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Chapter Text

✦ ๑ ⋯ Wuya ⋯ ๑ ✦

There was a green leopard in the citadel.

That, in retrospect, was not something unexpected. Chase Young’s army of warriors contained hundreds of felines, of various shapes and sizes – it should not be a surprise to come across a slightly unusual looking one in the immortal’s lair.

And yet… There was a green leopard in the citadel and Wuya felt ill at ease.

She noticed it the first time she joined Young, after days of contemplating his sudden appearance on the Showdowns. But at the time, it was only a distant flash of green tinted fur somewhere in the shadows of the citadel’s walls - a glimpse of golden-brown eyes looking down at her. Watching her.

Of course it was something she already anticipated; neither Chase nor his feline entourage had taken her following him back to his lair in any positive manner. Young - with cold, vaguely polite curiosity: his interest going only as far as to evaluate what potential use could she be to him. And his cats - with cautious, but mostly dismissive attitude. She was being watched as a barely tolerated intruder and a potential threat, she knew that much. So, one particularly strange feline keeping an eye on her from afar hardly warranted her attention. Instead, Wuya concentrated on more important matters: like swaying Young in her favor.

But as time went by, she almost couldn’t help but notice it. A faint presence lurking in the shadows. Not really bothering to really hide from her, but neither approaching any closer. But always observing. And unlike with others, there was something in its gaze that made her itchy, in a way she didn’t realize was possible for her to even feel in her spirit form.

It was a little unsettling. It was confusing. And for some reason, Wuya didn’t want to know why.   

So she chose to ignore it, until the moment she couldn’t.

The first time she stumbled on them was an accident.

She had been trying to snoop for some secrets in the citadel: drifting in and out of various rooms, travelling through the walls and keeping to shadows to avoid the servants. She had entered a narrow hallway that led up to the balconies overlooking one of the bigger mountain halls, when an accidental glint of light caught her attention. If not for that, she wouldn’t have even seen them, hidden as they were in the shade of the rocky overhang.

They sat together on the edge of one of the balconies overlooking the open space and the inner river that fell into tier pool basins far below. The leopard had been curled around the immortal who was leaning against its side with his arms splayed over the animal’s back. It looked like Young was talking to it, since she could see his head and mouth move, but the noise of rushing water echoing in the cavernous space covered any other sounds, so it was impossible to actually hear anything.

And yet, Wuya had still stopped on her tracks.

It was not completely uncommon to see the Heylin Prince surrounded by his feline warriors.  They often clustered around him, walking next to him, leaning against his side and legs, being treated like some big domesticated cats and not feral killing machines that once were human. Some part of Wuya couldn’t help but feel a prick of distaste whenever she witnessed Young’s casual (almost insultingly mocking, in her opinion) regard of his supposed warrior army. There was already little dignity in being ordered around like a servant, but being treated like a common pet? She just couldn’t understand it.

But she saw enough of it in the short time she had been around. Enough to pause, when she saw the way one of Chase’s hands had been buried in the leopard’s fur: stroking it slowly, leisurely. In realization of how different it had looked from anything else she saw before. 

Not to mention the way the immortal was leaning against the leopard. She had never seen Chase look this- relaxed before, but at that moment he was practically sprawled over the leopard in a leisurely manner. Sure, it hardly looked like it, since Young was still dressed in full armor, and holding himself quite regally, in that annoyingly controlled way of his.

But there was something in his pose, in the air around them. Some imperceptible difference, that told her that small moment of relaxation had been genuine and not a performed, calculated act.

And while Wuya had been trying to digest what she was seeing, something else had caught her attention at that moment.

In the darkness of the overhang, it was almost invisible - a splash of deep vivid red amidst the greenish brown fur. For a brief second she had thought it was blood, before she saw Young’s fingers run across it, slipping under what appeared to have been a red collar wrapped around the leopard’s powerful neck.

