The world was not saved. But… it wasn’t lost either.

Moons passed. And with every return, every trade, every meeting… I noticed things.

Resistance. Change. Courage.

Some tribes no longer bowed their heads. Others had learned to use knives, traps, nets. A few had even defeated the Okais.

“Three fell,” a river goblin told me. “And we only lost one.”

I said nothing. But I nodded with respect. Not many could say such a thing. Even fewer could say it twice.

Not all news was good. Some villages had disappeared completely. Other groups lived on the run. Some had retreated deep into the forests, as if even the air frightened them.

But… it was no longer total despair. It was… struggle.

I kept hunting. Not for sport. Not for rage.

For duty. For strategy. For silence.

I chose carefully when. Where. And how.

I tried to move like a shadow. Carried daggers, knives, light spears, the black arrows.

And I attacked. Fast. Precise. Lethal.

But… I didn’t always win.

I had seen new types of Okais. Bigger. Heavier. Covered in breathing armor. With weapons that burned without fire. And eyes… that saw in the dark.

Once they saw me before I moved. I had to run. Climb. Dive. Hide my scent. Bury myself in mud.

And for hours… I didn’t know if I would survive.

I did. But not without fear.

Since then, I hunted less. And planned more.

I chose well when. Where. And how.

But I wasn’t always alone in that decision.

Sometimes, without meaning to, my chest stirred. Not from fear. Not from fatigue.

But from something else… alive.

A tremor. A strange warmth. An echo behind my ribs.

At first, I didn’t understand. But then… I made the connection.

Okais. Always nearby. Always before I saw them.

Sometimes I hadn’t even detected them yet… and the slime was already trembling.

As if warning me. As if seeing things I didn’t.

Since then, I didn’t ignore that pulse.

When it trembled… I hid. When it calmed… I attacked.

I didn’t know why it worked. But it did.

And that… was enough.