Chapter 230 - 231: If I were the one shaking, who would console me?

Words : 1059 Updated : Oct 10th, 2025

Chapter 230: Chapter 231: If I were the one shaking, who would console me? Isabella bent down, arms curling under the trembling creature at her feet. "Oh, my baby... stop shaking," she whispered as she scooped Glimora up, holding her close to her chest like a fragile doll. Glimora immediately clung to her, limbs gripping her dress, fur puffed up like she’d just rolled in lightning. "Oh, you’re scared?" Isabella crooned, pressing soft kisses on Glimora’s fluffy head. "My precious chaos rat, don’t be scared. I’m here. No weird head-chopping spirit is going to get you while I’m around. We’ll bite it back together, yes?" Glimora let out a tiny warble and nestled tighter into her arms, still trembling. Isabella frowned with exaggerated concern. "Do you want to eat? Hm? Will food make you feel better?" She gave Glimora’s ears a teasing flick. "I’ll give you fruits—big, juicy, sweet ones. And soup! And meat. Roasted, dripping meat! Would you like that?" Glimora, despite her shaking, lifted her head just a bit and nodded. Isabella’s brows shot up. "Ohhh, you can still nod?" She grinned. "Are you sure you’re really scared?" Isabella asked teasingly as she stroked Glimora’s fur, trying to calm her down. Glimora nodded again, eyes wide and innocent like a little child who had just seen a thunderstorm for the first time. Her tiny ears perked up at the promise of roasted meat, but her fluffy body still trembled slightly against Isabella’s chest, clinging to her like a kitten afraid of being set down. Isabella laughed softly. "Still scared but already planning lunch. You little fraud." With a smirk, she rubbed their cheeks together. "Fine, after this mess, I’ll throw you a feast. Berries, bones, and buns—on me. Just stop shaking. My poor baby, you’ll wrinkle." Glimora, soothed by the sound of her voice and the warmth of her arms, gave the tiniest nuzzle and laid her head down. The trembling slowly subsided. Isabella watched her for a moment, a small, quiet smile slipping onto her face. But her tone, though still playful, softened. "If I were the one shaking," she murmured, "who would console me?" "I would." The answer came gently. Isabella’s heart skipped. She looked up. Cyrus stood there, calm but earnest. His eyes met hers with a steady certainty that made her throat tighten for a second. She didn’t reply. She just looked back down at Glimora and gently stroked her ear. Then she cleared her throat. "So..." she said, forcing herself to shift gears. "What happens now? With the bodies?" Cyrus glanced back at the bloody mess behind them. "We leave," he said simply. "It wasn’t you or me. There’s nothing to explain." Isabella hesitated. "So you’re saying we just step over that gore and pretend like heads didn’t just fall like mangoes from a tree?" Cyrus gave a quiet nod. Isabella made a face. "Ugh. Ew. Ewww." She stood up with Glimora still in her arms, carefully stepping over one head like it might squirt juice on her slippers. "I swear, one day I will have a palace with floors not soaked in blood and stress." Cyrus followed her quietly, and they moved deeper into the stone palace—its walls rough and cool, hallways carved out in a primitive layout. Nothing fancy. Just function over form. There were no glowing chandeliers here, no marbled tiles. Just dirt, stone, and survival. They found a quiet room—a small, empty space where silence actually felt safe instead of threatening. Isabella laid Glimora down on a fur hide and turned to Cyrus. "So," she said, folding her arms, "what about Shelia? How bad is her condition? Where are they keeping her?" Cyrus’s face grew grim. "The underground chamber. Hidden beneath the palace." Isabella’s brows pinched. "Underground?" "It’s well disguised. Protected with an illusion. You cannot see the entrance unless you know it’s there." Her stomach dropped a little. So Shelia was alive... but barely. Hidden in a place so secret, no one could find her unless they already knew. And if they were hiding her... "She’s dying," Isabella murmured. Cyrus nodded. "Her face... it was burned. Badly. Someone had used the Abilus poisoned fruit on her." Isabella’s eyes flew open. "Zara," she whispered. Memories slammed into her. The soup. The scent. The night Zara tried to poison her. And now... it all made sense. "What if... what if Shelia got in the way that night?" she said slowly. "What if that was never meant for her?" Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. "Zara?" Isabella snapped her gaze to him. "No. Drop it. That case is for another time." Cyrus studied her, but he didn’t push. "She can’t talk," he said. "Her lungs were affected. It’s... bad. Very bad. No one’s treating her. They locked her away and left her to rot." Isabella felt something in her chest twist painfully. No. Not Shelia. Not like this. "Is there any way to cure her?" she asked, her voice low. "I can get something from the mountain. A root that helps with the poison. But I won’t be able to fix her lungs. Or... her face." Isabella nodded slowly. In her mind, she whispered: If you can’t do it... how the hell am I supposed to? Still, she couldn’t walk away. Not from this. "She’s guarded?" "Yes," Cyrus said. "Always. One person at a time, though. It’s not heavily guarded, just... watched." She narrowed her eyes. "Can you use magic to knock the guard out for some time?" Cyrus didn’t hesitate. "Yes." She stepped closer, squinting suspiciously. "Are you going to be drained out after using magic again?" He gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "No. I won’t." Isabella kept squinting. "Are you sure?" "Yes." "You’re not lying?" "No." She let out a long sigh, then nodded. "You’re too kind," she muttered. "I don’t trust people like you." Cyrus didn’t respond. Just waited. She turned away, pacing the room a little. Everything in her screamed that this was going to be a bad idea. That she wasn’t a savior. That she didn’t know how to fix people or plan rescues. That she was the one who needed saving, most days. But Shelia didn’t have time for her fear. So she stopped pacing and turned back around. "I want to see her," Isabella said. Cyrus’s eyes softened. "I know," he said quietly.

Chapter 230 - 231: If I were the one shaking, who would console me?

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