "Young Ahsoka Tano, Barriss Offee, and others have asked me about Earth's history. They're curious about the cycles of conflict we've experienced. I've been researching yours in return."
"Is there a point to this?" Plo Koon asked, though his tone suggested genuine curiosity rather than irritation.
"Power attracts challenges," Vision said simply. "The Jedi Order arose to combat a threat. Your strength, your resources, your very existence—all derive from that original conflict. You created structure around opposing darkness. But darkness doesn't exist in a vacuum. It arises in response to light, just as light arises in response to darkness. Action and reaction. Cause and effect."
He gestured gently toward Yoda.
"The prophecy of the Chosen One promises balance. But what does balance mean? If the great evil is destroyed, what happens to the great good that defined itself in opposition? Does peace mean the Jedi fade into irrelevance? Or does new darkness arise to justify your continued existence?"
"What are you suggesting?" Luminara demanded.
"I'm suggesting," Vision said carefully, "that perhaps the conflict perpetuates itself. Not through malice or conspiracy, but through the fundamental nature of how sentient beings create meaning. We define ourselves through our struggles. Remove the struggle, and we lose our identity."
The philosophical weight of that statement settled over the chamber like ash.
"So what?" Obi-Wan spoke up from his observer's position, frustration bleeding into his voice. "We do nothing? Let the galaxy burn? I'm sorry, but if innocent people are suffering, I won't stand aside. None of us will."
"I'm not suggesting inaction," Vision replied. "I'm suggesting awareness. If we understand that our existence attracts conflict, we can be more conscious in how we respond. More thoughtful. Less reactive."
"This war isn't abstract philosophy," Kit Fisto interjected, his usually cheerful demeanor absent. "It's happening now. The Separatists, the Sith, Ultron. We can't meditate on causality while people are dying."
"No," Plo Koon murmured, his arms crossed. "But this is another challenge. The Sith testing our strength once more."
"This cycle," Sam muttered to the others, quiet enough that only enhanced hearing would catch it. "How long have they been locked in this?"
"Thousand years," Natasha whispered back. "Give or take."
Yoda's ears twitched—he'd heard them.
"Much to consider, you have given us," the Grand Master said, his eyes opening to fix on Wanda with unnerving intensity. "Discuss this further, we must. With Ms. Maximoff, regarding her time on Dathomir. But the proper time and place, we must find."
Wanda simply nodded. She'd revealed enough for now. They'd press her for details about the holocrons eventually—about Traya and Ajunta Pall, about the ancient philosophies she'd absorbed.
She could imagine their reactions. Shock. Concern. Probably demands that she surrender the artifacts for "proper study."
But that was a fight for another day.
The Jedi Council sat in contemplative silence, their certainty shaken—just slightly, but noticeably. Some seemed troubled. Others thoughtful. A few, like Yoda, appeared almost... satisfied, as if they'd been waiting for someone to say these things out loud.
Wanda had been brave.
Now she'd see if bravery was enough.