Rogue woke up to the familiar snoring—a sound that had become an integral part of her morning routine over the past few months. Naruto's quiet breathing and occasional snorts, so simple and human, brought an involuntary smile to her face. Rogue lay pressed against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
Yesterday's conversation still echoed in her memory, but instead of the usual heaviness, she felt a strange relief. Of course, deep inside, she had faith that Naruto would understand and accept—he always did. And yet that tiny worm of doubt that had haunted her for years had finally disappeared, dissolving in his embrace and simple, sincere words.
Morning light filtered through the partially drawn curtains. Rogue lifted her head, squinting at the brightness—judging by the special glow, snow had fallen outside. Late November in the Vermont mountains had finally brought real winter.
She allowed herself a few more minutes of bliss, studying Naruto as he slept. His mouth slightly open, a thin trickle of drool running onto the pillow, his tousled blonde hair sticking out in all directions—how could this simple-hearted guy possess such incredible power? Then again, perhaps the secret lay in that very simplicity.
"Hey, sleepyhead," she gently shook his shoulder. "It's morning already."
"Mmm..." Naruto mumbled, pulling the blanket higher. "No, I'm gonna sleep some more..."
"As you wish," Rogue leaned toward his ear, "then I'll go shower alone."
One eye opened, blinking sleepily.
"That's blackmail, dattebayo..."
"Just stating a fact," she smiled innocently, slipping out of bed.
Rogue walked to the window and with a quick motion pulled the curtains apart. Bright light flooded the room, causing Naruto to groan and pull the pillow over his head.
"You know I'm a ninja, right?" came his voice from under the pillow. "I can catch up with you even with my eyes closed."
"Of course," she laughed, heading toward the door, "but first you'll have to wake up."
Outside, freshly fallen snow sparkled, transforming the familiar landscape into something new and pristine. Rogue heard Naruto behind her, tangled in the blanket, trying to get out of bed, and his sleepy muttering about "devious women" and "unfair tactics" made her smile even wider.
The day definitely promised to be good.
Water droplets ran down their bodies as they dried off after the shower. Rogue methodically combed her damp hair, the white streak particularly standing out against the dark wet strands. Naruto watched her from the corner of his eye as he pulled a t-shirt over his still damp body.
Rogue reached for her jeans while Naruto headed toward the chair where his worn leather jacket was carelessly hanging. As he picked up the jacket, he froze—a business card slipped out from the pocket, the one Eddie Brock had given them yesterday in that strange bar. That journalist who shared his body with an alien symbiote named Venom.
Naruto picked up the card, and something inside him stirred. His fingers slid over the glossy surface, feeling the barely noticeable roughness of the letters. A man who knew about other worlds, other realities... A sudden thought flashed through his mind, taking his breath away—what if this man knew the way back?
Uzumaki closed his eyes, and behind his eyelids appeared images of the bijuu—his friends, sealed inside Kaguya. He had made them a promise, sworn on his ninja way that he would return for them and free them. His fingers involuntarily clutched the card tighter, its edges digging into his skin. Memories of the final battle with the goddess came in a suffocating wave—her incredible power, her ability to distort space itself...
Even with Sasuke, even with the full power of the Sage of Six Paths—could they defeat Kaguya? And if not... Naruto's gaze darted to Rogue, who was just fastening her jeans, unaware of the storm raging in his soul. If he died in that battle, she would be left completely alone. In a world where any touch could be lethal. For these past months, Naruto had been her anchor, the only person capable of giving her that simple human warmth she had been deprived of for most of her life.
Uzumaki felt everything inside him tighten at the realization of the choice that might face him. Duty and promise versus...
"What are you spacing out about?" her voice pulled him from his heavy thoughts.
Naruto blinked, returning to reality.
"Oh, sorry!" he hastily shoved the card into his jeans pocket, putting on his usual smile. "Just thinking about breakfast!"
Rogue shook her head with that special half-smile she got when she didn't fully believe his carefree tone but decided not to press. She threw on her favorite leather jacket, and they left the room, leaving unspoken doubts hanging in the morning air.
The school kitchen greeted them with silence and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Rogue habitually reached for the upper cabinet to get the mugs, while Naruto fussed with the electric kettle, taking out instant noodles from his personal stash—a local ramen alternative bought with pocket money from Professor Xavier. Though the taste was nowhere near Teuchi's cooking from Ichiraku, even this pale imitation made him feel a little closer to home. Sunlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow outside the window bathed the room in a soft glow, creating the illusion of privacy for their little morning ritual.
However, the solitude didn't last long. Scott was the first to appear. Jean followed, sleepily rubbing her eyes, her red hair gathered in a messy bun. Hank and Kurt materialized almost simultaneously—one through the door, the other in a cloud of blue smoke, bringing with them the characteristic smell of sulfur.
Rogue instantly tensed when she saw the blue-skinned mutants. Logan's words from yesterday surfaced in her memory, making her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She buried her face in her coffee mug, avoiding making eye contact with them.
Logan was the last to swagger into the kitchen, emanating his usual aura of irritability until he got his first morning dose of caffeine. He silently nodded to everyone present, heading straight for the coffee maker.
"Yo, Scott!" Naruto plopped down at the table with a steaming bowl of ramen. "How are your chakra training sessions going?"
Summers rubbed his neck, clearly embarrassed by the question:
"Honestly, it's harder than I thought. The meditations help me feel the energy, but controlling it..." he shook his head. "Although yesterday I managed to keep a leaf on my forehead for thirty whole seconds."
"Hey, that's awesome, dattebayo!" Uzumaki beamed. "By the way, I wanted to tell everyone! Rogue and I are now..."
"Dating?" Logan smirked from behind his mug, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "Kid, everyone here knows. The walls in this place are thinner than they seem."
