Ash's POV
Later that night, the echoes of the conversation with Magneto still lingered in the air like smoke I couldn't shake.
We didn't shake hands. We didn't exchange promises. But something passed between us when I reached out not in submission, not even in unity, but in shared clarity.
And when the guards changed rotation and the lights flickered again, Gardevoir teleported us out of that sterile prison as if we'd never been there.
I dropped Erik where he asked, some forest clearing out in the Alps, where he could disappear and gather his thoughts or his forces, depending on how far my words had reached him. He gave me a look—not quite gratitude, not quite farewell, but it meant something. I didn't ask what.
I returned home.
***
The apartment was quiet, lit only by the soft blue glow of a ticking clock and the golden rim of dawn trying to claw its way through closed blinds. I sat on the floor of the living room, cross-legged, a circle of glyphs drawn in chalk and Aura-ink surrounding me, flickering faintly in anticipation. Pikachu was curled up by the windowsill, one ear twitching. Gardevoir stood silently behind me, her presence a steady psychic hum.
There were six hours left.
Six hours before we struck.
Twenty-one facilities—spread across continents, buried under desert stone, hidden in mountain strongholds and urban sprawl. Each one a pit of cruelty and science wrapped in shadows. Each one holding someone who didn't deserve what was done to them.
Someone's child. Someone's parent. Someone who trusted the wrong person on the wrong day.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the summoning ring. The weight of it felt heavier than it should—not the metal, but everything it represented. Every choice that led here. Every person is counting on us to get this right.
What if we're too late? What if we miss someone? What if I make the wrong call and people die because of it?
And we were going to hit every last one.
Divide. Strike. Regroup.
But first, I needed something new. Something different. Something that could cut through whatever hell we were about to walk into.
I reached into my satchel, fingers closing around the ring etched with sigils, lined with Arceus's dimensional seal. It hummed softly against my skin as my Aura poured into it, resonating like a tuning fork struck against the veil of reality.
I closed my eyes and began to speak, not loudly, not dramatically. Just truthfully. Like a whisper meant for the world behind the curtain, carrying all the weight of what I was asking for.
"Beyond the skies, Through the folds of dimension, Where Arceus dreams the world awake— I reach for the one who stirs beside me. In truth and bond— I choose you."
The ring pulsed.
The circle erupted in light, symbols dancing upward like stardust as the living room filled with a soft, vibrating hum. Air warped, folding inward like glass in reverse.
That's when I heard the door open.
"...Ash?" Freya's voice rang out behind me.
I didn't turn. "Wait."
She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. "Summoning again? You don't usually glow like that unless something really fun is about to happen."
"Something like that," I murmured, trying to keep the tension out of my voice.
The light twisted, and a shadow took shape in the air before me—slim, elongated, cold.
Metal.
When the light finally snapped back into silence and faded away, a new figure floated inches above the floor. A blade, forged of silver and dusk, its ribbon-like sash swaying as if in unseen wind. A single, glowing eye blinked open in the hilt.
Honedge.
The Pokémon hovered in place for a moment, as if surveying me. As if remembering me. A connection clicked into place—and with it, a strange sense of... steadiness. Like finding solid ground after walking on shifting sand.
My chest felt heavier and safer.
Pikachu looked up from the window and tilted his head. "Pika?"
"Yeah," I whispered, some of the knot in my stomach finally loosening.
Behind me, Freya stepped further into the room, arms now relaxed at her sides, her eyes tracing the elegant curve of the blade.
"A Honedge," she murmured, and I heard something rare in her voice.
Not surprise.
Respect.
"I've seen it in the Record," she continued, stepping closer, her expression half-awed. "They're incredibly rare. Only thirteen people in our entire family history have ever formed a bond with one."
"Really?" I murmured, eyes still on the blade. A quiet grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. "That's… pretty cool."
"I remember this one," she went on, kneeling beside the summoning circle. "Old entries. Grainy illustrations. Mentions of Honedge being paired with only the most disciplined fighters, sometimes even refusing to fight if it judged the wielder's soul as impure."
