My Wild Beast

Traipsing deeper into Oncari land, jaguars prowled through bushes like shadows, flanking Atia and Aiyana. The silence was suffocating, and the path to Prime Hollow felt endless, though in truth it was no longer than it had ever been.

Atia had shifted into his jaguar form, offering Aiyana silent support, occasionally nudging his head into her shoulder while she stared after her father’s broad back. Chief Tamuari led the way with purposeful strides, his long hair plaited on either side of his face, falling past his chest. His dark skin shimmered under the dappled light, revealing the faint jaguar markings beneath the surface. Like many of the Oncari, he was tall and powerfully built, but his strength as a leader came from his wisdom.

During his time as the Oncari leader, only a handful of hotheads had the gall to challenge Chief Tamuari. They left half-broken, humbled, and a lesson carved into their battered bodies: Age does not equal to weakness.

Slowly, the path that thrummed with a golden glow only the Oncari could see began to fade. On a silent cue, those who had been flanking Atia and Aiyana dispersed, heading off to hunt, return to their families, or laze in the shade until nightfall as if the confrontation with the eagle shifters had never happened.

Wordlessly, Aiyana followed her father into the stone maw of Prime Hollow. The entrance had been carved into jaguar’s head, mid-roar, its maw wide and eternal, fangs jutting like sacred blades. They stepped over the lower teeth as a cold, mystical breath roared from within.

Atia lingered at the threshold, uncertain if he was allowed to come inside.

"You too, Atia," came Tamuari’s low command, his gaze fixed forward.

Atia hopped over the sharp, rocky teeth and clambered up beside Aiyana who spared him a glance, like she might have some sarcastic comment for him if she was in her human form. Atia bumped his head into hers and she rolled her eyes and huffed, leaning her head away from him, but her tail coiled around his briefly before stepping away.

Inside, the air was cool and still but charged. Threads of golden light webbed the stone walls, pulsing gently like a steady heartbeat, the power warming the ground beneath their paws. Some of the rocks were covered in moss, glowing soft blue and casting gentle beacons along the path. Carvings lined the cave walls, stories unfolding in jaguars and symbols as they ventured deeper. Whenever one looked away, the ancient drawings would shift—reshaping into a new tale or pausing to form feline eyes, as though their ancestors were watching back.

The scent of smoke and crushed herbs drifted around them, and high above, bone charms swayed gently. This was where the Oncari held council and performed rituals, but to Atia and Aiyana, it was mostly where they’d been scolded.

In the centre of the cave, a fire pit was already alight. The stone was sunken lower than the rest of the cavern floor, and shaped like an almond around the fire, the pit in the middle making it like an eye. Five thrones carved from dark stone sat at the opposite side of the fire, formed in a semi-circle and raised slightly higher to overlook the pit and those not on the council.