Chapter 9 Lucien
Lucien
Iarrive at the domus just as the twin moons dip low, casting long, silver shadows across the ridge. Pomerium is a beautiful land. The city is a marvel, where old and new converge in seamless harmony. Beyond the city borders lie stretches of desert, dense forests, and shimmering coastlines.
By day, the sky shines in shades of blue and amber, clouds swirling in patterns that seem woven from the very fabric of our realm, illuminated by the light of our twin suns.
But it’s the night that truly steals the show, the heavens alight with countless stars and twin moons hanging so near it feels as though you could reach out and pluck them from the sky.
I remember being entranced by our realm’s beauty as a youngling.
The domus—the work stations we’re posted at—stands like a monolith against the horizon, carved directly from the sacred stone of Imperium, which we call braqui.
The braqui is ancient and living, thrumming beneath your feet if you stand still long enough.
Some say the stone itself remembers everything that’s long forgotten.
Within the walls of the domus, our senses sharpen.
The braqui amplifies what the gods have gifted us and what we are born to wield.
For me, and for all of us Warpers, that means feeling the stir of energy when a being steps between realms. The subtle shifts in the veil.
Changes in the air. Disturbances only those bound to the Warpers can sense.
Warpers is our shorthand. It refers to the manipulation—or warping—of the veil, though that explanation doesn’t encompass all of it.
Some of us bend light to bend time. Others become light itself, vanishing into it, moving through it like a hallway.
We travel between realms. Seal doors. Open them.
And when necessary, banish those who cross without permission.
There are even a few among us, blessed by something older than fate, who can sense disturbances not only through light, but through the caldon—the great current beneath the world’s skin.
A network of energy that pulses through all living things.
It allows us to keep watch not just for threats from outside, but for those that fester within, hidden and patient.
Most Warpers are gifted one talent. Two, if the gods smile upon them. Rarely more.
Me? I carry them all.
I don’t need the braqui to feel changes in energy or to move between realms. My connection is innate, powerful, and unfiltered.
I am the current. But this is a collective.
We Warpers serve as one. So I take my place at the domus like the others, honor-bound and ready, even if I no longer require the stone to feel what’s coming.
“Long time no see, Lucien.”
Logus’s voice cuts through the quiet. Casual on the surface, but laced with an edge I don’t miss. It’s the tone that says everything without speaking the words aloud: You’ve been gone. We’ve noticed.
“It’s good to see you too, Logus,” I reply, flat and cool. No warmth. He’ll catch the undertone.
Beside him, Fazen tilts his head, eyes flicking briefly between us before stepping in to smooth the edge. “Don’t pay him any mind, Luc,” he says, voice pitched low. “It is good to see you back here.” His gaze holds steady. “How’ve things been?”
Warpers like us don’t survive long without loyalty, and Fazen has always been the kind to offer his first, even when we jest, as we did that day at Quantum Pour. That’s how we keep the bond alive. In our realm, trust is survival. If the being behind you falters, you bleed. Simple as that.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding once. “Things have been quiet these last few cycles. Strangely quiet. But I’m not about to complain.
” The quiet before the storm, perhaps—but I keep that to myself.
“And Aris?” I ask, shifting the conversation deliberately.
I hope for good news, though I know I won’t get it.
Fazen exhales through his nose, shaking his head as he lowers his voice. “He’s been . . . abnormally volatile. Barking orders every hour. Short-tempered. I think the rumors about the Surgers plotting something are wearing him thin.”
My spine straightens. “What rumors?”
Fazen hesitates a beat too long.
The Surgers. That’s no small name to throw around. They were once the sacred guardians of realm passage—ancient beings chosen long before the Warpers were ever forged. When the gods stripped them of their privilege, they fractured and scattered. But they didn’t vanish.
They use what power they have left to move between worlds without authorization or oversight.
They enter realms for their own gain and, in doing so, become a threat that we struggle to contain.
