Aaron's knees struck the ground again.
Once.
Twice.
A third time—this one harder, cracking the scorched earth beneath him.
For a moment he didn't understand why he couldn't stand. His body had always obeyed him. His muscles had always been absolute. He had been born under the Devil King's lineage—not as a cunning tactician or a gifted spellcaster, but as a force of nature. A living juggernaut. A hammer that broke armies.
Strength was his gospel. His pride. His identity.
Yet now…
His legs trembled like wilted pillars.
His arms felt heavy—foreign, even.
And for the first time since birth, his heart pounded from something other than battle-lust.
Strain.
Weakness.
Fear.
Hiro stepped forward, sword dragging behind him with a weary scrape. The faint flicker of flame around him dimmed with each breath he stole, but he refused to waver.
