The flas crackled lazily, painting the clearing in orange and gold. Isabella sat cross-legged beside the fire, chewing slowly on the roasted at like soone in deep existential crisis. Glimora was curled beside her, happily nibbling on a small chunk of her own, tail flicking to the rhythm of the popping embers.
She had only asked a simple question.
A small, innocent question.
But the way Bubu had been talking for the last ten minutes made her regret everything.
"...and of course," Bubu continued in that maddeningly calm tone, "each beastman species has different reproductive cycles. For example, wolf bloodlines tend to bear litters in pairs—twins, sotis triplets. It is an evolutionary advantage derived from pack behavior."
Isabella blinked slowly, blank-faced.
"anwhile, avian beastn, like the phoenix clans, usually have only one child per cycle due to the energy cost of rebirth. And feline tribes—"
"Bubu," she said flatly.
"—typically experience delayed gestation to ensure cub survival rates—"
"Bubu."
"—while draconic bloodlines may only have offspring once every century, but those children possess imnse—"
"BUBU." Isabella’s voice rose half an octave. "What are you doing right now?"
"Answering your question," the system replied serenely.
"No. You’re writing a thesis."
Bubu humd, undeterred. "Knowledge is power."
"Knowledge is torture!"
She rubbed her temple, groaning. "You know, when I asked that question, I didn’t an for you to write a biology textbook. I just wanted a straight answer."
Glimora looked between them like a child trapped between arguing parents.
Bubu continued anyway, tone maddeningly patient. "As I was saying, reproductive capacity depends on blood purity, strength, and magical constitution. For instance, fox beastn—"
"Oh my god," Isabella muttered, grabbing her cup of water and drinking like it was wine. "I’m being lectured by a floating cube about animal sex. This is my life now."
"Would you like diagrams?" Bubu asked innocently.
She spat the water out in a full spray. "What?!"
"I said—"
"I heard what you said! No! Absolutely not!"
Bubu blinked softly. "You seem tense."
"Tense?! I’m pregnant, exhausted, on a mountain with glowing goats and snake gods, and now my system is trying to give a reproductive slideshow!"
"Would you like to continue?"
"No, I would like you to shut up."
She took a shaky breath, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Alright, look. I’m gonna ask this again, and you’re going to give a straight answer this ti, okay?"
The system pulsed. "Understood."
"Good." Isabella adjusted her posture, glaring at the glowing screen like it personally offended her. "Since you seem so knowledgeable about everything—let make this clear. You said different types of beastn have different... whatever."
"Correct."
"So let’s focus on the one I actually care about." She took a deep breath, bracing herself. "Since Cyrus is the father, and he’s a snake," she said slowly, emphasizing every word, "how many children am I supposed to be expecting?"
Bubu paused.
Like, really paused.
The cube dimd slightly, as if even it didn’t want to answer.
Isabella squinted. "Bubu."
Silence.
"Don’t you dare pretend to lag right now."
Bubu flickered faintly. "...Processing."
She narrowed her eyes. "Processing my ass. You’re stalling."
"I am verifying accuracy."
"You’re scared, aren’t you?" she said, pointing accusingly.
"Systems do not experience fear."
"Oh, so you’re just conveniently quiet because you don’t know how to break bad news?"
Bubu didn’t respond.
"Bubu."
Still nothing.
Her eyes widened. "Oh my god. Don’t tell ."
Glimora looked up at her, blinking curiously. Isabella turned to the little creature with a panicked laugh. "You hear that? She’s quiet. That ans it’s bad. It’s always bad when she’s quiet."
The silence stretched so long she could hear her own heartbeat.
Finally, Bubu sighed. "Well..."
"Oh no," Isabella muttered, covering her face.
"...snake beastn are known for their... impressive fertility rates."
"I hate where this is going."
"They tend to have multiple offspring per cycle."
"Define multiple."
"Anywhere between... 100 to 150."
