The savanna exhaled a cool breath as dusk settled, the crimson sun sinking into a sea of stars that glittered like scattered flint. Kael perched on a low ridge, his patchy mane ruffled by the breeze, his amber eyes fixed on the Sundrift Pride below. The pride was a living pulse, its 4,000 lions gathering in a vast clearing for the Starlit Telling, a monthly ritual where stories wove the past into the present. Kael's tail flicked, his heart thrumming with anticipation. Stories weren't just words—they were roars, scents, truths. And tonight, Drenn was telling.
Kael's ears still burned from Mira's lecture after the hollow fiasco two days ago. The hyena's rancid stench, the lion skull's hollow stare—they haunted him, not with fear but with questions. Why was a hyena hiding so close to the pride? Whose skull was it? Mira had brushed him off, saying cubs didn't need to know, but Kael wasn't just any cub. He was a lion, and lions found things. Tonight, he'd listen to Drenn's tale, and maybe, just maybe, he'd catch a clue.
"Stop fidgeting," Sira growled, sprawled beside him. Her tawny fur glowed under the starlight, but her eyes were narrowed, as if she could smell his scheming. "You're gonna get us stuck cleaning bones again."
Kael grinned, unbothered. "Relax, Sira. It's just stories. What's the worst that could happen?"
"With you? Everything," Sira muttered, batting his ear.
A sharp yip cut through their bickering. Tira bounded up the ridge, her sleek form a shadow against the stars, Vorr trailing behind with his usual stumble. "Kael! Sira! Move your tails, or we'll miss the best spots!" Tira's eyes blazed with excitement, her voice carrying over the pride's low roars.
Vorr flopped onto the grass, panting. "Why do we always have to run? Stories aren't going anywhere."
Tira smirked, nudging him. "Because the good spots do, twig. Come on."
Kael leaped to his paws, his earlier brooding forgotten. "Race you!" he called, tearing down the ridge. Tira laughed, matching his pace, while Sira and Vorr groaned but followed. The four cubs wove through the pride, dodging lounging lions and piles of gnawed bones. The air was thick with scents—warm fur, crushed grass, the faint tang of blood from a recent hunt. Kael's nose twitched, cataloging it all, his senses alive with the pride's rhythm.
The clearing was a sea of lions, their fur a mosaic of gold, tawny, and dusky gray. Cubs wrestled at the edges, their squeals mingling with the deep roars of elders. In the center, a massive flat rock served as the telling stone, its surface worn smooth by centuries of paws. Drenn sat atop it, his grizzled mane silvered by starlight, his one good eye glinting like a blade. The old lion's scars told stories of their own—jagged lines across his flank, a notched ear from battles Kael could only imagine. Drenn's presence silenced the crowd, his stillness commanding respect.
Kael skidded to a stop near the front, Tira at his side. Sira and Vorr caught up, panting, as the cubs squeezed into a gap between two huntresses. Kael's eyes flicked to a smaller cub nearby, her fur pale and dappled, her head bowed as if trying to vanish. Lyss, he remembered—quiet, always alone, with eyes that seemed to see too much. She caught his gaze and flinched, ducking lower. Kael tilted his head, curious, but Tira's nudge pulled him back.
"Focus, runt," Tira whispered. "Drenn's starting."
Drenn rose, his massive frame casting a shadow over the clearing. He inhaled, and his roar rolled out—a deep, resonant bellow that vibrated through Kael's bones. It wasn't just sound; it was roar-speak, the pride's language of nuance and memory. Cubs learned it young, but Kael was still clumsy, catching only fragments: listen, remember, truth. The pride fell silent, even the cubs hushing, as Drenn's voice wove the night.
"Long ago," Drenn began, his growl low and rhythmic, "before Vyrn bore the prides, the Star Lions walked the earth. They were not like us—born of flesh and blood—but of light and will, their roars shaping the rivers, the canyons, the bones of the world."
Kael leaned forward, his heart racing. Star Lions. He'd heard scraps of this tale, whispered by Mira when he was too young to understand. But Drenn's voice made it real, like he'd seen them himself. The old lion paced the telling stone, his eye sweeping the crowd.
"They hunted no prey," Drenn continued, "for they fed on the dreams of the earth. But their hunger grew, and they turned on each other, claw against claw, until the skies wept ash and the rivers ran red. The Star Lions fell, their light scattered to the stars, but their roars lingered, carved into the stones of Vyrn."
Kael's mind flashed to the canyon—the lion carving, its mane flared like a sunburst. Was that a Star Lion? His tail flicked, his paws itching to bolt back and check. Tira nudged him, sensing his restlessness, but her eyes were locked on Drenn, wide with awe.
