The air was heavy with smoke and the acrid stench of fire. The ground still trembled where Arion had moved, fissures cracking the scorched earth like jagged scars. The soldiers, frozen in disbelief from the last encounter, exchanged hurried, panicked glances. Some whispered prayers, others stared dumbfounded at the man who had defied every law of reality.
The soldier who had charged him was still on his knees, shaking violently. "I—I can't… how…?" he stammered, eyes wide with terror. "He's… he's not human!"
Arion stood perfectly still, surveying the battlefield with calm, unhurried movements. Smoke curled around his figure, catching the dim light of the fires. The ruined city, the bodies, the shattered weapons—it all seemed insignificant beneath the quiet intensity radiating from him.
"Commander… he's—he's something else," another soldier whispered, clutching his shield like a talisman. "We—how can we even fight him?"
The commander's face was a mask of rage and fear. "Enough!" he barked, voice cracking but commanding. "Form up! Hold your ground! Don't let him—" His words faltered as the ground beneath his feet suddenly trembled, splitting in a subtle yet terrifying pattern. He stumbled but barely caught himself, eyes widening.
One of the younger soldiers whispered, trembling: "The earth… it's… moving by itself…"
Arion's gaze swept across the soldiers. His first step forward was deliberate, measured—but as he shifted his weight, the ground cracked loudly beneath him. Stones split, splintering like glass under pressure. The sound echoed across the ruins, sharp and unnatural, sending a shiver through even the bravest men.
The soldiers froze. Even the commander hesitated, gripping his sword tighter. "W-what is this…" someone muttered, voice barely audible over the roar of distant fires.
"You… can't—" the first soldier tried again, raising his voice, but no words could carry past the aura of silent power surrounding Arion. The air itself seemed to hum in response, vibrating with energy, like the world had recognized him as something beyond comprehension.
A soldier at the edge of the group stumbled backward, eyes wide. "He's… not a man. He's… something… else!"
Arion's eyes fell upon the trembling figure closest to him. The man's sword shook in his grip, hands quivering. He wanted to strike, to defend, but every instinct screamed to stop. And in that pause, a second fissure split the earth between them, a subtle but unmistakable warning.
"Step forward if you dare," Arion said, voice calm, carrying the weight of authority and something else—something primal that resonated in the chest like a deep drum. "Step forward and see what becomes of it."
The soldier froze, one foot lifted as though caught between fear and obedience. "I… I can't… I…" His voice faltered completely, lost to the oppressive quiet that seemed to stretch around Arion.
Nearby, whispers began to ripple among the ranks. "He's a god… no… he's a demon… what can we do?"
The commander clenched his teeth. "Stand your ground! You will—" His orders shattered into silence as the ground itself trembled again. Even the smoke seemed to swirl toward Arion, responding to him like a living thing.
Arion took another step. It was slow, deliberate, and yet the power radiating from him made it feel like an earthquake had passed through the battlefield. Soldiers stumbled and fell, others scrambled backward in panic. The tension was tangible, heavy, almost suffocating.
A soldier's voice broke the chaos, shaking: "We… we can't… he's… he's too strong!"
Arion paused, letting the words hang in the air. His gaze swept the battlefield. Men who had moments ago been confident warriors now cowered, unsure if they should fight, flee, or collapse entirely. Fear had replaced discipline; hesitation had replaced courage.
Then, almost imperceptibly, Arion tilted his head. A faint smirk, almost unreadable, touched his lips. His curiosity stirred—not for the soldiers themselves, but for the nature of fear, the fragility of life, the chaos that swirled endlessly around mortals.
The soldiers watched, paralyzed. Whispers rose into desperate murmurs. "He… he's going to kill us all…"
And yet, despite the growing panic, Arion did nothing. Not yet. His first step was not toward destruction, but observation. The battlefield, the ruins, the smoke and fire—they were a puzzle. And he was learning the rules by which this world operated, testing the limits of its fragile order.
One soldier, trembling violently, finally shouted in despair. "We must retreat! There's… nothing we can do!"
The commander's face contorted in rage, but even he did not move. The very earth seemed to have betrayed him. The soldiers began to scatter, some tripping over debris, some frozen mid-step as if rooted to the spot by invisible chains.
Arion's eyes followed each movement, detached yet attentive. Each tremble of fear, each faltering step, was a story he could read. He could feel the hesitation, the terror, the faint pulse of courage that still lingered in a few—but it was faint, fleeting.
A child's scream echoed from the ruins: "Don't hurt us!"
Arion's head turned slightly toward the sound. Curiosity flickered. The world was full of surprises, and some were… small, fragile, yet persistent.
Another soldier, bold or foolish, raised his weapon one last time. "Stop him! He… he must pay!"
Arion merely lifted a hand. The ground quaked beneath the man's feet, splitting slightly and sending him sprawling. Dust rose in thick clouds, mingling with the smoke of the burning city. The man scrambled back, pale and shaking.
The battlefield was silent now, except for the distant crackle of flames and the terrified whispers of the scattered soldiers. One thing was clear: Arion had taken his first step, and the world had already begun to bend in response.
And as he looked toward the horizon, where fires still raged and faint cries echoed, a question lingered, heavy in the ash-filled air: if a single step could command the world, what would happen when he walked fully into it?