Yemi had always felt like she was stuck between two worlds—caught between the expectations of being a lioness of the pride and the frustration of watching her brothers, especially Okropir, get everything handed to them. Okropir was the golden cub, the one who had been blessed with Bomuháli’s legacy, Siddhi’s endless adoration, and the weight of the throne before he’d even learned how to defend it. He was the future king, the one everyone talked about, the one everyone doted on. And no one ever seemed to notice how easy it had all been for him.
Yemi, on the other hand, had always had to fight for everything.
She fought for food. She fought for space in the shade. She fought for respect from the pride. As the youngest, she was always overlooked or dismissed. But what made it worse was watching Okropir, her older brother, float through life like a feather on the wind. He was protected by their mother, coddled like the prince he was, never having to earn the attention that she had to scramble for. He would never understand what it was like to actually fight for a place in the pride.
The worst part? Everyone expected her to follow him. She was supposed to admire him, love him, support him as the future king. But how could she? He had never fought for anything. He had never had to face the hunger or the challenges of the world outside their family bubble. He’d been the chosen one since birth, simply because of who he was born to. That was it. No real struggles, no real tests of character. He was just... given the throne.
And then there was Abrik.
Yemi understood her brother's resentment. He was strong, powerful, and had earned everything he had. He had worked for it. Okropir, however, had been handed things on a silver platter. It grated on Yemi that their father, Bomuháli, had always treated Okropir as if he were the only one worthy of leadership. Bomuháli had always believed that Okropir was the next in line, that his smooth words and gentle nature would lead the pride into the future. But Yemi didn’t see it that way.
She didn’t see a king when she looked at Okropir. She saw a spoiled cub, someone who would buckle under the weight of responsibility when the time came. What use was a king who didn’t know how to fight for the throne?
When Bomuháli passed away, leaving the pride in limbo, it was clear that Okropir was going to step up. But there was a part of Yemi that recoiled at the thought. The pride would fall in his lap like a warm meal, and he would wear the crown with that same uncertain look he always wore, the one that said, I don’t know if I’m ready for this, but I’ll do it anyway.
It was too easy for him. Too expected.
And that’s when it happened. Abrik stepped forward and issued the challenge.
“I challenge you for the throne, Okropir,” Abrik’s voice was strong, unwavering. The words hung in the air, and Yemi could see the tension in her brother’s face. This was the moment that would change everything. For too long, Abrik had been silent, holding back his frustrations, but now it was out in the open.
At first, Yemi was torn. On one hand, she had always been angry at how Okropir had been treated like royalty from the moment he was born. He was the heir, sure, but he hadn’t earned it. On the other hand, she knew what this would do to the pride. The challenge wasn’t just about two brothers fighting—it was about the future of the pride. If Okropir failed, what would happen to them? Would they fall into chaos?
But when she looked at her brother, standing there with his chest puffed in defiance, Yemi’s heart surged with something sharp, something dark.
It’s time.
Okropir wasn’t going to get the throne without truly earning it—not just by birthright, but through strength. She couldn’t stand by and let him take what didn’t belong to him, even if it meant the pride would have to endure a fight between its two strongest sons. Abrik would prove that he was the one who deserved the crown.
The fight was brutal. Yemi had seen many battles in her time—between rivals, between pride members—but this one felt different. The air was thick with tension, the pride gathered around in a circle, watching as her brothers clashed. Abrik was everything she admired—powerful, assertive, unwilling to back down. He fought with everything in him, pouring all his frustration into every strike.
But Okropir—her brother, the one who had never faced true adversity—wasn’t going down without a fight. His movements were quick, calculated, and with each blow he avoided, each moment he regained his footing, Yemi saw something in him she hadn’t expected: strength. He might not have the brute force of Abrik, but he had something else—a quiet determination, a sharpness in his mind that let him outmaneuver his brother again and again.
It was his mind that kept him in the fight, and in the end, it was that very same mind that allowed him to overpower Abrik. With a swift, calculated move, Okropir pinned Abrik to the ground, his weight and resolve pressing down on him.
For a moment, Yemi couldn’t breathe. It was over.
Her brother had won.
Okropir stood above Abrik, his body trembling from the fight, but there was no joy in his eyes—just a quiet, steady acceptance of what had happened. He had won the throne, not because he was stronger, but because he had proven that he could lead with his mind, his heart, and his ability to endure. He had earned it.
Yemi swallowed the bitter taste that rose in her throat. She had wanted Abrik to win, wanted to see him take his rightful place as king, but now, standing there in the aftermath, Yemi understood something she hadn’t before.
Okropir wasn’t just a pampered prince. He had fought for this. Maybe not with his claws or his strength, but with something far harder to wield—his resolve.
Abrik, bloodied but not broken, pushed himself up and met Okropir’s gaze. "You are the king now," he said, and there was something in his voice—grudging respect, perhaps, or maybe even a hint of admiration. "I see it."
Yemi stepped forward, watching as her brothers made peace, the tension between them beginning to fade. Despite herself, she felt a flicker of pride for Okropir. It had been hard to admit, but she couldn’t deny it anymore—he was the king, the true heir.
She nodded at him, not a smile, but a gesture of acknowledgment. Okropir had earned his place, and in that moment, Yemi realized that the pride was ready for him. Even if she had wanted something different, even if she had wanted to see Abrik rule, she could see now that Okropir was ready.
He wasn’t just a prince anymore. He was their king.
