Chapter 22: Shadows Cast by the Light
The world had shifted around Lucien Artor Vale—or perhaps, he had shifted within it.
Word of the battle at Nyros Reach spread like wildfire across the subsector. A mortal soldier, they whispered, who walked through artillery fire untouched. An ordinary noble's son who turned back the xenos tide. The murmurs turned into praise, the praise into awe, and awe into something more dangerous: curiosity.
And nothing was more curious than the Inquisition.
---
Lucien sat quietly in the forward chapel of the Bastion of Diligence, the grand Imperial cruiser ferrying the remnants of his regiment to their next post. The chamber was dim, lit only by flickering candles and the cold gaze of a golden Aquila. He stared at his hands. They didn't shake, though they should have. Not after what he'd seen. Not after what he'd done.
The ring on his finger pulsed faintly—not with light, but with something deeper, stranger. He had begun to feel it more keenly now, like a second heart that beat only when others stopped. He could no longer tell if it was a blessing, a curse, or something else entirely.
"Luck," he whispered.
"Faith," a voice corrected from behind him.
Lucien turned slowly. A tall figure in a black cloak stood beneath the arch of the chapel door. The rosette hanging from their neck glinted with unmistakable authority: the seal of the Inquisition.
"I am Inquisitor Caltren Myros, Ordo Hereticus. May I sit?"
Lucien nodded, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
"I've read the reports," Myros said, taking a seat beside him. "What happened on Nyros Reach should not have happened. A single platoon held against a xenos swarm ten times its size. Enemy weapons misfired. Ammo packs detonated prematurely. Aircraft clipped by 'accidental' turbulence. Remarkable, wouldn't you agree?"
Lucien forced a thin smile. "I was fortunate."
"So was everyone around you," Myros said, watching him. "Except the enemy."
---
Lucien's next assignment came sooner than expected. They were being sent to the hive world of Varnax Quintus—a vital industrial world recently plagued by sabotage and suspected Genestealer infiltration. The Imperium could not afford to lose such a world. Lucien could not afford to lose the illusion of control.
The journey through the warp was uneventful, but Lucien felt every second of it. His dreams grew louder—strange whispers, haunting shadows, and visions of eyes watching from beyond. The ring itched, throbbed, and sometimes seemed to hum with something that did not belong in realspace.
Upon arrival, Varnax Quintus was a polluted titan of spires and factories, its skies choked with ash and machine exhaust. Lucien was greeted not by cheers, but by silent stares. His name had preceded him. His reputation walked ahead of his feet, heavy and unsure.
Commander Vairus, the veteran leading the defense, was less impressed.
"You're the miracle boy?" Vairus said, his voice gravel in the air. "The one with the fairy tale luck?"
Lucien met his gaze. "I'm a soldier, sir. I do what I must."
"Hmph. Let's see if luck bleeds when the enemy is underground."
---
Their first operation was simple—on paper. A suspected cult hideout beneath the manufactorum in Hive Spire 9. Lucien's squad would provide forward recon.
Inside the tunnels, light was a stranger. They moved carefully, auspexes scanning, weapons ready.
"Movement," whispered one of his men.
Figures lunged from the dark—pale-skinned, multi-limbed, their eyes glinting with alien hunger.
Genestealers.
The firefight was chaos incarnate. Bolts of fire, screams of pain, steel against claw. But Lucien moved like a ghost of war. Every attack missed by inches. Every shot he fired found flesh. His squad survived with barely a scratch. The cultists… did not.
---
Later, while reviewing body-cam footage, Tech-Priest Nalia frowned. "There is statistical anomaly in these recordings. Patterns too unlikely for natural variance."
Myros, reviewing in secret, agreed. "He walks like fate bends around him. But at what cost?"
He wrote a report to Terra, coded in cipher:
> Subject: Lucien Artor Vale. Exhibits traits suggesting latent pariah-like suppression or warp-disruptive field. Unconfirmed artifact (ring) may be anchor. Influence radius appears reactive to intent and emotional state. Recommend deeper observation and containment contingency.
---
Lucien stood alone that night on the hive city balcony, watching the polluted stars.
He didn't want this. Not the medals. Not the whispers. Not the stares.
He just wanted to live.
But he knew now—truly knew—peace was a lie in this galaxy.
The Emperor demanded sacrifice.
And fate, twisted and amused, had chosen him as its knife.
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