CHAPTER 231: CHAPTER-231

Being a physician, that’s what she called it. But in truth, I only cured some people, nothing more than that. At least, that’s how I saw it.

The beastmen were already strong—strong enough that their bodies healed faster than any tincture or salve I could ever prepare. Most of them didn’t even need me. Still, there were always a few... those without a family to lean on, those who didn’t know where to go when the pain didn’t fade.

And for them, I wanted to create a place. Not a grand hospital, not a busy clinic buzzing with people. Just a home. A corner in this wide world where the wounded—whether in body or in heart—could rest without fear. A space where someone would sit by them, listen, and say, "You’re not alone."

The house I live in now... it is small, laughably so compared to others. The roof creaks in the wind, and the wooden boards complain beneath my feet. Yet it is already filled—with shadows of laughter that once lived here, and shatters of silence that press against the walls when night falls. Sometimes it feels as though the house itself remembers more than I do.

Still, I wish to shape this broken space into something warmer. A place where even the loneliest stranger could walk in and, for a while, feel like they belonged.

I met her again today. Just a fleeting moment—our paths crossed. She did not look at me. Not even once. Her eyes, as always, remained fixed on him... her master. The beast.

He spoke, and she listened with that same gravity carved into her expression. But today—today something was different. Her brows were tighter, her lips pressed thin. She looked so serious, so weighed down, and I... I felt a dull ache inside my chest, as though someone had pressed a blade there and left it.

What was wrong? Why did her face look like that?

The next words bled into the page, smudged by spots of red—drops of blood that had mixed with ink in a frenzy.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

These people are not even worthy of being called gods. No, they are not even worthy of being called living beings. Monsters—that is all they are.

How could they do this to her? How could they? They knew. They knew she was weak, that her body had only just begun to heal. The scars were still fresh, the wounds not yet closed. And yet they—heartless, cruel—they pushed her back into the fire. They sent her into war again.

Why?

Why again and again?

The ink grows darker here, pressed so hard it nearly tears the paper.

I hate it. I hate them. I hate this world.

As Kaya turned the page, her eyes froze on the uneven strokes. The handwriting was shaky, as if written with trembling hands, the ink smudged in places.

She is in front of me.

Her breath hitched. The words sent a chill crawling down her spine. Before she could process it, a prickle ran across the back of her neck—the unmistakable sensation of someone standing behind her.

Instinct took over. She spun around, fist raised, ready to strike—

But the blow never landed.

Veer stood there. His gaze was steady, his lips curved into a faint smile.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice low, "how cruel of you... you didn’t even notice I was awake."

Kaya’s chest rose and fell sharply. Her eyes darted from him to the bed—empty—and then to the doorway, where a pale light filtered through. The dawn had already broken, spilling softly into the room. Somewhere between the weight of those words on the page and Veer’s sudden presence, she hadn’t realized the night had slipped away.

Kaya turned to look at Veer. His face was still pale, but far better than the lifeless shade from last night. She reached out, her fingers brushing his forehead. A faint warmth returned to his skin.

"Much better," she murmured, half to herself, then asked, "Yeah? Much better?"

Veer gave a slow nod, the corners of his mouth curving faintly. "Yeah... well," he said, and with deliberate dramatics, he set both hands on her shoulders, tilting his head with mock charm. "What can I do? My sweetheart was here. Of course I’d be fine."

Kaya froze, her eyes flicking down at the weight of his hands. She shot him a sharp glare before meeting his gaze again. Veer caught it instantly and, with exaggerated guilt, lifted his hands in surrender.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, are you sure you’re not secretly an old woman trapped in a young body? Like, seriously—what girl your age acts like this? Hm? Always with that scrunched-up, grandmother face."

Kaya just rolled her eyes, unimpressed. She snapped the diary shut, tucking it under her arm, and turned to head toward the room.

"It’s good that you’re awake," she said flatly over her shoulder. "I’m going to sleep."

Veer blinked, eyebrows furrowing. "Wait, what? Sleep? Sweetheart, it’s already morning."

Kaya didn’t even glance back. "Well, someone was groaning so much that I couldn’t sleep the whole night."

Her words hung in the air, casual but edged, leaving Veer momentarily speechless.

.

.

.

As soon as Kaya entered her room, she dropped onto the bed with a quiet sigh. The diary in her hand felt heavier than it should, almost like it carried the weight of the unanswered questions buzzing in her head. Strange thing, really. She wasn’t even tired—but she had no desire to talk to Veer or anyone else right now. Her mind was a storm, and what she needed most was silence to steady herself.

She slid the diary beneath the bed, almost as though hiding it from her own thoughts, and closed her eyes. For a moment she lay still, fighting the stubborn restlessness inside her. Then, without realizing when, she drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.

But instead of the usual nightmarish flashes that haunted her, tonight’s dream was... different.