PROLOGUE
"Stop! Stop!"
Breathy, scratchy, broken. Anything, anything to make the scenes stop.
A happy family, a tabby and his mate and four bundles of life. A doting father. A life that could only be existent in utopias.
What could have been. What could have happened. What should have been her life.
"Don't you see? Don't you see what you could have had? A beautiful family, the deputy position, an adoring clan. But you don't have it. Why?"
The she-cat could say nothing, finally released from the hold of the events. It was true, wasn't it? Those could have been her memories. Memories of adoration and bliss.
"My mother." She spat the putrid word, a sting of poison in her mouth as she uttered it.
"The Pool of Possibilities, glimpses of what could have been. Located on the border, Starclan and Dark Forest cats can reverse a decision, bringing to light a whole new possible outcome. If your mother could have just been selfless just for this one time. If she didn't trade away something so rightfully yours for a tiny extension of her life."
All this time, from kit to warrior, it all boiled down to her mother. She'd always felt there was something missing, something wrong. Now she had a source for her unease and anger.
"What now? What am I supposed to with this information?" Sure she had learned something vital, but what was to made of it?
The scene shifted, from a glistening pool to a small clearing. The jumble of trees were familiar, the same kind in all three clans. Everything was a blur except for a flame tabby watching her two kits, one a pale stone gray and the other a creamy tabby. Tussling and play fighting, they couldn't be more than four moons.
"Risingclan, the clan known for their intense internal rivalries. A constant strive to be the strongest, the fastest, the smartest. Anything to be the best of the best. Driven warriors, courageous, dedicated, corrupted."
"Come on, Puddlekit." The flame pelted she-cat was speaking now, urging the blue tom. What had the she-cat had perceived as harmless play fight was much more darker than that. The two kits were genuinely fighting to the best of their abilities, claws unsheathed and aiming for the neck, eyes, or stomach. It was sickening.
"What are they doing? Why aren't we stopping them?" Her breathing was erratic, repulsion at the display.
"It's a memory. Many cats come to me to share their burdens. In return, I take a part of their memory from them, hopefully lessening their pain."
The first significant wound was struck as the cream colored she-kit dug her jaws into her brother's ear. Puddlekit shrieked in agony, desperately writhing. "Stop it, Briarkit! Please!" he howled.
Startled, Briarkit released her grip, stepping back in anxiousness and concern. "I-I'm so sorry."
"Pathetic." The queen spat at the two, lips curled in a snarl. "Puddlekit! Stop your incessant whining. And you," she shot her green gaze at a cowering Briarkit. "You had a chance. You should have taken it."
"She's not serious is she?" The spectating she-cat gave a mortified look to her companion. No response.
"I can't have such a weak son. It's laughable! I'll be the joke of the clan." Not too gently grabbing Puddlekit by his scruff, she rushed away. The scene ruffled, suddenly at the edge of a river. Sage's River that divided the clans.
In one swift movement, the mother unceremoniously dropped the struggling tom into the fast-flowing river. New-leaf meant plenty of rain, perfect for a deep river. There was a harsh squeal before it was abruptly cut off.
"Forgive me, Starclan." It a hushed whisper, a tinge of regret and sorrow.
"But Starclan did not forgive Gingerheart, now one with the Dark Forest. Corruption."
"B-but surely that was just the mother's fault? I've met Risingclan queens before."
"Would you like another scenario?"
"No…"
Once again the air around them rippled.
"Boulderclan, the clan known for their extreme faithfulness. A constant reminder that everything must be done for the good of the clan. No time to indulge in your own selfish endeavors. Loyal warriors, benevolent, dutiful, corrupted."
It was an apprentice ceremony, a sliver of a moon in the night sky. Cats of varying sizes gathered in a half circle, their sights set on an anxious white tom. Some cats were beaming, some nervous, and others just on the verge of falling asleep. Two others had already been apprenticed, standing by their mentors. One didn't look particularly happy.
"Not only do we two new apprentices this night, but Minnowstripe has chosen her medicine cat apprentice." Their leader announced this, her dark brown pelt in the trees.
A wizened gray she-cat stepped forward, her golden eyes bright and confident.
"I have chosen an apprentice worthy to become this clan's future medicine. Even as a kit, he has shown brilliant potential, patience, and an advanced understanding in medicine." By now, most cats were alert, all too aware of this prodigy. "Your next medicine cat will be Ghostkit."
Ghostkit? She knew this tom. Well, a much older one. She'd seen Ghostwalker at gatherings and had never once seen anything but frown on his maw.
