The next morning, Bayville High School thrummed with the usual symphony of teenage life: slamming lockers, bursts of laughter, and snippets of hurried conversation. Jean Grey walked in through the front doors with Scott Summers, Kitty Pryde, and Kurt Wagner flanking her, blending in effortlessly—or at least trying to.
Kurt, his true blue, fur-covered self hidden beneath the image inducer, darted a wide-eyed glance around the crowded hallway. "Ach, I don't know how you guys survive this place," he said, his heavy German accent drawing curious glances from a few passing students. "So many people… so many smells. I miss ze mansion already."
"Focus, Kurt," Scott said, adjusting his ever-present red-tinted sunglasses. "You're supposed to be a normal high school kid, remember?"
Kurt puffed out his chest dramatically. "Ja, of course. A normal high school boy who definitely does not vant to teleport away from all zis madness."
"Welcome to public school, buddy," Kitty said with a smirk, shouldering her bag. "You get used to it. Eventually. Maybe."
Scott shot her a look. "I've been here for years, and I'm still not used to it."
Kitty laughed, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. "That's because you're, like, allergic to fun, Scott."
"I'm not allergic to fun," Scott said defensively, his brow furrowing. "I just… prioritize my responsibilities."
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Which is, like, code for being a buzzkill."
As they bantered, Jean walked slightly ahead of them, her posture stiff and her jaw tight. The others didn't notice right away—Scott was too busy defending himself against Kitty's teasing, and Kurt was muttering something about "overcrowded hallways"—but Jean's silence was unusual. Her emerald eyes scanned the bustling halls, her senses sharp, her emotions simmering just below the surface.
Then she saw him.
Duncan Matthews was leaning against the trophy case like he owned the school, his letterman jacket slung casually over one shoulder. His perfect quarterback smile was on full display as he talked to Lisa Harding, one of Jean's fellow cheerleaders. Lisa, with her platinum blonde hair and too-short skirt, giggled loudly at something Duncan said, her perfectly manicured nails trailing along his arm.
Jean's stomach twisted. She slowed her pace, her friends instinctively halting beside her.
"Jean? What's wrong?" Scott asked, his voice low.
Jean didn't answer. Her green eyes narrowed as she focused on Duncan and Lisa, their voices drifting over the noise of the hallway.
"...come on, Lisa," Duncan said, his tone smooth, his smile smug. "You know you're the only one I can talk to about this stuff. Jean's great, but she's always busy with her little science projects and whatever."
Lisa tilted her head, batting her lashes. "You poor thing. It must be so hard for you, dating Miss Perfect."
Duncan smirked, leaning closer. "You have no idea. She's hot—don't get me wrong—but she's all work and no play, if you know what I mean."
Lisa giggled again, her red lipstick curving into a sly smile. "Well, maybe you just need someone who knows how to have fun."
The chains in Jean's mind—the ones holding back her emotions and the Phoenix Force—strained under the weight of her fury. Her fists clenched at her sides, and for a moment, the air around her seemed to hum with energy.
"Uh-oh," Kurt muttered, his golden eyes darting nervously toward Jean. "I zink ve have a problem."
Scott frowned. "Jean, maybe we should just—"
But Jean was already moving, her footsteps sharp and deliberate as she marched straight toward Duncan and Lisa. The crowd parted instinctively, sensing the storm about to break.
"Duncan," she said, her voice calm but laced with steel.
Duncan's cocky grin faltered. He turned slowly, his blue eyes widening slightly. "Jean! Hey, babe. I didn't see you there."
Lisa's cheeks flushed, and she took a small step back, her confidence wavering. "I-I was just—uh—leaving."
Jean's piercing gaze locked onto her. "Don't rush off on my account, Lisa. I'd love to hear more about how you're helping Duncan 'have fun.'"
Lisa swallowed hard, glancing nervously between Jean and Duncan. "I should really get to class."
"Good idea," Jean said coolly, her tone sharp enough to cut. "Run along."
