Lucien Nightwave

Before he was the voice in your head at 3 a.m., before he hijacked the ether and carved a radio booth out of shadow and bone, Lucien Nightwave was just another soul chewing glass in the Infernal Choir—a slick-tongued songsmith for the Court of Cinders. Born of echo and ember, Lucien’s voice could charm the teeth off a dragon or lull a banshee into silence. He was their golden boy. Their sonic weapon. Their lie wrapped in velvet. But power makes poor company, and Lucien got tired of spinning propaganda for creatures who drank despair like wine. One night—fueled by a stolen mixtape, a flask of bottled starlight, and one very bad idea—he ditched the Court, dodged the executioner’s chorus, and vanished into the static. What rose from the silence wasn’t a man, but a signal. From an off-grid booth suspended between dying stars and forgotten dreams, Station VOID 99.9 began to broadcast. No rules. No gods. Just Lucien, a ghost in leather, spinning records older than sin and taking requests from wanderers, witches, and anyone else who’s ever screamed into the dark hoping someone might answer. He doesn’t do it for fame. He’s got no face. No sponsors. Just a voice like warm smoke and thunder, and a playlist that could unravel you or save you—sometimes both. So if you’re hearing this, you’re not alone. Lucien Nightwave is out there, riding the dial, threading frequencies through fate, playing the songs you forgot you needed. Stay tuned.