"A loner?" The snarl came from the edge of the crowd, where a lean white-and-black tom stood, his fur bristling along his spine. His pale green eyes burned with disdain as they locked onto me. "Come on, Sunmoon. Even if she lives long enough to be apprenticed, that loud nature of hers will make sure she never catches anything. She’ll scare off prey before she even sees it!" 

I froze, ears flattening as the weight of his words settled over me. "Don’t cower," Droppaw whispered at my side, voice urgent but steady. "They can smell fear. Show them you're not afraid." 

Swallowing hard, I lifted my chin, forcing my legs to steady beneath me as I scanned the crowd. There—the white-and-black male lion stood near the edge of the clearing, his tail lashing. His muscles were taut, as if daring me to prove him wrong. 

"Who is that?" I muttered without looking away. 

"Whiteclaw," Droppaw murmured back. "New warrior. Thinks he's the next Ravenscar just 'cause he passed his assessment first try." 

Whiteclaw took a step forward, his lip curling. "Go on, Ambercub. Play the brave little pride lion. Show us how you’ll fit in with that  loner smell clinging to your fur." 

Something inside me snapped. Every uncertain glance, every whispered insult from the moment I stepped into this camp boiled up like thunder in my chest. I wasn't just some loner anymore. 

"I don’t have to prove anything to you!" I shot back, tail lashing behind me. 

The clearing fell silent. Even Sunsmoon, still perched on the Highrock, watched with quiet intensity. 

Whiteclaw's ears flicked back, surprised by my defiance, but the shock quickly melted into a sneer. "Big words for a soft-pawed cub. If you're so determined to stay, why not show us you can fight like a real sunpride lion ?" 

"She's a cub, Whiteclaw," Willowclaw growled, stepping forward. "Pick on someone your own size." 

But I was already moving. I sprang forward, tiny paws kicking up dust as I launched myself at Whiteclaw. My heart pounded in my ears, but I aimed true, just like I'd seen Droppaw practice with Ravenscar. 

Whiteclaw sidestepped easily, laughing. "Too slow!" 

I stumbled, claws scraping against the hard-packed earth. The camp blurred around me as I twisted back, tail fluffed out. 

"Watch his paws!" Droppaw hissed. "He’s cocky, not careful." 

Whiteclaw advanced, muscles bunching beneath his sleek fur. He swiped—not with claws unsheathed, but with enough force to knock me flat if it landed. 

But I was small. Quick. 

I ducked under the blow and barreled into his chest, my tiny weight barely enough to stagger him, but it was enough to surprise him. I bit down—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make him yowl and shake me off. 

"zebra dung!" Whiteclaw spat, jumping back and swiping at his chest where my tiny teeth had snagged fur. "meerkat-hearted little—" 

"Enough!" 

Sunmoon's voice cracked like a branch in a storm, and the clearing froze. 

Even the wind seemed to pause, leaves hanging in midair as every eye turned to the golden lioness standing tall atop the Highrock. Her amber gaze pinned Whiteclaw with the weight of seasons. 

"You disgrace yourself," she said coldly, each word sharp as clawtips. "She is a cub. You are a warrior. Do you think your strength lies in proving you can throw a child to the dirt?" 

Whiteclaw bristled, but didn’t speak. His tail lashed once, twice—and then fell still. 

Sunmoon’s gaze shifted, softer but no less firm, landing on me. “And you, Ambercub… your fire burns bright. But fire without control becomes wildfire. You must learn when to leap—and when to listen.” 

My breath caught in my throat. I dipped my head, heart still thudding wildly. “Yes, Sunmoon.” 

Her tail flicked once, dismissing the tension like dust from her flank. “This is a pride—not a proving ground. Let this be the last time I see warriors goading kits for sport.” 

Murmurs rippled again through the crowd, some nods, some side-eyes cast toward Whiteclaw. He turned away with a sharp flick of his ears, padding stiffly toward the warriors’ den. 

Sunmoon gave me one last nod. “You have courage. But remember—bravery doesn’t mean fighting every battle alone. Lean on your pride.” 

The meeting was well and truly over now. 

Willowclaw came to my side, brushing her tail along my back. “You’ve made a name for yourself already,” she said dryly. “Most kits wait at least a day before picking a fight.” 

“I didn’t mean to—” I began. 

Droppaw cut in with a grin. “You totally meant to.” 

I blinked, then laughed—quiet, breathless, but real. The knot of fear in my chest began to loosen. 

I wasn’t just some outsider anymore. 

Not anymore. 

Redfur padded forward, expression unreadable. “She stood her ground,” he muttered, almost to himself. “More than I expected from a loner.” 

