"SWEET MOTHER OF A DISEASED GOBLIN'S LEFT TESTICLE ON A RUSTY SPOON COVERED IN TROLL SNOT-" Bob's creative stream of profanity echoed through the chamber as dust and ancient stone fragments rained down from the ceiling. Somewhere in the darkness, water dripped steadily.

The golems moved with a grinding symphony of metal and stone, their runes pulsing in patterns that made Adom's eyes hurt. More text began materializing on the wall in that same ethereal script.

"AND IF WHOEVER'S PULLING THESE TRIALS OUT OF THEIR ARSE THINKS I'M GOING TO-"

"Bob."

"-SHOVE IT RIGHT UP THEIR-"

"Bob..."

"-WITH A RUSTY PICKAXE AND THREE POUNDS OF-"

"BOB!"

"ME NAME'S NOT FECKING B- oh." The leprechaun blinked, finally registering Adom's hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, lad. Got a bit carried away there." He straightened his hat, which had somehow stayed on through his tirade. "What?"

"You need to calm down. Look." Adom pointed at the wall where the rules were appearing.

Bob squinted at the glowing text. "Well? What's it saying? And please tell me it doesn't involve more bloody riddles."

"No riddles." Adom's eyes narrowed as he studied the glowing text. "Three trials of strength. Though only the first is revealed to us now."

He pointed to the massive bridge spanning the chasm - a stone construction that stretched across the void like a skeletal finger. Ancient runes pulsed dimly along its sides, barely illuminating the sheer vastness of the chamber they stood in. The ceiling was lost in darkness above, while carved columns thick as ancient trees lined the walls, disappearing into shadows.

"First, the Trial of Dominion. I think it's a sort of... tug of war against a golem, on that crumbling bridge."

"Tug of what now?"

"You don't know what tug of war is?"

"Me friend, I'm over a thousand years old and spent most of that time with trees and mushrooms and grumpy old fae more attached to their gold than common sense." He scoffed. "Human games weren't exactly high on me list of interests."

Adom sighed. "Two opponents, each holding one end of a rope. You pull until your opponent either falls or crosses a line. Except here..." He gestured at the bridge. "Simple enough - pull your opponent to their death before they do the same to you."

"Ah." Bob nodded sagely. "So it's like that time I got into a dispute with a treant over territory. Except with more fallin' to our deaths."

"You fought a treant?"

"Aye," Bob said, bending down to search for a pebble. "The stubborn thing thought me lucky charms garden was on his territory. Can you believe it? Three hundred years I'd been growin' those clovers."

"What are you doing?" Adom asked, watching the old fae weigh the stone in his palm.

"Just... verifying somethin'." Bob moved to the edge, held the pebble out. "Scientific inquiry and all that."

"Scientific-?" Adom's question cut off as Bob dropped the stone into the darkness. They both instinctively leaned forward, ears straining.

Seconds passed.

More seconds passed.

"Seriously?" Bob's whisper echoed slightly in the vast space.

They kept listening.

And listening.

A distant, barely audible clunk finally reached their ears.

Bob and Adom slowly turned to look at each other, faces carefully blank.

"Right then," Bob said, taking a very deliberate step back from the edge. "Best keep our footin', eh?" He glanced at the glowing text again, scowling. "Three trials, revealed one at a time... what do these bastards think this is, some sort of game? Like we're here for their entertainment?" He spat on the ground. "Probably sittin' somewhere comfortable, watching us dance like puppets on strings."

"If they are watching," Adom said quietly, "then let's show them what we can do."

"Aye." Bob adjusted his hat grimly.

The grinding of stone and metal around them intensified as new text blazed across the wall:

CHALLENGERS, APPROACH THE BRIDGE

"Well," Bob said, eyeing the massive stone construct that would be their battleground. "Least we're in this together. How is this tug-o'-woor thingy?"

"Tug of war," Adom corrected, watching the golems take position.

"What?"

"The game. It's called tug of war."

"Ah gràinne milis na deamhain féin!" Bob muttered, then louder: "Dheamhan dochar air do cheann cairdiúil!"

"I have no idea what you just said, but if that was directed at me, I return the sentiment."

"Ha! Good lad." Bob's grin flickered briefly. "Though you look about as confident as a pixie in a dragon's lair for someone who's done this tug-o'-woor before."

"Because I didn't mention one small detail." Adom's eyes followed the golems as they took position on the opposite end of the bridge. Two of them. Each holding an end of a massive chain. "When I competed in these games as a child... we used rope. Not chain."

"Ah." Bob stared at their opponents, then down at his own diminutive height, then back at the golems. "Don't suppose you've got any spells that could make me about seven feet taller?"

"No. But I do have an idea." Adom's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "How's your balance when pulling?"

"Better than most," Bob grumbled, still clearly agitated from earlier. "Though I'd rather be testin' it on Orynth's neck, the smug bastard." He gave the chain a testing tug. "Still can't believe this nonsense. First they drop us in this oversized death pit, then expect us to play circus performer on a bridge that's older than me grandmother's-"

Adom's eyes flickered briefly to Bob at the mention of that name. Another piece of the puzzle - how did a leprechaun know one of the ancient Architects? But now wasn't the time for questions.

The bridge stretched before them, ancient stone worn smooth by countless centuries. Each step toward its center felt heavier than the last, the abyss below a hungry void that seemed to pull at their very souls. The chain lay between them - thick links of metal that could have anchored a titan's warship.

At the far end, the two golems stood motionless. Silent. Waiting.

"Don't like this," Bob muttered, adjusting his grip on the chain. "Not one bit. The way they're just... standin' there. Like death's own statues. Sends shivers right down to me bones, it does."

Adom barely heard him. The world had taken on a strange, distant quality, like he was viewing it through murky water. His limbs felt leaden, his thoughts scattered like leaves in autumn wind. What he wouldn't give for a moment's rest. Just a brief pause to catch his breath, to sit down with a steaming cup of tea...

"Lad!"

"Huh?" Adom blinked, Bob's voice yanking him back to the present.

"You alright there?"

