Chapter 245— Ashes and Cradles
The mansion breathed pain that night.
The hallways of Xavier's dream — once echoing with laughter, clattering plates, and teenage bickering — were now filled with the wails of survivors. The Morlocks who hadn't died in the tunnels. Their cries seeped through the walls like ghosts that refused to leave.
In the infirmary, Psylocke sat quietly beside one of them, her eyes closed, a hand pressed against a trembling brow. Her voice whispered in their minds, weaving fragile calm into shattered psyches. Logan could smell her from the training hall — lavender soap and psionic ozone. New blood, he thought. And not just in the literal sense.
But he didn't stop to stare.
He stood bare-chested in the Danger Room, torso wrapped in layers of white bandages that were more red than clean. Every punch he threw into the sandbag sounded like thunder — dull, heavy, final. Thud. Thud. Thud. Each impact rattled the chain until the ceiling groaned.
"Logan."
Storm's voice — quiet but sharp enough to cut through the haze.
She stepped into the room, still in her mohawk, still powerless, but she carried herself like the goddess she'd always been. Her hands folded in front of her, eyes tired but strong.
"You should rest," she said softly. "Your anger won't bring peace. Not to you. Not to them."
Logan didn't stop. Didn't even look her way. "No use comfortin' me, 'Ro. You know as well as I do — you're boilin' inside worse than me. They were your people."
Storm's jaw clenched. "And that's exactly why I must stay calm. Someone has to."
He finally turned, breath fogging in the cold air. "Calm's overrated," he said. "Ask the graves out back how well that worked for 'em."
Storm's eyes softened with a sadness words couldn't reach. Then Logan tilted his head slightly, nostrils flaring.
There — beneath the sharp sting of antiseptic and burned adrenaline — a new scent. Refined. Calm. Like rain before lightning.
"Who's that?" he asked, turning toward the door. "Been smellin' her since last night. Power's strong. Feels... disciplined."
"Her name's Psylocke," Storm said, a faint smile flickering. "A telepath. She sought sanctuary here — from the mobs, the protests. The outside world's no safer than those tunnels now."
Logan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Telepath, huh? Explains why everyone's voices sound like they're thinkin' out loud lately."
"She's been helping the Morlocks heal," Storm continued. "Their minds are... fractured. And with Charles gone—"
"Chuck's still out there with the Shi'ar, right?" Logan interrupted.
Storm nodded, her gaze distant. "Yes. Still among the stars. We've had no contact. The universe is large, and hope feels very small."
Logan gave a low grunt, turning back to the sandbag. "Guess it's just us then. Like old times."
Before Storm could reply, the mansion phone shrieked.
The sound cut through the room, slicing clean through the fragile silence. Storm frowned, moving to the console. "Xavier's School," she said briskly.
Logan didn't mean to listen. But with ears like his, he didn't have much of a choice.
A woman's voice on the other end — hoarse, shaking, desperate.
> "Please... Storm... help me. Please, help me and my child. I don't have much time—"
"Who is this?" Storm said quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Calm down, tell me where you are."
> "It's... Lee Forrester..."
Storm's face changed. Logan froze mid-punch, eyes narrowing. He knew that name. Cyclops' girl.
"Lee?" Storm said, panic breaking through her composure. "Lee, we'll come. Hold on. Just—stay where you are. We're coming now."
The line went dead.
Logan's fists dropped to his sides, blood from his knuckles dripping onto the floor. "That was Forrester," he said flatly. "Scott's woman."
Storm exhaled shakily, turning to him. "I have to go."
"I'm comin'," Logan said before she could argue. "Can't stand another minute listenin' to all this pain. Might end up punchin' the walls down."
Storm hesitated — then nodded. "Very well. Suit up. We leave in five."
---
An hour later, the Blackbird sliced through the night like a dark blade. Below them, the coastline shimmered in silver moonlight. Storm piloted in silence, her face unreadable. Logan sat behind her, arms crossed, eyes half-shut but senses wide open. The air smelled like salt and worry.
"You think Scott's there?" Storm asked quietly.
Logan's lip curled. "If he was, she wouldn't be callin' for help."
---
They landed at the harbor. The Forrester home sat quiet — too quiet — on the edge of the docks, waves slapping against rotted wood like slow applause.
Inside, the smell hit first: sickness, salt, and something fading — like old paper left in the sun.
Lee Forrester lay on the bed, skin pale and tight over her bones. Her eyes fluttered open when she saw them. "Storm... Logan..."
"Lee." Storm knelt beside her, voice trembling. "What happened? You look—"
Lee laughed weakly, the sound brittle as glass. "Awful? I know. Guess love's not much of a miracle cure."
Logan frowned. "Where's Cyclops?"
Lee's face darkened. "Gone."
Storm blinked. "Gone?"
"One call," Lee whispered bitterly. "One damned call. Someone from his past... and he just—left. No goodbye. No 'take care, Lee.' Just... gone."
Storm shook her head. "That can't be. Scott would never—"
"But he did," Lee snapped, then softened immediately, tears welling. "He did. And I don't even hate him for it. Not anymore."
Her hand reached for Storm's, dry and trembling. "Please... take care of my baby. Nathan doesn't deserve this. He... he shouldn't grow up alone."
Storm's eyes glistened. "You'll see him grow, Lee. You'll see him become a man."
Lee smiled faintly, turning toward the crib beside her bed. "I hope so..."
Baby Nathan stirred — then crawled toward her, giggling, reaching for his mother's face. The moment was so heartbreakingly normal that even Logan forgot how to breathe.
Lee touched her son's cheek, tears slipping down her face. "He has his father's eyes," she whispered. "Maybe he'll be luckier than we were."
Then, with a final shuddering breath, she smiled — and went still.
Nathan blinked once. Then again. And when he realized his mother wasn't moving, he started to cry — soft at first, then louder, until it filled the room.
Storm gathered him into her arms, tears finally falling free. "Shhh... little one... shhh..."
Logan stood there for a long time, jaw tight, eyes shadowed beneath his brow. Then, quietly, he pulled the blanket up over Lee's face.
He looked down at Nathan, red-faced and wailing in Storm's arms. The smell of salt and death clung to the air.
"What a cruel world," he muttered.
And the sea outside answered with a low, endless sigh.