Chapter 96 Dangerous Growth
Three weeks after Nexus's birth
The first sign something was wrong came during a routine feeding. Nexus latched on as usual, but this time, I felt her drawing more than just nourishment—she was pulling life force directly from me.
"Mason," I gasped, my vision blurring as weakness flooded through me.
He was beside me instantly, carefully taking Nexus from my arms. The moment we separated, the drain stopped, but I could barely hold myself upright.
"What happened?" His voice was tight with concern.
"She was... feeding on more than milk. She was feeding on my energy, my connection to the network." I touched my chest where a cold ache had settled. "It felt like she was trying to pull my soul through our bond."
Dr. Chen arrived within minutes, her scans revealing what we'd feared but hadn't wanted to acknowledge—Nexus was growing too fast. Not just physically, though she'd already doubled in size in three weeks, but dimensionally. Her power was expanding exponentially, and her infant body couldn't contain or control it.
"She needs more energy than normal feeding can provide," Dr. Chen explained, studying the readings with a frown. "Her cells are trying to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously, and the caloric requirement alone is astronomical."
"So we supplement," Mason said immediately. "Formula, energy transfers, whatever she needs."
"It's not that simple." Dr. Chen pulled up a holographic display showing Nexus's cellular structure. "She's not just consuming energy—she's consuming dimensional stability. Every time she feeds, she's unconsciously trying to anchor herself more firmly across realities. And the closest source of that stability..."
"Is me," I finished. "Her mother. The one she's most bonded to."
"We'll find another way," Mason said firmly. "We're not risking you."
But even as he said it, Nexus began crying—not a normal infant's wail but a sound that reverberated through dimensions, making reality itself shudder. Pictures fell from walls, electronics sparked and died, and every wolf in a five-mile radius howled in response.
"She's hungry," I said, reaching for her despite Mason's protest.
"Sage, no—"
"We can't let her destabilize." I took our daughter back, feeling the immediate pull as she latched on. This time, I was ready for it, bracing myself against the drain. "We need a long-term solution, but right now, she needs to feed."
The feeding left me exhausted, and I noticed with alarm that my hair had a new streak of white where Nexus's hand had rested against my head. She was literally aging me with each feeding.
"This is unsustainable," Webb observed, materializing in his usual corner. "At this rate, she'll drain you completely within a month."
"Then we have a month to find a solution," I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed my fear.
"Less," Rory said quietly from the doorway. Her eyes were silver, seeing futures I couldn't. "Mom, you have less time than that. I can see the paths narrowing."
"How much less?" Mason demanded.
"Two weeks. Maybe three if we're careful." Tears streaked down Rory's face. "Every timeline where we don't find a solution... Mom, you don't survive past the month."
The room fell silent except for Nexus's contented gurgling, unaware that her very existence was killing me.
"We'll contact the network," Mason said, his voice deadly calm—the tone he used when refusing to accept defeat. "Eighteen realities worth of knowledge. Someone must have dealt with something similar."
"Dimensional anchor births are rare," the Witness reminded us, appearing beside Webb. "And one as powerful as Nexus... she may be unique across all realities."
"Then we become the first to solve it," I said, shifting Nexus to my shoulder. She was already the size of a three-month-old, her growth as accelerated as everything else about her.
The next few days became a desperate search for solutions. The anchor pairs across the network shared everything they knew, but nothing quite fit our situation. Meanwhile, I grew weaker with each feeding, and Nexus grew stronger.
She started speaking in full sentences by the end of week four. Not baby talk—complete, complex thoughts expressed with eerie clarity.
"Mama hurt," she said one morning, her impossible eyes studying me with concern far beyond her weeks of life. "Nexus too hungry. Nexus sorry."
"It's not your fault, sweetheart," I assured her, though holding her was becoming difficult. My muscles ached constantly, and my bones felt brittle.
"Nexus try eat less," she said solemnly. "But the hunger... it's so big, Mama. Bigger than Nexus."
That's when I understood the real problem. It wasn't just that Nexus needed vast amounts of energy—it was that she couldn't control her consumption. Her power was instinctive, primal, beyond her conscious control despite her accelerated mental development.
"We need to teach her control," I told Mason that night. He was holding me against his chest, and I could feel his heart racing with barely controlled fear.
"She's four weeks old," he said.
"She speaks in complete sentences and can see through dimensions. Age doesn't mean the same thing for her." I turned to face him, seeing my own exhaustion reflected in his eyes. "We need Rory. Her probability manipulation might be the only thing that can teach Nexus to regulate her power."
"Rory's been trying," Mason reminded me. "The probability songs, the lessons—"
"No, something more direct. What if Rory could show Nexus the probability paths? Let her see the consequences of her actions before she takes them?"
It was a desperate plan, but desperation was all we had left.
The next morning, we gathered in the pack's training ground. I sat in the center, holding Nexus, while Rory positioned herself in front of us. Mason stood guard, ready to intervene if necessary.
"Okay, little sister," Rory said, her eyes shifting to silver. "I'm going to show you something. It might feel strange, but I need you to look carefully."
She reached out and touched Nexus's forehead. The reaction was immediate—both girls gasped, their eyes blazing with shared power. Through my bond with both daughters, I felt what was happening. Rory was showing Nexus the probability streams, the infinite paths spreading from each moment.
"See?" Rory whispered. "When you feed too hard, this path goes dark. Mama gets sick. But here—if you pull gently, just what you need—the path stays bright."
Nexus's face scrunched in concentration. "So many paths. How choose?"
"You feel for the bright ones," Rory explained. "The ones where everyone stays safe. It's like... like following warmth instead of cold."
For a moment, I thought it was working. Nexus seemed to understand, her power fluctuating as she practiced control. Then something went wrong.
Nexus's eyes went wide, and she screamed—not in pain but in horror. "No! Too many! Too many dark paths!"
"What's wrong?" Mason demanded.
Rory was pale, her connection to Nexus showing her what our infant daughter was seeing. "She's looking too far ahead. She can see the Convergence, the Void, all the possible failures. It's too much for her."
"Pull back!" I ordered, but it was too late.
Nexus's power exploded outward, uncontrolled and wild. The ground cracked, the air split, and for a terrifying moment, I saw our location existing in twelve dimensions simultaneously. Then the backlash hit.
I took the brunt of it, my body instinctively shielding both daughters. The dimensional energy tore through me like lightning, burning along every nerve. I heard Mason roar, felt him reaching for me, but darkness was already closing in.
The last thing I heard was Nexus crying—not the dimensional wail that shattered reality, but the normal, heartbroken sob of a baby who knew she'd hurt her mother.