Chapter3

Father retracted his claws and stepped to the edge of the stone table.

When he saw what was inside the hide bag, his brows knotted tightly together. Mother braced her front paws against the table's edge. Her mane bristled as she roared at my tightly shut wooden door:

"I knew that brat was up to no good! I was wondering why he volunteered to take his medicine himself a month ago! He dumped it all! And after all this time, he still refuses to admit he's wrong!"

"Balun! Get your ass out here "

Dead silence filled the den.

"Balun! Are your lion ears deaf? Get out here and confess!"

Still, no one answered.

Mother's fury blazed hotter. With a swift swipe of her paw, she sent the bone bowl crashing from the stone table and pivoted to snatch the bone whip from the wall. Father lunged, wrapping his arms around her waist and dragging her back.

"Calm down! Just calm down first!"

He forced her down onto the stone stool, panting heavily. "Alright, just listen to me." He shot a heavy look at the bag of herbal dregs, his voice dropping low. "He drank this medicine for three years, and Balun sat in that wheelchair for three years. It's time to stop. Do you really want him crippled from running for the rest of his life?"

After finishing his thought, he threw a quick glance at my closed door and lowered his voice further. "Even if your heart doesn't ache for Balun, what about Targo? Is he supposed to play along and pretend for the rest of his life?"

"The cubs are old enough now. It's time they ran on the savanna and learned to hunt."

At the mention of Targo's name, the vertical slits of Mother's pupils widened a fraction. Father pressed his advantage. "Let's use this excuse to stop the medicine completely. Let them both run wild out there. How old was Balun three years ago? He is ten now. If you talk some sense into him, he'll understand."

Mother said nothing. Her claws dug into the rim of the stone table until her knuckles grew pale.

Father turned toward my brother, who cowered silently behind the stone table. His tone softened. "Targo, we won't feed Balun the medicine anymore. You don't have to pretend either. You can get down and run with your brother, okay?"

Targo's eyes lit up instantly. His tail shot straight up. "Really? I really don't have to use the wheelchair anymore?"

Watching Targo's irrepressible smile, Mother's lips twitched. After a long pause, she gave a reluctant nod. "Fine, then." She immediately added, "I'm only doing this because my heart aches for Targo. As for that brat Balun, I think he's a lost cause. If anything happens to him out there, let the Beast God take his soul."

I stared at Mother, whispering softly, "Mom, the Beast God already claimed me. I just haven't been escorted away yet."

Father let out a long exhale. His tail dropped, relaxed at last, as he turned to gather everyone. "Alright, alright, let's eat. I'll go get Balun"

"Don't you call him!" Mother snatched his arm, her voice cold and hard. "If he's learned to lie, he doesn't get to eat! Let him starve for a meal!"

Father opened his mouth. He cast one last glance at the shut wooden door but ultimately said nothing, sinking back down at the stone table.

The campfire crackled. Mother carved the tenderest cuts from the roasted prey and piled them into Targo's bowl, muttering under her breath, "Eat up, eat up. Build some muscle. You don't have to pretend anymore. You can run however you want."

Targo buried his snout in the bowl, tearing off huge chunks of meat as the tip of his tail flicked happily in the air. Father poured himself a bowl of beast milk. As he took a sip, the deep lines carved into his face finally eased.

The firelight stretched their three shadows against the stone wall—warm, intimate, blending together like a flawless painting.

I floated in the air above the stone table, gazing down at them.

There was no more medicine. There was no more wheelchair.

But Mom and Dad, I was already dead.

I lowered my eyes to my translucent claws and gave them a gentle squeeze. Claw passed through claw. They held onto nothing.

The night grew late. The fire died out, plunging the den into darkness. Father and Mother retreated to the inner sleeping chamber, leaving only the sporadic red glow of dying embers in the stone hall.

Suddenly, something gently nudged against the bottom crack of my wooden door.

A small chunk of roasted meat, carefully wrapped in a broad leaf, slid through the gap. Targo's voice filtered through the wood, pressed impossibly low and soft.

"Balun, you didn't eat dinner. Here, this is for you. Mom roasted it. It's really good."

Silence lingered by the door crack for a moment before he added, "...Don't be mad at Mom. She really does care about you underneath it all."

The room offered no reply. Targo waited a while longer, let out a soft sigh, and let his claws slide down the wooden planks. His footsteps gradually faded away.

I drifted down to the door and stared at that little leaf-wrapped parcel of meat on the ground. The dying embers of the campfire caught the edges of the leaf, casting a faint, warm glow.

I whispered a secret into the silence of my own heart, "Thank you, brother."

No one heard a thing.