When I stepped through the fading light of the portal, the air hit me first—thick, familiar, heavy with Earth's scent. It was strange how even the humidity could feel like home. Behind me, the shimmer of the gateway pulsed one last time, and through it, I could see their faces—my seven wives standing together at the edge of the golden fields of Aurelion. Their clothes fluttered in the gentle wind, colours blending like the auroras that had guided us through so many nights.
They smiled, but not all smiles are happy ones.
Seren was the one who lifted her hand first, her eyes calm but shining. Then came Lira with her usual grin, pretending to have cheer she didn't feel. Elya had already begun to cry, though she tried to hide it behind her silver hair. The others—Mira, Astelle, Renna, and kind-hearted Solen—each gave their own little farewell gesture: a nod, a hand over the heart, and a tear brushed away.
"Don't worry," I had told them before stepping through. "It won't be long."
But as the light faded, I wasn't sure whom I was trying to convince.
The portal sealed with a soft sigh, leaving me standing alone under a cloudy sky. Earth—blue-grey, noisy, imperfect. That moment felt both like a return and a loss.
The city had changed. Buildings were taller, the streets louder, and the signs brighter. Even the smell of food vendors felt alien after the crystal purity of Aurelion's air. Everything pulsed with a rhythm too fast, too frantic.
I walked through the streets, clutching my small satchel—the only thing that had come back with me, a mix of souvenirs, charms, and letters from my wives. Every few blocks, I stopped to stare at something that had once been ordinary: the glow of a traffic light, the laughter of children, and the grey pigeons flapping about like tiny pieces of chaos.
Earth was alive, but in a way that made me uneasy.
Still, my heart leapt at the thought of the professor. My father, though not by blood, was the man who found me, raised me, and taught me about the stars and the worlds beyond. I could already imagine his expression when I told him everything: about Aurelion, the seven realms, my wives, the portal, the wars, and the peace we had made. He'd laugh, scratch his beard, and say, "You always make the impossible sound so casual."
I reached the old university lab right before midnight. The building loomed tall, but instead of the usual hum of machines and dim yellow lights behind the windows, there was silence. The door was locked, but the keypad still blinked faintly—red instead of green.
"Professor?" I called out, pressing the buzzer.
No answer.
Something cold slid down my spine.
I entered the access code he'd given me years ago—0419—and the lock clicked open with a faint hiss. Inside, the air smelt of dust and metal. Tables were overturned. The console screens were shattered. A faint trail of dark smudges led across the floor—not quite footprints, but not stains either.
And on the main desk, there it was. His notebook—open to a single page, half-charred.
I picked it up and read the words scrawled across in his firm, hurried handwriting:
"They found me. The Nexus Order. Not safe here. If you return, don't look for me. Go to—"
The rest was burnt away.
My legs felt weak. I sank into the chair he used to sit in and stared at the half-burnt note for what felt like hours. The Nexus Order. The name alone brought back memories of the long nights in Aurelion when the archives spoke of them—scavengers of forbidden energy, manipulators of worlds, breakers of portals. He had told me stories about them, too, always sounding more like distant myths than a threat waiting in my own world.
And now they had him.
I glanced around the room again, slower this time. On the wall, near the map of star sectors, something caught my eye—a small emblem scratched deep into the plaster. A circle of triangles, the Nexus symbol. It glowed faintly under the lab's emergency light.
They'd been here.
"Damn it…" The word slipped out before I realised.
I grabbed his notebook, shoving it into my satchel. I'd find him—wherever they had taken him. I'd faced armies of constructs, navigated realms of storm, and stood before gods. I wasn't going to lose him to some shadow cabal hiding behind bureaucracy and techno-magic.
I looked once more at the empty lab—the overturned chair, the burnt note, the old coffee cup still resting by the monitor—and for the first time since I left Aurelion, I felt something twist inside me. Not just sadness. Not fear. Determination.
Before leaving, I walked up to the rooftop. The night sky stretched out above the city, stars barely visible through the haze. Somewhere out there, in the light of another world, seven faces were looking up too, probably wondering if I made it safely.
"I'm fine," I whispered to the void. "But I think it's starting again."
For a long moment, I just stood there—the wind tugging at my jacket, the hum of distant traffic below. Then, from far off, a faint sound echoed across the rooftops—something mechanical and rhythmic, like a whirring drone moving too fast to be civilian. I ducked just in time to see a dark shape glide past, marked with a single red emblem: the Nexus insignia.
They knew I was back.
And that meant one thing—they hadn't finished what they started.