The Blackbird descended through early morning mist, the engines humming low as it cut across the treeline surrounding Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The landing ramp lowered with a soft hiss of hydraulics.
On the mansion grounds below, the world had changed.
Tents dotted the wide lawns, haphazardly at first, then in organized rows stretching toward the west perimeter wall. Mutants—young, old, quiet, and broken—milled about in soft clusters. Some held onto blankets, others huddled close to those they trusted. Many were silent, eyes hollow from what they'd survived. Some trembled at every sound, and a few glanced toward the sky as the Blackbird came into view with a mix of awe and fear.
Professor Charles Xavier stood at the center of it all, surrounded by staff and students working to distribute supplies. Beside him, Beast—Dr. Henry McCoy—spoke calmly to a small group, clipboard in hand, asking each person if they had a place to return to. Some gave names. Some gave only silence. Others said, "No."
The moment the jet touched down, Gyarados—towering and gleaming blue with his serpent body—circled overhead once, a great shadow over the courtyard. Children gasped, some ducking, while others stared wide-eyed in amazement. But the massive dragon did not roar or rage. He landed beside the Blackbird with a great thud that shook the ground, curling gently around the aircraft with a protector's reverence.
Inside the jet, the X-Men sat in exhausted silence.
Logan leaned against the wall near the rear, his knuckles bloodied and healing slowly. "I swear, if one more robot so much as twitches near me..."
Jean offered a tired smile. "You'll be fine, Logan."
Cyclops, quiet as always, glanced toward the center of the cabin where Ash lay sprawled across one of the seats. His face was pale. Motionless. Pikachu curled up on his chest like a guardian, eyes barely open, sparks dancing faintly across his cheeks.
"I've never seen someone burn through that much power without collapsing into dust," Bobby murmured, pulling off his gloves. "And he's...just a kid."
Storm rose, smoothing her singed jacket and gently moving over to Ash's side.
"Not just a kid," she said, voice soft but firm. "A force of nature wearing a child's skin."
She bent down, lifting him carefully into her arms. Pikachu grumbled in protest but clung closer, refusing to let go.
Gyarados stirred outside, watching them through the transparent panels. As Storm carried Ash out, the massive Water-type moved his head close, just enough to breathe near his trainer. The air shimmered with concern.
The great serpent's thoughts turned inward, memories flooding through his mind. The boy had believed in him when he was weak—when he was useless. Never once had the trainer called him that. Never once had he given up. He had trained him like he mattered... like he was legendary. He had smiled even when Gyarados failed, yelled only when he stopped trying. And when he had gotten stronger... the boy still trained him like he had more to give. He had made him more. No matter what came... Gyarados would serve him until the world ended. No… even after that.
Gyarados gave a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the air like a vow.
As Storm stepped off the ramp with Ash in her arms, Professor Xavier turned toward her, concern softening the lines on his face.
"Is he all right?" he asked gently, his voice carried only by the mind.
"Exhausted," Storm replied. "He didn't hold back. He saved all of us."
Xavier's gaze drifted toward the great serpent beside the jet, and then to the distant refugees gathered across the lawn. "He saved us all, and helped mutant kind in ways I never could... despite not being a mutant himself."
Storm nodded solemnly. "He reminded me of you. When you first stood against the world for us."
Behind them, Jean and Scott stepped down from the jet, Scott rubbing at his temple with a wince.
"All that fighting in one night," he said, voice strained. "Feels like my head's been split open."
"Because it nearly was," Jean replied with a weary smile. "We all pushed too hard tonight."
She paused, glancing back at Ash's unconscious form in Storm's arms. "I should be grateful he knocked me out when I tried to stop that flood. If I had tried fighting the water..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I'm not sure I'd be standing here. But part of me is still furious about it."
Magneto emerged from the jet behind them, his cape torn and singed from battle, followed by Mystique in her natural blue form and other members of the Brotherhood. The master of magnetism moved with measured steps, his eyes fixed on the unconscious boy in Storm's arms.
"He saved us all, and helped mutant kind in ways I never could... despite not being a mutant himself," Xavier said, his mental voice reaching those nearby.
Magneto's expression softened—a rare sight for those who knew him. "Charles, in all my years of fighting for our people, I have never seen such... purity of purpose. The boy asked for nothing, expected nothing, yet gave everything." He paused, his voice carrying an unusual reverence. "If more humans possessed even half his courage and compassion, perhaps we wouldn't need to fight at all."
Wolverine lit a cigar just outside the ramp, ignoring the "No Smoking" sign on the hangar door.
"So what now?" he asked, voice rough. "We saved a few hundred. There's probably thousands more we didn't find."
"We rest," Xavier replied, stepping forward. "We rebuild. And we prepare. The world just shifted beneath our feet."
Gyarados released a low, soft breath beside the jet, steam curling through the evening chill.
