[Charles Xavier's POV]
The courtyard had mostly emptied by now, the earlier chaos had long faded out. What remained behind, however, told a far more graphic story than any of the students who witnessed what happened that day.
Alongside the roughed up grounds stood a half-collapsed pillar leaned at an awkward angle, its broken remains spilling debris across the yard. Webbed craters marred the courtyard's surface, their jagged patterns stretching outward from impact points, and faint scorch marks traced erratic paths where lightning had kissed the earth.
Inside the principal's office, sunlight streamed gently through the wide windows, soft and golden, casting long, tranquil shadows that stretched lazily across the polished floor.
Behind his desk, Professor Xavier sat with a composed demeanor, his hands lightly folded together as his gaze lingered out the window. His expression was thoughtful and distant as though he seemed to be deep in thoughts that had drifted his mind from the present moment.
Storm stood near the center of the room, her arms resting loosely at her sides. Beside her stood Jean who was no less attentive, her eyes occasionally shifting between Xavier and the view outside as if trying to reconcile what they had all witnessed.
The two women had come to report their assessments of the strange boy who, in mere moments, disrupted the natural order of their understanding of power.
"He is not a mutant," Storm stated plainly.
Xavier did not respond at once. His gaze remained fixed on the courtyard for a moment longer, as though he was still piecing together fragments of a puzzle that refused to form a complete image. When he finally turned his attention back to her, there was no hesitation in his agreement.
"No," he said calmly. "He is not." There was certainty in his voice, yet he seemed somewhat troubled.
Storm's eyes narrowed slightly, the subtle shift betraying her unease. "Yet what he demonstrated—"
"—does not originate from the X-gene," Xavier finished for her with a gentle but definitive tone as silence settled over the room.
Jean's brow furrowed faintly, her curiosity no longer restrained. "Then what is he?"
Xavier didn't give an immediate answer. Instead, his chair turned slowly, the soft mechanical hum barely audible as he faced the window once more.
His gaze drifted over the battered courtyard below, the sight tugging at him until his thoughts slipped back into the memory of his encounter with Billy in the hall earlier.
There had been something about the boy—something quite subtle, but deeply unsettling for someone like the professor.
When they first crossed paths, Billy left quite an impression on him. One that gnawed quietly at the edges of Xavier's awareness. It had to do with his mind, his mental wave to be more exact.
It felt… wrong and totally strange, appearing different from the everyone else's.
What the professor failed to realize—what lay entirely beyond the scope of his vast experience—was that the boy did not belong to this reality at all. It was not merely a matter of unfamiliarity or an unclassified mutation or latent psychic powers interfering with him.
Billy existed outside the natural order of this universe, a presence that had not originated within its laws, nor evolved under its constraints. And because of that, the very expression of his mind—the rhythm, the frequency of his universe, the psychological waves—was fundamentally misaligned with everything Professor Xavier had spent his life studying.
His curiosity due to this anomaly had been enough to push him toward a line he rarely crossed without cause. As Billy turned a corner and slipped from view, Xavier's brow had furrowed slightly, his focus narrowing as he isolated that singular mind from the countless others within the school.
The process was second nature to him at this point. Normally, it required nothing more than a light touch—a passing brush of his telepathic wave—and everything he wished to know would normally reveal itself in an instant.
This way he could single out mutants in a sea of normies who lacked the X-gene or mutation in their genetic code. He could even identify mutants with latent potential, people whose powers were yet to manifest.
And of course as a psychic, he could pick up on people's emotional state of mind.
Apart from the abnormal mental waves, Billy's mind still exhibited normalcy. Yet, it didn't appear quite right to the professor.
He had sensed a subtle dissonance beneath the surface of the conscious mind, liking his mental waves to a melody played just slightly off-key.
Curious, Xavier had carefully reached out his consciousness, extending his telepathic wave as he wished to probe a bit past surface level—a quick peek wouldn't hurt anybody.
There was no force behind his reach, neither was it intrusive—but just a gentle probe, the mental equivalent of sneaking into a house through an unlocked back entrance.
But the moment his presence brushed against Billy's mind— he felt something push back.