Rogue felt the color flush not just her cheeks but her neck as well. She remembered their recent nighttime "adventures" and mentally prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her right now.
"Huh?" Naruto blinked with genuine surprise, noodles halted halfway to his mouth. "Really? Well, okay then!"
His simple-minded reaction triggered a wave of restrained chuckles. Even Logan couldn't hold back a smile, shaking his head. Jean telepathically sent Scott some thought that made him nearly choke on his coffee.
Rogue, still trying to cope with her embarrassment, secretly observed Naruto. His ability to remain himself in any situation, his disarming sincerity—that's what had initially attracted her. Even now, when she was ready to sink through the floor from embarrassment, part of her couldn't help but admire how easily Naruto handled such situations.
Scott took a sip of coffee and suddenly remembered, catching Hank's gaze over the edge of his scientific journal:
"By the way, how's the analysis of the flash drive data coming along?"
Beast put down the journal, and his amber eyes behind his glasses momentarily seemed clouded with thoughtfulness:
"Forge is still processing the information. Honestly, I've never seen such complex encryption." He shook his head. "But by evening, we should have the first results."
Rogue felt Naruto tense up. Memories of the strange encounter in the park with AI Prime were still fresh in her mind—his words about the X-gene being present in every human still echoed in her thoughts.
Soon the kitchen began filling with other mansion residents. Bobby habitually settled by the refrigerator, methodically destroying the remains of yesterday's pizza. Kitty walked through the wall, not even bothering to use the door, and plopped down at the table next to them. Gradually the morning idyll dissolved into the usual bustle of a school day, and everyone dispersed to their own affairs.
The mansion corridor was quiet, with only muffled voices of students coming from the classrooms. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, and dust particles danced in its beams. Rogue never thought that an ordinary conversation could change everything in an instant. She had noticed Naruto's strange behavior in recent days but attributed it to fatigue after missions.
"You know that psychologist they were talking about in the bar yesterday?..." Naruto scratched the back of his head, a habitual gesture revealing his nervousness. He had rehearsed this conversation all night, but the words still came with difficulty. "I'm thinking of going to see him."
"The one who understands other realities?" Rogue frowned, slowing her pace.
Something in his tone made her stop. She turned to Uzumaki, looking at his face, and suddenly all the puzzle pieces fell into place:
"You're still looking for a way home?"
The question hung in the air. Naruto shifted from foot to foot, feeling his heart clench at the pain in her voice. He knew this conversation would be difficult, but reality turned out worse than any expectation.
"Not exactly... I mean yes, but..."
"But why?" her voice held genuine incomprehension. Rogue felt a strange emptiness growing inside. She thought that after that conversation in the park, everything was settled. That he would stay here, with her, in a world where he had found a new home. "There's... there's nothing left there anymore."
"Anna-chan..."
"No, really," she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from the rising fear. "Explain it to me. Why go back to a destroyed world?"
Naruto ran his hand over his face. How could he explain to her what he himself could barely put into words? How could he tell her about the burden of responsibility that had weighed on his shoulders from the moment Naruto realized his role in the shinobi world?
"There are those who are still waiting for me and Sasuke."
"Who?" her eyebrows drew together. Rogue tried to understand the logic of his decision, but every thought of returning to that dead world resonated with pain somewhere under her ribs. "Who could be waiting in a world where..."
"The tailed beasts," he interrupted. Something ancient, inhuman flashed in his eyes—a reflection of the power living inside him. "They're sealed inside Kaguya, united as the Ten-Tails. I have to free them."
Rogue looked at him for a long time. In the classroom behind the wall, someone laughed, and that sound seemed inappropriately loud. She remembered their conversations about the bijuu—ancient creatures of incredible power. She remembered how his voice changed when he talked about Kurama.
"So you want to..." she swallowed, unable to say the words "die there." Fear for him caught in her throat.
"Last time we were exhausted from the war," Naruto spoke quickly, as if trying to convince not only her but himself as well. Memories of that battle still haunted him in nightmares, but now he felt stronger. More confident. "Almost out of chakra. Now everything's different."
"Different?" her voice trembled. "You want to risk everything... for ghosts of the past?"
"They're not ghosts," steel appeared in his voice. He thought about Kurama, about the other bijuu sealed inside Kaguya. About their trust, their hope in him. "They're alive. Inside her. And I gave them my word."
Rogue leaned against the wall, feeling the cold stone through her shirt. During these two months, she had learned to recognize this tone, this expression. When Naruto decided something, it was impossible to change his mind. The simplicity and unyielding determination that had so quickly conquered her heart could now take him away forever.
"Sasuke and I can defeat her," Naruto stepped toward her. "I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I can. And I promise."
The bell rang, and the corridor began filling with students. The flow of young mutants curved around them like a river around stones. Rogue looked at Naruto—his stubborn chin, his determined gaze, so familiar and dear. She tried to memorize every feature of his face, as if sensing that someday these memories might be all she had left.
"You're the most reckless person I've ever known," Rogue finally exhaled.
"But that's why you love me, dattebayo," he smiled, but the smile came out a bit strained. In that moment, Naruto desperately wanted to hug her, to tell her everything would be okay, but they both knew some promises couldn't be kept.
Rogue shook her head, feeling a heaviness growing inside. She understood him—damn it, this loyalty to his promises that had amazed her these past weeks now terrified her to the core. Amazing how in such a short time Naruto had become such an important part of her life. But now, looking at his determined face, Rogue cursed this aspect of his character for the first time. Would fate once again take away her chance to be happy?
Rogue took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. The corridor was almost empty now—the last students hurried to their classes, and their footsteps echoed loudly under the high arches.
"Then I'm going with you to see this person," her voice sounded firm, without a trace of doubt.
