Shadows of Valthera

Morning slipped quietly into Valthera, casting narrow beams of sunlight through the grime-streaked workshop windows. The machinery's low hum threaded through the silence. Light filtered across the stained concrete,

tracing the path to Ayla's worn boots as she perched on the edge of the cot,

her thoughts heavy and unrelenting.

Sleep hadn't stayed—only broken fragments of rest, splintered by the night's chaos: the chase, the gunfire, the tunnel, and those stubborn questions about her father's death that refused to fade. She idly pulled at the frayed hem of the blanket while the distant thrum of Lex's generators pulsed beneath the floor.

She couldn't sit still anymore. Rising, Ayla moved across the slick floor, her boots making faint, gritty sounds. Her eyes roved over shelves sagging under the weight of jumbled coils, cracked circuit boards, and machines that flickered like they remembered being alive. It felt more like a forgotten tech graveyard—part scrapyard, part crime scene. Surveillance screens flickered with grainy loops of nearby alleyways.

Then something tucked behind a coil caught her attention.

She leaned in and carefully retrieved it—a photograph, its edges curled and brittle with age. As her fingers brushed the faded surface, her breath hitched. The group shot was faded but still legible. The faces, though younger, were unmistakable. Lex stood on the left, clean and sharp-faced. Beside her—her father.

In the photo, he wasn't wearing the boardroom mask she remembered. His smile was easy, unguarded. One arm rested casually around Lex's shoulders, as if they shared more than a passing history.

"You're up earlier than I expected," came Lex's voice, breaking the silence behind her.

Ayla turned, clutching the photo. "You knew him."

Lex leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over a tank top smudged with grease. Her expression gave nothing away, but her eyes carried the weight of something buried—maybe memory, maybe guilt.

"That was years ago," she said, voice soft, but flat.

Ayla didn't turn. "Why didn't you mention it yesterday?"

Lex crossed the room, took the photo, and studied it quietly before answering. "Because it wouldn't have changed a thing. Not the danger you're in. Not what Wellington's capable of."

Ayla's voice trembled. "What were you two working on?"

Lex gave a dry chuckle. "Back then? We thought we could change the system. Build secure, off-grid networks. Protect whistleblowers. Expose corruption. We were young. Idealistic. Stupid."

"He was murdered," Ayla said sharply. "I need to know why."

Lex met her gaze steadily. "Then you better buckle up, princess. Because if you dig too deep, the hole you find might swallow you whole."

The door creaked. Silas appeared, tousled and alert. "What's going on?"

Lex tossed him the photo. "Family reunion."

Silas examined it, brow furrowed. "That explains a few things."

"Like what?" Ayla asked.

"Like why someone would go this far to silence your father's legacy."

Lex turned sharply, slid open a metal drawer with a screech, and retrieved a small rectangular item wrapped in cloth, worn at the edges like it had changed hands too many times. She handed it to Silas. "Your father gave me this the night before he died."

"What is it?" Ayla asked.

"A data shard. Quantum encrypted. Needs a cold reader—off-network, analog decryption. Not easy to find anymore."

Silas turned the shard over in his hands. "Any idea what's on it?"

"No. But I know people have killed for less."

Before another word could be spoken, a sharp beep echoed through the workshop. Lex spun toward her main console, fingers flying across the keys.

"Perimeter breach," she hissed. "South corridor. One drone. Two heat signatures. Moving fast."

Silas was already moving. "We have to go."

Lex nodded, shoving tools off a table to reveal a false floor hatch. "They found me faster than expected. This leads to the underground tram line. It's old, but it'll take you west. I'll cover the exit."

Ayla hesitated. "What about you?"

Lex's grin was grim. "I'm not new to this game, sweetheart. I'll be fine."

A sudden crash shattered the moment. Glass exploded overhead. They ducked instinctively as a blinding flash lit the

workshop—white-hot and disorienting. Lex hurled a wrench at the device before it detonated in the far corner. Gunfire erupted.

Silas pushed Ayla down the narrow corridor. "Go!"

They ran, the tunnel tight, lined with rusted pipes and thick dust. Footsteps thundered behind them. Silas yanked a nearby valve at a junction, unleashing a burst of steam that clouded their pursuers' vision.

Finally, they reached the tram line—a forgotten artery beneath Valthera's infrastructure. The tram resembled a minecart armored for battle. Silas boosted Ayla inside, then climbed in after her.

He hit the ignition. As the tram groaned to life and pulled away from danger, darkness swallowed them.

Neither spoke.

Only the grinding wheels and the soft hiss of the track filled the silence.

Ayla broke it at last. "That photo... he knew they were coming for him."

Silas nodded. "And he trusted Lex to keep something safe. Maybe this shard. Maybe you."

Ayla stared at the shard, its smooth edges cool in her palm. "Then we find someone who can open it."

Silas glanced at her. "That means going deeper. Off the grid. Into The Veil."

Her eyes met his—fear mingled with resolve. "Then that's where we go."

Above them, Valthera pulsed with unseen threats. But here, in the city's dark bones, they found purpose.

And their journey was just beginning.