Elara found Liam not in the victory chambers, but in a small, sterile side room where medics
were treating the minor scrapes of the other nine survivors. Liam was standing perfectly still.
ignoring the shocked gasps of the medic who was patching the deep, five-inch laceration across his forearm.
"Recruit O'Connell," Elara hissed, bursting through the door, clutching a scroll. Her face was pale, her moss-agate eyes wide with a combination of dread and admiration. "What in the Ancestors' name was that display?"
"It was a successful mission, Elara," Liam said, his voice level. "Forty champions were neutralized. I sustained minor, non-mission-critical injuries. My status is green."
Elara grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the stunned medic. You took a maul swing to the head! You were electrocuted! You ignored a clear, lethal thrust from Vara! The Council saw all of it! Yes. That was the point of the trial, was it not? "To demonstrate resilience?"
"They don't think you're resilient, Liam. They think you're a miracle." She unrolled the scroll, her hands shaking. "I just came from an emergency session of the High Council. They've issued a Weaponization Mandate."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Define parameters of 'Weaponization Mandate.'"
"It means they view you as a strategic asset—a blade that feels no edge," she whispered, leaning close. "They have officially designated you the Foreign Champion and Asset of Eldoria. They granting you access to the restricted archives on the Plane-Jumper, not to help you repair it, but
to keep you close while they study your biology."
Elara's voice dropped lower. "They have assigned me as your permanent Arcane Coordinator. My job is to 'tutor you in Eldorian strategic thought' and 'magically enhance your mission.'
efficacy. 'It's a gilded cage, Liam. You're their new, expendable weapon."
Liam was silent for a moment. He tapped the iron Talon Gauntlet. "Expendable weapons are inefficient. I am functional. This works. They provide the objective—getting access to the
Jumper data—and I provide the execution. It's a fair trade."
Elara stared at his clinical acceptance, heartbroken. "You don't understand. They are using you for missions that are designed to be fatal. They believe if you die, the arcane discharge that
brought you here will leave an energy signature they can study for years! Then I won't die," Liam stated simply. "My training is superior, and now I have a strategic
advantage they don't know about. I can operate under conditions of extreme pressure that cripple others. My CIP is the ultimate armor. It's the ultimate blind spot! Elara countered, desperately. "You won't know you have a broken bone until you can't move it! I'm the only thing standing between you and disintegration. I
accepted the role of coordinator to keep you alive, not to guide you to your death."
She paused, taking a breath. "Your first assignment is already mandated: Retrieve the ChronosShard from the Sunken Temple of Varr. It's guarded by magical traps that bypass conventional armor. It's suicide."
"The Chronos Shard," Liam mused, instantly linking the name to the Plane-Jumper components from his quick chat with Elara. A vital piece of the nexus. This is a direct win. When do we mobilize?
Elara threw up her hands in defeat, but a spark of grim determination returned to her eyes.
"Immediately. We leave at midnight. But first, I need to see your hands. That maul hit could have shattered every metacarpal bone."
As Elara gently pried the Gauntlet off his hand, inspecting the purpling skin with fearful
tenderness, Liam's focus shifted. He looked at the gentle curve of her pointed ear and the intense concentration in her eyes. It was a novel sensation: external concern overriding his internal drive for control. He registered a kind of warmth—a feeling that was not physical, but purely
psychological. It was just as dangerous as not feeling pain.
The Sunken Temple of Varr
The Sunken Temple of Varr was not actually sunken. It was carved into the sheer, black cliff
face of a fjord known as the Weeping Coast, perpetually shrouded in freezing mist and guarded by the punishing, salt-laced wind.
"The Council believes the temple's defenses are tied to the emotions of the intruder." Elara
explained, huddled with Liam behind a moss-covered boulder, using a palm-sized glowing orb for light. "Traps react violently to fear, greed, or aggression."
Liam nodded, adjusting the grip on his gauntlet. "A psychological deterrent. Inefficient against high-value targets."
