Scar walked slowly through the dense jungle with Simba at his side, the young cub babbling excitedly about all the things he had learned over the past few days with Timon and Pumbaa. Simba's words came in a rapid-fire rush, his enthusiasm practically radiating from him.
"They're so cool, Uncle Scar! They taught me how to roll in the dirt, and you know what? They said it makes you smell like the jungle! And the bugs—they're not so bad, but we ate so many! Timon said bugs are a delicacy, but I didn't think they'd taste like that." Simba giggled, his small, innocent voice echoing through the night air.
Scar didn't respond immediately. He simply watched the cub with a thoughtful, distant expression. Simba's joy was infectious, but it only reminded Scar of his own thoughts—a tangle of dreams, frustrations, and the crushing weight of his past life. The small, innocent cub didn't know it, but the world was far more dangerous than he could possibly understand, and Simba was walking a path that might lead him into something darker than even he could imagine.
"It's okay, Simba," Scar said softly, his voice barely a whisper against the sounds of the jungle. "Bugs may not be much, but you're here to learn. It's a necessary part of survival, a lesson that's important no matter where you are." He looked down at the cub, his amber eyes glinting with something deeper. "You're learning strength, resilience. That's what matters."
Simba nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the weight in Scar's voice. The cub was too full of excitement and wonder to notice the layers of conflict and regret that Scar carried with him. Simba was eager to learn, eager to grow, and Scar admired that. But deep inside, he couldn't help but see the mirror of his own youth—a time when he had been much like Simba, hopeful and naive. The weight of the past tugged at his mind, and he couldn't avoid the thoughts that crept in like shadows.
They finally reached the small clearing where Scar had set up a temporary resting spot. Simba immediately flopped down on the ground, exhausted from all the running around and the day's activities. Scar gave him a quick glance before taking his place in the shadows nearby. It wasn't far from here that the stars seemed to shimmer through the thick canopy, though the light was muted by the trees and the creeping fog that gathered on the edges of the clearing.
Scar laid down, his body stretching out on the cold earth as his thoughts began to churn once again. He had just come from his meeting with the hyenas, and now he was back with Simba. The duality of his life felt suffocating at times. He had been alive before, in another life—one where he had watched these events unfold on a screen, a mere observer of a world that didn't belong to him. He had watched these characters—Mufasa, Simba, Zazu, the hyenas—on a screen for so long, never understanding what it meant to be them, to live their stories.
Now, as Scar, the twisted brother and the villain of their world, he was living it all. And despite how much he had longed for this power, this position, it felt strange. He wasn't just playing a part anymore. This was his life. And it was as different from what he had expected as it was inevitable.
He let out a heavy sigh, staring up at the stars.
His thoughts wandered back to that distant, fleeting life he had once known—the life before the rebirth, before the world of the Pride Lands had consumed him. The life where he was simply a spectator, watching the events unfold, thinking of what it would be like to take control. It seemed so much easier back then, when everything was just a story. The characters, the drama, the betrayals, the moments of tragedy and triumph—he had observed them all with a distant, almost detached sense of curiosity. But now? Now, it was different. Now, he was here, living the very story he had once watched from afar.
He turned his gaze down to Simba, who was already half-asleep. The cub's innocent, naive nature made Scar almost wish that things could be different for him—if only Simba wasn't destined for greatness, if only he hadn't been born into this legacy. Scar knew it would all come crashing down one day.
He knew that Simba was still unaware of the true danger he was in—the future that lay ahead, filled with uncertainty and darkness. And Scar, the self-proclaimed king of all things, was the one who would eventually bring it all to fruition. That was the truth. The savannah would belong to him, and Simba, naive as he was, would be a part of that grand scheme.
Scar closed his eyes for a moment, his thoughts spinning once again.
In his past life, before this rebirth, he had watched Simba grow into the hero, the lion destined to reclaim the Pride Lands. It had always been a simple tale—one of the circle of life, of destiny, and of family. But now that he was here, now that he was Scar, he saw it all differently. He wasn't the villain in this world by choice. He was just the one who had been cast in this role by fate—or perhaps, by something far darker and more intricate than mere chance. And he would embrace it, he would shape the world to fit his own image.
He wasn't just going to sit and watch anymore.
Scar knew that in time, Simba would realize the truth. That being king was not a title you inherited. It was a matter of strength. It was about taking control, making choices that others wouldn't dare to make. And when Simba finally realized this—when he finally understood the power and the sacrifices it took to rule—the cub would be ready to step into the role that Scar was shaping for him.
But for now, Scar needed to bide his time. He needed to let things unfold. Slowly, he would become the master of his own fate.
Scar turned his head towards Simba, the soft glow of the stars illuminating the cub's peaceful, sleeping face. For now, Simba was still just a cub, unaware of the weight of the world that was growing heavy around him.
And as Scar's chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, he whispered to himself, "Everything will come in time. Just as I've always dreamed."
And with that, the night swallowed his thoughts, leaving him to sleep under the stars, dreaming of the future he would shape.