Every cloud has a silver lining (and a scarlet one)

It might’ve been that Peter and Wanda were played the role of parents longer than he did (which was rather difficult to comprehend) and without a doubt they knew their sister’s temperament better than he could ever do, yet when Erik spotted a small silhouette on the patio, he halted at the glass door. He didn’t see her at dinner, which, by the way, his own children barely ate, propping up the windowsill and looking unusually dim among their chattery friends. Either they were trying to cheer them up, or they remained in the dark about what happened in Charles’s office, or his daughter finally used her power to redirect their thought process. The possibilities were endless. Either way the gang left the cafeteria when nothing was visible outside the window except the lampposts and it didn’t seem like Peter or Wanda were about to have another round of conversation with their little sister.

A group of youngsters was walking down the hall toward the Master of Magnetism. One of the older boys was clearly showing off in front of his pals, telling them some kind of tall tale. He was all about the excessive swagger in his rolled-up jeans, a blue cap worn backwards and worn-out Adidas backed up by a bouncy walk. But that wasn’t why the man probed the magnetic field around that fellow, noting with a smirk that the chain swinging around the boy’s neck was only gold-plated, as well as the rings on his fingers. Particles of metal were also present in a Motorola pager boastfully peeking out from under a too-short yellow T-shirt. Erik certainly raised his brows at some of Peter’s wardrobe choices but his son still possessed a better style than half of the young people these days.

The Master of Magnetism only tapped into the right strings and the boy got “halted” a few steps away from him. The youngsters fell silent all at once as if by command.

“Lend me your shirt,” the Master of Magnetism said calmly to the gangster of the group who suddenly lost all of his swagger.

“My–My shirt?” he stuttered, staring at the man with his eyes wide. “You want my shirt?”

Erik arched a sarcastic brow. “Do you want to repeat the word “shirt” once more?”

“No! Now, now,” the youngster mumbled, hurrying to take off his shirt. Gingerly, he handed it to the magnetokinetic. “Here. Take it if you want. I don’t need it anyway. It’s pretty warm today, isn’t it?” A nervous chuckle escaped his lips.

Once the man’s fingers closed around soft plaid material, the youngsters beat a hasty retreat, pushing each other in the back. He barely paid them a second glance, reaching out for the handle and opening the French door to the patio. There, among the chess of glass tables and wicker chairs, Lora was sitting, her legs drawn to her chest and eyes peering at the grove ahead. It was quite surprising that she wasn’t scared to be alone in the dark when every crooked tree looked like a wicked creature and every rustle made one turn their head right and left.

Erik walked over to the chair near the balustrade and threw the borrowed shirt over the girl’s shoulder. Her head jerked up as her gaze shot to his face, prepared resentment giving way to surprise.

“It gets quite cool in the evening,” the man said simply.

He felt her watching him as he walked around the table and sat down on the chair opposite her, resting his forearms on the wicker armrests that creaked a little. On the floor along the railing stretched rectangular pots with moonflowers, one of those rare kinds that didn’t pick up their petals and closed as soon as the sun stopped bathing them in its warm light, but blossomed under the gaze of its cold twin. Their sweet scent was palpable in the air, in the breeze that slid across the lawn exciting the grasshoppers and prompting them to continue their nocturnal song.   

Tearing his gaze from those creamy white blooms vivid against the darkness as if they were the fallen stars, the Master of Magnetism turned his face to Lora. “I’m not an emissary,” he assured her.

“No, I know,” she answered in a moment, nodding, before she turned away. “They wouldn’t do it like that.”

“How would they do it then?” the man queried, curious.

“Peter would go first, try to make me smile and try some more before he convinces me that all of us need to talk. Then Wanda would come, this time composed, to explain how life works.”

Suddenly a bitter feeling for his children swelled within Erik. This little girl made them sound like they weren’t enough. Wanda took care of her from the cradle even though she herself was still a child. She was obviously stricter than her brother, but she didn’t limit the girl’s freedom and showered her with the same amount of warmth and love as Peter who seemed to always take his family’s side no matter what. They might be imperfect but they were his and Nina couldn’t have dreamed of having more perfectly imperfect siblings than them. And she would have definitely learned a couple of swear words earlier than she could have had.

“You hurt them both, you know?” the man made a point to bring it to Lora’s notice, keeping his frustration from slipping into his voice.

“Good,” she grumbled, wrapping herself up in the shirt.

He sighed. Maybe there was a bit of deceit woven in his earlier statement and he was an emissary after all. His children might’ve left their home, but that didn’t mean they left their sister behind. It was just their time to leave the nest and build their own lives. He was certain neither Peter nor Wanda stopped thinking about her even for a minute. In fact, he knew that they called home at least three times a week and were ready to rush back there at any moment if they were needed there. Explaining this simple truth to a child though, the Master of Magnetism thought, might prove to be more difficult than retrieving his helmet from the Pentagon. He had to start from the afar.

“What do you know about your father?”

What kind of man could have intentionally abandoned his child and didn’t want to be involved in her life in any capacity? What if it was exactly what he was doing when the twins bumped into him in New York City? Weren’t those years enough for you? Both of his children expressed distaste for this man about whom the magnetokinetic knew nothing more than his name, and he might have thought that these feelings were caused by childhood jealousy. For years it was just them and Maria, but then Lonnie appeared and grabbed a big slice of her attention, then Lora was born. Naturally, they ceased to be the center of their mother’s life. Yet, Wanda’s words, Over my dead body, the steel in her voice, stirred the agitation Erik couldn’t shake off.

“That his name’s Lonnie Patterson and that he and my mom met when she and my siblings just moved to Washington. He lived in an apartment because it was closer to his office, but he also had a small house that he offered to rent to Mom. And he also asked her out on a date.” Presumptuous, the Master of Magnetism thought. How many such proposals he had to make before she said yes? Or did he just go along with the house? “They were together for about two years until he disappeared, leaving only a note with an apology and the rights to his property.” How noble of him. “Mom says I’ve got lucky because I haven’t got his big nose but my eye color is definitely his inheritance.”

Involuntarily, the man’s gaze fell on her nose. It was somewhat cute, perky just like her personality. Her words, however, sounded lifeless, as if she was reciting a fact from the biography of some historical figure that she had to learn for a lesson.

“Would you want to meet him?” Erik asked carefully.

Lora gave him a shrug. “Every time I start talking about him Mom gets really down and Wanda…her face literally darkens.” For a moment, agitated by some unperceivable threat, the grasshoppers took over, their song ringing in the man’s and the girl’s ears so clearly, they both grimaced. “I mean, I get it. He dumped us and it’s been tough on them but…” she began again but trailed off, folding her arms over her knees and resting her head atop.

The light from the hall lamps, coming through the French doors behind, cast a golden shadow on Lora’s dark hair, which was braided in the same fashion as Wanda’s, although a few unruly locks got out, fuzzy around the back of her neck and temples. The shirt he borrowed for her covered her whole body, hanging on her small shoulders that were sagged, from a long day outside or weighed by a bad evening Erik couldn’t tell for certain. He spotted her a few times out there, playing badminton with Benjamin or messing with the koi fish in one of the ponds, her head exposed to the scorching sun so that the man debated, egged on by his parental feelings (which were still in disarray), if he should tell her off, substituting her siblings or mind his business. When a couple of hours later Charles reached out for him, unable even to explain why he wanted him in his office, the man thought that he, perhaps, made the wrong choice. He could’ve saved her and his children trouble, but now all that remained was to ask a question that gained weight with each day.

“What if it wasn’t his leaving that offended your sister?” The Master of Magnetism had to remind himself that he was talking about the father of this child. He had no desire to hurt her feelings more than they already had been. “What if he…was a bad person?”

Lora’s head didn’t move an inch but her eyes swung to his face and her brows arched before she landed a blow.

“Worse than you?” she asked and held his gaze, unperturbed. “You hurt people.”

It was a blunt statement of a fact but hearing it come from the child’s lips, from the sister of his twins jarred the man. He frowned.

“Did your mom tell you that?”

“I watch the news,” the girl replied, giving him a flat look as if he asked a question with the most obvious answer ever. Right, the news. Erik didn’t give a damn about it, those who mattered already knew him for what he was but he was once again reminded that the circumstances whisked Peter and Wanda away from him and they had met his “character” before they got the chance to get to know him. “And I might’ve accidentally overheard one of the arguments Peter and Wanda had with Mom.”

Having leaned forward in his wicker chair, the man rubbed his face. How could we screw it up so badly for them? As if the breeze wandering around could pick his question up and carry it to Maria.

“They’ve always been on your side. Well…Peter was,” Lora added after giving it a thought. Judging by the creaked chair, another wave of cool night breeze managed to sleep under the shirt she wrapped herself into. “So it must depend on which way you look at it or whom you’re asking. Which means that if my siblings don’t like my dad, it doesn’t mean that he’s a bad person.”

Your stubbornness runs deep in all of them, Erik’s thoughts appealed to his former lover again, not unamused.

The little girl wasn’t entirely wrong though. The twins were less than happy to run into Lonnie in New York, but if the man took into consideration everything he knew, it looked like the man could’ve actually tried to learn something about the daughter he abandoned. Otherwise, the spark of discord wouldn’t break out between usually tight-knit brother and sister. The question was, should he meddle in the matter of the family he didn’t feel he was a part of?

Having leaned back in his chair, the Master of Magnetism took a deep breath. Sweet scented air filled his lungs as he stared at the dark blue canvas that was the sky.

“Aren’t you breaking a curfew?” he asked.

“I don’t have a curfew.”

A corner of the man’s mouth quirked up at the air of pride in her reply. “The school does.”

“It’s for pupils,” the girl got out through a yawn.

“Peter and Wanda are probably worried.”

“It takes 30 seconds for Peter to find a rubber within a five-mile radius.”

Erik turned his head to Lora to find her nestled in the crook of her wingback chair. The shirt covered her whole body save for the toes that peeked out from the hem and her head that was tilted to the side, her cheek pressed against the wicker. “A rubber?” he reiterated.

“It was my favorite rubber,” she mumbled, her dark eyelashes fluttering slightly as she drifted away into the world of dreams. 

The hour must have been really late now and his children probably began to look for their younger sibling so the Master of Magnetism could save them that trouble. He only needed a few more quiet moments like these. Just to make sure that Lora’s sleep was deep enough to carry her to Wanda’s room.

He watched the trees ahead sway with the breeze, their dark leaves rustling from its cool caress. The back of his head pressed into the polished wicker as he threw it back, his shoulders slagging and his whole body loosening up a bit. His eyelids drooped for a split second…

“Hey!” Nina exclaimed and smacked Erik in the chest with the back of her tiny hand. Startled, he looked down at his daughter whose eyes were boring into his face, demanding. “Once upon a time…?”

Oh, right. He must have dozed off for a second.

Truth be told, the man was never afraid of hard, honest work, where his control over magnetic fields, although useful, was of no consequence. Because he was Henryk Gurski, a father and husband, an ordinary citizen who went on the night shift when his friend and colleague asked to replace him. Milosh’s sons caught a cold, and Anna, his wife, couldn’t stay at home with them – who would then teach the children Polish at school. Those night shifts were killing him though. Lounging on a bench on the porch of his house was all that the Master of Magnetism was capable of mustering after twelve hours of working in a hot workshop. But there was his baby, waiting for him to tell her a bedtime story, even though the darkness had already begun to subside, the indigo of the sky paling, and her feathered friends hopped on the branches of the apple trees, chirping their morning song. It was too early for her to be awake.

“Once upon a time,” Erik continued, drawing Nina closer to his side, “there was a girl and she met a frog. And he promised her that if she kissed him on the cheek, he’ll turn into a handsome prince. And she said that she wasn’t interested in fixing anyone’s problems but her own. She would rather have a cool, talking frog than a pompous prince anyway.”

“That’s not a good story!” his daughter protested, frowning her pretty face. “I don’t like frogs. They never listen to me. Do Cinderella!”

The man chuckled and planted a kiss on top of her head. When he looked into her eyes, the same dark brown as his mother had, he no longer felt the grip of fatigue, only a light touch of weariness on his eyelids and the warmth spreading in his chest. He was at home.

“Alright,” Erik said, smiling down at his little girl, “I’ll do Cinderella, if you’re in bed in five –” he bent his forefinger “– four…”

Nina hopped down from the bench and burst into the house, her light but hurried steps thump-thump-thumped on the stairs up to her room.

Grunting, the man rose to his feet and went inside too. He shucked off his heavy boots, took off his vest and shirt, hanging them on a coat hook in the foyer, and walked into the kitchen. Having turned on the water, he washed the remnants of his night shift off his face and hands. As the Master of Magnetism dried himself with a towel, his gaze got caught by a plate on the table. He picked under the dishcloth it was covered with to discover sugar puffs there. Magda probably baked them in the evening. Erik picked one up and finished it before he even climbed the stairs to the second floor.

 Through the slightly open door to their bedroom, the man saw his wife, smiling sleepily at him from under the blanket. He slipped in to kiss her and say, “Hej.” (Hey.)

“Która jest teraz godzina?” she asked, her gentle hand slid up his arm to his shoulder and stopped on the back of his neck, drawing him in for another kiss. (What time is it?)

 “Jest za wcześnie,” Erik murmured into her lips. A teasing smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he hovered over her, soft pillows wrinkling under his hands. “A może Ci też potrzebujesz bajki na dobranoc?” (It’s still too early. Do you want a bedtime story too?)

Chuckling lightly, Magda pushed his face away and slipped back under the blanket. The man kissed her temple, halting for a moment to take in the sight of the beautiful woman that happened to agree to be his wife, and went to their daughter.

The lamp in Nina’s bedroom was turned off and the window behind her bed was covered with lace curtains, so the only light that was allowed in came from the window in the pitched roof. The little girl’s olive-green quilted jacket was hanging on the back of the chair set in the corner of the room, her lace-up boots stood dutifully there too as the owner of the space herself was waiting for her dad, nestled between two square floral pillows. 

“So, Cinderella?” Erik asked, coming over to her bed.

She nodded vehemently, making room for the men to settle at her side. As soon as the Master of Magnetism reclined, resting his head against the back of the bed and stretching his legs over the blanket, Nina crawled under his arm, pressing her cheek to his chest.

He had long promised to tell her this fairy tale, but delayed the moment because he knew only the general scarps of it. So, on one of his days off, he went to the library and, to his surprise, found only one book about Cinderella, written by the Brothers Grimm and not at all suitable for reading to a child. He had to wrack his imagination to reshape the grim life story of the poor girl into something credible but not hopeless.

Erik felt his shoulder being shaken lightly, realizing that at some point his eyes must have closed.

“Dad? Did the Fairy Godmother fall asleep while she was doing magic?” Nina asked, curious.

“Hmm?” The man rubbed his face, a bit lost.

“You made sounds like she was sleeping,” his baby girl clued him in.

“Yeah, córeczka, she was magicking all night so she took a power nap to gather some...strength. It costs a lot to craft a beautiful dress, doesn’t it?” the Master of Magnetism asked, trying his best to sound believable. How could he start snoring in the middle of a fairy tale? When did he even start snoring in his sleep? He needed to ask Magda about it. (affectionate form of the word ‘daughter’).

Nina nodded, luckily buying his explanation.

“After a few minutes Fairy Godmother woke up all energized and said, “I know what you wish, and I have come to grant it to you.”,” the man continued, stroking his daughter’s dark hair. “But Cinderella couldn’t believe it. Somebody came to help her out of her hard life? There had to be a catch somewhere, so she said, “But…my wish is impossible.”

“Excuse me!” said the Fairy Godmother in a huff. “Did I not just show up out of thin air?”

“I suppose you did,” said Cinderella.

“Then let me be the one to say what is possible or not!”

It was ridiculously funny, yet, at that moment Charles came to Erik’s mind. A lot of time had passed since he saw his friend and it wasn’t often that he thought about him these days. But what he was now telling his daughter, what now surrounded him was the embodiment of what he thought was inaccessible to him whereas Charles always believed that it was only a matter of time and choice of path. Perhaps his dear friend was right, perhaps peace could be an option for him.

“Dad?”

Erik startled himself awake, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Half expecting to see a dissatisfied look in the brown eyes, his gaze stumbled upon a soft one in a pair of leaf green.

“Sorry,” Wanda said with an apologetic smile. “Didn’t want to disturb your sleep but –” she waved her hand near his temple “– leaving you as a dessert for mosquitoes didn’t seem like a good idea either.”

The man felt as if he had been torn out of reality and what he was seeing around now – the brightening sky, the patio, the girl bending over him – was a dream. His head whipped to the chair across the round glass table finding it empty.

“Peter had already carried her to my quarter. He seriously considered doing the same thing to you, but I dissuaded him,” Wanda reported, amusement woven into her words.

Sorrow squeezed the man’s heart like a vice. Something in his chest was physically hurting.

The girl, his daughter, furrowed. “Are you alright?”

She reached out for him right when he held out his arm, clutching at her like a drowning man. Erik was drowning, in the sudden coolness of the night, in its silence, in the world that kept snatching his happiness time after time.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room,” Wanda said, circling his arm over her shoulders and helping him out of the chair. She led him through the French door that opened before them, a flicker of scarlet dancing around its frame, pawing them a path inside the manor. “Having been awakened from REM sleep sucks. Maybe I should’ve listened to my brother after all.”

The thought that he needed to ask Magda about the snoring was still so vivid in his mind, it was hard to believe that she wasn’t there to answer. Maybe the girl, his daughter, he had to remind himself, indeed shouldn’t have woken him up. Though it didn’t change the fact that what he lived through a minute ago was just a half dream-half memory winnowed by the conversation with Lora.

“I should have brought her to you right away,” Erik muttered as he and Wanda walked down the dimly lit hallway into the foyer.

“What?” she asked, not quite catching what he said at first. Then, her expression smoothed out. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Lora will be fine.” She cast a sideways glance at him. “Thanks for looking out for her. Really.”

The Master of Magnetism tried to muster a small smile for her. His daughter’s arm wrapped around his back and her steady shoulder was all that kept him in touch with reality.

“I might have not been there, but you and Peter would’ve never run out on her. Of that I’m certain.”

“No, she’s right,” Wanda said with quiet sadness. “The last three years were quite challenging for me and Peter. We’ve always been inseparable. Even as prickly teenagers, it was him and me against the world. So, I guess whenever we’re together, Lora may feel…left out.”   

They walked up the grand staircase, then turned left and climbed some more steps before they found themselves in the west wing of the mansion. Reluctantly, Erik removed his arm from her shoulders when they stopped at the door to his quarter.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, holding in abeyance the grief that would crash him the second he’d be alone.

“Scarlet O’Hara said it best, “I can’t think about it right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”,” the girl quoted a bit theatrically and shrugged.

Just like her father, she seemed to be trying to delay the inevitable as both of them lingered in the hallway, desperately searching for something before the silence could creep up on them.

The Master of Magnetism didn’t think of anything better than, “That would be a hell of an awkward morning for you and Lora.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Wanda drawled, nodding slowly in agreement. “That’s why I’m gonna crash at Jean’s tonight.”

“Clever,” the man noted with a tilt of his head.

A lopsided grin twisted Wanda’s lips.

