One morning, as Veer's father stood on a ridge overlooking the training ground, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.
He didn't turn. He knew that gait.
"You've been watching for three days now," Veer's older brother said quietly, coming to stand beside him.
"I'm keeping an eye on my tribe," Veer's father replied stiffly.
His son—his eldest, the one who'd always tried to be the peacemaker—let out a soft hum of acknowledgment. They stood in silence for a moment, watching Kaya correct a warrior's stance with a sharp tap of her stick.
"She's good," Veer's brother said finally.
"She's dangerous," his father corrected.
"She's both," his son agreed. "But dangerous doesn't always mean bad."
Veer's father's jaw tightened. "She's turning them against me."
"No," his brother said calmly. "She's making them respect something other than bloodline and tradition. That's not turning them against you. That's just... different."
