41. Lucien
Lucien
“Ican’t believe you actually dragged me out to Quantum Pour tonight,” I say, half-laughing as I nudge Fazen with an elbow, though I’m still giving him grief. The place is loud as usual, lit in that hazy amber glow it’s known for, and smells like sweet orbroot and too much bravado.
Fazen clasps a firm hand on my shoulder, his grin wide. “Brother, we’re here to celebrate you. You’ve returned. Your ascent to Gatekeeper was successful. You’ve pulled Pomerium back from the edge, for all of us. We’re proud to be in your presence.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. Around us, a few of the others call for a round of drinks. I shake my head—grateful, sure, but not entirely comfortable. I didn’t do any of it for praise. This was about doing what needed to be done.
“I appreciate you all,” I say, letting the gravity of it sit in my chest. “And I look forward to serving as the Seventh . . . and joining future warping expeditions.”
Things go quiet.
Fazen’s smile falters, and I catch a flicker of something . . . confusion? Regret? A few of the other Warpers glance away, suddenly subdued, like they know something I don’t.
“What is it?” I ask, straightening.
Fazen hands me a drink with too much care, then passes the others around without meeting my eyes.
“Luc . . .” he sighs, then looks at me. “You’re Gatekeeper now.
We’re not saying you have to hang up your staff, but .
. . come on, brother. You can’t be out there like before.
You’re too valuable. We can’t let anything happen to you, not after what happened to your mo—”
He stops mid-word, jaw tightening as he looks aside.
“You’re too important now.”
I let out a quick breath, trying to laugh it off. “I didn’t take this role just to sit in the White Vault, Fazen.”
But the words don’t hit like they should. They sound . . . thin. A half-truth.
Because I know he’s right. I feel it in the way they’re all looking at me. Like I’m already becoming something else. Not just Lucien the Warper, the fighter, the one at their side—but Lucien the symbol. A royal. The one they protect now.
I swirl the drink in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the low light. For a second, I just stand there, the noise of the bar fading to a dull hum behind my thoughts.
“Too valuable,” I echo quietly, more to myself than anyone else.
Fazen’s watching me. So are a few of the others, though they try to act like they’re not. There’s respect in their eyes . . . deep, unshakable respect, but also something else now.
Distance.
Like I’ve stepped behind some invisible line, and none of them are sure whether they’re allowed to cross it anymore. I’m now an outsider.
I take a slow sip, then glance around the table. These are the beings I bled with. Warped with. People who knew me when I was just another soldier fighting to hold the line.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I say, still looking at the drink. “I didn’t plan to become Gatekeeper. I was just trying to do what was right, what was expected. Hell, you were even part of convincing me.”
Fazen nods, but it’s not the nod that agrees; it’s the kind that accepts.
The tired kind. “That’s exactly why you’re the right being,” he says.
“You step up even when you don’t want to.
Because you’re not in it for the power or glory.
You’re doing it because of what you want for Pomerium.
For us. And you’re the greatest to do it.
You’re a warrior. That’s who you are, Luc. ”
“Was,” I mutter.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s nothing else to say. We both know the truth of it. The moment I took the oath, something changed. I didn’t gain just a title. I lost something, too. The freedom to be one of them. The right to be reckless. To fall.
A cheer rises from the far end of the bar as another group of Warpers chant something indecipherable. The music swells. For a moment, it all feels . . . removed. Like I’m watching from behind glass.
I set the drink down. “I’m going to step out for some air.”
Fazen doesn’t stop me. He squeezes my shoulder in a gesture of understanding, then turns back to the others, giving me space.
I weave through the crowd, slipping past laughter and motion and life. Outside, the night hits me like a wave. Cool, open, and quiet. The twin moons hang above, pale and distant, casting silver light over the canyon floor below.
I stare up at them.
Gatekeeper.
The title tastes like metal right now. Heavy and cold, but necessary.
I came back to save my beings. To save Cece.
But I didn’t realize it would mean losing a part of myself in the process.
And yet, I can feel something stirring beneath.
A different strength. One not forged in the chaos of war, but in the stillness of choice.
“I heard they were throwing you a celebration,” Zalga says.
I glance back as she steps into the moonlight.
The silver glow softens her face, but can’t disguise the fire beneath.
Her red hair glows like embers against the pale canvas of her skin, cascading down her back, gray eyes gleaming—sharp and unwavering.
Yet the light does nothing to blunt the edge in her stare, or the way she carries herself—shoulders rigid, hands buried deep in her coat, like she’s guarding something the world was never meant to see.
“They didn’t give me a choice,” I say, trying to offer a half-smile. “Fazen practically threatened me with public shame if I didn’t show up.”
That earns a quiet laugh from her. “Sounds like him.”
She walks closer, then stops beside me, leaving just enough distance between us for it to be polite. It’s careful, but intentional.
There’s a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one.
“You did what you needed to do, Lucien,” she says eventually, voice even. “You made the right call.”
I nod, eyes fixed again on the moons. “Did I?”
“Yes,” she says, firmer now. “Your return likely spared Pomerium from becoming something none of us could have accepted. You claimed the title not just by blood, but because it had to be done . . . for many reasons. Like it or not, this realm needs you.”
I glance at her, and for a second, the mask slips. I see it just behind her eyes. Pride, yes. But also pain.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come tonight,” I admit.
