Chapter 15: The Depths Do Not Accept Witnesses
The forbidden depths changed when Iria Valen crossed the threshold behind Lucien.
It was not dramatic.
There was no quake, no surge of mana, no sudden manifestation of hostility. The ruins did not collapse. The air did not scream.
Instead, the world hesitated.
Lucien felt it like a skipped heartbeat.
He stopped walking.
Iria nearly collided with his back, halting just in time. She looked up at him, confused, then followed his gaze as he scanned the surrounding ruins.
"…What is it?" she whispered.
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
Luck pulsed—once, sharply.
Not warning.
Not danger.
Disapproval.
Lucien's jaw tightened.
"…You stepped wrong," he said quietly.
Iria frowned. "I stepped exactly where you did."
Lucien shook his head slightly.
"No," he replied. "You stepped where I was allowed."
The ruins responded.
Not to her voice.
To her presence.
A low vibration rolled through the stone beneath their feet, subtle enough that Iria barely noticed it at first. Fine dust drifted from fractured archways. The faint blue veins of mana embedded in the ground dimmed slightly, their rhythm faltering.
Iria swallowed.
"…I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Lucien said.
That didn't make it better.
They moved again, more slowly this time.
Lucien adjusted his path, favoring narrower corridors and collapsed passages rather than open plazas. The deeper structures of the erased city loomed around them—silent, watchful, patient.
Too patient.
Iria felt it now.
The pressure.
It wasn't fear, exactly. It was the sense of being measured against a standard she did not understand and could not meet.
"…It's watching," she murmured.
Lucien nodded.
"Yes."
"What?"
He didn't answer.
They reached a junction where three paths diverged, each leading into different sections of the ruins. Lucien paused, studying the faint distortions in the air.
Normally, luck would have nudged him.
Now, it stayed silent.
Lucien exhaled slowly.
"Stay here," he said.
Iria blinked. "What?"
"Don't move," Lucien repeated. "Don't touch anything. Don't speak."
She hesitated. "Lucien—"
He turned sharply, eyes cold.
"This isn't a request."
Iria stiffened.
"…Alright."
Lucien stepped forward alone.
The moment he put distance between them, the pressure eased slightly.
Lucien didn't miss it.
"…So that's how it is," he murmured.
He followed the leftmost path, senses stretched taut. The ruins here were older—more eroded, less intact. Stone statues lined the corridor, their features worn smooth by time, their postures frozen in gestures that felt almost… apologetic.
Lucien stopped before one of them.
It depicted a humanoid figure, hands raised not in surrender, but in refusal.
The symbol etched into its chest glowed faintly.
Continuance.
Lucien touched it lightly.
Nothing happened.
Behind him—
A sound.
Lucien spun instantly, blade half-drawn.
The statue behind him had shifted.
Not moved.
Turned.
Lucien froze.
The stone figure's head angled toward the direction Iria stood waiting.
Lucien's blood ran cold.
"…No," he whispered.
Iria felt it before she saw it.
The air thickened suddenly, pressing down on her chest as if gravity had increased by a fraction. She gasped softly, clutching at her coat as the stabilizing runes flared weakly, struggling to compensate.
"…Lucien?" she called, unable to stop herself.
The word echoed.
That was a mistake.
The ground beneath her feet cracked.
Not violently—precisely.
A thin fissure spread outward in a perfect circle, glowing faintly with pale blue light. Symbols ignited along its edge, unfamiliar and cold.
Iria staggered back.
"What is this?" she whispered.
The ruins answered.
"Unregistered observer detected."
The voice was not hostile.
It was procedural.
Iria's heart slammed against her ribs.
"I—I'm not hostile," she said instinctively. "I'm just—"
"Observation without integration is prohibited."
Lucien was already moving.
He emerged from the corridor at a run, crossing the distance between them in seconds. The moment he stepped into the circle, the symbols flared brighter.
Pain lanced through his skull.
Lucien grunted, dropping to one knee as pressure crushed down on him from all sides.
"…Of course," he muttered through clenched teeth.
Iria stared at him in horror.
"It's punishing you," she said.
Lucien laughed bitterly.
"Yeah," he replied. "That tracks."
The relic beneath his coat pulsed violently.
Lucien felt it resonate with the symbols beneath them—two incompatible systems grinding against each other.
The pressure intensified.
Lucien forced himself upright.
"Listen to me," he said sharply. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions."
Iria nodded frantically. "Anything."
Lucien grabbed her wrist.
"Do not resist what happens next."
Her breath caught.
"What's going to happen?"
Lucien met her eyes.
"I'm going to break a rule."
The world reacted instantly.
The moment Lucien made the decision, the relic flared—not with power, but with alignment. The band on his finger burned cold against his skin as ancient symbols ignited along its surface.
Lucien stepped forward deliberately.
The circle tightened.
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Lucien ignored it.
He reached down and pressed his palm flat against the glowing sigils.
"I acknowledge the violation," he said clearly. "And I accept the consequence."
