The creak of a wooden hinge announced Liora's return. The door—crafted from bark-fused panels bound in the vine—swung inward, releasing a stream of golden sunlight that spilled across the treehouse floor. It lit her silhouette like a goddess emerging from the forest's breath. Her red fur shimmered as though kissed by flame, and each of her confident steps echoed a primal rhythm—sure, poised, feline in grace.
In her arms, she carried a neatly folded bundle: clothes fashioned from beast-hide and tribal fabrics, marked with signs of deliberate care. The edges were sewn with sinew, and the pelts had been treated until they gleamed with a soft luster, like relics preserved from another era.
Liora's golden eyes swept the room until they landed on him—Milo, curled into the far corner like a wounded animal. His head was buried in his arms, his form trembling ever so slightly, a portrait of loss and confusion. She paused, her gaze hardening, then softening, and somewhere in between disgust and reluctant sympathy, she sighed.
She took a few measured steps toward him.
He looked up, eyes red-rimmed and wary. The moment their gazes locked, his entire body tensed. Milo wiped his face quickly with the back of his hand and glared, his expression curling into a half-sneer, half-frown as he instinctively pushed himself further into the wall's safety.
"What now? Come to mock me again?" he muttered, voice low and hoarse.
Liora halted in front of him, unfazed. She held the garments forward wordlessly. Her face betrayed no emotion.
"Come to torment me more, huh?" Milo said, more bitterly this time, yet his voice trembled beneath the sarcasm.
Without a word, Liora extended the bundle. Milo flinched, shutting his eyes. The memory of her blade against his neck still lingered like phantom pain. But after a few heartbeats passed and nothing came, he peeked one eye open.
Liora stood there, visibly perplexed.
"Take the clothes," she said flatly.
Milo blinked, confused. Still wary, he reached out and snatched the bundle quickly, clutching it to his chest. His eyes darted between her and the garments.
'Doesn't seem cursed or poisoned,' he thought, inspecting it like a hawk eyeing prey.
He glanced back up, only to find her staring at him. Her expression was unreadable—a distant, blank gaze that unsettled him more than any threat.
"What—"
"I apologize," she cut him off.
Her voice was quiet but firm. And though her eyes no longer met his, there was something different in her tone—an undertow of regret barely concealed beneath her hardened exterior. Her jaw clenched, her brows drawn, not in anger, but in self-directed scorn.
Milo's breath hitched in his throat, a knot of tension tightening as his eyes widened in disbelief.
'I don't care,' he forced himself to repeat, trying to drown out the storm of emotions swirling inside him.
Still, he said nothing. Liora sighed once more and, without asking, gently grabbed his forearm.
He didn't resist.
She led him down a short hallway—branches curved naturally into walls, carved and shaped into an elegant yet raw architecture. The treehouse was a fusion of nature and craftsmanship. Creeper vines curled around support beams, and carved runes glowed faintly along the wooden panels, providing an otherworldly ambiance.
They entered a chamber—her bedroom.
Despite the primitive material, the room was warm and well-maintained. A small wooden bed sat nestled into the far corner, layered with meticulously arranged animal furs dyed in soft earth-tones. The pillow, made from tightly packed down feathers, had a single red flower tucked into its corner—likely some kind of preservation ritual.
A handmade wardrobe stood near the wall, adorned with etched symbols and jungle flowers. In its center was a full-length mirror framed in polished bone and twine, reflecting the filtered sunlight through the canopy above. Beside it was a low-lying table made of dark vinewood, with a water basin, neatly folded leaves that acted as towels, and various bone combs and herbal salves.
On one wall, several spears, bows, and hunting knives were mounted like trophies. A woven dreamcatcher hung above the bed, swaying gently.
Milo couldn't help but marvel.
"Woah... I know I'm irresistible, but this is a bit much," he said with a crooked grin, trying to cut through the tension.
Liora raised an eyebrow.
"Also... I'm not into your whole captor-captive fantasy."
She fixed her gaze on him, her eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings, before she finally responded, her voice dripping with disdain, "You mean mate?"
Milo nodded quickly, trying not to show how caught off guard he was.
Liora scoffed.She folded her arms and glanced at Milo.
"Why would I want to mate with you?"