The light bulb in one of the lamps on the wall went out a few days ago, but now it seemed like the darkness was winning over this wing of the school. The only window was a black rectangle, as if it had been drawn with the finest ink and the shadows that were fastened to the wooden panels better than the paintings seemed to come to life and began a wild dance....

The whole building suddenly began to shake heavily, the lamps rattling, and plaster dusting off the ceiling. Erik acted on instinct: his hand went to grab his daughter’s wrist, pulling her closer to him as his power weaved an impenetrable cocoon around them. Wanda’s gaze shot down but she didn’t fight him, putting her free arm out wide to keep the balance.

“An earthquake?” she puzzled, her brows knitted together.

The Master of Magnetism didn’t answer, groping for the potential dangers around them. There was nothing outside that wasn’t supposed to be on these lands and the skeleton of the mansion vibrated, but every part of it remained in place without the risk of bursting out of the walls or floors, leaving the only threat in the lamps swinging above their heads.

A Chinese vase tumbled over the polished table but it didn’t hit the floor, falling into a net of scarlet energy. As suddenly as it began, the earthquake was over. The father and daughter swapped a glance.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his heart beating rapidly against his chest.

She gave him a short nod, then her wide-open eyes lit with worry. “Peter and Lora,” she breathed out and yanked free from his grip, charging down the hall toward the east wing.  

Somewhere on the man’s right, a door swung open.

“What was that?” Hank blasted out, his words dripping with bafflement. “Is everybody alright?”

Other doors began to open, but Erik didn’t pay them any mind. He took off, hurrying after his daughter. Having reached the staircase, he could breathe out though – Peter was already standing with his twin on the interim landing, holding their little sister in his arms.  

Youngsters started to flood the hallways: children peeped out of their rooms, Scott ran up to Jean as she rushed out of her quarter, some young mutants were looking around, their eyes glistening with the threat of tears, Kurt puffed next to the twins, exchanging a reassuring touch with them, while Ororo rounded the staircase from the kitchen side, holding hands with two little boys.

Suddenly all the lights went out and the darkness of the night fell like a heavy veil over the gathered crowd. A frightened yelp escaped someone’s lips.

“The back-up generator will be running in forty-five seconds,” Hank’s awkwardly raised voice flew across the split staircase. As if it could put down the whispers that threatened to break out into a panicked rumble.

“All right, all right, listen up here, please!” Charles called out from somewhere in the foyer. The lights turned on again, bathing everyone in yellow hues. Holding his fingers to his temple, the telepath scanned the swarmed hall, and as Erik guessed, everything beyond it. When those ocean blue eyes finally reached him, they lingered for a moment before moving on, yet the Master of Magnetism couldn’t tell if he underwent a mental check-up, least – if he had passed it. “It was a good shake but no one got hurt,” Charles said at last, confident. “Everything will be alright.”

A murmur spread through the crowd, “It was her again.” A tide of sideway glances washed over Jean with a force that made her back away a few steps, abashed pink staining her cheeks.

“Shut up,” Scott gritted out, returning a withering look to everyone who as much as tilted their head toward the red-haired telepath.

“Actually, it was my fault,” a boyish voice came out of somewhere. The youngsters on the steps to the west wing parted and all the eyes swiveled to the young man who was standing there with his hand awkwardly raised. He was around seventeen, but he was taller and more muscular than his peers. His messy, dark brown hair reached slightly over his shoulders and his eyes of matching color swept over the gathered mutants. “Erm… I was trying to generate waves as you taught me –” He chanced a glance at Charles who stopped at the base of the stairs “– to straighten a picture on the wall in my quarter but…Erm…” He scratched his head, clearly embarrassed to admit his failure in front of the whole school. “I’m sorry.”

The telepath sighed heavily but gave the young man a nod, appreciating his honesty.

“What do we do now, Professor?” Kurt asked and a few heads that must have been occupied with the same question nodded along with his words.

Erik took in the sight of his friend who seemed almost as baffled by what had occurred as the rest of the denizens. It didn’t take psionic abilities to understand that Charles didn’t come by the kitchen to have a sip of water in the middle of the night or came back from a late walk. His vest was fully unbuttoned, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, its white fabric wrinkled as if he had lain down on the leather sofa in his study and drifted off to the world of dreams until that artificial earthquake awoke him.

“Back at home, we used to get together and wait it out in some spacious place where nobody really went to,” Ororo said, filling in the indecisive silence.

Raven, who was standing on the west side of the mansion, arms folded over her chest, drawled pensively, “I know one such place.”

“The bunker?” Hank guessed.

“The library,” the shapeshifter said, a waggish grin hovering over her purplish pink lips. She was barefoot but dressed in pajamas – light gray trousers and half-unbuttoned shirt; her wavy locks tied in a messy bun at the top of her neck. Even there, at school for mutants, Erik saw her human mask more often than her honey eyes and skin of a bright shade of blue with the slightest hints of violet that reminded of the bluebonnet flowers. The habit of fitting into the crowd seemed to etch in her core irrevocably.

“Accommodating everyone there comfortably will be a challenge,” Charles said as a pensive crease formed between his brows.

“We’ll bring pillows and blankets to add more sleeping places,” Scott chimed in. “Peter and Kurt can take them. They are fast so even if there’s any danger within these walls, their powers will get them out. And the four of us –” he turned to the female part of the gang “– will accompany everyone to the library.”

The Master of Magnetism found his son’s silver head in the crowd. Say Charles a word and he would take off. Although the man suspected that the nimble boy didn’t need the telepath’s instructions. He would get the job done before anyone would even blink.

“If there aren’t any other suggestions,” the Professor said, turning to the teachers first, then his gaze drifted to the students, “so be it. Let’s move to the library.”

He was saying something else about manners and helping each other, but the flow had already rushed toward the foyer, drowning out his voice. Alan, Ms. Russel and Ororo were filtering students into pairs before another group of teachers whose names the Master of Magnetism didn’t bother to learn guided them down the hallway. He saw Wanda say something admonishing to her brother and the teleport, but while he was making his way to them, both had already disappeared, leaving behind a bluish smoke swirled by a gust of wind. Lora, who was standing close to her older sister, still cloaked in the plaid shirt, watched it with her eyes full of wonder.

Finally reaching the interim landing, Erik touched his daughter’s elbow, drawing the gaze of those green eyes to himself.

“Are you alright?” she asked, studying his face carefully.

“I’ll see if the east wing took any damage,” the Master of Magnetism replied, dodging her question. “Nice save of that Chinese vase, by the way. Charles will be grateful.”

Hank trotted down the steps past them, saying to no one in particular, “I’ll go check on the electricity.”

The girl smirked, at his remark or at the as usual awkward scientist Erik couldn’t tell. He turned to leave before Raven would fetch his help so they could examine the school together. He wouldn’t mind her company if it didn’t mean that he’d have to deal with Hank’s jealousy tantrums afterwards. Right now, it seemed like too much work to cope with.

“Hey…” Wanda called out, making the man look over his shoulder. Weariness and shock wedged into her features but it couldn’t hold back something soft and light about her. It coated the man like a safety blanket and…And he suddenly thought that maybe the word Dad was about to slip from those lips. His heart suddenly picked up speed. “Be careful, alright?”

Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then she took her sister’s hand and headed down the stairs, their disheveled braids swinging back and forth. He stared after them, Nina and Wanda, his two girls…

Erik shook his head, anger stirring up within him, sizzling at the daydream he had allowed himself to be drawn into. He had gone soft and where did it lead him to? Stuck in a school, mourning yet another loss. He needed to take a different path. It may not please his children and Charles, least of all – Maria, but it paled in comparison to the heartbreak of losing those who were his home.

....

Once, in the Forgotten Realms, a world of strange lands, dangerous creatures, and mighty deities, Edgin the bard and Holga the barbarian lived. Two years it’s been since they were imprisoned in Revel’s End, a prison – no, a fortress that teethed through the frozen ground, blown round by the winds so cold, the skin of the sentinels’ cheeks was coated with a crust of ice, threatening to crack like a lake in the spring and bleed. Different criminals were held in this dark tower: dimwitted crooks, greedy highwaymen, and creatures so ferocious the sentinels held them at a crossbow point and never unchained them. Among this motley crowd our heroes have got to do the time for the crimes of grand larceny and skullduggery. A sad story was behind such dishonest deeds.

Years ago, Edgin became a member of the Harpers faction, a network of spies who swear an oath to fight tyranny, defend the repressed and to ask nothing in return. His family, a sister, little Kira, and his love, Zia –

Jubilee smiled coyly at Peter, revealing those cute dimples under the corners of her lips.

– supported his decision. By day, he’s eavesdropped on mercenaries, stopped bandits in their tracks, and even brought Thayan Red Wizards to justice. By night, he’d come home, to his loving family. But being a Harper meant that one was bound to make enemies. And sometimes those enemies come looking for revenge. They killed off Zia and with her, his devotion to his oath died. At his worst, he met Holga. She took pity on him. Holga was a fellow resident of rock bottom. Many years before, she’d been cast out of her tribe for falling in love with an outsider. They quickly became like brother and sister. Neither of them had money or an honest way to earn it, but they had a baby to feed so the three of them embarked on a dishonest journey. As the years went by, their crew grew, adding Simon the sorcerer –

“Wait,” Scott wedged in, frowning, “why everybody gets a suitable name for a fantasy story and I get to be Simon?”

Wanda raised her brows. “Have better ideas?”

The young man pursed his lips into a sullen line. Every member of their Scooby gang had a better idea which was to fall onto the bed and pass out. They all were C students when it came to the art of building and their completely different temperaments together with the challenging weather conditions didn’t ease the stress that came with bringing their project to life. But when Peter stumbled upon Dungeons & Dragons in one of the quarters and brought it to the library, it seemed like a good distraction for those who still felt the grip of fear. In the end, there were few who agreed to play but many, if not all, sat back to watch the game unfold.

They teamed with a so-so sorcerer Simon and rogue conman Forge. They were thieves with certain standards. They never harmed anyone and robbed only from those who would feel it the least. But Forge pushed them to aim higher and so, one day, they met the wizard Sofina. They knew nothing about her except that she needed their help in robbing Korinn’s Keep. It was filled with –

“I’m sorry,” Kurt interrupted Wanda, who took on the role of the Dungeon Master. “What is Korinn’s Keep?”

Jean volunteered to explain. “That’s a vault. Only Harpers could gain access to it. Which is why Sofina came to them.”

“Oh.” An understanding downed on the teleport’s face. He nodded with convicted seriousness.   

At first, Edgin refused. He wouldn’t stoop that low. But then Forge told him that among the relics in Korinn’s Keep, there was a Tablet of Reawakening, capable of bringing back a single deceased person. Our bard couldn’t refuse the chance to revive his beloved Zia so he left his now grown-up sister at home, promising that it was the last adventure and he and Holga will be right back. He didn’t tell her about the tablet in case it would go to shi –

The Professor cleared his throat. He was sitting opposite Wanda, at the table that the gang, Lora, Jubilee and Hank congregated around.

To bed end it went. The team reached Korinn’s Keep that was hidden in one of the seven rocks washed by the violent sea. Once they were in and had taken everything they needed, the guards flooded the vault. Sofina fought them with magic and cast a time-stop spell. Holga and Edgin got stuck in it but the bard had time to throw the Tablet of Reawakening to Forge and ask him to take care of Kira. The man gave him a promise before he left the vault as well as did Simon.

Captured by the guards and sent to Revel’s End, our heroes did not give up hope. Not a day passed when they didn’t think of Kira. Edgin even knitted up mittens to give them to his little sister.

The last bit was delivered with a teasing smile and a wink at Lora.

“No, he did not,” Peter objected vehemently, defensive under the looks of veiled amusement.

They slept on the rocks and chopped ice in freezing cold and when the day had come for the Absolution Council to gather and determine Edgin and Holga’s eligibility for pardon, these two had a plan.

They gathered in a room with a large round window right behind the bard’s back. There are four chairs at the table but only three of them are taken by the judges who eye them impartially.

“What say you?” the oldest of them all asks Edgin.

“Thank you, Chancellor Anderton,” Peter said in a pretentious manner, making a steeple of his fingers as he looked behind his twin’s back at the three children. They were sitting on the pillows that lined the windowsill, masks of high dignity put on. “Before I begin, I notice that Chancellor…Jarnathan is not present,” the young man drawled, casting a sideways glance toward the “earthquake master.” “Should we perhaps wait?”

“Chancellor Jarnathan was delayed by the storm,” Benjamin replied, playing the role of the youngest judge. “You may begin.”

The speedster felt that somewhere here lay a catch and if he messed things up now, he would have to switch roles with Scott and he really didn’t want to become a “so-so sorcerer Simon”. Damn the pack they made before the game. “I see. It’s just I–We–” he gestured with his thumb at Ororo now known as ‘Helga’ “– were really counting on him to attend.”

“Begin or waive your statement,” another child-member of the council read from a piece of paper Wanda gave her.

“Very well,” the speedster chirped. “I should start by giving you some context. You may be surprised to learn I wasn’t always a thief.” He glared at his twin subtly, willing her to help him out.

Our hero begins to tell his story, but whether it touches the hearts of the members of the council or not, it is impossible to say. Their faces are unreadable masks, hardened with years of listening to all kinds of things the prisoners had to say only to get out of here.

“So, what’s the latest on Jarnathan?” Peter asked, eyes narrowed. He’d call Wanda on it next time she’d ask for his assistance. “Is he close by? I can wait.”

“Did you not hear what we said?” Chancellor Anderton, also known as Darren, asked, his tone annoyed. The speedster had a feeling the boy was still holding a grudge against him because of Goldie the goldfish.

“Yep. Right, the storm,” the speedster replied, pulling on a face. Scott rubbed his hands, a sly smile twisting his mouth. He had to buy them time, had to wait for that damned Jaranathan because he seemed like his and Ororo-Helga’s way out of prison. “It’s just that based on what I know about Jarnathan, I think he’d be especially receptive to my story. And I hate to have to wait a whole other year to come back in here and –”

“Proceed,” Darren cut him off.

Peter gave him a stink eye.

The boy mimicked taking a piece of paper and a stamp.

Little prick, the speedster grumbled to himself. He held his hands up. “Absolutely. Here we go.”

Edgin’s voice trembles slightly, betraying his emotions he had to relieve as he describes the Chancellors the day when his beloved Zia had died. No cleric could repair the damage from a Red Wizard’s blade. All he had left is to look at the fire where her –

“Maybe we should tone down the story here?” Charles cut in with a meaningful look.

Wanda cast a quick glance around, meeting eyes gleaming with excitement. However, she could easily imagine what might happen if a young mutant got lost in a reverie inspired by her story. She swept away the grim details, honing the tragedy of the characters into one laconic sentence.   

Left alone with his baby sister, Edgin was swept in the arms of grief and despair.

Peter played along, holding his hand on his heart. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard to relieve this without Jarnathan here.”

“Again with this?” Benjamin asked, taking an unsure look at Wanda.

Darren picked up an imaginary stamp again.

“But he missed the most important part of my backstory!” the speedster countered. “How can he judge me without knowing my motivation?” 

At the end of his speech, the bard promises if the council decides to free him, he will spend the rest of his days trying to right that wrong. He turns to his friend, Helga and asks:

“Anything you want to add?” Peter gave his ‘Helga’ a meaningful look but the girl said rather nonchalantly, “I’m good,” and threw a candy in her mouth.

The three members of the council leaned closer to each other, whispering their opinions. At last, Chancellor Anderton stamps the paper.

“What?! How about announcing the decision first?” Peter exclaimed, splaying his arms. A murmur swept over the crowd, aligning with the young man’s discontent.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors to the room open with a creak and Chancellor Jarnathan steps inside.

The “earthquake master”, whose name was actually Lance, moved forward, squaring his rather broad shoulders.

A satin tunic embroidered with gold flows over his tall figure, but what really catches the eye is his shiny black feathers, his mighty wings.

It finally dawned on the speedster. He shot to his feet, commanding, “Holga, now! Guards!”

Ororo froze mid chewing, giving her silver-haired friend a quizzical look.

The stool that supplied Helga with a mildly comforting seat shot in the air and met with the head of the guard at the wall, knocking him unconscious. The woman throws a potato she had been hiding in the rags that were her clothes and throws it in the face of another guard. She and Edgin throw themselves at Chancellor Jarnathan and push him into the only window the room has. The glass breaks and the three of them plunge in a free fall. Freezing wind ripples the heroes’ hair, sneaks under their clothes, and chills the blood in their veins. But mostly it’s fear.

Peter clenched his hands into fists, engrossed in the game. “Fly, bird, fly!”

The lights dimmed, tendrils of scarlet energy coiled on the floor and creeped up the walls, reflected in Hank’s glasses. It was no longer the library they were settled in but a white piece of land surrounded by the mountains with dark sharp peaks, the snow was swirling in the air, threatening to sweep a student or a teacher into a dangerous dance. The desire to showcase a fraction of her power sparked suddenly, but the girl enjoyed the gasps and gapes it was greeted with.

Charles craned his neck, taking in the magic weaving a new world around, his eyes lit with wonder as they met Wanda’s a touch complacent gaze.

They don’t have breath to scream as the Chancellor spreads his wings wide and curves them into an unsteady glide over the mountains before they make a somersault above the snowed clearing and, in a moment, smash into the ground. They are alive and they are free.

Ororo jumped from her seat and threw herself into Peter’s arms. Kurt patted his silver-haired friend on the shoulder, Lora, Jean and Jubilee swapped glances, smiling brightly as the rest of the room began to clap, totally enthralled. Scott shrugged, coming to terms with the fact that he would remain Simon the Sorcerer. Nobody stayed out of the celebration except Hank who was staring at the snowflake that was swirling in front of his face, his scientific attention aroused.

“But Jarnathan is alive, right?” the Storm Ruler asked Wanda, pulling away from the speedster’s embrace.

Holga crawls to Jarnathan and leans closer to his beak, listening to the signs of life in his body. A sharp breath erupts from his throat and our warrior yells to her friend, “He is still breathing!”

Ororo nodded, appreciating a non-violent denouement. He glanced toward Lance, her lips pursed but he waved his hand and perched on the windowsill, at peace with the fate of his character.

Little did they know that these means were unnecessary since the Absolution Council decided to pardon them both.

“Oh,” rolled over the crowd, echoing in Peter’s grimace.

They go on a journey back home, on their feet at first, straggling their way through the snowed peaks and frozen rivers, then saddle the horses, galloping past majestic volcanoes, and lonely wastelands before they finally reach the village they used to live in.

The scenery around changed, reflecting Wanda’s words.

Only a happy reunion doesn’t happen. Kira isn’t there. The house is empty and it’s been this way for quite a while.

Peter and Ororo turn their heads to Lora – an epitome of bemused parents who were invited to the principal’s office to learn that their child missed classes. The little girl held her hands up, pleading not guilty.

The Storm Ruler leaned closer to her friend and asked, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “What do we do?”

“Forge must have taken her,” the speedster mused, biting the knuckle of his index finger. “How did people find information if there was no telephone, radio or even television?”

“Do we talk real world or the imaginary? ’Cause they have magic,” the girl said, puzzlement flickered across his face. “Maybe in a bar?”

