[Insidious]

R A Z O R F A N G

This was the home of darkness; of shadows that danced across the walls and along the rooftop, their arms stretching for miles as they reached to him and beckoned him closer, deeper, with eerie, spidery fingers. He couldn’t differentiate the top of the cavern from the bottom. It was a sensation unlike anything else he had ever experienced: as though he could very well be walking on the roof, hanging upside down like a vampire bat with no awareness that he could fall, that he could fall and he might never touch the ground, because StarClan forbid if he had any idea where the ground was if not beneath his paws. And yet he was not afraid. It seemed like every shadowy figure that loomed just above him, or around every corner, had been expecting him for a long time. He was certain that the slap of his paws against the cold cave floor beneath him was echoing for a stretch of distance he couldn’t identify, but he heard no sounds. Time, perhaps, worked differently here - he was in the presence of his ancestors, and they were all eagerly awaiting his arrival. He could feel it. He could feel all of them. The darkness all around him, embracing him, was almost more comfortable than the idea of being able to see. It was unnerving to wonder whether or not, somewhere amidst all of this black ink, was the face of someone that he never thought would leave him behind. Everyone he cherished could be in this place. They could be standing just out of sight, just out of reach, and wondering when he’d give in.

When he’d wake up.

He opened his eyes to . . . somewhere. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. There had never been a place so beautiful, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was a trick of the mind, leading him into a hopeless sense of security. A sense of happiness; a warmth that was reserved solely for those that were lost amidst the stars. No emotion was to be seen upon the faces of those that had once been dearest to him, and those that were still dearest to him, and would never cease to be anything but. He wanted nothing more than to run to them, to meet them halfway, but he wasn’t sure that they’d be willing to meet him anywhere at all. A numbness was spreading through his legs like poison, and it was only a matter of time before it consumed the rest of him, too. He took a deep breath, but it did little to lessen the relentless shivers that traveled up and down his spine. He blinked the emotion out of his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be so easy to read him. He was the cold one, the heartless one - but those were titles reserved for the place he held amongst the living. Here, swallowed up in all of this unknown, he was amongst the dead. He wasn’t here to embrace them and to never let go again; he had let go once before, and that had led to the creation of memories where all of the cats he missed became nothing other than a memory. Instead, he was here to claim his new title. He was here to remember every single one of the proud faces that peered upon him. And remember them, he would.

An eternity passed between them: he stood still as stone in this place of gold, of reminiscence, of a tranquility he couldn’t explain, and as did every single one of the cats that would share this moment with him. He had no idea which one would step forward to greet him first, or if he was expected to step forward first and choose the order in which his nine lives were obtained. He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case. He would never be able to decide which one of them he wanted to speak with before the rest. They had all meant something to him at one point in time: be it that they had caused him pain, or a sense of joy he would never be able to repay. Despite what they had done for him, or to him, he wouldn’t be standing before them as the tom that he had come to be had it not been for their interference. It was a laughable way of stating it, but true nonetheless. It seemed that, before, any cat that had wanted to be a part of his life had been wrongfully interfering to achieve such a thing. His walls had been as powerful as steel, his teeth equally threatening, but each and every single one of these nine had interfered, and he was happy that they did. Their combined work had chipped away at every last piece of cold, hard steel that had once enclosed him. Sure, there was still some minor tweaks to be done here and there. He wasn’t perfect. But he had proven on numerous accounts how much he cared about his clan. There would undoubtedly be better, more fitting leaders - some of the cats right before his eyes came to mind instantly - but all he could do was remind himself that, if he didn’t deserve it, he wouldn’t be here right now.

Indecipherable whispers snapped him out of his foggy state of mind. He greedily took in the sight of all of his fallen clan mates, their words in perfect harmony with one another as they spoke with silky voices he never thought he’d have the pleasure of hearing again: “Are you ready to receive your nine lives, Razorfang?” It was a question he had prepared himself to answer so many times prior to this very moment, and yet he felt like he was about to drown under the weight of such a question no longer being a figment of what his imagination could conjure up. All of the felines’ starry eyes anticipated a sign from him, waiting in utmost patience for him to accept the responsibility of holding RainClan’s well-being upon his shoulders. He had created this image of himself from scratch: he was formidable, and sometimes even indestructible from the looks of it. He wanted nothing more than to be the one that everybody else looked to when they could no longer balance their problems. He was supposed to be sturdy, a rock that wouldn’t crack, even when hit by the force of the most violent wave. But standing here, in front of all of these dead cats waiting for an answer, he felt himself tremble. Despite the anxiety he’d never admit to feeling, he maintained his composure as best as he could and forced the dip of his head, nodding, accepting the fate that, as deputy of RainClan, had been bestowed upon him in the passing of their respectable leader. Thankfully, a nod had been enough for them. A deafening silence flooded the clearing in which they stood, the crowd of cats that made his heart hammer with an insufferable grief parting to make room for the feline he never imagined he’d have to face again.

