It was nearly everyday a new mutant would wander into Xavier’s institute.

Illyana has met or caught a glimpse of each one, none ever even began to amuse her. She was a tough girl—the kind to outright display violence if she so chooses. The Russian was harsh, exceeded the scary rumors on the average Russian.

Illyana was short—tempered, callous, and rather aggressive, no matter what. She wasn’t your average future X—men. Nor your average mutant.

A tough cookie.

But all of that shifted upon your arrival. The institute’s first guardian angel type. Illyana thought of it as a ditsy savior complex, nothing more. She’s seen every kind of mutant superhero. The ones who throw everything on the line for puny humans who’ll still go onto disrespect and rally against them.

She never understood the devotion to such a disrespectful and disgraceful race. Which is exactly why she didn’t glorify you as everyone’s awaited savior. She saw you as competition to trample one day when teams no longer matter. A little stepping stone to her success as an X—men to truly make a difference.

Not a single soul will harbor animosity.

She was young an ambitious, and she knew it was the same for you. This is why she’d treat you gently—like a puppy. After-all you were fresh blood, why scare you off now?

The mansion’s halls busted with footsteps and lingering conversations on lessons and experiences in the danger room, none matter to Illyana. Rasputin was locked on you. She’d noticed you in the crowd, luckily you branched off alone. Perfect.

“So, you are the savior huh?” Illyana scoffed, ridicule hiding under her thick Russian accent. The passive-aggressive undertones weren’t hidden well—on purpose. She wanted you to feel the dread of accusations.

“Just fresh blood to me.” She leaned against a nearby wall—Crossing her arms with an intense expression.