The Price of a Promise

Five hours of sleep was enough for Zephyr, a Legion whose slumber differed from mortals. He awoke in the open-floor bedroom on the first floor, stretched, and was about to start breakfast when Young-Jae descended the stairs. Zephyr, ever cautious, kept his eyes on the young man before speaking.

"Did you compromise with yourself, brat?" He asked, flipping eggs and bread in a pan.

Before Young-Jae could answer, Jae-Ya joined them. This time, Zephyr's eyebrow quirked. The two young people's expressions differed sharply. One held a flicker of relief and animation, the other a hollowness, like an empty vessel.

"Morning," Zephyr called, setting the table for three. "Breakfast time. Sit yourselves down." He bustled around the kitchen, preparing plates with eggs, bread, and milk.

Jae-Ya's response was a barely audible "Um." Young-Jae simply mumbled, "Yes, Mr. Quinn," before sliding into a chair next to her.

Zephyr sighed, shaking his head at their lack of enthusiasm. They dug into their meals with quiet determination, leaving him to watch with another sigh. It seemed coaxing them out of their shells wouldn't be easy, but he was prepared for the long haul.

His mind flitted to the 'Status Window'. As if summoned, the System screen materialized before his eyes. He darted a quick glance at Young-Jae and Jae-Ya, relieved to see the translucent blue interface remain invisible to them.

Zephyr tapped the 'Credits' tab but hesitated before diving deeper. His gaze snagged on the young pair again, a question niggling at him. Did they notice the subtle shift in his focus, the twitch of his finger?

'Acting indifferent or just ignoring me?' He mused, not truly bothered by either possibility. After all, excuses for his actions were as easy to conjure as the System itself.

Zephyr, fingers hovering over the send button, activated the Credits transfer feature he'd unearthed yesterday. He punched in the minimum allowed amount – 1 Credit – and sent it out. An immediate response should ping his Ex-communicator, confirming the success. But… nothing.

He frowned, tapping the device on his wrist. As the display flickered to life, his breath hitched. The familiar interface stared back, but the numbers mocked him.

======================

[ Zephyr Quinn ]

Inbox: 1

Balance: 500 Shards

======================

A fancy figure compared to his initial balance of zero. "What the hell!?" He choked out, the words tumbling out before he could restrain them.

Young-Jae shot up, startled by the outburst. "Mr. Quinn?" He asked, concern lacing his voice. Even Jae-Ya, mid-chew, paused, her gaze snapping to Zephyr with a flicker of alarm.

Zephyr brushed off Young-Jae and Jae-Ya's concern with a casual, "Ah? It's nothing, let's finish eating." He resumed breakfast, seemingly unfazed, effectively shutting down further inquiries. The two youngsters, accustomed to his cryptic ways, simply returned to their meals.

Alone with his thoughts, Zephyr dismissed the System screen, but his eyes kept straying to his Ex-communicator. The impossible Shard count remained stubbornly at 500. A genuine smile, tinged with a hint of mystery, played on his lips. He had stumbled upon something magical, and the possibilities were exhilarating.

Another quick check revealed the Ex-communicator's ability to transfer Shards back into the System. 'Did interacting with the System unlock this feature?' He mused, excitement bubbling within. This opened up a whole new avenue – potentially doubling his earnings on quests! Granted, it was just a theory, but a thrilling one nonetheless.

However, Zephyr's brief joy was soon eclipsed by a sobering realization. The windfall of Shards came with the burden of two young people, each grappling with their own demons. Both teenagers harbored deep wounds, requiring solutions beyond his comfort zone. He wasn't built to soothe guilt or rekindle fading willpower.

"So, what's next?" Zephyr asked, his gaze shifting between Jae-Ya and Young-Jae. "This world's a far cry from what we knew."

Young-Jae swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "I... know. But I'm still going to be a Legion." He faltered, then glanced at Jae-Ya, searching her impassive face. Guilt coiled in his chest, the weight of her family's tragedy a constant shadow. He'd frequently apologized since she woke, but his words bounced off a wall of silence.

