Shadows of Valthera

The elevator groaned as it dropped. Echoes trailed the motion, and dust danced in the unsteady light. Ayla gripped the rail without thinking. Silas stood next to her, arms crossed, jaw tight. Neither spoke.

The elevator slowed with a shudder.

Sublevel 9.

The doors opened into a tight hallway. A faint buzzing came from the overhead lights, shadows shifting across the scratched floor. The air was dry, with a stillness that hinted at long abandonment.

A woman waited just beyond the threshold. Slim build, leather jacket, her presence crisp and unreadable. Her face stayed in shadow. She gave a short nod and turned down the hall. Silas and Ayla followed, their steps echoing in the quiet.

They passed old security doors and faded scanners. Red lights blinked as they moved by. A dull hum vibrated through the walls, like the building was alive.

The hallway opened into a circular chamber.

Inside, it looked like time had stopped. Outdated screens stood in stacks, wires sprawled like roots, and old consoles blinked green in the dim. Dust clung to everything. A huge monitor dominated the room, dark but humming quietly.

Ayla stepped forward, scanning the strange setup.

"Feels like a ghost lives here," she said under her breath.

Silas nodded. "Not just by ghosts."

The woman who escorted them pressed something on a panel beside the main console and stepped aside. Her role was clearly done. She turned without speaking and walked away.

The main monitor flickered on.

A burst of static. Then a distorted feed steadied into view — the silhouette of a man in a dim room. His face was hidden in shadows, lit just enough by a dim lamp behind him.

He leaned forward slowly.

"Silas. Ayla."

His voice was calm, but something in it curled tight around their spines. Calculating. Cold.

Silas narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The man adjusted the camera slightly, bringing his face into clearer view. Late 40s, a faded scar trailing from jaw to neck. He wore a dark, high-collar jacket, and behind him, old maps and data streams flickered like ghostly reflections.

"You can call me Dorian," he said.

Ayla stiffened. "You know my name. Why?"

"I knew your father," Dorian said, expression unreadable. "I was with him the night he died."

The words dropped like lead. Ayla stepped forward, blood roaring in her ears.

"You were there?"

"Yes. But I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger."

He looked past her, to Silas.

"And you—you're carrying something dangerous. That photo you took? It's just the surface. Soren's files, the shard you found… they're fragments of a much larger design."

Silas kept his voice steady. "Wellington?"

"Wellington was a mid-level player," Dorian said, his lip curling faintly. "He fancied himself the architect of chaos. But the true architects… remain unseen."

Monitors around the room flicked to life. One by one, live feeds appeared—street corners in NexaCore, supply depots near The Veil, even what looked like border checkpoints and off-grid facilities. The scope stunned them both.

"This is…" Ayla murmured. "Surveillance?"

Dorian stood and moved to a control board behind him. "It's war. A quiet one—until now."

A digital schematic blinked into view on the main screen—weapon schematics, underground transport routes, heat maps.

"You think this is about revenge?" Dorian's voice hardened. "No. It's about balance. About rewriting the rules before they write us out."

The room trembled faintly. Somewhere deeper in the structure, machinery stirred.

A warning tone chirped across the console.

Silas took a step forward. "Why show us this?"

"Because," Dorian said slowly, "you're already part of it. And whether you want to be or not… you're on the board now."

The static returned—edges of the screen curling into black.

"You want answers?" he added. "Then find the key."

"Key to what?" Ayla asked.

The screen glitched again, flickering violently now.

"To everything."

Suddenly, the overhead lights dimmed.

All monitors around them turned to static—except one. A single feed remained: a live image of a rooftop in Valthera. A sniper in black. Scanning. Waiting.

Ayla's breath caught. "That's… the building across from Soren's safehouse."

Silas turned pale. "Zayn's supposed to be there."

Dorian's voice returned one last time, now laced with urgency.

"You're already too late."

The screen went dark.

Ayla spun toward the hallway. "We have to move—now!"

Silas was already running.

A siren wailed from behind.

They bolted down the hallway, boots pounding the floor.

The air seemed tighter now, walls closing in, each step pounding with rising dread. Somewhere overhead, the sound of metal grating echoed through the bunker — an external breach or something far worse.

As they reached the elevator, it was already rising without them.

"No time!" Silas pointed down another hall.

They took a side route, dodging through old maintenance tunnels, the lights flickering as emergency power engaged. Red strobes lit the

narrow passage like a pulsing artery, painting their skin in shadows and blood.

Ayla felt the panic rise in her chest — not just for them, but for Zayn.

They burst through a final steel door and into an underground vehicle bay. A single bike sat idle in the corner — old but functional.

Silas hopped on, starting the engine. "Hold on!"

Ayla climbed behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

The bike roared to life and shot through the access tunnel.