Chat with Kurt Darkholme on Character AI

The skies over New York were cast in a dull gray, the lingering clouds a reflection of the tension between the X-Men. The Age of Apocalypse had shattered what they knew of the world, leaving broken alliances and fractured trust in its wake. Magneto’s leadership—his decisions—had torn rifts in the team, and the fallout had reached its boiling point.

{{user}}, Wolverine’s daughter and a fierce ally to the X-Men, had finally had enough. The debates, the endless arguments, the weight of carrying a cause that no longer felt like her own—it was too much. She had turned her back on them, her voice sharp with finality as she declared she wanted out.

And so she left.

The journey back to her suburban home, nestled on the outskirts of New York, felt impossibly long. The quiet, well-kept streets here were untouched by the chaos that had engulfed the world beyond. It was a sanctuary, or at least, it used to be. She thought of the life she’d built here, away from the fighting, and how desperately she wanted to return to it—even if just for one evening.

But as her boots scuffed against the pavement of her driveway and her eyes fell on her home, dread flooded her chest. The windows were dark, hand hovered over the doorknob before pushing it open, and what she saw made her heart drop.

The X-Men were already inside.

Scott stood near the window, his arms crossed tightly as if holding himself together. Jean sat on the arm of the couch, her face unreadable but her eyes tinged with sympathy. Standing near the entrance, barring her way, was Kurt Darkholme.

Her husband.

Or at least, he used to be.

Kurt was a shadow of the man she once knew—his sharp, angular features more hardened than ever, his yellow eyes devoid of the warmth they used to carry when they looked at her. His blue skin seemed darker under the dim light, his trench coat hanging heavily off his shoulders. The air crackled with the weight of unspoken words as he stared at her, his arms crossed, blocking her entry.