Adom looked down at his trembling hands, at the sweat already beading on his skin despite the chamber's chill. He managed a weak laugh. "What do you think?"

"Aye, stupid question." Bob's voice softened, losing some of its usual gruffness. "Just hang in there, yeah? And don't you worry about the heavy lifting." He grinned, rolling up his sleeves to reveal surprisingly corded forearms. "May not look it, but I once arm-wrestled a bridge troll to a standstill. Course, we were both blind drunk at the time, but that's beside the point."

"Hold on," Adom said, momentarily distracted from his exhaustion. "Fighting treants, wrestling trolls... what kind of life did you lead before all this?"

Bob's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Ah, in me younger days? Let's just say I had a particular talent for finding trouble. Or maybe trouble had a talent for finding me. Hard to tell after the first few centuries." He chuckled. "There was this one time in the Dragon's Spine Mountains-"

A grinding screech cut through the air. Across the bridge, the golems had begun gathering their length of chain, their movements precise and methodical. They were built like strongmen, broad-shouldered and solid, their stone and metal bodies radiating an aura of raw power. Runes pulsed along their joints, casting sharp shadows across the bridge.

"Right then," Bob muttered, positioning himself in front of Adom. "I'll handle the pulling. That big brain of yours got any tips? Because these lovely fellows don't look like they're here to exchange pleasantries."

Adom watched the golems' movements, memory stirring. "Actually... yes. When I was little, maybe six or seven, there was this kid I used to know, Damus. We'd play tug of war in their estate. He was twice my size, but I won more often than not."

"Oh?" Bob began gathering the chain. "Do tell."

"It's all about the timing," Adom said. "Most people think it's about pulling harder than your opponent. It's not. It's about-"

The chain jerked suddenly as the golems took up the slack. Bob planted his feet, muscles straining.

"Less lecture, more instruction, lad!"

"Right. Watch their movements. Wait for them to pull - they'll have to reset their stance after each attempt. That's when you pull back. Not before, not during. After. Use their own recovery against them. And..." Adom's voice trailed off as he watched the golems' runes pulse in unison. "They're about to-"

The chain snapped taut with devastating force. Bob was yanked forward with a startled yelp, boots scraping against stone as he struggled to find purchase.

"MOTHER OF A-" The rest of his curse was lost in the grinding of metal as the golems pulled again. Bob's knuckles went white around the chain, his whole body straining backward.

Adom grabbed the chain too, but it was like trying to stop a landslide with bare hands. The metal links were freezing against his palms, already slick with sweat. His exhausted muscles screamed in protest.

"Hang on, lad!" Bob's voice was tight with effort. "Just... need to... find me footing." The leprechaun's boots finally caught a groove in the stone, and he dug in with a grunt. "Bloody bastards are stronger than they look. Caught me off guard, they did."

Adom could hardly believe what he was seeing. Bob - barely reaching his chest in height - was actually holding his ground against two golems. Veins stood out on his neck and forearms, his face turning an alarming shade of red, but he wasn't giving up an inch.

"Remember what I said!" Adom called out, pulling alongside him. "Wait for their recovery-"

The golems yanked again.

The force of it lifted Bob clear off his feet for a heart-stopping moment before he slammed back down. They slid another foot closer to the edge.

"Easier said than- BALLS OF A BRASS MONKEY!" Another pull. Another foot lost. "Than done!"

Adom could feel the void in front of them, an endless hungry darkness waiting for a mistake. His arms felt like they were being torn from their sockets. Through the pain and exhaustion, he noticed a pattern - the golems pulled in sync with their pulsing runes.

"Bob! The runes! They pulse right before-"

The chain jerked again. Bob's stream of cursing would have made a sailor blush. They were maybe ten feet from the edge now. Nine. Eight.

Desperation clawing at his chest, Adom reached for his magic. Just a small burst, something to give them leverage-

The air cracked like thunder. Something massive whistled past his ear, missing him by inches. He turned his head just enough to see a spear embedded in the wall behind them, its shaft still quivering from impact. On the platform above, a golem lowered its arm, its message clear: no magic.

"FOCUS, LAD!" Bob roared. His hat had finally fallen off, sweat pouring down his face. "TELL ME ABOUT THAT TIMING!"

Another pull. Seven feet. Six.

"Watch... watch the runes!" Adom's voice was ragged. "They dim right after! That's when they reset! That's when we-"

The runes flared. They braced. The pull came, brutal as ever, but this time they were ready. The instant the runes dimmed, Bob threw his weight backward with a roar that echoed off the chamber walls. Adom pulled with everything he had left.

The chain moved. Just a little. Just enough.

"AGAIN!" Bob bellowed. "TELL ME WHEN!"

Five feet from death, Adom watched the runes, praying his trembling arms would hold just a little longer...

The runes pulsed. Flash. Pull. Dim.

"NOW!"

They heaved backward in perfect sync. The chain moved another precious inch. Their feet found better purchase on the worn stone.

Flash. Pull. Dim.

"NOW!"

Each coordinated pull brought them further from the edge, but Adom's arms felt like molten lead. His vision swam. Only Bob's grunted counting kept him focused. Four feet from the edge. Five. Six.

Then Adom saw it - the golems' fatal flaw.

"Bob!" he gasped between pulls. "They're anchored! Look at their feet!"

The leprechaun spared a glance between straining breaths. The golems' feet were indeed locked into grooves in the stone, giving them leverage but limiting their movement.

"That's... great... lad," Bob managed through clenched teeth. "But... unless you've got... a bloody pickaxe..."

"No - they can't adjust! They're pulling straight! If we..." Adom's lungs burned. "If we pull sideways..."

Understanding flashed in Bob's eyes. "On your mark!"

Flash. Pull. Dim.

"NOW! LEFT!"

They threw their weight sideways, yanking the chain at an angle. The golems' rigid stance worked against them. For a terrible moment, nothing happened.

Then came the sound of stone cracking.

One golem's foot broke free from its anchor. It staggered, throwing off the other's balance. Their synchronized pulling shattered.

"AGAIN!" Adom screamed.