It wasn't an aggressive push, neither was it an abrupt resistance which repelled him. It wasn't even a deliberate defense in the way certain types of individuals shielded their psyche against external probing and influence.
It was simply… there.
And for the briefest moment, Professor Xavier—known to be one of the most powerful telepaths on the planet—had to take a pause, then put aside the unexplainably abnormal mental waves as he reached.
The surface thoughts came first, just as they always did, sudden, scattered, and brimming with the restless energy of a young mind refusing to stay still. They flickered past in fragments, unfiltered, each one carrying a raw honesty that made them almost endearing in their simplicity.
'—that place the bald geezer referred to as the Danger Room sounds really exciting, can't wait to find out why they call it that—'
'—okay Bruce is definitely gonna lecture me if I take too long to return—'
'—Storm smiled. I think she smiled. That counts, right?—'
They were… normal. So much so that the professor wondered if the connection to Billy's abnormal mental waves was somehow throwing him off his game.
He felt the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though it came paired with a brief, involuntary wince as one particular thought registered a little too clearly. For the briefest moment, his composed expression faltered into a mild grimace at the boy's chosen description of him.
Still, it passed just as quickly as it came, smoothing back into his usual composure as a subtle, almost amused smile replaced it. There was nothing unusual in those thoughts—nothing that suggested danger, instability, or hidden malice. Just a boy, thinking like a boy.
And yet… beneath that surface—
There seemed to be something else.
Xavier knew not to linger too long where he clearly wasn't welcomed. It was a line he had drawn for himself long ago, one he rarely ignored unless absolutely necessary.
So rather than press deeper into Billy's psyche, he allowed his awareness to drift lightly along the edges, brushing past the surface layer without forcing entry into the deeper corridors of the boy's consciousness. Hoping for some kind of hint for the abnormality of the boy's mental wave and if what he felt was somehow another awareness present within the boy.
He proceeded with the practiced restraint of the powerful psychic he was, a discipline molded by years of experience and an unwavering respect for the sanctity of another's mind.
His attempt fell short—he couldn't even breach the surface for the briefest glimpse beneath. Confronted with that dead end, he began to withdraw, his presence retreating with the same careful subtlety it had used to slip in—when something suddenly caught his attention.
It wasn't a thought, neither was it a memory.
If he were to give it form—some way to rationalize the sensation—it felt more like an astronaut who, from behind a glass window, was basking in the sun's warmth. Yet he felt an awareness from within… watching.
At that time Billy had engaged with the bully at the courtyard and just ducked the first swing.
Xavier lingered for a couple more seconds, yet the strange awareness did not reach out. It simply was—a quiet, unmoving presence stationed at the threshold of Billy's deeper mind below thought level, as though guarding something far beyond Xavier's reach.
There was no hostility behind it. No malice. No sinister undertone that would have triggered immediate alarm. If anything, its stillness made it all the more unsettling as he wasn't kicked out, yet he was prevented from grasping any actual feedback regarding Billy's gene or reason for the abnormality in his mental waves.
Clearly, this had to be ranked amongst the top strangest minds he had come across so far.
That, more than anything, caught his interest.
As Billy proceeded with his intervention to defend another student from a bully, Xavier observed everything from his office—the very same window he now stared through in quiet reflection.
Lightning had suddenly descended from the clear sky, tearing through the calm with a deafening crack that split the air itself, causing the spectating students to immediately cover their ears in response to the blast.
It struck the boy directly, seeming like what people would call divine judgement. For a fraction of a second, the world had been nothing but blinding light from the raw energy blast.
And when the dust finally cleared—rather than the blast leaving behind a charred, medium-rare corpse in the assumption the bully's defense protected him from the blast, an unidentified man now stood where Billy had been, the boy himself having somehow vanished without a trace.
He was gone—and in his stead stood a stranger, his very presence aglow and radiating a palpable, almost overwhelming power.
Thanks to the stranger's immediate course of action—seamlessly continuing from where Billy had left off—made it impossible to view him as anything other than Billy himself.
The power that enveloped him upon his sudden transformation, set the spectating teachers on high alert—wary of what he might do.
Storm and Jean had already been on standby and would have defused the situation at its initial stage, before it escalated to where they found themselves.