"It's perfectly efficient against everyone but you, Liam!" Elara snapped, exasperated. "The first corridor is the Avenue of Dread. Illusionary Shadow-Beasts attack you—they don't bite, they
force you to panic. Panic triggers the crushing ceiling traps."
"Then I will not panic," Liam said, rising. "I'll be observing your emotional status. If I see indicators of elevated distress, I will move to neutralize the source Don't you dare monitor my panic!" Elara muttered, following him into the temple.
The Avenue of Dread was instantly chilling. Shadow-Beasts, swirling forms of inky blackness,
materialized from the stones, shrieking directly into their faces. Elara let out a muffled gasp.
Instinctively pressing herself against Liam's broad back, her hands gripped his belt.
Liam felt her tension, a vibration he processed as External Warning Signal: High. But for himself? The shrieks were just high-decibel noise. The illusions were merely visual static. He walked
forward at a steady, disciplined pace, the Gauntlet held ready, his eyes scanning the ceiling.
"See, Liam?" Elara whispered, the illusionary beasts swirling around them. "They're doing nothing to you!"
"I am aware," Liam replied. "Observation: The Shadow-Beasts dissipate approximately three feet
from my personal space. Conclusion: Their function is purely psychological. Continue forward."
He walked the entire length of the corridor without deviation. Elara followed, hiding behind the
strange, impervious shield that was Liam O'Connell.
The next chamber, the Labyrinth of the Wounded, was a series of narrow tunnels lined with
tripwires and pressure plates.
"These are designed to exploit caution," Elara explained. "The pressure plates don't trigger until
You shift your weight away from a perceived threat. They reward hesitation.
Inefficient, Liam stated. He started moving at a steady jog, his CIP giving him an inhumane
advantage. When a tripwire activated a spring-loaded obsidian spike aimed at his leg, he didn't
twitch, flinch, or slow down. He felt the dull, tearing sensation of the spike passing through the
leather of his trousers and grazing the muscle of his calf—a slight pressure change.
He continued running.
"Liam! Your leg!" Elara cried, seeing the dark blood soaking his trouser leg.
"Minor abrasion. No change to motor function," he called back. "Focus, Elara. We must not
reward hesitation."
He had stepped on five plates and taken three minor spike hits by the time they reached the
center chamber. His body was already bleeding in three places, but his pace remained constant. The center chamber held the Chronos Shard: a pulsing, silvery tetrahedron suspended above a
waist-high basin filled with steaming, bubbling water.
"That's the pool of Unstable Arcana," Elara breathed, pointing a shaking finger at the water. "It's
volatile. Any sudden movement—especially a sign of panic—will cause it to boil and splash. The smallest drop is lethal. Liam approached the basin. The water was violently churning but not boiling over. The air was
thick with heat and the smell of ozone, similar to his arrival in Eldoria.
He reached his hand out, extending the Iron Talon Gauntlet. The Chronos Shard hovered just out of reach.
"No, Liam! You have to use the focusing charm I gave you!" Elara urged.
Liam ignored her. He took a single, controlled step into the basin, immersing his lower body in
the Unstable Arcana. The water hissed and instantly began to boil, sending a massive cloud of steam into the air.
Elara screamed—a genuine, terror-filled sound that echoed in the chamber.
Liam, immersed in the searing liquid, felt only an odd, rushing heat—the overwhelming warmth
he'd experienced on a sun-drenched parade ground, intensified a thousand times. He focused
on the only thing that mattered: the Shard.
He reached up, grabbed the Chronos Shard with the Gauntlet's spikes, and with a controlled pull, ripped it free of its focusing field.
He stepped out of the basin, the water instantly returning to a simmer. He stood there, legs
smoking, the Chronos Shard pulsing safely in his spiked gauntlet. His legs were severely burned, blistered, and weeping, but he was calm. He was functional.
He looked at Elara, whose face was ghostly white. "Objective complete, Elara. We have the
Chronos Shard."
Elara could only stare, realizing her fears were completely justified. Liam was not a champion.
He was an efficient, terrifying, unfeeling weapon that would self-destruct if she wasn't there to
stop him