"Ghostkit, do you accept the position to be the apprentice of Minnowstripe?"
The skinny tom seem horrified, a look of disbelief evident. At his hesitance, whispers arose. Why wasn't he saying anything? Was he that shocked?
"Sorrelstar…" he whispered softly. "I-I refuse."
It was an uproar. The best possible candidate for medicine cat apprentice turned down the offer.
The snowy tom was saying something again, his voice drowning under the cacophony. He raised it as loud as he could, a fevered look in his one blue and one green eye. "I wish to be a warrior!"
It took a while for the confusion to evaporate. Sorrelstar's voice rang out. "Explain yourself, Ghostkit."
He took a deep breath, averting his monochromatic gaze. "I know I would be a good medicine cat, but I would much rather be a warrior's apprentice."
"Selfish." The brown she-cat snapped, the single word harsh and grating. "Selfish." She repeated, eyes glittering.
"You have a potential. A potential to help so many other cats, yet you put your own selfish desires first? You are Boulderclan cat, not a Silverclanner."
"Well that's rude," the spectator huffed. Typical Silverclan insults.
"You know the motto. For the clan. Everything for the clan. I give you one more chance." The air stilled, stifled in apprehension.
"Do you accept?"
…
"Yes."
Another ripple.
"Surely she can't do that. Is that why Ghostwalker never smiles?" she was a little distraught, feeling a bit of remorse for the frosty medicine cat.
"He accepted the position. If a cat accepts, you can't really do anything about it."
This was madness. She'd never thought such loyalty to the clan could ever result in a problem. She was wrong.
"Silverclan, the clan known for their admirable cats. Everything must be perfected to excellence: reputation, moves, looks. Skilled warriors, respectable, honorable, corrupted."
Her own clan? Corrupted? It was Silverclan, for Starclan's sake. Their motive was perfection. What could possibly ruin that?
The new scene took them to Silverclan's medicine cat den, this one much smaller compared to the one she was used to. A sickly figure lay in a mossy nest. The dark gray tom barely resembled a cat. Whatever had happened to him, it left him with limbs as thin as branches, ribs violently jutting out, and clumps of fur barely hanging onto his skin. Every so often, he gave a rattling breath. In, out. In, out.
"Oh, Wolfthorn."
The newcomer into the scene was much like the dying tom, the same stormy gray pelt but considerably more filled out.
Slowly, painfully, Wolfthorn cracked open one eye, a dull, filmy pool of dark amber. "Brother."
"When was the last time you ate? Don't lie to me. I've seen you pluck a little mouse from the fresh-kill pile and yet I know you still don't eat that. All those times you've reassured me that you were eating. Time and time again! You promised me!" The other tom's voice had rose up in decibels, a shakiness in it. "And now, I have the privilege of watching my own brother waste away in front me!"
Roughly, he pushed a large hare in front Wolfthorn. "I hunted this especially for you. Eat."
Wolfthorn gave a scratchy laugh that eventually become more like wheezes. "Brother, can't you see? I'm too pudgy, too plump. If I went to Starclan, I'd somehow bring it down from the sky." He recited these phrases by heart, from memory. He remembered every little insult the other warriors spat at him.
"Don't be ridiculous! The hare is dwarfing you right now!" It was true. Compared to the withering tom, the fresh-killed seemed much larger.
"No! I just need to stop eating. I just need to find the perfect weight. I'll be perfect. If I'm perfect, Marshbramble will like me. I'll be better. I promise."
The scene seemed to fast forward, and as every second passed by, Wolfthorn shrunk even more. If it were possible. Eventually, his limp body was hauled from the nest. his devastated brother easily carried him across his broad shoulders.
"You mean that wasn't a disease? He forced himself to not eat?"
"In a quest for perfection, some cats don't realize it's elusiveness."
Puddlekit. Ghostwalker. Wolfthorn.
"Why did you show me these memories? This… this corruption?"
Her companion faced her, stars in their pelt yet darkness surrounding them. "No matter what you desire most in life whether it be power, justice, revenge, or whatever else, you must unite the clans. You could the ability to protect others. You could punish those who have wronged you. You could have an Empyre."
Empyre. It was an old term, stories of cats with great influence over the forest and city. They were built with fire, the type of fire depending on the leader. Some reigned with the heat of love, others of fear and destruction. There was so much potential.
"Vengeance. I want vengeance."
If you recognize the title, I have started over. I realized the first one was rather lackluster and wasn't very intriguing. This will be the same plot but written anew. Good thing I only got to the second chapter!
Would love any criticism and advice!