CHAPTER 531: BACK TO REALITY

Aesmirius let out a long, steady breath, the kind that signaled he had resigned himself to yet another round of explanations.

"Where the Aether Shard is secured on Jhuntar, there is a guardian stationed there," he said, his tone flat and expression unreadable. "They are designed to eliminate anyone who isn’t me."

Liam blinked once, slowly, then narrowed his eyes. "Why the hell would you put a guardian over the weapon? Aren’t the things in that realm just mindless creatures with scraps of intelligence? Nothing capable of wielding the Aether Shard."

"Not entirely," Aesmirius replied. "There are also civilized species on Jhuntar. Not human, but intelligent—on par with humans or even surpassing them. So yes, installing a guardian was necessary."

"I still don’t think it was," Liam said without hesitation. "Isn’t the Aether Shard only meant to be wielded by you—or someone carrying your bloodline and Aetherion? Why didn’t you just make it so the shard rejects anyone unworthy? Hell, you could’ve made it kill them on contact."

Silence fell. Aesmirius stared at him, face blank, but the twitch in his eye betrayed the impact of the realization. He genuinely hadn’t thought of that. For a being of his supposed brilliance, the oversight was embarrassing—especially with Liam wearing that skeptical, judge-your-life-choices stare that only made his irritation swell.

He finally exhaled through his nose and muttered, "I suppose I didn’t think of it at the time."

"Mmhmm," Liam hummed, not bothering to hide the edge of judgment. "Anyway, this guardian of yours—how strong are they exactly? And how would fighting some creature beforehand help me survive him? Wouldn’t it be smarter to face the guardian first, gauge his strength, then try again later?"

"That would be stupid," Aesmirius said without restraint. "You wouldn’t even have a 0.1 percent chance of surviving the first encounter. Bane is deadly. And ruthless. And he is leagues above you."

Liam stared at him for a long moment, trying to process the scale of that statement. "Any comparison you can give me?"

Aesmirius paused, genuinely thinking it over. After a moment he answered, "Probably comparable to that air affinity user—Magnus, yes. Or maybe close to your uncle, Galen."

Hearing those names, Liam understood immediately. Magnus alone was a monster of a combatant, and Galen was on an entirely different plane. For any guardian to be mentioned beside them meant Bane wasn’t just strong—he was terrifying.

After the weight of that settled, Liam exhaled softly. "Okay. Then about this creature you want me to fight—what is it, and what am I supposed to gain from that fight?"

"An Oring," Aesmirius said. "A creature that lurks in the deepest waters of Jhuntar."

Liam’s face shifted instantly into a familiar, judgmental skepticism. "You expect me to fight in deep waters? Just to remind you—I’m not a fish."

"I’m aware, you annoying brat," Aesmirius replied with an exaggerated sigh. "Now shut up and listen."

Liam folded his arms but paid attention as Aesmirius began outlining every detail. He explained how Liam should approach his entry into Jhuntar, what dangers he would face, what the Oring was capable of, and why defeating it would drastically increase his chances against Bane. He unraveled every known weakness of both monsters, the patterns of their instincts, and the exact kind of adaptation Liam needed to survive.

By the time Aesmirius finished, Liam had processed enough to see the logic behind it, even if he didn’t enjoy the implications.

"With everything you just told me," Liam said, "I don’t plan on stepping foot into Jhuntar anytime soon after I return to the real world. Not even after reaching Mid-Tier Six-Star."

"I won’t judge you," Aesmirius replied. "You need extensive preparation before heading there."

A quiet pause stretched between them until Liam broke it with his usual bluntness. "Alright. Now that you’ve said everything you needed to say, can I leave? The longer I stay here staring at your face, the sicker I feel."

Aesmirius stared him down for a long, simmering moment, visibly restraining the urge to strangle him. Eventually he lifted a hand and flicked his fingers, conjuring a swirling golden portal behind Liam.

"There. Get going."

Liam didn’t hesitate. He turned immediately and began walking toward the portal. "Hope I don’t see you again," he said flatly.

"You will," Aesmirius scoffed.