Jae-Ya remained silent, eyes hollow. The unfathomable weight of her loss felt heavy in the air. She didn't care about anything.

Zephyr shook his head. "Alright, listen up. English won't cut it here, not even Korean. First things first, learn Apexian. I'll write it down so you can catch up fast." He grabbed some paper and quickly started scribbling down the alphabet, pronunciation, and basic intonations. With a final pat on their shoulders, he excused himself. Tasks and responsibilities, once luxuries, now piled up around him.

At Hall Square, he purchased a modest one-story house, the cost easily covered by his 15 Shards. Then, spotting the young girl from yesterday, he approached. "Morning, kid. Where's your uncle?"

"Uncle Chow went for food rations!" She chirped, pointing towards the square's edge.

Zephyr's gaze landed on a cluster of ramshackle huts huddled in a corner of Hall Square. Built haphazardly from scavenged wood and cloth, they exuded an air of squalor and vulnerability.

'A familiar sight.' He mused. His past life had shown him similar slums. But denser, more desperate.

Many clung to their old tongues, unwilling or unable to adapt. Even younger ones seemed unmotivated, content to leech off Legion handouts and to be called 'lazy bumps' by others.

For now, their pre-existing supplies kept them afloat. But within two weeks, their meager stockpiles would dwindle, leaving them at the mercy of Apexian fluency.

Zephyr crouched down and offered Eugene a sleek card. "Here's the key to your new home," he said with a smile.

"New home?" Eugene tilted her head, confused.

"Yep! A one-story wooden house just for you and Uncle Chow. This card opens any uninhabited first-floor wooden house here. Got it?"

Eugene's eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Strong Uncle!"

Zephyr chuckled. "Actually, call me Uncle Quinn."

"Yes, Uncle Quinn!" Eugene darted off, leaving Zephyr contemplating pocket money. But he only had digital currency. He sighed and continued towards the Legion Union.

Along the way, he saw several people huddled on the stone floor, some coughing harshly, red sores blooming on their skin. While those illnesses weren't contagious, inhaling the Apexian air inflicted them on everyone eventually. Fair vaccine distribution would be crucial, but Legions prioritized themselves for now.

Those symptoms wouldn't be fatal, just draining endurance. Within four months, they could be quickly treated. The unvaccinated, however, faced a longer, grueling recovery even if they survived six months.

Zephyr arrived at the Legion Union and was met by Da-Mi's bright smile. "We're official Legions now, all five of us," She declared, displaying her Ex-communicator.

He gave her a quick nod. Then, his gaze shifted to the rest of the group. There stood Jae-Jung, Yamato, Wei Zexian, and Meng Fen, all sporting the Legion mark on their own devices. A sense of satisfaction settled in his chest. But his focus was drawn further.

Several other teenagers, their faces unfamiliar, sat huddled nearby, lacking the Ex-communicators. They were likely the remaining members of Da-Mi's group, yet he couldn't quite place their names.

Zephyr chuckled softly, meeting Da-Mi's gaze. "No thanks needed, just business as usual." His narrowed eyes scanned the group, taking in their expressions.

Da-Mi smiled knowingly. "Naturally, an agreement is an agreement. But that doesn't erase our gratitude. Without your help, securing our daily vaccine and serum rations would've been a constant struggle."

"Satisfied with how things unfolded?" Zephyr inquired, his voice neutral.

"More than satisfied," Da-Mi said calmly despite the euphoria. "Speaking of, before I forget, what's your name? And perhaps your Ex-communicator contact? So, I can send what we promised a few days ago."

A shrug and a muttered name later, Zephyr's Ex-communicator pulsed with a notification. 50 Shards, precisely as agreed - 10 each from the quintet. He wasn't impressed by the sum. But by their adherence to a verbal promise.

He could've upped the price, leveraging the Apexian language's value. But his intent was to gauge their integrity, not maximize profit. They could've kept their word, leaving him empty-handed. Now, they held the potential for future collaboration.

In this post-apocalyptic landscape, trust was worth more than Shards. It was the bedrock of alliances, the currency of survival. And those five had just passed his test.