He looked nothing like the usual Beastmen, who towered like warriors born from legends. No rugged frame, no ominous aura. Just a boy. Eighteen at best, with wide, guilty eyes and messy hair that seemed too soft for someone who'd just been threatened with a full-body feather plucking.
Kaya didn't say anything. She just stared. One eyebrow slowly lifted, the only trace of reaction on her otherwise unreadable face.
As the soft moonlight filtered through the trees and gently lit his face, Kaya's gaze slowly traced the features of the boy standing before her.
He had tan skin, the kind that spoke of time spent under the open sky, and brown hair that fell messily over his forehead. Faint white streaks lined his hair—thin and barely visible, like old scars or the last trace of feathers. His eyes were black, warm yet hesitant, flickering up to meet Kaya's with the nervousness of someone who knew they were in trouble but didn't yet understand how much.
