At Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Lalia Azali hides more than most. She's not just a surgeon-she's this universe's Scarlet Witch, a title whispered with fear and awe, tied to a power she never wanted and a fate she can't outrun.
Logan sees t...
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-Lalia Seven Years Later – October 31st Location: X-Mansion, Living Room
The living room of the mansion hadn't changed much. Maybe a few new chairs, a rug Kitty swore she picked out herself (but I was there when Rogue dragged it home from a clearance bin), and a photo wall that grew longer every year with fading pictures and crooked frames.
It smelled like cedarwood, old paperbacks, and Logan's cologne. Still felt like home.
The fireplace crackled low with orange embers, casting warm light across the room. Plastic pumpkins glowed faintly from the windowsill. Someone had tossed a witch hat on the moose head mounted above the mantel.
But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepared me for the sound of my seven-year-old son's voice echoing through the room like a little grenade of chaos:
"So wait," Luca said, perched on the arm of the couch like it was his throne, swinging his legs and spooning cereal straight from the box—no bowl, no shame. "You're saying my dad stole my mom from you?"
Simon's entire body froze like someone hit pause on his soul.
"I—what?" he managed, blinking. "No. Nobody stole—what are you even talking about?"
Luca tilted his head like a confused golden retriever. "I mean, technically, my mom was dating you, and now she's married to him—" he jabbed a thumb toward Logan "—and also I exist. Which, y'know, suggests... something happened."
Pyro choked on his drink. "Oh, hell. He's seven?"
"I feel like we should cut this conversation short," I said grimly, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Continue, please," Bobby said, leaning forward with a grin. "Best entertainment we've had all week."
Simon shifted on the couch beside Scott, tugging at the collar of his sweater like it was suddenly too tight. "No one was stolen, alright? Lalia and I—we mutually ended things."
"Exactly, Luca. Shut it," I said through my teeth.
"Right," Luca said, grinning. "You mutually ended things right after she and my dad started 'training together.'" He even air-quoted. Air-quoted. At seven years old. Who raised this kid?
Oh. Right.
"Training doesn't mean anything," Simon argued weakly.
Luca leaned in dramatically. "It does when there's grunting involved."
"LUCA," I gasped, nearly dropping my coffee.
Logan spit out his beer, laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd heard in a decade.
"Oh my God," I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Next topic, please."
"Actually, let's absolutely continue this topic," Simon snapped, gesturing with his hands like he was about to give a TED Talk on heartbreak. "Because that is not what happened. There was no stealing. No betrayal. Just a very mature, very mutual breakup between two adults—who then happened to end up on very different life trajectories. One of us became a respected researcher with a pension plan, and the other started a feral knife family."
