Sarah (POV)
The piercing sound of Banshee's high-pitched scream shattered the silence in the training room, reverberating off the walls with the force of a sonic boom. I barely flinched, though a small shiver traced its way down my body. Tilting my head slightly, arms crossed and one brow quirked, I watched the chaos unfold as though it were some twisted reality show. I wasn't immune to his power—far from it—so, yeah, it was kind of annoying.
Across the room, Sean Cassidy—better known as Banshee—paced in tight, agitated circles, his frustration as loud as his scream. "This is impossible!" he burst out, dragging his hand through his unruly red hair. "How the hell am I supposed to control this? Every time I try, it just—" He gestured wildly toward the wall. "Boom!"
Charles Xavier, the picture of patient calm, stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. His steady gaze rested on Sean, and his voice, a soothing contrast to the outburst, filled the room. "Sean, it's not about silencing the energy—it's about guiding it. The scream is only as wild as your focus allows. Take a deep breath."
Sean threw his arms in the air. "A deep breath? That's your advice? Great, let me just breathe the sonic blasts away."
A chuckle slipped out before I could stop it, earning a sharp glare from Sean. I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Hey, don't mind me. I'm just here for the free entertainment."
Sean groaned, muttering something about how helpful sarcasm was. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Alex Summers—Havok—struggling with his own issues. His palms glowed with an angry, pulsing red light, plasma energy crackling dangerously around him. His stance was rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was ready to crack a tooth. He stretched his arms outward, but the plasma refused to cooperate. It surged and sputtered in erratic bursts, leaving scorch marks along the floor and walls.
"Relax your stance," I called out, sauntering over with an air of nonchalance. "You look like you're trying to wrestle a bear. That's not gonna help."
Alex glanced at me, startled. His expression quickly shifted to annoyance, his trademark defensiveness kicking in. "I'm not in the mood for advice, thanks."
I shrugged, unfazed. "Good, 'cause I wasn't asking. I'm just saying, if you keep treating your power like it's trying to kill you, it's going to win. Ever think of it as an ally instead of the enemy?"
Alex hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he processed my words. "An ally?"
"Yeah, or at least a really obnoxious coworker," I said, smirking. "It's energy, not a bomb. Stop bracing against it and try guiding it. Like a stream. Ever skip rocks on a river?"
Alex blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected metaphor. "Uh... yeah."
"Then picture that. A steady, flowing stream. You don't fight the current; you work with it. Unless you want to end up frying everyone in here."
He gave me a long look, skepticism clear in his furrowed brow, but he seemed willing to try. Adjusting his stance, he unclenched his jaw and let out a slow breath. This time, when the plasma energy surged, it was more controlled, flowing in even pulses rather than wild bursts. The scorch marks stopped spreading.
I tilted my head, a ghost of a grin tugging at my lips. "See? Not bad, Summers. Now just don't blow up the ceiling."
Alex rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the faint relief in his expression. "Thanks," he muttered. "That actually... helped."
"Don't let it go to your head," I replied with a wink.
Before I could say more, a voice cut through the room like a blade. "Sarah."
Magneto stood at the edge of the training area, his piercing gaze locked on me with that unnerving combination of calm and intensity that always set me on edge. He didn't need to raise his voice to command attention. "Perhaps you could put your talents to better use than offering commentary."
My smirk didn't falter. "I'm plenty useful right here, thanks." Leaning casually against the wall, I crossed my arms again as if to underline my refusal to move.
Erik's lips curved into the faintest smile, though his eyes didn't soften. "You have potential, Sarah. But standing on the sidelines won't unlock it."
"Oh, don't worry," I said, my voice dripping with dry amusement. "I'm sure you'll find some way to make me see the error of my ways. Eventually."
The tension between us was noticeable, a silent tug-of-war neither of us seemed willing to break. Finally, Charles stepped in, his tone gentle but firm. "Alright, that's enough for now. Everyone, take a break. We've made good progress today."
Sean practically collapsed onto the nearest bench, muttering something about needing a nap. Alex let his hands drop to his sides, the plasma dissipating entirely. His posture relaxed, though the sweat on his brow betrayed how hard he'd been working. The room gradually emptied as the other mutants drifted away, some chatting quietly, others retreating to lick their wounds in private.
