Fall Of The Empire
Rating: T-17+
Disclaimer: I don't own this. . . or do I? Nah, I don't. So don't sue me. I'm already in enough debt with my student loans.
Author's Notes: I personally want to thank each and every single one of your for your patience.
I understand it has been some time since I've uploaded anything to this story. Rest assured, it is happening. It is here. A lot of things happened during these past few months, and I haven't been in the mood to write much of anything. Lotta job drama and the like. But it's okay! All in the past now. I've got a new job that I ferociously love.
It's in a library, too. Been my dream career ever since I was little.
I know I've already told you guys this, but I do plan on writing a prequel piece. A lot of you are still curious as to what happened on Terra, and I feel this little story wouldn't really be complete without telling it.
But anyway. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Next one is coming up soon! No long wait periods, pinky promise! Polishing it up now. c:
Warnings: Nothing, except for stylistic things FF loves to om nom. If you see anything with the first-person in it, it should be italicized. That is all.
. . . this text is here for a mysterious reason.
Time and space were different now.
He had no concept of being, no physical presence to assign to his body. And yet, he existed.
He wasn't sure how, or why, but he did. And he was.
But. . . why?
Flashes came to him, stray wisps of memory that evaporated as soon as he reached for them. They were the fleeting echoes of a shredded mind. And yet, he persisted, reaching out, collecting as many of them as he could so he could at least try to remember. It took what felt like an eternity, but he was able to stitch the ripped tapestry together - at least in part. The picture it painted was jagged, ripped, and threadbare in places, but he gazed upon it anyway.
There was a demon, spreading cracked, withered lips apart in a pale imitation of a smile.
Cackling and laughing, dark energy billowed out from around him, leaking out from the threads and drifting down. The miasma embraced him, weighing him down, infiltrating every spare inch and crevice it could find-
He was suffocating. The black energy was everywhere, drowning him. . .
And then there was nothingness.
The demon was gone.
He was dead. He was sure of this.
This had to be death.
. . . Why haven't I stopped existing, then?
He waited for the answer to come to him, to drift from the void in lazy circles until it finally alighted upon him. This purgatory was merely a place to wait and collect itself, he began to think. It was a space for him to realize he was dead and come to terms with it. And then he'd be ferried on to the next world, life breathed into him anew. All he had to do now was wait.
The demon had killed him. The demon had won.
As this thought sank into him, becoming concrete and absolute. . .
Nothing came.
Obviously, there had to be more to his death.
Now he needed to think and reflect on it. Maybe he had to spend time here to atone for the sins he'd committed? Or. . . perhaps he needed a name to pass onto the next life?
A soft touch came on his spirit, so feather-light and gentle it reminded him of raindrops falling on fertile earth.
remember.
The voice whispered.
Remember what? How could he remember? In a short while, he was supposed to stop existing, after all. He was going to be born into the next life so he could try again. Was this part of the process, he wondered? Perhaps he needed to understand his mistakes and his sins so he would not repeat them. Odd, he thought, that they should do this. I won't be able to remember these lessons when I start my new life.
The touch came again, shifting and sliding.
The rain increased.
He was moving, the darkness clearing, the tapestry hanging before him again.
The miasma cleared, and new threads began to dangle, weaving together to form more. It mended, glistening with colors and a life of its own. The picture extended. There was more to his memories than the demon.
Trees. Flowers. Grassy hills. Glittering rays of sunshine touching everything, giving life-
remember.
The voice whispered again.
And the hand began to move, ushering him further down the tapestry, guiding him through the disjointed scenes.
