Chapter 1:Demon king's Regression

The sun was beating down like it had a score to settle, too bright, too hot, making my head throb before I even figured out where I was. I squinted up at it, one hand flapping uselessly in front of my face, and that's when I saw it—my hand. Small. Knobby little fingers, not the scarred, calloused paws I'd gotten used to incinerating cities with. What the hell?

I scrambled up, nearly tripped over my own feet—skinny legs, bony knees poking through these scratchy trousers that looked like something my ma stitched together before I torched her village. Sorry, Ma. My heart was doing this dumb galloping thing, and I pressed a palm to my chest like I could slow it down. Felt my ribs, frail little birdcage of a body. Twelve years old, maybe? Last thing I remembered was dying—Amelia's sword in my chest, her crying like it hurt her more than me, which, fair, I was the asshole who made her do it. Now I'm… here?

I was under this big, sprawling tree—kinda gnarled, kinda beautiful, the kind kids climb 'til someone falls and breaks an arm. Laughter hit my ears, sharp and loud, and I turned my head. Bunch of brats running around near the center of the village, kicking up dust, shouting nonsense. Eldoria. My hometown. Before I turned it to ash and bone. Except it's not ash now—it's alive, buzzing, people hauling baskets of bread and yelling about whose cow got loose again. Like none of it ever happened.

"Shit," I muttered, and my voice cracked like a twig underfoot. Puberty's a bitch I haven't hit yet, apparently. Was this some kinda cosmic joke? Me, Aron, the Demon King—pinnacle of magic, scourge of the world—stuffed back into my kid self? I patted my face, expecting scars, stubble, something. Nope. Smooth as a damn peach.

I needed to move, figure this out, but my legs were jelly, and my head was spinning worse than that time I drank ogre mead on a dare. Time travel? Second chance? Punishment? I'd messed with some dark spells back in the day, but nothing that'd pull this off. Maybe the gods were bored. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I was dead, and this was hell—a quiet little hell where I'd have to watch it all go wrong again.

The kids were still hollering, and I squinted at 'em, trying to place faces. Redheaded Timmy, always picking his nose. Sara, bossy as a mule. And then—fuck me—there she was. Amelia. Sitting off by herself under that big oak, knees hugged to her chest, golden hair in these lopsided pigtails. She looked… small. Not the Hero with steel in her spine and blood on her hands. Just a girl, watching the others like she wanted in but didn't know the password.

My throat went dry. I took a step toward her, then froze like an idiot. What was I gonna do, huh? Wave and say, "Hey, 'Melia, 'member me? The guy you gutted?" Yeah, that'd be smooth. But I couldn't peel my eyes off her. She was picking at the grass, head down, and something in my chest twisted—guilt, maybe, or something softer I didn't wanna name. I'd made her cry once. A lot, actually. Now she was just… here.

Before I could sort my head out, this beefy kid—Bram, I think, always a little shit—spotted her. "Oi, weirdo's back!" he yelled, elbowing his buddies. They all turned, snickering, and Amelia shrank into herself, cheeks going pink.

"Leave her alone," I said, and it just slipped out, loud and dumb. Bram spun on me, eyebrows up like I'd sprouted horns—which, ha, not yet, kid.

"What'd you say, Aron?" He puffed up, chest out, like he was hot shit instead of a snot-nosed punk.

I straightened, which didn't do much 'cause I was a twig next to him. "I said leave her be. She's not hurting you."

He laughed, this barking sound that made my fists itch. "What, you sweet on her? Gonna be her knight or somethin'?"

The other kids giggled, and I felt my face heat up—stupid kid body, betraying me. "Just… piss off and play somewhere else, alright?"

Bram stepped closer, cracking his knuckles like he'd seen some tough guy do it. "Or what? You gonna cry to your ma?"

I swallowed. Back in the day, I'd have snapped my fingers and turned him into a pile of cinders. Now? I'd be lucky if he didn't knock my teeth out. But then Amelia—little, shy Amelia—shot to her feet, fists clenched at her sides.

"Stop it!" she shouted, voice wobbly but sharp enough to cut through the noise. Bram blinked at her, dumbfounded. "Leave Aron alone. He's just—he's just being nice!"

Bram stared, then snorted. "Fine. You're both freaks anyway." He lumbered off, his posse trailing, muttering crap under their breath.

I let out a breath, shoulders sagging. Amelia turned to me, and her eyes—gods, those eyes, soft and green and not yet hardened by me—caught mine. "Thanks," she mumbled, kicking at the dirt. "You didn't hafta."

I shrugged, playing it off like my heart wasn't pounding. "No big deal. Bullies are assholes."

She smiled, this tiny, wobbly thing that hit me like a punch. "I'm Amelia."

