The dry season crept in with sharp winds and brittle grass. The sun sat higher in the sky now, and the trees along the river’s edge whispered with dusty leaves. Life in the pride had shifted. The lionesses grew more alert. 

The cubs, older now, grew bolder in their play, mock-fighting and stalking beetles like true hunters. But beneath the peaceful surface of the savanna, something stirred. Something dangerous. Something watching.

Nyira felt it in her bones.

She stood on a sun-warmed stone near the edge of the pride's northern border, her belly full with the late moons of her pregnancy. Her fur twitched with unease. A flicker of a scent, too faint to name, hung in the air. It wasn’t from the Eastern Pride. It wasn’t from anything she recognized.

Then she saw him—Zurbira, striding through the tall grass, his eyes locked on hers.

“You felt it too?” he asked, stopping beside her.

She nodded slowly. “Something’s out there.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, just stood beside her, the wind ruffling through his thick mane. Then, his voice dropped low, almost a growl. “Scouts caught an unfamiliar scent. Male lions. More than one.”

Nyira’s blood chilled. “Rogues?”

“No,” Zurbira said. “Something worse.”

That evening, the pride gathered at the Marula Tree. Cubs climbed over roots and lionesses shared their meals in soft grunts. But Zurbira sat apart, his gaze fixed northward.

Shadow approached him. “You’re uneasy.”

“We all should be.”

Shadow’s tail twitched. “We’ve faced rogues before.”

“This isn’t just rogues. This is a group. A pride of males.”

The words sent murmurs through the lionesses nearby.

“Impossible,” Marai whispered. “Male lions don’t form prides.”

Zurbira’s eyes narrowed. “They do if Kova leads them.”

Nyira felt her breath catch. She turned toward him, muscles stiffening. “Kova?”

Zurbira nodded. “We thought he left. But the scouts found his scent among the others. Fresh.”

The wind gusted then, stirring the dust between them like warning ash. Nyira’s heart pounded. She thought back to the riddles he whispered, the eerie way he had looked at her before Zuribra exiled him.

“He said he would come back…” she whispered.

Zurbira’s eyes flicked to her. “And he has.”

Later that night, sleep did not come easy. Nyira lay curled beneath the roots of the Marula tree, her belly rising and falling slowly, cubs turning gently within her. But her thoughts stayed on the northern border.

She remembered how Kova used to walk: smooth, silent, more shadow than lion. How he spoke in riddles, like a jackal half-dreaming. How he had whispered, “You smell like new life and night breeds.”

Had he known, even then?

A soft pawstep behind her. Zurbira.

“You should be sleeping,” he murmured, laying beside her.

“So should you.”

His tail brushed hers. “You’re thinking of him.”

“I’m thinking of what’s coming.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I chased him out. He’ll never be welcome again.”

“You said there were others with him.”

“Three. Maybe four. All young. Strong. Loyal to him.”

Nyira turned her head, meeting his eyes. “Then this isn’t just Kova. This is something he built.”

Zurbira growled under his breath. “A pride of males. It’s unnatural.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “So am I, some would say.”

He nuzzled her shoulder, warm and steady. “You’re what this pride needs.”

Nyira didn’t answer. Her thoughts lingered on the possibility that Kova’s pride was more than a scattered band—it could be a vision. A twisted reflection of everything Zurbira had built.

A rival.

By morning, scouts returned. A young lioness named Thiri approached with her tail low.

“We saw them,” she said. “Five males. Kova leads. They were marking territory north of the dry riverbed.”

Zurbira’s ears pinned back. “So it begins.”

Nyira stood beside him, her body aching, her cubs restless. She tried to focus, but her mind spun with questions. How long before Kova made a move? Was she safe? Were her unborn cubs?

Thiri added, “They didn’t see us, but... they’re organized. They walk in a line. They move like a pride.”

Zurbira nodded grimly. “Keep watching. If they step across the riverbed, I want to know.”

As Thiri disappeared into the grass, Nyira touched Zurbira’s shoulder with her nose. “What will you do?”

He sighed. “Prepare. Warn the lionesses. Get the cubs into the safe cave. And if they cross the line—”

“You’ll fight?”

“I’ll end it.”

That evening, Nyira sat with Kenna, who was now growing faster than ever. The cub’s golden fur gleamed in the dying light.

“Nyira,” she asked suddenly, “do you think Kova’s mean?”

Nyira blinked. “Where did you hear his name?”

“Shadow said he was your brother.”

Nyira smiled gently. “No, not my brother. He was Zuribra’s.”

“Oh.” Kenna chewed on her paw. “So he’s a bad uncle?”

