The porch of a townhouse on the west side of Blake Street in Manhattan, New York, stood wide open. A few cardboard boxes that hadn't been carried inside yet sat outside.
Charles Xavier and his wife, Moira, were busy unpacking inside. Moving was always a headache, but Charles was pleased with the house, where they had once lived for two years. It hadn't changed much overall.
"Charles! Could you help me get the kitchen in order first, before you go back to those 'bricks' of yours?"
Moira stood with her hands on her hips, brows knitted as she watched her husband carefully arrange one heavy book after another on the shelves.
People always said women brought a lot of luggage when they went out or moved, but more than half the Xavier family's belongings were Charles's weighty books. Moira, a former agent, had comparatively few personal possessions.
"Oh! Sorry, darling. I'm coming."
Under his wife's glare, Charles sheepishly rubbed his palms together.
He hesitantly set down a letter he had received many years ago, remembering a self-proclaimed expert on ancient Egyptian history who had told him of a so-called lost history. It suggested that an ancient mutant had ruled Mesopotamia before 3000 BC.
Charles gathered his thoughts and hurried to help Moira arrange the kitchen.
After joining the Order Whip and returning to work in New York, the Xaviers had moved back to Manhattan for the sake of their everyday convenience.
This townhouse near Blake Street, where they had lived for a while before, became their first choice. As it happened, the house had been vacant for more than half a year after the previous tenant left.
Professor Xavier had money to spare, so he simply bought it.
As he put the plates into the rack in the cupboard, his