Chapter Two: Secrets in the Storm
The silence after their father's explanation felt heavier than the thick morning air. Wicked wasn't sure what to make of any of it. Isabel stood at the window, watching the light shift over the village, her mind clearly racing with questions.
"So, let me get this straight," Wicked started, trying to process it all. "You're part of some faction that wants to close the connections between the worlds? To keep them from mixing?"
Duncan nodded. "Yes, exactly. The worlds were never supposed to be connected like this. It caused nothing but chaos—empires fighting over territory, wars we can't control."
"But that chaos isn't random," Lydia interjected, leaning forward, her voice suddenly softer, carrying an edge that made Wicked look at her differently. "Not all of it, at least."
Wicked frowned, glancing at Isabel, who had turned her full attention back to their mother. "What do you mean, not all of it?"
Lydia stood up from the table, crossing her arms over her chest as she paced to the far side of the room. For a moment, it looked like she was hesitating, a rare moment of uncertainty on her face. Wicked couldn't remember ever seeing her unsure of herself before.
"You ever wonder why I never talk about my family?" she asked quietly, her back to them now.
Isabel straightened, clearly picking up on something Wicked was missing. "You never talk about them. At all."
Lydia turned around, a distant look in her eyes. "Because they're not from this world."
Duncan's expression tightened, his jaw clenching slightly, but he remained silent. Wicked raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued.
"Wait—what?" Wicked said, half-laughing as if waiting for her to crack a joke. "Not from this world? Like… you're from some other planet?"
"Not exactly," Lydia replied, her voice steady but tinged with something deeper. "I come from a world outside the ones you know. A world no one has ever been able to fully understand. My family… they're part of a nomadic tribe. But not just any tribe."
"A tribe?" Isabel repeated, her voice measured. "You've never mentioned anything like that before."
"I couldn't," Lydia said, her tone shifting, more serious than Wicked had ever heard it. "My family's world, our world, was the catalyst that caused all of this—the intersection of worlds. It was our doing, though not by choice. The chaos that connected the worlds… it comes from us. From the powers we've held for centuries."
Wicked felt the room shift, his usual energy suddenly stilled by the weight of his mother's words. "So, you're saying… your family caused this? The intersecting worlds? The factions? Everything?"
Lydia nodded slowly. "It was unintentional, but yes. My family's powers are tied to chaos, and the balance between worlds was disrupted because of it. The connections between worlds began because of us. But no one knows this—no one can know this. If they did, the factions would come after us, after me, after you."
Wicked felt a jolt of realization. His mother's chaotic nature, her unpredictable energy—it wasn't just a personality trait. It was something much deeper, something that ran through their blood. His eyes flicked over to Isabel, who remained unnervingly calm, even as the magnitude of what their mother was saying sank in.
"So, the reason all the worlds are connected," Isabel started slowly, "is because of your family's powers?"
"Yes," Lydia confirmed. "But no one outside of our world knows this. The factions have been fighting to control or close the connections, but they don't realize that without our chaos, the worlds would have remained separate. They're chasing shadows, trying to fix something they don't fully understand."
Duncan finally spoke, his voice tense. "That's why I wanted to keep you two out of all of this," he said, addressing Wicked and Isabel directly. "Your mother's family's powers are at the heart of everything. I wanted to close the gates, end the connections between the worlds before anyone figured out the truth. But now…"
"Now it's too late," Lydia said, her voice hardening. "They're old enough. They have to know."
Wicked rubbed the back of his neck, trying to wrap his head around what he'd just heard. "So… we're like the keys to this whole mess? Our powers—your powers—they're the reason everything is the way it is?"
Lydia gave a slow, deliberate nod. "That's why I've kept so much from you. Why I've stayed quiet about my family. They're kings and queens of their own land, nomads who travel from place to place, but they control a chaos that the rest of the world doesn't even know exists. The world only knows fragments of the truth."
"Great," Wicked said, leaning back in his chair with a sarcastic grin. "So we're at the center of some grand cosmic mistake?"
Isabel, on the other hand, remained thoughtful. "Does this mean the school we're going to… are they going to know? About us? About the chaos?"
Duncan and Lydia exchanged a look. Duncan sighed. "No, they won't know everything. They'll just think you're another set of twins with unusual powers. But that doesn't mean you won't be watched. People there will be curious. They'll wonder why your powers are different."
"And it'll be up to you to keep this secret," Lydia added. "No one can know about our family's connection to the intersecting worlds. Not yet. Not until we figure out how to fix this—or, at the very least, how to protect you from the factions that will come for you."
Wicked could feel the weight of their words settling over him. He was used to chaos—he thrived in it, in fact—but this was different. This was responsibility. And as much as he didn't like to admit it, the idea of being at the center of something so big made his stomach flip.
"I don't know how to feel about this," he admitted, looking over at Isabel. "But I guess we'll figure it out."
Isabel gave him a small nod. "We will. One way or another."
Lydia smiled, though there was a sadness in her eyes. "You two are stronger than you know. And whatever happens, we'll be right here."
Duncan stood, placing a hand on Wicked's shoulder, and one on Isabel's. "The world is changing again, and you're part of that change. But we'll prepare you. You won't go into this blind."
Wicked swallowed, feeling the weight of his father's hand, the steady pressure of everything he now knew. His chaotic nature was no longer just his. It was tied to something much larger than himself, something that stretched across worlds.
"Alright then," he said, forcing a grin despite the storm of thoughts in his head. "Let's see what kind of mess we get into next."
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