She glanced at me, then measured, not questioning. "But I guess it didn't mind you."
I chuckled, just barely. "Guess not."
Freya stood again, brushing chalk dust from her knee, then moved to the shelf, running a finger along one of the spines of the books stacked there. "You know," she said casually, "one of our ancestors, Spencer Ketchum he developed an entire martial art around Honedge and its evolutions. Dual-soul combat, they called it."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
She nodded. "Swordplay synchronized with Aura resonance. Not just using the blade, but fighting with it. As a partner. Legend says Spencer used a Doublade during the Western Invasion. Stopped an entire division of mechanized infantry before falling."
There was reverence in her voice, but also a glint of pride. Ketchum pride.
Ashes of legacy, still warm.
Freya turned, crossing her arms. "If you're interested, I could contact one of the elders. Get a copy of the manual sent over."
I looked at Honedge, who hovered patiently, its ribbon now loosely curling around my left wrist like it was testing the weight of my pulse.
"…Yeah," I said after a pause, my voice steadier than I felt. "Yeah, I want that manual."
"Didn't think you'd say no," Freya smirked, already pulling out her phone. "I'll call Uncle Rowan. He's the one who transcribed the Record into digital archives. Should have a scan of the whole lineage somewhere."
already turning toward the hallway. "If I know Uncle Rowan, he'll be thrilled someone summoned a Honedge again. He'll probably hand-deliver the manual."
She vanished into her room, phone already pressed to her ear.
That left me alone with the blade.
I took a careful step forward, raising my palm slowly, no sudden moves. Honedge floated in place but tilted slightly as if appraising the gesture. A faint hum vibrated through the air, metallic yet melodic. It wasn't fear I felt. It wasn't even hesitation.
It was… alignment.
***
Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters – Same Morning
Third Person POV
In the lower chambers of the mansion, a soft blue glow pulsed from holographic projectors and computer consoles. Hank McCoy- Beast, stood amidst them like a conductor in a symphony of data.
Dozens of red-marked locations flickered across the map on-screen, each tagged with notes and surveillance files recovered by Ash. Next to him, Professor Charles Xavier sat in quiet focus, fingertips pressed together as he processed the full scope of what lay ahead.
"These outer-ring facilities are isolated," Beast explained, pointing with a stylus. "Minimal external defense, likely underground. But the tech signatures here, here, and here are too advanced for simple research. We should expect energy weapons, containment systems... possibly even AI-enhanced security."
"Is there a pattern to how they're arranged?" Charles asked, eyes narrowing.
Beast nodded slowly. "Yes. Spoked, almost like a wheel. The central three facilities may be command hubs. That would explain why they're more heavily protected."
Charles frowned. "Then we should strike those last."
Hank looked toward Charles, who sat in stillness, fingers lightly steepled as if meditating on possibilities yet to unfold.
Hank broke the silence.
"Charles… what do you make of our unexpected ally?"
Charles glanced at him with a knowing smile. "You mean Ash?"
Hank nodded, adjusting his glasses. "He's not like most of our students or even like the adults we work with. He operates in silence, prefers solitude, yet shows… startling empathy. He's young, yet there's an old rhythm to how he carries himself."
Charles's smile deepened, though his voice remained calm. "He's a paradox. A child, yes, but one shaped by fire. Ash carries burdens older than himself, and yet he still chooses to help others, without being asked, and often without being seen."
Hank tapped a finger against his tablet, thoughtfully. "He's… alien. And I don't mean extraterrestrial, I mean ideologically. He doesn't view the world as 'us versus them.' His thinking is more… layered. Nuanced."
Charles nodded. "Precisely. He's lived outside the boundaries we understand, grown in a reality not shaped solely by fear of mutants, but something broader. Older. And still, he chooses compassion over vengeance."
There was a quiet pause between them.
Then Charles added, more softly, "He's what I hope many of our students grow to become. Not powerful though he is, but deliberate. Caring. And willing to see beyond sides."
Beast looked at the large red-marked map of mutant prisons glowing on the monitor.
