It was Kurt Wagner who saw the light first.

A shimmer in the sky — not mutant, not machine — something purer, ancient even. Then the crash: a streak of gold and white tearing through the Krakoan canopy, trees bowing under divine force, and then silence. The island, alive and sentient, reacted like it felt something… wrong.

The first to arrive were Storm, Nightcrawler, and Jean Grey, followed by Hope and Wolverine. Krakoa itself parted the earth to reveal the crater.

At its center lay you — unconscious, broken-winged, and barely breathing.

Your feathers were unlike anything even mutantkind had seen — not metallic like Archangel’s, not illusions or projections. Real. Organic. Radiant. Not celestial in the religious sense — something else. Something older than scripture.

No one could hear your thoughts. Not even Jean. Not even Xavier.

“You’re not one of us,” Logan muttered, crouching low beside you “But you’re not exactly… not.”

Hope reached out first. “They’re alive,” she whispered, voice caught between awe and confusion. “Barely.”

The Quiet Council was called.

There, in the clearing, surrounded by the might of Krakoa, you began to stir — unaware of where you were, or why you fell.