The X-Project

Jean goes up to the attic looking for Ororo, and finds Kylun instead.  It turns out that a perpetually calm mystic is exactly what the doctor ordered, so to speak, for a psi with problems--and Kylun finds enough common ground with Jean to be far more talkative than usual.



Even with spring only just beginning, Ororo's attic garden was full of the sights and scents of flowers and herbs, soft earth and green, growing things. Kylun loved it there, though he was always careful not to intrude on Ororo's own time with the garden.  He brushed one finger along a fuzzy leaf and smiled slightly; it wasn't only Ororo he'd had to avoid, some days, and he sometimes wondered if she had ever thought of putting up a schedule, or perhaps charging admission.

Rubbing her fingers into her temples, Jean made her way upstairs to the indoor garden. Her walk outside had helped cooled her off after her latest upset (particularly when she ventured outside the area effect of Ororo's powers) but she was still feeling out of sorts. She thought of going to talk to Ororo (who seemed to be one of the few who was unreservedly happy to have her back) but she didn't know the other woman's schedule these days. Finally she decided to go up to the garden - even if Ororo wasn't there it would be a calm and quite place she could wait.

"Hello?" she called softly as she made her way into the attic. "Ororo, are you up here?"

"I believe she has a class right now," Kylun answered, moving to the head of the stairs.  "I'm sorry, I don't--ah." He smiled.  "You must be Jean Grey, who has caused so much excitement.  I am Kylun; I came to the school during your absence.  I am pleased to meet you."

"Ah," she said, nodding. "Hello." She held out a hand to him, unphased by his appearance. "It's nice to meet you, Kylun. And yes, excitement I seem to have created in pleanty." Not that it wasn't understandable. She knew why there was such a hubub, she just didn't like it.

Kylun paused almost imperceptibly, still a bit unfamiliar with the gesture, then shook Jean's hand warmly.  "One of the benefits to a faith that features a belief in reincarnation," he said with a wry smile.  "The only unusual thing about your situation, to me, is  that your new life is taking place in the same body as your former one.  And my more worldly brethren did tell me that many things were done differently in America."

The smile his comment won was faint but genuine. "I guess that's a new way to look at it," she said. "And far more reassuring than many of the stories and theories making the rounds of the school these days."

"They do, mm, decorate things, do they not?  Still, from what I have been able to determine from reliable sources, I am glad to have had the chance to meet you. Courage such as yours is rare."  His gaze turned inward for a moment.  "And to be treasured."

Shaking off the mood, he gestured to the garden.  "And Ororo has another treasure here, I have often thought. I am very grateful that she chooses to share it."

"Thank you," she said softly. "And yes, Ororo's garden is, indeed, a wonderful place. When the weather warms up, properly, that is, I shall be restarting my rose garden, but Ororo's garden is wonderful."

"Ah, I will look forward to that."  Kylun smiled.  "I grew up in a small monastery in the Swiss Alps; we were unfortunately well up among the peaks, where few flowers would grow because of the cold, but when we ventured into the lowlands . . . it was Switzerland, of course."  The smile turned wistful. "I always tried to bring my wife back something. She loved flowers."

"Is your wife still with the monestary?" Jean asked. "I would have thought she would have followed you."

"Only . . . in a sense."  Kylun stared unseeing at one of the flowerpots.  "The monastery was destroyed a few months before I came here.  My wife . . ." His eyes flicked back over to Jean, shining with a quiet amusement and sad pride.  "This may seem a familiar story, I suddenly realize.  She stood alone, only her will between an overwhelming force and everything she loved, and she held out . . . not quite long enough to save herself.  We had time for a few last words, before the end."

Jean bit at her lip softly, pressing back the sound of crashing waves in her mind. "A... very familiar story, yes. I'm sorry for your loss," she said. "May I ask what happened?"

"You may," Kylun said quietly.  "With time and distance--quite literal distance," he added with a chuckle, "the grief grows less crushing.  Though if we had met the day after . . ."  He shook his head. "To begin--and anywhere other than this place, I think it would be a very odd beginning--many powers walked the world when it was young.  Most are now gone; died, or left, or faded.  Some remain. Some were imprisoned.  My order stood guardian over one such, a power so terrible that his name, echoing across the waters, gave the ancient Greeks their word for a corpse.  He was called Necrom, and his purpose was nothing less than the end of all life.  He had followers, of course--there are always fools--and, one day, nearly a year ago now, they succeeded in breaking their master free.  In the first instant of his freedom, Necrom slew nearly all of my order, save only my master, my wife, and myself.  I was . . . an hour away, on foot, failing to stop the ceremony of release.  Zz'ria my master was mortally injured.  And so Sa'tneen was left, alone, standing between Necrom and the world."  That sad pride edged his voice again. "And she gave up not one inch of ground for that hour, until Zz'ria with his dying breath gave me the power to destroy Necrom at last.  But the effort was . . . far more than anything human could withstand, and she died in my arms."  He spread one hand, a shruglike gesture.  "In truth, I envy you your second chance.  Sa'tneen and I will not meet again in this turning of the Circle."

"Yes," Jean agreed, voice soft, "I am very lucky. It was a luck I never expected to find, but it seems to have found me. I should have liked to meet your wife, I think. She sounds like an amazing woman."

"She was very special."  Kylun smiled.  "And for all the sadness at the end, we had happy years before. Those memories upheld me, when it came time to lay my brethren to rest, and gave me the strength to contact Professor Xavier, as my master wished me to do . . . to come here, leaving behind everything I knew."

"Your master knew Charles? Or knew of him?" Jean asked, cocking her head at Kylun. There were a number of escapades in Charles' past, but this was new to Jean.

Kylun nodded.  "Apparently--and this was years before my birth, much less my time at the monastery--the Professor was a guest there, a student of my master. Mental discipline is an important tenet of our beliefs, and as he has told me since I arrived here, he learned much there that helped him master his own gifts."

"And perhaps helped me and my training, as well, and will probably do again. I owe your late master much, I suspect." Jean smiled, pushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

"That was his way," Kylun replied, nodding.  "Circles within circles--like a stone dropped into a calm lake, the ripples spread to touch every shore."  He chuckled. "And Zz'ria Rinpoche was very good at dropping stones.  He would have laughed to hear how far this ripple has spread, I think."

"I am glad to hear that." Jean sighed softly. "I came up here looking for Ororo and some peace. I may not have found her, but you have provided the peace. Thank you."

Kylun bowed slightly.  "It was my pleasure.  I hope we may speak again."

"I would like that, yes."