From a dim corridor above the Veiler HQ cafeteria, a lone figure stood in silence, watching.
Below, Seyfe walked among fellow graduates, laughing quietly as Saline tossed a friendly slap to his back. Jerome sat at a nearby table, surrounded by cadets eager for answers. The atmosphere brimmed with a rare warmth.
But the observer saw deeper.
There—just beneath Seyfe's collar. Gold-lined veins, barely visible, pulsing slowly with each breath. The tongue, when Seyfe spoke or laughed too widely, flicked black like wet ink. His movements, though casual, were deliberate. Too measured. As if he were learning how to walk again.
The figure turned and walked down the hall.
Their boots made no sound. Past sealed doors and silent war rooms, they arrived at a reinforced chamber—no sign, no designation, only a faintly glowing rune etched into the metal.
A knock.
"Enter."
Inside, Handler Aki Varess sat with her arms folded, reports and projections spread across her console in a silent stream. She didn't look up.
"Status," she said.
The figure stepped forward. "Subject Seyfe is stabilized. Physiologically, he's within parameters. But there are anomalies."
Aki's eyes shifted. "Go on."
"The black-tongue mutation has not receded. Gold-vein resonance is contained to the neck and collarbone. Scans show no signs of core rejection or collapse."
"But?" Aki asked flatly.
"There are markers of genetic alteration. Not enough to categorize him as a failed sync, but it's... foreign. Uncatalogued."
Aki leaned forward slightly. "Contamination?"
"Possibly from the echoform. His body might have adapted to survive the encounter, but not without cost."
"Is he aware of the changes?"
"Difficult to say. He's not being dishonest, but he's withholding. Doesn't speak about what happened inside the rift. He refers to it only as 'an adventure.'"
Aki's fingers tapped once, sharply. "Survivor's deflection or tactical omission?"
"Both."
Her eyes narrowed. "Any signs the echoform survived?"
"Negative. Its body was destroyed when the core ruptured. But something… lingered. Maybe cognitive residue. Maybe an imprint. Whatever it was, it didn't leave him untouched."
Aki closed the file projection in front of her. "Do you consider him a threat?"
The observer didn't answer immediately. "He's not dangerous now. But he's changed. What he brought back with him… it's dormant. For now."
"Continue monitoring him," Aki ordered. "No interference unless there's deviation or core instability."
"Yes, Handler."
As the observer turned, Aki added, "And the rift destabilization—was it him?"
"It's unclear. The echoform was sovereign-tier. That alone could've torn the domain. But Seyfe's emotional outburst… it likely accelerated the collapse."
The observer paused. "He wasn't just surviving in there. He was fighting."
The door hissed shut behind them, leaving Aki alone with the quiet hum of unspoken questions.
The sky was a pale gray when Seyfe arrived at the edge of Veil District's inner ward, where the air buzzed with a strangely peaceful silence. The adoption center was a modest facility—a square brick building surrounded by a fence draped in climbing vines. Its sign, rusted but intact, read: Everhold Children's Home.
He didn't know why he came. Maybe it was the lingering guilt from surviving. Maybe it was because in that godforsaken rift, he promised himself that if he made it out alive, he'd at least try to see one thing that wasn't twisted or drenched in blood.
A bell chimed as he pushed the door open.
A nurse with tired eyes looked up from the front desk, her smile faint but practiced. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to visit," Seyfe replied, pausing as he tried to find the words. "There was a baby brought in—months ago. A Veiler… a team found them after a field operation. I was told they were brought here."
The nurse's gaze softened, shifting from formal to curious. "Ah. Yes. One moment."
She disappeared into the back hallway. Seyfe's gloved hand tapped softly against the wooden bench beside him as he waited, a subtle tic he hadn't noticed since the rift.
A few moments later, the nurse returned, cradling a small infant with soft, cloud-colored hair and wide, bright eyes. The child gurgled quietly, reaching for the thread on the nurse's uniform.
"She's strong. Quiet most days. You said you knew her?"
Seyfe approached, eyes fixed on the baby. "Not… well. I carried her out. That's all."
"She seemed to recognize your voice," the nurse murmured, surprised. "She doesn't usually reach for strangers."
Seyfe held out a finger, watching as the tiny hand latched onto it without hesitation. Something heavy in his chest tugged and twisted—something too human, too tender, for what he thought he had left.
"She doesn't have a name yet," the nurse added gently. "No records of family. We've just been calling her 'Little Star'."
Seyfe cracked the faintest of smiles. "That's… fitting."
He sat for a while longer, holding the child in silence, letting the moment speak for itself. No battles, no echoes, no mutation gnawing beneath the surface. Just the breath of a baby against his shoulder and the quiet murmur of life trying to stitch itself back together.
But peace never lasted.
