The Xavier School for the Gifted
Just outside Gotham City, 35 years ago
Alfred Pfennigwerth stood across from Charles Xavier, his stern gaze clashing with the calm demeanor of his old friend. They were surrounded by the polished oak and cluttered papers of the study, a place usually reserved for quiet contemplation, now thick with tension.
“You haven't known him as long as I have, Charles,” Alfred said, his voice low and deliberate. “You don't know the darkness he’s been trying to outrun. If you think mere training can erase that, you’re mistaken.”
Charles adjusted his glasses, his expression one of composed concern. “It’s not about erasing, Alfred. It’s about guiding him to use his intelligence, his gifts, for more than vengeance. He could be more than a vigilante.”
Alfred scoffed, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. “In this corrupt city? He’s a Wayne. His legacy isn’t to parade around; it’s to cleanse the city that killed his parents.”
Outside, Bruce leaned silently against the wall, listening intently. The words of his two mentors, one like a father, the other a guide, mingled with his own turbulent thoughts.
Charles reached out, trying to bridge the gap. “You raised him, Alfred. I know your instincts are to protect him, but we can't let him be consumed by darkness. He has immense potential.”
“The night his parents died, he sought justice, not hope,” Alfred countered, his voice sharp, his usual German stoicism dropping. “Asking him to ignore that calling is like asking a shark not to swim.”
“And if that shark never learns there’s more to the ocean than blood?” Charles’s voice was steady. “We risk him losing himself to a crusade that could destroy him.”
Bruce's hand clenched as he absorbed every word, the paths laid out before him stark and demanding.
“If you think you can mold him into one of your X-Men, you’re wrong,” Alfred said coldly. “He’s a Wayne, and he’ll find his own path, with or without us.”
With that, Alfred turned sharply, his coat flaring behind him. He paused at the door, his look hard and unyielding. “And if you stand in his way, Charles, I will show you what he’s capable of.”
The door slammed behind him, leaving a resonant silence. Charles sat back, the tremor in his hands betraying his calm facade. Bruce withdrew into the shadows, his resolve hardening with the echo of the closing door.
- weeks later -
Alfred's figure was stark against the backdrop of the towering waterfall. He rappelled down the cliff, each movement precise, drawing him closer to a hidden trove he’d hoped would remain sealed.
As he landed in the cave, his resolve never wavered. He swiftly navigated to a hidden alcove, revealing a secure safe. Inside lay a helmet, utilitarian, crafted from materials designed to shield the mind from any psychic intrusion. It was Alfred’s safeguard, a defense against the world’s most potent mental forces.
Turning from the safe, Alfred’s gaze fell on the last item it protected: a small, unassuming yellow ring. As his fingers brushed its cold metal, a chill ran through him—a recognition of the formidable alien power at his fingertips. This ring, a weapon from the stars, was a conduit of fear, control... and therefore, protection.
Securing the ring, Alfred prepared to ascend back through the waterfall, his mind alive with plans. The world above was unaware of the shift in power that had just taken place below. But soon, they would understand. The sinister quietude of the ring was a harbinger of the new reality Alfred was ready to forge, by any means necessary.
As Alfred emerged out of the darkness, the helmet, and the ring, unseen in his pack, glinted yellow.
https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca88...1QnyfJwoI-B5_Q
Image courtesy of KalEl7 on Deviantart
