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Off the southeast coast of Africa, northeast of Madagascar and southwest of the Seychelles, sat an island known as Genosha.
It wasn't paradise. It wasn't a utopia. It was a refugee camp, built with America's silent approval and run by Erik Lehnsherr—better known to the world as Magneto.
Here, mutants lived simply, scraping together a self-sufficient existence.
The wider world, at least on the surface, tolerated mutants. They were allowed to work, to live alongside humans, sometimes even thrive in plain sight. But for every mutant who managed to fit in, there were others who could not—or would not. Some had been hurt by humans, some had hurt humans, and some had done both. Those outcasts found their way here.
Genosha was their sanctuary: a place where fellow mutants would not turn them away, even if their pasts were complicated or bloody. That didn't mean Erik let just anyone in. This wasn't a dumping ground for criminals hoping to escape justice. If you didn't believe in the fragile ideals of the haven, Magneto himself would see you gone.
So no, it wasn't the shining "Mutant Nation" Erik's followers sometimes dreamed about. Genosha was a last refuge for people who had nowhere else to go.
And the truth was, the island's very existence was a political maneuver. America and its military allowed it to stand. Charles Xavier and his X-Men had helped quietly, behind the scenes. And in some corners of government, the island was seen as a leash on Magneto himself: a visible stronghold, a weakness that could be threatened, and a place to keep him anchored.
Magneto was no longer the ghost in the shadows, the revolutionary leader whose Brotherhood could strike from anywhere. Genosha gave him a flag—and a target painted on his back.
Which was why today, when an X-Jet descended brazenly into Hammer Bay—the de facto capital, if only because Magneto lived there—he was already waiting on the landing strip, surrounded by his guard.
He wasn't happy.
Scott Summers stepped down alone, wearing civilian clothes instead of his uniform. That only made the scene more jarring: Magneto flanked by rows of loyal mutants, and behind him, the smoking wreckage of two U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopters still burning in the distance.
Scott's stomach tightened. This was already bad.
Magneto's voice cracked like steel. "What are you doing here, Summers? Come to bring more trouble to my people?"
"I'm here for Jean," Scott said without hesitation.
Magneto sneered. "You saw what she did, but did you see where she went? She was gone before you even arrived. Once again, the X-Men prove themselves late to the fight."
Scott's eyes flicked over the wreckage again. Damn it. He turned back toward the jet.
"Stop," Erik barked. Metal in the ground trembled at his command. "You owe me an explanation."
"I don't have time for this," Scott shot back. "I need to find Jean."
Magneto's tone sharpened, dangerous. "Whether you have time or not is irrelevant. Without my permission, your jet doesn't leave this ground. And I may not be Charles, but I know when someone is lying to me. Jean came here with secrets. The soldiers who followed her knew something too—they asked me questions before they died. Tell me what it is I wasn't told… or I'll rip the answers from you myself."
Scott stood firm, but inside he felt the weight of it: this wasn't a college lecture, or even a battlefield skirmish. This was Magneto—the first of his kind, a general, a leader. Scott Summers, still just a young soldier turned mutant field commander, wasn't ready to stare him down.
So he told him about the battle in Red Hook.
Magneto didn't care about the politics or the spectacle. He zeroed in on one thing. "Raven. And Pietro. What happened to them?"
Scott blinked. Pietro. He didn't know Erik was asking about his own son. All he saw was Magneto's concern for Mystique, his old comrade.
"They're alive," Scott said quickly. "Pietro's got multiple fractures. Raven… her organs took a hit from the crushing force, but Hank's working on her. She's stable. Out of danger."
"Stable?" Erik's voice dropped into a bitter growl. "Two mutants half-broken, and you call that 'nothing to worry about'? I begin to wonder what Charles has been teaching you children. Is it only a tragedy if someone dies?"
Scott flinched. The words had been on the tip of his tongue—but Magneto stole them from his mouth and poisoned them. He fell silent, his confidence slipping.
So he pushed forward instead. "Then tell me what happened here. Why did Jean leave again?"
With a flick of his hand, Erik dismissed his followers. Only when the crowd had scattered did he speak, lower but no less sharp.
"She came to me yesterday, looking for sanctuary. She wouldn't say why, but I let her stay. Then today, soldiers came, demanding her. She could have hidden. Instead, she walked out to meet them.
"And she unleashed hell."
Scott's breath caught.
"They tried to tell me something before she struck them down," Erik continued, "something about Jean that I 'didn't know.' They never got the chance. She didn't just want to drive them off—she wanted to kill them. I had to stop her myself." His eyes narrowed. "After that, there was no keeping her here. She knew it. She left of her own accord."
Scott's mind worked furiously. Then it clicked, and his voice cracked with urgency. "She doesn't know Raven's alive. She thinks she killed her. That's why she ran. She's not abandoning us—she just can't forgive herself."
Magneto gave him a long, withering look. "Raven is not fine, boy. And if you believe every sin can be washed away with a tearful excuse, then you still don't understand the world you're fighting for."
Scott clenched his fists, heart hammering. He could feel the lecture coming—not from Charles, not from Logan, but from Magneto himself.
And Magneto had no patience for naïve children.
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