He bit back every nasty word he’d never known how to say, unable to keep himself from stiffening under the watchful eyes of his most notorious tormentor. The muddy brown tomcat didn’t seem the least bit bothered by Razorfang’s distaste. He stood directly in front of him; he never thought he’d see the day that he stood taller, mightier, than Dustpaw, because he was the only one that ever knew how to make him feel small and insignificant. There had been a time, when he was younger, that he would’ve admitted to being happy when news of Dustpaw’s death reached the clan. Every hateful emotion that he had wasted so many moons clinging to had been a result of every vile, awful thing that was spat from Dustpaw’s mouth. He had despised everything about Razorfang, particularly the fact that he wasn’t RainClan born. Whenever he had the chance, he would corner the kit version of Razorfang, and the apprentice version of Razorfang, to make sure he never felt like he was beginning to belong. He never thought, not in a million years, not in the span of nine lives, that he would ever see those green eyes again, sparkling with the satisfaction of knowing that they had succeeded in knocking him down until he was too weak to stand up again. But this time, his eyes didn’t say that. Dustpaw had died at the fangs of the only animal that could potentially claim to having sharper teeth than Razorfang: Demon. It had been a horrible death, and Razorfang had once believed him to deserve every minute that had him suffering. An unresolved tension thickened the air between them, and as Dustpaw leaned closer to eventually touch his nose to Razorfang’s, it took everything in his being to keep himself from pulling back and refusing - as though nine lives wasn’t worth this encounter that brought back every bad moment in time that had him wishing he was dead. “With this life, I give you the gift of perseverance so that, never again, can anyone convince you that you’re any lesser for being who you are. There will come times of difficulty when you’re forced to face those that can’t see past where you were born. Don’t let anyone define you based on that kind of principle, and show them just how much more you can be - how much more you are.” Suddenly, he was rethinking every terrible thought that had ever crossed his mind throughout his kit-hood and apprenticeship, his body overcome by the physical version of every vile insult his ears had ever tried to avoid hearing by flattening against his skull. He heard the laughter of all of his den mates as they egged Dustpaw on, and he saw the glint alight in his tormentor’s eyes, knowing how much Dustpaw enjoyed all of the attention and all of the backup - knowing how much he hated him for it. For all of it. A wave of anxiety exploded in his chest as soon as he thought it couldn’t get any worse; his body, once believed to be a tower of rock, shaken by the reminiscence of how much he had once wanted to crawl away, shrivel up, and die. Just when he had been about to scream, on the verge of no longer being able to handle all of the painful memories he tried so hard to lock away, he was lulled into a state of peace by remembering how he had taken all of those broken and burned pieces of himself and, in the end, proved a strong warrior. He had excelled in a way that he never thought possible, in a way that surely would have had Dustpaw biting his tongue and taking back everything he had ever said to Razorfang before he died. In the blink of an eye, it was over before he even thought it had started, and he was back to standing in front of Dustpaw, staring down at the deceased apprentice with the same cold, dead eyes. For a moment, he thought he recognized some kind of strange emotion - was it retribution? - glistening in the tomcat’s eyes. He could only hope that Dustpaw regretted everything he had ever done to make Razorfang feel so worthless. He had been more isolated than he had ever been outside of RainClan because of the tom standing before him. If he wasn’t already dead, he feared that he’d kill him. Dustpaw, seeming to finally understand that there was no hope for fixing the relationship he had left behind prior to joining StarClan’s ranks, dipped his head and sulked back to join the eight other cats assembled in the near distance. He had given Razorfang his life - he still couldn’t fathom why he of all the potential felines was meant to be one of the nine - and now Razorfang hoped this would truly be the last time that he ever saw him again.

Next, a dark brownish-red figure parted away from the rest of the gathered cats, but Razorfang was still too wholesomely consumed by the bitter taste seeing Dustpaw again had put in his mouth to pay any mind. Only once the senior warrior was standing directly in front of him, still absent of any of the to-be leader’s attention, did he finally collect it once again with a firm clearing of his throat. Grayish-green eyes slowly locked frontwards, matching the yellow stare upon the tomcat’s face. Immediately, Razorfang’s ears pricked in surprise, familiarity dawning upon his face as he took into account the features of the tom he’d seen moments before he went underwater and never surfaced again. That had been, without a doubt, the hardest day of Russethawk’s life. He had lost both of his parents to the unforgiving nature of the river, and Razorfang had done everything in his power to keep Russethawk alive - knowing just as well as both of his parents had upon that afternoon that he’d try and save them. That had been Snoweye’s last wish before he died. Razorfang recalled, with complete clarity, how Snoweye had yelled over the angry rapids for Razorfang to make sure that Russethawk stayed on the bank. Of course, Russethawk had jumped in before he even had the chance to grab him - Razorfang had followed shortly behind, more thankful than he was about most things that he had been able to find him amidst the water and drag him back onto dry land. Who knew what would have become of the deputy had Russethawk died that day, too. The former apprentice was extremely important to him. He often sat back and remembered, with a fondness extraordinarily unique to him, how once upon a time they had shared a rocky relationship and Razorfang had thrown him into the water, almost hoping that StarClan would have him drown and take him away from him. Now, that was undoubtedly the last thought about the reddish-brown tomcat that Razorfang would ever have. If he wasn’t so young, and still didn’t have so much experience to gather, Razorfang would be proud to name Russethawk the deputy of RainClan - but that was a whole new thing to consider for a whole new day. “With this life -” Razorfang was jolted back to the present, eyes averting back to Russethawk’s dead father as he spoke. “- I give you enlightenment behind the importance of family - the kind that both shares your blood, and does not. Treasure every cat that means something to you, and never let it be too late to make sure they realize how significant a role they play in your life.” This time, far more willingly than the first, Razorfang touched his nose to Snoweye’s, muscles bunching in preparation for a life as terrible to endure as Dustpaw’s. But surprisingly enough, it was relatively peaceful. He was brought back to every joyous moment he’d ever spent with another feline. To every training session with Russetpaw, even the ones of difficulty. To every moment he’d spent with Roselight, and how each and every day that he spent in her company, he fell for her a little more. To the days when he was younger, and Coldgaze had picked him up off of the ground and showed him what it meant to be strong. Showed him how important it was to keep on living, and to not let others keep you from succeeding and being happy. To the day that Sandstar announced Razorfang as his deputy, and solidified the beginning to a relationship of mutual trust and shared leadership over RainClan. Opening his eyes to a smiling Snoweye, Razorfang addressed the deceased warrior quietly. “Russethawk -” It felt strange speaking to Snoweye about his son again, especially under his warrior name, knowing that both he and Brookrun died without getting to witness his ceremony. “ - is turning out to be a great warrior. You’d be proud of him, much like I am.” Snoweye’s yellow gaze filled with the kind of warmth that only a father or a mother could hold for their son or daughter, twinkling with this happiness, this acceptance, that Russethawk was okay, and would continue to be nothing but so. “You keep an eye on my son, Razorfang. He’ll need you in the absence of us. And . . .” Snoweye’s voice trailed, only to return twice as strong and firm. “Always be there to make sure he stays on the bank. We both know how headstrong he can be. It’s not his time yet.” Razorfang, nodding to show he understood - he was going to be giving a lot of orders when he returned to the living as RainClan’s leader, so he was thankful for a last couple of orders directed his way beforehand - watched the dark reddish-brown tomcat retreat backwards to stand amongst the row of eight others; there was seven cats left. Seven cats that had all been involved in his life in one way or another, even if the impact was big or small. Seven that were dead; each here to give to him one of his nine lives, and each here to share with him this precious moment that he’d carry with him for the rest of his time in RainClan.

Just when he didn’t think he could take the anticipation of who would be giving him his seventh life any longer, Fishtail stepped forward. There was a moment of contemplation in which Razorfang considered how frequently their paths had crossed; certainly not enough times that he’d be one of the nine. He knew that the feline before him held a strong connection with Rippletail, and then it suddenly clicked and pieced together into something that made complete and total sense: shortly after Razorfang had lost the most important cat in his life to the claws of StoneClan, he had treated her with such an outrageous amount of disrespect, having needed to make an audience out of someone he knew would be unlikely to fight back against him. All he had wanted was to unleash some of his built up rage and agony. He needed to get all of it out of his system, though he surely could have found a better method of doing so. Eventually, Rippletail had stood up for herself and, in a nutshell, made Razorfang realize that he wasn’t the only cat out there that had been so negatively affected by a loss. In fact, most cats had faced that kind of a loss and dealt with the impact of it in a way unique to their personalities. In the end, Razorfang had sucked up his egotistical pride and apologized to the she-cat; that moment played a big part in helping Razorfang forgive the past and move forward. Perhaps that was why Fishtail now stood before him: because of Rippletail, and how much - likely without even knowing it - she had contributed to aiding the deputy in overcoming his period of grieving. She had shown a side of herself that Razorfang didn’t even know existed, buried beneath all of her shyness and her willingness to succumb to a higher, and perhaps scarier authority figure after she broke out of her shell and gave Razorfang a piece of her mind. She had helped him in ways beyond the point of simply saying thank you, and perhaps, in a way, he had managed to help her, too. “With this life, I give you the power to understand that, in your experiences, you’re rarely alone. Others can and will be empathetic towards you, and others can and will listen, at times, even guiding you. If, in return, you show that you can do the same.” The light gray tabby leaned forward, the sensation of his nose brushing against Razorfang’s own igniting an electric shock of pleasant emotions inside of him. He felt the weight of grief lifting off of his shoulders, replaced by the gentle understanding of a fellow feline who had faced similar trauma and moved on. He lived through the eyes of a cat that shared every moment with their best friend, and then through the eyes of a cat that didn’t quite know how to continue on without them when they were taken so soon. He felt the pain of a cat that didn’t know who to talk to, or if they even had somebody to talk to, and then suddenly he was looking through his own cold eyes and into those of Rippletail. Surprised by the unexpected image, Razorfang jolted away from Fishtail, eying the tomcat warily. There was purpose alight in the StarClan warrior’s blue eyes. The image wasn’t shown to remind Razorfang of how he had wronged Fishtail’s close friend, but instead to make him see, with an example as clear as day, how there was cats in his clan that were capable of being empathetic towards him whenever he was in his time of need, much like he had been upon that afternoon with Rippletail. She had made her deputy realize something that he already knew, but didn’t quite understand how to accept: loss was a part of life. It wasn’t a favourable part, but it was unavoidable nonetheless. Just like he had lost someone that had meant more to him than his own life, than all nine of these lives, she had lost someone, too, that she didn’t always know how to leave behind. It was an unnecessary necessity. It was an awful, horrible experience, but still an experience. In the end, it had sufficed to bring him closer to one of his clan’s warriors. A warrior that, otherwise, he likely never would have found a reason to connect with. “I can practically see how much Rippletail misses you. She helped me understand that a loss isn’t something you move on from, but something you learn to endure.” Fishtail flashed a brilliant smile, then, as though Razorfang had just found a pot of gold and gave the light gray tabby directions. “Sometimes, she’s too smart for her own good. She knows how to make endurance of a loss look like catching a fish that can’t swim away - what I’m trying to say is, she’s strong, too. Stronger than she usually gets credited for.” He turned away, taking a few steps back the way he had came to reclaim his position amongst the eight assembled cats. Stopping a few strides away from bringing an end to his turn with Razorfang, he looked back over his shoulders, eyes glistening as though lost inside a world of fond memories with Rippletail - something, Razorfang assumed, was probably an accurate guess. “Rippletail might never believe this, but she’s doing just fine without me.” Before the hazelnut-faced tom could even think to reply, or to try and guarantee that someway, and somehow, Rippletail knew she was doing just fine (even if he didn’t quite believe it himself, because there was just some things you never thought yourself capable of being fine with), Fishtail had returned to standing with the rest of the StarClan cats, and it was time for the next one to come forward.