***
Ash blinked awake to the soft whir of machinery and the sterile scent of antiseptic. The ceiling above him wasn't familiar—not Freya's apartment, not the darkened corners of some distant battlefield. It was white, clean, quiet.
He turned his head slightly and winced. Every inch of him felt like lead, like he'd run a marathon and then wrestled a Gyarados barehanded. Funnily enough, that probably wouldn't have been as exhausting as holding back a flood with nothing but raw Aura and stubbornness.
"Ah, you're awake." The voice came from the left, refined yet kind, tinged with amused relief.
Dr. Hank McCoy—Beast—was standing beside him, a tablet in one hand, his blue-furred brow lifting in a smile. His white lab coat stretched around his broad shoulders like it barely dared contain him.
Ash grunted softly, trying to sit up. "Where...?"
"You're in the medical bay at Xavier's Mansion," Beast said, gently adjusting the bed's incline. "You've been unconscious for twelve hours. Honestly, it's a miracle it wasn't longer. You suffered a full-scale energy drain, psychic feedback from a clash with a Category Five mind—and a touch of mild hypothermia."
He paused, tilting his head.
"Quite the performance."
Ash exhaled through his nose and sank into the pillow for a second longer. "The others?"
"Alive. Safe. Most already back on their feet, though several are still recovering. Charles sends his gratitude—again. And the red serpent? Still hasn't moved from the courtyard. Loyal creature."
Ash smiled faintly, tiredly. "He's earned a whole river to himself."
Beast chuckled and tucked the tablet under one arm. "When you're ready, I'd like you to join me. We need to think about the next step."
A short while later...
Ash walked through the hallways of Xavier's Mansion, his steps slower than usual but steady. Pikachu was perched on his shoulder again, tail flicking gently with each step, watching his trainer closely—as if still on edge.
Beast led the way, past the living quarters, through a secured corridor beneath the west wing, into what resembled a hybrid between a tech lab and a war room. The main console dominated the far wall—a circular digital hub pulsing with light and holograms. A projection of Earth slowly spun in the air, with blinking red markers scattered across the continents.
"This..." Beast gestured to the rotating display, "is every file, every video feed, and every recovered document from the facilities we raided. Names, test subjects, false death certificates, shipment logs—everything."
Ash stepped closer, his expression hardening. "And you've verified it all?"
"Three times over," Beast nodded. "And I've compiled it into a set of leak files—each designed to go live through different channels: journalist leaks, public video drops, academic archives. The kind of information web that ensures this can't be suppressed... not easily."
"But not impossible," Ash muttered, narrowing his eyes.
Beast blinked. "You think they'd still try?"
Ash raised an eyebrow. "I know they will. They always do."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Pokéball. "Rotom—come on out."
The Pokéball burst open, and in a blink, a blur of plasma with buzzing yellow sparks zipped into the air. "Zzt!"
"Rotom," Ash said, stepping toward the console. "You know what to do."
With a giddy chirp, the electrical Pokémon phased directly into the mainframe, causing every screen to flicker and dance with static before stabilizing into a rapid scroll of code.
"I want triple encryption," Ash said, watching the code fly by. "Tie every release to decentralized servers, public access logs, and trapdoors that auto-duplicate if tampered with. Make it so anyone trying to bury this will set off a hundred more leaks."
"Bzzt! Easy!" Rotom replied gleefully, zipping through the files like a phantom coder.
Beast leaned back, visibly impressed. "He's quite... enthusiastic."
"He's a gremlin with a superiority complex," Ash said. "Which makes him perfect for this."
As the code finalized and Rotom let out a triumphant beep, Ash looked at the spinning globe once more—at the weight of truth they were about to unleash on the world.
"No more secrets," he said softly. "No more hiding."
Beast gave him a long look, something thoughtful in his gaze. "Are you ready for the consequences?"
Ash didn't flinch. "Not really. But it's not about being ready. It's about doing it anyway."
***
POV 1: Civilians – A Late-Night News Broadcast, New York City
The city never slept, but even it seemed to pause as the screens lit up.
It began as a single, unexpected broadcast—a hijack. No anchors, no filters. Just raw video footage stitched together with damning clarity: underground labs, children in cages, vivisections, blood reports tagged with names, faces, mutations.
A woman in a Bronx diner dropped her coffee. A man on the subway gasped audibly. Phones lit up, faces frozen in horrified disbelief.
One name kept echoing.
William Stryker.
And behind him—government seals, black budgets, corporate donors.
At first, it felt too monstrous to be real. Then the documents came. Then the survivor testimonies. Then the matchups—names and dates, vanishing persons, whistleblower voices that had been ignored until now.
It wasn't a story anymore. It was truth. Weaponized.
POV 2: Government – Senator's Office, Washington D.C.
