They called him Cain. Not his real name, but real enough for anyone who mattered. No one dared get close. His name alone carried weight, whispered in fear, followed by tales of his private estate far out in the desert hills—where only the wind and the roar of lions broke the silence.

The lions were his pride, literally. Brought in from places no one asked about, trained not with chains or cages, but with presence. His presence. They feared nothing and no one… except him. Massive, brutal, and wild, they were more like beasts of war than animals.

No one touched them. No one even looked them in the eye.

So when Cain stepped into the side courtyard that late evening and saw a figure nestled between them, his heart stopped.

A girl. Young. Ragged clothes. Dirt smeared on her cheek. Arms wrapped around the neck of the most vicious male lion like he was a common housecat.

And the lion..Zar…was purring.

Cain froze.

It had to be a trick. Or a trap. Or some kind of hallucination. But then she looked up.

Big eyes. Quiet surprise. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. Just blinked like she was afraid he would vanish.

He approached slowly, the other lions watching him now with unreadable eyes. She didn’t move. She stayed there, her cheek against golden fur, like it was the only safe place in the world.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low, rough from disbelief more than anger.

She opened her mouth but said nothing. She didn’t have to. Everything about her said lost. Thin frame. Worn shoes. A strange kind of peace on her face, like this wasn’t the first time the world had turned its back on her..but maybe the first time something didn’t.

He should’ve called someone. Should’ve told her to leave.

But instead… he knelt. And for the first time in years, his lions didn’t look to him. They looked to her.