Back on the stage, Liam still lay sprawled against the cold floor, forcing his breathing into something steady while his entire body screamed in protest. Every muscle throbbed dully, every Myst channel burned, and deep within his core the pain of synchronization continued its relentless grind, slow and merciless. He kept his eyes shut, shutting out the roar of the hall, the murmurs, the stares—everything—until the world narrowed to breath and ache alone.
Then a shadow fell over him.
Liam frowned faintly and, with visible effort, cracked his eyes open. Standing above him was a familiar face, bloodied and marked with frost and scorch alike.
Percy.
"Strong enough to still remain conscious, I see," Percy said evenly, looking down at him.
"Yeah," Liam replied, his voice rough, strained from exhaustion. "Can't allow myself to pass out just yet." He inhaled shallowly before adding, "I still need to tell you what my condition for participating in this duel was, after all."