The immortal had seemed to play with it as he pet the leopard: tugging at it with a smirk and leaning closer to say something to the feline warrior. In response, it raised its head and turned away with a huff. Its tail lashed in the air, whapping at the warlock’s side a couple of times.

It was only for a moment, but Wuya could have swore that Young’s condescending, arrogant smirk twitched into something that could have been called a real, playful smile. Though all of it could have been just a trick of shadows, as it was gone in the next blink, when Young let go of the collar and the leopard rose, bumping against the immortal’s shoulder, before leaving without a backward glance. 

Wuya had fled just a second later, mind racing and non-existent heart pounding.

After that, it was like her eyes had been opened and she kept noticing those small moments and little things against her will. Never in her presence or anywhere nearby, but sometimes from afar she would see them together. The leopard walking step in step with the immortal, bumping into the other’s thigh with its shoulder. Young, with his hand more often than not resting on the leopard’s head or on its nape, or even with fingers lightly hooked around the red fabric of the collar. Sometimes she saw them lounging in some secluded corner, always sitting close: with the leopard either resting against or curled around Young, and Chase leaning against it and talking and it listening.

Amidst those small witnessed moments, she had another realization. The leopard, while close to Young, never joined the Heylin Prince’s usual posse of warriors that accompanied him on outings. Neither did it seem to be part of the servants in charge of managing the citadel. In fact, rarely did she see it in company of its fellow felines. And on those rare occasions she did, it raised more question than gave her answers.

She might not understand all the intricate inner workings of the Fallen Warriors feline army, but she knew enough to see that there was some sort of hierarchy in it. However, to her frustration and growing bafflement, the leopard’s position in it was not clear to her. In the company of other felines, the leopard was given its personal space, but not the sort one would bestow of someone of high rank and neither was it a shunned disregard turned on an outcast. In some unexplainable and contradicting way, it felt like it was not one of them - while still being a part of the army. Like a self-sustainable island it drifted amidst the citadel residents, seemingly only anchored by Young’s presence alone. 

All those little bits and pieces painted a strange picture. Strange and peculiar, but… not completely unexplainable.

Wuya supposed that perhaps this one was less of an attack dog or a labor pony, but more of a… lap cat. Someone who proved more useful as a conversation companion or a sounding board, of sorts. Maybe it was a particular lackey that Chase tolerated more than any of his other servants, which gave it some sort of separate status amongst its kind. Even a sour curmudgeon of a bastard like Young, could have felt a want for at least one, during all those centuries. She herself had a golem or two she preferred more, back in the day. Still, it felt like she was missing something, no matter how logical her conclusions seemed.

But, whatever the explanation was, Wuya reasoned that it hardly was a valuable avenue she could really exploit in anyway. At least not in her current condition. 

That is, until something far more… curious happened.

Wuya had been fuming, looking for Young all over the citadel. She had just returned from witnessing a showdown between the monks and Jack for yet another newly uncovered Shen Gong Wu that was once again completely ignored by Young. So frustrated she was with a very one-sided battle that ended in favor of the Xiaolin brats, that she could not curb her annoyance and desire to confront Young about his lackluster progress with whatever plans he had brewing. Even her wariness of his wrath and the possibility of loosing whatever favor she might have garnered from him, could not stop her from storming into the citadel, intent on finding some outlet to her anger.

After finally finding that thread of familiar dark energy, she had phased into one of the immortal’s meditation halls, an insult already on her tongue, when a sound she hadn’t heard before froze her in place.

Voices.

Two to be exact.

In all the time she spent in the citadel, its air has rarely been sullied by another’s voice. With the exception of her and very rare, uninvited guests (like Spicer) of course. The Feline Warriors never spoke out loud, communicating only internally with their Master and each other. As far as she knew, there never was an intruder that was invited that deep into the Inner Sanctums of the Citadel, let alone allowed to speak with its Master.

