Chapter 122| The First Council
The town hall Myria had commandeered for their first proper planning session had, until three days earlier, functioned as little more than a converted storage building near Hegeville’s central square, its roof patched in three different eras of increasingly desperate repair work. By the time the residents began filing in for the meeting Allen had called, though, someone — Everlyn, almost certainly, judging by the fresh greenery climbing the entrance’s weathered posts — had transformed the space into something that at least resembled a place where important decisions might reasonably be made.
"We have roughly forty residents in attendance," Myria reported quietly, reviewing the gathering crowd from her position beside Allen near the small, raised platform at the hall’s front. "Out of Hegeville’s total population of just under three thousand. That’s a modest turnout for a first meeting, though not unexpected given how little reason this town’s population has historically had to trust anyone claiming to represent their interests."
"Modest is fine," Allen said. "We build from here."
He stepped forward as the murmuring crowd settled into expectant quiet, faces ranging from cautiously curious to openly skeptical, several residents Allen recognized from his earliest, difficult weeks in Hegeville watching with the particular, weathered patience of people who had learned, through considerable hard experience, not to invest hope too quickly in promises from anyone claiming authority.
"Thank you all for coming," Allen began, keeping his voice steady despite the weight of the gathered attention. "I know most of you have good reason to be skeptical of anyone standing up here promising change. I was one of you, not so long ago. I remember exactly how it felt to be discarded somewhere the rest of the world decided wasn’t worth its attention."
A few heads nodded slowly, recognition and cautious interest flickering across scattered faces.
"I’m not here to impose some outside vision onto this place," Allen continued. "I’m here because the Association has approved considerable resources for Hegeville’s development, and because I refuse to let those resources get spent without genuine input from the people who actually live here. You know what this town needs. I don’t, not completely. So tonight, I want to listen, before we decide anything."
The hall fell into a different quality of silence then — not skeptical dismissal, but genuine, considering attention, and Allen felt a cautious flicker of hope kindle in his chest as an elderly man near the front finally rose, leaning heavily on a worn cane.
"Damon Willis," he introduced himself, though the name carried no relation to Allen’s Canadian ally, merely coincidence in a world with limited names to go around. "Lived here longer than most. I’ll say this plainly, young man. We’ve heard promises before. Every few years, some official shows up with grand plans and considerable enthusiasm, and every few years, those plans quietly disappear the moment something more profitable catches their attention elsewhere."
"I understand that history," Allen said. "I can’t undo what happened before I arrived. I can only tell you that I don’t intend to disappear, and I can back that with more than words." He gestured toward Myria, who stepped forward with her tablet already displaying detailed, itemized development proposals. "Everything we’re proposing tonight comes with committed funding, transparent timelines, and — this part matters most — direct oversight from residents themselves, not simply outside administrators making decisions in your name."
Willis studied him for a long, considering moment, weathered eyes carrying decades of accumulated disappointment weighed carefully against whatever he saw in Allen’s steady, sincere expression. "Prove it," he said finally. "Show us the first project, start to finish, before asking us to trust anything grander."
"Fair," Allen said, and meant it completely. "Then let’s start there. What does this town need most urgently, right now, before anything else?"
The question opened the floodgates properly, residents offering increasingly animated input as the evening progressed — failing water infrastructure that had plagued the eastern district for over a decade, a school building considered too dangerous for continued use, several families still living in structures that hadn’t seen proper repair since before Allen was born. Myria captured every detail with methodical, careful attention, occasionally asking clarifying questions that made clear she intended every word to translate into genuine, actionable planning rather than polite, forgotten listening.
It was nearly two hours before the meeting finally wound toward its natural conclusion, the earlier skepticism having gradually, visibly softened into something considerably more hopeful, and Allen found himself lingering afterward, speaking individually with residents who’d stayed behind, listening to smaller, more personal concerns that hadn’t found their way into the evening’s broader discussion.
He was midway through a conversation with a young mother worried about her children’s safety walking to the town’s makeshift school when Irene appeared at the hall’s entrance, expression carrying an unusual mixture of excitement and mild bewilderment that immediately caught Allen’s attention.
"You need to see this," she said, holding up her phone, the Association’s official notification banner glowing across its screen.
Allen excused himself and crossed to join her, Myria appearing at his other side within moments, sharp attention already engaged by whatever had produced Irene’s considerable reaction.
The notification, once Allen read it properly, explained everything.
Announcement: The Ascension Tournament
A landmark competitive event open to all S+ rank parties currently registered with any national Hunter Association. Prize pool: $10,000,000,000 USD, three Supreme-grade artifacts, and instant promotion to SS+ rank for the winning party’s members without requirement of standard examination. Registration opens immediately. Tournament proceedings begin in six weeks.
"Ten billion dollars," Irene said, disbelief still evident in her voice despite having clearly read the notification several times already. "And instant SS+ promotion. That’s not just generous, that’s borderline absurd."
"It’s deliberate," Myria said, already scanning the notification’s fine print with sharp, calculating focus. "A prize this considerable ensures every eligible S+ party in the world takes notice. The Association’s clearly using this to accomplish something beyond simple entertainment."
"What kind of something?" Allen asked.
Myria considered the question carefully, turning the notification’s careful phrasing over with methodical precision. "Public reassurance, possibly," she said. "After the summit attack, after the Emperor crisis becoming increasingly public knowledge, a tournament of this scale gives the world something exciting to focus on. Strength on display, unity between allied nations’ finest Hunters, a reminder that humanity still has considerable capability worth celebrating."
"Or," Vivian said, joining them with Everlyn close behind, having caught the tail end of the conversation, "it’s an opportunity for Umbra Black to study every notable S+ party’s capabilities simultaneously, gathered conveniently in one location."
The observation settled heavily over the small group, and Allen felt his earlier excitement temper considerably beneath the weight of her careful, tactical caution.
"That’s not an unreasonable concern," Myria admitted. "Though I doubt it changes whether we participate. Refusing an opportunity this considerable, purely out of caution regarding a threat we can’t yet properly quantify, seems like exactly the kind of decision that costs us more than it protects."
Allen absorbed the entire, considerable weight of the announcement — the prize, the danger, the opportunity to further strengthen a family already carrying more responsibility than any five people should reasonably bear — and felt the familiar, steady resolve settle back into place.
"We register," he said finally. "Carefully, with full awareness of whatever risks come attached. But we register."
Irene’s fierce, delighted grin answered immediately. "Now that’s the kind of decision I can get properly excited about."
Behind them, Hegeville’s town hall continued emptying gradually into the warm evening air, residents carrying home cautious, hopeful conversation about everything they’d discussed, entirely unaware that the very same evening had also set their considerable, unexpected benefactors on a collision course with an entirely different kind of trial — one that would test not just their strength, but the very foundation of trust and family they’d spent an entire extraordinary year so carefully, deliberately building.