"Let's hope the world is ready for someone like him," Hank said.
Charles gave a faint, almost wistful smile. "The world rarely is. But it always needs them."
***
The hallway was quiet, the light of dawn creeping lazily across the polished wood. Scott leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual sternness cracked just slightly by tension.
"You alright?" Jean asked gently.
"Ask me again after we've cleared the first ten," Scott said dryly, then exhaled and looked at her. "You sure you're ready for this?"
Jean smiled faintly. "Are you?"
Scott smirked, just briefly. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You too."
They held the silence between them, not filled with hesitation, but with unspoken trust.
***
Outside, Logan sat on a bench beneath one of the larger trees, the sunrise casting long shadows over his hunched figure. He stared at the grass like it had answers he hadn't found yet.
Rogue walked up quietly and sat beside him.
"Can't sleep either?" she asked.
"Didn't even try," he muttered.
She nodded, rubbing her gloved hands together. "We'll be okay. You'll see."
Logan didn't answer at first. Then he said, low and gruff, "This Stryker business… it's personal. I don't even know why. Just is."
Rogue gave a soft smile. "Maybe figuring it out starts with stopping him."
He glanced at her, a flicker of warmth in his usual scowl. "Maybe."
***
The lower classroom echoed with low chatter until Storm entered, and the room stilled instantly. Her presence was effortless yet commanding. Sunlight poured through tall windows, casting light on young, nervous faces—children and teens of every background, each harboring unique gifts and the weight of what those gifts meant.
She took her place at the front, hands folded, and waited a moment longer before she spoke.
"As you've probably heard," she began, voice even and composed, "several of your teachers and senior students will be leaving shortly on an important mission."
A collective stir swept through the room. Questions hovered, some unspoken, others not held back.
"Is it dangerous?" a younger girl asked softly from the front row.
Storm smiled gently. "For those of us leaving, yes. But not for you. That's why you're staying here—where it's safe."
Another student raised his hand halfway. "Why can't we come? I've trained. We've all trained."
Storm nodded, her tone shifting just slightly firmer. "And your training is why I can trust you to hold down the fort while we're away. What we're about to do will put lives on the line, including yours, if something goes wrong. Until you're ready to make those choices knowingly, you must stay here."
Some looked disappointed. Others quietly relieved.
"I want each of you to support one another," Storm continued. "If the alarms sound, if anything unusual occurs, you follow the protocols. There's no shame in surviving. You hear me?"
A few nodded. She gave them a once-over, her gaze both stern and encouraging.
"This school has seen battles, but it's also a sanctuary. Keep it that way while we're gone."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"And no using the Danger Room without supervision."
Groans followed her out, but none with real protest. They knew better than to test Storm's word.
***
Pyro stood by the mansion's side entrance, flicking a small flame between his fingers like a coin. Dressed in mission gear, he leaned casually against the wall, eyes scanning the yard with restrained impatience.
A gust of colder air breezed by.
"You're gonna set the bushes on fire doing that," Bobby Drake said, joining him with an easy smirk. A swirl of frost danced along his fingertips.
Pyro snorted. "And you're gonna turn into a walking icicle if you keep showing off."
Bobby shrugged. "At least I don't need a lighter to be cool."
Pyro let the flame flicker out, turning to face him. "This mission's gonna get messy. Think you can keep up?"
"I'm the one they call when things start melting down. You just light the fire, and I put it out."
They exchanged a look. One of rivalry, yes, but the healthy kind. The kind forged from sparring sessions, side-by-side missions, and begrudging respect.
Bobby reached out a fist.
Pyro hesitated—then bumped it.
"Try not to roast anyone important," Bobby said as he walked off.
"No promises," John replied with a grin.
But for once, the fire in his hands didn't burn with arrogance.
***
The air above the lawn shimmered like glass catching firelight. Then, with a sudden ripple and the soft whisper of displaced wind, Ash appeared—his boots landing firmly on the grass just outside the Xavier Mansion.
Gardevoir stood beside him, silent and radiant, her eyes briefly flicking around the darkened landscape. The night was still, too still, but not with peace. It was the kind of silence that came just before a blade met its mark.
