He exited the containment field as he had entered: deliberately and without drama, stepping onto the February ground with the calm assurance of someone who had completed their task and was prepared to report on it.
The group regarded him with expressions ranging from relief to professional interest. Howard looked like an engineer satisfied with a resolved variable. Tony reviewed his instruments for exit data. Octavius appeared to be processing the end of four hours of concern. Hank wore the thoughtful look he reserved for observations that would occupy him for weeks.
His three partners observed him closely: Raven with her usual measured attention, Rogue with a direct, evaluative focus, and Jean with the Phoenix's awareness evident in her gaze, the cosmic perspective informing her own.
Ilyana stood slightly apart, arms relaxed, her expression carefully neutral despite recent concern.
"I'm fine," Ethan said, his tone reassuring and genuine. "Completely fine. In fact, better than fine is more accurate."
"Historically, your 'fine' covers a lot," Rogue said.
"This time the definition is also everyone else's definition," he said. "No concerns worth reporting."
He looked at the scientists. "The containment held."
"Imprecisely," Hank said, with the warmth of someone reporting a result he'd been hoping for and had gotten.
Ethan nodded and requested a private conversation with his partners, walking with the ease of someone who found the experience restorative rather than taxing.
---
They entered the sitting room, a space that had become comfortably familiar over time.
Rogue took her chair, Raven sat on the sofa, and Jean joined her. Ethan sat on the low table across from them, choosing eye level for the conversation he intended.
"Tell us," Raven said.
He considered his words and chose accuracy over drama. "I can now circumnavigate the Earth in under a minute," he said. "That is a conservative estimate of my current top speed, not a limit."
Each of them processed this information in their own way.
Raven's expression shifted as she analyzed the implications. "That's substantially faster than you were yesterday."
"By a factor I have not yet benchmarked," he said. "My strength is also in a range that does not compare to previous measures." He looked at them. "I'm not alarmed. In fact, I am very pleased."
Jean looked at him with the dual perception of the Phoenix alongside her own. "The integration is still happening," she said. "I can see it. The absorption from inside the field is still being processed — your cells are still working through what they took in."
"That tracks," he said.
Rogue leaned forward, direct. "What does this mean in a fight? For anything that threatens us?"
"It means the gap between me and the most powerful beings in this world is now smaller, and possibly closed in some respects," he said. "This makes those around me safer, which is what matters."
Raven regarded him, recognizing the truth in his words. "That's what matters to you," she said. "Of course it is."
"Also," he said, "I'm going to Limbo tomorrow with Ilyana."
Jean looked at him. "She offered it to you."
"And I'm accepting it tomorrow," he said. "Would any of you like to come?"
Raven's expression made it clear she would prefer almost any other dimension.
Rogue shook her head diplomatically. "I'll pass on the demonic pocket dimension with the impossible sky," she said. "I've had enough impossible skies this month."
Jean, with a warm expression, said, "Limbo is not somewhere I need to visit to know I have no interest in it. Give Ilyana my regards and tell her the place sounds exhausting."
"I'll tell her," he said.
"Also," Rogue added, "if anything in that dimension tries to touch you, I expect a full report."
"Demons generally do not touch anyone Ilyana brings in," he said. "She is in charge there."
"Full report anyway," Rogue said.
---
He told them he would return by evening. They accepted this calmly, accustomed to his unusual destinations and reliable returns.
The night passed peacefully, with no urgent crises and a sense of comfortable fatigue. The lamp dimmed, everyone settled into their usual places, and sleep came easily.
---
Morning.
Ethan found Ilyana waiting at the mansion's back entrance, as she often arrived early and unnoticed.
She appeared as usual: sharp-featured, observant, with a posture shaped by her upbringing in a challenging environment. Her expression showed satisfaction at having anticipated his arrival.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Ready if you are," he countered.
She looked past him toward the mansion. "Your women know you're leaving."
"They do," he said. "They send their regards, and Jean specifically asked me to tell you the place sounds exhausting."
Something moved at the corner of Ilyana's mouth. "It is," she said. "Deeply exhausting. That's part of what makes it mine."
He returned inside briefly and found Raven, Rogue, and Jean in the kitchen, enjoying breakfast and relaxed conversation.
"Back by evening," he told them.
Raven looked up from her notes. "Come back intact," she said, her formal tone sincere.
Rogue pointed at him with her fork. "Full report," she said.
Jean looked at him over her coffee, warm and direct. "If it's interesting, I want details. If it's just terrible, you can summarize."
He went back out to where Ilyana was waiting.
---
The stepping disc opened, a circle of pale light marking the boundary between the mansion's grounds and another realm. Ilyana stepped through first, as protocol dictated for the dimension's ruler, and Ethan followed.
Limbo's landscape was strikingly geological, with red stone formations suggesting unfinished architecture. The sky was unfamiliar, displaying colors outside any standard spectrum and offering no recognizable reference points.
The light originated from unexpected directions.
It did not come from above or any single source. Some areas were lit by the stone itself, others by the atmosphere, with illumination arranged without regard for visitors' expectations.
The temperature was neither hot nor cold, but existed outside any familiar scale.
Demons moved at the periphery of vision.
They neither approached nor retreated, but watched attentively, understanding that an outsider brought by their ruler was present with absolute permission and should not be challenged.
