Chapter 60| Back Where We Started
The highway shoulder looked exactly as they’d left it — cracked asphalt, their abandoned van still parked at an awkward angle, scattered emergency flares long since burned out along the roadside. What had changed, unmistakably, was the sky above, no longer bruised violet, no longer humming with dangerous, unstable pressure, simply an ordinary, overcast Ohio afternoon.
"How long were we gone?" Irene asked, staring around at the eerily unchanged landscape with visible disorientation.
Myria was already moving toward the van, checking the dashboard clock against her own internal sense of elapsed time with sharp, focused urgency. "Clock says three hours since the rift first opened," she reported, disbelief coloring her voice. "Three hours, Allen. We spent nearly a month in that world."
"Time dilation," Vivian said slowly, piecing the implications together. "The pocket dimension operated on a completely different timescale than our own world."
Before anyone could process the revelation further, the distant wail of sirens cut through the quiet afternoon air, several Association response vehicles already visible approaching along the highway, drawn by whatever emergency reports had been filed regarding the rift’s sudden, violent formation and equally sudden collapse.
"We’re about to have considerably more explaining to do than we anticipated," Myria muttered, already composing herself into the sharp, strategic presence she always adopted before difficult negotiations.
The Association response team’s lead investigator approached cautiously, expression carrying a mixture of professional wariness and open astonishment at the sight of five clearly alive, if travel-worn, individuals standing at the site of what emergency reports had apparently classified as a catastrophic, unprecedented rift collapse.
"You’re the missing Hunters," the investigator said, disbelief plain in his voice. "We had you listed as presumed casualties. The rift’s collapse pattern didn’t match any survivable formation in our database."
"We’re very much alive," Allen said, exhaustion and quiet relief mingling in his voice. "Though I imagine we have a considerable amount to explain, both to your team and to the WHRIB, given our missed hearing."
The investigator’s eyes widened further at the mention. "The WHRIB has been in contact with local Association offices for the past three hours, demanding updates on your status. I’ll need to report your return immediately."
"Of course," Allen said, glancing toward his wives, exhaustion and quiet determination mingling in each of their expressions. "Let’s get this handled properly, then."
---
The following days passed in a blur of debriefings, medical evaluations, and increasingly complex diplomatic communications as word of their survival — and the extraordinary circumstances surrounding their month-long disappearance — rippled outward through Association channels and, eventually, toward WHRIB headquarters itself.
Myria’s careful documentation, combined with genuine physical evidence recovered from their journey — Ashkar’s gifted Ancestor Blade, a small sample of crystalline Elf technology Thessaly had insisted they carry home, Mother Ash’s original bone token still carefully preserved in Allen’s pocket — provided considerably more credibility than their extraordinary account might have otherwise earned on testimony alone.
Inquisitor Reyes herself made contact within the week, her usual careful, professional composure carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of genuine astonishment as she reviewed their submitted reports.
"An entire alien civilization," she said, disbelief still evident despite the mounting evidence before her. "A functioning dimensional pocket world, previously undocumented by any Association or WHRIB survey. And you’re telling me you intend to return."
"We made a promise," Allen said simply. "To people who genuinely need our help. That promise doesn’t stop mattering just because we’re back on Earth now."
Reyes studied him for a long, considering moment before something shifted behind her professional composure — not quite approval, but something adjacent to it. "The Commander’s office has taken personal interest in your case," she said finally. "Which, I should note, is exceptionally rare. You’re no longer merely scheduled for a preliminary hearing, Hunter Veton. You’ve been summoned directly to WHRIB headquarters in Geneva. Full Council review, expedited given the... unprecedented nature of your circumstances."
Allen absorbed the weight of that summons carefully, glancing around at his wives — exhausted but resolute, carrying the accumulated weight of an entire alien world’s fragile hope alongside whatever judgment now awaited them from the very body meant to determine whether their existence represented an opportunity or a threat.
"When do we leave?" he asked.
"Three days," Reyes said. "I’d recommend using that time wisely, Hunter Veton. Whatever you experienced in that pocket world, whatever power you’ve apparently continued accumulating since our last preliminary contact — the full Council will want considerably more thorough answers than a written report alone can provide."
That evening, back at Fallen Crown’s guild headquarters for the first time in what had felt, subjectively, like a full month away, Allen gathered his wives in the familiar, comfortable living room they’d built together, the weight of everything still ahead settling heavily but manageably across all of their shoulders.
"Geneva," Myria said, already turning her sharp, strategic focus toward the considerable preparations such a hearing would require. "Full Council review. That’s considerably higher stakes than the preliminary hearing we originally missed."
"We’ll be ready," Vivian said, quiet confidence carrying through her exhaustion. "We survived an alien world’s ancient, corrupted guardian. I imagine we can survive a room full of bureaucrats, regardless of how intimidating their titles sound."
Irene’s answering laugh carried genuine, if tired, warmth. "When you put it that way, honestly? Bring it on."
Allen glanced around at all four of them, at the quiet, unshakeable resolve carrying them forward despite everything they’d already endured, and felt the familiar, steady certainty settle back into place — the same certainty that had carried him from a discarded F-rank nobody into the leader of a guild capable of freeing ancient guardians and forging alliances between fractured civilizations.
"Then let’s go show them exactly what they’re dealing with," he said, and outside the guild headquarters’ windows, the ordinary Earth sky stretched wide and familiar overhead, giving no hint whatsoever of the far larger, far more consequential journey that still, patiently, waited for all of them just beyond the horizon.
Arc One: The Becoming ....has been Concluded.