Perspective: Freya Van Daalen
Freya wanted to help.
Or rather — her human mind wanted to help.
The impulse was almost automatic: run to him, fight beside him, do what she had always done since the beginning of this journey.
Part of her longed to relive that feeling of partnership — like when she and Alessio had fought side by side against the undead in the dungeon's second chamber, days ago.
That day, they had fought in perfect harmony, every strike and movement fitting together like gears in a well-oiled machine.
She remembered the adrenaline, the rhythm, the comfort of knowing the tank in front of her would not fall.
But now… things were different.
Something inside her stopped her from moving.
Not physically — the lioness's body was powerful, fast, ready to pounce — but on a much deeper level.
An instinct.
Something that had been growing within her since the moment they stepped into that savanna.
Something that whispered in her wild heart that she must not interfere.
Not now.
Not in this battle.
Because what unfolded before her eyes was not a mere fight for survival.
It was a battle of honor.
And somehow, Freya knew it.
Without understanding how, she knew that if she interfered — if she dared to move — she would destroy something far greater than either of them.
Something the very world seemed to be watching in silence.
So she stood still, watching.
Muscles tense, heart pounding, breath trapped beneath the weight of dust and tension.
Before her, the scene was pure madness.
Two colossal lions circled each other like forces of nature about to collide.
The air vibrated with each step they took.
The wind ruffled their manes.
And the tall grass bent beneath the sweep of their tails.
The invader moved first — a blur of gold and fury.
His paws slammed the ground, and with a leap that sent the air exploding into dust, he lunged, claws spread like blades.
But Aslan reacted —
swiftly.
Precisely.
He dodged the first blow with an almost impossible motion — body twisting aside, forepaw spinning in a counter-swipe that threw the invader off balance and down to the earth.
The impact thundered, and a cloud of dust rose around them.
Freya's heart skipped a beat.
For a moment, she thought it was over.
But the other lion rose again — and roared.
A primal, deafening sound.
The kind of roar that could make every living creature retreat.
The air trembled.
And Aslan answered in kind — a deep, resonant roar that rolled across the savanna like a storm, claiming the space as his own declaration.
Then they collided.
The impact was brutal.
Body against body, muscle against muscle, force against force.
Paws clashed, claws sliced through the air, and the sound of roars mingled with the crack of flesh and bone.
Dust covered everything.
Freya could hardly breathe.
She caught glimpses of the fight — flashes of gold, shadows in motion, strikes too fast to follow.
But even without seeing clearly, she could feel the difference.
Aslan was stronger.
More resilient.
Every blow he took, he absorbed with his body — as if he were made of stone and will.
His stance was solid, his reflexes sharp — too sharp, almost human.
He seemed to anticipate his enemy's attacks seconds before they came.
He dodged with precision.
And every time the invader tried to touch him, he was met with a clean, controlled counter — so disciplined it didn't seem animal at all.
And yet, something was wrong.
Despite his strength and strategy, Aslan couldn't strike properly.
It was as if he couldn't find the rhythm of his own body — as if his human mind was still trying to command a lion's body, forcing logic where none existed.
His movements were defensive, too technical.
Perfect blocks, precise dodges — but lacking the raw brutality this kind of fight demanded.
He was fighting like a warrior…
when he needed to fight like a beast.
And the other lion realized it.
With every exchange, the invader grew more ferocious, testing Aslan's defenses, pushing him to make mistakes.
The ground turned red where their claws met.
The air filled with the sound of flesh, breath, and rage.
Freya wanted to close her eyes.
But she couldn't.
With every movement, she felt the tension between the man and the beast within Aslan — that unstable balance between reason and instinct, between calculation and impulse.
And deep down, she knew that the outcome of this battle wouldn't depend on strength alone —
but on Aslan's ability to stop being a man…
and become the lion within him.
The dust raised by their bodies began to eclipse the sun.
The earth shook beneath their struggle.
The air reeked of blood, sweat, and hot soil.
Freya watched without blinking — her heart racing, her body ready to move, even as something inside her screamed not to interfere.
The other lion was pure brutality.
His strikes came like thunder — fast, heavy, lethal.
And though Aslan's endurance was incredible, he began to falter.
Two exchanges changed everything.
The first was brutal — the invader feinted sideways, pretending to retreat, then threw his entire body against Aslan's flank, slamming him into the ground.
The dull thud of the impact echoed across the savanna.
The second was worse.
As Aslan tried to rise, the invader pounced again, slashing a claw across his shoulder — the sound of tearing flesh split the air, and his roar of pain thundered through the plains.
Freya stepped forward instinctively.
Her body screamed to act, but her mind restrained her.
Blood ran down Aslan's golden fur, and he staggered, breathing heavily.
Yet his golden eyes still burned with rage and pride — refusing, even now, to yield.
But the other lion didn't care about pride.
He simply roared — loud, triumphant, the sound of domination itself.
That roar rolled across the hills, marking victory's claim — the melody of a conqueror.
And then, instead of striking the final blow, the invader turned toward Freya.
His eyes were wild — and something in them made her step back half a pace.
Not fear — but recognition.
She knew what that look meant.
He didn't just want territory.
He wanted everything that belonged to its ruler.
Freya crouched low, ready to fight.
Claws extended, muscles coiled.
If that monster dared approach her, she would make him bleed until his last breath.
The wind shifted.
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
And in that fragile pause — that one second of quiet between two roars — something happened.
A deep sound vibrated behind her.
A roar that seemed to rise from the earth's very core.
Freya turned just in time to see the impossible.
Aslan was standing.
Blood still dripped from his wounds, his breathing ragged — but his eyes…
His eyes had changed.
Before, they held strategy.
Now, they held only instinct.
Pure. Wild. Unbreakable.
He was no longer the calculating warrior who dodged with human precision.
He was the lion — the real one.
Aslan's roar shattered the air like thunder, sending flocks of birds fleeing miles away.
The invader turned — but too late.
Aslan's body cut through the dust in a single, impossible leap — a golden blur of strength and fury.
The impact cracked the air like a whip.
They tumbled across the ground, dust and blood swirling around them.
Claws against claws, teeth against teeth.
The entire savanna seemed to tremble beneath the weight of their battle.
Freya saw only flashes — sunlight glinting off eyes, crimson scattering through the grass, the metallic scrape of claws against bone.
And then, through the chaos, came the unmistakable sound —
a roar of agony.
The invader tried to flee, but Aslan was faster.
His paws pinned the beast's body down, and his fangs — sharp as blades — struck true, tearing across the other lion's face.
A clean, brutal hit.
The invader's eye burst open in a spray of red.
Blood splattered the earth.
The lion stumbled, roaring in pain and desperation, then turned and fled — slow at first, then running, vanishing into the golden horizon.
Silence returned.
The wind blew again.
And for the first time, the scent in the air wasn't just blood — it was victory.
Freya stood frozen, her body tense, heart racing.
The dust began to settle, revealing Aslan — still, panting, battered, but standing.
The sun, now low on the horizon, touched his golden fur, making it gleam.
And in that moment, Freya understood what the game had been trying to show her since the beginning:
The man who had once been a shield…
was now a king.