But now? Pallas had just leaped over the chasm that kept countless warriors grounded for a lifetime. He had done it in a single, violent surge of Bloodline Resonance.

More importantly, he had done it alone. No rituals. No rare catalysts. He hadn't even used a Lord's Stone.

A wave of fierce, predatory joy washed over Lilith.

Finally, the weight on her chest lifted. She no longer had to fear for Pallas's future.

For years, she had watched Caelus—Violet's son—with a burning, secret envy. Violet might have been content playing gardener in the territory, acting as if power meant nothing to her, but her son was a monster of talent. Caelus was so naturally powerful that the Horde gravitated toward him like moths to a flame.

But now? Now the scales had balanced.

"Mother! Elara! Do you feel that?"

The blood mist dissipated. Pallas stepped out from the center of the training grounds. His voice was brimming with arrogance, confidence, and raw power.

"I am... unstoppable!"

"Pfft."

"Hahaha!"

Instead of awe, he was greeted by two distinct sounds: a stifled snort and a peal of unbridled laughter.

Pallas froze. His four heads blinked in unison.

"Mom? What's wrong? I'm powerful now. Shouldn't you be proud?"

He turned to his sister, his confusion mounting. "And you! What's so funny?"

The smile on Elara's face was one he knew well. It was the look she gave him right after she'd pulled a prank on him when they were kids. But his mother? He had rarely seen Lilith look so... amused.

"Oh, you're strong alright, little brother."

Elara teleported, appearing instantly at his side. She reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Very intimidating."

Lilith walked over, her hips swaying. She crouched down—crouched—to meet his eyes and held out a bundle of fabric.

It was a tiny pair of shorts and a small vest.Toddler sized.

"Put these on," Lilith cooed, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter. "You're a bit old to be running around stark naked."

Pallas looked at the tiny clothes in his mother's hand. He looked up at Elara, who now towered over him. He looked down at his own body.

His eyes widened.

"Aaaah!"

The training ground witnessed a sight that would go down in legend: the multi-armed Pallas frantically trying to cover his manhood.

But this was his first time in the Asura Titan Form. His coordination was non-existent.

Four heads screamed in panic. Eight arms flailed wildly. Instead of covering himself, three hands got tangled, one hit him in the face, and the other four slapped against his thighs in a chaotic rhythm of slapstick failure.

As a direct descendant of Orion, Pallas had skipped the intermediate steps and evolved directly into a Stoneheart Titan. Because his bloodline purity was off the charts, he unlocked the four-headed, eight-armed combat form instantly.

But the evolution came with a price. The resonance had burned away every ounce of impurity in his body, scouring his genetic code so thoroughly that it had biologically regressed him.

He was physically four years old again.

"Oh, come here. Let Mama look at you."

Once Pallas managed to wrestle himself into the tiny clothes, Lilith scooped him up.

She missed this. She missed the days when he was small, mischievous, and dependent on her. She turned him left and right, inspecting him like a prize exhibit.

Pallas, on the other hand, was dying inside. His mind was that of a grown warrior, a veteran of the Civil War, but he was being dandled like a baby.

Lilith ignored his grumbling. She ran her fingers over his four identical heads and checked the articulation of his eight small arms.

The Asura Titan Form. No one in the Stoneheart Horde was a stranger to this silhouette.

It was the signature of the King. It was Orion's ultimate war aspect. In the plazas of Blackstone City and the inner sanctum of Stoneheart City, statues of this form stood tall, acting as conduits to collect faith energy for their absent lord.

"You look more like your Daddy every day," Lilith whispered, a fierce pride in her voice.

She set him down, a soft smile touching her lips. "Training is over for today. Go get cleaned up. You smell like ozone and birth."

She turned and left the arena, her mood lighter than it had been in a decade.

Elara didn't leave. She circled Pallas, her eyes wide not just with amusement, but with envy. She could feel it radiating off him—the dense, terrifying potential hidden in that small frame.

"Alright, short stack," Elara grinned. "Raise all your hands. Big sis wants to count them."

"Elara, I swear to the gods..."

The North. Blackstone City.

When the Civil War ended, Kronos hadn't returned to the capital. He was a soldier's soldier; he chose to stay with his unit, living and breathing the military life on the frontier.

Today, Kronos was on rotation, leading a patrol along the massive city walls.

And then, right in front of his squad, it happened.

Kronos shared a similar genetic background to Pallas. Their mothers were powerful, but compared to the Titan blood of their father, their maternal lineage was full of "genetic noise."

The resonance hit him like a hammer. The Titan blood boiled, incinerating the impurities, restructuring his flesh.

In a flash of light, the battle-hardened commander vanished. In his place stood a confused, four-year-old child with four heads and eight arms.

"Uh... Commander?"

Gustalon, a fellow officer, stared in bewilderment. He had no children, and when he ascended to the rank of Lord, nothing this bizarre had happened.

"What is happening to the Prince?"

Next to him, Dirtclaw began to shake. But it wasn't fear.

"It's the Resonance," Dirtclaw growled, his voice rough with awe. "The Prince... his potential just skyrocketed."

"Usually, this only happens when..."

Dirtclaw stopped mid-sentence. His reptilian eyes snapped upward, looking toward the south, toward the unseen presence of his master.

Fanaticism replaced reason in the hound's eyes.

"Oh! Praise the Great Lord!" Dirtclaw howled, dropping to his knees. "Your power is the sun that banishes the night! You are the starlight guiding the Stoneheart Horde through the void!"

"Your wisdom is the ocean! The mountains bow before you! Even the toughest obstacles crumble at your mere glance!"

Gustalon wasn't as dramatic as the hound, but he wasn't stupid. He watched Dirtclaw's ecstatic prostration and connected the dots.

The Stoneheart Horde finally had its own Demigod.

The ceiling of their future had just been blown wide open.

"We need to send word to Lady Lilith immediately," Gustalon said, his voice urgent. "We have to lock down the area before—"

WAAAGH!

The tiny, four-headed Kronos let out a feral bellow.

It was instinctual, uncontrolled. A shockwave of Legendary level pressure erupted from the toddler's body.

"Take cover!"

Gustalon and Dirtclaw reacted instantly.

This wasn't a joke. Kronos had no control over his new output.

The pressure wave slammed into the ramparts. For half the city radius, anyone below the rank of Lord was flattened. Soldiers collapsed, gasping for air, their knees hitting the stone. Some of the weaker sentries passed out cold from the sheer spiritual weight.

Gustalon and Dirtclaw flared their own auras, creating a protective bubble to shield the nearby troops from the worst of the blast.

Just like his brother, Kronos had ridden the wave of his father's ascension.

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