Imara Diversifies The Beastmen World

Chapter One Hundred and Forty Six: The Voice Through Her

Bai's POV Continued

Wilbard's voice flowed with excitement—clear and strong, even though you could tell he was barely holding it in. He was still sitting beside Imara, holding her hand as she stood next to him. But his eyes... his eyes never left that floating purple circle.

The jagged ring of smoke and light hovered before them, its cracks glowing faintly like veins of some ancient power and Wilbard stared into it like it was a sacred mirror—waiting for it to speak back.

Not some fairy tale question of who was the fairest, but something deeper. Something only the divine could answer.

"My Lord," he called, voice low but steady, and then it happened. Imara blinked, her expression soft, and made the smallest sound.

"Mm..."

It wasn't loud. It was soft. It sounded like a quiet yes, full of warmth, like answering someone you loved.

I realized...The Beast God was speaking through her. Like she was a vessel for His voice, but it didn't sound harsh or commanding.

Her voice carried the purest form of affection I had ever heard—like a mother answering her child...

Like a lover replying to their mate with gentleness beyond words.

It wrapped around us, soft and warm, and for the first time in forever, I felt tears prick my eyes—not from sadness, but because I felt... safe.

Safe in a way I didn't think existed anymore. The kind of safe that calms your entire body. The kind where your mind finally rests... your heart stops racing, and you sleep peacefully for the first time in years.

It was the kind of comfort that draws you in. That makes you want to protect it. That makes you want to love it with everything you are and become the best version of yourself just to honor it.

Wilbard chuckled softly, but it wasn't the usual smugness I'd heard from him before. This was something else—nervous, humbled, full of awe.

"How wonderful," he breathed, his voice low but bright with reverence, "that you have accepted our invitation to enter this room. One can only hope it is worthy enough for you."

Imara blinked slowly, as if answering him with a simple, quiet yes.

I don't know how I knew that. But I did. We all did. It was like the answer filled the room before she even made a sound.

Wilbard's gaze stayed locked on the floating circle of purple smoke and jagged light. And I couldn't help but wonder—what was he seeing? From his angle, was he looking at something beyond what the rest of us could see? Or was he seeing her through the circle?

Then he spoke again, quieter now, still facing the light.

"We have invited you to pass judgment... a judgment we could not make." I had never heard Wilbard speak with such kindness, such respect, in his voice.

Imara responded. "For?" she asked softly.

Wilbard's voice didn't waver. "Rosa, the Tiger Princess."

Imara tilted her head slightly, and for a moment her eyes swept the room, and when they passed over me... I can't explain what I felt. It wasn't fear. It was for a purpose. Like for the first time, I understood why I was here.

Then her gaze shifted to King Winfrey and Rosetta, and even in them, I saw it—shock, awe, fear. The same emotions running through all of us. Finally, her eyes lowered, settling on Rosa's sleeping form, still cradled in her father's lap.