CHHAVA: The prince of the Jungle

The jungle awoke with the golden touch of dawn, painting the leaves in shades of fire and emerald. The cub stretched, his muscles rippling beneath his striped coat. He felt… different. Not in body, but in mind.

The night had been long, filled with silent revelations and lingering questions. For the first time, he did not simply wake as a hunter. He awoke as something more—a being caught between two worlds, carrying both the instincts of the tiger and the memories of a man.

But the jungle would not wait for his introspection.

A distant cry shattered the morning stillness. Sharp. Desperate.

The cub's ears twitched.

A young deer. Injured. Trapped.

His mother and siblings were not nearby. This was his moment—to hunt alone, to prove his growing strength.

He stalked forward, his steps soundless against the damp earth. The scent of blood reached his nose, primal hunger stirring deep within him. He followed the trail through the thicket until he saw it.

A fawn lay sprawled on the ground, one of its legs twisted at an unnatural angle. Its wide, dark eyes met his, filled with a terror the cub knew all too well.

He hesitated.

The jungle had no mercy. The weak perished. The strong survived. He had witnessed it time and time again. And yet…

The memory of the elephant flickered in his mind—the calm, unshaken presence that had commanded respect without force. Was this what strength meant? To take without question? Or was there a choice?

The cub's claws flexed. The hunger inside him growled for the kill.

But another voice—one older, one deeply buried—whispered something else.

Not yet.

Not like this.

His breath came slow and measured. He stepped closer, watching the fawn flinch, waiting for the final strike. But instead of delivering the killing blow, he simply stood there, heart pounding.

The jungle was watching.

What would he choose?