Chapter 92 Growing Pains
Month Five of Pregnancy
The combined pack meeting was in full swing when the baby decided to practice their dimensional phasing again. Mid-sentence, discussing patrol schedules with the European Pack representatives, I suddenly found myself existing in three realities simultaneously.
"—and the eastern border needs—" My voice echoed strangely as I spoke in multiple dimensions at once.
Mason was beside me instantly, his hand on my arm anchoring me to our reality. Through the bond, I felt him pulling me back, his will imposing singular existence on my scattered presence.
"Perhaps we should take a break," Thomas suggested diplomatically, though everyone was staring.
"I'm fine," I insisted, even as sweat beaded on my forehead from the effort of maintaining coherence. "The baby is just active today."
"The baby is trying to exist in multiple dimensions simultaneously," Rory corrected, her eyes silver as she tracked the probability streams. "They're getting stronger."
Dr. Chen stood from her seat at the medical advisory position. "Luna, with respect, we need to discuss stepping back from active duties."
"No," I said firmly. "I'm not abandoning my responsibilities."
"You're not abandoning anything," Katherine Pierce said through the dimensional window. "You're adapting to circumstances. The child you carry isn't just any baby—they're potentially the first naturally-born dimensional anchor. Their well-being affects the entire network."
"She's right," Mason said quietly, but I could feel his reluctance through our bond. He knew how much active leadership meant to me.
"I have a suggestion," Stella offered. "What if we restructure? Create a council system where Luna maintains final authority but delegates day-to-day operations?"
It was a reasonable compromise, but it still felt like failure. I'd fought so hard to be recognized as a capable Luna, and now biology was forcing me to step back.
That night, Mason found me in the nursery we'd been preparing, sitting in the rocking chair Katherine had sent from Reality Two—it existed partially in multiple dimensions, making it the most comfortable chair ever created.
"You're not weak," he said without preamble.
"I didn't say I was."
"You're thinking it." He knelt beside the chair, taking my hands. "Sage, you're carrying a child that can phase between dimensions. You're managing that while networked to eighteen realities. You're literally holding multiple worlds together while growing new life. That's not weakness—that's strength beyond measure."
"I feel like I'm letting everyone down."
"You're not. You're showing them that even Lunas need help sometimes. That strength includes knowing when to rely on others."
The baby chose that moment to kick, the sensation rippling through dimensions. Mason's eyes widened as he felt it through our bond.
"Strong kid," he murmured.
"Like their father."
"Like their mother," he corrected. "Though hopefully with slightly less of a tendency to throw themselves into mortal danger."
"Where's the fun in that?"
But humor couldn't mask the growing concern. The baby's power was increasing exponentially. By the end of month five, I couldn't leave our pack territory without risking dimensional displacement. The network connection that had been our strength was becoming a liability—the baby could access it all but couldn't control what they accessed.
Hope arrived with a radical solution.
"We partially sever your connection to the network," she proposed.
"Absolutely not," Mason said immediately. "That connection is part of what's keeping both Sage and the baby stable."
"Not sever completely," Hope clarified. "Just... dampen. Like turning down the volume on a radio. The baby could still access the network but not at full strength."
"The risk?" I asked.
"If something happens—a Void attack, a dimensional crisis—you wouldn't be able to fully reconnect until after the birth."
"Making her vulnerable," Mason growled.
"Making her present in only one dimension," Hope corrected. "Which might be what both she and the baby need right now."
Rory had been quiet, studying probability streams. "It could work," she said finally. "The path where we do this has a 78% better outcome than continuing as we are."
"What's the 22%?" Mason asked.
"Various complications. But mom, the current path? If we change nothing? The baby phases you both out of existence permanently within six weeks."
That settled it.
The process was delicate. The eighteen anchor pairs gathered through dimensional windows, carefully loosening my connection to the network without severing it entirely. It felt like losing limbs I didn't know I had—suddenly, the constant awareness of other realities faded to whispers.