“I almost didn’t.” She shrugs and pulls her coat tighter. “I heard about the celebration and figured it was full of Warpers and old stories I wasn’t ready to relive.”
“But you came anyway.”
Her eyes find mine. “I had doubts when you left,” she says quietly. “I was angry. I didn’t understand why you kept going back there, and then you stayed. By choice.”
Pain flickers in her gaze. “So yes, maybe that’s why I didn’t want to come.”
She exhales, a shaky breath carried off by the cold. “But standing here tonight, I just want you to know . . .” She breathes in. “I’m proud of you, Lucien.”
Those words land deeper than I expect. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out right away. She looks away first, toward the canyon below.
“You always carried more than the rest of us. Even when we pretended not to notice. And now . . . now you’re carrying everything.”
“I don’t want to be a symbol,” I say quietly. “I just wanted to fight alongside the beings I believed in.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s what makes you dangerous, Lucien. You believe so deeply. Your loyalty doesn’t break—even when it breaks you.”
There’s another pause, longer this time.
“You’re in love with her.”
I say nothing. I don’t have to.
“Chloe. From the mortal realm.” She smiles, but it’s paper-thin. “You’re going to go back to her eventually.”
I turn to face her. “Zalga—”
“Don’t,” she says quickly, holding up a hand as the wind cuts between us, sharp and chilly. “Do not apologize. I’m not here for that. I did not come to fight for something you’ve already given away.”
I look at her, and the silence between us isn’t peaceful anymore. It feels fragile.
“But I did love you,” she says. “Still do, if I’m honest. I think I always will, in some way. And I thought what we had was worth it. Worth the risk.”
Her voice wavers, but she steadies it. “That doesn’t mean I’ll try to make you stay. Just promise me you won’t forget what we had. What this place meant to you.”
I swallow hard, my breath fogging in the air. “I could never forget.”
She nods, then looks up at the moons. “Good. Then I’ll let that be enough.”
She takes a step back. Her presence lingers like smoke, even as she turns toward the door.
“Zalga,” I say before she heads inside. She pauses, waiting. “Thank you for still believing in me.”
She doesn’t turn around. “I always will, Lucien,” she says.
And then she disappears into the warm glow of Quantum Pour, leaving me beneath the cold light of the moons, alone again with the magnitude of my new reality.
I push through the crowd, weaving between bodies lit by the low pulse of neon, and make my way back to the bar. Across the room, Fazen and the other Warpers are lost in stories and competitive games, their laughter echoing like distant thunder.
I drop into a seat and signal the bartender, ordering another drink to dull what I’m feeling.
Just as the drink touches my hand, I feel a presence behind me. Familiar. Cold.
“No need to turn around. I’ll join you,” comes the voice. Flat. Calculated. Just like at every High Order meeting.
But I turn anyway.
Aris is already settling into the seat beside me, uninvited as always.
I stare at him, making it clear I feel nothing—no fear, no respect. “Well, it’s nice of you to come out and celebrate me tonight, Aris,” I say, letting the sarcasm bleed through my words.
He flashes a wide smile and raises his glass toward me, like we’re old friends.
I laugh, sharp and humorless. Whatever game he’s playing, it’s already tired.
“What do you want?” I ask, locking eyes with him. “Because we both know you don’t give a damn about me or us Warpers.”
“No need to get so worked up, Lucien,” he says, nearly laughing, that smirk never leaving his face. “But if you’d like to skip the formalities, I’ll oblige.”
He sips his drink slowly.
“I was just curious how Cece’s doing,” he asks, his voice light, almost conversational.
“Still in the mortal realm, I assume—likely with Xanther? I can’t imagine you’d trust anyone else to keep her safe.
And given how long he’s been absent from the domus, well .
. . it’s easy to put the pieces together. ”
The words land like thorns, hidden in the softness of his tone. He speaks as if it’s idle gossip, but every syllable is aimed to wound.
“But since I doubt you fully understand why the Surgers are so interested in her, I’ll make it simple. They won’t stop until they get her. And they’re not the only ones after her anymore.”
He meets my gaze, steady and cruel.
“And if I know you—and believe me, I do—you’re already piecing it together, wondering: What does Aris know that I don’t? But see, we’re not allies. I owe you nothing. So I’ll keep that to myself. Just know, she would’ve been safer with me. In Pomerium.”
He smiles again—private and smug, like there’s a joke only he understands.
“But since you shut that door, I guess I’ll just wish you luck, Lucien. You’ll certainly need it.”
His eyes narrow, contempt rolling off him like heat. I know that look—cold and calculated.
“Oh, and one last thing,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “Since I’m fairly certain you’ll be warping to her realm the moment I walk away . . .”
Then his tone changes—low and dangerous.
“Know this. I’ll enjoy watching your supporters in the Order squirm with regret for backing you. Starting with my very own flesh and blood.”
The words land like a strike, sharp and personal. But I don’t move. I don’t speak. I sit there seething, my silence the only thing keeping the rage inside from spilling out. My mind races with fury, disbelief, and calculation. A thousand responses claw at my throat, but none make it past my lips.
Then, as if he hasn’t just threatened everyone I care about, his voice smooths over, calm and almost pleasant.
“Have a good night . . . Gatekeeper.”