Just as Liam was about to step through, Aesmirius called out, stopping him mid-motion.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said. "Try learning your girlfriend’s sword-fighting style. It’ll help you."

"My what?" Liam asked, as he turned slightly, brow arching.

"Your girlfriend," Aesmirius repeated bluntly, making Liam’s expression twitch—not quite a frown, but close.

"Now get out."

Before Liam could respond, an invisible force slammed into him, shoving him straight through the portal and out of the mind-realm.

The moment Liam vanished, the portal snapped shut, and silence settled over the vast domain once more. Aesmirius sat back on his throne, expression returning to its unbothered calm as he closed his eyes.

"I hope he ascends fast enough to set me free from here," he muttered under his breath, alone again in the endless quiet.

***

Within the underground chamber buried deep beneath the city of Veridn, Zone 9, Mabel stood rooted at the reinforced door like a silent sentinel. Her posture was rigid and disciplined as ever. Her every breath measured beneath the fitted mask covering her mouth. The Royal Corps uniform clung cleanly to her form as her long hair was tied back tightly into a ponytail, leaving her hazel eyes unobstructed as they watched the lone figure lying unconscious in the center of the dimly lit room. Liam.

Despite her cold exterior, Mabel’s chest felt heavy as she looked at him. She could admit only to herself—never out loud—that there were things she needed to say to him, things that had been clawing at her mind since the day she woke up. It had been her duty to protect him, yet he had been the one who stepped in. The guilt had lingered like a shadow, refusing to be shaken off. She owed him thanks at the very least, but the thought of never being able to say it in person gnawed at her relentlessly.

’Are you really going to stay like this forever, Liam?’ she wondered, her hazel eyes dimming with a hint of sorrow that she refused to let anyone witness.

While she held her silent vigil, the chandelier above her flickered sharply, making her tense instantly. Her hand twitched toward her sheathed sword as her eyes snapped upward. The crystal fixtures trembled under the light’s sudden spasms, casting jittery shadows across the stone room. Every muscle in her body coiled, ready to respond to whatever might descend from the darkness.

But just as abruptly as it had started, the flickering stopped. The lights steadied, the room falling back into its usual quiet glow. Mabel exhaled, only slightly loosening her grip as she muttered under her breath, "What the hell was that supposed to be?" She kept her gaze trained on the chandelier a moment longer before shifting it back to Liam.

Then she felt it—a ripple of myst, subtle at first, then unmistakably real. Her body stiffened as a jolt of recognition shot through her. It was a familiar signature, one she had memorized during the months of guarding him. The surge came from directly ahead—from Liam. Her heart leapt in her chest, and her eyes immediately darted to him with raw hope burning behind the hazel.

Though his body remained still, she could feel his myst flaring, spilling out in a brief but unmistakable pulse. It washed over her like a breath of warm air in the cold chamber. She held her breath, waiting, watching, willing him to open his eyes.

But in mere seconds, the surge faded. The myst receded as if it had never surfaced at all.

Mabel’s shoulders sank. She studied him for several long moments, her lips pressing into a thin line before she sighed deeply. A hollow ache tugged at her chest as she muttered inwardly, ’I’m really losing it... imagining things now.’

"You must really be going crazy, Mabel," she whispered to herself, rubbing her temple with gloved fingers. Six months without movement from him had been enough to warp even her disciplined mind.

Her self-scolding stopped abruptly when a sharp, strained breath tore through the air. Mabel snapped her head toward the bed so fast her ponytail whipped behind her. Her eyes flew wide, her heart ramming against her ribs.

There he was—sitting upright on the bed.

Liam’s chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shaking him as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. His hands gripped at the sheets while his crimson eyes darted in every direction, filled with confusion and lingering echoes of whatever nightmare or memory he had escaped from. He scanned the chamber, brows furrowed, pupils dilated as he tried to process the place he found himself in.

Eventually, his frantic gaze locked onto the figure by the doorway.

Mabel held completely still, her breath frozen. And when his eyes met hers—those familiar, warm, yet guarded hazel eyes—his own widened just slightly. Recognition broke through the haze clouding his expression.

"Mabel," he breathed out softly, voice rough but unmistakably alive.