Standing there, knife still dripping, Kaya looked at the five groaning men on her floor and felt something shift inside her chest.

These assassins were worse than her old battalion. And that was saying something, because her battalion had been pathetic.

But at least they’d had the excuse of being undertrained and undersupplied. These men? These beastmen had claws, wings, strength that could tear through stone—and they’d wasted all of it. Came at her like drunk amateurs stumbling through a bar fight.

Disgust curled in her stomach, sharp and cold.

And then something else woke up. Not the survivor. Not the soldier who’d learned to kill to stay alive.

The instructor.

The part of her that had drilled recruits until they cried, that had broken down egos and rebuilt soldiers from the ground up. The part of her that knew exactly how to turn useless meat into something sharp.

Her eyes swept over the groaning bodies, and one thought crystalized with perfect, terrifying clarity:

If she was marrying Veer—if she was going to survive in this tribe—then these idiots were her responsibility now.

And she was going to fix them.

The moment that decision landed, the air in the room changed.

The men on the ground felt it first. A pressure, cold and suffocating, pressing down on their chests like a weight they couldn’t see. Their instincts screamed louder than their injuries—something predatory, something worse than Veer’s rage, something that made their beast blood go cold.

They didn’t know why. They just knew: *run.*

But their bodies wouldn’t move.

Kaya turned slowly to look at Veer, who stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide.

"I’m training them," she said. Flat. Final. No room for argument. "Starting tomorrow."

For a heartbeat, no one breathed.

Then Veer looked at her. Looked at the five broken men on the floor. Looked back at her.

And smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a polite one.

A delighted, vicious grin that said he knew exactly what was about to happen and couldn’t wait to watch.

"Of course," he said, voice warm with approval. "Why not?"

He didn’t ask who sent them. Didn’t need to. The elders. Had to be. His father would’ve done something louder, messier. This was cowardice dressed up as strategy.

Fine. Let them try.

Because watching Kaya break and rebuild these fools was going to be more satisfying than any revenge he could plan himself.

Behind them, Cutie’s expression stayed blank, but his eyes gleamed with something dark. Sparrow just laughed—a short, sharp bark of sound.

The men on the floor realized, too late, that they’d made a terrible mistake.

***

## The Next Day

The training ground was a flat stretch of dirt outside the cave, surrounded by rocks and sparse trees. Twenty vulture tribesmen stood in uneven rows, some of them the ones who’d attacked Kaya, others who’d been voluntold by the elders or dragged along by peer pressure.

They all shared the same expression: smug confidence mixed with poorly hidden contempt.

A woman was going to train them? A *female*? One who didn’t even have beast blood?

This was going to be a joke.

Kaya walked onto the field carrying a wooden stick—just a training rod, nothing special—and stopped in front of them.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at them, one by one, eyes cold and assessing.

Several of them shifted uncomfortably. One sneered.

"This is ridiculous," someone muttered from the back.

Kaya’s eyes locked onto him. "You. Step forward."

He hesitated, then swaggered forward, puffing his chest out. "What?"

Kaya moved.

The stick cracked across his knee so fast he didn’t register it until pain exploded up his leg. He screamed and dropped.

"Rule one," Kaya said, voice calm, almost pleasant. "You don’t talk unless I ask you a question."

The man on the ground clutched his leg, gasping.

Kaya looked at the others. "Anyone else have something to say?"

Silence.

"Good. Now—" She planted the stick in the dirt like a spear. "You’re going to run. Five laps around this field. Go."

No one moved.

Kaya’s expression didn’t change. "I said go."

"We’re not—"

The stick whistled through the air and cracked against the speaker’s ribs. Not hard enough to break anything. Just hard enough to hurt.

He stumbled back, eyes wide.

"I don’t repeat myself twice," Kaya said. "Run. Now."

They ran.

***

Two hours later, they understood.

This wasn’t training.

This was torture.

Twenty grown men—warriors, hunters, killers—lay sprawling on the ground, gasping for air, muscles screaming, some of them openly crying.

And standing over them, barely winded, was Kaya. Thin. Human. Holding nothing but a wooden stick.

She looked down at them with the kind of cold disappointment that cut deeper than any blade.

"You have wings," she said quietly. "Claws. Strength that could shatter bone." She crouched down, meeting the eyes of the nearest man. "And you’re crying after two hours. Pathetic."

"We—" one of them gasped, "—we can’t—"

The stick tapped his shoulder. Light. Almost gentle. "You *can*. You’re just weak. Lazy. Undisciplined." She stood back up. "But that’s going to change."

She walked along the line of broken bodies, stick tapping rhythmically against her palm.

"You tried to kill me," she said. "And you failed. Not because I’m stronger. Not because I’m faster." She stopped, looking down at them with something close to pity. "Because you don’t know how to fight. You rely on instinct. On brute force. On transformation."

She crouched again, meeting their eyes one by one.

"I’m going to teach you how to fight like soldiers. Like warriors. Like something other than animals playing at being men."

One of them—brave or stupid—spat blood and glared at her. "You... don’t understand... what it’s like... to be us..."

Kaya’s smile was thin and sharp. "No. But I understand what it’s like to survive. And right now? You wouldn’t last a day in a real war."

She stood, brushing dirt off her hands.

"Get up. We’re going again."

"We can’t—"

"Get. Up."

They got up.

Because the alternative—the look in her eyes that promised something worse than pain—was too terrifying to ignore.

***

From the edge of the training ground, Veer leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching with pure delight.

Cutie stood beside him, shaking his head slowly. "She’s going to kill them."

"Maybe," Veer said, grinning. "But they’ll be better soldiers first."

Sparrow landed on a branch above them, watching the carnage below. "Remind me never to piss her off."

Veer’s grin widened. "Too late for that."

And as Kaya’s voice cracked through the air—sharp, commanding, merciless—the entire tribe learned a lesson they’d never forget:

The most dangerous thing in this cave wasn’t the vulture leader.

It was his future wife.

Cutie looked at Kaya on the training ground and smiled softly. "I’m going to make something for her," he said to Veer. "She’ll be hungry after this."

Veer grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Good idea. I’ll collect some flowers. Yeah, I also need to... deal with something." The way he said it made it clear ’something’ wasn’t flowers. "Let’s meet later."

Cutie’s smile widened, a knowing look crossing his face. He understood exactly what Veer meant by ’deal with something.’