"Yeah," I said, then caught myself. "I mean, uh, I'm Aron." I stuck out my hand, and she took it—warm, steady, like she wasn't shaking inside like me.

The grass was damp under my knees, sticking to my trousers as I crouched there, pretending to hunt for whatever dumb treasure Amelia swore was buried near the creek. She was giggling, her voice bouncing off the trees like little bells, digging with a stick and getting mud all over her hands. "It's gotta be here, Aron! I saw it sparkle yesterday!" she said, all bright-eyed and sure, like the world was still good and sparkly things mattered.

I nodded, poking at the dirt with my fingers, but my head wasn't in it. It was a million miles away—or years, I guess. Playing with her like this, it was easy for a sec—like I could just be twelve again, like the Demon King was some nightmare I'd wake up from. But then it hit me, this flood of before, and I couldn't shake it.

I used to be cold. Not just to her—to everything. I'd shut it all out, built this wall of ice and fire around me, 'cause that's what power does, right? You climb so high you forget what the ground feels like. Amelia, though—she never stopped trying. She'd show up, time after time, blade gleaming, eyes wet, begging me to come back. "Aron, please," she'd say, her voice cracking like it hurt to even speak my name. "You don't have to do this. Come home."

Her sword'd be at my throat—fuck, she was fast, stronger than anyone I'd ever faced—and I'd laugh. Laugh! Like it was a game, like her tears were nothing. "You can't stop me, 'Melia," I'd spit, all ego and venom, "I'm the king now. This is who I am." And she'd hesitate, every damn time, giving me that chance to turn it around. She could've ended me ten times over—twenty, maybe—but she didn't. Not 'til she had to.

That last time, though… gods, her face. Tears streaking through the blood and dirt, her hands shaking as she drove that blade deeper into my chest. "I'm sorry," she'd whispered, like she was the one who'd fucked up. I'd choked on my own blood, staring up at her, and even then, I didn't say it—I didn't say I was wrong, didn't say I should've listened. Pride's a hell of a drug, and I was drowning in it 'til the end.

Now here I was, twelve again, watching her grin as she pulled a shiny rock from the mud like it was gold. "Look, Aron! Told you!" she crowed, holding it up, her pigtails bouncing. And me? I was crumbling inside, all those chances she gave me flashing like lightning in my skull. She'd been my hero—the Hero—and I'd spit in her face every time. Called her weak for caring. Called myself strong for burning it all down.

"You idiot," I muttered, barely hearing myself over the creek's gurgle. My hand twitched, then..

Slap!!

I cracked it across my cheek, hard enough to sting. Amelia froze, rock halfway to showing me again, her mouth dropping open.

"Aron?" she said, voice small, like I'd scared her. "What're you…"

"Stupid," I hissed, and..

 Slap!!

Did it again, other side this time, the sound sharp in the quiet. My face burned, my eyes were stinging, and I couldn't stop. "Fucking moron—" Slap. "—prideful asshole—" Slap. Each hit rattled something loose, like I could beat the regret out of me, beat that cold, dead Aron into the dirt where he belonged.

"Aron, stop!" Amelia was on her feet, grabbing my wrists, her muddy hands slippery but strong. "What's wrong? Why're you—" Her eyes were huge, green and shiny, and she looked so damn confused it almost broke me right there.

I yanked away, stumbling back, my breath hitching like I'd run a mile. "I'm fine," I lied, voice rough, wiping my sleeve across my face 'cause—shit, was I crying? "Just… hit myself too hard playing or something. Dumb kid stuff."

She didn't buy it. I could tell, the way her brows scrunched up, the way she hugged that stupid rock to her chest like it'd protect her from whatever was wrong with me. "You're not dumb," she said, quiet but fierce. "You're my friend."

Friend. That word hit like a fist to the gut. I turned away, staring at the water rushing over the stones, all blurry now. "Yeah," I mumbled. "Guess I am."

She didn't push it—thank the gods or whatever threw me back here—she just plopped down beside me, close enough I could feel her warmth but not touching. We sat there, her humming some tune I didn't know, me trying to stuff all that guilt and memory back into the box it'd busted out of. I'd been such a bastard to her. Should've listened. Should've gone home when she asked. But I didn't, and she'd paid for it—paid with tears and a sword through my heart.

"Wanna keep digging?" she asked after a bit, nudging me with her elbow, all sunshine again like I hadn't just lost it.

I forced a grin, shaky but real. "Yeah, sure. Let's find more treasure."

She beamed, and we went back to it—her laughing, me pretending I wasn't drowning in my own head. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her, not after everything. But she was here, and I was too, and maybe—just maybe—I could figure out how to be the friend she thought I was. One muddy rock at a time.