At the Floating City of the Academy, Rowan rcer’s projection had barely settled back into place when a circular doorway of fractured light opened in the air before him.
A man stepped through.
He looked nearly sixty, hair gray, posture relaxed, dressed more like a tired civil servant than a cosmic authority. This was Falk, the official in charge of this sector for the Ti Managent Authority.
"Mr. rcer," Falk said pleasantly, smiling as if they were eting for afternoon tea. "We discussed this last ti. You can’t keep moving between universes so freely. It creates... complications."
There was no accusation in his voice. No threat. Just polite concern.
And for good reason.
Rowan’s strength was already brushing against the level of beings the Authority classified as dinsional catastrophes. Trying to detain him by force would be pointless. Pruning an entire universe to contain him would be worse. Even if they tried, Rowan could walk out of the collapse without much trouble.
So the Authority’s preferred approach was negotiation.
"Falk," Rowan said warmly, waving him over. "Sit. Have so tea. If we’re going to talk rules, we might as well be comfortable."
With a flick of his hand, a small table and two cups appeared. Falk hesitated only a second before sitting down.
"I didn’t act without reason," Rowan said, lifting his cup with a sigh. "You know I sent everyone from the Void back to their original universes."
Falk nodded. "That was approved. Most of them were pruned under outdated regulations anyway. We would’ve returned them ourselves eventually."
"One universe stood out," Rowan continued. "Nearly identical to ours. Sa fractures. Sa trajectory. I couldn’t ignore it."
He smiled faintly. "Call it a weakness. I intervene when I shouldn’t."
Falk’s expression twitched, just barely.
He didn’t believe a word of that.
But belief wasn’t required. Results were.
Rowan hadn’t destabilized the tiline. He hadn’t erased civilizations. Even Apocalypse’s death fell under self-inflicted paradox. The Authority could live with that.
"As long as this doesn’t happen again," Falk said smoothly, "my report will reflect that the situation has been resolved."
Rowan stood and clapped a friendly hand on Falk’s shoulder.
"Much appreciated. And if anything ssy turns up in your jurisdiction, feel free to call ."
That caught Falk off guard.
His eyes lit up.
There were always universes with problems too dangerous, too delicate, or too absurd to handle cleanly. Having soone like Rowan on informal standby was a gift.
"I may take you up on that," Falk said carefully.
They talked a while longer, neither pressing too hard. Then the Ti Managent Authority agent departed, satisfied.
Rowan watched the door close, still smiling.
Helping the Authority would cost him ti, yes. But ti bought silence. And silence ant freedom.
His other self was still active in a neighboring universe. Even subtle interference would eventually register on the Authority’s systems. Patterns always did.
When that happened, having Falk inclined to look the other way would matter.
In another universe, over Cairo, the quinjet carrying the captured Horsen cut through the sky on its return to the school.
To everyone aboard, Rowan rcer was just a newly hired teacher. No one connected him to the being who had killed Apocalypse inside a pyramid of living stone.
Charles Xavier approached him during the flight.
"Welco to the school, Rowan," Charles said, offering his hand. "And thank you. You helped us when we needed it most."
As they shook, Charles brushed Rowan’s mind lightly. Not to pry. Just enough to gauge intent. Na. Age. Stability. Danger.
The contact stopped instantly.
Blocked.
Charles blinked.
"You’re telepathic," he said, surprised.
Rowan smiled easily. "Among other things. Though I’m nowhere near your level, Professor. I can listen, not command."
Charles studied him for a long mont, thoughtful rather than suspicious.
"Then I suppose," he said at last, "we’ll both learn sothing from each other."
Rowan inclined his head, saying nothing.
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