As your fingertips hover over the selection of blessings, a sudden disruption jolts you. An arrow, swift as lightning, streaks past, narrowly missing your hand and shattering the tranquility of the moment. The window displaying the choices flickers and abruptly closes, leaving a sense of interrupted possibility hanging in the air.

A tense silence ensues, broken only by the rhythmic beat of hooves echoing through the chamber. Slowly, you turn, a tingling unease prickling at your skin. There, looming with an air of unmistakable displeasure, stands an aeon, their posture rigid and bow aimed squarely at your hand. The intensity in their gaze speaks volumes, warning against any attempt to grasp another blessing of abundance.

The centaur shifts restlessly, the earth trembling slightly as a hoof paws at the ground in a display of impatience. The tension is palpable, thickening the air with a charged energy, as if any movement could ignite more anger in them.