Her tail twisted in annoyance, and her expression was a mix of revulsion and disbelief, as if the mere thought of them sharing something so intimate was utterly abhorrent to her.
The words landed harder than he expected. He looked away whistling a bit to try and hide his embarrassment.Though he was accustomed to rejection in to his older years of his previous life,the comment still stung.
'Why wouldn't you...' he thought, scratching the back of his neck.
"So then... why bring me here?"
She rolled her eyes, clearly holding back the urge to face-palm.
"The clothes, idiot."
She snatched them back briefly and held them up to demonstrate how they were supposed to be worn, then shoved them into his arms again.
"Put them on."
He frowned. "Yeah, I got that the first time."
A silence stretched between them.
"Aren't you gonna leave?"
"Why?"
Milo's eye twitched.Didn't her mother teach her how to respect others?....Wait she was a monkey afterall maybe they had way different customs?
"Privacy? I'm changing, for god's sake."
She tilted her head.
"You've been naked this whole time."
A blush rose instantly to Milo's face as realization struck. With a furious scowl, he shoved her out the door and slammed it behind her.
"Just—GET OUT!"
Outside, Milo heard the faintest dry chuckle followed by the sound of her steps retreating down the hall.
'Pervert,' she muttered under her breath.
Inside, Milo sighed.
'What a weirdo.'
He began to dress.
The clothing, though primitive in concept, wrapped around him with surprising comfort and elegance. The top was a cropped, earth-toned wrap that folded across his chest diagonally. One shoulder lay bare, while the other had a sleeve patterned in a mosaic of wild forest colors—sunset orange, obsidian black, moss green—stitched together with coarse thread and a keen eye for contrast.
The trousers were loose and breathable, dark brown, bound tightly at the ankles with braided cords. Around his waist, a sash of vibrant jungle green and ochre wrapped twice and tied at the side, the knot falling behind a long front drape—covered in jagged symbols resembling vines and wind-spirals.
Decorative cloth wraps adorned his wrists and ankles, woven with beads and small bones. They clinked softly with each movement.
Milo stepped in front of the mirror. For the first time since waking in this world, he truly saw himself.
Crimson eyes. Sharpened ears. Primate features, yet undeniably humanoid.A fresh, shallow cut traced diagonally across his cheekbone—angry, red, and raw. A gift from Liora's blade.
Below it, his shoulder bore a deeper wound, a jagged gash from the Shadows-Tiger's claws. It was still open, raw and weeping, the flesh around it inflamed.
His torso was bruised and scraped.
He touched the gash on his shoulder and hissed quietly through his teeth.
His golden hair gleamed like a halo, tousled and wild. His body was lean, toned, primal—no longer the scrawny man from Earth.
He flexed. Smirked.
'Damn... I really am a monkey. A pretty good-looking one at that.'
He struck a pose, then another, admiring how the tribal garb made him look like a mystic warrior straight from a fantasy manga.
His grin widened.
A knock on the door.It was Liora surprisingly she waited for him to finish.
"Are you done yet?"
"Oh—yeah."
Liora entered, glanced at him once, then nodded in approval
"At least they fit."
She sat on the bed and patted the space beside her.
Milo hesitated, then joined her awkwardly.
"Thanks... for the clothes."
She shrugged. "Don't thank me. Just take care of them. They're... important."
He eyed her. The clothes were clearly male-designed. A brother? A friend? A mate?
He didn't ask.
"Alright," he said simply.
"Now," she continued, voice shifting into something more formal, "we need to solve your problem."
He blinked. "Problem?"
"Your memory. Since you can't remember anything, I should take you home. To the Golden Langurs."
Milo's body stiffened. He wanted to scream the truth, but held his tongue.
"What... are they?"
Liora studied him.
"They're a monkey tribe. Filled with monkeys like us. Except golden-furred. Emerald eyes.Unlike yours ."
Her gazed dropped to his crimson irises a trait no Langur had ever borne.
He understood then. Why she found him strange. Why she hadn't trusted him at first.
"There are seven tribes in this forest. The Golden Langurs... your tribe. And the Embertail Macaques—my tribe."
Milo noted how her voice wavered slightly when she mentioned her own.Pain. Regret. Memories.There was a story there.But for now, he simply nodded.
He had much to learn.And whether he liked it or not,Liora was going to be his guide.