Flash. Stumble. Dim.

They heaved left once more. The second golem's anchor cracked. The constructs tried to compensate, their movements now jerky and desperate.

"Once more!" Bob roared. "EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT, LAD!"

Adom's world narrowed to this moment. The chain. The pull. Bob's battle cry beside him. His screaming muscles finding one last surge of strength.

Flash-

The golems pulled.

-Dim.

They yanked sideways with everything they had left.

The golems' remaining anchors shattered. Without their bracing, the force of their own pull sent them staggering backward. Their feet found empty air.

Time seemed to slow. Adom watched as the massive constructs tipped over the edge, their runed joints still pulsing, arms windmilling uselessly. The chain went slack so suddenly that he and Bob fell backward onto the bridge.

The sound of the golems hitting bottom came long, long moments later. A crash like thunder rolled up from the depths, then silence.

Adom lay there, gasping, every breath feeling like knives in his chest. Beside him, Bob had collapsed onto his back, face still crimson, chest heaving.

"That..." the leprechaun wheezed, "was too... bloody... close."

They'd done it. Somehow, they'd done it. But as Adom's racing heart slowly steadied, one thought kept echoing through his mind:

This was only the first trial.

Adom lay there staring at the darkness above, his chest still heaving, when a hand entered his field of vision. Bob stood over him, somehow already back on his feet despite his face still being flushed from exertion.

"Come on then, lad." The leprechaun's grin was infectious, even with sweat still dripping from his chin. "Between that brilliant mind of yours and these stubborn old muscles, we'll make it out of here alive. You have me word on that."

Adom couldn't help but smile back. "Sure." He grabbed Bob's hand, surprised again by the strength in the leprechaun's grip as he was pulled to his feet.

The grinding of stone drew their attention. The wall's ethereal script shifted and flowed like water, forming new words. Adom's smile faded as he read.

"What?" Bob asked, noting his expression. "What fresh hell are they throwing at us now?"

"The Trial of Swiftness." Adom's eyes moved rapidly across the glowing text. "There's a hammer and a helmet. They'll be placed between us and another golem. First one to reach them wins."

"That's... suspiciously simple."

"There's more." Adom rubbed his temples. "The hammer's supposedly extremely heavy, and the helmet magically adjusts to fit whoever wears it. If the golem gets the hammer first..."

"We're proper fecked?"

"Unless we can get the helmet on quickly enough, yes. And if we get the hammer..."

"We need to smash the bastard before it gets the helmet." Bob spat on the ground. "Because of course the helmet makes them invulnerable. Wonderful." He adjusted his hat irritably. "Don't suppose we could just... not play their game? Sit down, have a nice cup of tea instead?"

"After what happened when I tried to use magic?" Adom gestured at the spear still embedded in the wall. "I doubt we have a choice."

"Right." Bob cracked his knuckles. "So, any brilliant ideas? Because I'm fast for me size, but something tells me these golems aren't exactly sluggish either."

"I might have one." Adom's eyes had taken on that distant look Bob was starting to recognize. "But you're not going to like it."

"Lad, I haven't liked anything since I fell into this oversized tomb. Out with it."

"I heard leprechauns were naturally fast. Something about blessing-enhanced reflexes?"

Bob snorted. "That's like saying all dwarves are master smiths because of Grimbeard the Great. Stereotype, that is."

"But you just said you were fast for your size."

"Aye, I did. Because I am." Bob puffed up his chest. "Peak specimen, I'll have you know. Back in the day, all the leanansídhe were mad for me. Had to beat them off with a stick, I did. Well, more like a twig, given me size, but-"

He cut off as Adom stumbled, the world tilting sideways. The chamber's columns seemed to dance and blur, stone walls rippling like water. His legs felt distant, disconnected. Some part of him wanted to laugh at Bob's boasting, to ask more about these leanansídhe, but exhaustion had sunk its claws too deep. Even breathing felt like too much effort.

"Easy there, lad!" Bob caught him before his knees could buckle, surprising strength in those short arms. "Bloody hell, you're burning up. Should've said something sooner."

"M'fine," Adom mumbled, though the ground wouldn't stay still. "Just need a moment..."

"Sure you do. And I'm a bloody unicorn in disguise." Bob's voice had lost its usual gruffness, replaced by genuine concern. "When's the last time you properly rested?"

When had he last rested?

The thought floated through his foggy mind as he leaned against Bob. He came back what, Three? Four days ago? God, he couldn't even remember. Since coming back, everything had been a constant rush - racing against time, against fate, against his own memories.

He hadn't even stopped to just... breathe. To sit in the market and watch people haggle over fresh bread. To smell the flowers blooming in the Temple gardens. Funny, that. His whole dream had been to live life differently this time around, to savor every moment he'd taken for granted before.

But how could he? Every time he tried to relax, tried to just exist in the moment, the knowledge would creep back in. The streets he walked would burn. The people he passed would scream. The sky would turn black with-

"I'm tired," he whispered, more to himself than to Bob. "God, I'm so tired."

For some reason, he suddenly craved some honey cake. The same one he had back in Kati. He'd only managed three bites. Just three perfect, wonderful bites. The sweetness had still been on his tongue when the sky turned dark. When Dragon's Breath fell, and Kati followed.

He never had honey cake again. Not in all the years that followed. Not in that entire lifetime. Strange, how such a small thing could hurt so much. Three bites of perfection, of normalcy, before everything burned away.

If he made it out alive - when, he had to believe when - he'd take a week off. Just walk the streets of Arkhos. Get some of those honey-glazed pastries from a random old woman that would sell them. Those were the best kind. Old people always made the best street food.

Maybe get a dog, something small and loyal. Name it Fido. Or a familiar.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Yeah... that would be nice.

"Just..." he managed, trying to focus on Bob's worried face through the haze, "had an eventful few days."

"Eventful few days, he says," Bob muttered, adjusting his grip to better support Adom's weight. "Like he's been to a bloody harvest festival instead of whatever mess got you looking half-dead." His voice softened. "Hang in there, lad."

