Many years ago.
The dimly lit underground chamber smelled of damp stone and old blood, a sanctuary hidden from both mortal and mutant eyes. Edgar sat cross-legged on the cold floor, sharpening his claws with a whetstone. Sparks flew with each calculated stroke, the sound echoing faintly through the cavern. Across from him, a younger figure, wiry and tense, watched his every move with a mix of awe and suspicion.
"You're wasting energy staring, Thief," Edgar said, his deep voice carrying a weight of authority. "If you're going to survive, you need to focus on what you can control. Watching me won't teach you a damn thing unless you pay attention."
Thief—so named for her uncanny ability to temporarily steal mutant powers—crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "You talk like you're some ancient sage, but all I see is a guy with shiny claws and a bad attitude."