The room was quiet when Steve finished speaking.
They had sent him to Albion for answers—something tangible, something that could be measured and filed away—but what they had gotten was far beyond that.
Yes, everyone knew that despite not formally being part of the Illuminati, Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. still pulled strings.
They had all been there at the UN meeting when everything was finalized under Arthuria's threats.
Everyone also knew how much the governments of the world hated the idea of this organization—this council—sitting above all national and international laws.
It had been a sight, watching the world react to the idea of giving Magneto—a global terrorist—the authority to investigate and detain anyone.
And that wasn't even the limit. Because while he wasn't supposed to go around killing people left and right… they also couldn't do anything about it if he did.
The Illuminati existed beyond the law. And if someone had something to say about it, they had to go to the Illuminati itself.
So yes—faced with that kind of absolute power—Earth's governments had done everything they could to shackle them. To build restraints.
Fury had been one attempt.
And despite everything, he had been allowed to oversee council meetings and advise them—under the excuse that the council lacked an intelligence network of its own.
And with Fury's influence came Steve Rogers' visit to Arthuria: an attempt to press her. After all, if the council was meant to sit above the world, then those who feared it wanted Arthuria burdened by the same scrutiny.
Likely hoping she would eventually come into conflict with her own creation… and remove herself.
Every one of them had considered that unlikely. The King of Knights—Arthuria Pendragon—was someone good. Someone kind. Someone who didn't hesitate to kill when she thought she had to, but also didn't hesitate to bleed for others.
But after what Steve had seen—and what Arthuria had told him—many of them were forced to accept that they might have misread her.
No one spoke at first.
Each person was busy dissecting the report in their own head, turning implications over like blades.
"Perhaps," Charles Xavier said at last, breaking the silence, "it would be better—easier—for us to understand… if we saw it with our own eyes."
Everyone in the room was smart. They all knew what kind of man Charles was, and why he was here.
And it wasn't because of his great hair.
Everyone also knew he was a telepath—likely the world's greatest. Still, aside from Steve, everyone present was confident they could keep him out.
Magneto had worn his helmet since splitting from Charles back in the eighties. The others used technology, layered protocols, and habits built over years of not trusting anyone with too much access.
Whether that worked or not… Charles wouldn't spoil that surprise.
He inclined his head slightly as the room's attention settled on him.
"Steve allowed me access," Charles said calmly. "And while he did his best to explain what he saw, words don't fully do it justice."
No one interrupted.
But they were thinking—measuring the risk of letting a telepath touch their minds against the need to know.
After a long moment, Magneto moved.
Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and removed his helmet.
"Very well, Charles," he said. "Show me."
Seeing Magneto—old enemy, older wound—make that choice finally tipped the rest.
One by one, they yielded.
Not fully.
Not without defenses.
But enough.
And then Charles showed them.
From the moment Steve stepped into Camelot's throne room, they lived it: the illusion, every word Arthuria spoke, the reaction of her knights, the way she talked about Steve's heart, the presence of Excalibur.
All of it.
They watched her body language. The cadence of her voice. Where her gaze went. What she didn't say.
They analyzed her like a weapon—because that was what they had to do.
When the memory ended, Tony was the first to speak.
"Alright," he said, rubbing a hand down his face. "Show us the end of the world again, please."
Charles did.
This time, he linked them—only on the surface, just enough that they experienced it together, not as a replay in their heads, but like they were standing inside the illusion themselves.
The desert wind was warm.
The blood-scent was sharp.
And above them, the ring of light hung in the sky—vast, symmetrical, indifferent.
"Alright," Steve said, looking up. "So this is how the world could end… but what are we looking at?"
"The structure," Reed Richards said slowly, eyes locked upward, "isn't gravitational. It's not stellar. It's not energy dispersion."
"Doesn't look like any radiation I can name," Tony added, jaw tightening. "This would be a lot easier if our so-called magician would join."
The others shared the thought.
But the Sorcerer Supreme had remained silent, as Arthuria had predicted.
So they were on their own.
The ring did not move. It did not expand. It did not collapse.
It simply was.
No alarms. No spikes. No cosmic violence.
Nothing behaved the way an extinction event was supposed to.
Reed broke the silence again, but without confidence.
"This isn't an attack," he said slowly. "At least… not in any conventional sense."
Tony glanced at him. "You're saying that because nothing's firing?"
"And because nothing's resisting," Reed replied. "No turbulence. No counterforce. Whatever this is, it's operating under the assumption that nothing will oppose it."
"Or that nothing can," Doom said coldly.
Charles' expression tightened. "Even Arthuria didn't try to fight it. She made no attempt. She simply stated it was the end—and immediately moved to preserving what she could."
