Veer’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his jaw clenched in quiet rage. Without a word, he grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him into the air with a single hand.
"I told you to call him," Veer growled, his voice dangerously calm. "What are you standing here for, huh? To decorate the mountain?"
The man choked, struggling for breath, arms flailing slightly—but he didn’t dare fight back. No one did. Not against Veer. He wasn’t just any warrior—he was the youngest chief their people had ever seen. Respected. Feared.
"V–V–Veer..." the man stammered, trying to speak, gasping between each breath.
But before he could finish, a voice rang out behind them. Calm, deep, and powerful.
"Veer."
Just that. One word. But it froze him.
His grip loosened instantly, and the man collapsed to the ground, coughing as he clutched his throat. Veer slowly turned around, and his harsh expression softened, just slightly.
"Dad."
Standing behind him was a man with a short-cropped head of brown hair—the mark of a widower—and a trimmed beard that hinted at both wisdom and age. His presence was quiet, but it commanded respect. Though older, he stood tall, his broad shoulders still firm with strength, his eyes sharp... but now dulled with sorrow.
"I was going to bring Sam back," Veer said, lowering his tone. "He’ll come. I’ll make sure of it."
But his father shook his head slowly. His voice was calm. Steady.
"Veer... Sam is dead."
The world stilled.
For a moment, Veer said nothing. If anyone else had spoken those words, he would’ve denied it. Called it a lie. A cruel joke. But not him. Not his father. Not with that voice. Not with those eyes—reddened at the corners, heavy with grief.
Veer didn’t speak. He didn’t move. The fire in his chest flickered... then dulled.
Sam was gone.
Veer stood there, stunned—not just because he’d heard his brother was dead, but because of how it happened.
Really? That’s how Sam went out?
It wasn’t just the grief punching him in the chest. It was disbelief. Frustration. A whole lot of seriously?
Because Sam wasn’t just any brother—he was his twin. Born side by side. Raised to fight like wolves in the same den. In their clan, only the strongest ruled, and Sam had made it his life’s mission to prove he was the alpha.
Veer, on the other hand? He never cared about titles or thrones. He just wanted to be dependable—someone you could actually count on when the sky fell.
But Sam? That boy was chaos in beastmen form.
Drama, danger, and a permanent chip on his shoulder. Always stirring trouble. Always chasing power like a toddler with a torch.
Their fights were legendary. And now, as adults, it had escalated into an all-out war. No one even bothered to stop them anymore. Why bother? It was like watching two storms collide.
Today was no different.
It started with a sparrow beastmen. A tiny asshole bird with a map to the Salt Lake—liquid gold for their people. But Sam, being Sam, didn’t just want the map. Oh no, he wanted to own the map. Rule it. Burn it. Maybe eat it for all Veer knew.
So what did the genius do? He kidnapped that damn sparrow and ran off like a power-hungry brat. Because if the bird was gone, people would have no choice but to beg him for salt. Classic Sam logic: blow up the solution, then sell the ashes.
Veer had chased him, fists ready. The usual fight began—screaming, grappling, throwing each other into trees. But then something weird happened.
Sam stopped.
Dead in his tracks. Eyes locked on something in the trees. And Veer, still fuming, barely noticed. He was too busy preparing to knock the dumb smirk off his brother’s face.
And then—bam.
He fell due to that bastard underhand tactics
But as he get up to fight again suddenly A loud sound.
Sharp, irritating, like nails on stone.
BANG
Sam hit the ground.
Veer turned.
There she was.
A female—not from their tribe. Not from any tribe he could guess. Her clothes were strange, her presence louder than the sound she made. Beautiful?
Yes. But her eyes?
Frozen.
Like winter came early and decided to stare into his soul.
He didn’t have time to figure her out. The sparrow had already escaped.
And Sam?
Still not moving.
Veer crouched beside the lifeless body, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. Sam’s vulture form had fully emerged—massive wings now limp, feathers stained and disheveled like a warrior shamed in death. But Veer’s sharp eyes locked onto the small, neat wound nestled in the center of his brother’s forehead.
No splatter. No shattered bone. Just a single, clean hole.
He narrowed his eyes, his fingers twitching.
"That’s it?" he muttered. "This little dot took you down?"
He leaned closer, inspecting the edges of the wound. The skin around it hadn’t darkened, no bluish hue that would hint at poison. His nose twitched—nothing rotten or posion in the air.
"Not poison," he grumbled, clicking his tongue. "Then what the hell is this?"
And yet... Sam was dead. Gone. Not a breath left in him, despite being one of the most reckless and resilient vulturen beastmen Veer had ever known. For all his flaws, Sam wasn’t the type to just drop.
Veer’s jaw clenched. The last memory played back—Sam glaring at something... no, someone. That woman.
---
Somewhere deeper in the forest...
Rustle, rustle... splash.
Kaya stumbled out from between thick ferns, shoes scraping dirt as she finally found it—a thin, winding river shimmering in the weak light.
"haa...at last..," she muttered, hands on her hips, sweat clinging to her brow as she glared at the water like it had the nerve to take this long to show up.
She knelt, dipping her hands into the cold stream and slapping water onto her flushed face with a groan of relief.