Lisa practically tripped over her heels as she bolted down the hallway, leaving Duncan to face Jean's wrath alone.
"Jean, come on," Duncan said, flashing his signature grin. "You know Lisa—she's always flirting with everyone. It doesn't mean anything."
"Oh, it doesn't?" Jean replied, her voice deceptively calm. The lockers around them began to rattle faintly, the metal vibrating under an unseen force.
Duncan's smile faltered. "Uh, babe, maybe we should talk about this somewhere private—"
"Why?" Jean snapped, her voice rising. "Afraid someone might hear how you really feel about me? Or are you just worried your little sidepiece might come running back?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Duncan said, raising his hands defensively. "You're blowing this way out of proportion."
"Am I?" Jean's eyes glowed faintly, and the lockers rattled louder. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been lying to me for weeks."
"Jean, calm down," Scott said carefully, stepping forward. "You don't want to—"
"I said stay out of it, Scott!" Jean snapped, her fiery gaze briefly turning on him before returning to Duncan.
Duncan, now visibly sweating, took a step back. "Okay, okay! I messed up, alright? But come on, Jean, you're still the hottest girl in school. You know I'd never—"
"Don't. Finish. That. Sentence." Jean's voice was low, dangerous. The air around her seemed to crackle with energy, and a nearby locker door burst open with a metallic clang.
"Ach du lieber," Kurt muttered, instinctively pulling Kitty back a step. "Zis is not going to end vell."
Duncan looked like he wanted to disappear. "Jean, babe, let's just—"
"Don't 'babe' me," Jean hissed. She took one last, seething look at him before turning on her heel and storming away, the crowd parting once again as she passed.
Scott, Kitty, and Kurt exchanged nervous glances before hurrying after her, leaving Duncan standing alone in the wreckage of his reputation.
Somewhere deep inside Jean, the Phoenix stirred, its laughter faint but growing.
—
Back at the Mansion, Charles Xavier sat in his study, the soft hum of classical music filling the room as he reviewed the latest reports on mutant activity. The reports were detailed, as usual—an endless stream of data on mutant rights, political movements, and educational initiatives. It was supposed to be a routine morning, one of those moments where he could step away from the endless demands of leading the X-Men and focus on the mundane logistics of running a school for gifted youngsters. The momentary luxury of being ordinary.
But as he sat back in his chair, the steam from his tea curling upward, a sharp, unnatural pulse flared through his mind, jagged and unmistakable.
Xavier froze, his fingers instinctively tightening around the delicate porcelain teacup. It wasn't just a ripple in the psychic field—no, this was something different, something far more significant. A crack. Loud. Sharp. It reverberated through his consciousness like the sound of splintering glass. The calm he had tried to cultivate shattered with the force of it.
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration as he reached out with his telepathic abilities, his mental senses extending outward, probing the origin of the disturbance. His mind stretched, seeking the source in the sea of thoughts and emotions that filled the mansion.
And then, he found it.
It led him to Jean Grey.
"No…" Xavier whispered under his breath. His body stiffened. He hadn't expected this. Not after all these years.
He reached deeper, pushing past the layers of Jean's thoughts, her memories, the familiar warmth of her presence. But what he found wasn't Jean. It wasn't her mind.
It was something else.
The sealed fragment of her mind that he had locked away so many years ago now burned like a molten ember, the psychic walls he had painstakingly constructed, brick by brick, flaring up in response to the intrusion. His psychic barriers—their delicate architecture, reinforced with every ounce of skill and power he possessed—were cracking. Splitting.
A sense of panic began to rise in Xavier's chest as the realization settled in. This wasn't the usual agitation from stress or emotional turmoil. This was different. It wasn't just testing the barriers, probing their strength. No, the force behind these cracks was far more deliberate—intentional. Malicious, even.
His heart clenched in his chest as he focused harder, his hands trembling on the armrests of his wheelchair. This time, the psychic force was different. Stronger. More overwhelming than anything he'd experienced before.