The ruins went silent.
Even the ambient hum vanished.
Then—
"Continuant-class anomaly invoking override."
Iria screamed as the ground dropped out from beneath them.
They fell.
Lucien twisted mid-air, wrapping one arm around Iria and pulling her close as gravity reasserted itself violently. They slammed into stone hard enough to knock the breath from both of them, rolling across a sloped surface before crashing into a wall.
Lucien took the brunt of the impact.
He groaned, vision blurring as he forced himself upright, body screaming in protest.
Iria coughed, clutching at his coat.
"…What did you do?" she gasped.
Lucien wiped blood from his mouth.
"I told it," he said hoarsely, "that if it wanted to punish someone…"
He looked around.
"…It could start with me."
They were no longer in the city.
The chamber around them was smaller, enclosed, its walls smooth and unadorned. The air was heavy with distorted mana, unstable and volatile.
Lucien felt it immediately.
"This is a quarantine space," he muttered. "A containment layer."
Iria pushed herself up, shaking.
"For what?"
Lucien didn't answer.
He was staring at the far wall.
Something was emerging from it.
Not stepping.
Not manifesting.
Condensing.
A figure formed slowly, its shape humanoid but indistinct, edges blurring as if reality couldn't decide how to render it. Its surface shimmered with overlapping sigils—probability constructs, stabilizers, erasure protocols.
Iria's breath hitched.
"…That's not a guardian," she whispered.
"No," Lucien agreed. "That's an auditor."
The figure's featureless face tilted toward them.
"Rule violation confirmed," it intoned.
"Observer contamination detected."
"Continuant-class anomaly responsible."
Lucien stepped forward.
"She stays," he said flatly.
The auditor paused.
"Observer lacks integration clearance."
Lucien clenched his fists.
"She didn't come here to exploit anything," he said. "She didn't take anything. She didn't interfere."
The auditor's sigils flickered.
"Intent irrelevant."
Iria swallowed hard.
"…Lucien," she whispered. "You don't have to—"
Lucien raised a hand, silencing her.
"She stays," he repeated. "Or I leave with her."
The auditor went still.
The pressure in the chamber intensified.
Lucien felt luck stir—tentative, cautious.
The relic pulsed.
Then—
"Departure denied."
Lucien's eyes hardened.
"Then audit me," he said. "Not her."
The auditor's head tilted further.
"Audit requires extraction."
Lucien nodded once.
"Fine."
Iria stared at him in disbelief.
"You can't mean—"
Lucien didn't look at her.
"If I disappear," he said quietly, "the world shrugs. If you do, people ask questions."
The auditor stepped closer.
"Commencing evaluation."
The chamber shifted.
Reality folded inward, compressing space and time into something tight and suffocating. Lucien felt his senses stretch, fracture, then stabilize again as the auditor's sigils wrapped around him.
Iria screamed his name.
Lucien smiled faintly at her.
"…Told you I'd handle it."
Then he was gone.
Iria was alone.
The chamber fell silent.
No footsteps.
No hum.
No presence.
She stood there shaking, heart pounding, mind reeling as the reality of what had just happened settled in.
Lucien had chosen her.
Not because she was important.
Not because she was powerful.
But because leaving her behind would have been wrong.
"…You idiot," she whispered hoarsely.
The air shifted.
The auditor reappeared—alone.
"Evaluation ongoing," it intoned.
"Observer status unresolved."
Iria straightened slowly.
"…Then resolve it," she said.
The auditor turned toward her.
For the first time since entering the depths, Iria felt something else beneath the pressure.
Curiosity.
Elsewhere—nowhere, everywhere—Lucien drifted through a space without form.
No ground.
No sky.
No direction.
Just weightless awareness and the faint echo of systems older than gods grinding against each other.
"Why?" the auditor's voice echoed from all directions.
Lucien floated, calm despite the strain.
"Because if survival requires abandoning people," he replied, "then it's not survival. It's just delay."
Silence followed.
Long.
Measured.
Then—
"Response noted."
Lucien felt the pull.
Reality snapped back into place.
He slammed into stone again, coughing violently as sensation returned all at once. He rolled onto his side, gasping, vision swimming.
Iria was there instantly, gripping his shoulders.
"Lucien!"
He laughed weakly.
"…You're still here," he rasped.
Her eyes were wet.
"So are you," she shot back.
The auditor stood nearby, motionless.
"Evaluation incomplete," it said.
"Observer granted provisional integration."
Iria froze.
"…What does that mean?"
Lucien pushed himself upright slowly.
"It means," he said tiredly, "you're officially our problem now."
The auditor dissolved.
The chamber began to open, walls peeling back into a familiar ruin-filled corridor.
The depths had accepted a compromise.
Lucien staggered to his feet.
"…Don't make me regret that," he muttered.
Iria shook her head, voice firm despite the fear.
"I won't."
Lucien glanced at her, then nodded once.
"Good," he said. "Because from here on out…"
He looked into the darkness ahead.
"…nothing follows the old rules anymore."