Nyira had laid down to groom the bite on her shoulder, her tongue dragging slowly over the dried blood. It stung, but she welcomed the pain—it reminded her she was still standing. Still free.

Her eyes never left the pride.

Twelve lionesses, maybe thirteen, scattered across the clearing. Five cubs—three still young enough to tumble on shaky legs, two older and more curious. And him.

Zuribra.

He sat at the heart of them, tail flicking lazily, but there was nothing lazy about the way his eyes moved. He noticed everything—even the wind.

When the moon reached its peak, cool and white and heavy in the sky, Nyira rose. Her paws silent in the grass, her body low but proud, she crept closer.

She didn't slink like a thief. She walked like something that belonged—if only to herself.

A group of older lionesses sprawled atop a sun-warmed stone noticed her first. Their heads snapped toward her, ears forward, shoulders lifting.

One snarled, deep and guttural. Another let out a warning moan, the kind that rumbled from chest to tail.

It was enough.

Cubs darted to a nearby tree, squeaking as they tripped over each other. The lionesses surged to their feet, a wall of claws and growls, forming a barrier between Nyira and their young.

Nyira stopped, her muscles fluid but tight with caution. She stared at them—not fearful, but assessing. Ears perked. Tail still. She watched the flick of their whiskers, the flattening of their ears, the subtle shift in their weight.

They were frightened. Protective. Ready to strike if she so much as blinked the wrong way.

Nyira didn't move.

She mirrored their body language in reverse—tail down but not tucked, ears half-forward, eyes neutral. Her own version of a truce.

But her gaze flicked briefly toward Zuribra.

He hadn't moved.

He just watched and so did she.

Two creatures used to dominance. Two forces on a faultline.

For now, Nyira did nothing but hold her ground. She had stepped into their world, yes—but not surrendered to it.

Not yet.

Nyira didn't answer right away. Her ears twitched, her eyes narrowed slightly. "I came to watch," she said evenly. "That's not the same as choosing."

Zuribra huffed, the sound halfway between amusement and challenge. "You crossed into pride land again," he said. "That is a choice."

The lionesses behind him shifted, uneasy. One let out a low whine, but a flick of Zuribra's tail silenced her.

He took another step forward, close enough now that Nyira could smell the heat of the pride on his fur—the sunbaked stone, the blood of their latest kill, and the musk of shared territory.

"But I'll respect that you didn't come here to fight," he added. "Not yet."

Nyira's shoulder ached from the bite, but she didn't flinch. "I don't fight unless I have to," she said. "And I don't bow."

Zuribra's eyes gleamed. "Good," he said. "I don't like lions who break easy."

A long moment passed between them, the moonlight thick in the silence.

Then he turned, his golden mane catching silver in the light. "You can stay tonight. As a guest," he said over his shoulder. "No lion will touch you. Not while I say so."

He didn't wait for her reply.

Zuribra padded back toward the others, a king rejoining his pride. The lionesses watched Nyira, some confused, others openly annoyed, but none challenged her now.

Nyira stood where she was, heart steady, breath calm.

Guest, he said.

But a guest could leave.

Or stay.

She lowered herself into the grass again, eyes fixed on the pride—not yet part of them, not yet gone.

Watching.

Waiting.

Nyira stared up at the Marula tree for a moment, then padded closer. As she did, a few lionesses stiffened. Without a word, they scooped their cubs up by the scruff and backed away, their growls low and eyes never leaving her.

Nyira gave a soft huff, flicking her tail in annoyance. She leapt up onto a low branch with a grunt, the sudden jolt making her hiss. Her shoulder throbbed—Zuribra's claws had only grazed her earlier, but the skin was raw, tender.

She climbed one branch higher, movements cautious, then sprawled across the thick limb. Her tongue flicked out, licking at her paw, then between her toes. She tugged out a small tuft of grass stuck in her claws, tossing it to the wind.

Below, the whispers of the lionesses rippled like wind through dry grass.

She didn't care.

Let them whisper. Let them wonder.

Nyira's eyes stayed on the tall grass swaying beyond the pride, though her ears tracked every sound behind her—one always trained on the pride, the other turned toward the deeper dark of the savanna.

Then—scratch. Scratch. The soft scrape of claws on bark.

Heavy weight shifting.

She tensed, muscles coiling until she caught the scent: earth, musk, and old blood.

Zuribra.

He didn't announce himself this time. He simply appeared—hoisting himself up onto the lower branch beneath hers, his mane brushing the bark, golden eyes catching the moonlight.

He sat, tail hanging, silent and still.

Nyira looked down at him, but said nothing.

Zuribra's voice was calm, low. "You're not the only one who prefers the trees."

A beat.

"I won't climb higher," he added. "I know better than to corner something wild."

Nyira's gaze lingered on him. Her tail twitched once, then settled.

She didn't speak.

But she didn't move either.

And in the stillness of the tree, beneath the watch of stars and whispering grass, they stayed—two lions who had not yet decided if they were rivals, strangers, or something else.

Zuribra's deep voice cut through the moonlit silence.
"Tell me. What do you believe in?"

Nyira didn't answer at first. Her claws dragged lazily along the bark beneath her, sharp against the quiet.
"Food. Fight. Survive." Her tone was flat, instinctive—like someone reciting truth, not philosophy.

Zuribra didn't react. Just waited.

Eventually, her ears twitched, and her voice lowered, almost reluctant.
"I believe in 'Sisi Ni Sawa.' In the 'Maan Leeu,' the 'Sonleeu,' and the 'Storm Leeu.'"

He blinked slowly. "You believe… we are the same?"

She nodded once. "Even if they don't want to see it. Rogue, prideborn… blood is still red. We are lions."

"And the Moon Lion?" he asked, curious now, watching her with more than just caution—something deeper.

Nyira's gaze drifted toward the sky.
"The Maan Leeu watches when the world sleeps. She guards the lonely, the silent, the unseen."

"The Sun Lion?"

"He gives strength. He burns away weakness with his heat." Her voice softened. "He doesn't forgive cowardice."

Zuribra's ears twitched. "And the Storm Lion?"

Nyira's eyes flashed with something almost wild.
"He brings chaos. Pain. Change. But without him, the grass dies, the herds vanish, and lions grow lazy."
She paused, then added with a low rumble:
"The Storm Lion saves you… by testing you."