Posthumous

by ArtificialFamine

Summary:

Banishment, absolution, vengeance.

Swearing an oath to overcome the stereotypes you are branded with, swearing to forgo the image of your father.

Rising to a coveted position only to realise the empty promises it holds.

Seeking to raze and burn everything in your path to get what you want.

And suddenly... You think to yourself.

Evil... evil came from within after all.

Chapter 1: Arc 1. Ch.1: Is it True?

Summary:

Standing Trial for crimes you have no claim to, resurfacing painful memories as the ire of your mother's eye pierces through your very skin. And all to be exhiled in place of the real perpetrators, watching their mangy hides roll like water in a storm within the crowd.

Plain as the Scars across his face. Plain... as the gashes and tears across his hide. And plain, as the betrayal seeded into his soul.

Dusk bled through the thinning smoke, turning the ash in the air into drifting embers. They clung to my whiskers, my lashes, as if trying to bury me under last night all over again.

 

I felt like the earth had swallowed me whole, as if I already lay dead and this was some excuse for an afterlife. And yet, my tired bones ached with the remnants of yesterday’s battle, and my fur stood on edge as it once did the night before.

 

The fall of my father was swift and painless. Of course, I hoped it was. The mangled heap of bones and sinew at the foot of Pride Rock, the face impossible to see spoke otherwise. I tried hard not to watch, I know I did. Led in shame to my new prison, the ground knocked out from underneath my feet; as if the day could not get worse.

 

After all, how could it not? We’d lost.

 

The cave we were confined in reeked of the ash and smoke of the night before, the walls stood tall and imposing, shutting out the light. Some Pride loyalists stared at the listless walls, catatonic, having seen too much. Others cried, sobbing for the loss of their only king and leader. Some paced back and forth, deep in thought… although, it was difficult to tell. For some, it was like watching an endless pendulum swing; they were lost in themselves. At least they’d all converged upon the Intruder, as opposed to the creatures who’d sworn to stay by our side… Hyenas.

Not that anyone was looking now. They were busy folding in on themselves. Pride loyalists staring at the walls as if they could melt through them. Others paced tight circles, as if wearing paths into the stone would set them free. Some crying in bursts, then going still.

I couldn’t cry. Not when I could still smell him outside, what was left of him, rotting under the shadow of Pride Rock. My father’s fall had been quick, I hoped. But I’d seen enough of the mangled heap to know hope was probably wasted here.

I couldn’t cry. Not yet.

I looked down at my paws, dirty, trembling. I shifted, wincing as the fresh gash along my cheek pulled. My paw went, almost instinctively, to my neck. Still just tufts. Scraggly, thin, useless tufts. No mane.

No longer a cub. Not yet a man. Just a shadow of the promise I was supposed to be.

The pool in the corner caught my eye. I saw him first, Father, because those were his eyes staring back at me. Sharp, green, and far too heavy for someone my age.

“Still brooding?”

The voice pulled me out of the reflection. It was Vitani, her tone halfway between pity and irritation.

I didn’t look up. “Brooding? No. Just thinking how the universe has a sick sense of humour.”

She huffed. “Well, keep thinking, but do it on your feet. Morning rations.”

I glanced over. “What’s the point? The food’s ash and bone like everything else in here.”

“Point is, you eat so you’re alive to spit more insults later,” she said flatly. “Come on, before the hyenas take it away. It’s better if they keep us starved after all, keeps chances of a rebellion low…”

I pushed myself up, every joint stiff and unwilling. “Right. Because Kings forbid I miss another glorious morning in this lovely hole.”

She didn’t bite back, just led the way. Maybe she didn’t have the energy either.

By the cave mouth, Zira was waiting, her thin, gaunt stature blocking out the sun. “You ready?” she asked without looking at me.

“For what?”

“Guard rotation. Someone’s gotta watch the entrance while the rest eat.”

I snorted. “Sure. Let the half-grown runt defend against a legion of mindless spotted mongrels. What could go wrong?”

Her tail flicked once. “Better than sitting here staring at water.”

He started toward the ledge, and I followed, more out of spite than duty. Outside, the cries of vultures carved up the silence, circling  over the monolith above us. Pride Rock loomed there, cold and untouchable, a monument now owned by strangers.

My father’s grave, if it could be called that, was somewhere up there, hidden in the scorched grass and blood. I tried to picture him whole again. I failed.

“So what does that make you, Mwonaji?” I muttered under my breath.

Neither of them answered.

And yet, what was there to hope for?

 

---

“I wonder how long it will take them to re-integrate. Let alone, accept ME as their newly appointed leader. I mean… would you be willing to accept your entire life was a lie?”

Simba sat upon a rocky outcrop jutting out of Pride Rock, overlooking his newly regained Pride Lands. To him, the weight upon his shoulder was palpable, and rightfully so. Beside him, stood the Mjuzi, eternally regal and composed. However, something couldn’t be read in that gaze, as if inside that mind brewed storms of doubt.

“I’m aware Simba, all will be well.” Rafiki replied, laying a passive hand upon Simba’s shoulder. Instinctively, the young lion stiffened, “We will disperse infighting and re-integrate those who we deem fit. I will guide your paw in your decision making, with my years of experience.”

Rafiki’s gaze snapped to Simba, frowning with eyes narrow. Simba wilted under it, his fur standing on edge, “You trust my resolve, don’t you? After all, I led your father prior to your birth. Don’t you remember how this kingdom flourished once?”

“I remember well, Rafiki.” Simba shifted to the side, hiding any discomfort, “After all, my Dad once taught me to trust my friends most and keep my enemies under my claw. I guess… you’ve ensured that well.”

Rafiki smiled, the notion behind it… illegible. Simba responded in kind, a practiced motion, “It brings me great pleasure to know I am once again in a King’s good books.” He chuckled, that aged, slightly insane laugh that characterised him.

Simba turned to look back across the Land. In truth, he couldn’t know who to trust, and whether to trust at all. Luck had found him in that Jungle, and blessed him with Timon and Pumba. Luck and coincidence brought Nala to him.

How long could luck last?

“You seem to be distraught, sire.” Rafiki began, absent-minded, “Won’t you confide in your Mjuzi? My wisdom may loosen up your shoulders.”

Simba’s posture stiffened further, almost like his shoulders had found a way to tuck themselves in even more.

“I’m good, thanks. Just… slightly nervous about my job is all.” Simba nervously chuckled, “I think we’ve got to recall the council to start reading out the verdicts, right?”

Rafiki, displeased, stood slowly, “As you wish, sire.”

The aged ape stumble away, grumbling under his breath. Simba’s eyes didn’t follow, instead peering into the distance. The savannah sun setting into the landscape, the sky bleeding that crimson red… Distrust brewed within Simba. He hadn’t been King for long, and yet every person that held even a semblance of power within the Kingdom wanted something from him.

Simba stood, his tail nervously shifting behind him. He snuck a glance back upon the savannah, spotting grazing antelope far out of sight. The semblance of normalcy from the memory of many years before… It felt abnormal. Almost like something was missing from the puzzle, and couldn’t be filled.

Simba shrugged, turning to face the cold cliff edge, “Dad’s not going to help you on this one, Simba. You have to carry this burden on your own this time…”

And no matter how hard it felt, he had to persevere.

After all, everyone depended on him now, right?

---

My eyes flicked open, my head spinning from the night before. The air was stale, stinging my eyes. A regiment of hyenas flanked the only entrance, spotlighting them menacingly. Somewhere in the dark, a cacophony of stirring bodies and agitated yowling could be heard. Chillingly, a lazy claw scraping against stone drowned it all out.

“Up,” a voice growled from the doorway, “do me a favour and don’t trip over your tails, sweethearts.”

I growled, swallowing my rage.

Banzai.

When the room stayed silent, letting the tension fester, Banzai scoffed in annoyance. “Since all of you ever-so-loyal twats seem to have never been taught respect, I suggest you move!”

The hyenas poured in to shake us down. Little resisted, only Zira, bless her wild soul, bit back. Her snarl was met with a shove, and Banzai leaned over her with a grin full of teeth.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping mockery. “Your lot’s already half-starved. Push me, and I’ll make sure the pups fight over marrow.”

Rage should have flared, but it didn’t. Not anymore. The spark died before it could catch. It didn’t feel fair anymore.

One time, Dad would tell tall tales of how three foolish hyenas helped him rise to power, all because he dangled a piece of meat in front of their eyes. Maybe once that was the case… not anymore.

The sunlight stung our backs, our eyes. It baked and boiled everything it touched. Herded out like Zebra, vultures lined the cliff edges, their wings lifting to catch the heat. A zebra stomped in the dust beside a antelope, both forced to watch like it was some kind of community theatre. Lions squinted in the glare; the hyenas didn’t even blink.

Contrary to the day before, however, no one weeped. No one bayed in grief. Silence reigned.

“Step lively,” Banzai said, shoving me forward. “We’re on Program.”

Brought in rows before the jury, I scanned the outcrop. Not just lions. Rafiki had made sure of that. There were warthogs, a rhino, even a jackal or two. A balance of predators and prey. Dressing up and parading around a lie like fairness.

I scoffed, coughing once to highlight the irony, “How serendipitous. Top class performance in Politics, just what I need…”

Then I saw her. She was standing near Simba, her fur a mess, tail still. Her eyes slid over me once, then away like I was nothing more than a dust mote in her sunlight. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d imagined the way her jaw tensed. I wanted to think it meant something. It didn’t.

“You are brought today to stand trial for your misdemeanours and treason of the Circle Crown,” Came the voice of the Mjuzi, staff striking the floor roughly, the ritualistic pendants letting out a soft jingle.

All prisoners gathered audibly rolled their eyes.

His voice was the same one I remembered from ceremonies, back when it carried blessings instead of sentences,“In the time of Mufasa, such crimes drew blood. In the time of Scar, they rotted the heart of the land.” He paused just long enough to let the crowd hum in agreement. “And now, under King Simba, they will not be repeated.”

 “Some of you will be permitted asylum under surveillance. Others… will be exhiled.”

Cheers rang out from the gathered crowd and jury. The prisoners looked to each other for comfort, but found only panic written upon each other’s faces.

In my bruised and battered body, I shook in undisclosed fear. My face, however, betrayed no emotion.

“Your actions were not only deeply treacherous, but also frankly mundane. Why spring to help a Lion so careless and self-absorbed? Why put down your life for-“

“Because my father wasn’t careless.” I cut him off, tossing him a stony eyed glare, “My father taught us resolve, commitment and perseverance when the water holes ran dry. We stood steadfast. Treachery came from within, and our ranks fell. We trusted far too much in mindless mongrels.”

The words came out sharper than I meant them to.
Banzai snorted, low and ugly. “Mindless mongrels, huh? Funny. You’ve got some bite after all. Shame you don’t have the teeth to back it up.” The other hyenas barked in chorus, tails flicking,

He turned, speaking loud enough for the crowd to hear. “See, this one here thinks he’s above us. Above me.” His claws drummed the stone in lazy rhythm. “But here’s the funny part, we’re the ones standing in the sun, and he’s the one waiting for scraps.”
The laughter rolled over me, thick and ugly.

Banzai leaned in just close enough for me to smell the meat on his breath. “What would Shenzi think of you now? She thought, foolishly, that maybe you’d turn out different. Not another Scar copy, not another cub who thinks the world owes him.”

He stepped back, putting on a face like his heart was breaking. “How wrong she was.”

“Silence!” Simba roared, twisting heads to face him. Etched upon his face was a look of deep annoyance, “I behold in my sight insubordinates and their allocated prisoners, and far too much noise within a courtroom I control.”

His mane eclipsed the sun, almost regal. Almost an echo of Mufasa, as I was once told. But the echo didn’t carry the same weight, it broke on the edges, like striking a crevice when sharpening claw.

“Eyes front,” a voice hissed from above me. She had made herself known, distant, elevated, as though the stone between us was more than a pedestal; Sarabi.

Mom.

Rafiki’s staff struck the floor once, sending a hollow thud crawling up the walls. “The reign of Taka, son of Ahadi… was founded on an unpardonable act. Regicide.”

The word hung in the air thick as distaste within the crowd.

I barked a short laugh before I could stop myself. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

Gasps scattered through the chamber. Rafiki turned his head just enough for me to see the white flash of his teeth in a not-smile. “It is the name given to the act of killing one’s sovereign. Your father murdered Mufasa. Therefore, his kingship was a lie.”

I shook my head. “A lie? That’s hilarious since you’ve founded this entire operation on lies. Who are you to claim a position passed down by familial ties, naturally, was gained from murder?” My voice was sharp, but it lacked heat.

From her perch, my mother’s gaze swept over me, a slow exhale that wasn’t quite disapproval. “You think truth is measured by blood? By relation?” she said, her tone pitched for me alone.

I met her eyes. “I think it’s measured in your own decisions. You devoted your life to a man you now claim murderer. Your dignity would never let you disgrace Mufasa. You want to say your claims to me were lies?”

Sarabi hesitated, so fleetingly only the beholder could see. Maybe guilt she felt?

Rafiki rapped the staff again, harder this time. “Order. This is not a debate of feelings. It is a declaration of fact. And fact shall be the foundation of this trial.”

“And so,” Rafiki continued, “a king who takes the crown through such means is no king at all. His word is empty. His treaties false. His heirs…” He let the pause sharpen. “…bear the mark of his theft.”

The hyenas’ snickering returned, rolling through the room like flies circling rot.

I felt my jaw clench. “Mark?” I said. “What mark? I didn’t—”

“Speak out of turn again,” Rafiki dismissed, without batting an eye, “and you will be silenced until judgment is passed.”

From the pedestal, my mother finally shifted forward, her shadow stretching toward me. “Don’t take the bait, Mwonaji.”

My ears flicked at the sound of my name, “So now you want to address me? Suddenly worthy of attention?” I muttered.

“Only to stop you from doing something you’ll regret.” Her voice was steady, but I caught the faintest tremor, the kind she’d have killed before letting anyone else hear.

Rafiki was circling now, slow, deliberate. “The ancestors saw the crime,” he said, tapping the staff against the floor each time the word crime came. “They did not bless it. And without their blessing, the land decays. Suffering reigns. The bones pile higher.”

