CHAPTER 479: CHAPTER 479: WHAT EVEN IS YOUR NAME? PLEASE TELL ME YOU REMEMBER YOUR NAME.

The morning after The Tent Incident™ felt like waking up with a hangover despite never drinking.

Isabella had barely gotten herself together — hair smoothed down, magical tent folded into her space, Glimora perched on her shoulder like a judgmental white puff — when she stepped out onto the mountain path determined to do ONE simple thing:

Return to the Lunareen habitat.

Figure out Shelia’s next task.

Leave this stupid mountain.

Find a quiet rock to punch.

That was the plan.

A clean, simple, easy, elegant plan.

But of course...

Nothing in Isabella’s life was ever easy.

Because five steps onto the path, behind her, she heard—

Footsteps.

Heavy ones.

Confident ones.

Male ones.

And then...

A low whistle.

And then...

Rambling.

Actual rambling.

She stopped mid-step.

Her eye twitched so violently Glimora gently patted her cheek like, mother, please... breathe.

Isabella closed her eyes. Counted to three. Opened them.

She took another step.

The footsteps followed.

She took two steps.

The footsteps matched.

She sped up.

The footsteps sped up.

She slowed.

The footsteps slowed.

She froze.

The footsteps froze.

Her entire body turned to slow-burning lava.

She spun around so fast that Glimora clung to her hair like a terrified baby koala.

Behind her stood the phoenix man — tall, annoyingly tall, smugly tall — hands behind his back like he was out on a casual stroll. His hair caught the morning light like polished embers. His expression was unreadable except for one tiny detail:

He looked entertained.

Isabella stomped forward, each step the stomp of a woman who had survived too much and deserved better.

"YOU—"

She paused mid-scream.

Like someone had yanked an invisible rope around her throat.

Because she realized something horrifying:

She didn’t know his name.

Not even a clue.

Not a letter.

Not a vowel.

Not a "maybe he looks like a Kevin."

Her mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again...

then closed slower this time, like her brain was buffering.

She squinted at him.

Tilted her head.

Raised a finger like she was about to accuse him of murder.

"You... you... you—" she sputtered, pointing aggressively. "YOU PERSON! YOU MAN! YOU BIG PROBLEM!"

He blinked, deadpan.

She slapped her forehead.

"What even is your name? Please tell me you remember your name. At least THAT much of your brain should still be working."

He looked down at her, eyes steady, expression calm, like she was a curious squirrel screaming at him.

"Yes," he said. "I remember."

Then he said nothing else.

Just stared at her.

Like that was enough.

Isabella stared back.

Silence stretched.

Birds chirped far, far away — very wisely avoiding this scene.

"...Go on," she hissed. "Tell me your name, you oversized roasted peacock."

His lips twitched — almost a smirk.

"My name is Osiris."

Isabella blinked.

Then blinked again.

She frowned.

"Osiris?" she repeated slowly. "Osiris? That’s your name?"

"Yes."

She scrunched her nose like she had tasted rotten berries.

"What kind of early Stone Age name is that? Do you know how dramatic you sound?"

He shrugged. "It is my name."

"Well, Osiris, Osirocks, O-saucepan—whatever the hell your name is—STOP. FOLLOWING. ME."

Her voice blasted across the trees like she was announcing the sunrise herself.

Birds she didn’t even see fell out of branches.

A squirrel-looking thing dived into a bush like it was fleeing a natural disaster.

Even the wind paused, like, "Damn, girl."

Osiris didn’t flinch.

Not even a polite eyebrow twitch.

He just stood there, tall and irritating, staring at her with that infuriating expression — the "are you quite done?" look men tend to have right before they get slapped by fate.

She poked his chest — or she TRIED TO, because the man was basically a walking mountain of muscle.

Her finger hit him and immediately regretted it.

But she kept her glare.

"You’re a grown-ass man," she snapped. "You can hunt for yourself. You can fix yourself. You can take care of yourself.

I am pregnant with a baby beast and myself to look after. I can’t also look after you."

Osiris frowned faintly.

"You are... pregnant," he said slowly, studying her with a new intensity. "I should have sensed it. I knew something was off about you."

Isabella stopped breathing.

"What did you just SAY?"

Glimora gasped dramatically.

Osiris blinked, genuinely confused.

"You’re pregnant. So that explains—"

"No, no, no, no," Isabella cut him off, stabbing the air with one finger. "Explain why you said something was off about me. WHAT does that mean?"

Osiris stared at her dead serious, as if she was the unreasonable one.

"It means," he said calmly, "your aura felt strange."

"STRANGE?! Did you just call a pregnant woman STRANGE?!"

"No. I said—"

"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!"

She threw her hands into the air like she was about to summon a storm and smite him.

Osiris simply stood there.

Tall.

Stubborn.

Pretty.

And full of himself.

So full of himself that Isabella could practically see his ego sitting on his shoulder twirling a spear.

She groaned loudly, pressing her palms against her temples.

"Why are you STILL FOLLOWING ME? For what? FOR WHAT?!"

He lifted one eyebrow.

"I already told you," he said evenly. "I am going with you."

"No, you’re NOT!"

"Yes. I am."

"No!"

"Yes."

"NO!"

"Yes."

Isabella picked up a rock.

Glimora squeaked.

Osiris’s eyebrow rose higher.

"Are you planning to throw that at me?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"You won’t hit me."

"WATCH M–"

She stopped mid-rant when her eyes caught something on the forest floor ahead.

Her hand loosened.

The rock dropped.

Her pupils dilated.

Her heartbeat stopped.

Her breath hitched.

Her lips parted.

She whispered one sacred word.

One holy word.

One word that carried the hopes and dreams of her entire human soul.

"...Rice."

Her voice trembled.

Her eyes shined.

Her knees almost buckled.

Osiris stared at her, confused.

But Isabella didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Because on the forest ground... sprouting in neat clusters...

Was something she hadn’t seen since her old world and since that stupid Zyran practically brought it once.

Something beautiful.

Something perfect.

Something precious.

A grain.

A crop.

A miracle.

RICE.

Her mouth opened again.

Barely a whisper this time.

"Rice..."