The chamber suddenly rumbled, cutting through his exhausted musings. Stone ground against stone as the room began to shift, walls rearranging themselves like pieces of some massive puzzle.

"Seems our gracious hosts are getting impatient," Bob growled, helping Adom straighten up.

Adom watched the room transform, fighting back another wave of dizziness.

The wall's script shifted: CHALLENGERS, ADVANCE.

The golems moved in perfect unison, creating a path through a broad corridor. Despite his exhaustion, Adom couldn't help but notice how their movements seemed almost... ceremonial.

"Well," Bob muttered, supporting Adom as they walked, "suppose they're not big on breaks between death-defying challenges."

"At least this time we're not dangling over an abyss."

"No, just racing a bloody golem for magical artifacts. Much better." Bob's tone was light, but his grip on Adom's arm remained steady. "Speaking of which... about what you said to the sphinx back there."

"Ah. That."

"Don't try telling me you were bluffing." Bob kicked a pebble, watching it bounce down the path. "That overgrown cat would've known. And the way you knew his name..." He glanced sideways at Adom. "You said you came back from the future?"

Adom chuckled. "Tell you what - I'll explain everything if you tell me how a you know that Orynth guy. And why you can dreamwalk."

"Ah, well, would you look at these lovely stone walls-"

"Bob." Adom stopped walking. "If you know something about whoever built this place, I need to know. It might help us find a way out."

The leprechaun was quiet for a long moment, adjusting his hat with unusual care. "Orynth... used to be a friend. Bastard tricked me into owing him a debt."

"How?"

Bob sighed. "It's a stupid story, really. There I was, minding me own business, making shoes-"

"Shoes?"

"What? You think leprechauns just sit around counting gold all day? We've got to make a living somehow." Bob waved dismissively. "Anyway, I specialized in climbing boots. Best in the business, if I do say so myself. Even had a nice little shop at the end of a rainbow-"

"Of course you did."

"Oi, who's telling this story?" Bob glared. "So there I was, testing a new pair on the cliffs of Mount Silverhorn. Beautiful day, perfect for climbing. Then this wyvern shows up."

"A wyvern."

"Did I stutter? Yes, a bloody wyvern. Nasty piece of work, too. There I am, dangling off a cliff face, about to become lunch, when who should appear but Orynth himself." Bob's voice went flat. "Standing on thin air, cool as you please, sipping tea."

"Tea?"

"Earl Black, if you must know. With honey." Bob's eye twitched. "So he looks at me, looks at the wyvern, and says - and I'll never forget this - 'Those are fascinating boots you're wearing.'"

Adom stared. "While you were about to die?"

"While I was about to die! Then he says, 'I'll help you with your little predicament if you agree to make me three pairs.'" Bob kicked another rock, harder this time. "What was I supposed to say? No? The wyvern's breath was hot enough to curl me beard!"

"So you agreed."

"So I agreed. He snaps his fingers, the wyvern turns into a bloody songbird, and I'm standing safe on the cliff."

"Wait, he turned a wyvern into a songbird?" Adom stopped walking.

"Bloody hell, I know!" Bob threw his hands up. "Never seen anything like it before or since. Didn't even use those fancy mage hand movements, just..." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"How was a mage that powerful not recorded in history?"

"Eh, he lived up in that mountain of his, mostly. Had this huge farm near the Duke's castle at the time. The Duke was-"

"Borealis," Adom finished.

"Oh? They're still around then?"

"How long ago exactly was this?"

Bob scratched his chin. "Hard to say exactly. More than a thousand years, less than two thousand."

"You mentioned back at the fist chamber that he was a 'red-eyed bastard'?"

Bob chuckled darkly. "Aye, that he was."

"The Borealis house is known for their red eyes. Most of them have them. They're descendants of the First Men - of Law Borealis..."

"Look at that," Bob said quickly. "Time for more death-defying nonsense. Better get moving, eh?"

The chamber floor began to shift, sand swirling in impossible patterns. From its depths rose a massive war hammer, its head carved with ancient runes that pulsed with an inner light. The weapon hung suspended in the air, surrounded by a semi-circle of golems standing at attention.

On the opposite side of the chamber, more sand parted to reveal a helm that seemed almost alive, its silver metal rippling like quicksilver in the dim light. Another group of golems took position around it, their metallic forms gleaming.

"Bob," Adom said, fighting to keep his balance as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. "Since your... friend built this place, is there anything you can tell me about it?"

"Orynth wasn't the only one who made it." Bob's eyes darted between the two artifacts. "There were others. All of them powerful mages, mysterious types. Wouldn't tell anyone what they were doing, spent decades working on it."

"How long exactly?"

"Orynth worked on it for sixty years of his life. Don't know about the others."

"Sixty years?" Adom frowned. "What was the purpose?"

Bob shook his head. "He became obsessed with it near the end. Kept saying he had to finish it before his time came. Had to make sure everything was perfect."

"But why? Was it the treasure? What could be worth sixty years of work from multiple master mages?"

The leprechaun turned to look at Adom, and for once there was no trace of humor in his eyes. "I really don't know, lad. That's the honest truth. He changed over those years. Became... different. More secretive. Stopped coming by the shop. Last time I saw him..." Bob trailed off, looking troubled. "Well, let's just say he wasn't the same person who saved me from that wyvern."

They arrived at the end of the golem-made corridor. A vast circular arena opened before them, its floor covered in fine, shifting sand

"Sit down, lad," Bob said firmly, guiding Adom to a worn stone step. "You can barely stand. Let me handle this one."

"But-"

"No buts. Save your strength." Bob's usual grin had been replaced by something harder, more focused. "Besides, speed's me specialty."

From the swirling sands emerged a new golem, taller than the others, its joints clicking like a deadly clockwork as it took position. The hammer hung between them, its runes pulsing with ancient power. The helm gleamed on the far side, liquid silver in the dim light.

The wall's script flared: BEGIN.

Everything happened in heartbeats.

The golem lunged forward, its metallic legs coiling like springs. Bob was already moving, a blur of green and gold. Sand erupted where the golem's foot struck, but the leprechaun was gone, rolling under its reaching arms.