“And as for you, Mwonaji, your birth was not officiated simply because it was illegitimate. It wasn’t meant to happen.”

I kept my eyes locked on my mother. “Tell me you don’t believe this.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Belief doesn’t matter. The Pride believes it. That’s enough.”

“Not for me.”

Her eyes lost focus, not at a loss, but in revelation. Her posture shifted inwards, stiffening. She hung her head.

Shame.

I stepped forward before they could stop me, the scrape of my claws on stone louder than the muttering crowd.
“You feel shame?” My voice cut sharper than I meant, though I didn’t rein it in. “Good. You should.”

Sarabi’s head lifted slowly, her eyes narrowing, but I pressed on.

“You… you didn’t question Scar for his involvement in Mufasa’s death. You didn’t demand truth; you didn’t drag the real killer before the Pride. You swallowed your grief because it was easier to call it fate than fight for justice. And now, you’re standing in alliance with the lion who drove him to die.”

Her jaw tightened. “I stood for the Pride -”

“No. You stood for your comfort.” I stepped closer, tail lashing. “You slept beside him. You bore his cub. You gave Scar…“ biting back tears, I accentuated my words, driving the blade deeper, “…my father, something no enemy ever could: your trust, your loyalty… your body. And you call me the shame?”

No roar from the crowd this time, just silence, heavy and bated.

Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but she kept her posture regal. “Watch yourself, Mwonaji.”

I tilted my head, a bitter smile curling. “I am watching. I’ve watched all my life. You were supposed to be my mother, but the moment it suited you, you made me a ghost in my own home. Not because of what I did, but because of who sired me. Because it was easier to erase me than admit you chose wrong.”

She didn’t speak. The die was cast.

Rafiki’s staff cracked against the floor. “Enough.”

But I kept my gaze locked on hers.
“That’s the truth you’re so proud of defending, Mother.”

“Get him out.” Her posture faltered, her voice tight and brittle, “I don’t want to see him.”

“Perhaps this is the result you desire to achieve, Mwonaji.” Rafiki leisurely begins, his smirk growing ever so large, “Break a few hearts on your way out, make a few enemies? You’re one hell of a spitting image!”

“I don’t believe there’s more to be said here, “Rafiki turned, guiding his eyes to the gathered jury, “Let’s hear our verdict, shall we?”

“Exile.”

---

They drove us out in slow, deliberate columns, the dust rising in waves beneath our paws. The sun bore down without mercy, each step carrying us further from the cool stone shadows of the den and into the raw glare of the borderlands. The air itself seemed to resent us, stinging and perforating through our skin.

On either side, Pride Landers gathered to watch. Not friends. Not kin. Spectators. Some eyes narrowed in open disgust, others flat with quiet satisfaction.

An antelope shifted his weight, ears pulled back, as though the sight of us alone soured the air. No one spoke, but the silence hissed louder than words.

Packed in that merciless glare, forced to look upon the eviscerated landscape ahead, my breath caught in my throat. The grit scratched my tongue, and for a moment the air shifted, grew heavier, sharper. My paws itched, my muscles tensed, as though I was back there, the looming shadow of my father’s disappointment burning into my spine.

The grit scratched my tongue, and for a moment the air shifted, grew heavier, sharper. My paws itched, my muscles tensed, as though I was back there, the looming shadow of my Father’s disappointment stinging my back. Even now, long after the courtroom’s echoes had faded, his voice found me in the swelter. At first it was distant, faint, just a whisper in the heat-haze.

“Stand up and fight, Mwonaji!” It called, thin like a blade, “My son will not bend to foreign vices. He will not be subject to oppression; he will BE the oppressor!”

 

The mirage cleared and the image sharpened. Youth stung my legs as I scrambled upright, dust shuddering underneath my paws. Blood thundered in my ears, drowning out the gasping breaths of Vitani. Claws unsheathed, she sprang at me once again, I feinted to the right to avoid her slash. Locking eyes, tasting the air; commitment.

 

Far away, cubs frolicked in the long grass near the waterhole. The landscape barren, the trees ashy, the grass withered… Home. Or… how it became.

 

“You will EARN your games,” A voice boomed, far above my head. I flinched, my back legs shaking.

 

Vitani steadied me, brushing her shoulder in support. But Father saw. Of course he saw.

"Weakness grows in closeness. I had it burned out of me, and I will carve it out of you."

His breath curled around my ears,  suffocating, sickly-sweet. Lacking warmth - only calculation.

"Love is a luxury you were never meant to know.”

His words chilled me to the bone.

 

“Love doesn’t win wars, Mwonaji.” He snarled, curling his lip.

 

“Remember that.”

 

The scene shifted, suddenly the grass was greener, lusher. Father was there… But he didn’t feel so distant. Water flowed crystal clear, the sun brushed lushly against my head. My mind was still tainted with youth, cradled within my mother’s arms.

 

Far away, groups of lionesses began their hunts, friends came and went… And her face… Her face hung over mine.

 

“You’ll grow up, safe and sound. Just like my little Simba. Always getting into trouble, always running off without your baths, being my little rabblerouser.” She bumped her nose with mine, my childish features brightened and I giggled, “Won’t you, my little one?”

 

And as I looked up, the grass withered, the landscape filled with carcasses, hyenas gaggled in groups, floating around like a plague.

 

The dust collected at my feet as I pawed the Earth, nuzzling the sand in the vain hope it would answer back. Screams echoed from within the cave, passing hyenas turned their heads and shrugged, careless.

 

“You bitch!” Father’s voice struck like thunder, “You promised me healthy, strong heirs, and what do I get?! A soft-bellied, little shitstain runt who can’t even stand up and FIGHT!”

 

He let out a sharp, hollow laugh, “Who, get this - ” He choked between mocking chuckles, “is beaten by… a girl?!”

 

“He’s a cub, for Kings’ sakes!” Mother’s voice rang back, breathless but burning, “He’s a bloody child, not your personal Guard! I know you’re drunk on power, but let him at least have a semblance of a childhood!”

 

“So you’re doubting my methods?” He chuckled, his voice laced with poison, “I thought you told me you’d support me, till death do us part?”

 

“I told you I’d stand by you so that the land could live on, and you’ve already turned it to shit. So who broke their promise first, huh?” She spat back, her voice ringing out as I attempted to stifle my tears.

 

“Your child cries at the mention of violence, your child withers at the mention of pain…” Scar scoffs, pacing now. I can hear the click of claws upon stone, unsheathing, one by one, “Instead of drawing blood and raising fear among the Pride Lands… he’s babied by his mother… so scared to let him go.”

 

Mother shook with fury, her voice cutting through the cave, “And you think screaming at him makes him stronger… I guess we’re not so different after all, huh?!”

 

This time… Silence reigned. Scar’s voice returned, lighter, void of effort. “No matter. I guess I’ll do it myself. What’s not a demonstrative example, hm?”

 

I heard it, thin, piercing through the silence. The sun lit the sky red, the orb descending as it glimmered crimson. Claws raked through flesh, a stifled scream ran out, then silence.

 

Dead like a graveyard.

 

And then, a red, matted muzzle poked out, strutting out with unbridled confidence. Shamelessness.

 

Scar emerged, ignoring the crumpled mess of dark brown that huddled at the cave’s orifice, ignoring the shivering, terror ridden cries of a weeping child.

 

Ignoring me.

 

And behind him… trudged out Sarabi. Defeated, broken, a fresh crimson mark upon her face. Stealing its former beauty.

 

And she almost softened when she saw me. Almost.

 

“You’ll never be him. You couldn’t even compare to my beautiful boy. I hope I never birthed you.”

 

And that… hurt more than it should have.

 

---

 

The savannah dusk brightened to day, and there I stood again, shackled to a troop of hyenas and escorts. I looked around, trying to gauge the mood. No more baying, no more catatonic faces, no more helplessness. Hate… hate brewed in it.

 

I didn’t know what to feel, however. I really didn’t. How could I tell?

 

My life was pointless. My father lay dead at my feet. My mother… had finally gotten her dearest wish. And that was what hurt the most. I loved her with my deepest heart, but she’d forgotten.

 

She’d forgotten me, her Son.

 

Laying down on my forepaws, my ribcage exploding from my raging heart. My breath felt heavy, my mind foggy.

 

I had spent my life picking through bones, dancing around like a peacock in front of my parents to grab even an ounce of attention, attempting to appease the insatiable. Trying to fill a sea with water when my own well was dry. And for what?

 

I looked up towards the sun, the heat burning my eyes. To young lions in need of guidance, their forefathers would appear.

 

And there I asked myself, “Would the Great Kings care for me if I ascended? Would anyone upon the Earth remember me? What if… I’m pushing on pointlessly?”

 

So… where did that leave me?

 

 

Chapter 2: Arc 1: Ch.2: My Personal Pipe Dream

Summary:

The Exhiled Outlanders Strike up arms and attempt petty theft, Sarabi tries to reason with her son, and Mwonaji... Mwonaji's moving on.

And on a flimsy foundation, a community is built.

The Outlands bore no resemblance; humidity hung in the still air, insects scuttled industriously through termite mounds, and the horizon lay wide and empty, save for brittle, skeletal trees and distant ridges of rock. It was cold. Unwelcoming.

Above a jagged plateau, Zira’s silhouette cut a rigid figure. Her voice, sharp and unforgiving, carried across the gathered ranks of exiled Pride Landers as if riding on the wind itself.

“Hear this, Outalnders!” she declared, eyes glowing with a fervor that matched the unrelenting sun. “Our exile is your call to vengeance. We will make the usurper answer with blood!”

The gathered crowd, starved and strained by clear hatred rippled with agreement.

Zira’s lips curled in a predatory smile as she pressed a clawed paw to her chest, “We will take back what should have never been theirs!”

Her declaration ignited cheers and exultations through the assembly, some responding with snarls of anticipation, others with silent, haunted resolve. Zira basked in the attention, the waning, afternoon sun eclipsing her extended, clawed paw. Among them stood Mwonaji, newly resigned, his mind drifting far from the supportive cries of the rebels around him.

In a single outcrop within the crowd was a similar scene. Vitani, resigned and defeated sat beside Zira in something reminiscent of a trance. Her eyes glided over the crowd, meeting the dejected, broken appearance of her childhood friend; Mwonaji.

Slipping through the crowd, Mwonaji only had to look up to see those piercing violet eyes, meeting his own in morbid curiosity.

“You’re sulking.” She began, flatly, “You always struck me as more of a leader. I guess you’ve missed your chance now.”

“Does she always shout like that?” Mwonaji asked under his breath, his ears twitching from the echoes.

Vitani, sat beside him with her tail curled neatly around her paws, didn’t glance his way. “You get used to it.”

“She sounds like she’s trying to scare the rocks into joining.”

That earned him a faint smirk, quickly hidden when Zira’s gaze swept the crowd. “Careful,” Vitani murmured. “Rocks can’t snitch. You can.”

Mwonaji huffed, eyes drifting back to the jagged plateau. Zira’s claws caught the sun like tiny blades. The way she stood, you’d think the Outlands had been carved for her alone.

“I take it she’s in charge of… everything?” he asked.

Vitani’s smirk returned, slower this time. “She likes to think so.”

“Does that mean she’s not?”

A pause. Her gaze stayed on Zira, voice even. “It means she doesn’t have to be right to be followed.”

“Mm-hm, I thought as much.” He turned to face her, catching her attention, “Doesn’t she remind you of him? Almost like she’s trying hard to be someone she’s not.”

Vitani let the thought stretch, before rolling her eyes, chuckling, “She’s an actress, Mwonaji. She won’t raise a paw for anyone if it meant losing something of her own. It’s easy to preach to a crowd who blindly believe, right?”

“I don’t. And I won’t.” Mwonaji’s voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “But standing here, watching them… it’s hard not to feel like we’re no different from the others.”

Vitani’s eyes drifted back to the crowd, like she was picking at a scab. “She sure knows how to talk,” Vitani said, voice flat. “Too bad words don’t fill stomachs.”

Mwonaji snorted, tail flicking.

“Guess some things never change,” Vitani added, eyes narrowing.

Vitani stretched slowly, tail curling with lazy precision. “This sun’s doing a number on us,” she said, voice low but sharp. She glanced at Mwonaji, a slight spark in her eyes.

“C’mon,” she added, nudging him towards an opening within the crowd.

He hesitated for a beat, then rose, brushing dust from his flank. “Lead the way.”

They slipped quietly through the throng, bodies weaving past howls and cheers, their steps muted against the cracked earth. Behind them, Zira’s proclamations faded into the distance.

---

The network of caves within the termite mounds seemed to stretch endless.
Mwonaji padded ahead, ears twitching at the hollow echo of their paws against the packed earth.

"You’re walking like you know where we’re going," Vitani said behind him, voice dry.

"I do."

"You don’t."

He glanced back at her. "You got a better idea?"

She gave a little shrug, eyes flicking to the walls. "No. Just… don’t pretend we’re not lost yet. I’d rather ease into it."

Mwonaji smirked faintly, but it didn’t last. "So. You’ve been quiet. Didn’t expect that from you."

Vitani’s tail brushed the ground as she followed him through a narrow gap. "Been thinking about… everything. My mother’s latest plan, for one."

"Another one?"

"Always another one," she said, her voice tinged with both irritation, "They’re all mad, but she makes them sound like destiny. You nod, you listen, you try not to point out the logic, like, ‘Mom, that’s great and all, but wouldn’t our circumstances just be, you know, a tad bit different?’”

Mwonaji chuckled, ducking low to avoid a stalactite, "You believe her?"

"Not like I used to." Vitani faltered, shifting her paws in agitation, "When I was little, everything she said felt right. She’d tell me we were chosen. That Scar was… more than a king. I remember thinking he could see everything, past, present, future. And when he looked at me, it meant I was worth something."

Mwonaji’s paws slowed. "And then?"

"And then they separated us." Her voice went hard, flat. "Said attachment would weaken us. Scar’s rule was simple: if you wanted anything for yourself, you didn’t get to share that success with anyone." She huffed softly. "No matter how hollow it sounded, Zira didn’t just believe it. She worshipped it. Worshipped it like the ground he walked on."

Mwonaji said nothing, letting her fill the air.

"She still does," Vitani went on, quieter now. "Even now, she tries to twist herself into what she thinks he’d want. She… succeeded, once." Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her tail flicked. "That’s Nuka. The secret she herself tries to ignore."