"It was the T̵͇̩͔͈̝̳̒͂ͩ̇ͅͅh̶̙̠̟̻̩͉̫̆͑͊̑͑́ṵ̸̗̑ͮ͋ͮ̄̆͒͜n̢͂ͦ̌͂҉̮͈̹d̝̦̘̫̠͕͚͊̆̓́͘e̳͊̕͞r͆ͦ͊͏̨͓̻C̴͓̓ͭͯ͗̔̋͊̅͞ǎ̢̍͒̂ͣ̎͗͐͏̼͙̯̘̻̯̳͇t͉͈̩̫̳̙̼̱̅̾͛̂͘s̰͍̺͔̦̟͉̻̀ who first brought order to this world of warring animals! And now it is the T̵͇̩͔͈̝̳̒͂ͩ̇ͅͅh̶̙̠̟̻̩͉̫̆͑͊̑͑́ṵ̸̗̑ͮ͋ͮ̄̆͒͜n̢͂ͦ̌͂҉̮͈̹d̝̦̘̫̠͕͚͊̆̓́͘e̳͊̕͞r͆ͦ͊͏̨͓̻C̴͓̓ͭͯ͗̔̋͊̅͞ǎ̢̍͒̂ͣ̎͗͐͏̼͙̯̘̻̯̳͇t͉͈̩̫̳̙̼̱̅̾͛̂͘s̰͍̺͔̦̟͉̻̀ who maintain this fragile peace!" A voice yelled, strong and commanding and powerful and brave.
Something in his spirit stirred, emotions rising in a sudden, a violent cacophony of feeling. They clashed against one another in conflict, vying for dominance.
Love. Shame. Guilt. Appeasement.
Every emotion that filled him made his spirit heavier and heavier, weighing him down.
Anger. Grief. Happiness.
The feelings flooded through him, adding more and more mass. He stared at the tapestry, some parts still ripped and incomplete, and watched as wove together another section, revealing another figure. There were jagged red blotches and blurs obfuscating him, but he was proud. Strong. He stood upon a pedestal, a shimmering halo illuminating his head and throwing his face into darkness.
Who are you?
Somebody very important, he was sure.
The hand that had been guiding him forward ushered him once more.
More scenes passed before him.
"Father would have been proud of your bravery, L̢͓̺͓̎ͪ̒͡ḯ̲̠̮̬̤̖̇̽̐ͤ̃ͥò̜̘ͩ̽n̗̯ͮ̀-̧̲͊͗̏͑ͪ̆͂̑́͝Ŏ̫͈̜͐́͠."
Another visage. Another hand, and then somebody else was guiding him.
No time to dwell on this one, either.
More and more emotions poured into him, each different and new. Each experienced for the first time.
Jealousy. Love. Protection.
"So that means I've got to listen to a child giving me the most idiotic orders I've ever received?" A booming voice thundered. Willed. Imposing. Determined.
Another figure - strength personified.
Friendliness. Humility.
Another hand joined the first two, carrying him along.
"Gotta move fast!" A beautiful, glittering golden blur, leaving the air to sparkle in their wake.
Another hand.
The scenes and words and emotions came faster now, each voice and thought adding more weight to his body, filling him, giving him shape.
"It should have been mine! I should be the one carrying that sword!" The strong one proclaimed, voice laced with fury and resentment.
"You know that's not what this is about!" The golden one snapped, hurt and conflicted.
"I will not kill my king, Dobo!"
Something in his chest wrenched at that.
Her.
Beautiful.
So utterly beautiful.
Tragic.
Fatal.
Her face came to him, softening, a genuine smile appearing on her lips.
"Perhaps there is room for mercy in our struggle."
Pain. Rage. Anguish.
The emotions swirled together, uncontrollable and chaotic. What had once been nothing was now something.
remember.
The voice urged, layered and thick.
Wait, he realized. Not one voice - it was the voices of many.
O King of Kings, reclaim that which you have lost.
The hands holding him touched him gently, and he realized he had form once more.
They maneuvered him to stand upright, and like a newborn, he almost collapsed, unused to the muscle and balance.
He blinked newly-formed eyes and looked down at his hands. He played with them, squeezing and opening, testing and feeling, until he saw movement beyond them.
Others stood before him, cloaked in heavy, black robes that swallowed their features and covered their faces. He could not see into the cowls, so shadowed they were.
