Luna. Chapter 128

(Lyra's POV)

The hours crawled by in that concrete cell, each minute feeling like an eternity. I had no way to tell time, no window to judge whether it was day or night. The fluorescent light buzzed constantly overhead, creating a monotonous soundtrack to my captivity.

I kept trying to reach Aria, calling out to my wolf with increasing desperation. The silence in my head was deafening. For the first time since childhood, I felt completely, utterly alone.

The baby was moving restlessly, apparently as unhappy with the situation as I was. I rubbed my belly, whispering reassurances I didn't feel.

"It's going to be okay, little one. Mama's going to figure this out."

But how? I was trapped in a warded room with no supernatural abilities, no weapons, no way to contact anyone for help. Even if Magnus was alive—and I had to believe he was—he was probably in a similar situation.

The sound of locks disengaging made me look up. The door swung open to reveal my captor again, this time carrying a tray of food and a bottle of water.

"Thought you might be hungry," she said pleasantly, as if we were old friends having a casual chat.

"I'm not eating anything you give me."

"Suit yourself. Though I should mention that the food isn't drugged. We need you healthy for what comes next."

"What comes next?"

She set the tray on the small table near the cot and took a step back. "A demonstration. A little show-and-tell to help you understand the seriousness of your situation."

"What kind of demonstration?"

Instead of answering, she pulled a small device from her pocket—something that looked like a cross between a tablet and a phone. She tapped the screen a few times, then held it up so I could see the display.

Magnus appeared on the screen, bound to a chair in what looked like another concrete room. He was conscious, alert, and apparently uninjured, but I could see the fury radiating from every line of his body.

"Magnus!" I lunged toward the device, but the woman pulled it back out of reach.

"He can't hear you. This is a one-way feed. But as you can see, he's very much alive and relatively unharmed."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to understand what's at stake here." She tapped the screen again, and the image shifted to show a different room.

My heart stopped.

Asher sat on a small bed, playing with toy cars, completely oblivious to any danger. He looked happy, content, safe. But the room around him was clearly not his bedroom at home.

"You took my son." The words came out as a growl, primal and threatening despite my lack of supernatural abilities.

"We retrieved him from protective custody. Don't worry—he thinks he's at a special daycare. He's being well cared for by trained professionals."

"If you hurt him—"

"We have no intention of hurting him. As I explained, children aren't responsible for their genetic potential. But their futures can be guided, shaped, controlled."

"You're talking about brainwashing."

"I'm talking about education. Training. Ensuring that his abilities develop in ways that serve the greater good rather than his personal desires."

The rage building inside me was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Every maternal instinct I possessed was screaming at me to tear this woman apart with my bare hands.

"You're insane."

"I'm practical. Your son is going to be the most powerful supernatural being in recorded history. That power needs to be directed properly, or it will become catastrophically destructive."

"He's three years old!"

"And already showing signs of abilities that won't fully manifest for another decade. Do you know what he did yesterday?"

I didn't want to hear this, but I needed to know what they knew about Asher.

"He made three rabbits appear in your backyard. Not ilusions—actual, living rabbits that he somehow called from somewhere else. Creation magic, Lyra. At three years old."

My blood chilled. Creation magic was theoretical, the stuff of legends. If Asher was actually manifesting those kinds of abilities...

"It doesn't matter what he can do. He's just a baby."

"A baby with the power to reshape reality according to his whims. What happens when he's sixteen and decides he doesn't like the rules society has placed on him? What happens when he's twenty-five and falls in love with someone who doesn't return his feelings?"

The implications she was painting were terrifying, but I refused to believe my gentle, laughing little boy could ever become the monster she was describing.

"Asher has a good heart. He would never use his abilities to hurt people."

"Children with god-like power don't stay children forever. And power without limits inevitably leads to corruption."

She tapped the screen again, showing me a new image. This one was of a building I recognized—the Moonlight Pack headquarters. But something was wrong with it. The walls were covered in ice, and I could see pack members running in apparent panic.

"This happened two hours ago, shortly after your son realized you weren't coming home. His emotional distress triggered an uncontrolled magical outburst that flash-froze everything within a half-mile radius."

"Is everyone okay?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

"No casualties, though several pack members required medical treatment for hypothermia. Your husband managed to calm the boy down, but not before significant damage was done."

I stared at the image, horrified. My three-year-old son had accidentally injured people with his emotional response to my absence.

"This is what I mean," the woman continued. "Untrained, unguided power is dangerous regardless of intent. What happens next time when his distress is even greater? What happens when he's older and his abilities are stronger?"

"Then we train him. We teach him control."

"Exactly. Which is why we're offering you this opportunity."

"To let you kidnap and brainwash my child."

"To let us educate him properly. To give him the tools and guidance he needs to use his abilities responsibly."

"Under your control."

"Under proper supervision, yes."

I looked at the screen again, at my son playing innocently with his toys while surrounded by people who saw him as either a weapon or a threat.

"What happens if I agree to your terms?"

"You and Asher are relocated to a secure facility where he can receive appropriate education and training. You'll be comfortable, well cared for, allowed to maintain your relationship with your son while ensuring his development proceeds safely."

"A prison."

"A protected environment."

"For how long?"

"Until he reaches maturity and demonstrates complete control over his abilities. Twenty years, perhaps twenty-five."

"And Magnus?"

"Would be released and allowed to return to his normal life."

"Without his wife and son."

"With the knowledge that they're safe and protected."

The choice she was offering me was impossible. Sacrifice my freedom and my son's childhood to keep him alive, or refuse and risk having both of us eliminated.

But there was something she wasn't telling me, some piece of the puzzle I was missing.

"You said the last celestial-alpha hybrid was eliminated twelve centuries ago."

"Yes."

"But you want to keep Asher alive. Why the different approach?"

Her smile turned calculating. "Because twelve centuries ago, we didn't understand how to properly harness that kind of power. Now we do."

"Harness it for what?"

"For the greater good, of course. Imagine what someone with your son's abilities could accomplish under proper guidance. Healing the sick, preventing natural disasters, maintaining peace between supernatural factions."

"Or waging war. Or conquering territories. Or eliminating anyone who opposes you."

"Those are also possibilities. Which is why the guidance is so important."

I understood now. They didn't want to eliminate Asher—they wanted to control him. Turn him into their personal weapon of mass destruction.

"I need time to think."

"Of course. But not too much time. Your son's emotional state is becoming increasingly unstable in your absence."

She moved toward the door, then paused.

"Oh, and Lyra? Just so we're clear about the stakes involved—my name is Seraphina. I believe you knew my predecessor."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Seraphina. The woman who had manipulated Kael, who had destroyed my first marriage, who had been responsible for years of pain and suffering.

But Seraphina was dead. Magnus had told me she died six months ago.

"That's impossible. Seraphina is dead."

The woman's smile grew wider, more predatory.

"Death is such a limiting concept, don't you think? Especially when you have access to the right kind of magic."

She raised her hand, and I saw the syringe again. Another dart, another dose of whatever cocktail they'd been using to suppress my abilities.

"Sweet dreams, Lyra. When you wake up, I'll need your answer."

The dart hit my arm, and darkness rushed up to claim me once again.

But as consciousness slipped away, one thought burned bright in my mind:

Seraphina is alive. And she has my son.