Junijo swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I keep seeing it... the way his body just—split. How do we fight sothing like that?"
Kikaru stepped closer, her voice cutting through the haze. "By not freezing up. Vincent’s got three shards now, and he’s not slowing down. We’ve got to be ready—together."
Elias t her gaze and nodded. "Like we said before. We stick as a unit. No one’s facing this alone."
Tidwell pushed off the table, cracking his knuckles with a forced grin. "Fine. Let’s beat the crap out of so training dummies instead of each other. Sound good?"
Junijo managed a weak smile, the first sign of life in his expression. "Yeah... yeah, I can do that."
The pod doors hissed shut behind them, sealing out the sterile hum of the facility and plunging them into the training room’s familiar embrace.
The air hit Elias like a wall—thick with the tallic tang of sweat, the faint ozone of Ikona energy, and an unspoken tension that clung to every breath.
No one spoke as they filed in, boots scuffing against the worn mats, eyes darting between the equipnt racks and each other. They didn’t waste ti. After what they’d seen in the arena—Randalp’s body splitting apart under Vincent’s shards, the Crafter’s manic grin—they couldn’t afford to.
The group threw themselves into the drills with a ferocity that teetered on the edge of desperation, each punch, each dodge, each flare of Ikona energy a silent vow to shove the fear and helplessness back into the dark where it belonged.
Elias planted himself at the room’s center, rolling his shoulders to loosen the knots that had settled there overnight. His shard pulsed faintly against his chest, a steady heartbeat syncing with his own.
He raised his hands, palms up, and focused. A thin tal rod began to take shape, its edges shimring as if forged from liquid steel. He’d done this a hundred tis before—constructs were his bread and butter—but today felt different. Today, he needed more.
Vincent’s got three shards now, he thought, the mory of that arena fight clawing at the back of his mind.
Multiple angles, unpredictable attacks. I can’t just block anymore—I need to counter, adapt. He gritted his teeth, pushing more energy into the rod. It stretched longer, thinner, then wavered. "Co on," he muttered, sweat beading on his brow. The construct solidified—three feet of sleek, unyielding tal. Not perfect, but better.
Dot’s materialized beside him, her tiny form a flicker of blue light, arms crossed like a pint-sized coach.
"You’re still holding back," she said, her voice sharp with that mix of encouragent and exasperation she’d perfected. "It’s durable, sure, but it’s static. Vincent won’t stand still for you to hit him—make it move."
Elias exhaled, nodding. "Right. Versatile." He swung the rod experintally, then willed it to bend. The tal groaned, reshaping into a crude whip that lashed out and snapped back. It wasn’t elegant, but it was a start. Dot’s bobbed approvingly. "That’s the spirit."
Across the mat, Kikaru was a storm in human form.
Her light constructs flared with every move—beams of white-hot energy slicing through the air, carving scorch marks into the reinforced dummies.
She’d always been precise, but now there was an edge to her, a sharpness that went beyond training.
Her Ikona, a sleek orb of radiant gold, hovered at her shoulder, pulsing in ti with her strikes. She pivoted, firing a beam that split a dummy clean in half, then spun to face Junijo. "Your portals are still too slow," she snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Tighten it up, or you’re dead weight."
Junijo flinched, his lanky fra hunching as he wiped sweat from his brow. His Ikona—a small, chaleon-like creature with fur that shifted between purple and orange—clung to his arm, its eyes wide and nervous.
"I’m trying," he murmured, hands trembling as he summoned another portal. The air rippled, a jagged oval forming in front of him, but it flickered, edges collapsing inward before it could stabilize. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head. "It’s the timing—I can’t hold it long enough."
Tidwell, leaning against a nearby wall, let out a low whistle. His cloud constructs swirled around him, faint wisps coalescing into a barrier that shimred like fog on water. "She’s got a point, kid," he said, his usual grin absent.
