Chapter Text
The crisp November air cut through the streets of New York City, a bite in the wind that spoke of the coming winter. Erik Lensherr, his face weary and marked by years of strife, walked slowly toward the old building at the corner of 47th Street, the place that once held so many memories. The apartment was small and quiet, much like the woman who lived there, but it had always been a refuge for him, a place where he could escape from the world that weighed so heavily on his shoulders.
Magda.
He hadn’t seen her in years. His obsession with stopping Shaw had taken him far from her, and when his rage had consumed him, his visits had stopped. The guilt of that decision gnawed at him now, but there was no time for regrets, not anymore.
When he rang the bell, the sound of footsteps echoed inside before the door creaked open. There she stood. Magda, though older now and frailer than he remembered, was still the same woman who had once been his everything. Her once radiant face was now drawn and pale, the dark circles beneath her eyes telling the story of sleepless nights and ill health.
"Erik," she whispered, a fragile smile breaking through her weakness. "You came."
His heart clenched. "Magda," he said softly, stepping forward and reaching for her hand. "I'm sorry. I should have come sooner."
"You were busy with your war," she replied, the sadness in her voice betraying her understanding. "I don't blame you for that. I only wish you had come back sooner… for them."
For a moment, Erik felt a twinge of confusion. "For them?" he asked, his voice tight.
Magda stepped aside, revealing the three children playing quietly in the corner of the room. His heart skipped a beat as his gaze landed on them. They looked up at him, their eyes wide with curiosity, but they didn’t say anything. There was an awkwardness in the air, a hesitation that felt too heavy to ignore.
Magda motioned toward the oldest girl, who was sitting on the floor, playing with a doll. "This is Lorna," she said softly, her voice filled with both love and pain. "She's six."
Erik’s gaze shifted to the twins, sitting a few feet away from Lorna. The boy had messy silver hair, his sharp features betraying the traits of someone much older than his four years. The girl beside him was just as striking, though softer in her expression, her dark eyes filled with an innocent curiosity. "And these are Pietro and Wanda," Magda continued. "Pietro is twelve minutes older than Wanda, but they’re inseparable."
Erik's breath caught. He stared at them, a mix of disbelief and awe flooding him. His children. His children. How had he not known? How had he been so blind to the existence of these little souls, so precious and innocent?
"I don’t know what to do, Erik," Magda said, her voice growing weaker. "I’ve tried. I’ve done my best, but my health… it’s failing. I can't take care of them anymore. You have to. Please."
Her words hit Erik like a punch to the gut. She was asking him to step into a role he hadn’t expected, one that seemed so foreign to him despite his desire for family. But as he looked at the children, his heart swelled with something he hadn’t felt in a long time: love. Pure, untainted love. These were his flesh and blood. His children.
"I’ll take care of them, Magda," Erik said, his voice steady but laced with a new sense of purpose. "I promise you. I will."
Magda gave a relieved sigh, her body sinking against the doorframe as though the weight of her illness was finally taking its toll. "I know you will," she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she looked back at him, her gaze filled with quiet gratitude.
In the months that followed, Erik settled into his new role as a father. Despite the constant threat of the Brotherhood’s missions and the battle against humanity’s oppression of mutants, he found time to care for his children. They became his world. Lorna was sweet and inquisitive, was quick to ask questions and always wanted to learn. Pietro was fiery and quick-witted, and Wanda… Wanda had a gentleness to her that drew him in.
Though none of them had manifested their mutations yet, Erik could see the potential in each of them. He spent hours with them, teaching them, loving them. Even amid his darkest days—leading the Brotherhood, planning against those who sought to eradicate mutants—he found moments of peace with his children. Every night, he tucked them into bed, kissed them goodnight, and promised that no harm would come to them.
But despite his best efforts, Magda's health continued to deteriorate. She grew weaker each day, her frailty becoming too much for her to bear. One evening, Erik sat by her side, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what was coming.
Magda passed away quietly, her last breath leaving her as Erik held her hand, her words of peace and love still echoing in his heart.
Her funeral was a small, sombre affair, attended by few. Erik made the arrangements himself, wanting to give her the respect she deserved. But in the silence that followed, as he stood before her grave, he realized something important: for the first time in years, he had a family to protect.
He would lead the Brotherhood with the same fire and resolve he always had, but now, there was something more. He had children to care for, to love, and to protect.
Erik Lensherr, the man who had once been driven by vengeance, was now driven by the love of his children.