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It Began with a Goodbye

by Riley Berg

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Chapter One

The obnoxious ring of my personal phone interrupts my meditation.

I consider ignoring it. I am obviously not meditating well enough if I noticed it at all. It would serve me well to continue practicing my meditation.

But only a few people have access to the number. And none would call for an insignificant reason. I think.

Rising and stretching from my cross-legged position on the floor, I make it to my phone a moment too late. Scanning the call log, I find an unexpected name. Wong. He has never called me before. I only have his number because Mother thought it best that I have more than one contact among the Mystics in case of emergency.

The phone vibrates in my hands with a message alert.

Video call as soon as available. The message from Wong is short but worries me. Why does he need to speak with me? And why so urgently?

I make my way to the Con-Room, the conference room that I believe has never seen a conference. Birthday parties, yes, and video calls, of course, but when conferences are to be held, I suspect they take place somewhere more private.

In the Con-Room, I place my cell phone on a small circular stand that is designed to transfer calls to the room. A large screen automatically lowers when the presence of my phone is detected on the stand. Pressing the call button next to Wong's name, I wait for his image to appear on the screen.

"What are you wearing?" he asks as soon as his image appears.

"It's called jeans and t-shirt, Wong," I reply in mild exasperation.

He attempts a smile and I immediately know something is wrong.

"What happened, Master Wong?"

"She… she's gone. Your mother."

I stare in disbelief. "Gone? Gone? As in dead?"

Wong makes no reply except to nod. The world spins slowly around me.

I find my voice again after several long moments. "Have you held her memorial yet?" I manage to whisper.

"No."

"I will perform it."

Wong's surprise shows through his solemn expression.

"I know how to do it." At least better than anyone else, even if not well. "She deserves a proper end."

Wong hesitates a moment. "She was not who we thought she was."

It is my turn to be surprised. "So you found out in the end." I pause. "Whatever her methods and reasons for them, no one can argue that she did not help protect this world many times and in many ways and did her duties as a teacher and, despite her own use of them, tried her best to keep others from the… darker arts. The gods may judge her good or bad, but I believe it is our place to give her the respect of a proper burial. She will lie with the protectors that came before her."

"Yes, Lady Sophy."

I sigh and look at him with a little melancholy. "I am not pulling rank, Wong; I have no rank to pull. I wish you would get that into your head. Just… please let me do this."

"Of course, Sophy. I'm in New York. You can meet me here."

"New York?"

Wong looks over his shoulder. "I'll explain when you get here. I need to go."

"Bye, Wong."

"Bye, Sophy."

I walk straight to Charles's office, but he is not there. I stop a student in the hallway. I think her name is Samantha and I remember that she is ten years old (she is very proud of that fact).

"Do you know where Professor Xavier is?"

"Yep," she smiles, "he just got done teaching a class." She points down the hall. "Over there."

"Thank you, little one."

I watch as the girl, oblivious to the tragedies of life, skips merrily to her next class.

"Professor?"

"Ah, Sophy."

"Glad I caught you before you left and I had to start hunting for you all over again," I smile.

But the sadness must have shown through my smile because Charles replies with, "What's wrong?"

"Always so perceptive," I laugh lightly. "But you are right," I sigh, "something is wrong. And I have to leave." I pause. "It is funny… It should not take long, and yet I feel like I will not be returning… for a while." Or ever. I cannot see that far. Well, feel—not see; I am not that good yet. "I came to say goodbye."

Charles wheels over to me and extends a hand, which I shakily grasp before he pulls me down into a hug.

"You have been a good friend, Charles. This time, and many times before. There is no sufficient way to express my love and gratitude."

Neither of us can say anything more. With a sad smile, I turn from my long-time friend and, though I do not quite understand its presence, find a tear slipping down my cheek as I walk away. Goodbye never gets easier.

I find Ororo in one of the training rooms.

"Sophy. What do you need?"

"To thank you, and to say goodbye."

She looks at me more seriously this time. "Goodbye?"

"I have been… called away on short notice. I do not know when, or if, I will be back."

She is polite enough not to inquire after the details. "I'll miss you." It is a genuine admission.

"You have been so willing to help, even without fully understanding. You have literally given me life. And I cannot repay you. Whether I see you tomorrow or never again, I will always remember your generosity."

"Oh, Sophy, don't get all… poetic on me."

"Sorry, it just comes out that way," I laugh through the lump in my throat.

"Goodbye. May we meet again," she gives a little bow. Her words and actions are meant as a bit of comic relief, but they do little to relieve the sorrow beginning to press on my mind.

"In this plane of existence or the next, my friend."

With a subtle twist of my fingers, I open a shimmering portal before me and with a final nod goodbye, step through it into the New York Sanctum.

As soon as I arrive, I change my appearance. When I turn to look in the nearest mirror to make sure I did so correctly, I find another tear crawling down my cheek. Goodbye never gets easier.

