CHAPTER 303: CHAPTER 303: HMPH

For a second, the entire world felt like it stopped spinning.

Kian—cold, controlled, impossibly proud Kian—bowed.

It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t drop to his knees or do anything remotely theatrical. He simply lowered his head, just slightly, like a ruler acknowledging a rival king.

And that was enough to shake the ground.

Because if he bowed... what the hell were the rest of them supposed to do?

It was like watching a volcano curtsy. Like seeing lightning apologize for striking.

No one moved at first. Not even a breath passed. And then—one by one—they followed.

Guards who bled for the palace. Warriors who’d fought to their last tooth and nail. The men who would never lower their heads unless their throats were half-slit already. They all bent their spines, a little stiff, a little awkward, unsure if they were making the right choice—but knowing deep in their gut, this was a survival moment.

Zyran had saved them. He didn’t ask for thanks. But he also didn’t have to. His silence demanded it.

Respect wasn’t requested. It was taken.

Even the newly recruited palace fighters—who had no clue who the hell this black-haired stranger was—found themselves bowing with the rest. One second he was just there, the next he casually ended an invasion like it was child’s play. No backstory, no warning. Just chaos and dominance wrapped in mystery.

Some muttered under their breath like, "I’m not doing this for him, I’m doing this because I like my head attached," but they still did it.

And for that brief, eerie moment, there was a weird kind of peace.

Like the air said: Yes. This is balance. This is right.

Well.

Almost everyone bowed.

Except... one.

A very large, very vivid, very red someone.

Cyrus.

The serpent himself.

The one whose scales gleamed with blood and moonlight. He stood still, taller than anyone else, coiled but unbent. Regal. Almost statuesque.

His massive snake head did not bow. Not even an inch.

Instead, his bright pink eyes were locked—unmoving—on one person.

Isabella.

Yeah.

You read that right.

While everyone else was having a respectful little "thank you for not letting us die" moment, Cyrus was out here ignoring protocol and straight-up staring at the girl like she just murdered his houseplants.

Isabella blinked.

Then blinked again.

Was he... looking at her?

She lowered her gaze, looked back up, side-eyed, squinted.

No, she wasn’t imagining it.

His giant snake face tilted slightly to the side, neck curling just a little—not threatening, just inquisitive. Like a dog asking if he could sit on the couch. Or a teacher silently waiting for your permission to borrow your pen.

It was almost comical if it weren’t for the crackling tension in the air and the fact that his snake form looked like it could eat a horse whole.

She tilted her head back, squinting even harder. "Is he...?"

Zyran leaned closer. "Yep."

"Why is he looking at me like that?"

"He’s waiting."

"For what?"

"Permission."

"...Seriously?"

"Mm-hm."

And now it clicked.

Cyrus had always been weirdly courteous. Polite to a fault. He asked before doing literally anything. Before sitting. Before helping. Before breathing too loudly. It was like he was raised by tea-sipping angels who gave etiquette lessons between sword fights.

And now he was asking—with his eyeballs—whether he should bow too.

Like this moment, this monumental shift in power, this possibly-history-making event... still required her approval.

God. The emotional whiplash.

Isabella blinked three times, then slowly—very slowly—shook her head. Just once.

That was enough.

Message received.

Cyrus didn’t bow.

He didn’t move a scale.

And while she told herself she only did it to be petty—because she was tired, pissed at Zyran, and not in the mood for games—deep down, she knew the truth.

She was mad at Cyrus too.

Still.

She hadn’t really unpacked why, but it had to do with how easily he’d abandoned her during the crisis to go babysit Ilyana. No discussion. No "Hey, are you okay?" No "Should I stay?" Just vanished. (Don’t try to defend her, she’s officially crazy)

But he still needed permission for this?

It felt... weirdly unfair.

And now, looking at him—this giant, silent serpent just waiting for her nod—it hit her again how much she’d changed.

The old Isabella would’ve thrived in this moment. Would’ve basked in the attention. Would’ve made it about her, maybe thrown in a dramatic speech, made everyone uncomfortable and blamed Zyran for something stupid like "making her hair frizzy from battle stress."

But now?

Now she was so done.

So she turned.

Snatched her hand away from Zyran like it offended her to still be touching him.

"Hmph."

He arched a brow but didn’t stop her.

She stomped toward Kian, slippers flapping over dirt and blood and the dried remains of chaos.

He’d already shifted back to human form—if "human" was the right word for a creature that looked like he was carved from stone and dipped in apocalypse.

Isabella reached him in three angry steps. "You’re injured."

Kian glanced down at her. "It’s nothing."

She frowned.

"It’s not nothing."

"It’ll heal," he said quietly, brushing a thumb over her knuckles like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Before you even have time to worry."

His tone was soft. Reassuring.

But she still hated how much blood was on him.

And just over his shoulder, Cyrus had also shifted back—standing in silence, chest bare, arms loose at his sides, gaze unreadable.

He didn’t show pain. He rarely did.

But she knew it was there. Not the kind that needed a bandage.

The kind that settled in your chest and just sat there.

Like guilt.

Because in his mind, he’d failed her. He hadn’t been where he was supposed to be. And she was still mad. That silence between them? It was deafening.

Zyran approached, his hands behind his back like he hadn’t just wiped over a dozen important men, off the planet.

He stopped beside Cyrus and smirked.

"You know, you should probably just give up on her."

Cyrus didn’t move.

"There are plenty of other fish in the sea," Zyran added casually. "Some even have less bite. Might be good for your mental health."

Cyrus still didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even acknowledge the smug man standing beside him.

Zyran tilted his head. "No? Nothing to say? Not even a dramatic sigh?"

"How much do you need to get your eyes off her?"