The Ugly Duckling Of The Tiger Tribe

Chapter 353: The Naming Ceremony

The roof of the Great Hall was finally closed, a massive expanse of ironwood beams and slate that smelled of resin and hard work. It was the first ’finished’ room of the palace, and despite the dust still settling on the limestone floor, it felt like a cathedral.

I stood at the far end, my back to the new fireplace, feeling less like a Queen and more like a woman who desperately needed a nap. But today wasn’t about my sleep schedule.

"Everyone ready?" I whispered, adjusting the collar of my own wool tunic. "No barfing. No crying. And for the love of the West Way, Noah, stop trying to make Phina howl. She sounds like a dying bird."

Noah, standing to my left with Phina tucked into the crook of his arm, gave me a cheeky wink. "She’s practicing her victory cry, Little Tiger. Get used to it."

To my right, Fenric held Raiden. The baby was dressed in a miniature version of a warrior’s vest, made of wool, of course. His red eyes were wide as he took in the crowd of Wolf, Hyenas, bears, Beavers, and Sheep tribesmen gathering in the hall.

Fenric’s face was uncharacteristically solemn; to him, this wasn’t just a party—it was a vow.

And then there was Thalor. He stood slightly behind me, Lyra cradled against his chest. Even though she wasn’t his by blood, he held her with a reverence that made my throat tight.

Lyra, the silver-haired sovereign of my heart, was the only one not squirming. She just watched the flickering torches with those emerald eyes, her tiny hand fisted in the silk of Thalor’s wrap.

Hah! I know many will wonder. By right, Phina is the princess since Noah is her father.

But as long as I am queen, as long as the children are mine, they are all princes and princesses.

And they all have a right to the throne, because I plan to make this nation, someday, a matriarchal rule.

That’s right... Queens will rule.

And I’m not saying this because I feel females are more suited. I just feel that due to the belief that males are stronger, females are subjected to sitting at home and waiting to be hunted for and cared for.

There is no change.

No one wants to break that old rule.

So I plan to change it.

Females can be leaders. They can lead the hunts. They can lead a tribe. They can be advisors and make decisions.

Females, in the future I plan to build, will not be known as heir bearers alone. They shall be known as sovereigns and supporters.

Well, if Raiden or Phina think they can put up a better reign than Lyra, I won’t step in to stop them. They are all free to try.

"The spirits are listening," Robin, the Sheep Chief, announced as he stepped forward. He carried a bowl of spring water and a bundle of dried sage. "Land-Mother, present the blood of the West Way."

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. It’s show time.

The hall went pin-drop silent.

"This is Phina," I said, my voice projecting off the stone walls. Noah held her up high, and the wolf tribe let out a low, collective growl of respect. "Daughter of the West Way. May she have the strength of the wolf and the cunning of the hunt. Her name is carved on the earth."

Noah’s chest puffed out so far that I thought his vest might snap. Phina, sensing the energy, grabbed a handful of his hair and let out a sharp, happy shriek that was supposed to be a roar. But the crowd roared nevertheless.

Noah felt proud, patting his daughter’s head.

"You did great, kiddo. It was the best howl yet."

Next, I turned to Fenric. "This is Raiden. Son of the West Way. May he be the fire that never goes out, the shield that never breaks, and the strike that never misses. His name is written in the stone."

Fenric didn’t say a word. He simply dipped his head, his red eyes glowing in the firelight as he pressed his forehead against Raiden’s snowy-white hair. It was a silent promise of protection that felt heavier than any limestone block we’d laid.

Finally, I turned to Thalor and Lyra. The air in the room shifted.

"And this is Lyra," I whispered, my voice trembling just a fraction. "Daughter of the West Way. May she have the wisdom of the serpent and the grace of the high peaks. Her name is carried by the wind."

Then, it was time for Thalor’s performance.

They say mer-folks sing to entice. They say their voice can lure traveling men to their deaths like sirens. They say... only those whom they like have ever heard their voice.

That is why, except for the sheep tribe and me, no one else had heard them sing. No one... had lived to tell the tale, apparently.

So now, Thalor will prove that his voice and his song do not serve as a threat to the West Way. His voice shall be a beacon to guide them on their path... on their journey of life and remind them that no matter whether in the sea, on the earth, or in the wind, there is always a place they can return to and call home.

Thalor stepped forward, his melodic voice rising in a low, haunting hum—the merman’s song of the naming. It was the sound of the deep tide, a vibration that seemed to make the very foundation of the palace hum in response.

As his song reached its peak, I saw it—the way the emerald in Lyra’s eyes seemed to catch the torchlight, mirroring the exact shade of Damar’s scales.

"We are the West Way!" I shouted, raising my hand to give that little victory speech that gets everyone’s blood pumping. "And our children are our tomorrow! We shall protect our children, so we can protect our tomorrow!"

The cheer that went up nearly took the new roof off. It was a riot of howling, thumping tails, and clashing paws.

Even the pups from the disgruntled mothers were gathered, cheering at their new brothers and sisters.

For a moment, the exhaustion, the stress, and the missing piece of my heart that was Damar all blended into one overwhelming surge of triumph.

We had done it. We had laid the foundation, stacked the blocks, and were not cementing the roof.