Idalia padded low to the ground, belly brushing the sharp stones, tail flicking in tiny jerks as she slinked through the volcanic forest.

  The new afternoon's heat shimmered off the black trunks, and rivers of lava hissed and spat just far enough away to light her path in glowing orange.

  Idalia wrinkled her nose, keeping downwind like she'd practiced on fat fire-hares. Hiro's scent was strong, mixed with the fiercer musk of Bloombark.

  Her ears pricked. They weren't far.

  She ducked under a twisted root, careful not to snap the brittle stone-branches, her paws whisper-quiet against the ash. Her heart pounded, like the thumping of ashfall that descended on her. Yet she repeated the thoughts like a mantra.

  I'll prove I can track. I'll prove I can sneak. And I'll prove Papa's not gone.

  She… if she recalled correctly, that fox said he was out there. But where?

  No matter. She needed to listen. Sure enough, voices drifted through the haze.

  Hiro's was first, rough but unsteady. "Mother… why didn't you tell the pride the truth?"

  Idalia froze, ears twitching. She crouched, slipping behind a charred boulder, peeking with wide eyes.

  There they were: Bloombark striding with her great shoulders rolling like thunder, Hiro padding close at her side, his head low but eyes bright with unease.

  "The truth," Bloombark rumbled. "That Solrift wasn't slain but… taken?"

  Idalia's breath hitched. Her claws dug into the rock.

  "They were small," Bloombark went on, tail swishing lazily. "Two-legged pests. Apes? Don't care. Not strong, not mighty. But many. They fought like ants, all crawling over him, together, stabbing and shouting like soldiers. Pesky things." She gave a low chuckle. "Quite the sight. I almost laughed."

  Hiro stiffened. "Then why…. why didn't you bring him back? We could've—"

  "We could've what?" Bloombark snapped, then softened into a smug purr. "Risk ourselves for a male who already spent his strength? No. His fate is sealed. Whether they ate him or caged him, he is gone from our hunt. That leaves less weight on my shoulders. Less… competition."

  Idalia's eyes went round, her whole body trembling. Competition? Papa's not prey. Papa's the strongest! How dare she—!

  Bloombark glanced at her son, her grin sharp as obsidian. "And now, Hiro… with Solrift gone, your path clears. Pawail grows old, slower every moon. The pride will soon need a new Alpha. And you, my son, you will be ready."

  Hiro growled low, his tail flicking, but his ears tilted back. "Mother… that's not right. Solrift was my kin. He… he fought alongside and taught me…" His voice cracked, and Idalia's heart twisted.

  Bloombark licked his ear with a quick, dismissive flick. "He was a rival as much as kin. You'll learn. This is how the pride survives. You will rise higher without his shadow blocking your sun."

  Idalia's teeth ached with the urge to bite something, to leap out and claw Bloombark's muzzle bloody. Liar! Traitor! Thief! The words screamed in her skull. But her paws refused to move, nailed to the stone with fear and fury.

  Papa wasn't gone. He was taken. Taken by them. Two-legged apes. Small. Many. United.

  Her heart pounded. Her breath came in short huffs. She wanted to roar, but she clamped her jaws shut, pressing herself flatter against the ground. If Bloombark found her, she'd be dragged by the scruff back to Mama… or worse—

  But now she knew.

  Bloombark lied to the pride. Papa wasn't dead. He was out there. Captured. Waiting. Idalia swore that she would find him. Now she needed to leave, or else… her ears pressed flat. She shifted her paw just a hair, a pebble rolled under her claws. Click.

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  Bloombark's head snapped around. Her nostrils flared, teeth glinting. "Who's there?"

  Idalia's stomach plunged into her paws. She flattened further, tail curling tight against her flank. The heat of the lava river suddenly felt like it was burning straight into her fur.

  Hiro jolted, ears pricked, his head swinging toward the shadows. "Mother? Did you smell—?"

  "Quiet," Bloombark hissed, padding closer to the boulder. Her steps were deliberate, each one crunching the ash beneath her weight. Her green eyes cut through the gloom, narrow, hunting.

  Idalia's breath caught in her throat. Don't move. Don't breathe. I'm just a rock. I'm just a little rock. Rocks don't smell like kittens, do they?

  Bloombark's nose twitched, sharp. She lowered her muzzle to the ground, sniffing deep, following the faintest trail. Idalia could hear it—snff, snff—closer, closer. Her tail itched to lash, but she held it stiff, every muscle screaming stillness.

