Luneshale Pass Benim.

Samir lifted a paw to press beneath Arslan’s chin to tilt his face upward. “A home of our own,” he murmured, vox heavy with promise. “A kingdom.”

A smile presses into his inky black face, one that spoke of the cruelest blood purity. “It is in our blood to rule,” he whispered. “Not to linger in the shadows of others’ reigns. We are not second sons, nor overlooked princes. We are conquerors.”

Samir leaned closer, his nose brushing lightly against Arslan’s, his voice lowering further, soft but no less commanding. “And we will not only rule for ourselves. No, little lion. We will create something greater—something eternal. Our reign will be carried forward, long after we are gone.”

His paw pressed a little more firmly beneath Arslan’s chin, not harshly but with enough weight to hold his attention. “Imagine our children,” he said, his voice like a silken caress. “Ruling a world shaped by our hands. They will look upon us as gods in their lineage, for it will be our union that gave them life. We will conquer land, lay claim to all in our way, rule and possess all that we may. And our lineage shall burn with the envy of those we may slay.”

His whisper was one of fervor. Each word dripping with malice and hunger. A desire which brewed deep. It was his promise, his solemn vow.