At the mention of his second son—that name—Veer's father's face turned jet black. Not with grief, but something harder, darker.
Regret. Rage. And shame.
He had spoiled Veer far too much—everyone knew that. But what choice did he have?
Veer was his long-awaited son. The boy he had prayed for. The one he had raised with pride.
They were twins, yes—but only by time. Born mere seconds apart, they couldn't have been more different.
The second one—that one—had come into the world sick, twisted, with madness already flickering behind his eyes.
He was cruel in all the wrong ways—reckless, self-serving, and stupid.
He didn't care about the tribe. He didn't care about blood. He didn't care about anyone but himself.
At first, the father had convinced himself:
"This is good. This is what a vulture should be."
Selfish. Unforgiving. Hungry.
But soon, even he couldn't deny the truth—
The boy wasn't strong. He was pathetic. A mistake with fangs.
