Chapter 94: Trialed Zones

Chapter 94: Trialed ZonesThe silence before the meeting began was thick—not uncomfortable, but deliberate. A calculated pause. Then, without warning, the center of the table lit up.

A hollow sphere of light hovered in the air—the planet. It rotated slowly, its surface marked with data points, flickering indicators of key locations, and pulsing clusters of unknown significance. A visual representation of the world’s new reality.

Elias felt the weight of the moment. He and the eleven others had been brought here for a reason, but what? To spectate? To be studied? Judged?

The first voice broke the silence.

"We have lost control."

A man at the far end of the table, old but unshaken, leaned forward. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, his tone precise. "We cannot regulate what we cannot see. The Ikona are intangible, unrestricted, and—by all accounts—evolving beyond our oversight. The world is aware of their existence now. That is the crisis."

A woman to his left scoffed, shifting in her seat. "The crisis is not that they exist. The crisis is that we failed to contain the knowledge of their existence. Had we handled this appropriately, the world would be none the wiser. We could have studied them in secret."

"We didn’t have the luxury of secrecy," another voice cut in, rough, impatient. "That resort incident was a disaster, and now the public wants answers. We don’t have any."

"Then we give them what they expect to hear," a younger man suggested, hands tapping rhythmically against the table. "We shape the narrative before the panic sets in."

"And what narrative is that, exactly?"

A moment of silence.



Then—"That they are a threat."

The room didn’t react immediately, but Elias could feel the shift in the air. The weight behind the statement.

The woman who had spoken leaned back in her chair, fingers lightly tapping against the polished surface of the table. Her lips barely curled—not quite a smirk, not quite a frown.

"You suggest making them heroes under our control. But control is an illusion."

A man across from her, burly with a streak of gray through his hair, scoffed. "Everything is controlled. Money. Influence. Military power. If we decide how they operate, if we shape their image the right way, then we dictate how the public perceives them."

The woman didn’t blink. "And if they refuse?"

A silence settled for a brief moment.

Then another voice chimed in, smoother, calculated. "Then they become criminals."

The burly man chuckled. "See? A simple problem with a simple solution."

Elias’s fingers twitched. The way they spoke—so detached, so methodical—it felt like they weren’t talking about people.

"You’re forgetting something," a different man interjected, his voice gravelly, as if every word scraped against his throat. "We aren’t the ones who set the rules this time. The System did. The same one that dictated ninety of them will remain in two weeks. We don’t even know what that means."

A murmur rippled through the table. Sёarᴄh the Novёlƒire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The first woman crossed her legs, her presence commanding without ever needing to raise her voice. "Which brings us back to the real issue—what does ’remain’ mean? Do ten of them simply disappear? Are they killed? Are they removed from the game board in some other way?"

The man with the gray streak leaned forward, his jaw tightening. "If we wait to find out, we risk losing ten of our best."

"If we intervene, we risk making a move that could backfire on us," another countered.

"Or worse," the gravel-voiced man added, "we might trigger something we don’t understand."

"Then we decide now," the younger man said, his fingers still drumming against the table. His suit was slightly looser than the others, his posture casual but his words sharp. "If this is a game of numbers, we choose our pieces wisely."

The woman gave a slow nod. "Which means selecting ten to sacrifice."

The weight of her words sent a chill through Elias.

Paul stiffened beside him. Kikaru, standing with her arms crossed, said nothing.

A different man, older but still sharp, adjusted the cuffs of his suit. "That’s assuming elimination is required. There’s another option."

The others turned toward him.

He let the pause stretch before speaking again. "If the goal is to keep the strongest ninety, then we push them. We stop coddling them and let nature take its course. If ten of them fail to keep up, we don’t have to do anything."

"And if they all survive?"

The older man exhaled, tapping two fingers against the table. "Then we make the decision for them."

Another ripple of silence.

Elias felt a tightness in his throat. They were deciding who lived and who died like it was a business strategy.



Then someone turned to Oliver.

