The morning is about to give way to a sunny afternoon, where the day star will illuminate the human dwelling with its imposing radiance that will dominate the entire celestial mantle, but Arthur is still drowsy. The druid has used the time he should be sleeping extinguishing the deep wounds of Cerberus, who is living with them, with his unique skills as an Eyrwisdom.

Arthur just dozes off sitting near the kitchen, waiting for Adriel to finish his lunch. However, as there remains a focus on reality, the druid realises that they have run out of wood for their primitive cooker.

— I'll cut the wood! — he jumps to his feet.

— Really? Try it then — he laughs, exuding the greatest audacity between heaven and earth.

— Doubt I can do it?

— No, I'm sure beyond the slightest doubt that you're incapable of chopping wood — he smiles.

— I bet you're wrong.

— Bet what?

— A stone I picked up from the sand.

— How confident, your bet isn't even worth anything.

— Yes, that stone is beautiful.

— Okay, okay — pause and turn your gaze to the wolf — Fenrir, take care of Cerberus, we're going out.

— Wait, what are you betting on?

— A stone, but it's from Russia.

— Why did you take a stone from Russia?

— I didn't take it, it came on the plane with me because it got into my clothes.

— What? — he laughs.

— The consequence of a great adventure.

— I see — his smile is a tease to Adriel — so you call it a "great adventure" that a ruin that doesn't even think for itself almost beat you.

— It was created by someone who thinks for himself.

— So you admit that she's formidable?

— Of course, if it wasn't, I'd be too incompetent to have been hurt by the ruins.

Adriel pulls the scarlet fabric away from the entrance to the tent and their distant gazes meet the inhospitable vastness of the land they inhabit. The sky retains an infinite blue and each brushstroke of this exquisite work of art displays a melancholy that the white clouds try to hide by extending the mantle of an ordinary scene.

Next to the tent, long tree branches are piled up. Adriel picks one up and throws it towards Arthur, who catches it awkwardly and almost knocks it over. The little druid keeps trying to position the wood evenly on the ground, while his friend just watches. After placing it on the ground, a fog of confusion clouds Arthur's mind and he can't imagine how to proceed.

Adriel realises his friend's difficulty and hands him an axe. The vampire's sharp fangs appear in a provocative smile, but Arthur ignores it and musters all his strength, even those hidden in the most abyssal depths of his being, strikes the first blow and misses the target.

Adriel approaches his friend and helps him to hold the axe in the correct posture and strike a clean blow. Arthur smiles, satisfied with the result and notices that Adriel is smiling too, this time without any sarcasm. Despite the fact that the druid doesn't possess great strength, he continues chopping wood without difficulty, using his knowledge of physics to his advantage.

Adriel doesn't take another axe for himself, they only have one because no one but him uses this tool, but he is able to split the wood with his bare hands, grasping the wood on each side and pulling to split it.

— Arthur, about the artefact...

— Don't think about returning to the absconditus realm without first preparing yourself, the artefact won't guarantee you any triumphs.

— I know, I was going to say that I already have my plans ready.

— What plans? Wouldn't it be better if we waited for my father to get in touch and instruct us?

— It won't be necessary — he sidesteps the issue because he's not even sure if Aedan is still alive, contact between them was cut off weeks ago and that shouldn't happen.

— I'd rather not take any risks, he'll have superior strategies to yours.

— I have allies in my kingdom and I keep in touch with them, don't worry, your father is one of them. I won't act alone.

— Take your time.

— I can't abandon my kingdom — he starts chopping the wood harder, almost tearing it to pieces.

— We're not going to abandon it, if we try now the risk of failure is greater, that is, we're more likely to be deprived forever of doing anything for it.

— You worry unnecessarily — he smiles — all this time I've been preparing, now is the right time.

— So tell me, how are you going to beat Damon Okeanós? By bursting through the front door of the kingdom with your sword, killing everyone who stands in your way and finally fighting him?

— It won't be like that.

– What's your plan? — he drops his axe and his features become like those of an angry father correcting his son.

— I can't risk anyone hearing this information.

— You talked about the artefact, something no one could hear.

— Why should I tell you something you'll disagree with?

— Adriel, I only have one question — his characteristic animated tone of voice is gone, giving way to a cold seriousness.

— Tell me, however, I'm certainly not going to answer you

— You don't have to answer, I just want you to think about it. Adriel, are you motivated by the well-being of your people or by revenge?

This ordinary question is enough to penetrate Adriel's deepest feelings like a blade sharper than obsidian. A usurper has stolen his kingdom and his people, who are neglected, but his hatred of Damon is for which of two reasons? Both situations irritate him, but which one guides him? Revenge for all that has been taken from him or compassion for his oppressed people?

— Arthur, do you really want to get in my way? — his gaze reflects the deepest fury that glows like incandescent lava spewed from a great and imposing volcano that extinguishes all life that dares to cross its path.

— If your goal is to take revenge, yes, I will stop you from committing any recklessness.

— I'm sorry — the sadness deeper than the unknown abysses of a cold ocean joins the fury in his eyes, making him shed tears as he wields the axe Arthur had left on the ground.

— Adriel, calm down — his breathing became ragged and he immediately embraced his friend without the slightest delicacy, causing him to drop the axe that had previously been pointed at him.

— I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry — he says in a tearful voice and returns the hug, accidentally exaggerating the strength because he's afraid of losing his friend, as if holding him tighter will guarantee that they'll never be separated.

— I'll give you a lecture later — he says quietly and with a tender smile.

— I didn't realise I... could do that — he sighs. I don't want to lose you, I... I don't want to lose you. I'm sorry... I'm sorry.