Jin's body lay still, half-buried in dust and blood.
For a long time, nothing moved.
Only his shallow breathing broke the silence.
Then, slowly—painfully—his fingers twitched.
His right hand clenched around the broken hilt of his sword.
The movement sent agony shooting through his arm, but it was enough.
His eyes fluttered open, blurry and dazed, gazing up at the moonlight spilling across the cracked ground.
His lips trembled as he exhaled a weak breath. "Still… not over," he murmured.
Every inch of him screamed to stay down.
His ribs burned, his legs throbbed, his vision spun, but Jin refused to fade into darkness.
He planted one trembling hand against the ground and tried to push himself up.
His arm buckled. He fell again, groaning in pain.
Minutes passed. He tried again.
And again.
By the third attempt, he managed to rise onto one knee.
His breathing was ragged, shallow.
Blood dripped from his chin, mixing with the dirt beneath him.