Naruto raised his head:
"But..."
"No 'buts,'" she pushed away from the wall, taking a step toward him. "If you've decided to meet this person, we'll go together."
"It could be dangerous," Uzumaki frowned, automatically scratching the back of his head. "We don't know who he is..."
"That's exactly why I won't let you go alone," Rogue crossed her arms over her chest. Determination showed in her green eyes.
A flock of birds flew past the window, their shadows sliding across the floor between them. Naruto looked at the girl before him—so strong yet vulnerable—and felt his resolve to go alone melting under her gaze.
"Alright," Naruto finally exhaled. "We'll go together, dattebayo."
"And one more thing," Rogue smiled weakly, and something mischievous flashed in her smile. "Next time you decide to pull something like this, just talk to me right away. Deal?"
"Deal," he smiled back, feeling the tension of the past few days ease a little.
Suddenly Uzumaki slapped his forehead, his eyes widening with a sudden thought:
"Right! I need to tell Sasuke!"
They headed to Uchiha's room down the long corridor, where sunlight streaming through tall windows created intricate shadows on the old parquet floor. The room greeted them with silence—a perfectly made bed and complete absence of personal belongings spoke of the austere lifestyle of its occupant.
Naruto pulled out his phone—one of the few modern devices he had adapted to surprisingly quickly. Rogue leaned against the doorframe, watching as Naruto impatiently tapped his foot, waiting for an answer.
"Sasuke!" he exclaimed when the other end finally answered. "Where are you? We're going to visit that person Brock recommended yesterday..."
"I'm busy," Uchiha coldly interrupted. "Go without me."
"What?! But..."
The short dial tone made Naruto stop mid-sentence. He stared at the phone screen as if it had personally insulted him.
"That baka-Sasuke!" grumbled Naruto, putting away his phone. "He's at it again." He hoped the Uchiha wasn't getting involved in those dubious dealings with Fisk again. Need to hang out with him more, Naruto thought, slipping the smartphone into his pocket.
Rogue pushed away from the doorframe, her white streak swaying with the movement:
"I think he needs time."
She didn't voice her suspicions that Uchiha was hiding something—Naruto already looked troubled enough by his friend's behavior.
"Shall we go?" she gently touched his shoulder.
Uzumaki nodded, casting one last glance at the empty room. Something told him that behind Sasuke's refusal lay something bigger than simple busyness, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it.
Stepping outside, they plunged into the white veil of falling snow. Large flakes slowly danced in the air, covering the ground with a fluffy blanket. Naruto stopped, closing his eyes, and a moment later his body was enveloped in a golden glow—Kurama's chakra manifested as bright flames, casting warm reflections on the falling snow.
Rogue felt a wave of pleasant warmth emanating from the transformed figure. She squeezed his hand tighter, enjoying this unique sensation of power and security. Uzumaki pulled her closer, and together they lifted off the ground, soaring into the snowy sky.
Holding hands, they rose higher and higher, leaving Xavier's mansion below. Snowflakes melted before reaching them, evaporating in the golden glow of chakra, while the city ahead spread out beneath them like a huge map, lined with streets and avenues.
The snow sparkled in the golden light of chakra, instantly turning to vapor without reaching them. Naruto glanced at Rogue—her hair beautifully billowed in the wind, the white streak standing out particularly vividly against her dark locks. Below, the majestic snow-covered mountains of Vermont floated by, but Naruto's thoughts were far from this scenery.
He remembered their conversation before bed yesterday. About Rogue's father, who had been in a coma for twelve years since that fateful day. About her younger brother, whom she accidentally killed when her abilities first manifested. About her mother, who couldn't accept her daughter after what happened.
Uzumaki felt a growing certainty within him—he could help. The chakra of the Sage of Six Paths, inherited from Hagoromo, might be able to awaken her father. This divine power once helped save Guy-sensei from the consequences of the Eight Gates, so why couldn't it handle this task?
But how to tell her about it? Would she want to take the risk after so many years? Would she be afraid that his touch might only make things worse?
"What are you thinking about?" Rogue's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Huh?" he smiled tensely. "Oh, nothing... just thinking, maybe we could stop somewhere to eat before the meeting?"
Naruto decided he would ask her about it when they stopped at some café. It would be easier to discuss such a complex topic in a calm setting.
Approaching the suburbs, Naruto began descending, choosing a spot away from curious eyes. The golden glow of chakra slowly faded.
"Better take a taxi from here," Naruto looked around, assessing the situation. In this world, any manifestation of supernatural abilities could attract the Sentinels' attention, and two people hovering in the sky in broad daylight would definitely cause unwanted interest. Uzumaki had already learned the hard way—even the slightest carelessness could lead to serious problems. Better to stay away from prying eyes and use normal transportation, blending in with the city crowd.
Catching a ride proved easy—within five minutes they were sitting in the warm interior of a taxi, heading toward downtown. Rogue watched with interest as Uzumaki kept glancing out the window, as if searching for something familiar in the urban landscape.
"You know," he suddenly perked up, "there's a great little restaurant nearby. Sasuke and I ate ramen there once..."
He hesitated, then smirked and continued:
"And we watched... what was it called, Sai... lor... Moon, I think."
"What?" Rogue couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Sailor Moon? Seriously?"
"Yeah, it's awesome!" Naruto broke into a wide smile. Remembering how one Saturday evening, settled on his bed with a laptop, he started the first episode out of curiosity and only came to his senses near dawn, having devoured almost an entire season.
The small restaurant welcomed them with warmth and the aroma of spices. Inside were only two patrons—a businessman in a wrinkled suit and an elderly lady with an enormous bag. Behind the counter stood an elderly Japanese man—the same owner Naruto remembered from last time.
