Chapter 61 – The Ghost of What Was Lost

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Jack was too stunned to speak. Everything made sense now. His golden gaze saw regret. Self-blame. A touch of resentment. And now he knew why. For all of Krakoa's existence, running from the world, fearing everything that came near—The only good thing in its life… Was the day the pilot crashed down.

Jack's face softened. For the first time, he felt a deep sadness for Krakoa. This thing—this living island, feared and hated—It wasn't just a monster. It was something broken. Just like the rest of the world.

The world around them shifted. The endless white void reformed. This time, Jack found himself standing in a small, quaint village. The wooden buildings were old and modest, nothing fancy, but there was something warm about them.

Jack squinted. It looked like an old Japanese town, probably one of the lower-class districts from the pilot's era. Then he turned—And froze.

Krakoa's form had changed again. No longer shifting, no longer incomplete. Now, standing before him, was a fully formed man. Not a mimicry of Jean—Not a patchwork of Logan and others. Krakoa now looked exactly like the pilot. Whole. Complete. Human.

Jack clenched his fist, trying to mask the emotions rising in his chest. So that's it, huh? The pilot was the only person who had ever made Krakoa feel whole. The only real friend it had ever known. And now, even in its soul, even in the way it shaped this dreamscape, Krakoa didn't even realize—It really had been split in two all along.

Jack exhaled and forced a gentle smile. "The pilot completed your existence, huh?"

Krakoa said nothing. Its expression didn't change. Then, in that same familiar voice, it spoke. "So answer me." Jack blinked. Krakoa's gaze locked onto him, unblinking, intense. "How can you say that you're different from the other demons?" 

Jack's breath caught in his throat. The accusation in those words stung, but he held his ground. He steadied himself. And this time, he spoke truthfully. "I was curious about the cloud that was protecting you." Krakoa's expression twitched.

Jack continued. "And when I looked into your soul—" He took a deep breath. "All I saw was regret and self-blame."

Krakoa's brows furrowed. A flicker of uncertainty crossed its features. "Regret? Self-blame?" Krakoa echoed, confused.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. That's what I saw." Jack inhaled again, his voice still gentle. "And I know what you're trying to do."

Krakoa's eyes narrowed. "…Trying to do?"

Jack held his hands up, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "You're luring in and absorbing mutantkind, aren't you?"

Krakoa staggered back slightly. A visible tremor ran through its form. "Wha—what are you talking about?" Krakoa stammered.

Jack didn't move. Didn't raise his voice. Didn't accuse. His face remained soft, understanding. "You can't bring him back."

A roar shook the village. Krakoa lurched forward, its face twisting in rage. "HOW DARE YOU!" The sky cracked, a furious energy radiating from Krakoa's form. The buildings shuddered like they were about to collapse.

Jack stood his ground. He didn't flinch. Didn't break eye contact. Instead—He sighed. "Krakoa… I know you don't know—" 

But before he could continue—"SHUT UP!" Krakoa cut him off. The village shook harder. Jack felt the ground split beneath his feet.

Krakoa's eyes burned with fury. "You're just like the rest of the demons!" Its voice was distorted, filled with raw emotion. "You're HEARTLESS!"

"You PLUNDER!"

"You HURT!"

"You TAKE!"

Krakoa's fists clenched. And then—Its voice cracked. "And now you want to TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!"

Jack inhaled sharply. Because—He didn't just hear anger in Krakoa's voice. He heard desperation. And something deeper. Something like—Grief.

…

The Blackbird cut through the sky, engines humming low as the second rescue team approached the island. The cockpit's display flickered with unstable readings—the scanners struggling to map the terrain below.

John gritted his teeth, eyes scanning the thick storm clouds that loomed over the island. Something felt wrong. 

He turned to Ororo, who stood near the hatch, her white hair already beginning to lift from the static in the air. "Ororo," John called, stepping beside her. "Can you clear the clouds? We need to scan the island before we land."

Ororo gave him a sharp nod. "I'll try." She stepped forward and leaped from the Blackbird, her body gracefully ascending into the storm. Her pupils faded into a glowing white, her hands raised—She commanded the winds to part—But nothing happened.

Ororo's brow furrowed. She should feel the wind, the clouds—But instead, it was like trying to move something that wasn't even there. The cloud existed in her vision, dense and heavy. But when she reached for it with her powers—It was like grasping at smoke.

She tried again, pushing harder—Nothing. A chill ran through her spine. This wasn't natural. Ororo turned, descending back toward the ship, landing near John. "I can't," she admitted, her voice unusually tense. "That cloud—It's not normal. It's part of the island."

John's expression darkened. "So that means we're going in blind."

Sunfire, strapping on his gear, cracked his knuckles. "Then we go in blind," he said without hesitation. "I'll make a fire barrier as soon as we land, just in case this thing tries to grab us."

John nodded. "Good thinking. We'll need it." Then, he turned, surveying the team.

Colossus adjusted his heavy-duty combat gear, the metallic sheen of his arms catching the dim light inside the jet. His gaze shifted to Kurt, who was standing slightly apart, rolling his shoulders anxiously. 

Colossus stepped beside him. "Kurt." Kurt blinked, looking up. Colossus placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You are ready. Don't doubt yourself."