This feline, so far out of the other three that he had received a life from, was perhaps the most fragile by appearance. He was forced to squint his eyes at her nearing form, and if not for her tucked ears and drooping tail, he probably wouldn’t have recognized the face of a cat lost to him so long ago: Quietkit. Immediately, Razorfang was taken back to a time when he had yet to be appointed the deputy of RainClan. He was a new warrior; serving as a cat far more useful to RainClan, everyone having just recently began to move on from the loss of Dustpaw, and thus allowing Razorfang to move on from his many moons of agony and torture. Quietkit had been the only one among the recent litters that caught his attention. In many ways, she had reminded him of himself: isolated, and quiet by choice because she didn’t know what words to use or when to use them. She was the crack of the jokes, and the one that everyone turned to when they needed to have a good laugh at the expense of another. Razorfang, having known all too well what it felt like to be on the receiving end of such bad treatment, had decided after a few short glimpses of what Quietkit’s life was like that he wanted to be involved in her life and try to make it better. It was one of his first good acts as a warrior, and ultimately one of the first things he did that proved to everyone, and not just Coldgaze, that he was a good asset to their clan and would be able to benefit them in a number of ways. Looking down into the kitten’s big emerald eyes, and taking in the sight of her sandy brown fur and thick, muddy brown stripes made his heart ache. She was so young. So incredibly young, and so defenseless. If only . . . if only he could have been there to help her when she died. Razorfang couldn’t keep himself from taking some responsibility for Quietkit’s death. He knew, he always knew, that taking responsibility for such a thing like that would have been the last thing that she wanted him to do. Even though she was quiet, she had opened up to Razorfang once she saw that he didn’t mean any harm, therefore letting him see all of the good qualities that she had: how forgiving she was, and how kind her heart was despite all of the negativity that it tried to block out. He remembered spending so many days sitting inside of the nursery, avoiding all of his warrior duties just so that he could tell Quietkit stories and make her feel like she wasn’t completely alone. Of course, her mother was sometimes around to visit, her father too, but they neglected her. It was clear that she looked up to Razorfang, like he was the father that she never had. And, for once, he didn’t mind being looked at in such a manner. Coldgaze had served the same kind of a purpose in his life, and he knew how much it had helped him overcome every bad thing that had happened to him when he was younger and in her position. Quietkit was supposed to be becoming an apprentice, and because of Razorfang almost always lurking nearby, the other kittens had started to leave her alone. Everything was starting to look brighter for Quietkit; the two of them were almost certain that he was going to get to be her mentor. Until she died. Razorfang had promised Quietkit that he was going to take her on a secret adventure outside of camp, but at the last minute he didn’t get to show up because he got assigned to a patrol. Quietkit, having assumed that she was just going to meet Razorfang on the outskirts of the camp, took it upon herself to get her there. She ended up going a little farther than she originally intended, trying to find Razorfang all the while. Hours passed, and since nobody had bothered to check up on Quietkit inside of the nursery (it was mostly what Razorfang did), nobody had noticed that she disappeared. Razorfang, frantic upon his return from the patrol, went out looking for Quietkit, and when he found her, he swore that he could feel his heart shattering into a bunch of small, irreparable pieces. Quietkit had fallen into the shallower parts of the river where the current wasn’t as strong, but since she was still so small and so young, and since she had yet to learn how to swim and to keep her head above water, she had drowned, her body caught by a rock - it was the only thing that stopped her from getting pulled into the more aggressive parts of the river where Razorfang likely never would have been able to find her. Looking into her gentle eyes now, Razorfang couldn’t stop himself from smiling like, for the first time in a long while, he was with his sister again. He knelt down to the tiny kitten’s level, taking the initiative to press his nose softly against her own. “With this life -” he couldn’t believe that he was hearing her squeaky little voice again, cracked from lack of use. “- I want you to never forget how important every little thing you do can be. What seems like the simplest of gestures can be changing somebody’s whole world for the better.” And suddenly he was huddled inside of the nursery on a really cold night, laughing with this tiny kitten he never thought would be so important to him. He was telling her stories, some real, and some completely conjured up from his imagination (something he’d never admit to having), as she fell asleep. It felt like getting hit by the strongest, warmest ray of sunshine. Like a love no she-cat could reciprocate. He was happier than he had ever been, because he was with the sister that never quite was, but didn’t have to be. “Razorfang,” He reluctantly opened his eyes, savoring the last feelings of receiving Quietkit’s life as his grayish-green eyes fell into her own. “You taught me how to smile. Don’t ever think what happened to me is your fault. I did it because it was what I wanted - because I wanted to make you smile, too.” And suddenly he was smiling, and suddenly he couldn’t stop because Quietkit was right here, she was standing in front of him, and she was saying that everything was okay. She was telling him what he always knew, but couldn’t quite bring himself to believe. She didn’t blame him for her drowning, or for never getting the chance to be his apprentice, or for never becoming a warrior and making him proud even as he retired into the elder’s den. She seemed happy, she was smiling, and that’s all he ever wanted for her. It took every smidgen of power inside of his body to keep himself from cradling her close to him and never letting her leave him behind again. He wanted to take Quietkit back to RainClan with him so that she’d finally get the chance she deserved to finish living her life. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t enough wanting in the world, or in the stars, to bring her back with him. “Make sure you finish the story you were telling me. Do you remember? About a kitten that didn’t know how to be brave and to face the scary world waiting for her? Not until she met someone to show her how? You stopped . . .” Razorfang swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to find the words to explain himself to her. He stopped because the fearful little kitten, that kitten that was just learning how to be brave, had her opportunity to finish learning cut short. He stopped because she wasn’t down there with him anymore, she was up here, staring at him right now. “I didn’t -” Quietkit’s whispered voice stopped him right in his tracks, thankful that she didn’t need him to try and explain something like that. “It’s okay if you never found out how the story ends. But I think you should still try and finish it. She was only just starting her life, so the story can’t be over, right? It’s only just beginning.” Right. He watched as Quietkit gave one last playful nudge to his front leg - he tried not to think about how he’d never feel that playful nudge from her again, at least not for a long time - before going to join the other StarClan cats once again. He told himself that he was going to finish her story, because she was so incredibly right: her story was only just beginning. If she wasn’t going to have the chance to become an apprentice and to continue living her life, then he was going to make sure she got all of that and more in her story. And hopefully, up in the stars, she’d be waiting one night to hear it.

