Kaya cleared her throat, the last of the tightness still clinging there, and forced her voice to sound normal. It ca out a bit nasal anyway.
"Um," she said, glaring at the air instead of at him, "so... what about the sparrow?"
Cutie paused, thinking.
"The sparrow..." he echoed. "He’s in his cousin’s room. Looking at him." A tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "Well... more like glaring."
Kaya gave a short nod. "Oh."
Her eyes slid away, found a new target.
"And Veer?" she asked.
Cutie rubbed the side of his neck. "He’s still a bit out of it," he said. "Still sleeping. Looks like he’s really tired."
Kaya let that sit. Veer, still down. He’d flown through a storm with two bodies in his claws; it wasn’t surprising, just... strange to imagine him quiet for once.
"Okay," she said at last.
She t Cutie’s eyes briefly, then looked toward the wall again.
"Would you mind," she added, softer, "if I rest a bit more?"
He straightened like she’d poked him with a pin. "Oh—yes. Yeah. I’m really sorry, I—" He cut himself off, nodding quickly. "Sure. Rest. I’ll... be outside."
He backed toward the door, gave her one last worried look, then slipped out. The door closed with a soft scrape.
Kaya’s faint smile vanished the second it did.
She stared at the wood for a long beat, then dropped her gaze to her hands.
Broker. Assassins. Random beastn who decided she was worth killing. Gods in her blood. Lightning that acted like it had her na written on it. All of it had piled up into sothing very simple.
First: she couldn’t survive this place alone.
In her old world, the idea of needing a man—needing ’anyone’—to live would have made her sick. She’d have spit on it. Here, it was just fact. She’d seen the beasts that ca for her: claws, fangs, strange powers. If Cutie, Veer, and even that loud sparrow hadn’t been around, she’d already be dead on so inn floor or halfway down a mountain.
Ego, pride—none of that stopped teeth. None of it fixed broken bones. You can’t eat self‑respect. You can’t use it to block a knife.
Second: she had nothing of her own here.
No money. No standing. No family na anyone cared about. No web of favours or contacts. Even her way of travelling—on Veer’s back, sleeping in his cave—was borrowed. Every step forward was because soone else had put their body between her and sothing worse.
So the choice was simple and ugly.
Keep clutching pride and walk off a cliff with it, or kick it aside and live. Pride, dignity, whatever fancy words people liked, only mattered if you were still breathing to feel them.
Kaya sat with that for a mont, then pulled in a slow breath, filling sore lungs.
She swung her legs off the bed, bare feet touching cool stone. Her body protested—muscles tight, bruises complaining—but it held. She pushed herself up, spine straightening, and stretched her arms over her head until joints popped and a small, involuntary sound escaped her throat.
When she dropped her hands, a smile—real, thin, a little an—pulled at the corner of her mouth.
Fine.
If this world wanted to play dirty, she could, too. Pride could wait. Survival couldn’t.
On the other side of the cave, the sparrow sat on the stone shelf and watched his so‑called cousin sleep.
The bundle rose and fell in slow, even breaths. Peaceful. Too peaceful.
Sothing ugly twisted in his chest—anger, yes, but also a tight, bitter understanding. He knew exactly what kind of disaster this bird could drag behind him.
His own life hadn’t started like so tragic play. It had been simple.
Two sparrow beastn for parents. Quiet, practical people. A small village where every roof was familiar and everyone knew everyone else’s business. A mother who fussed, a father who worked, siblings stacked so high he’d lost count—eighth son, ninth son, it blurred. Cousins everywhere. Noise, food, boring safety.
Then his ability woke up.
Nothing exploded. No one scread. It just... helped. He could duplicate things. Make more salt, more grain, more whatever they needed. People were pleased. Proud, even.
The real change ca later.
Wandering beastn passed through the village. Traders, fighters, opportunists. They saw what he could do. They asked questions. Made offers.
His parents said yes.
Just like that.
Who wanted to feed another mouth when there were already too many? He couldn’t even rember how many siblings he’d had by then. Enough that losing one sparrow to a "good opportunity" felt like nothing.
He’d thought he’d be free, once. A bird.
Instead, he was cargo.
They used him. Cheaply. Endlessly. Duplicate this, split that, make more. No one asked if he was tired. No one cared when his wings shook from overuse. He was a tool that refilled itself, nothing more.
After a year or two—ti sared when every day was the sa—he ran.
He slipped away in the dark and didn’t look back. He beca what they’d been: a wandering beastman with no nest, no tribe. No one wanted a sparrow back whose only skill was making more of what other people would steal anyway.
Going ho wasn’t an option. He was alone.
Even so, the road wasn’t as bad as being owned. He ate what he found, slept where he could, and for a while it almost counted as better.
Then he found the salt lake.
Big. Bright. Valuable. He’d thought, stupidly, it would be a way out. Food. Trade. Sothing that was his.
Instead, three tribes scented it and started following him, blades and greed in their eyes. They chased him like hounds. Tried to corner him. Kill him. Take what he’d found.
He escaped. Barely.
Only to end up in vulture claws.
He’d been sure that was the end—that the vulture tribe would tear him apart for fun, or bleed him dry for his ability, or both. Then that idiot prince had decided to keep him instead. Not out of kindness. Because he wanted the salt lake for himself. To monopolise it.
As if a single tribe could hold a whole piece of land like that. As if others wouldn’t sll it and co anyway.
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