And yet, there she was, hearing voices in one of the private chambers deep within the lair.

Wuya had swallowed down her forgotten complaints, drifting slowly through the shadows towards the candlelight visible deeper in the dim hall, closer to the low murmurs.

It took her a moment to recognize one of them: the hissing cadence of the first one was unmistakably Young’s voice. Though, she had never heard it like this – low and soft, almost musical in its murmuring, slithering tone. Chase Young always spoke clearly, stately even – sounding haughty and regal. It was no wonder she hadn’t recognized it right away. 

The second voice was deeper, sounding like a soft rumble of a growl, as its owner seemed to grouse about something in response to Young’s low statement. The immortal’s answering chuckle, sounded airy, breathless in its dark amusement.

She could not discern any words, but the intonations of the quiet conversation felt… Private. Not something meant to be overheard. They spoke in a way that made Wuya think of evening conversations around a campfire, or of two people bent over books, talking in hushed tones amidst the shelves.

When Wuya finally got close enough to peek around a column, she saw Young hovering in the air in the middle of the domed hall, amidst the floating candles and clouds of incense smoke. His back had been to her and all she could see was his long dark hair drifting in the invisible wind, and the absence of the usual armor, leaving the immortal dressed in a simple dark garb.

But what caught most of her attention was another form, mostly hidden behind the Heylin Prince.

In the twilight darkness of the hall, she could not see the face belonging to the other voice – all she could glimpse were the red and black colors of their clothes, and their hair glinting green in the flickering candle light.  

Wuya had been so entranced by trying to take a closer look she didn’t realize that she drifted too far from the safety of shadows.

The moment she did, Young’s back had tensed. With a low snarl, the immortal swiveled in place so fast, the sheer force of it sent a gust of air that extinguished most of the candles and made Wuya flinch back in surprise, turn around and flee without a second thought.

It all happened so fast, that Wuya barely remembered how she got out of the citadel. For some reason, all she could recall was the glimpse of dark brown, almost black eyes meeting her gaze, the last dying light from the candles reflecting blood-red in the pupils, before it all plunged into darkness.

Neither she nor Young had confronted each other about that odd non-encounter in the following weeks. In some ways, it felt like Chase was testing her by keeping quiet. Only occasional narrow-eyed contemplating glances told Wuya that he certainly had not forgotten about it. 

But Wuya, for once, held herself back. Something about what she saw; the memory of those two voices murmuring low to each other in the candle lit room, Chase’s ‘almost’ smiles and those dark dark brown eyes staring down at her…

It made her bite her tongue. And watch. And wait.

Because, there was a green leopard in the citadel and its gaze made her feel uneasy.

✦ ๑ ⋯   ⋯ ๑ ✦

Chapter Text

⚒ ⚙ ๑ Jack Spicer ๑ ⚙ ⚒

There were far too many cats in the citadel.

Jack has never been a cat kind of guy. Though he liked dogs better, he wasn’t really much of a pet person in general: a collection of names of various fishes, hamsters and lizards in the back garden of his family manor could attest to that. His parents had given him an ultimatum that if he could keep something small alive at first, they would consider getting him a dog. But it didn’t take too long for him to discover that small animals, his penchant for mechanics and his horrible attention span didn’t really mix well.

(He still has an occasional nightmare filled with crunching, screaming and a smell of singed fur. And to this day, he could not eat sunflower seeds without gagging.)

Either way, he has never been a big fan of animals, but even less so big wild ones. So it was no wonder that the immortal feline warriors of Chase Young’s army became a bane of his existence.

Jack would freely admit that he was too blindly focused on the fact that Chase Young (The Immortal Lord of all things Evil and High Ranking Heylin himself!!!) had reappeared after so many centuries in the shadows of obscurity and legend, to pay much attention to his lackeys. Sure, big scary cats were cool and all, but all of them paled in comparison to Young and his intimidating, utterly horrific and terrifying draconic form.