“It’s called ‘inn’,” Wanda amended, unable to hold it back.

“Right!” Peter shook his finger. He glanced toward his twin. “We’re going to the bar–inn.”

Edgin is about to leave the house when he halts on the threshold, his gaze drifts to the ornate wooden panels on the wall. One of them hides a cache in which a lute is kept – an instrument without which no self-respecting bard could travel.   

“You’re really walking on thin ice here,” the silver-haired young man warned Wanda, spotting twinkles of mischief in her eyes.

He and Holga go to the nearest inn to refresh themselves, see if anyone knows anything about their confederate and make a plan.

“Some supper for you and your wife?” someone from the crowd quipped, volunteering to take on the role of the innkeeper.

“What? No.” Peter scrunched up his face. “She’s not my wife.”

“Me with that? With those lips?” Ororo smirked and shook her head.

“Just the drinks,” the speedster said, holding up two fingers as if he indeed was in a bar. Though a blond-haired girl from the first row of spectators actually handed him two bottles of orange juice. He gave one to his weather-wielding friend and another went to his younger sister, rolled on the table right into her hands.

Holga and Edgin sit down and try to imagine where Forge could take Kira. It wouldn't be anywhere outside the Sword Coast because he liked the city so they should've headed north. The bard rips a leaflet from the wall, quickly sketching a map of his and Holga’s journey. They finish their drinks, about to leave when Edgin folds the leaflet and finally notices what it’s about. He flips to find that the High Sun Games were revived and the Lord of Neverwinter invites everyone to see them.     

A piece of paper suddenly began to spin in the air, slowly landing on the table. Red lines outlined a face that resembled Hank’s, the coliseum and the sun sign.

“Is that…” Peter muttered, his brows going up.

The sketched face winked at him and evaporated before the scientist could reach out the leaflet, left openmouthed.

“How did he pull that off?” Scott whispered to Jean. “Aren’t they at outs? I thought we hate Hank.”

The girl shook her head absently. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“If he’s got Kira, we need to go to the palace,” Ororo said with a glance toward the Dungeon Master, resolute.

There was a map of the Forgotten Realms unfolded on the table. Everybody leaned in as a gloving scarlet line ran across Neverwinter to a point from where a small castle rose from the paper. As a small, silvery castle was rising from the paper, Peter posed a question to his weather-wielding friend, pointing to his mouth, “What’s wrong with my lips?”

“They’re too thin,” Ororo replied, her eyes fixed on the Lord’s residence that was taking on clearer shapes with each passing second. Its turret spiked into the skyline, a few towers with traceries accompanying it while pointed arches spread out patronizingly over the houses that were perched on the hill and peppered the land around the coliseum.

“What?” Indignation crumpled the speedster’s brows. “A lot of people like my lips.”

His friend waved a dismissive hand.

Once again, our heroes saddle their horses and hit the road, reaching the city in two days. The streets were polished and sunlit, red velvet banners emblazoned with the sun symbol were hanging on the walls and hovering in the air. There are several tents and food stalls set up on the square, people wandering between them, buzzing with festive excitement. Edgin has never seen this place so crowded.

They get into the palace, its long hallways with the groin vault ceiling looking down at them feel cold and alien yet it’s not enough to put down hope flickering in Helga’s and Edgin’s hearts. They wait and wait and wait there, time dragging on until a girl runs in, halting on the threshold. She’s clad in a pretty teal blue dress, embroidered with gold and etched with lace. A round pendant with a blue stone hanging from her neck on a long chain – Holga’s gift of many years ago.

The narration stopped because the Dungeon Master decided to hand the reins of fate to the heroes.

Peter glanced across the table at Lora, warmth splashing in those near black eyes as he splayed his arms. “In for a bear hug?” he asked, his voice though light bore flecks of uncertainty.

“Yeah,” his sister replied with a “whatever” half-shrug, “I’d give one to Holga. I must’ve missed her a lot.”

There were many things Wanda admired about her twin. He was soft-hearted and vulnerable even though it often stayed hidden under a mask of unwavering mischief. At the same time, he really had a good sense of humor, which both helped to get out of unpleasant stories and became the first brick in some of them. But most of all he was devoted to the people he loved no matter what. Even now as they all played a game, as he picked up his chunk of playing cards, shuffling through them with desperate determination, he was in an active pursuit of the remedy for the slashes the conversation in Charles’ study inflicted. That was something Wanda couldn’t bring herself to do, much to her disappointment.

Oblivious, Ororo lit up with a smile at the little Maximoff. “Aw, that’s so cute, Bug. Then, I must’ve thought about you every day.”

“And I’ve made you these,” the speedster wedged in, handing a card over to Lora.

She took it, twisting it in her hands with a perplexed frown. “What’s on it?” she asked at last.

Some of the children behind her back rose on their toes and craned their necks to see it for themselves.

“Mittens!” Peter exclaimed vigorously. “Remember these from the Revel’s End times?”

“Oh. Thanks,” the girl replied, putting the “gift” next to the only card she had. It was laying on the table with its face turned secretively down.

“I want you to know that I’m so sorry for how things turned out,” the young man said in earnest, burdened with the sort of distance between them that his supersonic speed wouldn’t help him to overcome. “I took the risk but it didn’t pay off the way I expected.”

Lora offered him a long, appraising look that made him wonder if her next words, “Like it wasn’t your fault,” were the remnants of their argument or they belonged to Kira.

The crowd seemed to be conflicted about it too. Some averted their gaze, feeling that they had become witnesses to something personal, some turned to their neighbor to whisper something in their ear, something that had the potential to become a gossip tomorrow, and others were too involved in the spectacle to look past it.

“Ouch,” slipped Hank’s lips when Jean nudged him with her elbow. Confused, he whipped his head toward the red-haired girl who glared at him subtly, willing him to step into the spotlight.

The man swallowed, uncomfortable with the attention that swung to him and even more so with the fallen silence needled with expectations.

“Erm…There they are,” he said a bit too much pompously for a midnight board game. “Old friends! What a wonderful surprise!” He turned to the Dungeon Master to say, “I choose to hug Edgin first, then Holga. She–She doesn’t seem like a hugger.”

“I don’t reciprocate it,” Ororo blasted out with a reassuring look at her friend.

Wanda’s mouth curved into a smile. However childish it might’ve been, she appreciated Ororo’s devotion to disliking Hank out of solidarity with her. She also couldn’t ignore the latter’s quirky self. Perhaps it was wicked of her to be enthralled with the fact that Hank struggled with the game that was surely far simpler than robotics but she was, even though watching him fiddle with the playing cards and frantically fixing his glasses was rather painful. Unlike the asshole taking up the space on the spiral staircase, the man had proven himself to be a good soul. God, one look at Namor made her insides churn and twist with hostility. She hadn’t felt anything nearly as powerful even when Michael warded her off like an evil spirit. Maybe she was one after all. It would explain her craving for some leverage over him and her desire to make him miserable.

“Oh, that’s blistering,” Hank wheezed out, breaking Wanda’s menacing chain of thoughts. His face contorted with pain, lips curled inward as he put a cup back on to a saucer with a clink. He turned his head to the Professor, betrayal shining in his eyes. “Charles, that’s blistering hot.”

The telepath raised his brows, not unamused. “I didn’t ask you to steal my tea, did I?” he said calmly.

“Yeah, yeah, the tea’s hot. We got it,” Scot blabbered, brushing past the old men’s important conversation. He peeked from behind Jean and Lora to peer at Hank. “How are you the Lord of Neverwinter?”

Wanda took pity on her former colleague.

Being a decent host, Forge leads his friends into a receiving room. Over a cup of tea, he tells them that after the Korinn’s Keep, he decided to choose a different path. So, when he heard that the Lord of Neverwinter fell ill, he sold the stolen goods and used the money for his campaign. Kira inspired him to seize that chance and try to make a difference. But he wouldn’t have done it alone. No…

The Dungeon Master’s gaze swept over every face in the room, intent, dark with secret knowledge. The lamplight began to fritter in and out before it died out completely. The room would plunge into the midnight blues if the scarlet energy didn’t prowl around the outskirts of the crowd, gently tying it like a bow around the stems of the bouquet, not allowing it to fall apart.

The atmosphere tainted when a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows…

As if the reality was inspired by the story being told, the crowd began to part to reveal Raven on the threshold of the library. Erik halted just a few steps behind her, the hall’s darkness clinging to him. Alarm flickered in their expressions and Wanda had to hold back a chuckle, thinking that perhaps from an outsider’s perspective all of it looked like a cult meeting.

Sofina. The witch that got them all caught in a time-stopping spell.

“Wait,” Hank cut the girl off, his tone quizzical, “Erik is a witch?”

The shapeshifter ambled across the room, heading to the table. “What kind of tea do you drink?” she teased, eyeing the teapot and a half-empty cup. She dropped herself onto a vacant spot at Peter’s side and tucked her legs beneath herself, cozying up on a squeaking leather sofa. Wanda lost sight of her father as the crowd closed again but she had a feeling that he was assessing the room with the peculiar to him serious curiosity.

“She –” Lora pointed her finger at the shapeshifter, her gaze intent on Hank “is Sofina. And since we’re working with her it means that we’re baddies.”

“Well, I’d say that you’re more like on an unsuspicious side here,” Wanda amended carefully.

“Who’s Safina and why am I her? How did I even get cast in…whatever this is?” Raven puzzled, looking around at the Scooby gang, Charles and Hank.

“We’re playing Dungeon and Dragons,” Jubilee said from her high spot on the back of the sofa. Elbows propped on her knees, she was watching the game with her chin dipped into her palm, yawning from time to time.

“It’s a role play game,” Kurt put in, enthusiasm flickering across his face. “Wanda is the Dungeon Master. Peter is Edgin, the bard, Ororo – Holga, the warrior, Scott – Simon, the magician –”

“I’m a sorcerer,” Scott said on an exhale.

“Right,” the teleport agreed and went on, “Hank is Forge, a former member of their heist team. Jean and I haven’t revealed our roles yet and Lora is Kira, I think she also has a couple of surprises up her sleeve.” Lora grinned at him. “Each character has its own story, weaknesses and strengths. Even the Professor is playing.”

Charles held up his three cards. “To continue the game,” he started, an appealing smile lifting the edges of his lips, “we needed Safina, the mysterious sorceress.”

“More like an evil wizard-bitch but wouldn’t it suit her even better?” Wanda muttered to herself. At least she thought so until Lance, the now infamous “earthquake master” choked back a laugh. 

“What was that?” the shapeshifter challenged the girl.

Unbothered, Wanda replied, “I said that it’s already quite late and if we don’t decide who will play Sofina, we’ll have to postpone the game until tomorrow.”

“Oh, I have a meeting with the parents of a new student in the morning,” the Professor said, his mouth setting in an apologetic line.

“And I have a physics exam at two,” Ororo said and Ms. Russel who occupied an armchair in the corner of the library nodded in confirmation.

A murmur of disappointment spread through the lines of youngsters. Somebody shouted, “Mystique!” and in a second the call was picked up, voices growing louder and louder.

“Mystique! Mystique! Mystique!” Hank chanted along with everybody else.

Even Charles drummed his fingers on the arm pad of his wheelchair, as if he was the director of that overly enthusiastic chorus.

“Alright, alright, I’m in!” Raven shouted, holding her hands up. “Just shut up!”

The crowd cheered, some teachers shook their heads reprovingly, others tittered to themselves, probably mentally applauding the shapeshifter for shushing the students with a sharp word that often prickled the tips of their own tongues.

Raven let loose an annoyed sigh. “Do I get any cards?”

“Quite a few, actually,” Wanda drawled distractedly. She opened a black box and fished out several ornamented pieces of carton. Scott tried to make out the images on them in those five seconds she was handing them over to the shapeshifter.

“What are you trying to snoop, huh?” Raven asked the young man, giving him a flat look. “If you’re a sorcerer, you should have the same cards as me.” She glanced down at her deck, briefly going through the arsenal of the dark witch. “Why is your name ‘Simon’, by the way? I feel like it would suck in a sorcery world.”

Scott’s jaw went slack. He turned to the Dungeon Master, his arms splayed, speechless in his frustration.

“It’s already too late to dodge it,” Wanda said matter-of-factly. “It stuck to you.”

“Okay, we’ve been in the “receiving room” for too long,” Peter pointed out, tired of inaction. To Hank he said, “Just give us the tablet –” he gestured at Ororo, Lora and himself with his thumb “– and we’ll be off to real adventures.”

Those blue eyes narrowed behind the square glasses. “Why would I give you my Tablet of Riches?”

“Of riches?” Ororo reiterated, confusion drawing a line between her brows.

“What’s your priority: me or the riches?” Lora challenged Helga and Edgin, crossing her arms over her chest.

The speedster sought help from Kurt, Jean and Scott. “Where did these riches come from?”

“Stop repeating this freaking word!” Wanda exclaimed in exasperation. “It’s not the Tablet of Riches, it’s the Tab –”

“You and I work together, right?” Raven asked Hank, leaning across the table toward him. A few Erms of uncertain nature left the man’s lips but they were taken as confirmation. “And they are trying to rob you?”

“I’m choosing to ditch these two with their riches and stay with Uncle Forge,” Lora declared and fell back in her seat, her expression steeled with determination.

“What? Wait – You can’t –” Peter tried to protest but cut himself short when a playing card landed on the table in front of him. Golden lines on the red paper glittered in the semi-darkness of the library, folding into quicksand.

The speedster turned his face to Raven and got out slowly, “You trapped me?”

“And her,” the woman replied with a jerk of her chin toward Ororo.

Behind Peter’s back, Jubilee brought her hand to her mouth. This time it wasn’t the yawn that she covered up but a gasp of shock.

Benjamin came over to Wanda’s armchair and whispered to her, “Is that it? The game is over?”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose. All the plot twists she so carefully crafted in her mind went to waste thanks to those idiots.

“So…do we –” Hank looked back and forth between Raven and Wanda, inclining his head subtly toward Peter and his weather-wielding friend “– do we need to return them to prison?”

Unlike her accomplice, the shapeshifter seemed to get into the spirit of the game, coming up with an idea worthy of a true villain. “Or maybe kill them and call it a day?” she offered nonchalantly.

“Could you possibly stop with the macabre images?” Charles said, his voice calm but the look in his eyes – firm and insistent.

“You’re killing the atmosphere,” his sworn sister quipped. 

“So, what’s your plan of action?” Wanda asked Hank and Raven in a flat voice.

The woman ran a thumb athwart her throat with a menacing click of her tongue.

As soon as Kira flees the room, upset with her family, Forge reveals his true self. He is a con man who never intended to let go of his treasures nor the girl whom he had been poisoning with lies for years, growing resentment for her brother in her heart. A spell slips Sofina’s lips, the floor turns into quicksand, swallowing our heroes.

“Return them to prison,” Forge orders his guards.

“Get rid of them,” the witch whispers in the men’s ears.

The Dungeon Master gave a subtle nod to the Professor as if saying, “Just like you ordered, no macabre depictions. Only hints.”

The guards lead chained Holga and Edgin up the stairs into the empty part of the castle. They are slammed to their knees, heads bowed, palms sweating.

Peter’s head whipped to Ororo, he asked, his voice lowered, “You got this, right?”

“I know you don’t with that small guitar of yours.” She nodded toward one of his cards that had a lute drawn on it.

The guard swings his blade over Holga’s head…

“Wait, wait, wait!” Holga jabbered. “Where are we? What’s the interior?”

“You’re about to lose your he–game. This is what you’re concerned with?” Wanda said slowly, considering the girl through narrowed eyes as if she was the guard herself.

Peter nodded vehemently.

“O-kay. So, it’s like a backyard of the castle, no praying eyes –”

“But what is around us?”

Wanda wracked her brain, trying to recall everything she knew about the medieval buildings. The air in front of her gleamed, charged with her powers, reality bending under her intent. A model of hallway began to construct over the game's map: narrow, with high walls but no ceiling, there were numerous doorways stretching out in several directions, separated from the whole by ornamental gates. It was all cold stone and iron.

“I pluck out a brick from the floor and use it as a shield when the guard crushes his blade onto me. Then, I use it to hit his foot and face. Knockout.”

A second guard hurtles toward Holga, drawing his sword –

“I repel the attack and swing the brick to hit him in the face too.”

“In the meantime, I’m just out there trying to remove my shackles,” Peter put in lightly.

Blades shining in the sun, two other guards launch themselves at Holga –

“I hit one with a brick in the face, swing at the second, then kick him in the chest, knocking him backward. Go back to the first one, pushing him into this gate –” Ororo pointed at the metal gate, a heavy chain with a lock wrapped around the middle bars which grew into sharp finial tips – a dead end of a dim hallway “– hit him with the brick again.”

Rapid and resolute, the girl’s answers drew Raven’s full attention which in return did not slip Wanda’s notice. She went on with the fighting sequence, not yet parsing if it were a gamble or a hunch that prompted her.

The hallway is filled with the ring and clatter of the guards’ armor as they fall, struck by Helga’s strengths and acumen. One is sent flying into the reservatory, the apples scatter away, run down the steps where Edgin is still fighting with his shackles, and the other dives head first into a niche, crushing a jug with his helmet. The third guard pops out from nowhere –

“Erm…” Scott drawled, his brows knitting. “Isn’t it the fourth already?”

Yanked out of her fantasy world, Wanda stared at the young man.

“Not that anyone’s been counting,” Kurt added hastily with a gentle, reassuring look.

“Right,” the girl mumbled absently then shook her head. “Where were we?”

“I throw a brick in the guard’s head,” Ororo clued her in.

Help is coming. Two new guards advance on Holga from both sides –

“I duck down for them to clash with each other, then kick the one on my lift in the leg, punch the second in the throat, turn back to the first guy with an elbow in his gut and a knee in his face. I finish the second, pushing him into the wall and smashing his head into it.”

A meaningful look passed between Charles and Raven, one that said that the Storm Ruler was one foot in the Danger Room, enrolled in Mystique’s X-men training course.

The floor is peppered with the fallen. The first guard rises with the lethal blade in his hand and –

“I knock him out with my flute,” Peter chimed in, holding up his card with the musical instrument high in the air for everyone to see that it (or rather he) was not useless.

Wanda could practically hear an upset boink of the lute’s strings bouncing off the face of Ororo’s opportunity. Or her own mental stamina. She checked herself. It wasn’t about scheming or nudging people in the “right” direction, it was only a board game meant to help all of them take their minds off Lance’s unfortunate experiment with his powers.

“Can I keep the axe? Is there a card with it?” Ororo asked, craning her neck to peek inside the box on the Dungeon Master’s lap.

“Forget the axe. What are we gonna do about Kira?” Peter said with a fleeting glance across the table, at his youngest sister who raised her chin defiantly.

The Storm Ruler gave it a thought, her lip worried between her teeth. “We could shoot an arrow with a message into her room,” she offered in a moment.

The speedster raised his brows. “What if it hits her?”

“That’s a risk we’re gonna have to take,” his friend replied with a shrug.

“A note won’t be enough to convince her to come with us,” the young man mused, his silver locks scattered across his forehead as he shook his head slowly. “We have to take her out of that castle ourselves.”

