CHAPTER 210: CHAPTER 211: THEY FEARED HIM. FEARED WHAT MIGHT FOLLOW

"So...?" he asked, still waiting patiently.

She blinked at him, then smiled. A real one this time. Soft around the edges.

"Fine. I’ll have the usual. Soup, meat, and throw in some mushrooms."

He nodded, satisfied.

She hesitated a second, then added in a quieter voice, "Thank you."

That caught him off guard.

Cyrus looked at her with those deep, unreadable eyes, but his smile only deepened. It wasn’t the usual reserved grin he gave others—it was something softer, more content. The kind of smile that curled at the corners like warm steam on a winter day.

Isabella gave him one more glance, then turned, pushing aside the hide curtain to her hut.

Inside, the space welcomed her like a sigh. Simple, familiar. Cool shadows stretched across the fur hides, and the scent of dried herbs lingered in the air.

Outside, Cyrus remained still for a few seconds longer, his thoughts unusually full. A quiet warmth pooled in his chest—a gentle but steady thing. The kind of warmth that didn’t demand attention... just wanted to stay.

He liked that smile. He wanted to see it again.

Maybe even more than once.

He didn’t get long to savor the moment, though.

Because Glimora chose that moment to let out the most ear-splitting, pitiful wail any fluffball had ever produced.

"WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Cyrus flinched. "Oh—?"

Glimora twisted dramatically in his arms like she was reenacting a tragic play. She threw her head back, rolled over, then tucked her face onto his chest with an exaggerated sniffle.

Her shrill cries split the air like a spear through silence. Her tiny limbs kicked at the sky, her fuzzy body flopped helplessly in Cyrus’ arms like she’d just been betrayed by the love of her life. She wriggled and rolled with maximum drama, her little pink tongue poking out between whimpers, as if sobbing could physically drain her of strength.

Cyrus blinked down at her.

She sniffled and let out another drawn-out wail that bordered on operatic. Her huge watery eyes glimmered with sorrow, lower lip trembling—if beasts had lower lips. Her fur puffed out in patches, like heartbreak had detonated inside her.

"...Mmm," Cyrus murmured quietly, unsure if she was dying or just being overly theatrical. He glanced toward Isabella’s hut, as if silently asking: Was this necessary?

A few villagers slowed their pace to look at the scene. One child burst into uncontrollable giggles, pointing at Glimora with glee.

The poor beast hiccupped loudly.

"WAAAH—hhck!" hic "WAHHH!"

She scratched pathetically at the air in the general direction of Isabella’s hut, then flopped limply over Cyrus’ arm like her soul had exited her body and only fur remained.

Somewhere behind the hide curtain, Isabella let out a small, smug exhale.

She didn’t peek out.

She didn’t say a word.

But if anyone listened close enough... they might’ve heard the quietest little smirk in the universe.

MEANWHILE IN DUSKSPIRE...

Adler knelt in the heart of the cavern, bare knees pressed against damp stone, breath puffing in thin clouds from his lips. The cold gnawed at his skin, but he didn’t flinch. In front of him, a flickering glow licked the cave walls—though there was no fire.

It wasn’t light. It was him.

A figure shimmered in the air like heat haze on a sunbaked path—there, yet not. A tall, sinewy silhouette carved of shadow and smoke, its face shifting with every blink. Horns curled like old roots from its head, and its voice—when it came—echoed in a way no living voice should.

"What do you mean," the demon drawled, "you lost him?"

The voice was bored. Detached. Like a god mildly inconvenienced by the groveling of a mortal.

Adler’s head remained bowed, forehead brushing the stone. "He ran," he whispered, his throat raw. "I—I tried to hold him, master, but he slipped away."

The demon cocked its head, unimpressed. "You pushed him. You always do. And now, he’s gone. How shocking."

A pulse of heat rippled through the air—faint but dangerous. Adler’s hands curled into fists on the cave floor. He didn’t speak right away. The silence between them swelled like a bruise.

Finally, Adler murmured, "I need your help to find him."

The demon laughed.

It was not a kind sound.

"My help?" it echoed mockingly. "You broke him, Adler. You made him beg for a scrap of your warmth, and when he shattered, you tossed him aside like meat gone sour. And now you cry to me?"

Its form flickered violently, shadows splitting like cracks in reality. The chill in the cave turned bitter.

Adler swallowed hard, throat working. "I didn’t mean to—I just—I thought he’d endure it. I didn’t know he’d..."

"Leave?" the demon finished. "Everyone has a limit. Even the ones who love the deepest. Especially them."

Adler clenched his teeth, head still bowed.

The demon’s voice turned low and razor-sharp. "Find him. Or forget every promise I ever made you. No power. No glory. Nothing."

Then, it was gone.

In an instant, the air fell dead and empty. The flickering light vanished, and the cave was swallowed by stillness.

"No!" Adler roared, his voice cracking as he reached out into nothing. His hands slammed into the ground, knuckles scraping stone. The echo of his scream bounced back at him, useless and hollow.

His shoulders shook. Chest heaving. Slowly, painfully, he leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground again. A long breath dragged through his lungs.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Then finally: "What do you know?" he asked quietly into the darkness.

To any outsider, he looked like a madman, speaking to stone.

But from a deep crevice in the shadows, a man emerged. Leather-bound and mud-streaked, his hair braided close to his scalp in warrior fashion. A scar split his lip.

He dropped into a low bow.

"He hasn’t gone to any of the city elders," the man said, voice clipped and respectful. "None have seen him or given him passage."

Adler’s lips curled. "Of course not," he muttered. "He’s smarter than that. Would’ve been easy to track if he begged help from them."

The scout nodded. "He did stop in several outer villages. Asked for food. Shelter. Some even said he wept."

Adler’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

The man continued, "None took him in. They feared him. Feared what might follow."

Cowards. Adler didn’t say it aloud, but it seethed in his gut. His gaze flicked up, finally meeting the scout’s. "So we don’t know where he is."

"No," the man admitted. "He disappeared after that. No trace."

Adler rose slowly to his feet, each movement deliberate, the way a predator might stalk across stone. His eyes gleamed with something wild—equal parts fury and regret.

"Search every corner," he ordered. "Every village, every tribe. Send men through the mountains, into the river caves, the ashlands, even the old burrows. I want every den checked, every leaf turned."

"Yes, my lord."

"He’s too important to lose," Adler said, voice low. "We don’t let him vanish. We can’t."

The scout gave a firm nod and turned to leave, feet already silent on the stone floor.

But Adler stood there long after he was gone.

Alone again.

His eyes lingered on the empty space the demon had filled only moments ago, and in the dim quiet of the cave, something twisted in his chest. It wasn’t just fear.

It was grief.

Raw, bone-deep, and dangerous.

But grief didn’t matter now.

Because if he didn’t find him soon... the next time the demon came?

It wouldn’t be to warn him.