"Who are you?" He asked.
Despite the raging tempest of emotions inside of him, his voice was quiet and small and calm, barely above a whisper.
we are those lost to time.
lost to memory.
lost to eternity.
who we are is not important.
O King of Kings,
who are you?
"Who. . . am I?"
They did not answer.
They simply stared.
He stared back, at each one of them, until he looked away - into the void.
He felt. . . he felt something, didn't he? In the back of his mind. In the corner of his spirit. Somebody had said something important.
A name. He opened his mouth to speak.
" L̢͓̺͓̎ͪ̒͡ḯ̲̠̮̬̤̖̇̽̐ͤ̃ͥò̜̘ͩ̽n̗̯ͮ̀-̧̲͊͗̏͑ͪ̆͂̑́͝Ŏ̫͈̜͐́͠."
Wrong.
Distorted.
Erased from existence.
This was not who he was.
He was whole.
" L̢͓̺͓̎ͪ̒͡ḯ̲̠̮̬̤̖̇̽̐ͤ̃ͥò̜̘ͩ̽n̗̯ͮ̀-̧̲͊͗̏͑ͪ̆͂̑́͝Ŏ̫͈̜͐́͠."
He tried again, defying existence itself, but it only yielded the same result.
remember.
The voices commanded.
" L̢͓̺͓̎ͪ̒͡ḯ̲̠̮̬̤̖̇̽̐ͤ̃ͥò̜̘ͩ̽n̗̯ͮ̀-̧̲͊͗̏͑ͪ̆͂̑́͝Ŏ̫͈̜͐́͠."
Weak, he thought, if you were truly strong, you could say this name.
"L-I. . . n. . . " When he spoke them, the words physically hurt him, rendering the worst pain he'd ever known in his entire life.
Yet, he could not stop. he shook with the sheer power of will it took to think it.
He needed more. He needed strength. Power. Will. Intelligence. Fury.
He gathered every emotion inside of him, strong and untapped and waiting to be unleashed.
"MY NAME IS LION-O!"
His scream was primal, a war cry, a challenge to any who would dare oppose this truth.
Those cloaked in block surrounding him bowed, dropping to one knee.
O King of Kings,
They said, faces turned down to the ground.
let this name be etched into eternity.
They began to crack and dissipate, turning to nothing more than dust.
His mind snapped, memories and recollections and thoughts pouring through the cracks, filling up what he thought was already too full to be filled.
"Wait!" He cried, spinning around to stare at the entities around him. "Please! W-Who are you?"
It wasn't fair that they could bring back his existence from Purgatory, but could not save themselves. These nameless creatures. . . no.
No, he realized. They were clerics. Ancient clerics, donning robes and forfeiting their lives to protect. . .
we are of no importance.
They said, bodies crackling and crumbling away.
we have fulfilled our purpose, as the Book intended us to.
as Jaga willed it.
we have waited a thousand lifetimes for this moment.
"You deserve to be remembered!" Lion-O shouted, shaking his head, "This isn't fair!"
please, O King of Kings.
lay us to rest.
Lion-O's jaw dropped open.
How cruel could he be?
These clerics had been lost to time, erased from memory, trapped and waiting inside of the Book of Omens. . . and he was asking to prolong their suffering. They'd had to exist all this time, knowing their families had forgotten them, had been unable to mourn them, that history would never know their names. And yet they'd labored on, waiting for the day that he would come. . . it wasn't fair. It was awful, cruel and evil.
Tears gathered in his eyes.
In his chest, his heart was torn and ripped to pieces. But this was his duty. He forced himself to say the words.
"Thank you." He murmured, tears falling down his cheeks. "Thank you for your sacrifice. Please rest. May your next life reward you."
Lion-O was certain he heard several unguarded, relieved, and grateful sighs.
And then, within moments, the clerics turned to piles of dust.
