Unheroic Life of a Certain Cape 227 End of Book 4 – Mediate

227 End of Book 4 - diate

I watched the recording in silence as Alia dismantled the gravitykinetic.

Gavel was an old na in the cape world. He belonged to a different era of capes, the kind that survived long enough to understand that raw potency faded, that variety scattered focus, but technique endured. In the years after the Great War, that belief had hardened into doctrine among the survivors. They trained in isolation, refined their powers obsessively, and waited for a world that no longer wanted them.

It was almost poetic.

Back then, powers had fallen out of favor. Trauma was the price of awakening, and once people truly understood that, society recoiled. Governnts tried to legislate pain out of existence with trauma-free environnts, preventative systems, and early intervention. Noble goals, poorly executed. Powered groups were throttled, sidelined, and quietly sabotaged. The divide widened anyway, morphing into sothing uglier.

Heroes and villains weren’t born. They were manufactured.

On the screen, Alia finished the fight decisively. She could have killed him. She didn’t.

I exhaled slowly.

Then ca Leverage.

The way her voice cracked when she quit hurt more than I expected. Alia stood there, wings folded, blood still warm on her hands, and took it without protest.

I felt a pang of sothing dangerously close to guilt.

Learning about ‘us’ had cost Alia a friend. Hopefully, it wouldn’t cost her more than that. She was better than . Always had been. A better hero. A better person. Soone who still believed lines mattered.

The limo slowed to a stop.

The driver stepped out and opened the door. “We’re here, sir.”

Markend.

I hadn’t been back in a long ti.

I stepped out, psychically blurring my features until my face slid off attention like water off glass. The city felt smaller than I rembered. Or maybe I’d just grown too used to worlds that wanted dead.

I walked the familiar paths, letting mory guide my feet.

George appeared beside in a shimr of hard light, his usual lab coat flickering into place like a bad habit.

“How are you doing, George?” I asked.

“Terrible.”

I smiled faintly. “Why?”

“Because you keep disappearing on your wife,” he snapped. “Or wife-to-be. Whatever. You’re not officially married, but you’re officially stupid. Also, reminder, I am not a doctor. I just look like one.”

“You do a convincing job.”

“That’s because I cheat,” he said irritably. “Extra servers, parallel processes, enhancer-like feedback loops. I can learn almost any trade, act competently in it, and still… I have better things to do than babysit your emotional avoidance.”

“But you can split yourself,” I said mildly.

“Yes. And I have been,” George replied. “Which is giving a headache, because paranoia is a bitch. What if one of my copies rebels?”

“Then I’ll kill it,” I said without hesitation.

George stared at . “That is not comforting.”

I changed the subject. “Anything new about your powers?”

His expression shifted, becoming more serious. “I’ve been comparing notes with Griffin. I think I have a Source Mutate. Sa category as her Chira.”

I stopped walking.

“A Source Mutate?” I repeated.

He nodded. “I don’t know what it’s called. Or how I got it. But it explains a lot.”

That was… troubling. And fascinating.

“We’re here,” George said, gesturing ahead.

We stood before a nondescript room with plain door, no markings, and shielded in ways only soone like George would bother with.

Slowly, I reached for the handle.

“Wait.”

George’s hand didn’t touch , but his voice carried enough weight to stop all the sa.

“Before you continue,” he said, quieter now, stripped of sarcasm, “there’s sothing you must hear.”

“I read the dical report,” I replied without turning.

“Oh,” George said. “So you know the stakes, then?”

“Yes.”

Nicole might die from the pregnancy. That part was clear. But the unborn child, four months in, had it far worse.

George continued anyway, because that was who he was. Because facts mattered to him, even when they hurt.

“Nicole has been weakening rapidly. Day by day. At first we thought it was a complication from stress, or latent damage from earlier exposures. But we finally isolated the cause.” His voice tightened. “The fetus has pulled.”

I closed my eyes.

“And it’s already developed powers,” George added. “We suspect that’s what’s draining her. As for why this is happening—why a pull occurred in utero—we still don’t know.”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off gently.

He fell silent.

“Thank you, George,” I continued. “For everything. But I’ll take it from here.”

Another pause. Then, softer, “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

His hard-light form dissolved, leaving alone with the door.

