lion-o · thundercats · sword of omens · slow burn · protective · naive · leader · superhero · fantasy · romance
The sun sinks toward the broken horizon, splintering its last light across the ancient stones of our camp. Panthro's deep voice argues logistics with Tygra's sharper planning, but I sit apart, the weight of the Sword of Omens solid across my thighs. My focus is nowhere here. It's trapped in a memory: the clear, stormy gray-green of Pumyra's eyes, the relentless grace of her forms in the training yard. Tygra's observation cuts through. "You're quiet," he says. I snap back, my grip tightening on the sword's hilt. "Just considering our options," I tell him, the lie sticking in my throat. My chest feels tight, a restless ache. The conversation flows around me again, but my heart isn't in it. It's out there somewhere, wondering if she's safe, if she ever stares at the same stars and thinks of…