"But yelling won’t make it click faster." He pushed off the wall, his Ikona—a fluffy, vaporous thing—drifting lazily above his head. "Watch this." He flicked his wrist, and the barrier shifted, tendrils snapping out like whips to strike a dummy ten feet away. "Control’s half instinct, half practice. You’ll get there."
Kikaru shot Tidwell a glare, her jaw tight. "He’d better. We don’t have ti for ’eventually.’"
Faye stood a few paces away, her voice a soft counterpoint to the room’s chaos. She sang a low, haunting lody, the notes weaving through the air like threads of silk.
Her Ikona—a delicate, birdlike creature with feathers that shimred like sound waves—perched on her shoulder, its head tilted as if listening.
The lody twisted, sharpening into a wave that slamd into a target, cracking its surface.
She adjusted her pitch, higher now, and the sound coalesced into a small, tangible object—a shimring disc that hovered in front of her. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it flying, embedding it in the target’s chest. "Getting there," she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Paul watched her, his own constructs gleaming around him. Glass shards floated in a loose orbit, catching the light in prismatic bursts. "Nice control," he said, his tone clipped but genuine. He raised a hand, and the shards rearranged into a flat, reflective surface—a mirror that pulsed with latent energy. "Try hitting this." Faye obliged, her next sound wave striking the mirror and bouncing back, amplified. Paul nodded, satisfied. "Versatility’s the key."
Bui, anwhile, was a furnace of motion. His shirt clung to his broad fra, soaked through with sweat as he burned fat into raw energy. His Ikona—a leafy, vine-covered creature—sprouted tendrils around his feet, feeding him a steady trickle of stamina. He roared, slamming a fist into a dummy and sending it skidding across the mat. "More," he growled, his breath ragged. "I need more output."
Wes lingered at the edges, his pocket dinsion humming with quiet potential. He reached in, pulling out a training weight—a ten-pound block—and tossed it lightly in his hand before sending it back. His Ikona, a bubble-like entity, floated nearby, occasionally spitting out random spheres that popped harmlessly in the air. "Still figuring out the limits," he said to no one in particular, his eyes distant. "But it’s growing."
Elias took it all in, his chest tight with a mix of pride and dread. They were stronger—every one of them—but the shadow of Colby’s absence hung heavy. Seven now, not eight. And the reduction to 90 lood closer every day.
Hours bled into each other, the room a cacophony of grunts, crashes, and the hum of Ikona energy. Kikaru finally stepped back, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Enough drills," she said, her voice firm. "We need to test each other. Real combat, not just dummies." Her eyes swept the group, landing on Faye. "You and ."
Faye blinked, caught off guard, but she straightened with a nod. "Alright. Let’s do it."
The others cleared the mat, forming a loose circle. Elias leaned against a wall, arms crossed, his rod construct dissolving into motes of light. Tidwell clapped his hands together, grinning for the first ti all day. "This oughta be good. Begin when you’re ready."
Kikaru took her stance, feet planted, her Ikona pulsing brighter. Faye stood opposite, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, her birdlike Ikona fluttering to her side. The air between them crackled with anticipation.
"Begin," Tidwell called.
Faye moved first, her voice rising in a clear, resonant note. The sound wave rippled outward, a distortion that bent the light around it. Kikaru’s eyes narrowed as the pressure hit, a faint tremor running through her stance, but she didn’t falter. She countered with a flash of light—blinding, sharp, aid straight at Faye’s face.
Faye twisted aside, her song dipping into a lower register. The notes thickened, forming a shimring barrier that caught Kikaru’s next beam and scattered it into harmless sparks. "Not bad," Kikaru said, circling left, her tone grudgingly impressed. She flicked her wrist, and a solid beam of light arced toward Faye’s flank, fast and precise.
Faye’s voice shifted again, a high-pitched trill that wove the air into a second barrier. The beam struck it, deflecting just enough to miss her. She retaliated with a sharp, piercing note—a sound wave that slamd into Kikaru’s chest, forcing her back a step. Kikaru grunted, her constructs flickering as she steadied herself. "You’ve been practicing," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
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