She chuckled wryly, drawing in a breath, “I mean, naming an unborn cub, ‘smelly’ already points out her feelings towards him.”

His ears twitched. "And you?"

She met his eyes briefly. "I don’t look like her. Not much like Scar or… any lion in the Pride. Sometimes I think- " She stopped, shook her head. "Doesn’t matter."

"Matters to me." Mwonaji’s gaze softened.

Vitani’s jaw tightened. "Look, it’s doubts and speculations, oK? Not worth the time yet..."

They walked on in silence for a while. The tunnel split, entering a raised room with vaulted ceilings. The air smelled stale, the light dimming.

"Hmm, won’t this satisfy mother? I partly came down here to search for a place to sleep, you know?" she asked.

He hesitated. "And you’re suggesting a place statistically more likely to be infested with termites? I don’t see how insect stings could possibly help in your training." He added on, snarkily.

Vitani feigned a laugh, glaring at Mwonaji.

"Aren’t you a comedian? Besides, it’s the best we’ve got now."

"See?" He stepped back, spreading his posture, “I’m always right.” He sang.

Mwonaji rocketed back as Vitani made a mock swipe at him, claws sheathed.

“You always struck me as slightly dim, Mwonaji.” She taunted, “Getting lessons directly from the source and still not knowing the basics of ensuring comfort for all of your subordinates…”

Mwonaji waved an absent finger, “At least I know comfort isn’t mutually inclusive with getting stung by termites.”

“Uh-huh, tell that to Zira…” Vitani audibly shuddered, “She’s probably searching for me now. If she finds you with me…”

“And so what?” Mwonaji stood, fired up, “If she wants to think I’m illegitimate to the throne, so be it. She can keep thinking like that all she wants for all I care.”

“Boys and their tempers…” Vitani chuckled, “And yet I can’t really disagree.”

Vitani bounded up, throwing her paw over her shoulder as a sign to follow, “Come on, we’ll miss the hunt where we inevitably steal from the Pride Lands.”

“Count me in.” Mwonaji sprang up, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“But you’re a –“

“Male lion?” Mwonaji drawled, letting the word flow of his tongue, “I think we’re in the same predicament, so who cares? A king who can’t provide is no King.”

---

“All gathered Outlanders! Due to scarcity of resources, I feel it is necessary to ensure survival not only for ourselves, but also for our young.”

“That is why, today we will be joined by a new member, my daughter, a valiant and selfless huntress who embodies all that a young leader should be.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd.

Vitani shifted to Zira, her voice low. “You didn’t tell me you were going to make it sound like I wrestled a lion twice my size for this.”

Zira’s gaze cut to her, sharp but amused. “Would you rather I said you’re quick with your teeth and quicker to doubt orders?”

Vitani’s ear twitched. “Just saying, a little warning would’ve been nice.”

“You’re here now. Stand tall.”

Vitani huffed, but obeyed, lifting her chin.

“And you’ll join the afternoon hunt,” Zira went on, still addressing the crowd. “The route will allow you to strike deep within the Pride Lands’ eastern border, with a diverging route. A route, divisive, but also… nostalgic.”

“Any reason for deviating?” Vitani asked, a single eye flicking to challenge her mother’s resolve.

Zira hummed, unamused, “Only if the herds are spooked toward the river.”

Zira got close to Vitani. She audibly swallowed, “I’m sure that won’t happen, won’t it?”

“Not at all.”

Zira clasped her hands, making a false grin, “Isn’t that swell? Go on, join the ranks.”

Vitani faltered, eyeing the gathered crowd of onlookers. Some were aged, some young, others… “I propose a breach of tradition, Mother.”

“Is that so? I’m all for suggestions, dear.”

Vitani shuffled in her spot, her breath hitching, “I propose Mwonaji join us. He could serve-“

“No.” Zira replied, flatly, “Males are wild canons, wild fuses. They get pacified with their politics while females benefit from the thrill of life.”

“What if it wasn’t that way.” Toxic green eyes shone in the waning afternoon sun, lit against the crowd. A challenge.

“You seem spirited, youngling.” Zira chuckled, entertaining it, “Tell me, what would your mother say if she, you know, spotted you chasing dead ends in the Pride Lands?”

Mwonaji hesitated, but his rust brown pelt emerged from the crowd, “That’s for me to judge. I’m sure you of all people value the idea of autonomy and beng able to choose who to trust? You trusted my Father of all people…”

The twisted smile on Zira’s face was gone, replaced with a stormy, agitated expression, “You don’t get to tarnish his name, whelp. You’re a security risk, you’ll defect and beg for mercy like a coward.”

Mwonaji chuckled, smiling evilly, “And what if I engineer a trap? I’m as deeply hurt by my mother’s ineptitude as you are by Scar’s death. Even if it’s a far cry to getting you to realise I am the only legitimate son of Scar, and therefore the eldest… it’s a step in the right direction.”

She tipped her head to the side, a claw idly tracing her chin as though weighing the thought, “Not as dim-witted as I thought… What remains of Scar in you perhaps isn’t worth underestimating.” She complemented.

Following a period of thought, Zira turned to match Mwonaji’s gaze.

“Very well. However…” Zira inched towards Mwonaji, “I am not to see you steal any of the kill. The kill belongs to the pride.”

Mwonaji snaked past her, his grin growing while not breaking eye contact, “Relax, oh great Zira, the hunting party is safe in my paws.”

Zira crinkled her nose in distaste, “Children…”

She turned her head to face the crowd, “A successful hunt I bless you with today! As those who did before you, as those who stand by you now, support each other. Your success brings fortune to us all.” A centuries old blessing… ironic.

As the hunting party conversed within their ranks to facilitate a tactic, Zira selected a member from the group, “Umaizi, I entrust you with a grave responsibility.”

Zira’s eyes shone in the setting son, painting them that crimson hue, “The life of my daughter rests on your shoulders. The loyalty of Mwonaji is for you to judge.”

“I won’t disappoint you. No matter how much we push against it, we’re Outsiders together.”

Zira smiled, “Don’t let your words be void upon your return.”

---

The air was still, save for the whisper of long grass bowing in the afternoon wind. The sun had barely crested the eastern ridges, basking the land in rich crimson.

The hunting party moved low and silent, bodies pressed close to the earth, the long stalk flattening their shoulders. The lead huntress took point, her amber eyes narrowed on a flickering shadow ahead, a young zebra, foolishly straying too far beyond the border.

The rest grazed several hundred paces off, strongly within the border, tails swishing, ears flicking at flies. But this one, still half-colt, lingered, head down, pawing idly at a patch of greener grass near a shallow gully.

“Wind’s with us,” hissed Mwonaji, his voice muffled by the grass stems. He crouched so low his ribs grazed the soil, eyes darting constantly.

The lead didn’t reply, only flicked her tail once, the signal to keep crawling.

Behind them, two more lionesses fanned out to the sides, creating a silent crescent around their prey. The long grass swayed with their movement, the mottled light from the waning sun facilitating natural camouflage.

Above, the air stirred differently, a faint shadow gliding across the grass.

Zazu had seen the young zebra too, circling high on patrol. At first, he thought nothing of it. Then his sharp eyes caught the ripple in the grass. His heart jumped. Outlanders.

He banked sharply, circling lower, his keen gaze tracking the tawny shapes threading through the grass. Four of them.  What in Kings’ name were they doing back here so soon?

On the ground, the hunters eased closer. The zebra shifted, tossing its head as if sensing something. The lead froze mid-step, her muscles locked, tail tip twitching almost imperceptibly. The ripple ceased as if it was merely the wind.

For a long heartbeat, nothing moved but the grass. Then the colt dropped its head again, tearing at the grass in mouthfuls.

The lead’s ears flicked - signal two.

The lioness to her left began inching forward, setting the flank. The others mirrored the movement. The half-circle tightened. The colt had nowhere to go but forward, cut off from the herd and facing the narrow canyon jutting out a few marks away.

Zazu hovered above them now, circling tighter. What to do? Dive down and scream a warning? But doing so would spook the zebra too soon… Risk being killed as a distraction? No… Better to mark the exact spot and make for Pride Rock,  if he left now, he could reach the afternoon patrol party before the hunters dragged the kill across the border.

But below, the trap was closing faster than he’d expected.

Vitani could feel the blood heat in her veins, her hind legs coiling with the slow gathering of force. She could see the whites of the colt’s eye now, smell the hot breath billowing from its nostrils. It knew something was awry… just not exactly what.

She smiled evilly. This would be so good.

Signal three; a twitch of the lead’s ear. And all hell broke loose.

The hunters surged forward, the grass parting in a violent wave. The colt jerked its head up, ears flat, eyes wild… too late. The other lionesses surged in from the sides, driving it toward the charge of the lead.

Vitani spotted Mwonaji among them, claws unshathed, his eyes focused. She cocked her head to the side… How uncharacteristic for a male. Not rushing in with a foolish war cry.

Her cheeks flushed. Interesting.

The zebra bolted, hooves churning clods of earth into the air, a shrill bray tearing from its throat. It swerved towards the edge, but the flank was already there, forepaws striking for both shoulders. The impact overturned the colt, meeting the ground hard. It resisted as claws grasped at its chest.

Vitani bit at the throat, but the colt kicked hard, catching her in the ribs. She snarled and clung on, teeth snapping down expertly upon its jugular.

The copper scent of blood filled the air with its intoxicating aroma, the colt’s eyes bugging out as its airway was crushed under unprecedented force. The zebra’s cries turned to wet, choking gasps, then silence.

Vitani lifted her head, sides heaving, her muzzle darkened. Around her, the lionesses panted, tails lashing with the thrill of the kill. The colt lay lifeless before them.

Vitani licked her lips, tasting the sweet metallic nectar, “Hope your momma don’t miss you too much. Expendable and filling you are kid…”

Above, Zazu could see enough, he wheeled away sharply, heart pounding. If they had crossed this far in, the Pride Lands’ border had already been breached. He beat his wings hard, angling toward Pride Rock, the wind whistling past his ears.

The plains unrolled beneath him in a blur, the shallow streams, the occasional clusters of acacia trees. He could already see the glint of Pride Rock in the distance, jutting like a great stone prow into the morning light.

---

The sun had shifted high overhead, heavier light that gilded the ridges of Pride Rock in molten warmth. The wind had stilled since dawn, leaving the air thick and humid. Down in the den, Simba padded in slow, deliberate strides, the tip of his tail twitching in the way it did when his mind was too restless for his body to keep up.

Nala sat near the den entrance, her turquoise eyes watching him with quiet calculation. She knew the pacing wasn’t just nerves…

“You’re thinking of making the border rounds now,” she stated, identifying the point of weakness with expert precision.

Simba stopped mid-stride, glancing toward her with a half-smile, “Better now than later. If the Outlanders are going to test the boundaries, I’d rather see it for myself.”

Nala shook her head slightly, still calm. “The morning trial was only hours ago. They’re angry, but they’re not stupid. Right now, you leaving the safety of the Pride, mind you, alone.” She raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t this exactly the kind of opportunity they’d wait for? You’re practically granting them a gift.”

He exhaled sharply, glancing toward the afternoon horizon where the air shimmered faintly. “And if they’re already moving?”

“You sent Sarabi’s party to hunt for dinner,” Nala stated frankly, “She took her most trusted personnel. Place some trust in them, they’ll see and report everything awry.”

Simba didn’t answer right away, and his mind wandered. This morning’s trial still clung to him like burrs on a mane: the stares, the quiet murmurs, the verdict that had driven a wedge clean through the Pride. He could still see Mwonaji’s face among them, carved into something hard, guarded, and vengeful. It was disconcertingly unlike what was expected off a cub. But then again, he’d fought him the night before…

Nala rose and stepped toward him, her tone softening. “If you go out there now, and something happens… the Outlanders will read it as a provocation.” She sighed sharply, her eyes meeting his own hung ones, “Think of your mother, she just got you back… Think of me.”

Nala placed a reassuring paw on her mate’s shoulder. Simba hesitated under it, the weight it exerted strangely unfamiliar.

“Nala, I’m aware of the risks… but we don’t have a Guard like the Ancestors before us. Think logically, if we risk creating a Guard, we risk them helping… them.” He spat, “Everything hinges on loyalty. I believed my uncle because I couldn’t possibly fathom it betrayal could come from within.”

“On a flimsy bridge of spies, how can we possible trust someone to not break down its supports? One thing breaks, and we all tumble into the void.”

Nala hesitated, looking past him as her mind wondered into thought. Before she could answer, the sky above cracked with a sharp, urgent voice, “Your Majestyyyy!”

Zazu came barreling in, wings beating harder than they had in weeks, his shadow flickering wildly over the rock. He landed in a scramble, sides heaving, eyes wide.

Simba’s ears pricked. “Zazu? What is it?”

The hornbill’s mind was still tumbling over itself, grass, dust, stripes, claws, this is bad, this is very, very bad, and he blurted before catching breath, “Outlanders, sire! At the Eastern border, near the canyon! They’ve breached the border, and they’re hunting in our lands!”

Nala stiffened beside Simba, but the king stepped forward, his voice tightening. “How many?”

“Half a dozen at least, maybe more, hidden in the grass.” Zazu’s eyes darted around, his heart beating wildly, “They’ve already slaughtered a Zebra calf, the poor thing got separated from his herd… I only spotted them because they flushed a guinea fowl right under me!” Zazu was trembling, “Worst of all, it’s planned! They know exactly what they’re doing!”

Simba’s gaze soured, blood no longer ringing in his ears as remembered the days crawling in the desert in his exile. He turned to Nala, his voice quieter now, almost too leveraged. “Stay here. Keep everyone calm until I return.”

Her brow furrowed. “Simba -”

“Please, Nala.” There was no softness in that plea, “If I’m wrong, and it’s nothing, I’ll be back before sundown. But if I’m right…”He let it hang in the air, an unsure, terrified glint in his eye betraying his doubts.

Nala held his gaze for a moment longer before stepping aside. He passed her without looking back, too afraid to meet her gaze.

