The car rolled through the tree-lined streets of suburban New York, the landscape a far cry from the desert wastes they had left behind in Egypt. Elric sat in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the window frame as he took in the scenery.
"So this is 1980s America," he mused aloud, a note of genuine appreciation in his voice. "It's quite beautiful, isn't it? There are still so many small shops lining the streets, family-owned businesses, local character. Not like the steel and glass jungle it becomes in the future."
Hela sat in the passenger seat, also looking out the window with an expression that was difficult to read. For someone from Asgard's golden halls, Earth's architecture was primitive at best, but even she could appreciate the organic way the towns seemed to grow rather than being imposed upon the landscape.
"So, did you find out anything about that girl named Jean?" Hela asked, turning to look at him.
"Let's check the mutant school first," Elric replied. "We'll get more reliable information there than from rumors and speculation."
He ran through what he remembered of the timeline in his head. According to the Dark Phoenix storyline he vaguely recalled, Jean Grey should have come to Xavier's school in 1975 after a traumatic accident—witnessing her best friend's death, which triggered her mutant abilities prematurely. Then, in the 1990s, she would go to space with the X-Men and receive the Phoenix Force during a solar radiation incident.
Currently, it was 1981. If that timeline held true, Jean would still be just a child, maybe ten or eleven years old, learning to control her abilities under Xavier's guidance.
But then there was X-Men: Apocalypse, where Jean already possessed the Phoenix Force in the 1980s, using it to destroy the ancient mutant and save the world.
The timeline is a mess, Elric thought with mild frustration. And I've forgotten most of the specific events anyway. Different movies, different continuities, all blending together.
He would have to see for himself to figure out what was actually happening in this reality.
After making their decision, they had quickly went toward New York's outskirts.
Now, as they approached their destination, a massive gate came into view.
The gate itself was wrought iron, elegant and imposing, set into a stone wall that stretched in both directions. Beyond it, a long driveway curved through manicured grounds toward a structure that could only be described as a mansion—a sprawling estate that spoke of old money and East Coast aristocracy.
Ororo swallowed hard, her eyes widening. "Is every school here like this?"
"Hmm, what's so great about it?" Hela's voice dripped with contempt as she examined the mansion with a critical eye.
Ororo glanced at Hela's dismissive expression and felt a flash of defensive pride for her adopted world. "Hmm, it's not even that great, actually. I've seen much bigger ones than this. Definitely better than your broken Asgard."
Hela's head whipped around, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Excuse me?"
"Okay, you are welcome to my humble abode," a new voice interrupted smoothly, "but please, can you stop insulting my house?"
The castle gate swung open silently, as if moved by invisible hands. Standing just inside was a man in a wheelchair—bald, perhaps in his forties, wearing a cardigan and slacks that gave him the appearance of a mild-mannered professor rather than one of the most powerful telepaths on Earth.
Professor Charles Xavier smiled warmly at them.
Ororo's face flushed bright red with embarrassment. She hadn't meant for him to hear that—she hadn't even known anyone was nearby.
"It's not like that..." she stammered, trying to find words to explain herself.
"Okay, child," Xavier said gently, his voice carrying the patience of someone accustomed to dealing with emotional teenagers. "I know it wasn't your intention. Please, come in first. We can talk slowly, get to know each other properly."
His gaze shifted to Elric, and for a moment, their eyes met. Elric felt the lightest brush against his mental shields—not an intrusion, but a polite knock, Xavier's way of gauging his guest.
"What should I call you?" Xavier asked.
"You can call me Elric," he replied, gesturing to his companions. "She is Hela, and that is Ororo."
"Welcome to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Xavier said, turning his wheelchair and beginning to lead them down the driveway. "I apologize for the dramatic entrance. I don't often have visitors who arrive so... unexpectedly."
As they walked—or in Xavier's case, rolled—through the grounds, Elric took in the scene before him with growing fascination.
Children were everywhere.
In the garden to their left, a group of kids played basketball, but the game was anything but normal. One boy jumped nearly fifteen feet in the air to make a shot, his hang time defying physics. Another seemed to teleport short distances, appearing under the basket just as the ball came down. A girl on the sidelines caused the ball to curve mid-flight, her hands glowing faintly with telekinetic energy.
