My Shard Bearer System - Elias's Legacy-Chapter 217: Got to believe

His voice came calm, but even Elias could feel the shift in tone—curiosity laced behind it. The crimson mist at his feet tightened its swirl.

Emma gave a small nod without looking back.

"Ready," she said. "I’ve completed the final alignments. Once we load him into the channel, the observatory will do the rest."

She pressed two fingers to a smooth recess beside the instrument’s core. With a faint mechanical hiss, a tray unfolded from the telescope’s lower frame—a rectangular basin with softly rounded edges. The metal shimmered unnaturally, almost like water suspended in a mirrored sheet. Pale pulses of spirit energy flowed across its surface in slow, circuit-like rings.

"You place his soul here," she continued, turning slightly now as she spoke more directly to Elias. "Alongside his Ikona. Once sealed, the device will guide you toward the planet Giselsin. Specifically, a place called Kenosha Shibuya—a town not far from the capital. It’s one of the few places left that hasn’t been overrun by the conqueror species."

Elias hovered closer, drawn unconsciously toward the tray. The mist rising off it felt... different. Not hostile. Not warm either. But aligned—like it recognized him.

Emma continued, her tone softening slightly, more conversational.

"You’ll be reborn into a family that still has influence—just enough to keep you close to the capital without putting you in the spotlight. If everything goes as planned, you’ll grow up with proximity to the area housing the hidden gem... though you’ll have to find the path there on your own."

She let that linger, then stepped back.

The godless crucifix moved toward the tray and studied it for a moment, the faint smile returning as his silver eyes narrowed.

"Perfect," he said. The chamber rippled faintly at the word, as if the room itself acknowledged the shift. "Everything is in place."

Then he turned to Elias.

"Any other questions before you go?"Elias’s glow pulsed, slower than before.

He hovered just above the base of the tray, staring into the mirror-smooth surface, the reflections too warped to make sense of. Everything in this place felt vast—too vast. Yet it was this question, small and quiet, that sat heaviest on his chest.

His voice came soft, almost reluctant, as if he was only just realizing it had been waiting to be asked.

"Why did they lie to me?"

The glow around his soul dimmed for a moment, pulsing again with pain—not the ache of injury, but betrayal. His voice faltered once, then returned, barely above a whisper.

"I guess... that’s a strange question. But why didn’t they just tell me the truth about the virus... and my father?"

The godless crucifix didn’t answer right away. He turned to look at Elias fully, the movement slow, deliberate. His silver eyes narrowed—not in judgment, but in calculation—and the faint smile that usually tugged at his lips disappeared entirely.

"They probably thought it was easier," he said finally.

His tone didn’t carry pity. Just quiet clarity. A man speaking from too much experience.

"To preserve the ideals of whatever they wanted to protect. Or maybe to keep control by keeping you in the dark."

He stepped toward the tray and paused, his gaze still locked on Elias.

"But if you want the truth—your naivety played a role too."

The mist at his feet curled tighter, echoing the tension in the room.

"You trusted what you were told. You believed in titles, in systems, in appearances. You should try not to do that again. In this life, belief without proof is just permission for someone else to control you."

His words landed with weight—too grounded to be dramatic, too familiar to be comforting.

The godless crucifix reached out and gently lowered the translucent sphere containing Elias’s soul into the center of the tray. A faint pulse of blue shimmered outward. Then, beside it, he placed the see-through orb with Dot. Her light trembled in her sleep, flickering with the strain of existing across too many planes.

The tray began to hum softly, the pulse of spirit energy growing clearer, more focused. The air thickened with cold, the scent of ozone now sharp enough to sting.

"Not to mention," the crucifix said, voice low again, "this whole thing about you killing yourself for your friend Kikaru..."

He glanced back at Elias’s glow—not cold, not accusing, just honest.

"It was misplaced. Not in the trust itself... but in the idea you had no other option.""You gave up too soon," the godless crucifix said.

He didn’t raise his voice. The words hit harder because of that.

"You were illogical in the sense of believing you had nothing to fight for. But the reality is—there is never anything to fight for... not until we give it reason."

His cloak shifted as he turned slightly, the red lining catching fractured starlight again, dragging a smear of color across the crystalline bone. It trailed behind him like a ribbon of history—worn, silent, burdened.

"The journey of how we do things decides how the end is judged. So don’t ever accept killing yourself as a solution. Not for anyone."

He gestured loosely toward the endless cosmic canvas outside the chamber’s central rift.

"There are infinite worlds, Elias. Endless possibilities. It’s not that you chose wrong—it’s that you believed you’d already run out of choices."

Elias didn’t speak right away.

His glow dimmed, then pulsed again—slower this time. Tired, maybe, but more focused.

"I can see that now," he said softly, his voice trembling with a clarity born from pain. "Naïve... yeah. I think I always just wanted to believe people were better than they are."

He paused.

"I liked being someone who gave others that kind of benefit."

A beat passed.

"And I still do."

The words didn’t carry defiance—but something close. A whisper of stubbornness still clinging to whatever part of him hadn’t been worn away yet.

Footsteps echoed behind them—sharp, steady.

Emma stepped into view, her eyes scanning the interface on the tray. She adjusted her glasses with a subtle push of her thumb, her braid swinging behind her as she leaned over the device.

Her voice didn’t try to soften what came next.

"Alright, that is enough time."

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