---

In the central plains, shapes shifted within the tall grass as the sunlight filtered through, highlighting their forms. Sarabi led from the front, breathing leveraged, every step placed with the memory of decades of hunts. Her most trusted ally, mother to the girl who brought back her son, shadowed her. Sarafina controlled those who lagged behind, fanning out in an uneven crescent.

They had been tracking a small group of impala earlier on.  The wind shifted, however, and the scent of zebra drifted through, faint, but fresh enough to change course.

Sarabi’s mind kept half an ear on the rustle of her huntresses and half on the air itself. Her storm of feelings and regrets was drowned out by the steady, familiar motion of the hunt.

Movement.

But contrary to the uneven, random movement of a herd… Calculated glides of predators. Her eyes narrowed.

She slowed, tail flicking a silent signal, and the hunting crescent drew in. Through the grass, shadows shifted, striped not like zebra but with the harsh mottling of dust-coated pelts. Outlanders.

Sarafina’s ears angled forward, reading the same scene in a heartbeat. “They’re inside the border,” she murmured, barely more than breath.

One of the younger huntresses hissed under her breath, “They’re trespassing, should we engage?”

“Hope your momma don’t miss you too much. Expendable and filling you are kid…” carried on the wind, in a coarse female voice.

Vitani? She defected too?

Sarabi broke positioning, shifting through the grass to much surprise from her hunting party.

The grass stilled after the chase, save for the calf’s frantic bleating.

Mwonaji stepped back, scanning his surroundings. What he saw froze him in his tracks.

Sarabi padded forward, head high, gaining the mottled Outlanders’ attention.

“Drop it,” she called simply, voice sharp but steady.

Vitani’s piercing violet eyes slid to her lazily. “Why? It’s already ours.”

“You crossed the border,” Sarabi pressed.

“Borders shift with the wind,” Mwonaji called from the gathered crowd, tail curling idly. Umaizi moved to shadow him, letting out a low growl.

Sarabi’s calm, measured voice carried from the edge of the huntresses’ line. “Mwonaji.”

The newly officiated outlander didn’t turn, “Sarabi.”

“You came far from your den.”

“We came where the prey runs,” Mwonaji countered.

“And you remember the terms we set?” Sarabi’s eyes were steady, unreadable.

Mwonaji smirked faintly. “Of course.”

“And the only acceptable reasons for crossing into the Pride Lands?”

A beat of silence. “When the herds leave nothing on our side.”

“And what to do when that happens?” Sarabi continued, her soft tone like a mother’s guidance.

“Ask.”

Sarabi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. So why didn’t you?”

The two lions held each other’s eyes, tension hanging heavier than the dust between them.

“Because,” Mwonaji said at last, “asking gets you scraps. Taking gets you fed.”

Sarabi faltered, taken aback, “Theft isn’t power, Mwonaji, who taught you this?”

Mwonaji chuckled, shifting finally to meet her gaze, “You did. You and father’s actions did.” He tapped a claw to his chin, feigning thought “Say, can’t you remind me again, why do rules matter when hunger drives your actions?”

Sarabi’s gaze didn’t waver, though a faint tremor ran through her whiskers. “Because,” she said slowly, “rules are what keep us from losing ourselves. Even when others- ” her eyes narrowed slightly toward Vitani and the rest, “ - refuse to see it.”

Mwonaji’s smirk deepened, but there was a pause, a flicker of something almost like doubt. “And if I refuse to listen?”

Sarabi exhaled softly, “Then someone has to answer for it. You must decide which lesson matters more: survival or loyalty.”

Mwonaji’s eyes drifted to the lifeless calf, claws kneading the earth. “Survival,” he muttered.

“Even at the cost of your own kin?”

He flicked his head, eyes challenging. “Even then.”

Sarabi shifted closer, keeping her posture calm, measured. She couldn’t let that comment waver her, “Mwonaji, are you ready to state your reasons? For this hunt, for this crossing?”

“I don’t recognise that this land belongs to a Usurper. And by default, since posthumously the lineage falls to me, I claim it.” Mwonaji answered, smugly.

Sarabi’s featured darkened, “Then hear this clearly: you are not beyond reckoning. Taking a life and claiming it for yourself not only contradicts the Circle, it contradicts all that I stand for.” She narrowed her eyes in disdain, “Being my son does not allow you to wipe your feet on my Land’s doctrine.”

Mwonaji tilted his head slightly, a sly edge to his expression. “And yet here you are,” he said, gesturing to the long shadows of Sarafina and the rest of her huntresses fanning out behind her, “facing me instead of them. Aren’t they all equally guilty? Where’s your sence of equity mother, isn’t everyone equally responsible for an action by association?” He chuckled under his breath, “’Cos that’s the verdict you and your golden son gave me when you exiled me to this shithole, wasn’t it?”

Sarabi’s eyes softened, she hesitated. “I’m… I’m sorry. I know I sound like a hypocrite… I admit it was my mistake. I never want to lose you, the words you said – “

Mwonaji rolled his eyes, cutting her off, “Oh save it. You got your REAL son back, why worry about the person you’d rather throw in a ditch than see succeed?”

“I chose to keep the peace,” Sarabi attempted to justify “If you return now, I can speak on your behalf -”

Mwonaji’s gaze flickered, his expression empty of any doubt, angling toward the waiting shapes of his allies in the grass. “I’ve chosen my path,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “And there’s no point in looking back.”

“You’ve already chosen your side. You chose it the moment you let him brand us Outlanders.” Mwonaji lingered, turning to meet his mother’s pleading eyes.

A beat.

“You’ve not changed at all.”

He turned away, angling back toward the beacon of the moving stripes of the young zebra, his allies melting into the grass with him.

“Then so be it,” Sarabi murmured under her breath, watching him disappear into the underbush, the steel edge coming back tenfold, “But remember, Mwonaji… some lessons are learned too late.”

Sarabi’s eyes followed her son. She swallowed her tears, and turned to her hunting party in defeat. Meeting Sarafina’s gaze, she shook her head once.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

To all those who've read, cheers!

Chapter 2 is a more personal and intricate approach to sharpening out the characters' personalities, and eases you guys into the world I have created. Writing a teenager was quite difficult, but doing some reading on Lion prides and all sorts gave me a rough outline of how I want him to be written. And this chapter gives a break from tragedy in Chapter 1, so enjoy!

(To my readers, leave some support and some comments, I'm so glad to have you guys!)

Chapter 3: Arc 1. Ch.3: An Ode to Foreign Vices

Summary:

(Inspired Partially by a mixture of Balu Brigada's 'What did we ever really know?' and Battle Tapes' 'Valley People')

And she wondered why it ever came to this, as sparks flew in the night as a consequence of covering her tracks with tired lenses...

All at the expense of her song and dance.

Burning so hot... Break her heart so slow.

The den was warm with the mingled scents of fur and stone, the air carrying the faint trace of the day’s heat. The sky bled a deep crimson, mingling with violet as the sun was eclipsed by the moon, beginning night.

Sarabi lay near the back wall, supported by a lone stone stalagmite, her gaze resting quietly on the pride. The afternoon had appeared as if in a dream; her hunting party had dragged in the kill, an aged antelope that had submitted to death’s embrace after a life well lived. However, Sarabi walked detached from her group, as if in a trance.

“You’ve not changed at all.”

Maybe she felt he’d put his arms up and crawl to her in surrender, hurt but willing to forgive. Maybe she’d hoped he’d yell for her to take him home.

But what could be quantified as ‘home’ for her son? Scar had taken any remnant of warmth that lay in Pride Rock’s caverns and she…

She averted her gaze, ushering the memory away. She wasn’t responsible. She couldn’t be. It was all his fault.

They ate in steady silence, the soft rasp of tongues over bone and the muted crack of sinew carrying through the space. `She tried to distance herself from her thoughts, focusing on the sensory cues around her; the rhythm of the Pride’s movements, the way shoulders shifted and tails flicked. It all seemed faint, out of reach.

She felt claustrophobic by their voices and free inside her head.

Her and him, after all, were dancing in the same dream.

She closed her eyes shutting out the light. The landscape opened up to the shimmer of sunlight on rock, the sound of paws treading over dry earth.

“Are you ready?”

Simba’s voice had been bright that morning, his youthful eyes a distant memory of his father’s. She could almost smell the crisp dawn air, the faint sweetness of new grass as they stood together at the edge of Pride Rock. Before it all went wrong.

They’d spoken of routes and disputes, of zebra and springbok, of what to say and how to stand. He’d feigned king, she played a loyal subject. Her son would know well how to lead. She had seen his smile, brief but real.

It could have been a good day.

The scene shifted, night fell over the Pride Lands as Pride Rock loomed in the distance. Shadows danced within the jagged stones, marring the beauty of the place as it once was. Settled on a protruding, smoothed pedestal, sat Scar, his wicked eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Mufasa’s death was a…” he sighed, open mouthed, expressing false sympathy, “Tragedy.”

“But to lose Simba, who had barely begun to live…” he continued, sucking air through his teeth.

A beat.

“For me it is a deep, personal loss.” He finished, bowing his head. His mane billowed in the wind, the sky darkened.

“So it is with a heavy heart that I assume the throne.”

Lies. Why didn’t she do anything? Why’d she hang her head and inquire about how he died? How had her son died?

“Yet out of the ashes of this tragedy we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era.”

Hyenas appeared along the ledges, their faces thrown into stark relief by moonlight, wide grins, glinting teeth. They slithered down in clusters, filling the air with their stench, flooding the rock like a tide.

Mouth agape, she watched. Even through the ache in her throat, she stood idle.

The moon’s crescent curved above the peak of Pride Rock. Scar ascended toward it like it had been carved for him alone.

Her thoughts pulled away, retreating somewhere warm.

“You’ll grow up, safe and sound. Just like my little Simba.” She could almost feel the weight of a cub between her paws, “Always getting into trouble, always running off without your baths, being my little rabblerouser.” You’ve replaced him Sarabi. Stop with these lies.

 

“Won’t you, my little one?”

 

“Stop talking”, shadows whispered within the walls, “You’ll throw him out like you forgot about Simba. You’ll forget about him like you did Mufasa.”

 

I’ll fail him again?

 

“You think he’ll listen to you?” Get out of my head. “You’ve already lost him.”

I didn’t lose him, Scar. Her jaw clenched. I revived him. I revived his memory. I won’t let go of him.

The warmth of that morning dimmed, colours leeched into grey, monochrome. Scar had taken so much from her; Mufasa, the pride’s trust…

Her jaw tightened. She could still picture Mwonaji’s ears flicking back as he asked if he belonged here, as if his worth could be decided by anyone but himself. She’d whispered lies into his ears until he watched on without the knowledge that she loved him.

“You’ll never be him. You couldn’t even compare to my beautiful boy. I hope I never birthed you.”

Hope filtered out like sand through her claws. She could see his horrid face in everything she touched. Mwonaji was Scar incarnate.

No, he wasn’t, he’s a child.

Stop these lies, Sarabi.

Her chest tightened, her breath quickened.

What have I done?

She forced her gaze to the floor, steadying her breath, holding the thought like a shield: It was all his fault.

It was always his fault.

The den’s low murmurs returned; she felt eyes drilling into her skull in concern. Salty, wet liquid matted her cheeks, her eyes a puffy red.

Whose fault was it really, Sarabi? Who broke Mwonaji’s trust?

Clarity washed through her like the first breath after rain. The answer was simple.

It was you.

---

The Outlands wind hissed across the sandy outcrop, carrying with it the dry rattle of brittle grass. I lay sprawled on my side, chin in my paws. My mind drifted across the hazy line that marked the border to the Pride Lands, shimmering like a mirage.

The heat was already leeching away into the evening, the crescent of the moon appearing far beyond the horizon. Termites crawled deep within my fur, infesting everything they touched. Bold; their tiny jaws catching on the skin. But I  didn’t bother swatting them away.

For I felt nought. Her eyes resting upon the kill, aghast. I’d… gone and ruined her image of me, anything good of me, with just one phrase.

The metallic tang of blood still clung to my muzzle. I’d forgotten it was there, crusting into my whiskers. I didn’t want to remember the savage tearing, the snarling, the hunger, diving on to the kill like vultures on carion…

The image rose unbidden, claws in the dirt, raking across each other’s faces, eyes burning. I’d fought harder than I knew I should, shoving and biting to hold a claim I had no ownership of.

The way the carcass shuddered under my jaws, the warm, coppery tang flooding my nose, the subtle snap of tendon beneath my teeth, and the slick, almost sweet slide of blood across the tongue… I’d devoured it like it was the only thing that proved I even existed. Like an animal.

Her pale face would permeate deep within my head, reminding me, “You must decide which lesson matters more: survival or loyalty.”

Loyalty and pacifism… Mutually exclusive. Under loyalty and blind faith you’re a tool… A pacifist is by choice.

And as I saw the moon cast its silver glow over the land, I thought, “What made her link the two together?”

What did she ever really know?

I tried to picture the Pride Lands beyond the border, gold grass in the sunlight, mom’s familiar silhouette somewhere among the pride.

She would appear, and I would turn away. Love was a tool meant to deceive. Love provided no safety, attachment no warmth… so why did it feel so empty?

What did I ever really know?

I wondered if she’d thought of me, if she felt that I was safe. She might have guessed I’d feel shame, that I’d wipe the blood from my face before anyone could see.

“I seem to find you in the wildest places, ‘naji.”

Vitani. I scuffled to wipe the blood of my face, growling as nothing stained the floor. My tongue dragged across my lips in a futile attempt to clean the crimson smear. But the taste remained, coppery and raw.

Then a tap upon my shoulder. Vitani sat just behind me on the sandy outcrop, her gaze steady, unflinching. “You’ve been gone a long time,” she said, her voice quiet, probing. “What are you thinking about out here all alone?”

I stared at the border, the invisible line that separated the Pride Lands from the Outlands, and let the wind whip the sand across my fur. The termites were restless, crawling through every patch of stray fur, the messy, tangled excuse for a mane. It was a reminder of my own vulnerability.

“What was she to make of it?” I muttered, my voice low. “What would it mean to her that I’m here? That I didn’t defect, but held on to my resolve. Would she be proud of me?” My eyes wildly searched her features, an embarrassed grimace flashing across my face, “That I… chose this?”

Father’s face flashed across the back of my mind, his satisfied grin stretching across his muzzle as a sign of success.  I shivered instinctively.