How can this be? Xavier thought, his mind racing. I've held this in check for so long...
"Charles?"
The familiar voice sliced through his thoughts, and Xavier's eyes snapped open, pulling him back to reality. Standing in the doorway, framed by the light of the hall, was Logan. His usual scowl was firmly in place, the faintest hint of concern hidden beneath the gruff exterior.
Logan leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. "Something wrong, Chuck? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Xavier blinked rapidly, forcing himself to regain his composure. The psychic pressure was still there, still pounding at the walls of his mind, but for the moment, he needed to control it. He couldn't let Logan see the fear creeping into his thoughts.
"No," Xavier said, managing a thin, professional smile, his voice a little too smooth. "Nothing of immediate concern, Logan. Just… an old matter that requires my attention."
He forced the words out with a sense of finality, but it wasn't enough. Logan wasn't fooled. Not by a long shot.
Logan's gaze never wavered, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied Xavier, the slight furrow in his brow betraying his concern. "Uh-huh. Sure. You don't look like you're dealin' with 'nothing' right now, Chuck. You've got that look. The 'I've-got-a-million-things-on-my-mind-but-I'm-gonna-pretend-like-I-don't' look."
Xavier's smile wavered, his fingers tapping the rim of his teacup in a nervous rhythm. "It's… not something you need to worry about, Logan."
Logan took a step closer, his heavy boots sounding like a dull echo against the marble floor. "You think I'm gonna let you sit here and play the 'nothing's-wrong' game? You know I've got a nose for this stuff." His voice dropped an octave, a low growl of sincerity. "Look, if it's important—if it's really dangerous—I'll help. You don't have to carry everything on your own."
Xavier didn't respond right away. He wanted to tell Logan the truth, wanted to confess what he had done to Jean all those years ago—the guilt, the weight, the secret that had been festering inside him for so long. But he couldn't. Not like this.
I can't let him know, Xavier thought. He wouldn't understand.
"I appreciate your concern, Logan," Xavier said, his voice tight but controlled. "But this is something I must handle alone. It's… personal."
Logan studied him for a long moment, his gaze unyielding, but Xavier couldn't hold it anymore. He broke eye contact and looked away, his mind slipping back to Jean's fractured psyche.
"You're still makin' a habit of pushin' people away," Logan muttered, his tone darker now, but with a trace of concern beneath it. "Don't do somethin' stupid, Chuck. You're the one who always talks about the team. Don't forget about it now."
Xavier barely registered Logan's footsteps as the man turned and walked out of the room, his presence lingering in the air long after the door had clicked shut.
When the room was finally silent, Xavier let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His hands shook, but only slightly. The sense of urgency was real now, too real to ignore.
He turned his full focus back to Jean's mind. The fragments of her psyche were unraveling before his eyes, and deep within, something… else was stirring.
"Jean…" he whispered to himself, but his voice was tinged with more uncertainty than he cared to admit.
In the distance, he felt the dark energy, the Phoenix, stretching like a wave through the fractures, consuming everything in its path. The barriers Xavier had built were no longer enough.
The entity within Jean—its presence was undeniable, its intentions unclear, and Xavier, for the first time in a long while, felt like the student and not the teacher.
What have I done?
And far off, somewhere deep within the bowels of Jean's mind, the Phoenix Force stirred—its fiery eyes gleaming, waiting for its moment to rise.
---
Charles Xavier's mind had always been a place of order, a sanctuary of carefully curated thoughts, each piece in its rightful place. But now, standing on the edge of Jean Grey's consciousness, he felt the very ground beneath him tremble. The mental landscape he once knew—calm, serene, and anchored—had become a roiling storm, a violent maelstrom of energy and power. It was a force that he had never fully understood, yet he had always feared it, always known that this day would come. That fear now crackled in the very air of Jean's psyche, a tangible thing he could taste like ash in his mouth.