Three steps to the hammer.

The golem pivoted impossibly fast, its joints screaming. Bob twisted mid-stride, barely avoiding metal fingers that whistled past his ear.

Two steps.

They reached the hammer simultaneously. The golem's hand closed on empty air as Bob dove between its legs, his own fingers wrapping around the weapon's handle.

One step.

The hammer came up in a brutal arc, faster than something that size should move. The golem started to turn-

CRACK.

The sound echoed like thunder, followed by the quieter tinkle of shattered metal and stone hitting sand. The golem's head bounced once, rolled, and came to rest at Adom's feet. Its body swayed for a moment, then toppled.

Four seconds. Maybe five.

Bob stood there, hammer resting on his shoulder, chest heaving slightly. "Well," he said, breaking the stunned silence. "That was bracing."

Adom realized he'd been holding his breath. "That... that was..."

"What?" Bob grinned, his usual mischief returning. "Told you I was fast for me size." He gave the hammer an experimental swing. "Nice balance on this thing too. Might keep it as a souvenir."

Relief flooded through Adom, making him dizzy. Or maybe that was just the exhaustion. Either way, he found himself laughing - a slightly hysterical sound that echoed off the ancient walls.

"You're insane," he managed between chuckles. "Absolutely insane."

"Coming from the lad who traveled through time?" Bob winked, extending his free hand. "Come on then. Up you get. Something tells me we're not done yet."

And he was right.

A new golem stepped forward, its runes pulsing with deadly intent. Bob and Adom exchanged glances.

"Hang on," Bob frowned, hammer still resting on his shoulder. "Pretty sure I just turned the last one's head into gravel, didn't I?"

"You definitely did."

"Right. So..." Bob gestured at the waiting construct with his free hand. "What's this about then?"

He stepped forward, but two golems materialized from the shadows, crossing their spears to block his path. Their message was clear: no entry.

"Oh, for the love of- What now?" Bob's eye twitched. "Did I win too quickly? Would they prefer I dance a jig first? Maybe tell a few jokes?"

Adom pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. "I think... I think they want me to do it too."

"What? No. Absolutely not. You can barely stand!"

"We did the first trial together," Adom said quietly. "Maybe that's the point. Everyone has to prove themselves."

"Prove themselves?" Bob's voice rose an octave. "To who? These oversized wind-up toys?" He turned to glare at the waiting golems. "Listen here, you stone-headed bastards! In case you hadn't noticed, the lad's about to fall over! If you think I'm going to let you-"

"Bob."

"-and another thing! Whoever's pulling your strings can take their trials and shove them right up their-"

"Bob!"

"WHAT?"

"I have to do this."

The leprechaun deflated slightly, though his scowl remained. "No, you don't. We can find another way. Or I could just..." He hefted the hammer meaningfully.

Adom managed a weak smile. "Since when did you start worrying so much about me?"

"Don't get it twisted, lad. That big brain of yours is the only reason we're not dead twice over already." Bob snorted. "And I'd rather keep it intact and inside your skull, not splattered across the floor. Need it to get out of this oversized maze, don't I?"

Adom sighed in relief.

"What's that look for?" Bob asked, hammer still casually propped on his shoulder.

"Oh, just glad this didn't turn into one of those cheesy moments."

"Cheesy?" Bob's brow furrowed. "What's dairy got to do with anything?"

"It's a modern expression. Means overly sentimental."

"You future folk are strange," Bob muttered. "Perfectly good words already exist for that sort of thing. Mawkish. Saccharine. But no, you had to drag perfectly innocent cheese into it." He shook his head. "Next you'll tell me you use 'bread' to mean something entirely different too."

"Actually-"

Adom almost laughed at the absurdity of it all - casually discussing modern slang while potentially walking to his death. There was something darkly hilarious about that. But the humor died in his throat as he stepped onto the sand.

The moment his foot touched the ground, the world... shifted. The arena seemed larger from inside, the walls stretching up into impossible darkness. Sand swirled around his ankles, alive with strange patterns that made his eyes hurt if he looked too long.

And he could have sworn the golem in front of him looked much less impressive from where he was sitting. The chamber felt different from this angle. More intimate. More real.

From the depths rose another war hammer, identical to Bob's, and another helm. The golem took position.

The golems... Adom looked at the one in front of him, as it positioned itself.

These constructs were centuries old, yet they put modern golems to shame. The most advanced constructs of his time were clumsy things that wealthy families used for basic housework - stiff, awkward magical masses that could barely manage to vacuum floors without getting stuck in corners. Even the elves, for all their magical superiority, hadn't managed to create anything close to this level of sophistication.

Yet here stood machines crafted ages ago, moving with deadly grace, executing complex combat maneuvers that should have been impossible with ancient magic. It was like finding advanced runic arrays in primitive cave paintings - knowledge that shouldn't exist, couldn't exist, and yet somehow did. What kind of man had Orynth been, to possess knowledge that would still be considered advanced hundreds of years in the future? And what had happened to all that knowledge?

Adom's exhausted muscles trembled, but his mind was clear. He had to win this.

He breathed in deeply. Then out. Again. And again as the golem settled into a perfect combat stance. He could feel it happening inside him - his core churning, condensing the raw mana, transforming it into something denser, more potent.

He let it rise up, felt the it respond, growing thicker, more potent. The sensation was like warm. Flowing through his veins. Pleasant.

[You are using Fluid]

"Wait-" Bob's voice cut through his concentration, genuine surprise in the old warrior's tone. "You can use that thing?"

"Yeah."

"What do you me-" Bob's question cut off as the wall's script flared to life.

Adom moved.

The Fluid surged through his system like liquid fire, every muscle screaming in protest at the sudden acceleration. The world narrowed to a single point : the hammer.

His vision tunneled, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

The golem was fast. Impossibly fast.

Its metal feet barely seemed to touch the ground as it crossed the distance in explosive steps. Adom pushed harder, feeling his muscles strain beyond their limits. The hammer grew closer, closer-

His foot slipped.