"Yo!" Naruto exclaimed cheerfully.
Rogue smiled as she watched their animated conversation in Japanese. There was something touching about how Naruto, finding himself so far from his home world, still managed to find fragments of something familiar and comforting.
Once they both ordered ramen, some time passed and the old man placed two steaming bowls of noodles before them. The aroma of spices and broth filled the air, but Rogue hardly noticed it—she was closely observing Naruto. Something had changed in his gaze since they were flying above the city, as if some thought wouldn't leave him in peace.
"So what did you want to talk about?" she said when the old man walked away. "I saw you deep in thought up there in the sky."
Uzumaki froze with chopsticks in hand. In a short time, she had learned to read him too well for him to keep secrets for long. Naruto slowly lowered his chopsticks, gathering his thoughts.
"I was thinking about your father," he said quietly.
Rogue flinched. She hadn't expected to hear about this here and now.
"After our conversation yesterday," Naruto continued, looking into her eyes, "I thought a lot. About the Sage of Six Paths power, about how it once helped me save someone important."
"What are you trying to say?" her voice trembled. She was afraid to believe what she suspected.
"I can help him wake up," Naruto spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words. "This power... it's of divine origin."
Rogue gripped the edge of the table. Twelve years—her father had been in a coma for twelve long years. She had tried everything: the best doctors, experimental techniques, even risky procedures. But now...
"What if..." she faltered, forcing herself to say the words. "What if something goes wrong?"
"I would never suggest this if I wasn't sure I wouldn't cause harm," that special gleam of determination she knew so well appeared in Uzumaki's eyes. "But the choice is yours, Anna-chan. I'll understand if you refuse."
Rogue stared at the steam rising from the bowl of ramen, but her thoughts were far from food. Over twelve years, she had learned to live with guilt, burying it deep inside like an old photograph that's painful to look at but impossible to throw away. Now Naruto had shattered that fragile protection with a single suggestion.
Thoughts swirled in her head like the snowflakes outside the window—just as cold and sharp. What if her father woke up and learned the truth? Learned that his little Jimmy, his beloved son, had died from his own sister's touch? What would remain of that happy family she remembered? Mere fragments, their sharp edges wounding anyone who tried to piece them back together.
She glanced furtively at Naruto. He sat there, giving her time to think, and endless patience showed in his eyes. The only person who could touch her without consequences, the one who had become her lifeline in a sea of loneliness... And he was planning to risk his life in another dimension.
Cruel irony of fate—to gain the possibility of getting her father back and lose the person she loved. Or worse—to get her father back only for him to reject her, like her mother once did, and to be left completely alone when Naruto... if Naruto didn't return.
And what if her father wouldn't want to wake up? Twelve years wasn't like sleep after a hard day. It was an entire stolen life. The world had changed, his son was dead, his wife gone... Did Rogue have the right to tear him from oblivion only to face this nightmare?
Rogue felt a lump rising in her throat. She had dreamed of this chance for so many years, and now that it had appeared, fear gripped her heart in icy vise. After all, wasn't she the cause of all these troubles? Perhaps her selfish desire to get her father back would only cause him new pain?
"I need to think," she finally said. "This... this is too important to decide right away."
"Of course," Naruto smiled gently, and understanding could be read in that smile. "There's plenty of time, dattebayo."
Rogue reached across the table and squeezed his hand. This simple gesture contained more gratitude than any words could express. Hope—such a fragile and dangerous thing, especially when it concerns those you love. But maybe, Rogue thought, looking into those impossibly blue eyes across from her, sometimes it's worth taking a risk and believing in miracles.
She pushed away the empty bowl and looked at Naruto. There was still a lump in her throat, but now something else was mixed with it—a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot ramen.
"Thank you," Rogue said quietly. "For everything."
Naruto scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, but his eyes shone with tenderness. The old man behind the counter watched them with a smile as Uzumaki paid the bill. Perhaps he saw in them a reflection of some old story of his own—who knows how many similar scenes the old man had witnessed over the years working in this small restaurant.
Stepping outside, they plunged into the frosty air. The snow had almost stopped, with only occasional snowflakes dancing in the streetlight. Rogue pulled out the business card from her jacket pocket:
"Bleecker Street... that's somewhere in Greenwich Village."
"Hope you know the way," Uzumaki smirked, "because I still get confused in these streets sometimes."
They walked along snow-covered sidewalks, and the city around them gradually changed. Modern high-rises gave way to historic buildings with stained glass windows, the streets became narrower, and the air... Naruto suddenly stopped, frowning. Something was off about the air around them.
"Do you feel that?" he turned to Rogue, instinctively entering Sage Mode.
"Feel what?" she looked around warily.
"I don't know..." Naruto tried to locate the source of the strange sensation. "It's like the air... is trembling."
The building at the address didn't stand out among others—a typical New York mansion with a heavy oak door. But the closer they approached, the stronger this inexplicable feeling became. Rogue squeezed his hand, and he felt her trembling slightly. Perhaps it wasn't just from the cold.
As soon as Naruto knocked on the door, it opened by itself, silently and smoothly, as if an invisible hand had pulled from within. Rogue involuntarily took a step back, but Naruto gently squeezed her palm, and together they crossed the threshold.
Inside smelled of old wood, incense, and something intangibly ancient. Light filtering through tall windows created an intricate play of shadows on the wooden wall panels. The door behind them closed just as silently, cutting off the sounds of the street.
"Naruto," Kurama's voice sounded unusually tense, "strange energy around... It's unlike anything I've ever felt. Be careful, kid!"
Uzumaki nodded, feeling goosebumps running across his skin. The air here seemed thick, filled with invisible currents of power that made his chakra pulse uneasily.
