Chapter 6 --6
Veer’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his jaw clenched in quiet rage. Without a word, he grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him into the air with a single hand.
"I told you to call him," Veer growled, his voice dangerously calm. "What are you standing here for, huh? To decorate the mountain?"
The man choked, struggling for breath, arms flailing slightly—but he didn’t dare fight back. No one did. Not against Veer. He wasn’t just any warrior—he was the youngest chief their people had ever seen. Respected. Feared.
"V–V–Veer..." the man stammered, trying to speak, gasping between each breath.
But before he could finish, a voice rang out behind them. Calm, deep, and powerful.
"Veer."
Just that. One word. But it froze him.
His grip loosened instantly, and the man collapsed to the ground, coughing as he clutched his throat. Veer slowly turned around, and his harsh expression softened, just slightly.
"Dad."
Standing behind him was a man with a short-cropped head of brown hair—the mark of a widower—and a trimmed beard that hinted at both wisdom and age. His presence was quiet, but it commanded respect. Though older, he stood tall, his broad shoulders still firm with strength, his eyes sharp... but now dulled with sorrow.
"I was going to bring Sam back," Veer said, lowering his tone. "He’ll come. I’ll make sure of it."