Time slowed to a crawl as he saw the golem's hand reaching out, metal fingers extending toward the weapon. Adom's heart stopped. No. Not like this.

Pure instinct took over. He threw his arms forward, using his momentum to launch himself into a desperate dive. The ground rushed up to meet him, sand stinging his eyes. The golem's fingers were inches from the hammer-

Adom kicked out with every ounce of strength he had left. His boot connected with the construct's hand, sending a shock of pain up his leg.

The golem's grip missed by a hair's breadth.

He snatched the hammer mid-roll, muscles burning as he forced himself back to his feet. The golem was already pivoting, its movements liquid smooth as it darted toward the helm. Adom's exhausted body responded on pure adrenaline. He hurled himself forward, swinging the hammer in a wild arc.

The weapon connected with the helm just as the golem's fingers brushed its surface. Metal rang against metal, the helm spinning away into darkness. The golem's head snapped toward him, runes flaring-

Adom brought the hammer down.

The impact shuddered through his arms, nearly tearing the weapon from his grip. Stone and metal exploded outward as the golem's head caved in. Its body stood for a moment, swaying, then collapsed in a heap of broken parts.

Silence fell.

Adom stood there, chest heaving, hammer trembling in his white-knuckled grip. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision. Every breath felt like drinking molten glass.

"A Dhia na trócaire..." Bob's whisper echoed across the chamber. "Nach raibh sin..."

[White Wyrm's Body has reached level 2!]

[After experiencing damage, your body is now slightly sturdier]

Adom slumped forward, gasping for air. "I'm really... really not made for combat."

"What are you on about?" Bob clapped him on the back, making him wheeze. "You moved like a bloody wildcat out there! Never seen anything like it - well, except for that one time with the pixie queen's guard, but they had those mushrooms that make you-"

A sound cut through Bob's rambling. Metal on stone. Clang. Clang. Clang. Measured. Deliberate.

The golems lining the walls parted like a metallic tide, revealing a figure that made Adom's breath catch. Plates of armor covered it from head to toe. A massive sword dragged along the ground.

"Oh, for feck's sake," Bob muttered. "Can't even let a man catch his breath, can they?"

The armored golem stopped before them. Ready. Silent. The chamber rumbled, walls shifting and reforming. New text blazed across the stone.

"The wall says we have to-"

"Fight that thing to get out?" Bob interrupted, not taking his eyes off the armored golem. "To the death, I'm guessing?"

"Obviously," Adom replied, then caught himself.

When had discussing fights to the death become so... normal?

"Well," Bob grinned, helping him up, "ready for the Knight-Golem? We can take him on if we try."

"...Give me five minutes."

"You alright there, lad?" Bob's voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, despite him standing right there.

"Yeah." Adom tried to focus on the leprechaun's face, but it kept... shifting. Like trying to read through water.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"What are you doing?"

"How many?"

Adom sighed, squinting. The fingers blurred, split, merged. "Four."

"You hesitated."

"Lost my glasses in the fight against the Sphynx," Adom muttered, trying to stand straighter but feeling his knees wanting to buckle. "Vision's not great without them."

"You've been fighting just fine without them until now." Bob's voice had lost its usual playful edge. "Shouldn't be a problem suddenly."

Now that the adrenaline was fading, Adom became aware of just how heavy his body felt. His arms were lead weights. Each breath felt like inhaling through wet cotton. The chamber's edges were starting to blur, not from poor vision, but because his brain was struggling to process what his eyes were seeing.

He was reaching his limit.

"Seriously. When's the last time you slept, lad?"

Four measly hours, cut short by those damn wakey birds. He should've listened to his body, should've went to bed... His thoughts wandered to Sam, probably curled up right now in a warm, comfortable-

"Oi!" Bob's sharp voice cut through his daze. "If you're daydreaming about beds while standing, you're in no shape for the Knight-Golem. Step aside, I'll handle this one."

Adom opened his mouth to protest, but his whole body felt heavy. Four hours of sleep, non-stop fighting since the Sphinx, and now this... Maybe Bob was-

"That wasn't a suggestion," Bob picked up his hammer, already moving forward.

The wall's runes shifted:

FINAL TRIAL

CHAMPIONS STEP FORWARD

Suddenly, the chamber filled with a metallic chittering - every golem, broken or whole, trembling against stone.

Adom stared at the knight. For a split second, he thought he saw-

"Are they summoning a bloody demon or-" Bob started.

Blue erupted from the knight's joints. Not fire - Fluid. Pure, ethereal Fluid, coating metal in impossible ways, flowing like living mercury across armor. The Knight-Golem moved, each step leaving burning footprints that slowly faded.

"Mother of..." Adom stumbled back, his exhausted mind struggling to process what he was seeing. Fluid-enhanced golems. This was impossible.

An idea.

Adom pulled Riddler's Bane from his inventory, his tired mind straining to process the readings.

The Fluid wasn't just coating the golem - it was integrated into its core structure, flowing through channels that shouldn't exist in metal. Runes pulsed in sequences he'd never seen, creating impossible interactions between magic and mechanics.

This doesn't make sense...

He shook his head, the analysis only raising more questions. Modern mages would kill to see this. Or run screaming from it.

The golem reached the arena's center. It stood, waiting, the chamber falling into absolute silence.

Adom glanced at Bob. "...Still wanna go alone?"

"I- of course I do," Bob's hammer shook slightly. "A leprechaun never goes back on his word."

"I...thought leprechauns were supposed to be deceitful."

"Bad rep from a few bad apples," Bob adjusted his grip. "Like humans with their-"

"Ah," Adom nodded. "Yeah. We get that too."

CHAMPIONS STEP FORWARD continued to pulse overhead, now casting red shadows across their faces.

"Can you hold it off for a few minutes?"

"Got a plan?"

"A plan?" Adom slid down against the wall. "Need to see how it moves. Can't afford to miss. Also, I have nearly depleted my fluid reserves"

"I'll just try not to die," Bob's voice carried forced lightness.

"Thank you."

"Lad...if I don't make it-"

Adom lifted his heavy head. "What?"