Thankfully, the next feline to approach him still held a slightly tender spot in his heart so that he didn’t quite have to give up on the memory of Quietkit so soon. She would have been beautiful when she was older, this he was certain of: with her fluffy white fur and deep black stripes, complemented by an oceanic stare. Minkpaw, like so many others, was taken from RainClan too young. She had a lot of energy, and was so easily inspired by oddities and danger. Yet, nonetheless, she was faithful to RainClan and completely dedicated to their well-being. This, perhaps the main force, behind the confusion he had felt when to discover that she was involved in the beginning of a cross-clan romance with StoneClan’s own Hawkpaw. The young she-cat was so promising, but nevertheless naive and prone to make mistakes. She had sought Razorfang out, more by chance than any true desire to speak with him above anyone else, knowing that he’d be most likely to give her his honest opinion and tell her what she needed to hear - he, so unfeeling, wouldn’t try and spare her feelings. Minkpaw hadn’t directly claimed to be involved with Hawkpaw, but Razorfang wasn’t so easily fooled. He was quick to make sure she knew how treacherous such a relationship was to be considered. Although cross-clan romances were almost impossible to completely avoid, it did nothing but test a cat’s loyalties and ultimately make them question their allegiance, all for the sake of love. Minkpaw had seemed wholeheartedly devastated, like perhaps a part of her had been expecting to hear that it was okay, but Razorfang had never regretted being so harsh with her. At least, not until she was dead. Minkpaw’s life had been taken at the paws of a StoneClan warrior, a border skirmish having went too far and cost RainClan one of their own when she had returned with severe injuries and later died as a result of them. When news of such events reached Razorfang’s ears, he had found out that none other than Minkpaw’s young lover, Hawkpaw, had been a part of the guilty patrol. It was quite a tragic love story, he had to admit - he even felt a little sympathy for the pretty she-cat, looking into her beautiful eyes and living her final moments, having the breath knocked right out of her in front of the one cat she maybe thought would try and save her, calling to him desperately, but to no avail. It proved Hawkpaw’s loyalty lied firmly with StoneClan, where the clan-oriented part of Razorfang believed it to belong after he had abandoned RainClan in favour of a new home. Yet, even still, it must have been such a horrible last thought to carry with her back to camp, and to her deathbed: to realize that Hawkpaw was choosing StoneClan. He could only hope that, throughout her final days of life, she was choosing RainClan, too. “With this life, I give you the power to not always first judge a cat by their clan. It’s too easy to say you’ll only ever trust or befriend a RainClan cat. Perhaps war is ultimately inevitable; sometimes the choice between friendship and loyalty, or even love and loyalty, might have to be made. Make that choice as you see fit. However, there’s so much potential beyond that of which clan a cat represents. Don’t shut them out without giving them the chance to make you see you don’t want to shut them out.” He was overcome by every immense feeling of loyalty to RainClan that he’d ever felt: he was brought back to every time that he had defended one of his own, or even every time that he had criticized one of his own for being anything other than loyal. He was brought back to a certain memory of Roselight, when the two had only just met, and he caught her receiving word from her love in LightningClan. Now, he couldn’t even think about her wanting another tom like that without wanting to find him and rip his throat out for catching her eye. This, along with every new-found piece of fierce loyalty that he felt buzzing inside of him, burst to life, crumbling back to reality as soon as Minkpaw pulled her nose away. He knew that she wasn’t trying to tell him to put outsiders before the clan. She knew, just as well as anybody, that RainClan meant more to him than anything. What she was trying to tell him, however, was that he didn’t always have to treat said outsiders like they were the filth beneath his paws. When times of war were not upon the living, he had no reason to be so foul towards the cats of the other clans - this was what Minkpaw wanted him to see. She wanted him to see how much she had been able to care for Hawkpaw when she allowed herself to stop focusing on the fact that he wasn’t of RainClan. To see that, when one wasn’t focused solely on which clan another came from, the possibilities were endless. Razorfang knew he’d never be able to think in such a manner, and that wasn’t what Minkpaw wanted from him, either. All she asked was for him to keep an open mind. He knew few apprentices that were as fierce in their loyalty as Minkpaw, and even she had been able to be pulled into some kind of messed up love life with a StoneClan tom. He saw in her eyes, though, that she didn’t regret it. He also saw that she didn’t blame Hawkpaw for the choice that he made. If the tables had been turned she would have hesitated, too. She would have retreated back to RainClan with her fellow RainClan cats when the call was made, too. Sometimes, loyalty just had to come first; no love could get in the way of that. Minkpaw would have wanted Hawkpaw to know this, and if Razorfang was able to speak of his nine lives, the cats that he saw, and what exactly they had to say to him . . . he might have even sought to find this Hawkpaw and make sure that he wasn’t blaming himself, because even though he partially blamed the young tom for the loss of Minkpaw, she didn’t want him to feel like that. That, perhaps, was the only thing that mattered when it came to a fight between love and loyalty.

Minkpaw had opened Razorfang’s mind to the idea of some more involvement from StoneClan, a rather unwelcome interference considering his current view of that clan in particular. She had, in a way, softened the blow that would come with Hazelcloud stepping forward next - he realized, then, that such was perhaps the whole point. StarClan likely knew, all too well, that Razorfang would be reluctant when it came to memories of StoneClan, and what those memories meant for him back in RainClan. Hazelcloud, striding towards him with the utmost purpose, as would be expected of a cat carrying a life to give, carried with her the mutual bitterness of which they had shared before she died. Both of them had faced a tragedy, an immensely burdening loss, with the outcome of StoneClan vs. StormClan. Where Razorfang had lost his fatherly figure, mentor, and overall guide throughout the hardships of life, Hazelcloud had lost her mate and the father to her offspring. She had shut down, in her own unique way, after news of Blacktide’s death, very similar to something that Razorfang could recall having done when he grew increasingly aggressive towards his clan mates in the absence of Coldgaze. Although he had never went so far as to refer to the RainClan queen as a friend of his, they had undoubtedly found some kind of sanctuary inside of one another, bonding over their shared losses and burning hatred for the culprit: Sandstar in Hazelcloud’s eyes, but the whole of StoneClan in Razorfang’s. It had been refreshing, to say the least, to have somebody around that almost understood what it felt like. He didn’t have to be overly nice to the grieving she-cat, and in return, she didn’t have to be overly nice either. They were both content nearly being at one another’s throat, and silently, they thanked one another for the relief of all of their built up, angry, and negative feelings. “With this life -” Hazelcloud touched her nose to Razorfang’s; he considered the fact that this was perhaps the first time they’d ever done something even remotely kind, since when she was alive all they ever sought each other out for was the purpose of relieving their rage. “I give you the ability to make peace with any negative feelings or events that haunt you.The past is full of things you’ll want to try and alter, but you must realize that sometimes there’s nothing you can do but push forward. It won’t always be easy, but it’s a necessary evil. Whoever tells you otherwise is lying through their teeth.” A shock-wave of thunderous grief that had been buried inside of his chest for what seemed the last millennium was unleashed, threatening to pull him under and drown him in such an immense feeling of misery. He felt the pain that accompanied losing a loved one. He relived the first night of sleeping in a den with a newly empty bed inside, destined to grow cold throughout the nights when nobody ever came back to sleep in it again. He felt all of these raw, vicious emotions pulling his heart in every which direction until he was moments away from his body breaking into its pieces. And then, just as suddenly as all of this agony began, it was swept away by a natural state of peace. Razorfang released a deep breath that he had been holding, feeling all of the weight lifting off of his shoulders and freeing him from the burden of receiving such a life. In front of him, Hazelcloud no longer looked overwhelmed by what sadness had plagued her when she was alive. Perhaps, when she was finished here, Blacktide was waiting for her somewhere amidst the starry sky. He knew how depressed and angry she had been that she never got to say goodbye to her mate before he died in the battle. She had been stuck in RainClan camp, pregnant in the nursery, and missed her final chance to fight alongside her mate. It was shortly afterwards that the greencough epidemic claimed her life, as well. The pair’s relationship had been nothing more than rocky, at best, but Razorfang had grieved the loss of such a soul regardless. But now, she seemed far happier than she ever had before. She was with Blacktide again, and all her fellow StarClan warriors - it gave Razorfang hope that losing a friend, or losing anyone at all, wasn’t permanent. He would see them again. Not a single one of those tales had been false. Hazelcloud turned away without even dipping her head as a means of saying goodbye - had he truly expected anything else from the likes of her? - reclaiming her former position amongst the eight other felines and urging the next forward.