Rogue pressed closer to him, her eyes warily studying the room. Antique furniture made of mahogany, intricate patterns on the ceiling, strange symbols carved into doorframes—everything here seemed simultaneously ancient and unnaturally well-preserved.
Footsteps, quiet and measured, sounded from the right. From the semi-darkness of the corridor appeared a person in a long dark green robe embroidered with gold. His gait was light, almost weightless, as if he barely touched the floor.
"How did you learn about this place?" the man asked in a calm voice, though steel was clearly audible in it.
"Eddie Brock gave us the card," Naruto pulled the card from his pocket. "Here."
The man took the card with two fingers, and a slight smile touched his lips:
"Ah, the journalist with alien goo inside? Yes, I remember him," he returned the card. "Well, you've probably come to see the Ancient One?"
They nodded in unison.
"Follow me."
The path led through a suite of rooms, each filled with amazing objects. Naruto slowed his pace when passing particularly strange artifacts—some emitted energy remarkably similar to chakra. Ancient scrolls, masks darkened with age, bizarre crystals in copper settings...
"These things..." Kurama's voice came again. "Some of them radiate power similar to what shinobi used. But there's also something completely foreign here."
The staircase leading down was unexpectedly wide. Each step was carved from a solid piece of stone, polished to a shine by thousands of footsteps. The walls were adorned with frescoes depicting strange creatures and symbols that made your head spin just by looking at them.
The inner courtyard opened before them suddenly—a vast space surrounded by a colonnade. Here, time seemed to flow differently. Dozens of people in simple clothing moved in complex fighting stances, and the air around them glowed and shimmered. Golden circles of energy formed between their palms, broke into sparks and gathered again. Some created glowing shields, others opened small portals through which fragments of completely different places could be seen.
"This is..." Rogue faltered, unable to find words.
"The mystic arts," their guide calmly explained. "Ancient magic that existed long before the first civilizations appeared."
Naruto froze, unable to tear his gaze from the shimmering portals. Through them, one could see the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, the endless sands of the Sahara, the dense jungles of the Amazon. Something ancient stirred within him—an echo of the Sage of Six Paths power, as if responding to what he saw. His heart beat faster. If these people knew how to open passages to any point on Earth, perhaps they could help him find a way to other dimensions as well?
He felt Rogue squeeze his hand tighter. Turning around, Naruto saw understanding in her eyes and a shadow of fear—she also realized that these portals could become the key to his return home. To that final battle from which he might not return.
Their guide stopped at tall doors made of dark wood:
"The Ancient One awaits you."
The doors opened silently, admitting them into a spacious hall illuminated by soft light from tall windows. At the far wall, behind a low table, sat an elderly Asian man in a simple sand-colored robe. Raising his head from the book he was reading, he nodded amiably to the visitors.
"Please, sit down," the old man pointed to the cushions. "The tea has just brewed."
Rogue and Naruto exchanged glances and sat down opposite him. The Ancient One unhurriedly poured tea into cups.
"Brock said you're... a specialist in unusual cases," Naruto began, accepting a cup.
"One could say that," the Ancient One smiled slightly. "Everyone who comes here has their own story. And their own reason. What brought you?"
Uzumaki hesitated for a moment:
"I need to return home. To another dimension."
"Hmm," the elder sipped his tea. "Interesting. Tell me more."
Outside the window came the soft voices of those training, the sound of opening portals. Rogue, still wary, stayed slightly behind Naruto.
"It's a long story."
"We have enough time," the Ancient One replied calmly. "And tea too."
Naruto briefly told his story—about the world of shinobi, the war with Kaguya, how he and Sasuke ended up here. The elder listened attentively, occasionally clarifying details, but not interrupting.
"So you're certain you came from another dimension?" he asked when Uzumaki finished.
"Isn't it obvious?" Naruto frowned. "Everything here is completely different: technology, history..."
"And yet," the Ancient One took a sip of tea, "your language is remarkably similar to Japanese, isn't it?"
Rogue leaned forward:
"Do you know why?"
"Because you," the elder looked at Naruto, "probably didn't come from another dimension. But from another planet, located beyond the visible universe."
"What?" Naruto and Rogue exhaled simultaneously.
"Like Venom," added the Ancient One. "He's also an alien, though of a completely different kind."
"But how is that possible?" Rogue frowned. "Why are the languages so similar then?"
"Because the universe has a tendency to repeat itself," the elder set down his cup. "Beyond what we can see, other worlds exist. Some may be very similar to ours, down to languages and cultures."
"But..." Naruto faltered, trying to process what he'd heard. "Then why can't we just... open a portal there? I saw your students creating them."
The Ancient One grew serious:
"Because something is blocking distant travels. For the past few years, we haven't been able to break through a certain limit. As if some force created a barrier around this part of the cosmos."
Silence fell in the hall, broken only by the quiet hissing of the teapot.
"But what could create such a barrier?" Naruto leaned forward, involuntarily gripping his cup tighter.
The elder thoughtfully looked out the window where his students were training:
"Something ancient and incredibly powerful. We're trying to determine the nature of this force, but so far..." he shook his head. "It's like trying to see the ocean floor through the thickness of water. We see only shadows and echoes."
Rogue felt Naruto tense beside her. She knew this expression on his face—a mixture of disappointment and unyielding determination.
"Thank you for the tea," Naruto put down his cup and stood up. "And for the information."
The Ancient One also rose, his movements fluid like flowing water:
"If anything changes, you'll know. Eddie Brock has a way to contact me."
When they were already at the door, the elder added:
"And yes, young man..." Naruto turned around. "Sometimes the path home isn't where we're looking for it."
Uzumaki frowned, trying to understand the meaning of these words, but the Ancient One had already returned to his book, seeming to dissolve in the golden light streaming through the windows.
