"You better take him up on the offer."
Isabella blinked. Her heel was still halfway in the air, posture poised for a dramatic exit—but that voice. That smug, unbothered, all-too-familiar voice in her head.
"Bubu," she muttered under her breath, jaw tightening. "Not now."
"Oh, but yes now," Bubu chid, her tone coated in faux sweetness. "You really wanna be the genius who turns down a priceless survival-grade spirit necklace? What are you gonna do next, reject free skincare samples and start drinking unfiltered swamp water?"
Isabella gritted her teeth, lips twitching into a forced smile. From Cyrus’s perspective, she probably looked like she was trying to smother a laugh—or plotting a murder.
"I don’t need the necklace," Isabella whispered under her breath. "Because I’m not going back there."
"Oh? That so?" Bubu cooed. "Because last I checked, you stord the mountain alone, half-broke, with a bag of dried roots and your last remaining dignity. And now you’re pretending you’re suddenly too glamorous for survival gear?"
Isabella’s nostrils flared. "I only went because I needed more points! Desperate tis, demon system. Desperate."
Bubu snorted. "Mmhmm. Keep telling yourself that, babe. anwhile, I’ve been running calculations, and let’s just say... you’ll definitely be going back. Multiple tis. Probably in worse shoes."
"I am not—" Isabella’s voice spiked, and she quickly pinched the bridge of her nose, composing herself before Cyrus could ask if she needed a healer. She sighed in a whisper, "I am not going back there. I have enough points now. I’m set. I’m comfortable."
"Comfortable?" Bubu practically gasped. "You live in a hut that has no wibdows, and bathing in a river like it’s a five-star spa."
Isabella’s eye twitched. "You absolute hell-born gremlin, I made the hut pretty comfortable and clean for accomodation, And yes that river is perfectly clean and comforting for one’s soul."
"Yeah no, I still don’t get how you still act like an unbothered runway queen. Which is exactly why you’re gonna end up back on that mountain again. You’re built for dramatic plot twists, not retirent."
Isabella: "..."
"I will sue you," Isabella whispered, then louder: "I will sue you for psychological damage."
"You’d have to afford a lawyer first. Which ans—yep—you’re going back up that death trap, sugar."
Isabella paused, her gaze locked on the glinting necklace still in Cyrus’s open palm. Her fingers twitched. She hated how pretty the thing looked.
Delicate, sleek, subtly powerful. Exactly the kind of accessory you’d see in so high-end magical fashion campaign—"Conquer wilderness, but make it couture."
"Don’t you dare," she murmured under her breath. "Don’t you dare use the points system against again, Bubu."
A beat passed.
Then, sweetly: "Half your stats are a disgrace, and you still have unfinished tasks piling up—not to ntion more incoming," Bubu snapped. "So unless you’ve suddenly developed a death wish, it might actually do you so good to shut up and listen for once."
Isabella’s eyes widened. "Oh you demonic system, what are you planning now?!"
"Nothingggg," Bubu sang. "Just pointing out that maybe—just maybe—you should consider being a little less bratty and take the damn necklace."
From beside her, Cyrus hadn’t said a word. He simply stood there, still holding the necklace out like an offering to the gods, eyes gently focused on her.
And he was watching.
Watching her go silent.
Watching her face shift through a dozen expressions like storm clouds rolling past sunlight. Confusion, disbelief, irritation... suspicion?
Was she angry with him?
Was she afraid?
Cyrus’s brows drew together slightly, concern tugging at the corner of his mouth. Her silence was starting to worry him. Maybe he’d pushed too hard. Maybe—
Then, without a word, Isabella turned to him. Her gaze locked on his, steady and unreadable.
And she reached out.
Fingers brushed the edge of the necklace. Delicate. Decisive.
"Thank you," she said softly, finally taking it from his hand.
Cyrus’s entire deanor shifted the mont Isabella took the necklace.
Delight unfurled across his face, subtle but unmistakable. His shoulders relaxed, the tension in his jaw eased, and for the first ti that day, his lips curved into a genuine smile that wasn’t weighed down by worry. His eyes, always calm and sharp, now held a flicker of boyish relief. He looked like a man who’d just managed to stop a disaster before it started.
She didn’t miss the way he exhaled softly, almost inaudibly—like he’d been holding his breath since he handed the thing over. Maybe he had. His whole vibe scread I’ve been ntally begging you to accept that since forever.
"I’m glad," he said, voice low with sothing warm beneath it. "But only wear it when necessary, alright? It’s not ant for daily use."
"Got it." Isabella gave a light nod, still staring down at the necklace in her palm like it was a cursed jewel or a glowing ticket to her future suffering.
It shimred gently in the sunlight, the chain delicate but strong, and the gem at its center—clear and crystalline—seed to pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. She could feel it vibrating faintly against her skin, almost like it was attuned to her body already.
With the barest flick of thought, she activated her space.
The necklace vanished in a shimr, like a soap bubble bursting. Gone.
Cyrus tilted his head slightly, satisfied. "It responded well. That’s what it’s supposed to do."
Isabella nodded, keeping her expression blank. But in her mind, she muttered, It’s tucked in my space, idiot. Not your little magical feature kicking in. Still, it was cute he thought it was so ancient bond or whatever.
Her fingers flexed at her side. It was strange—she had no idea if the man was completely clueless or quietly terrifying. He looked harmless when he smiled like that, but sothing about him still scread danger. Or maybe it was just the snake in him.
Still, she kept her face unreadable, took a step back, and turned to leave.
But just as she moved, his voice ca again. "You went to that mountain," he said carefully, "without any protection."
Her step faltered.
She didn’t turn, didn’t breathe. Just listened.
"And you survived," he added, slower this ti. "Normal won would be dead by now."
His tone changed then—soft, probing, too curious to ignore. "So... how did you do it?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers