CHAPTER 428: CHAPTER 428: HOW TINY WILL IT BE? I WANT TO SEE ITS LITTLE HANDS!

The Lunareen’s eyes narrowed to slits, her silver pupils glowing like twin moons cutting through the mist. Water coiled tighter around Isabella’s body, lifting her just a little higher until her toes barely grazed the shimmering surface. The serpent woman’s voice slithered through the silence—smooth, layered, echoing from every ripple in the lagoon.

"Life..." she murmured, her tone shifting, curious now. "Life in you."

For a moment, Isabella just stared at her, blinking. "What—what do you mean, life in me?" she stammered. "There’s no life in me. I’m literally running on anxiety and sarcasm."

The Lunareen didn’t respond. Her gaze dropped to Isabella’s chest, then to the faint glow pulsing at her midsection—an echo of light she hadn’t even noticed before.

Isabella followed the gaze, panic flashing across her face. "Wait, wait, no, no, no, you’ve got it wrong—" She grabbed Glimora and held her up desperately. "This! This is the only life on me! Look! My baby, my support system, my emotional damage sponge!"

Glimora’s wide eyes immediately went rounder, reflecting terror and betrayal. The tiny creature let out a startled, high-pitched squeak, then scrambled frantically down Isabella’s arm like a panicked squirrel. She dove straight into Isabella’s shawl and burrowed there, trembling violently.

Isabella’s mouth dropped open. "Oh no, baby, I wasn’t about to sacrifice you!" she whispered frantically, cradling Glimora close again. "Don’t look at me like that—mommy loves you, okay?!"

But Glimora peeked up with watery eyes that clearly said: Traitor.

Isabella groaned, muttering, "Oh, come on, don’t guilt-trip me now, you dramatic fur ball—"

Her voice cut off as the lagoon stirred.

A soft gasp echoed.

Then another.

Then—

"Oh my goddess," one of the Lunareen whispered from the depths, her tone suddenly alight with excitement. "A baby! There’s a baby in her!"

The air shifted instantly.

The tension that had been thick enough to choke on cracked like a bubble.

The once-frightening serpentine women who had been circling, their tails slicing gracefully through the water, now erupted into startled joy. The mist glowed brighter, and a soft chime—like hundreds of tiny bells—rippled through the cove.

"A baby!" one squealed, her voice lilting like a harp string as she clasped her webbed hands together.

"Her first?" another gasped, tail curling in delight as glittering droplets spun around her like confetti.

"They say mortal children carry starlight in their eyes!" one whispered, pressing both palms to her cheeks.

"Oh, I haven’t seen a child in ages!" another sighed dreamily, twirling a strand of her silvery hair. "How tiny will it be? I want to see its little hands!"

One with coral-pink scales clapped her hands so hard she splashed herself. "Do you think it’ll have a tail? Oh, please have a tail—it’d be adorable!"

Their voices overlapped, full of wonder and giggles, their glowing eyes wide with pure delight. The once-terrifying serpent women now looked like a swarm of ethereal aunties at a celestial baby shower, practically vibrating with excitement.

They were practically squealing now, darting closer to the shore with wide, curious eyes, their shimmering tails flicking through the water like ribbons of silver and aquamarine. One of them even clapped her hands and giggled, her voice echoing like soft crystal.

Only the one holding Isabella remained motionless.

She lowered Isabella slowly—so slowly the water around her barely rippled. The current hummed against Isabella’s calves as her bare feet touched the cool surface, which rippled faintly beneath her weight before firming like glass.

But Isabella didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe.

Her arms instinctively tightened around Glimora, holding her close to her chest. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her lips trembled.

A baby.

That word—baby—kept replaying in her head like an echo that refused to fade.

Her eyes went wide. Her body locked.

The serpent women’s voices continued to swirl around her—soft, delighted, chattering among themselves in a language that flowed like the tide. She caught fragments through the ringing in her ears.

"Oh, the Moon Mother will bless her for sure."

"Maybe the child will be born of both worlds."

"Do you think its tail will glow?"

"I want to see! I want to see!"

Their voices overlapped in childlike wonder, rippling with excitement, but Isabella heard nothing but the pounding of her own heartbeat.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Her throat tightened.

A sick, dizzy feeling washed through her, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Her knees almost buckled.

No. No, no, no, that’s not—

Her fingers dug into Glimora’s soft fur. The tiny creature whimpered, sensing her trembling.

Isabella’s lips parted, but no words came out. Tears burned behind her eyes, gathering hot and heavy, and her lower lip quivered so violently it hurt.

She was in shock. Completely, utterly frozen in disbelief.

The words replayed again, over and over—a baby in her.

And for the first time since stepping foot into this cursed, mystical mountain, Isabella couldn’t find her voice.

The Lunareen didn’t seem to notice her spiraling. They continued whispering among themselves, their long hair floating like strands of silver in the air, their laughter echoing through the mist.

"Oh, look at her, she’s glowing already!"

"Do you think the baby will have her eyes or his?"

"Ahh, I hope it’s a girl—girls are always so much gentler before they learn to bite."

"Maybe we can braid its tiny tail when it’s born!"

"I want to hold it first!"

"No, I want to hold it first!"

The one who had been holding Isabella now glanced down at her, her expression unreadable, her serpentine tail coiling lazily behind her.

Isabella couldn’t move.

She could barely blink.

A trembling breath escaped her, small and uneven.

And then—

A familiar ping! cut through the air.

Bubu’s floating screen flickered back to life beside her, glowing faintly blue against the silvery light.

"Host," Bubu said softly. Its tone was different this time—not teasing, not robotic. Quiet. Careful. "I know this is a lot for you to handle, but right now—please, do not storm out. Do not make a scene. You need this place."

Isabella’s tear-filled eyes slowly turned toward it. Her expression shifted, disbelief giving way to realization—a dawning horror as the pieces clicked into place in her mind.

Her voice came out small, trembling.

"You knew."

And the moment the words left her lips, the entire lagoon seemed to still.