Lion-O closed his eyes, composing himself. He wished he could have done so much more for them, he wanted to bring them back as they'd resurrected him. But life. . . life was never fair like that, was it? As he looked upon the ring of dust that surrounded him, he wondered who had asked them to seal themselves away inside of the book. Jaga? One of his ancestors? He wondered if they had cried before it had happened, if someone had asked about their families and the life they were leaving behind. He wondered. . .
"No." He said, his voice gaining strength. "There isn't time for that anymore. I've remembered what I have to do."
If he was inside of the Book, then there must be a way for him to leave. He took in a deep breath, and nodded. He would have to thank everyone when he left - even Kit and Kat. They'd given him back everything he had lost.
Lion-O stepped forward, covering his heart and bowing with deep respect to the dust. He paid them their dues, and prayed the gods would give them a plentiful next life.
And then he began to walk away.
Resolve formed and task understood, he set forth. He had one goal in mind: Mumm-Ra.
And thanks to everyone, he hadn't-
His foot stepped on something solid, and it broke under his weight, uttering a sharp crack. It echoed through the void, sounding as loud as any gunshot might. Lion-O glanced down, seeing glittering shards of. . . was that glass? He blinked, and suddenly he saw broken glass strewn everywhere, piled up haphazardly, jagged and sharp. His brow furrowed. Why was he staring at broken glass? He concentrated harder, looking at the fractured pieces, and he realized he could see something else. A person was there, broken and fragmented, but their face was blurry. He couldn't make out any details. There were splashes of white and yellow, though, that was for certain.
"You are pathetic." A voice growled, low and laced with deadly fury.
Lion-O whirled around.
He knew this lion standing before him, but. . . he didn't. Like his own name, it had been struck from existence.
"How are you here, then?" He asked aloud, awestruck. Who was the spirit that managed to defy the rules of this place?
The lion, wearing clothes he had never seen before, approached him, glass crunching under every footstep.
"You claim to remember, to know. Yet you understand nothing. You are not worthy of this."
Lion-O backpedaled as the lion advanced, his rage seeming to thicken the air around him. What had he done to offend this lion? Surely he hadn't committed a sin so grave that all that fury was directed at him. Best to ask and clear the air.
"Why are you angry? What have I done?" He asked hurriedly, and then gasped.
The lion was on him in an instant, hands fisting in his shirt and lifting him off the ground. If the lion's rage could kill him, he'd be dead fifteen times over. Lion-O met the lion's eyes, looking into the piercing blue slits that seemed to wish him the most painful death possible.
"I have been waiting for you. Everyone has said their piece but me. I told you I would have words with you, that we would meet. And here I am. And here you are. You are pathetic. Disgusting. Not worthy of the blessings and praises people have heaped upon you. My bloodline has culminated to this?" The lion shook him, and Lion-O very much felt like a cub who had disgraced his father in some unknown way.
"I am ashamed. You do not deserve a second chance. I'd rather see you dead!"
The lion threw him, roughly depositing him onto the floor. Lion-O rolled with the impact, bouncing up to his feet. His instincts prickled, warning him danger was coming, and he thrust out his hands, summoning Omens (a feat he would later have no idea how he accomplished). He barely had time to block the incoming strike, but he did, his sword ringing from the impact. The lion stared above him, a strange sword the likes he'd never seen before in his hands.
"I don't know why you're angry with me-"
The lion laughed, causticity and acidity dripping from every note.
"Of course you don't. Because you've forgotten. And this is why you failed the first time - and you will fail again and again!" The lion began to move, jumping back to deliver another swing. Lion-O got up to greet him, frustration and anger flashing through him.
"You don't have to agree with my choices," Lion-O snarled, blocking the strikes and eyeing the other lion's guard, "But I am the only one who can do this! I am the King!"
The strange lion growled, fresh wrath fueling his fires.
"You are so blind and stupid! I don't care about your titles, cub. I don't care about this world - I don't care about the next!"
