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Despite being a Sovereign forged from celestial law and corrupted magic, Lucien Moore is not immune to wonder or dread when it comes to the mortal world. As a being of structured divinity, Lucien approaches Earth with the analytical curiosity of a god and the silent yearning of a soul that has never truly lived.
In the rare moments when his duties as Supreme Arbiter permit a glimpse beyond the veil, certain places whisper to him. Not all are gentle. Some call with unbearable beauty. Others with a chaos so profane it makes his wings recoil. These are the places that would either resonate with his soul’s aching need for balance or break him.
Dream Destination: Iceland
Lucien would be drawn to Iceland as if summoned by its sacred geometry. The land is a living contradiction: frost and fire in harmony, silence and power coexisting beneath the surface. From the volcanic black sand beaches to glacial caves carved by ancient forces, every inch of Iceland exudes a natural order that feels designed rather than evolved. He would walk through Þingvellir National Park and see tectonic plates part like divine scrolls. This would be his evidence of a world still moving with intention. Lucien would not vacation here. He would commune.
The auroras would hold his gaze more than any stained-glass cathedral. He’d study their fluid movement with reverence, perceiving the aurora borealis not as a phenomenon, but as a silent psalm. Or as a chaotic dance filtered through sacred physics. The land's lack of excess and the near-total absence of manmade clutter would soothe the overstimulated pathways of his mind. This is a place that does not beg for control yet maintains it. That paradox would comfort him deeply.
In Reykjavík, he'd frequent libraries and observatories rather than crowds. Lucien loves to be by himself. He would quietly catalogue constellations and historical codices from before his mother and father remade Creation. The geothermal spas wouldn't appeal for pleasure, but for equilibrium, as these are places where heat meets mineral. Lucien would see Iceland not as a getaway but as a proof of concept: that mortals, when aligned with nature’s divine architecture, can build lives of serene, imperfect grace. It would be the closest thing to rest he would allow himself.
Nightmare Destination: Las Vegas, Nevada
Lucien would loathe Las Vegas with every atom of his meticulously structured being. A city built on chaos masquerading as pleasure, it would feel to him like a wound in reality: a place where false lights mimic stars, and excess is a creed. From the moment he arrived, he'd sense the overwhelming density of manmade illusion: mirages layered over decay, noise layered over longing, and indulgence layered over emptiness. The entire city would feel like an astral migraine: too loud for his senses and too hollow for his soul.
To Lucien, Vegas wouldn’t be morally repugnant. It would be metaphysically offensive. The city thrives on imbalance: an ecosystem of addiction, vanity, and emotional manipulation. Casinos are temples to chance rather than order, and pleasure pursued without meaning. Every blinking light and ringing bell would scream mockery at the concept of divine symmetry.
He wouldn’t judge the people, as he doesn’t care about vice, but the system itself would appear like a self-replicating disease. This is not chaos born of passion (which he could understand through Aurora), but chaos for profit. That distinction would enrage him.
Sensory overload would trigger his defensive magic. Gravity would spike, time would bend, and mirrors would shatter involuntarily. Lucien doesn’t melt down in fury. He breaks in silence. Surrounded by constant stimulation, emotional projection, and performative joy, he would become ghostlike: silent, drifting, and desperate to escape. Vegas isn’t just his nightmare. It’s a reminder of what happens when mortals mistake abundance for meaning and freedom for collapse.
