The jungle was never silent. Even in the dead of night, life thrived in the darkness—whispers in the trees, the distant howl of a jackal, the rustling of unseen creatures lurking in the undergrowth.
The cub lay beside his siblings, their small bodies curled up in the safety of their den. The scent of their mother lingered, a comforting presence even in her absence. The others slept soundly, their small chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. But the cub could not sleep.
Something felt... wrong.
His ears twitched. He lifted his head, scanning the darkness outside the den. The shadows seemed thicker, the night heavier than before. And then—he saw it.
Glowing eyes. Watching. Waiting.
A slow growl rumbled from his throat, but it was weak, uncertain. The glowing eyes did not move.
A memory flickered in his mind—dark alleys, figures watching from the shadows. A deal gone wrong. A man left broken in the rain.
I have seen these eyes before.
The jungle whispered around him, carrying the scent of something unfamiliar. Hyenas.
The cub felt his fur bristle. He did not know how he knew, but he knew. The scent was different from that of his mother or siblings. It was a stench of decay, of scavengers who fed on weakness.
The eyes blinked once, then disappeared into the night.
The cub did not move for a long time. He simply lay there, his heart pounding.
For the first time since his rebirth, he understood something with absolute certainty—
The jungle was not just a home. It was a battlefield.
And the war had already begun.