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Genosha didn’t often get cold enough for snow, but every few years the weather dipped, clouds thickened over the cliffs, and a thin drift of white came down in lazy spirals. It never stuck for long—sunrise usually melted it—but tonight the island was quiet, the sky soft and low, and the flakes fell like they’d been waiting for exactly this moment.
Lorna stood on the ridge overlooking the water, hands shoved into the pockets of her coat, breath clouding in front of her. She looked younger in the pale light, her hair catching faint glints of green where the moon hit it just right.
Erik joined her without announcing his presence, boots crunching over frost-dusted earth. She didn’t startle, more she sensed him the way metal did: instinctively, wordlessly.
“I didn’t think it ever snowed here,” she said, eyes tracking a flake’s slow descent.
“It rarely does,” he admitted. “But when it happens, it’s… memorable.”
Lorna hummed, faintly amused. “Is that your way of saying you get sentimental in winter?”
He didn’t take the bait. “Snow is… interesting,” he replied instead. “More than it looks.”
“Oh?” She glanced sideways. “Going to give me a geography lecture?”
“Only if you want one,” he said. “...Snowflakes have magnetic fields.”
“What?” Her head snapped toward him. “Wait—seriously?”
“They’re weak,” he continued, warming to the subject, “but they exist. Microscopic alignments of ice crystals. Mineral traces. The world is full of small magnetic structures. You simply have to know where to look.”
Lorna blinked at the snow as though seeing it anew, then raised a hand. A small pulse of green light shimmered around her fingers, catching the flurries drifting near.
Nothing happened at first. The flakes quivered, then settled. She frowned, concentrating harder.
“Relax,” Erik said, watching her posture tighten. “Don’t force it. Snow isn’t metal. It won’t bend to sheer will.”
She groaned. “Great. One thing I can’t force with sheer will.”
He allowed himself a quiet smile. “Try guiding it.”
Lorna exhaled, focusing on the faint magnetic signatures he’d described. Her power rippled gently—soft, tentative, careful. The air stirred around her, flakes pulling slightly toward her hand.
Erik stood behind her, his hand gentle on her arm. His voice was low against her ear: “Feel the shift. It’s small. Smaller than breath.”
Then—she pushed too hard.
A sudden, spiraling surge answered her. The snow lifted in a sharp rush, then began swirling violently, tightening into a small localized blizzard around them. The wind picked up, whipping hair and coat fabric, snow spiraling so densely it became a blur.
“Oh—oh no—” Lorna yelped, stumbling back as the storm she’d accidentally birthed roared to life. “I didn’t mean—Dad—!”
Erik reached out calmly, palm raised. He didn’t suppress the storm. Instead, he joined it.
His power slid into the chaotic vortex with practiced ease, smoothing its edges, quieting its violent pull. The blizzard slowed, softened, then unraveled into harmless drifting flakes again. The silence afterward was crisp and crystalline.
Lorna stared at the empty air where the miniature hurricane had been. Then at her father.
His daughter burst into laughter. Not nervous laughter. Not embarrassed. Just pure, unfiltered delight. “I made a snow tornado,” she said, grinning. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
Erik shook his head once, though warmth tugged at his mouth. “Your control needs refinement.”
“You’re not even a little impressed?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She bumped her shoulder lightly into his arm. “You liked it.”
He didn’t deny it.
Lorna tilted her head back, letting flakes gather in her hair. “You know… I used to think my powers made me dangerous. Or too much. Or something to hide.”
“They make you extraordinary,” Erik said, without hesitation.
Lorna went still for a moment, absorbing that. She didn’t look at him when she responded, but the quiet, unguarded softness in her voice was unmistakable.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
A breeze passed over the ridge, scattering snow in glittering arcs.
Erik extended a hand, palm up, and concentrated. Snowflakes drifted toward it—not violently, not in a vortex, just gently, the faint magnetic patterns aligning in delicate spirals until they formed a tiny sphere of falling snow resting in his palm.
Lorna stared, awestruck. “That’s so… Dad, that’s so cool.”
He let the little sphere unravel, flakes floating back into the night. “You’ll be able to do it too. With practice.”
She beamed.
They stood together in the soft snowfall with power humming quietly between them. They were two magnets finding a rare, natural alignment. And for once, the world felt lighter than the snow drifting around them.