So what if he suffered a bit more by her side? At least with her, he had some use.
And she needed answers about this place. Someone to fill in the gaps.
So why not him?
—
Back at the small cottage, Kaya changed into her own clothes. She grabbed the hide-woven outfit too—it wasn't bad, honestly. Good for traveling. She figured she'd switch it up when needed. Couldn't just keep walking around in the same damn outfit every day.
She also took the bird and the snake with her. Not lovingly, though. She stuffed them both into her oversized pockets like leftover scraps.
The snake had already lost its fangs—useless now. And if it tried anything funny again, she'd just slice it up and make stew.
When she finally stepped out, she found Cutie waiting by the path with a tiny basket in his hands.
She looked at it. Then at him.
"…That's it?" she asked, one brow raised.
Cutie nodded, lowering his head slightly.
"Yeah. It's all I have."
Kaya didn't respond right away.
She just looked at him for a second longer, then let out a breath—half a sigh, half a scoff.
"Good. Less baggage."
And with that, she turned and started walking.
As Kaya approached the path out of the tribe, her eyes swept across the gathering crowd. The whole damn tribe stood there, silent and still, blocking the way like statues carved out of resentment.
She felt a sharp irritation rising in her chest—sharp enough that, this time, she didn't even bother to argue.
No threats.
No speeches.
Just action.
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the small knife from her pocket, held it tight in her palm, and walked forward—calm and unwavering.
But behind her… Cutie froze.
His feet wouldn't move.
Something invisible wrapped around him—old fear, deep-rooted and choking. Years of surviving in this place, of being hated and ignored, had etched that fear deep into his bones.
And now, even when freedom was a few steps ahead, he couldn't move.
He remembered.
He remembered everything.
Cutie was the son of Maru's younger brother—a gentle man who never fought for power, who just wanted peace. But that peace cost him everything. Maru had loved Cutie's mother, and when she married his brother instead, it festered inside him like rot.
Here, sharing a female between brothers was seen as a bond—a show of unity. But Maru didn't want unity. He wanted control. And every time their mother smiled at Cutie's father, Maru's hatred deepened.
Then one day, Cutie's father left to pick fruit for her. He never came back.
Only his body did.
Cutie had been eight.
He still remembered waiting, hopeful. Remembered how his father smiled before leaving, promising to be back soon.
Then remembered screaming when he saw that lifeless body.
No one else had screamed.
Not even his mother.
She looked at the corpse for a few seconds, turned her back, and walked away—dragging her love with her.
After that, life in the tribe went on. Smiles returned. Maru had more sons. His mother, more children. The air was lighter for everyone…
Everyone except him.
He was left to rot in silence.
As he grew, he grew too fast, too tall—too different. The tribe began to whisper, then sneer. He didn't belong. They made sure he knew it.
Even his mother didn't care. She had others to love now—stronger, more acceptable sons. Ren and Yen, his half-brothers, were everything he wasn't. He tried to be kind to them once, as a child. Tried to earn their affection.
But they hated him more for it.
Maru's hatred never softened, either. He never raised a hand, but Cutie saw it in his eyes—sharp, silent daggers that never missed.
And when he brought Kaya to the tribe—when he should've had the right to approach her first, to speak to her, to know her—they denied him.
Ren and Yen rushed forward. He was pushed back. Discarded again.
No one asked.
No one cared.
He was nothing more than a disgrace in their eyes—a stain.
And when he dared step close to Kaya, they didn't even hide their disgust.
"A filth like you has no right to be near a female like her," they spat.
That sentence had cut deeper than any knife.
Now, standing at the edge of that memory—of years filled with silent suffering and invisible wounds—Cutie still couldn't move.
But then he looked up… and saw Kaya.
Her back was straight. Her knife was out. She hadn't looked back once.
She didn't care about the rules.
Didn't care who hated her or him.
She simply walked.
Kaya didn't hear any footsteps behind her.
Her brows furrowed instantly. She stopped and turned around, only to find Cutie standing there, frozen like a damn statue. His eyes were wide, lost in something she couldn't see—but she could feel the weight of it.
She let out a sharp breath, loud and irritated.
"Seriously?"
Without a word, she marched back, grabbed his wrist—tight—and yanked him forward.
He stumbled, but she didn't let go.
"We're walking out of this hellhole, not posing for a painting," she muttered under her breath, dragging him with her.
Then louder, she snapped,
"What are you daydreaming about, huh? You wanna stay here and rot, be my guest—but don't make me come back to collect your dumbass again."
Still holding his wrist, she turned and kept walking, her grip firm, unrelenting—like someone pulling someone else out of a grave they didn't even know they'd been buried in.
Cutie looked down at the slender hand that was pulling him forward.
His own hand—dark, rough, calloused from years of silence and survival—looked almost beastly next to hers. Her palm didn't even completely wrap around his wrist, yet the grip felt firm.
Unshakable
Powerful.
So much more powerful than him.
And not just in strength—but in presence.
She had pulled him out. Just like that. Out of a darkness he didn't even dare peek through for years. A shadow that wrapped around his soul and whispered that he belonged in the background, forgotten, discarded.