My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 146: Tired Damage

Chapter 146: Tired Damage

"It’s freedom," Lyra said, her voice cracking despite the effort to hold it steady. "Freedom from their cages."

The words rang out into the settling dusk, brittle and raw. Roachaline caught the vulnerability threading through them — not weakness, but a place where loyalty could be shaped, if pressed the right way.

The believers’ chant rose again, heavier now — "Blood binds!" — echoing through the shattered bones of the plaza as the trick edged closer to being sprung.

The armory loomed ahead, the looted crates stacked high against broken walls, sparking drones littering the floor in scattered ruin. Vardency’s dusk slipped through the gaps, casting long shadows across the wreckage, the air thick with the tang of scorched metal and hollow victory.

Roachaline led the six inside, her steps slow, weighted with exhaustion that even the shard’s hum couldn’t drown out. Her knife twirled lazily at her side, the violet shard thrumming against her ribs with every heartbeat.

Behind her, the others followed — Sylira with her restless wire Ikona sparking, Zykra cloaked in silence, Vexen’s hawk circling low, Torqa dragging his wound like a badge, Nexis grinning through broken skin.

Inside, among the shadows, she laid the trap.

The loyalty test — a necessary cruelty to carve truth from desperation. Her coercive presence pressed outward, sharp and invisible, ready to strike if needed.

Grief for Ravel ached at the base of her skull, heavy and relentless, but she masked it behind a tight grin, the last flickers of her old high simmering low in her blood.

From the plaza beyond, the believers’ voices still echoed — "Power reigns!" — cutting jagged through the ruin and dusk.

Sylira moved through the wreckage, her wire Ikona sparking at her side, the blue shard at her collarbone flaring with each breath. She crouched over a ruined drone, fingers working fast, hacking into the cracked casing as its circuits whined in protest. Blood crusted thick along her thigh where a gash split the fabric, the sting flaring sharper every time she shifted her weight.

She grinned anyway, the expression too bright to be real.

"This tech’s begging for my touch," she quipped, voice pitched light, a brittle cover for the fear gnawing underneath.

Her mentor’s voice echoed in the back of her mind — Don’t fail like I did.

Sylira’s hand tightened over the cracked frame of the drone, knuckles whitening. She flicked a glance toward Lyra, the edge of her grin softening.

"Spire shard, huh?" she asked, voice low enough to be almost casual. "What’d that lab do to you?"

Ash drifted down from the broken rafters overhead, settling onto Sylira’s bloodied hands as the question hung between them.

Zykra worked nearby, moving with the same silent precision she always carried. The Shadow Veil curled low around her boots, the violet shard at her chest dim, its light barely flickering.

She sorted through the pile of scavenged shards, each movement methodical despite the blood slowly seeping through the bandage around her arm. Pain throbbed there, dull and constant, but it wasn’t what slowed her hands.

Guilt weighed heavier.

The memory of a sibling’s scream — a sound she hadn’t silenced fast enough — gnawed deeper than any wound left by the alien fires.

Zykra paused, lifting her head to watch Lyra across the armory’s gloom.

"Did the spire speak to you?" she asked. Her voice came low, almost hesitant, the words carving a rare crack in her usual armor.

Outside, the believers’ chants beat steady against the ruined walls — "Shards rule!" — a drumline under the heavy dusk.

Lyra stood rigid by one of the crates, her wind Ikona swirling slow around her, the cyan shard at her chest pulsing brighter. The knife in her hand still dripped faint trails from cleaning, her braid swaying behind her as she shifted her stance. Ash dusted her pale skin, blending with the cuts and grime lining her arms.

"They carved me open," Lyra said.

The words dropped into the silence like a blade.

Her voice was steady — but cracks ran through it.

"Fused the shard inside me. Lab under Vardency’s spires." She swallowed. "It sang — like a storm trapped in crystal."

Her fingers tightened around the knife’s handle, and for a second, her entire frame looked ready to break. Desperation clung to her — not just to be accepted, but to be believed.

Roachaline’s gaze sharpened, the instinct flaring at the scent of weakness.

She didn’t give Lyra a breath to recover.

"What’s your shard’s core?" she asked, voice cutting straight through the stale air, the coercive weight behind it still veiled but pressing closer.

The believers’ chant swelled louder outside — "Blood binds!" — vibrating faintly through the broken walls.

Vexen shifted her weight against the cracked wall, rifle resting in one hand, hawk Ikona circling low overhead. The green shard at her chest glowed steady, a small heartbeat against the ruin. Blood crusted along the side of her arm where the skin had split, but she paid it no mind. Her gaze stayed locked on Lyra.

"Ravel’s fire or your wind?" she asked, voice clipped, pushing the question without offering a way out. Loyalty mattered. Nothing else did.

Torqa grunted, the ochre shard at his chest dim as he smashed a crate aside with his stone Ikona grinding close behind him.

"Prove it’s blood," he barked, the words rough, the pain leaking into his tone even as he tried to bury it. His leg dragged slightly with each step, blood dark against the torn bandages.

Nexis tossed the grenade again, catching it lazily in one hand, his grin thin and worn.

"Spark, newbie!" he called, laughter bubbling up, raw and frayed.

The burns along his arms throbbed with each movement, but he didn’t stop, didn’t slow.

Ash drifted down around them, coating faces, weapons, wounds — a thin, dirty layer settling over everything as Vardency’s dusk deepened outside.

Sylira shifted her weight, wire Ikona sparking faintly beside her. She kept her tone light, but the quip came edged, sharp as a flicked blade.

"Lab’s gone," she said, voice almost casual. "But you’re still here. Why us?"