Elara blinked.
The mory peeled away slow, like frost lting from glass.
He was like my own father, she thought. The ache beneath her ribs ca back full force.
"Your dad..." she started. Her voice caught. She forced it steady. "He was amazing."
She didn’t look at Elias right away.
"I rember him fixing my comm once. Like it was nothing. I thought it was fried—he got it working with so half-bent tool and a gum wrapper, I swear."
Her fingers curled against her thigh. The words stuck for a second.
"Said I’d do big things. And it sounded real when he said it. Like I would. He had this way... he made you believe in yourself."
Elias sat still. His breath shallow.
The na Dorian hadn’t echoed in years. Not like this. But now it ca back sharp—carved with weight.
The shard pulsed. Colder.
"Do you think he’s still alive?" he asked, voice low, almost hoarse.
Elara hesitated.
Her brow furrowed, gaze drifting to the floor. "I... don’t know. Cradle Planet’s a wasteland now. The Federation stopped sending missions a while ago."
But sothing in her voice cracked.
He was tough, she thought. Tougher than anyone else she’d known. Tougher than she’d ever admit out loud.
Elias leaned forward.
His hands gripped the cot fra tight. The shard humd louder beneath his skin, vibrating against the tal.
"Then why’s there a mission to Cradle Planet in a few months?"
Her eyes shot to his.
The room felt smaller. The light harsher.
"The crucifix said he’s alive," Elias said. The words ca sharp now. Certain. "What’s the Federation hiding?"
Elara snapped her fingers, the motion sharp, sudden—like tugging on a thread that had been buried beneath everything else.
"Right," she said, eyes narrowing as the mory surfaced. "The Chairwoman ntioned Cradle Planet. Said she might be sending ."
Her voice slowed. The words sat heavier now.
"No details. Just... said my na was on the list. That was right before the shards hit. Before everything changed."
Her hand lifted to her chest, palm brushing the front of her uniform. A phantom ache lingered where the impact had landed.
"They ca out of the ground," she said. "Just—exploded. Like the world split open. I didn’t even have ti to run. It hit center-mass. Felt like soone cracked the sky and shoved it into my ribs."
Elias straightened, a cold prick spreading behind his eyes.
"Exploded?"
The word echoed, sharper than he’d intended.
The crucifix’s words filtered back through mory: A network of soul energy. Buried, tangled, waiting. His mind ticked through fragnts—systems bleeding through dinsions, energy rooted in stone and blood. If the shards erupted at multiple points—
It’s the sa.
Elara nodded once, slow. "Yeah. At Reno Galade. Out in the flats. Command post near the ridge line. I don’t know why it mattered—maybe they were just doing recon. I assud it was a routine check."
She hesitated.
Then looked at him closer.
Why’s he so focused on this?
The question clawed up her chest, pulling her breath tighter. Her grip on the bedpost tightened. Cubes floated slightly lower, its light dimming.
Elias tapped a finger against his chin. The motion felt performative—like he’d seen soone else do it once and borrowed the shape.
Is this how I looked before?
Naïve?
The crucifix’s voice threaded through Elara’s doubt, not silencing it, but sharpening the edge.
"You don’t think it’s odd," Elias said, tone lower now, deliberate. "That they’d send you—a command-ranked Valkyrie, decorated and still in her pri—to a backwater like Cradle Planet, with no details, while aliens are circling back?"
His eyes locked with hers. No accusation. Just weight.
"You don’t find that strange?"
Elara exhaled through her nose. Slow. She didn’t flinch, but her expression shifted—sothing behind it pulled inward.
"I figured it was rotation," she said. "They cycle people through. Keep us moving so we don’t start asking the wrong questions."
Her voice dropped a note, eyes tracing a line on the floor that wasn’t there.
"But no, I didn’t think about it that way."
Cubes hovered closer. A wisp of frost trailed over the cot, dissipating against the heat from Elias’s skin.
She caught herself—almost said more. Almost leaned in.
Instead, she offered a faint shrug.
"Still," she added, quieter. "It didn’t go far. Nothing official ca through. And right now, you need to recover."
Her fingers brushed his hand—barely a touch, but it stayed.
"The others are going to lose it when they see you awake."
But her hand didn’t move. And her eyes didn’t quite settle.
He’s chasing ghosts, she thought. But if I pull away now... he’ll disappear into them.
Elias dropped his gaze. The hum of the ward filled the space between them. Monitors ticked. The shard in his shoulder vibrated low, in sync with the walls.
His thoughts scattered—then pulled in tight.
The Announcer’s voice. The crystal’s formation. Giselsin’s skyline fractured in mory. None of it felt separate anymore.
It’s all connected.
He took a breath.
"I’ve been too trusting," he said, voice low. Not regret. Just clarity.
I can’t tell her everything. Not yet.
Not until the crucifix’s truths stopped sounding like prophecy.
"I think..." He let the sentence breathe. "So things I saw—they an my father’s alive. And Cradle Planet isn’t what they say it is."
His hand curled into the sheet.
"If you hear anything—anything—about a mission there, I need to know."
"Of course," Elara said, her voice low but steady. Her fingers curled around his hand—not hesitant, not forceful. Just there.
Then she leaned in.
The kiss ca without warning. Soft. Brief. Her lips barely brushed his, but the warmth of it cracked sothing in his chest.
The shard reacted instantly—its pulse lurching, cold spiking through his nerves like frost down a wire.
Elara pulled back just as the door clicked open.
The sound hit like a trigger.
A guard stepped into the room, the tal of his boots sharp against tile. His armor shifted with every step, matte black plates clicking into place with practiced weight. The rifle on his back glinted under the overhead lights—slung low, but not casual.
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