The stars had just begun to flicker into the darkening sky, each one pricking the velvet dusk like sharp claws. Nyira lay stretched beside the hollow den beneath the acacia trees, her belly warm from the heat of the day, yet her heart beat with a steady thrum of unease. The air smelled of dry grass and lion fur, of summer’s end and something else she couldn’t name.

Zuribra sat nearby, tail flicking in a lazy rhythm as he watched the horizon. His amber eyes were bright, more alive than Nyira had ever seen them. He had been restless all day, padding about the pride's edge, purring at cubs, grooming lionesses with uncharacteristic gentleness. He had even brought Nyira a small hare just before sundown—dropped it at her paws with a proud tilt of his head.

She’d accepted it with a quiet purr, nibbled it with small bites, but couldn’t finish. Something curled in her gut that had nothing to do with hunger.

Zuribra turned now, coming to lie beside her, pressing his shoulder to hers.

"You're quiet tonight," he said softly, brushing his muzzle along the back of her ear.

Nyira gave a small huff, eyes half-lidded. "Just listening."

He blinked, and his smile was all teeth. "Listening for our cubs?"

Nyira didn’t smile back.

Zuribra noticed. His head tilted. "What's wrong?"

She flicked her ear. "I’ve never raised cubs in a pride. I was born outside it. My mother taught me how to hide, how to fight alone, how to run fast. Not... this."

Zuribra was silent for a long breath. Then, “You think you won’t be enough?”

Her claws flexed slightly into the dirt. "Not enough. Just... not like the others. I don’t know the pride ways, Zuribra. I still get confused when the lionesses speak in their riddles and hush when I come close. I don’t think they trust me."

Zuribra’s gaze shifted out toward the pride. The night was calm. The lionesses were grooming, cubs huddled in bundles of golden fur. Shadows stretched long.

“I trust you,” he said.

She looked at him.

His tail slid along hers. "And our cubs won’t care if you know how to lead a grooming circle or the right way to scold a misbehaving little one. They’ll care that you protect them. Feed them. Love them."

Nyira breathed out slowly. She leaned into his warmth, her ears twitching toward the sky.

But then she said it. The real thing. The one that clawed her chest open each night:

"I still hear his voice."

Zuribra’s head rose slightly. His gaze narrowed. "Kova."

Nyira nodded. "Around midnight. Every few nights. Just a whisper, just... something. But I hear him. I know I do."

Zuribra growled low, tail lashing once. “He’s gone. I made sure of it.”

Nyira didn’t answer.

He rose and began pacing, muscles rippling under his dark mane. “He has no place here. Not anymore. If he steps paw over my border again, I’ll—”

“Then why do I still hear him?” she snapped, ears flattened. “Why do I wake up with his scent in my nose and his riddles in my head?”

Zuribra stopped. His eyes met hers, fire clashing with storm.

She stood now too, belly low to the ground, tail high. “You said I was safe. But I don’t feel safe.”

Zuribra closed the distance between them, pressing his forehead to hers.

“You are,” he said, voice low. “Even if I have to stay awake all night to make sure of it.”

They stayed like that for a long time, just breathing. The night wind moved through the trees. Crickets sang.

But even as Zuribra curled around her later that night, head resting gently against her side, Nyira’s ears stayed perked. And when the sky hit its darkest hour, she heard it again—just a breath, just a hum.

"Can’t wait to see you again... my queen."

Her eyes snapped open. Her breath hitched.

But there was nothing there. Only the cold and the stars, and the slow, deep breathing of her mate.

And silence.

The midday sun crawled high above the grasslands, its heat blanketing the world in a heavy silence. Nyira lay on her side in the shade of the marula tree, her belly just beginning to show the swell of life within. Zuribra was nearby, half-drowsing with his chin on his paws, tail twitching gently with the breeze. But Nyira was not resting.

Her mind whirled.

The pride had accepted her, yes. Some of the lionesses groomed her now and shared prey, and the cubs—especially Kenna—tumbled over her with endless curiosity. But there was a line drawn in the dust. She was no born pride lioness. And the weight of what stirred in her belly grew heavier with each passing night.

Zuribra stirred, his amber eyes blinking open.

"You think too loudly, little flame," he rumbled softly.

Nyira gave a low purr of amusement. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true." He stood and stretched, stepping over and lowering his head to nuzzle her cheek. "Tell me what's clawing at your mind."

She was quiet for a moment, then shifted to meet his eyes. "Do you ever worry… that I won’t be a good mother?"

Zuribra blinked slowly, then sat beside her. "You’ll be a better one than most."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I see how you care. You protect, you teach, you watch. Even the way you scold little Kenna—like a lioness twice your moons."

Nyira huffed softly, lowering her gaze. "She bit my tail."

Zuribra chuckled. "That means she likes you."

They were silent for a while. The wind stirred the dry grass, and the sun turned gold in the sky. Then Nyira spoke again.

"My mother was a wanderer. She never stayed in one place. Said pride life made your heart stiff. My father, though... he was a pride lion. Left us before I could really know him. So I followed my mother’s blood. Because she kept her promises. Even when they hurt."

Zuribra tilted his head, thoughtful. "And you think staying here breaks one of those promises?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But sometimes I wonder if I belong. And the cub... will it belong?"

Zuribra growled softly—not in anger, but in a sound like distant thunder. He pressed his head to hers. "It will. Because it is ours. Because I will fight for it, like I fought for this land. And if you feel like you don’t belong, then I’ll shift the shape of the pride until you do."

Nyira closed her eyes at the warmth in his voice, but her heart still held a cold ember.