A face that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar, but hadn’t exactly been expected either, parted away from the eight other cats and approached Razorfang with confident, elegant strides. He knew, more from rumours than any actual conversation with the she-cat, that she had given up her position as StoneClan deputy to be with Vultureback in RainClan. There had been a time when he scoffed at such a relationship, knowing that he never would have done such a thing - being the deputy of RainClan was extremely important to him; he wasn’t even certain he could have given it up for Roselight, had she been of a different clan. She must have done something throughout her time in StoneClan to make them believe her loyal and trustworthy, for why else would she have climbed to the rank of deputy? It went to show how careful you had to be about the cats around you. Razorfang had, without the slightest bit of shame, always been wary of her. Not just her alone, though. Any cat that went from one clan to another was labeled undecided in his mind. Love was a powerful force - and it was great that it worked out so well for her; Minkpaw’s cross-clan romance had a far more tragic ending - but Razorfang never thought it was meant to be strong enough to deter a cat’s loyalty to their clan. But it wasn’t his place to judge the decisions that Falconleap had made. If Vultureback had proved to hold more worth in her eyes than her ties to StoneClan, then she was free to make that choice as she saw fit. “With this life, I give you the sensibility and the strength that you will need in order to make hard decisions. As leader, there will be times of difficulty around every corner, and you must possess the skills required to overcome them for the sake of your clan.” He was bombarded with recent memories of the difficulty he faced throughout the entirety of Fleetpaw’s training: how the young tomcat had forced Razorfang into partaking in ridiculous deals over something as stupid as a shiny rock that he had found at the bottom of the river. How he had been forced to take his concerns to Sandstar, who did nothing but ensure that Razorfang was chosen as Fleetpaw’s mentor for a reason, and that he’d be able to do good for the apprentice. Next, he was flooded with visions of the day he decided to keep Roselight’s secret once he found out that she was involved with the LightningClan leader of the time. He could have very well had the she-cat exiled for disloyalty, but he chose otherwise so that she could stay in RainClan. And finally, he recalled the battle when, in vengeance of his deceased father figure, he took the life of a clan leader. Finishing with such a memory shook the to-be leader to his core, and when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t stop himself from lashing out at the she-cat with his vicious glare (arguably worse than this teeth sometimes) - seeing the side of her that was StoneClan, and immediately despising whatever part of her had ever potentially been within a nearby proximity of Hawkstar. Falconleap seemed unaffected, probably having expected as much of a reaction when to leave such a bitter memory at the forefront of his mind. It was just another part of making hard decisions: standing in front of this former StoneClan deputy, he had to offer her the respect she deserved as a StarClan warrior, putting aside his dislike of her roots. Razorfang forced himself to soften the blow being dealt through his eyes alone, knowing that Falconleap had done nothing to deserve being at the receiving end of his current hatred - that was reserved for a tomcat waiting for him when he rejoined RainClan and the rest of the forest once again. Falconleap smiled, then, perhaps happy to see that he had been able to overcome his fierce emotion for the sake of his ceremony’s easy continuance, before turning away and making room for the cat that, all along, Razorfang had been waiting patiently to see.