"How do you feel?" Mason asked anxiously.
"Quiet," I said, marveling at the sensation. "It's so quiet."
The baby seemed to calm too, their chaotic energy settling into something more manageable. For the first time in weeks, I slept through the night without dimensional displacement.
But the calm was temporary.
Three days later, I woke to find words written across my stomach in light that existed in spectrums humans shouldn't be able to see. Ancient words in a language that predated speech.
"Mason," I whispered, not wanting to move and disturb whatever was happening.
He woke instantly, his eyes widening as he saw the phenomenon. "What is that?"
"The baby," Webb said, materializing in our room uninvited but, given the circumstances, welcome. "They're communicating."
"Communicating what?"
Webb studied the writing, his form flickering as he accessed knowledge from dimensions beyond counting. "It's a name. They're telling you their name."
"They're naming themselves?" Mason asked incredulously.
"Dimensional anchors often know their purpose before birth," the Witness said, appearing beside Webb. "This child more than most. They know what they are, what they're meant to be."
"What does it say?" I asked.
"Nexus," Webb translated. "They're calling themselves Nexus."
"That's not a name, it's a designation," Mason protested.
"For them, it's both," the Witness explained. "They will be the connection point between all realities—a living bridge between dimensions. Nexus is not just what they're called, but what they are."
The implications were staggering. Our child wasn't just dimensional-sensitive—they were designed to be a focal point for the entire network.
"The Convergence," I breathed. "They're being born for the Convergence."
"Perhaps," the Witness allowed. "Or perhaps the Convergence is happening because they're being born. Cause and effect become fluid when dealing with dimensional anchors."
Over the following weeks, Nexus (I couldn't think of them by any other name now) grew stronger and more aware. They responded to voices, especially Rory's probability humming and Mason's nightly stories. They seemed to understand on some level what was happening around them.
When Vladimir Volkov sent assassins after me—a last desperate attempt to destroy the network by killing an anchor—Nexus responded before anyone else even knew there was a threat. Reality itself bent around me, making me effectively untouchable. The assassins' attacks passed through space I wasn't occupying, even though I appeared to be standing still.
"The baby protected you," Rory said in amazement. "They rewrote probability to ensure your survival."
"Our survival," I corrected, hand on my growing belly. "They were protecting themselves too."
"Still," Mason said, his voice rough with emotion, "our child saved you before they were even born."
The pack's protectiveness increased tenfold after that incident. I couldn't go anywhere without an escort, couldn't eat anything that hadn't been tested, couldn't sleep without guards at our door. It should have been suffocating, but I understood their fear. Nexus wasn't just our child—they were hope for the future, a weapon against the Void that was growing inside me.
Month six brought new challenges. Nexus had learned to communicate more directly, sending images and sensations through the bond. The problem was, they didn't understand human limitations. Receiving a direct download of twelve dimensions worth of sensory input left me unconscious for three hours.
"They're trying to share," Dr. Chen explained after examining me. "They want to show you what they perceive, but their perception is so far beyond human capability that your brain can't process it."
"Can we teach them to filter?" Mason asked.
"We're trying," Rory said. She'd been spending hours every day teaching Nexus through probability songs, helping them understand concepts like "too much" and "gentle."
The breakthrough came from an unexpected source—Stella.
"I understand what it's like to have power you can't control," she said, sitting beside me during one of Nexus's particularly active periods. "The modification I underwent—it gave me abilities I didn't know how to regulate. I hurt people because I couldn't control my strength."
"This is different—"
"Is it? Nexus has power they don't understand, abilities that affect others. They need to learn restraint, even before birth." She placed her hand on my stomach, and I felt her modified energy interact with Nexus's dimensional power.
To my amazement, Nexus responded, their chaotic energy calming under Stella's influence.
"You're teaching them control," I breathed.
"I'm teaching them that power without restraint is destruction," Stella corrected. "A lesson I learned too late, but they can learn now."