TLK: His Unrestful Soul

End

—

His enemy was faster, stronger, and nearly invisible, and seemed to have experience in combat. Kopa had none of these things, but he had the ability to render terrible pain to the ghost just by being close to it.

And so his strategy was to outmaneuver the enemy. Whenever the wind whispered toward him, he ducked and rolled and then got to his feet at his enemy's back. He didn't attack, not yet; his drive was to pain and weaken his enemy until he couldn't fight anymore.

And it was working. The dark shadow could no longer disappear and reappear as quickly as it once had, and, sensing his advantage, Kopa focused his attack. He began to claw at his enemy, drawing bleeding lines of smoke through the shadow until it hissed in pain and started to swear.

The sun was rising, and Kopa was the sun. He stood in its light at the edge of Pride Rock, forcing his enemy right to the very precipice; he was light and the enemy was darkness, and now that he stood and marched forward, darkness could do nothing more than cower and shrink and hide away. And soon, it would die out completely.

Kopa got to within a yard of that hissing, shrieking dark shadow, that undefinable enemy with the face of his family. He jumped forward and struck out-

And the shadow vanished, torn to clouds of dust that the wind scattered into oblivion.

Victory was his. And, in the light of the dawning sun, in the light of his rise as the future Lion King, Kopa tilted his head back and roared his pride into the sky.

—

It was behind him now. But he'd never forget the lessons he'd learned during that pilgrimage, that undefinable time period after he had left his home for the second time in his life.

Now that Simba thought of it, he'd never before been alone in his life. Growing up, his parents and friends were never far, and when they couldn't keep an eye on him, Zazu was always circling somewhere overhead. His pilgrimage was the first time in his life that he'd been really alone for very long. And at first it had been hard, to have only his own thoughts for company. Worse was that there wasn't much to do in that distant land. There were no views, few features in the landscape; it was all chilly dark monotony. Yet he didn't need to plan out his hunts. There were few apex predators about other than him, so when he needed food, he ate. And when he didn't, he sat by himself with his thoughts.

And now he was returning.

Pride Rock was in sight now, the proud upraised stone home of his family. The sun crossed the horizon behind him, illuminating the landscape, and casting light on a lone figure atop the peak.

Who was it? All alone, so early in the morning... who could it be?

And then the Lion King recognized that posture, the beginnings of red hair that would soon coalesce into a thick protective mane. Kopa, the prince, the future Lion King: his son. He seemed to greet his father with a roar, and, with tears in his eyes, Simba opened his mouth to roar back.

That was when he saw his son, his little boy, his innocent child who he'd never met, jump forward-teeter for a moment-and then plunge off the edge of Pride Rock.

Ice took Simba's veins. No, that wasn't true, what he'd seen was a lie, it couldn't be, it was a mistake! He ran so fast that it hurt, staring at the bare ground in front of Pride Rock where his son lay.

His eyes were still open. He was still breathing, though blood and froth spilled from his open mouth. And when his father dove to his side, he blinked, confused, until he seemed to recognize him.

"Kopa," Simba heard himself say. "My son... don't worry. It'll be alright. I'll call Rafiki-"

But the prince smiled and shook his head. He reached out and set a paw on his father's, the butter soft touch of a child. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only blood and foam came forth. Shivering, grimacing, Kopa looked up at his father, even as shrieked mirth pierced the sky.

"It wasn't that you didn't name him, Simba," a voice said, a demonic voice from half a lifetime ago. "It was me! It was me all along! I tried to kill him, but your pilgrimage saved him... I thought it was all over, but he challenged me! He challenged me, and we fought, and he lost!

Leaning over the edge of Pride Rock, Scar laughed at the Lion King and the Lion King who might have been. He shimmered in the sunlight, half transparent and half dust, and when Kopa saw who he really was, he whimpered and tried to crawl behind his father. But his body was broken, and the slightest motion made him mewl in pain.

Redness clouded Simba's vision. He focused it onto Scar and stepped between him and his son, and with every ounce of hatred and pain he could muster, he roared.

And, still laughing, Scar's soul came apart into wisps of smoke that the wind carried off and away.

Hyperventilating, his teeth bared in a horrible snarl, Simba watched to make sure that every last speck of the aberration was lost. The voices of the pride were rousing, leaving the rock to see what had happened, but Simba didn't look to them. He looked to his son.

So small. So precious. The image of him and his father before him, and so pure and brave that he had tried alone to fight off the spirit of his uncle. And now he lay there: bloodied, and broken, and dead.

Simba reached toward him. But he didn't touch him. He didn't try to rouse him, as he had half a lifetime ago. He didn't know what to do. He paced around Kopa, and spoke to him, and begged him to move, with tears streaming down his face the whole while. He didn't know what to think, how to react, and when he heard his wife scream, he too screamed, for so long and so loud that his vocal cords broke.

Kopa. Prince. Future king. Boy. Child. Precious. Innocent. Dead: killed by his great uncle's unrestful soul...