Shadows of Valthera

The tunnel narrowed the farther they walked, until Silas had to crouch beneath sagging pipes. Overhead, water dripped in rhythmic taps,

echoing like slow footsteps behind them. The cold air thickened with the scent of rust and decay. Ayla stayed close, the shard secure in her jacket, fingers brushing its smooth surface like a talisman.

Finally, the tunnel opened into a wide passage—an old maintenance corridor built before Valthera's digitized reinvention. A set of faded letters still clung to the wall: Sector 7-B — Access Restricted. Beyond the rusted doorway lay their next destination: The Veil.

"Ready?" Silas asked without turning.

Ayla took a breath and nodded. "Let's go."

They pushed through the heavy door, metal groaning on its hinges, and stepped into the underground's heart.

The Veil wasn't marked on any map. It lived below the grid, where light came in pulses and silence was a myth. Vendors lined the narrow lanes, lit by swaying neon and exposed circuitry. The air buzzed with static and whispers. Hacked drones hovered above, some broadcasting encrypted messages, others simply watching.

Ayla's eyes darted across it all—shadows huddled around heat lamps, cables snaking like vines, and stalls overflowing with spare limbs, cracked memory drives, and faded holopads. Nothing was new. Everything was valuable.

"Keep your head down," Silas murmured. "The wrong glance here can start a war."

They passed a merchant welding parts onto a limbless combat drone. It twitched as sparks danced off its casing, a low mechanical groan rising from its throatless speaker.

"Charming place," Ayla muttered.

Silas smirked but didn't slow. "Welcome to where secrets breathe."

A hooded figure stepped out from an alley and matched their pace. Silas gave a barely visible nod.

"Lex sent you?" the figure asked, voice muffled by a mask shaped like a bird's skull.

"Yeah," Silas replied. "We need a cold reader."

The figure turned without a word and led them through a side path flanked by malfunctioning lights and exposed wiring. Ayla noticed movement behind them—others watching, tracking. In The Veil, silence didn't mean safety.

They stopped at a steel door painted with a red triangle and faded Cyrillic script. The masked guide tapped twice, then once. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a small chamber filled with humming servers and analog monitors.

Inside, a man waited—mid-40s, wiry frame, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on a hooked nose. His skin was pale from too many years in the

dark. He wore fingerless gloves and a scarf embroidered with what looked like

military codes.

"You brought me a ghost," the man said, eyeing Ayla and the shard. "Let's hope it doesn't scream."

"Can you decrypt it?" Ayla asked, stepping forward.

The man—Soren, as Silas quietly supplied—gestured to a cluttered

table. "Place it there. And don't breathe too loud."

She did as instructed. Soren slid the shard into a modified terminal rigged with scavenged parts and humming fans. Lights flickered. The machine whirred to life, and symbols began to scroll across a side monitor in bursts of blue and white.

Soren whistled low. "Quantum lock, triple layer. Your dad didn't want anyone snooping."

Ayla stiffened. "You knew my father?"

Soren didn't look up. "Everyone down here did, once. He had plans. Big ones. Thought he could turn the whole system inside out. Then one day—poof. Gone."

A beat passed in silence.

"How long will it take?" Silas asked.

Soren shrugged. "Hours, maybe a day. Depends on how paranoid he was."

Ayla frowned. "We don't have that long."

Soren tapped a few keys, frowning. "Then you better stay close. This kind of job sends ripples."

Suddenly, a red alert flashed on one of the side monitors. A pulsing signal traced a location ping—moving fast.

"Someone's tracking the shard," Soren snapped. "You led them here."

Silas pulled Ayla back. "How long before they arrive?"

"Ten minutes. Maybe less."

Soren disconnected the reader, ripping the shard free. "You have to leave. Now. If they find you here, they'll gut this whole place."

Silas grabbed the shard. "Where's the nearest exit?"

Soren pointed to a narrow chute behind a wall of crates. "Old disposal shaft. Leads out near the neon canal. It's tight, but it works."

Gunfire echoed from the hallway.

Too late.

Silas drew his sidearm. Ayla ducked behind the console, heart hammering as shadows shifted outside the steel door.

Soren slammed a panel shut, sealing the reader with an old-fashioned padlock. "You want the rest of this data? You come back alive."

The door exploded inward, and chaos followed.

Silas returned fire, grabbing Ayla's arm. "Move!"

They sprinted toward the chute, bullets ricocheting off the metal floor. Ayla dove into the shaft, sliding fast through the dark, greasy tunnel. Silas dropped in after her just as Soren hurled an improvised explosive and vanished in the smoke.

They tumbled into the open—drenched in grime, breathless, alive.

Neon light washed over them from the canal overhead. Valthera's underworld pulsed in strange colors.

Ayla looked up at Silas, eyes burning. "They're not just chasing a secret. They're trying to erase it."

Silas nodded grimly. "Then we make sure it survives."