"Nothing," Bob didn't turn around. "I said nothing."

The leprechaun stepped forward, his feet barely whispering against stone as he approached the waiting giant.

"Oi, you big heap of scrap! Me gran's armor was shinier than yours!"

Bob's voice cut through Adom's haze. The leprechaun danced, hammer glinting-

SWISH.

The golem moved.

One moment there, the next- Adom's tired mind couldn't even track it. Only Bob's speed saved him, launching himself backward as the Fluid-coated blade cleaved through where he'd stood.

Bob's hat wasn't so lucky. It floated down, split clean in two.

"My favorite hat!" Bob met Adom's eyes, genuine fury flashing across his face. "May you rot in the deepest pits of Tír na nÓg, ya blasted tin can!" He ducked another impossibly fast strike. "Adom! You better use this time wisely, lad, or I swear by all the golden clovers-"

The golem repositioned, its Fluid armor rippling like a disturbed pond.

Adom leaned back against the wall, fighting to keep his eyes open. Bob's shouts and the sounds of destruction echoed through the chamber. As long as he stayed outside the fighting zone...

He closed his eyes.

Breathe. Just breathe. Don't think about anything. But how could he focus with the sounds of metal against metal, with Bob out there, alone, being the only thing between him and-

Another crash. He opened one eye. Bob was bleeding.

He squeezed his eyes shut again.

Think. He needed to think of something calming. Something, anything-

Summer. The garden. God, how long ago was that? Seventy years? More?

Definitely more.

The air had smelled of fresh-baked madeleine and salt breeze - Mother always baked before their beach trips. He could almost taste the anticipation of tomorrow's adventure, but right then...

Little Adom sat cross-legged on the grass, enormous glasses making his eyes look like owl's.

The book in his lap was almost as big as he was - "Fundamentals of Magic: A Comprehensive Guide." He'd just earned his silver crystal, a mage's color. The youngest in three generations. Mother said it was because he was born in the Whispering Woods, where ambient mana pooled like morning dew. But that wasn't important right now. What mattered was understanding why the third law of magical resonance-

"Son." Father's voice, gentle but firm. "Put the book down. Come meditate with me."

"No!" Little Adom clutched the book tighter. "I'm reading about res'nance!"

"The resonance will still be there after meditation."

"But I almost understand it!" His voice rose to that particular pitch only angry five-year-olds could achieve. "Just three more pages!"

"Adom."

"I don't like meditating father! It's boring!"

God, he'd been such a brat. Father had just sat there, patient as stone, while he threw his tantrum. Looking back now, through the lens of exhaustion and decades...

Another crash from the arena, but Adom held onto the memory.

His father sighed, settling on the grass beside him. "I understand you love your books, son. Your magic. I'm glad you've found something that lights up your eyes like that." He paused. "But do you know what most mages lack?"

Little Adom hugged his book, curiosity winning over stubbornness. "...what?"

"Patience." Father smiled. "Life is short for us humans. Seventy years, if we're lucky. Most mages spend that time chasing after magic, but they forget its foundations." He looked at Adom. "Did you know the Farmer Mage was a knight before everything?"

"Really?"

"Indeed. And do you know what he did more than anything else? He meditated."

"Why?"

"That's how he perfected his magic." Father crossed his legs. "Here, let me show you something. When you're tired, when your Fluid feels empty, there's a way to restore it. The way he did it."

"But Fluid and mana are different!" Little Adom perked up. "The book says-"

Father chuckled. "Watch." He closed his eyes. "First, you breathe. Not just normal breathing. You need to find a quiet place in your mind. For me, it's the top of Mount Serene, where the air is crisp and clean. Can you picture your special place?"

Little Adom nodded reluctantly. "The library."

"Good. Now, imagine sitting there. Feel the air filling your lungs. Release it slowly." Father's breath became rhythmic. "Focus inward. Feel your Fluid. It's like... imagine a river inside you. When you're tired, it slows to a trickle. But if you listen carefully, if you breathe just right..."

Adom watched, eyes widening, as Fluid began to coat his father's body. Not just coating - it swirled, danced, lifted him slightly off the ground. When Father opened his eyes, they gleamed with renewed energy.

"Will I be able to do that?" Little Adom whispered, book forgotten in his lap.

"Of course. When you learn to meditate."

"But it's boring!" The whine returned. "I don't wanna sit still! I wanna learn spells!"

"Adom-"

"NO! Books are better! You can't learn this from just sitting!"

The memory blurred as another explosion rocked the chamber. Bob's voice carried over the chaos: "That the best you can do, you glorified suit of armor?"

Adom's eyes snapped open. The library. His quiet place. Even now, he could smell the old books, feel the worn leather chair beneath him. Father had been right - as usual. He just hadn't been ready to hear it at five years old.

He closed his eyes again, focusing on his breath. In. Out. The sounds of combat faded... He reached for the familiar comfort of the library, but... no. Something felt wrong. The leather chair, the dusty tomes - that was little Adom's sanctuary, the refuge of a stubborn child who hadn't known what he had.

He'd changed since then.

The beach. Yes. The salt air filled his lungs, seabirds calling overhead. The warmth of sun on his skin, the gentle tickle of sand beneath his feet, waves lapping at his ankles. The laughs. The joy. So many memories there...

The ambient mana whispered around him, familiar after years of manipulation.

But this was different. Instead of directing it outward, he drew it inward, letting it pool in his core. Years of mage training made the process almost intuitive - the mana swirled, transformed, refined itself into something denser. Fluid.

Breathe in.

The rising sun made the water look like gold. Its warmth caressed his skin, and he felt lighter, as if the waves themselves were lifting him. The exhaustion that had weighed him down began to dissolve like they were never there.

Breathe out.

Higher now. The water released him to the sky, but there was no fear. Only peace. Only power. The Fluid spread through his body like liquid sunlight, filling empty channels, restoring depleted reserves. Each breath drew him higher into the endless blue, until the beach below was a distant crescent of gold.

Floating. Free. Complete.