Though, he couldn’t really ignore the fact that they also were scary dangerous big cats. Especially, not when their teeth and claws got far too close to his vulnerable bits and pieces, for his comfort. Jack was used to being manhandled and physically bullied around, but there was some sort of deep primal fear whenever he was in the presence of a wild animal, that could not be completely quelled with any snark or bravado. The fact that they were apparently as intelligent as humans did not bring any sort of comfort either. After all, Jack knew all too well, that, humans were capable of far more cruelty to their fellow man, compared to simple animals.

So really, no one could blame him for being jumpy around the feline warriors! Being cautious around them was just a matter of survival instincts.

Because of that, though, he only paid attention to Chase’s warriors, whenever they got too close to him. Otherwise, he kept a healthy distance between himself and them. So, it was only obvious that he never really noticed the leopard, beyond a few glimpses of it from afar. But even then, he did not really see it, since he had far more pressing matters (like impressing Chase Young) that occupied him.

It was only until much later, that he actually met it face to face for the first time. 

He had been trying to get access to the citadel once more, confident now that he knew more of its secrets, he would be successful. And he was partially right, as he had managed to get through the doors and into the outer level of halls, before the Feline Warriors found him. He tried to run of course, but all it took was one unlucky turn and misstep, for him to be cornered and get caught: his helipack rendered useless by a swipe of a giant paw. Grounded and trapped, he was forced to face the guards.

To his continuous misfortune, Jack had recognized those particular felines: a pair of tigers and a lion. The tigers were the pair that he used as his personal guard after he trapped Chase in the Sphere of Yun and acquired his powers and by extension - the ‘loyalty’ of his followers. It looked like they were still harboring some grudge against him for forcing them to play nice as his lapcats. The lion on the other hand, bore a very noticeable bald spot just above its hip, a straight line of missing hair and a recently healed scar tissue, which resembled a burnt mark left by one of his lasers – clearly an injury courtesy of his Jackbots in one of the recent Showdowns.

By their stances and low growling, Jack had already guessed that they did not intend just to kick him out of the citadel, but to take an opportunity for some payback. Jack knew they wouldn’t outright kill him, not without a direct order from Chase, since he was still useful to the Heylin Prince (at least, he really really hoped so). But still, the likelihood of him leaving unscathed seemed very low at that moment, which Jack wasn’t really a fan of. Frantically, he had tried to look for a way out, but without a functional helipack, he was literally trapped between a rock wall and a hard (or more like toothy) place. Angry and scared, he had closed his eyes hoping that they would tire of him quickly and braced himself for pain, as the felines advanced. 

However, instead of turning into a chew toy, Jack was nearly scared out of his boots by a thunderous growl that suddenly exploded around him. The sound had been short but so loud and deep, it almost shook him to the bones. Shocked, Jack had yelped and curled into a tight ball, covering his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. It took him a few heart-stopping seconds to realize that somehow, he was still unmauled and that it became far too quiet. His attackers had fallen silent.

Cautiously, Jack had peeked from behind his elbows, pausing in surprise at the scene that greeted him. Instead of the feline warriors looming over him, they had turned their backs to him, facing the open space behind them.

A leopard of a weird muddy brown color stood some distance away: its muzzle twisted in a snarl, eyes aglow as it glared. Not at Jack though, but at his fellow felines. Its tail was swishing from side to side in agitation, audible even over its low growling, as it slowly advanced towards them.

What happened next was even more confusing. The group surrounding Jack, slowly moved away from him, as the newcomer approached. It was strange to see how the bigger felines gave the leopard a wide berth as it passed them. The lion had seemed displeased, huffing lowly, only to flinch when the leopard turned towards it with a short barking snarl. The maned feline hadn’t quite cowered in submission under the warning, but it did turn away first from the leopard’s intense stare, slinking away with its head lowered, like a chastised dog. The tigers hadn’t even bothered to argue with the leopard, they just slithered past it after the lion, but not before darting narrow eyed looks at Jack.