Once they cross, they lose their strength temporarily.
But the longer they remain, the more they feed off the energy of that realm.
Of its beings. Worse, they can siphon power directly from Warpers, especially those with strong energy-based gifts.
That’s why we’re tasked with terminating them swiftly, before they grow strong enough to turn the tide.
If left too long, they can do what we cannot: warp within a realm. Bend the fabric of existence in on itself without light, energy, or any magic. Without ever crossing the veil. For us, such a thing is unthinkable.
Fazen’s eyes narrow, his tone dropping. “Some Warpers on the outer domus felt movement two cycles ago. Faint. Fainter than usual. Could’ve been a mistake, but Aris doesn’t think so. Might be why he was looking for you.”
“Did they report energy loss?” I ask.
“Slight. Barely enough to raise an alarm. But it was near a boundary that hasn’t been breached in many solar cycles. That’s enough.”
One Surger. Just one slipping through unnoticed.
That’s all it would take to tilt the balance.
I glance toward the horizon, where the cliffs rise like stone sentinels along the realm’s edge, guarding against those who mean us harm.
The stillness that’s followed me lately suddenly feels less like peace and more like a plot designed to leave us off guard.
“They’re moving,” I say quietly, more to myself than to Fazen. “And we may be late in seeing it.”
The corridor outside the sanctum is darker than usual, lit only by the pulse of caldon veins threading through the walls, glowing with the realm’s memory.
I arrive first, as I always do, and wait.
I can already feel Aris drawing near, his energy moving with that distinct precision, like lightning choosing where to strike.
When he appears, he says nothing at first. He simply studies me, arms folded behind his back, eyes scanning not my face but the surrounding space, reading what can’t be seen.
“Lucien,” he says, his voice sliding into my mind telepathically, even though the barrier I’ve raised is strong. A subtle reminder of just how powerful he is. “You’ve returned.”
“I have,” I reply out loud, prompting him to do the same.
He nods, the gesture carrying no warmth. “We couldn’t detect you through the braqui. Not even the outer domus caught a trace. That doesn’t happen by accident.”
“I needed distance,” I say. “To track something I felt in the outer ring. There was interference—slight, but unusual. Like something slipping between threads too faint for our stations to register.”
Aris raises a brow. “You didn’t think to report that?”
“I wasn’t sure it was real,” I reply smoothly. “Didn’t want to escalate a ripple into a quake.”
Silence stretches between us. Aris is never easily satisfied. He watches with the patience of someone trained to hear what isn’t said.
“There have been murmurs,” he says at last. “Energy losses along the western threshold. Slivers of the caldon going missing. Some believe the Surgers are probing again.”
“I felt it too,” I say. That much is true. “But nothing distinct. No confirmed breaches.”
“No,” Aris agrees. “But something is moving. I can feel it. And you vanished right before it began.”
I meet his gaze without flinching. “You think I brought it here?”
“I think,” he says slowly, “that you don’t vanish without reason. And when you do, it’s rarely just for recon.”
He steps closer, his voice dropping. “So I’ll ask plainly. Did you encounter anything? Anyone?”
The pause I give him is intentional. Brief. Measured.
“No one,” I say at last. “Whatever I felt was passing. Not active.”
A lie. Controlled. Too simple to challenge outright. But it twists in my chest the moment it leaves my mouth. Because I went to the mortal world. I saved her. And I brought her to Pomerium.
But why? I don’t fully understand that myself.
Aris exhales through his nose, still watching me. “You know I’ll find out if you’re hiding something.”
I give him the barest hint of a smile. “You always do.”
That seems to satisfy him—enough. He nods once and turns away, his cloak whispering against the stone as he disappears into the shadows. I remain where I am, alone, my lie settling heavy in my chest.
I haven’t lied outright often in my life. Not to Aris. Not to the High Order. But I will again.
Because if they learn about her, they’ll unleash chaos. And I’m not ready to face what my next choices will demand of me.