Jessie leaned back, her eyes still fixed on the blue fruit in her hand.

"Chosen, huh? Sounds like a fairy tale," she said dryly, though her tone lacked conviction.

Lyria lowered her gaze. "The Heart doesn't make mistakes."

Something about the way she said it — soft, rehearsed, almost devotional — made Ash's skin prickle.

He forced a smirk. "And what happens to the blessed?"

Lyria hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the platter. "They… serve the Heart."

Jessie's brow furrowed. "Serve? You mean—"

Before she could finish, Lyria stood abruptly. "You should rest."

Her smile returned — polite, too polished — and she bowed lightly before leaving the hut.

The faint scent of flowers trailed after her, mingling with the glow that filtered through the window.

Silence fell. Only the distant rustle of leaves and the soft hum of night insects filled the air.

Ash exhaled slowly. "Serve the Heart," he muttered. "Is it like some twisted religion or something?"

Jessie rubbed her arm — the place where the emerald veins had appeared earlier. The skin was smooth now, but she could still feel it pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat not her own.

"It's still warm," she whispered.

Ash turned to her. "Show me."

She lifted her sleeve, but he found nothing — everything looked completely normal.

He pulled his hand back. "We'll rest for now," he said finally. "Keep your weapon close."

He couldn't afford to live among these mad people who spoke about serving a tree for life.

Jessie nodded and closed her eyes.

Ash had planned to uncover this "blessed" mystery — was it some twisted fantasy of the old man, or was it religious nonsense?

If it was the latter, he could accept it. This village was surviving and thriving because of that massive tree. In their eyes, it was their god — the source of food, shelter, and even a livable climate.

He drifted into sleep, feeling the artificial warmth in the air.

His eyes opened as sunlight hit his face through the window. His eyebrows rose when he noticed a hand pressing down on his chest.

He looked sideways, only to find Jessie sleeping calmly beside him, strands of her hair covering her face while her hand rested on his chest.

Ash gently moved her arm aside and slipped free from her hold. Then, he checked his system screen — no significant changes since the last time.

[Level: 13]

[EXP: 12,400 / 100,000]

[Stat Points: 15]

He had 15 free stat points ready to allocate. His last level-up had increased his Strength by one point, and his Mana had also gone up by one, reaching a cap of 110.

Ash pondered the distribution of his stat points. His evolved skills — King's Domain and Heartpiercer — consumed far too much mana. He needed to increase it, but he was waiting in case he was forced to make a sudden choice.

"Jessie, wake up," Ash said, lightly slapping her cheek.

---

Outside Morning sunlight filtered through the tree's branches — soft and diffused like melted glass. The entire village moved with a rhythm so natural it felt choreographed: people walking in lines toward the great tree, exchanging fruits and smiles, tending to crops that grew in damp, fertile soil.

That first morning, Lyria brought them a meal — small bowls filled with glowing fruit pulp and a warm drink made from crushed violet leaves. It was cool on the tongue, warm down the throat, faintly sweet. The aftertaste of blood was almost imperceptible.

"This tastes like sunlight," Jessie said between bites, her eyes bright.

Lyria smiled. "It's from the Heart. Everything here is."

Ash nodded absently, surrounded by the sounds of water and rustling leaves — his caution slowly melting away.

They were safe. That was all that mattered.

The villagers welcomed them with genuine smiles and quiet understanding. They didn't question where Ash and Jessie came from — they didn't seem to care about the outside world at all.

Instead, they simply included them.

Ash helped the men near the orchard-like edges of the settlement — chopping fallen branches, gathering firewood, carrying baskets heavy with purple fruits. His body felt tired, but it was a good kind of tired — the kind that came with purpose. The work had a rhythm: physical, flowing, honest.

Jessie, meanwhile, spent most of her time with Lyria. Together they wove thin green fibers into cords and nets, cleaned fruits, and occasionally sang strange, lilting songs Ash didn't recognize.

"LMAO, aight bet, see ya tomorrow lil dude" the middle-aged man said, his abnormally large frame shaking with laughter. A massive axe rested on his back.

"See ya!" Ash waved, laughing at the man's endless jokes. He had never met someone funnier in his life.

His style of talking was very close to his previous life's teenagers. But it looked like many people talked like that here which was strange.

It felt like he had been friends for years with the man — strange, but Ash wasn't in any condition to question his own behavior.

At night, the village gathered around small clay lamps filled with glowing sap. The air resonated with soft humming — not quite melody, not quite chant. The sound was warm, rhythmic, and alive, echoing like the heartbeat of the land itself.

Ash couldn't understand it, but his heart felt calm and his mind lightened as he listened.

And soon… he found himself humming along.

He didn't realize when his caution faded entirely —

Or when his purpose — the trials, the hunger for strength, the obsession with leveling up — stopped feeling urgent. There was purpose in the back of his head but it was slowly dumping in the darker regions of his head.

He woke with the sun, worked until his hands were sore, then slept with a calm mind.

Peace had never felt this simple.

---

On the third day, Lyria took Jessie to the great tree's base for a "blessing ritual." Ash wanted to go too, but the old monk told him gently that only women were chosen to attend.

So Ash waited by the pond, watching faint, fish-like shadows glide beneath the water's surface.

He had begun to notice how the air shimmered faintly when he stared too long at the tree — like heat rising from stone. The light pulsing through its leaves in slow, steady waves as if it were alive.

If he focused, he could almost hear it —

A faint, deep rhythm beneath everything.

The same slow pulse that throbbed through the ground.

The same one that echoed in his chest whenever he breathed too deeply.

It didn't scare him anymore.

It felt natural — as though the sound had always been there, simply waiting to be noticed.

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