That night, the winds turned. A cool breeze danced over the sleeping pride, making Nyira shiver as she lay beside Zuribra. He breathed evenly, his chest rising and falling like waves.

But she was awake. And she was not alone.

A voice slid through the grasses like a snake.

"Still can’t sleep, my queen?"

Nyira jolted upright, eyes wide. But when she looked into the shadows, she saw nothing.

"You smell like new life and night breeds," the voice said again, soft as mist. "Does he know what you carry? What I left behind?"

She bared her teeth. "Kova."

But the wind answered only with silence.

She pressed herself back against Zuribra’s side, breathing shallow and quick. When the sun rose, she said nothing. Not yet.

The next day, while the pride rested near a watering hole, Nyira sat grooming her flank, her thoughts still full of shadows. Kenna, ever curious, tumbled into her paws again, purring loudly.

"Nyira! I saw a frog! It jumped into the mud!"

Nyira gave a small purr. "Did you catch it this time?"

Kenna shook her head. "No. But next time I will!"

The little cub nestled between Nyira’s front legs, staring up at the sky. "Mama says the sun lionis not real. Is that true?"

Nyira smiled faintly, brushing her tongue over Kenna’s ears. "no. The sun lion—Son Leeu—he watches over us by day. His mane is fire, and his paws burn the grass when he walks."

Kenna’s eyes gleamed. "And the moon lion?"

"Maan Leeu. She watches over us when we sleep. She walks silently and speaks only in dreams. My mother told me she is the one who keeps promises, and sees truth when others lie."

Kenna's ears twitched thoughtfully. "I like her. She sounds brave."

Nyira nodded. "She is. She watches even when we forget she’s there."

Zuribra padded over then, his presence a warm comfort. He nuzzled Nyira softly. "Passing on stories again, wanderer?"

"Just truths," she replied, standing.

Kenna giggled and scampered away, chasing a butterfly.

Zuribra’s voice turned low. "You didn’t sleep well. I heard your breathing."

She looked away. "Kova spoke again."

He stiffened. "Did you see him?"

"No. Just his voice. Just... his scent. In the wind."

Zuribra’s jaws clenched. "He’s close. But not enough to draw blood. Not yet."

"You shouldn’t go after him alone," she said.

Zuribra didn’t reply, but the line of his spine tensed like a drawn bow.

That night, Nyira couldn’t stay still. The air was wrong—too sharp, too quiet. Even the usual chirps of crickets seemed muffled. The pride lay in a loose ring near the marula tree, but Nyira stood apart.

Zuribra rose silently and walked to her.

"Come back."

She shook her head. "I feel like... something’s waiting. Watching."

He didn’t question her. Just pressed his side to hers, grounding her.

Then a voice echoed again, drifting like smoke.

"I remember your heat, Nyira. The way your body called for mine. The way you moaned my name—"

"Liar," she snarled.

Zuribra’s eyes went wild. "You heard him again?"

Nyira nodded. "He’s close. Closer than ever."

Zuribra growled deep in his chest. "Then I will make sure he gets no closer."

He called two of the strongest lionesses to his side. "Guard the pride. Keep Nyira near the tree. Don’t let her leave."

Nyira’s eyes widened. "You’re going now?"

He nodded. "I need to chase this shadow out before it becomes a storm."

She stepped forward, pressed her head to his chest. "Zuribra... be careful."

He nuzzled her once, hard. "For you. Always."

And then he was gone.

The hours stretched long. Nyira sat with the others, but her ears never stopped twitching. Every crack of grass, every shift of wind made her flinch.

Then finally—soft pawsteps. Zuribra returned, shoulders bloodied but pride intact.

Nyira rushed to meet him.

"He’s gone," Zuribra rasped. "Chased beyond the northern ridge. If he returns again, it will be to die."

She nuzzled him fiercely. But even as relief poured through her, a cold thought still lingered.The lionesses settled again, though tension still clung to their bones like burrs. Nyira stayed close to Zuribra, curled beside him beneath the wide branches of the Marula Tree. His side rose and fell steadily. His breathing was even. He had done what he always promised.

He had protected her.

The moon passed overhead.

And still, sleep would not come.

Nyira’s eyes opened to the silver-bleached grass, to the stillness of midnight. The pride was quiet—too quiet.

She rose on slow paws, stepping over sleeping bodies until she reached the edge of the clearing, where the tall grass bent low in the breeze.

She shouldn’t have gone.

But something pulled her.

The air was too still. Too heavy. Like the hush before a kill.

She walked into the grass, ears flicking, breath held.

And then—

She saw it.

Caught on the root of a tree not far from her resting place: a tuft of dark mane. Darker than Zuribra’s. Nearly black.

Nyira’s heart stuttered.

She lowered her head and sniffed—just once. The scent hit her like a blow.

Not Zuribra.

A step back, and her paw scraped against the earth. Her claws caught something—grooved.

She looked down.

A claw mark. Deep. Fresh.

Right beside where she had slept the night before.

She froze.

Then—

A whisper.

So soft it could have been wind.

So sharp it could have been a claw.

“You already chose me, my queen… your body remembered.”

Nyira’s head jerked up. Her breath came fast.

But there was no lion.

No sound.

Only the grass. Only the stars.

Only the echo in her chest.

She bolted back to the pride, fur bristling, eyes wild.

And lay down beside Zuribra once more—carefully, quietly.

But her heart would not calm.

Her tail twitched.

Her eyes did not close.

And in the dark, she whispered to no one:

“I did not choose him.”

But even as she said it, doubt licked at her belly like fire.