CHAPTER 107: CHAPTER-107

Everything came alive with detail—the curves of tree bark, the soft ripple of leaves in the breeze, the faintest movement in the shadows.

It was like the darkness whispered to her.

And she could see clearly—as if the night had its own light, and only she could read it.

What Kaya didn’t know—what no one had told her, what no mirror had shown her—was that her eyes were no longer just black.

A soft, subtle stroke of safari blue had appeared beside her pupils, like ink bleeding into the darkness. Just a faint outline... but it shimmered. Faint. Ethereal. Almost like moonlight caught in motion.

They glowed, just enough to be noticed if someone looked too closely in the dark.

Kaya narrowed her eyes at the vulture, watching it for another breath or two before slowly leaning back against the tree trunk. Her fingers still toyed with the cloth in her lap, but her thoughts were elsewhere now—turning over something that had been itching at the back of her mind for days.

She wasn’t a healer. Not some doctor or scholar or genius.

But she knew one thing for sure.

Eye vision doesn’t just suddenly improve because you... soaked in sea water.

That’s not how it works.

She scoffed quietly to herself, shaking her head.

Salt water stings the eyes. It blurs them. Makes them dry. Not sharpen them like a hawk’s. Not give her the ability to see in the dark like some wild animal.

After a few long seconds, the vulture still hadn’t moved.

It just stood there—perched in its little pocket of leaves like it had all the time in the world. Watching her.

Kaya’s eyes narrowed.

Fine.

She reached behind her and pulled out the weapon she had made some time ago . She had never bothered to give it a proper name, but wooden gun sounded right enough. And she was proud of it.

She didn’t use it back at the ocean. The water might’ve dulled its strength, made the shot weak. But now?

Now she was on land.

And she wasn’t in the mood to be watched.

Still, Kaya wasn’t stupid.

She knew better than to try and kill one of them—especially him.

If she so much as grazed him with the real intent to harm, the rest of the flock—his entire cursed group—would come for her. And she wasn’t in the mood to be pecked to death by magic vultures who could probably turn into humans and cast curses with a wink.

No, killing him was a bad idea.

But scaring him?

That, she could do.

With a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she lifted the wooden gun and loaded a carved bullet into place with a practiced flick of her fingers. Her aim was smooth, steady. She didn’t even blink.

BAM!

The shot rang through the quiet forest, sharp and sudden. The wooden bullet tore clean through the air and slammed into the tree bark—just a centimeter from the vulture’s claws.

The vulture jolted.

Its eyes widened—trembled, even. Then, in a flurry of wings and rustled leaves, it took off into the night sky, feathers scattering as it disappeared into the dark.

Kaya didn’t lower her weapon immediately.

She waited. Watched. Made sure he didn’t circle back.

Then, with a breath, she relaxed her arms and let the gun drop back down to her side.

A smirk curved across her lips.

"That’s what I thought."

But then, a faint irritation prickled at her eyes.

Kaya blinked, rubbed her temples, and let out a slow breath through her nose. A dull throb pulsed somewhere behind her eyes—not painful, just off, like her body wasn’t sure what it was reacting to. She tilted her head up, gaze settling on the moon.

She’d seen the sky countless times—during long nights on the battlefield, during the silence between gunfire. It had always been beautiful in a cold, distant way. Lonely, vast. Untouchable.

But tonight... this moon felt different.

Maybe it was the forest.

Maybe it was the aftertaste of sea water still clinging to her bones.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was her.

Kaya slowly lifted a hand, reaching toward the moon like she could hold it for a second. Her fingers curled in on themselves, closing into a quiet fist.

Somewhere between that moment and the next, the night passed.

And morning came too fast.

The soft rustling of leaves and distant flutter of wings stirred her awake. A cool breeze swept against her face. Her eyelids opened slowly, blinking at the golden light pouring in through the branches.

She looked down.

QT—always ahead of the curve—was already up. He’d gathered a neat pile of wild berries. Just enough for everyone. Reliable as always.

Bayo, still groggy, had shifted back into his human form and was stretching stiffly nearby, looking every bit like someone not built for mornings.

But then—that sparrow.

Still sprawled on his side like a lump of feathers. Snoring. Loudly. Not a single twitch of consciousness.

Kaya’s brow twitched.

She climbed down from the tree—three, maybe four solid steps—and landed lightly on the forest floor. Her eyes were locked on that oversized, utterly useless bird. He was laid out like royalty, beak open, tiny legs twitching, feathers puffed up like a pillow.

And that was it.

She walked straight up to him and gave him a solid kick.

Not a nudge.

Not a tap.

A real kick.

The sparrow flopped with a pathetic little bounce, then lazily rolled over onto his back, exposing his stomach as if asking for belly rubs instead of responsibility. Still asleep. Still snoring. Completely unfazed.

Kaya stared.

Utter disbelief on her face. She had fought battles, crossed seas, stared death in the eye—but this?

This bird was a different kind of enemy.

She looked down at him, jaw tight, brows drawn, an expression full of absolute and righteous hatred.

And he... just kept sleeping.

Mouth open. Beak tilted. Dreaming about who-knows-what.

She had no words.

Only silence.

And complete, helpless dumbfoundedness.