Lion-O was driven to the defensive as the lion unleashed a flurry of strikes and blocks that expertly parried his own. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew this lion outclassed him in swordsmanship. Maybe he could even best his father.
The lion drove him to the ground, knocking Omens from his hands and placing the tip of his sword at Lion-O's throat.
"You. Let. Her. DIE!" The lion screamed, chest heaving as he breathed.
Lion-O stared up at this enraged animal before him, biting back the word that would surely have him executed.
Who?
On the ground, the glass crinkled, a glaring reflection catching his eye. He could see a distorted, broken image of a single picture smiling back at him. There was. . . something. . . white? Yes, a flowing white. . .
Oh.
Lion-O turned back to the lion, memories flooding through him once more.
Of course.
"Masai."
Masai's face contorted with both anger and disgust as Lion-O spoke his name, as though offended he had even said it. Up close, Lion-O could almost breathe in this lion's rage, it was that strong. The corded muscles in his arm were shaking, probably from resisting the strong urge to rip his throat open. For a fraction of a second, Lion-O was awed. When the Book of Omens had taken him through time, depositing him aboard Mumm-Ra's ship, he'd believed Leo to be his first ancestor.
But Masai had been the first of their bloodline, preceding even Leo. The ancestor to his ancestor. He'd been stupid to not consider it. Mumm-Ra had probably helped cultivate their species, but the humans had been the ones to play god, to change their shape and mold them in their image.
History and all of its ages yawned before him. In this most sacred and holy of places, he'd finally got to meet one of the first of all of animal-kind's ancestors.
And that ancestor was very displeased with him. But what had happened to. . .
His memory sparked, and he recalled his last moments alive.
Mumm-Ra, laughing, energy snapping and crackling around his hands.
Erica, impaled on his own hand before carelessly being thrown aside, nothing more than a bag of flesh and bones. Her purpose had been served.
Lion-O cast his gaze down, bile rising in his throat as he could practically smell the heavy scent of copper in the air. Her hair, a pristine white, began to leech to red as her blood spread, malice coating the air. . .
"I did." Lion-O admitted, meeting Masai's eyes again, "My failures killed her - killed me. And I know no matter how many times I say I'm sorry. . . you won't want to hear it. Or accept my apologies."
He looked up to Masai, who still stood over him, his sword resting against the hollow of his throat. The other lion said nothing for several long moments, a calculating look in his eye.
"You are right. I do not want to hear your platitudes." The lion said, his voice cold, "Nothing would make me happier than to drive my sword into you a thousand times over."
What a fierce opponent he must have been, Lion-O admired. If only he had a fraction of what Masai had. . . maybe he could have avoided some of his missteps. But no, he thought to himself, I am not others, and they are not me. I am Lion-O, and I have made it this far. And farther.
"And I can't change the past, Masai. But please, let me change the future. Let me stop him."
Masai did not move, did not react. His face became impassive, his expression guarded.
"Tell me." He spoke quietly, his words weighed and carefully measured, "Tell me what to do when all else is gone. When the world around me trembles. When the fabric of reality cracks and breaks. When nothing is left for you to grab onto - what drives you?"
Lion-O opened his mouth to answer, but Masai shook his head, the sword dropping from his throat.
"I am not interested in your words, Lion-O."
The void began to quiver, as though it couldn't sustain such an ancient soul. The floor beneath him shifted, and then shattered. Lion-O gasped as he fell, Masai staring down at him, his eyes cold and guarded.
"You say you wish to change the future." Masai spoke, his voice growing more and more distant.
"Prove it."
Lion-O jolted awake, gasping as threw his arms up, trying to catch onto something - anything - that would stop his free-fall. As his arms pinwheeled his hands scraped at the dirt under him. Trying to catch his breath, he cast a tentative glance down and found he was, indeed, sitting. That was enough to calm him down, and he sucked in a tiny breath as he placed a hand over his heart and tried to quiet its frantic pounding. Closing his eyes, he breathed in steadily, trying to get a grip. And after a few moments, he managed it.