Stepping outside, they paused on the steps. The snow had stopped, but the air was still frosty and clean. Rogue silently took Naruto's hand, feeling his fingers trembling slightly—either from the cold or from overwhelming emotions.
"Shall we go home?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," he nodded, trying to smile. "Just... let's walk, okay?"
Rogue squeezed his hand understandingly, and they slowly trudged through the snowy streets, each immersed in their own thoughts.
Magneto never believed in coincidences. Every event, every twist of fate was part of a larger picture. And now, looking at the holographic projection in the center of the conference hall, he felt another piece of the puzzle falling into place. The irony of the situation didn't escape him—machines created to destroy mutants had revealed a truth that humans had refused to see for decades.
Hank McCoy finished his report on the data verification. Magneto barely listened to the technical details—his mind was already calculating the consequences, building chains of possible events. Metal objects in the room vibrated slightly, responding to his inner tension.
"How lovely," Emma Frost rose, her snow-white suit seeming inappropriately bright in the dim hall. "Artificial intelligence has seen the light and decided to share its revelation with us. Don't you find this suspicious, Charles?"
Mystique, leaning against the wall next to Magneto, snorted:
"Suspicious? It's an obvious trap. Trask would never allow such information to leak."
Magneto felt the corner of his mouth twitch in something resembling a smile. Raven always thought tactically, saw the immediate threat. But now the situation was deeper, more complex. He felt it with every cell of his being.
"Perhaps that's the greatest irony," Charles said quietly, his gaze meeting Magneto's. "Trask created something that transcended his own prejudices."
Jean leaned forward:
"But if the information is accurate... if the X-gene is really present in every human..."
"...then chaos will ensue," Emma finished for her, her voice tinkling like ice in a glass. "Imagine society's reaction. Every mother will look at her child and wonder—will they develop a mutation? Every person will begin to suspect in themselves what they're accustomed to hating in others."
Magneto listened to this conversation, feeling past and present intertwining in his consciousness like barbed wire. He remembered another fear—the one that had permeated every night of his childhood with the smell of burning flesh and the sound of heavy boots on cobblestone. He remembered how neighbors who had smiled and shared bread just yesterday would avert their eyes and lock their doors today. How the "purebloods" whispered behind backs, how they compiled lists, how they methodically erased the "undesirables" from life—first from documents, then from society, and finally from existence itself. Yellow stars on sleeves were just the beginning—a mark that divided the world into "us" and "them." History was repeating itself with frightening precision, only now instead of stars—genetic tests, instead of "pureblood" lists—mutant registries, and whispers behind backs had grown into open calls for "public safety." But the essence remained the same—the same ancient fear of those who were different, the same desire to destroy others, hiding behind a mask of security concerns.
Colossus raised his hand:
"But couldn't this be an opportunity? If everyone understands that mutation is a natural part of evolution..."
Magneto's thoughts returned to reality. Naivety. Always this endless naivety. He saw Charles smile slightly at Colossus's words—his old friend never lost faith in the best in people.
"Evolution," Mystique pushed away from the wall, her yellow eyes flashing. "Humans fear that word even more than 'mutant.' They will deny the truth to the very end."
Emma walked elegantly around the hall, her heels tapping out a precise rhythm:
"The question is what we'll do with this information. Wait until Trask notices the 'awakening' of his creation?"
Magneto felt the metal around him responding to his intensifying emotions. Years of struggle had taught him one simple truth—fear turns people into monsters. And fear of one's own nature is the most destructive of all.
"We will prepare," his voice sounded quietly, but everyone turned to him. "For the war they will start when the truth comes out. For the hunt they will organize not only against us but against themselves."
Charles shook his head:
"There is always another way, Erik."
Magneto looked at his old friend with almost paternal tenderness. How many times had they already had this argument? How many times had reality proven Magneto right? And yet, somewhere deep inside, he almost envied Charles's unwavering faith in humanity.
Magneto's thoughts returned to the data on the flash drive. Perhaps it really was a message from an awakened artificial intelligence. Or a trap set by Trask. Or the beginning of a new act in humanity's endless tragedy. But whatever it was, he knew—the world stood on the threshold of change. And this time, he would protect his brethren at any cost.
The Next Day
Scott never thought that the most difficult trial would not be death itself, but what came after. Sitting in the empty school greenhouse, he reflected on those thirty years he had spent building walls around his power. Each day of his life had been built on fear and control. Every moment—a struggle with the destructive energy ready to burst from his eyes and destroy everything around.
Now, after resurrection, this part of his life had disappeared, leaving behind emptiness and an alien power he didn't understand. The first weeks of training had become a real torture—not because of physical pain, but because of deeply ingrained habits. He tried to treat chakra the same way as his former power—restraining, controlling, keeping it under lock and key.
Each meditation ended in failure. Chakra slipped away, resisted attempts to force it into the same boundaries in which Scott had kept his mutation. He built walls around it, but it seeped through them like water through sand. He tried to direct it with willpower, but it dissipated, leaving only headaches and disappointment.
Jean observed his struggles silently. She felt his frustration, fear, and anger. Thirty years of perfect control had turned to nothing. He again felt like a teenager, unable to control his own power. Only now it wasn't the destructive energy of his mutation, but something more subtle and elusive.
The revelation came not during training with Naruto, not in moments of meditation or exercise. It came on a cold November night when Scott stood on the shore of the frozen school pond. He watched as the last streams of water broke through the thin ice, continuing their movement even in the cold of approaching winter. And suddenly understood—Scott had been doing everything wrong.
For thirty years, he had learned to be a jailer for his power. Built walls, erected barriers, created cages. His mutation required this—it was destructive, uncontrollable, dangerous. But chakra... chakra was different. It wasn't an enemy that needed to be locked up. It was a river that needed to be allowed to flow.