Ash stood for a moment, hands in his pockets, exhaling slowly. His Aura buzzed beneath his skin, steady, alive. Controlled. But barely. Twenty-one facilities today. How many people are depending on us getting this right?
He turned to Gardevoir. "Great Work," he said gently, and with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he held out her Pokéball. She nodded wordlessly, and in a blink of red light, she vanished.
The grounds were faintly lit—some exterior lights left on, like breadcrumbs for anyone still arriving. But the main building loomed quietly, its great windows glowing from within.
Ash moved through the front doors like he owned the place, but his steps were heavier than usual. The halls were quieter than usual, but the tension in the walls was palpable, like every corner of the Mansion knew war was coming. His steps echoed softly across the polished floors as he walked past familiar corridors and portraits of former X-Men, his pace steady.
They trusted us with this. All those people in those cells—they don't even know we're coming. What if it's not enough? What if I'm not enough?
Downstairs, past the library, through the reinforced hallway and around the corner, the heavy doors to the main conference room loomed.
Ash paused outside them for just a moment, taking a breath. Pull it together. They need to see confidence, not doubt.
He pushed one open.
And every head inside turned toward him.
Inside the room, gathered like ghosts before the storm, stood the heavyweights.
Scott stood closest to the planning table, already in full combat gear, arms crossed. Logan leaned back in a reinforced chair, arms loose but eyes alert. Jean, also armored, offered a soft nod of greeting. Storm stood near the corner, her posture regal, eyes sharpened. Beast was adjusting something on a tablet, and Bobby and John, already in uniform, were mid-argument about who would handle breach control.
It wasn't a council room anymore.
It was a war room.
Ash stepped in and grinned, like they were just about to head out for a long drive and a takeout run. Don't let them see the weight. Don't let them know how scared you are.
"Wow," he said casually, raising a brow. "Did I overdress? Or is this the world's most intense cosplay convention?"
A few of them blinked. Logan let out a huff of breath that might've been a chuckle.
"You're late," Scott said, but not sharply.
"Fashionably," Ash replied, strolling to the edge of the table. "Would've been sooner, but teleporting cross-state with gear and a rodent that refuses to wear armor takes longer than you'd think."
Pikachu peeked from his shoulder at that exact moment and squeaked indignantly.
"I assume we're ready?" Ash continued, his voice lighter than the atmosphere warranted—but his eyes told a different story. Focused. Cold. Steeled. And terrified of failing everyone counting on us.
Beast looked up from the screen, his fingers laced together. "We've finalized logistics. Charles has synced psychic teams. Storm's running atmospheric support. We're divided into three strike units. You'll be leading an infiltration group."
Ash nodded. "Sounds like fun." Fun. Right. Walking into heavily defended torture facilities sounds like a blast.
Jean gave him a soft smile. "You really don't look nervous."
If only you knew. "Why would I be?" Ash said with a grin, lifting a brow. "I've got mutant commandos, omega-level psychics, and a mouse that can turn power grids into scrap metal. This'll be a warm-up."
Logan's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Keep talkin', kid."
Ash turned toward the table, finally serious. The weight of every person they were trying to save pressed down on his shoulders like a physical thing.
"Let's end this," he said, his voice quiet but carrying the full weight of his determination. "Before they hurt anyone else."
Before I let anyone else down.
And just like that, the final gear clicked into place.
_______________________________________________________________________________
A.N. Sorry for the delayed chapter, I have no excuse other than... just life got in the way.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I know another build-up chapter will get pretty annoying, but this is the last one I promise, next chapter all the action starts.
This may come as random... but check up on your friends, you never know what they may be suffering through silently, even though everything seems well enough on the surface. And don't undermine someone's suffering, it may seem like a small thing, but it keeps eating up your mind from inside. Give them a call, tell them that you are there for them, it may seem cheesy, but small gestures can go a long way.
P.S. It seems my Fic is still not reaching many people. Give me power stones and put your reviews, help this reach the top.