Chapter 237: Frosted Bite

Chapter 237: Frosted BiteAnd all he could think of was green fields and orchard trees and the quiet laughter that used to come at dusk when training drills were over, and the sky hadn’t been red with warning lights.

The medic led the way.

Her boots moved fast, heel-to-toe, the portable tablet mounted to her wrist streaming data as she walked. Vitals spiked and dipped in soft pulses, each reading synced to Elias’s bio-signal feed. She tapped twice on the side of the screen, patching ahead to the infirmary staff.

The corridor ahead brightened as motion triggered the light panel’s gradual lift. Heat regulation kicked in. The filtered air warmed two degrees, balancing the cold bleed still trailing behind Cubes’ cooling unit.

Torv followed behind at half pace.

His rifle was lowered but still ready. The barrel twitched slightly with every step. Sweat streaked the front of his armor and left dark marks along the collar. His eyes kept cutting sideways toward Elias. He didn’t ask questions.

Mira moved beside him, voice low, clipped.

"She’s too close to him."

Torv didn’t answer.

Farther back, Lykos adjusted his comm, the embedded earpiece catching static as he relayed the update. He didn’t bother masking it. The feed crackled once, spiked with interference. Geras’s reply filtered in mid-sentence, then dropped completely. The corridor’s active hum swallowed the rest.

Elara said nothing.



Her grip around Elias didn’t change.

Each step sent a pulse through her knee—still bruised from catching him in the containment room. But she didn’t slow. Her hold kept him upright. Her body moved in rhythm with his, supporting his weight without asking.

Inside her collar, the shard interface pressed cold against her skin. The feedback loop hadn’t disconnected. It still ran in the background, silent. Threaded too deep to silence outright.

Her thoughts churned under the quiet.

He’ll choose them.

Not you.

The warning didn’t need to be voiced. It came from somewhere deeper. A loop that had played in her mind for weeks. Maybe longer.

She looked at him.

His head was still bowed. His legs still unsteady. His eyes hadn’t found the walls yet. Not fully.

But he was walking.

With her.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, barely there. It didn’t last long. Just enough to show in the crease near her eyes. Tired. Not defeated.

She adjusted her grip, leaned slightly in.

"First, we get you patched up."

Her voice held steady. seaʀᴄh thё Novelƒire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Cubes hovered beside them, keeping the temperature controlled, condensation rising faintly off the wall just behind Elias’s shoulder.

The infirmary door came into view.

It slid open automatically, internal pressure equalizing with a soft mechanical tone. The room beyond was brightly lit—clinical white, no shadows, no noise. Staff were already moving in the back, prepping the primary bed, sanitizers dispensing automatically from the wall.

Elias stopped just before the threshold.

His feet held firm on the polished tile. The light hit the edge of his shoulder. The shard embedded there didn’t flare—it just was, like a silent passenger lodged too deep to ignore.

His breath came slow.



The Kaelithars’ warmth tugged faintly at the back of his memory. Veyren’s name echoed once, then faded. His pulse kept ticking, too fast.

He glanced sideways, shoulder tight.

Elara hadn’t moved.

Her hand still supported his ribs. Her scent—cold, familiar—still clung to the inside of his collar.

He didn’t look at her right away.

But when he did, he spoke low.

"...Can I trust you?"

"Why do you ask something like that?" Elara’s voice was soft, but it cut, her head tilting as if the words themselves bruised her. "We’ve been friends since forever, Elias. Of course you can trust me."

Her lips tightened, a flicker of hurt crossing her face.

He doubts me? After everything?

The arena surged up behind her eyes—his blade raised, his collapse in the sand, the raw scream tearing from Kikaru’s throat as blood soaked the floor. She hadn’t been there. Not when it counted. And part of her still didn’t know if that was her failure, or his.

"I should be asking if you care," she went on, slower now. "What you said in the arena, about having nothing to fight for... it felt like I was an afterthought. Am I not worth staying alive for?"

The accusation landed like a fist, sharper than the shard’s pulse. Elias flinched. It wasn’t visible—just a shift behind the eyes. But it was there.

His chest constricted. Breath stalled.

Images surged: Kikaru’s face—twisted, tear-streaked—her fists hammering down even as he let her. The sound of the blade sinking in. Wet. Final. The Announcer’s mocking clap echoing like a gavel.

He’d made his choice.

He’d chosen to save Kikaru. He’d risked everything to keep Dot from being consumed. But Elara—Elara hadn’t been there. And that absence, unspoken until now, had carved deeper than any wound.

"It’s not that," he rasped, voice scraping through a throat lined with fire. The words felt rusted. Dry. "It was... in the moment. I didn’t know what to do."

His eyes lifted. She didn’t look away.

"You were gone so long after joining the military. Only showing up when I got my Ikona," he continued. "Forgive me if it felt... convenient, you coming back now."

That hit something. She blinked. Once.

Then her jaw tensed, and her gaze narrowed—not in anger, but grief held taut like wire.



"I didn’t come back for the shard, Elias."

"I know," he said. But his voice wavered. He meant it, but it didn’t come out clean. It scraped the floor on the way out. "I just didn’t know if you came back for me."

Silence stretched.

Around them, the ward murmured. Monitors pulsed. The shard in his shoulder ticked in his blood like a clock that no longer kept time.

Her hand finally moved—hovered over his—and landed. Not a grip. Just a touch. Anchorlight. Fragile.

"You think I survived all this just to lose you to a damn system?" Her voice was quiet now, but it carried. "You’re not an afterthought. But you keep treating yourself like one."

Elias didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

So she stayed, her hand still against his, letting the silence burn slow between them. Not healed. Not fixed. But real.

And real was all they had left.

Elara’s jaw clenched, her fingers curling into her palm.

Convenient?

The word echoed like spit on concrete—an insult too raw to name out loud. She’d tracked deployment lists just to confirm he was still alive. Sat awake in barracks while everyone else slept, wondering if some alley had swallowed him whole after he dropped out. And now this.