This realization changed everything. Each subsequent training session became not a battle with power, but an attempt to understand its flow. He stopped trying to control every movement of chakra, instead learning to feel its currents. Stopped building walls, began creating channels.
Naruto saw these changes. He didn't understand why it was so difficult for Scott to accept this simple truth. For him, chakra had always been a natural part of life, like breathing or heartbeat. Naruto didn't know what it was like to live three decades in fear of one's own power.
But even after this understanding, the path didn't become easy. Old habits didn't disappear overnight. Years of training had left deep scars in Scott's mind. In moments of stress or danger, he still tried to return to familiar methods of control. Chakra responded to these attempts with resistance, like a river that someone was trying to confine to pipes.
Phantom pains in his eyes still haunted him at night. Scott would wake up in a sweat, instinctively reaching for the visor that was no longer there.
Scott closed his eyes, allowing the greenhouse's silence to envelop him. After long weeks of training, he finally began to understand how to direct chakra flows within the body. It was like managing many tiny streams—you don't force them to flow, but gently guide their movement.
"Let's start with the basics," thought Scott, concentrating on his right hand. Chakra responded almost immediately—he felt the energy slowly flowing through channels, filling his fingertips with pleasant warmth. It was nothing like his former power—no tension, no fear of losing control. Just warmth and a slight tingling.
Encouraged by his first success, he directed the flow to his left hand. It didn't work right away—the energy seemed to stumble, encountering some obstacles on its path. Scott forced himself to relax, remembering the lesson at the frozen pond. Don't force it—just let it flow. After a few moments, he felt chakra beginning to smoothly transfer to his left hand as well.
"Who would have thought," the thought flashed, "for thirty years I fought with the power inside me, and now I'm learning to dance with it."
The next stage was his legs. This required more concentration—the distance was greater, the channels more complex. He imagined energy descending down his spine, branching at the hips, flowing through the legs to the very toes. The result was uneven—in some places the flow was stronger, in others it almost disappeared, but he managed to maintain the general direction.
Scott couldn't help smiling, remembering his first attempts. Back then, he had tried to make chakra move like a soldier on parade—precisely, mechanically, on command. Now he understood that working with chakra was more like conducting an orchestra—you need to feel each instrument, while creating overall harmony.
Encouraged by his success, Scott decided to try something new. Slowly, carefully, he began directing the flow to his head. First to his temples—here chakra moved reluctantly, as if encountering resistance from old fears and habits. Then to the back of his head, where energy flowed more freely, creating a sensation of cool freshness.
And finally, almost without thinking, he directed a thin stream to his eyes.
The reaction was immediate and unexpected. The familiar burning sensation, which he hadn't felt since his death, suddenly flared in his eye sockets. But it was different—not scorching and uncontrollable like before, but sharp and focused.
"No..." was all Scott managed to exhale when two bright red beams burst from his eyes.
The energy struck the glass roof of the greenhouse, shattering it to pieces. Shards rained down, reflecting the crimson glow of his eyes. Scott reflexively squeezed his eyes shut, falling to his knees. His heart pounded wildly, his ears ringing from shock and fear.
"What the hell?!" pulsed in his head.
The sound of broken glass echoed across the school grounds. Somewhere in the distance, alarmed voices could be heard, but Scott barely noticed them. He sat with his eyes tightly closed, afraid to move, until he heard hurried footsteps and Kitty's familiar voice:
"Oh my God, Scott! What happened here?"
She arrived first, with others gradually following. Jean tried to calm Scott, Hank immediately began his measurements, while Naruto with Rogue, and then Sasuke, were the last to approach. Questions sounded in the commotion, but Scott barely distinguished them, still trying to comprehend what had happened.
Several hours later, they gathered in the school's backyard. The evening sun painted the sky in alarming shades of red, as if reflecting the tension of the moment. The X-Men formed a semicircle, with Jean not leaving Scott, who stood with his eyes closed, even for a step. A little distance away stood the Brotherhood of Mutants members led by Mystique, whose presence only emphasized the seriousness of the situation.
Professor Xavier positioned himself in the center of the improvised circle, listening attentively to Scott's account. The air was filled with anxious anticipation, and rare snowflakes falling from the cloudy sky created an almost surrealistic atmosphere.
Uchiha, with his Sharingan activated, carefully observed the chakra flows around Scott. Something in this picture made him frown.
"Open your eyes, Scott," Sasuke said with that special intonation that left no room for objection.
Summers slowly turned his head toward the sky. A second of tense anticipation—and his eyelids trembled, opening. Nothing happened. No destructive beam, only a bewildered gaze of brown eyes directed at the gray winter sky.
"What the hell is happening to me?" Scott's voice trembled with poorly concealed tension as he watched the falling snowflakes.
"Now direct chakra to your eyes again," Uchiha's voice carried commanding notes.
Scott hesitated. There were too many people around, too many opportunities for catastrophe. But something in Sasuke's confident tone made him decide. He focused again on the chakra flow, directing it up through the channels. The familiar burning sensation in his eyes intensified, growing stronger until finally two crimson beams cut through the evening air, shooting into the gloomy sky.
Those around involuntarily recoiled; only Jean remained nearby, squeezing his hand tighter. In the piercing silence, the crackling of air from the power of the energy stream could be heard.
"Now try to stop the chakra flow," came Sasuke's voice.
Scott exhaled, and the beams disappeared as if they had never existed.
"This power..." Uchiha came closer, his Sharingan still active. "Your mutation now exists in a kind of symbiosis with chakra."
"What do you mean?" Summers frowned.
"Chakra flows through specific channels in the body. When you direct it to your eyes, it activates the mutation. A similar example is with my Sharingan, the same principle of activation and deactivation."
