Midnight came and went. Esdeath shifted restlessly beneath her sheets, the mattress creaking in protest. Her muscles ached—not the satisfying burn of training, but the deeper, bone-deep fatigue that followed genuine combat. The ambush had pushed her further than she'd expected.
She stared at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the shadows cast by streetlights filtering through her blinds. Sleep should have claimed her hours ago, but her mind refused to quiet. Images flickered behind her eyes: ice warriors shattering flesh and bone, the terrified faces of her attackers, the raw power surging through her veins.
"Just close your eyes," she muttered to herself. "Stop thinking."
But thinking was all she could do. About Peter. About the timeline accelerating around her. About Jean's knowing glances and Magik's dangerous smile.
When sleep finally dragged her under, her body relaxed with a subtle pulse of energy—invisible to the naked eye but unmistakable on other planes. The Lust Extract, still active even in unconsciousness, rippled outward like a beacon.
The dreamscape formed around her—a vast forest blanketed in pristine snow. Trees stretched skyward, their branches heavy with crystalline ice that refracted light in impossible ways. But something was wrong. Above her, the sky burned crimson, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Snowflakes drifted lazily downward, yet the air against her skin felt warm, almost feverish.
Esdeath walked forward, her boots crunching through snow that should have been cold but felt like warm sand between her toes. The contradiction fascinated her—this beautiful, impossible place where winter and summer collided.
She paused, head tilting slightly. The forest seemed empty, yet she felt watched. Observed. Not threatened, but... noticed.
"Hello?" Her voice carried strangely, neither echoing nor dampening.
The air before her shimmered, reality folding in on itself. Jean Grey stepped through the distortion, her form not quite solid—edges blurring, hair floating as if underwater. She looked like a painting caught between brushstrokes.
"Jean?" Esdeath's surprise was genuine. "What are you doing in my dream?"
Jean's eyes—impossibly green in this crimson light—studied her with concern. "I was drawn here. I felt... something. A surge of psychic energy I couldn't ignore."
"You were spying on my dreams?" Esdeath crossed her arms, more intrigued than offended.
"Not intentionally." Jean gestured to the impossible forest around them. "This isn't just a dream, Esdeath. This is a manifestation of what's happening inside you. The cold and heat. Control and chaos."
Esdeath glanced upward as a snowflake landed on her cheek, dissolving into warmth. "I've always been complicated."
"This isn't about complexity." Jean stepped closer, her movement leaving trailing afterimages. "Something inside you is growing too quickly. I can feel it—raw, instinctual, violent. The Lust you channel—it's changing you."
"Changing me for the better," Esdeath countered with a half-smile. "You should see what I can do now. The ice responds like it's part of me."
"That's what worries me." Jean reached out, her fingers almost touching Esdeath's cheek before stopping. "Power that evolves this quickly rarely stabilizes on its own."
"So I'm a ticking time bomb?" Esdeath laughed softly. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"This isn't a joke," Jean insisted, her form briefly flaring with golden light. "I've seen what happens when mutants ignore warning signs. When they embrace power without understanding its cost."
A tree branch cracked overhead, sending a shower of ice crystals raining down between them. Esdeath watched them fall, each one catching fire before hitting the ground.
"Maybe I understand the cost better than you think," she whispered.
Jean stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You're walking a knife's edge, Esdeath. Your powers are evolving too fast, and you're enjoying it too much."
"This world isn't built for kindness," Esdeath shot back, but something in Jean's gaze made her throat tighten. "You think I don't know what I'm doing? That I'm just some wild card who—"
"I think you're scared," Jean interrupted softly. "Not of others. Of yourself."
The words struck with precision Esdeath hadn't expected. The dreamscape responded instantly—the ground beneath their feet cracking, hairline fractures spreading through the snow. She turned away, unwilling to let Jean see how accurately she'd hit her mark.
"You don't know me," Esdeath whispered, but the conviction had drained from her voice.
"I don't need telepathy to recognize someone fighting themselves."
The crimson sky darkened overhead, clouds swirling into violent patterns. Esdeath watched them, suddenly exhausted by the weight of her own defenses.
"I don't know who I'm becoming," she admitted, the words escaping before she could catch them. "Every time I use my powers, they feel different. Stronger. More... mine." She flexed her fingers, watching as frost formed and dissipated around them.
The more I fight, the more I enjoy it. Not just winning—the actual fighting. The violence." She finally met Jean's eyes. "It scares me."
Jean's expression softened, not with pity but understanding. "Power always changes us. The question is whether we direct that change or surrender to it."
"What if I can't tell the difference anymore?" Esdeath asked, hating how vulnerable the question made her feel.
Jean closed the distance between them, placing her palm gently against Esdeath's chest, directly over her heart. The touch was warm, even in this strange dreamscape.
"You don't have to be just the weapon or the monster they expect you to be," Jean said. "But if you don't ground yourself—find something to anchor to—the power will choose for you."
Esdeath felt her heartbeat quicken beneath Jean's palm. "And what should I anchor to? The X-Men? Xavier's dream?"
"To whatever still matters to you," Jean answered. "To whoever you want to become."
Their faces were inches apart now. Esdeath leaned slightly closer, allowing a hint of her usual confidence to return.
"Maybe I should anchor to someone, not something," she murmured, her voice low and almost playful.
Jean didn't pull away. Instead, she held Esdeath's gaze steadily, neither encouraging nor rejecting the closeness.
"Don't lose the part of you that still cares," Jean whispered. "That's what separates the heroes from the monsters—not their powers, but what they protect with them."
The air between them seemed to shimmer, charged with something beyond the physical. Esdeath felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest—not desire, though that was present too, but something deeper. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
"I'll try," Esdeath promised, surprising herself with how much she meant it.
The dreamscape began to blur around them, edges dissolving as consciousness tugged at Esdeath's mind.
"Don't be a stranger," Jean said, her form already fading. "In dreams or reality."
The dream shattered in a blinding flash of white light. Esdeath bolted upright, gasping as if she'd been underwater. Sweat beaded across her forehead despite the frigid air that filled her bedroom. Her breath plumed in visible clouds before her face.
Ice crystals clung to her sheets and sparkled across her windowpane in delicate, fern-like patterns. The digital clock on her nightstand read 3:17 AM, its red numbers the only source of light besides the faint glow of streetlamps filtering through her window.
"Jean?" she whispered into the darkness, her voice sounding small and uncertain.
Silence answered. Esdeath reached for her phone, fumbling slightly as her trembling fingers unlocked the screen. The brightness made her squint, but there were no notifications. No missed calls. No texts.
She set the phone down and pressed her palms against her eyes. The dream had felt so real—Jean's presence, her touch, the concern in those impossibly green eyes. Not the fabrication of her subconscious, but an actual visitation.
"Get it together," she muttered, willing her heart to stop racing.
The cold retreated gradually as her powers settled. Esdeath drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Jean's words echoed in her mind: Don't lose the part of you that still cares. That's what separates the heroes from the monsters.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Heroes and monsters. Such a clean division for such a messy world. Yet something about those words had struck deeper than she wanted to admit.
She flopped back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. The idea that someone could see through her defenses—could recognize the battle she fought against herself—was both terrifying and strangely comforting. Jean had seen past the ice and the bravado to the uncertainty beneath.
And she hadn't turned away.
Esdeath closed her eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking anxiety. As sleep began to reclaim her, one final thought drifted through her mind, half warning and half invitation:
If you get too close, Jean... you might not pull back.