Under the moon’s pale glow, a queen was born. 

The brown lioness—Viella—lay hidden beneath the dense thicket, branches scratching her sides as she shifted in pain. 

Her breaths came in short, labored gasps, fogging the cool night air. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, glinting off her wide, alert blue eyes as they scanned the open wild for danger. 

Her belly was round, heavy with the weight of new life. Her tail lashed back and forth, more from instinct than fear. 

Alone. In hiding. A rogue. 

In the silence of the savanna, broken only by the distant calls of hyenas and the rustle of wind in dry grass, she gave birth. A single cub. Coat the color of sand. Eyes not yet open. Viella lowered her head, gently licking the cub clean. 

Her voice was low, rough with exhaustion, yet filled with fierce purpose. “Nyira, my child. Cub of a rogue lioness. You will bow to no one… but yourself.”

A rustle in the grass—just two gazes from Viella’s den—made her lift her head sharply. 

Claws slid from her paws. Her tail froze. 

She waited. Ears straining. 

Silence. 

Finally, her voice broke the stillness. Half a growl, half a purr. “Theon?” No answer came. She sighed, tail lashing once before settling. 

Her blue eyes dropped to the cub nestled at her side. “Your father said he would come… said he would see you the moment you were born.” Her voice cracked, soft and bitter. 

“But the pride must hold him back.” Viella bent her head and licked Nyira’s ear. “He is a strong lion. A proud leader. I was too wild for them… too free.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then whispered: “But you, Nyira… you will be like him. Strong. Unbreakable. But still free.”