Perspective: Freya Van Daalen
Freya didn't need a test.
She knew.
She had known from the very first instant.
From the moment she woke up and the world felt different — not in appearance, but in sensation.
The air seemed warmer.
The sunlight felt sharper.
And inside her, something pulsed in a rhythm that no longer belonged only to her own body.
There was no doubt.
Something was growing within her.
It was a simple, direct, undeniable fact.
But simple didn't mean easy.
If someone — by some miracle — offered her a pregnancy test, one of those cheap ones from a pharmacy with the two little lines that confirmed the obvious, she would have taken it immediately.
Not because she needed proof, but because it would make everything real — human — understandable.
Because it would mean she wasn't trapped in a nightmare of broken logic inside a game.
But the world — and especially the Black Tower — was anything but merciful.
So instead of a test, she was given ten long days of silent war within herself.
Ten days of thoughts circling like starving hyenas around a carcass, gnawing at every fragment of her sanity.
And it all came down to three questions.
The first was the simplest — and, ironically, the most unbearable:
"If I become a mother here… will my children exist in the real world too?"
The idea was absurd, but nothing inside this place followed the rules of normality.
The Black Tower was unpredictable — malleable, alive.
It created, destroyed, and reshaped at will.
So how could she possibly know what truly happened when a player became pregnant within a test?
Sometimes Freya closed her eyes and imagined — or tried not to imagine — the impossible:
waking up back in the real world only to find that the consequences of the Tower had crossed the border of the screen.
The thought alone made her heart race.
And, as if her body reacted to it, she could feel something vibrating inside her — warmth, presence, the faint beginning of life.
She took a deep breath, trying to chase the thought away.
But there was no escaping it.
Not in the savanna.
Not within herself.
The second question was even crueler.
"What if all this is just part of the test?"
That was the option the rational part of her — or what was left of it — desperately clung to.
If this was only a temporary experience, if everything vanished once the Tower ended the trial, then there would be no reason for fear.
She could move on.
Pretend none of it had ever happened.
Erase everything from memory.
But every time she repeated that to herself, her chest ached.
Not from fear.
From guilt.
She was a mother.
Twice.
And even if she was trapped in the body of a lioness — even if all of this was a simulation inside a game — the idea of abandoning a child was impossible.
If it was real, she would love it.
If it was an illusion, she would protect it all the same.
Because, deep down, the instinct awakening within her wasn't just the instinct of a beast.
It was the instinct of a mother.
And that terrified her.
Finally, there was the third question — the one she avoided most.
The one that wasn't about the cubs, or the Tower, or the future.
It was about him.
"What about Aslan?"
Freya didn't know what to feel.
She didn't know what to think.
He hadn't made promises, and she hadn't expected him to.
But now, everything was different.
They weren't just hunting partners or survivors anymore.
Something deeper connected them — something no logic could explain.
And that, more than anything, left her lost.
She lay beneath a tree, body heavy after another scorching day, feeling the wind stir her short, soft mane.
The sun sank into the horizon, painting the sky in shades of fire.
And, for a brief instant, Freya wished the world would stop right there.
That time would freeze — before any answers arrived.
Because, for the first time in a long time, she didn't want to know the truth.
The truth — whatever it might be — hurt too much.
So, with her gaze lost in the golden horizon and her heart torn between human and beast, Freya whispered softly to herself:
"Maybe… being a mother is the real test."
And for the first time, she believed that the Black Tower knew her better than she knew herself.
In the end, Freya simply didn't know what to do.
Neither the warm wind sweeping across the savanna nor the slow, repetitive passing of time could help her find an answer.
She lay down, got up, walked in circles — sometimes hunted just to distract her mind — but nothing changed.
The doubt clung to her like a second skin.
She needed to tell Aslan.
She knew that as clearly as she knew how to breathe.
Sooner or later, he would notice.
Her body was already changing.
Subtly, yes — but enough for a creature like him to notice.
Her reactions, her breathing, her movements, her scent… everything betrayed what was happening.
Even without words, a lion would sense it.
And Aslan — especially Aslan — would not overlook it.
So hiding wasn't an option.
But talking about it seemed impossible.
She feared his reaction.
Feared his silence.
Feared his gaze.
Even now, so long after, the ghost of her past still haunted her.
The memory of the first man who left her the moment he learned she was pregnant — the one who had promised to care for her and then simply vanished — was an old wound that had never truly healed.
And the worst part was that here, in the savanna, that memory didn't come as thought but as sensation — a tightness in her chest, a knot in her stomach, the primal fear of being alone.
She shook her head, trying to drive the thought away.
But it was useless.
The memory returned — insistent, cruel.
And the more she thought about it, the more afraid she became of Aslan.
Not because of anything he had done — quite the opposite.
He had always been steady, protective; even in silence, he radiated reassurance.
But maybe that was exactly what confused her.
He was too different.
And that made her feel something she hadn't felt in years: hope.
Hope that maybe, this time, things would be different.
That he wouldn't be just another man running from responsibility — another who didn't know what to do with her and the children.
But fear still lingered, sharp as an invisible claw.
What if he changed?
What if that calm, steady gaze turned into something she recognized too well?
The gaze of someone already planning their goodbye?
Freya lowered her head, weary.
The warm wind brushed through her fur, and she closed her eyes for a moment.
She wanted to believe it wouldn't be like that.
She wanted to believe that the man behind the lion was different from all the rest.
But believing was dangerous.
Hope was dangerous.
She let out a low, broken sound — half sigh, half growl.
The savanna replied with silence.
In the end, she didn't know what to do.
Or what to say.
But one thing was certain: if this test didn't end soon, she would have to talk to him.
She would have to face her fear, her past, and her present — because with each passing day, the secret inside her grew.
And sooner or later, there would be no way to hide it anymore.
Freya lifted her gaze toward the red horizon.
The sun was falling, painting the sky with fire and shadow.
And for a moment, she wondered if the true test of the Black Tower wasn't one of strength or instinct… but of trust.
To trust someone again.
To trust that, maybe this time, it wouldn't end the same way.
For now, though, she remained silent.
Only her heart kept beating — human and wild all at once — reminding her that, even inside a game, life always found a way to bloom.