Vitani’s ears flicked back, cautious, “You think too much,” she said gently, a tinge of concern bleeding through, “You’re letting it eat at you. You’re better than that.”

I shook my head, “Better? Is that what they call it when I can’t seem to satisfy a single soul?” I pressed my muzzle to the sand, tasting something salty at the back of my throat as my chest heaved, “I can’t keep dancing on eggshells like this… Besides, she doesn’t see me here. She can’t. And even if she did… would she care?”

Vitani padded closer, nudging my shoulder with hers. “You don’t have to answer that alone,” she said. “I’m here. Always.”

Mwonaji was stunned, eyeing her in surprise, “You… mean that?”

Vitani’s gaze softened. “I… don’t know,” she admitted. “I think what matters most is finding ways to confide in one another. We’ve both ended up with stone battlements as parents so… why not seek it in one another?”

I let out a harsh, humourless laugh, “We’re here because of Scar, and Scar wouldn’t approve…”

She nudged my shoulder once more, a mischievous smirk on her lips, “Why would the old geezer care, though?”

I turned away, shuffling to the side, “Don’t.”

Vitani reached out a paw, but shook her head, “You can cling to the memory you have of him and her, Mwonaji.” She stated, simply, gazing into the horizon, “It won’t change the reality of who these people are, or were.”

I eyed her, hurt, “You don’t get a say in that. But… I’ll survive here. I’ll carve it out, forget about them, embrace what Zira has planned for us. And maybe one day, she won’t matter as much.”

“Don’t wish for something you’ll regret asking for. I wanted Zira gone too once.” She exhaled slowly through her nose, claws flexing against the dirt. Her voice thinned, almost bitter, before steadying again. “She tore everything good from my childhood.”

Vitani shook her head, exhaling through her teeth, “Despite all of that, without her… I would be dead long ago.”

“Then you can understand me.”

Vitani inhaled to say something. Instead, she sighed, dropping her head.

“I should head to the den.” Mwonaji rose to go, shaking off his doubts, “Thanks for this, Vitani.”

Vitani lingered, resting her head upon her paws. The crescent hung high, taunting all the land’s inhabitants with its immortal gaze. The circle of life would flow on, the trees would wither and rot, the carion picked clean by scavengers. And life would begin anew. Like it always did.

And it would watch on, forever.

---

“This is bullshit!” Simba’s voice rang out from within the den, startling Zazu as he perched far above.

Rafiki sat within, the pale moonlight illuminating the Shaman monkey’s features. His eyes rested upon Simba, unconcealed disappointment written on his face.

“First of all, such language is below that of a royal lineage.” Rafiki said, voice unhurried, each word clipped clean, “Second of all… it appears you are trying to find someone, anyone, to blame for the failure to secure and eliminate the intruders.”

Simba spun on him, teeth bared in frustration, “And what gives you the right to reprimand me? Your guidance in freeing me from guilt in the oasis, that I can get behind. But questioning my leadership? Already?”

Rafiki’s fingers tapped hurriedly upon his staff. He sighed, tapping the butt of the staff upon the stone, its hollow ring echoing through the den, “You are forging into this too headstrong. Instead of testing water with your toes, you’re plunging your whole leg in, Simba.”

Simba shook his head, lip curling, “And what would you do, hm? What do I tell the herds who lost a -” Simba seethed, his voice cracking into a low snarl, “- fucking child.”

Rafiki’s expression didn’t change. His tone was flat, almost bored. “I would tell them the truth. And then I’d go forth with reparations.”

Simba’s pacing slowed. His claws scraped faint lines into the rock as he came to stand at the den’s entrance, staring out toward the darkened savannah. His voice almost sobered, the anger billowing out, “Scar’s already ravaged my homeland enough. What would they think of my ineptitude? I don’t do politics, let alone ensure wellbeing for an entire cast of creatures…” He turned to Rafiki, his eyes a wild shade of unease, “How did Dad do it?”

Rafiki chuckled, a smile forming at the seams of his aged cheekbones. However, it lacked warmth. “I led most of the decisions; your father was merely the face behind it. I’m sure you can remember your lessons? Trust the Crown.”

They stepped out into the open air, the night breeze carrying with it the dry scents of the grasslands. Simba slid against the cold walls of Pride Rock’s exterior. The weight it exerted was deeply physical, pressing into his spine, coiling at the base of his skull.

Rafiki stood beside him, regal as ever, the grin sliding across his face like a serpent across the plains.

What was he to make of patience? Of diplomacy? What would peace even look like here?

"I… don’t know," Simba admitted, jaw tightening. "I don’t know if I can reach them, Rafiki. They’re so far gone, even when they’re standing right in front of me." His tail lashed against the stone as if to shake the thought away.

Rafiki tilted his head, the wood of his staff clicking softly as it shifted in his palm, the ornaments upon it tinkling in the wind. "You can’t reach through a wall, Simba. It’s solid on both sides, you’ll only hear your echo.”

Simba, the king who had roared atop Pride Rock only days ago, now felt like an imposter. What the hell had he signed up for?

The moonlight silvered the edges of both of their forms. Simba hung his head in panic, Rafiki held it high with unconcealed satisfaction, “You wear the crown, Simba. Its weight is only measured by how well you enact your resolve.” His voice was stuck in a superposition, soft and harsh, simultaneous.

Simba’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?” His gaze raked across the plains, restless. “One day on the throne, and I hear whispers behind my back. One day on the throne, and the part of the Pride I fractured threatens my Pride’s security. What next?”

Simba shifted his gaze, catching a pair of vultures circling carrion, far away, “Scar at least had the fear to keep them quiet. Me? I’ve given them hope… and they’re already losing faith.”

“Hope,” Rafiki murmured, his staff clicking lightly against the stone as he shifted his weight. “Hope’s fickle and fragile. It’s temporary, it comes and goes.” He glanced sidelong at Simba, “You know what reigns steadfast? Power and influence. Do not mistake the crown for control. Your father knew this.”

“Scar’s failure was in his lust for control. Control is a superficial concept, you’re attempting to coerce too many random variables, Simba.”

Simba turned to face him fully now, his mane stirred by the wind. “And what is it you want from me, Rafiki? Another Mufasa, another Ahadi?” Simba chuckled wryly, throwing his eyes to the clouds in defeat, “You don’t want common sense in your courts, don’t you? That’s why you hate Scar’s rule…”

Rafiki grimaced slightly, tilting his head to face away, thinking of a response.

The old mandrill sighed, the grin disappearing, “I want you to last. That is all.”

The words sank into Simba like cold water. A hyena’s lonely cackle drifted across the wind, a remnant of his uncle finding ways to worm its way into his head.

“You think I won’t,” Simba said finally, taking a step back.

"No," Rafiki said simply, tapping his staff against the floor, "but I can walk beside you while you make a fool of yourself."

The corner of Simba’s mouth almost twitched into a smile, assuming it was a joke. He glanced toward the den’s entrance, where the moonlight poured across the stone. The silence between them thickened, almost tactile.

"You must organise an army," Rafiki said at last. His voice was steady, measured. "Commission weapons. Instruct your predators."

Simba’s eyes flicked toward him sharply, but the shaman didn’t waver.

"A war is coming," Rafiki went on, his gaze fixed on the far horizon. "It might be Zira, with her little circus of the depraved. Or it might be your replacement, striking with an army of his own."

Simba’s gaze tightened. It was clear who the subject was: Mwonaji.

He stepped toward the edge, where the world fell away into shadow, the crescent moon hanging over the plains exactly as it had on the night Scar had claimed the throne.

Simba swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"

Rafiki’s grin curled again, thin as a scar. "Then you will have learned what all kings learn, sooner or later.” He grabbed Simba’s jaw, holding it at eye level, “The Crown was never yours. You only borrow it from the land."

Simba stayed at the cliff’s edge, watching the shadows lengthen. Rafiki’s staff clicked rhythmically against the stone as he walked back into the den, leaving the young king alone.

The night was still. The crescent cradled the tip of Pride Rock as if providing support to the immaterial. Simba looked towards the night, but no clouds formed.

Could he see Dad from here?

---

Vitani’s paw shot forward, hooking Mwonaji’s leg before he could counter. He hit the ground with a grunt, a sheathed paw pressing firmly at his throat.

“Dead again,” she teased.

They had been sparring in the outer clearing for the better part of the evening, the moon angling just high enough to draw thin shimmers of heat from the sand. The wind carried the faint smell of baked grass and dry thorn, a nostalgic smell when days weren’t so bleak. I shifted my weight and shook my shoulders, trying to banish the ache that came from repeated falls. I’d lost count of how many times she’d pinned me, five? Maybe six? Each failure tended to burn less with humiliation and more with a growing resolve. I had to beat her once, right?

I huffed and feinted away, shaking the dust from my pelt. “One of these days, you’ll slip.”

“You wish.” She flicked her tail, pride filling her from the ground up. “You’re getting better, though. Keep at it.”

She cocked her head, her eyes brightening with an idea.

“You fight like you’re hunting a gazelle,” Vitani observed, circling him with a lazy gait. “Quick bursts, but you leave your side open.”

“I’m not a soldier,” I countered, raising an eyebrow, “No matter how much Dad tried to seed that idea in my mind, I can’t kill one of my own.”

“Not yet.” Her eyes a shade of sapphire, lit by the moonlight in shades of molten silver as they narrowed, “But necessity will call for it one day. You’ve got the reflexes, you’re quick on your feet…”

She wavered, tapping the ground in thought, “… it’s just your head that’s too polite.”

“Polite?” I snorted.

“You still think in terms of rules. Honourable strikes. Fair footing. That’s not how real fights work. You’ve got to throw yourself into it like there’s no tomorrow.” She nodded her head, satisfied with her answer.

I regarded her for a long moment, ears twitching. I straightened up, and backed up a few paces. My chest rose and fell, keeping in a flood of emotions rather than heaving from exhaustion.

“You talk about fighting like it’s the only way to live,” I said quietly, my fur bristling in the chilling wind, “But I remember when things weren’t always like this.”

Vitani paused, one ear turning toward him, but she didn’t interrupt.

“My father, Scar…” I began, my voice steady. “Most remember him for how he came to power… and for what came after. But before everything fell apart, he did something different.”

Vitani raised an eyebrow, curious.

“He tried to break down the Circle Crown’s old order. The hierarchy wasn’t just about who was born first anymore. It didn’t select by strength or by species.”

My eyes brightened with a childish glint, the golden days resurfacing once more.

“He gave more creatures a voice, to ones no one listened to before. I wished you’d seen him, ‘tani, I remember just how much respect I had for him back then.” I settled down upon my hindquarters, looking up towards the bleak, dark sky.

“I wish you’d been there for the little piece of paradise we had before it all went dry.”

 Vitani shook her head, incredulous, “Scar, the reformer? I… remember his troupe of hyenas enacting fear upon the crowd, and the land a hazy yellow. I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“That’s because you weren’t there. And I… regret that. You only saw Scar when he went mad.” My gaze drifted somewhere far past her shoulder, “I was still young, but I remember the meetings. Not the details, just the shape of things. My dad once sat upon that pedestal in the throne room, he called forward the hunters, the scouts, even the old jackals who could barely stand.” I turned away, feeling the quiver of the bottom lip.

That’s where that usurper sits now. All glorious and mighty.

Steeling myself, I continued, “He asked them where they wanted the boundaries drawn, how to share waterholes without constant fights. For a while, people grew to see him as capable. A forward-seer, an oracle that could look into the future and welcome change that benefitted us all.”

I chuckled, the hollow sound rattling within my throat, “That’s what he named me. ‘Seer.’”

Vitani’s tail swished once. “And then?”

“And then… he couldn’t hold it.” Suddenly, the sky seemed bleaker. I felt claustrophobic, the wind sending shivers down my spine, “The hyenas were always there. Always watching. They’d got him up there, after all.”

I chuckled wryly, sighing inwardly, “But their loyalty came at a cost. He couldn’t deny them anything, not hunting grounds, not water rights. If they wanted the first cut of every carcass, they took it. If they wanted to drink from the heart of the river during the dry moons, they did.”

I whistled through my top teeth, receiving a shudder from Vitani in response, “’You’ll never go hungry again’, he promised them.”

“And when others protested…” I trailed off. The sky grew darker still, I could see their faces painted in the stars.

“Infighting began.” Vitani guessed.

My face was stormy, I snapped to look at her, “Correct.”

“And he told them to chase peace and throw down their weapons, make amends. That the hyenas were the price of stability.” I stepped back another pace, the sand whispering an omen underneath his paws. “Then came the droughts. Long dry periods, stretching months. Like the land itself decided it had no patience left for us.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, weakness overtaking my body as I lay upon my paws.

“Grass yellowed overnight; watering holes shrank to mud pits.” Even recounting from memory felt real, “What little we had vanished faster than we had anticipated, faster than the council had calculated. My father wouldn’t stop them. He couldn’t.”

Vitani looked to me as if she’d seen a ghost.

“That’s when it all started to go to shit,” I continued, my chest heaving in between every word. “What little friends he had turned on him, the council closed inwards and devolved into disarray. The Circle Crown meetings turned into shouting matches. Other prides and allies stopped providing support. And then…”

I hesitated, a shadow passed over my face. “Nala left. She’d had enough. I don’t know if she saw the drought coming or if she just couldn’t stand watching it all crumble.”

I beat the floor with a fist, rage overtaking me, “COWARD! Instead of standing by and helping disperse the infighting, instead of assuming her district manager role like the bloody gift it was...”

I seethed, throwing my head up to the clouds, “…She ran the fuck away!”

The silence that followed stretched thin in the heat. A lone vulture’s hollow calls filled the air, the sound harsh and painful.

Vitani finally broke it. “You think any of that could’ve been avoided?”

I looked to her in disbelief. My face broke into a false, humourless laugh, “Ya think?”

“My father practically tied his survival to a bunch of snot-slinging mongrels with bottomless stomachs and no basic etiquette! He’d practically sold them the land!”

Vitani paced in a slow half-circle around him, her gaze narrowing with thought. “You know, most lions your age don’t bother remembering the details.” She nodded her head, impressed, “They just parrot whatever version makes their family look the best.”

