Chapter 39 Lucien
Lucien
The cycles since my confirmation as Gatekeeper have blurred together, each one filled with accelerated briefings, private High Order deliberations, and late-night consultations on long-stalled missions.
It’s the work I signed up for, and it matters, but I still yearn for a glimpse of the life I once knew, the rhythm that had been my norm for so long.
So today’s activities, letting me be part of the action again, feel like a much-needed break from the monotony, a return to something I’ve always loved.
Today, my Warper duties bring me to the domus.
The domus isn’t just a base. It’s a sacred center of operations for those of us bound to the realm.
Etched into the cliffs of Othir’s Spine, it overlooks Aiven’s Ridge, where currents of caldon, raw forms of ancient energy, run beneath the braqui like veins of living light.
We built this place on convergence lines for a reason.
Here, power doesn’t just return. It amplifies.
And the moment I step across the threshold, I feel it stir in my blood like a call to arms.
I haven’t stood in these halls in cycles. Too long. The walls hum, responding to my presence as if they remember me.
“No way. I can’t believe you’re here.”
Fazen’s voice gives away his excitement before I even see him. He rounds the corner and strides toward me, pulling me into a crushing hug.
“It’s good to have you back in Pomerium, brother,” he says, pulling back. Then his expression shifts, concern settling in as his eyes narrow and his words enter my mind.
Are things okay? Did Aris retreat?
I hold his gaze and answer aloud, no longer needing secrecy. “Things are well. I’ve been confirmed. I’m officially the Seventh.”
For a moment, he’s still. Then light breaks across his face like sunrise.
“Gods, how happy I am to hear this, Lucien. Gatekeeper. Incredible.” He pats me on the back. “We’ll have to celebrate.”
I let myself smile, because it feels good. “Soon,” I say. “But first, how have things been here? Any signs of energy residuals from the Surgers?”
Fazen’s face darkens. “They’ve been . . . active. Sporadic bursts along the outer rim. Last cycle, we picked up readings along the western threshold. Then again near the northern ridge. Same signature. Fluctuating spikes followed by silence. It’s like they’re mapping us. Testing our defenses.”
“They’re inside the realm?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“I believe so,” he says. “I can feel it. Something’s off.”
I exhale slowly, steadying myself. The thought isn’t surprising. If they’ve crossed into our realm, the breach could have consequences we haven’t begun to understand.
“But the strange thing is,” Fazen continues, lowering his voice, “I thought they would’ve struck by now. But nothing. No escalation. It’s like . . . they’re waiting for something.”
Or someone, I think, but don’t say it. Not yet. Not to Fazen.
The domus’s observation chamber rises like a spire of glass and stone, perched high above the convergence lines.
Thin veins of caldon glow faintly beneath the translucent floor, pulsing in sync with the realm’s lifeblood.
From here, the Warpers can see deep into the valley and track flickers of energy movement beyond the northern fog line.
I take position beside the main conduit, a tall pillar carved from charged obsidian and woven through with threads of living braqui. It pulses beneath my hand as I tune myself to the flow.
“We rewired the grid two cycles ago,” Fazen says from across the chamber, adjusting one of the focusing lenses. Light catches the silver sigils etched into his gloves. “It’s more sensitive to frequency bends now, but it’s picking up things we can’t identify.”
The images shimmering through the conduit aren’t stable.
Just flashes. Shapes. Silhouettes. Bursts of energy that vanish when observed directly.
But one pattern keeps returning, circling as if it knows we’re watching.
Spirals of inverted light, frayed at the edges, folding in on themselves again and again.
“That’s not natural,” I say, my eyes narrowing as the pattern resurfaces.
Fazen’s brows lift in agreement, the faint glow catching in his irises. “Residuals like that only happen when something’s feeding off it,” he says. “Ripping it straight from the source.”
I already know what that means. “Surgers,” I mutter. “Or someone trained in their ways.” Neither option is good.
I glance at Fazen, knowing this demands immediate action. He meets my gaze with a look that tells me he’s thinking the same thing, and doesn’t like it any more than I do.
