Aron, once the youngest son of a great noble house, was now just another soldier trying to survive.
The desert burned beneath his feet. The ground was cracked and dry, glowing with scattered red stones that still held heat from past explosions. Smoke covered the sky, letting only a thin, dirty light pass through.
The demon invasion had destroyed everything he knew. This battle was just another struggle to stay alive.
Aron ran across the sand, breathing hard. His body was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. Every step hurt.
Behind him, Steve stumbled forward, pressing a hand against his bleeding side.
"I'm… still here," Steve said, forcing a weak smile even though he could barely stand.
A loud roar shook the desert.
The demon ahead—Helmoth—shivered violently as its body began to change. The Helmoth were feared for one reason: once they evolved, even entire squads avoided fighting them.
Its skin cracked open, glowing red veins spreading underneath. Muscles swelled. Horns grew. A stronger, deadlier form took shape.
Aron felt fear twist inside him.
He wasn't a hero. He was just tired—tired of running, tired of losing, tired of watching everything crumble.
The Helmoth finished evolving.
It attacked instantly.
It dashed at Steve with terrifying speed. Steve raised his sword, but the strike sent him flying back. He hit the ground hard, coughing blood.
"STEVE!" Aron shouted.
Before he reached him, the demon created a fireball and threw it. Steve barely dodged, but the explosion burned Aron's arm.
Aron gritted his teeth but kept moving.
He grabbed Steve and pulled him up.
"Come on—we can still run!" Aron said, even though he knew they were both near their limit.
But the demon didn't stop.
It slammed both hands into the ground. The shockwave burst outward, splitting the cracked earth wide open.
The ground under them broke apart.
Both Aron and Steve fell into the dark pit below.
Steve was unconscious before they even dropped. Aron reached out, trying to grab the edge—but his fingers only scraped air.
As he fell, a quiet memory flashed through his mind: his siblings' laughter… a sound he hadn't heard since the war began.
The wind roared past his ears.
And yet… Aron felt calm.
He had lived in this hell for thirty years.
He had watched his parents die.
His nine siblings.
His friends.
His world.
Lost, one by one.
He had survived longer than he deserved.
Perhaps… this was enough.
"Maybe… it's better this way," he whispered.
As the darkness closed in, Aron felt something pulling him, as if the world itself reacted to his final thought.
Before he hit the bottom, a bright white light exploded across his vision.
The fall vanished.
The pain vanished.
Everything vanished.
Aron felt softness beneath him. A bed. A warm blanket.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was familiar. Too familiar.
He sat up quickly.
His hands were small.
His voice was young.
His legs were short.
"What… what is this?" he whispered.
He looked around the room. The wooden shelves, the small desk, the toy sword in the corner—all from his childhood.
Then he heard something that made his chest tighten.
Birds.
Real birds.
A sound he hadn't heard since before the world fell.
Footsteps approached his door.
"Aron! Breakfast is ready!" a cheerful voice called.
A voice belonging to a sibling who had died long ago.
Aron froze. His heart pounded.
He ran to the window.
Clear blue sky.
Warm sunlight.
His family mansion alive and peaceful.
No demons.
No smoke.
No war.
Tears filled his eyes.
"I… came back," he whispered.
He was not eighteen.
He was not on a battlefield.
He was seven years old again.
A second chance.
A new beginning.
A chance to save everything he once lost.
Aron took a deep breath, steadying himself.
"This time… I won't waste my life."
And with that, his second life truly began