BURN
BRIGHT

// tw; brief mention of death and suicide in second and third paragraphs

The bioluminescent serval doesn’t belong in such a frigid environment. Except, perhaps, on the islands where tropical plants reign supreme. So that’s where she went; Ninazu stumbled through the tunnels she spawned in, finding her way to the lush islands from muscle memory alone. As if she belongs here. No–she belonged.

Ninazu remembers dying. Twice. Once, while Stryker still lived. Then when he did not. How much time has passed?

But the details? Murky. Her mind jumbles them up. In one version, an enemy killed her, then her husband, and grief kills her with her own fire. Another paints Stryker as a warmonger and their children all die with her in the pirates’ lands. Are they all dead?

Her paws reach the island’s surface. Towering trees block out the sunlight. Tropical birds scream from the canopy. The air smells heavily of life and decay—the rainforest overflows with both—and her half-remembered memories pulse behind her eyes.

The ground is so cold. The wind frigid. Her joints stiffen as she walks.

Until one exhale turns to flames, and these flames flicker out into little fairylights. They circle her body. Dying quickly. But reforming on every exhale. It is enough to trick her serval body into comfort, hot as the desert she once ruled.

Has she ever, though? Always with Stryker at her side. And when he’s gone? Empty. Walking the motions but not feeling the spark. Even now, she misses him. His easy way of speaking. The comfort of always having a second pair of eyes watching her back. Even when they fled the Pitt together, she was happy because they were together.

Now she wishes she’d stayed in the ground. Or wherever her soul went. Perhaps she’d been with Stryker all this time, so that’s why she misses him so desperately, even though… how much time has passed? How much time will pass before they’re together again, even in death?

Her soul clings so stubbornly to life. As if her mind and soul are disconnected. The source of her powers races under her skin; all this strength, and no will to use it, no wants to claim. Has she always been the violence to Stryker’s silver tongue?

At some point in her wanderings, she’s not sure when because she didn’t notice, a malus flytrap began hopping after her. It’s the same size as a lion’s paw—huge to Ninazu, tiny to Stryker—and she rolls her eyes as she looks back at it. Of course one of the weird plants of this island (the islands she bewitched, for whatever reason, she can’t remember why or how now) and exactly the one named after Stryker is following her.

Ninazu stops walking. The plant—all maw and no body, really—plops between her front paws, like it belongs there, and rumbles like a purr.

“I hope you’re not Stryker’s soul,” Ninazu says, nudging the plant with a paw. “You’re cute, but I wouldn’t condemn even the bitch who killed me to reincarnation as a plant.”

© MADI

Laertes was no old soul. He had no tragic nor very interesting backstory. All he had were tarot and a gift for illusions. One might have said that his entire existence thus far had been such an illusion. There was no trace of Laertes in the annals of history.

The same could not be said of the smaller feline he'd happened upon today. Hearing the last snippet of her sentence Laertes could practically feel his brow furrowing. Was she talking to a plant as though it were sentient? She was dead? No, he must have misheard. Laertes was not so used to the strangeness of others, having lived his whole life with family. It still struck him odd everyone he met with such differing physical appearances. He thought it'd been bizarre that he was a discolored hybrid, now he saw the many many shapes and colors they all came in. Normal didn't exist here. So he couldn't take sentient plants off the table.

Though the clacking of talons surely made his presence known eons ago Laertes still half-heartedly cleared his throat before casually speaking "Do you meet plants with souls very often?". A slight grin on his large maw that didn't quite make it to his eyes. New people were...well, new. He hadn't quite gotten the rhythm of casual conversation yet, his apprehension or nerves still making themselves apparent. "I don't mean to intrude. I'm Laertes." he spoke, gingerly placing himself about a dozen feet away from the bioluminescent serval with the air that he could easily leave if his presence was unappreciated.

The death of his parents had thrown Romulus into a detrimental loop. Trapped within his own mind and living through dreams, sometimes nightmares, of his creation was his way of coping. A destructive way. Darkness had engulfed him, swallowing him whole without any regret in sight. At first he thought his family had abandoned his him. Sojourn never visited, Ninazu and Stryker never rose from the dead, and the rest... well... they didn't show up either. No soul had bothered to check on him and that left him to dive deep into a place he regretted.