“That’s crazy. We were almost chopped up in this back alley –” Ororo pointed to the illusion of the dark stone hallway still hovering over the map on the table “– and the castle must be swarmed with guards. We’ll lose before we even find her room.”

They both fell into a pensive silence, which was electrified by the curiosity and impatience emanating from the youngsters surrounding them (as well as with a sleepy air coming from the teachers dozing off at the round table on the second level of the library). While Ororo studied the cards in their arsenal, Peter was drumming on his lips with the pads of his fingers. At some point their gazes slowly but surely converged on Kurt, Jean and Scott. Wanda saw the green light lit up in their eyes when it finally dawned on them and they simultaneously said, “We need a team.”

Fruitless battle would expect Edgin and Holga venture they to go against the new Lord of Neverwinter, given the all known fact that heroes with their good intentions rarely defeat prolific as-

“Asshhh sssnakes,” Jean slurred, speaking hurriedly over the Dungeon Master’s upcoming colorful depiction. The girl scratched her head, chuckling awkwardly under Charles’ doubtful look. “Ash snakes are extremely vile in that world. Yeah… Um, Forge could use one of them against...Edgin and...Holga.”

The red-haired telepath flashed the Dungeon Master a pointed look.

How is it my fault that Hank chose the most deceitful character in the game? Wanda fenced mentally, raising a brow. It must be the work of his subconscious.

The floating castle with its sharp peaks and neatly curved arches slowly faded away like a distant memory while a red line snaked across the map to a village spread out in the middle of a vast plateau, sown with wheat.

Having nothing but hope and a certain amount of naïve optimism, our heroes saddle the horses and go to Triboar. Their path lays through empty plains, overgrown with lush green grass, prints of civilization are scattered here and there as well as small gatherings of dwarf trees that become a temporary shelter for the exhausted travelers. Cunning is their coin, but it doesn’t make the crust on the bread bitter or the blue sky above small, only reminding them about how careful one must be to not stumble and lose it all. Apparently, it is something that Edgin and Holga’s old friend Simen the Sorcerer has forgotten. They find him on the theater stage, performing tricks in front of a bored crowd.

“My five-year-old can do that magic,” a woman mocked the skillfully used freshly-cut grass smell spell.

“Boo,” the man from the fourth row cries when Simon demonstrates a tongue of flame swaying on the tip of his forefinger.

Members of Absolution Council behind Wanda’s back giggled.

“No wonder Safina captured us in Korinn’s Keep,” Ororo said to Peter, her face a grimace of distaste as she eyed up Scott. “He’s really a so-so sorcerer.”

“Hold your horses,” the speedster replied in a low voice, surprisingly lenient. “He was in our gang of thieves. Pathetic spells must be a distraction.”

Only spectators have no clue that the most brilliant of acts worthy of attention takes place elsewhere yet not that far. Rings, bracelets, coins and whatnots waft surreptitiously under the benches, sticking together in a rather valuable knot that Edgin’s keen eye catches sight of quicker than the sorcerer detects his old friends at the door.

“Is that…” he mumbles, narrowing his eyes at the waving bard and smirking worrier.

Once astonishment takes over, Simon’s concentration comes tumbling as do the snaffled trinkets.

“What a surprise,” Scott noted flatly.

A suspicious murmur spreads among the gathered, their gazes following a gold bracelet rolling to the stage.

“He’s nickin’ our bits and bobs!” a man exclaimed in fury.

“It’s not what you think,” Simon shoots back, warding off with a quivering smile. “It’s all part of the act!”

Somewhere in the sea of youngsters a derisive girlish voice muttered, “That must be what he says to the Professor daily,” followed by muffled snickers. Jubilee’s head snapped toward the presumable gossipers, a menacing “shh” coming off her lips.

It is entertainment or blood that the public craves. When one fails to provide it with the first, it seeks consolation in the last. The villagers spring from their seats, bellowing, “Get him!” A man pounces on our hero and unless he possesses other charms than his magnetic personality in his magic pouch, this stage act is destined to be his last…

Wanda left the sentence handing precariously in the air, handing the reins of fate over to Scott.

“Shield spell. Shield spell,” the young man muttered, shuffling frantically through his cards. The Dungeon Master knew he groped the wrong spell even before his tongue straggled to pronounce Ceteris paribus, glinting red on the smooth cream paper. It should’ve been Crescit eundo.

What once was bottom became top, the sky and earth switched in a swap.

From across the table Charles hummed, apparently finding Wanda’s rhyme pleasant.

“What?” Scott asked, his face contorted in irate puzzlement.

The girl rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’re all pinned to the ceiling because it’s a gravity spell.”

Ororo’s “I told you” sideways glance clashed with Peter’s stubborn hope, flickering in his narrowed eyes.

“Then I’ll use Ceteris paribus again,” Scott said to Wanda with a nonchalant shrug.  

“Then another villager grabs you by your shirt and threatens to kick your ass,” the Dungeon Master parried with calm ease and a mocking lift of her shoulder.

“Compos men –”   

“He shuts your up with a hand over your mouth.”

A defiant grin upturned the edges of Scott’s mouth as he said, “I bite him.”

“Mmm, yummy,” Wanda drawled sarcastically, pulling a face.

A few youngsters chocked on their smirks. Kurt glanced heavenward, probably asking for divine assistance with the amusement trying to break free. Lora chackled to herself, watched by Peter whose lips spread in a grin. Hank pretended to adjust the glasses on his nose, politely hiding a smile on his face while Raven observed them all, sprawled on her part of the sofa.

“So, what’s your next spell?” the Dungeon Master quizzed Scott.

The young man rubbed his lips as he eyed his playing cards that he laid out on the table in front of himself. “Liberum,” he said after all.

“Are you sure? It’s an unpredictable spell,” Wanda warned him. ’CauseI’m gonna make the most of it, you, narrative intruder, she thought, mentally rubbing her hands.

The young man seemed to miss the dark delight prowling around her features but Jean clearly didn’t. She turned her face to her boyfriend and said gently, “Maybe it’d be better to use Luctor et emergo?” pointing to one of the cards.

Scott shook his head, then yawned.

“We’ll saddle the horses,” Ororo said, motioning with her thumb at Peter and herself, “and wait outside.”

A powerful force yanks Simon out of the man’s dangerous embrace, hurtling him into the ceiling, right through the glass doom that shatters to pieces. But our hero doesn’t hear the pitter-patter of it, the world is a blur for him as he’s rotating in the air, helpless like a ragdoll fallen out of its owner’s favor. 

“Libra!” Scott exclaimed, itchy on his seat. “Libra!”

He plummets to the roof of the theater, rolls down its side and lands right onto Holga’s lap. The trio gallops out of the village, slowing down only when they reach a clearing, sheltered by tall, soft wheat. Edgin tells his old friend about what happened after he and Holga were freed from imprisonment and visited the castle, and the sorcerer, in turn, shares that he himself almost lost his head during the escape from the infamous Korinn’s Keep and Sofina was to blame. He also mentions that there’s a rumor swirling around: she made the real Lord of Neverwinter fall ill, clearing the way for the wealth-hungry Forge.

“Her magic is on a whole other level,” Scott concluded and tossed a deck of cards he had just collected onto the table. He turned his head to Wanda. “Now I get why you’re not playing. It’s a lost cause.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Peter waved off his friends grumbling. “We saw your magic show.”

“Yeah, you can hit her with that fresh-cut grass trick,” Ororo needled.

“Funny.” Scott grimaced and got hit by a gummy bear sent flying into his face. It bounced off of his glasses but the young man was quick to catch it until it fell to the floor. He threw it in his mouth and asked, chewing, “So, you have a plan?”

It was a rare occasion when Wanda had difficulty reading her brother. He made a steeple of his fingers, swapped a meaningful glance with the Storm Ruler before his gaze glided briefly over every face around. Seconds rushed by but he didn’t blabber his plan, which, his twin could swear, he definitely had. When the young man spoke, his answer was somewhat laconic, “We need a druid.”

“I know one. She’s truly one of a kind,” Scott said, his tone for once lacking prickliness. He smiled at Jean, a small but genuine smile that found its reflection in the girl’s face, lighting up her sky-blue eyes just like the sun does in the morning. Even though there were no words spoken or hands touched, the air between them was charged with chaste intimacy. Well, perhaps not everybody saw it that way: Charles drained the remnants of his tea in two urgent, not at all gentleman fitting gulps. The twins swapped an amused look.

Wanda cleared her throat with pointed casualness before she proceeded to unfold the story further. Her power rose again, sketching hills and troughs, partially filled with lakes and rolling landscapes overgrown with mighty trees. That landscape that they found themselves staring at agape was nothing like they’d seen in this room before. It breathed with the type of freedom that one feels coming from their soul, when one can imagine themselves a bird, flying over the never-ending vastness of the world, or the breeze that’s so light and ubiquitous, it can never be caged. Out of the blue, a gray mass began to descend the hills, withering their lash greenness and life-giving streams running through the soil, crushing the trees and roaring at the horrified denizens. Glances began to appeal to the Dungeon Master, nonplussed and sorrowful.

“What’s happening?” Lora asked, the brown leather of the sofa crumpling under her anxious fingers.

The High Forest, a remnant of the days of old, when elves, giants, and dragons ruled the world, now home for members of Emerald Enclave is dying. It is corrupted by a juggernaut as a punishment for the people of these lands for speaking ill of their leader – the new Lord of Neverwinter.   

“Man, you’re going too far with it,” Peter said to Hank, face scrunched up in disapproval. “What did deer and squirrels do to you? Did they gossip about you too?”

“Considering that these are enchanted lands…” Kurt drawled and lifted his shoulders in a suggestive shrug.

Holga, Edgin and Simon stop on the hill that overlooks the ravaged land, watching a captain of the guard reading out a ruling to a young woman strapped to a chop of what has been an aspen. Death is her penalty but she does not yield in the face of it, her belief in justice stronger than the ropes binding her wrists. 

“Oh, so you came to save me,” Jean said, moved, looking to Ororo, Peter and Scott.

Bracing themselves for a battle, the young people picked up their decks of cards. A knowing smile tugged at the Dungeon Master’s lips.

The ruling is read and the order to rule it out is given. A guard in his shining silver armor strikes the horse with a whip but it disobeys, rears up and sends him tumbling to the ground. It stomps, its nostrils flare and in the blink of an eye it morphs into an extraordinary creature. Its claws are long and sharp, her muscled body huge, resembling a bear but with an owl’s head. It throws around the guards without loosing a single feather, frees the hostage and as it jumps onto a horse, surely about to crush it with its weight, the owlbear turns into…a beautiful red-haired druid girl, Doric.

“We definitely need you on the team,” Peter blasted out as he snapped his fingers and pointed at Jean.

For a moment she seemed pleased, then, “What’s in it for me?”

Wanda’s lips curled to sing a surprised but delighted “oh” before she started chuckling.

“You go, Jean!” Jubilee cheered her red-haired friend on from behind dazed Peter.

“We’ll share our riches,” the young man offered, reluctantly though.

“I’m sorry, but you’re escaped convicts and a broke so-so sorcerer. You have no riches,” Jean said matter-of-factly.

The speedster cocked his head, not objecting, then jerked his chin toward Hank, an expression fleeting yet positively cunning crossed his face. “But he does.”

Having turned left and right, Hank pointed a hesitant finger at himself. “Me?” he asked.

“Actually, know what –” Peter’s head swiveled to Raven “– I genuinely believe that you’ve been missed in that haven of evil and –” his gaze swept over Lora and Kurt “–unknown.”

The shapeshifter arched a challenging brow at him but the young man had already begun to writhe and wriggle at her side, making room for Scott and Jean whom he vigorously urged to hurry up their “asses”. Eventually Raven had to move over to the opposite sofa, flopping down between Hank and Lora.

“The richest people are coming to bet on the High Sun Games. Where will they keep their fortunes?” Peter blabbered as his friends gathered tightly around him. Before anyone could answer, he went on, “That’s right, in the vault. Not to mention that the tablet is surely going to be locked up there too. I figured that since the whole thing started because of it, we should take it with us. To win over my sister.”

“Makes sense,” Ororo said, nodding pensively. “But again, we are back to the “how”. If there’s really a fortune kept, it should be heavily guarded.”

“We’ll send Jean–Doric to scout out,” the speedster answered readily.

“And we need so-so sorcerer to…” the Storm Ruler drawled with a cursory glance at Scott.

“Forge has an evil witch on his side. He probably turned to her for a protective spell or something like that,” Peter explained, meeting the eyes of his teammates. “So-so sorcerer is our chance at opening the vault and robbing the shitass.”

“First of all, my character’s name is Simon. Secondly –” the note of indignation in Scott’s voice dialed down a few noticeable notches, mixed with something akin to embarrassment “– I don’t have a card with an unlocking spell.”

“I’m sure you’ll earn it throughout the game,” the silver-haired young man said, fed up with the lack of optimism and imagination in those people. “We’re not even halfway through.”

Jubilee’s dejected sigh made the “good guys” team flinch. While plotting against Hank and Raven, who, by the way, looked very cozy next to each other on the sofa, the young people totally forgot that the girl was sitting behind them and that more than a dozen people were waiting for their next move. Wanda was among those impatient fellas. She felt like she could adopt his twin’s foot-tapping habit if they had stalled her story one more minute longer.

“Okay,” Jean said, leaning forward, closer to her friends to continue the discussion. “Who should I transform into to stay unnoticed? Like…a cat?”

“Maybe a hawk?” Scott suggested. “You can fly to the tower instead of sneaking around the castle.”

Peter pursed his lips and shook his head. “I doubt that anyone will keep their treasures in the tower. Just imagine how they carry stuffed chests up the stairs.” He pulled a face picturing a vivid scene of hard labor. “How about a mouse?”

“Or a deer,” Ororo put in.

Her friends looked at her at once but her expression betrayed nothing but the seriousness of her proposal.

“Yeah, a deer!” the speedster exclaimed in feigned delight. “It’ll blend in with all the other deer in the castle.”

The Storm Ruler gave him a stink eye.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Charles said in a lowered voice, suddenly getting into their circle, “but I have an idea. If you will.” He lifted his eyes to Jean. “Why don’t you turn into a fly? It’s an overlooked insect which makes it a perfect disguise and since it has wings, it won't matter for you if the vault is up or down.”

The speedster’s brows went up to hide under his silver bangs. “Did you get captivated by the game or did you decide that we won’t figure it out before sunrise?” he teased the Professor.

A somewhat waggish smile bloomed on the man’s face. “Will it offend you if I say a little bit of both?” he counter questioned, drawing a smirk out of Peter.

Wanda must have been emitting high frequency waves of annoyance because Jean turned around in her seat to fully face her friend and said, her tone conciliatory, “Alright, alright. So, I get into the castle as a fly.”

You look like a candy cane in these pajamas, Wanda thought, testing if the red-haired telepath was attuned to her mind. The girl either didn’t find this comment offensive, or she simply didn’t use her psionic powers because her countenance didn’t change one bit. Okay. That’s not true. You look cute.

Forge shows his rich guests around the castle, accompanied by his chief adviser Sophina. She follows the procession like an ominous shadow, making his conversationalist cast cautious glances over their shoulders. They reach the vault, protected by a heavy iron door with the glowing red markings - powerful Red Wizard's magic called Arcane Seal of Mordenkainen. Doric will have to bring bad news for our heroes.

“That’s if she leaves the castle,” Raven said casually, flipping a Witch Bolt card onto the table.

A blue beam of crackling energy shoots from Safina’s forefinger once she realizes that a Wild Shape is among them…

“I fly away. Slither into some crack where her magic can’t reach me.”

The path to salvation runs through a storeroom loaded with sacks of corn. Pieces of the Red Wizard’s magic barged in after the fly, wreaking havoc and turning the grains into popcorn. The otherwise delicious avalanche threatens to swallow Doric...

“I transform into a mouse and – and –” Jean was wringing her fingers as she tried to calculate her next step. “There are usually armors lined up along the hallways’ walls, right? I jump into one of them and shift into my human form.”

She pulls down the visor and, barely able to move in the clanking steel plates, jogs down the hallway, past a guard who nods to her. Then, as if sensing a fraud, he yells after her, commanding her to stop. He swings his sharp sword...

“I turn into a mouse again!”

The guards launch themselves on the floor in futile attempts to catch Doric. She runs up the wall and escapes the castle through the arrow loop in the tower, plunging into a free fall…

“Holy Moly, this is so much harder than it seems!” Jean exclaimed, charged with anxious energy. “A hawk! A hawk!”

As a hawk she hovers into the sky, dodging arrows. She keeps turning her head to look over her wings, ambushed, and misses a flag, fluttering at the top of one of the towers. Tangled up and blinded, Doric plummets into the chimney and falls, falls, falls…

“A cat! They’ve got nine lives; I’d definitely need one to survive a Santa Clause-like entrance,” the red-haired girl drawled, smirking to herself.

She lands on all steady four as if nothing happened and shifts back into her human form, stupefying the family that was simply having lunch at their house. Doric borrows a cloak hanging on the wall at the door, throws it over her shoulders and pulls the hood over her head before she walks out on the busy streets of the city.

A card framed by tongues of fire landed firmly onto the table – a strike on Raven’s part.

Sofina winnows out of nowhere and casts Fire Bolt on our hero. She ducks to the side but not quick enough – the blast wave knocks her down, chips from the now smoking bridge above her head rain on her reddish locks. She scrambles herself from the paved street and starts to run, the clattering hooves of the city guard's horses follow her on her heels tagging along.

“I shift into a deer and gallop the hell out of there,” Jean said with a wary glance at Sofina.

Charles might have not been necessarily happy with the language his stepdaughter used however, her resilience and quick-witted mind earned the girl an affectionate smile.

Wanda splayed her arms at Raven, offering her to accept defeat, which caused an appalled wave of “whoo” from the crowd. The shapeshifter leaned back in her seat but the look in her narrowed eyes was unrelenting as well as her hold on the deck of playing cards while the other part of the room cheered on her beaming opponent.

“Now we know for sure that we can’t open the vault’s door,” Scott summed up dejectedly.

“Use your magic,” Ororo said, a “Is that even a problem?” frown crumpling her features.

“I’m not at that level,” the young man countered, fanning his deck of cards with quite a passion.

Peter cradled his head in his hands, his puppy eyes drifting to his twin sister.

“You may find the answers in the tombs of Evermoors,” Wanda chirped but caught sight of the Professor who was shaking his head. The girl pursed her lips. Buzzkill. “Or I may tell you that you need the Helm of Disjunction and Xenk Yendar knows where it is.”

The guiding line on the map came to life and ran to Mornbryn’s Shield.

Xenk Yender. He is a Thayan yet his name is on everyone’s lips not for killing blows or dark spells. He has a kind way. In fact, our heroes catch a glimpse of it themselves – the paladin calms a giant fish before their eyes, saving a Tabaxi child from its maw. Tears of relief stream down the mother’s face as she cradles her baby in her hands. The crowd cheers but Xank does not linger to absorb it, leaving the scene once he realizes that no one else needs his help.

