Chapter 118
Jean stood in the front hall with her small bag of clothes. The house was too quiet, too heavy. Every corner carried the ghosts of voices she couldn't bear to hear again. She hugged Lilandra tightly, clinging for a moment longer than either expected.
"Please," Lilandra whispered, her voice trembling, "stay here, Jean. This house… it is your family's. And Xavier's. Mine, too. We can mourn together."
Jean pulled back, eyes red but resolute. "No, Lilandra. I can't. Every wall here… it's Scott's voice. Logan's laugh. The team's footsteps. It keeps replaying in my head, like they're still alive. And when I remember they're not…" Her throat closed, and she forced herself to straighten. "I'll find another place. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can breathe."
Lilandra's hand hovered, wanting to pull her back but knowing it was futile. "Then take my blessing, soul-sister. May your path bring you peace."
Jean managed a broken smile, squeezed her hand once more, and slipped out the door. The echo of it closing lingered like a wound.
Lilandra lingered in the silence. She found Charles in his study, staring at the fire that had long since gone out. His face was pale in the dimness, more shadow than flesh. She crossed to him quietly.
"You're carrying too much, beloved," she said softly. "Even I can feel the grief radiating from you. You've given so much of yourself to this dream—don't let it break you."
Charles' lips twitched as if forming a smile, but it never reached his eyes. He turned his chair toward her, his hands folded tightly in his lap. "Grief… it has been my closest companion, Lilandra. Longer than I ever admit to the students. Longer than you realize."
Lilandra reached to touch his hand, gently uncurling his knuckles. "Then let me share it. Tell me, Charles. Show me the man behind the dream."
For a long moment he resisted. But her eyes were steady, unafraid of the weight he carried. He exhaled slowly, and the words began to spill.
"Long ago, before any thought of the X-Men, before I was even half the man you know… I had another life. I met a woman. Moira MacTaggert." His mouth softened at the name, and a shadow of warmth crossed his face. "She was brilliant. Brave. We… loved each other at first sight. Spoke of marriage. I thought at last I had found an anchor."
"What happened?" Lilandra asked gently.
"The war happened," Charles said bitterly. "I was conscripted. Torn away. She promised to wait. And I believed her. I clung to that promise in the blood and the dirt." His voice lowered. "Until I was wounded in battle. I was left in a hospital bed for months."
He paused. His eyes had gone glassy. "And then… the letter. From Moira. Breaking our engagement. No explanation. No farewell. Only an end."
Lilandra's hand tightened around his. "Charles…"
"I lay there," he said, almost to himself, "Broken, abandoned. That was the day I swore never again to bind my happiness to another. That love was a chain. A weakness. I told myself that." He laughed, hollow. "But of course, life has a way of proving me a fool."
Lilandra leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching his. "You are no fool. You are a man who has lived, and bled, and still dares to hope. That is why I love you."
Charles closed his eyes, the tremor in his breath betraying how much her words struck him. But when he opened them again, his gaze drifted beyond her, lost in memory.
"After Moira… after the war… I wandered. The Mediterranean, mostly. I wanted peace, but all I found was a restless spirit in me. And then… Cairo. A city of thieves, and shadows, and a darkness I had never imagined."
His voice lowered, rough with old ghosts. "It was there I first faced the truth of what mutants could become. It was there… I met Amahl Farouk."
Lilandra said nothing, letting him sink fully into the memory, as if she knew the next words were not for her, but for the man who had kept them buried too long.
He stared at the cold fire, and his eyes seemed to burn from within.