The trial chamber loomed before them like a frozen fortress, its walls glinting with frost that caught the pale light and fractured it into shards across the floor. Nash Voldemort stepped forward cautiously, his piercing blue eyes scanning every detail. Liora Vallegoire moved ahead with calm precision, her red-and-green heterochromatic eyes coldly appraising the icy expanse. She didn't glance at him, didn't speak, and made it clear with every movement that his presence was of no consequence.
"Alright," Nash muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. "Let's do this."
He knew better than to expect help. Liora was silent, calculating, lethal—a storm wrapped in grace. Her wind-swept steps left the faintest traces on the crystalline floor, her focus absolute. Nash's shoulders tensed, and he forced himself to mirror her movements, staying close enough to react but careful not to interfere.
The first threat appeared: ice-encrusted wolves, each twice the size of a man, snarling with frozen fangs. Liora's hand flicked outward, summoning Tempest Mirage—illusions of herself spun across the battlefield, disorienting the wolves. They lunged at the phantoms, giving Nash a brief window to act.
He wasted no time, calling forth his Shadow Pulse, sending a concussive wave that shattered the ice around the nearest wolf. It fell with a deafening crack, and Nash exhaled, glancing briefly at Liora. She didn't look at him; her illusions kept spinning, her real form striking with precision, effortlessly cutting through any wolf that broke through the deception.
He felt a flutter of admiration. She was incredible. He wanted—needed—to impress her, though she clearly didn't care. A small pang of frustration pricked him. How could someone so cold command such respect without even looking at him?
They pressed deeper into the chamber. Icicles hung from the ceiling like jagged chandeliers, and the chill bit through his uniform. Nash clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus on survival rather than on the impossible thought of earning her notice. Liora moved with lethal precision, each step calculated, every swing of her blade decisive. He could barely keep up, dodging, weaving, and striking when he saw openings.
The ice wolves circled back, and Nash had to anticipate their patterns. He created shadows and illusions of his own, trying to draw some of the beasts away. Liora's Tempest Mirage continued to wreak havoc on the enemies, giving him fleeting moments of opportunity.
"You're fast," Liora said at one point, voice cold, detached, but clear enough that Nash caught it. She didn't stop or look at him, and there was no warmth in the tone. Just a factual assessment.
"Yeah… I'm… trying," he stammered, cheeks warming. He hadn't expected to feel flustered at a single sentence, especially from someone who clearly didn't care.
Another wolf lunged straight at Liora, bypassing illusions. She deflected it easily, and Nash moved instinctively to flank it. She waved him off with a flick of her blade, finishing the strike.
"I've got it," she said matter-of-factly, her attention already on the next wave.
Nash bit back a sigh, realizing that no matter what he did, she would always be one step ahead. And yet, he couldn't help but want to try. He ducked, rolled, and struck again, more coordinated now, more careful. He imagined himself standing beside her, fighting as equals—even if she didn't see him that way.
The wolves finally fell, melting into icy puddles that hissed against the floor. Silence returned to the chamber, broken only by their labored breaths. Liora's chest heaved slightly, a subtle sign of exertion, though her posture remained regal, untouchable. Nash, meanwhile, felt a surge of pride.
"We did it," he said, grinning, though his eyes never left her. "We really did it."
Liora didn't acknowledge him. She sheathed her sword and moved forward, scanning the next corridor. Nash's grin faltered slightly, but he forced a chuckle. "Right… just me being excited."
They rounded a corner and discovered a small chest tucked into a niche of ice. Liora examined it for traps without saying a word. Nash hovered nearby, wanting to help but knowing that Liora's indifference meant his interference wasn't welcome. She opened the chest with swift precision. Inside were magical artifacts and scrolls that would aid them in the trial.
"Take what you need," she said without looking at him, her voice cold but functional.
Nash's hand hovered over the chest, hesitant, yet eager to interact with her. He stole a glance at her profile: the sharp line of her jaw, the focused intensity in her heterochromatic eyes, the way her hair caught the pale light. His chest tightened with a mixture of awe and a strange, growing feeling he could only describe as admiration… or perhaps something more.
He couldn't ignore it. He liked her. He liked her strength, her dominance, her indifference. And he wanted her to notice him, to see him not as a nuisance but as someone worthy of standing beside her.
They moved forward, deeper into the labyrinthine chamber. Nash's playful, sometimes clumsy tendencies surfaced despite the dangers, and Liora's reactions remained minimal, though a flicker of annoyance occasionally betrayed her awareness. At one point, he tripped over a rune trap, and her sword shot out, slicing the air near his shoulder.
"Careful," she said calmly, though her hand hovered near him as if ready to act if necessary.
"I'm fine! Totally fine!" he replied, raising his hands in mock surrender, flushing slightly. The blue of his eyes met hers for a brief moment. She didn't look at him, yet Nash imagined she had noticed.
Through the trial, Nash realized that survival here required more than strength—it required careful coordination and trust, even if one-sided. He followed Liora's lead, supported her illusions and strikes, and silently vowed to grow stronger, not just for himself but for the chance—however small—that she might ever notice him for more than just a co-participant.
By the time they reached the chamber's exit, the tension of battle had settled into a quiet rhythm. Nash exhaled, exhausted but exhilarated. He had learned much, not only about the chamber but also about Liora. He was drawn to her, captivated by her, and determined—if nothing else—to survive and improve, hoping one day that the ice around her heart might soften just enough for him.
And Liora? She walked ahead, indifferent, focused, untouchable—her gaze fixed solely on the trials ahead, oblivious to the stirrings of admiration behind her.