Chapter Twenty-Seven: When He Speaks

The mist curled low across the forest floor like a living breath, soft and silver beneath the pale afternoon light. In the heart of the clearing, Vitani paced, her paws brushing frost-covered grass. Her Lion Guard watched from the sidelines with thinly veiled amusement. “Alright,” Vitani said, her voice determined. “This time, I’ve got it. Won’t know what hit him.”                                                 Shabaha grinned. “Sure. Just like the last three times.” Vitani ignored her. She crouched low, muscles coiling with practiced precision. A leaf swirled on the breeze in front of her—her focus point. She launched. But as her paws met the ground, her back foot slipped on a patch of hidden frost. She landed in a tangle of limbs and pride, rolling into an ungraceful heap. From beneath the twisted tree, Jitu watched. His usual perch. His usual stillness. Icy blue eyes followed her fall, calm and unblinking. Vitani sprang to her feet, her fur bristling. “Not. A. Word,” she hissed, glaring at her Guard. But the voice that responded didn’t belong to any of them. “You slip when pouncing,” came a low, steady voice—deep and smooth as river stone. Calm. Undeniable. Vitani froze mid-step. Her head whipped toward the tree.Imara’s jaw dropped. “Did he just…?” Vitani’s mouth hung open. “Did you just… talk?” Jitu didn’t move. He met her gaze with his usual unshaken calm, expression unreadable. But he said no more. Silence returned to the clearing like a familiar blanket. “I do not slip,” Vitani said, voice sharp, cheeks flushing with heat. Jitu blinked slowly. Said nothing. Returned to stillness.          Three Days Later.                                 Vitani was alone this time. Her Guard had gone scouting, leaving her to train in silence. She crouched. Pounced. Landed. Her back paw slid just a fraction across the frosty earth. She gritted her teeth. Jitu, silent in his place beneath the tree, said nothing. But she could feel his gaze—steady, calm, ever watching. “I’m not slipping,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m adjusting.” No comment. Only mist. Only eyes.                              

Five Days In.                                     Training with the Guard offered no distraction. They each took turns leaping and landing with smooth grace. When it came to her turn, the same skid of her back paw greeted her like a mocking friend. “You slip when pouncing,” Shabaha teased in a low, mimicking rumble. Vitani glared. “Not. Funny.” From his perch, Jitu remained still. His gaze offered nothing—no judgment, no praise.                                                   Seven Days Later.                                   She prepared differently this time. Slower. More deliberate. She crouched. Focused. Every ounce of attention tuned to the weight of her muscles, the precision of her landing. She launched—and landed. Solid. Clean. Her heart surged. She turned to the tree, chest heaving slightly, pride burning in her eyes. “You see that?!” she called. “I didn’t slip!” Jitu’s eyes met hers. Still. Calm. Unmoved. She stared at him. Waited. “Well?” she challenged. “Nothing to say now, huh?” Still he said nothing. Not even a blink. Vitani snorted, turning away with a dramatic toss of her head. “Fine. Be that way.” But as she walked off, something betrayed her. Just for a second, before she disappeared into the mist, a smile—soft, faint, entirely uninvited—touched her lips. She’d gotten him to speak once. Maybe once was all she needed.