My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy
Chapter 156: Fired Stall

Chapter 156: Fired Stall

Across the room, Junjio shifted. His voice trembled when it came, too soft at first, like he hoped someone else would speak instead.

"What if..." he swallowed. "What if there aren’t enough rogues for all of us?"

His Ikona flickered on his shoulder, barely holding its shape. The fear in his question landed heavier than it should have. They all knew the system didn’t guarantee balance. Just risk. Just terms. Just outcomes.

Wes didn’t move from where he leaned, arms still crossed, Ikona pulsing steady at his side.

"Ours didn’t come with a timer," he said, tone level, like he wasn’t even trying to convince. "So we team up. Let the system assign. Half stats beat a closed casket."

He met Elias’s eyes as he spoke, gave a small nod — not pushing, just aligning, like they’d already chosen the same thing before the words ever left their mouths.

Elias inhaled slow through his nose. His hands had steadied. The pulse of his shard no longer jittered — just throbbed, low and full.

"Someone’s dying out there," he said, voice low, words slow. "We have to move."

The cry hadn’t come again, but the absence made it worse. That last echo still rang behind his ribs, the silence that followed drawing blood all the same.

Kikaru folded her arms, her Ikona’s light dimming, the motion sharp and immediate.

"And risk our stats for what?" she said, tone flat, words clipped. "For one person the system probably doesn’t care about?"

Her distrust was louder than the words themselves, old warnings bleeding through — Asurik’s voice folded in behind her own.

Faye didn’t answer right away. Her Ikona hummed faintly at her side, flickering once as she looked at the tunnel.

"If we can save them..." she said, the end catching in her throat. She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

Tidwell finally stopped his knife.

"Heroes die fast, Elias."

Paul rubbed at his eyes, the motion slow, his shoulders sagging as if the air had thickened around him. His Ikona flickered at his side, dimmer than before, light catching on the edge of his wrist as he leaned forward.

"Death’s piling up," he said, voice heavy, flat. "Kidnappings, contests... and the alien invasion everyone pretends isn’t creeping closer every time Vardency flares."

He shook his head once, the breath leaving his chest like it hurt to keep it in.

"I’m with Elias."

The words didn’t carry force, but they didn’t need to. They settled into the space between them with quiet finality — not bravado, not hope — just the truth of someone who’d had enough.

Junjio’s voice cracked as he finally spoke again, hands still clenched at his sides.

"But what if we fail?" he asked, the words rushing out. "Half a stat — forever?"

The weight behind it was real. Everyone had seen what even a small stat drop could do. Especially permanent. Especially when you didn’t have high numbers to begin with.

Wes stepped forward, pushing off the pod he’d been leaning against, Ikona pulsing steady at his side.

"We won’t," he said, cutting clean across the tension. "Not if we stay together."

His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Just the way he stood — grounded, calm — was enough to start shifting the air.

Elias turned, eyes locking on Faye.

The image flashed back — her struggling with control in the pod room, singing low, her Ikona drifting just out of reach, wings catching light like a waveform.

She’d said something about distance. Range. She could reach further than the others.

"Faye," Elias said, voice firm, "your Ikona can scout the tunnel. You can send it through and reach the lock, right?"

Dot’s glow pulsed brighter at his side, the hum sharpening, ready.

Faye stepped forward slowly, hair slipping loose from where it had been tucked behind her ear. The soft fabric of her sleepwear shifted as she moved, her Ikona already alighting gently on her shoulder, wings shimmering in delicate patterns like sound waves caught in motion.

"You’re sure about this?" she asked, voice quiet, barely more than a whisper. But she held his gaze, searching his face for hesitation.

There was fear in her voice, but there was something else, too — warmth, strained but still present, trying not to crack.

Dot hovered closer, her glow flaring in time with her hum.

Pragmatic. Certain.

"Your bird’s flight is our best chance," she said, the words delivered like fact, not request.

Faye’s Ikona chirped once, a clear melodic curl that hovered in the air. The tone held no uncertainty.

"It’s far," it said, voice light and cautious. "Risky. But I’ll try."

The two Ikona faced one another — blue light and melody threading together across the space between them — and for a moment, the pod quarter’s dimness didn’t feel so heavy.

Elias knelt by the tunnel, hacksaw still in hand. His arms ached from the last round of cutting, muscles drawn tight, sweat slipping down the back of his neck and soaking into his collar. Every pull of the blade screamed against the metal. The sound bounced off the walls like it was trying to wake the entire block.

Dot hovered close, her glow spilling across the pipes inside the crawlspace — thick, industrial-grade, probably recycled from an older zone. Looked like eighteen-inch PVC, maybe more. He didn’t say anything about that, but the thought sat with him, part of the way he processed tension. Grounding himself in what he could understand.

"You’re our key, Faye," he said, not looking up.

It wasn’t a speech. Just the truth. His voice came out quiet, still rough from the dust and the shouting, but steady. He meant it. Same tone he’d used back in the mess hall, when things still felt like they could be fixed.

Faye let out a breath, stepping in closer. Her bare foot brushed against the edge of the hatch. She glanced down at it, then at the hacksaw in his hand, then back to the tunnel. Her red hair caught the glow from Dot, casting faint shadows along her cheeks.

"Singing’s always been a chore," she said, voice softer than usual. "But I’ll do it."