Had it been a dream? Nero couldn't remember ever having such vivid dreams before, but how was it possible for him to have seen.. well, he didn't want to think about it too much. Maybe waking up and finding some medical care would be the best course of action and he could have his existential crisis afterwards. Not that he was, you know, short in supply of existential crises or anything; if he dug down deep, he still had a solid three or four left for that month alone. The issue was finding the willpower to move himself from the sand. He could only imagine how starkly contrasted he was against the black sands and needed to move before an enemy found him. Or, worse yet, Ghyslaine found his sorry ass sprawled like in a bloody heap on the ground. Nero vaguely knew where he was simply based on the sand, and the closet pride would have been Scilla. He didn't want to go there. He couldn't. He couldn't show up like such a mess and ask for their mercy.

So he just lay there like a bump on a log, his breathing shallow but his eyes fluttering open as the wind whistled by.

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Orson had been restored to his beloved island home, reinstated as a prince again and life should have been grand. But really, that hadn’t been the case. The pride was small and lonely, especially without Anniston there to keep him company. He’d awoken many times expecting to find her there, lounging beside him as they snoozed out in the open like predators only to find himself alone. Things were feeling a lot like they had when he’d initially decided to leave and set out on his own. Except now, the sanctuary he has found was unavailable to him because he’d gone and burned that bridge.

Those final moments between him and Nero were burned into his memory. Was he sorry for what he’d said? No. But did he regret what had transpired? Oh he certainly did. He missed the friendship and companionship, the sense of family he’d gained in Lorien. He missed his nieces and nephews, but mostly he missed his big brother. It pained Orson to think that Nero probably hated him now. Orson was so torn. He was in strong support of his family, the rightful rulers of Scilla Lagoon. How could Ghyslaine, who married into the family and should have been like a sister to him, and a daughter to Alizabeth, wish for their downfall? She should have kept her mouth shut!

Orson was ruminating on the ordeal as he stalked along the black sands od Stygian Shore, and not for the first time since that fateful day. Feeling frustrated with his life at the moment, Orson reached out and swiped at a nearby rock, sending in flying into the surf.

That’s when he saw him.

He’d been thinking about his brother. So that’s why he imagined his body, ghostly white and battered, laying upon the shore with each crash of the surf accentuating the pale bloodied form. The horrific sight of his dead body appearing to haunt him and make him feel even shittier than he already did. Orson blinked, willing the image away but it only got closer. He shook his head, a sudden horror rising in his chest. It couldn’t be…

"@Nero!" he gasped, picking up into a sprint. He bent forward when he reached him, large paws splashing into the water. He smelled his blood and saw how badly broken his body looked and Orson feared the worst. He pressed his nose against his wet mane, feeling nothing but coldness. Despair filled his heart and panic began to take over. "No, no, no… you’re not dead. You can’t be dead…"

He didn’t know what to do so he acted on impulse, attempting to take a big hunk of the older (but not bigger) lion’s scruff into his mouth and give a mighty heave to pull him out of the water and away from the ocean’s frigid grasp.

It would have been easier to just lay there until someone found him, but how long would that take? And what were the chances it was going to be a friend and not an enemy? Low. Nero had more enemies than allies, so it didn't seem like the best idea to just sit there and decompose or let the crows come feast on him. Maybe if he just rested for a while longer, he could gather up the energy to get up and head back to Lorien. It would be a hike, but he could do it. He needed to get back home. The sovereign gathered what energy he could to gently lift his head before letting it crash back into the ground. Things went dark for a while longer.

And the next thing he knew, there was someone dragging him by the scruff out of the shallows mumbling something about him not being dead. He wasn't dead? That was reassuring. When he realized it was his brother, Nero.. well, he didn't do much of anything. He didn't have the energy to do anything. He just let himself get carried as far as Orson wanted to take him, too exhausted and his body too broken to put up much of a fight. "Orson?" he sputtered, coughing up another spray of blood foam. "Zaza?" Was she here too?

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Orson strained against the weight of @Nero's limp body, but with the help of adrenaline he was able to draw his sodden form out of the water and up onto the sand. His whole body was screaming in protest at the effort and when he was sure they were clear of the icy water he released his hold, though there was no relief in his accomplishment. For a long moment the boy surveyed the cold body in numb horror, frozen in panic. But then Nero stirred, sputtering on his words between a spray of blood. Orson was down beside him in an instead, his face very close to Nero's.

"I'm here." He said, nudging his cheek, noting the fresh blood that was staining his lips. Orson was no medic, and had absolutely no experience in health or healing. But coughing up blood... that could mean nothing but grave trouble. Nero had asked for Zaza, a word Orson knew he used for their mother. But Alizabeth wasn't there, and Orson wasn't sure she would hear him even if he called. The crashing waves would wash out any traces of his voice, even if he had the ability to make it carry all the way across the bay to the island.

Orson didn't know what to say, or what to do. Nudging him, he could feel how cold he was. There wasn't any trace of warmth coming from him at all. Orson rotated himself and lowered himself down alongside his brother's broken form, pressing up alongside him, Orson's warm, dry, and vital body against the cold, damp, weak form of Nero.

Nero knew the day would come when his brothers towered over him. He hadn't been expecting it to be so soon, but the small lion felt insignificant in comparison. Even on his would-be deathbed, Nero couldn't help but recognize the differences between him and Alizabeth's real children. Kaloula was in the same boat as him, yeah, but he had always thought the other guy was a bit more.. well, a bit less dramatic. Less traumatized. Less selfish. Nero didn't know how he maintained any semblance of composure throughout his life. The mere idea of taking something and responding reasonably was just.. insanity to him. Bamboozling.