I lingered, leaning against a pillar as the others filed out, their chatter fading into the distance. The training room emptied, leaving me alone with the faint hum of residual energy. Banshee's scream, Havok's plasma bursts—traces of their power still buzzed in the air. The room felt unnaturally still now as if the silence itself was waiting for me to act, to think.
I rolled my shoulders, stretching out the tension, and let my mind wander. Thermal energy manipulation. The idea had been bouncing around in my head, but I hadn't given it any serious thought before. Ice manipulation—I'd always treated it like a neat little party trick. Create ice, freeze things, maybe someone if I was feeling cheeky. And fire? Well, that was heat. Fire and ice—opposites on the same boring spectrum, right?
But what if it was more than that? What if I'd only been scratching at the surface of something far more complex? Something more elemental?
Magneto. Yeah, him. The metal bender. But it wasn't just metal, was it? It was magnetism. Electromagnetic energy. He bent it, shaped it, owned it like it was his personal plaything. The way he used it—it wasn't about the metal at all. It was about a force that was everywhere. And me? I'd been treating my power like a damn refrigerator, shoving all my effort into pulling heat out and making things frosty.
What if I'd been limiting myself? Playing around in the shallow end when I could have been diving into the deep? Ice was cold, fire was heat—those were just the results. What if I could manipulate the energy behind it? What if I could control the entire spectrum of temperature?
The thought made my pulse quicken. Fire and ice as separate tools? That was old news. What if I could just... control thermal energy itself? Shift it wherever I wanted? Pull the heat out of a room and freeze the air, then throw it back to make fire easier, faster, stronger? It wasn't magic—it was physics. My physics.
Huh. If that was true, then maybe I needed to rethink some other things. My elements—wind, lightning—maybe they weren't "elements" at all. Maybe they were just different flavors of energy manipulation.
Then my mind jumped to Shaw. That smug bastard didn't just store kinetic energy—he could absorb almost any kind of energy, right? Convert it, amplify it, turn it into raw power. What if I could do something like that? What if I could pull thermal energy from my surroundings, store it, and release it when I needed it? Not just controlling temperature, but actually stockpiling heat, cold, and even the energy of the environment itself. Imagine the possibilities. I could power my fire manipulation indefinitely. Freeze things without ever needing to reach for the heat in the room. Hell, I could weaponize the sheer force of stored energy.
A slow, wicked smile crept onto my face. What if I had Shaw's ability on top of my own? The power of limitless energy, ready to unleash whenever I felt like it?
I pushed off from the pillar, pacing. Crazy thoughts. Wild thoughts. But they made sense. If I could yank heat from the air, why not shove it back in to spark a firestorm? I focused, narrowing my attention, trying to feel the warmth in the room. The coolness felt heavy now like I was dragging the temperature down, pulling the heat out of the air itself. Not just creating cold—but truly shifting the energy. It was... close. But not quite there. Something was missing. Something I hadn't figured out yet.
I sighed and raked a hand through my hair. "Not exactly a finger-snap solution, huh?" I muttered. No surprise. This was going to take more. The potential was there—I could feel it—but it was going to take work.
A new thought slammed into me like a freight train: What if I could do more than just fire or ice? What if I could control the weather? A storm. I'd seen it—how the air pressure shifted, how moisture condensed, how clouds built. Temperature and energy drove it all. Could I manipulate the air to form clouds, to aid my lightning, to call down rain? Or—hell—could I freeze the entire sky, just by pulling the heat out of everything around me?
My heart raced. Why stop there? Why just create a storm when I could plunge a whole area into an ice age? If I could freeze a room, why not a city? A region? A country? The idea made my blood buzz. I could shift the entire atmosphere, make the air frigid, and make the world itself unlivable.
I paused, closing my eyes. I could almost picture it—the streets frozen solid, buildings trapped under sheets of ice, the air so cold it hurt to breathe. Not just a chill on the surface, but a deep, systemic freeze. I could pull the warmth out of everything—the ground, the air, even the sun's light if I wanted. How long would it take before life here just... stopped?
A shiver ran down my spine, and this time, it wasn't from the cold. I let out a slow, low laugh. "Apparently, I enjoy thinking about destruction." My lips curled into a smirk. Deliciously terrifying. And a little bit thrilling.
What if I didn't stop there? Forget storms and ice ages—what about the human body? We were seventy percent water. Could I freeze someone solid in seconds? Or boil them from the inside out? A grimace pulled at my lips. I probably looked like a total supervillain right now, pacing around with this evil little smile on my face. Good thing I was alone.
