The sun was a molten disc sinking low over the horizon, washing the savanna in burnt orange and dying gold. Dust shimmered in the heat as Scar moved alone, his dark mane rippling faintly with the wind that carried the scent of scorched grass. His paws sank into the dry soil, soft but lifeless beneath each step. The path he followed twisted away from Pride Rock — toward the Outlands, that barren stretch of bones and shadow few lions dared to tread.

He had never taken this route before. Even for him, it was new territory. The land felt wrong, heavy with silence, the sort that swallowed sound instead of echoing it. Vultures circled lazily above the horizon, and distant geysers of dust marked where the ground cracked open like old scars. Scar’s green eyes half-lidded as he muttered, almost to himself, “Well, isn’t this charming. Mufasa would love this place. Desolation does have such… character.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound dry and humorless, and flicked his tail. There was no one to hear him — or so he thought.

The faint crunch of pebbles behind him drew his ear. Scar stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing slightly. The breeze shifted, carrying a scent that wasn’t his own. He turned his head slowly, like a snake deciding whether to strike.

A small figure froze in the wavering light.

Scar stared for a long moment, expression unreadable, then exhaled through his nose with a faint huff. “Oh, for the love of—really? I don’t recall sending out invitations.” His voice carried that usual silken drawl, equal parts irritation and amusement. He stepped closer, the shadow of his mane spilling over the cub who had been trailing him.

“Well, what have we here? A brave little fool, or merely lost?” His tone wasn’t cruel — not yet — but layered with that biting curiosity that could turn sharp at any moment. He paced a small circle around the cub, head tilted. “You do realize, don’t you, that this is no place for games? The Outlands aren’t exactly... forgiving.”

The cub said nothing, only met his gaze.

Scar’s eyes flickered with something almost — almost — like intrigue. “Hmm. Silent, are we? Sensible choice. Most who follow me don’t survive long enough to regret it.” He smirked faintly, but there was no real heat behind it, only weariness. The shadows stretched long behind them, his own silhouette looming across the cracked ground like a second self.

He turned away, tail flicking lazily. “Well, if you insist on following, I won’t waste breath trying to stop you. But don’t expect me to play nursemaid. Keep up if you can — and if the hyenas find you before I do… well.” He gave a soft, low laugh that could have been mistaken for a growl. “Then I suppose you’ll learn what the Circle of Life looks like from the bottom.”

He started walking again, unhurried but deliberate, the cub’s small pawsteps padding faintly in his wake. His voice drifted back over his shoulder, roughened by the fading light.

“Damn foolish thing, following a lion like me. But then…” He glanced skyward, eyes glinting under the crimson sun. “I suppose curiosity runs deep in the young — and Hell, maybe I could use the company.”

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of dust and something distant, metallic — rain, or blood, it was hard to tell. The lion and the cub pressed on into the darkening plain, one tall and haunted, the other small and wordless, as twilight swallowed the land between the Pride Lands and the forgotten edge of the world.