  Hiro shifted nervously. "Mother, it's probably nothing. Just a… just a salamander, or…" He trailed off, ears flicking, not believing his own words.

  Bloombark's lip curled, but then she huffed through her nose, dismissive.

  "Hmph. The forest plays tricks in the heat. Come, Hiro. We've lingered too long. Pawail may already be suspicious."

  Her heavy steps turned away, crunching the ash as she strode back toward the molten glow. Hiro lingered for a heartbeat longer, his eyes scanning the shadows. His gaze slid over the boulder where Idalia hid. For one breath, she thought his eyes met hers.

  Her heart hammered like thunder.

  But he turned, tail low, and padded after his mother.

  Only when their pawsteps faded into the lava-hiss distance did Idalia collapse against the stone, breath bursting out in a squeaky gasp. Her fur stood on end, her paws trembled, but her grin was feral.

  Caught? Almost. But not yet.

  She dug her claws into the ground, carving deep little scars. Now I know. Papa's out there. And I'll get him back before any of them. Even if I have to sneak through the whole world.

  ???

  Idalia stormed through the settlement, paws scattering ash and grit.

  Her tail lashed with every step, her ears ringing with Bloombark's cruel words. Papa wasn't gone. He was taken. And Grandpa sent him. She had to know why. She had to bite the truth out of Alpha Pawail's muzzle if she must.

  She found him at the edge of the basalt terrace where the pride's banners of bone and claw jutted into the twilight. The twin suns bled red against his mane as he sat, still as a carved statue, gazing across the charred valley. His shoulders were huge, his scars deep, but his eyes glowed faintly, old and sharp.

  Idalia crept closer, then stomped instead. No, she wouldn't creep. She wanted him to hear her, to see her. She planted herself before him, chin lifted. "Grandpa."

  Alpha Pawail's gaze slid down to meet hers, calm and weighty. He said nothing at first, only studied her like she was a puzzle. Idalia's whiskers quivered, her claws flexed against the stone.

  "Tell me," she blurted. "Why did you make Papa and Bloombark fight out there? Why send them to the Hollow Lord's den? You knew it was dangerous. You knew they might… they might not come back."

  Her voice cracked, but she bit it shut and stamped her paw. "Tell me the truth. What was your strategy?"

  Silence stretched like the lava plains. Grandpa Pawail's eyes half-lidded, then softened. He exhaled through his fangs, a low sigh that stirred Idalia's fur.

  "You are young, Idaliakit," he rumbled, "but you are your father's daughter. You will not be comforted by lies."

  Idalia's ears twitched, hope and fury tangled. She held his gaze, waiting.

  Finally, the Alpha spoke. "The Phantom Carnotaurs breed like wildfire. Savage. Relentless. If we fought them piece by piece, skirmish after skirmish, their numbers would rise again and again until—" he swept his tail toward the settlement, "—there would be no more Pride. Not now. Not a season from now. Not in a year. Eventually, they would bury us in their tide."

  Her heart thumped hard. He leaned down, eyes sharp as stone shards.

  "That is why we forced them to our lands. That is why we fought on two fronts. If the last battle was not decisive, then it was meaningless. The Carnotaurs had to be broken here, in one strike. Solrift and Bloombark were strong enough to hold half the beasts, to draw their frenzy, to weaken their core. That was their purpose. Their duty."

  Idalia's throat burned. "So… you sent Papa to… to stall? To… sacrifice?"

  "No," Pawail said, his voice heavy. "I sent him to protect every claw, every cub, every life in this Pride. His strength gave us the chance to strike true. Without him and Bloombark, there would be no victory. Without them…" He lifted his muzzle, gaze hard against the horizon. "There would be no Pride left to return to."

  Idalia shook her head, fur bristling. "But he's not gone! He was captured, not slain!"

  Pawail blinked, surprised at her fire, but did not deny or confirm. His gaze lingered on hers for a long, sharp moment, then he sighed again, the weight of years behind it.

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. What matters is this, little one: your father chose his path knowing it could end in blood. That is what it means to lead. That is what it means to protect. One day, you will understand."

  Idalia snarled softly, tears burning at the edge of her eyes. "I'll understand when I bring him back."

  Pawail's stare dug deep into her, as if searching for something buried. Then slowly, he dipped his head in the faintest nod.

  "Then may the suns guide your claws, Idaliakit. For if Solrift still breathes, you will need more than pride to find him."

  The words struck like a brand, searing into her heart. She stood trembling, furious, but determined. And when she stomped away, her paws carried more than anger. They carried her vow. "…find Papa at all costs."

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