Chapter 61| Geneva
The flight to Geneva felt considerably different this time than their original, aborted attempt weeks earlier — no easy, restless banter filling the cabin, no lighthearted arguments about flying versus driving, just quiet, focused preparation as Myria reviewed their documentation one final time and the others processed the accumulated weight of everything still ahead.
"Full Council review," Myria said, not for the first time, tablet glowing with carefully organized files. "That means all seven ranking Inquisitors present, rather than the single Senior Inquisitor we would have faced during the original preliminary hearing. This is considerably higher stakes than what we originally prepared for."
"We have proof now, though," Vivian pointed out, her hand resting lightly against Allen’s wrist in the same familiar, grounding gesture she always sought during moments of genuine tension. "An entire alien civilization’s worth of corroborating testimony, physical artifacts, everything we could possibly need to demonstrate exactly what happened."
"Proof helps," Myria agreed. "It doesn’t guarantee a favorable outcome. Bureaucracies this large rarely move purely on evidence alone. Politics, precedent, institutional caution — all of that factors in as much as the facts themselves."
Allen listened to the exchange with quiet, focused attention, turning Mother Ash’s small bone token over in his pocket, the same habitual gesture he’d developed since first receiving it. "Whatever happens in there," he said, "we tell the truth, completely and without exaggeration. If that’s not enough for them, it’s not something we can fix by performing differently."
Irene, sprawled in her seat with considerably less bravado than her usual demeanor, glanced over at him. "And if they decide we’re a threat instead of an asset?"
"Then we handle that the same way we’ve handled everything else," Allen said. "Together, and without losing sight of who we actually are in the process."
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WHRIB headquarters greeted them with the same sheer, intimidating black stone and humming perimeter wards Allen remembered from Inquisitor Reyes’s earlier description, though this time, their arrival carried considerably more visible attention — staff pausing in hallways to watch their procession, murmured conversations trailing in their wake with an intensity that made Allen distinctly uncomfortable.
"We’re something of a curiosity, apparently," Vivian murmured, her enhanced hearing picking up considerably more of the surrounding whispers than Allen’s own senses could manage.
Inquisitor Reyes met them personally at the entrance, her professional composure carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of genuine anticipation. "The full Council convenes in one hour," she said, guiding them through the facility’s sterile, humming corridors. "I should prepare you — interest in your case has grown considerably beyond what I initially anticipated. Several High Inquisitors have taken personal interest, which is exceptionally rare for a case at this stage of review."
"Is that good or bad?" Irene asked bluntly.
"Neither, inherently," Reyes said carefully. "It simply means considerably more scrutiny than a standard anomaly review typically receives. High Inquisitors don’t waste attention on cases they consider trivial." She paused. "For what it’s worth, I’ve read your submitted reports thoroughly. Whatever the Council ultimately decides, I found your account compelling. Unprecedented, certainly, but compelling."
They were shown to a waiting chamber considerably grander than their previous visit’s modest preparation room, and it was there, in the tense, quiet minutes before the formal review began, that Everlyn’s notepad appeared with a question that had clearly been weighing on her since their arrival.
’What happens if they don’t believe us?’
"Then we show them the artifacts," Myria said firmly. "The Ancestor Blade, the Elf crystal sample, Mother Ash’s token. Physical evidence that doesn’t require them to simply take our word for anything."
"And if even that’s not enough?" Everlyn pressed, notepad steady despite the visible anxiety in her expression.
Allen considered the question carefully before answering, reaching for her hand with quiet, steady reassurance. "Then we keep telling the truth anyway," he said. "Whatever they ultimately decide about us, I’d rather face that consequence honestly than compromise what we actually experienced just to make the outcome easier."
The chamber door opened before further conversation could continue, and a tall, austere figure in formal Inquisitor robes entered, introducing herself with brisk, efficient precision. "Head Inquisitor Marlowe," she said. "I’ll be escorting you into the review chamber personally. The Council is ready to begin."
Allen rose, feeling the familiar, steadying presence of his wives falling into formation around him, and followed Marlowe’s brisk pace toward a set of imposing double doors at the corridor’s end — doors that, once opened, would determine considerably more than simply whether Fallen Crown’s extraordinary account would be believed.
They would determine whether the promise made to an entire dying world, an ocean and a dimension away, would ever have the chance to be properly kept.
The corridor leading toward the review chamber stretched longer than Allen remembered from his previous visit, or perhaps it simply felt that way given the weight of everything riding on the coming hour. Marlowe walked briskly ahead, offering no further conversation, though her occasional, assessing glances backward suggested she was forming her own private judgments well before the formal proceedings even began.
"You’re doing the quiet thinking thing again," Vivian murmured beside him, her hand finding his with familiar, grounding certainty.
"Just running through everything one more time," Allen admitted. "Making sure I haven’t forgotten anything important to tell them."
"You haven’t," Myria said, falling into step on his other side, tablet finally set aside in favor of her own quiet, focused composure. "We’ve prepared as thoroughly as circumstances allow. Whatever happens next depends considerably more on their willingness to accept an uncomfortable truth than on any additional preparation we could manage in these final minutes."
Irene reached for Everlyn’s hand, the two of them trailing just behind, and Allen glanced back to find matching expressions of nervous determination on both their faces — different from the fear that had gripped all of them during their very first Association evaluation, months and worlds ago, but carrying an echo of that same vulnerable, high-stakes uncertainty regardless.
The imposing double doors loomed larger with every remaining step, and Allen felt Guardian’s Instinct settle into a quiet, watchful readiness entirely separate from any physical threat — an awareness, perhaps, that whatever waited beyond those doors would shape considerably more than just the immediate hours ahead.
Marlowe paused before the entrance, turning back to face them one final time. "A word of advice, before we proceed," she said, voice carrying unexpected, quiet sincerity beneath its earlier brisk formality. "The Council responds better to conviction than to performance. Whatever you do in there, don’t try to tell them what you think they want to hear. Tell them exactly what happened, and let the truth carry whatever weight it deserves."
"That’s the only version we know how to give," Allen said.
Marlowe studied him for a moment longer, something almost approving flickering behind her austere composure, before she turned and pushed open the heavy double doors, revealing the full Council chamber beyond.