The dawn of the second day found Eren already at the boulder, his hands pressed against its unyielding surface. He had slept little, his mind consumed by the challenge before him. The first rays of sunlight caught the determination etched into his features as he pushed, muscles straining with renewed vigor after his brief rest.
"Move," he commanded through clenched teeth, as if the stone might respond to his will alone.
The boulder remained motionless.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, beating down on Eren's bare shoulders, turning them a painful red. Still, he pushed, adjusting his stance, seeking leverage where none existed. The ground beneath his feet continued to crack and compress, the earth itself yielding while the stone did not.
By midday, his hands were blistered, his arms trembling with exhaustion. Yet each time his strength began to flag, he thought of Naia—her face, her voice, the faith she had placed in him—and found reserves he didn't know existed.
