Nala's world was an endless, blinding white. There was no ground beneath her paws, no sky above her head, just an infinite void stretching in every direction. She drifted, weightless and disoriented, as though the world itself had unraveled and left her suspended in nothingness. The silence pressed against her ears, oppressive and deafening, broken only by the faint, rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat.
A sharp, stabbing pain erupted in her head, so sudden and fierce that she flinched. She tried to lift a paw to her temple, but her limbs felt distant, as though they belonged to someone else. Her body hung in the void, disconnected and useless. She tried to speak, to call out, but her voice was swallowed by the emptiness.
Then, the memories began.
They flickered into existence like shards of broken glass, fragmented and fleeting. She saw herself as a cub, her fur glowing golden in the sun as she tumbled in the tall grass. Simba's laugh rang out, clear and bright, as he pounced on her, his paws pinning her playfully to the ground. The warmth of those carefree days wrapped around her like a soft blanket, but it was fleeting. The memory shifted, and she was older, standing before Zazu.
"You two are betrothed," the hornbill declared, his tone heavy with tradition.
Her nose wrinkled, and a disgusted laugh bubbled up from her chest. "Ew! I'm not marrying him!"
Beside her, Simba echoed her revulsion, his face twisting in mock horror. "Gross! I'd rather marry a warthog!"
The memory dissolved, replaced by another , rather recent . The two of them were beneath the stars, the vast expanse of the night sky stretching endlessly above them. The stars glittered like tiny diamonds, and Simba's voice was soft, tinged with wonder.
"Do you think they can hear us?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the heavens.
"Who?" she replied, tilting her head to follow his gaze.
"The great kings of the past," he murmured. "My dad says they're up there, watching over us."
She had nudged him then, her playful laugh breaking the quiet. "You're going to be up there one day, aren't you? King Simba."
His chest puffed out, and he grinned with mock seriousness. "Of course I will! And everyone will remember me!"
Her laughter faded, replaced by a quiet sincerity. "I'll remember," she had whispered.
The memory lingered, heavy with unspoken feelings, before it, too, shattered like glass. The pain in her head intensified, stabbing deeper, sharper. She whimpered, her body convulsing in the void. The memories came faster now, overlapping and colliding, a chaotic storm of images and sounds.
"Stop…" she tried to cry out, her voice a broken whisper. "Please, stop…"
Warmth spread across her body, chasing away the sharp cold of the void. It was soft, familiar, like the sun breaking through the clouds. She felt the brush of fur against her cheek, the gentle rise and fall of a body pressed close to hers. A mane, thick and warm, cradled her head, and for a fleeting moment, she felt safe.
"Simba?" she murmured, her voice trembling.
The thought that he might be here, with her in the afterlife, filled her with a bittersweet ache. She buried her face in the mane, seeking comfort, seeking him. But the void began to shift. The blinding white light dimmed, colors bleeding into the edges of her vision. The warmth around her grew heavier, more real.
She blinked, her eyes fluttering open to a world of muted light and earthy scents. Above her, the rough stone ceiling of a cave came into focus, its jagged edges glowing faintly in the golden sunlight streaming through an opening. Her body felt heavy, her limbs weak, but the warmth against her cheek remained. Slowly, she turned her head.
The sight stole the breath from her lungs.
Simba lay beside her, his golden fur marred with dark streaks of blood. His mane, once vibrant and full, was matted and tangled, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her heart twisted at the sight, her throat tightening.
"Simba," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Before she could move, a shadow crossed the light. A familiar voice, trembling with relief, broke the silence. "Nala? You're awake!"
Her gaze shifted, and she saw her mother, Sarafina, hurrying toward her. Her mother's face was a mixture of joy and anguish, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Mother?" Nala croaked, her voice hoarse and weak.
Sarafina reached her, nuzzling her fiercely, as though afraid she might vanish again. "Oh, Nala… we thought we'd lost you. You were calling for Simba before you fell—before you…" Her voice broke, and she drew in a shaky breath. "I grabbed your scruff just in time. You were dangling over the gorge, unconscious. You've been out for days."
Nala's mind reeled, fragments of memory surfacing. The edge of the gorge, the rushing wind, the suffocating despair. She remembered letting go, surrendering to the pull of the void. And yet, here she was. Alive.
Her gaze shifted back to Simba, her chest tightening at the sight of his still form. "What happened to him?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Sarafina hesitated, her expression heavy with sorrow. "He fought for you. For all of us. Scar is dead, but… so many paid the price." Her voice faltered, her eyes glistening. "Simba hasn't woken up since the fight. His wounds…" She trailed off, unable to finish.
The weight of her words settled over Nala like a crushing stone. The cave grew quieter as other lionesses approached, their expressions a mix of surprise and joy at seeing her awake. Sarabi was among them, her usually composed demeanor cracking as she rushed forward.
"Nala," Sarabi said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "You've come back to us."
But Nala could barely register their words. Her world had narrowed to the golden lion lying beside her, his life hanging by a thread. She crawled closer to him, her body trembling with effort.
"Simba," she whispered, her voice breaking. Her tears fell freely now, soaking into his mane. "Please… don't leave me."
The sun dipped lower in the sky, its golden light casting long shadows across the cave. The lionesses gathered around Simba, their grief unspoken but palpable. Sarafina and Sarabi stood close, their heads bowed in silent prayer.
Nala pressed her forehead against Simba's, her tears mingling with the dried blood on his fur. "You can't go," she murmured, her voice trembling. "I still need you. The Pride Lands need you."
But Simba didn't stir. His breathing remained shallow, each rise and fall of his chest a fragile tether to the world.
As the sun set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, the lionesses kept vigil. The cave was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Nala's quiet sobs and the faint, uneven breaths of their future king.