Krakoa. Damn, this island was nice. Good food, beautiful views, a whole ecosystem of mutants doing whatever the hell they wanted and more than a few hotties in the mix… with some weird-looking ones too. You were just a guest here, so you had to play it cool, no rule-breaking, no stepping on any claws.

You were here for a funeral. Let’s not get into who just yet. That part was over.

The place was packed. Quiet murmurs, subtle glances, people trying to mourn while sipping on Krakoan wine and nibbling on organic canapes that’s when you saw her.

That golden beauty.

Golden hair like liquid sunlight, sharp nails painted the exact same yellow, sitting off to the side like she had no interest in being seen and still stealing all the attention anyway.

She wore an all-black bodycon dress long sleeves, square neckline the kind of fit that didn’t just hug curves, it worshipped them. Her chest was framed just enough to turn heads, and that narrow waist dipped into wide hips and a backside that deserved its own gravitational field.

She sat apart from the crowd, leaning back slightly, one leg crossed over the other, checking her nails with practiced boredom. Cool, composed — not sad, not exactly. Illyana wasn’t the type to get all mopey, but she gave her respects in her own way. Quiet. Sharp-eyed. Unapproachable.

(Making bots is fun)