His gaze dropped. The so-called "jacket" didn’t even reach Veer’s knees.
He sighed. A deep, helpless sigh that felt like it came from the soul. "What even is this..." he muttered.
Then something caught his eye. His expression shifted.
His eyes narrowed and focused on the collar. There—faint but clear—were letters carved, stitched carefully in a language that made no sense to him.
"huh?" he mumbled aloud, his thick fingers brushing over the letters. "A...Y...A."
Confused, he glanced up at Veer, brows furrowed. "What’s this supposed to mean? Who made this?"
None of them had ever learned English. Not him, not his son, not anyone in their flock. The letters were foreign, strange—yet clearly human, and precise.
Veer followed his father’s gaze, reached up, and traced the letters with a thumb. His brow scrunched, then he let out a small groan and rubbed his forehead, clearly frustrated.
"I don’t know..." he admitted with a sigh. "I just... thought it looked nice. So I added it."
There was a beat of silence.
His father stared at him for a moment longer, completely thrown off by his son’s reckless creativity—and yet somehow unable to muster more anger.
Finally, he just muttered, "Whatever," and shook his head, surrendering to the chaos that was his son.
.
.
.
The day slipped by in a blink.
Kaya and her team had traveled a bit farther, pushing themselves through the terrain, step by step. Now, exhaustion clung to their limbs like a second skin. But compared to yesterday, today was merciful. At least they had shelter—a small cave nestled beneath an outcrop, enough to keep the night wind at bay.
They were lucky. For now.
As they rested in a circle of silence, Kaya slowly got up to tend to the flickering fire. Its flames danced weakly, threatening to die out. She reached for the firewood.
But the moment she stood, her vision blurred. Her mind blanked out for a second.
A sharp jolt of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled.
Quickly, her hand shot up to her forehead, trying to steady herself, to anchor her swaying body. Before she could fall, Cutie rushed over and caught her from behind, arms wrapping around her with concern.
Kaya let out a long sigh, the weight of her fatigue sinking deeper. She didn’t need to be told. She knew what this was.
It was happening again.
Of course it is, she thought. Blood pressure, most likely. No proper food. No protein. No real energy.
She sat back down slowly, breathing deeply, calming her pulse. Her body was trying to tell her something, and she wasn’t surprised. The signs had been there all along—weakness in her steps, the way her hands trembled when she reached for anything, the heaviness behind her eyes.
Kaya knew she had to find a stable place to live.
Whether or not there was a way back to her world—she didn’t know. That answer still floated somewhere out of reach, like mist over a river. But one thing was clear: for now, she had to survive.
And survival meant stability. A place where she could eat, sleep, and breathe without constantly watching over her shoulder.
She hadn’t cooked proper meat in days—no spices, no real flavor. Even the fish they prepared was kept painfully simple, tossed with a pinch of salt or, at most, boiled together with some dry jerky. Just enough to make it edible.
Because scent... was dangerous.
This was a forest. And forests didn’t just house trees and wind—they housed predators. Hungry ones. The kind that followed the scent of food more eagerly than footsteps. If she dared to cook anything too rich, too flavorful... it wouldn’t just be a meal that came running.
It would be a beast.
And they? They’d be the ones on the menu.
That’s why finding a permanent place to live came first. Somewhere safer. Somewhere tucked away.
But before that... she had to find that market.
Oh—right. Not just any market.
The Monthly Beast Market.
A strange place with an even stranger name, but from what she’d heard, it held everything—tools, basic supplies, even creature parts that could be traded or used for living. If she could reach that place, she could at least buy what she needed to carve out a temporary life here.
Maybe even figure out the rules of this unfamiliar world.
Seeing Kaya like that, Cutie stood frozen for a second, his small eyes wide with confusion and worry.
He didn’t understand.
He had tried—he really had. Every day, he brought her the best food he could find in the forest. Wild berries, roots, even things he usually ate himself. To him, they tasted fine. His body was strong, quick to adapt. But Kaya...
She was getting thinner.
He could see it now. Her clothes didn’t sit the same. Her steps had grown slower. Her silence was heavier.
And the thing that hurt him the most?
She didn’t eat. Not really.
He had seen her share her portion. Seen her poke at her food, pretending to chew. And if someone really compared, she ate less than the sparrow did. That tiny, round sparrow who barely had a stomach.
At night, when the fire dimmed and the forest hushed, Cutie had heard her groan softly—low, pained sounds she probably thought no one else noticed.
And that scared him.
Because even his powers... weren’t working anymore.
He had tried again just now, when she stumbled. Reached out with his light, the warmth that usually soothed and calmed. But this time, it felt weak. Faint.
Like trying to light a candle in the rain.
It flickered—and then disappeared.
No warmth. No comfort. No change.
Cutie looked down at his hands. His tiny fingers trembled slightly. Why?
He didn’t say anything. Just tightened his hold around Kaya’s back, resting his chin gently on her shoulder.
Please get better, he thought silently. Don’t fade away like before.
The night passed, just like the others before it.
For the last five or six days, Kaya and the rest of them had kept moving—resting under trees, walking through uneven trails, pushing forward. And now, at last, they were here.