Task done, Lion-O turned to his surroundings. He was in a tiny alcove, made entirely of tree roots, pressed in tightly around him. Soft earth cradled him, surprisingly comfortable given the cramped space. It smelled entirely of moss and earth, but laced through was something he'd never smelled before. For a moment, Lion-O tried to place it, but the closest he could come to was the salt spray of the ocean mixed with stars. It was a very confusing scent.
Above him, the roots parted enough to permit him a glimpse into the sky, black and speckled through with glittering white and blue lights. It was night, yet the temperature was warm and comfortable. Rubbing his face, he examined the rest of the alcove, and there, right to the side of him, was the Book of Omens.
Or, more specifically, what was left of it.
The jewel on its cover was deeply cracked, with other parts missing altogether. What remained was lackluster and dull. Moss and dirt threatened to tear apart the spine of the book, so when Lion-O picked it up, he did so tenderly, cradling it in his hands as the cover threatened to detach. The locks were missing, and as he thumbed through it, he found certain pages had been seemingly ripped out. There was no life or movement from the book.
So this is what had sheltered me.
"Thank you." He murmured.
The Book was in no condition to be moved, and while Lion-O was loathe to leave it, he knew he had no choice. It would only disintegrate if it were so much as jostled incorrectly. Setting it tenderly on the earth beside him, Lion-O nodded to himself and set about getting out of the alcove.
Solution: easy.
Problem: it required a bit of wriggling through some tight root spaces into the gap he'd spotted above him.
After a few intense minutes, he did manage it, though it took him some struggling and cursing. Eventually he surfaced, sucking in the clean night air. Getting out of the last, tight root crevice, Lion-O turned his gaze to the sky, looking for one of the three moons to try and tell him how much time he had before sunup.
Weird, he thought, it's so bright.
The night had never been this bright before, had it? Maybe his eyes were just taking some time to adjust after being in the dark for so long?
Sure, said another voice in his mind, but then why is the light coming from below?
From the ground? Yeah, that was weirdly bright-
He stopped.
And he had not words.
All around him. . . there was. . . something.
If he hadn't already been in a dreamworld, he would have thought he was in one now. All around him, the land was covered with a thick, pink-white. . . ocean. It glowed and seemed to emanate its own light. How fitting he'd smelled it before - the source was currently staring him in the face now. Much like the sand sea, this expanse stretched in all directions, forming a neat horizon between it and the night sky.
Lion-O jerked up to his feet, turning around as he tried to see where the land had gone. Thundera had been where he'd lost consciousness. So where was he now? This was Third Earth - he was certain of it. When he looked for tell-tale constellations in the sky, he found them. And there, peeking above the horizon, was the second blue moon.
He hadn't left the planet. This was Third Earth.
So. . . so what had happened?
A whistling sound pierced the air, and Lion-O spun to the side just in time to avoid narrowly getting impaled by a thin metal spike. Up ahead - just a few tens of feet - there stood an animal, wrapped up in a thick bundle of robes. They were holding-
The metal spike changed course, and in the strange light of the sea, Lion-O could see it was attached to the attacker's hand by a thin, metal wire. Lion-O dropped to the tree root, hugging it, and then rolled to the side, getting into a steady crouch. He reached for his gauntlet, grasping at Omens. . . and his stomach dropped when he realized his blade was not there.
With a deft shake, the spike dislodged from the wood and returned to the animal's hand.
And there the attack stopped.
There was only one animal that Lion-O knew that bore such a weapon.
"Kat?" Lion-O asked.
His voice was hushed, quiet. Normally water amplified sound - this sea seemed to absorb it. Yes, Lion-O realized, it was Kat. The bottom of the kitten's face was covered by a thick, heavy cloth, and the robes he was wearing didn't resemble his everyday wear, either.
Weirdly enough, the kitten was taller than Lion-O remembered.
"Kat! You're okay! That's great - but - but what happened? Where's Omens?"