He had breathed a sigh of relief, only to choke in surprise when the leopard turned to him. Jack did not even have time to react, when he suddenly found himself being unceremoniously picked up by the scruff of his coat. At first he froze in shock, dangling helplessly in the leopard’s teeth. Frantically, Jack tried to recall if it also harbored some sort of personal grudge against him, but when it started to walk, he realized, with some relief, that this feline warrior intended just to kick him out.

Jack remembered how terrifying and awkward it was to dangle from the leopard’s teeth. Terrifying because he could feel the feline’s jaw flex as it walked, and its warm exhales ruffle his hair, making the hair on the back of his head stand up in fear. And awkward, because the leopard wasn’t as big as lions and tigers, so even in his curled up pose, the tails of his coat and the tip of his boots occasionally dragged on the ground. Though looking back at it, unlike all the other times feline warriors manhandled him - the leopard was certainly far gentler in its handling. But still. Scary.

When they finally reached the outside, Jack had been set down just as abruptly as he was picked up. As soon as his boots had hit the ground, he scrambled away from the feline warrior, nearly pitching himself off the cliff face in his haste. Barely stopping in time, Jack had turned around to face it, with his shoulders drawn to his ears and his hands raised warningly, prepared to ward it off, just in case.

He had been met with a rather unimpressed feline deadpan, as the leopard sat down at the entrance to the citadel and stared at him.

There was no sign of its previous aggression, its teeth and claws were hidden, its tail was not lashing out and it was not growling anymore. Jack’s pounding heart had calmed a little after registering all of that, and he finally scrambled enough focus to actually take a proper look at his unexpected rescuer.

In the light of the dying day, the previously seemingly muddy brown color of the leopard’s fur looked more greenish and the lighter parts on its chin and underbelly looked pale bronze instead of grey. The pattern on its coat was vivid black, glinting almost in rusty red in the sun. Jack could not really tell what sort of leopard it was, but its fur was thick and full, and its paws seemed big and heavy. Still, he couldn’t deny it looked a bit strange, compared to the packs of lions and tigers that made up most of the feline warrior army. It took him a moment to notice something else that was different in its appearance.

There was a piece of red fabric around its neck. Jack’s initial reaction would have been to call it a collar, but the closer he looked at it, the less it seemed like one. For one thing, it didn’t look like a tough leather contraption a pet would have tightened around its throat. No, it looked more like an expensive piece of silk, carefully draped around its powerful neck, in an overly elaborate way, so it rested on the leopard’s chest. And at a closer look, there was some sort of pendant weighting it down, but amidst its fluffy fur he couldn’t see what exactly it was.

If anything, it reminded Jack of his mother’s friends and their little expensive designer pets: all decked out in jewelry and decorative accessories, that served no purpose but to bling on the necks of those tiny mindless creatures. And more often than not, their equally as mindless owners would wear something matching, just to be a nauseatingly annoying as possible.    

The sight of the collar (necklace?) and the mental comparison had finally jogged Jack’s memory of where he vaguely recognized this leopard.

A couple of times, he noticed it in the background, lurking around the citadel. And the last time he did, he had been wielding Chase’s power. He remembered walking around the throne room and ordering warriors around, when he glanced upwards and saw the leopard, sitting in the shadows of one of the few alcoves lining the high walls. Jack was not sure why, but for some reason, something in that unblinking scrutinizing gaze stuck with him. Made him weirdly… uncomfortable. It was almost like when he was young and his parents caught him doing something they did not explicitly approve off in ‘polite distinguishing society’. But since they could not just start berating him in public, they would give him the ‘look’ that promised a lecture or a punishment later on.

So discomfited he was by that uncanny feeling, that he had promptly turned away from the leopard and ignored it, concentrating instead on basking in his evil victory.

