CHAPTER 109: CHAPTER-109

Veer’s gaze lingered a moment longer before his tone shifted—warmer, but mockingly so.

"Second..." he said with a hint of playful edge, "I’m just going out for a little while."

With that, he leaned forward, brushing imaginary dust off his cousin’s shoulder.

And then—his grip tightened.

Strong fingers closed around the fabric.

Not a friendly hold. Not angry, either. Just... final.

"Make sure," he murmured, lips close to his cousin’s ear, "that Dad doesn’t find out."

Then, with a swift shove, he pushed his cousin to the side—lightly, but firmly enough to make him stumble back toward the wall.

Before another word could be said, Veer’s form dissolved.

Feathers erupted from his shoulders as his body twisted and shifted, bones cracking and stretching until a sleek vulture spread its wings, dark and fast.

In one clean motion, he launched himself out of the cave and into the burning light of day.

Against every warning.

Against every weakness.

Because something—someone—out there had his attention.

.

.

On the other side of the forest, Kaya was already dressed—well, sort of.

She had changed, but not in the way most would expect. Her undergarments were fresh, but everything else?

Still the same.

The same coat.

The same blazer.

The same tired pants clinging to her with the stubbornness of dried mud and sweat.

It wasn’t by choice.

Kaya hated wearing the same clothes for too long. It itched at her—mentally more than physically. She liked things clean. Fresh. Not because she cared for appearances, but because she hated the feeling of dirt crawling beneath fabric.

She’d wanted to change.

She’d stared at those animal-hide clothes folded nearby for a solid five minutes, half considering it. But realistically? They weren’t made for actual walking. No under-layer, no lining, nothing but raw fabric scraped from something once alive.

Wearing them in the forest would be an open invitation to every leaf, every thorn, and every insect to attack her bare legs like a buffet.

So she sighed and pulled her pants back on, then the shirt. The coat followed, then the blazer. Layered like armor. Dirty, fading armor.

She told herself she’d wash everything at the next river stop.

Her eyes drifted down.

The blazer—once her favorite—looked worse today. The color had dulled into a murky mess, clinging to traces of mud, water, and forest grit. Even the stitching at the cuffs had started to fray.

Her jaw ticked.

And the white shirt underneath?

More like... yellowish-grey at this point. The collar was limp. The front bore the ghost of old stains and dried sweat that even magic wouldn’t dare touch.

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at it with a flat expression, mentally filing it under: Things That Are Slowly Driving Me Insane.

But then again, what could she do?

This was survival.

Not a runway.

And right now, she was just trying to hold everything together—one piece of fraying fabric at a time.

Kaya’s fingers drifted up, almost absentmindedly, to her hair.

The moment her hand brushed against it, she felt it—the roughness. The tangles. Strands that clung together in stubborn knots, stiff from wind and lack of care.

She hadn’t combed it in days.

It wasn’t particularly long by normal standards. But for her? It was already too much. The kind of length that got in the way when you ran. When you fought. When you simply wanted to breathe without strands sticking to the sides of your face like damp threads.

Her gaze shifted down to her coat pocket.

She reached in and pulled out a small, foldable knife—worn, but sharp where it counted. She flicked it open with a soft click, holding the blade up to the light, inspecting it.

Sharp enough.

She took a quiet breath.

Not dramatic. Not hesitant. Just... thoughtful.

Then she closed her eyes, gathered her hair roughly at the nape, measured out just enough for a messy bob, and started cutting.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t a clean, single swoop like in movies.

She had to move the blade back and forth through the thick strands two or three times, pressing harder when the duller patches resisted. But eventually—it was done.

The weight came off all at once.

And there it was.

A rough cut. Uneven ends. Stray hairs sticking out.

Her own hair now sat in her hands like something detached, like a piece of herself she hadn’t realized she was ready to let go of.

For a moment, she stared at it.

The same hair she had taken days—weeks—to grow. The same hair she used to tie up in a tight knot before every mission. The same hair she once shielded under her helmet.

Now?

Cut away in minutes.

Something in her chest tugged—quietly. A flicker of something that wasn’t quite sadness, but close. A small farewell.

Then, with a deep breath, she let it fall to the ground.

Only after it left her hands did she notice how dirty it truly was—dirt clinging to the strands, dust embedded in the roots, even a trace of dried salt from the sea.

She stared a moment longer, then exhaled sharply and muttered to herself—not bitter, not upset, just honest.

Yeah... no comb anyway. Great idea, Kaya.

She ran her fingers through the shorter strands. Still tangled. Still messy. But lighter. Freer.

As Kaya brushed the last strands from her lap, she lifted her head—feeling lighter, freer, and just a little raw from the whole moment.

And then she froze.

Three pairs of eyes were locked onto her.

Dead silent.

Unblinking.

First—Cutie.

He was standing there stiffly, still holding a wide leaf carefully filled with wild berries. It looked like he had been on his way to hand them to her. Now, his body was frozen mid-step, like a statue in the middle of delivering breakfast.

Second—Vayu.

Expression blank. Eyebrows lifted. Mouth slightly parted. He stood beside Cutie, eyes glued to her hair like it was something... alien. Like her head had just exploded into flames and no one warned him.