In hindsight, he hadn't been abandoned. A little, maybe, but not all the way. By choosing solitude, Romulus left those remaining to fight for their selves. To cope together while he did it alone. He pushed others away to grieve alone with an unhealthy method. For a long period, reality faded away while he solely dove into fiction. Adventures drove him forth, whether as a hero, bystander, villain, or a sidekick. Without realizing it, the lion had used these scenarios to logically recover from their loss.

Within time, the fantasy faded. Reality and fantasy began to merge. The world was beginning to come back to him and so was his conscious. Rather than control over his reality, he had the option of choice again. Consequences for his actions had come back. While Bryiath had greeted him warmly upon coming back, Sojourn whined. Romulus had shot back bluntly in response, dismissing her concerns. The tension between them only grew from there.

Eventually, he had lost her too. His close family dissolved and Romulus was left to lead the Coalition of the Condemend. Almost three years of leadership to this day. At first, his reign was shaky, afraid of following in his family's tracks and losing it all, but he mellowed out. He became confident in his decisions with time. For two years between, the group remained peaceful and now Romulus considered them to be neutral. Those from his past would either be ashamed or proud, but that didn't matter. Death had come for them.

Time moved ahead and so did the kingpin. Grief faded and new connections sprouted, although not as close. The pain never left him, but he dealt with the feelings on his own terms and kept his head high.

And then tragedy struck... or was it a blessing?

The last one to depart from his family had risen from the grave. Sojourn. Romulus felt conflicted, but relieved. He was no longer walking alone, despite his insistence on it all along. With familiar faces reappearing in groves, the kingpin had never expected one thing from them: his parents. Comforted, but not fulfilled, the lion moved along.

Cracked paws lead him throughout the territory as he held his head high and periwinkle eyes out towards the greenery in the distance. Romulus walked in the silence. Thoughts of the upcoming Spring Equinox crossed his mind. His gaze observed the plants nearby beginning to bloom as the soft winds brushed their surfaces. Rebirth. Renewal. Renaissance. Their refurbished appearance decorated the woods and swayed with the environment's newfound way of life. The lion liked to envision that the Coalition of the Condemned, along with himself, would follow that route.

An anomaly in the distance caught his attention. The border's venus flytraps were not turned outwards, but towards him as he grew closer. The plants nearby began to writhe. Romulus' head craned as one of the traps leaned down and snapped to grab his attention. Like a fly entrapped within, he was enraptured in curiosity. A paw purposefully shifted closer to the plant's mouth, only to pull away at their sudden clamp. Waves of confusion rushed over the kingpin. Their insistence was unusual.

The lion tried to turn away but another flytrap flared it's green jaws at him, daring him to cross. Encircled by them, he carefully stepped among them. Some let him through, others snapped, but there was a pattern. His mouth pulled back into a frown as he realized something was wrong. This was not a display of disobedience, but a warning. They were leading him elsewhere.

He continued to test the waters carefully. For every few clamps, he found one successor that led him further until he reached another dead end. Nearing the end of his wicked maze, a silhouette formed in the distance. He had found what they were telling him about. Romulus could not make out who this stranger was, but as he grew closer, he started to feel his heart pound. The realization came upon him quickly. This was no stranger.

The kingpin broke into a sprint. Venus flytraps snapped behind him in a chatter. His paws clamored across the ground and only came to a halt a few feet away from her. Out of breath, he stood still. Violet eyes surveyed her up and down, confirming his suspicion, just like he did with his sister. His dreams, somehow, had become a reality. Whatever laid in the heavens had given him his family back, whether for better or for worse. Tears started to form in his eyes.

Romulus could not speak as thoughts raced through his mind. Instead, he chose to act. He jolted forward and attempted to lean into his mother's shoulder, manipulating the fire away from her side as he did so. He practically tried to melt into her. The warmth that radiated off her was familiar and comforting. He opened his jaws, wanting to speak and tell her all that happened, but was at a loss for words.

He closed his eyes and a singular tear streamed down his cheek. His mother was back.