Chapter 44 #2
My pulse quickens, my head spinning. “What do you mean?” I blurt out. “These abilities . . . they’re nothing. I’m nothing. Why does any of this matter to you? I don’t want any part of whatever this is! Just leave me and Kate alone. We’re not involved in your war with Imperium!”
The anger surges through me, hotter and faster than I can control. This has been torture. For what? And now they’re dragging Kate into this madness.
The Surger’s cold voice cuts through my thoughts. “You are correct. Your connection to Imperium’s conflict is minimal. But Chloe . . . your abilities, though you perceive them as insignificant, are far from it.”
It moves closer, raising its hands. From its fingers, a glowing orb forms, pulsating with energy. And inside it, I see something—someone—who brings the world to a screeching halt.
My mother.
I hadn’t seen her face in years, not since she died, but I would know her anywhere. A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I tear my eyes away from the orb, my heart thundering in my chest.
“What does my mother have to do with this?” My voice cracks, betraying the emotions I’m struggling to control.
“Everything,” the Surger answers, its voice colder than ever. “You should have known, Chloe. Your place has always been clear. You are of us, of our energy, our form. As was your mother. Just as you are.”
I feel sick, like I might actually choke on the words. Luc stiffens beside me, and I can feel the heat of his frustration.
“This is madness! None of this is true!” he shouts, his voice full of disbelief.
The Surger’s voice sharpens, laced with finality. “But it is. Chloe, you were born of my kind. Your mother, an energy-being like me. Your father, irrelevant. No crossbred energy offspring has ever survived—yet here you stand. The only one.”
I glance at Luc, and I can see it in his eyes—the shock, the disbelief, but underneath it, the faintest trace of doubt. The unshakable confidence that the Surgers are lying is faltering. I can feel it, too. My certainty is slipping, just like his.
“No!” My voice cracks as the word spills out, desperate to hold on to the image of the mother I remember. “She looked nothing like you. She was human. My mom was warm. She was an amazing mother.”
“We were prepared for this. So how about you see with your own eyes?”
The Surger lifts its hand. A pulse emits just before my vision goes dark. Then I can see her as clear as day, as if she’s standing right in front of me. And there I am. I must have been about five years old.
We’re in our old house. I had just gotten a new doll. I remember that day. I’m in the living room, playing, making a mess, and she’s in the kitchen. The smell of herbs and roasted chicken baking in the oven surrounds me. She’s cooking, bracing herself against the counter.
Then her form disrupts.
Her facade slips. I see the shimmering outline emerge.
It can’t be.
Her face and body begin to blur, caught in a constant loop of motion.
It lasts for a minute, and then she gains control, her human image taking shape once again.
That’s when five-year-old me walks into the room to show her how I dressed my doll.
She kneels to my level, telling me how beautifully I did it.
The image fades.
Tears I can’t stop spill freely now, grief crushing my chest like a hand pressing down on my lungs. I can’t deny the reality they’re forcing on me. But I can’t let go of my memories of her, either.
The Surger’s bitter voice continues, almost clinical. “We energy beings are fragile in our true form. Your mother, however, fled from what she was. She crafted a false existence with your father. She tried to conceal herself. To hide you.”
Then, before my eyes, the Surger shifts.
It morphs into a man. A human man—or something close enough. I stumble back, my breath catching.
“You see, Chloe,” it says, its voice smoother now, human, “you can be visually fooled. Much like your mother did. But this form is not sustainable.”
With a flicker of light and a surge of static, it snaps back into its original shape. I gasp. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it. But after what they showed me, I know it’s true.
“Your abilities have always been within you, Chloe. Dormant. Suppressed. The moment you were torn from our realm, from our energy, they were held at bay. But Lucien’s intervention—his bringing you away from this realm—set them into motion.
They awaken now. They may even be . . . better because of it. ”
The Surger’s voice grows colder, more ominous.
“But you must learn. Learn who you truly are. You must learn to wield what you are. You can no longer cling to the illusion that you are human. The mortal realm was your mother’s reckless choice.
She thought she could hide you, but we have always been able to find you.
Once your energy signature reached our field, we knew where you were. ”
I force myself to stay where I am, even as my legs shake beneath me. Fear claws at my chest, but I don’t let it drive me backward. I plant my feet anyway. If they’re going to break me, they’ll have to do it while I’m standing.
“So even if all of this is true,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, “what do you want?” I swallow, lifting my chin.
The Surger that’s been watching from the shadows this whole time steps forward. The air thickens as it moves, its presence pressing in on me like gravity. Every instinct I have screams run, but I don’t. I hold its stare even as the distance between us disappears.
“You belong with us,” it says. “You will return to our realm. That is why we’re here. That is what we want.”
Something in me snaps.
A laugh tears out of my throat, edged with something wild.
“Tough shit,” I say. “I want nothing to do with you freaks.”
Energy crackles around them, static buzzing louder, angrier. For the first time since they appeared, I’m the one who’s hit a nerve.
“That is not an option,” the Surger responds, its voice colder now.
“You are unstable in this realm. You radiate too brightly. Others will sense you—Aris most of all. He will siphon what you are, fracture you for his will. We cannot permit such a collapse. You are ours, and your exposure threatens our existence.”
And there it is.
The truth. The real reason behind all of this.
“So this isn’t about me understanding who I am,” I say, my voice sharpening with each word. “This isn’t about you actually giving a damn about me. This is about making sure no one gets a hold of me. You want to control me to prevent others from using me against your world.”
The Surger’s eyes narrow, but it doesn’t deny it. And in that moment, I know everything I need to know.
“You are vulnerable,” it murmurs. “Just as you were when Lucien pulled you from your path into his realm.” Its voice is empty of emotion.
“Have you never questioned the moment you fell onto the tracks, prompted by a intrusion at your residence? That was no coincidence or accident. No random cruelty. That was orchestration. It was Aris.”
A cold weight settles in my chest.
Aris? Why?
“Why would he do that?” The question snaps out of me, more demand than plea.
Before I can process it, a voice cuts through the air—deep, familiar.
“Because of me.”
I spin around.
There, standing behind us, is my father.
“Alistir?”