Just as he was about to leave, the nurse leaned in. "A man came by last week. Tall, dark coat, quiet. Didn't give a name. Asked about her. Said he was 'interested in remnants of potential'… whatever that means."
Seyfe's heart skipped a beat. "Did he touch her?"
"No. We didn't let him get close. He left before we could report it."
Seyfe's expression hardened. He handed the child back with extreme care. "If he returns, alert the Veiler HQ. Use emergency channel Echo-Seven. Tell them to forward the message to Aki Varess directly."
The nurse blinked in alarm, but nodded.
As Seyfe walked out of the center, the wind picked up again—colder this time, like something was coming.
And somewhere behind the clouds, a presence watched quietly from afar, its intentions still unknown.
The sky was a pale gray when Seyfe arrived at the edge of Veil District's inner ward, where the air buzzed with a strangely peaceful silence. The adoption center was a modest facility—a square brick building surrounded by a fence draped in climbing vines. Its sign, rusted but intact, read: Everhold Children's Home.
He didn't know why he came. Maybe it was the lingering guilt from surviving. Maybe it was because in that godforsaken rift, he promised himself that if he made it out alive, he'd at least try to see one thing that wasn't twisted or drenched in blood.
A bell chimed as he pushed the door open.
A nurse with tired eyes looked up from the front desk, her smile faint but practiced. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to visit," Seyfe replied, pausing as he tried to find the words. "There was a baby brought in—months ago. A Veiler… a team found them after a field operation. I was told they were brought here."
The nurse's gaze softened, shifting from formal to curious. "Ah. Yes. One moment."
She disappeared into the back hallway. Seyfe's gloved hand tapped softly against the wooden bench beside him as he waited, a subtle tic he hadn't noticed since the rift.
A few moments later, the nurse returned, cradling a small infant with soft, cloud-colored hair and wide, bright eyes. The child gurgled quietly, reaching for the thread on the nurse's uniform.
"She's strong. Quiet most days. You said you knew her?"
Seyfe approached, eyes fixed on the baby. "Not… well. I carried her out. That's all."
"She seemed to recognize your voice," the nurse murmured, surprised. "She doesn't usually reach for strangers."
Seyfe held out a finger, watching as the tiny hand latched onto it without hesitation. Something heavy in his chest tugged and twisted—something too human, too tender, for what he thought he had left.
"She doesn't have a name yet," the nurse added gently. "No records of family. We've just been calling her 'Little Star'."
Seyfe cracked the faintest of smiles. "That's… fitting."
He sat for a while longer, holding the child in silence, letting the moment speak for itself. No battles, no echoes, no mutation gnawing beneath the surface. Just the breath of a baby against his shoulder and the quiet murmur of life trying to stitch itself back together.
But peace never lasted.
Just as he was about to leave, the nurse leaned in. "A man came by last week. Tall, dark coat, quiet. Didn't give a name. Asked about her. Said he was 'interested in remnants of potential'… whatever that means."
Seyfe's heart skipped a beat. "Did he touch her?"
"No. We didn't let him get close. He left before we could report it."
Seyfe's expression hardened. He handed the child back with extreme care. "If he returns, alert the Veiler HQ. Use emergency channel Echo-Seven. Tell them to forward the message to Aki Varess directly."
The nurse blinked in alarm, but nodded.
As Seyfe walked out of the center, the wind picked up again—colder this time, like something was coming.
And somewhere behind the clouds, a presence watched quietly from afar, its intentions still unknown.
The digital light of her monitor bathed Aki's face in a faint blue glow. She stared at the status window showing Cadet Seyfe's active location ping — Central Adoption Center, East Ward.
She had told him. She didn't expect him to actually go.
With everything he'd been through — the mutation, the recovery, the months lost in a sovereign-level rift loop — most wouldn't think of children. Of peace. Of returning to the echoes of the past.
But Seyfe wasn't like most.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly, watching the soft blinking dot.
In a locked drawer to her left, she kept the old report — the one from eight months ago, marked "Unclassified Rift Phenomena, Layer Collapse: Outskirts." The last page had the image. Seyfe, unconscious, curled around a crying baby in the middle of residual dust. He didn't know what he was holding back then. He barely knew where he was.
Yet something inside him did know. Enough to keep the child safe. Long before he ever became a Veiler.
She turned to the silent holoscreen behind her, flicking it to life. Not to spy — just to glimpse.
There he was, standing by the crib. He didn't touch the child this time. Just stood there, watching. Breathing.
And for the first time in a long while, Seyfe's shoulders didn't look like they were carrying the weight of the world.
Aki tilted her head.
"Even before the Echoform," she said softly to herself, "you were already tethered to something deeper."
She closed the feed.
Not out of mistrust.
But out of respect.
There were ties forming beneath the surface. Patterns. And for once, Aki chose not to intervene.
Not yet.