My hair, now in its naturally long and blonde state, is gathered in a tidy bun tied with a white ribbon, instead of disguised in the brunette, short, unruly cut I have worn for the last few decades. My naturally green eyes shine brightly where dull brown ones once disguised them. My clothes are similar to Wong's and all those worn by my mother's people, except mostly white, the traditional color of mourning, and adorned with a large wooden bracelet on each wrist.

"Master Wong?"

Silence. Then footsteps. I turn around to see Wong approaching with his usual stoic expression despite my change in appearance.

I pull in a deep breath and look around me. There is evidence of destruction.

"Kaecilius," Wong explains.

"He succeeded?"

The question needs no answer. He succeeded, almost. Who else did we lose? What more damage was done?

"I should have stayed."

"If you had, you could be lying beside her right now."

"At least I would have died trying. Maybe that would have made my wrongs right."

'Self-pity accomplishes nothing,' a voice echoes in my mind.

I sigh. "Why are we in New York?"

Wong nods. "We need to claim her body. She's—it's?—at Metro-General."

I raise my eyebrows. "So we have to do things the mundane way?" I sigh. "I… have papers to identify her and connect me to her, so that should give me authority to claim the body, but I do not… know how to go about that, or what sort of transportation we need to get her here."

"I think I know someone who can help with that."

"How soon?"

"Right now." Wong looks behind me.

I turn around to see another solemn face. Sadness is evident in his eyes, a reflection of my own. He lost her, too.

The stranger wears his clothing in the same style as Wong and me, indicating he is a student of the Mystic Arts. He is taller than Wong by a couple of inches, which makes him a full head taller than me. His hair appears to be starting to gray below the temples, but I cannot tell whether his eyes are green or blue from this distance. There is something almost familiar about him, though I do not think we have met.

"Lady Sophy,"—I glare at Wong—"this is Dr. Stephen Strange. He joined us at Kamar-Taj since your departure."

I extend my hand and Dr. Stephen Strange takes it with surprising firmness, but I cannot bring myself to return his respect by making eye contact. That eerie, shaky feeling I had at Charles's has returned and I feel somehow disconnected from my surroundings.

"Doctor? A medical doctor?" I manage.

"That's one of my doctorates, yes," he replies evenly.

I turn to Wong. "That is what you meant by 'help'?"

"He used to work at Metro-General, Sophy."

"I did not mean that to sound disbelieving, Master Wong," I apologize. I turn back to Dr. Strange. "I am here to claim the Ancient One's body, but I do not know the… procedures for doing so, or transporting her from the hospital. I have legal identification documents, I just do not know what to… do," I finish lamely.

"I'll take you through it, then, Lady Sophia—was it?"

"Please, just 'Sophy.' I barely allow Master Wong to call me that. If 'Sophy' is too informal for your taste, Dr. Strange, 'Master' is an acceptable title," I compromise. "But we really need to… get going. Let me grab the papers. I will be right down."

I make my way through the destruction, which I realize is relatively minor compared to what I thought it would be, to the office that was messy long before Kaecilius succeeded in making the dark pact. In the corner, buried beneath loose leaves of paper, is a small chest with a large lock. It unfastens with a flourish of my fingers and I extract the paperwork I commissioned from SHIELD not so long ago when Mother admitted to me that she felt her end nearing. These papers give the Ancient One a false identity, proven by a birth certificate, identification card, and American passport. SHIELD also forged the digital records to match, just in case, as well as other versions for other countries. There is also a falsified record of my birth proving her my mother and my own identification card and passport with a modified name and birth year to match. I glance at when I was supposedly born. I am to be twenty-five years old. I can do that. Finding a folder in the mess, I empty it of its previous occupants and put my papers in instead.

I walk more slowly on my way back. Many of the display cases housing the artifacts have been destroyed. I will help fix them later, but for now…

I extend the hand not clutching the folder of papers and slowly draw up the fallen artifacts and set them levitating where they should be stored; it is disgraceful to leave them on the floor among shards of glass. I tilt my head at an empty display case.

"Wong?" I call as I descend the stairs. "Where is the Cloak of Levita—?"

I stop short, staring at Dr.—Master Strange in surprise.

"Do you really think you should be wearing that to Metro-General? It is bad enough that we are going in these clothes."

The Cloak of Levitation shrugs itself off of Dr. Strange's shoulders.

"It would seem to agree with you," I hear Strange mutter as I approach. He gestures to the door.

"Joined Kamar-Taj since my departure and already a Master," I muse as he hails a taxi. "You are a quick learner."

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Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please remember to follow and favorite the story and maybe even me, if you haven't yet. Leave a review letting me know what you thought about this chapter. (I'm always open to constructive criticism or notes on needed edits, so go ahead and leave those in a review, too, if you have them.)