Gunaseelan K
patreon
Chapter 3: The Red-Haired Girl
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 20:30:07 +0000 UTC
Dinner left Aiden full, but not sleepy. Instead of collapsing onto the bed, he sat cross-legged on the floor, his back straight, eyes calm. His thoughts were already turning to the future.
In this world—the Marvel world—mutant powers were not static. He knew this from the movies and comics of his past life. Mutant abilities grew over time, either through natural development, emotional surges, or, most importantly, constant training.
He thought of Magneto.
As a boy, Erik Lehnsherr had only been able to twist metal faintly, and only when he was overcome by emotion. He was powerless to save his mother even as soldiers dragged her away. Yet that same frightened boy grew into the Master of Magnetism, a man capable of ripping apart stadiums, bridging oceans with steel, and even bending the very magnetic fields of the Earth itself. In some versions of the comics, Magneto’s power became so overwhelming that he could manipulate planetary structures and reshape continents.
That was the difference between potential and mastery.
And Aiden knew where he currently stood—on the very first step of that long road.
He drew a deep breath, extended his hand toward the bed opposite him, and willed his power to reach out. Invisible threads of thought and will stretched forward, enveloping the bed.
He strained, focusing with everything he had.
Nothing.
The heavy frame did not so much as tremble.
Aiden let out a slow sigh.
> “As expected. My telekinesis is still too weak to move something that heavy.”
But weakness was not failure. It was just a starting point.
He shifted his focus to lighter objects. The toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom quivered, then floated shakily into the air. A mug on the desk lifted with ease, rotating slowly in the air. Shoes shifted, shirts fluttered, a cup wobbled and hovered as though held by invisible strings.
The sensation was exhilarating, even if simple. These objects danced at his command.
Finally, his gaze fell on the bedside table. It was modest in size, but heavy enough—likely over ten kilograms. He gritted his teeth and focused. His mental energy wrapped around it like an invisible hand. Slowly, very slowly, the wooden frame rose an inch, then two. It shook violently in midair, but it rose nonetheless.
Sweat trickled down his temples. His body tensed as though he were lifting the weight himself.
Up, down. Up, down.
The table bobbed like a puppet in the air. Aiden forced himself to repeat the motion again and again, as though the telekinesis were an invisible muscle performing squats.
Ten times. Twenty. Thirty. His head began to pound.
At forty repetitions, sweat was dripping from his chin. His shirt clung to him, damp. His vision blurred at the edges.
By fifty, his strength gave out. His control snapped, and the table dropped with a heavy thud.
Aiden collapsed backward onto the bed, his breathing ragged. His vision swam with darkness before finally going black.
He didn’t even notice when the door creaked open.
Hank McCoy peeked inside, puzzled to find the boy sprawled unconscious across the bed. The table on the floor caught his attention for a moment, but seeing nothing else unusual, Hank shrugged and gently closed the door.
And so Aiden’s first night at Xavier’s Institute passed quietly.
---
The next morning, golden sunlight streamed through the tall windows, warming his face. Aiden stirred, groaning faintly. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of eyes still clouded with dizziness.
A throbbing pain pulsed in his skull. It felt as if someone had taken a hammer to his head. His limbs felt heavy, his mind sluggish.
But Aiden had expected this.
It was no different from a bodybuilder pushing past his limits in the gym—muscles screamed the next day, but pain meant growth. Yesterday, he had forced his mind to exert itself beyond its capacity. Today, he was paying the price.
And tomorrow? He would be stronger for it.
He forced himself upright, staggered to the bathroom, and splashed cold water across his face. The shock helped. The fog lifted slightly, his senses sharpening again.
> “Use it or lose it,” he muttered to himself. “If I keep pushing, day by day, my limits will grow.”
Aiden dried his face and headed for breakfast.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, an enticing aroma reached his nose. Fresh bread, sizzling sausages, the faint sweetness of fruit. His stomach growled instantly, reminding him of how little he had eaten the past few days.
Following the smell, he descended to the second floor and entered the cafeteria.
The hall was spacious, filled with long tables arranged neatly across the room. Large windows let in shafts of sunlight, painting the space in warm gold. Students were scattered across the tables, chatting in small groups, laughing, or eating quietly.
Aiden paused at the entrance.
So these were the others.
Around a dozen boys and girls, all roughly his age, maybe a little older. They were different from ordinary children, though. He could see it in the way they carried themselves—some shy, some bold, some restless, some too calm for their years. Mutants, every one of them.
Charles sat at a table near the front with Hank, the two speaking in quiet tones.
Several students noticed Aiden enter. Curious eyes followed him, whispers passing between them. He was new. A stranger.
Aiden ignored their gazes. His soul, after all, was not that of a child anymore. He had lived and died once already. He was not about to worry about the gossip of a group of children.
Still, one figure caught his attention.
At a small table off to the side sat a girl. She was alone.
Her hair was long and fiery red, catching the morning sunlight like strands of flame. Her face was delicate, pale with faint freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Blue eyes shone beneath long lashes, but they were downcast, fixed on the plate before her. Her fork poked absently at her food, her expression blank. She looked lost, almost withdrawn.
Aiden’s gaze lingered a moment too long.
The girl raised her head. Their eyes met.
Instantly, a wave of pressure slammed against his mind.
It was sharp and invasive, a psychic force that dwarfed his own telekinesis a hundredfold. It felt as though a giant hand had forced its way into his skull, prying, searching, trying to peer into the depths of his thoughts.
His breath caught. The sheer strength of it left him stunned.
And then—relief. The pressure vanished as quickly as it had come, cut off like a switch.
Charles Xavier’s calm but firm voice carried across the cafeteria.
> “Jean, you cannot do that.”
The girl—Jean, Aiden realized—bowed her head again, her fork scraping against her plate.
Charles wheeled over to Aiden, concern in his eyes.
> “Are you alright, Aiden?”
“I’m fine,” Aiden said quickly.
In truth, his head was still throbbing painfully, his exhaustion from last night magnifying the sting of Jean’s psychic probe. But he forced his face into calm neutrality. He would not show weakness, not here, not now.
Charles studied him a moment, then nodded.
> “Good. You must be hungry. Help yourself—there’s plenty.”
He gestured to the buffet tables at the side of the hall.
Aiden walked over, collecting a tray. The tables were piled with food—golden fried eggs, plump sausages, loaves of bread, fresh fruit. To his previous life’s standards, it was an ordinary breakfast. But to a boy who had scraped survival from scraps on the street, it looked like a feast.
He loaded his tray with two slices of bread, a sausage, a fried egg, and a pile of noodles. It was a mountain of food, far more than the other children carried.
He felt the eyes on him again as he sat alone at a table and began to eat. Whispers drifted across the room, curious or amused.
Aiden ignored them all.
He ate steadily, methodically, chewing each bite carefully. His hunger clawed at him, but he refused to wolf down the food. Slowly, he consumed it all, piece by piece, until the plate was empty.
His body warmed with energy. His headache dulled. For the first time in days, he felt a little more whole.
And as he set the fork down, his gaze flickered once more to the red-haired girl.
Jean Grey.
He knew her name now. And he knew something else too—her power was dangerous, far beyond what her young face suggested.
This world was full of threats, allies, and mysteries.
If Aiden wanted to survive—no, to thrive—he would need to grow stronger, faster.
Because here, even a child could crush his mind like paper.
And that, more than anything, lit the fire in his heart.
--