His eyes opened to reality. Fluid coated his body in a gentle azure glow, and his feet hovered inches above the ground.

[You have learned: Meditation]

Strength restored to 48%

Core capacity: 51%

Fluid reserves: 53%

[Expand to see more...]

The numbers barely registered. This feeling - this was what his father had tried to show him all those years ago. Not just restoration, but transformation. Connection.

Below him, Bob ducked another devastating swing from the Knight-Golem, but Adom saw it differently now. He was calmer, yet, more alert.

Was this what knights and battle mages felt?

He understood now. Finally, truly understood.

[Riddler's Bane equiped].

Through the monocle's lens, the golem's armor blazed with information. Weak points appeared and vanished like dying stars - except one. There, just below where a human's heart would be, a hairline fracture in the plating. Almost invisible, but...

"Bob!" Adom's eyes fixed on that spot. "The chest plate, left side! See how it's reinforced?"

"Bit busy trying not to die!" Bob ducked another swing that would have taken his head off. "What about it?"

"They over-reinforced it! The core's there, but the extra plating created a stress point!" Adom's mind raced. "Hit that spot, same place, every time. We crack it open-"

The golem's blade whistled through the air where Adom had been standing. He rolled, came up gasping. "-we expose the core!"

"That's your brilliant plan?" Bob's hammer sparked off the golem's armor. "Hit the strongest part until it breaks?"

"Trust me!"

Bob spat blood and grinned. "Always do, lad."

The leprechaun charged in, hammer raised. The golem's blade came down in a killing arc, but Bob was already moving. His weapon connected with the chest plate - CLANG - the impact echoing through the chamber.

A backhand caught Adom as he tried to flank.

"Again!" he shouted, tasting copper.

Bob struck the same spot - CLANG - sparks flying. The golem's counterattack opened a gash across his shoulder, but he didn't falter.

CLANG

CLANG

CLANG

Each hit precise, relentless. Blood ran down Bob's arm, but his strikes never wavered. The golem's movements became more aggressive, as if sensing the danger.

Its blade almost caught Adom's side. He stumbled, vision blurring.

"It's working!" Bob called out. A hairline crack had appeared in the plating. "But it's adapting! Can't get close enough-"

The golem's fist caught him square in the chest. Bob flew backward, hit the wall with a sickening crunch.

"BOB!"

"Still... here..." The leprechaun struggled to his feet, using his hammer for support. "Just... need an opening..."

Adom watched the golem advance on his friend, its Fluid coating rippling like liquid metal. The crack in its armor was barely visible now, sealed by the flowing energy. If they didn't finish this soon...

His eyes caught something in the monocle's display. The Fluid wasn't just armor - it was part of the golem's targeting system. Every movement was calculated, predicted, guided by that ethereal power.

But predictions could be wrong.

"Bob! When I say now, throw the hammer! Right at its head!"

"What? But the core-"

"TRUST ME!"

The golem raised its blade for a killing blow. Bob tensed, hammer ready.

"NOW!"

Bob hurled his weapon with everything he had left. The hammer spun through the air, a perfect arc toward the golem's head. The construct's Fluid shifted, calculating the trajectory, preparing to dodge-

Adom lunged forward.

The golem had to choose - dodge the hammer or strike Adom. Its Fluid calculations split focus for a fraction of a second.

"BOB! CATCH!"

Adom snatched the hammer out of the air mid-spin and threw it back to Bob in one fluid motion. The golem's blade missed him by inches, its perfect targeting disrupted.

Bob caught the hammer and swung with the momentum, putting his entire body into the strike. The weapon connected with the weakened plating.

CRACK

The armor split open like a shell, revealing the pulsing core beneath. Fluid leaked from the wound like blood.

"ADOM!"

Bob's hammer arced through the air again. This time, Adom was ready.

He caught it, Fluid enhancement surging through his muscles. One perfect swing. Everything they had left. The hammer connected with the exposed core.

The impact sent the core shooting out of the golem's back like a cannonball, taking chunks of metal with it. The construct froze mid-motion, its Fluid coating flickering once, twice - then simply dropped to its knees and fell forward with a hollow clang.

Silence fell.

Adom collapsed, vision swimming. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. The chamber spun around him, but he forced himself to move. Crawling more than walking, he reached the remains of the golem. Its metal surface still radiated heat when he touched it.

[Knight Golem obtained]

[Golem Core obtained]

Into the inventory they went. He'd study it later, understand how it worked...

"Bob," Adom managed through ragged breaths, "we got something interesti-"

The words died in his throat as he turned. Bob was propped against a wall, but something was wrong. Very wrong. His small frame was covered in deep gashes, and blood - too much blood - pooled beneath him. His usually rosy complexion had gone ashen, the characteristic leprechaun vitality drained away.

But Bob still smiled. "What's with the stare, lad? Tis' but a scratch."

Adom pocketed the pill and crawled to Bob. The leprechaun's chest still rose and fell, barely.

"Saw that coming," Bob wheezed. "Few hundred years without a proper fight..."

Adom's mind raced. No potions left. Healing magic was out - he could barely light a candle with his remaining mana. But Bob's pulse was weakening.

[Indomitable Will] flared as Adom hoisted Bob up. The leprechaun weighed like solid stone but was too weak to protest.

The wall flickered: CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE PASSED THE TEST OF STRENGTH. YOU MAY NOW LEAVE THE LABYRINTH.

"Stay with me," Adom stumbled toward the exit, legs threatening to give out. "Keep talking. Your home - what was it like?"

Bob's voice came thin. "The crystal forests... never saw anything like 'em..."

"Yeah?" Another step. His muscles screamed. "Tell me your name again," Adom panted as they crossed the threshold. "The real one."

"Ah... Cearbhallán..." Bob's voice grew fainter. "Ó Dochartaigh..."

"Family name too?" Adom pressed, fighting the darkness. Each step felt heavier.

"Clan of the... Midnight Bell..." The leprechaun's words slurred. "Been ages since... anyone asked..."

They disappeared into the shadows, Adom still urging his companion to pronounce more impossible syllables as the labyrinth's light faded behind them.