Prologue – The Moment Between Heartbeats
They say death feels like falling.
But I didn't fall.
I burned.
One moment, there was the screech of twisting metal, the flash of headlights, my hand jerking up in useless defense.
The next—silence.
Weightless silence, as if the world had exhaled me.
I should have been afraid.
Instead, I felt... aware.
Every heartbeat echoed in my bones, thunderous, slowing, then stopping—
—except it didn't.
Something else kept beating.
Louder. Deeper. Not in my chest but everywhere, in the air itself.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the wreck.
I was floating in a sea of gold.
The light wasn't warm or cold—it was. It hummed around me, shifting, watching.
And beneath the hum, a voice, soft and layered, neither male nor female:
"The lioness sleeps. The pride awaits. Wake, vessel of the hunt."
My breath caught.
"Who are you?"
No answer—only a sensation, ancient and immense, brushing against my mind like the passing of a giant paw.
Images flickered inside me: teeth bared in moonlight, claw marks burning like runes, eyes that gleamed with feral light. A world alive and predatory, pulsing with instincts not my own.
The voice returned, closer now—inside my skin.
"In the Beast God's world, beauty is strength. Survive, and they will kneel.
Fail, and you will feed the ferals."
A shadow crossed the gold—a ripple of darker power, coiled and cold. It hissed as it passed, leaving the taste of venom on my tongue.
And then I fell.
No wind, no scream. Just the wild rush of senses flooding open: grass, blood, the crackle of life.
A body that was not mine, muscles coiled and ready, heart roaring with a rhythm too strong for a human cage.
Somewhere above, I thought I heard the voice whisper one last thing—
"Remember this, Maise: the world you enter worships strength... and devours the weak."
Then the ground met me.
And the hunt began.
Chapter 1 – The Hunt
The wind tasted like iron.
It filled my nose, slid down my throat, and told me exactly where the herd had gone.
I didn't remember learning that trick.
I only knew that the muscles in my shoulders bunched before I even decided to move.
One heartbeat—and I was running.
The world blurred into color and scent. Grass whipped my flanks, paws pounded dirt, and somewhere in the back of my skull a human voice screamed that I didn't have paws, didn't run on four legs. The rest of me didn't care. The lioness body knew what to do; I only clung to it, terrified and exhilarated.
Three gazelle bounded ahead. I chose the smallest. Instinct narrowed the world to breath, distance, timing—
Leap.
We collided in a rush of fur and dust. The animal went down beneath my claws, kicking once, twice, and then still.
Silence crashed down harder than the kill.
I stood over the carcass, panting, the taste of blood strange on my tongue. The part of me that was still human recoiled. The part that wasn't purred.
Where am I?
The thought broke the trance. My body shuddered, bones twisting; heat rippled over my skin, and then I was on two feet again—naked, trembling, golden fur receding into flesh. The shift felt natural, like breathing out. No pain, no effort. Only wrongness in the quiet afterward.
The savanna stretched forever, gold and crimson beneath the setting sun. Wind combed the tall grass like fingers through hair. I could hear things miles away: beating wings, distant roars, the scrape of scales on stone. It was beautiful—and so loud it hurt.
Then I smelled them.
Not gazelle. Not anything prey would smell like. Musky, sharp, alive with aura.
Beastmen.
I crouched instinctively, heart hammering. The scents carried power—one muscled and wild as storm-fur, the other thick with the warmth of sun-baked rock. They were hunting too, and the breeze said they were coming straight toward me.
My fingers brushed the gazelle's fur. A growl purred out of my throat before I could stop it. Mine.
Another voice answered from the grass.
"Easy now, golden one. We're not here to steal."
I turned. A man stepped into view—tall, silver-haired, eyes the color of moonlight on water. A wolf's tail flicked behind him. Beside him moved a darker shadow, mane catching the last rays of sun like flame. Lion. Alpha. Power rolled off him in waves.
"What have we found?" the lion asked, smile sharp as claws. "A huntress with no scent of clan."
My mouth was dry. My voice—my own voice—came out raw.
"I... don't know."
The wolf sniffed the air, ears twitching. "She's not lying, Nox."
Nox. The name burned itself into my mind like a brand. Something in me stirred, equal parts fear and recognition.
He tilted his head, studying me as though I were a puzzle. "Then tell me, lost one. How does a lioness forget her tribe?"
I had no answer. Only the fading warmth of the kill between my hands and the uneasy truth beating in my chest:
I wasn't their kind.
Not really.
But the world didn't seem to care.