Orphaned Seed
Copyright© 2026 by Fantasylover11
Chapter 22: Hearing
The disciplinary chamber looked like a seminar room that had stopped pretending it was for learning.
A long table. A row of chairs behind it. Flat, bright lights that erased shadows. The walls were the same bland paint as the rest of the Annex corridors, but the air felt thinner, like the Veil knew to keep its distance.
Noah sat alone in the waiting area outside, hands laced, posture loose on purpose.
Masking hummed.
The Focus drain was constant.
FOCUS: 101/128
He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
He could feel the urge to run in his legs.
He kept breathing anyway.
Breath in.
Hold.
Breath out.
The door across from him opened.
Mara Kestrel stepped out and shut it behind her. She wore a plain black coat, hair pulled back, expression clipped into something that looked like professionalism if you didn’t know it was worry.
“They ready?” Noah asked.
Mara’s ring tapped her knuckle once.
“They’re always ready,” she said. “That’s the point.”
Noah swallowed.
“What happens in there?” he asked.
Mara studied him, eyes hard.
“They ask questions you can’t answer,” she said. “They want you to do it loudly.”
Noah’s jaw tightened.
“So I say nothing,” he said.
“No,” Mara replied. “You say enough.”
Noah stared.
“Enough for what?” he asked.
Mara leaned closer, voice dropping.
“Enough to look normal,” she said. “Enough to look like a freshman who got caught in a political machine.”
Anger flared.
“I am caught,” he said.
“I know,” Mara replied. Her gaze flicked to the door. “Listen to me. Meridian cannot openly protect you in there.”
Noah went still.
“Can’t,” he repeated.
Mara’s mouth tightened.
“Won’t,” she corrected. “Not without starting a fight we don’t win tonight.”
Noah’s throat tightened.
“So what am I?” he asked, voice low. “Disposable?”
Mara’s eyes sharpened.
“Don’t hand them martyrdom,” she said. “It makes it easy.”
Noah forced his hands to unclench.
“What do I do?” he asked.
Mara’s voice went flat.
“Stay plausible,” she said. “Don’t over-defend. Don’t offer them a miracle. Let them hang themselves on procedure.”
Noah met her gaze.
“And if they take my seed?” he asked.
Mara’s ring tapped again.
“Then you keep breathing,” she said. “And you don’t run.”
The words landed.
Don’t run.
Mara’s eyes held his.
“Running makes you guilty,” she added. “And it makes you alone.”
Noah nodded once.
Mara straightened.
“One more thing,” she said.
Noah waited.
“If Dahlia Crowne says something that sounds like a system log,” Mara said, “you do not react.”
Noah’s stomach tightened.
“Why would she have that?” he asked.
Mara didn’t answer.
That was its own answer.
She opened the door.
“Time,” Mara said.
Noah stood.
His legs wanted to move faster.
He didn’t let them.
The disciplinary chamber smelled like paper and ozone.
Five people sat behind the long table.
No names given.
No warmth.
Just a bored authority that assumed it would be obeyed.
Noah took the chair on the opposite side.
Mara stayed near the wall.
Not in the circle.
Present enough to be a warning.
Dahlia Crowne sat at the far end of the table, angled as if she’d been invited to her own performance.
Noah kept his face blank.
He felt her attention like a blade.
One of the board members cleared their throat.
“Noah Mercer,” the board member said. “You understand the purpose of this hearing?”
“To review my record,” Noah replied.
“And your eligibility,” the board member added.
Noah nodded once.
“You may respond when addressed,” the board member said. “Do you have counsel?”
Noah glanced at Mara.
Mara didn’t move.
“No,” Noah said.
The board member’s mouth tightened as if that was another mark against him.
“Very well,” they said. “Ms. Crowne.”
Dahlia stood.
She didn’t look at Noah.
She looked at the board like she was doing them a favor.
“This is not personal,” Dahlia said.
Noah almost laughed.
He didn’t.
“Our ladder is built on standards,” Dahlia continued. “Those standards protect students from anomalies.”
The word anomaly landed in the room like a stain.
Noah kept breathing.
“Mercer arrived with a Meridian pipeline cadence,” Dahlia said. “That is not a crime.” A beat. “But his records show repeated inconsistencies that point to outside interference.”
Noah went still.
Outside interference.
She was setting the frame.
Not “Mercer cheated.”
“Mercer is the site where cheating happens.”
Dahlia tapped her tablet.
“We have logs,” she said.
The board member leaned forward.
“Show us,” the board member said.
Dahlia projected a screen onto the wall.
Numbers.
Time stamps.
A clean chart that told a story without showing its hands.
Then Dahlia zoomed in on a highlighted segment.
A symbol.
Not a sigil.
Not a house mark.
Two diagonal slashes.
And beneath it, in tiny text:
NULL//CHOIR
The room tilted.
Not dizzy.
Wrong.
Mara had warned him.
Don’t react.
Noah kept his face blank while his stomach turned.
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