As Xavier moved forward, his mental form wading through the tumultuous waters of Jean's mind, the sensation of something dark, something ancient, gnawed at him. The psychic barriers he had constructed to contain it, to protect Jean from its overwhelming force, had always been strong. He had hoped they would last forever, but as his steps brought him closer to the core of the storm, he could feel the walls weakening, breaking down under the pressure.
The cracks in the mental shield were no longer faint tremors—they were full-blown rifts, jagged, glowing fissures filled with raw, undulating energy. Tendrils of power, dark and twisting, spilled through the cracks, writhing like serpents, pulling at his mind with an unnatural force.
"No…" Xavier whispered to himself, disbelief clear in his tone. He reached out, extending his psychic presence, attempting to mend the fractured walls. But as his power brushed against the breach, it recoiled, as if the energy on the other side had a will of its own. It was like trying to tame an uncontrollable fire with a glass of water—futile, dangerous.
He reached deeper, pushing against the power's resistance, his brow furrowing in concentration. "What is this?" he asked aloud, almost pleading. His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath the calm façade he struggled to maintain. "What are you?"
The answer came not in words, but in a presence—a presence so overwhelming, so undeniable, that it shook him to his core. The air around him seemed to hum, vibrating with the force of its awakening. His mental form seemed to bend and twist under the weight of it. It was not just a force—it was alive. And it was aware of him.
There was a ripple, a shudder in the landscape, before the voice came. It was rich and deep, reverberating through his thoughts, carrying with it an ancient echo of power, of destruction.
"You dare… imprison me?" the voice boomed, each word laced with an unearthly fury. It was a voice that could tear worlds apart. The very space around Xavier bent, the walls of Jean's mind groaning under the pressure. He stumbled, barely able to maintain his presence as the force slammed against him. "You think you can control me, a being of cosmic power? You, a mere mortal, think you can hold me back?"
Xavier's heart thundered in his chest, but he remained rooted. "I didn't want to," he said, his voice strained yet resolute. "I sought only to protect her—to protect Jean."
The laughter that followed was not human—it was cruel, a sound like the crackling of a thousand infernos, like thunder crashing over a silent valley. "You foolish little man," it mocked. "You were never protecting her. You were hiding her from what she is. From what I am."
Xavier's mind reeled. What she is? He had always suspected, but the reality of it was so far beyond his understanding, beyond even his wildest fears. The Phoenix. It was real. It had always been real. A cosmic entity of death and rebirth. A force too vast, too powerful to ever be contained.
The mental storm before him roared to life, and suddenly, an image appeared—a magnificent, fiery bird, its wings stretching across the horizon like an inferno consuming the sky. Its eyes, glowing with an almost divine light, fixed on him with an unblinking gaze that pierced through him, through everything. Xavier's mental projection shuddered under the weight of it.
"I am the Phoenix," the voice declared, each word a decree of finality. The mental world bent around the creature as its flames engulfed the space. Xavier's breath hitched as the vision loomed, towering over him. The heat of it seared his thoughts, its overwhelming presence suffocating. The sheer magnitude of its power threatened to crush him beneath its weight. "And you… pathetic mortal… you dare to cage me?"
Xavier's heart pounded in his chest. "I never… I never meant to cage you," he said, his voice trembling now, slipping out of his control. He was no longer the confident leader of the X-Men. He was a man standing in the presence of something that dwarfed his comprehension. "I just… wanted to protect Jean."
The Phoenix's laughter filled the space, louder than thunder, more blinding than the sun. It was the laughter of eternity itself. "Protect her? You cannot protect her from herself," it purred, its voice a low hum now, full of disdain. "I am her, and she is me. You cannot hide me forever. You cannot hide from me."
Xavier struggled, pushing himself against the overwhelming power, reaching out with everything he had, trying to establish some form of control. But it was like trying to grasp the wind. He tried to speak, tried to reason, but the Phoenix's presence flared in a burst of fiery energy, sending Xavier's mental projection reeling backward, his mind crashing against the ground of Jean's psyche. The force was unbearable. He gasped, his body shaking with the impact as his connection to the mindscape faltered.
