Chapter 10: The Fall of the Unforgiven
Scene 1: The Trial That Was Never a Trial
The chamber swallowed him whole.
Lucian stood at the center of the vast, circular space, the darkness pressing in from every direction. Above him, a ring of pale, artificial light cast a single, sterile glow onto the floor—a spotlight, marking him as the accused.
The walls stretched so high they disappeared into shadow. Towering pillars loomed in the distance, their marble facades cracked with age, remnants of a world long before The Order.
And at the far end, barely visible in the gloom, they sat. The High Command.
They were faceless silhouettes, seated behind a raised dais, their presence more myth than flesh. Their silence was suffocating.
The only sound in the chamber was the slow, deliberate footsteps of Council Overseer Voss as he approached.
Lucian kept his chin raised, his wrists bound in front of him by the cold metal restraints of The Order’s justice. His body ached from the bruises left by the enforcers, but he refused to show weakness.
He had lost everything. He had nothing left to give them.
Yet they still wanted more.
Voss came to a stop a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his face blank with the kind of indifference only men who had condemned thousands could master. He didn’t need to read from a script. There was no trial. No deliberation. This was nothing more than a formality.
“Lucian Graves.”
The words echoed through the chamber like a sentence before the crime had even been named.
“You stand before The Order’s High Command to answer for your betrayal.”
Lucian said nothing.
Voss did not wait for a response. A flick of his wrist, and a holographic display flickered to life in the air beside him.
A list appeared in sterile white text:
Lucian Graves—Guilty of Treason.
* Associating with enemies of The Order.
* Participating in insurrection.
* Attempting to dismantle state security.
* Aiding the escape of a known rebel leader.
Each word burned into his vision like a scar branding itself onto his skin.
He barely flinched. He knew what was coming.
Voss turned his head slightly, as if just remembering something of little consequence. “Your father has chosen to observe the proceedings.”
Lucian’s heart pounded, but he forced himself to keep his expression unreadable.
He turned his head slightly, searching the shadows.
And there, just beyond the reach of the spotlight, stood Markus Graves.
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His posture was rigid, hands clasped behind his back, his face unreadable. Not a single flicker of emotion crossed his features.
Lucian felt something sharp coil inside his chest.
“You’re really going to watch them erase your own son?” His voice was hoarse, edged with something that might have been exhaustion. Or rage.
Markus didn’t blink. “You will learn obedience, or you will lose yourself.”
There it was. The final lesson.
Lucian swallowed the laugh that threatened to break through his throat.
Lose himself? That had already happened.
Voss turned back to the display. “The High Command finds you guilty on all charges.”
Lucian lifted his chin. “No defense? No chance to prove my innocence?”
Voss exhaled softly, as if tired of the theatrics. “Your guilt was decided before you entered this room.”
Lucian clenched his fists.
Of course it was.
Voss straightened his spine, lifting his gaze toward the unseen figures above.
“The sentence is erasure. Effective immediately.”
There was no hesitation. No debate.
Lucian barely had time to process the words before hands seized his shoulders, yanking him backward.
He didn’t fight. There was no point.
His fate had been sealed before he even walked through the doors.
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Scene 2: The Erasure of Lucian Graves
The hallways of the processing facility stretched endlessly, white walls merging into an indistinct blur. Cold, sterile light hummed overhead, buzzing like static in the silence.
Lucian was marched forward, his feet dragging over the pristine floor, his arms restrained behind his back. The enforcers flanking him moved without sound, as if they were part of the walls themselves.
There were no other prisoners. No sound of life beyond the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the facility.
Just silence.
Lucian forced himself to take steady breaths. His pulse pounded, but his face remained expressionless. He had spent his life learning how to survive The Order’s judgment. He knew fear only fed them.
And yet, this was different.
This wasn’t punishment. This was something worse.
He was not being executed. He was being erased.
The door at the end of the hall slid open, revealing a small, sterile chamber bathed in artificial light. A metal chair sat in the center, surrounded by monitors embedded into the walls.
An enforcer pushed him forward. “Sit.”
Lucian hesitated.
A sharp blow to his ribs sent him staggering forward. His knees hit the chair’s edge, and before he could react, restraints snapped into place around his wrists and ankles.
His breath came slow and measured. He refused to show weakness.
A mechanical voice crackled overhead.
“Processing subject.”
A display flickered to life before him, scrolling through his records.
Name: Lucian Graves
Date of Birth: [REDACTED]
Citizen ID: [REDACTED]
Status: Active
Lucian’s eyes flickered over the words. His entire life, reduced to cold data on a screen.
One of the enforcers stepped forward, pressing a sequence of commands onto the console.
The screen flickered.
Status: Null.
Lucian clenched his jaw as, line by line, his records vanished. His identity was being wiped clean, piece by piece.
He watched as his name disappeared. His family designation. His existence.
Everything was gone in seconds.
He was no longer Lucian Graves.
He was nothing.
A sharp hiss filled the room as the restraints retracted. Lucian forced himself to his feet, his body rigid.
A faceless enforcer handed him a dull gray uniform—nothing but shapeless fabric, identical to the thousands who had come before him. He ripped off his old clothing without hesitation, the cold air biting against his skin as he pulled on the new garments.
He felt the weight settle over him.
A body without a name.
A ghost that had never lived.
Two enforcers seized his arms, dragging him toward the next doorway. Beyond it, more blank walls. More endless corridors leading to oblivion.
Lucian exhaled. He would not break.
Not yet.
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As they moved deeper into the facility, a faint whisper brushed against his ear.
He stiffened.
The enforcers didn’t react.
Lucian turned his head slightly, searching.
A man stood in the shadows of a nearby cell, half-hidden in the dim light. His face was lined with deep creases, his frame too thin, his wrists bruised from years of confinement. His eyes, however, were sharp—watchful, aware.
He smiled.
“No one ever really dies here.”
Lucian’s blood ran cold.
The enforcers yanked him forward, the whisper lingering in the silence behind him.
The doors slid open ahead.
Only darkness waited beyond them.
Lucian clenched his fists and stepped inside.
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