Lion-O sat on his bunk, his feet planted on the cool flooring, his head an inch from banging into Tygra's bunk above. The Book of Omens weighed down his hands, as heavy as a paving stone, until they rested in his lap.

"Jaga," he said.

Jaga did not answer. Lion-O hadn't expected him to. Not like this, with the Book closed and locked. Not when he more than half hoped his old mentor hadn't been paying the slightest attention to all of his blunders since he'd passed the Trials. Not when his voice shrank, smothered by both sullen resentment and guilt-riddled anxiety.

The Feliner rang with the kind of stillness that only came with absolute isolation. He'd shut himself away from the beautiful views of minotaur country – the snow-capped, lavender mountains; the clumps of full, green trees; the insects buzzing in the heat like winged jewels; the endless fields, golden brown. The tall, heavy grain bespoke a prosperous people at peace with their neighbors, content with their small corner of nowhere.

That was how Thundera should have been, he thought unhappily. Instead, the cats had persecuted the other races, refusing to let their prosperity and the authority it brought slip through their razor-sharp claws.

Lion-O rubbed his thumb over the gold detailing of the Book's red cover. The jewel replica, like those the ThunderCats used to wear on their clothing and armor, filled him with a mixture of pride and a sort of queasiness behind his sternum. The domed red jewel represented so much more than he'd been taught, and not all of it good.

Would things have been different if the cats had not taken the War Stone for themselves? If they had not revered the power it had lent them?

Lion-O tightened his fingers, pressing his claws into the Book's covers. Was it wrong to think this way? The War Stone was as much a part of him as his name. He couldn't cast it aside, would not. Yet the Spirit Stone, he planned to return to the elephants, if he lived long enough to stop Mumm-Ra. It had been safe with them, for they had never felt the need to use it. Forgetful, they were, yes, and slow like the drip of water that created marvelous crystal castles underground, but they were happy. It hadn't been until the quickfire ThunderCats had entered their village that they'd woken up from what seemed like a long sleep. Anet had not hesitated to join the battle for Avista. Some of Lion-O's guilt stemmed from that one small change in the elephant leader.

Maybe things had to change more than he'd thought. More than any of them had thought.

Could the cats evolve? And if they couldn't, would they survive?

Would their pride – his pride – let them join the other races on their level, a level that he still saw as lower than the one he had believed was a basic right, because he had been born a cat? Elephant Village, for instance, was little more than a few run-down huts and a cracked, vine-covered fountain sinking into the hillside! When compared with what Thundera had been – he grumbled at the ache that pinched his insides at the thought.

The Book's jewel was dark, unresponsive. He thought about the life he had been forced to leave behind. Cat's Lair could not have existed, as he knew it, cocooned in quiet like this. As the center of Claudus's empire, it had seethed with activity at all hours of the day. As the crown prince, he'd never been left alone, not truly, not even when he desperately needed to be.

Lion-O let the Book sag. He raised his head, listening. Nothing but the hum of the Feliner's air systems. He didn't remember his friends deciding to leave him here and go out searching for answers without him. Come to think of it, he didn't remember saying anything about needing to be alone. Somehow, they'd known. They'd respected his unspoken wish.

Had it been Panthro? Possibly. The old general had served Claudus for years. He must have picked up a thing or two about royal moods.

Lion-O might have credited Cheetara for the thoughtful gesture, back when they'd first met. She'd kept popping up, initiating conversations, draping herself into his personal space, seeming interested in everything he did and said. Cheetara was better at reading Tygra's thoughts than his these days, however. Which was as it should be. Lion-O barely felt a twinge thinking about their bond or their happiness.

It must have been Felline, then. Lion-O smiled faintly down at the Book, his black mood lifting a fraction. Felline and that quiet way of hers, those big eyes and bigger ears soaking up everything going on around her. He had once seen her pluck a Stinky Sticky Bomb right out of WilyKat's hand on the upswing before the kitten could lob it at Tygra's head – who had had it coming, in Lion-O's opinion, for pushing the eject button and blasting Kat from the Feliner's pilot's seat, which had sent Kat crashing into a prickleberry bush – and Kat had actually spent about thirty seconds looking for where it had gone before realizing what she'd done.

Lion-O let his smile grow a little. Yeah, it must have been Felline.

Well, he'd be a fool to waste the opportunity she'd given him. Better get the worst over with.

He opened the Book. The pages, as usual, were blank. Smooth, crisp, and white. Judgmental, or so he saw them.

"Jaga," he said, louder and more firmly than before.

A blue glow lit up the empty white pages like a monitor screen powering up. Words began to scroll across them, horizontally, vertically, forward and backward and crisscrossing, blue on white, too rapidly for him to read more than a word or a phrase here and there. The ghostly, blue-hued image of his old mentor's spirit stood up from the chaotic record of the past, cloaked and helmed as he had been the last time Lion-O had seen him alive.

Six inches tall, Jaga opened his eyes, sorrowful and wise and digitally-rendered blue. He appeared to be standing in glowing blue water. When he saw Lion-O hovering above him, his aged, bearded face crinkled in a knowing smile.