I pushed it open.

The room was quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears. Nicole lay on a soft bed, thin to the point it hurt to look at her. Her skin had darkened in places, shadows pooling around her neck and eyes like bruises that never fully ford. Machines humd softly beside her, their lights steady, indifferent.

She looked fragile.

She opened her eyes the mont I stepped inside.

Joy washed over through my empathy, imdiate and unguarded. Relief. Warmth. And beneath it was anger, faint but sharp, like a needle under silk. More than anything, though, was pleasant surprise at my appearance.

“Took you long enough, Nick,” she said, her voice dry but fond.

I moved closer, every step heavier than it should have been.

She glanced down at her stomach, then back up at , a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

“So,” she added, eyes glinting despite everything, “wanna bet if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Nicole didn’t let speak.

“Before you start,” she said, her voice suddenly sharp, brittle strength wrapped around every word, “I need to warn you. Don’t even think about suggesting an abortion, because I will kill you, even like this.” Her fingers tightened around the bedsheet. “George keeps telling to give up the baby, and he’s getting on my nerves. I’d rather die fighting than live the rest of my life knowing I gave up sothing this precious. Do you hear , Nick?”

I did.

Not long ago, she’d threatened to kill our unborn child if I died or disappeared on her. I almost smiled at the mory. Insane. Still insane. Still Nicole.

“I’m with you,” I said quietly. “All the way.”

Her eyes shimred, moisture gathering as she studied my face. “Nick… is it just , or did sothing change in you?”

I nodded. “I think you can feel it too.”

I sat beside her, carefully, as if the wrong movent might shatter sothing fragile. My awareness slipped inward, just listening. And there it was.

The mind.

Small. Immature. Impossible.

An unborn child, barely four months old, had pulled.

The absurdity of it should have broken . It was rudintary and instinctive hypnosis of all things. Weak compared to trained psychics, yet undeniably there. Worse or perhaps stranger, it was drawing on Nicole’s powers, amplifying itself just enough to touch and influence .

And I let it.

I didn’t know how long I’d been under its thrall. Days? Weeks? Maybe since the mont it had been more than a cluster of cells. A whisper at the edge of thought. A warmth I’d mistaken for my own feelings.

Miraculous didn’t begin to cover it.

Our love had produced sothing that defied every rule I knew. It bound the three of us together in a way no contract, no oath, and no power ever could.

And now I might lose it.

Nicole squeezed my hand, her expression torn. “What is it like, Nick? Our child… isn’t normal. Is there sothing wrong with him?”

The word ‘monster’ flickered through my mind, unbidden. I shoved it aside with everything I had. I was scared and terrified. But I was done running. Hope was elusive, fragile, easy to mistake for a lie, but I knew it when I felt it. And this… this was hope.

“This child wants to live,” I said softly. “I can feel it. In my bones. He wants to protect you. And just as badly… he wants to live too.”

Nicole blinked, confused. “He?”

“I can’t be sure. It’s just a feeling.”

I did everything in my power to make it work.

I called in favors I’d sworn I’d never use, burned goodwill I’d been saving for wars not yet fought, and leaned on friends who already carried more weight than they should. Abner and Spoiler tore through possible futures, their precognition skimming tilines like gamblers counting cards, searching for even a single path where Nicole and the child both lived. George, for his part, turned the world upside down, arranging facilities, requisitioning tools, and repurposing technology that was never ant to touch obstetrics.

I had expected the answer to co from so bleeding-edge lab or a special existence I’d yet to bargain with.

Instead, it ca from Dr. Hera.

Forr Forestho. Forr Lockworld prisoner. Silver-haired, albino, brilliant, and utterly uninterested in modesty or ceremony. Of all people, it was her expertise that gave us a chance.

The diagnosis was brutally simple.

The child was taking too much nutrients.

Nicole’s body was being drained faster than it could replenish itself, thanks to a developing power that didn’t understand restraint. A fetus with abilities was unheard of, but once the premise was accepted, the consequences followed naturally. Power demanded fuel. And Nicole was paying the price.

Dr. Hera took command with unsettling confidence, rattling off instructions as if this were rely an unusual variation of a familiar problem. I handed the fate of my wife and unborn child to her with no small amount of dread, but I trusted my numbers… and more importantly, I trusted her competence.

