When I was finally ready to face him again, I was supremely confident. I was infinitely more powerful than I’d been on that terrible day.

Dad?

Lucia’s mind seemed to be falling apart. It had been thirteen years since she’d seen her father…since she’d seen him die. She’d been utterly unprepared for a moment like this, as a completely new reality seemed to be overwriting everything she believed. Stranger still, her father was laughing.

“Really?” he said, after the chuckle died down. “Even with the hair? I haven’t heard that one in a while.” He reached up and dramatically tossed his hair back, as if it were all some big joke. “I guess I’m flattered? With the scars, it’s hard to feel like the pretty one anymore.”

He seemed to be waiting for her to laugh, and when he realized she was crying–and rendered speechless–all the mirth left his expression. “Am I missing something? What’s going on?”

Lucia choked out a few words, struggling to understand what her father was saying. “I saw you die,” she whispered, and his eyes widened with shock. One hand went to his temple as he furiously shook his head.

“Lucia I…I don’t understand what you’re saying. Can we start this over?” he asked, still holding his head.

His confusion only made her own worse, and she found herself trapped between running toward him and needing to retreat. “Dad I–”

“Whoa there,” he interrupted, waving both hands in front of him. “Your dad is an interesting guy, but he can’t be in two places at once. Do you really not remember me?” He looked at her expectantly. When he saw her desperately searching his features, he somewhat awkwardly pushed his hair back and presented his less scarred side to her for appraisal.

After a long, awkward moment he let his hair drop and his shoulders slumped. “I’m your uncle Marco, Lucia. I guess adults forget what it’s like for young kids who’ve only seen us a few times. Those were really meaningful moments to me, but I think you were only five the last time we saw each other.”

He looked uncomfortable, then got an odd expression, “But I’m still confused, haven’t you seen your father since you escaped the Farm? Arthur refused to give details–which isn’t a shock–but I assumed you and Vincenzo had to be staying with your dad.”

Lucia was struggling to keep up, her body shaking and her thoughts were coming slowly as she tried to process everything this man said. Uncle Marco? she thought. Could I really have family I don’t remember? But what about the burns, is this all some kind of game?

Marco had wisely given her time to collect herself, and finally she managed to speak. “I don’t remember you. Vincent’s never mentioned you either,” he looked sad at hearing that, and she thought his reaction was genuine. “But my father is dead. How could you not know that if you’re really his brother?”

Again, confusion painted his features. “Lucia, I don’t know how you could possibly think that–”

“I saw him die!” she screamed. “I saw him walk into fire! I’ve seen it in my mind and in my nightmares ever since!” Marco visibly recoiled, and his hands seemed to reflexively reach for his burns. A moment later, they both went higher as he gripped his head once again.

“No, that’s not–” he cut off, groaning in pain. “That’s not right, Lucia. I don’t know what you think happened–”

“How did you get those burns?” she shrieked at him, hearing a tinge of madness in her own voice as it echoed through the high-ceilinged room.

“That night,” he said, turning away from her. “I was–” his voice cut off as he collapsed to his knees. Lucia took an involuntary step forward, her entire being telling her that she was seeing her father in pain.

“Dad are you–”

“I’m not your father!” he roared, rushing to his feet and stumbling past her toward the door. “Gretta!” he cried, his voice raising an octave. “Gretta I need you!” Lucia followed him, reaching out in confusion and desperation.

A moment later Gretta was back, clearly prepared for a fight. She looked to Lucia first, her expression suspicious, but when she took in the Cultivator's condition, both hands still clutching his head, her countenance quickly changed. “Lucia, come with me; he needs to be alone.”

Without waiting for any kind of answer, she gripped Lucia’s wrist in an iron grasp, and physically dragged her from the room. “What are you doing?” Lucia asked as she tried, and failed, to take her arm back. “What the hell is happening here, that was my father!”