I looked her deep in the eyes, accentuating every word I said, “Because I bloody won’t. I’ve got my own morals and my own goals, why should I give two shits about what my father felt? He’d seeded systematic failure directly into the system that he built!”

She watched me with disconcertingly wise eyes. I sighed, my gaze softening.

“I just… I can’t pretend it was all one thing,” I breathed out, tapping a claw against the sandy floor, “It wasn’t all tyranny. It wasn’t all good intentions. It was both.”

She stopped pacing, standing square in front of him. “Then maybe your training’s not just about fighting. It seems to me you must learn your own barriers. You’ve got a leader’s heart, you’re not scared to point out reason.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, faint and sharp, a voice cut through the air from the north slope.

“Vitani! Mwonaji!”

They both turned their heads in unison. Zira’s voice carried easily over the rocky rise, commanding without needing to shout twice.

“Move!” she barked again. “You will begin again tomorrow. Den - now!”

There was no mistaking the tone. It wasn’t a request.

Vitani gave Mwonaji one last assessing glance before breaking into a trot. “Looks like playtime’s over.”

Mwonaji followed, his earlier reflections tucked away as they moved over the dusty incline. The rocks bleached to pale bone-white, the air thick with the dry tang of acacia pods. Cresting the ridge, they descended into the darkness of the termite mound, the air growing cooler around them, gaining humidity.

I placed a paw upon her shoulder, breaking her from her rhythm, “At least the hyenas are their problem now? They won’t change overnight, after all.”

She glanced at me with a strange expression, almost pride.

Outsiders were already gathered in a loose semicircle as we walked in, our keen eyesight detecting multiple shapes, fast asleep.

Zira stood at the entrance, her posture rigid, eyes sweeping the assembly like a general inspecting troops. When we arrived, she didn’t acknowledge us beyond a brief flick of her ear.

“Get inside,” she ordered. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

No words of thanks. No nod of recognition for the hours we’d spent scouting earlier. I chuckled, eyeing her with slight distaste. It was as if the den had simply appeared by Zira’s will alone.

Vitani didn’t react, keeping her dislike to herself. She breezed past, her tail brushing Mwonaji’s flank in a silent signal to keep moving. Inside, the air was cooler, but hung with the omnipresent crawl of the insects, infesting within the walls.

Oh well. It would serve its purpose well enough.

Behind them, Zira’s voice continued to slice through the murmurs of the group, assigning sleeping spaces, setting hunting shifts, laying out the rules with her characteristic precision.

I glanced at Vitani, feigning being emotionally hurt. “Not even a ‘well done.’”

Vitani returned the smirk, chuckling as she did so, “She doesn’t believe in thanks. In her mind, if you did something useful, it’s because you were supposed to.

She hummed to herself, glancing at her flexing claws, “No reason to praise a paw for being attached to the body.”

I gave a faint shrug. “Still… it’s a good den.”

Vitani’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile, “It is. And it’ll keep us breathing for a little longer. That’s what matters.”

Chapter 4: Arc 2: Chapter 1: I Promised You

Summary:

A young refugee flees danger, the Outlanders hold a mock siege, and two alternate lives merge into one.

All leaving one question.

What happened to the Jackals?

Somewhere near the Pride Lands’ east border…

"When the wind howls, Ibada… don’t tremble. Howl louder."

My chest rattled with fire as she ran, broken by intermittent coughs, choking back sobs. Night stung at my vision, brandishing claws in the vain hope I wouldn’t be spotted. Right in the middle of it. Lightning peeled open the dark for one, terrible instant. Teeth, claws… and the bodies. Their shoulders hanging limp, their eyes rolled back into their heads, their muzzles caked with dirt and blood; disgraced. Somewhere in that chaos, bone crunched, and a life was snuffed out. Pendwa…? I snuck a look behind my back. My breath hitched…

I couldn’t look back.

Dad’s voice cracked across my skull as if he had spoken it only a breath ago. Maybe he’d growled it in play into my ear when I was younger, still trembling at night storms, and I’d tucked my ears flat against my skull to turn into his chest, safe.

Back then, it hadn’t been real. Now… the stray laughter in the pouring rain told her everything she needed to know.

Their laughter wasn’t… laughter. Not how I imagined it. Not like sharing a good meal on a warm summer’s day, not like when someone told a joke and our legs felt weak.

Every sound… Every sound wormed into my skin. I didn’t dare look back.

So I ran.

The savannah stretched before me, endless, cruelly open. No cover.

Just the ocean of gold grass, bowing under the slightest pressure. It hissed and snapped as I broke through, each blade slashing my flanks, sticking in the wet trails of my blood.

Behind me the ground itself seemed to move - the thudding, the cackling, the smell of carrion wrapped in heat. They were close. Close enough that I could hear the saliva whip against their jowls.

I’d almost wished it was her, almost wish she’d come and tell me it wasn’t real.

"Keep low, Ibada," Mom?

 "Even the grass can hide you if you learn how to breathe with it."

I… I can’t breathe mom? Where are you?

The grass betrayed me, rattling in her wake like a funeral dirge.

I stumbled once, my legs turning weak as, hot, salty tears ran down my face.

I can’t stop now. They’ll track me.

The plains shifted beneath my paws. The grass thinned into red earth, cracked and blistered with heat. The padding no longer gave me comfort; it scorched against the ground, like dancing on eggshells. The sky above had grown hard and white, caked with stray whisps of dust.

A shriek ran out from afar, a shrill baying. They’d traced her.

More laughter answered from afar, carried on the hot wind. My guts shrivelled up inside my chest. They weren’t acting randomly… it was systematic. It was a damn army.

My legs trembled like reeds.

“No time to be scared now, Ibada…” I stuttered out, keeping my voice low. Wishful thinking.

Maybe it was my time, maybe I was just prolonging the inevitable. I sighed, memories filling my head like stars. A den filled with warmth. Her siblings curled in a heap. Her mother’s tongue against her cheek. She could smell them… not the dragging claws and warped breaths, but home. How the medicinal herbs her mother tended to once grew in random heaps around the den, their fragrance filling it whole. How Dad would come home after a successful hunt, a fair share dished out to us all…

"Don’t think," I shook my head out of fantasy, steeling my eyes, "Run."

The earth shifted again. Low scrubland rose up, brittle thornbushes crouched like sprung traps. They shredded off her dignity as she passed, thorns tearing strips of flesh from both my flanks. I hardly felt it at first.

There was nothing, nothing secondary to this terror. But soon it pooled hot at my sides, ran sticky down my legs, darkened my fur as to pull me down.

They smelled it.

Whooping, chattering, laughter. One snapped close enough that to feel hot breath cascade down my hind leg. I feignted to the right, attempting a desparate manouvre He taught me once…

I stumbled, nearly fell. Somewhere in the bush, it barked in delight.

They were enjoying this. The sick bastards.

The thorn-scrub opened into mounds that crawled with insects, the earth seemingly alive. The ground disoriented them, they lost her scent. Their nails scrabbled, their cackles grew uneven.

Perfect. Even for a heartbeat, I had space.

Head swimming, the world tilted.

Maybe not…

Blood slicked my ribs, as I traced the gash with my paw, giggling deriliously as I did so. That looked deep. My mouth frothed white, and my vision narrowed until the horizon was a thin bright line.

Oh, ancestors, how I wanted to stop.

"When the storm comes…" Dad? Don’t leave me…

"…you dig your claws into the earth, and you do not let go. You do not give them your fear."

“He’s not here. Persevere.” I mumbled, forging on.

The land dropped into a hollow. I staggered, fell. My legs folding, body lurching.

I met the ground shoulder-first, hearing a silent cack as my senses swam inwards.

The hyenas gathered above the rise. Their outlines warped against the light, bodies too bent, legs too long. Was I seeing them as they were?

I tried to rise, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of my own wounds, deep, permeating with iron.

They smelled it too.

One crept forward, shoulders hunched, jaws loose, saliva stringing. Clouds and wisps of dirt radiated from its steps. Another circled to the left. Another to the right.

I closed my eyes. This was it.

And Mom sang to me once more, her golden, emerald eyes watching over me. The sound rose in my ears, and suddenly I couldn’t hear them anymore. I felt the corner of my mouth invert into a smile, warm and filled with nectar.

“Please don’t give up, my love. It isn’t time yet.” The air shimmered around me, her presence giving me strength.

The melody became a growl, dragging up through my chest, raw and torn. It cracked my throat with its magnitude; it broke in the middle.

But it was mine. Mine alone.

They faltered, taken aback, and slowed, ears twitching, eyes narrowing. That was all I needed.

Almost in a trance, I stood, facing them head on, baring my fangs with unbridled strength. They circled me, waiting, testing. Until… I faltered, my mind darkening with a haze.

The hyenas’ fur stood on edge, their eyes darting. Confusion settled in; I was prey, what were they waiting for?

And then I heard it; a lion’s roar.

“Here!”

Shapes moved at the edge of her vision. Lionesses, lean and scarred, thundered into the hollow, scattering dust. The hyenas shrieked, skittered back, hackles raised.

The hyenas laughed once more, high and mocking, then melted back into the scrub, their shapes disassembling into the heat-haze. Their laughter echoed long after they were gone.

A shape bent over her, yellow eyes burning. Her rounded ears, her toughened, scarred features… and an uncharacteristically warm smile.

“Still breathing,” the lioness muttered, tutting with her tongue, “Stubborn little thing.”

I sighed peacefully. The world faded into black.

---

Outlander Administrative Zone, training ring.

The sun cascaded down the termite mounds in golden amber, the morning snaking its way into day. However, what lay below the golden circle was far from the peaceful ordinary.

Mwonaji stood at the helm of a training circuit, surveying young lionesses battling old. Blood caked the ground in random splatters, the earth stung from the heat of bodies, and the ache of muscle upon the sharp sand.

Where once his mane had been little more than tufts of wiry fur clinging to his neck, it now cascaded in fuller strands, darker and heavier with each passing moon. The scars from Simba’s attempted usurpation had long since healed, but they etched themselves plainly against his hide.

Almost reminiscent.

Almost nostalgic.

Not far from the circuit, Zira secluded herself in an enclosed crevice within the mounds. Beside her stood her daughter, tending to a herbal mixture in vain hopes that it was the correct dose. Umaizi took a guard position by the opening, surveying the fighting far ahead.

“How’s he doing?”

“Much the same,” Vitani admitted, lowering her voice as her gaze shifted to the smallest figure in the den.

“Still quiet. Still… behind.” The lioness beside her frowned. Umaizi seemed distraught, confused at the defects, “He should be speaking by now. At least babbling. All the cubs, even you, were active at this stage...”

The lionesses were leaner, tougher, their strength honed in scarcity.
Zira stood among them, crowned matriarch. The time had aged her, and the faint beginnings of a mane stirred at her neck. Standing as a final defence where a male presence was non-existent.

And now there was Nuka - the newest spark of life, albeit one dimmer than expected. He had grown enough to stumble about the den, his legs no longer trembling with each step, but his silence unsettled them all. His eyes, bright yet clouded with some inward haze, followed motion but gave back no sound, no answering call. Where other cubs of his age filled the den with chatter and mischief, Nuka moved like a ghost, present but distant.

Vitani’s gaze lingered on him. A frown tugged at her brow, lines of worry etched deeper than her young age should have allowed. “He doesn’t even try,” she murmured. “Not a growl. Not a yip. Nothing.”

The older lioness exhaled, her tail flicking in frustration. “It isn’t right. It doesn’t make sense, we gave perfect prenatal care, almost by the book. I learned from Rafiki himself….”

Vitani bit back a reply, though unease churned in her chest. She knew what the others whispered when Zira was absent.

“He’s a bad omen. What right did she have hiding him from us? We’ve already stretched our resources thin… so what use do we have from a cub, let alone a bloody defect?” She’d overheard an elder say, in a secluded conversation on border guard duty. Zira was reckless, considering the circumstances. That’s the rhetoric that floated around.

And it stung.

“Would any of you numbnuts tell me what is wrong with my child? Not only am I lying around here, wasting time, but I’m also forced to care for and feed a runt!” Zira’s voice snapped from behind them, causing the two to turn. She was a pale, sicken mess, the act having drained her. Her muscles had waned in strength, and her eyes now clouded with a nauseous yellow.

“Mom, please, don’t strain yourself.” Vitani rushed to hold her. Zira swatted her away, eyeing the catatonic cub crawling in circles upon the ground.

Her face withered into a blank expression, “I… How have I failed you, my dear?” Zira’s voice carried to the clouds, detected by no one. Vitani’s skin crawled, both with stray termites and nerves. She’d given up.

Zira slumped against the den wall, her breaths coming shallow and uneven. The faint beginnings of her mane, once a symbol of rising dominance, seemed now to hang heavy around her neck. Shadows pooled beneath her eyes, the sharpness of her features eaten away by exhaustion.

Vitani lingered nearby, “You haven’t eaten properly in days. Practically starving yourself won’t help our efforts.” she whispered, almost to herself.

Zira’s ears flicked. “Do not lecture me, cub. I’ve seen lions go longer without food, and they did not crumble.” She scoffed, looking into her daughter’s eyes, “You know this well enough, Vitani. I did not raise you weak.”

Vitani didn’t argue, though her tail lashed at the sand. The words stung, but she could not argue. After all, the old hag did beat discipline into her…

From the mouth of the den, Mwonaji’s figure appeared. Upon seeing the scene, he breathed out through his nose, dismayed. Lately, he had begun to carry himself with a different light, as if carrying emotions and guilt within him rather than outward. His presence was less balm, more anchor.

“You’ll waste away before the cub does,” Mwonaji said, his tone betraying neither anger nor comfort, “If that’s your plan, you can tell it to the pride. I think we’ve had enough of entertaining this pointless reverie.”

Vitani stiffened, expecting Zira’s temper to flare. Zira’s eyes narrowed, followed by a humourless, shallow laugh.

“You think I’m doing this for any of you? What, my suffering and my pain has no standing within this circle now?” She pushed herself upright, though her body trembled with the effort. Her gaze flicked toward Nuka, who tottered clumsily in the sand, chasing dust motes that vanished before he caught them. “I’m doing this in HIS memory, Mwonaji! I lost… everything. I won’t let this pathetic whelp be a testament to my failure, I’d rather forget he ever lived!”