"I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me, Lion-O," he said in his deep, measured, achingly familiar voice.

Lion-O sighed, knowing full well he deserved the rebuke. At the very least, he would avoid reasons and excuses. He owed the old cleric that much, so all he said was, "I'm sorry, Jaga."

"But?" Jaga prompted in his patient way. "You would not have awakened me without reason. What troubles you, my king?"

"Do I have to say it?" Lion-O asked, unable to squelch the petulant whine in his voice. He couldn't help it. Jaga had been a permanent fixture of his youth, sharing the responsibility of his education with Claudus, providing that kindly-listening ear when Claudus's temper got in the way. "A lot has happened," he said. "It's . . ."

He hesitated, searching for the right words to describe the last few weeks. A fiasco? Definitely. A total failure? That didn't cover it by half. Proof he could never be the king he'd always assumed, in the arrogance of his pampered life, he would be?

He kneaded his forehead, biting back a whimper. "Complicated," he finished.

"As anticipated," Jaga said calmly. "You do not have to retell your story to me. Not as you imply. There is another way. Relax your body, Lion-O. Relax your mind. Close your eyes and remember. Let your memories flow toward me."

As Jaga's voice went on, so soothing, Lion-O did his best to do as instructed. He first closed his eyes to block out any possible distractions. Then he tried to let his thoughts flow. He struggled for a minute or so. Thoughts, unlike speech, could flow just like the text in the Book, sideways, up and down, forward and back, plowing right over every other thought that cropped up.

What happened? he asked himself, struggling to marshal the millions of thoughts constantly bouncing around his skull. How did it start? When?

He let the tension drain from his scowling face. Then his neck. His shoulders. His breath. The Book between his hands grew warm, like metal under the sun.

So, naturally, he cheated and opened his eyes. The lines of text, renewed, scrolled from his thumbs, in direct contact with the Book's pages, toward Jaga's miniature ghost over the center fold. The text swirled like the winds of a tornado. Jaga's cloak seemed to break down into streams of text which spiraled from his indistinct feet to his collar. His head floated eerily above this phenomenon. Serenity ruled his expression. This, then, must be how the Book had recorded the events of centuries ago, detailing how his ancestors Leo and Panthera had brought down the Ever-Living, and the birth of the blades.

Watching, Lion-O caught snatches of his own thoughts made digital.

Prefect Horus. Ha!

The birds were better off with Vultaire.

Felline will help them. I have to let them go.

Felline! Felline's not breathing!

No! I can't let her die!

I'll kill them. All of them.

Even Pumyra.

Never Pumyra.

Doesn't she know I loved her?

What is wrong with her?

What has Mumm-Ra done?

NO! The Sword of Omens!

~*-&-$%-# *-*~!

Nothing there, just a string of nonsense that practically screamed in pain. Lion-O flinched away from it. A perplexed rumple appeared between Jaga's shaggy brows. The lines of text jerked and fizzed as though losing the signal, and then steadied when Lion-O got over that particular emotional hump and let the memories roll forward.

Hattanz-O. Teacher. Friend.

He can't help.

The Hammer of Thundera! Could it possibly exist?

It must. It does exist.

All is not lost.

Who is the master? A tiger!

Why does he remind me so much of Tygra?

He doesn't have the Hammer.

Why is he all over Felline like that?

He doesn't have the Hammer.

Stop it. She doesn't like it.

HE DOESN'T HAVE THE HAMMER.

What do I do now?

How can I fix this?

How can I make this right?

The flow of text slowed as though losing power, blinked a few times, and then went dark. Jaga's cloak reappeared, opaque and glowing blue as before. His ghostly fingers tightened on the haft of his staff. He looked up at Lion-O soberly.

"It seems," he said, "that we have much to discuss."

Lion-O repressed a groan with difficulty. This was exactly why he'd consulted with Jaga – to talk. To seek the advice of the wisest cat he knew. No matter how much he'd rather be doing anything else. So, as the king he craved to be would do, he settled in for a long, hard, and overdue talk with his mentor.

..::~*~::..

It was too quiet.

WilyKit lowered her box of parts with a sigh. Of course Felline and Cheetara had made her and WilyKat stay behind – because Felline and Cheetara seemed to think the twins' days alone in Dog City, in which they'd first become part of and then broken up Tookit's ring of thieves and scored the Forever Bag for themselves, were a fluke. So even though they, the ThunderKittens, excelled at reconnaissance, they were stuck being cubsat.

And of course Panthro had to pick today to reorganize the cargo bay and the part of it he'd claimed as his workshop. WilyKit dug her big toe into the dirt around her box, not quite daring to kick it. They'd just left Avista City and the berbils, and New Thundera not long after. They hadn't even been in any battles yet! The Feliner was in perfect condition. But nooooo . . . Preparedness Was Survival!

Kit wiped her arm across her forehead. Even though the sun was going down, it hadn't cooled off any. She preferred the dry heat of Dog City to this . . . this . . . this smothering heat that sucked her energy from her. If only it wasn't so quiet!