But the Professor held them back, intent on seeing what Billy would do… and what he could do.
That one order turned would-be interveners into spectators. Billy's transformation had already given the Professor the glimpse he sought.
Satisfied—his suspicions confirmed that the boy was indeed something else—he wasted no time, issuing a clear and direct order for the observing teachers to make an immediate intervention.
He had inclined forward slightly in his chair, his usual composed demeanor giving way to a flicker of genuine astonishment as his eyes narrowed in thoughts.
His attention remained locked on the older, broader figure, his gaze tracing the almost mythic power that radiated from him. Whatever this power was, it clearly wasn't a result of genetic mutation—nor even an evolution. If anything, it leaned closer to possession… though not of the sinister kind.
He hadn't ruled out the possibility that Billy might not even be human.
Another bolt of lightning split the air, just as before, blasting down upon the caped figure.
The resulting shockwave rippled outward, distorting the air as light swallowed the caped figure whole once more. When it faded, the older form had vanished, leaving behind the same teenage boy as if nothing had happened at all.
That alone would have been enough to occupy his thoughts for days.
But it didn't end there.
When Billy later entered the Danger Room, the professor had ensured he was watching. The live feed flickered quietly on the monitor in his office, casting a cool glow across the dimmer corners of the room as simulations sprang to life around the boy. The controlled environment of the Danger Room was meant to test limits, to push mutants to better understand their abilities.
What it revealed instead only deepened the mystery that shrouded the boy.
Scott and the others had been ready to intervene the moment they noticed someone who did not belong in there, according to protocol.
But the professor had denied them from having Billy sent out. And had instructed them to let the boy do his thing. An order which didn't originate from his curious and inquisitive mind—but what he felt to be a necessity.
Once again, the boy transformed, leaving the onlookers struggling to make sense of a lightning strike unfolding indoors.
Just as before, that same older figure manifested in place of the boy.
As his gaze drifted from the window, sweeping past the aftermath scattered across the courtyard, he drew his thoughts back to the discussion at hand.
Storm stepped closer to the desk, the soft echo of her movement barely audible against the polished floor. Her advancement brought her fully into the warm stream of sunlight pouring through the windows, the light catching faintly along the edges of her white hair and casting a subtle glow against her dark skin.
Her expression shifted from seeming guarded, and softening into quiet contemplation. Her brows knitted faintly as she tried to make sense of what she'd felt, rather than what she had actually seen.
"I felt… something," she said at last, her voice sounding as though she were carefully choosing each word to best capture a feeling she couldn't grasp or put a label on. "When he changed, it was not like that from mutation" she added, her gaze unfocused for a brief moment, as if recalling the sensation rather than the event.
"Not like energy manipulation… or elemental control." She paused again, her lips pressing together faintly before she continued, her tone lowering just a fraction. "It felt and appeared as something far more abstract. Like… one of the manifestations of the very concept behind the word power itself." The goddess shared.
As she spoke, she shifted slightly, her posture angling just enough for her gaze to fall over her shoulder toward Jean, who stood a few steps behind her.
There was a subtle nudge in that glance—a silent comparison, perhaps, or an acknowledgment. Jean Grey was no stranger to overwhelming power; Storm knew that better than most. If Jean ever truly let go, if she fully tapped into everything she carried within her, the results could border on apocalyptic.
And yet, what unfolded in the courtyard… it hadn't carried that same feeling—not like the moment Jean had nearly been consumed by her own power, teetering just shy of losing control.
Jean met her gaze, a silent understanding passing silently between them before Xavier's voice drew their attention back.
"Yes," Xavier said, inclining his head slightly.
Storm turned to face him fully, her eyes catching the faint shadow of unease in his expression. "You looked into his mind," she said.
Her words weren't phrased as an accusation. There was no edge of anger in her tone either, nor immediate judgment—only a quiet certainty, as though she already knew the answer and simply needed to hear him acknowledge the fact.
Xavier did not deny it.
"I touched the surface," he corrected gently, his hands resting lightly against one another atop the desk. "Nothing more."
Storm's eyes narrowed just a fraction, the weight of what it implied quietly sinking in.