“Perhaps,” Mwonaji replied evenly. He stepped deeper into the den, his matted, tangled mane brushing against the mouth of the crevice.

 His eyes trailed to Nuka, then back to Zira. “You’ve forgotten we must be led, Zira. I’ve assimilated that role from you, while you refuse to take advantage of the gifts we bring you. Vitani is our best healer now; she’s an apprentice of your most trusted friend.” He stopped his pacing, kneeling to her level, “Why fight it?”

Zira’s lips curled, the ghost of snarl. Yet, she cast her eyes downwards, “And you, Mwonaji? Do you believe him worth the effort?

The weight of silence hung between them. Vitani’s chest tightened; Umaizi’s tail twitched at the entrance.

At last, Mwonaji’s voice came, low and measured:
“He walks. That is something. A cub that walks, lives.”

Zira narrowed her eyes. “But he does not speak.”

“Neither did I,” Mwonaji said, his head tilting slightly, though his gaze never wavered. “Not until I was many moons older than expected.” He chuckled low, his eyes clouding over, “Scar also believed me to be a helpless fledgling, doing Kings know what to Sarabi in the process. Can you guess what that resulted in?”

Zira blinked, surprised. She had never heard him speak of his cubhood before.

“…What?” she asked cautiously.

Mwonaji shrugged, the motion rolling over his scarred shoulders. “Sarabi looked to me as if I were a scourge. And when I spoke, not a single person praised me.” His toxic green eyes shone a dangerous emerald. “But I never forgot.”

The den fell quiet, broken only by the soft scrapes of Nuka’s claws on the sand.

Zira’s expression shifted; her anger momentarily softened into something more fragile. “You were different,” she said sharply, pulling at strings, “You had strength in your silence. He has nothing.”

“Perhaps,” Mwonaji repeated, allowing the benefit of the doubt. He glanced toward the cub, who had sat down heavily, staring at his own tail with rapt fascination. “And yet, I learned and accepted strength as who I was. It is to you what you make of him, Zira. By limiting him and his growth, throwing him aside as if he was nothing, you repeat the same mistake my mother did.” His eyes softened, fixating upon hers, “He’ll leave you as I did her. No one wants to be a blank page, no one wants to blend in.”

“You speak as though time will fix him,” Zira spat, though the venom had dulled. “Time does not heal weakness.”

“Time,” Mwonaji said, his tone sharper now, “is the only thing we have left to lean on.”

He stepped past them, his bulk filling the den’s mouth, and cast one last look back at Nuka. “Eat, Zira. Allow yourself to be treated. His resolve will be measured by your commitment to the cause.”

Zira shifted, eyeing him curiously. Perhaps she really did see Scar in him.

“I’ll see to the pride.” He finished.

---

The training ground simmered with smoke kicked up by many bodies. Lionesses clashed in pairs, their gaunt, lean bodies clashing in a flurry of claws, fur and fangs.

Mwonaji took his place at the centre, eyes sweeping the field. His mane lifted faintly in the breeze, sweat dampening the edges.

A young lioness, Umaizi’s younger sister, faltered in her sparring. Her paw slipped on the sand, and she landed heavily on her flank. The opponent loomed, triumphant.

“Again,” Mwonaji ordered, his voice cutting across the ring.

The fallen lioness groaned, pushing herself upright.

“Again,” he repeated. His eyes bored into her, steady, unrelenting.

The cub obeyed, this time finding her footing, her strikes cleaner.

“Good, Mzizi, good. Hold your head even, and keep your eyes focused on his underbelly. Use your side vision to detect strikes. Once he leaves his flank open, target the underarm.” He smiled reassuringly, stepping back to let the spar continue.

Almost instantly, her opponent was on the ground, groaning from disorientation.

“Oi! Mwonaji!” he turned his head to look. In the distance, Vitani called, her head providing a sense of urgency.

He groaned, looking back at the ring. He sighed heavily, battling duty, “If I leave them to their own devices, they’ll probably tear themselves apart and then some…”

“Well?!” Vitani called once more, nudging her head to the side.

“Fine!” He replied, the sound carrying on the wind. She looked back, striking a grin, satisfied.

Mwonaji cycled back to the ring, clearing his throat loudly. The elders immediately ceased their attacks, turning their attention to the call. A beat passed as the message also settled upon the youth, the tangled heaps of fur and flesh slowly coming apart.

“You are relieved for today!” the announcement was met with groans from the youth, with a few scattered, ‘Come on!’s,. You will meet here again later this afternoon. Take your time to rest and recuperate. We will attempt a reconnaissance manoeuvre tonight!”

That got the youth fired back up again, a savage grin painting itself on all their muzzles.

“Control?” said in unison, the name of their favourite game.

Mwonaji grinned, sweeping his gaze across the crowd, “Precisely.”

---

Outlander Administrative Zone, Control Grounds

“All Outsiders, listen up!” Mwonaji called, his mane swaying passively in the afternoon breeze, “You have all been gathered today to run a mock battle!  As you very well know, the most significant component of active warfare is maintaining and holding positions to close in and choke out your enemies! Which is what you will be doing today…”

The murmuring crowd bristled, bodies tightening with half-suppressed energy. Rivals within the crowd bared their teeth at each other, be it petty squabbles over food or more serious insults directed at each other’s looks or actions. The atmosphere overall, however, was one of mutual competition, a pleasant way to unwind from strenuous daily exercise and strategic planning and enjoy beating each other up for a change.

“You’ll get at each other’s throats in just a bit. Since you all seem to forget in your fun-having, I must once again run over the rules!” Groans erupted, growls spilling over like an impatient tide. A young lioness cuffed another across the muzzle, and she snapped back, only to be silenced by her officer’s cold stare. Zira’s hostile presence somewhere in the back was the only sense of peace within the snapping jaws and blood-stricken eyes. She said nothing, but her stillness was louder than all their jeers.

“Red team, Blue team; assign your captains!” Mwonaji bellowed. “I want trustworthy personnel to lead my legions, and no insubordination within my ranks. Which is why, today, we shall see why popularity isn’t necessarily a testament to skill.”

Two groups broke from the mass, almost naturally. Rival glances sparked, each side already tallying who they wanted humiliated.

A rangy lioness named Jahari lifted her chin proudly, stepping out from the Red side. Hur fur was the colour of spoiled apples, her scars patterned like a map across her shoulders. “Red Captain,” she declared simply, embracing the eyes upon her broad shoulders.

Opposite her, a younger lioness stepped forward, leaner but with fire in her eyes. Known for violent bursts of speed, lack of honour and a complete distaste for any authority, little Baya packed a punch, “Blue Captain,” she announced, lips twitching at the edges.

The crowd responded with a guttural chorus of approval and derision, some shouting in praise for their allocated captains, others spitting on the same ground they walked on.

Mwonaji nodded, concealing a grin at the violence, “Captains, pick your field officers.”

Jahari named her first officer, Tamra, the resilient, stone-eyed juggernaut, and the sly-eyed Kovo. Baya answered with swift-thinking Abeni and battle-frenzied Ruzuki. The officers prowled forward, their loyalist regiments falling in like miniature puzzle pieces until the structure resembled a miniature army: two captains, four field officers, six regiments each.

Mwonaji’s tail lashed once, silencing the low rumble of excitement. “The game is control. Three zones. One here at camp; your base. One in the east gully, past the termite mounds.” He cocked his head to the side, “Lucky you, you get to take turns shouting curses at the old geezer in the baobab tree. Say hi to Rafiki for me, would you? Little prick can’t even do anything since he’s outside the border.”

He chuckled to himself, letting the excitement gain in tension, “Each base starts as yours by default. The central ridge is neutral. You take control by driving off and detaining all enemies in the zone. Once taken, you hold it.”

His face turned stormy eyed, angling his head to face them, “Be warned, however. Just as easily as you took their zone, they can equally take it back…”

The crowd’s ears angled forward, jaws slightly parted, tension running through every sinew.

“The winning condition is simple: by sundown, whichever team controls the most zones is victorious. A regiment eliminated is lost to you. You want victory? Protect your mates, hold your zones, choke out the enemy. You want humiliation? Brawl like cubs and forget your captain’s words.”

His eyes scanned the ranks, landing on Zira briefly. She didn’t move, but her mouth twitched faintly, as though amused.

“Captains, one last word,” Mwonaji called, sitting leisurely on his haunches. “The field is yours.”

Blue team disappeared to the East Gully, rushing to take the most opportune positions to gather intel on vain attempts to try out flanks.

Red team gathered in a tight crescent, Jahari at the helm. She clared her throat, her voice sharp, cutting through the murmurs. “Red Team listen up! We do not scatter, and we do not go running off alone. Kovo, you take east gully with both your regiments, try encircling them and seeing how they fare. Pin them down, make them eat the dust. And if you need support…” She sighed, rolling her eyes, “Don’t ask.”

“Tamra, you and I split west ridge. We’ll take it… and maybe go help poor Kovo and his lousy gang of slackers to kill off the rest of those idiots.”

Kovo gave a sly grin. “Sure, sis, don’t bite the dust too fast. At least I get to do something while you waltz into the middle uncontested.” She gave a mock curtsy, “You’re welcome, as of yours truly.”

“Uh-huh. Those idiots barrel into the open anyway, you’ll have it smooth sailing,” Jahari replied without a blink.

Far across the West Ridge, the Blue team huddled, Baya’s lean body quivering with coiled energy. “Ruzuki - you’re west. Don’t just capture. We don’t take prisoners, remember? Poor Mwonaji will be working ages in the med bay when we’re done.” She laughed a sickly, evil laugh. The crowd shivered slightly; Was she ok up there?

“Abeni - you’re east. Take it fast, then leave one regiment to hold and swing the other into their flank.” She smiled, rubbing her paws gleefully, “I’ll direct the flow.”

Abeni tilted her head. “Risky. We’ll be stretched.”

“Risk makes sovereigns,” Baya snapped back. Her eyes gleamed dangerously, “Do it.”

The orders spread down like sparks. Regiment officers relayed to their mates, the sixes splitting into trios, each with their officer leading. Dust kicked up as claws dug into earth, bodies surging forward to their assigned fronts.

The battle hadn’t even begun, and both armies were working like well-oiled machines. Mwonaji smiled slightly, a tear in his eye. Oh, how Zira and Dad would be proud.

The two teams surged out from camp in opposite directions. The termite mounds stretched endlessly, the familiar thrumming from the insects within becoming a fanfare as claws thundered across it. Vultures were started from their nests, their wings a flurry as they escaped inevitable danger. The sun hung hot and oppressive.

But they were used to it. After all, it never let up. No time in the shade.

Kovo’s Red regiments reached the gully first. The ground dipped steeply, walls of cracked earth on either side, littered with discarded bones of wildebeest and antelope from many stolen kills. It was a trap, first and foremost, but it provided cover. His troops slunk low, ears pinned, waiting for the sound of Blue paws.

They didn’t wait long.

Abeni’s lions surged in from the east, scattering dust as they descended. The two forces met in a shriek of claws. Abeni had speed, her troops hitting like a flash flood, but Kovo was slippery. His lions melted back, pulling them deeper into the gully, forcing them to fight with walls pressing on either side.

A snarl, a flash of teeth, a lioness dragged down by two Red mates and pinned with paws on her throat, detained. First blood to Red.

“You fuckers, why me?” she cried, growling with frustration. She was only met with disgustingly satisfied smiles.

Abeni, however, adapted fast, pulling her troops tight, using her smaller frame to dart through Kovo’s bulkier lions. The tide was turning…

She clamped her jaws on one, wrenching her down, her own regiment hauling her off. Detained. The gully roared as the ground itself was upheaved, the dense dust turning into impassible fog.

Simultaneously, Tamra’s regiment and Jahari herself surged toward the west ridge. The baobabs loomed like watchful giants, shadows stretching far. Singled out from the quarry, however, was a lone, ancient tree, digging its roots deep within the lush earth which bloomed across the Pride Lands’ border.

Tamra smiled, “Hey flat-face! How’s talking to the walls with your fruits?”

Her jeering was met with the painted face of a mandrill poking out. His face instantly soured, groaning in exasperation.

“No wonder you keep hiding in that tree, cos it’s easier to pretend the dead answer back than, you know, talking to the living!”

Tamra pulled a face, with the rest of her regiment joining her in her jeering, becoming distracted. Rafiki rolled his eyes, turning to return to his tree.

“By the way, Mwonaji says hi!” Rafiki ceased for a moment, shaking his head.

With comedic timing, Tamra was cleanly swept off her feet by a stray lioness. Ruzuki’s Blue forces were already here, bristling with snarls.

Oh well, officer down…

“Forward!” Vumila, Tamra’s allocated replcament, called. The regiment reset, and crashed into Ruzuki’s with thunderous force. The ridge became a maelstrom of roars, claws flashing, bodies colliding. Ruzuki laughed as she fought, drunk on the thrill.

Behind them, Jahari hung back just far enough to see the pattern. She barked orders, sending her regiment to cut left, then right, forcing Ruzuki’s lions into bad ground.

Contrary to Vumila’s rough, random style, Jahari’s eyes burned with cold, chilling calculation. She wasn’t playing around.

Jahari’s voice cut through the chaos, precise and unyielding. “Vumila, flank hard left! Taji, push centre! Hold your ground, be prepared to reconvene if they breach through!”

The regiments shifted like a living organism, synchronous and fluid like lifeblood itself. Red’s manoeuvres maintained subtlety, forcing the Blues to constantly defend, leaving no opportunity for a breach. Dust and sand whipped around them, clinging to fur, mixing with sweat and the faint copper scent of exertion.

Ruzuki snarled, realising the trap too late. “Hold fast! Don’t let them split us!”

Blue’s regiment pivoted, but Red’s numbers and coordination proved superior. Claws tore through the air, hitting flesh and fur with a sharp, sickening thwack. A Blue lioness was knocked sideways, pinned beneath Vumila’s paws. Her eyes widened, frustration and panic blending as she reeled from her swift defeat.

Meanwhile, in the gully, Kovo’s ambush had morphed into a deadly game of cat-and-mouse. Abeni’s lions darted in and out, striking, retreating, forcing Red into tight angles where their larger frames became a disadvantage.

Not only were they losing, they were playing defence. This was unacceptable!

“Hold the line!” Kovo barked. “Do not get cornered!”