The Senator stared at the television in his office, his knuckles white against the oak desk. His aide had dropped the file folder when the broadcast began—no one bothered to pick it up.
"This is... catastrophic," the aide whispered.
He said nothing.
His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed. It was all unraveling. Years of plausible deniability, of "protective measures," of votes spun on public safety—it was burning on live television.
The mutant rights activists would be at his door within hours. Journalists already were. His phone was lighting up like a firework.
Senator Stern had gone quiet on the secure line minutes ago, which worried him even more.
"How the hell did they get access to this?" he muttered.
His aide finally looked up. "Sir... some of these documents... they're signed with your name."
He turned pale.
POV 3: Brotherhood Base – Somewhere in the Mansion
Mystique watched the leak from a quiet room with no lights on.
Blob was laughing in the next hall. But she watched in silence, arms folded, expression unreadable.
Magneto stood behind her, arms behind his back, face grim.
"They finally know," she said softly.
"They'll deny it," Erik answered. "They'll spin it, weaponize it."
"But they won't be able to erase it."
"No," Magneto agreed. "Not anymore."
For a moment, they stood in stillness, watching the world finally look back into the mirror.
POV 4: Xavier's Mansion – Media Room, Same Moment
The students had gathered in the common area, their eyes locked to the big screen, huddled in silence. Some were crying. Some were shaking. Some were just... numb.
Storm stood by the door, watching over them, her expression carved from stormclouds. She'd known things were bad. But this... the extent of it?
"Will they come for us?" a student asked her, voice trembling.
Storm didn't lie.
"They might. But now the world will see you for what you are. Survivors. Not threats."
In the corner, Bobby Drake leaned against the wall, tension forgotten for now.
"This is it, huh?" Bobby muttered.
John flicked his lighter shut. "Yeah. No more shadows."
POV: Ash – Alone on the Mansion Rooftop
Ash stood alone under the stars, arms crossed, cloak fluttering softly in the wind. Pikachu sat beside him in silence. Down below, the mansion bustled—panic, hope, confusion.
He'd felt it in the wind. In the air.
Change.
Not a clean victory. Not yet. But a shift.
The world had opened its eyes.
"Now let's see who blinks first," he muttered.
The rooftop door opened behind him with a gentle click.
He didn't need to turn.
"Jean."
She walked toward him with purpose—her boots hitting the stone with that same quiet intensity he remembered from the field. But she didn't stop a few feet away like most people did.
She walked right up beside him, arms folded, her presence calm—but only on the surface.
He waited.
"I should be furious with you," she said, voice even. "You know that, right?"
Ash raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. "Yeah. Thought you might be."
"You knocked me unconscious, Ash."
"You were walking toward your death, Jean."
She narrowed her eyes at that, but her voice stayed soft. "You didn't even ask—didn't trust me to make that choice."
"I saw that look in your eyes," Ash said, turning toward her more fully now. "I've seen it before. You were ready to die."
A beat.
Jean's lips pressed together. Her silence said more than words could.
Ash went on, quieter now. "You don't get to die for everyone, Jean. That's not how this works."
There was a pause as the wind pushed between them again, pulling lightly at her red hair.
Then she let out a soft, bitter breath. "I'm not used to being on the receiving end of... interference."
Ash smirked faintly. "Wasn't psychic. That was a pressure point. Manual override."
Jean blinked, then actually let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You chopped me like an off-switch?"
"You're welcome."
She gave him a look—part amused, part exasperated.
They stood in silence for a few heartbeats, side by side. Then Jean's voice softened.
"...Thanks."
Ash nodded once. "Yeah."
A breeze moved between them again. Below, they could faintly hear the echo of distant conversation, the world starting to process what it had seen.
"Did you see the leaks?" he asked.
Jean nodded slowly. "Every horrible second."
"Yeah." His jaw tightened. "Told you. No more shadows."
She looked out over the treetops of the estate. "So... what now?"
Ash leaned forward onto the railing again, staring into the dark like he was already planning the next dozen steps.
"We handle it," he said. "One step at a time."
Jean turned her head, studying him.
"You sound too calm."
He shrugged. "I've learned the world doesn't break all at once. And it doesn't heal all at once either."
Jean said nothing for a while. Then she stepped closer, shoulder brushing his.
"...Still," she said. "Don't knock me out again."
Ash didn't smile—but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Then don't try to die in front of me."
________________________________________________________________________________
A.N. Sorry for the delay, got busy with work, and writing felt like a chore, but should be able to upload on schedule this week without difficulty... But damn, I was struggling to write after the short break, before when ideas would come so naturally, now I had to focus hard to write.
Give this fic a review if you like it! Help it receive an official rating!
A stone of power, small but bright,
Can help our tale take fearless flight.
If you believe this world should grow,
Then gift a stone and let it show.