The Blackbird's engines thundered across the runway behind Xavier's mansion, turbines whipping the grass flat and rattling the trees along the edge of the lawn. Scott stood at the bottom of the ramp, visor flashing in the morning light, voice sharp over the roar. "Everyone on board. We don't have time to waste."
I paused at the edge of the ramp, eyes lifting to the sleek black jet. I had crossed oceans on nothing but wind and will, but this machine felt different—cold, loud, something that invaded the sky instead of asking its permission. I said quietly, almost to myself, "So this is how you all touch the sky… without asking it first."
Scott glanced back, already climbing. "It's faster."
I stepped up behind him. "Not for me."
Scott's shoulders tightened as he moved up the ramp. "We are on a time limit—move!"
Sean sauntered up behind me, still carrying that half-drunk swagger but locking in fast. "We are moving. You just narrating it like it's a war documentary."
Logan walked past Scott without a glance. "He like hearing himself talk."
Scott's voice rose. "I'm trying to keep this organized."
John Proudstar shouldered past with a low chuckle. "Good luck with that."
Kurt flashed a warm smile as he boarded. "I believe in him."
Logan grunted from inside. "You the only one."
The cabin was tight, all metal and controlled lighting. The team filed in, the space shrinking around us instantly. Logan dropped into a seat like he owned the jet, boots kicked up. Sean strapped in but kept grinning. Kurt looked around with wide eyes, tail flicking. Piotr took up half a row, solid and quiet. Shiro folded his arms and stared out the window like the aircraft personally offended him. Sun moved with that calm, unreadable grace, choosing a seat near the back. John stayed on his feet a moment longer, scanning everything like a soldier checking for threats.
Scott took the pilot's seat up front, hands flying over the controls. "Strap in. We lift in sixty seconds."
Sean leaned back, testing the mood. "Alright—since we all risking our lives together, we might as well know who we dying with. Where's everybody from, then?"
Kurt smiled softly. "Germany. The circus, actually."
Piotr's deep voice rumbled. "Russia. A collective farm."
Shiro answered dryly, still staring out the window. "Japan."
Sun's voice came low and smooth. "Thailand."
John crossed his arms. "Apache land. Arizona."
Sean grinned wide. "Ireland. Obviously the best one."
Logan didn't open his eyes. "Don't worry about it."
Sean looked across at me. "And you, Storm?"
I met his gaze, calm. "Uzuri. Kenya."
The cabin went quiet for a beat. Respect settled in the air.
Kurt said softly, "That sounds beautiful."
I nodded once. "It is."
Logan broke the softness with a grunt. "Don't get sentimental. We ain't there yet."
Scott tried from the front, voice tight. "Can we please focus on the mission now?"
Sean leaned forward. "No."
Scott: "Sean—"
Sean: "You ask like it's optional."
John smirked. "He think we in school."
Shiro: "This is a school."
Logan: "That explains why it don't work."
Scott took a deep breath. "I'm serious."
Kurt: "So are we."
Scott exhaled hard. "Just… try to act like a team."
Sean replied cheerfully, "We are a team."
Logan finished, "A bad one."
The jet engines rose to a full roar. The Blackbird surged forward, pressing everyone back into their seats as it lifted off the runway. Trees blurred. The mansion shrank beneath us until it was nothing but a speck against the green of Westchester.
I stared out the window, feeling the artificial pressure of flight against my skin. It was nothing like the open sky I knew, but I reached out anyway—subtle, instinctive. Outside the hull the clouds shifted just a fraction, answering me even through metal and speed. I felt the smallest smile pull at my lips. The sky still listened.
Sean noticed. "You good back there?"
I didn't look away from the window. "It feels like being carried instead of choosing where to go."
Sean nodded like he understood. "First time in a plane?"
"First time in anything that flies without asking the wind for permission."
The cabin settled into a tense quiet as the jet climbed higher. The engines hummed steadily now, a low metallic vibration that pressed against the ribs and made the overhead panels creak softly with every shift in altitude. Scott kept his eyes locked on the controls, shoulders rigid, the red glow of his visor reflecting off the glass like a warning light that refused to blink out. John Proudstar scanned the rest of us with that constant warrior alertness, arms folded, one boot tapping a slow, impatient rhythm against the deck plating. Shiro sat like the jet itself owed him an apology, jaw tight, arms crossed so firmly it looked as if he were physically holding the aircraft together through sheer irritation. Sun remained perfectly still in his seat near the back, yet his gaze kept drifting toward me—calm, deliberate, impossible to ignore, the kind of look that lingered just long enough to make the air feel warmer than the recycled cabin oxygen should allow.