Half of Kurt’s face was cloaked in shadows and the other half was covered by his black-blue strands so that when he lifted his head, Wanda could only discern a pair of mesmerizing eyes. They were glowing like liquid steel, and the comparison seemed only fitting: since the day he’d been born, he’d been through a lot that should’ve hardened him yet he was soft and warm and vulnerable, learning to accept the fact that people were capable of seeing him behind his unusual appearance. And it seemed to the girl that he was at last enjoying the attention directed at him as she spoke about his character who, in all honesty, wasn’t that different from him.

Meanwhile, the teams were more focused on winning the battle of magical forces. Well, sort of.

“Hey,” Ororo whispered, nudging Peter with her elbow, “go talk to him.” She tilted her head slightly towards Xank.  

“You go talk to him,” the young man got out through a yawn.

The girl tsked but resigned, leaning forward to cross the distance between her and the teleport or, at that moment, the paladin. “Xenk, is it?” she started. “I’m Holga Kilgore. This is Simon, Edgin and Doric over there.”

“And what brings you to Mornbryn’s Shield?” Kurt asked, bracing his forearms on his knees.

“You do,” Ororo replied, her unusually low-pitched voice alluring. “We’re trying to find the Helmet of Dysfunction.”

“Disjunction,” Simon amended carefully.

“Many lives were lost in defense of that helm. To speak of it would be to diminish their sacrifice.”

The choice of words, the way Kurt said them, perfectly aligning his performance with her narrative... Wanda’s chest filled with thrill that went down her body, tickling somewhere in her veins. She bet he could read it in her eyes when their gazes met, but she gave him a thumbs up anyway, just in case.

Then, Scott came up with a surprisingly good speech to cajole Xenk. “You’re known as a man of honor and integrity, and I can assure you, our reasons for wanting the helmet are entirely noble.”

“Yep. We’re gonna rob someone,” Ororo dropped a fact.

Peter’s eyes went round like coins. “Holga!” he checked her sharply.

Jean finally chimed in, leaning over the table to whisper, casting cautious glances at Hank and Raven whose ears must have perked up, “Not just anyone. Forge Fitzwilliam. And the Red Wizard of Thay he’s partnered with.”

Kurt rubbed his chin, pensive. “Come with me,” he said after all with an enigmatic nod to the “good guys” team and a conspiratorial one to the Dungeon Master. She grinned back at him. Ohh, she was so loving it!  

Over a century ago, the necromancer Szass Tam was one of eight zulkirs who ruled the nation of Thay.

“Great, a history lesson,” Peter muttered, leaning back in his seat to realize that Jubilee was still sitting on top of the sofa and her legs were dangling right behind his back.

But Tam’s hunger for power was absolute. On the eve of the solstice, the residents of the capital gathered for a celebration. Unbeknownst to them, or his fellow rulers, Tam had a plan of his own: to stage an unholy coup.

Above the table, tendrils of Wanda’s power forged a drinking horn, plates of red glass that reminded of flayed flesh bound together by dark metal. The spell began to descend like red roots tearing the air, going through the horn and spilling upon the table like a poisonous fog. Instinctively, everyone around began to lean back in their seats and those who surrounded the sofas, stepped back. Thus, Wanda spotted Erik standing near the exit, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes fixed on the image she created, unblinking as if bewitched.

He unleashed the Beckoning Death, a spell that would consume the souls of all who beheld it, enslaving them to his will. With the aid of his Red Wizards, Szass Tam created an army of the undead –

Owning it, Peter mouthed, showing his twin the “ok” sign while no one was watching.

– allowing him to conquer the entire nation. Szass’ power extends no further than the borders of Thay. He and his Red Wizards will not be content until they have infected the whole of Faerun with their maleficence.

The silence in the room was thicker than the darkness of the night peeping through the windows at those gathered.

“She’s like a Red Wizard herself,” a whisper touched Wanda’s left ear at the same time as Charles drawled, “That is an exceptionally dark depiction,” staring at the magical horn until it disappeared into thin air. Unlike the scandalmongers hiding between teachers and pupils, his tone held no fear or condemnation, only pure…fascination, if you will. Perhaps after so many weeks of keeping to herself, she went overboard with the display of her powers, but that was just an illustration of the story. It was harmless and only revealed a small fraction of who Wanda was without masks.       

“Sounds like we have a common enemy,” Doric said, looking at Kurt. “You give us that helmet, we take Forge down. The Red Wizards will lose their puppet.”

“What will become of the wealth you burgle?” he inquired calmly.

“I told you they were speaking about the vault for a reason,” Raven hissed to Hank, not once letting the gang out of her sight.

Edgin scrunched up his face. “What does that matter?”

“I will not be complicit in the illicit use of ill-gotten booty,” Xenk stated with the air of dignity.

Ororo’s brows shot up. “Did he just say “booty”?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, tilting her whole body toward her friends.

“It means money or some valuable things,” Jean explained, peeping out from behind Scott.

“Fine,” the speedster said on an annoyed exhale. “We’ll divide it amongst townspeople.”

Kurt pulled out a small book from somewhere (although it wasn’t surprising, they were in the library after all) and said, challenging Peter’s character, “Swear on it. Place your hand on this Harper’s Seal and swear that you will indeed distribute all the wealth you take amongst the people of Neverwinter.”

The teleport proffered the book across the table to the silver-haired young man who looked askance at it. “’Great Expectations’? Anyone else see the irony?” Peter jested. And got shushed by Wanda. 

“Go on, Ed,” Scott crooned with a teasing grin. “Promise you’ll give Forge’s money to the people.”

Edgin tried to seek support among those around him, but even Hank seemed to expect him to do what he was asked to so the young man had to give in. He put his hand on the book and made a vow in the most monotone voice possible, “I promise I’ll give Forge’s money to the people of Neverwinter.”

“Keep this,” Xenk replied with a small smile, covering the bard’s hand with his own. “You may not yet believe your words, but I do.”

“Yeah. Good for you. Simon, hold onto this.” Peter tossed the book onto Scott’s lap. The latter hissed, rubbing his right thigh pricked by the sharp edge of the novel. “Now, where’s the helmet?”

“In the bowels of the Underdark,” Kurt read out loud the information on one of his playing cards before he showed them back into the pocket of his shorts.

“Sounds lovely,” Scott quipped.

The path of our heroes now lies in the Kryptgarden Forest remarkable for the trees that had been bent by ancient creatures that dwelled there, for the reddish hue about its floor, as if it was blood-soaked, and even more so for the entrance to the underworld that some called “the orifice”. It’s a day's trek to reach the ruins of Dolblunde. The paladin leads through the cracks that split the earth, inhabited by creatures that no sane traveler would want to meet. Unless, of course, they were already acquainted with Rochnons, brain fanciers, who seized control of their victim’s body once they were done devouring the insides of the skull.

A shiver of disgust ran down Lora’s body.

At last, they reach the chasm...

Wanda’s muscles ached from days of working on the treehouse project, the skin on her shoulders, neck and nose tickled, most likely sunburned, and her thoughts became increasingly fuzzy as the moon moved across the starry night. It’d be the last phantasm for today. At this point, she wasn’t doing it to show off her potential or to impress her father, Hank, or her peers. She wasn’t even doing it for the sake of her siblings, to band-aid the abrasions after the wrangle they had in Charles’ office. She was doing this last bit for herself as the storyteller.

Eyes closed, shoulders rolled back, hands splayed palms flat on the box of playing cards – the Dungeon Master focused on the vision her imagination was crafting point by point. The flow of lava splashed onto the coffee table, spreading over its wooden surface in a thick, steaming mass that began to harden before it reached the players’ assets. It folded and swelled up, layered, growing into hideous rocks and curved cliffs until they towering over the bright orange run. Stone plateaus descended from midair, suspended by iron chains.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open. “Welcome to the Hanging City of Dolblunde,” she said in a soft voice as if she were a receptionist at a five-star hotel

“Are these…us?” Jean asked, her voice barely above a whisper, making a sweeping motion with her forefinger over the five small silhouettes scattered on one of the suspended plateaus linked to another one by a bridge.

The Dungeon Master gave her a subtle nod.

“Damn,” Raven drawled, untucking her legs to move closer to the table for a better view.   

“Let me guess,” Peter said, looking up from the moving installation to his twin, a corner of his mouth turned up slightly, “the helmet is on the other side of this chasm and we need to cross this bridge to get it but there is a catch to it?”

Wanda returned him a lopsided grin.

The bridge is protected by an ancient Gnomish trap. There is a precise formula our heroes must follow so as not to trigger the mechanism.

Starting from the center, use odd-numbered blocks only, moving forward with each step, except for every step, which must be a lateral move. Left or right, it matters not, so long as the leader and the laggard remain equidistant. After which, proceed. Again, odd-numbered blocks only. However, at the midpoint –

One could see the calculations running in the speedster’s head as if his face was a screen of a computer and his silently moving lips a keyboard.

– one will need to switch to even-numbered blocks. Same pattern, except now a lateral move after the fourth step, until one reaches the three –

Scott froze with his index finger hovering over the bridge, which began to disintegrate brick by brick, falling into the lava with a splash. He drew his lower lip between his teeth. Slowly, his hand retracted and went to rest on his knee. “I may have…tapped the bridge,” he voiced the obvious. “I didn’t realize it was so sensitive. Sorry.”

Peter rubbed his face, slightly shaking his head.

“I’ve got a rope and an axe,” Ororo mused, laying out two playing cards on the edge of the table. “I could make a sort of a lasso. Toss it across so it sticks to the rock.”

“You know rocks are hard, right?” the silver-haired young man teased.

“Shut up,” the girl flung back, studying her assets.

Scott craned his neck, spotting a card framed with gleaming blue runes. “Where did you get that?”

A crease formed between Ororo’s brows. “What, a walking stick?” she asked, pulling the card out of the deck.

The young man reached over and took it, running his thumb over the embossed symbols. “That’s not a walking stick,” he drawled, perking up. “It’s a Hither-Thither staff.”

“A what?” Kurt, Ororo, Jean, and Peter asked in unison.

“You go whoosh-whoosh –” Scott touched the air in front of the silhouettes with the tip of the playing card and repeated the motion around the neighboring plateau that used to be on the other side of the bridge “– and two doors appear that kinda teleport you from one place to another.”

On their own, two tiny luminous dots appeared where the young man tapped the air. From there a line ran, drawing a circle that wasn’t plain but spiraled into the very fabric of the universe, seemingly conjuring a tunnel through space, as when one of the silhouettes stepped into the closest to the Dungeon Master portals to walk out of its identical twin onto a plateau on the other side of the chasm. It thrusted its minuscule but rather triumphant fist in the air.

“Good save,” Jean smirked.

Our brave squad manages to cross the lava river, applying to use a magic artifact that Holga swiped some time ago from a wizard over in the Grey peaks, unaware of what it was but sure that it’ll prove itself useful one day. As it surely did. Through the ruins they follow Xenk to a tall statue that holds a bowl in its hands. The paladin blows off a century worth layer of dust off its plain surface to reveal four quadrants with intricate puzzles, covered with fine gold mesh. He presses his fingers to the sun and moon shaped symbol in the center –

Kurt pulled out a deck of cards from his shorts, flipped through them until one stood out and put it on the coffee table.

– and places a dragon stone into the appeared slot. The patter on the stone and steel top doubles and blurs, then, clicks, the whole bowl opens up like a flower and there it is, in the center of it lies the Helmet of Disjunction. 

The teleporter leaned over the phantasm, handing over a playing card to Peter, a golden helm embossed on its yellowish paper glittering in the light of Wanda’s power. “This I give you now,” Xenk said, looking Edgin dead in the eye, “trusting that you will protect it with your very life.”

“I will,” the young man replied, echoing the paladin’s solemness. The next second he passed the card to Scott. “Hold this.”

Wanda plopped back in her seat, throwing her arms onto the ruched arm-rests of her winged armchair. With all the affinity Charles had for her brother, she doubted that the man would trust him with a meaningful role on the team if he didn’t demonstrate something else beside his impatience and sarcasm. From the expression on Raven’s face and her whispering with Hank, the girl guessed that these two would not let the gang leave with the helmet just like that. Her eyes met with the shapeshifter’s. Maybe came the time for Peter to prove that he was born ready for impossible missions.

Suddenly, Xenk stiffens. He sniffs the air around. He steps back, sniffs again, alarm flickering across his face. “There is evil here,” he says, certain.

Raven flicked a playing card onto the table. A Thayan knight… On second thought, what would it cost Charles to take Peter on a team just for his unique mutation? After all, chances that he’d be able to deal with a problem before the team would even step out of the plane were high.

Six ominous figures appeared on the same plateau as the gang’s mini copies.  

“Are those…” Ororo began but left her question hanging in the air unfinished for Peter answering it straight away, guessing a hooded figure on the playing card of their opponents, “Thayan assassins.”

“Leave them to me,” Kurt said, more confident than ever, already holding three cards at the ready.

One silhouette on the plateau moved to meet the five running. Youngsters began to draw closer to the coffee table and the sofas, surrounding it to see the butchery firsthand.

Like jackals, the army of the dead rushes towards our wizard warrior with just one nod of the head of their leader, Dralas. The first assassin flies into the air, holding the blade above his head to – Wanda cast a cursory glance at the Professor but he was busy covering his deep yawn – land a killing blow.

“I’ll use my blade –” Kurt held up a playing card with a beautifully drawn sword on it “– to repel the attack.”

Lava crunches under feet as the second knight of darkness slides at Xenk’s side, his long blade shining inches from the paladin’s gold armor –

“I duck away and swing my sword. Our weapons clash and sparks fly but I knock him down, launching strikes to his lap first, then go for his abdomen and chest.”

You’re good, Wanda mouthed to her friend in awe.

The other two sneak from behind the paladin’s back…

Kurt smiled at her. “I strike one in the heart and draw my blade across the other’s neck in one swirl,” he said, the girl’s encouragement echoing in his words, making them come out confident and enthusiastic.

Thus, Dralas is the only standing henchman of evil left. He summons a sword enchanted with poisonous green fire –

“I’ve got lightsabers over here!” a child’s voice cut in Wanda’s narration. The crowd parted, letting a ginger-haired boy around ten come close to the coffee table. He held three switched-off Star Wars weapons close to his chest. “How cool would it be if the paladin and the leader of the army of undead fought right here, huh?”

“Better leave it until the morning, Levi,” Charles said in a gentle tone. “Otherwise, you’ll be tossing and turning half the night and we don’t want that, do we?”

The boy pouted and hugged his lightsabers tighter.

“The people demand a spectacle,” Raven drawled and smirked, eyeing the kid up and down for a brief moment before her gaze went to take in the sight of the gathered youngsters and at last stopped on Wanda’s face. “And we should provide them with one. You have your paladin and I choose him –” she her finger at none other than Namor “– as my assassin.”

The girl’s jaw clenched but she tried to keep it cool. The shapeshifter didn’t need to know how much hostility burned in her soul towards that asshole.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to choose someone else. Mr. McKenzie over there is merely interested in anything that isn’t a body of water,” Wanda drawled with a small, plastic smile. “And besides, Kurt may not –”

“Oh, young miss knows me so well already even though I’ve only been here for like…a week maybe?” Namor got up from his seat on the spiral staircase and, hands in pockets of his checkered shorts, sauntered toward the “good guys” sofa, those arctic eyes intent on the girl. “What’s your name again?”

The illusion that was floating above the table puffed into nothingness. Wanda suddenly wanted the playing cards to cause damage not only to the characters in the game but also to the players. Then she would have borrowed one with the dagger from Kurt. Although it seemed that it wasn’t necessary because her friend stood up and said, looking down softly at her, “It’s okay, Wanda. I liked Star Wars and I may want to try a lightsaber fight.”

A snort escaped Namor’s throat.

Both young men approached the boy and picked a weapon for themselves. They proceeded to the spot near the bookcase that the crowd had given them. Kurt’s lightsaber lit up yellow, his opponent’s – green, as they took their positions.

“No teleportation stuff,” Raven shouted to Kur, probably reminiscing the day when she was hunting him down all around the school grounds to drag him to training.

Namor charged first, swinging his saber high, but the teleport dodged the attack, sliding right under the young man’s arm, spinning and striking from behind. The water-bender managed to parry the blow. Their weapons clashed and they wrestled them up and down, both unyielding. Wanda’s hands squeezed into fists when Namor shook off Kurt’s pressure at last and went on the offensive. Strike, block, strike, block, strike, block, repeat. For half a dozen blows it seemed like the paladin’s fate was decided until he found his strength and his defensive moves turned into offensive. Their blades locked, the young men’s faces lit by the wavering yellow-green light of their sabers.

“Don’t lean that hard!” the true owner of the weapons exclaimed, clenching his third lightsaber in his hands. “Dad just brought them from China for me!”

Kurt pushed his opponent back, attacking him with surprising ferocity. Namor was unprepared for that kind of fierceness from somebody who was often seen entering the chapel doors. He missed one of the strikes – yellow saber grazed his left arm and stunned, stumbled back, crashing into a table for studies.   

“Perhaps we should call it a tie,” Charles offered, his brows knitting together.

Namor recovered, unleashing a merciless series of blows, pushing and pushing the teleport back, pressuring the crowd to part. Kurt lost balance for a second, an unforgivable mistake that the water-bender used to his advantage, running his blade under the young man’s armpit. Peter, Scott and Wanda shot to their feet, watching a lightsaber being knocked out of their friend’s hand and falling to the ground with a plop. The young men began to tussle, twisting each other’s arms, ducking away and clashing again. The decisive moment, however, fit into one sharp movement that the girl’s eyes hardly had time to register: Kurt spun around, his back pressed into Namor’s, one hand gripping his wrist, another – having hold of the green saber ran it across the dark knight’s neck. A win.

The room exploded with shouts, whistles and applause that gave a good startle to those who dozed off. Hank scrunched up his face when Wanda screeched, pitching in the noise, and rushed to Kurt, throwing her arms around his neck in a suffocating hug.

“You were so cool!” she blabbered, pulling away before the teleport had a chance to properly reciprocate the embrace. “You were like a ninja. The moves, the persistence, the ferocity! Wow!”

He smiled shyly, a little proud of his performance, his chest rising and falling quickly as he was still recovering his breath. The girl high-fived him and instead of letting go of each other, their fingers entwined, keeping their hands locked as their friends were coming up to comment on the battle.

Wanda glanced to Namor. Surrounded by some of the students, he tilted his head, bulged his eyes and stuck his tongue out, pretending to be dead, defeated by a paladin. The kids, including Lora, laughed.

What the fuck was that? The girl thought, frowning. Is that…Is that a smile on his face? Is he trying to be funny?

Then it dawned on her – he was trying to drag attention to himself because it was HER game and he still didn’t pay her back for her little jest in the cafeteria. Rushed by a sudden fit of pique, she jerked forward, eager to take a seat in her winged armchair, forgetting that her hand was in Kurt’s. One of his claws caught her palm as it got torn out of the young man’s clasp. Wanda hissed, more in surprise than in actual pain, and stared down at the blood that slowly beaded a long scratch on her skin. As did the gang, their blabbering put on stop. All the fun drained out of Kurt’s face in an instant.