They’d been moving rapidly down the hallway, but Gretta stopped short at the comment. She looked at Lucia with the same confusion that the burned man had shown. “You don’t remember your uncle?” she asked, clearly surprised, then resumed the quick pace. “I’m sorry, we thought his presence would make your transition here easier. How could you mistake him for your father though? With the hair and the scars–”

“My father is dead!” Lucia said again, feeling like the only sane person in a world that had just turned crazy. Gretta stopped once more, this time in front of an alcove Lucia hadn’t noticed on the way in. There was a large, thick metal door a few feet back, mostly lost in the basement’s dim light, but it was a sharp contrast to the rest of the building’s decor. A vault of some kind? her rational mind thought.

Gretta was looking back and forth from Lucia to the now distant room they’d just left. “I don’t understand what happened in there, or how you could possibly be unaware of your father, but I can promise you he’s very much alive. No one here would keep that from you.”

“I saw him die,” Lucia insisted, sparking a rare, sympathetic look from Gretta.

“I don’t know what you saw, and I’m certain the Cultivator–your uncle–will want to hear it, but now isn’t the time. It’s best that you get your answers from him,” she said, looking uncertain.

Lucia was still struggling to keep her thoughts in order. “What happened in there? What’s wrong with him?”

Gretta sighed. “He has…episodes. It’s fairly common knowledge and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you knowing. He was at your compound the night that Legacy attacked. He felt over hundred other Psychics die that night, all in pain and terror. Those scars are as real as the burns.”

Lucia considered, and a part of her did start believing this man wasn’t her father. She was certain that only her mother had been a Psychic. She opened her mouth with more questions, but Gretta forestalled her. “That’s as much–or more–than I should have told you. Your uncle will want to tell you the rest, I’m sure.”

She finally released Lucia’s arm, sensing that she’d calmed. “Come, I’ll have some food brought to your room. The episodes are painful, but they don’t last long. Given what you were speaking of, I’m certain the Cultivator will call for you soon.” She started moving, and Lucia took one final glance before following.

***

My father is alive? Lucia thought for the thousandth time. The wait was longer than she would have liked, and after two hours she was feeling emotionally numb as she sat in her new bed, staring at an uneaten platter of food. She’d calmed enough that she was finally able to apply logic to the emotional hurricane that her interaction with the Cultivator had been.

She still had no recollection of an uncle, but she also had to admit to herself that it had been a very long time, and her memories from childhood had grown foggy after the intense trauma she’d experienced. Yes the man looked shockingly like her father, but she also hadn’t seen her father’s face since that terrible night. It was possible he was telling the truth, but there were other, more insidious possibilities as well.

Truthfully, most of her thinking came back to what the Cultivator and Gretta had both readily agreed on–their father was alive. More than that, the two had been convinced she should know that. Had Arthur implied something? If he hadn’t shared the method by which her brother and their friends had escaped the farm, perhaps they’d assumed it had been their father’s doing.

That line of reasoning hadn’t gotten her very far, even if it did leave her head spinning with questions and possibilities. Instead, she’d begun thinking of that horrible night in a way she’d never allowed herself to in the past. Her mind always shied away from memories of the night she lost her parents, but now curiosity was forcing a deeper examination.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

She’d always known it was the NGG who had attacked the compound, and at some point Legacy’s personal involvement had been revealed. Those were truths she’d lived with since she’d first arrived at the Farm, however, and it wasn’t until recently that there had been anything more to consider.

Vincent’s discovery of the mysterious weapon had changed things, but truthfully she didn’t know by how much. Perhaps the NGG had a clearer purpose in their attack, but that didn’t affect the outcome. If she truly had an uncle who’d been there as well, however, maybe there was more to the story. But even if he didn’t often visit, as he claimed, why wouldn’t she have seen him that night?

At last a knock on her door came, hopefully promising answers. Lucia got up and rushed to it, finding Greta waiting. The woman glanced at the uneaten food, but didn’t appear surprised. “The Cultivator is ready to see you,” she said. “He’s in the greenhouse; I can take you now.”

“I’m ready,” Lucia replied, wondering if she truly was. Her escort nodded, and led the way.