She needed to do something to wake herself up.

Her brother shuffled down the path they had begun to wear in the tall prairie grass. With a sigh, he set his box next to Kit's.

He wiped his arm across his forehead, just like she had. Kit watched him, knowing that the discontent currently pulling his features into a frown was doing the same to hers.

She became aware of the humming at the same time he did. Their left ears twitched in unison.

Lost in his well-maintained and imaginary world where nothing scary ever happened, Snarf trotted down the path. He surveyed the trays of materials and parts sorted and ready for Panthro's inspection, and then chose a tray of lightbulbs. He tottered back toward the Feliner, balancing the tray on his back.

WilyKit couldn't tear her gaze from those bulbs. Perfect bulbs. Some were tiny. Some were huge. Some clear, some colored. Round. Elongated. Spiraled. All shone in the orange spears of light from the setting sun. All tinkled with every careful step.

The petcat hummed his cheerful tune to himself, happy to cubsit if it meant his master could have some time alone, happy to assist the big, bad-tempered general for whom he'd once played nursemaid.

Well, he was happy, but they weren't.

The twins didn't speak a word to each other. They didn't need to. Wicked grins spread across their faces in synchronization.

Dropping to all fours, WilyKit scampered around the stacks of boxes one way. Her brother Kat went the other. Kit crawled beneath clouds of gnats that were barely discernible against the purpling sky toward another tray. This one was full of glistening crystal and metal pieces as fragile as paper, all repaired with slick epoxy and drying in the sun. Now that the sun had set and taken its drying power with it, Kit was sure Snarf would pick this tray next.

She pulled a bit of fishing line out of a pouch and quickly tied it around one of the pieces. Then she tied the other end to a nearby rock, anchored in the ground. She left enough slack to compensate for Snarf's height.

Keeping out of sight of the open cargo bay doors, she raised her head to check on her brother.

He squeezed the last globs of the chemical goo that made the base of one of their bombs out of a tube, forming a clear puddle on the ground. They'd gotten the idea from Conquedor back in Berbil Village. The gel was sticky. It was smelly. Without all the dye and glitter, it was hard to spot. WilyKat gave her a thumbs up that she copied.

The humming was coming back. Kit and Kat took off in a puff of dust. They shinnied up the one tree in their campsite and concealed themselves in its foliage.

Oblivious, Snarf trotted over to the trapped tray. He balanced it on his back.

The fishing line tautened.

Snarf started to walk away.

Crystal and fragile metal smashed on the ground in a tinkling, kssshhing symphony.

Their terrified friend-turned-cubsitter leaped several feet straight up, his arms and his legs churning the air, tail thrashing. The tray hit the ground with a resonant clang.

Snarf landed in the gel. He slipped and slid. His legs tangled with his tail. His whiskers snarled with his arms.

"Snyarrf!" he cried.

Right before he faceplanted.

He lay spread-eagled in goo, his tasseled ears drooping, the tufted tip of his tail resting on his nose. He surveyed the mess on the ground wearily.

"Nyaaa," he said.

WilyKat and WilyKit laughed into their hands, battling to keep the sound muffled. Tears streamed down their cheeks.

"SNARF!" Panthro bellowed, closer than Kit had expected.

Snarf jumped so high and so fast that she lost sight of him. Then a red ball of fur descended and plowed into Panthro's face. Panthro gurgled.

Snarf clung to the general's ears, his coat on end, his green eyes bigger than a giant caterpillar's.

Panthro peeled the shaking petcat off his face. He held Snarf by the scruff. Snarf dangled from Panthro's metal claws sheepishly. They stared at each other, ThunderCat and petcat. Snarf attempted to grin, showing his blunted fangs, and spread his little pink paws in a what-can-I-say? gesture. Gel oozed down Panthro's brow, his nose, his pursed lips.

WilyKit and WilyKat burst out laughing harder than before. They forgot to keep it quiet.


A/N: Hello, Dearest Readers! It has been far too long, hasn't it? I'm so sorry - and I'm so thankful that you're still here, patiently waiting for these updates. I admit that I have been grappling with the enormity of this project again. I want to stay faithful to canon, what little there is, but I also want to tell it my way. Big things are coming and I don't have the faith that I will be able to handle them well. Don't worry - I'm going to try! Because I know you all have my back!

This update has been giving me fits because there just isn't any good place to break it. So I finally just did it. X3 I hope it's not too weird!

Reviewer Thanks! KelseyAlicia, Atea1793, Darwin, allurascastle, AndrianaWarrior7, Blacktiger93, The Night Whisperer, St4r Hunter, Heart of the Demons, Champion of Justice, Seeds of Destruction, FallingStar5027, and Wondering Lyra. I have so many of you to thank, and I am so grateful for that. This is for you, guys. Thank you.

So, I know that FanFiction isn't populating my updates right now. We've been discussing it over on Discord. Come join us to stay in touch! Invite link on my profile.

Luv ya!

Anne