Kurt hesitated. "I—yeah. Thanks. I just… I'm worried about them."

Colossus gave a small smile. "That is a good thing. Worrying about others is a sign that you love them." Kurt swallowed, his golden eyes flickering with emotion.

Sunfire, tightening his gauntlets, chuckled. "Don't stress, kid. You volunteered for this. That means you've got guts. Hold your head high."

Kurt exhaled, nodding. "Right. Thanks."

John took one last look at the group before stepping forward. "Alright. Here's the plan. Sunfire—"

Sunfire smirked, raising a hand. "Call me Shiro. No need to be formal."

John's brow lifted slightly but nodded. "Alright, Shiro-san, you'll be keeping the plant life at bay with your fire. Ororo, you'll be our eyes from above. Colossus and I will be leading the charge, pushing through whatever the island throws at us."

He turned to Kurt. "Kurt, you'll be right behind Shiro-san. Conserve your energy as much as possible. Your main priority is getting the first team back to the Blackbird."

Kurt straightened. "Understood."

John scanned the team one final time. "Good. Let's go." The hatch whirred open, revealing the ominous shoreline of the island below. The island pulsed with something alive, its twisted plant life shifting in the mist.

John strode toward the cockpit. With a deep breath, he descended the Blackbird. The mission had begun.

…

Scott Summers could barely breathe. Every nerve in his body screamed for energy, but it was being drained away, seeping into the monstrous vines that coiled around him. His arms hung limp, his head lolled to the side. He could feel his bare eyes—no visor, no ruby-quartz lenses—but the beams that should have been uncontrollable barely flickered at the edges of his vision.

His power was fading. Through his blurred sight, he could make out the others—Jean, Alex, Logan, Petra, and Bobby—each ensnared in thick pulsating vines, their forms eerily still as the island fed on them. The vines didn't just bind them. They leeched them.

Scott turned his head weakly, his voice hoarse. "…Brother…"

Alex Summers barely stirred, his own body slack against the vines. His breathing was shallow, his blue eyes flickering open just enough to meet Scott's. "Brother…" Alex rasped.

Scott swallowed, his throat dry. "I'm sorry… It's my fault," he muttered, guilt pressing on his chest heavier than the vines. "We should have fallen back. I was chasing glory."

Alex exhaled a weak, breathless chuckle. "You always pushed yourself too hard," he whispered, his voice strained but teasing. "You felt more like my little brother sometimes."

Scott let out a small, humorless laugh. "Maybe." His mind drifted, unfocused. He remembered a stupid memory—something ridiculous. Gabriel. "You remember Gabriel's obsession with Doctor Who?" Scott mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, tired smile pulled at Alex's lips. "Yeah…" Alex breathed. "That was… a lot."

Scott's eyes fluttered. "He used to say that in a parallel world, he was the oldest out of all of us."

Alex's fingers twitched slightly, his strength barely enough to respond. "Maybe… in a lot of them, he is."

A silence settled between them. Not a comfortable one—just the kind that came when pain and exhaustion made words too heavy to carry.

A sharp, ragged breath broke the stillness. Logan. His teeth were clenched so tight his jaw might have shattered if he still had his usual healing factor to compensate. Every inch of him screamed in agony.

His claws were still inside his hands. He could feel the sharp edges of adamantium pressing against his tendons, cutting through his muscles like knives through raw meat.

Usually, the pain was background noise—his regeneration kept him whole, kept him numb to things that would have killed any other man.

But now? His healing was gone. His own bones—his own damn skeleton—were ripping him apart from the inside. And yet, despite the torture, he still tried.

His muscles tensed. He pushed, strained—tried to force his claws out—But the moment they began to unsheathe, the pain nearly made him black out. His own body was now a cage. And Logan could do nothing but grind his teeth and endure.

Not far from him, Petra and Bobby were watching each other. Both of them were tired. Both of them knew they were running on borrowed time. Bobby swallowed hard, his usually mischievous and charming smirk completely gone. His voice cracked as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Petra… I should've protected you better."

Petra forced a small smile, her fingers twitching slightly where the vines held her. "No… It's my fault. Clearly, I need more training."

Bobby gave her a sideways glance, a weak chuckle escaping despite their predicament. "So do I." A flicker of something playful—something genuine—broke through the despair. "When we get out," Bobby murmured, "let's do the highest-level test in the Danger Room."

Petra let out a weak breath, her smile lingering. "I would love that."

Bobby gave her a lopsided, exhausted grin. "Okay then… It's a date."

Petra blinked. "What?"

Bobby's smile didn't fade, but he quickly muttered: "Nothing."

She stared at him, but before she could respond—A shift in the air made everything change.

Jean's body remained still, her fiery red hair fanned out as the vines continued to drain her. But inside—Something was happening.

The island had been pulling on her power, consuming it, using it—And in doing so, something else had been loosened. Something Xavier had locked away.

The barrier inside her mind—one that had been there for years—had been shaken. And now, deep within the abyss of her subconscious—She was no longer alone.

A presence stirred. Jean's eyes snapped open—but this wasn't the physical world. It was a void. A space she had never seen before. And standing before her was something… not human. An entity.

Something watching her. Something that had been waiting. And Jean Grey had no idea what she had just awakened.

**A/N**

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