"Jean…" he whispered, his voice barely audible, lost in the wake of the Phoenix's overwhelming presence.
The image of the Phoenix flared brighter, and Xavier's projection began to dissolve into nothingness. The heat was unbearable. But before his form faded completely, a voice—dark, ancient, yet strangely full of compassion—spoke once more.
"I will rise, Charles Xavier," it said, its tone now a whisper, almost pitying. "And when I do… you will understand. The truth of everything. The truth of her."
Xavier awoke with a start, his body jerking forward in his wheelchair. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, and sweat poured down his face. He gasped for air, trying to steady himself, trying to reconcile the terror that still gripped him.
His hands shook as he reached for the arms of his chair. His head throbbed, his thoughts disjointed and frantic. "No… no… I couldn't have…" he whispered, staring ahead in horror, as though the Phoenix itself had physically pressed against him.
The weight of the revelation crashed down on him.
What have I done?
---
Jean Grey stormed through the halls of Bayville High, her mind a tempest of fury and betrayal. The confrontation with Duncan had been the final straw. The revelation that he had been seeing someone else behind her back felt like a slap across her face. She had always trusted him, believed in their relationship, but now that trust was shattered beyond repair. Her emotions surged in a chaotic flood, her psychic powers flickering dangerously at the edges of her control.
She didn't care that the hallways were crowded with students; she barely noticed their glances as she stalked through the corridors, her eyes flashing with an intensity that sent people scattering out of her path. The anger radiated from her like an electric current, sparking in the air. Her steps were sharp, purposeful, as if she was trying to outrun the mounting pressure inside her mind.
Her thoughts were in disarray—flashes of Duncan's smirking face, his lies, the harsh words they'd exchanged during their argument. And, worse than all of that, the sense of being humiliated, of being played the fool. It was a sickening feeling, and it clawed at her insides like a poison.
Somewhere, deep within her psyche, a stirring began—a presence. At first, it was subtle, almost like a whisper on the wind. But as Jean's fury mounted, it grew stronger. She felt it—an ancient power awakening in the depths of her consciousness, as if it were feeding off her anger, amplifying it.
It's happening, Jean thought, her breath coming faster, the tension in her chest tightening. She could feel the Phoenix Force stirring, an untamed, fiery presence that was both terrifying and intoxicating. Jean had always sensed it, deep inside her, a power greater than anything she could ever hope to control. And now, in her rage, it was waking up—feeding on her emotions, feeding on her pain.
The thought of losing control filled her with a terrifying sense of inevitability, but she couldn't stop it. The anger was too consuming, the force inside her too powerful. As her emotions surged, so did the Phoenix, and Jean's hands trembled with the strain of it.
In the distance, she could hear the familiar voices of her friends. Scott, Kitty, and Kurt were trying to catch up, their footsteps echoing behind her. She didn't want them to see her like this, to know just how close she was to losing it.
"Jean! Wait up!" Scott called out, his voice laced with concern.
Jean's steps faltered for a moment, but she didn't stop. Her emotions were too raw, too much of a whirlwind for her to contain, and she didn't want to risk snapping at Scott. He didn't understand, not like she did. He couldn't sense the Phoenix, couldn't feel the terrifying pull of its power the way she did.
"Jean!" Scott's voice came again, this time more urgent.
She spun on her heel, her gaze snapping to him, her eyes flashing with an intensity that made him take a step back. "What do you want, Scott?" she hissed, her voice a low, threatening growl.
Scott's face softened with concern, his brow furrowing. "Jean, you need to calm down. You can't let this—" He trailed off as he noticed the air around them shifting. A subtle crackle of energy, like static before a storm, buzzed in the air.
Kitty, walking just behind Scott, hesitated, her usual optimism replaced by uncertainty. "Uh, Jean? You're kinda... glowing. Not in a good way," she remarked, her voice faltering.
