After nearly a week had passed, Liam remained unmoving, a still shadow against the restored landscape of the mind realm, his body slowly knitting itself back together. In the real world, he would have never remained so idle for so long, but the peculiar flow of time in Aesmirius's domain bent perception and patience alike. Hours, days, or even weeks could pass in a moment, and the weariness of his body, though real in sensation, had a muted sting here. Liam had grown accustomed to this unnatural rhythm, and it suited him—forced reflection without disruption.
Now, every wound had sealed, every tear in muscle and sinew restored. With a faint shift, he rolled onto his back, crimson eyes lifting to the cosmic sky above. The swirling expanse of gold, white, and faint violet light reflected subtly within his gaze. His expression remained stoic, unchanging, yet there was an undercurrent of focus simmering behind the calm exterior.
