The magic has changed me; it has been three months since I have become a sorceress and I remember that the power was quaking; I could feel it pulsate as if it had a heartbeat of it's own. It now seems that I have evolved, I no longer feel new in the power and using it has become effortless. Before, my weather powers were a physical extension of who I am; using them were taxing in correlation to the task.

The power doesn't seem like any magic I've ever witnessed. It's as though the magic is in the urging that my will be done, no incantations, amulets or recipes; all that is important is willing it into fruition.

Is it nirvana, that everything is so simple and clear, that I hold this limp, red head in my arms and know that her death isn't so bad? I know that she has achieved grace beyond mortal toil and she's been granted a gift for the culmination of all the good she's done and her past evils no longer matter.

This is where I would invoke the Bright Lady for answers, but I am no longer sure that she understands things better than I.

I turn to my teammates; they stare at me in fear and shock, unable to even grieve for Rachael Summers. They fear that I have become something horrible or that they face another marred teammate.

I cannot convince them otherwise and I will not try.

"We need to find any surviving Morlocks and return with them to the mansion. Wolverine, Rogue and Colossus I need you to scout these tunnels for other Marauders, I want them captured, however, if it's your life or theirs, I would prefer you take theirs."

At the mansion, Kitty speaks to Magick, telling her of the change in me. I am in the War Room, but I can both see and hear them.

"They were just gone, Illyana. Like she ripped them from the face of the planet."

"She erased them Kitty," Illyana explains, sitting down, resting her opened hand on her face, covering her mouth and nose. "She just made them gone. I can't say it any better than that, there's no matter or thought or anything left of them."

"How could she do that?"

"I don't know for sure, however, in magic there's a such thing as lineage," Illyana says, looking to the floor, considering her answer. "It's inheriting some measure of your ancestors' magical ability in addition to your own. Now, in the case of Storm, her family tree branches back beyond true civilization and for almost as long, her people were witches.

"For her people magic was religion and they were actually priestesses," Illyana hesitates, and I notice thather eyes slightly widen. "I think that Storm has become some sort of … omnipresence, a goddess."

"Goddess?" Kurt asks,I can sense the expletives hum around the room in the minds of my teammates.

They haven't invited me to thier meeting of minds, convening in the library.

"What kind of Goddess?" Scott asks, returned with his team of original, but spin-off X-men. I feel a warm flush at the sight of Jean Grey.

Illyana looks harried.

"In pantheon mythology, there are tiers of goddesses; demigods, which we know Storm isn't. Then there are the mothers, maidens and crones. However, in some rare cases there is a triple goddess, now without boring you, a triple goddess is the equivalent of the Christian god … in power. She would be the Goddess … proper noun."

The room is hushed and even I am speechless.

It rushes through me, this incoherent, frameless, melee of apprehension.

When I was very young I accepted the mantle of Goddess; I was happy to help my village and I bore the burden of being prayed to, hated by some for being unable to help when they needed it. Hearing prayers that I couldn't possibly answer, having the dying beg me to save them.

Now I can save everyone.

The apprehensions melt away, replaced with my plans for a Utopia of my own design; an almost fairytale way of living.

"You're smarter than that Ororo."

The sound of her voice fosters a jubilant swell through the breadth of my body and I feel heady, almost drunk as I was before with Forge.

"Hello Jean!" It's a hushed exclamation, andI squeeze her as tightly as I can, trying to make up for the lost embraces.

I don't believe that I could love a sister more.

Her embrace is much lighter, she touches the back of my head, lacing her fingers through my hair.

Explanations of resurrection are not made or asked, I am only grateful for her revivification.

"Storm," Jean says, tentatively pulling away. "I know you're plan. I have to say that I thought better of you, I thought that you had learned not to disturb the natural pace of things, in Africa you gave your people weeks of rain and in turn you harmed the surrounding people."

"But now I can make the rules," I say, my insides begging for approval. "Now, it can rain everywhere, the skies will never be dry for anyone who needs me. I can answer every prayer affirmatively."

"Storm! There are reasons for everything and you can't change the world to your liking because you think that things would be better your way! You're drunk by this power and I won't let you become me!" She screams.

"Have you lost your mind?" I ask, my insides trembling. "You are a child to me Jean, I love you, but I will not have you condescend me!"

It's too late for retractions, but worst of all, she offers none.

"Do you see yourself Storm?" She says; her voice doesn't lose any of it's outrage and she steps forward.

I find this challenging.

"You haven't what it takes to challenge me, but I will give what it takesback to you!"

It doesn't take the intense look that I offer.

I can see the fire cresting within her, the bird reborn.

Phoenix.