as he lay on his back, pinned beneath her, trembling, the sight of that glint chilled him to the core.

“Finally,” she breathed, hot breath making Kopa’s brown tuft sway, “The young Prince!”

Kopa stopped trembling and tried to be brave. This was Zira. She had Vitani’s sleek pelt and Nuka’s yellow eyes. He could see the features of his Outlander friends in her expressions. No matter how scared he was, he couldn’t understand how she knew he was even here. How did she find me? They said she’d never know! That she’d never been so close to the border here! His blood ran cold as Zira’s claws unsheathed. A true King isn’t afraid. A true King isn’t afraid. His father’s words of wisdom repeated over and over in his mind. Dad’ll come. I’ll be okay. She can’t do anything to me.

“Now,” Zira was snarling to herself as she bent over him, “Simba will know the pain of loss!”

Kopa felt anger surge through his chest. He was so young, still a cub. He couldn’t fend her off for long. But what she said made him furious. It made him seethe with rage. His father had told him countless times—and so had Sarabi, his grandmother—of the story of the terrible stampede and the betrayal of Kopa’s Great Uncle Scar, killing his brother and Kopa’s grandfather, Mufasa, and forcing Simba from the Pridelands with lies and cruelty.

“That’s where you’re wrong!” Kopa grunted.

Zira’s ears pricked. Her gaze locked murderously with his. Thunder boomed overhead. Raindrops spattered Kopa’s head fur.

Trying to wriggle free in vain, Kopa went on, “He already knows what it—” the young cub unsheathed his claws and let out the hardest kick he could muster at Zira’s exposed belly fur, “—feels like!” With a grunt, he kicked hard with both hind paws and flipped onto his stomach, trying to stand and break away.

Zira roared with fury and pounced on him, pinning him again between her massive paws. “You aren’t going anywhere, son of Simba,” she spat. “My time will come—the time for revenge!” She lunged for him.

The last words Kopa heard before dizzying darkness and jolts of pain were Zira’s hissing snarls:

“And when it does, you won’t be there to see it!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rain! Just what Vitani needed as she splashed through the mud. The Outlands were even more disgusting soaked. Great!

She reached the leafless, dripping bushes that circled the clearing she’d met Kopa in so many times before.

She scented her mother, Zira, before seeing her.

Zira was prowling away from the clearing, tail lashing in some form of triumph. Vitani’s heart beat faster. She couldn’t hold herself back any longer; she burst through the thicket and into the beloved meeting clearing.

She stopped dead, skidding in the mud.

A heap of golden fur lay in the clearing’s center.

Vitani slowly crept forward. With a paw she slowly turned the body over to see its face, eyes misting over, making her vision blurry. She already knew who it was.

“Kopa!” she wailed, head turned to the sky. Rain pelted her head fur. “This can’t be happening!”

But it was. Looking down, Vitani felt the color drain from her gaze, fur growing cold with grief. Kopa’s face was clearly unscratched, but the rest of his body was scarred. Fang marks denting his neck fur. The rain washed away any hint of blood, and tufts of his fur were missing. He’d been slaughtered.

Suddenly the sound of beating wings flapped overhead. Thunder crashed.

Vitani flinched and, hardly bearing to leave her lifeless friend’s body, fled behind a termite mound, deteriorating into mud.
A blue hornbill—the advisor to the King of the Pridelands, Zazu—gave a gasp as he fluttered over Kopa’s body. His beady pupils flashed with shock as he turned and flew back toward Pride Rock.

Vitani couldn’t risk being here a moment longer. She turned to go…

…And bumped smack into her mother.

Zira sat watching, crouching really, the scene in the clearing as Simba and Nala emerged over the border, bent over Kopa’s body and wailing. Nala flung herself over Kopa and let out a roar of grief. Vitani squeezed her eyes shut. Simba bowed his head, horrified and stricken with shock, staring down at his son with tears in his eyes.

Vitani felt her mother rumble an exclamation of triumph behind her. Vitani felt rage boil under her fur.

“What have you done?” Vitani snarled. “He’s…he’s dead! Mother—”

“Hush now, my child,” Zira smirked evilly, comforting her cub or pretending to but hooking her forepaw over Vitani’s shoulders—it was big enough. “The world is a cruel place. Scar was murdered by the coward Simba. He was your father. If the young Prince had lived, he would have grown to hate you.”

Vitani felt tears come to her eyes. “He would never do that.”

“You may think so now,” Zira growled. “But one day he would have, certainly. It is for the best. If you are going to survive here, Vitani, you must learn to hate. Follow Scar’s rule. Simba doesn’t belong on the throne, nor did his pathetic son. Tomorrow I will send both you and your brother to see the ceremony of their new princess. I have a plan. Scar will not have died in vain.”

She turned to go. Vitani wanted to follow, but she kept her eyes on Kopa’s lifeless form on the muddy ground, Simba and Nala burying their heads in each other’s fur for comfort. Zazu’s head hung low, a single teardrop dripping down his beak. Or maybe it was just the rain. Timon and Pumbaa were beside the hornbill, Timon holding the back of his neck and looking away with closed eyes. Pumbaa wasn’t even trying not to cry, he was practically bawling.

“I won’t forget you, Kopa,” Vitani whispered. “But Mother’s right. The world’s cruel. We’ve gotta avenge Scar. Maybe someday…when we rule Pride Rock…I’ll avenge you, too. Somehow.”

Vitani turned and left the scene.

Kopa’s body was left there, in the rain, that night. Both Nala and Simba couldn’t bear to drag him to Pride Rock. It would be too horrific for the kingdom’s animals. There was a ceremony of Kiara’s to be held the next day.

The forgotten Prince Kopa was dead; the Pride Lands would mourn him forever.

Don’t; look over your shoulder,

Cuz that’s just the ghost of me you’re seein’ in your dreams,

Wait, there’s no rhyme or reason,

Sometimes there’s no meanin’ in the visions when you’re sleepin’,

Don't wake up and believe them,

You're lookin' at the ghost of me...

The End.