“It’s been cycles since you’ve taken on a field mission,” he says. I can’t tell if it’s a warning or something else.
I brush the comment aside and turn toward the supply room.
“Come on,” I call over my shoulder. “Let’s gear up and move.”
By dusk, we’re fully armored and slipping out of the domus, taking a light patrol along the northern ridge.
We move in silence, leaping from stone outcrop to stone outcrop, our cloaks charged to bend the light and swallow our heat signatures.
The air is thin and crisp, but threaded through it is something else.
A faint static that prickles along the skin.
We descend into a hollow where the currents once flowed freely. Now the ground feels dead. Fazen crouches, brushing his fingers across the stone.
“Drained,” he mutters. “Caldon was dense here just two cycles ago.”
I don’t need to touch the ground to confirm it. I can feel the absence like a wound.
Then something moves.
The hair on my arms spikes as an icy gust cuts across the ridge. Not wind. A pulse of displaced energy.
“Behind us!” I shout.
We spin as one. Our blades spark to life, humming low and dangerous. Three figures emerge from the fissures.
Surgers.
Their forms are erratic, wrapped in shattered light. One twitches unnaturally, its limbs vibrating as if it can’t decide which realm to stay in.
“They’re weak,” Fazen calls. “They’ve been feeding.”
Which means they’re desperate.
The lead Surger lifts a hand. Energy lashes toward me, fast and thin as wire.
Shit.
I throw up a pulse from my staff, deflecting it, but the impact hits hard. Draining.
They’re not just attacking. They’re trying to tether.
Another lunges at Fazen, claws sweeping wide. He meets it with a burst of violet from his shoulder-bound emitter, the blade of light carving straight across its chest. The creature shrieks, a jagged, skull-splitting sound that rattles the air.
The third slips in close.
Too close.
Its hand clamps around my forearm, cold as ice.
The pull hits instantly.
It starts draining me, drawing the current straight out of my veins. My vision narrows at the edges as heat bleeds from my limbs.
No.
I refuse to give my life to the gods like this.
I pull everything inward. Every spark. Every breath. I summon the full surge of my inner current, and the braqui answers, feeding strength into my bones. Power flares through my core, racing down my arm, crackling violently against the Surger’s grip.
A white-hot snap of light erupts.
It screams as it’s hurled backward, its body smoking.
Fazen shouts something sharp, urgent, but a blast slams into his chest before I can catch the words. His shield flares and holds, but he staggers, teeth clenched.
“We can’t let them leech again!” he roars.
I move to his side. Power bursts from us in raw pulses, tearing the rock-strewn field into shards and dust.
The lead Surger lunges once more, desperate, reaching for my skin, my energy, anything it can drain. I pivot, ducking beneath its strike, timing the motion by instinct alone. I can’t risk another surge. It would drink every drop I give.
So I draw the metal blade from the holster on my back and drive it straight into its center.
For a moment, its body convulses wildly. Light warps. Form distorts. It claws at the air, trying to siphon whatever it can to stay alive.
Then it implodes.
No blood. No body. Just scattered light.
The other two fall soon after, both by Fazen’s hand. But even in death, their power doesn’t fade like normal. It lingers, tainted and unstable.
We drop to the ground, exhausted, breathing hard. Fazen wipes his brow.
“They shouldn’t have gotten this deep in,” he mutters. “Our team should’ve caught them.”
I nod, watching dying energy crawl along the ground like ash in the wind. “They weren’t just feeding,” I say. “They were . . . adapting.”
Our eyes lock. The worry on his face tells me he understands exactly what that means.
“Luc, they’re learning how to survive here. In Imperium.”
I know. And worse, how to use us to do it.
Now that I’m Gatekeeper, I no longer need refuge in the safe house, and it feels good to return to my home in Pomerium. I’m drained. Drawing power from devices or the braqui during battle is exhausting enough, but when I use my innate power as a conduit, it leaves me completely spent.
I collapse onto my bed, muscles aching, my mind overloaded.
