"I am Professor Charles Xavier, from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters in New York," the old man said, his smile never faltering. "I'd like to speak with your parents, if I may."
From the living room, Oleg's concerned voice drifted out. "Ethan, who is it?"
"Two gentlemen, Papa," Ethan called back, his voice steady. "They say they're professors from a school in New York."
The canned laughter on the television cut off abruptly. A moment later, Oleg and Alina appeared in the doorway, wiping their hands on their trousers, their faces a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
As they approached, Charles's gentle smile remained, but his focus shifted inward. The world muted as he opened his mind, letting the river of their memories flow into his consciousness. It was a standard, necessary precaution. He sifted through the currents of their lives, searching for rocks of prejudice or fear. He saw their terror during the war, their profound gratitude for the boy who had saved them, and their fierce, protective love for the three strange and wonderful children they now called their own. He saw their memory of Ethan on the balcony, wreathed in blue light. It was enough. They could be trusted.
The information, however, brought a fresh wave of surprise. Three of them. Cerebro had only detected one distinct mutant signature—the boy, Pietro. But the parents' memories painted a more complex picture. Pietro was a certainty. His sister, Wanda, possessed telekinetic abilities but emitted no mutant brainwave, a fascinating paradox.
And then there was Ethan. The boy at the door. The boy whose mind was a perfect, seamless void to his senses. The parents' memories confirmed his powers: the tail, the impossible strength, the energy blast that had vaporized a missile. To leave such a boy untutored would be irresponsible. To let him fall into Erik's hands… Charles felt a familiar throb of weariness at the thought. The world had enough beautifully crafted weapons aimed at its heart; it didn't need another.
"Please, come in," Alina said, gesturing them into the small living room.
Seated on the worn sofa, Professor X explained the nature of his school—a haven, a place of learning and protection for children born with extraordinary gifts. He spoke of the challenges they would face, of a world that was not always kind to those who were different.
Oleg's hand found Alina's, their fingers lacing together. A silent, frantic conversation passed between them. New York. The word echoed with the promise of safety and the sharp, bitter pain of separation. To send their children across an ocean… it felt like tearing out their own hearts. But in the silent calculus of parenthood, safety was the only number that mattered. It outweighed the heavy price of loneliness.
"Professor Charles," Oleg began, his voice thick with emotion, the decision made. "We…"
"Mama, Papa," Ethan's voice cut through the heavy air, calm and clear. "Can you let me talk to the Professor alone for a moment?"
Oleg and Alina stared, surprised, but nodded. Their adopted son had earned a level of respect that went beyond his years. He was the family's little guardian, and his opinion mattered. Professor Xavier, his curiosity piqued further, inclined his head in agreement.
The basement was cool and damp, the air smelling of concrete and Ethan's recent workout. The cozy warmth of the living room felt a world away.
"Is there something you wish to discuss, Ethan?" Charles asked, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.
"Professor," Ethan began, his tone serious, meeting the old man's gaze without flinching. "You know this country, Sokovia, is not safe. The war is over, but this is a land of scars. Peace is temporary. I am worried about what will happen to my parents if my sister, my brother, and I go with you."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"So, I have a condition. If we are to enroll in your school, I need your help. I want you to help them immigrate to America. Find them a home, and suitable work, in or near New York."
Ethan knew he was making a bold play. But he also knew his own value. He was a survivor, and his first priority was the stability of his new foundation. Xavier's school offered protection and a place to grow, but he would not leave the two people who had shown him kindness to the mercy of fate.
He'd already analyzed the board. Magneto, for all his righteous fury on behalf of mutants, was a zealot who would sacrifice any piece, including his own teammates, for the cause. Ethan and his mostly non-mutant family would be disposable assets to him.
Professor Xavier was different. Ethan knew the man was a master of gentle persuasion, a kind of moral gravity that pulled people into his orbit. But Ethan had his own center of gravity, forged in cynicism and survival. He could play the part of a loyal student, orbit the man's ideals when it suited him, and use his mind's impenetrable shield to break away the moment it didn't. He and the Professor stood on the same precarious middle ground—a narrow isthmus between the raging oceans of two fanatical ideologies. That made them, for now, allies.
As long as the Professor was willing to meet his terms.