After everything that happened with Chase and Omi, he actually forgot about all of that, but meeting the leopard face to face again, made that same vague and uneasy feeling to return.

So, Jack defaulted to one of his usual modes whenever he was uncomfortable - talking.

He couldn’t remember exactly what he said, as most of it was random rambling aimed to make the leopard get tired of him and leave him be. He complained about the feline warriors, Wuya, and the monks, ranting about how he needed to meet Chase and talk to him. All the while Jack sneakily moved to work on fixing his helipack, so he could get out of there. However, at some point, Jack had become so engrossed into the repair; he slipped into random techno-babble that often left other people glassy-eyed, but helped him shut off the world as he worked.

Because of that he failed to realize that the leopard did not, in fact, leave like he expected.

When one of the last bolts he was re-screwing slipped through his clumsy fingers, it did not get far. A big paw had slapped on top of it, pining it to the ground. Somehow, without him noticing, the leopard had actually moved closer, sitting just an arm length away from him. 

Shocked, Jack had fallen quiet and froze with his hand extended towards the bolt, staring at the leopard with wide eyes. The feline had looked unblinkingly back at him, its head tilted to the side as it seemed to study him. There was no anger in its gaze, no annoyance or even boredom. In fact, its eyes looked almost… curious. As if it had been listening attentively to what he was talking about.

Jack still remembered, how its golden-brown gaze flickered from his own red ones to the helipack on his lap, before the leopard lifted its paw and leaned back, watching him unblinkingly.

It took him a moment, but Jack had snatched the bolt away and curled over the helipack, pausing briefly, before mutely finishing the repair. His heart had been pounding in his chest, and cold sweat broke out on his back, and his whole being screamed about the big, strange and dangerous beast sitting next to him. Apparently listening to him. And watching him work.

One part of him wanted to snark something, make a comment, crack a joke, anything at all. But the memory of that stern gaze, back in that throne room and the feeling of eyes on him at that moment, kept his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

The moment the last plate slid back into its place, Jack jumped to his feet, shrugging on the helipack. He didn’t even look at the leopard, when he took off into the sky.

Only when he was far and high enough away, when he felt like he could breathe again, did he dare to steal a glance back.   

The tiny figure of a green leopard watching him from the walls of the citadel did not fill him with as much of nervous unease as before. If anything, Jack had wondered…

There were far too many damn cats in the citadel.

But, Jack supposed, not all of them were completely awful.

     ⚒ ⚙ ๑ ๑ ⚙ ⚒

Chapter Text

◯☯︎ ◑∘Omi∘ ◐☯︎ ◯

If there was a green leopard in the citadel, Omi could not really say for sure.

Some would say that Omi was not quite as observant as a warrior of his skill ought to be. Master Fung often said that his tendency to be so tunnel-visioned and overly focused on the opponent or a problem in front of him was a dangerous habit to have. On particular bad days Dojo would grouse and sigh, call him a bull-headed kid who is too stubborn to see beyond his long nose and big head. Omi, who of course is not completely unaware of his flaws (no matter how much it stung him to admit it, even to himself), would always protest, that he wasn’t that bad.

He had faithfully memorized all lessons taught to him by Master Fung and Dojo, and his other teachers. Omi learned that a warrior should always be wary of what is right in front of him, for it could easily deceive. Just as he knew that a warrior should always be able to step back and see a bigger picture, lest he forget that there is always more beyond an outcome of one fight.

It’s just... that sometimes; he would get too excited and carried away, and maybe… forget. Accidentally. A little bit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t seen at first, how it could be a big sort of deal. After all, Omi’s great and, awesome skills, his sharp wit and eagle eye would allow him to get out of any tough spot he might accidentally find himself in. And if not? He had acquired great comrades and friends that would help him out, if he needed it.  

But… now, he wondered, if he had listened better to them or if he tried harder, could he have avoided everything that happened? If he saw beyond the crisis on his hands, beyond the webs of schemes being weaved right under his nose… Could he have avoided being entrapped by his own pride?

