The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 604: Osiris if one day you fly away and abandon my village, I will pull your feather and use it as a mop

Chapter 604: Chapter 604: Osiris if one day you fly away and abandon my village, I will pull your feather and use it as a mop

These people who did not know who he really was, who did not bow to him as a phoenix, treated him like some normal male who could help carry things and guard fires.

Sometimes, he felt very comfortable.

Sometimes, he felt like he was going to suffocate.

"You look strange," Isabella suddenly said.

Osiris blinked.

When had she stood up and turned around?

Her gaze was sharp, like she could see through his fur cloak.

"I was thinking about your beauty," he replied smoothly. He spread his hands. "The sight of Goddess Isabella standing in golden fields, it is too much for a poor phoenix’s heart."

Isabella stared at him for two breaths.

Then she rolled her eyes.

"Go be poor somewhere else," she said. "If you are bored, go and help carry the harvested crops back. If you break anything, I will pluck your feathers and use them as brooms."

Osiris was instantly offended. "You are too cruel to me."

He still obediently took a basket from a villager’s hand.

He carried it with one hand as if it weighed nothing, but his mind had already drifted away.

As the work in the fields became busy, he quietly walked toward the edge.

No one stopped him.

The villagers glanced once and turned back to ask Isabella how to sort the grains. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Osiris walked until the sounds behind him grew faint.

He stopped at a rocky outcrop overlooking the village. The wind was stronger here. The smell of smoke and soil was weaker. The smell of cold sky and distant fire was clearer.

He closed his eyes.

The heat under his skin grew stronger.

It climbed along his spine, spread across his shoulder blades, then sank into his bones.

His fingers curled.

Flames burst silently along his arms.

They did not burn his skin. They were golden-red, thin as feathers, wrapping around his hands.

His breathing turned shallow.

"Not yet," he whispered.

His voice was carried away by the wind.

He opened his eyes.

The world was suddenly brighter.

The villagers below looked like small moving dots. The stone palace’s roof reflected a dull light. The mountain’s peak was shrouded in a cold mist, but behind that mist, he knew there was another world.

His back felt like something was pushing outward.

His shoulders rolled once.

A phantom pair of wings, half-real and half-fire, flared behind him.

The golden-red feathers were beautiful and proud, but they flickered weakly, as if the wind could blow them out.

His back burned.

On the skin between his shoulder blades, hidden under layers of fur cloth, a dark mark glowed.

It was shaped like a twisted chain, or perhaps a cruel hand.

The glow was faint, then stronger, then faint again, fighting against the golden flames.

Osiris sucked in a breath.

Pain shot down his spine.

The phantom wings trembled.

One more feather appeared.

Then the mark pulsed.

The flames scattered like frightened birds.

The wings shattered into light.

Osiris dropped to one knee, fingers digging into the cold stone.

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

The brand on his back cooled again, sinking deep into his bones, acting as if nothing had happened.

He panted for a few breaths.

The wind blew against his face, drying the sweat at his temples.

He slowly stood up.

His fingers were still trembling a bit, but he forced them to smooth his cloak.

"Useless," he said to himself with a crooked smile. "Can not even grow wings properly."

He looked down at the village again.

From here, Isabella was just a small dot wrapped in a thick fur cloak, directing people by pointing this way and that.

Even in the distance, he could imagine her expression, serious and slightly smug.

The tightness in his chest returned, pressing against his ribs.

He had once flown above cities that glittered with stone and bone, hearing the cries of beastmen below as they worshipped flames.

Now, one human, who liked to nag, who liked to hit males with whatever she could grab, who walked around with a big belly, made him feel restless.

"What kind of weird spell did you cast on me, Isabella," he murmured.

The mark on his back was quiet.

His blood was not.

He adjusted his cloak, hid any trace of what had happened, and walked back.

When he returned, the field was even livelier.

Isabella was teaching the villagers how to bundle the grain and store it in a dry pit. She held a stalk in her hand, gesturing.

The men listened with wide eyes.

They did not know he had almost grown wings and fallen on a rock not far away.

They had no idea he was a phoenix.

They only knew he was another male that Isabella had dragged home.

Osiris stopped a few steps away.

He watched Isabella laugh at something a villager said, watched her pat a child’s head, watched her rub her lower back with a small grimace.

He quietly stepped forward.

"Goddess," he said lightly, "you are working again. If Cyrus sees you, he will nag you for half a day."

Isabella glanced back. "Then do not tell him."

Osiris’s lips curved.

He took the basket from her hand without asking and lifted it easily.

"Fine. I will help you cheat him," he said. "In return, you can give me a bigger piece of meat tonight."

Isabella snorted softly.

Inside, though, a thought flashed.

Osiris’s eyes looked different for a moment.

They seemed to hold a reflection of flames.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Osiris," she suddenly said, "if one day you fly away and abandon my village, I will pull your feather and use it as a mop."

Osiris was stunned.

Then he laughed.n

"Relax," he said lazily. "Even if I fly away, I will come back. This place is noisy and smells like food. It suits me."

He turned and walked toward the storehouse, basket on his shoulder.

Behind him, under the fur cloak, the brand on his back stayed dark.

As if it had never glowed at all.