“Wanda…” he reached out to her but his hand halted midair, then dropped to his side. Horror and regret shone in his amber eyes when he finally took them off the girl’s palm and looked into her face. “I am–I am so sorry. I didn’t –”

“It’s nothing,” Wanda cut him off, noticing from the corner of her eye that Namor was watching them. “My fault anyway.” She chipped the teleport a thin-lipped smile and began to hustle him and their friends back to the coffee table.

It was one thing to repair a broken test tube or tear a bucket that was getting in the way into iron splinters, but to create a believable illusion that wouldn’t be static was an entirely different endeavor. The first was a kind of physical response, almost like when one ducks away from a flying toward them object or stuffs dirty cups under the bed when an unexpected guest pays a visit to their room. Forging what was essentially a different reality was a colossal strain on Wanda’s mind but she went with it anyway, reconstructing suspended plateaus, lava rivers, and adding a few more details.

“Shit, I forgot that they’re unkillable,” Peter muttered when, along with five silhouettes representing the gang, six half-shadows with blazing green slits instead of eyes appeared within the phantasm.

Suddenly chaos unleashed. All the figures began to move: five were fleeing, other six were chasing them across the plateau, all heading toward a den perched atop a friable hill. The gang’s avatars struggled to climb it but when a chance at escaping the assassins began to flicker on the horizon, an invisible force swept them off their feet, sending them skidding down the hill. The dan trembled and there, in the dense darkness a pair of bright yellow eyes glared. Charles and the teams on either side of the coffee table leaned forward to see a red-scaled head with spiral horns tear down the overhanging rocks and the ruins of what once was a temple.  

“That’s one pudgy dragon,” Ororo drawled once the creature burst out of its den.

Indeed, Themberchaud was no ordinary dragon: three rows of massive barbs stretched along his back right up to the tip of his tail, he had three horns – one was set between his nostrils and other two were perched atop of his head – spikes protruded from his chin and his ears resembled grills. What made him remarkable though was his massive body. Clearly overweight, the creature couldn’t fly, his bat-like wings flapped to no avail, unable to lift him in the air.

The dragon flopped onto its folded belly and glided down the hill, gobbling up a couple of knights of darkness. He slid all the way to the plateau, nearly falling off its edge when the suspended construction tilted and swayed like a swing. One of the chains wavered, then twitched, and began its plummet, threatening to crash the gang’s running avatars. The dragon tripped over now scattered iron links and rolled like a ball, the bridge leading from the plateau to the tunnels under the Kryptgarden Forest crumpling under his weight.

Jean held her breath – her avatar fell down along with the ruins of the bridge, but the second silhouette, Scott’s avatar, threw itself forward, catching the druid’s hand just in time and dragging it back. They continued to run…

“It’s a dead end!” Ororo realized with horror, noticing that their tiny copies’ path was cut off by a massive piece of rock.

“Scott! Up there!” Jean exclaimed, nearly jumping up from her seat to point to a suspended bridge nearby.

Having picked up the Hither-Thither staff card from the table, Scott tapped the air around the fallen rock and the noted bridge. Two portals appeared, allowing the avatars to escape an imminent death. But Themberchaud wasn’t ready to let the trespassers get away that easily. He flapped its wings strenuously, managing to grasp the edge of the hovering bridge. The whole construction tilted and Kurt’s and Peter’s avatars that didn’t have time to hop into the tunnel like the rest of the team, tumbled down. The paladin grabbed onto the chain fastener but the second small silhouette wasn’t that lacky, sliding right into the creature’s open mouth.

Kurt held up the sword card. His avatar soared into the air, holding the sword in both hands and landed on the dragon’s muzzle, plunging its weapon between the yellow eyes. Themberchaud’s fanged mouth closed just a second before Peter’s avatar bumped into its chin and the vicious creature slipped off. The characters sprinted up the bridge and hopped off it onto the rock’s ledge.

“Thanks for that,” the speedster said to Kurt on a distressed exhale.

Wanda expected to hear something sublime from the teleport, something in Xenk’s style, but he didn’t utter a sound and barely glanced at her brother as he tipped him a short nod. The girl eyed her friend, concern crumpling her brow, but eventually she chalked it up to the late hour and fatigue. They needed to wrap it up.

The perspective changed – now those in the library were looking at the inside of the tunnel, in which the gang’s avatars had taken refuge. It seemed that the dangerous part of the game was over and the Dungeon Master would begin to narrate the story, but out of nowhere, an enraged Themberchaud burst in, forcing the five small silhouettes to flee again. The further they moved, the narrower the tunnel became…

Peter slapped his tights. “He’s stuck!” he exclaimed, his dark eyes gleaming spitefully at the dragon.

“So are we,” Jean mumbled. The tunnel led to a cave with a statue holding a bowl of glowing crystals. With the dragon’s head stuck there, the gang’s avatars had no way out.

Stubborn to get his prey, Themberchaud tried to squeeze forward, using the horn on his nose to crush the porous walls of the characters’ trap. Water gushed out from the cracks.

Scott threaded a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna drown!”

“Well, portal us out of here!” Peter snapped.

“I can only portal us to what I can see! You want to go from that wall to that wall?” Scott shouted back at the speedster, waving his hand angrily at the surroundings of their avatars.

The dragon butted the ceiling of the cave. A few more fountains sprayed over the characters. They were almost knee-deep in the water.

Peter’s face lit up. He turned his head to his twin and asked in an urgent voice, “Is it salt water?”

“I guess so,” Wanda drawled, not grasping her brother’s idea yet. She looked around at her friends but they seemed as confused as she was.

His next question the speedster fired at Scott, “You remember that trick you did in Triboar?”

“Fresh-cut grass smell?” the young man asked, a crease forming between his brows.

“No, the flame finger one,” Peter blasted out, splaying his hands vigorously and perhaps a touch crossly.

“Yeah, why?” Scott replied hesitantly.

“Holga, hit him!” the silver-haired young man ordered and shot his finger toward the tussling fire-spitting creature.

Without further questions, Ororo began to shuffle through her playing cards in search of a suitable weapon.

“You want to make him angrier?” Jean puzzled, peering into Peter’s face as if she believed that he had gone mad.

There was indeed a manic spark to his eyes when his gaze swept around the faces of his teammates. “When I say so, everybody goes underwater. And that’ll be your cue, Simon, alright?” His head snapped to Ororo. “Go, Holga!”

The girl pulled out the axe card and turned it upside down. “I’ll hit him with the hilt,” she said with a nod to the Dungeon Master.

Ororo’s avatar waded its way to the dragon's head and thumped him with a tiny copy of the axe. Furious, the creature trashed against the tunnel’s walls, crashing them furthermore. At last, Wanda cracked her brother's intention, struck by his ingenuity. And baffled by the fact that she didn’t think of it too, deeming the gang a defeated party. But she was not going to admit to either one.

“Again!” Peter commanded and Ororo held up her playing card once more. Her avatar warrior dealt a second blow. The dragon opened its fang-studded mouth, the rudiments of fire cracked like a lightning deep in his throat… The speedster dropped his arm. “Now!”

As if they were truly connected, the gang ducked down when their characters plunged into the water. Scott held up his playing card, a cantrip spell that summoned a flame on the tip of the sorcerer’s finger and BOOM, the whole phantasm exploded. The crowd erupted with a gasp of shock. Raven bolted to her left, covering Hank with her body. Kurt’s tail froze inches above Lora’s shoulders, ready to grab her and teleport. Ororo and Jean darted to the sides, sandwiching Scott, while Peter managed to grab Jubilee by the ankles as she nearly fell from the top of the sofa. And the Professor might’ve flinched back so violently in his seat that his wheelchair nearly rolled over Namor’s toes.

The bright yellow-orange colors reflecting in Lora’s gleaming eyes faded, slowly turning into pacifying turquoise hues – five silhouettes were swimming up to the surface of the ocean, freed. Grips were loosened, awkward apologies scattered around, and now all the eyes swiveled to the Dungeon Master seated nonchalantly in her chair.

“Now what?” she asked with a wave of her hand at the gang.

“This is where I live you,” Kurt said to Peter, Jean, Ororo, and Scott, putting aside his deck of cards. When the lips of his silver-haired friend parted, clearly to object, he added, firm in his decision, “This is your quest and I wish you every success on your journey.”

The speedster swapped a glance with his twin.

What is it with him today? the look in his eyes said.

The girl shrugged. Who knows?

“I’ll give you five minutes to come up with a plan of actions,” Wanda announced to both teams in a dramatic voice. “But heed my warning: the mistakes you make now can be fatal since this is the finale of the game.”

“Dieser schreckliche Tag scheint einfach kein Ende zu nehmen, oder?” (This terrible day just can’t seem to end, huh?) she said in a low voice to Kurt as she leaned closer to the coffee table to collect his playing cards. She meant it as a jest, a starter of small talk of sorts while they were waiting for the discussions in the teams to end. Of course that argument with Lora tarnished the mood and the earthquake was not the sort of shake-up that would help to change that, yet the day didn’t seem awful to her. They managed to finish the tree house project in time, injuries free, and still friends. At least that was what Wanda thought.

She caught a glimpse of Kurt’s lips pursing into a somewhat regretful line before his head tilted forward, black and blue strands sliding like a curtain over his face.

“Habe ich etwas falsch gemacht?” (Did I do something wrong?) the girl asked carefully, her eyes running all over her friend, noting his slumped shoulders and hands folded between his knees as if close proximity to her made him uncomfortable. The thought pricked her like a needle, suddenly, drawing a drop of blood somewhere in her chest. Wanda pushed back in her armchair, her fingers finding solace in a shabby card with a chained spider as she blubbered, keeping her voice low, “Ich weiß, dass ich manchmal etwas zu aufdringlich sein kann, und vielleicht habe ich dich dazu gebracht, dieses Spiel zu spielen, und dieser–dieser lightsaber fight war nichts, was du nach einem langen Tag machen wolltest…” (I know I can be too pushy sometimes and maybe I made you play this game and this lightsaber fight wasn’t what you’d rather do after a long day…)

Wanda chanced a glance at the teleport who had been staring at her with such an expression on his face as if everything that came out of her mouth was gibberish and he was trying to discern at least some meaning. Maybe her German wasn’t good enough to express something that didn’t have a clear shape even in her head. Kurt’s lips parted at the same moment as the girl tried to explain herself when –

“Time’s up,” Namor announced with a clap of his hands, passing behind Wanda’s armchair. Startled, the girl flinched. Her head snapped toward the young man, her glare following him as he strolled past her, rounding the “good guys” sofa and heading through the crowd to the spiral staircase, languorous like a predator after a successful hunt. She was certain that a lopsided grin twisted his already impudent countenance and she hated it.

“Spill out your plan,” Wanda said to the gang barely recognizing her own voice in that piping cold-toned command.

A puzzled look passed between her friends. They started nudging each other like third graders who were asked to tell the multiplication table. It was Ororo who ventured to voice the plan of the heist. “Okay, so we’ve been thinking that the moneybags would transfer their treasure to the Neverwinter castle, which would then be kept in the vault, right? We’ll put a portal on a painting and toss it into the wagons.”

Sitting cozily crisscross beside Hank, Raven noted, “They’re going to be heavily guarded.”

“Absolutely right,” Peter said, grinning like a devil. “But the guards will be guarding against people taking things out of the wagon, not putting them in.”

“Let’s say you toss your painting, what’s next?” the Dungeon Master asked, rolling her index finger impatiently in the air for someone to continue.

“And next,” Ororo crooned, surprisingly high-spirited for such a late hour, “we use the Hither-Thither staff to open the portal, sneak inside the vault and get the tablet.”

Wanda turned her flat stare to Hank and Raven. “Any countermove?”

Although Peter and his gang found a circuitous path to reach their goal of winning the game, whatever the girl felt about Mystique, she imagined that the worldly-wise shapeshifter must have been unbeatable when it came to adjusting to abruptly changing circumstances. So when Hank practically lay down on the woman’s lap to hand Kurt a note, she expected to read something whispered into his ear by the gray-eyed blonde. Seconds ticked by awkwardly as the teleporter stared at the folded piece of paper, fallen into some strange stupor, and Hank’s outstretched hand, slightly trembling with tension, hovered in the air in front of the younger Maximoff’s nose.

“Jesus Christ,” Lora grumbled and snatched the note out of the man’s grasp when it became clear that Kurt was not going to take and pass it to Wanda. She poked and elbowed her neighbors to get up from the sofa and hand her sister the response from the team of evil.

Wanda’s lips pursed into something close to a grateful smile as her fingers picked up the note that was essentially the torn off edge of a page from a book on mechanics. He was cooking something up in that enormous laboratory.

Huh…    

Her brows must have knitted or her jaw tightened because Hank fidgeted in his seat, the sofa leather creaking beneath him. “Sorry for the handwriting,” he started and tilted his head as if he could actually read what was now in front of the girl’s eyes. “It says –”

“The fact that I no longer work in the lab does not mean that I magically stopped understanding your scribbles.” Her attention snapped back to the curved blue letters written over the printed text.

I’m moving all the collected wealth to the docks. Kira and Forge are leaving the city. Sofina’s going to use the Beckoning Death spell.

For someone who didn’t want to participate in the game, Raven had a far-reaching plan. However, judging by the way the note was composed, Hank believed that their paths did not align. He was simply playing along with her until things would get serious. It made Wanda think that in real life their roles were pretty much reversed. The shapeshifter’s interest in her frie–ex-colleague seemed too sudden, perhaps dictated by uneventful life at the mansion or was one of those “what do I lose?” impulses. And even though the girl was a proponent of Haven, she feared that just like Forge, Ravem might decide one day that everything that could be gained from that relationship had already been gained and ran away. Again. Or perhaps she was reading too much into it. Wanda almost shrugged at the thought.

But the note didn’t end after a full stop. Barely fitting into the remained space on the paper, a sort of postscriptum was written there.

Namor looks

like a nosed sea

urchin  

The fact that at first glance it looked like a short modern poem and upon closer examination turned out to be a mockery of somebody who kept being an asshole to her made a silly smile tug at her lips. Hank did care about her. He took it upon himself to withstand whatever treatment she was giving him to become the friend that she thought he was. He apologized. Not just said the three shallow words but opened up to her, explaining his behavior and admitting his mistake. He paid attention, showed that her opinion mattered to him and cheered her up in the most middle school way possible. The ice between them no longer had just a crack in it but began to melt.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wanda said, lifting the note and shaking it humorously in the air for a second. Hank met her gaze and as he held it, the girl could feel him struggling to discern if her words were needled with sarcasm or if they were harmless, safe to believe without a second thought. She held up her hand and splayed her fingers in a sort of oath-taking gesture. “Swear by sea urchins.” The corners of the man’s mouth quirked up, fighting off the shadows of uncertainty and doubts.

“So…we don’t hate Hank anymore?” Scott muttered to Jean, confusion crumpling his brows.

Edgin, Holga, Simon and Doric return to Neverwinter just in time for the start of the High Sun Games. They seclude in one of the inns on the outskirts of the Jewel of the North and gather around a small table in the room they got. The Hither-Thither staff again at their hand - a portal appears on the round wooden surface between them. They fidget, jumpy on their feet, ready to pull off the biggest heist of their lives as Edgin rips the canvas off the mount board and… Instead of a vault flooded with gold, shiny gems and other riches, they stare at the rough limestone. The picture that is the Trojan Horse must have fallen and is now facing down the floor of whatever room it is kept in.

An Arabic word escaped Ororo’s mouth, which Wanda suspected meant “damn” or something along these lines. “Why does nothing go our way?” she asked, accentuating every word.

“Let me try,” Jean said to the gang, her tone optimistic. “I can use one of Holga’s weapons. Maybe if I can make a gap between the frame and the floor, I’ll be able to squeeze inside the vault as a worm and let you in.”

A horn calls from the direction of the Colosseum announcing the start of the games.

Peter’s feet were tapping on the floor now, one at a time. “It can take forever! We don’t have time!” He racked his fingers through his hair, messing up those wavy silver strands and breathed out. “I think that we need to split up.”

The gang released an “ohh” of collective objection.

Jean cocked her head and arched her brow at the speedster. “Now, when did it ever work?” she asked him.

“Every time. If you’re a killer chasing dumb teenagers who decided to split up in a forest,” Ororo replied and shook her head.

“Aww somebody did watch a movie that, quote, “is the dumbest shit that doesn’t make any sense”,” Scott teased her.

“Shut up,” the Storm Ruler fenced, grimacing. “I’m just trying to keep up with your stupid American culture.”

“You’re literally half American,” the young man noted, giving her a look through his glasses.

“Well, theoretically most of America’s population is the natives of the British Island so –” Jean began in “Professor Charles Xavier” tone.

“Jesus, I’d better switch to the dark side and end you all now,” the speedster muttered with his eyes closed.

Peter! Wanda called up to her twin mentally, though the look in her round like coins eyes was more communicative than any words could be. You can’t say such things when Xavier knows that Erik is our father! You may as well declare that you’re the next Magneto. It’s not the way into the X-Men team. She could hear his impatience roaring inside him while their friends held an irrelevant to the game discussion.

“Let’s do the following: Doric will continue to chip away and see if she can get inside the vault and you –” Peter pointed to Scott “– you –” and Ororo “– and I are going to make it inside the castle another way.”

“How?” Scott and Ororo asked at the same time.

“It’s one of the basic steps in a heist,” the silver-haired young man replied casually, “you need to distract the watchdog.” 

Both, the Storm Ruler and the speedster had an experience when it came to stealing, even though the circumstances of why and how it was done differed greatly.

“The question is still “How?” the girl said.

“Isn’t your teammate a bard?” Wanda chimed in with a prompt. A devilishly sweet smile bloomed on her face when a “No! Don’t you dare!” flamed in her brother’s eyes. “I’m sure he can easily entertain a few guards while the two of you are sneaking inside the castle.”

Scott jumped on the idea immediately. “This is so great,” he said, chuckling in wicked amusement. “Thank you, Wanda. Thankyou.”

“This is favoritism,” Raven complained to Hank.

“Nope. Not doing it,” Peter said to his team, shaking his head.

“Even if it wins me over?” Lora asked and lifted her brows, all in for an embarrassing moment involving the older brother.

“It’ll really help you with that Tablet of Reawakening,” Jubilee put in, grabbing his shoulders gently. She leaned forward, making him turn halfway toward her too and looked at him with the puppy eyes. “Pretty please?”

“Do it for the team,” Ororo said and pumped a supporting fist, grinning.

“Sing a song,” someone cried in the crowd and soon the whole library was chanting these words. The speedster glanced at Jean who might have been his last resort but she only gave him a half-amused, half-sympathetic smile. He sighed and rose to his feet, trudging up to the winged armchair where Wanda had already been waiting for him with a superficially aged piece of paper in her hands.

This is going to cost you, she read in his black eyes before they turned to the lyrics he had snatched from her. He was not the one who would back down in the face of a challenge and the girl even felt a bit sorry for him. No matter if he wriggles out of this or thrills like a nightingale, his cool guy status would have to survive a moment of embarrassment.

Perseverance is often born from hope yet despair may give it a start as well. It is the intertwinement of both that laid the path for Edgin, Holga and Simon to the castle watched over by the guards who circle around it like hungry sharks. What bait will be tempting enough for them to leave their post? A song, of course.

The Dungeon Master glanced up to Peter, her brows raised.

