Chapter 36 #2
He holds my gaze, then tilts his head cautiously. “I believe you, Lucien. But you’ve been reckless as of late, and it’s getting harder for some of us to defend your choices. I warned you of this not long ago. You are making it quite difficult for us.”
I can picture the strain this must have put on the members who still care about balance, those who don’t support Aris’s path but are trapped under the majority’s will.
Before meeting Cece, my defiance was rebellion, a reaction to the pressure that always seemed to coil around me. But things have changed since then. And the thought that my choices have made life harder for Orren and Zalga twists something sharp inside me.
With any luck, the plan I’m carrying might finally change that.
“I understand that,” I say, my voice apologetic. “But things aren’t what Aris claims.”
I watch Orren closely as I speak, making sure he sees it, how much I mean every word.
“The mortal woman. You met her. She’s not a threat. I’m trying to understand why the Surgers are after her, what they’re drawn to, and what they want. But it’s not because she’s dangerous. She’s not interested in harming anyone, least of all us.”
I hesitate for a breath. “If anything . . . she’d protect us.”
I meet his eyes again, letting the last truth land. “She would protect me.”
For the briefest moment, I see it. His eyes widen, barely, but enough. He understands what I’m saying.
“I’m not saying I want her to be involved,” I continue.
“But I believe Aris is using her, using this situation, to justify removing me. And we both know he’s been waiting for an excuse.
He wants the control. He wants the Gatekeeper’s seat.
And if he finds a way to take that power, don’t think you’ll be untouched by the fallout. ”
I know this must resonate with him. If Aris manages to twist the rules and claim my position for himself, he wouldn’t hesitate to make Orren’s life miserable. And from the tightness in Orren’s expression, he knows it too.
Orren exhales, even and slow. “I don’t doubt your sincerity. But what do you expect us to do? Your support in our sector is thinning. Beings are afraid.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I’ve come to you. If I have your vote, your support, I need you to speak for me. Speak to the community on my behalf. Let them know I haven’t turned my back on Pomerium. That I still serve our realm because it matters to me. It always has.”
“I’ll handle the rest within the Order.”
He watches me, searching my face, trying to measure the full extent of my plan. Then he nods.
“You have my support, Gatekeeper.”
It’s been days since I left the mortal world.
The distance feels far greater than the time itself.
Like I’ve crossed more than realms. I’ve crossed into who I was always meant to be.
Now, as the cycle’s High Order meeting approaches, I feel things shifting.
The impact of what’s to come. My pulse is steady, but adrenaline rushes through me.
Orren clears my access to the White Vault just before first call.
No alarms. No resistance. I’m outfitted in my full regal garb as I move through the outer halls cloaked, the cold stone beneath my boots pulling me into the present.
The Vault is sacred ground. Reserved for the Order.
For decisions. For legacy. The walls pulse faintly with the caldon, energy flowing just beneath the surface.
The air is heavier here, charged, as though it knows what’s coming.
I pass under the vaulted arch, where centuries of law and lore are carved into obsidian.
I’ve read every line. My mother made sure of it.
I pause just before the threshold. The chamber beyond is circular, luminous, echoing with the quiet hum of ancient power.
Seven chairs form the inner ring, with each of the six members of the High Order seated, backs straight, robes of rank trailing around them.
The energy sphere pulses at the center, suspended above the carved Pomerian seal.
I hear him before I see him.
“Any last matters to bring before adjournment?”
Aris’s voice cuts through the air, smooth and self-assured. As if he already knows no one will challenge him.
That’s when I move.
My cloak drops as I step through the great doors, the silence shattered by the echo of my boots across the stone floor.
“I, Lucien Darrag,” I announce, my voice calm but ringing with authority, “call for a vote on my rightful placement as Gatekeeper of this High Order, as the final topic of today’s session.”
All heads turn.
Gasps ripple through the room. Movement follows. One elder stiffens. Another’s eyes widen, clearly surprised. Two of them were unprepared. Good.
I continue forward, unflinching, my gaze sweeping across the council before locking onto Aris. He doesn’t blink.
His expression is flat, unreadable, but I know him. I see the flicker in his eyes. Not surprise. Not yet. But tension. Calculation. He didn’t expect me to come like this.
I walk until I stand just outside the ring, inside the Vault’s ancient circle, the place where only those called by the Order, or born into it, may speak.
And I was born into it.
Every breath I take in this room feels weighted, but I don’t hesitate. Because I know why I’m here. And I know exactly what I’ve come to take back.
I stare right at Aris.
He stares right back, expression unreadable, his face a mask carved from stone. No emotion. No welcome.
“This is a closed session, Lucien,” he says coldly. “You are not a sworn member. Unless you’ve forgotten that?”
I don’t break eye contact.
