Elias sat on the edge of the pod with his hands locked together and his elbows on his knees.
The room had already gone back to its normal morning glow, clean white strips along the ceiling and recycled air pushing through the vents, but his body had not followed. His fingers still remembered the arena. His shoulders stayed tight, waiting for a strike that could not reach him here.
The memory returned in an order Elias hated. Vincent's face came before the gore, followed by the second shard waking before he made a choice. Last came the fox Ikona, cutting through the fight under an order Vincent had never spoken.
Colby had once explained that Ikona with his hands moving over a training mat, proud enough to sound nervous. He had described lines, angles, timing, all the little habits that made it feel personal. Elias remembered nodding along, understanding maybe half of it and still seeing how much it mattered.