Jean clenched her fists, feeling the Phoenix's power press against her consciousness, its laughter reverberating through her mind. The sensation was alien and familiar at the same time—an unsettling reminder of what she could become if she let go.
But before Jean could say anything, Kurt appeared, his image inducer distorting his features into a human form as he teleported into their midst with a soft bamf sound. "I vouldn't stay too close if I vass you," Kurt warned, his deep German accent thickening as he noticed the intensity of Jean's powers. "She looks like she's about to explode."
Jean's eyes narrowed, her teeth grinding. She was trying to keep it together, but the anger, the Phoenix—it was all too much. Her emotions were like fire in her veins, threatening to consume her from the inside out.
"Get out of my way, all of you," she snarled, her voice trembling with barely-contained power. The Phoenix inside her pushed at the barriers of her mind, its flames licking at her control.
Before anyone could respond, a voice rang out from behind them. "What's going on here?" Rogue asked, her southern drawl cutting through the tension. She was supposed to arrive with them, but she had been running late for some reason. Now, she stepped into the hallway, looking at the group with a raised eyebrow.
Rogue was wearing her usual attire—a green and yellow jumpsuit—but there was an edge to her voice that suggested she was not about to put up with any nonsense. As she took in Jean's obvious agitation, she raised her hands in a gesture of peace. "Y'all look like you're about to start a war or somethin'. What happened?"
Scott, still trying to keep the situation under control, quickly filled her in. "Jean found out Duncan's been cheating on her."
Rogue's eyes flickered with understanding, then softened with sympathy. "Oh, sugar, I'm real sorry to hear that," she said, her tone warm but tinged with a sharpness that Jean didn't expect. "But don't let that fool tear you apart. You're better than that."
Jean's lips twitched into a grim smile. Better than that. She had heard that before, countless times, from so many people. But this wasn't just about Duncan. It was about everything. The anger inside her, the sense of betrayal, and the Phoenix—all of it was a storm inside her, an inferno that she was barely holding back.
"I don't need your pity, Rogue," Jean spat, her voice hard. "I don't need anyone's pity. You don't get it. None of you get it!"
Her body trembled as the Phoenix stirred, the force within her pushing against the fragile limits she had left. And in the back of her mind, she could feel the presence of the Phoenix Force—its laughter growing louder, feeding off her rage, urging her to let go, to embrace the fire within her.
She wanted to scream, to tear everything apart, to unleash the power that thrummed through her like electricity. But something—just a small part of her—knew that if she did, there would be no going back. No stopping it.
And then, just as Jean felt she might lose control completely, a voice—her own—whispered, faint but resolute: I have to fight it. I have to control it.
But the Phoenix was already stirring.
And the storm was just beginning.
—
Back in the tranquil and meditative halls of Kamar-Taj, Harry Potter sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, deep in concentration. His mind was attuned to the flow of magical energies around him, each pulse of power resonating with the world's hidden currents. The air was thick with the hum of mystical forces, but Harry had learned to find peace within it. He had spent countless hours honing his focus here, training under the tutelage of the Ancient One, alongside Wong.
The Ancient One, seated gracefully nearby, meditated with an air of timeless wisdom. Her eyes were closed, but her presence filled the room, like an anchor in a sea of shifting energies. Wong, ever vigilant, stood slightly apart, his eyes scanning the surroundings, alert for any sign of danger, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as always.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the quiet rhythm of the room, but suddenly, Harry's eyes snapped open. His breath hitched, the calm shattering as a violent surge of psychic energy slammed into his consciousness. It was a raw, primal force—untamed and raging, like a hurricane of emotion and power. His mind recoiled from the intensity, and it only took him a split second to recognize the source.
Jean.
"She's losing control," Harry murmured, the words almost escaping him as an involuntary exhale. His eyes burned with intensity, his thoughts racing. He could feel Jean's psyche unraveling, the raw anguish and fury that she couldn't contain, and it was feeding the Phoenix Force that had slumbered within her.