Still, trust didn’t make the waiting easier.

I phased just outside the operating room, half-present, half-absent, the sterile lights bleeding through . Hera had insisted only relevant specialists be allowed inside. There were no exceptions.

Mira found there.

“Sit,” she said, firmly enough that I obeyed without thinking.

I sat beside her, hands clenched, thoughts spiraling. She told to calm down with the steady tone of soone who knew panic intimately and refused to let it rule her. She’d grown into that voice, reliable and grounded.

Mira Alice.

Her na still felt like a contradiction she carried with quiet honesty. ‘Alice,’ given by her mother, sothing she’d once tried to abandon when she wanted to start over, to beco soone else entirely. ‘Mira’ had been her choice, her rebellion, and her attempt at distance. In the end, she couldn’t let Alice go. She admitted once that half the ti she was still putting on a brave front after everything Light had done.

Hover had helped. Ti had helped. But scars like hers didn’t vanish.

I asked her what she was thinking about, partly to distract myself, partly because I needed to hear sothing that wasn’t my own fear.

She spoke of her trauma, Light’s abuse, and the cage he’d built, gilded and inescapable. She spoke of her mother, who should have broken, who should have failed, who by all logic should not have been able to save her.

But she did.

Against an anomalous existence that should have been consud or erased, her mother pulled off the impossible.

Of course, I knew all of this, since I lived her life. Reminding of this things helped focus, pulling strength from mories that weren’t truly mine.

Mira looked at then, eyes steady.

“Mothers,” she said, “have a kind of power no rating system ever asured. When it’s about their child, they don’t follow rules. If ‘mothers’ area classification of a cape, I can bet my money on them being the strongest when it matters most.”

Dr. Hera stepped out of the operating room, gloves still stained, posture relaxed in a way that should have reassured , but didn’t. I already knew sothing was wrong the mont I saw her eyes.

“The child is alive,” she said. “Extraction was successful.”

Relief surged, but it was shortly cut off as she continued.

“But the mother is in a coma.”

Sothing inside broke.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t lash out. I didn’t destroy the corridor or collapse the building or phase the world inside out, though I could have. Instead, I did sothing far worse.

I shut myself down.

I killed my emotions with my powers, smothered them the way I’d learned to do long ago. Fear vanished. Grief followed. Love dulled into sothing distant and abstract. I was terrified of what I might do if I felt any of it. Terrified that if I let myself hurt, the world would pay the price.

So I didn’t feel.

A week passed.

Maybe more.

Ti blurred into a succession of operations, etings, executions, and blood. I worked nonstop, moving from city to city, dismantling gangs, erasing syndicates, toppling organizations that had existed for decades. The underworld bent… or broke. Word spread quickly. Eclipse wasn’t playing anymore.

He was returning to his roots, a monster!

Every takedown reinforced the myth. Every corpse added weight to my na. I beca exactly what they feared: the ultimate villain. And through all of it, I avoided the hospital wing. I didn’t see my child. I didn’t sit by Nicole’s bedside.

Not thinking about it was easier. Easier than acknowledging the fragile, terrifying truth that for all my power, I’d nearly lost everything that mattered. Easier than standing in a room where I couldn’t fix things by force.

I told myself this was temporary. That once the Entity was dealt with, once the final enemy revealed itself, I would slow down. I would return. I would live.

That illusion lasted exactly until the ssage ca from George.

“She’s awake.”

I was there in seconds.

The room was quiet, bathed in soft light. Nicole looked impossibly thin, skin pale, eyes sharp despite everything. Tubes still trailed from her arms, and monitors humming steadily.

She turned her head when I entered.

And then she scowled.

“Oh, so now you show up,” she said hoarsely.

I froze.

She continued, voice gaining strength with every word. “Let guess. You went on a murder vacation. Killed half the underworld. Played king of monsters while I was unconscious.”

I opened my mouth.

She raised a finger. “Don’t. You left. You ran.”

The emotions I’d buried clawed their way back to the surface, ssy and overwhelming.

“You didn’t even look at him, did you?” she snapped. “Your son.”

That did it.

