Orphaned Seed
Copyright© 2026 by Fantasylover11
Chapter 19: Veil Run
The Underquad smelled like wet concrete and old copper.
Noah followed the line of students down a service stairwell that shouldn’t have existed in a building this well maintained. Each step deeper thickened the pressure in his ears until it felt like the air itself had weight.
Shielded.
The Veil didn’t soften down here.
It sharpened.
Masking wrapped tight around him, costly and constant.
FOCUS: 104/116
The Interface timer sat in the corner of his vision.
FIND THE BEACON — 1 DAY REMAINING
Noah didn’t look at it for long.
He’d learned the hard way that staring at the overlay in public was a tell.
He kept his eyes on the people.
Jules Ortega walked two places ahead of him, shoulders loose, jaw set. Jules had the same look Noah felt in his own face: somebody trying to stay calm without pretending the danger wasn’t real.
Imani Blake drifted along the wall like she was sightseeing.
Cassian Wren stood near the front, quiet for once.
And somewhere behind them, Noah could feel Crownline attention like a hand at the back of his neck.
They wanted him isolated.
They wanted him tired.
They wanted him to do something impossible.
Noah refused all three.
The briefing space was a widened section of tunnel with painted numbers on the walls and floor drains that looked too new for how old the concrete was.
An official stood on a metal platform with a tablet.
No name.
No warmth.
“Trial Two,” she said. “Veil Run.”
The words echoed.
“You will move as a team,” she continued. “Timed gates. Dead zones. If you separate, you will lose points. If you panic, you will lose more.”
Noah held still.
The official’s gaze swept the group.
“Team assignments are posted,” she said.
A screen on the wall flickered.
Names sorted into columns.
Noah found his.
Mercer.
Then he saw the rest of his list.
Two students he didn’t recognize.
And Jules.
Relief hit him so hard he almost flinched.
Not because Jules was the strongest.
Because Jules was steady.
Because Jules didn’t play games with trust.
Noah walked straight to him.
“You and me,” Noah said quietly.
Jules’ eyes met his.
“Yeah,” Jules replied. “Anchor, right?”
Noah nodded.
The word anchor landed in his ribs.
It was more intimate than anything he’d done in the ring.
He glanced at the other two on their team.
Evan, Lantern, kept glancing past Noah’s shoulder at every dark side passage like he was counting exits.
Mika, Tide, rolled her shoulders and tested her footing with a small bounce, like she trusted momentum more than plans.
“Names,” Noah said.
“Evan,” Lantern said.
“Mika,” Tide said.
Noah nodded.
“Rules,” Jules said, looking at Noah.
Noah exhaled.
“Stay together,” he said. “If someone freezes, we don’t drag them. We stop and get them moving. If something feels wrong, we call it. No hero moves.”
Mika’s gaze sharpened. “You’re giving orders.”
“I’m giving an exit plan,” Noah replied.
Jules’ mouth twitched. “Same thing down here.”
Noah didn’t argue.
The official raised her hand.
“Masking on,” she called. “Run begins on my mark.”
Noah felt his Focus dip as he tightened the technique.
Evan swallowed hard.
Mika rolled her shoulders once.
Jules breathed in and out, steady.
Noah matched him.
“Mark,” the official said.
The gate ahead opened.
The first stretch was simple on purpose.
Narrow corridor.
Low light.
Chalk marks that looked like normal navigation until Noah noticed the way they shifted when you looked at them too directly.
Veil distortion.
Noah kept his gaze soft and let Pattern Sight do the work without making it obvious.
They moved at a controlled jog.
Evan stayed close to Jules.
Mika took the front for a while, then rotated back without being asked.
Noah watched her and filed the detail.
Competent.
Not performative.
The first timed gate was a metal door with a sigil plate set into the frame.
Mika reached for it.
Noah caught her wrist, gentle but firm.
“Wait,” he said.
Mika’s eyes flashed. “Don’t touch me.”
Noah released immediately.
“Sorry,” he said. “Look at the plate.”
Mika leaned in.
The sigil wasn’t complex.
It was petty.
Designed to punish impatience.
Jules exhaled. “Breath gate.”
Noah nodded.
“In together,” Noah said.
They inhaled.
Held.
Exhaled slow.
The sigil plate warmed.
The door clicked open.
Evan let out a shaky laugh.
“Okay,” Evan said. “Okay.”
Noah didn’t smile.
The Underquad didn’t reward relief.
It used it.
They pushed on.
Dead zones started a few turns later.
The air went flat.
No pressure.
No hum.
Masking got harder, like trying to breathe through a wet cloth.
Noah felt his Focus drop in a sudden bite.
Jules’ shoulders tightened.
Evan stumbled.
Mika swore softly.
“Stop,” Noah said.
They stopped.
Noah listened.
The dead zone wasn’t just a lack of Aether.
It was a dampener.
Like the world had been wrapped in foam.
Noah couldn’t afford Veil Step in here.
He couldn’t afford anything fancy.
“Slow it,” Noah said. “Short steps. Keep contact.”
“Contact like holding hands?” Evan asked, voice thin.
Noah hesitated.
Then he answered the real question.
“Contact like permission,” he said. “A hand on a shoulder. If you don’t want it, say so.”
Evan blinked.
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