(Time Stilled World, Leo's Isolated Mansion, Leo's POV)

*Tremble*

*Shake*

Sweat rolled down Leo's back as he shivered uncontrollably before his next fight.

'What's wrong with me? It's just another mortal…'

He thought, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to breathe slowly, but no matter how many times he exhaled, the tremor in his hands refused to fade.

His body, usually so steady, so composed, felt foreign tonight, as if it no longer belonged to him.

He sat alone in the dimly lit room, stripped of gear or pretense, as the mana lamps above cast long shadows across the walls.

Outside, the sound of artificial rain echoed against the glass, rhythmic and distant, but even that steady beat failed to soothe his growing anxiety.

It wasn't the fight itself that unnerved him. He had fought thousands of times before—thousands of enemies, each more ruthless than the last.

He had struggled, overcame, adapted, and triumphed over all. Victory had long become routine, mechanical, inevitable.

Yet now, as he sat there, his breath shallow and his skin cold, an unfamiliar fear crept into his chest.

He was at 998,000 wins….

Just two thousand away from the million mark, a number that meant nothing to anyone else, but everything to him, since that was the goal set by the meditation manual.

'Why now?' he thought, his fingers curling into his palms until the knuckles turned white.

'Why am I afraid now, when I wasn't even afraid of death back in the day?'

He wondered as he closed his eyes, trying to drown out the unease clawing at his mind.

The next opponent would be no different from the last nine hundred thousand, just another common soldier, another average joe.

But his heart didn't care for logic.

He knew the reason.

It wasn't about difficulty. It was about the weight of what he stood to lose.

If he lost now, even once, everything would reset. A single defeat would erase two and a half decades of progress, decades of perfect precision, endless practice, and solitary focus, gone in an instant.

And that thought alone made his stomach turn.

*Shiver*

*Sweat*

'I can't afford to lose now,' he told himself, voice shaking against his palms. 'Not after coming this far. Not after all the time I've wasted rebuilding, again and again…'

His pulse raced faster. The silence of the room seemed to grow louder, suffocating, the air thick with the scent of sweat and ozone.

He could almost feel the storm brewing inside him—a volatile blend of fatigue, pride, and the suffocating fear of falling short right at the end.

"Damn it…" he muttered, lowering his hands, as his reflection stared back at him from the faint gleam of the glass window.

"What are you afraid of? Skyshard? Are you really afraid of losing? Or are you afraid of losing Amanda and the kids?

They've waited for you so far. But if you start over again, the next time you see Caleb, he will be 30."

The reflection said, seemingly mocking him, as those words cut straight through his chest.

Lately, he couldn't remember anymore as to why he decided to live life this way.

For the Leo of Earth was not so self centred.

Back then, his only reason to grow stronger was to keep his family safe.

And although that was still one of his main motivations even today, he could somehow no longer lie to himself and say that it was the only one. Nor the biggest one.

In his heart, he knew his family was no longer his number one priority, as he couldn't even recall the last time that he did something specifically for them that did not involve him benefitting first.

And although his wife had been incredibly supportive through it all, he could feel the pressure closing down on him now, as if he did not get his act together soon, she would no longer be the one to keep waiting.

"I can't be another Jacob…. I, of everyone, should know what it's like to grow up without a father.

I can't let them down…."

He admitted, as the jitters finally began to die down as he acknowledged the root cause of his fears.

*Exhale*

Exhaling sharply, he looked towards his reflection once more, and saw a different man staring back at him.

Not a trembling warrior afraid of failure, but a craftsman, steady, patient, and unflinching.

The fear that had clawed at his chest moments ago was still there, but it no longer ruled him.

He had named it, faced it, and now it was just another obstacle to be worked through, one careful step at a time.

He pushed away from the window, the floor creaking faintly under his bare feet as he made his way toward the center of the room.

His battle robes hung neatly over the stand beside his bed, freshly pressed, the faint scent of cold metal and iron clinging to them from years of combat.

He reached for the black fabric first, feeling its familiar weight settle against his fingers, and then began slipping it over his shoulders, tying each clasp slowly, methodically, like a man preparing for a ceremony rather than a fight.

Each motion was deliberate. Every buckle fastened with the precision of habit.

He crouched down, picked up his boots, and ran a thumb over the edges before sliding them on, tightening the laces with quiet care.

By the time he straightened again, his breathing had evened out completely. The air in the room no longer felt suffocating. It was still heavy, yes, but now it was the kind of weight that sharpened him, that reminded him of what he was capable of when he stopped letting fear cloud his rhythm.

"Two thousand left," he said softly, staring at his reflection in the faint sheen of the window once more. "That's all. Two thousand steps to finish what I started."

He adjusted the collar of his robe, flexing his fingers to test the fit. The material shifted fluidly with his movement, molded perfectly to his frame, designed for speed and precision—the attire of someone who had mastered the art of killing long ago.

He was done chasing perfection through intensity. The next two thousand fights would be won through finesse, through patience, through the exactness of a man crafting something worthy of remembrance.

A watchmaker building his life's final piece.

"I've come too far to falter now," he murmured, his tone low but resolute. "Its time to see this through, for once and for all…."

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