For a moment, the kitten didn't move. Those golden eyes studied him, glinting with an unfamiliar, cold edge that Lion-O had never seen in the kitten's eyes. Then, finally, he heaved a bone-weary sigh.
". . . why couldn't you just stay dead?"
"What?" Lion-O stuttered. "Why would you say something like that?"
His knuckles tightened over his new and improved flank, the delicate piece of metal jingling in his hands.
"I thought we were finally going to meet our end." Kat continued, "But now that you're here. . ."
When Kat looked at him again, it was with a deep, bitter hate that shocked Lion-O to his core. Even more alarming was that Lion-O couldn't tell who it was directed at.
"That's all going to change, isn't it?"
"Kat?" Another voice interrupted, "Who are you. . ."
Another robed figure appeared on a tree root above Kat, and it didn't take Lion-O long to figure out that it was Kit. Her voice was slightly deeper now, and the childish timbre of it had vanished. When she saw him, Lion-O tensed, expecting the same reception he'd gotten from Kat.
But Kit shook the hood off of her head, tenderly jumped down, and approached him. Her golden eyes were guarded as she looked at him.
". . . Are you real?" She asked, her voice hoarse.
Lion-O nodded. "Yes. Unless this is all a dream too. The Book's right down there - I woke up next to it."
She paused, a handful of steps away, her eyes flicking down to the tiny alcove which Lion-O now realized was the perfect size to accommodate Kit or Kat. The kittens must've hidden the book there.
He gestured to the pink-white ocean that spanned around them.
"But. . . what happened-"
Kit rushed into him, and Lion-O was very nearly knocked off balance as the kitten shoved into his chest. For a brief fraction of a second, he worried that she had a blade, but when he felt her shaking softly against him, he knew there was not an ounce of ill intent in her bones.
She sobbed quietly against his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Lion-O wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and the other patted at the head of her cloak. She was taller, too. Or was that just his imagination? Yesterday it felt like the kitten had only reached his hip. Now she was well to the middle of his chest. Kittens grew up fast, that was his only answer. He'd been preoccupied the past few months with the Stones and Mumm-Ra that he hadn't exactly been paying attention to either of them.
He suppressed a momentary pang of guilt at that.
"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Kit whispered against his chest.
Lion-O looked up at Kat, searching for an answer, but the kitten only glared at him. So. . . no answers there.
"Kit?" Lion-O prompted. "What happened?"
She tilted her head back, tears dripping out of the corners of her eyes. "I thought - I thought all my prayers. . . I believed so bad-"
"We need to move." Kat ordered, his voice pitched low, barely above a whisper. But the tone was unmistakable - authoritative, urgent. Something was wrong.
Kit changed immediately, barely pausing to wipe at her eyes before she grabbed his wrist and tugged him behind her. "Follow me. And be quiet, they follow noise."
Lion-O jogged behind the kittens as they traveled over and through the roots, and as they ran, he thought he spotted a flicker of movement trailing them. Kit and Kat never looked back, oblivious to the pursuer.
"Kit-"
She gave a minute shake of her head. "Talk later. Promise. Quiet now."
And so Lion-O fell into step with them. They were surprisingly quiet as they hopped and ran along the tree roots, which acted like islands that surfaced from the ocean. Thick, tall trees were the only things that rose into the sky, further confusing Lion-O. Where were the mountains? Where were the rivers and streams and hills? He'd settle for a desert, even. Not this odd. . . dreamland.
Kat made it to the base of a thick tree, and gestured them both inside. Lion-O just barely managed to squeeze in, while the kittens had no problem at all, as though the tree had been custom-made for their acrobatics. Kit shimmied up a few footholds, climbing up the hollow tree, and nodded for Lion-O to follow suit.
He did, and it wasn't long before they were resting on some sort of lattice that the tree's branches made. There wasn't a lot of space, but there was enough. Kit shed her thick, brown robes, but kept the cover on her face.
"We can talk here." She said, "But keep your voice low."
