Eiden did not sleep immediately.
He lay on his back inside the medic tent, staring at the low canvas ceiling while torches hissed outside in the wind.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the red-trimmed demon's head tilt.
Measured.
Not angry.
Interested.
Four deaths.
Four rewinds.
His skull still felt packed too tight, like something inside it had been folded and refolded until the creases no longer aligned.
If he slept, this moment would become permanent.
If he didn't, his thoughts would keep slowing.
Across the tent, a wounded soldier muttered in fever.
Somewhere outside, a hammer struck wood in steady rhythm—repairing barricades for tomorrow's push.
Tomorrow.
He turned onto his side.
If tomorrow collapses worse than today, I'll want this back.
But if I don't sleep, I won't be sharp enough to survive tomorrow at all.
The choice felt heavier than any blade that had cut him.
He pushed himself upright.
A medic glanced over. "You're not assigned rest yet."
"I know."
"Then lie down before you fall down."
Eiden hesitated only a second longer.
Then he lay back, folded his hands over his chest, and forced his eyes closed.
Not from exhaustion.
From decision.
—
He woke to the sound of horns.
For a brief, paralyzing second, he thought he had died again.
But there was no incense.
No summoning chamber.
No stone floor biting into his palms.
Canvas ceiling.
Mud smell.
Low morning light filtering through tent seams.
He inhaled sharply.
New anchor.
The weight of it settled immediately.
There would be no returning to yesterday's ridge.
No undoing tonight's choice.
He sat up slowly.
His head still ached—but cleaner.
The doubled vision was gone.
Sounds aligned properly with movement again.
The half-beat delay had shortened.
Sleep had restored something.
Not everything.
Enough.
Outside, soldiers were already assembling.
Rynn stood near a supply crate, tightening the straps on her Armor. She glanced at him as he stepped out of the tent.
"You look less haunted," she said.
"Temporary condition."
She snorted lightly. "Good. We're rotating positions today."
His stomach tightened.
"Rotating how?"
"High command thinks their left flank is weaker.
We pressure it hard and force a collapse."
That was different.
Yesterday they had tested canter repeatedly.
He looked toward the field.
The demon formation was already visible through morning haze.
Clean lines. No wasted movement.
The red-trimmed soldier stood further back than before.
Not in the first rank.
Not observing from behind either.
Offset.
Adjusted.
They're shifting too.
The horn sounded.
Advance.
Eiden moved with the formation, counting steps automatically now.
Mud consistency. Shield spacing. Breathing rhythm.
The left flank engagement hit fast.
Harder than expected.
The demons did not yield ground.
They absorbed the pressure.
Then redistributed it.
Eiden felt it before he saw it—the tightening of space to his right.
"Back two!" he muttered under his breath.
The soldier beside him didn't react.
Too quiet.
He stepped back himself.
A blade swept through the space his ribs had occupied a heartbeat earlier.
Correct.
He exhaled slowly.
The demon line pushed in short, disciplined bursts.
No reckless lunges. No gaps.
Rynn was three positions ahead of him this time.
Too far.
The pressure shifted again—this time toward the shallow depression in the terrain near the left flank.
A trap.
Different shape than yesterday's encirclement.
Subtler.
They were compressing the human line toward lower ground.
He felt the pattern assembling.
If they break here, retreat path narrows. Bottleneck. Slaughter.
He moved forward despite himself.
"Pull back one rank!" he shouted.
No one listened.
Rynn glanced over her shoulder, irritation flashing.
"Hold!"
"Not here," he said, louder now. "Two steps back!"
A demon shield slammed into the man in front of him.
The line buckled.
The red-trimmed soldier stepped forward.
Not charging.
Not striking.
Watching the reaction.
Eiden locked eyes with him for a fraction of a second.
No hatred.
Only assessment.
The pressure intensified toward the depression.
This is where it closes.
He stepped back again—early.
Too early by normal timing.
Rynn hesitated.
Just a heartbeat.
Then she barked, "Rear step! Maintain spacing!"
The command rippled imperfectly—but enough.
The line shifted upward slightly instead of downward.
The depression filled with empty air.
The demons' forward surge struck nothing.
A flicker of disruption.
Small.
But real.
The red-trimmed soldier's gaze sharpened.
Not confused.
Interested.
The clash continued.
Steel rang.
Mud sprayed.
A blade slashed toward Eiden's shoulder from his blind side.
He twisted—cleaner than yesterday.
The edge scraped Armor instead of flesh.
He countered with a short thrust, not aiming to kill—just to disrupt timing.
The demon withdrew half a step.
Eiden did not pursue.
Do not overextend.
Do not become the variable.
The horn sounded retreat sooner than expected.
Both lines disengaged with controlled distance.
No collapse.
No encirclement.
No catastrophic spill of bodies.
They reformed at the ridge.
Breathing hard.
Alive.
More of them alive than yesterday.
Rynn wiped blood from her jawline and turned to him.
"You saw that coming."
He shrugged lightly. "The ground dips."
"That's not what I meant."
He didn't answer.
Across the field, the demon formation shifted back into disciplined stillness.
The red-trimmed soldier remained visible.
Still watching.
But now closer to canter again.
Adjusted to him.
Eiden felt the weight of the new anchor settle deeper.
This day could not be undone.
If the next engagement spiralled, there would be no stone floor waiting to reset him to yesterday.
He flexed his fingers around the spear.
Steady.
Cleaner thoughts.
But no safety net.
The horn sounded again.
Second push.
He inhaled slowly.
This was different now.
Before, he had been testing the battlefield.
Today, the battlefield would test him without the option of erasing it.
Rynn stepped beside him.
"Same call?" she asked quietly.
"If they overcommit, yes."
"And if they don't?"
He met her eyes.
"Then we learn."
A faint smile touched her mouth. "You talk like you've been here longer than you have."
He didn't respond.
The human line advanced again.
The demons held.
The red-trimmed soldier moved.
Not toward the weak point.
Toward equilibrium.
He wasn't hunting Eiden directly anymore.
He was recalibrating the entire formation.
Compensating for one unpredictable variable.
Eiden felt a cold realization slide into place.
It's not just me adapting.
It's the system.
The clash hit harder this time.
Steel collided in tighter space.
The pressure rose evenly instead of skewing.
No obvious trap.
No obvious weakness.
The demon line felt… balanced.
The red-trimmed soldier had adjusted.
Eiden blocked a strike and stepped back in rhythm.
No early retreat this time.
No disruption to exploit.
The battlefield had absorbed yesterday's anomaly.
He swallowed.
That was the real danger.
Not being measured.
Being integrated.
The horn sounded final retreat as the sun dipped lower.
Both sides disengaged again with minimal loss.
Stalemate.
But cleaner.
More precise.
As the humans withdrew to camp, Eiden felt the full weight of the day settle over him.
He had not died.
He had not needed to.
But the world had shifted anyway.
The red-trimmed demon paused at the edge of his formation and looked directly at him across the field.
Not confusion.
Not hostility.
Acknowledgment.
The message was silent, but clear.
You changed the pattern.
So, we did too.
Eiden exhaled slowly.
He had anchored the day.
He had preserved clarity.
He had reduced deaths.
And in doing so—
He had forced the enemy to evolve.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he understood something dangerous.
Survival wasn't the goal.
Balance was.
And he had just disturbed it.