Finally, a luminous gap appeared on the horizon. He had found the exit. With a light smile, he exited the forest and, before moving on, turned to take a last look at the green mantle. He inclined his head in a respectful gesture and whispered:

—Thank you, friend, for showing me the way.

Suddenly, a strange aroma penetrated his senses. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but for Asteron it was enough.

A sense of alert took hold of him, a spark of instinct ignited, the result of countless incarnations facing dangers. Without thinking twice, he unsheathed the Ethereal Cut Knives, feeling the energy throbbing in his hands, ready to be released.

—This is not a simple smell, —he reflected.

Something told him that a threat was looming not far away. Following his intuition, he quickly ascended the slope of a nearby hill, seeking a better view of the surroundings. Upon reaching the summit, the landscape unfolded before his eyes, and what he saw froze his blood.

In the distance, a small town, surrounded by a wall of logs, was under attack. A horde of beasts, at least fifteen, was launching itself against the walls with fury.

Asteron watched the guards trying to defend the place from the top of the palisade, throwing arrows and spears in a desperate effort. But they were not adepts of the Arcane. They lacked resonances, any ability that could give them a real chance against creatures of that magnitude.

"They are doomed," he thought coldly, while his eyes followed the chaos that was unfolding.

He knew those beasts; their dark and muscular bodies, their sharp claws, were unmistakable. For the villagers, resisting one of those creatures would be almost impossible, let alone fifteen.

"If the wall falls..." he thought, envisioning the inevitable future. "It will be nothing more than a massacre."

He took a deep breath, contemplating the scene with a mixture of frustration and unease. In his chest, the Ethereal Heart throbbed weakly, insufficient to wage a battle of that magnitude. He knew that facing that horde in his current state would be almost suicide, a desperate gamble against the forces of death.

Nevertheless, something in him resisted turning his back and moving on.

"Do I really have to risk everything again?", he thought, feeling a pang of exhaustion run through his mind.

This time he wanted to live differently, leave behind the eternal conflict, the incessant struggles. After all, hadn't he promised that in this life he would be free, that he would live without that chain that always dragged him to sacrifice?

He observed the villagers on the palisade, their reckless determination in facing the inevitable. He could look away, continue on his way, and justify his departure as a matter of sensibility.

—Face Arcane beasts? I barely managed to become an Adept, if I try anything now, I'm sure to die… And I'm not a fan of suicide.—he said to himself, almost in a whisper, trying to convince himself.

"If I allow this to happen, if I turn my back…", his thoughts betrayed him, revealing a relentless truth: that weight, that guilt, would not allow him to live in peace.

Ignoring this situation would be ignoring himself, and any peace he obtained afterward would be a deception, a twisted shadow of the full life he so longed for.

He clenched his jaw, letting the conflict resolve itself in silence. Every fiber of his being knew what he had to do, even though part of him wanted to avoid it.