Nearly an hour had already bled away since the trial began, and in that time Liam had pushed through a steady succession of obstacles—some demanding just enough attention to slow him, others barely worth acknowledging. The forest had tested his footing, his awareness, and his patience, but nothing so far had forced him to break rhythm.
With the strict restriction placed on Myst output, Liam had made a deliberate choice early on. Rather than rely on his flames or draw upon his dark magic, he confined his usage to subtle self-enhancement. Strength flowed cleanly through his limbs, speed sharpened his movements, and his senses—sight, hearing, scent—were honed just enough to give him an edge without crossing the line into excess. It was efficient, controlled, and quiet. Exactly how he preferred it.
That restraint had carried him far already, and he had no intention of abandoning it now.
