She found that when she concentrated, when she ’wanted’ to fly, she could.

Not in some magical, graceful way. No. Sometimes she hit her head on the ceiling. Sometimes she crashed into the wall. It hurt like hell. But it worked.

Day by day, she got better. More controlled.

She also noticed other things.

Her body didn’t react to temperature extremes the way it used to. She could sit near the fire for hours without sweating, stand in freezing wind without shivering. It was nice. Much better than before.

Her eyesight had clearly improved. She could see details in the dark that should’ve been invisible, track movement faster than she ever could back home.

Her physical strength, too. Even after running twenty rounds with those idiots during training, even after beating them down and drilling them for hours, Kaya didn’t feel tired. Not really.

Though to be fair, she’d always been strong. So she wasn’t 100% sure if this was new power or just her natural endurance pushed further.

But then she found something undeniable.

One night, while searching for her gun that had fallen under the bed, Kaya crouched down, grabbed the edge of the heavy wooden bed frame—and lifted it.

With one hand.

The entire bed. Mattress, frame, everything. Just... lifted it like it weighed nothing.

Kaya froze, arm extended, bed hovering in the air, staring at it in shock.

"What the hell," she whispered.

She lowered it carefully, heart pounding, and stared at her hand like it belonged to someone else.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t ’human.’

Her old strength could carry heavy packs, fight hand-to-hand, survive brutal missions. But this? This was something else entirely.

Kaya sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and tried to process it.

.

.

Another morning. Another training session. The young vulture men stood in formation, faces no longer sullen or resentful but filled with something new—determination. Purpose.

Kaya stood with her arms crossed, watching them do push-ups. Their form had improved. Their stamina had doubled. They were finally starting to look like soldiers instead of spoiled children playing at war.

Suddenly, a gust of wind hit her face—sharp and deliberate.

She didn’t flinch. Just looked up.

Veer’s father landed on the ground with a heavy thud, flanked by several elders and a group of vulture warriors. His wings folded back as his feet touched dirt, eyes already scanning the area with cold authority.

His gaze landed on a young vulture standing nearby. "Where is Veer?" he asked casually, though nothing about his tone felt casual.

The vulture smiled—actually smiled—and answered, "The tribe leader is making juice for the instructor."

Veer’s father frowned. "Instructor?"

The man’s smile widened as he pointed directly at Kaya.

The moment Veer’s father’s eyes locked onto her face, his expression twisted with barely contained rage. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack. Then his gaze swept over the young men doing push-ups—his people, his tribe members—training under ’her’ command.

He started walking toward Kaya, each step deliberate and heavy.

Veer’s elder brother rushed forward, grabbing his father’s arm. "Dad, please. Calm down first, then speak—"

Veer’s father didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him. Just kept walking with gritted teeth until he stopped directly in front of Kaya.

He snarled, voice low and venomous. "Who gave you permission to touch my people?"

Kaya turned her head slowly, gave him a single glance—up, down, utterly unimpressed—then turned back toward Veer’s house.

She took a deep breath and shouted, "VEER!"

From inside the house, there was a clatter of movement. The door flew open, and Veer rushed out wearing an apron, a wooden ladle still in his hand, face bright with concern.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he called, smile already forming on his lips.

Kaya pointed one finger at his father without looking away from Veer.

Her voice came out flat, bored, completely unbothered.

"Your problem."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Veer’s smile froze for half a second, then widened into something sharp and dangerous as his eyes shifted to his father.

The elders looked between them, stunned.

And Veer’s father stood there, fists clenched, realizing that the woman he’d tried to break had just dismissed him like an annoying insect she couldn’t be bothered to swat herself.

Veer took a breath and stepped forward, trying to ease the tension that sat thick in the air.

"Dad," he said, voice softer now. "Come inside. Let’s talk properly. I’ll make you something to drink. We can—"

"I don’t want your drink," his father cut him off, voice cold. "And I’m not here to talk."

Veer’s jaw tightened, but he tried again. "Father, please. Just listen—"

"Listen?" His father laughed—harsh and bitter. "Listen to what? You defending this woman? This outsider who’s bewitched you?" He turned his gaze to Kaya, lips curling in disgust. "Look at her. Playing soldier. Playing leader. As if putting these boys through some drills makes her worthy of anything."

Kaya didn’t react. Didn’t even look at him.

She just turned to the twenty young men still standing in formation, sweat dripping down their faces, legs trembling from the earlier exercises.

"Twelve more laps," she said flatly.

The training ground went silent.

One of the warriors let out a choked sound. Another’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Instructor, please—" one began.

"Twelve. More. Laps." Kaya’s voice didn’t rise, but the command was absolute. "Now."

Tears filled their eyes—actual tears—as they turned and started running, bodies screaming in protest, muscles already pushed past their limits.

But they ran anyway.

Because Kaya had taught them that complaining didn’t make you stronger. Only pushing through did.

Veer’s father watched them go, then looked at Kaya with something close to disbelief. "You enjoy torturing them."

Kaya finally turned to face him, expression cold as winter stone. "I enjoy making them survive. There’s a difference."

She walked past him without another word, heading toward the running warriors to monitor their form.

Veer’s father stood there, fists clenched, realizing that nothing he said would touch her.

She simply didn’t care what he thought.

And that made her more dangerous than any enemy he’d ever faced.

Veer’s father left that day in fury, wings cutting through the air with sharp, angry beats.

But from that day on, something changed.

Every morning, he would find himself drawn to the training ground. Not to confront Kaya. Not to stop the sessions. Just to watch.

He stood at a distance, hidden behind rocks or perched on higher ground, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he observed his tribe’s young warriors transform before his eyes.

Their movements became sharper. Their stances more solid. Their discipline improved day by day.

And Kaya—she pushed them relentlessly, but there was method to it. Strategy. She wasn’t just torturing them for power. She was building them into something stronger.

Slowly, reluctantly, Veer’s father found himself impressed.

He would never admit it out loud. Not to Veer. Not to the elders. Not even to himself most days.

But watching those young men hold formations he’d never seen before, watching them execute coordinated attacks with precision instead of chaotic instinct—it stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in years.

Pride.

Not in her. Never in her. But in what his warriors were becoming.