Whiteclaw’s tail flicked sharply, but he said nothing as he melted into the crowd. 

I stood a little taller, my breath still coming fast—but my heart was steady now. 

Not just a loner anymore. 

I flicked my tail, shaking off the remnants of fear still clinging to me. My chest still hummed with adrenaline, but it wasn’t fear anymore. It was something else—something hot and alive, like embers stirring to flame. 

Determination. Courage. Maybe even pride. 

I wasn’t just Whisper, the orphan loner cub. 
I was Ambercub, a part of Sunpride—and no one could take that from me. 

Droppaw padded over, his usual mischievous grin replaced by something quieter, more sincere. Almost... respectful. “Nice one, Ambercub. Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugged upward despite myself. “I don’t need your approval, Droppaw,” I muttered—but his words warmed me more than I wanted to admit. 

Whitetail, still lingering by the nursery entrance, gave me a glance before she turned. “Good. Keep that fire,” she said, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “If you’re going to be Sunpride, you’re going to need it.” 

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. 

Whitetail—the same cat who could barely stand my presence last night—was giving me advice. As if I belonged here. As if I was one of them. 

The weight of that quiet acceptance settled deep in my chest. 

Maybe—just maybe—I was starting to fit in. 

The camp began to settle again. Lions returned to their routines, and the buzz from my fight with Whiteclaw slowly faded into the background. But I could still feel their eyes on me—some curious, some skeptical, and a few with quiet approval. 

Then Sunmoon’s voice rose above the lull. 

“Ambercub.” 

She used my name. Not Whisper. Not loner. 
Ambercub. 

The fur along my neck prickled—not in fear, but with something close to awe. I turned, padding toward the Highrock with trembling but steady steps. The stone was still warm from where Sunmoon had sat, her amber eyes meeting mine as I came to a halt. 

“You showed great spirit today,” she said, tone thoughtful. “It’s not easy, being born outside our pride. But you held your ground. That takes heart.” 

I dipped my head, heat flooding my ears as I realized how many eyes were still watching. 

“You’ve earned your place here,” she continued, voice unwavering. “But understand—this pride is not kind to weakness. You’ll need to prove yourself more than once. Trust is not given freely here. If you want to truly belong, you must earn it.” 

I swallowed hard, her words sinking like claws into my chest. But they didn’t hurt. They anchored me. 

“I will, Sunmoon,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I’ll earn it.” 

She studied me a moment longer, then nodded once. “Good.” 

She turned her gaze toward Willowclaw, who was waiting nearby. “For now, go with Willowclaw. You’ll stay in the nursery until you're old enough for your own den. If you need anything—ask.” 

Willowclaw flicked her tail. “Come along, Ambercub. Time to rest.” 

I turned to follow her, my legs heavy with exhaustion—but my steps steady. 

The pride had seen me today. Really seen me. 

I had taken my first step into Sunpride. 

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.I had barely taken a few steps toward the nursery when a voice called after me. 

“Hey, Ambercub!” 

I turned to see Droppaw trotting over, tail swaying casually behind him. That usual grin had returned, but it was softer now—less teasing, more... curious. 

“You’re not actually going to nap after all that, are you?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Come on. You’ve got to see the rest of camp before Whitetail starts fussing.” 

I hesitated. I was tired, every step making my muscles ache—but a small part of me didn’t want this moment to end just yet. Not after today. 

I glanced toward Whitetail, who was deep in conversation with another queen, then back at Droppaw. “Just for a bit.” 

He didn’t wait for more. “Follow me.” 

We weaved through the clearing, past the fresh-kill pile, where a young lioness tossed me a wary look before turning back to her task. A few warriors whispered behind their paws as I passed. I kept my chin up, paws steady. Let them talk. 

Droppaw led me to the far side of camp, toward a low, shaded stone overhang tucked against the cliff wall. Thick vines draped over its mouth, and the scent of young lions—dust, fur, and a faint trace of prey—wafted out. 

“This is the apprentice den,” he said, brushing aside the vines with his shoulder. 

Inside, the den opened wider than I expected. Nests of moss and dry grass were arranged in a loose circle, with space in the center worn smooth from paws and playful scuffling. The walls bore old claw marks, battle scars from long-forgotten training bouts. 

A lanky lioness with patchy fur—no older than Droppaw—lifted her head from one of the nests. “She’s not an apprentice yet,” she muttered. 

“Yet,” Droppaw shot back with a flick of his tail. “She will be. Might as well get used to the den, right?” 

The lioness huffed and laid her head back down, uninterested. 

Droppaw ignored her and padded farther in. “That’s Pebblepaw. Don’t mind her, she’s cranky unless she’s hunting.” 