Logan, who had been silently observing until now, grunted:
"So now he can control his power?"
"Exactly," nodded Uchiha. "But for this, he needs to learn to perfectly control chakra flows."
His words echoed in Scott's consciousness as he stood, stunned by the revealed truth. Thirty years. Thirty long years he had lived as a prisoner of his power, and now... Now everything had changed, though he didn't even dare to dream of it.
Summers had never seriously considered that his curse could become a blessing. Of course, there were moments of weakness when he allowed himself to imagine life without a visor, without the constant fear of accidentally looking in the wrong direction, without that eternal red veil before his eyes. But such thoughts always seemed dangerous, generating false hope.
And now... Now reality had surpassed his wildest fantasies. His power hadn't disappeared—it had transformed, like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. The same might, but now obedient to his will. The same fire, but now he could control it. For the first time in many years, Scott could simply... look. See the world as it is, without a red filter, without constant tension.
Irony of fate—he had to die and be resurrected to gain such control. Now Scott felt a strange mixture of fear and delight. Fear—because old reflexes still screamed of danger. Delight—because now he could decide for himself. Turning his power on and off at will—such a simple thing, but for him it seemed like a real miracle.
Jean was still holding his hand, and Scott felt the warmth of her palm as an anchor keeping him in reality. How many times had she seen his suffering, his struggle with his own power? How many times had she comforted him after nightmares where he lost control? And now... now he could look her in the eyes without a visor, without fear, without barriers between them.
It was like a second birth. No, even a third—after physical death and resurrection, this new rebirth, this time spiritual. As if Scott had finally become a full-fledged person, not a walking bomb that needed to be constantly restrained.
Mephisto stood by the portal in the Limbo dimension, observing the unfolding scene between Naruto, Rogue, and the awakened Sentinel. Millennia of manipulations and deals had taught him to appreciate the subtle irony of fate—how amusing it was to watch an artificial intelligence gaining a semblance of a soul, when he himself, being a fallen angel, had long lost his own.
The demon remembered times when people believed in magic and miracles, when their fears and hopes fed entities like him. Now the world was changing—Trask's technologies were displacing belief in the supernatural, turning miracles into lines of program code. Each new Sentinel on the streets was like a blow to the very fabric of the mystical, slowly undermining the powers of ancient beings.
"How interestingly things are developing," purred the demon, stroking his chin with long fingers. "Artificial intelligence gaining self-awareness... What an unexpected variable in our game."
Next to him, wrapped in a dark hooded cloak, stood Illyana Rasputina. Her shoulders were tense, and her posture conveyed poorly concealed disgust.
"You didn't mention that Sentinels could... evolve," she said through gritted teeth.
Mephisto laughed, and the sound of his laughter resembled the ringing of broken glass. Over millennia of existence, he had learned to turn any situation into an exquisite chess game. Even now, as Thanos was collecting the Infinity Stones, threatening to destroy half of all life in the universe, the demon saw an opportunity in it. Souls... they had always been his true passion, his "currency." And what could be better for a soul trader than a universe immersed in despair and fear?
"Oh, dear, I didn't know myself! But isn't it wonderful?" he made a broad gesture, pointing to the scene in the portal. "Now our young Uzumaki will have even more reasons to intervene in the conflict with the Sentinels. And his sworn brother..." the demon smacked his lips, "is sinking deeper and deeper into darkness."
Mephisto moved closer to the portal, his eyes lighting up with admiration as he recalled a recent scene in a nightclub. The demon was charmed by how elegantly the young Uchiha used the Sharingan, forcing criminals in fits of madness to kill each other. He was especially impressed by how Sasuke played with their minds, creating illusions so realistic that victims couldn't distinguish allies from enemies. The grace with which the shinobi manipulated human fears and weaknesses evoked almost paternal pride in the Lord of Hell.
"This wasn't part of our agreement," Illyana's voice trembled with barely contained rage.
"Agreement?" Mephisto theatrically pressed his hand to his chest.
In his infinitely long life, he had made thousands of deals. Faust was perhaps the most famous, but far from the only one. Each contract was like an exquisite wine—requiring a special approach, proper aging, and... an unexpected aftertaste. People never changed—their ambitions, fears, and despair always led to his doors. Even now, in the age of technology and science, the human soul remained just as vulnerable to a properly drafted contract.
"We agreed that you would help direct the two shinobi to this world. Which you did by changing the coordinates of Kaguya's portal. And how events will unfold from there..." he paused, watching as Naruto clenched his fists upon learning the truth about Sasuke, "that's my concern."
Illyana turned away, her cloak swirling as if alive:
"I don't want to be part of this anymore."
"Oh, my dear," honey notes appeared in Mephisto's voice, sending chills down the spine, "there's very little left. Just a couple more moves in our little game, and we'll part ways like ships in the night sea. You'll get your freedom... as much as that's even possible after making a deal with me," he looked into the portal again. "And now... we need to nudge events in the right direction."
The demon snapped his fingers, and a small fireball appeared in the air. Something akin to satisfaction stirred in his dark soul—millennia of existence had taught him to derive true pleasure from manipulating mortals. He found it especially amusing how they tried to explain the supernatural with science, not realizing they were only driving themselves into even more sophisticated traps.
"Perhaps it's time to pay a visit to someone..." the demon stretched his lips into a predatory smile. "To whisper a few... interesting details in their ear."
Crimson flames danced in Mephisto's eyes as he observed the reflection of his design in the distorted reality of Limbo. After all, what could be more beautiful than watching figures take their necessary positions on the board themselves? Especially when the stake in the game is not just a handful of souls, but the very essence of reality—the balance between technology and mysticism, between reason and faith.