The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 245 - 246: Shamans… they’re the ones who control the water. Not just by power, but by respect

Chapter 245: Chapter 246: Shamans... they’re the ones who control the water. Not just by power, but by respect

"What are you still doing there?" Isabella called out, her voice ringing through the air like a slap. There was no polite tone, no fake sweetness. Just blunt, unapologetic sass.

Glimora, tucked in her lap, blinked up like, Oop—mama’s in a mood again.

A pause.

Then finally, from the other side of the curtain, came a hesitant voice.

"I’m here for Ophelia."

Isabella’s eyes narrowed.

Oh? That got her attention. She gently shifted Glimora off her lap with a pat on the head.

"Come in then," she said, sitting up straighter and folding her arms with the air of a queen granting a favor.

The curtain rustled before parting—and in stepped the man.

Tall. Ridiculously tall. His frame was broad, skin sun-kissed, hair dark and swept back like he’d wrestled the wind and won. His eyes held a stormy sort of calm, like he belonged in a city where the wind never slept.

But Isabella?

She was unimpressed.

As he stepped into the room, she eyed him like a merchant inspecting a very suspicious slab of meat.

Okay... a bit too tall. Definitely someone who hits his head on door frames and pretends it doesn’t hurt.

Hands? Big. Good for chopping trees, bad for handling delicate things. Probably breaks plates for fun.

Lips? Pressed too tight. Either a chronic worrier or constipated. Or both.

Cheekbones? Decent. Not that she was looking.

Meanwhile, Glimora was curled near her feet, nose twitching like she was trying to decide if this new beastman was friend or foe—or just too tall to trust.

The silence hung.

Thick.

Unbearable.

Even Glimora looked between them like, So... y’all just not gonna speak?

Then finally, the man shifted.

"Ilyana said Ophelia stays with you," he said, voice steady, a touch formal.

Isabella’s gaze didn’t flinch. She loved this part—staring contests with men who couldn’t handle her energy. And he? Oh, he broke eye contact first. Delicious.

She smirked, tilting her head ever so slightly.

A beat passed.

Then her mouth opened—and a waterfall of words tumbled out.

"Who are you? What’s your name? Where are you from? What’s your business with Ophelia? And why exactly were you standing there like a stalker since sunrise?"

He blinked, taken aback. Then with a bit of hesitance, he replied, "Valen. I come from Stormhaven City."

Isabella’s brows rose at the word city. Finally.

She had heard about these mysterious cities. Everyone mentioned cities like they were mythical realms, floating castles, or some kind of elite club she wasn’t allowed in. And now one of their creatures had wandered into her room like a lost deer.

She sat up straighter, all ears.

"What is Stormhaven City?" she asked, voice sharp, curious, impatient.

Valen blinked again. "You... don’t know what Stormhaven is?"

Glimora growled a little, not a warning—more of a watch your mouth, tall man type of grumble.

Isabella narrowed her eyes and gestured with her fingers. "Talk."

Valen took a breath, grounding himself.

"Stormhaven is the third-largest city to ever exist," he began. "It sits by the lake. A huge one. Wide as the sky, deep as the silence before thunder."

He glanced around the room, searching for a way to explain it better.

"People trade whatever’s worth something—bones, feathers, dried meat. No shiny stuff. You bring what you’ve got, lay it down, and if the other person grunts the right way, the deal’s done. Simple."

Isabella’s eyes sharpened, absorbing every word.

"Shamans... they’re the ones who control the water. Not just by power, but by respect. Through rituals—chants, smoke, even bone marrow—they speak to the lake. And the lake listens."

She hadn’t blinked once.

"Every morning," he went on, "glowing fish rise to the surface. We harvest them. Not for food, but for the essence. Their magic glows, hums. It’s used in crafting, healing, protection."

He paused for a moment, as though the memory had made something in his chest swell.

"The boats are our pride," he said, softer now. "They’re made from massive trees. Trees so large you can’t wrap your arms around them even with four friends. When we find the right one, we thank it. We ask it to carry us, and only then do we begin."

"Describe the boat," Isabella said, suddenly, her voice slicing through the air.

Valen blinked again, wide-eyed. Clearly not expecting the demand.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He took a moment, like he was sifting through the memory with care.

"It’s not like what you’re thinking," he said slowly. "It’s not... pretty. But it floats, and that’s what matters."

His weight shifted, and his voice grew steadier.

"We take the biggest tree we can find. The kind that would take six men holding hands to wrap around. Then we thank it. Shamans bless the bark so the spirits don’t curse the journey. After that, we burn it. Not to destroy—no. Just enough to make it soft. Fire eats the middle, and we scrape it out with sharpened bones and obsidian. Takes days. Weeks, sometimes, if the tree is stubborn."

Glimora’s ears perked. She crept a little closer, curious now.

"When the belly is clean, we smooth it. Add bones across the sides to keep it from cracking. Vines, sometimes leather strips, to hold it together. It’s not delicate. It creaks. It groans. But when it touches the lake, it sits on the water like it belongs there."

He hesitated again, then added, "Sometimes, when we need to go far, we tie two together. We chant. The shamans call the wind. We let the spirits guide it. If the spirits like you, they take you where you ask."

A pause. Then, quieter: "If not... you don’t come back."

He looked at her again. "But mine always came back."

Isabella’s expression?

Unimpressed. Judging.

Glimora glanced up at her like you good? and Isabella slowly tilted her head, one brow arching with dramatic flourish.

She looked like she was trying to decide if this man was telling her the truth, or just trying to sound cooler than he was.

She took her sweet, sweet time processing everything he said.

Then she blinked slowly, finally shifting in her seat.