CHAPTER 78- MIRROR OF NIGHTMARES
The waiting room was silent, too silent. A clock ticked in the corner, each sound like a nail against Charles Xavier's skull. He sat in his chair, hands folded on his lap, eyes closed. Outwardly calm. Inwardly bracing against the tide.
Through the thin silver thread of rapport, he touched Ororo. Storm's fear hit him like a hammer - suffocating, black, clawing at the edges of reason. Claustrophobia. He knew it well. He had felt it from her before, but never this raw, never this deep.
He let his mind brush against hers, trying to soothe, to anchor. For a moment, he was back inside her memory - rubble crushing down, the cold stink of dust and death in Cairo, her child's body pinned and helpless, her parents' final screams echoing in the dark.
"Easy, Ororo," he whispered aloud, his voice trembling in the empty room. "Breathe. Find the sky within you."
And then - it happened.
The mirror across from his chair rippled, silver glass boiling with color. He wasn't seeing his own reflection. He was staring into the hell of another world. Alien steel. A chamber lit by sickly red glow. Rows of towering figures with blank eyes staring back. His mind reeled, his heart raced. The nightmare wasn't Ororo's. It was his. His own power dragged something from the depths of memory or prophecy.
"No..." His fingers gripped the armrests hard enough to blanch the knuckles. Sweat slicked his brow. "Not again. Not them."
The vision shattered. The mirror showed only Charles Xavier once more: pale, panting, trembling in his chair like a man aged a decade in seconds.
And then-calm.
The link steadied. Storm's panic receded, her heartbeat slowing, her courage finding its footing again. Charles sagged with relief. He drew in a ragged breath, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Curse that vision," he hissed. "Curse whatever specter dogs me."
For a long time, he sat in silence, staring at the ordinary mirror, his reflection staring grimly back.
Hours later, across the sea, the X-Men gathered after the chaos of Cassidy Keep. The night air was cold on their battered bodies as they descended the craggy coast, where the waters churned black against the cliffs.
"Ye'll be wantin' a lift," Banshee muttered, leading them toward the hovercraft waiting below. "Moira said it herself. Cassidy Keep's no longer safe ground."
Logan grunted, cigar stub clenched in his teeth. "Figures. Trouble follows us like fleas on a dog."
Storm said nothing. She only tightened her cloak against the wind, eyes forward, the weight of her trial still clinging to her shoulders.
Together, the weary team stepped onto the hovercraft, its engines humming alive, carrying them toward Moira MacTaggert's call.