"Scar! Brother! Help me!"
The words rang in Derek's ears like a call from another lifetime. Only now, they were real. Spoken by the one and only Mufasa—hanging from the cliff's edge, his powerful frame clinging to the crumbling stone, his face twisted in desperation and strain.
Derek's paws trembled slightly as he stood above him, heart pounding in his chest.
This was the moment.
The one everyone remembered.
The betrayal. The fall. The death.
He could feel it like muscle memory in this body. The part of Scar that still lingered in the bones wanted to smirk. Wanted to lean down and whisper "Long live the king."
But Derek shoved that impulse down and stepped forward.
No hesitation.
He reached out.
"Give me your paw!" Derek growled—his voice low, but urgent.
Mufasa's eyes locked onto his, filled with gratitude and trust. Not suspicion. Not fear.
Just belief.
He reached up, and their paws met.
"Hold on," Derek snarled, digging his claws into the ground as he began to pull. "I've got you!"
The strain was immediate.
Mufasa was heavy—his muscles built for fighting, for running, not for being dragged up a rock face. Derek's paws scraped the stone, struggling to grip with claws not meant for hauling dead weight.
Mufasa groaned, trying to find footing.
"Come on, brother. You can do it," Mufasa gritted, trying to help.
"Don't call me brother right now," Derek grunted, nearly slipping. "Not while I'm sweating my tail off saving your royal ass!"
Mufasa chuckled, even as he gasped for breath. "You sound… different."
"Yeah, well—long story," Derek growled, shifting his stance and pulling harder. "You'll want to hear it. After you're not dead."
With one final heave and a roar of effort, Derek yanked Mufasa up and over the ledge. The King crashed to solid ground, panting, legs trembling beneath him.
Derek fell to his haunches beside him, chest heaving.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Mufasa looked up, smiling faintly. "You saved me."
Derek looked away, still trying to catch his breath. "Yeah. Don't get used to it."
The stampede below was already slowing, the thunder of hooves dying out as the herd scattered. The dust settled, and silence returned to the gorge—except for the panting of two lions atop the cliff.
Mufasa placed a paw on Derek's shoulder. "I knew you'd come through. I always believed there was more in you, Scar."
Derek flinched slightly at the name. But he didn't correct him.
Because that was who he was now.
Scar.
Not the villain of the story anymore.
Not the bitter outcast.
But something else.
Something new.
He stood, tail swaying gently behind him, and looked out across the Pride Lands. The wind carried the scent of dust and life. The sun touched everything with golden fire.
I'll live in this world, Derek thought. In this body. In this name.
*I'll be Scar—but my way.