As Seyfe and the Veiler moved through the desert wasteland, the distance between them and the shelter grew shorter. Every step he took felt heavier than the last—he was walking into the heart of something he had despised for so long. Even though the baby clung to him in silent trust, the tension in his chest remained taut, his mind swirling with thoughts of what might await them.
When they arrived at the designated location, Seyfe's breath hitched. The shelter was far more structured than he anticipated—a tall, imposing compound with sleek metallic walls and several towers rising toward the sky, hidden behind thick, storm-like clouds that seemed to swirl unnaturally. It was pristine, untouched by the devastation that had decimated the outside world.
And then, as they entered the compound's perimeter, Seyfe noticed another Veiler standing at the gates. At first glance, it appeared like the same as the one accompanying him—a tall, armored figure draped in black. But as Seyfe's eyes scanned the new Veiler, he felt an unmistakable difference, something… almost human in the way it moved.
The first Veiler stepped aside, its metallic feet clinking against the ground as it turned to face the second.
"Unit 23-B," the first Veiler said in its unflinching, cold voice. "This civilian has been found in the field with an unregistered child. Status: awaiting registration and relocation."
The second Veiler, unlike the first, didn't stand motionless. Its helmet turned slowly to regard Seyfe, its movements smoother, almost… purposeful. When it spoke, its voice was more measured, deeper, but there was something more to it. The tone was subtle, a touch warmer, more nuanced.
"Civilian," it addressed him directly, and for the first time, Seyfe noticed the flicker of something approaching empathy in its voice. "Is the child in your arms uninjured?"
Seyfe's eyes narrowed, his instincts on high alert. He wasn't sure what to make of this—another Veiler? But there was something different about this one. It wasn't just mechanical. He could sense it in the way it spoke, in the way it moved. This wasn't like the cold, emotionless machine that had escorted him here.
Seyfe shifted the baby in his arms, trying to keep his expression neutral. He hated how his throat tightened as he spoke. "The child is fine… for now."
The second Veiler didn't respond immediately. It stepped forward, its movements smooth and precise, yet not threatening. The way it tilted its head slightly as it observed him, the child, the environment—there was an unsettling humanity to it.
"You are weary," the Veiler noted. "You have not been properly cared for in the field." Its eyes—if you could call them that—shifted toward the baby again. "And neither has the child."
Seyfe felt a chill run down his spine as he registered what the Veiler was implying. It wasn't just the words that disturbed him. It was the underlying tone—this Veiler was reading him—and somehow, understanding. He instinctively recoiled, feeling exposed, vulnerable.
The first Veiler's voice broke the tension. "Unit 23-B, the civilian is not authorized for immediate medical assistance. Proceed with standard procedure."
But the second Veiler paused. The silence was thick, palpable.
"I see," the second Veiler murmured. And then, almost as if reconsidering, it added, "The child requires nourishment."
Seyfe blinked, his pulse quickening. Was this… empathy? Could this Veiler actually care about the baby's well-being? He hadn't heard a machine speak with such concern before.
With a soft mechanical hum, the second Veiler stepped aside, gesturing to the compound's interior. "You will be given supplies. Rest is permitted."
Seyfe didn't move immediately. The offer was unsettling. He had been prepared to face the same cold indifference from these machines, but this one—this one—felt different. Not completely, not entirely human. But… closer.
"Rest?" he muttered. His lips curled into a bitter smile. "You're offering me rest?"
The second Veiler didn't flinch at his sarcasm. "You are injured. The child is vulnerable. Rest is necessary for both of you."
There was a long pause before Seyfe gave a low, reluctant nod. He wasn't in a position to fight. The anger, the distrust, it all swirled inside him, but the exhaustion—the need for survival—won out. He couldn't do this on his own any longer, not without risking everything.
With one final look at the baby, Seyfe stepped toward the compound, and the second Veiler gestured for him to follow.
The interior of the compound was stark and sterile, a far cry from the ruinous desert that had swallowed Seyfe's every waking moment. As the second Veiler guided them through the corridors, Seyfe couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his chest. Every surface gleamed with cold efficiency, and the silence was oppressive, interrupted only by the soft whirring of the Veiler's movements.
They stopped in front of a door—unadorned, utilitarian. The Veiler stood aside, gesturing toward the room beyond. The door slid open with a hiss, revealing a small, minimalist space, furnished only with the essentials: a simple cot, a chair, a desk, and a dim light source glowing faintly overhead. It was a room designed for function, not comfort, and it felt clinical in its starkness.
"You will rest here," the Veiler said, its voice steady but not unkind. "You and the child will be monitored during your stay. When the shift phase ends, you will be relocated."
Seyfe hesitated at the threshold, his eyes scanning the room. It felt like a trap—so clean, so precise, like everything was accounted for, down to the smallest detail. And yet, something in the Veiler's tone had shifted. There was an undertone of something almost... compassionate? His mind immediately pushed the thought away. Compassion from one of them was impossible. He wouldn't allow himself to believe it.
He glanced down at the baby, who had fallen into a fitful sleep in his arms, its tiny chest rising and falling in rhythmic breaths. Seyfe had barely noticed how long it had been since he had let himself rest, since he had allowed his body to relax for even a moment.
He needed this. They needed this.
Seyfe stepped into the room, gently lowering the baby onto the cot. The infant stirred but didn't wake, and he quickly tucked the thin blanket around its fragile form. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, brushing the baby's soft skin before he stood back.
The second Veiler watched silently, its posture unreadable. It didn't move, didn't make any further comment. Its presence loomed like a shadow, impersonal and watchful.
Seyfe let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He turned back to face the Veiler.
"What now?" he asked, his voice rough with exhaustion.
"You will rest," the Veiler answered simply. "We will ensure the safety of both you and the child while you remain here."
Seyfe felt the weight of his weariness crash over him, but a flicker of something—something darker—gnawed at him. How could he trust them? How could he trust any of this? Even if the Veiler didn't seem to be an immediate threat, it was still the government's machine, still the same force that had betrayed him and countless others.
"I'll rest," he muttered, though the words tasted bitter. "But I'm not here for your protection. I'm here for the child."
The Veiler didn't respond to his defiance, its gaze unwavering. Instead, it simply nodded, as though accepting the terms of his unwilling cooperation.
Before Seyfe could say anything else, the door closed behind him with a soft click, and he was left in the small room with only the quiet hum of the compound's systems filling the silence. The room was sterile, cold, and quiet, a far cry from the chaos and horror outside.
Seyfe moved to the chair by the desk, sinking into it with a heavy sigh. His body trembled from the exhaustion, the fight, the constant running. He hadn't realized how much it had taken out of him until now.
His thoughts wandered to the baby. What had brought it here? Was it part of some cruel experiment, a government project, or was it simply an innocent soul lost in the nightmare of the Broken Layer?
He didn't know the answers. All he knew was that he couldn't let the child become another casualty of this war—the war between the remnants of humanity and the horrors unleashed by the system he had once trusted.
He closed his eyes, trying to push away the dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He didn't want to think about the Veilers, the government, or the monsters that stalked the land. For now, he just needed to sleep. To rest.
But his mind refused to let him. The weight of the world hung heavy, pressing on him in ways he couldn't explain. Could he trust the Veilers? Could he trust the government? And what would happen when the shift phase ended?
Seyfe glanced over at the baby, its tiny form curled in a peaceful slumber.
He would protect it, no matter what. Even if it meant taking on a system he'd spent his entire life running from.