Omi wasn’t sure. Maybe, no matter how hard he tried, Chase Young would have always managed to read him like an open scroll and play him like a flute. Maybe, no matter the battle he fought, big or small, Omi was always destined to end up being manipulated and tricked onto the Immortal’s side.

Sometimes… it even felt like it didn’t really matter that his friends freed him. In quiet moments, when Omi’s mind had nothing to distract him, it would drift back to those events: reliving every decision and every choice he made, mulling over what happened. Dojo advised him not to do that too often, lest he got stuck in the past, but Master Fung admitted that it could be beneficial to look back and analyze the events, to understand and learn from them. As long as he did not let it rule every decision in the future.

Omi wasn’t sure how to tell them, that more often than not, the memories he kept coming back to were not the ones that led to the turmoil, or even during the actual crisis or the aftermath of it all.

For some reason, his mind was drawn to a short stretch of time somewhere in between it all.

The first several hours of Omi’s transformation had been a blur.

When he first mentioned it, Master Fung reassured him that it was normal. So many things happened in such quick succession, that his body and mind, finally pushed to the brink and overwhelmed by everything, decided to shut down, to let him recover and rest just for a little bit.

The last definite memory right after the transformation that Omi could recall was the brief moment of clarity between darkness and despair, of him screaming up to the sky with whatever strength he could muster: watching his comrades, his friends flee and fervently wishing for them to stay away. Away from danger. From Chase Young. From… himself. For their own safety. 

After, the most prevalent memories were the heat of a fever and a vague sense of intense discomfort from all the sensations that assaulted his new body. 

At least, that was what he told everyone.

In truth, there had been so much more to what occurred in those hours of delirium. But how could he find words to explain any of it? About how it felt to suddenly experience everything that happened to him, but in a span of what seemed like a few seconds? To realize that he had been halfed in two and that he didn’t miss the good chi, not until it actually was returned to him? How it felt to be pure darkness? The mind-spinning freedom of it all? How it all crashed down around him in an earth-shattering realization of what he had done? And then, barely a few moments later, to be burned and remade, and consumed – to be joined, to become a part of something bigger, something more than just him alone – in his confused lost mind, in his small broken heart?

In truth, Omi probably did not know enough words to even attempt to do it.

But some part of him, deep inside, remembered. Vague snatches and impressions, like silver quick reflections of light on a dark water surface. And somewhere, under that same surface, big predators were lurking, ready to sink their sharp teeth into him, to snatch him away and drag him down down down-

And he was left trashing in those dark sludgy waters, feeling himself sinking, too far, too deep – if not for the lifeline tied around his chi, his heart, hooking him like a fish, anchoring him to the one who threw him into those waves in the first place.   

Like a safe harbor in the turbulent sea or like a snare that closed in around him, the lifeline – the unfathomable something, someone, caught and held onto him, cradling him close. The sensation was both physical and the kind that stretched beyond material limits. The hands that held him, the energy that surrounded him, felt warm and secure, welcoming him into its calming embrace.

Omi didn’t know that it was possible to have both loved and loathed it so, to be surrounded by that golden warmth. To feel so safe, and yet so scared to be allowed to lean into that welcoming presence. To sink into those arms and accept that secure hold, to sink into the deep drum that was echoed by his own rapidly beating heart.  

He didn’t know, at least not until that sensation started to withdraw.

For a brief terrifying moment, it felt like he was being halfed apart once more – the one who held a piece of him was letting go, suddenly distancing himself, disappearing and cruelly (thankfully?) leaving him behind.

The sudden deep aching feeling of loneliness had hurt. Omi remembered that much. He also remembered, how his new tiny body, unable to handle that pain, curled up in a tight ball and cried; pitifully, desperately, for that Half to come back. Because in all these overwhelming new sensations, no matter how much he feared the other Half – it was also the only thing he knew. 

