CHAPTER 215: CHAPTER 216: A S... SPOOM?

Cyrus set the bowl down carefully in front of Ilyana, steam rising in fragrant curls. He gave a small nod toward Isabella. "I’ll be back in a bit," he said, brushing a hand through his red hair before turning and striding off toward the trees, his broad back disappearing into the dappled shadows.

"Oh, it smells so good," Ilyana whispered, taking a deep whiff of the rising steam as she sank down beside Isabella. Her long hair swung forward, catching the last slivers of golden-orange light slipping through the trees. The setting sun bathed the clearing in a warm glow, casting long, drowsy shadows around them. Her nostrils flared again. "But... it looks so strange."

She peered into the wooden bowl nestled in Isabella’s lap, her nose scrunching up like a curious squirrel. The soup inside looked thick and murky, dark brown from the mushrooms, with tiny bits of meat bobbing near the surface. Fat droplets floated on top, glistening like beads of oil.

Ilyana reached forward, hesitated, then picked up the oddly shaped piece of carved wood beside the bowl. "And... what is this?"

"That is a spoon," Isabella said, straightening her back a little, proud and amused. She spoke as if unveiling the secret of fire.

"A s... spoom?" Ilyana tilted her head, lips moving clumsily around the unfamiliar sound. Her thick lashes blinked slowly, and her tongue peeked out just slightly as she tried to mimic it again.

"No, no—spooon." Isabella stretched the word out like taffy. "Say it with me. Sp-oo-n."

Ilyana’s eyes were glued to her mouth, her face comically serious. "Spoon," she repeated slowly, enunciating every syllable like a child reciting an incantation.

"There you go!" Isabella clapped her hands softly. "You got it."

Ilyana grinned like she’d just split a stone on her first try. "Spoon. Spoon." She rolled the word around in her mouth, clearly fascinated. "What does it do?"

Isabella scooped up a bit of the soup and held it in the spoon, letting it hover in the air between them. "It helps you eat. You scoop up the food with it instead of using your hands."

Ilyana blinked, stunned, as though she’d just been told birds could talk.

"We always eat meat with our fingers or tear it off bones," Ilyana said, lifting her chin thoughtfully. "But this... this looks like water, and yet you say it can be eaten?"

"It’s called soup," Isabella replied, swirling her spoon gently through the bowl. "It has water, meat, herbs, and mushrooms all cooked together. Makes everything taste better, and it warms you up inside."

Ilyana leaned in, eyes wide and sparkling with wonder. "Soup," she whispered like it was a sacred word. "And that smell..." She hugged herself and shivered like it sent heat down her spine. "It makes me feel... I don’t know. Safe?"

Isabella gave her a grin. "That’s exactly what soup is supposed to do."

She handed over the spoon. "Here, try. I’ll show you."

Ilyana clutched the spoon like it was a weapon, awkwardly tilting it and splashing some of the soup onto her lap. "Oh! Sorry!" she giggled, dabbing at herself with her sleeve.

"Careful," Isabella said, trying not to laugh. "Hold it like this." She adjusted Ilyana’s grip gently, guiding her fingers until the spoon rested in her hand properly.

"Like a baby stone axe," Isabella joked.

"That I’m about to eat with," Ilyana muttered, wide-eyed, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Now dip it... yes... now lift... careful, it’s hot... and blow."

Ilyana blew too hard and sent a few drops splashing over the edge. She winced. "Oh no."

Isabella was already chuckling. "Not a hurricane. Just a little wind."

Ilyana tried again. This time she blew softly, cautiously. Her brow furrowed in intense concentration, like the soup was a creature she needed to tame. Then finally, she slipped the spoon into her mouth.

Her whole body stilled.

Her eyes grew so wide they looked like they might fall out. "Mmmh!" she moaned, mouth still half-full. "Mmm—what is this?! This is—this is..."

Isabella leaned in with a smug smile. "Good?"

"Amazing!" Ilyana shrieked, already diving in for another scoop.

"Wait—blow!" Isabella warned.

Too late.

Ilyana yelped, flapping her hands dramatically as she fanned her tongue. "Hot-hot-hot!"

Isabella laughed so hard she almost dropped her own bowl. "You maniac! Slow down!"

"I can’t," Ilyana whined, still chewing despite herself. Her eyes were watering, but she looked happier than ever. "Why have I never tasted anything like this before? How long have you had this magic?"

Isabella wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "It’s not magic, silly. It’s just Cyrus."

Ilyana paused, spoon halfway to her lips. "Cyrus... makes this?"

Isabella nodded, still smiling. "He makes all my food. Says I’d burn water if I tried myself." (No like literally and Bubu will be coming for that fact soon)

Ilyana’s gaze drifted off into the trees where Cyrus had disappeared. Her eyes softened, turned starry, like moonlight had suddenly spilled into her pupils. Her hands curled around the bowl tenderly, like it held something sacred.

Isabella noticed the shift and blinked.

Then Ilyana turned her head, voice a whisper. "What kind of woman does your brother like?"

Isabella froze.

She hadn’t expected that. Her spoon halted mid-air. She turned to Ilyana slowly, painting a smile across her face even as her heart gave a strange thud.

"I don’t know," Isabella said carefully, keeping her tone light. "He... never really speaks about women."

And then—just as those words left her lips—

Crunch.

Footsteps on leaves.

Cyrus was coming back.

"Are you done?" Cyrus’s voice was low and even, but his gaze lingered on Isabella—not just at her eyes, but on the small flecks of soup dotting her lip.

She nodded quickly, brushing the back of her hand across her mouth and holding out the empty bowl with both hands. "Mmh... yes."

Cyrus took the bowl, but before he could turn, Isabella tilted her head slightly and added with a soft smile, "Can I have more?"

She reached up as she spoke, casually running her fingers through her hair and pulling the thick strands over one shoulder. The gesture wasn’t meant to be seductive—it was simple, absent-minded—but it lit a fuse anyway.

The curve of her neck was exposed, catching the golden blush of the setting sun—delicate, glowing, as if the light itself had paused to admire her.A single lock of hair stuck to her skin, and her fingers brushed it aside.

Cyrus stood frozen, his grip tightening around the wooden bowl. He swallowed hard—subtle, nearly invisible—but his Adam’s apple bobbed once before he managed a quick nod. "Of course," he said, voice a little hoarser than before. "I’ll bring more."

He turned—but didn’t leave.

Because a voice rose behind him.

"Cyrus," Ilyana said sweetly, almost innocently.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Her expression was curious, but there was a glint behind her eyes that Isabella didn’t miss.

"Do you have a woman you want to pursue?"

Isabella froze.

Her breath caught, mid-inhale. Her back stiffened as if someone had tapped her spine with ice. She turned her head ever so slightly, her eyes snapping to Ilyana.

She didn’t even notice her hands falling to her lap—her attention was glued to Cyrus now, and that question.

Cyrus didn’t answer.

Not yet.