CHAPTER 302: CHAPTER 302: ALL THIS NOISE WON’T HELP YOU SLEEP PEACEFULLY

Isabella’s gaze dropped to the ground, lashes low, jaw tight. Her arms stayed folded stiffly over her chest like she was bracing herself against him—and her own thoughts.

She didn’t want to look up.

Not again.

Not at that smug, unbearably confident face she was sure Zyran was wearing like always.

She didn’t have it in her tonight. Not the patience. Not the strength.

Her pride was still nursing wounds he didn’t even bother to bandage.

But what she didn’t know—what she didn’t even sense—was that the smugness wasn’t there.

Not this time.

Zyran wasn’t smiling. Not even a little.

His brow was faintly creased, his jaw locked in a way that barely showed, and his glowing red eyes flickered with something unreadable. There was tension in his shoulders. Not battle-readiness. Not mischief.

Something else.

"You seem tired," Zyran said softly, breaking the silence as he gently reached for her.

His finger tipped under her chin—gentle, not forceful—and lifted her face toward his.

His touch was light, but it made her stomach clench.

"All this noise won’t help you sleep peacefully," he murmured, tilting his head, voice low and oddly tender. "And I won’t like that."

Isabella blinked, caught off guard. Her eyes flicked up in confusion, finally daring to meet his—and that’s when she noticed the absence.

That usual playful spark?

Gone.

Zyran smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned away slightly as the shimmering protective dome around them slowly dissolved into the night air, crackling with fading light like a popped soap bubble.

"Let’s go put an end to this," he said, voice cool and casual as if he were talking about ending a dinner party—not a war.

Then, without waiting for permission, he reached for her hand.

And Isabella... let him.

Her fingers twitched in his grasp at first, but she didn’t pull away.

They walked side by side, through broken earth and bloodied grass, toward the roaring center of the battlefield.

And weirdly enough?

She felt calm.

Which was insane.

If it were anyone else—if it were anyone else—she’d have been panicking, second-guessing, counting the seconds before her tragic, unnecessary death.

But with Zyran?

Even now, stepping into the middle of chaos?

It felt like she was walking beside a storm he controlled.

They moved forward slowly. Every step felt unreal. A few of the beastmen turned to glance their way, but most didn’t notice. The clash of bodies and claws and steel was too loud, too violent.

Until Zyran cleared his throat.

Just once.

And somehow—that was all it took.

The battlefield paused.

Just like that.

Every fighter—ally, enemy, injured or not—turned to face them, confused expressions stretching across blood-spattered faces.

Isabella felt her skin prickle, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She didn’t understand it, but she could feel the moment Zyran’s presence hit them like a wave. It was like the battlefield itself held its breath.

"As much as I love your little show," Zyran began lazily, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand like this was just some flirty date-night interruption, "my woman is pretty tired for the night and would require some peace and quiet."

He said it like he was commenting on the weather. Like he wasn’t standing ankle-deep in blood while bodies twitched around them. Like it was all a minor inconvenience.

Isabella didn’t even know how to react. Her brain felt like it had glitched.

But the Fangridge men—oh, they reacted.

Their expressions shifted all at once. Like puppets pulled by the same string. Rage replaced confusion. The kind of rage that made people forget strategy. Forget fear.

They remembered why they were here.

They looked at each other, and the silence between them spoke loud.

Kill him.

Kill them.

Then they charged.

Isabella’s breath caught.

Kian, still in lion form, sprang into a defensive crouch. Cyrus slithered forward without thinking. Luca and the others moved instantly—shoulders square, claws ready, faces sharp with fight.

But none of them got the chance to do anything.

Because the attackers—

All of them—

Vanished.

It wasn’t flashy.

There was no lightning crack. No blinding light. No scream.

They just... ceased to exist.

Like mist hit by sunlight.

Like a bad dream slipping away the moment you opened your eyes.

Silence fell.

Not even the wind dared to move.

Everyone just froze.

Slowly—like dominos tipping one after another—all heads turned.

To him.

To Zyran.

Even Isabella, who had been frozen stiff beside him, turned her head—slow, robotic, like her neck wasn’t cooperating.

Her eyes locked on him.

And widened.

Her mouth parted slightly, lips trembling open, but no sound came out.

She just stared.

Disbelief stretched across her face like a slap she wasn’t expecting. Her spine stiffened. Her chest rose and fell too fast, like her body didn’t know if it wanted to scream or laugh or collapse entirely.

Because now?

Now she understood.

Now it all made painful, disgusting, crystal-clear sense.

Zyran... had ended the battle. Casually. Effortlessly. Like wiping dust off a mirror.

And he could’ve done it before.

Before the screams. Before the blood. Before Kian nearly got torn apart. Before the guards gave their lives.

But he waited.

He waited until he got what he wanted—her compliance—and only then, like it was an afterthought, he snapped his fingers and shut the whole thing down.

He didn’t even try to struggle the way he should have. The way she thought he was struggling.

He never broke a sweat. He never showed fear.

Because he didn’t need to.

He played her.

Manipulated her emotions. Let her break. Let her feel the full weight of the horror. Let her scream and plead and choose between loyalty and love—and all the while, he had the power to end it.

And he didn’t.

Her stomach turned. Not out of fear.

Out of betrayal.

She felt like a puppet with its strings cut—dangling uselessly, foolishly, in the hands of a man who’d been ten steps ahead the entire time.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

She didn’t even know what anyone else felt. Didn’t care.

Because her?

She felt used.

But... the others?

The ones who knew?

They understood something deeper. Something older. Something terrifying.

This man—no, this creature—who just stood there like the world wasn’t spinning beneath his feet, wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t meant to be trifled with. Not provoked. Not toyed with. Not even spoken to without knowing your place.

Zyran hadn’t just shown his strength.

He’d reminded them of the natural order of things.

And he stood at the top.

Kian, still in lion form but panting quietly, watched him in eerie silence. His glowing eyes didn’t move from Zyran’s face for even a second.

There was no snarl, no growl. No anger.

Just a dangerous stillness.

Because now?

Now Kian knew the truth. And it settled on him like a heavy crown.

Zyran was someone you stayed the hell away from.

Someone who could end kingdoms—and wouldn’t even raise his voice doing it.

And more importantly...

Someone Isabella was already tangled with.

Kian didn’t fear for himself.

He feared for her.

How could he protect her from that? How could he compete with a man who held storms in his hands and smirked while holding back?

He couldn’t.

But he didn’t show it.

His expression stayed unreadable. Regal. Cold.

And then—

Without a word—

Kian lowered his head.

And bowed.