"Which means," Steve added, "whatever it was… to a god, it was inevitable. Or unstoppable."
Tony stared upward, eyes narrowing. "That's not invasion logic. That's not extermination logic either."
"Then what logic is it?" Steve pressed.
No one answered immediately.
Magneto's gaze had never left the sky.
"There is something wrong with the framing," he said at last. "We are all asking what it does."
He turned slightly, voice lower now.
"But Arthuria never spoke about its function," Charles said quietly. "She spoke about its intent."
Magneto's eyes narrowed.
"Yes," he said. "She didn't describe an enemy. She described a reason."
Steve stiffened, the memory replaying inside him.
"…The word she used."
"Pity," Charles answered at once.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Reed leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed. "Why would she say that?" he asked. "Was she saying it was a pity the world was ending… or that pity itself was the cause of it?"
Magneto exhaled slowly, arms folding across his chest. "Remember what Arthuria was doing," he said. "She wasn't merely recounting events. She was teaching Steve. Showing him that a god—even one trying to help—can cause catastrophe if they act without understanding humanity."
He paused.
"Just as her Biblical God did with Noah," he continued. "Just as she herself did."
Tony tapped two fingers against the table, eyes fixed on the ring.
"Then 'pity' wasn't commentary," he said. "It was motive."
He grimaced.
"The world didn't end because of hatred or malice… it ended because someone looked at humanity and felt sorry for it."
He let out a short, humorless breath. "Which is somehow worse."
"Or," Reed added carefully, "because of a god whose domain was pity."
He glanced at the ring again. "Either way, Arthuria believed it couldn't be stopped. Or at least…"
"…That she couldn't stop it," Tony finished.
Steve swallowed, a slow dread crawling up his spine. "She was acting entirely as a god," he said. "That's what she wanted me to see."
"Yes," Reed agreed. "Which means we need to ask the same question she did."
He began pacing, hands moving as the ideas took shape.
"What would make a god give up? A stronger god? A more absolute authority? Or a reason so… complete… that resistance never even enters the equation."
He stopped.
"The only concrete clue we have is the time period," Reed said. "And even then, I can't quite place it."
"There was also that golden light," Steve said, looking up again. "When she destroyed Jerusalem. What was that? Another god? The source of the ring?"
Magneto lifted a hand slightly, grounding the room before it spiraled.
"We're drifting," he said. "Important questions—but secondary ones."
He looked around the table.
"There is something more immediate we must address."
"When did this happen?" someone asked quietly. "Because there is no ring in our sky. And Jerusalem was not erased during the Crusades."
Tony leaned back in his chair. "I doubt it's the future," he said. "And it could be the past."
He shrugged, but his eyes stayed hard. "A god erasing evidence wouldn't be difficult. And she didn't leave the land empty—she built Camelot there instead."
"Which means," Reed said instantly, seizing the thread, "we need geological scans. Compare modern Jerusalem to Camelot's foundation. Structural anomalies. Resonance. Anything that shouldn't be there."
"And identify the ring," another voice added. "Search for gods associated with pity. Religious texts. legends. apocrypha. Reach out to the magical community—"
Tony nodded once. "I'll get on the scans."
Then the room fell quiet again.
Charles broke it, softer this time.
"There is still something else Arthuria wanted us to understand."
Several heads turned.
"This wasn't about proving she could be dangerous," Charles continued. "If that were her goal, she wouldn't have ended by reassuring Steve. She wouldn't have emphasized his role."
"No," someone said slowly. "She was warning us."
"Yes," Charles agreed. "Warning us not to think like gods."
Steve straightened a little. "She kept coming back to humanity," he said. "To my humanity. That wasn't an accident."
"Exactly," Charles replied. "She was telling us that power without empathy leads to atrocity—even when motivated by love."
Tony snorted softly. "That's… reassuring. In a terrifying sort of way."
He glanced around the table. "She basically told us she could become a problem… and then explained exactly why she hasn't."
Steve met his gaze. "And why she trusts us not to."
Tony's expression sobered. "We don't have a magic sword to bring us back if one of us crosses that line."
"No," Steve said, voice firm. "We have each other."
A pause settled over the table.
Then Magneto rose.
"This assessment goes into the record," he said, tone decisive. "But for now, we set it aside."
His eyes hardened.
"Arthuria is capable of being a threat," he continued. "But she is not our most immediate one."
He looked around the room, daring anyone to disagree.
"Not while anti-mutant legislation spreads across the globe as we speak."
No one argued.
Some dangers were theoretical.
Others were already knocking.
(End of chapter)
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