The greenhouse was quiet in the early morning. A faint mist rose from the small pond in the center, curling around the roots of luminous plants like ghosts dancing in sunlight. Hunter Zolomone sat on the edge of the pond, fingers trailing through the water, eyes closed. He had promised himself—after the cosmic entity had withdrawn—that he would focus on peace. That the children were safe, that Spider-Woman was aware of the manor's sanctity, and that nothing would disturb this fragile calm.
Eli stirred nearby, yawning, the fox still curled at his feet. Lila had claimed a patch of sunlight on the greenhouse floor and was sketching quietly, lost in her world of crayons and imagination. The twins were training with floating pebbles, their control becoming smoother with every attempt.
Hunter opened his eyes slowly. A subtle ripple of awareness passed over him.
Not dangerous. Not urgent.
Curious.
He rose smoothly, moving through the greenhouse. The children sensed it. They froze, tiny heads turning toward him.
Hunter stopped near the ceiling window, tilting his head slightly. A new presence had entered the city. Mutant energy, barely restrained, but powerful. Untrained. Unaware.
And very, very close.
The alleyway outside the manor shimmered faintly as Hunter stepped through the invisible boundary. Spider-Woman had insisted on accompanying him, but today, he had asked her to remain behind. "…If something goes wrong, I don't want you in the crossfire," he said simply.
She had frowned but obeyed. "Fine. But you're ridiculous," she muttered as she retreated, eyes still scanning the sky.
Hunter's perception led him directly to a collapsed building near Midtown. Dust hung thick in the air, making sunlight faintly golden. Within, he found two figures crouched in a corner—teenagers, no older than sixteen. Both had faintly glowing eyes, one blue, one amber, and both were radiating unstable energy.
The boy had fire dancing across his palms, flickering dangerously. The girl's body emitted faint kinetic waves, subtly bending the metal surrounding them.
Hunter crouched slowly, keeping his hands visible. "It's okay," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The boy's fire flared instinctively, scorching part of the wall. The girl pushed against a steel beam instinctively, bending it enough to block their escape.
Hunter didn't react quickly. Calm worked better than force. He exhaled slowly, letting the energy around him settle. Animals, plants, even inanimate objects sensed his presence through his system's passive aura. His voice carried quiet authority.
"Stop. It's okay. You're safe now."
They froze. Their energy flared faintly, then dissipated slowly.
"You…" the boy whispered. "You're not like anyone else."
Hunter tilted his head. "No."
"You can control us?" the girl asked. "Make our powers safe?"
"Yes."
A pause. Then: "…Then we'll follow you," the boy said.
Hunter exhaled softly. That was voluntary, but more importantly, it was trust.
Back at the manor, the greenhouse stretched around the newcomers. The children peeked from corners, some nervous, some curious. Eli approached slowly. "Are they… like us?"
Hunter nodded slightly. "Yes. But untrained. They need guidance."
The two new children—named Arin and Kaia—were led gently through the sanctuary. The fox approached Arin first, sniffing curiously, then curling near his feet. Kaia flinched at a small bird landing on her shoulder. Hunter's aura calmed her. The tension eased.
"You're not going to let anyone hurt us?" Arin asked quietly.
"No," Hunter replied. Simple. Honest.
Spider-Woman arrived at the manor shortly after. She had followed Hunter's trail through minor disturbances in the city. Observing him from outside, she could feel the children's fear dissipate as soon as they entered his presence.
"…You really are building a small army of mutants," she muttered, voice tinged with awe and exasperation.
Hunter adjusted his hoodie. "I'm building a safe place. That's all."
Her gaze swept over the children, lingering on their glowing eyes, their tentative smiles, and then finally landed on him. "…You're ridiculous," she said softly.
"Yes," he replied. "…I've been told."
By nightfall, the greenhouse had become a lively place. The new children were learning to control their powers, guided by Hunter's calm instructions and the quiet corrections of Eli and Lila. The sanctuary felt fuller, warmer, and… alive.
Hunter watched silently, noting their patterns, their energies, their small moments of laughter and fear. Peace was not perfect—it was never perfect—but it was something he could maintain, if only for now.
Outside, the city hummed with activity. Unknown eyes observed the manor. Curious. Suspicious. Some drawn by the power Hunter radiated, others drawn by the anomaly of a man quietly protecting children in a world where chaos ruled.
Hunter did not notice.
Not yet.
For now, he had enough to do keeping his new charges safe.
And perhaps, in time, he would teach them more than control. He would teach them restraint, patience, and the quiet strength that came with true power.