Chapter 15 --
The man, upon hearing her answer, looked at her without a word—his expression unreadable, cloaked only in calmness.
"It hurts a little," he murmured, lowering his head.
Gently, he reached down and began removing Kaya’s shoes. As they slipped off, he noticed a strip of white cloth tightly wrapped around her foot. He moved slowly, carefully undoing the knot. Kaya flinched slightly, a soft wince escaping her lips. His hands froze for a second, his gaze lifting briefly to her face. Then, without a word, he resumed, gentler this time.
As the cloth finally fell away, pale skin was revealed—marred by a scar, large and unmistakably old.
The scar looked like a centipede had once burrowed beneath her skin—its bite and legs leaving behind a trail of twisted, raised marks. It was grotesque in detail, yet somehow carried a story of survival.
The man suddenly froze.
Noticing the shift, Kaya glanced down—and there it was. His gaze fixed on the scar.
A scoff slipped past her lips, dry and sharp. "What? Getting disgusted already?"
His head lifted slowly, eyes meeting hers with an unreadable mix of emotion. Then, without a word, he looked back down. His fingers brushed the scar—soft, hesitant, reverent. A tingling sensation rippled through Kaya at his touch.
"It must have been painful," he said quietly, voice weighed with something close to sorrow.
He couldn’t understand it—how a female so breathtakingly beautiful could be wandering alone in such a dangerous place, without even a mate to guard her.
His thoughts drifted back to just a few hours ago. He still remembered the moment she appeared, as if from nowhere, right when he believed death had finally come for him. That day felt like it would be his last... until she stepped between him and death itself.
She had faced the hyenas without hesitation. She killed their leader and sent the rest fleeing with nothing but a blade and unwavering resolve. She—so thin, so seemingly fragile, yet so unshakably firm.
And when she turned around, her eyes met his. Eyes like glass—so clear, yet hiding layer upon layer of unspoken truths.
Even now, though he was alive and breathing, he couldn’t make sense of it. How could someone like her, so strong, so striking, carry scars like that?
On her small, fair feet.
After gently shaking her foot, his fingers began to press along the arch, slow and deliberate. Kaya hissed under her breath—but before she could pull away, his thumb brushed against a sensitive nerve.
She flinched.
His hand shot up, catching her cheek with surprising steadiness. His eyes met hers—calm, unreadable.
"It’s going to hurt a little," he said softly.
Kaya stared back, deadpan.
A little? She had dislocated her knee, cracked a rib, walked through snow on torn soles. She knew what real pain was, and this man’s attempt at reassurance was nothing but a comforting lie.
Still, she didn’t move. Couldn’t, maybe.
He didn’t wait for permission. One hand pressed against the nerve again, and the other—light as air—tilted her foot. That’s when she felt it.
Something pulsed from his palm. It wasn’t heat, not exactly. More like... energy. Gentle, glowing, like light threading itself through her skin. It sank deep, deeper, until it touched the ache itself.
And then—
The pain was gone. Just... gone. As if it had never existed.
Her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth—What did you just do?—but the question never made it out.
A strange haze was settling over her. The ground tilted.
She staggered up, clutching her head. Her vision blurred, the world spinning slowly, like the hush before a storm.
She looked at him—eyes narrowed, voice thick. "What did you—"
Thud.
She collapsed.
.
.
.
Kaya was unconscious.
And all she felt... was darkness.
It coiled around her like smoke, shifting, turning between them—formless yet suffocating. She couldn’t see anything clearly. No outlines. No shapes. Just that endless black stretching in every direction.
Then—
A spotlight.
Sharp.
Harsh.
That kind of blinding white you see in those old TV shows—beaming directly down on her.
Alone
Exposed.
The rest of the world swallowed by black.
Her figure stood still in the center, unmoving. Her eyes blinked against the light, adjusting. Her lips parted—dry, cracked. And slowly... ever so slowly, a smile formed on her face.
Not bright.
Not warm.
Not even human.
It was bitter. Hollow. Laced with the kind of pain only those who’ve lived through hell carry.
She let out a low breath. Almost a laugh.
A whisper followed. Mocking herself.
"This is the same place."
And just as always—
The scene began to fall apart.
The edges of the darkness rippled.
Voices.
First faint. Then louder. Sharper. Like blades being drawn one after another.
"Kaya, couldn’t you even walk correctly?"
It came from nowhere—and everywhere.
"I am tired of this girl."
A different voice now. Tired. Bitter. Familiar.
"If you want to do it, then do it yourself."
That same cold detachment. Like she wasn’t even worth arguing with.
"Can’t she even act like a human for a moment?"
That one struck deepest. Because a part of her believed it.
Her breath hitched.
The voices didn’t stop.
They grew.
They morphed.
They turned into strangers and crowds and shadows of memories.
"Oh my god... isn’t that the woman who killed five soldiers?"
"Oh... isn’t that the monster?"
"Yeah. The monster."
"Murderer."
"Monster."
"Murderer."
The words echoed—spiraling around her like chains, binding her in place. Louder and louder. The spotlight flared, and her shadow stretched beneath her feet like a pool of ink.
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