Jethro understood what was happening. He didn't have much of a choice anyway. Didn't have much time. Something was watching him from the shadows— watching him with intent —and it wanted him. Jethro could tell.
He hadn't anticipated being afraid. He knew that Flame Forests, despite their extremely high saturation of flame-based aether, only hosted mechbeasts ranging from Gray to Silver Rank within its flaming thickets.
This was because of the small region space. If Gold ranked mechbeasts or higher were living here, they would fight constantly to claim it as territory. Only Silver to Gray Ranks tolerated each other enough to share.
But those eyes… they didn't feel like they belonged to anything Silver, Bronze, or Gray.
[Deep Sense], Jethro's passive skill, prickled like a cold needle at the base of his skull, sending waves of static through his nerves and making every hair on his body stand.
Jethro lowered into a crouch, moving slowly as he scooped up Scorch.