"Step forward."

Oliver had been silent the entire time, his stance unwavering, expression unreadable.

He took a single step toward the table, hands clasped behind his back, his voice measured. "Sir."

"You’ve been monitoring the Shard Users directly. Give us your evaluation."

Oliver’s eyes swept over the room before he answered. "They are capable, but raw. Every single one of them has potential, but right now, they lack refinement. They fight as individuals. If forced into a true war scenario, they would crumble."

"And the strongest among them?"

Oliver didn’t hesitate. "Elias Kael has displayed rapid adaptability. Kikaru Mitsune is physically the most advanced. Tidwell and Paul both have tactical advantages that could make them invaluable. There are others, but those stand out."

Elias tensed at hearing his name.

"And the weakest?"

Oliver’s voice didn’t falter. "It’s too early to judge."

A scoff. "Too early?"** "With twelve days left?"**

Oliver met the speaker’s gaze evenly. "It is not a matter of strength or weakness. It is a matter of readiness. Some of them will adapt, and others will fall behind. But cutting them now would be shortsighted."

Another silence.

Then one of the men spoke again. "You’re thinking too small, Oliver. We need to be proactive. We cannot sit and wait for an unknown event to dictate our choices."

Oliver remained firm. "With respect, sir, I believe we should be focusing on a bigger problem."

The woman leaned forward slightly. "And that is?"

Oliver turned his attention to the floating image of the planet.

"The Alien threat."

A stillness settled over the table.

"We are fighting amongst ourselves over a number drop, but we still don’t know when the next attack is coming. We have no guarantees that we can repel them a third time."

A stillness settled over the table.

A few murmurs spread between the seated officials, brief exchanges spoken just below the threshold of clear hearing. Then, with a simple flick of the Chairwoman’s hand, the projection of the planet faded.

In its place, a new image emerged—her own. A live feed, reflecting back at them as she clasped her hands together in front of her, her expression sharp and unreadable.

"That is right, Lieutenant Oliver. In moments like these, we need to be unified as much as possible."

Her voice was steady, the kind of measured control honed by experience, not just authority. She let the weight of the room settle before she continued.

"Which is why I have brought twelve Shard Bearers here today. Of them, I propose an immediate elevation to Officer rank and assignments to individual units. Keeping them locked away in a secured cube will soon become more work than it is worth."

The reaction was instant.



"Are you out of your mind?"

The words shot across the room, coming from a heavy-set man with graying hair, his uniform adorned with years of service. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table. "That’s a risk we cannot afford. They are untested. They are unpredictable. You want to hand them control of our soldiers?"

Another man beside him nodded sharply. "There is no oversight, no chain of command they’ve been conditioned to follow. They aren’t soldiers. Hell, half of them aren’t even trained fighters."

The Chairwoman’s expression didn’t shift. "That is precisely why I am making this recommendation. If we do not place them in a structured environment now, they will continue to grow in power outside of one."

A woman to the right, drumming her fingers lightly against the table, exhaled through her nose. "It’s an unnecessary provocation. The public already sees them as heroes. If we start issuing ranks, we create two problems—one, we validate that they are a separate class, a force distinct from the rest of the military. And two, we risk backlash from every nation still struggling to establish its own governance over Shard Users. We are barely maintaining international stability as it is."

The Chairwoman nodded slightly. "The world will adjust. They always do."

A scoff. "You’re playing politics with a loaded gun. And we don’t even know who’s holding the trigger yet."

A third voice joined in, calmer but no less firm. "There is also the issue of control. We still don’t know what guiding force governs the System. If it decides to give a command contrary to our interests, what happens then?"

Silence for a beat.

Oliver, standing at the side of the room, finally spoke up. "If we do nothing, they will still fight. They will still develop. The only question is whether they do it under us, or on their own terms."

The heavy-set man grunted. "And if they refuse orders? If they decide their own path is more important than their mission?"

They won’t. . . at least the majority; we’re all fighting for a bigger image.