But it wasn't that brother that was beside him now, was it? It was Orson, who, by all accounts (Nero's) had likely wanted him to die not a few weeks ago. There were no sources for Nero to cite except his own brain, so don't ask for any receipts.

He was grateful for the warmth. Orson didn't have to help him by any means, so he appreciated it more than words could say. "Thanks," he mumbled, his shivering reducing as the minutes ticked by. "Do you see.. Saga? My mom? She's dead." Incoherent as he was, Nero still needed to know if she was around still.

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It seemed like Nero was coming to. Instead of being cold and deathly still, he began to shiver and to seem more alert. Although the shivering was alarming, it was a sign that his body hadn't given up. His own body was trembling somewhat, but whether it was from the cold or from his fear, Orson could not tell. Probably both. Nero was sorely mistaken in his thinking that his brother wanted him to die. He'd been mad and resentful, filled with the stubborn self righteousness that teenagers were known for. But love for his older brother had never been lost. He'd been stricken with fear at thinking he was dead for those grim moments.

They laid there together in tense silence as the minutes ticked by, Orson's body slowly lending it's warmth to Nero's. And slowly his brother's shivering seemed to subside. Orson glanced at him when he heard his thanks, his blue eyes searching Nero's red but finding no answers as to what or why he was in this predicament. Instead there was a strange, confused or faraway look and he mentioned a name that Orson had never heard. The teen frowned, gripped by an eerie feeling at his words. "Nero... what are you talking about? Our mom... Alizabeth. She's back home on Scilla. She's alive, Nero."

Every inhale was pain. Every exhale was pain. Nero's head was spinning from the flashes of searing white pain that clouded his mind, making him seem delirious and possibly even unhinged. He knew what he'd seen, though. He knew damn well what he'd seen. Nero wasn't ready to give up on that just yet, even as his body began to thaw and the pain truly began to settle in. It felt.. right, in a way. The pain. Like he finally got what he deserved, even if he hadn't been successful in his true goal. At least he was suffering. He deserved to suffer.

"No.. well, yes," he mumbled, crimson eyes drifting to meet those of his brother's. "You don't know." It was a statement, not a question. Of course he didn't know, why would he? "My parents were murdered when I was an infant. Alizabeth found me and took me in, but she.. had to leave me behind. Another woman took me in. Saga. And then Zaza came back and I just.. and then Saga died." He coughed a bit. "We're not actually brothers, Orson. Not biologically. I don't share blood with anyone here but my own cubs." Nero stared vacantly towards the ocean, wishing she would appear to him again and not wanting to see the teenager's reaction when the news sank in.

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A confused look came over Orson's face and he blinked several times as Nero explained the circumstances of how he'd come to be a part of their family. He shook his head, subtly at first but then more emphatically. What was he saying? Nero was his brother. Orson had never questioned it or sought any specifics as to Nero's heritage and it had never crossed his mind that he was not biologically part of the family. Orson wasn't even completely sure what that meant... biologically. Nero was talking to the kid who blindly accepted the fact that he had two dads without ever questioning how that even worked. Was that what Nero meant?

"Of course we're brothers." Orson said. "We've got two dads. You've got two moms... or you did? That doesn't mean we aren't brothers..." ...right? Orson was suddenly feeling very confused. "You must have bumped your head pretty hard." Orson said with a strange, forced sounding laugh.

"I don't have a father," Nero was quick to correct, almost offended Orson would ever think his older brother would look up to Ransom in any capacity but physically. The closest thing he had was Alabaster, but there was no blood shared between them. Orson didn't seem to understand that. "We are brothers in every way but blood. Kid, I'm adopted and my life has been a mess when it comes to family." The albino lion tried for the first time to sit up, the movement leaving him dazed and nauseous and close to getting sick. "Alizabeth is not my birth mother. She found me when I was barely a month old." He lifted a paw gingerly to his face, feeling his pulse thunder below its touch. "She left one day. I waited for her. She never came back, so someone else adopted me. Then Aliza came back when I was around a year old." Nero scowled a bit at the comment about hitting his head. "I didn't hit it hard enough." Perhaps the only subtle clue what he had done was intentional, the small lion staggered to his paws among the broken bones in his body.

"You were born a Valentine. I wasn't." Was any of that sinking in?

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Stunned into silence, Orson let @Nero go on to explain while he took it all in. At first his brain seemed to put up a wall, refusing the process and make sense of what he was hearing, but as his brother continued on the pieces started to fall into place. When he got to the part about Alizabeth, Orson mirrored Nero's movement. He sat up as he did, staying close in case his brother needed to lean against him for support. He gave a snort. "She does that a lot." He said, unironically and not without a measure of bitterness.

Come to think of it... when was the last time Orson had seen Alizabeth? He'd been practically on his own ever since Alizabeth had reinstalled the family into the Lagoon. A sinking feeling crept into Orson's gut and he almost missed what Nero said next.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Orson said with an unintended edge of harshness, pulling himself to his feet alongside Nero, watching him closely as he staggered to his paws, in case he needed to catch him. A frown creased the younger lion's muzzle, seeing more clearly now that battered and broken state that Nero was in and feeling deeply disturbed by the sight of him and the revelations he'd just made.

"What does it matter, anyways?" Orson mused, "being born a Valentine or not, neither seems like it's enough to make mom stick around." He said, but he couldn't possible know that his words held more weight than he realized. For even as he spoke Scilla Lagoon lay unclaimed, their mother taken hostage by Amara.