“Can I at least have an accompanying beat to this masterpiece?” he asked, looking around for a volunteer.

Lance the earthquake master slowly raised his hand. “I can try,” he said with a shrug. “I used to play drums in middle school.” He hopped down from the windowsill and came over to Wanda. “May I –” He picked up the box with the playing cards from her lap and settled it on his own as he perched on the armrest of the “bad guys” sofa. His fingers began to drum on the carton box, searching and finding the beat that would be jolly. The speedster put his foot on the coffee table and rested his elbow on his knee, holding a piece of paper in that hand with pretense importance. He cleared his throat.

When the battle is over,

Friends become lovers

Sons embrace mothers, brothers and dads.

Wanda searched the crowd for their father but couldn’t find him among the smiling and snickering faces of the youngsters and the school staff. What did he think of that all? Probably that he signed himself up to having two fools who sometimes pretended to be grown-ups rather than actually being them. He might tell them the story of Cinderella before bed. The girl shook that thought off.

Where once were contenders,

Now are befriends,

Oh, let’s celebrate lasses and lads.

Peter was surprisingly decent at portraying a medieval bard. Some were snickering, some were whispering and some were bobbing their heads or even swaying to his singing, but no one stayed indifferent.

In truth, what the guards are beholding is a hologram – a courtesy of an illusion spell called Major Image, cast by Simon.

Scott shuffled his deck in search of the card with the named spell. It was on one of the many pale yellow-brown playing cards, represented by a man with a sly wink.

Where once were contenders,

Now are befriends,

Let’s celebrate lasses

The speedster furrowed at the lyrics in his hands.

Let’s celebrate lasses

Let’s celebrate lasses

“There’s a total bullshit written next,” he said and held out the piece of paper to his twin.

Lora clapped her hands, catching her brother saying the very swear word she was ostracized for a few days ago.

Wanda cocked her head, looking at the incomprehensive words through narrowed eyes. “Indeed, it is,” she drawled in agreement.

“Hey!” the youngest Maximoff exclaimed, splaying her arms in indignation. “If I can’t swear, don’t swear too!”

“Lora is right,” Charles said and inclined his head toward the little girl. “We do not use such words within the walls of the school.” He gave a meaningful look to Scott and Peter.

It took Wanda less than a second to stop her brother’s attempt to note to the pedantic telepath that just yesterday they caught him saying “bollocks” when he failed to take a curve in the hall and bumped into the table. The man was getting used to that new wheelchair Hank constructed for him so teasing him about his choice of words in a feat of frustration seemed like crossing a line. “Duly noted,” the girl said, a polite smile sparking briefly on her face. She took the page with the song from the “bard” and reached for the box, fishing it out of Lance’s deft hands to put the piece of paper back inside. “Let’s wrap it up with the singing and proceed with the story. We’ve nearly reached the end of the game.”

A wave of chatter went through the lines of the youngsters and those few teachers who hadn’t dozed off but no one objected so Peter sauntered back to his spot on the sofa under the round of teasing applause from the gang.

Suddenly, the illusion begins to glitch like a broken record with Edgin repeating the same lyrics over and over again. His eyes slowly bulge, his jaw shifts to the side, his whole image turning into something impossibly disturbing. The guards’ hands shoot to grab the hilt of their swords.

“What’s going on?” the speedster whispered to Scott.

The thing is that wielding magic requires a great deal of patience and concentration. The more complicated the spell, the more effort a sorcerer has to put in forging in… Simon’s concentration is crumpling and so is his hologram.

“Life’s being critical. Big surprise,” Scott quipped.

The Dungeon Master gave him a flat stare. “Life’s not being critical. She’s narrating.”

Seeing through the deceit, quite literally, actually, the guards spin around to find the trio that has been tip-toeing to the castle’s gates all this time and now struggling to help the so-so sorcerer to pull out his foot. It got stuck in a crack in the paved pathway hence the lost control over Major Image. Simon pulls and pulls and pulls as the guardsapproach, blinding with the shine of their hard armor and sharp blades. At last, he breaks free and charges through the gateway before Edgin pulls at the rope and a latticed grille slides down, blocking the angered men from attacking.

Once inside the castle, our heroes split. Edgin rushes to the eastern wing, where Forge and Kira’s chambers should be, and Simon and Holga head to the northern tower.

Raven’s focused gaze reminded one of a cheetah before a pounce. Even if Wanda wasn’t already aware of Sophia’s plans for Neverwinter’s enslavement, she would have easily guessed that her friends wouldn’t win this game without a fight.

Scott placed the card with the Helmet of Disjunction on the table.

The magic contained in the helmet for centuries enhances the sorcerer’s powers and helps him break Mordenkainen’s Seal. The vault door opens before him and his warrior friend. They step inside, but great disappointment awaits them there – no treasure is kept within these cold walls. Everything has already been moved to the docks, including the painting with the portal, which Doric was able to use at last.

Peter, Lora and Raven stared at Hank.

“You’re leaving?” the shapeshifter asked him, bafflement ringing in her voice.

Whoa, shot through Wanda’s mind, a kind of whoa that is wickedly amused but also with a note of proudness to it. Her friend’s adoration for that woman did know boundaries after all. Raven didn’t seem to have any idea that he had a plan of his own. What a turn.

The look in the man’s eyes when he turned his face to the shapeshifter was oddly firm and hesitant at the same time, making it seem that his next words were not about their imaginative circumstance at all but rather related to the very real upcoming date. “We’ve been in this for far too long,” Hank said quietly. “It’s like playing chess blindfolded. It’s fun and exhilarating and nothing but a game for one whereas the other is frantically trying to grope the right figure because one misstep might cost him too much. And even if he makes it to the end, he can’t feel anything but pressure. So I think–I think that maybe it’d be better to take those blindfolds off and really look at what’s in front of us before making the next move.”

Wanda couldn’t remember ever hearing something so poetic and yet so incredibly raw come from Hank. The man wasn’t the type to talk much to begin with and the times he did share what was on his mind it was mostly science related ideas, brilliant though, she could give him that. His move with the genetic test became a somewhat controversial way to see more facets to each other and to their relationship. The resentment in the girl’s soul smoldered like an ember but she no longer kindled it, going back to that day in the lab again and again, holding to the fact that Hank came to her to share a happy moment instead. And he didn’t listen to what she had to say just to check the box on his list of apology actions but seemed to actually heed her advice.

Wanda’s gaze accidentally met Charles’. Both of them appeared to ponder about the same thing: what was really best for Hank and Raven? But the game was still going on, and was too close to its conclusion to philosophize on the matter. In fact, the telepath tapped his wristwatch meaningfully, drawing the Dungeon Master’s attention to the fact that the night’s darkness was taking on a bluish tint on the horizon. The children should’ve gone to bed a long time ago. Including Lora.

“Right,” Wanda muttered, letting the playing cards slide from her hand back into the box. “Let’s fast forward the maze trial.”

“The maze trial?” her sister reiterated, the pupils in those laurel-green eyes two tiny black dots, Morpheus’ signature. 

It was tempting, to appeal to her powers and negate the quarrel, bribing her sulky sibling with “magical” pictures. Wanda turned their heated argument over and over again in her head but couldn’t find any excuse to brush off Lora’s questions about her father. The wound was not healing and the bandages she and Peter were putting over it no longer helped. It needed stitching. They needed to tell her the truth. Or at least a part of it which meant having a discussion with Mom first. Sometimes Wanda wanted to fast forward her life. If there ever comes a moment when everyone lives in rapport, it’s all sunshine and butterflies. For now, she could stick around Neverwinter, an entire world dependent on her word.

Edgin’s path, which ran through the long corridors of the castle, the library and the spiral staircases along which the guards cascaded as if they were the streams in a waterfall, also has led him to the needed destination. He reaches Kira’s chambers and, to his luck, finds her there, peacefully sitting on the windowsill and watching the cheerful chaos of the city from the window of her almost fairy tale-like tower. Maybe they parted on a bitter note and maybe Forge continued to weave a web of lies around her, but joy sparks on her face when she realizes that it’s her brother who is standing at the threshold.

A look full of shy warmth passed between Peter and Lora as they glanced at each other. Just earlier that night Wanda told her father that perhaps having twins as siblings could’ve been hard at times for the youngest Maximoff, making her feel like a third wheel. Was she entirely honest or were these her own feelings coming out to light? Even though she had raised Lora from the cradle, it was Peter with whom the girl had a strong bond. He had always been there while she became a voice on the phone.

“You were right,” Wanda said in a quiet voice. She was supposed to impersonate Edgin but in truth, she was speaking from her heart. Her eyes were fixed on Lora. She seemed to grow in good two inches since she last saw her. And her figure looked a bit slender than before, her arms and legs got longer, her features more pronounced. Sadness swelled in Wanda’s chest. Soon her little sister would think that spending time with siblings is lame and that she needs to put on lip gloss and mascara when she leaves the house because all the cool girls in her grade do that. “I did leave you. But you need to know that not a day went by when I didn’t miss you and wanted to enfold you in my arms and place a kiss on your hair that smells like pineapple and jasmine. It pains me that you think that I forgot about you. I could never…” The words began to scrape at Wanda’s suddenly dry throat. “I love you. I love you and it’ll never change. I’m sorry I let you down.”

The world became a little blurry on the edges, but unlike Jean, Wanda quickly banished tears from her eyes. She imagined that brick by brick walls were building around her, invisible but hard as steel. Sympathy or pity, she needed neither of those things.

The words are spilling from Edgin’s mouth, his heart commanding them not mind, shushing a premonition twisting in his gut. Here stands his Kira. Her face is bright, a shadow of a smile hovering around her lips as she listens but her eyes…These are the eyes of a stranger, the joy in them is wicked in its brightness.

Raven’s expression was anything but joyful and so was Hank’s. They looked as if they were standing on the opposite sides of a chasm and a bridge just collapsed between them. It was unlikely that that path was the only one but it had been dangling in front of them for years, tantalizing with its deceptive tangibility and when they finally grabbed hold of it, the already feeble ropes crumbled in their hands, leaving them staring into the abyss.

The Dungeon Master waved her hand at Raven, offering her to sow the seeds of chaos and disruption under the feet of the game characters. It was hardly an axe the shapeshifter needed to behead the devastation that bared its teeth at her but it was not bad of a shield to hold off the attack for some time. The shapeshifter spread her fan of cards and after a moment of blunt staring at her assets she chose two spells – Disguise Self and Black Tentacles – pandering to Wanda’s plan.

Once the last confession of the sins is made, red runes light up beneath the bard’s feet and he is captured by a dozen of black tentacles burst out from the ground as if an enormous octopus is rising from the deep. They twist around him, pinning his hands to his body and slither up his face, forcing him to stay silent.

Scott shuddered in disgust.

The same fate befell Holga and Simon, depriving the latter of the ability to utter a saving spell. Nimble Dorik was disarmed by a much simpler but in her case most effective method – a guard creeped up on her from behind and hit her on the head with a sword hilt. And so, by the courtesy of the Red Wizard, all four of our heroes find themselves in the arena, now contestants of the High Sun Games.

The thing here is that Forge never cared about being Lord. To bear this title means to devote your time to Neverwinter and its people, to care about the city so that it continues to be prosperous and full of life. It also gave access to the vault and that was the object of the man’s desires. He brought back the tournament so the take would be bigger, not to appease the people’s lust for spectacles. Our heroes must not only survive the Sun Games but get to the docks before the conman hops onto the ship and sails off with Kira and the treasure beyond the horizon. One might argue that having a sorcerer and a Wild Shape on the team may be of great help and while it indeed can be, magic suppressing cuffs make them simple humans.

The horn is blown and the arena shifts, turning into a maze with a cage in the center.

The Dungeon Master pulled out a playing card from the box on her lap and put it on the coffee table. A maze. Then, she added another one to it – the Displacer Beast. It was a menacing puma-like creature, its bulked-up, furry body had six legs and spine-tipped, jaw-like tentacles that could project an illusion, making the prey think that it was cornered by two beasts instead of one.

But any tournament needs tension, something that will tickle the nerves of the contestants, pushing them to fight until the very end and that will make the spectators sit on the edge of their seats. Thus, in this game of wonderment through the network of passageways and hedges there is a shepherd. The Displacer Beast whose sharp claws and teeth will tear apart anyone who is careless enough to hesitate. There are also treasure chests hidden here and there.

Two more playing cards were added to the Maze and Displacer Beast. The image of the wooden chest was identical on both of them but…

Open one, you will find a weapon, water or a rare gem. Open another, meet a little beasty with two rows of fangs and a long, sticky tongue that will drag a misfortunate soul right into its mouth. 

Laying out the playing cards face down on the coffee table, Wanda formed a neat square.

As our heroes sprint down the narrow path between high, stone walls of the maze, chased by a merciless creature, Doric stumbles upon…

Jean swapped a glance with her teammates. Her hand hovered hesitantly over the array of cards, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked a card and turned it over.

…a treasure chest with a sword.

The red-haired girl let out a relieved sigh.

The contestants run and run and run, watching as others ripped out of the game, suffering the consequences of their choices. Simon the sorcerer rounds the corner…

Scott curled his lips inward and reached for the card that was sitting in the center of the square. He flipped it between his fingers like a skilled croupier. It was blank.

…leading his team through a safe passage.

Peter gave the young man a congratulatory clap on the shoulder and they exchanged grins.

Running in the tail of the group, Holga catches a metal glimpse. She halts and goes a few steps back to the niche in the wall.

The playing card on the left side row must have called out to Ororo because she peeled it off the table in one determined movement.

She cracks open the chest, her hand already reaching inside when it swings open of its own accord, revealing sharp fangs. A pink tongue shoots out and almost slaps Holga’s cheek but she darts away and drops to the ground. It hits the wall, sending a crack across its smooth surface. The creature strikes again, this time grabbing the warrior by the ankle. Holga’s nails scrape the sandstone as the ravenous thing drags her toward itself.

Jean threw her sword card.

Doric cuts off the tongue before the creature has the chance to swallow. Screeching, it retracts.

The Storm Ruler peeked out from behind Peter and Scott to give her telepath friend thumbs ups.

Some walls go under the arena, others grow, forming a new layout of the maze. Trying to catch up with the rest of the group, Doric and Holga veer right and…

“Okay,” Jean said, leaning forward to look at her weather wielding friend. “What card do you like?”

“You serious?” Ororo asked, her brows raised, a light smirk playing on her lips. “I just almost got eaten by a monster. You choose.”

The red-haired girl gave her a humorously pointed look, then her attention swung to the six remaining playing cards. Her fingertips had already left a print on the second one in the first row when she changed her mind and moved to the right corner of the square.

“What in the world of berry blue Jell-O is that?” Peter drawled, furrowing at the card Jean eventually drew.

…bump into the Gelatinous Cube. It looks like a dessert yet it is hardly harmless. Or tasty. Once a creature gets misfortunate enough to tumble inside, they are stuck there, suffering a stingy feeling on their skin since the cube itself is made up of acid ooze. Doric felt it herself and if it weren’t for Holga who pulls her out of it in one swift movement, a grim future would’ve awaited the Wild Shape.

“So much for being a better chooser,” Jean muttered playfully to Ororo.

On the positive side, upon closer inspection, the girls notice that the bracelet blocking Doric’s shapeshifting ability got stuck in the bloodthirsty jelly.

“When is my turn?” Peter asked the Dungeon Master, his tone accusatory. “The girls have already gone picking for the second time.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. He only had to wait literally a couple of seconds. Now it would look like she was indulging him. The girl considered asking Scott to draw a card, but cast that spiteful idea aside. Her body was already very much drawn to take a horizontal position, that was the only thing she was going to indulge in.

Being someone who doesn’t like to follow the rules, Edgin believes that there should be some ways to get out of the arena other than running around the maze.

The silver-haired young man clapped his hands and rubbed them as his eyes glinting with ardor scanned the back of the playing cards. He ended up choosing the first one in the first row.

Wanda caught her brother his a disgruntled “shit”. The edge of her mouth quirked up.

He is so absorbed in his thoughts and worries that he doesn’t notice the Displacer Beast sneaking up on him from the side. It pounces at him, but its blade-sharp claws only catch the bard’s jacket, knocking him onto the ground. Another beast appears from around the corner. Edgin is trapped.

“There’s only one Displacer Beast in the arena,” Ororo pointed out in rush as if she was hurried by an invisible timer, “which means that one of these big cats is just an illusion.”

The creature prowls closer and closer, showing its teeth in a frightful grin. But the bard is not destined to become its dinner, saved by Holga the warrior.

The speedster brought the palms of his hands together and bowed his head slightly to his weather wielding friend.

Now all four of our heroes rush forward, running down a long passage that led them to the center of the maze. As promised, a cage is waiting for them there, almost filled with other contestants.

“It’s a competition, right?” Jubilee asked, her sleepy gaze sweeping over the faces of mutants sitting around the coffee table. “Shouldn’t there be like –” she lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug “– only one winner?”

Wanda tipped her a light nod, approving the hint the girl gave to the gang.

Jean’s eyes flashed toward all the playing cards that were laid out face up. “What if we jump into the cube?” she drawled musingly.

An incredulous line appeared between Scott’s brows. “Into the acid Jell-O?” he asked.

“That would be the end of the game,” Peter said, shaking his head.

“No, because Doric changes shape,” Jean insisted. “She can turn into... into a snake! Yes, exactly, a snake! She’ll crawl out of the cube, and then pull out everyone else.”

Ororo didn’t hit the crux of her friend’s plan. “But what’s the point of switching the cage to a cube?” she puzzled.

“This competition is a game and every game has levels. Once the majority of the contestants are in the cage, the maze will change its layout and add new challenges. And that means everything unnecessary will go down under the arena. Including the cube. That’s how we’ll get out of there.”

Jean’s face was lit up with self-satisfaction. A rare sight that made Wanda smile. These young talents didn’t belong to office cubicles, they should go on hard missions where the strength and ingenuity of an ordinary person aren’t enough.

“What if taking this risk isn’t worth it?” Peter hesitated, glancing at his twin.

The young man was the last person anyone who knew him would call an overthinker. Unless the circumstances involved a game and a chance that his two younger sisters might screech “looser”.

“You will never know unless you take it,” Wanda said, her tone tauntingly sweet.

This time it was the speedster who rolled his eyes.

“Screw it. Let’s do what Jean said,” he said to his teammates. The gang turned their heads to the Dungeon Master.

“Wonderful,” she crooned with a smile and held a dramatic pause, eyeing those who had not yet been struck by sleep. The number of such stoic people had noticeably decreased since the narrative ceased to be accompanied by illusions. Peter’s foot was again tapping out an impatient rhythm. “You got out of the arena –” she had to halt to wait out a burst of relief and triumph “– and reached the docks. The ship is still there, loaded with treasures and waiting to sail off.”

“Is the Tablet of Reawakening there too?” Jubilee asked in a poorly feigned “by the way” tone. She clapped Peter on his shoulder the second the Dungeon Master said yes.

“Come with us,” the speedster said to Lora, nodding toward his friends. “We have the tablet and the riches, but it’s not a win if you’re not on this couch.”

“Will you sing me a song?” the little girl teased, good naturedly though.

