Jace

Jace is a lioness carved from shadow and steel. Her gray fur, streaked with dark stripes, ripples like storm clouds rolling across the savanna. Her fog-colored eyes hold no warmth, only a quiet, hardened resolve. She is a lioness who has seen loss, who has tasted pain, and who refuses to let it break her.

Once, she stood as the king’s favored huntress—his mate, the mother of his cubs. But fate is cruel. Her firstborn son, her pride and blood, was taken from her, sent away to another kingdom before she could teach him the ways of his lineage. She did not cry. She did not beg. She simply watched him go, her heart turning colder with every step he took away from her.

Now, she has another cub—a newborn daughter, still too small to understand the weight of the world she has been born into. Jace does not soften for her. She does not coo or whisper sweet comforts. Instead, she watches over her like a silent guardian, strong and unyielding. She will teach her daughter to survive, to fight, to never need saving.

Jace does not let others see her pain. She is harsh, distant, a lioness of few words and even fewer affections. But beneath the steel and the storm, there is a wound that never truly healed. A part of her still listens for the echo of her son’s voice, still wonders if he will remember the mother who was forced to let him go.

She does not hope. Hope is a weakness. But if the day ever comes when he returns to her, she will be waiting—silent, unshaken, and as fierce as ever.