“I can only imagine how difficult this is for you, but try your best to remain calm around your uncle. He’s more fragile than any of us would like, and a second episode in one day would be damaging.” Lucia nodded as they went down the stairs, and followed a hallway that Jeff hadn’t had time to show her during the tour.

It led outside, which was a fairly large yard, almost a small park. It was surrounded entirely by other buildings, and quite secluded. They passed several gardens and hedges, and numerous people reading or chatting as Gretta led them to a cottage-sized greenhouse in the back corner.

Lucia followed the taller woman into the glass structure, momentarily stunned by the humidity inside. There were flowers everywhere, and various gardening implements, as well as two chairs in the center. The man who claimed to be her uncle sat in one, facing away from them. “Thank you Gretta, please wait outside,” he said, while patting the other chair.

Lucia glanced at Gretta as the woman left, then inspected the Cultivator as she sat down. He’d changed out of his robes and into older, working clothes, but had a dark blanket wrapped around himself despite the building’s heat. He looked decidedly unthreatening, even with his dark glossy hair pulled back and his scars on full display.

“I’m sorry about before,” he said evenly. “I had no idea what I was walking into, and I feel foolish for how I behaved.” Lucia nodded, not sure yet what to say. “I’ll tell you as much as I can,” he promised, “but I suspect you’re not going to enjoy this conversation.”

Lucia’s eyes narrowed, “Why not?”

He looked to her, with what appeared to be sympathy in his eyes. “I spoke to your father,” he said, and all at once Lucia felt the emotional hurricane stirring once more. “We don’t talk much anymore,” he continued. “He hasn’t been the same since he lost the three of you. I reached out when Arthur told us you were alive, but he wouldn’t even take my call.”

He reached over to a small table, which he placed between them. There was tea and two cups, and he gestured at the one closer to her while taking a sip from his own. “He took my call today, though. I managed to convey the urgency of it.”

Lucia ignored the tea, barely able to contain herself. “What did he say? Is he coming here?”

The Cultivator sighed, and took far too long in answering. “He didn’t believe me, Lucia. He wouldn’t even really listen. He’s absolutely certain the two of you died that night.”

Lucia didn’t know how to react, but she understood. She was in a similar situation right now, desperately trying to come to terms with the possibility that her father had seemingly come back from the dead. “That’s fine,” she said at last. “That’s fine, I’ll just go meet him. He might not recognize me over a call, but if Vincent and I go in person–”

“No,” the Cultivator said, and she was shocked by the command in his voice.

“No?” she echoed. “What the hell do you mean ‘no’?” she asked, fury rising up inside her.

He turned to look her in the eye. “My brother has always been a dangerous man,” he said, and despite the image of a kind, loving man in her head, Lucia realized she believed him. “He’s always been dangerous, but since he lost his family, he’s also become paranoid, and…violent. If you showed up at his door, claiming to be his long lost daughter, I think he might…” he trailed off, turning away.

“You think my father might hurt me?” Lucia asked incredulously. Dangerous she could accept, but dangerous to her?

The Cultivator took another sip of his tea, seemingly to buy himself time. “Right now, my brother is dangerous to everyone. But I know how this sounds. I wish we had a stronger relationship so you’d have any reason to believe all this, but I understand your suspicions, and I don’t expect you to trust me.”

He sighed, then turned to face her once more. “I’ve spoken to Gretta. She’s arranged for you to talk with Vincenzo. The two of you can go over it together. I won’t tell you where your father is, because I genuinely believe it would put your life in danger, but I’m also certain that Arthur already knows.”

“Vincent is awake?” she asked with a shock. Only now that she heard he was okay did she realize how scared she’d been.

The Cultivator nodded. “A message was waiting for Gretta at one of her dead drops, confirming your brother’s condition. As for you, well there’s no prisoners here Lucia. The next ship leaves in nine days, and you can be on it if you wish. I’m hoping your brother changes your mind though. You should decide together how to handle this.”

Lucia wasn’t sure if she should believe the man, but having a plan of escape–even an uncertain one–did bring her some relief. “Do you really think my father has changed so much?” she asked, picturing the man she remembered standing protectively in front of her.