Piotr sat across from Sun, solid and quiet, but his eyes followed the same path more than once, the massive Russian's posture steady yet watchful, the faint tension in his jaw betraying the quiet pull he felt every time his gaze landed on me.
I moved past them to stretch my legs in the narrow aisle, the matte black of my suit catching the low cabin lights as I walked. Sun's voice came low and smooth, directed only at me. "You should sit here."
Piotr answered calmly but firm, his deep voice carrying without effort. "He can sit wherever he chooses."
I noticed the pause between them and turned, a slight smile tugging at my lips. "I did not realize seating was… competitive."
Sean called from across the jet, amused and loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh it is NOW."
Sun's eyes stayed on me, a short teasing Thai phrase slipping out under his breath—"คุณคือของฉันแล้ว"—before he added in English, voice playful. "Not yet, big man."
Piotr watched him steadily, not aggressive, just solid. "He is not claimed."
Sun met his gaze with the faintest smirk. "Not yet."
Sun leaned back, eyes still locked on Piotr. "It's on."
Piotr gave one slow nod, the corner of his mouth tightening. "It's on."
I felt the quiet tension simmer between them—playful, charged, but never crossing into anything ugly. I simply let it sit, the same way I let storm fronts build before deciding whether to calm them or let them run.
I watched the group quietly. "You are all very different."
Sean laughed. "That's the polite way of saying we a mess."
I smiled faintly. "I was going to say unpredictable."
Logan grunted, "Same thing."
Kurt tried to soften things. "We should trust each other, yes?"
Logan: "No."
Sean: "Not yet."
John: "Trust is earned."
I replied, "In my home, trust is given first."
A small pause.
Shiro: "That sounds dangerous."
I said simply, "It is."
The jet leveled out. The cabin lights dimmed slightly. For a while the only sounds were the engines and the occasional creak of seats.
Then Sean broke the quiet again, voice lighter but edged with nerves. "So… anyone got a plan for when the island starts eating us?"
Scott answered without turning. "We hit hard, we hit fast, and we get our people out."
Logan snorted. "That's your plan? We stab the dirt until it gives Jean back?"
Scott's jaw tightened. "You got a better one?"
Logan shrugged. "Stab harder."
Kurt shifted, tail curling nervously. "Perhaps we begin with friendship and not violence, yes?"
John smirked. "How much violence are we allowed?"
Kurt paused. "…less than that."
Shiro folded his arms tighter. "This is why no one lets Americans handle diplomacy."
Sun's voice cut in, calm and measured. "If it consumes lives to sustain itself, it is no longer land. It is a predator."
I turned from the window at that. I looked at Sun for a long moment, then added quietly, "Then we do not fight a place. We fight hunger."
The words hung in the cabin. No one joked after that.
Scott glanced back once, meeting my eyes for a brief second. Something passed between us—recognition, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
The jet continued east. The sky outside grew darker as we flew toward the coordinates. Clouds thickened. The air pressure changed, growing heavier, unnatural. I felt it first. My fingers tightened on the armrest.
"Something is wrong," I said, voice low but clear.
Everyone looked at me.
I stared out the window. "The sky does not move like this."
Scott's hands stayed steady on the controls, but his voice was tight. "We're close."
The island appeared on the horizon like a wound in the ocean. Land that breathed. Terrain that shifted. Trees that moved with purpose. The whole mass seemed to watch us as the Blackbird began its descent.
Kurt: "…that is not normal."
John: "That thing alive?"
Logan: "Yeah. I can smell it."
Shiro: "Disgusting."
Sun, focused: "It is watching us."
I answered quietly, locked in. "No. It is waiting."
Scott's voice came over the comms, steady but edged. "Get ready."
I looked down at the living island below. The wind around the jet tightened slightly, responding to me even now.
I said it once, soft but certain, so the whole cabin heard.
"This is not land."
A pause.
"This is hunger."
The Blackbird continued its slow, deliberate descent toward the waiting maw of Krakoa.