Chapter 103 The Journey Across
Three days before the Conclave
The chartered plane was a modified cargo carrier, reinforced with dimensional shielding and equipped with containment protocols—not for prisoners, but for our children if their powers surged during flight.
"It's insulting," Mason growled, inspecting the modifications.
"It's practical," I countered, though I agreed with his sentiment. "Eight hours over the Atlantic with three powered children? We need precautions."
The send-off was impressive. Hundreds of pack members gathered to see us off, a show of support that the European Federation couldn't ignore. The other North American Alphas would follow on separate flights—a security measure Thomas had insisted on.
"If something happens to one plane, the leadership structure survives," he'd explained.
"Cheerful thought," I'd replied.
Loading the children was an adventure. Nexus phased through her car seat twice before remembering to maintain physical form. Kai accidentally telekinetically triggered three security alarms. And Ash... Ash just watched everything with those knowing eyes.
Rory took the seat across from me, probability streams already swirling as she calculated flight paths.
"Seventy-three percent chance of attempted interference," she said quietly.
"Interference?"
"Someone trying to force us down, redirect us, something. The European Federation wants us arriving on their terms."
"Let them try," Mason said, his protective instincts in overdrive.
The first three hours were surprisingly peaceful. Kai napped, Nexus practiced dimensional origami (don't ask), and Ash stared out the window at clouds only he could fully perceive.
Then the turbulence hit.
Not natural turbulence—directed, intentional. The plane shuddered as dimensional forces tried to redirect our path.
"They're trying to force us to land in Spain," Rory announced, her eyes blazing silver. "Neutral territory, but with European Federation oversight."
"Not happening," Mason said.
"Nexus can help," our daughter offered, unbuckling her seatbelt before I could stop her.
"Baby, no—"
But she was already extending her power, wrapping the plane in a dimensional bubble that cut us off from external manipulation. The turbulence stopped immediately.
"There," she said proudly. "Nexus made us between. Can't touch what's between."
"How long can you hold this?" I asked.
"Long time. Nexus is stronger now. Practice helps."
But I could see the strain in her eyes. Five hours of maintaining a dimensional bubble around an entire plane would exhaust even her.
"We take shifts," Rory said. "I can manipulate probability to reduce interference attempts. You can phase us through the worst of it. Mason can coordinate with the pilots."
"And the boys?" Mason asked.
Ash looked up from the window and spoke his second word ever: "Watch."
"You'll keep watch?" I asked.
He nodded, then returned to his silent observation.
What followed was the strangest flight in aviation history. We took turns defending the plane from increasingly creative interference attempts. Someone tried to create a storm system—Rory shifted the probability of clear skies. They attempted electromagnetic interference—I phased our electronics through the effect. They even tried a direct magical assault, which Nexus simply absorbed and converted into pretty light patterns for Kai's amusement.
"They're testing us," Mason observed. "Seeing what we're capable of."
"Then we're failing," I said. "We're showing them exactly what they want to see—power that could threaten them."
"Or we're showing them defense, not offense," Rory countered. "We haven't retaliated once."
She was right, but I wondered if the distinction would matter to minds already set on seeing us as threats.
Landing in London was tense. The European Federation had sent an "honor guard" of fifty wolves, all in human form but ready to shift. They surrounded our plane before we'd even finished taxiing.
"Remember," I told the children, "best behavior. We're guests here."
"Unwelcome guests," Nexus corrected, reading the dimensional echoes of hostility.
"Still guests. Diplomacy first."
We descended the stairs as a family unit. Mason first, establishing dominant presence. Then me with Ash, showing maternal normalcy. Rory with Kai, siblings supporting each other. And Nexus walking on her own, head high despite looking like a four-year-old facing an army.
The greeting committee was led by someone I recognized from intelligence briefings—Klaus Richter, head of the European Federation's security council. A powerful Alpha in his own right, with scars that spoke of countless battles.
"Alpha Prime Mason," he said formally. "Sage. You've been granted safe passage to the Conclave."
"Granted?" Mason's voice carried subtle challenge. "We came by invitation."
"Invitation can be revoked."
"But won't be," I interjected smoothly. "Because that would violate ancient law and mark the European Federation as oath breakers."
Klaus's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Your escort is ready."
The escort was more like a military convoy. Armored vehicles, motorcycle outriders, even air support. All for a family with three young children.
"Overkill," Rory muttered.
"They're scared," Nexus said loud enough for Klaus to hear. "Fear makes people do too much."
"What did you say, little one?" Klaus asked, his tone dangerously soft.
"Fear makes people do too much," Nexus repeated clearly. "Like bringing army for babies."
I saw several guards shift uncomfortably. From the mouths of babes, indeed.
The ride to the Conclave location—a massive estate in the Scottish Highlands—took four hours. Four hours of Kai asking "Are we there yet?" while accidentally levitating anything not nailed down. Four hours of Nexus humming dimensionally, making reality ripple. Four hours of Ash's silent observation that somehow felt louder than any noise.
"Your children lack discipline," Klaus observed.
"They're children," Mason replied coldly. "Discipline comes with age."
"Normal children don't require military escorts."
"There's nothing normal about any of us," I said. "That's rather the point, isn't it?"
The estate was impressive—ancient stone architecture modified with modern security. The wards alone were works of art, layered protections against physical and dimensional intrusion.
"The Conclave begins tomorrow," Klaus informed us. "You've been assigned the North Tower."
Translation: isolated and easily contained if necessary.
"How thoughtful," I said dryly.
Our accommodations were luxurious but clearly designed as a cage. Dimensional dampeners, silver-threaded walls, even the windows were reinforced with containment fields.
"They really don't trust us," Rory observed.
"They fear us," Nexus corrected. "Mama, why do people fear what they don't understand instead of trying to learn?"
"Because learning requires admitting you don't know everything," I explained. "And some people find that harder than being afraid."
That night, after the children were asleep (or in Ash's case, pretending to sleep), Mason and I stood on the balcony looking out at the Highland moors.
"Tomorrow could change everything," he said.
"Or nothing. They might have already decided against us."
"Then we make them undecide."
"How?"
"By being undeniable. By showing them that fighting us is futile, but joining us is profitable."
"And if they refuse both options?"
Mason pulled me close. "Then we protect our family and let the world sort itself out."
But I knew it wouldn't be that simple. The Conclave would demand answers we didn't have, assurances we couldn't give. How do you promise that children with god-like powers will never be a threat? How do you convince the fearful that evolution isn't extinction?
A soft sound made us turn. Ash stood in the doorway, having somehow bypassed all the security measures silently.
"Tomorrow," he said, his third word. Then he walked to us and took both our hands, showing more emotion than he ever had before.
"Tomorrow what, baby?" I asked.
He looked up at us with those impossibly knowing eyes. "Change."
Then he went back inside, leaving us with that ominous promise.