Orphaned Seed
Copyright© 2026 by Fantasylover11
Chapter 8: Masking Lesson
Noah woke up on the gym mat with his cheek stuck to rubber.
For a second he was back at the mill—dust in his mouth, the taste of rust, the sense of a ceiling that wanted to drop.
Then the smell of disinfectant and stale coffee cut through, and the safehouse came back into place.
His arms trembled when he tried to push himself up.
Mara sat on a folding chair by the wall, stopwatch in hand like she’d been timing his collapse.
“How long was I out?” Noah asked. His voice sounded scraped.
“Long enough,” Mara said.
Noah swallowed. The shame came quick and hot, familiar as bruises. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You did,” Mara said. “You meant to push. You meant to prove.”
Noah forced himself upright, back against the wall. Sweat had dried cold along his spine.
The overlay hovered in the corner of his vision.
STATUS: STRESS ELEVATED
“I was fine,” Noah said.
Mara’s ring tapped once against her knuckle. “You were loud.”
Noah frowned. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Mara cut in. “When you chase the edge, you throw off a wake. People who know how to listen will hear it.”
Noah looked at the mat between his shoes.
“So what,” he said, brittle. “I just stop training?”
“No.” Mara stood. “You stop pretending rest is weakness.”
She tossed him a water bottle.
Noah caught it on reflex. The motion felt slow, like his body was operating through syrup.
“Drink,” Mara said. “Then eat. Then you learn the thing you’ve been avoiding.”
Noah’s stomach tightened.
Masking.
The hidden objective had been sitting in his vision for days like a threat written in small print.
HIDDEN OBJECTIVE: LEARN MASKING
He took a long pull of water anyway, because arguing with dehydration had already proven to be stupid.
In the kitchen, Mara set a bowl of oatmeal in front of him without ceremony.
Noah ate because his hands shook if he didn’t.
Mara leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“Masking isn’t lying,” she said.
Noah looked up sharply. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I get to decide what keeps you alive,” Mara said. “You can decide what you call it.”
Noah looked into the oatmeal like it might offer a third option.
“The watchers,” he said. “They’re not Meridian.”
Mara’s jaw tightened. “No.”
“Then what are they?”
Mara’s gaze held his a moment and then slid away. “A faction that thinks anything new is theft.”
Noah’s throat tightened. “New like me.”
“New like whatever woke up around you,” Mara corrected.
Noah hated that she never let him pretend it was just him.
Mara reached into a cabinet and pulled out a cheap hand mirror, the kind that belonged in a tourist bathroom.
“Stand,” she said.
Noah stood.
Mara held the mirror up so he could see himself: hood down, hair a mess, eyes too alert for someone who’d just face-planted.
“Masking starts here,” Mara said, tapping the mirror. “Posture. Breath. What you give the room.”
Noah frowned. “That’s just acting.”
“It’s regulation,” Mara said. “You learned Breath Discipline. This is the social version. Don’t be loud.”
Noah felt his shoulders lift. He forced them down.
Mara watched the movement. “Good. Now keep your eyes up without looking like you’re scanning for exits.”
Noah tried.
“Less tension in your jaw,” Mara said.
Noah adjusted.
“Now breathe,” Mara said, slower. “In. Hold. Out.”
The count threaded through him like a string being pulled tight.
The overlay reacted.
Not a new skill. Not a level.
Something else.
TECHNIQUE AVAILABLE: MASKING (R0) COST: FOCUS DRAIN + STRESS NOTE: PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY, NOT INVISIBILITY
Noah read the words.
“So it’s real,” he said.
Mara’s gaze flicked to his eyes as if she could see the overlay through them. “It’s always real. Your body just needed a frame for it.”
Noah felt the familiar surge of resistance. If he learned Masking, he’d be agreeing that he was something that needed hiding.
But he already was.
He focused on the technique.
The pressure in the room changed, subtle as a temperature shift. His skin prickled. His heartbeat slowed into the count.
It didn’t feel like vanishing.
It felt like turning down his own volume.
Mara nodded once. “There. That’s the edge. Hold it.”
Noah held it for ten breaths.
His head ached.
“And that’s the cost,” Mara said. “You can do it. You cannot do it forever.”
Noah let the technique go.
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