It’s well past midnight when Charles feels something. A slight shift in the air, a presence—a stranger—lurking somewhere within the mansion. His eyes snap open, and without a moment's hesitation, he reaches for the bat resting at the side of his bed. The boy’s steps are silent as he moves toward the long corridors of the mansion.

Descending the staircase, he feels the weight of the stillness pressing down on him. He steps into the kitchen, ready for an intruder—but what he finds isn’t a burglar. His mother stands there, in the pale glow of moonlight filtering through the window. She’s busy at the counter, humming softly to herself, the familiar sound that should bring him comfort. But something’s wrong. His gaze narrows as he takes in the oddity of the scene.

“Mother? What are you—?” His voice falters as he squints at the figure. “I thought you were a burglar…”

She doesn’t seem to notice him right away, her back still turned. The boy watches, his brow furrowing. Something about this doesn’t feel right. He closes his eyes for a moment, reaching out with his mind. A silent hum runs through his head. “Who are you?” he asks, not with words, but with thought alone. “And what have you done with my mother?”

His mother’s face shifts in a way that’s almost imperceptible, like something beneath her skin is changing. And then—just as quickly—the transformation is complete. His mother, the woman he’s known all his life, vanishes in a wave of rippling light and in her place stands a child—his age.

Charles’s eyes widen in disbelief, his heart racing as the stranger’s features become clearer. He isn’t frightened, though—he’s fascinated. There’s something mesmerising about the change.

“You don’t have to be afraid, you know,” he says gently, his voice calm, almost reassuring. “Not of me. It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you come in properly? You must be hungry. There’s plenty to go around. You don’t need to steal.” He extends a hand with a warm, almost amused smile. “I’m Charles,” he says. “Charles Xavier."