At Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Lalia Azali hides more than most. She's not just a surgeon-she's this universe's Scarlet Witch, a title whispered with fear and awe, tied to a power she never wanted and a fate she can't outrun.
Logan sees t...
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— Lalia
Later, as the team settled into camp for our latest mission, I stayed up with a few members, working tirelessly to revive Blackbird. After hours of effort, nothing seemed to work, and my frustration was growing.
I walked down the boarding bridge, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The fire we had lit earlier flickered in the distance, casting a warm, inviting glow. As I approached, I could see the logs we had arranged around the fire, and I settled onto one of them, feeling the comforting warmth on my face.
Suddenly, I heard someone approaching. The rustling of leaves and the crunch of gravel underfoot made me snap my head around quickly, my heart momentarily skipping a beat.
To my relief, it was Logan. He walked over with that familiar, confident stride, a cigar hanging from his mouth. He sat down beside me on the log, his presence as steadying as ever.
Logan leaned forward, the cigar still clenched between his teeth, and relit it with a small flame from the fire. I couldn't help but smile at the sight. "That's very dangerous, you know," I said, a soft but playful tone in my voice.
He took a long drag from his cigar, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light. "I thought you said you liked that about me," he replied, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
I laughed softly, staring into the fire, the warmth of the flames contrasting with the chill that had settled in my mind. This so-called prophecy was starting to mess with my mind, twisting everything into a tangled web of confusion.
It made no sense at all. I'd never thought of myself as a witch, never done anything remotely like the witches in those old tales. I don't even have a sister, and the idea of trying to make mutants extinct was utterly absurd. It just didn't add up.
Yet, deep down, I knew it couldn't be completely false. The death of a twin, the nightmares, the visions—they wouldn't be haunting my sleep if it were just an old tale. The weight of it pressed down on me, an unsettling mix of doubt and fear gnawing at the edges of my sanity, making it hard to distinguish reality from the ominous whispers of fate.
Logan's voice broke through my thoughts. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes searching mine through the flickering light.
"For the most part," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I glanced at him, my concern evident. "What about you? This... all of this, it involves your past."
Logan took another drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling up into the night. "Yeah, but I'm not worried about that right now," he said, his tone steady, almost dismissive.
I looked at him, trying to gauge his true feelings. "How is everything?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.
I glanced over at Blackbird, the aircraft grounded and waiting for repairs. "It's going to take hours before we can get it off the ground," I said.