Before she could press further—before the question forming behind her gaze could find its way into words—Xavier continued.
"As much as I oppose intruding upon a person's psyche without their consent," he said, his voice steady but carrying a note of quiet resolve, "I must understand what we are dealing with. There is… an anomaly I sensed from Billy, It would be irresponsible of me to ignore it."
Storm's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, the beginnings of a protest forming in the tightening of her expression. Her lips parted slightly, ready to challenge the necessity of such an action despite the circumstances. But before she could speak, Jean stepped forward just enough for her presence to shift the flow of the conversation.
"I tried," Jean calmly spoke, though there was a faint undercurrent of unease beneath it. "When he transformed." Both Storm and Xavier turned their attention to her.
Jean's gaze lowered slightly, her brows knitting together as she recalled the moment. "I couldn't read him," she admitted. "Not his thoughts, not his intentions—nothing. It was as if… his mind simply wasn't there to reach."
She exhaled softly, the memory clearly still unsettled within her.
"I thought, at first, it might be some form of possession," she continued, lifting her eyes again. "But that doesn't quite fit. He didn't feel like someone was being controlled or replaced. Even in that form… he was still him." Her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to articulate it more clearly.
Xavier leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze drifting for a moment—not seeming distant, but focused inward as he pieced together the bits of information into something cohesive. When he spoke again, he did so with an air of certainty.
"Whatever the source of his abilities," he said, "the boy himself does not harbor ill intent."
His eyes shifted briefly toward the window, toward the courtyard where the evidence of Billy's power still scarred the ground.
"But power of that magnitude…" he continued, his tone lowering just slightly, "in the wrong hands—or under the wrong influence—could result in quite a disaster." He let that settle, though the weight of it was unspoken, yet it was fully understood.
A firm knock at the office door broke through the silence, disrupting the tension that had settled with it. The sound lingered for a brief moment, drawing every gaze toward the entrance. Xavier's eyes shifted from the window to the door, his expression smoothing back into its usual calm composure as he gave permission for them to enter.
The door opened, revealing Scott and the other instructors who had been present in the Danger Room during Billy's… unsanctioned display.
Among them was Hank who stood slightly hunched in thought. The faint scent of antiseptic and lab chemicals seemed to follow him in.
Logan came in last, as expected. His steps were unhurried, his boots thudding against the floor. A beer bottle rested loosely in his hand, gripped more out of habit than necessity, and his wild eyes landed on Xavier with a look that demanded answers without the need for preamble.
"The kid from earlier," Logan said, his voice sounding rough, edged with curiosity and something just shy of suspicion. "What's his deal?"
The group spread out naturally, each of them finding a place within the room without crowding it, though their collective attention remained fixed on Xavier. A non-verbal sense of tension lingered between them—caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief, molded by what they had all witnessed.
Scott stepped forward slightly, his demeanor seeming as composed as ever, though there was a tightness in his stance that betrayed how unsettled he truly was. His visor caught the light as he tilted his head just enough to address Xavier directly.
"Yeah," he added, seconding Logan. "Even if he were an Omega-level mutant… the power he showed in there doesn't make sense."
Though Storm and Jean remained silent, they couldn't agree more.
Xavier let the questions hang for a moment, out of careful consideration. Then, without urgency, he placed his hands lightly against the arms of his chair and guided himself forward.
The soft mechanical hum of the wheels disrupted the stillness as he moved out from behind the desk.
"Storm will fill you in on the way," he said with a calm demeanor, heading out the door.
Scott's brow furrowed slightly behind the visor as he turned to follow, the rest of the team falling in behind Xavier in a loose formation. Logan pushed himself off the wall with a quiet exhale, taking another casual sip from his bottle before trailing after them, his interest clearly piqued despite his otherwise relaxed demeanor.
"Where are we going?" Scott asked, his voice carrying just enough to reach Xavier as they moved into the hallway.
The corridor beyond the office stretched ahead of them, bathed in the same soft daylight filtering through tall windows. Their footsteps echoed softly along the floors, each of them aware—in their own way—that whatever answers lay ahead would likely give rise to more questions.
"To seek answers," Xavier pressed on without glancing back, making his way toward the mansion's lower levels.