This wasn't about fire and ice anymore. It was about control. Temperature. Energy. The environment. I could turn the weather itself into a weapon. Shift the balance of heat and cold wherever I wanted. Or—I grinned again—I could just freeze the sky.
I leaned back against the pillar, letting the thought settle. It was all there. The power, the potential. I just needed to learn how to use it. "Yup, but first I need to master metal-bending, I guess."
...
Later That Day
I wandered through the mansion's endless marble hallways, my boots echoing faintly against the pristine floors. My mind churned with half-formed plans, stray thoughts of my abilities, Erik, and Raven. I almost didn't notice her until we were nearly face-to-face.
"Hey," I said, stopping short as she looked up.
We stared at each other for a minute too long, a heavy silence filling the air. It wasn't the awkward kind—like two strangers bumping into each other in a coffee shop. No, this was different. It was the kind of silence that came from two people instinctively reading each other, peeling back layers to see what might lie beneath.
"You're quiet today," I remarked, crossing my arms. My voice was calm but probing, testing the waters. Since the Shaw episode, Raven seemed to be pulling away. The warmth she'd shown me before was gone.
Raven shrugged, the motion fluid as though she'd been practicing—the kind of thing you did when you wanted to seem indifferent but weren't. "Thinking," she replied, the single word clipped.
"About Shaw?" My tone stayed casual, but my gaze met hers, deliberate and direct.
Raven's jaw tightened ever so slightly, and her gaze flickered, betraying a moment of hesitation. "Among other things," she said, her voice carrying that familiar undertone—a mix of defiance and uncertainty.
"Sure," I muttered.
I leaned back against the wall, letting the cool surface ground me. My eyes softened just enough to keep the moment from turning confrontational. "You know, Raven, let me be there for you like you were there for me," I said eventually. "I know something's been bothering you, and it's not just Shaw."
Raven tilted her head, her expression was carefully neutral, though the slight arch of her brow betrayed a flicker of intrigue. "Why would you care? You've been keeping your distance from everyone."
The corner of my mouth twitched. "Not you. That day, you reminded me I wasn't alone. You said I had a team. Well, you were right, and you're part of that for me."
For a moment, Raven stood frozen, her self-imposed walls shaky. I could almost see the battle raging inside her—the pull of Shaw's promises, Erik's vision, Charles's idealism, and her own fragmented sense of self.
Raven studied me, the guarded walls behind her blue eyes shifting almost imperceptibly. For a second, it felt like she might say something vulnerable, something real. Instead, she deflected with a faint smirk. "What makes you so sure you can swoop in and save the day?"
I let out a low chuckle, dark and self-deprecating. "I don't know if I can help. But if you don't let me try, we'll never know."
Raven's expression softened, replaced by something almost thoughtful. "I'm not sure how you can help me. You barely know me."
"Well," I uttered, glancing away for a second before looking back. "Let's just say I have a good sense of people."
Raven let out an imperceptible sigh, before she said, "Guess that makes two of us."
We stood there in complete silence, hearing only our heartbeats. It wasn't the kind of silence that begged to be filled but the kind that gave us space to recollect our thoughts.
"Whatever's on your mind," I said finally, breaking the stillness, "just don't let it eat away at you. That's all I'm saying." She let the silence linger for a moment before responding.
"I'll think about it," Raven said at last, her voice quieter than before, the words carrying more weight than I expected.
With a slight nod, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing down the hallway. I watched her go, a strange mix of relief and unease settling in my chest.
My thoughts snapped to Shaw. He wasn't the problem—getting rid of him would be easy, without me even getting creative. The real issue was the cracks already forming between Erik and Charles, and Raven, who was being dragged into all of it. The whole situation felt like a powder keg, an uneasy alliance ready to go boom.
"Dealing with these three headaches is a pain," I muttered.
Shoving those thoughts to the back of my mind, I pushed off the wall and headed deeper into the mansion. I returned to my room, ready to research other scientific correlations between the elements I manipulated.
...
Later That Evening – The Mansion's Library
The mansion's library was quiet, its shelves towering like sentinels guarding ancient secrets. I sat curled in one of the overstuffed armchairs near the large window, an open book balanced on my knee. The words barely registered; my mind was elsewhere, tangled up in thoughts of Erik, Charles, and Raven.
