Opehlia was already giggling with Luca over sothing Glimora had done—probably a failed sorsault or a sneeze that sent petals flying—so they paid absolutely no attention to Cyrus or Isabella. The little group was caught in their own bubble of chaos, leaving the tall, quiet man and the worry-prone woman standing in an awkward-but-intimate standoff over fruit and wellness.
Cyrus tilted his head ever so slightly, watching Isabella with gentle amusent. Her expression had shifted from sweet to suspicious, and now it sat firmly in horrified territory.
She squinted at him like a mother hen who just found one of her chicks covered in soot.
Isabella’s eyes traced the subtle change in Cyrus’s expression as she noticed the odd paleness in his features. He looked... not quite himself. She blinked, taking in the stark contrast between his usual well-guarded composure and the slight slackness in his posture. He looked tired. Too tired, in fact. Pale.
Oh no, not pale—extra pale. The type of pale that could be mistaken for soone who had been living in a crypt for centuries. A crypt where the only food was, of course, crypt snacks.
"Oh good gracious, you’re pale!" she gasped, her voice laced with horror as her eyes went round. Her hand even flew up a little, like she wanted to dramatically clutch a fan but forgot she wasn’t in a historical drama.
Cyrus only gave her a soft, knowing smile as he raised a hand to wave off her dramatics. "I’m fine," he said, his voice smooth and serene, like he was so sort of unshakable mountain of tranquility.
But Isabella was far from convinced. The guy was practically glowing with a sickly radiance. She could feel the guilt blooming in her chest like a stubborn weed. Had she—had she—pushed him too hard? Should she have never asked him to purify the well alone? Maybe it had been a bad idea to let him strain himself like that.
She blinked, a tiny voice of reason sowhere in the back of her mind whispering to her, Since when do you care about soone else’s health?
And yet, here she was. Staring at a snake-man who had clearly overexerted himself for her sake, and she... actually cared.
Maybe it was the way he’d been so thoughtful, or how, despite his quiet and steady presence, he’d been nothing but kind. Wasn’t that what really unsettled her?
She sighed dramatically, her lips pursing into a tight line. She wasn’t even sure if she was upset with herself or just concerned for him. What was worse—feeling bad for soone who had been too nice to her, or letting him get away with pretending everything was fine when he was clearly about to drop dead from exhaustion?
She huffed, crossing her arms in an exaggerated fashion as she threw him a serious side-eye. "Fine? No, you’re not fine! You’re not just fine, you’re practically translucent! I can see your bones through your skin!"
Isabella started thinking hard, her brow furrowing as the thought suddenly clicked. The herb, she rembered, Bubu had said it was specifically for cultivators. It was ant to help with regrowth, to restore strength, and possibly enhance power—though she didn’t fully understand the magic behind it.
Her fingers tapped against her arm as she ntally revisited the details Bubu had shared. It’s practically like candy, she thought with a small smile. Sweet, lts quickly, and cultivators need it to replenish their energy. It’s perfect for him—he won’t even suspect anything.
Isabella didn’t say a word aloud, but the plan was forming in her mind. She would brew it into a drink when they got back, pass it off as sothing simple. He’d take it without a second thought, unaware that it was intended only for cultivators and that she was relying entirely on the little knowledge she’d gathered.
anwhile, Cyrus noticed her growing silence and the far-off look in her eyes. She was thinking hard about sothing—sothing he didn’t quite understand. But he didn’t ask. Whatever she was planning, she clearly wasn’t going to share it just yet.
"I’m fine, really," he murmured, his voice soft but firm, trying to ease her quiet tension.
Isabella didn’t hear him. She was already lost in the thought of how to execute her plan.
But then, sothing shifted.
Isabella blinked as Cyrus’s lower body shuddered—and transford.
Her eyes widened slightly, her face frozen in surprise. She stumbled back slightly as the lower half of Cyrus’s body extended into a huge, shimring red python, its scales glistening in the sun like polished rubies. His body was long, sleek, and massive, stretching out in smooth, effortless coils that made the surrounding earth seem small in comparison.
The transformation wasn’t just unexpected—it was stunning. And she was never getting used to it.
Opehlia, still lost in her conversation with Luca, suddenly fell silent, her mouth dropping open. Even Luca, who was usually so unbothered, couldn’t seem to look away from the sudden, striking change in Cyrus.
Glimora, ever the curious creature, dashed up to Isabella’s shoulder with a squeaky chitter, her little eyes narrowing suspiciously as she peered at the giant serpent. Her fur bristled in a defensive stance, clearly unnerved by the sudden change. She eyed the python cautiously, as if the snake might decide to eat her in one swift gulp.
Isabella, however, was struggling to hide her shock—and not in the usual way. Her mouth was open in surprise, but her mind was already running wild with ridiculous thoughts.
Was she supposed to be impressed? Was this normal for him? Was this what he did for fun when he was feeling a little too tired? Did she need to worry about him randomly turning into a full-blown anaconda now?
Her thoughts were swirling, but the most important thing was... what now?
Cyrus watched Isabella with a quiet intensity, his eyes catching the subtle way she shifted on her feet, her movents just a bit too jerky and unsure. He wasn’t blind—he had noticed the exhaustion in her posture long before she had the chance to admit it herself. His gaze softened slightly, and without a word, his massive serpent form slithered closer, the end of his tail gently resting on the ground before her.
"Your legs seem tired," he said, his voice soft, almost as if he were speaking to a delicate bird. "You’re not fully recovered yet. You should rest."
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