Valen frowned, skeptical, but he couldn’t tell. None of them could. Her tone carried too much confidence to doubt.
"I always co back," Isabella added lightly, shifting Glimora in her arms. "This ti will be no different."
The way she said it made sothing stir uneasily in Ophelia’s chest. She didn’t know why, but it felt... final.
"You’ve planned this for a while?" Ophelia asked softly.
Isabella nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the stone walls. "Yes. I’ve been aning to go for a long ti. I just didn’t want you to worry like last ti, that’s all."
There was a small silence between them. The night air felt thicker now, heavy with unsaid things.
Ophelia’s smile faltered, her brows knitting together as she took a hesitant step forward. "Isabella," she murmured, "are you sure everything is fine? Did sothing happen?"
The question caught Isabella off guard. For a heartbeat, her throat tightened—but she forced another small smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. "Everything’s fine," she lied again, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Don’t look at like that, Ophy. You worry too much."
Ophelia sighed softly, her eyes searching Isabella’s face for sothing—anything—that would prove her wrong. But Isabella’s mask held strong. She always was good at pretending she was fine, even when her heart was breaking.
"There’s nothing I can do to stop you, is there?" Ophelia said finally, her voice tender, resigned.
Isabella chuckled faintly. "You know too well."
Valen, who had been silent, crossed his arms again. "Kian wouldn’t have let you leave without protection," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
At the ntion of Kian’s na, Isabella’s smile vanished. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers dug slightly into Glimora’s fur.
"I don’t care what anyone would have wanted," she said quietly, her tone sharp as stone.
The air stilled.
Ophelia imdiately caught the shift in her voice and knew she shouldn’t push. Whatever happened between Isabella and Kian, she could sense it wasn’t sothing that could be nded with soft words.
So she just stepped closer, reaching out until her fingers brushed Isabella’s arm. "Please co back," she whispered, her voice trembling with sincerity. "Be safe, alright? If it’s too dangerous, leave. We’ll find another way to save Shelia. But please... co back."
Isabella looked at her, really looked at her this ti. Ophelia’s eyes were wide and honest, shimring faintly with emotion. For a mont, she almost broke—almost told her everything, almost let the tears spill again.
But instead, she smiled.
"Of course," she said gently. "You’ll barely notice I’m gone."
Ophelia’s lips wobbled into a small, sad smile. She didn’t believe her for a second, but she nodded anyway.
Valen gave a curt nod too, his expression serious. "Take care of yourself," he said, his tone low but sincere. "Even if you won’t let us co with you."
"I always do," Isabella said lightly.
And then Ophelia did what she always did — she reached forward and pulled Isabella into a hug. A warm, lingering one that slled faintly of wildflowers and comfort. Isabella froze for a mont, then returned it, her fingers clutching the back of Ophelia’s fur like she didn’t want to let go.
When they finally parted, Ophelia smiled again — that sa sunshine smile that sohow made every place feel like ho.
"Co back to us, Isabella," she whispered.
"I will," Isabella replied softly. "I promise."
But even as she said it, her heart whispered another truth — one she couldn’t bring herself to admit.
Because sotis, promises were just pretty lies we told the people we didn’t want to hurt.
As she turned away, Glimora nestled closer to her chest, and Ophelia watched her go — her smile fading as Isabella’s figure disappeared into the soft, silver light of dawn.
Sowhere deep inside, she knew.
Sothing was breaking.
...
The air outside the Stone Palace was cool and still, painted in the silver glow of the moon. The night carried that kind of silence that almost humd—empty, yet heavy with unspoken things. Isabella’s bare feet pressed against the earth, the faint chill grounding her as the wind whispered through the tall grass.
She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, the stars stretching endlessly above her like scattered shards of light. "Alright," she murmured, her voice steady though her heart wasn’t. "Let’s do this."
"Bubu," she called softly.
Almost instantly, a small flicker of blue light appeared in front of her. It shimred, glitched once, then expanded into a floating translucent screen. The familiar chi rang through the air, bright and sharp against the quiet of the night.
[Welco back, Host.]
Isabella’s lips curved into a faint smirk despite herself. "Yeah, yeah, skip the greeting, Bubu. I’m ready to depart."
[Understood, Host.]
Bubu’s voice was calm, chanical, yet slightly warr than it used to be—a strange thing she’d grown used to over ti.
[Teleportation to the mountain range will cost 100 system points.]
Isabella nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Fine. Deduct it. Let’s go."
But instead of the familiar flicker of light or the usual countdown, Bubu went silent. Its screen blinked twice, as if processing sothing.
Then the voice ca again—slower this ti, hesitant.
[Error: Activation sequence incomplete.]
Isabella blinked. "What?"
[Host must use the item registered under her system-linked bond before teleportation can proceed.]
Her brow furrowed. "System-linked bond?"
The screen flashed once, and then an image appeared—an all-too-familiar necklace, gleaming faintly against the dark.
Her necklace.
The one Cyrus had given her.
The mont she saw it, her stomach twisted.
"What," she said flatly, "is the aning of this, Bubu?"
[System requires activation via the binding energy within that object.]
"No." Her answer ca instantly, sharp, like a knife. "I’m not using that."
[Host—]
"I said no!" she snapped, her voice louder this ti, echoing faintly in the open air. She took a step back, shaking her head, her breath uneven. "I’m not touching whatever he gave ."
The wind stirred again, brushing her hair across her face. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
"In fact," she muttered bitterly, her voice dropping low, "I should throw it away."
She didn’t notice how her voice broke slightly at the end—how her chest tightened, how her throat ached. She didn’t notice how the night seed to still, holding its breath.
Because even as she said it, her fingers trembled.
And she hated that they did.
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