The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the savanna as Scar made his way back toward Pride Rock. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the hyenas and the Outlanders—his plans, the power he was slowly building. Every step he took, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down, but he knew the time to strike was still far off.
As he reached the top of the cliff, he paused. There, at the edge, he saw them—Mufasa, his massive frame regal even in the waning light, walking slowly with Simba at his side. The cub was bouncing along beside his father, still full of the energy only youth could possess, but Mufasa's steady presence was calming, grounding.
Scar's heart tightened. He was a stranger in this world—reborn, yes, but still unable to escape the weight of the life he was now living.
Mufasa turned his head when he heard Scar's approach, his voice as warm as the light that bathed the land.
"Scar," Mufasa called out, a friendly nod in his direction. "Come, walk with us. We could use your company."
Scar hesitated for a moment. A casual invitation—no suspicion in Mufasa's voice, no hint of mistrust. For a fleeting moment, Scar almost felt the familiar tug of family, the bond that had existed between them long before everything had gone wrong.
But then the moment passed, and he remembered the truth. He was no longer that brother. He was Scar now. He had his own path to walk, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that path led to one place—the throne.
Still, he stepped forward and joined them, the weight of his decisions growing with each step.
Mufasa didn't wait long before speaking again, his voice light. "So, did you find anything down in the gorge, Scar?"
Scar's heart skipped a beat. He's still asking about that?
He quickly forced a smile onto his face, keeping his tone nonchalant. "Nothing. It might just have been a strange coincidence. The herd spooked, and Simba happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luck, I suppose."
Mufasa seemed to consider that answer for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't press it. Instead, he looked over at Simba, who was walking happily beside them, oblivious to the deeper currents of the conversation.
"Well, I'm glad you were there," Mufasa continued. "It's not often that we're in the right place at the right time. But I'd like to think that you being there, Scar, wasn't just luck. It was fate."
Scar felt a knot tighten in his stomach at those words. Fate. It felt like an iron chain wrapped around his chest, a reminder that he was trapped in this body, this name, this life.
"I'm sure you think so," Scar muttered, his voice lower than before.
They continued walking in silence for a while, the only sound the soft crunch of their paws against the dry earth. But Mufasa's presence was an anchor, and Simba's carefree chatter was a constant reminder of everything Scar had once dreamed of but could never have. A family. Peace. Power.
Mufasa broke the silence again, glancing at Scar with a knowing smile. "You know, you never really explained to me how you got there so quickly. How you managed to save me, of all things. The timing was... almost perfect."
Scar's breath hitched, but he kept his face impassive. No. Not now. Don't let him see.
"It was nothing," he said smoothly, his voice smooth like velvet. "I suppose it was just luck. I was in the right place at the right time." His eyes flicked over to Mufasa, pretending to be lost in thought. "It could've been anyone, really. I'm sure you would've made it out without me."
Mufasa glanced at him, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "Maybe. But the truth is, I wasn't in the best position to help myself. You were there, Scar. You did save me. I'll never forget that."
Scar's heart thundered in his chest. Mufasa was giving him credit—credit he didn't deserve. Not in this life. Not in this body. Not as Scar.
Focus, Scar told himself, his mind racing. You're still playing the game.
"You don't need to thank me for that, Mufasa," Scar replied coolly. "It's just what family does."
Simba trotted along beside them, oblivious to the subtle tension in the air, his little paws kicking up dust. He was smiling up at Mufasa, asking questions, as young cubs do. But Scar could see it. The bond between them. It was strong, unshakable. It made Scar sick to his stomach.
"Uncle Scar, you're so cool!" Simba suddenly piped up, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Scar paused for a moment, thrown off balance by the sudden shift in tone. Simba's innocent admiration was like a dagger to his heart. The cub had no idea the kind of monster he was dealing with.
Scar chuckled softly, hiding the bitterness behind his smile. "I'm just doing what's necessary, Simba."
Mufasa gave a soft laugh. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad you were there. If you hadn't been... things could've turned out much worse."
Scar's smile tightened, his mind racing. Worse. Yes. But it could have been so much better, Mufasa. If I had just finished the job.
The silence between them grew, and the conversation slowed. Scar watched as Mufasa and Simba spoke softly, the setting sun casting long shadows over the savanna. Mufasa's gaze was distant, pensive, while Simba's innocent chatter filled the air.
Scar couldn't help but feel like an outsider, someone who didn't belong in this world. But he had a plan. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He had to be patient. He had to keep his cards close, especially with Mufasa—no matter how much his soul longed to be free of the shadow of his past.