The receptionist went still.
Oliver did not.
He turned toward the office doorway and saluted. "Warden Commander Geras, sir, Elias Kael has arrived under protected intake clearance. Commander Exaizer authorized immediate presentation after basic cleanup."
Geras stepped into view.
He was older than Elias expected and looked less old than he had any right to. Silver hair, broad shoulders, clean uniform, and a face built around command rather than decoration. He glanced once at the uniform Elias was wearing, then at Oliver.
"Oliver, did you dress Dorian Kael's son like an officer candidate before he signed a single form?"
Oliver did not blink. "Yes, sir, because his original appearance was unsuitable for the fifth floor."
Geras looked at Elias.
"Was he wrong about your appearance?"
Elias considered lying, then remembered every mirror he had passed that morning.
"No, sir, because I looked like the road won."
Geras gave the smallest laugh. "Then the uniform can survive fifteen minutes, so bring him in."
The office was plainer than Elias expected.
No throne-sized desk. No wall of dramatic weapons. Just shelves with old plaques, a few sealed display cases, and framed photographs from campaigns Elias only half recognized. Dot slid out from his chest and floated near one picture where a younger Geras stood beside a man Elias knew from old family photos.
Dorian Kael had his arm around Geras's shoulder in the photograph. Both of them looked tired, filthy, and alive.
That last part hurt.
Geras sat behind his desk and gestured to the chair across from him.
"Sit, Elias, and if Dot wishes to inspect the room, she can do so without opening anything."
Dot froze beside the display case. "I was not going to open anything important."
"That sentence has been spoken before many expensive mistakes."
Elias sat. His hands rested on his knees because he did not trust them to do anything else.
Geras studied him for a few seconds.
"You have your father's face when you are trying not to ask the first painful question."
Elias looked at the photograph again. "Most people avoid talking about him that directly."
"Most people did not serve with him."
The answer landed with weight, but not performance. Geras was not trying to comfort him. That helped.
Elias forced the words out. "We never got his body back from Cradle, and after a while, people stopped saying the planet's name unless they were talking about maps or old casualty reports, which made everything feel unfinished."
Geras folded his hands on the desk.
"Dorian's death was not unfinished to the people he kept alive. Cradle fell, but men and women came home because he refused to move when the line broke, and I will not insult you by saying that makes grief fair. It only means the loss had witnesses."
Elias looked down at his borrowed trousers.
Dot floated back to his shoulder and stayed quiet.
Geras let the silence sit long enough to be respectful, then moved on.
"Your father is part of why I agreed to see you quickly. The other part is the cube."
Elias lifted his head. "You know what happened to us?"
"I know what the reports say, which is less than people want and more than command is comfortable admitting. The cube was studied for ten years, reacted to power, went dormant without warning, and produced patterns no lab could reproduce twice."
"So nobody really understands the shards."
"No one understands them well enough to pretend safety. That has not stopped command from planning."
Elias leaned back. "That sounds like the military answer to everything."
"It is also the survival answer after three years of alien incursions. Covaign was one of the first cities hit, so you know what waiting costs."
He did.
Elias saw the memory before he chose it. Black ships hanging over the skyline. Streets split by heat. People running in directions that did not matter because the creatures came from above and below. His restaurant had survived by geography, not strength. Other families had not been lucky enough to live on the right street.
Geras saw the change in him.
"Breathe, Elias, because you are in my office, not back in Covaign."
Elias took the breath because refusing would have been childish.
"I remember the damage, and that is all," he said.
"Good, because remembering it clearly is the reason I want shard bearers trained before another wave lands."
"Trained or weaponized under command authority?"
Geras did not look offended. "Both, if the situation demands honesty."
There it was.
The part Elias had expected and still did not like.
"Some of us are civilians, some are probably children, and some might not want to fight."
"Correct, and some also have criminal histories, some are already unstable, and some will refuse every test until the next invasion makes the decision for them. I do not have the luxury of building policy for ideal citizens only."
"That does not answer the ethics problem."
"It answers the command problem, and ethics is what keeps the command problem from becoming a slaughterhouse. That is why removal from the program is not the same as disposal."
Elias held onto the word.
"Removal means what exactly in practice?"
Geras opened a folder and slid it across the desk.
"Quarantine first, evaluation second, and if a bearer presents an active threat, command may attempt shard separation once the medical division proves it can be done without killing the host. That proof does not exist yet."
Dot moved closer to Elias's neck.
Geras noticed.
"I am not threatening your Ikona. I am telling you where the argument is already going. Better you hear it from someone willing to say the ugly part plainly."
Elias opened the folder.
Inside were handwritten stat sheets, intake notes, and rough sketches from people who had seen the same kind of system display. Some numbers were high. Some were pathetic. One page belonged to someone fifteen years old. Another had a violent criminal record clipped to the corner.
"How many bearers have you found?"
"Twenty-five confirmed in this country, with more suspected. The first wave appears wider than our borders, and your hostile on the road proves we are not the only faction collecting names."
Elias remembered the transformed man lunging through smoke, asking for his shard like it was an object already stolen.
"He had an Ikona feeding the shape," Elias said. "Dark, above him, feeding whatever shape he turned into. He knew enough to hunt us but not enough to control himself."
"That matches Elara's report, and it raises the question of how he found a convoy route that was not publicly communicated."
"You think someone leaked the route."
"I think we investigate leaks before calling them miracles."
Geras turned a page in the folder and pointed to a copied stat sheet.
Strength 15/100, Speed 15/100, Intelligence 5/100, Endurance 10/100, Perception 12/100, Instinct 18/100
"Several bearers reported a score display, so did yours look like this?"
Elias pulled his notebook from his bag. The page was already creased from being checked too many times.
Strength 5/100, Speed 3/100, Intelligence 25/100, Endurance 25/100, Perception 2/100, Instinct 50/100
Geras read the numbers without comment at first, and that bothered Elias more than a quick insult would have.
"How bad are those numbers compared to the others?"
"Physically bad, instinct interesting, perception terrible, intelligence and endurance workable."
Dot crossed her arms. "He survived because of me too, for the record."
Geras looked at her. "Then we will test both halves of the problem."
Elias shut the notebook.
"I came here to understand what happened to me. I am not signing myself over to become property."
Geras leaned back.
"Good, because people who sign too quickly are usually the first to break. You will listen, train, ask hard questions, and keep yourself alive long enough to decide what kind of shard bearer you intend to be."
A knock sounded at the door.
The receptionist opened it just enough to speak.
"Commander Exaizer is asking whether the Kael intake should be moved to secure housing."
Geras kept his eyes on Elias.
"Tell Exaizer yes, and tell him to prepare the low-perception assessment first," he said.