The first thing Lior noticed was the sound.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't sudden. It was the absence of everything else.
The city usually breathed at night—distant footsteps, murmured voices, the low hum of echo conduits buried beneath the streets. Even in silence, Valdoria was never truly quiet.
Tonight, it was.
Lior stood still in the narrow corridor outside his room, hand hovering near the doorframe. The air felt… flat. Not heavy. Not tense.
Blank.
The Veil tightened.
Not around his body, but around his awareness, like a curtain drawn just enough to obscure something important. His pulse quickened—not from fear, but recognition.
Something is wrong.
He stepped outside.
The street lamps were lit, casting their usual pale glow across the stone paths, but the light felt dimmer somehow, as if swallowed before it could fully spread. A man stood near the corner of the road, unmoving, his shadow stretching too far behind him.
"Hey," Lior called softly.
No response.
He approached cautiously. The man's eyes were open, unfocused, his expression slack—not unconscious, not asleep. Alive, but absent.
Lior swallowed.
He had seen this once before.
Years ago. Briefly. Covered up just as quickly.
A Veil stall.
It wasn't common. It wasn't supposed to happen anymore.
He backed away slowly.
The moment he did, the world shifted.
Not visually. Not physically.
Internally.
The Veil didn't resist him this time.
It… loosened.
A sharp sensation cut through his chest—not pain, not power, but clarity. For a fraction of a second, the city snapped into focus in a way it never had before. Lines appeared where none existed, subtle distortions in space like stress fractures in glass.
Echo pathways.
He gasped and staggered back, bracing himself against a wall as the sensation vanished just as quickly as it came.
The Veil snapped shut.
Harder than before.
Lior's breathing came fast and shallow.
"That wasn't an Echo," he whispered.
It hadn't felt like awakening. There was no surge, no resonance, no feedback loop.
It felt like… seeing behind something that didn't want to be seen behind.
Footsteps echoed down the street.
He looked up sharply.
Two figures in dark coats moved with purpose, their steps synchronized. Watch insignia gleamed faintly at their collars.
Containment units.
Lior stepped back into the shadows as they passed him without a glance, heading straight for the unmoving man. One of them produced a thin metallic band, already humming softly.
Containment confirmed.
So the Concord knows.
That thought chilled him more than the night air.
---
By morning, the incident was gone.
No crowds. No whispers. No mention in the public bulletins posted across the district. The man was removed. The street was cleaned. The silence returned to its normal, curated state.
But Lior couldn't shake the feeling that something had been torn—and crudely stitched back together.
At the Echo Hall, tension hung thick.
Not panic. Not fear.
Surveillance.
He felt it the moment he stepped inside. Too many Watch eyes. Too many quiet observers pretending to be clerks, examiners, assistants.
Kael found him near the outer ring, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You felt it too," Kael said without greeting.
Lior nodded. "They stalled the Veil."
Kael's eyes flicked toward the ceiling, toward the unseen mechanisms layered above the Hall. "That shouldn't be possible."
"It wasn't natural," Lior replied. "It wasn't an Echo failure."
Kael leaned closer. "Then what was it?"
Lior hesitated.
Saying it out loud felt dangerous, like naming something gave it permission to exist.
"It was the Veil refusing," he said finally. "Something tried to pass through it—and the Veil stopped responding instead of adapting."
Kael went still.
"That's… bad."
"Yes."
They watched as a young woman stepped into the central circle. The focus stone hummed. Resonance built.
Then—nothing.
Another failure.
The examiner's expression tightened for just a fraction of a second before smoothing out again.
Too controlled.
Kael exhaled slowly. "They're happening more often."
"And they're hiding it," Lior said.
"Of course they are."
Kael hesitated, then spoke carefully. "You shouldn't be here today."
"I know."
"They're watching you."
"I know."
Kael studied him. "Then why stay?"
Lior's hand tightened unconsciously around the strap of his bag.
"Because whatever's breaking," he said quietly, "is breaking around me."
---
Later, alone again, Lior sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees.
The Veil was restless now.
Not oppressive. Not distant.
Alert.
He closed his eyes and let his awareness drift—not pushing, not pulling. Just listening.
For the first time, the Veil responded.
Not with resistance.
With pressure.
Images flickered at the edge of his perception—not visions, not memories. Patterns. Structures. A sense of something vast and layered, built over time, reinforced again and again to prevent collapse.
The Veil wasn't just hiding the world.
It was holding it together.
Lior's breath caught.
"If you fail…" he murmured.
The pressure intensified briefly, then eased.
A warning.
Not from a god. Not from an artifact.
From the system itself.
He opened his eyes, heart pounding.
Someone was knocking.
Sharp. Controlled.
Authority.
Lior stood slowly and opened the door.
A woman stood in the hallway, her coat marked with the subtle insignia of the Concord—not overt, not hidden. Her gaze was calm, assessing, far too perceptive.
"Lior," she said. "You've been difficult to categorize."
He met her eyes. "I wasn't aware I needed categorizing."
She smiled faintly. "Everyone does."
Silence stretched between them.
"The Veil reacted last night," she continued. "That concerns us."
"It concerns me too," Lior replied.
"Good." Her smile faded. "Because anomalies don't get second chances."
Her gaze sharpened. "And neither do those standing too close to them."
She turned and walked away without another word.
Lior closed the door slowly.
The room felt smaller now.
The Veil pressed in—not to silence him, not to shield him.
To test him.
Somewhere deep beneath Valdoria's stone and order, something ancient shifted again—no longer patient.
Aware.