"One among them, Veyra, the Last Light, refused to fade," Drenn said. "She roamed Vyrn, seeking her kin, her roar a lament that woke the first lions—us. She taught us to hunt, to love, to fight. But her gift came with a warning: 'Guard the stones, for they hold our truth. Stray, and the earth will roar again.'"
The pride stirred, a low murmur rippling through the crowd. Kael's fur prickled. The earth roaring? Like the sound in the canyon? He glanced at Lyss, who was staring at the stars, her lips moving silently. What was she doing? Counting? Praying? He made a mental note to ask her later.
Drenn's roar sharpened, silencing the murmurs. "Veyra's stones are lost, scattered across Vyrn's biomes—jungle, desert, tundra, and beyond. Some say they lie in the crimson canyon, others in the glowing deeps. But beware, cubs, for the stones are guarded, and not all guardians are kind."
Kael's heart thudded. Guardians. Like hyenas? Or something worse? He wanted to yip, to demand answers, but Sira's glare pinned him. Drenn's tale wound on, detailing Veyra's final days, her light fading into the stars. The pride roared in unison as he finished, a chorus that shook the earth, and Kael joined in, his small voice lost but fierce.
The telling broke into smaller groups, lions sharing their own stories under the stars. Kael's group—him, Tira, Sira, and Vorr—clustered near a huntress named Kryn, whose tales were less grand but spicier, full of rogue lions and forbidden trysts. Kael barely listened, his mind churning. The canyon. The stones. Veyra. He had to know more.
"Stop plotting," Sira whispered, her paw nudging his flank. "I know that look."
Kael grinned, unrepentant. "I'm not plotting. I'm thinking."
"Same thing," Vorr muttered, gnawing a stick. "You're gonna drag us back to that canyon, aren't you?"
Tira's eyes gleamed. "I'm in. Stones? Guardians? Sounds like fun."
Sira groaned. "You're all insane."
Kael's gaze drifted to Lyss, who lingered at the group's edge, her pale fur glowing faintly. She was muttering again, her eyes on the stars. Kael nudged Tira. "What's with her?"
Tira shrugged. "Lyss? She's weird. Always staring at the sky, like it's talking to her."
"Maybe it is," Kael said, half-joking. He padded over, ignoring Sira's warning hiss. "Hey, Lyss."
Lyss flinched, her green eyes wide. "W-what?"
"You were watching the stars during Drenn's story," Kael said, keeping his voice light. "Know something about the Star Lions?"
Lyss's ears flattened, and she glanced away. "N-no. I just… like stars."
Kael tilted his head, sensing a lie. "Come on. You were muttering. What's up?"
Lyss hesitated, her claws flexing nervously. "It's nothing. Just… patterns. The stars move, you know? Like they're telling a story."
Kael's tail flicked. "A story? Like Drenn's?"
"Not exactly," Lyss said, her voice barely a whisper. "It's… older. I don't know. Forget it."
Kael didn't want to forget it, but Lyss's hunched shoulders told him to back off. "Okay. But if you figure it out, tell me. I like stories."
Lyss nodded, a tiny smile flickering. Kael padded back to his group, his mind buzzing. Lyss knew something, and he'd get it out of her eventually. For now, the canyon was calling louder.
Kryn's tale ended, and the cubs were herded toward their dens. Kael lagged behind, his eyes on Drenn, who was speaking with Mira near the telling stone. He crept closer, ears perked, catching fragments of their roar-speak: hyena, hollow, too close. His heart skipped. They were talking about his find.
"Drenn," Mira growled, her voice low. "It's not just one. Scouts found tracks—three, maybe four. They're bold, hunting near the pride."
Drenn's eye narrowed. "Rogues. Or worse, scouts for a pack. The canyon's stirring things up."
Kael's fur prickled. The canyon again. He wanted to yip, to demand answers, but Mira's head snapped toward him. "Kael! Den. Now."
He scurried off, his mind racing. Hyenas. The canyon. Veyra's stones. It was all connected, and he was caught in the middle. Back in the den, he curled against Sira, Mira's warmth a steady anchor. The pride's roars lulled him, but sleep was far off. The stars burned through the den's opening, and Kael felt their weight, like they were watching him.
Tomorrow, he'd find Lyss. Tomorrow, he'd talk to Drenn. Tomorrow, he'd chase the truth, no matter how sharp its claws. Vyrn was a puzzle, and Kael was no lump. He was a lion, and he was unbound.