The mountain forest was never meant for mortals.
It glowed — not with sunlight or moonlight, because the peak swallowed both — but with its own strange, ancient luminescence.
A soft bluish-white radiance seeped from the moss, from the bark, from the floating mist that clung to the roots like drifting ghosts.
Every breath tasted like magic.
Every sound echoed like a whisper from something older than time.
Isabella didn't care.
Her boots clicked sharply against the forest floor as she marched forward, Glimora trotting beside her on tiny paws, while Osiris followed behind like an oversized, confused, arrogant guard dog.
The air was cool, quiet, and full of mystery.
And yet the only thing Isabella cared about was not punching Osiris in the throat.
⸻
In her mind:
Bubu, what tasks haven't I completed for saving Shelia?
Silence.
Then—
A dry, irritated voice echoed in her skull:
"GOOD morning to you too, host."
Isabella rolled her eyes so hard she saw heaven for two seconds.