The senior warrior had never looked quite so powerful. StarClan had restored him to the strength, the wisdom, and the intelligence of a tom Razorfang had come to respect when he had been nothing more than a mere apprentice. His icy blue eyes glistened with the resilience and the pride of a RainClan warrior that had cheated death, and not succumbed to it. For a moment, Razorfang was under the impression that he was being greeted by RainClan’s one true leader. When reality struck, he wanted nothing more than for this to be true, so that Coldgaze could come back to RainClan with him and Razorfang could continue serving as the deputy. His deputy. The white tom stopped once he was directly in front of the hazelnut-faced to-be leader, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of Razorfang, likely scrutinizing how the last few moons had been to him. Razorfang was forcing himself to clutch his tongue, nearly tasting the tang of blood as his sharp teeth did nothing but increase their firm hold. There was a thousand things that he wanted to say. A thousand more activities that he wanted to do. He’d only need a thousand more moments with him to complete it all, and he had none of it. Only once a cat was gone, did you truly realize how much you hadn’t gotten the chance to do. He realized that they hadn’t had enough conversations. He hadn’t had the chance to introduce him to Russethawk. They hadn’t had enough time to fight one another, test their skills, and just have a good time, because all too suddenly the real deal came along and swept him away. They had thousands of moments together, and Razorfang pleaded every single day for thousands more. Coldgaze had never been anything other than an expert in every hidden emotion inside of his former apprentice’s concealed face, and it looked as though he was trying to keep himself from scoffing at Razorfang, wondering why it seemed so difficult for him to keep it together. Coldgaze never understood how much he had meant to Razorfang. He probably knew, but he didn’t understand. Any cat could tell him that it was time to move on, and that it was time to forgive Hawkstar for doing the one thing that even Razorfang would have done had he been in his position: protecting a cat that he loved. Any cat could say it, and it wouldn’t make it any damned easier. No cat could make the dread inside of him go away, and no cat could reincarnate from the dead the one feline that meant so much. If he had the chance, he’d kill Hawkstar again. He’d do it again and again and again until there wasn’t another again left. There would never be enough lives forced into the StoneClan leader’s chest to properly avenge the one life that had been taken from Coldgaze. All he could was sit around and want him dead. All he did do was sit around and want him dead. And if Hawkstar ever tried to plead his case, or to make those wishes of death go away, Razorfang would tell him that it was too late for any of that because, if their places were reversed, Hawkstar would be wanting the exact same thing. If into that reversed role, Razorfang got to take with him the memory of all of the emotions that he had been feeling, he wouldn’t even try and defend himself when Hawkstar came looking for his piece of revenge, wanting Razorfang dead had he claimed Frozenrain’s life that day. He would deserve it, but their roles weren’t reversed, and therefore Hawkstar was the one that deserved it. Coldgaze, it seemed, could tell when Razorfang’s emotions were going from how much he missed him to how much he wanted to kill for him. Immediately, the senior warrior plunged into the speech of which life he was meant to give. “With this life, I want you to start seeing not what you’ve lost, but what you have. There is so much left out there for you to be happy about, and you’re going to waste away every opportunity you have to be happy if you dwell within what makes you unhappy. Live your life, Razorfang. StarClan does not forbid, I forbid, that you let anyone, even me, take away your chance to have happiness.” When their noses touched, Razorfang was a kitten again, staring into those blue eyes for the first time and seeing the father that left him behind and, now, had come back for him in the form of another. Then he was an apprentice, and he was training under those blue eyes, learning from their owner and loving every second of it. He was learning how to fish, how to swim, and most importantly how to care. It was something that he had tragically forgotten how to do, and Coldgaze was the only one that could restore it. Next, he was being given his warrior name where his mentor could watch, having never looked quite so proud of the tom Razorfang had grown up to be. The two never stopped training, and they never stopped bonding, no matter how old they got. One thing led to another and suddenly Razorfang was finding happiness inside of an apprentice of his own, and finding love inside of a she-cat and doing the unthinkable . . . bringing her to meet the tom he always kept for himself. He was branching out, but never did he leave behind the tom that was with him from the beginning. Razorfang never left him behind, not until he was forced to leave Razorfang behind. He was preparing for the life, all of its warmth and all of its fondness, to be sucked right out of him and brought to an end, but unbelievably there was more. He saw a life without Coldgaze in it, and even though there was an undeniable space that couldn’t be refilled, he was still getting by, and he was still being happy, with the felines that he hadn’t lost. He was living his nine lives in a way that would make Coldgaze, watching above, so proud. Maybe he was even taking on new responsibilities and becoming a father, but that was a memory that had yet to be created, and would for now be put away and stored for a later date. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and he released the deep sigh that he had been holding when Coldgaze was still standing right there - it wasn’t over yet; he hadn’t left. “I’m never going to stop wishing you were still waiting for me down there, in RainClan. I’m never going to stop wondering how many more things we would have done. I’ll be happy - I swear I see, I saw, every great thing that waits for me - but no matter how many times I hear that it’s time to move on, I won’t do it. That isn’t possible.” For a second he thought he saw the smallest fleck of sadness clouding the senior warrior’s eyes, but it was gone in the next instant. Razorfang was never allowed to see the old tom grieving for something that he missed, not even in StarClan. “I don’t want it to be possible. If you ever let yourself forget about me, there will be one heck of a beating waiting for you in the stars! I just want you to be okay. I want you to think of me, and not immediately wonder about those things we didn’t do, but about all those great things we did do. It’ll never be enough, but it’s enough to get us by.” Razorfang nodded, feeling the lump rising in his throat and knowing that if he didn’t say something soon, he wouldn’t be able to speak at all. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you again.” Both of them tried really hard to ignore the way that his voice hesitated, breaking, on the word goodbye. “Then don’t say goodbye. Say what we always say.” Coldgaze started backing up, slowly, really slowly. “Take care of yourself, Coldgaze.” The old tom smiled, teeth and all, spinning to face the eight other StarClan warriors and throwing words over his shoulder - he even kind of made them sound joyous. “Take care of yourself, Razorfang.” And suddenly they were back on the battlefield, whispering these words to each other before Coldgaze dashed off and Razorfang never saw the life in his eyes again. They were standing in conversation the day before the battle, promising that they’d always take care of themselves, hoping that tomorrow nothing bad would happen. Young Razorpaw was training, and Coldgaze was yelling over the yowling of the river that he needed to teach himself how to swim, and how to take care of himself. And then there was a kitten huddled in the nursery, fearful grayish-green peering into focused pale blue, an old warrior whispering to the young kitten for the first time in a long line of events that he would teach him how to take care of himself. Then Razorfang was all out of memories, having peeled through each time this simple phrase that meant so much was passed between them, looking at the white senior warrior for one of the last times tonight as he rejoined his new clan and for the last time - the last time in their crazy, joint lives until he died and joined Coldgaze in StarClan - they made that promise, and what a shame nobody that he left back in RainClan could see the way that they smiled at each other.

