Jason stood behind a broken pillar of black stone, watching Ylva walk ahead. Her steps were steady now, her tail no longer dragging. Mae's milk had done its work—she was back on track, resilient as ever. She had faced death and shrugged it off like it was nothing.
He admired her strength, it was genuinely impressive.
But his own strength troubled him because Jason had been a liability until now.
Jason didn't know what was going on with himself. He had defeated the watcher—a creature that had ripped the ant king apart, that had pierced Ylva's stomach like it was paper. And Jason had done it easily, too easily.
He had no idea his adaptation system would make him this strong, magic didn't seem to work on him, it was like his very existence was able to counter to it.
"The watcher ran from me," Jason thought to himself.
He looked down at his hands and they weren't shaking. They weren't scarred either, they looked the same as they always had. But something inside him had changed.