Abeni smirked, darting low through a narrow gap. Her sharp claws raked across a Red flank, forcing a grunt of pain. Her regiment followed, detaining two of Kovo’s lions in swift succession. “Got them!” she shouted, adrenaline burning in her veins. “Move, move, move!”

Kovo hissed, regaining his footing. “Pull back to cover! Regroup at the far wall!”

The central ridge became a vortex of motion. Dust clouds obscured vision, forcing participants to rely on instinct as well as the orders trickling down from Kovo.

Meanwhile, at Blue’s homebase, Jahari’s cold calculation shone in stark contrast to the raw ferocity of her subordinates. She anticipated Ruzuki’s moves, cutting off escape routes, sending her own regiments to corral the Blue forces into narrow zones where their speed became a liability.

“Cut their rear!” Jahari barked. “Do not let them escape to the open. They must pay for every inch they take!”

Ruzuki growled, striking at a Red lieutenant trying to encircle her. “Not today, you psycho!”

Back at the gully, Kovo finally gained control, detaining Abeni and two of her lieutenants after a brutal exchange of bites and paw strikes. He signalled to his remaining troops, who now surged forward to hold the east point.

“For King’s sakes, Kovo!” Abeni howled, pinned by a larger elder lioness. “Mwonaji said no intentional maiming, what the hell was that?!”

Kovo picked at his teeth, moving his head side to side in thought, “Whatever gets the job done, dear. Seems like someone’s a sore loser.”

“Say that to my cut flank, you –“ She was briskly cut off, her yelling carrying across the gully as she was dragged off by Red forces.

Blue had lost one regiment, but their field officer Ruzuki remained, alive, alert, and primed to counterattack.

The sun dipped lower, painting the savannah gold and red. Shadows stretched long and ominous, masking movements, creating fleeting cover. Dust thickened, choked the air, clung to wet fur. The mock battle had transformed into an almost real war simulation.

Jahari’s eyes flicked to the horizon, then back to her regiment. “Press! Do not give them a single break!”

Red moved as one, each regiment’s attack precise, timed to maximum effect. Ruzuki’s Blue forces faltered under the sustained pressure.

Vumila dodged a strike from Ruzuki, countering with a low, snapping paw to the flank. Ruzuki yelped, momentarily stunned, allowing Taji’s regiment to push her back further. Every move had consequences; every misstep was punished instantly.

Meanwhile, Kovo’s Red regiments had advanced past the gully, converging with Jahari’s own as reinforcement. Baya’s lean frame darted among her troops, striking with precision, but even her speed could not compensate for the encroaching numbers of Reds.

“Do not let them take the base!” Baya growled. “Cover each other!”

Her field officer, Ruzuki, countered a Red strike, but a heavy paw sent her stumbling. She scrambled, eyes wide, signalling her regiment to hold the line as best they could.

The west ridge was now fully contested. Regiments clashed with teeth and claws, officers shouting orders, the roar of the battle echoing across the plains. Jahari’s calculation and discipline began to dominate the fray. She orchestrated a pincer movement, forcing Blue into a cornered struggle where escape routes had been blocked.

“Now!” Jahari roared, unleashing her reserves into the trap. Dust and sand exploded as bodies collided, the ground quivering under the pounding of powerful limbs. One by one, Blue lions were detained or forced back, claws pressed against throats, forcing surrender.

“Hold them!” Jahari barked to her lieutenants. “Do not release until I give the word!”

Blue had lost ground, one regiment detained, and morale was beginning to falter. Baya’s orders kept them fighting, but exhaustion was evident in their movements.

The sun dipped even further, casting deep shadows across the savannah. Dust and sweat created a haze that blurred the lines between friend and foe. The sound of roars, snarls, and the thwack of claws against flesh continued without pause, a relentless tide.

Jahari’s eyes flicked across the battlefield, calculating. “Kovo, hold the ridge with your regiments. Not only can we not allow them to regroup, we must maintain our zones to defend from stagglers!”

Baya’s voice rang out across the ridge. “Regroup! Regroup now! Do not scatter! We still have a chance!”

But the tide had turned, and there was no escaping its suffocation. Red’s tactical superiority, Jahari’s precise commands, and the disciplined obedience of her lieutenants created a momentum that Blue struggled to resist.

“Press forward!” Jahari roared, her mane glinting in the dying light. “Do not falter! We’ve nearly got it!”

The ridge erupted into a final maelstrom of movement. Lions collided, claws raked, teeth snapped, and every paw-strike echoed across the landscape. Dust choked the air, muscles screamed, and every lion pushed past the brink of exhaustion.

At its helm, Jahari watched, her precise movements a testament to her skill as a general. As morale dwindled, Blue lions threw up their hands in defeat, with Baya evidently distraught.

“What are you all doing?!” She exclaimed, “We lose this we lose first picks tomorrow. You’re fucking us over!”

“Nah, you are.” The battle was lost, the final members detained, “You lose.”

Baya’s ears flattened, a mixture of fury and disbelief twisting her features. Her remaining lions, panting and limping, shuffled behind her in reluctant defeat. Jahari’s regiments, though exhausted and dust-streaked, moved with a sense of discipline still intact. Their jaws were tight, paws heavy from the strain, but their eyes shone with the satisfaction of victory.

“Eyes forward!” Jahari barked, the tone leaving no room for complaint. “No dawdling. We regroup at our base, and we recover before anyone gets ideas about counterattacks.”

Kovo’s regiments padded carefully down the ridge, scanning for any stray Blue lions attempting a last-minute surge. None dared move; their defeat had been absolute. Behind him, Tamra’s regiment followed, some panting, others licking wounds earned in the central fray. Tamra herself, however, stuck behind with the Blues, too ashamed to show her face. Dust clouds followed them, curling like smoke over the scorched earth of the battlefield.

Baya shot a glare over her shoulder. “Don’t get too trigger happy next time, Jahari!” Her voice was sharp, trembling with frustration. “We’ll pick you off where you stand!”

Jahari’s response was a single, cold glance. She chuckled to herself, heartily, “Next time?” she said softly, almost casually, “Next time, make sure your strategies aren’t so… predictable.”

The Red regiments kept pace, rounding the termite mounds that marked the outskirts of the gully. The central ridge now lay quiet as a grave, the dust settling. Jahari’s eyes swept over the field, noting every paw mark, every scratch in the earth.

Her brain ticked with elegant motion as she assessed her victories and failures, allocating notes for next time. She could always perform better.

“Rest your regiments briefly,” she ordered as they approached their starting zone. “Water and shade, then medics if needed.”

The lions slowed, the rhythmic pounding of their paws fading into heavy, uneven breaths. Some shook dust from their fur, others pressed heads into each other’s flanks, seeking the warmth and reassurance of friends.

Kovo lowered her head to Tamra and whispered, “Good work out there. Caught yourself lacking so quickly, no one even noticed. So glad I had the pleasure of carrying your skin.”

Tamra gave a disgruntled snort. “Don’t even start, you brute.”

Jahari herself moved through the groups, tail brushing lightly against shoulders, offering the occasional word of praise. Though brief, it was met with the ghost of smiles. Gratitude and integrity.

Baya’s Blue team limped in shortly after, led by their defeated captain. Their pride had been bruised far more than their bodies.

Abeni’s eyes flicked toward the horizon as the sun sank lower, the day being eclipsed by night. She allowed herself a slow exhale. The battlefield, now quiet, seemed almost serene.

“Field officers,” Jahari called, her voice carrying a calm authority now. “Report your numbers. Regiments lost, paw injuries, detentions held?”

Tamra stepped forward, voice even. “All regiments accounted for, one minor paw laceration, two detentions held. Kovo?”

Kovo’s nod was sharp. “Gully secured, one regiment lightly bruised, two POWs in containment. The ridge held perfectly. No losses.”

Jahari allowed herself a rare, brief smile. “Good. Then let’s move back fully. Mwonaji and Zira will be glad to hear about this.”

The lions began to walk in formation back toward the Red starting point. Dust rose in small clouds around their paws, the scent of the battlefield lingering in their fur.

Baya’s Blue team moved a short distance behind, silent but simmering. Some muttered under their breath, others shook their heads at mistakes, pawing at dirt in frustration.

A stray sound, however, stopped them in their tracks. Cackling, something bursting through the thorny underbush.

“Take positions, “ Jahari hunkered down, her regiment following suites. The Blues shot a glare in protest, but a whine shut them down, “We’ve got company.”

Crawling over the termite mound to get a closer looks, the visage shocked the lot to their core.

A young jackal cub, no older than adolescence, struggled against a group of hyenas. Their disgusting maws cackled in anticipation of a free kill, with the youth stuck on its haunches with a gash deeper than what was considered possible, marring their underbelly.

The jackal spotted the shapes, the ghost of a reassured smile creeping on to her features. The hyenas, however…

“Get your rotten hides back, you mongrels!” Jahari shrieked, baring her teeth. The hyenas eyed each other at a loss, whining in fear, “Oh, so you want a close-up demonstration of what I’ll do to you if you don’t fuck off?”

That got them moving. Swiftly, they broke into a sprint, their cackles carrying into the night as their smell permeated through the undergrowth.

Jahari slid down the ditch to approach the shape, having curled up into a fetal position. Lacerations across its paws, a bloodied hide, and swimming vision indicative of concussion.

“Still breathing,” she muttered, tutting with her tongue, “Stubborn little thing.”

“Get her to Vitani, she’ll know what to do. Tell her it’s an emergency.”

---

Mwonaji sat upon a small rise near the initial gathering point, the training ring stretching before him. He raised a paw in acknowledgment. “Well done, Reds! I knew you could –“

His smile faded and he sprang up on to his feet, coming to meet the bloodied mess being covered on Jahari’s shoulders.

“Who is this? Where did you find her?” He questioned, a level-headed demeanour. Which… betrayed just a tinge of panic.

Jahari lowered the cub upon the Earth, regiments Blue and Red coming to circle her. Their faces were painted with concern, “Out beyond the ridge… We found her half-dead in a ditch.” She maintained a level-headed tone, but her voice faltered, “Hyenas… they did this.”

Mwonaji’s paw faltered just above the cub, eyes narrowing. He inhaled slowly, as if steadying some unspoken memory, and then spoke, his voice measured but tense.

“…This is no hyena,” he said at last. His tail flicked once, sharply. “She’s a jackal.”

That pronouncement drew a stir from the gathered lions. Even Jahari tilted her head, confusion written across her muzzle.

“A jackal?” Jahari muttered, her lip curling faintly, “What business would they have bleeding out in the dirt?”

“Hyenas don’t often leave scraps behind,” another lioness answered dryly, though her gaze never left the cub’s trembling form. “Looks like they wanted her to suffer.”

A ripple of unease coursed through the ring. The hyenas were known as opportunists. What they weren’t known as was disproportionately violent towards children. To see their brutality turned on something other than lions was… disquieting.

“I heard news of Shenzi’s passing… yet the lineage within their shitty hierarchy never passes to males…” Mwonaji pressed on, turning the cub over to examine her face. Her tongue lolled passively, her eyes distended.

Mwonaji’s ears flattened, though his eyes never left the cub. “Jackals aren’t enemies. Not ours. Not unless something has shifted.” Images of Banzai turning to strike him down in betrayal stung at his eyes, “They kept to their circles. Scar allowed them ground. My father kept their neutrality in place.”

“They were weak, Mwonaji,” another lioness cut in, her voice sharp. “Jackals could never hold their own in a fight. Always scavenging the edges, waiting for someone else to do the killing. If the hyenas finally turned on them, maybe it’s what they deserve.”

A growl rumbled in his throat before he caught it. “Deserve?” His toxic green  eyes flared, catching the cub’s shivering ribs, the faint rasp of her breath. “Does a half-starved cub deserve to be torn apart because of an entire race’s greed?” He swept his gaze across the circle, firm and unyielding. “What if I showed up as a mass with an army, tore your family apart and settled upon YOUR land!? Hyenas were always low lifes, but this takes the cake...”

The silence that followed was taut, punctuated only by the cub’s ragged breathing.

Jahari shifted to pick up the child, placing her securely between her shoulder blades “If the jackals were attacked, that changes the order of things. It means the hyenas have grown bold. Bold enough to cut through the old lines.”

One of the lieutenants frowned. “Or it means the jackals finally broke their end of neutrality. If they tried to ally with another power -” His eyes flicked meaningfully in the direction of the Outlands.

The suggestion permeated through the air like a cold front. Could it be?

Mwonaji’s jaw tightened, but he did not look away from the cub. “Speculation won’t help her breathe.”

He faltered, taking an apprehensive glance in the direction of Zira, “Even if they did ally with Zira, which is already a breach of trust… that means the King ordered a genocide. That… changes everything.”

“Simba wouldn’t do that, he’s not mad!” Baya attempted to reason, recollecting her knowledge of the Pride Lands’ monarch.

“No, he wouldn’t, he’s helpless as he is… Rafiki, however…”

His tail lashed once. “Jahari, take her to the shade. Give her water. The rest of you, ensure tonight’s border guard is doubled.”

Mwonaji swivelled onto the crescent of lions. His breath shook, audibly swallowing.

“If we’ve got refugees bleeding at our borders, the order we knew is gone. And that…” His voice thinned to something grim. “That means my fears about Simba have come true.”

The lions began to disperse with low murmurs, some sceptical, others troubled.

Left with only Jahari at his side, Mwonaji allowed the mask of command to slip just slightly. He lowered his head toward the cub, whose eyes had cracked open just a sliver, dark and unfocused. He saw no threat there, no cunning, only the faintest thread of will clinging to life.

He exhaled slowly, “…Why you, little one? Of all creatures, why you?”

Notes:

Arc 2 Begins, and we are introduced to a brief excerpt of life in the Outlands. And now that we've introduced everyone, let's get the story started.

What happened to the Jackals?

Notes:

It begins... Arc 1!

Please Note! This is the first, only partially moderated draft, and I will run a test with Arc 1 and 2 (Ch.1-7) to see engagement and whether the concept is enjoyed by you guys; Your suggestions are so valuable and your comments are priceless to me!

This test version will remain uploaded and 'Posthumous' will return complete and bloody shining after moderation I will run over the next year.

Releases will follow weekly drops for the test and for the complete work!