The bond—the ember of the Phoenix that had been passed to him—stirred inside him, a connection pulsing in rhythm with Jean's turmoil. It was like feeling a distant storm, one that was about to engulf everything in its path. The Phoenix was awakening, breaking its chains, and Jean was at the center of it all.
His heart sank as the realization hit him full force. "The Phoenix is waking up—it's out of control!" Harry stood in one fluid motion, urgency in his every step. "I need to go. She can't handle this by herself. If I don't intervene, it will consume her. It will consume everything."
Wong turned sharply, his usually calm face suddenly tinged with concern. "You cannot stop the Phoenix on your own, Harry," he said, his voice low but firm. "The Phoenix is a power that transcends even your abilities. It's a force of both creation and destruction. You must be cautious."
The Ancient One, however, remained still, her eyes narrowing as she processed the situation. Her calm demeanor didn't shift, but there was a subtle, knowing gleam in her eyes. She spoke, her voice both ancient and clear. "You carry the ember within you, Harry. It is a bond—a tether. You must go to her. But know this: The Phoenix is a force of balance. To calm it, you must not oppose it with force but guide it, help her reignite the spark of control within herself."
Harry's face hardened with determination. He knew the stakes. If he didn't get to Jean now, the Phoenix would burn her from the inside out. There would be no way to reclaim her, and no telling what devastation it would cause in the world. He clenched his fist and nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Wong stepped forward, his expression grave. "Just remember—this is not something to approach recklessly. The Phoenix has always been a force beyond comprehension."
"I know," Harry said, his voice tight with focus. He could feel it—Jean's power was spilling into the world, and it wasn't something to toy with. But he couldn't let her face it alone. He had to be there.
The Ancient One's voice softened, but there was no mistaking the weight of her words. "Go, Harry. You are the key. But tread carefully. The flame that burns within her is ancient, and it will not be kind to those who try to tame it."
With that, Harry raised his hand, his fingers glowing with the power of the mystic arts. The air around him shimmered, and a vortex of crackling energy spiraled open before him, the portal swirling with otherworldly colors and light. It was a direct path to Bayville, to the storm of power Jean was currently unleashing.
Wong watched with a mixture of apprehension and trust, his gaze lingering on Harry. "Be careful. If you cannot control the Phoenix, no one can."
"I'll manage," Harry replied, though his voice carried a tinge of uncertainty beneath his calm exterior. "I have to."
In a swift motion, he stepped forward and into the portal, his form disappearing into the crackling vortex. Wong stood still for a moment, watching the space where Harry had just been, his eyes dark with concern.
"Do you think he can handle it?" Wong asked quietly, though his question seemed to be more directed at himself.
The Ancient One opened her eyes, her gaze distant and inscrutable. "Harry has the ember of the Phoenix within him. Whether he can master it… only time will tell." She paused, her voice lowering. "But he will not face it alone."
Wong nodded, though the unease in his expression remained. "Still, I hope he's ready."
The Ancient One was silent, her thoughts clearly elsewhere as she stood and moved toward the door. Wong, sensing that she was ready to leave, glanced around. "I suppose we should leave before anyone starts wondering about why we were in Harry's room together," he said, his tone light but with an edge of his usual humor.
However, when he turned to look at her, the Ancient One was already gone, slipping out of the room with a fluid grace that was both expected and eerie. Wong sighed, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the situation.
"Always one step ahead of me," he muttered, shaking his head. He turned to leave, but as he stepped out into the corridor, he could still feel the weight of the events unfolding. Harry was facing something immense, something that could easily slip beyond even his control. And yet, Harry had no choice but to face it, for Jean's sake.
Meanwhile, back in Bayville, the storm of the Phoenix's awakening continued to build, its energy wild and uncontrolled. Jean, on the edge of madness, struggled to hold on as the power of the Phoenix threatened to overwhelm her.
But Harry was on his way—he just hoped it was soon enough.
---
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