The sound of soft footsteps drew me from my reverie. I looked up to see Raven standing at the entrance, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. Her blonde hair shimmered in the dim light, and her blue eyes—perfectly human—met mine for a fleeting second before she glanced away.
"The other resident pretender," I thought internally. The only difference being that she wanted to belong, she wanted acceptance, and she wanted to fit in. Me? Not so much. I'm nothing but an energy construct perfectly mimicking a Magus in Fate, a magical clone, before that a Kryptonian, even before that a Humonculus, further back in time, a Spirit beast, and before that, a Spirit. In fact, I haven't been human for so long that I stopped caring.
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the wood of the frame as if deciding whether to come in or leave. After a beat, she stepped inside.
"Hey," I greeted her, setting the book down. My tone was casual, but my gaze was steady.
"Hey," she replied, her voice quiet. She drifted toward one of the shelves, her fingers trailing along the spines of books as if searching for something. But the way her gaze lingered on nothing told me it wasn't a book she was looking for.
"Couldn't resist the solitude?" I asked, offering a faint smile to ease the tension in the air.
She gave a soft snort. "More like I needed it." Her hand stopped on a random book, but she didn't pull it out. "The rest of the mansion's too… much right now."
I nodded, leaning back in my chair. "Understandable. Sometimes it's nice to get away from everyone."
Raven glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "Is that what you're doing? Hiding?"
"Not hiding," I said with a shrug. "Just thinking. Trying to make sense of things."
She hummed, the sound low and noncommittal. For a while, she said nothing, simply standing there with her back to me. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt weighted like there were things she wanted to say but couldn't.
"Have you figured it out yet?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle. I wasn't sure if I was asking about her, Erik, or the swirling mess of choices that had been eating at her since Shaw's attack. Maybe all of it.
Raven stiffened slightly, then turned to face me. Her blue eyes caught the light, flickering with something I couldn't quite place. "What makes you think I haven't?"
"Just a hunch," I said, offering a faint smile. "You seem... caught in the middle."
Her jaw tightened at that, and for a moment, I thought she might snap at me. But instead, she sighed, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "It's not that simple," she muttered, almost to herself.
"No, it's not," I agreed. "But simple doesn't mean impossible."
Raven gave me a look, half wary, half curious. "What do you think I should do, then?" Her tone was sharp, but there was a vulnerability beneath it, a quiet plea for some kind of clarity.
"About what?" I asked.
She shook her head, "Never, mind you wouldn't understand. I mean look at you. Gorgeous, you can perfectly fit in, yet you stay on the sideline, unlike me," Raven lets slip
I smiled softly, meeting her gaze. "I don't need to understand your situation to say that I think the only person who can answer that is you."
She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "That's helpful."
"Maybe not now," I said, keeping my tone soft. "But when you decide who you want to be—when you stop worrying about what everyone else thinks—that's when it'll make sense. That's when you'll feel free."
Her gaze flickered, and for a moment, I thought I saw a crack in her armor. But then she straightened, her expression hardening once more. "Easier said than done."
"Yeah," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean it's not worth trying."
Raven didn't respond right away. She stood there, her arms crossed, her eyes distant. I could almost see the war raging inside her—the echoes of Charles's soft reassurances and Erik's fiery certainty. Blend in to be accepted. Embrace who you are. The conflicting voices must have been deafening.
And then there was me. I didn't know how much I factored into her calculations, but I could feel the tension between us—the way she kept me at arm's length, afraid of what I might see if she let me closer.
She took a step back toward the door, her expression unreadable. "Thanks, Sarah," she said quietly, the words unexpected but sincere.
"For what?" I asked.
"For not pretending you have all the answers."
I smiled faintly, leaning back in my chair. "Anytime."
Raven lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking out. I watched her go, musing to myself, "I can't entirely disagree with Erik. The only way for her to move forward is to accept herself fully, embrace her mutation, and push past those insecurities. But I can't help but wonder if helping her find her own balance between Erik's ideals and Charles' is key to keeping her from going down the same dark path he's on."
I picked up my book again, but the words blurred on the page. My thoughts kept drifting back to Raven, to the choices she was facing—choices that felt as much about us as about her.
"Yup, enough thinking for the day."
Placing the book down, I headed back to my room.