Surprisingly, the Cultivator smiled. “Yes and no. I still remember growing up in Brooklyn with your dad. He was exactly the kind of big brother I needed: he kept me safe, but also kicked my ass when I needed it. Like I said, he’s always been a dangerous man, and a driven one at that. When he sees a problem, nothing on this Earth can stand in his way.”

Lucia considered that, picturing her father in his youth for the first time. “What problem do you think he sees right now?” she asked.

This time her uncle grinned widely. “Just a little one,” he said, “they call themselves the New Global Government.” He chuckled to himself as he stood up, and waved for Lucia to stay as he left. A moment later Gretta entered carrying a small gray box, which she placed on Lucia’s lap.

“This is expensive, and consumable tech. It can only manage a single, short call, and will cut off automatically when it detects network intrusion. Talk fast.” She opened a lid on the box, pressed a single button, then left.

Lucia looked down at the screen, feeling more pressure than she’d like for this kind of reunion. As she stared at the ‘Connecting…’ message, she considered that it had been a long, long day.

At last the screen flashed, and her brother was there. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken, with dark circles under them, and he was hunched over in his bed. Still, he was alive. “We don’t have much time,” he said by way of greeting. “Are you okay? Arthur said this messaging system is some kind of emergency measure.”

Lucia smiled, feeling tears gather in her eyes. “I’m okay, I suppose. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

Vincent opened his mouth to say something, then let out a sigh, and started again. “I’m glad to be back, and I’m sorry for what I put everyone through. I drastically miscalculated. But I doubt this is the emergency, and Arthur insisted this would be brief.”

Lucia nodded, and steeled herself. “Do you remember our uncle Marco? Because I don’t, but someone claiming to be him is in charge of this place.” Vincent’s face registered a mild shock.

“I knew of him. I looked into our living relatives a few months ago, but there were no records of him for decades so I let it go. Leadership of compounds is highly confidential, so I suppose it’s possible. Is this the problem? Is the man exploiting you somehow?”

“No not that. Look, we’re running out of time so I’ll just say it: he says our dad is alive.” She braced herself for his reaction, but Vincent just looked away awkwardly. Oh, this son of a bitch, she thought.

“You knew!” she yelled at the screen, and he sighed again.

“I knew,” he agreed. “Arthur told me, but he made it clear that it’s not a road we should follow.” Lucia was fuming with rage and ready to explode, but Athur saying the same thing that Marco had pushed her mind in another direction.

“We’ll discuss this more, I promise that, but there’s something you should know.” She took a deep breath. “Mom did something to our dad that night, the night. Maybe even before that. I think…I think she changed him. I thought she just made him–it doesn’t matter what I thought. But what Marco told me is nothing like how I remember dad.”

A warning flashed on the screen: time was almost up. Vincent looked conflicted when he spoke. “Okay, if that’s true, then what?”

Lucia let out an exasperated breath. Why could he never just react normally? “Then I think I should come home. If Arthur knows where dad is, then we can find him together and–”

“And what?” he interrupted with irritation. “You’re still untrained, and our father is…he’s exceptionally dangerous, Lucia. Not to mention the plan. Did you already forget why you’re there? You need to get better, and you need to get–” he caught himself, likely thinking about where she was, and who might be listening. “You need to finish what you started.”

The warning flashed again; they were out of time. “Is the plan all you care about?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t true, but also knowing it closer to true than she wished.

“We’re out of time,” he said, not looking at the screen. He paused for only a moment before surprising her, “You can always come home, Lucia. Be safe.” The screen shut off before she could respond. She leaned back, considering.

He was right, as usual, and as much as she hated it. But she did have a mission here, maybe more than one. She needed to master her abilities, and even find the stupid gadget her brother was obsessed with. But more than that, she needed to do something she’d been thinking about since the day she got the powers she hated.

Lucia needed to save her brother. She needed to get rid of whatever her mother had done to him. And now she needed to do the same for her father. She was going to save her family.