The cub returned to the den before dawn, his body still buzzing with restless energy. His siblings lay curled together, their tiny chests rising and falling in peaceful sleep. The warmth of their bodies should have been comforting, but the cub remained awake, his mind tangled in thoughts.
He had chased the hare.
Not out of hunger. Not out of need.
But because something deep inside him wanted to.
It felt natural. Right.
And that was what unsettled him the most.
His memories of his past life had begun to feel distant, like whispers carried on the wind. There was a time when he had been a man—a man who built things, who commanded power with words instead of claws.
Now?
Now, he was something else.
And despite the fear, despite the resistance—he could not deny that he liked it.
Days passed, and the jungle did not stop to wait for him.
He trained with his siblings under their mother's watchful eye. They wrestled, fought, and stalked through the undergrowth, learning the ways of the wild.
The cub resisted at first, still clinging to the man he had been. But the more he fought, the more he realized—his body knew what to do, even when his mind hesitated.
His paws moved without thought. His muscles coiled and released in perfect rhythm. His senses sharpened, mapping the jungle in ways he never could have imagined in his past life.
And slowly, piece by piece, the resistance began to fade.
One evening, as the golden light of the setting sun filtered through the trees, the cub crouched beside his sister, watching a herd of spotted deer grazing near a riverbank.
His mother's voice was a whisper on the wind. "Patience. Watch how they move. The slowest, the weakest—that is your prey."
The cub narrowed his eyes.
His sister tensed beside him, ready to pounce.
But before she could move, the cub held up a paw. Wait.
She glanced at him, confused. But she obeyed.
The cub studied the herd. The adults were strong, alert. But there—a young fawn, lagging behind, its movements hesitant.
An easy target.
The cub's heart pounded.
His mind whispered, this is cruel.
But his body, his instincts, told him otherwise.
This was survival.
This was the jungle.
Without another thought, he moved.
Silent as the wind, quick as a shadow.
The fawn turned—too late.
The cub leapt, his claws sinking into flesh, his teeth finding purchase. The struggle was brief. The fawn let out a final, shuddering breath, then went still.
The cub stepped back, staring at what he had done.
Something inside him shifted.
He had killed before—his past life was full of metaphorical deaths, the kind measured in contracts and betrayals. But this… this was different.
This was real.
And for the first time since his rebirth—
He did not feel regret.
His mother stepped beside him, her gaze unreadable.
"Do you understand now?" she asked.
The cub exhaled, his breath steady.
"Yes."
And he did.
For the first time, he truly did.