“How could I forget, Aris? You’ve made a habit of acting in my stead. Making decisions in my absence. On behalf of Pomerium and even Warpers. Choices that exceed the bounds of your own blood right.”
His jaw tightens. Only for a second. That lack of regal pedigree eats at him, and I’m happy to twist the knife. Rage flickers in his eyes, but he buries it quickly.
“I’d like to make a statement,” I continue, “then request a vote.”
He has no authority to deny me, and we both know it.
“Proceed,” he says, his voice like ice.
I step forward, standing in the center of the chamber. The White Vault hums with energy, with the sacred weight of judgment and truth. I let it settle over me.
“There’s been much miscommunication,” I begin, letting my voice carry through the still air. “And I need to set the record straight.”
“I am a Darrag. Which, to many of you, means Warper. Yes. And Gatekeeper by blood right. But that title alone isn’t what matters to me.”
I let my gaze move from one elder to the next.
“What matters is being Pomerian. Knowing the weight of what we’re tasked with.
Knowing the goodness of our beings. I’ve spent my life protecting this realm, not out of duty, but because I believe in it.
Because there are beings here who cannot protect themselves, and they rely on us, the Warpers, to stand in that space. ”
I pause, letting the truth settle in the room.
“It’s easy to lose focus, especially growing up the way I did.
As a child, I believed my parents were invincible.
But they weren’t. And when I lost them, I didn’t know how to carry that pain.
I faltered. I made mistakes. But that does not mean I turned my back on this realm.
It means I had to become better for it.”
I breathe in deeply, anchoring myself.
“So whatever’s been whispered about my character, or my loyalty, I’m here now, speaking to you directly, to say it isn’t true. I have never wavered in my devotion to Pomerium.”
I hesitate, then address the unspoken question head-on.
“And yes, I saved a human life. She’s not a threat. I didn’t act out of recklessness or betrayal. I acted because I saw goodness in a life. Because that life deserved protection.”
Some of the elders shift in their seats, uneasy. I press forward.
“She’s being hunted not for what she did, but for what she might be. That fear is wrong. Completely misplaced. She isn’t the threat. And let me remind you, you hunted a woman over a law I broke to save her, yet you let one of your own, Logus, cross realms simply to taunt me.”
My voice sharpens, my spine straight, boots planted on the stone floor.
“The real threat is out there. It’s the Surgers. They’ve been moving in the shadows, and while we waste time on internal division, they gain ground.”
I let the words hang, then sweep my gaze across the inner ring of elevated seats. Each of the six meets my eyes.
“So I’m asking you not to let fear or misinformation decide our path. I’m asking you to remember who we are. What we’re meant to protect. Let’s not be ruled by whispers,” I say, leveling my stare at them, “or by personal ambition.”
A low hum vibrates through the Vault’s floor as I take one step forward.
“I speak these words within the White Vault, before the gods, so you’ll know where my loyalty lies.” I stand tall, my voice resolute. “And now, I formally request that a vote be called, so I may take my rightful place as Gatekeeper of this High Order, should you will it.”
“It’s a compelling story, Lucien. Very . . . noble,” Aris says, his voice laced with mockery.
He doesn’t even look at me. He addresses the other Order members as if I’m not in the room.
“But if the human girl were truly harmless, the Surgers wouldn’t be after her.”
His words hang in the air like poison. Still, he smiles. That cold, calculated smile.
“But, as you’ve so eloquently requested, we’ll put it to a vote.”
He gestures to the energy sphere at the center of the circle, a floating, pulsing orb of light that captures and records each vote from the Six.
“Those in favor of confirming Lucien Darrag as Gatekeeper,” he says, mocking even the formality of the moment, “cast your support through the sphere.”
I shift my gaze to the orb. It floats silently, humming faintly.
Then, a pulse.
One flicker of light surges through it.
One vote.
Come on.
Then another pulse. A second burst of energy.
Two.
I clench my fists at my sides.
One more. Just one.
Nothing.
The silence drags. Unease creeps over me. Across from me, Aris’s lips curl into a slow, smug smile.
His hand lifts. “Guards!” he calls out.
This can’t be how it ends.
The soldiers step through the entrance.
And then a third pulse flashes through the sphere.
The chamber stills.
Zalga rises from her seat, her voice calm but clear. “It looks to be three votes.”
She glances toward Aris. Then to me.
His face darkens, rage rising in him like a storm he can’t contain. I’ve never seen him like this. Not even close.
“By blood right, and as the tie-breaking seat,” I say, casting my vote, the sphere pulsing a fourth time, “it seems I’ve been confirmed, Aris.”
I turn to the other Order members. “Thank you. For your trust. I will honor my role, and you.”
The guards move toward us, confused about what they should do, until Aris waves them off with a sharp flick of his wrist.
I take a step forward, toward the seventh seat.
My seat.
And I claim it. Officially. As the Seventh of the High Order.
As Gatekeeper.