CHAPTER 186: CHAPTER-186

It moved too fluid, too silent. Like smoke with a will of its own. It slipped through the trees, then soared upward—swift, with purpose—and entered Kaya’s gate without even touching it.

No creak. No sound.

Its dark, shapeless form hovered just inside the entry, and then—it stilled.

Its gaze—if something like that could have eyes—slowly turned toward the door. The one they had closed in such a hurry. The fabric curtain still fluttered slightly from the cold rush of wind they left behind.

It stared at it.

Long. Still. Watching.

As if it could hear the echo of Kaya’s voice.

As if it could smell the last trace of warmth.

Then, the shadow tilted upward... and looked toward the sky.

The same sky they had disappeared into just moments ago.

It didn’t move.

.

.

.

They had been flying for about ten minutes—high above the forest, just a blur in the pale morning sky—when Veer suddenly bared his teeth and muttered under his breath, "Damn it... not now."

Kaya felt it at the same moment. A shift. A sudden, unsettling tilt. His left wing dipped slightly to the side, catching an awkward draft that caused their bodies to waver in mid-air. It wasn’t a complete fall, no. Veer didn’t let go of her—his grip around her waist tightened instinctively, protective as ever—but the balance was clearly off.

Kaya’s brows furrowed, eyes flicking toward his face. His jaw was clenched, muscles taut with effort. She could feel it now—how hard he was trying to keep them aloft, to pretend nothing had happened.

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, drawing closer, offering him some stability, warmth—maybe even reassurance.

Then she caught sight of his wings.

At first glance, they looked the same as always—majestic, powerful. But then she noticed it. A stiffness at the tips. A subtle, unnatural shudder in the motion. The membrane looked... dull. Less fluid, less alive.

And then it hit her.

"Damn it," Kaya whispered, realization dawning. "I forgot..."

Even though Veer was a beastman. His wings weren’t just some costume accessory. They were alive. A part of him. And out here, with the sky wide and the wind ruthless, those wings were exposed.

She glanced down at herself. Despite being bundled in layers—a thick wool-lined hide cap, a heavy cotton-hide coat, scarves wrapped tight around her neck—she was still trembling from the cold. So how much worse must it be for him? His wings, stretched and open to the air, catching every breath of winter.

If this kept going, he wouldn’t be able to fly.

Kaya’s eyes darted to the horizon. Panic itched at her skin—but she kept her head. Her gaze swept the surrounding trees, searching, scanning.

Then—there. Her eyes locked onto it.

Nestled among the others stood a massive tree, far older and denser than the rest. Its bark was cracked and weathered, its trunk unnaturally thick. But what caught Kaya’s attention was the hollowed-out look near its base. A split. A crevice. A possible shelter.

A flicker of hope sparked in her chest.

"Veer," she said quickly, her breath warm against his ear. "That tree. The huge one with the crack near the base. I think it might be hollow. Can you make it there?"

He didn’t reply with words—just gave a small nod, his wings shifting again, struggling through the air as he angled toward the tree.

They didn’t have much time.

And if she was wrong... they’d crash.

Thank God.

Thank God.

Kaya’s gamble had paid off. As they touched down, her boots crunching softly into the snowy ground, she could finally exhale. The tree—massive, ancient, twisted with age—was indeed hollow, just as she had hoped.

Without wasting a second, she picked up a stone and tossed it inside. Clack. It bounced once, echoed, and stilled.

Nothing.

She threw in another. Then a third. Just to be sure.

Still nothing. No wings fluttered. No snarl, no hiss. Just the quiet hum of winter wind threading through bark.

Carefully, she stepped forward, gripping a broken branch in one hand like a makeshift spear. Crouching low, she peered into the darkness inside the hollow.

Clear.

It wasn’t spacious by any means—about the size of an old-world phone booth—but it was enough. Enough to shield them from the biting wind, from the snow that was already beginning to scent the air with its sharp, metallic chill.

Maybe some beast had once taken this place as a den. Maybe someone had driven it out—or killed it. Either way, it was empty now. And they needed it more.

Kaya turned back and motioned toward the opening. "Come on," she called out, breath fogging. "It’ll get worse in a few minutes."

But Veer didn’t move.

He stood just outside the tree, his wings still outstretched—broad, beautiful, and trembling ever so slightly against the cold wind. His face wore a crooked little grin, that usual touch of playful arrogance painted on.

"I think it’s good you’re inside," he said lightly, trying to sound cheeky. "I’m fine out here."

Kaya narrowed her eyes.

She knew him.

And she knew that Veer, the moment his feet touched the ground, always tucked his wings in. He never left them out in the open like this, especially not in the cold.

Her voice dropped into something quieter. Sharper. "Is it that you don’t want to fold your wings... or that you can’t?"

The grin faltered.

He didn’t speak right away. His gaze flicked to the side, then slowly returned to her eyes.

Kaya didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. She didn’t need to say it—he knew lying wouldn’t work. Not with her.

Finally, his shoulders slumped a little, the bravado slipping.

"I... can’t," he admitted softly.

There was a vulnerability in his voice that she rarely heard. The kind that cut deeper than any sharp remark or casual tease.

Kaya stepped out of the hollow, the wind biting instantly at her cheeks.

"Then don’t be stupid," she said, grabbing his hand. "Get in."