His father had always known.
He’d known for a long ti that his son was... a little unhinged. A little too intense. But so what?
He was the Vulture Prince.
And if anyone had the right to be a little crazy—it was him.
Not like that other idiot son, who couldn’t tell right from wrong if it slapped him in the face. Always selfish. Always corrupt. But Veer?
Sure, he was rough around the edges—loud, sotis reckless—but he was the one holding the tribe together. He cared, in his own way.
To his father, that was enough. Veer was a good son.
Suddenly, Veer snapped his head toward him, eyes burning.
"Dad, I want to know everything. Everything about that woman. Where she cos from. What she is. Everything."
His father didn’t flinch. He just smiled, nodding slowly.
"So do it. We’re the Vulture Tribe. If there’s knowledge out there—we can get it."
Veer blinked, then coughed. And just like that—he broke into laughter.
Loud, wild, bitter laughter.
He turned around, pointing at his father while looking at the other Vultures standing nearby.
"See?! See what he’s saying?!" he called out, half-laughing, half-growling.
Then, quieter now, he turned back to his father and said in a rougher voice, "Do you think I haven’t tried?"
"I tried, Dad. I tried everything. But I couldn’t find anything about her."
His voice dropped lower, eyes distant.
"Her scent... it’s not normal. It’s beautiful. Fragrant. Like sothing’s pulling toward her. And when I’m near her, it’s there... this softness in the air. But I’ve searched. No other tribe has that scent. None."
He paused, frustration building again.
"She hasn’t even shown her beast form. Not once. And without that—how the hell am I supposed to know what she is?"
Veer’s hand curled into a fist.
"She has no ears. No markings. No features that tell where she’s from or what she is."
He looked at his father, as if expecting an answer—sothing. But his face only twisted deeper into confusion.
"She’s like... like nothing I’ve ever seen before."
In this world, even if females didn’t fully shift into their beast forms, there were always signs. A trace. A hint.
Ears. Tails.
They showed up—especially when the woman was frightened or on high alert. It was instinct, nature, survival. You could always tell.
Suddenly, Veer’s father seed to rember sothing. A slow smile crept onto his face as he leaned in and said, almost too casually,
"Then frighten her. Make her afraid. Push her enough—and she’ll shift. Easy."
Veer turned to him slowly.
The smile on his face was calm. But his eyes—his eyes were not calm.
"Dad..." he said softly, like he was talking to a child who didn’t understand the rules of a ga. He tilted his head, his voice dropping as his smile stayed frozen.
Then he shook his head.
"Do you really think I’m a fool?" he whispered. "Do you think I haven’t thought of that?"
There was a strange coldness in his tone now. A hollow, dangerous coldness.
"That woman..." he said slowly, "that woman didn’t even change when the Mammoth Tribe was chasing her. Do you know what that ans?"
"She was being hunted. She was nearly killed. But still—no tail. No ears. Nothing."
He turned away, pacing slightly, his fingers twitching at his side.
"And now—she’s heading toward the southern path. To that wasteland. There’s nothing there. No caves. No settlents. Not even solid ground."
From the side, one of the other Vultures cautiously spoke up.
"It’s the west, not south."
The mont those words dropped into the air, Veer froze.
His head turned. Slowly.
Then, ever so calmly, he looked at the man. His cousin.
"Yeah," he said, voice steady. "South. West. East. North."
"That’s all you ever do, isn’t it? Point directions."
He walked toward him, slowly at first, then faster.
"I asked you to find out who she is. Anything. But you couldn’t even give her na. Her scent. Her tribe. Nothing."
Then, in a swift movent, Veer jumped forward. He grabbed his cousin by the mouth, fingers digging into his jaw as he yanked him close.
His voice was a low growl now, sharp enough to cut bone.
"If you want to be useful, then shut up about directions—and figure out who the hell she is, huh?"
Then, without warning, he shoved him back.
The cousin stumbled, caught by the other Vultures—who looked at Veer not with anger, but with fear. Real, raw fear.
Because they had seen that look in his eyes before.
And they knew what it ant.
On the other side of the forest, Kaya had no idea that a whole tribe of Vultures was now chasing the question of her identity.
She was too busy staring at a damn sparrow.
A sparrow that still hadn’t spoken. Still sitting there like a sulking child who had just been scolded for sothing he didn’t do.
Kaya sighed softly, the irritation from earlier now fading into sothing gentler.
Quietly, without force, she reached out and scooped the bird into her hand. Her touch wasn’t firm—just enough to lift him. Maybe even softer than she ant it to be.
She brought him closer, resting him in her palm like sothing fragile.
And then, slowly, she leaned in and gently touched her forehead to his.
Not in so dramatic way. Just the way humans do when checking soone’s temperature—an old habit.
But the sparrow’s head was so small that their foreheads barely t. Just the lightest touch.
Kaya held still, trying to sense sothing—warmth, coolness, anything.
But she couldn’t tell.
Maybe he was running a fever. Maybe he was just quiet.
Or maybe he was just being... him.
She pulled back slightly.
Still unsure.
Kaya stayed still, the tiny sparrow resting in her palm like a fragile leaf.
He hadn’t moved. Not a chirp. Not a twitch. Still that quiet, sunken look on his face.
She stared at him, brows slightly furrowed.
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