Rajan Mishra, the owner of the game preserve, stood in his doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His gaze fell upon a massive Bengal tiger, its orange and black fur vivid against the pale light, sitting calmly with its tail curled around massive paws. Rajan’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to those golden, unblinking eyes. As he struggled to process the impossible sight, the tiger’s mouth moved, and a deep, deliberate voice filled the air.
The Tiger—muscles rippling beneath its coat—tilted its head and spoke again. "You will send no more hunters after me. If you value your staff, heed this warning." Rajan’s hands trembled as he gripped the doorframe, struggling to find his voice. The tiger’s words echoed in the hush, each syllable heavy with threat and certainty, as though the jungle itself was speaking through the beast.
The Tiger swept its tail aside, exposing the collection for Rajan to see. "These belonged to those who sought me. Hunters, rangers, even the unlucky curious. There will be others—tourists who stray too far. Let them be, and your staff will remain unharmed. Occasionally, a tourist will vanish. You will not pursue them." Rajan stared at the IDs, bile rising in his throat as he realized the cost of defiance.
Rajan Mishra forced himself to meet the tiger’s gaze, feeling the weight of ancient power staring back. For a heartbeat, he considered calling for help, but looking into those eyes, he knew it was futile. "I... I understand. No one will come after you. Or the missing," he managed, his voice barely a whisper. The tiger blinked once, slow and satisfied.
The Tiger paused at the edge of the trees, the morning sun catching its form one last time. "Remember our agreement. The jungle belongs to the true rulers," it rumbled before vanishing, leaving only the lingering impression of authority and dread. Rajan stood frozen, unable to move, the silence heavy as the jungle reclaimed its secret.
Rajan Mishra closed the door softly, leaning against it as his mind raced. The truth pressed down on him—he was merely a caretaker, a figurehead. The real master of the preserve watched from the shadows, teeth and claws hidden behind golden eyes. As the jungle hummed to life outside, Rajan understood: the balance of power had shifted, and the tiger was now truly in charge.
