Mufasa Goldmane wanted a mount no man had ever ridden. The beast that ruled the wildlands was that mount. But he stood on the palace steps at dawn and admitted the truth: he had never once seen it. The stone lion towering above the gilded gates could not tell him where the creature slept, hunted, or fled. He had spears, hunters, and a whole pride behind him. He had no track to follow. A burned circle in the far grass had appeared three nights running. Scorched earth. His scouts refused to go closer. Mufasa walked out alone to read it. The grass near the ring lay flattened in a wide fan. Something huge had landed here. He knelt and pressed his palm to the ash. Still warm. Claw marks scored the dirt, three toes and a spur, deep as a trench. No lion made these. No hoofed thing either. He followed the marks toward a rise of black rock. The tracks climbed where no ground beast could climb, then simply stopped. Mufasa stared at the empty slope. A creature that left the earth. That was why no one had ever tracked it home. He waited until dusk beside a lantern post someone had planted at the field's edge. Its glow held steady without oil or flame. When the light drew moths, it drew other eyes too. A shadow crossed the rising moon. Wings. A long neck. A tail that whipped like a lash. The beast dropped toward the burned ring, and fire poured from its jaws. The grass caught. Heat rolled over Mufasa where he crouched. He saw it clearly at last: a wyvern, scaled in rust and gold, horns curved back like blades. It fed on nothing. It burned the field to mark the field as its own. Mufasa did not run. He counted. Four wingbeats to land. It circled the black rock twice before settling. It slept where the earth fell away, on a ledge no climber could reach. Now he knew the lair. Now he knew the habit. The wyvern's head swung toward the lantern's glow. Its eye found him. Mufasa held still against the scorched ground, close enough to feel each breath of heat. For a long moment neither moved. Then the beast screamed, spread its wings, and climbed into the dark toward the black rock. Mufasa let out a breath and stood. Ash coated his hands and knees. He had his answer. The creature nested on a cliff no man could climb, and it had marked him with its stare. It knew his scent now. The next time he came, it would not be surprised. He turned back toward the palace, its stone lion gold in the last light. He knew where the beast slept. He had no way to reach it, and no way to keep it from finding him first.