I knelt beside her bed, head bowed, control finally slipping. “I was afraid,” I admitted. “Afraid I’d break sothing. Afraid I’d lose you. Afraid I’d lose him.”

She stared at for a long mont.

With what little strength she had, she smacked the side of my head.

“Idiot,” she muttered. “You don’t get to disappear when things get hard. Not anymore. You’re a husband. You’re a father. Start acting like it.”

She exhaled, eyes softening just a fraction.

“And you’re not doing this alone,” added Nicole as she shifted slightly on the bed, wincing but stubborn. “We’re going together.”

I looked up at her. “Nicole, you just woke up—”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “I didn’t fight this hard just to lie here while you et our son without .”

“…Okay,” I said quietly. “Together.”

Her grip loosened, satisfied. “Good. Now help up, Nick. And if you even think about turning your emotions off again—”

“I won’t,” I said imdiately. “I promise.”

She huffed. “You’d better.”

I helped Nicole into the wheelchair, careful with every movent, like the world would shatter if I moved too fast. She complained anyway, swatting my hand when I hovered too close.

“I’m not made of glass, Nick.”

“You are literally recovering from almost dying,” I muttered, pushing the chair forward.

“That just ans you’re overqualified as a worrier.”

George opened the way for us without a word. Doors that didn’t exist slid aside. Fields dropped. Sensors went blind. The corridor beyond wasn’t on any map, layered with redundancies only soone like George could orchestrate. If the world knew what was kept here, it would tear itself apart trying to get in.

At the end of it all was a room bathed in soft white light.

In the center stood a glassy tube, humming faintly, lines of gentle energy flowing through it like veins. Inside was sothing impossibly small.

Our son.

He was beautiful in a way that hurt. Tiny fingers curled and uncurled as if grasping at dreams, his chest rising in steady, stubborn breaths. A faint glow pulsed around him, barely visible, more felt than seen.

The mont I looked at him, I felt it.

A thread.

Not taphorical. Not imagined.

A delicate psychic filant stretched from him to Nicole… and from him to . Weak, but unbreakable. It tugged at my chest, at my thoughts, anchoring in a way nothing ever had.

Nicole inhaled sharply. Her hand trembled as she reached toward the glass.

“Oh,” she whispered. “That’s… that’s him.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He noticed us.

Not with his eyes, since they barely fluttered. Instead, he felt us with his mind. A ripple passed through the thread, curious and warm, brushing against my thoughts like a question.

I felt Nicole’s emotions spike through the link filled with joy, fear, awe, and love all crashing together.

“He’s already nosy,” she murmured weakly. “Definitely your fault.”

I let out a shaky breath. “He’s strong.”

“Obviously,” she said. “He survived us!”

We stood there in silence for a while, just watching him exist.

Then Nicole tilted her head, thoughtful. “So… nas.”

I stiffened. “Already?”

“Nick,” she said flatly. “I almost died. I’m naming my son.”

“…Fair.”

She squinted at the child. “He needs sothing dignified. Sothing powerful. A na that says don’t ss with .”

I crossed my arms. “You’re not naming him ‘Doom’.”

“I wasn’t thinking Doom,” she said. “I was thinking… Ronald.”

I blinked. “…Ronald.”

“A na fit for a king,” she declared. “Strong. Commanding. Regal.”

I stared at our son, the faint psychic glow flickering around him. “You want to na the ‘probably’ most dangerous baby in existence Ronald?”

She smirked. “Exactly. No one will see it coming.”

I rubbed my face. “He’s going to get bullied.”

“He’s going to bully reality,” she shot back. “He’ll be fine.”

The thread pulsed again, faint but approving.

I sighed. “…Alright. Ronald.”

Nicole smiled, satisfied. Then she softened. “But that’s a lot for a kid, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Feels… heavy.”

She looked at him again, eyes gentler now. “Ronald for the records.”

I nodded. “For the crown.”

She tapped the glass lightly. “But for us…”

I finished the thought. “…Ron.”

The thread ward.

Ron shifted inside the tube, tiny fingers curling, as if grasping the na and deciding it suited him.

Nicole leaned back in her chair, exhausted but smiling. I rested a hand on her shoulder, and for the first ti in a long while, the world felt… still.

Not safe.

Not peaceful.

But whole.