The jungle had eyes.
Even when the cub returned to the den, curling up beside his siblings, he could still feel them—watching from the shadows, waiting. The scent of hyenas clung to his memory, festering like a wound that refused to close.
Sleep did not come easily. When it did, it was not peaceful.
Dreams, or something worse, swallowed him whole.
A room. Dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. Men sat in a half-circle before him, their suits crisp, their faces calm.
One man leaned forward, his fingers laced together. His voice was smooth, almost kind.
"You know what we're offering is fair."
The cub—no, the man—felt his own hands tremble. The paper before him was thin, delicate. A contract. A decision.
He knew what signing it meant.
"I need more time." His own voice sounded small, weak.
The man across from him smiled. A practiced smile. The kind that did not reach the eyes.
"Time isn't something you have."
The room felt smaller, suffocating. He could feel the walls closing in.
"You have no other choice."
A pen was placed in his hand.
A weight pressed down on him, heavy, unbearable.
He signed.
And in that moment, something inside him broke.
The cub jerked awake.
His breathing was ragged, his tiny body trembling. He could still feel the pen in his grasp, the weight of the decision crushing him.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. The jungle around him blurred. But then the damp earth beneath his paws, the warmth of his siblings, the distant roar of the river—all of it came rushing back.
The cub exhaled.
But something was wrong.
A scent. Faint, but unmistakable.
Blood.
His ears twitched, his senses sharpening. Carefully, he uncurled from his siblings, padding toward the den's entrance. The jungle was dark, the night still thick. But the scent was clear now, carried on the wind.
Not just any blood.
Tiger blood.
His mother was gone.
The cub's heart pounded. He hesitated only for a moment before following the scent, his small paws silent against the earth.
The jungle stretched before him, vast and unknowable. Every rustle of leaves, every whisper of wind felt like a warning. But he did not stop.
The scent grew stronger. Metallic, raw.
Then he saw it.
A clearing bathed in moonlight.
And in its center—his mother.
She stood tall, her body streaked with blood. It ran down her side, dripping onto the earth. Yet she did not falter.
At her feet lay another tiger. A male, his body still, his fur stained red. His throat had been torn open.
The cub froze.
His mother turned to him, her golden eyes unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, at last, she broke the silence.
"Come here, cub."
Her voice was not unkind, but it held no softness.
The cub hesitated, his body stiff. But he obeyed, stepping closer. The scent of blood was overwhelming now.
The tigress gazed down at the slain male, her expression unreadable. Then she looked back at her son.
"Do you know why he is dead?"
The cub swallowed, his throat dry. He shook his head.
The tigress's eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"Because he forgot the laws of the jungle."
The cub stared at the lifeless tiger. The jungle had seemed cruel before, but this—this was something else.
"He was strong," his mother continued. "Strong enough to fight. But he fought for the wrong thing."
The cub's ears twitched. "What did he fight for?"
The tigress exhaled. "His own pride."
She turned away, flicking her tail. "Come. There is nothing more to see."
But the cub remained.
Because deep in his chest, something stirred.
Pride.
Had he not fought for the same thing in his past life? Had he not tried to protect his status, his power, only to lose it all?
The dead tiger lay before him, his sightless eyes staring into nothing.
For the first time, the cub wondered—was this his fate as well?
Was he destined to fall again?