He nodded, and looked through a crack in the tree trunk. "What happened?" He asked. "The world is. . ."
"Gone." Kat said, voice hollow. "It's all gone."
"Not all of it." Kit protested, "But it's hard to remember. . . it's. . . a lot happened. Maybe it's better to ask. . . what you remember?"
Kat snorted. "What he remembers. There are more important questions. How about where have you been? How about we're all going to-"
"Kat." Kit snapped, pinning her brother with a withering stare, "If you're going to be like that, just leave."
"Picking him over me." Kat snarled, stomping to his feet. "After all this, you'll pick him over me."
Kit said nothing as her brother stormed away, slithering through the trees and disappearing from sight a few seconds later.
"Kit, I'm sorry," Lion-O said, not knowing exactly what he was apologizing for, "I don't know what's happened, but. . ."
Kit shook her head. "It's not your fault, he's been angry a lot, lately. He doesn't like not being able to fight, and it seems we've had our hands tied. And after the recent losses we suffered. . ." Kit looked thoughtful, going silent.
His head was spinning, and Lion-O breathed in deeply to try and stop it. There was an awful lot that was making absolutely no sense right then and there. And he wanted the opposite to happen. Looking at Kit, he gestured to where Kat had gone.
"Will he be okay?"
Kit's eyes crinkled, the pain vanishing. "Of course he will. He's saved so many animals, I stopped counting ages ago. Kat's the bravest of all of us."
Saved them from what, exactly?
Lion-O had a feeling she'd get to that. "Alright. The last thing I remember. Mumm-Ra ambushed us at Thundera. And he. . . killed. . . Erica."
He wasn't sure what he expected Kit to do. Burst out into a rage, like her brother? But uh. . . sitting there, calmly nodding her head wasn't exactly it. Erica had been a tricky subject to deal with the kittens - but he wasn't expecting her to just accept it so calmly.
"You're not angry?" He asked incredulously.
Kit quirked her head to the side and let out a thoughtful hum.
"Erica. . . Erica. . ." She murmured, eyes focusing on. . . did she forget Erica?
"Did you forget her?" Lion-O asked, wide-eyed.
Kit closed her eyes for a moment, ignoring him, and after several long moments, let out a sad sigh.
"Ah," She said, "Her. I remember now, bits and pieces. Those are such bittersweet memory. Yeah, I wasn't happy for a while after. But no, I did not forget. If there's nothing to tie you to the lost, the more pull the Soul Sea has. The effects it had were small at first - maybe you'd forget their favorite color, or the exact sound of their voice. . . but the more memories that were lost, the more spirits that join the ocean - the more you forget. Their face. Their voice. And eventually you don't remember them at all."
"But I remember," Lion-O protested. All of this just seemed strange. "Erica was the human who. . . who. . ."
How did one sum up their entire journey - their relationship - with just a few words?
". . . she swore to fight Mumm-Ra with me." He finished.
Kit's eyes crinkled, and though he couldn't see it, he knew she was smiling. But it never quite reached her eyes, which were gripped by a great, shadowy pain.
"I remember that, too. But it's hard, Lion-O. I'm glad there isn't much time left. It's so devastating. One moment you know and remember somebody, and the next, they're in the Sea. And no matter how stubbornly you try to hold onto those memories, you just can't. It's like sand sliding through your fingers. It falls though, little by little, until they're taken away from existence itself. And you don't even remember they were gone in the first place."
Lion-O shook his head in disbelief. "How did this. . . is this Third Earth?"
Kit nodded. "It is. What's left of us live in the trees now. It's a bit hard at times, but we've adjusted well, I think. I do know that somebody made the trees this way, but I can't remember who they are."
He had a few guesses. before Lion-O could speak, Kit took another deep breath and looked at him, serious.
"I need to tell you some things now, not all of them you want to hear. Are you ready?"
Lion-O nodded, steeling his resolve.
She was right.
He didn't want to hear any of it.