In the trees to their right, children swung from branch to branch with impossible agility. One had grown his arms longer to reach distant holds. Another seemed to stick to the bark like a spider. A third was actually flying, no wings or visible means of propulsion, just hovering and laughing as she played tag with her earth-bound friends.
Watching this in reality, Elric felt a sense of wonder he hadn't experienced in years.
In his current universe—the main MCU timeline—it was still the beginning of the story. Superheroes were just emerging. Most of the world still believed enhanced individuals were myths or government experiments. Seeing so many unique powers being used openly, casually, joyfully, was novel and refreshing.
His curiosity was evident on his face, and Xavier noticed.
"You know," the Professor said quietly, his voice taking on a heavier tone, "several of those children had to be rescued from experimental facilities all over the world. Many of the older children couldn't even speak when they first came here. Instead of their parents' loving embrace, they knew only dark cells and cold examination tables. Before they could even understand what happiness was, they were greeted by unimaginable pain."
Elric's expression sobered. He had known this, of course—the persecution of mutants was a core element of the X-Men narrative. But hearing it stated so plainly, while watching these children play, gave it new weight.
"And the worst thing," Xavier continued, his voice carrying quiet anguish, "is that some parents willingly gave their children away, knowing what might happen to them. They saw the mutation as a curse, a disease to be cured, and handed their babies over to people who promised to 'fix' them."
He paused.
"Most parents were deceived, of course. Told their children would go to a better place, a special school where they would be cared for. They believed they were doing the right thing. But the result was the same—children treated as lab rats, subjected to experiments that would make your stomach turn."
Xavier's wheelchair stopped, and he turned to face them directly.
"After Magneto's stunt, things got worse. Much worse. Fear turned to active persecution. Hate crimes increased three hundred percent. Families abandoned their mutant children in the streets. Vigilante groups formed with the explicit purpose of hunting down 'muties' and making examples of them."
His eyes locked onto Elric's, and the full weight of the world's most powerful telepath's attention was focused in that gaze.
"So, Mr. Elric," Xavier said softly, "do you mind lending a little of your power to help change that?"
......
The moment these three people had appeared outside his mansion, it had been an absolute shock for Charles Xavier.
He monitored several kilometers around the estate twenty-four hours a day with his mental power, enhanced by Cerebro when necessary. It was a defensive measure, a way to ensure no threat approached his students undetected. He could sense every mind within that radius—students, staff, delivery drivers, curious neighbors, even the wildlife.
But these three had simply... appeared.
One moment, the area outside his gate had been empty. The next, they were there, as if they had materialized from thin air. And even now, standing directly in front of him, he might not have sensed them if this man—Elric—hadn't allowed it.
There was something blocking his telepathy, a shield unlike any he had encountered. It wasn't aggressive or hostile, but it was absolute. Trying to read Elric's surface thoughts was like trying to see through a brick wall—not painful, just completely ineffective.
And the energy he could sense radiating from the man was strange. It wasn't entirely psychic, which suggested his power went beyond just mental abilities. There were layers to it, Xavier couldn't quite identify it, but he could feel its depth.
Then there was the woman, Hela.
The moment her eyes had glanced at him, he had felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine. It was instinctive, primal—the same feeling a mouse might experience when a hawk's shadow passes overhead. Every survival instinct he possessed screamed a single message: She could kill you at any time.
Not "might kill you" or "could kill you if she wanted to fight."
At any time. As easily as breathing. Without effort or hesitation.
It was terrifying.
And the white-haired girl, Ororo, might be the weakest of this group, but only in comparison to the other two. Even she radiated potential—raw, untapped power that made Xavier's telepathic senses tingle with possibility. She was young, uncertain, still finding her footing, but the magnitude of what she could become was staggering.
Who are these people? Xavier wondered. And what do they want?
He had posed his question—his request for help—as much to gauge their intentions as to actually recruit their aid. How they responded would tell him volumes about their character.
Elric studied Xavier for a long moment, his expression thoughtful.
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