Ilyana moved through the environment with the confidence of ownership.
It was not comfort, as Limbo did not encourage it, but rather the ease of someone shaped by this environment, who had learned and grown here, ultimately claiming it as their own.
"The stone formations toward the east," she said, "are the oldest part of the dimension. They predate Belasco by a period I can't measure accurately. The demons don't go there often." She glanced at him. "I've been there. It's interesting."
"What's interesting about it?" he asked.
"The stone records things," she said. "Not intentionally. The way geological strata record time on Earth — the history of the dimension is readable in the layers if you know what you're looking at. I've spent time learning what I'm looking at."
"What does history say?" he asked.
She looked at the eastern formations for a moment. "That Limbo has had many rulers," she said. "And that the dimension outlasts all of them. It existed before the ones whose names are in the stone. It will exist after mine." She said this without melancholy — with the factual acceptance of someone who had made peace with the scale of things. "I find that useful to remember."
They continued walking.
He inquired about the demons' hierarchy, nature, and whether they possessed an inner life warranting moral consideration. Ilyana responded thoughtfully, explaining that while demons had a form of interiority, it differed greatly from humans. They experienced desire, loyalty, and fear, but whether this granted them moral status was still an open question for her.
"What do you do with the uncertainty?" he asked.
She regarded him thoughtfully. "I treat them as if they do," she said. "The risk of being wrong by denying them moral status is greater than the risk of granting it and being mistaken."
"That's a careful approach," he said.
"I have time to be careful," she said. "This place is not going anywhere."
He looked at the sky — the impossible colors, the distributed light, the atmosphere of a dimension that had been running on its own logic for longer than any of the things that had tried to rule it. "Show me where Belasco held court," he said.
She led him there.
---
The throne room, as it was known, was where Limbo's architecture most resembled intentional construction. Stone formed walls, ceiling, and floor, creating a vast space with distant walls barely visible.
The throne itself was no longer there.
Removing the throne was Ilyana's first act upon taking control of the dimension. She stated this plainly.
"What did you do with it?" he asked.
"Unmade it," she said. "The Soulsword can affect magical constructs. The throne was Belasco's will made physical. I dismantled it. It required significant effort, but I did it first to signal that the previous regime had ended."
"Did the dimension know?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Limbo is not sentient," she said. "But it responds to the Soulsword in ways that suggest awareness at some level." She paused. "The demons knew. That was what mattered."
He regarded the empty space, reflecting on how Ilyana had, over the years, transformed her early arrival at age seven into a position of agency.
"You were here alone for most of it," he said.
"I was," she confirmed.
"That is an extraordinary amount of time to be alone," he continued.
She regarded him thoughtfully. "I was not entirely alone," she said. "I had the dimension and the work of understanding it." She touched the hilt at her hip. "The Soulsword is connected to my soul. It is a companion, in the way a part of yourself can be. Strange, but nothing."
He received this without offering a comparison or a comfort, because she wasn't asking for either.
She was sharing an honest truth about herself, which was significant.
"Thank you for bringing me here," he said.
She looked at him with the expression that appeared when he said things she hadn't anticipated and found them accurate. "You're the first outsider I've brought," she said. "Since I took the dimension."
He looked at the empty space, then at her. "I'm honored by that," he said, sincerely.
---
They spent the day in Limbo.
The hours passed with relaxed interest as they explored and conversed. Ilyana answered his questions more openly than usual, a result of being in her own domain.
He asked about the stepping discs: their mechanics, whether transit through Limbo was perceptible, and if the dimension registered such passages.
She asked him about flight—not its mechanics, but what it was like to always have it, how optional gravity affected his perspective, and whether freedom from constraint changed his view of other limitations.
He answered honestly: "Flight was the first thing that made my life feel real. Not the strength or speed, but the flight—the moment the ground was no longer obligatory."
She paused. "The stepping discs feel like that," she said. "The moment I learned I could leave."
Their dynamic became relaxed, as often happens between individuals comfortable with significant power—no performance or adjustment required, just mutual understanding.
Nothing happened that required resolving.
It was a good day in an unlikely place.
---
In the late afternoon, the stepping disc opened, and they returned to the mansion's grounds. The February air and familiar sky provided a sharp contrast to Limbo.
Ethan paused in the hallway, allowing his senses to readjust to the familiar environment, attuned to any anomalies.
An anomaly became apparent.
He first noticed an unfamiliar scent: military-grade fabric treatment and blood, a combination not associated with any resident or student.
Next, he noticed the absence of the usual hallway sounds.
He turned toward the east wing junction.
A uniformed figure lay motionless against the wall, the attire clearly military. The wound was not from a firearm: three deep, parallel lines, unmistakably caused by Wolverine's claws.
Ethan looked at it.
He looked at Ilyana, who had come to stand beside him and was reading the same scene with the same speed.
He listened intently beyond the body, noting that the mansion no longer sounded like a typical evening at the school.
He detected signs of disturbance: people moving in unusual patterns and unfamiliar sounds from the east section, neither of which fit the school's normal evening routine.
Stryker's raid.
It had begun, or was already underway, as evidenced by the three deep cuts in the hallway.
Ethan looked at Ilyana.
"Find the others," he said. "Evacuate all students and non-combatants."
She was already preparing a stepping disc.
He moved toward the east section.