Scar ran.
Simba's small body dangled gently from his jaws as his paws thundered across the dirt. The cub's weight was nothing to him, but his presence felt heavier than it should have—like he was carrying the future itself.
The climb out of the gorge wasn't easy. Dust still hung in the air. Loose rocks threatened to slip beneath his paws. But Scar powered through it, his mind sharp, his instincts focused.
He reached the top where Mufasa and Zazu waited. Mufasa sat upright now, wincing but stable, his injured leg held close to his body. His eyes lit up the moment he saw them.
"Simba!" he called out, relief cracking his voice.
Scar gently lowered the cub, and Simba scrambled over to his father, leaping into his chest.
"I'm okay!" Simba shouted. "Uncle Scar saved me too!"
Mufasa wrapped his good leg around his son, holding him close, eyes shining.
Scar stood nearby, silent.
Then Mufasa looked at him, more serious now. "Did you… see anything strange down there?"
Scar hesitated. Just for a second.
"Strange?" he repeated.
"Yes," Mufasa said, lowering his voice. "This… this wasn't normal. The herd stampeding exactly when Simba was down there? You climbing up to the exact place I fell? It all happened too perfectly."
Scar kept his expression calm. Thoughtful. Controlled.
He shook his head. "I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just dust and panic."
Mufasa frowned, not suspicious—but clearly unsettled.
"I'll go check it out," Scar added quickly. "Just to be sure. If someone planned this… I want to know."
Mufasa nodded. "Good. I don't like coincidences."
Neither do I, Scar thought grimly as he turned and began walking back toward the gorge.
His heart pounded, but not from exertion.
Inside, beneath the mask, his thoughts raced.
Damn. He's sharper than I thought. If I had hesitated just a second longer, he might've started connecting the dots.
He knew what Mufasa didn't know—what he mustn't know.
The hyenas.
He had felt it in the ground. The way the herd spooked, the direction they came from. The signs were all there. Scar knew exactly who had driven the wildebeest into the gorge.
And it had everything to do with him.
Or at least, the Scar who came before him.
I have to bury that connection, he thought. Deep. If Mufasa even suspects I had anything to do with it, all of this—me saving him, saving Simba—it won't matter. The trust will shatter.
He stopped on a rocky outcrop, staring back at where Mufasa lay, now nuzzling his son and speaking quietly with Zazu.
They were alive.
Because of him.
But inside… Scar felt hollow.
This wasn't supposed to be my life, he thought, staring at his paws. I was just some guy. A nobody. Watching a movie. And then everything drowned.
The memory flashed like lightning—his apartment flooded, the static screen, the choking water, then waking up in a lion's body with the weight of a kingdom pressing down on him.
I didn't ask for this. And I sure as hell didn't deserve this name.
He looked down the gorge again.
But maybe… maybe he could make something out of it.
If he played this right, if he wore the mask of Scar and hid the past beneath it, he could survive.
No—not just survive.
He could change everything.
But first, he had to deal with the shadows his name left behind.