The Borderlands, Early Morning

The red-maned rogue had finally felt it safe to stop and rest; he was no longer in the Kuatan Jungle. The cub he was carrying slept so peacefully, despite the circumstances he and his father had just endured. The wanderer curse himself as he panted and tried to catch his breath; he kicked himself for letting his ego get the best of him.

Look at you! Stupid fool! How did you let this happen?! Now look what has happened! Your son… The young lion's thoughts seized up at the remembrance of the cub in his teeth. His son had not yet opened his eyes, but he'd never see his mother after what has happened. As he thought of his mate, the young father couldn't help but feel his stomach clutch with even more guilt as the thought of his mate also gave way to thoughts of her followers. And how they'd failed to flee alongside him. He felt more and more like a failure and a scumbag, having chosen his newborn son's life over the lives of his mate's loyalists.

Akira, I'm so sorry.

The lion replayed that thought over and over in his head; apology he wished he could deliver to his mate even as he began to run as fast as his legs could carry him. He wanted so much to be a hero. He wanted so much to prove to his new family and potential pride that he was truly a hero, and to be the noble warrior that his heart knew him to be, instead of what he was. A meaningless Wastelander, with no family, pride or even a rock to call his own.

Mufasa doesn't deserve this life. He doesn't deserve to suffer for my short-sightedness. The rogue thought as he made his way into the Pridelands. And upon realizing that the borderlands had given way to the Pridelands, a plan had formed in his mind. He remembered the beautiful princess of this land; just like Akira, she had always been the kind to associate with even such as him. In spite of her status, she had seen it fit to give even commoners a chance.

And right now, as he headed towards Pride Rock, the rogue knew the chance for a better, safer life was right there for his son.

The base of the Tree of Origin

The Blonde Tyrant surveyed the battlefield; almost every member of the rebellious faction had, alongside some of the hyenas that had joined their cause. He had, at first, welcomed this challenge, until it became clear that Akira and her followers would end up the same as all others before them.

Miran took a look at the broken bodies, lioness and cub alike, and began to seethe a bit. "Munin got away." He said simply, his monotone voice rumbling with almost supernatural power as he spoke aloud to himself. He was surprised he remembered that rogue so well, until he also thought about what exactly he had just said aloud.

It was a rare occurrence indeed that Miran's enemies lived to tell the tale, and a rarer occurrence still that they were able to deny him his retribution. Miran had killed the ringleader of this coup; he had tortured and battered her followers well into the next day. But in the end, Akira managed to achieve a victory, however small it was. Of all the lives that had she had brought ruin to, his life and the life of his now-worthless son was the one she had managed to save.

"My King." Miran looked down, to see his majordomo slithering up to him, terror in her eyes at what she knew he would not want to here. "The rogue has in fact escaped." She said nervously, and for a moment it appeared as though Miran was about to crush her head with a mighty paw. But then the Blonde Terror sheathed his claws, and ran his paw through his near-reflective mane, dismissing the petrified snake as he did so. It couldn't be helped, but Miran still couldn't stop himself from remembering those who had survived him.

Mohatu, Fiercest of the Lion Guard and then King of the Pridelands.

Ajabu, the nigh-immortal shamanic ape of the Kuatan Jungle.

Khali, an arrogant tiger calling himself (for good reason) the best warrior in the world.

And finally, Munin. A mere Wasteland rogue. Of those he remembered, Munin angered the Blonde Tyrant the most, for he could not understand why the Spirits chose to intervene on his behalf. Mohatu had been divinely mandated royalty, Ajabu had more than mastered the supernatural, and Khali was famous as perhaps the only warrior capable of coming close to Miran's power, skill and ruthlessness in single combat. Munin, though, was less than nobody.

And so too shall his son be. Miran thought as he turned and began to scale the Tree of Origin, leaving the corpses of the rebels to become carrion.