"Hundred to—" Isabella’s voice cracked. "One fifty?!" She looked like she’d just been electrocuted. "You an HUNDRED as in—like—100 actual children?"
"Correct."
"HUNDRED?!"
Her voice echoed through the forest, loud enough to startle birds from the trees. Glimora squeaked in alarm, jumping into her lap. Isabella clutched her hair. "That’s not pregnancy, that’s mass production!"
Bubu’s glow flickered faintly. "It is efficient."
"Efficient?! That’s insane!" She jabbed a finger toward the cube. "I can barely handle one version of , and you expect to carry over 100?! What am I, a human matryoshka doll?"
"Your body will adapt."
"My body will riot!"
"Statistically—"
"Oh my god, don’t you dare bring statistics into this!" she shouted, standing so fast Glimora almost fell off her lap. "No, no, no. I refuse. I rebuke this mountain in every language known to man. I’m not carrying a whole village!"
Bubu, utterly unfazed, floated beside her. "Perhaps not all will survive to—"
"Don’t finish that sentence!" Isabella covered her ears, pacing in frantic circles. "I can’t believe this. 100? 150?!
"That’s like—one for every day of the year! I’ll have to start numbering them instead of naming them!"
"Perhaps you should rest," Bubu said softly.
She stopped dead, glaring at it. "Don’t you dare use your ’calm voice’ on . You dropped a bomb on and now you want to nap?"
"Stress is not good for—"
"I know!" she yelled, flailing her arms. "I’m stressing because of you!"
Glimora, wide-eyed, patted her hand gently with her tiny hand as if to say, breathe, mommy.
Isabella froze, then exhaled shakily, sinking back down beside the fire. "Okay... okay, breathe. We’re fine. We’re totally fine."
"We?" Bubu echoed.
"I ant and my sanity—which is barely alive!"
"Understood."
She dropped her face into her hands, groaning. "I can’t do this, Bubu. I can’t be soone’s mother, let alone over 100 soones. I can’t even rember to water plants."
"You have Glimora," Bubu pointed out.
"She’s basically a glorified marshmallow!"
Glimora gasped in tiny offense.
Isabella imdiately softened. "I didn’t an it, baby. You’re the best marshmallow I’ve ever t."
Glimora puffed up proudly.
The fire popped, showering sparks into the air. Isabella stared into it, her thoughts running wild. Hundreds. Hundreds of them. The idea alone made her stomach twist.
Then a thought hit her, slow and horrified.
"Wait." She turned to glare at Bubu. "When you said snake beastn... you ant Cyrus, right?"
"Correct."
"And you said really good at reproduction, right?"
"Correct."
Her eye twitched. "Define really good."
Bubu hesitated again. "Well, the average number increases with strength. The stronger the bloodline, the higher the count."
Her jaw dropped. "Cyrus is the strongest snake I’ve ever seen!"
"Yes."
"So that ans—"
Bubu blinked.
Isabella’s mouth fell open. "Don’t. You. Say. It."
Bubu’s light dimd, almost apologetically. "Could reach up to 200 eggs."
(By the way, the number’s actually based on how many eggs real pythons can lay — and since Cyrus is a mystical, insanely powerful version of one, I just doubled it.)
She choked on air. Literally choked. "200?! 200?! I’m not a nursery, Oh hell no—Bubu, that’s not giving birth, that’s starting a species!"
"Statistically—"
"Don’t you dare!" she wheezed, clutching her chest.
Glimora squeaked in panic, flapping her tiny hands. Isabella gulped in air, coughing between hysterical laughter and disbelief.
"200," she repeated weakly. "Oh my god. I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die."
Bubu’s voice, unbothered, was almost gentle. "On the bright side, your line will be strong."
"Yeah," she said, gasping, "because it’ll be a village!"
Her eyes widened again as if the realization had physically smacked her. "Oh my fucking god, Bubu—"
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