“You’ll be good without it,” her brother deadpanned. They grimaced at each other as if about six hours ago one hadn’t been trying to act like a parent and another hadn’t accused him of abandoning her.

The little Maximoff hopped off the “bad guys” sofa and rounded Charles in his wheelchair to plop onto the free spot next to Peter. His arms had already flown in the air to circle around her when she said with an adorably serious face, “No hugs.”

Peter held his hands up and pulled away but behind his exaggerated gestures shone the light coming from the simple fact that Lora wanted to be near him again. After all, he wasn’t the one who snapped and yelled at her. Wanda looked down, repentance tasting bitter in her mouth.

Ororo tossed a playing card onto Hank’s side of the coffee table.

“You decided to feed Forge?” Raven asked, staring at the image of a potato.

“This is Holga’s thing. Remember Wanda told us at the very beginning of the game?” The Storm Ruler took a look around at the gathered people. “How Holga threw a potato in the face of the guard?”

Wanda beamed. At least someone had been paying attention to her story.

Scott followed Ororo’s suit and pulled out a card of his own. A Tide. “To get away from the pier faster and to sprinkle Forge a little,” he explained with a light lopsided grin.

“Consider me fed, defeated and flushed down into the sea,” Hank joked, tossing his slim deck onto the table.

“Giving up so easily?” Raven asked, her tone biting. She barely paid him a glance even when his head swiveled to her. “Nothing new though.”

“Alright everyone,” Charles hurried to intervene, putting on warm smile. “It was simply wonderful to follow the path of these characters and witness how they overcame the obstacles to get back to each other and help others in the process. I believe everyone learned something from this story that will be useful in the new day that won’t come until everyone goes to bed.”

A rare student missed the order in those last words spoken gently but with the autoreactive firmness of a headmaster. By then the library was barely lit by a few lamps and the first rays of the sun flickering from somewhere just below the horizon. The youngsters slowly dispersed to different corners, stumbling over already occupied sleeping bags scattered across the floor as they looked for a spot to finally collapse under the weight of sleep. 

Wanda felt Raven’s gaze stuck to her as if the shapeshifter was waiting for her to revive the grandiloquence of the story instead of giving it a cliched happy ending or rather give her a chance to put up a fight even if it was only a card game. Even though the girl wasn’t entirely satisfied with the climax of the Neverwinter tale, the prospect of cuddling with a soft pillow allured to her more than anything else. Yet, for the first time since she met Raven, something she saw in those dull blue-grey eyes resonated with Wanda. Intrigued, the Dungeon Master decided to play along.

Having sailed off from the docks of Neverwinter –

The gang, Kurt and Hank stopped their fuss, freezing mid getting up from the sofas, one of which the Professor was supposed to take up for the night. The latter’s gaze drifted to Wanda, silently questioning the renewed narration.

– our heroes scattered around the ship, breathing salted sea air as Holga confidently took the helm. Simon heads to the cabin and wallows in the gold, and Edgin and Kira settle down on the deck. The thoughts about the bright future begin to float above the ship when Doric points to something in the sky, unease shadowing her face. At once, our heroes turn around to see the clouds thicken over the city, twisting into tendrils that are stretching ominously toward the Coliseum.

Edgin pulls out the Harper’s Seal handed to him by Xenk –

Peter cast an incredulous glance at the Great Expectations Kurt made him give an oath on.

– and opens the page about the conquest of Thay. The picture there depicted the same thing that the team is seeing in the sky. It is the Beckoning Death. That’s why Sofina needed Forge. The High Sun Games brought the city together which is perfect to cast a spell and create another army of undead.

The bard takes the helm and leads the ship back to Neverwinter. They have to save the people.

“But how?” Kurt puzzled, speaking up for the first time in half an hour.

“Remember Xenk asked Edgin to vow that all the treasure from the vault would be divided between the people of Neverwinter?” Wanda asked him. The teleport gave her a nod. “Gold has enough power to make lords and ladies, let alone common people follow it. The team has got that portrait with the portal on in the ship’s cabin. They can make another one in the balloon flying away from the city and direct a stream of treasures from there, showering people with a literal gold rain, luring them out of the arena.”

“That is quite…brilliant,” Charles admitted and smiled at the girl, realizing that he accidentally followed her treasure theme.

“Okay, so we’re no longer rich, but we got the people out,” Scott drew a conclusion, obviously dubious about that idea. “What’s next?”

“And next the Red Wizard will unleash her remaining cards on you,” the Dungeon Master replied, leaning back in her armchair, ready to watch the battle.

Raven tossed a Meteor Swarm card onto the center of the table. It was a high-level spell that allowed the caster to summon orbs of fire and hurtle them toward their enemies. In return, Scott finds an easier but useful evocation called Wall of Force to shield the gang’s characters. Jean made the next move, turning Doric into the Owlbear. The shapeshifter fought back with the combination of cards: Witch Bolt, Misty Step and Animate Object.

Peter’s head snapped to the Dungeon Master. “What did she bring to life?” he asked, his voice coming out urgent.

“A statue of a dragon,” his sister replied nonchalantly, dipping into Reese’s Pieces. She fished out a couple of yellow-colored candies and held out the plastic bag open for Kurt. It didn’t seem like he was against having a midnight snack but then something snapped in his head and he checked himself, Wanda saw that right before his hands clasped and he rejected her offer.

“This spell requires high concentration. I’ll distract her with this,” Jean said to Ororo, Peter and Scot, holding up a card with the artfully drawn slingshot.

The fact that there was a whole team trying to defeat her clearly amused Raven because a sly grin was played on her face. Without saying a word, she gave one card to Peter and Ororo and the other to Jean and Scott, Resilient Sphere and Bigby’s Hand respectively. A disappointed “urgh” escaped both, the speedster and the Storm Ruler. They couldn’t use their cards for a minute. Scott, meanwhile, tossed an Earthen Grasp.

Raven decided to up the ante or she simply needed something more palpable than a game of cards. She placed her bent elbow on the coffee table and stared challengingly at Scott.

“You are not serious,” Charles said pointedly.

“What?” the woman exclaimed, turning her face to her sworn brother. “They do boxing in my class, how is that worse?”   

“Perhaps I should come by your class more often,” the telepath mumbled, looking seriously concerned. But Raven only rolled her eyes and shifted her attention back to the hesitant young man sitting across the table.

“I’m not really good at arm wrestling,” Scott said to his friends. He glanced at Peter, “Maybe you should try it instead?”

“Nah, man,” the speedster drawled a touch impishly and gestured with his thumb at Ororo and himself. “We’re in a bubble.” He then added, jerking his chin at Jean, “Maybe your girlfriend can cover for you.”

The red-haired girl shot him a glare. She looked like instead of arm wrestling with Raven, she was ready to put her hands to Peter’s throat and strangle him before he could blurt out anything else in front of the Professor. Reading her friend’s message right, Jubilee kicked the speedster in the ribs.

Left with no options, Scott rolled his shoulder and took a deep breath before he leaned forward and gripped Raven’s hand. The edge of her mouth went up in an intimidating grin.

“Are you ready?” Wanda asked, chewing on Reese’s. Both opponents nodded. “Three, two, one, go!”

Scott’s arm immediately began to tip toward the table. His face flushed; his cheeks puffed out. He was fighting his opponent and his own urge to grab the edge of the table with his free hand. Raven, on the other hand, gave no sign that anything was happening at all.

The veins in the young man’s hand swelled, bulging monstrously as he struggled to overpower Mystique but the winner was predetermined from the very beginning so after a couple of seconds his strength expectedly ran out and his knuckles smacked into the wooden surface of the table.

“Don’t coddle him,” Raven said right away to Charles, pointing a warning finger at him. The telepath might’ve pursed his lips, staying silent but Wanda was sure that he wasn’t going to leave it like that, most likely mentally scheduling his sworn sister a meeting in his office.

Taking advantage of the moment, Peter threw out a card with the Lute. Ororo supplemented it with her Axe, and Jean – with Martial Arts. Scott fired Magic Missile, Chain Lightning and Fire Bolt. Raven parried their attacks so quickly that Wanda couldn’t keep track of the flying playing cards. Eventually, a Time Stop topped the accumulated pile.

“Shit!” Peter slapped his tights, upset by defeat.

The Professor had no reaction to that, either too tired to rebuke everyone for the language, or not worried about it since the children had already gone to bed. Lora didn’t count. Subjected to her siblings’ influence, the man didn’t harbor idle hopes that the girl didn’t use some obscenities on her own.

“And the cherry on top for you,” Raven said in her husky voice, looking like the cat that got the cream as she turned over the last card she had in her hands, Finger of Death. It was again a high-level spell that not only killed the target in the most painful way but turned them into a zombie the caster had full control of.

The Dungeon Master sucked in a breath, feeling sorry for her brother and their friends. It was a dead-end game for them. Literally.

“You can keep it to yourself,” Lora said confidently. She laid out two cards – The Amulet of Invisibility and a Binding Bracer. “It was all just a distraction so I could snap these pretty bracelets on you.”  

Scott burst into a Santa Clause-like laughter, though it was more sarcastic rather than merry. The whole gang and three of the X-men shushed him, trying to remind him that most of the people in the room were asleep. Ironically, their call for silence turned out to be louder than the young man’s celebration, drawing a few grumbles.

“Yeah, but…” Ororo showed the card that Raven had given her during their intense clash. A Red Wizard’s Blade. Her friends’ faces fell.

“What-What does it mean?” Hank asked, avoiding looking at the shapeshifter at his side.

“It’s a killing blow,” Wanda said on an exhale.

“Wait, can’t you use a spell or some healing potion on her?” Peter blasted out, spinning to Scott. The young man pressed his lips and shook his head. There was nothing that could be done. They had lost Holga. Unless…

The speedster picked up a card from his end of the table. The Tablet of Reawakening. He had to choose: Ororo, who had bravely walked the entire path with him and suffered in battle, or Jubilee, whose character Zia he was supposed to bring back from the dead at the end of the game so that his family would be whole again. If it weren’t for this, the girl wouldn’t have been following Wanda’s story, but would have been snoring in her sleeping bag near the bookshelf long ago.

Torn between the two girls who were waiting for his decision, Peter hesitated. Wanda even sympathized with him. Whoever he chose, the other would stop laughing at his jokes for some time.

“Look,” the silver-haired young man began, “if I could rip this card and give each of you a piece of the tablet, I would. I swear. But…” His eyes swung to Ororo and lingered on her face enough for Jubilee to make a heartbreaking conclusion.

“You’re such a jerk,” the girl muttered, dousing him with distaste and disappointment and slipped onto the seat cushion.

“Jubilee, wait,” Peter tried, his voice pleading as he watched her stomp wobbly between him and his weather-wielding friend as she climbed down the sofa.

 Lora’s brows hugged closer to her eyes in an apologetic grimace. “It didn’t go well,” she said quietly.

“No, it didn’t,” the speedster agreed, his head slowly turning around as his gaze still followed Jubilee’s hurriedly withdrawing figure until it dissolved within the shadows of the library’s corner.

“Really brings back memories from High School,” Wanda drawled, shaking her head, slightly amused.

“Well, congrats,” Hank said to the gang, rising from his seat. His brown linen trousers were all wrinkled, reminding of an accordion. “I guess you’re the winners now?”

The Dungeon Master nodded in confirmation.

Raven got to her feet too. “We’ll see how it goes for you in the Danger Room,” she said, binding a rousing promise and a concerning threat in one sentence.

Scott, Ororo, Jean, Kurt and Peter exchanged glances, excitement twinkling in their eyes.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves and cherish the present moment,” the Professor countered. He rolled his wheelchair back to let out Hank and Raven. One tipped him good night, the other gave him a smile as they passed by before going their separate ways.

“Hurry up, people,” Wanda got out before a big yawn defeated her. She brushed off an escaped tear and tore herself off the armchair, tucking the box for the Dungeons and Dragons game under her armpit. “Let’s not delay Mr. Xavier’s well-deserved rest any further.”  

Ororo and Lora began to assemble the playing cards while Jean spread a blanket on the creaking sofa, arranging a sleeping place for the Professor. Kurt collected bottles and candy wrappers that were lying both on and under the table, as well as between the cushions on the sofa, under the sofa, on the carpet, and in general the library seemed to have turned into a trash can in just a couple of hours the youngsters occupied it. Peter perched on the arm of the sofa, ready to help whoever needed it, but not offering to lend a hand.

“Do you think it worked?” Scott asked Wanda in a hushed voice, tugging along with her.

Not quite parsing what he was talking about, the girl turned her face to him, her forehead creased.

“Come on,” he drawled with a smirk. “I may wear glasses that cover half of my face but I’m not blind. I saw what kind of game you were playing. It sure wasn’t Dungeons and Dragons.” The young man propped up the wall with his shoulder, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his sweatpants when Wanda stopped at the window, settling the box with the board game on the windowsill. “It was a performance for the bigwigs to convince them that we’re not some dullards and that we deserve a second chance.”

“Not sure that a headmaster of a small-town school and a technically unemployed woman who happens to be really good at martial arts can be called bigwigs, but for each their own,” Wanda drawled cagily.

“Is it…is it a compliment in Raven’s address?” Scott jested, his surprise not entirely feigned.

The girl clicked her tongue and shook her head contritely. “I’m getting soft, aren’t I?”

A bouncy chestnut strand fell across his face as he tilted his head, chuckling. Wanda smiled too, enchanted by his boyish softness at that moment. It was hard to call them close friends, or friends at all, to be honest, but it didn’t escape her notice that he’d become somehow different lately. These days he rarely smiled, got on the defensive whenever Peter told him anything, and even with Jean he seemed detached. She could draw parallels with Erik, but while in her father’s case she often understood why certain ticks happened, with Scott she wasn’t sure whether something was going through his head or whether it was just his personality.

“I think the fact that such words like “will see” and “Danger Room” were used in the same sentence is a good sign,” Wanda said gently, not being disingenuous though. “That’s why tomorrow we’ll need Xavier’s approval more than ever.”

A muted grant came out of Scott’s throat as his head tilted slightly back. “I can’t stand the sight of this damn treehouse already.”

“Tell this to my hands,” the girl smirked, showing off her cut and blistered palms and fingers. “Who would have thought that you could cut yourself with a rope?”

“I know, right?” the young man agreed vehemently. They both chuckled.

Wanda looked over her shoulder at Jean who was helping Charles out of the wheelchair onto the sofa. She then began to unfold the blankets for the man when he pulled something out of the front pocket of his trousers and unfolded it carefully, his expression a touch guilty. His playing cards. Wanda had forgotten that he was the real Lord of Neverwinter who was supposed to award the winners of the game. Jean lifted her head, her gaze appealing to the Dungeon Master, but the latter just flicked her wrist. “Consider that everything is well in Neverwinter and you have all been knighted for your services to the city,” she said, trying to keep her voice low.  

Peter threw his arms in the air in victory, which quickly turned into stretching of his stiff muscles. Then he dropped one of them onto Kurt’s shoulders and gave him a friendly shake. The trash in the black plastic bag the teleport was holding clinked and pattered cheerfully like a wind chime touched by summer breeze. Combined with the high five Lora and Ororo exchanged, it sounded like a thunder in the serene quiet of the library.

With the speedster in the head, the gang started off, single file, zigzagging through the sea of ​​sleeping bags, the gang headed for the window with Jean bringing up the rear.

“I’m gonna go check on Jubilee,” she whispered halfway through, her gleaming in the early morning light eyes drifting from Wanda’s face to Scott’s. The young man gave her a nod and a somewhat weary smile.

“See you in the morning,” Wanda whispered back before her red-haired friend turned around and headed to the opposite corner of the room, nearly stepping on one of the snoring cocoons.

Scott threw his blankets and a pillow right by the window, the twins and Lora arranged their sleeping places nearby, all together accidentally forming a rough sketch of a martini glass without the base. Kurt took a spot a little closer to the spiral staircase to the second level, where Namor must have huddled in a dark corner, and Ororo ended up going back to the sofas, plopping onto Wanda’s armchair for the night.

Scott was tossing and rolling in his blanket burrow when Lora’s voice whispered, “Good night.”

The young man paused. And so did Wanda’s heart. A smile shyly touched the corners of the girl’s lips. “Good night, monkey,” she replied after a bit.

“Good night,” Peter echoed.

Even though he was an involuntary eavesdropper, awkwardness was coming from Scott in such waves, it tickled Wanda’s nerves. She crossed her fingers and kicked him, hoping that it wasn’t another case of the private bathing suit injury.

“Ouch,” he hissed, tossed some more and finally stopped, probably falling asleep.

Wanda couldn’t remember the last time she had to sleep on the floor. She was no stranger to dozing off at her desk with her history textbook as a pillow, or taking a nap on the bus from Oxford to London where she escaped the buzz of the students, or drowsing at work, propping her cheek on her palm at the bar counter. Probably the last time she lay head-to-head with Peter on the floor, wrapped in blankets, was when they were little and their life was even more chaotic than now, although in some ways it was much more predictable. Every couple of months or so they moved to another city, sometimes even to a new state but all that really changed in their eyes was the motel. Now the girl understood how much freer and braver that Wanda was than the one who lay on the floor of a mansion, digging her nails into the Persian rug because the ceiling seemed too high and the thoughts in her head were too loud.

“How’s Pops doing?” Peter’s hushed voice cut through the silence of the overwhelming world. He must have hoisted himself up on his elbows to glance at Erik because his pillow rustled and gave a little nudge to Wanda’s. She spotted him earlier that night while they were still playing the game. The man was sitting on the settee at the library’s entrance like a watchdog. His eyes were closed, the back of his head touched the wall and it seemed like the Spartan conditions didn’t hinder his sleep.

“I saw Nina,” the girl whispered, staring into the darkness.

The pillow next to her head rocked again.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” the girl blasted out right away. “You know how it is with me sometimes. I was just trying to wake him up and I think that I somehow slipped into his dream. Or maybe it was a memory. I’m not sure. It was so vivid and–and so real."

“Hey, hey, hey, sis.” Her brother reached out for her hand. “It’s me,” he whispered soothingly, squeezing fingers in a firm but gentle grip. Wanda closed her eyes for a moment and breathed out.

“What was she like?” Peter asked.

“Remember he said she had your eyes? He wasn’t lying. And she was just as demanding and impatient.” She propped herself up on one elbow, turning fully to see her twin. “He was falling asleep while telling her the story about Cinderella.”

The young man’s mouth curved into a smile that drew soft lines in the corners of his eyes. He looked down at their now entwined hands. His calloused thumb was running up and down her knuckle. “I wish I could see her too,” he murmured. “And not like in the picture, you know? But actually see her smiling and running around that Polish farmhouse, hear her sass our old man.”

Wanda mulled his words over. Erik didn’t have any cassettes with Nina left to watch but what was a human brain if not a blank tape that recorded every second of being on Earth? They lived in the house of the most powerful telepath the girl had ever known. Letting him into her mind meant giving him a diary with the most unfiltered thoughts and feelings, but, on the other hand, her powers were of psionic nature too which meant she could turn the page whenever something she thought too personal popped up. What if...

“Wan?” Peter called to her, his dark eyes searching her face.

“I think I’ve got an idea,” the girl whispered. “But we need Xavier for that.”