Isabella finally dismissed the gathered villagers, her smile fading the moment they began to disperse. Without wasting a second, she turned on her heel and marched straight toward Kian.
He noticed her coming and raised a brow, half-expecting her to say something lighthearted again. But Isabella’s expression was all business.
"Kian, where is Shelia?" she asked, voice flat and direct.
Kian’s brow dropped, the change in his demeanor instant. His tone turned colder than usual, eyes briefly flicking away. "She’s sick. She’s no longer in the village."
Before Isabella could respond, he turned sharply and began walking off. The two visiting dignitaries—Garan and Euphim—fell in line behind him, saying nothing.
Isabella narrowed her eyes at his retreating back, her jaw tightening.
Opehlia appeared beside her, her voice urgent. "Isabella... is he being serious? Is Shelia really no longer in the village?"
Isabella didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze stayed fixed on Kian’s broad back as it disappeared down the path.
"He’s lying," she said finally, her voice cool and sure.
Then she turned to Opehlia and softened only slightly. "Come on. We have work to do. We’re going back to the hut."
Opehlia followed without question, glancing over her shoulder with a frown, clearly unsettled.
...
AT THE PALACE
Zara glanced around warily before slipping through the thick hide curtain, the coarse material brushing against her arm as she entered the hidden room. The air inside was cool and stale, untouched by sunlight, and heavy with the scent of herbs and something sour beneath them—rot.
This room wasn’t easy to find.
It was tucked deep in the concealed section of the palace, a place veiled by old magic, nearly impossible to locate unless you knew exactly where to look. And Zara did. Kian had kept Shelia here, hidden away, far from the eyes of the village and the court—especially now that she was close to death.
Zara’s gaze landed on the curled-up body on the mound of thick fur hides. Shelia lay motionless, her skin pale and bruised, and her face—burnt, cracked, and blistered—was almost unrecognizable.
Zara tilted her head slightly, lips parting as if she might feel something.
She didn’t.
She stepped closer and crouched beside the bed. Her eyes moved lazily across Shelia’s ravaged features, and a scoff left her lips before her fingers reached out to gently trail along the edge of Shelia’s matted hair.
"Look at you," she whispered sweetly, her voice dripping in mock sympathy. "You’re dying."
She smiled—soft, almost angelic—and tucked a lock of hair behind Shelia’s ear like a doting friend.
"But Isabella..." she murmured, glancing away as if reflecting on a happy memory. "Isabella is alive. Healthy. Flourishing."
Her lips twitched.
"You cared about that, right? You stood up for her. Protected her." She chuckled. "That loyalty worked out well for you, didn’t it?"
She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a joke.
"But now, you’re the one dying, and no one can save you. Not even your precious brother."
Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
"You should have stayed on my side, Shelia."
Shelia’s brow twitched—barely. Zara’s smirk widened.
"I wish I could help you... ease your pain," she added with false softness, her tone almost sincere—almost. "Maybe I should."
Her hand hovered just above Shelia’s chest as her smile widened. But the moment froze—shattered by the sound of footsteps behind her.
Zara’s face transformed instantly. The slyness melted away into a mask of grief. She wiped her eyes even though they were dry and turned with the air of a woman caught mourning.
Asael stood at the doorway, eyes locked on her with fury so sharp it practically vibrated in the air.
"What are you doing here?" he growled.
Zara blinked innocently, lips trembling as though she were barely holding it together. "I just... I missed Shelia. I can’t believe she’s leaving us so soon."
Her words snapped something in Asael.
His voice dropped, sharp and cold. "If you say that again, I’ll end you myself. Since Kian won’t."
Zara’s fake smile faltered—for a second. Just a flicker. Then the tears started. Big, glassy, crocodile ones.
"I was just—"
"Get out."
The two words came like thunder, final and ruthless.
Zara’s breath hitched. But she didn’t argue. She turned, shoulders trembling slightly as if in heartbreak, and brushed past him.
But before she could disappear, his voice struck again—deeper this time, a vow carved in stone.
"If I find out you had anything to do with this... I swear on my dead parents—I will end you."
Zara’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t respond. She just walked.
The sound of her footsteps echoed down the hall and faded.
Only then did Asael let the tension fall from his shoulders. He turned back to Shelia, moving toward her slowly. Her face was charred and brutalized, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.
He just stood there, watching her quietly for a long moment.
Not disgusted. Not afraid. Just silent.
Then he turned and left the room, the hide curtain falling behind him with a dull thud.
...
"Bubu, might I ask you to show me the tasks I’ve yet to complete?" Isabella asked through her mind, watching as Opehlia tinkered with their latest inventions nearby.
"No, you might not," came Bubu’s chipper reply.
Isabella blinked. "..."
A pause. Then—
"Anyway! Here are your tasks!" Bubu chirped cheerfully as a translucent screen shimmered into view in front of her, listing her current objectives.
---
Daily Survival Tasks – Progress: 0%
1. Make Soap (0/1)
Dirt and sweat aren’t beauty treatments. (35 points)
→ Mix ash, animal fat, and water to create primitive soap.
→ Warning: Mess it up and you’ll create a smelly disaster.
→ Reward: +5 Crafting Points, +3 Hygiene Points
2. Create Natural Shampoo (0/1)
Your hair is a bird’s nest. (80 points)
→ Find soap-like plants or herbs to wash your hair properly.
→ Use the wrong ones? Enjoy an itchy, flaky scalp.
→ Reward: +5 Survival Points, +3 Hygiene Points, +2 Beauty Points