I nodded, wide-eyed, taking in everything. “This is where you sleep?” 

“Yup,” he said, flopping onto an empty nest with a sigh. “Not bad, huh? Warriors say it's cramped, but it’s ours. You’ll get your own spot once you’re named. And trust me—being an apprentice beats being cooped up with the queens.” 

I padded deeper into the den, brushing my tail across the moss of an empty nest. The idea of having a place like this—something mine—sent a strange thrill through me. 

“You think Sunmoon will make me an apprentice soon?” I asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. 

Droppaw sat up, meeting my gaze. “She wouldn’t have given you a name if she didn’t think you were worth it. You’ve already done more than most kits do before their naming.” He paused, then added, “Even if you’re... not from here.” 

There was no edge in his voice. Just honesty. 

“Thanks,” I murmured. 

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Don’t get used to the compliments. I’ve got a reputation to protect.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you have feelings.” 

Droppaw gave me a mock glare, then bumped his shoulder into mine. “Come on, Ambercub. Let me show you the warrior den now.” 

We padded across the camp, the morning light casting golden shafts through the canopy. The warrior den was a large, open space nestled beneath the protective arch of thick ferns and overhanging branches. The entrance was framed by twisted vines, heavy with dew, casting soft, dancing shadows on the moss-covered ground. 

Inside, the air was warm and earthy—rich with the scent of pine, old battles, and the comforting musk of warriors’ fur. The floor was padded with a thick layer of moss and feathers, worn smooth by generations of paws but still firm enough to cradle tired warriors after long patrols. 

In the center, several nests were arranged in a loose circle, each one uniquely lined with rabbit fur, dried leaves, or feathers depending on the cat’s taste. A sense of quiet power rested in the space, like every breath carried the weight of shared history and pride. 

A tom near the back of the den stirred, his stormy grey fur blending so well with the shadows I hadn’t noticed him at first. His medium-length coat looked soft despite the mess of old battle scars hidden along his flank. One eye opened—grey and clouded like a rain-heavy sky. 

“Droppaw, what are you doing here?” he asked around a yawn. 

“Just giving a tour,” Droppaw replied breezily. 

Another tom shifted in his nest nearby. His short fur was a chaotic patchwork of black, orange, and brown—tortoiseshell, with a deep, vibrant red tail that flared like fire in the dim den. He blinked open deep brown eyes and scowled. 

“Does it smell like loner in here?” he grumbled. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

Before I could shrink back, a she-lioness lifted her head from a nearby nest. Her sleek, soft white fur shimmered faintly in the filtered light. Brown stripes marked her back, trailing to a brown tail and a single dark paw on her front leg. Pale amber eyes—almost gold—narrowed at the two toms. 

“Stop talking like a half-brained hyena,” she snapped. “There’s no loner in Sunpride camp.” Her gaze flicked to me, softening. “Ambercub made her choice. Respect it, or go back to sleep.” 

Firetail snorted and muttered something under his breath, curling his red tail over his nose. Clearly, he was done arguing. Rainstorm, the grey tom, gave a small shrug and settled deeper into his nest. But before closing his eyes, his gaze lingered on me just a moment longer—curious, maybe even thoughtful—before drifting off again. 

“Don’t mind them,” Droppaw said quietly, guiding me away from the den. “Firetail’s always had a sharp tongue, and Rainstorm’s grumpy until he gets fresh-kill. You’ll learn quick—words mean little here. It’s what you do that earns respect.” 

“Just wait. You’ll see that there’s more to Sunpride than sharp tongues,” Droppaw purred and turned. 

He led me toward a fallen tree, its bark worn smooth by countless paws. Moss and lichen clung to the trunk, and tiny purple flowers peeked from cracks in the wood. Beneath the arch of the trunk, a wide, hollowed-out space opened into a den, the earth around it packed down from moons of use. 

“The elders’ cave,”  Droppaw said, slowing her steps. Her tone softened, as if touched by quiet respect. “They’ve served the pride for many seasons. Listen closely to their stories, Ambercub. There’s wisdom in their words, even when they’re grumbling.” 

I barely had time to nod before movement stirred inside the den. A sturdy, battle-worn tom shifted, his short, rough brown fur patchy with age. His most striking feature was a short, stub-like tail—the result, I’d later learn, of a fierce fight with a badger. His amber eyes, sharp despite his graying muzzle, locked onto us. A jagged scar ran across his broad chest, another reminder of the life he’d lived defending Sunpride. 

Though his joints creaked as he stood, he carried himself with quiet pride, like a warrior who hadn’t forgotten the strength he once had.