Nyira’s heart twisted. “He was... confused. He thought he could take what he wanted. But in a pride, we share. We protect each other. That’s what makes us strong.”

Kenna nodded seriously. “I’ll bite his tail if he comes back.”

Nyira laughed, for the first time in days.

As the sun dipped below the hills, a long howl echoed from the north. Not hyena. Not jackal. A lion’s roar—low and long and full of purpose.

Zurbira stepped up onto the rise, mane catching the red sunlight. He answered with a roar of his own, sharper, prouder. The pride stirred.

Nyira closed her eyes.

the air was thick with the scent of dry dust and sun-baked grass, a sure sign the rains were still far off. The land was brittle, the wind whispering over the plains with stories of survival, hunger, and pride. As the afternoon thinned into golden evening, Zuribra gathered the pride. His amber eyes scanned the horizon and then turned toward the lionesses.

“There’s a herd of wildebeest near the southern flats,” he said. “We hunt tonight. Together.”

Nyira flicked her ears in surprise. Males and females didn’t usually hunt side by side—not unless something threatened the entire pride. She shared a glance with Shadow, who gave a slow nod. The younger lionesses, including pale Shira and broad-shouldered Rae, stood and stretched, tails brushing the dust.

A shared hunt. Not for celebration, but unity. Perhaps Zuribra sensed what she did—that something unnatural stirred along the edges of their lives.

As twilight bled into night, the pride moved like shadows toward the flats. The world seemed softer here, muted beneath the rising moon. Even the crickets sang quieter. The herd of wildebeest grazed ahead—restless, clustered near the acacia line.

Zuribra dropped low, muscles rippling beneath his golden pelt. Nyira flanked him on the right, Shadow on the left. The other lionesses spread out, their forms vanishing into the tall grass like smoke.

Zuribra’s ear twitched—a signal. The lionesses froze.

One… two… three…

A low growl echoed through the earth as the pride sprang forward like thunder. Nyira ran with fire in her chest, legs coiled with strength. The wildebeest shrieked and scattered. Hooves pounded the cracked earth. Rae leapt high and landed on one’s back, dragging it down. Shadow lunged toward another, but missed.

A third—smaller and slower—veered toward Nyira. She barreled into its side, fangs finding the soft curve of its throat. The wildebeest fought—kicked once, twice—then went still beneath her claws.

“Down!” Zuribra’s roar cut through the frenzy.

It was over in minutes. Blood soaked the grass. The lions stood panting, manes and flanks marked with dust and red. The lionesses backed away first, leaving the males to feed, as was tradition. But Zuribra didn’t move toward the kill.

He nodded to the lionesses. “Eat first.”

Shadow blinked, surprised. Even Rae hesitated.

“You hunted,” he said, voice calm. “It’s only right.”

Nyira stepped forward first. She bit into the wildebeest’s flank, the warm meat a comfort she didn’t realize she’d needed. Shadow followed, then Rae, Shira. Even the cubs would eat tonight.

But peace never lasted long on the savanna.

A high-pitched cackle cut through the night.

Hyenas.

Nyira lifted her head, muzzle red. She counted three… five… eight shapes slinking just beyond the tree line. One bold female stepped closer, laughing through her snarl.

“You’ve eaten enough,” the hyena sneered. “Time to share.”

Zuribra growled, stepping in front of the pride. “We don’t share with thieves.”

The hyenas didn’t attack at once. They never did. They crept forward slowly, trying to test the edges of resolve. But they weren’t counting on a pride of this strength.

Shadow snarled. Rae stepped protectively in front of the younger lionesses. Nyira moved between the cubs and the circling shapes.

A male hyena lunged too fast.

Zuribra met him mid-air.

Claws against teeth, roars against laughter.

The hyena yelped and rolled away, limping. Another tried to dart for the wildebeest, but Rae knocked it aside with a powerful strike of her paw. The scent of blood and anger thickened the night. And then, just as suddenly as they came, the hyenas retreated, disappearing into the dark with snarls and yips.

Zuribra stood over the kill, sides heaving.

Nyira watched the moonlight ripple down his mane. Something about him always made her chest ache. He turned, caught her gaze, and held it.

“You were brave,” he said, voice lower now. “Even for someone who says she doesn’t belong.”

She huffed, licking the blood from her paw. “Bravery isn’t pride-born.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it is rare.”

She looked away, uncomfortable with praise. The lionesses returned to eating. The danger was gone—for now.

But as Nyira sat near the cubs and watched Kenna paw at Rae’s tail, she couldn’t shake the image of Kova. Of how he watched. Waited. Hinted.

She didn’t know when he’d come back.

Only that he would.