He was nearly finished. There was one life left for him to receive, and he had a pretty good idea of who would be standing in front of him, even before the sandy coloured tom parted away from the other eight cats. It was Sandstar - the newly deceased leader, and the feline whose shoes Razorfang was now expected to fill. Looking into his amber eyes now, it was almost too easy to convince himself that Sandstar hadn’t yet died. Too easy to convince himself that he still had a couple of lives left in him. Both of them were completely silent for an eternity, though it was probably only a minute, as they shared this unspoken understanding. Sandstar had chosen Razorfang to be the deputy of RainClan, fully knowing that in doing so, should he pass, that Razorfang would be the new leader. Whenever he doubted himself, he knew that was all that he needed to remember. If Sandstar thought he had some good leadership qualities inside of him, then it probably meant that he did. All he had to do now was put them to use. The knowledge that as soon as all of this was over, and he returned to the three cats waiting for him to emerge from the den in which he entered to meet with StarClan and receive his lives, that he would be the new leader of RainClan was a slightly terrifying thought. He had always pictured himself being ready for this moment, but now that it had finally arrived, he wasn’t so sure. There was still a lot to learn, and now he’d have to balance learning on top of leading an entire clan. “With this life -” Sandstar collected Razorfang’s attention via three customary words that he’d already heard so many times, “- I give you stability of both the body and the mind. You must have confidence in everything that you do, and never think twice about doing what you believe, what you know, is best for RainClan. Only with this, will your clan then follow.” Razorfang’s heart leaped out of his chest, erupting under the pressure of trying to do what’s best for his clan - always under the threat of making a mistake, or costing someone important to him their life. However, the pressure was soon lifted away and replaced by something far better, far greater, as images of him leading a proud and strong clan burst into his mind in a series of vivid colour. Only in confidence, as Sandstar had said, would his clan then follow. Once he proved to not just everyone in his clan, but to himself, that he was willing to make hard decisions and, if things went wrong, take responsibility and pick up the broken pieces . . . he would become the great leader that he always wanted to be. He’d become someone that Sandstar could know with certainty would take care of the clan he had to leave behind. With nine lives thriving inside of him, Razorfang looked to the deceased leader, meeting Sandstar's eyes and seeing them alight with this thoughtfulness. “You’re a leader I’ll never soon forget. Thank you for teaching me the things I’ll need to take your place, the things you probably never knew I was even trying to learn from.” He swore that he saw the tiniest specks of a smile forming along the corner of Sandstar's lip, but he remained otherwise expressionless. Apparently having nothing to add - Razorfang always thought of him as a leader of few words; it was among the things that made him appear so composed, as if he was always prepared to handle the worst of circumstances and get his whole clan through it with him - the former leader turned on his heel, walking back towards the other eight felines and reclaiming his position. Never once did those tiny flecks of a smile fade away.

“I hail you by your new name, Razorstar.” First, he had been watching the words form on Sandstar’s mouth, and then looking around to the rest of the cats, he saw that they were all speaking in a symphony of starry words. “Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of RainClan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honour your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.” The black, hazelnut-faced tom straightened, trying to imprint the faces of all of these cats into his mind so that he could take the living, breathing impression of all of them back to RainClan.

“Razorstar! Razorstar! Razorstar!”

He let himself be lulled by the singular word spoken in the StarClan warrior’s chant, pride radiating from the deepest pits of his core as he took in the sound of his new name and hereby accepted the guardianship of RainClan to be his. Slowly, the forms of all the nine cats began to fade, the starry sky above making way for liquid blackness as, while chanting, the StarClan warriors formed a line and began to disappear into the night: he watched Dustpaw, perhaps one of the greatest tormentors to ever live, flash a brilliant smile - dull compared to the twinkle in his emerald eyes - like they were friends from long ago, and for a brief moment he wasn’t weighed down by the apprentice’s past mistakes. Snoweye vanished into the darkness next, and he swore for a split second he could see Brookrun waiting to greet him with love and adoration as alive in her eyes as ever before. Fishtail dove into the blackness in a manner similar to how he could only assume he once chased a lively Rippletail, and following close behind was the small, but forever in his heart would she be considered brave, form of Quietkit as she pranced and scampered with an energy he never knew her to possess - she would have been a fine warrior. Minkpaw, as stunning as ever, had a loyalty shining in her eyes reserved solely for Razorstar and the clan he was returning to lead, making up for every moment that she was alive and questioned herself because of the love she felt for Hawkpaw. Hazelcloud dashed forward without a second glance, as reckless and stubborn as ever to get back to Blacktide and be with her mate - she had hated not having the chance to say goodbye, and now she’d never have to. Falconleap, with the strength of a former StoneClan deputy and the eloquence of a she-cat in love with RainClan and one of its toms, disappeared close behind. Following shortly was Coldgaze, who stalled for only a few seconds more to meet Razorstar’s eyes and share a personal congratulations, teasing and taunting the new RainClan leader as if it was now his job to come with him back to StarClan - it was not his time yet, but through their eyes they communicated this unspoken passion for one another, knowing that this was only temporary until they could meet again. And lastly, but certainly not least, Sandstar stepped into the array of stars, his golden fur overcome by a shadowy glow, sharing one final glance with Razorstar, gesturing for him to return to his new life and lead the clan that awaited him.

He awoke, sucking in a huge gulp of air as he struggled to his paws, aching because of the awkward angle at which he had fell asleep upon them. He stretched out his limbs, yawning - despite having had a day’s worth of shuteye - before it all came tumbling back to him: he had just been with StarClan. He had just been with all of the cats that he loved; all the cats that he had wanted to see again since the day that they had left him behind. Closing his eyes, all of the memories of their smiling faces and proud words were still fresh, reminding him in their joint, confident voices that he was now officially the leader of RainClan. The tom carefully navigated his way back towards the exit, the walk back seeming far quicker than the walk there, until before he could even decipher the bright glow as being daylight, he was standing in front of Swanfeather, Roselight, and Russethawk, all eager to see him well, and all eager to greet him by his new name. Having spent so much time missing those amongst the stars, he hadn’t realized how much it could cause him to miss the living. Affectionately, he nuzzled the side of his mate's neck, turning towards his former apprentice and giving him a playful nudge, unable to keep the fondness out of his eyes; and equally unable to stop seeing Snoweye inscribed within every single detail of him. With a lazy smile on his face, he greeted Swanfeather with a polite dip of his head before he followed the trio away from the Moon Tree, intent upon the path that would take him back to his clan. There, he would be greeted by his new name for all to hear. Razorfang was no more, and now Razorstar stood regal in his place with nine lives dedicated to RainClan - to his family.

Word Count: 11, 119.