Imperium Solis — Three Days After the Rite
They bound his hands in iron.
Not the ceremonial silver cuffs of a noble under trial — but the rusted manacles of a criminal.
Lucen knelt in chains before the Council of Judgment.
The tribunal chamber echoed with whispers — rows of masked Arbiters cloaked in deep crimson, each perched behind obsidian lecterns arranged in a half-circle. Above them, Emperor Caer Valemere presided in silence from a golden dais. At his side stood Archon Velian Thorne.
Lucen's father.
And still, he said nothing.
Pain flared in Lucen's chest — the lingering wound where his Core had shattered. They had sealed it with Source-threaded chains, not healing spells. A reminder. A mark.
His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.
"I am no heretic."
The room stilled.
One of the Arbiters leaned forward. "And yet, your Core cracked the moment it formed. The backlash nearly killed you."
Another added coldly, "In all the centuries since the Rite was first sanctified, there have been failures. There have even been those who failed to manifest a Core at all."
The first Arbiter's voice sharpened. "But never — never — has a Core formed and shattered."
A beat of silence.
"It is a sign," said Kaelen, stepping forward. He stood behind the witness podium, still garbed in the heir's white-and-gold — Lucen's colors. "Of corruption. He reached beyond what was granted. He tried to draw upon powers forbidden by the Source."
Lucen's fists clenched. "I was poisoned."
"You drew steel on the Emperor," Kaelen snapped. "You endangered the sanctum."
"I drew steel on traitors."
A murmur rippled through the tribunal.
Then: "I saw it," Serenya said, stepping into view. Her voice rang clear.
"It was no Rite — it was desecration. He tried to seize what was never granted."
Lies.
Lucen stared at her, at the girl who once kissed him beneath starlight. "You drugged me."
Her eyes flicked to the guards.
A rod struck his ribs.
He collapsed to one knee.
The Emperor rose.
"Lucen Thorne," he said. "First son of House Thorne. Once heir to the Flame."
Each word fell like a blade.
"You stand accused of heresy, treason, and sacrilege against the Source. You stand accused of attempting to wield dark power — and of suffering divine judgment for it."
Lucen raised his head.
"My Core shattered because of you. All of you."
The Emperor turned.
"The Source does not shatter the worthy."
He faced the tribunal. "The sentence?"
"Exile," the lead Arbiter pronounced.
Lucen's breath caught.
"To be cast from the Imperium. From the Empires, the Five Kingdoms, and the Trade Federation. Banished beyond the Godscar Pass into the Borderlands — never to return under pain of death."
A hush followed.
Everyone in the chamber knew the truth:
To be exiled to the Borderlands was not mercy.
It was a death sentence.
His father did not protest. Not once.
Kaelen remained silent, victorious.
Serenya said nothing more.
Lucen rose shakily to his feet. Bleeding, broken — but unbowed.
He looked up at the throne, at the lies wearing crowns and names.
"When the truth comes to light… I hope it burns you all."
No one responded.
The guards dragged him from the chamber as the sentence echoed behind him, stamped in imperial decree.
"Lucen Thorne, by will of the Emperor and judgment of the Source, you are henceforth stripped of name, rank, and claim.
You are declared Coreless.
You are declared Oathbreaker.
You are cast into exile — forbidden from setting foot in the Empires, the Five Kingdoms, the Trade Federation, or any realm under the Accord of Civilization."
The great doors closed behind him.
Darkness swallowed the hall.
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[End of Chapter Three]
Next: Chapter Four – Godscar
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