I never thought I’d set foot in Africa. I grew up in a cage, then a circus, then another cage—Central Park Zoo. I told everyone I was born on the savanna, that I ruled the Pride Lands before retiring to the city. It was easier than admitting the truth.

Now my son Ryan’s out there—lost, scared, and believing every word I lied about.

We’re on a tugboat, drifting toward the African coast. Benny’s navigating with the help of some Canadian geese. Nigel’s muttering about koala merchandising rights. Bridget’s scanning the horizon. Larry’s asleep in a life raft.

I should’ve told Ryan the truth sooner.

The ship comes into view. It’s evacuating animals from a dormant volcano. And there—running into the jungle—is Ryan.

I don’t hesitate. I jump.

The others want to follow, but I shout back: 'Stay with the boat! I’ll find him!'

The jungle swallows me. Vines, heat, the scent of earth and danger. Then I hear it—his scream.

He’s trapped in a tree, surrounded by vultures.

I charge in, roaring—not the practiced roar I use at the zoo, but something raw, desperate.

They scatter.

Ryan stares at me, trembling. 'You lied to me,' he whispers.

I can’t deny it.

Before I can speak, the ground shakes. Wildebeests emerge from the trees, eyes wild, led by a massive black bull with fire in his gaze.

Kazar.

'You dare challenge the Great Him?' he bellows.

I step in front of Ryan. 'I’m not here for your prophecy. I’m here for my son.'

Kazar smirks. 'Then you will die like a father.'

The herd charges.

I have one chance.

What do I do?