My thoughts drift immediately to Cece.
I see her again in the park, sunlight tangled in her hair as she brushes a strand behind her ear, laughter spilling from her lips. I remember how it caught me by surprise, that laugh, how it pulled a smile from me before I even realized it.
Then I’m back in her kitchen, the scent of coffee in the air. She moves through the space humming some half-forgotten song, swaying slightly. I never told her how much I loved that, just watching her lose herself in those small moments.
Then there’s the night. Her body curling closer as she falls asleep, her breathing evening out against my chest. I can still feel it, the way her worry melted into calm, as though my arms were the only place she ever truly felt at peace.
And when I bring her pleasure, the way her eyes widen, the soft catch of her breath as she struggles to stay in control, and the eventual moans that escape her lips once she realizes she can’t.
The look she gives me as I take her just short of release, and then pull back.
The ache in her eyes as she begs me to give her what she needs.
And how I feel like a god, as she calls out beneath me, when I deliver exactly that.
Ever since I returned to Pomerium, it’s been nonstop. Task after task, each more urgent than the last. It’s overwhelming, but maybe that’s the point. Staying busy keeps my mind from spinning. From wandering to thoughts of our moments together and all the ways she might spend her time without me.
Is she all right?
Is she smiling?
Is she lying awake, thinking the same things about me?
I know Xan will protect her. I trust him with her life. Still, it tears at me not to be there, not to keep her safe with my own hands.
I feel the familiar shift in energy just before the knock sounds at the door. I exhale deeply, then rise and cross the room.
When I open it, Zalga stands there, holding a bowl of dessert.
“I heard about your day at the domus,” she says with a small smile. “I figured you could use something to help ease your thoughts.” She offers the bowl like a peace offering.
I want to say it’s late. That I need sleep more than dessert or conversation. But after everything she’s done for me, turning her away feels wrong. And honestly, if I’m left alone with my thoughts, I doubt I’ll sleep anyway.
So I nod and step aside. “Come in.”
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask as she enters.
“Please. My usual,” she replies, smiling slightly, knowing I haven’t forgotten.
I pour the thick brown liquid into the goblets and hand her one. “So what really brings you by, Zalga?”
She takes a sip, pauses mid-swallow, then stares into the glass, avoiding my eyes. When she looks up, there’s something raw behind her gaze.
“I’m pleased you’re Gatekeeper, Lucien. I’ve always wanted . . .” She stops herself. “I’ve always believed you would do great things in the role. And it is your right. You were born for it.”
I say nothing. I wait.
“But Gatekeeper is a great responsibility,” she continues, her voice softening. “And I know your priorities are also . . . pulled outside of Pomerium.” Her voice drops lower. “So what is your plan, Lucien? Pomerium needs you. We need you. How long are you planning to stay?”
I take a sip, let the silence stretch, then set my glass down. “What I said before the Order is true. I want to make things better. Make things right.” I meet her eyes. “But I won’t lie to you. I do plan to return there. I have to. I’m needed there just as much as I’m needed here.”
Confusion crosses her face. “Do you need to return there, Lucien, or do you just want to?” she asks quietly. “There’s a difference.”
I sigh. “I don’t have all the answers yet. But I’ll find a way. Something that works for both realms. I’m committed to that.”
Zalga looks down, jaw tight. There’s more she wants to say. I can feel it. The silence between us grows heavy, but she doesn’t speak.
“Zalga . . .” I lean forward, resting my hand gently over hers. “I know what you risked for me. I’ll never forget it. I’m grateful. Always.”
As I draw my hand back, I catch the flash of hurt in her eyes before she buries it beneath that practiced mask. She lifts her brows in acknowledgment, but her gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“Just please understand what it means for those of us who supported you if you decide to leave,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.
“I do,” I reply steadily. “And I won’t let Aris harm you.”
She gives a slight nod, tension still etched into her face.
“Orren and Marra will struggle, yes,” she says, her eyes darkening. “But Aris won’t forget that I betrayed him. And he won’t forgive that level of betrayal. Not from his own daughter.”