The hidden shelter was a labyrinth of narrow tunnels and dimly lit chambers carved into the underbelly of Nova Helix. The air was damp and heavy with the metallic tang of rust and mildew, the walls slick with condensation. Sparse, flickering lights embedded in the ceiling barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows that danced ominously with every movement.
Elior leaned against the cold stone wall, his body trembling. His breath came in shallow gasps, his vision blurred by exhaustion. The Echoes had drained him—their cries still rang in his ears, a haunting melody of despair that refused to fade.
Across the room, Vera sat cross-legged on an old crate, her expression unreadable. She studied Elior in silence, her sharp features softened by the faint glow of the overhead light. In her hands, she held a small, cobbled-together device, the faint hum of its diagnostics filling the space as she fiddled with its wiring.
“You look like hell,” she said finally, breaking the oppressive silence.
Elior managed a weak laugh. “That’s… generous.”
Vera set the device aside and stood, walking over to him. She crouched down, her cybernetic eyes scanning his face. “You’re pale. Trembling. How long have you been running on fumes?”
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. “Since I got here. This world… it’s tearing me apart.”
Vera sat back on her heels, crossing her arms. “Then stop. Whatever it is you’re doing with those… things. It’s killing you.”
Elior’s eyes snapped open, their emerald depths darkened with pain. “I can’t. I have to use them. They’re the only way to fight back, the only way to understand this place.”
Vera frowned, leaning against the wall beside him. “Explain it to me. Everything. What are they? And why does it hurt you so much to summon them?”
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Elior hesitated, his fingers tracing the faint scars on his left cheek—a habit he’d picked up in moments of uncertainty. “In my world, I was a necromancer. I could summon spirits, communicate with the dead. It was a power I’d been born with, but it came at a cost.”
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“Cost?” Vera prompted, her tone softening.
“I was an outcast,” Elior said bitterly. “People feared me, hated me. They saw my magic as unnatural, as something evil. Even those I helped… they only tolerated me until they didn’t need me anymore.”
Vera’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Sounds familiar.”
“But here,” Elior continued, his voice trembling, “it’s worse. The Echoes aren’t like the spirits I knew. They’re broken, fragmented pieces of people—trapped in this System. Every time I summon them, I feel their pain, their confusion, their anger. It’s… overwhelming.”
Vera looked at him, her eyes searching his face. “And you’re willing to keep doing it? Even knowing what it does to you?”
Elior nodded, his expression resolute. “Because I have to. The System is using them, exploiting them. If I don’t fight back, who will?”
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For a moment, silence fell between them, broken only by the faint hum of the shelter’s machinery. Then, Vera let out a heavy sigh and leaned her head back against the wall.
“You’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” she said, her voice tinged with something that might have been admiration. “Maybe both.”
“Probably both,” Elior replied, a weak smile tugging at his lips.
Vera smirked. “Look, I… I get it. Kind of. This world chews people up and spits them out. You’ve got this… power that could change things, maybe even take down the corporations. But you’re not going to get far if you keep burning yourself out.”
Elior glanced at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. “You’re worried about me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get cocky. You’re my best chance of getting out of this alive. And… I guess you’re not all bad.”
The sincerity in her voice caught him off guard. He studied her for a moment before nodding. “Thank you, Vera.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, standing. “Now, get some rest. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
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The hours passed in a blur of fitful sleep and restless dreams. Elior awoke to find Vera tinkering with her device again, the faint light of a portable lamp casting her face in sharp relief. She glanced at him as he stirred.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“A little,” he admitted, pushing himself upright. His muscles ached, but the crushing weight of exhaustion had lifted slightly.
Vera nodded. “Good. Because if we’re going to keep going, we need a plan.”
Elior leaned forward, his expression serious. “What do you have in mind?”
She set the device aside and pulled a makeshift map from her bag, spreading it out on the floor. “There’s a contact of mine in the Undermarket. They’ve got access to tech that could help us—stuff that could make your summons less… painful.”
Elior frowned. “And you trust them?”
Vera hesitated, then shrugged. “As much as I trust anyone. But it’s worth a shot. Better than watching you fall apart every time we hit a snag.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright. Let’s do it.”