But the Half did not return, no matter how hard he called.

Instead, the Other was there.

Amidst the panic, Omi hadn’t realized at first, that the Half did not truly leave him alone, but in the hands of the Other. The Other’s presence was also warm. But if the Half was the brilliant golden warmth of the blazing sun, the Other was the warmth of an evening fire pit outside on a cool evening.

Their touch was soft and kind when they ran their fingers over his head and wiped away the water from his eyes. Their hand felt wide and big where it was placed over his shaking back, and the arms - firm and unyielding as they cradled him close to their heart. That close, Omi could hear their heartbeat and feel the soft fabrics with his new moist nose and twitching whiskers, as he burrowed into them unconsciously. He remembered how they smelled like fire and wood, like shadows and metal. But also like old parchment and dried ink, like sun warmed wooden floors of the dojo and the scent of tea leaves on the breeze.

And under all of that, he could smell a faint scent of the Half twined intricately in the smell of the Other.

Omi remembered how it had felt both so painful and so relieving to find that connection, and how despondently he whimpered at the reminder that the Half left him behind-   

But as if to answer to that desperate ache of his soul, suddenly that faint link to the Half had bloomed all around him, and Omi found himself surrounded by soft fur and smell of (fire, paper and ink, and sun and tea) kin. And suddenly, the fear seemed less inevitable, less crushing, because he could feel the Half through the Other. And there was a voice in his head, crooning wordlessly a soothing tune of reassurance and understanding. A huff of warm breath had tickled the soft downy fur of his ears, making them flicker and wiggle as he snuggled deeper into a deep rumbling sound around him, with a relieved mantra beating inside his skull.

Like me, like me, you are like me-  

When Omi looked back at that moment later, he could almost recall, a strange and vague feeling of sadness and anger that bled from the Other. It was brief and fleeting, but what little he glimpsed, seemed so incredibly dark and vast in its depth, that it made him shiver just remembering it.

But it was gone, just as quick, leaving behind only a sense of calmness and reassurance directed at him.

Omi was not sure how much time passed like this, with him lost in that tenuous connection and the kindness offered by the Other. It could have been minutes or hours, for it felt like time barely passed and also stretched into infinity, as he burrowed himself in that comfort and waited for the Half to return. Knowing now, that he was coming back, because the Other said so.

And when he did, it felt like sun rose over the night forest. So immense was the relief he felt when the Half slipped into the shared warmth of the Other, that his new body had betrayed him by emitting a loud squeaky purr. Later, he recalled it with a sense of embarrassment, but at the moment it felt so natural, so right. Especially when it was met with joyful delight from the Half, lightning up the connection between them in soft warm colors, as the hands (he feared and respected) closed in around him, drawing him close and he did his best to burrow into them.

And as he laid there, cradled between the Half’s golden glow and the Other’s dark comfort, surrounded by the warmth and the feeling of safety, he had finally allowed himself to succumb to the call of oblivion. Somehow, inexplicably reassured, that neither of them would allow him to sink too far, too deep.

Just before the darkness claimed him completely, distantly, he had wondered if that was what it felt like to have parents.

Omi had slipped into deep slumber after that.

When he awoke next, his fever had been long broken and his mind had adjusted to his new body fully. He found himself blinking awake in Chase Young’s hands, in the throne room, as the immortal directed his army. He had zero recollection of what happened between his transformation and his reawakening. Not that Omi was particularly worried about it at that time, not when he had to finally face the consequences of his actions.

Only much much later, when he finally returned to where he belonged, did the smudges of memories started to slip through his dreams. Little by little, until the phantom warmth of those distant feelings made Omi wonder. 

So, if there was a green leopard in the citadel, Omi couldn’t say for sure.

But sometimes he would dream of green fur and soft, kind hands.

◯☯︎ ◑∘ ∘ ◐☯︎ ◯