It was beautiful and atmospheric. Brinepaw's eyes dulled as he watched the orange meld with the blue and gray. Glowing fire spread over the flat ocean plain. Blood-curdling screams drifted through the wetness of the storm and reached Brinepaw's ears. The apprentice slapped his forepaws over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. He brought the rain down harder, harder, and harder still, praying to StarClan it would drown out the sound of his Clanmates' suffering.

But the cries of pain and distress did not cease. Brinepaw burst off from where he lay and raced over the black, hardened rock to his Clan. There they were: dark shapes bobbing on the surface of the water, driven further into the ocean by the flames that hunted them.

Brinepaw dove into the water. Underneath the waves, all was muffled and calm. But when he breached the surface, the nightmare became real again. The crackling of lightning in the sky, the rumble of the vengeful volcano... none of it had gone away. Brinepaw paddled in the water, using his abilities to propel himself faster through the sea.

There was Covestorm, at the very edge of the group. Brinepaw churned his paws, fighting the current. When at last he was at his mentor's side, he gasped exhaustedly, "Covestorm!"

Covestorm turned his head to Brinepaw and his solemn eyes flashed with love, "Brinepaw..." murmured the strong tabby, "Listen to me... you are my son. I never wanted anything but the best for you. Those four moons ago, when you first became my apprentice, I made a promise to myself."

He coughed and sputtered as a wave of salty water splashed his face.

"I promised that I would protect you. That was my only goal, my only hope in this whole entire world. And I knew that if I succeeded... I would be happy." He blinked, eyes shining, and said with a breaking voice, "I love you so much. I'm sorry that I couldn't keep my word."

Brinepaw rose up on a wave and then dropped back down. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "No!" he cried, "Covestorm, you have nothing to be sorry for. I couldn't have asked for a better mentor."

Covestorm smiled sadly and Brinepaw felt his heart shatter. Suddenly he felt some heat against the side of his face, and he turned to see the lava pouring into the water next to him. It sizzled and turned to a cooled solid. He grunted as he threw a gigantic wave onto the freshly formed rock, battling the oncoming fire.

To Brinepaw's dismay, Covestorm grabbed the side of the black rock and pulled himself up out of the water. Brinepaw felt dread like a weight in his body. He followed his mentor onto the sharp, volcanic rock. He flopped, exasperated, onto the cooled lava.

From where he lay horizontally on the rock, Brinepaw saw that many of his Clanmates were also here. They all stood in a line close together. They faced away from him and toward the fire. Their paws were set firmly, bravely.

He recognized Bluepaw's small form and the perfectly white fur of Milkpaw. He saw Almondstar's figure further down, and there was Fawnpaw standing at Sandfire's side.

It dawned on him that some must have already burned, as this was not everyone. These were the last TideClan cats remaining. Brinepaw felt his eyes closing on their own as the world came to an end.

"I love you," he said.

He could not hear them as they died. His mind went blank and he became like a stone; unable to observe or interact with his environment.

And when he awoke from this trance, the fire was in his face. His senses slowly returned to him and there was the distant stench of cooked bodies.

Ten moons of life. The abusive father. The loving sister. The fire sprit best friend. The fluffy white she-cat with the obsessive crush. The large tabby mentor. The blind WaveClan warrior. The ghost, the war, and the gift of unimaginable power.

The lapping orange flames called to him. They danced and laughed and expressed their desire to eat him. But as he watched them wriggle and waver in front of his eyes, Brinepaw decided that he would rather die in water.

He rolled off the edge of the rock and into the sea.

He dropped like a boulder into its murky blue depths.

༄ ༄ ༄

The ghost had been watching this tomcat for some time. He had seen the nihilism that plagued his young mind. And now the poor tom's body lay bloody and still at the base of a cliff.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," whispered the ghost.

The mottled brown tomcat attempted to raise his head, but he winced in pain. There was a sharply-odored puddle of blood draining from his wounds.

"Don't hurt yourself," said the ghost, "I'll come to you."

And he did just that. He padded up to the broken tom, his wispy paws floating along the floor of the sandy cove. The moon was waning above them, dappled and bright and pearly. He gazed down at the tom he had guarded for the past few days.

"Go away," growled the tom, "Leave me alone."

"I'm not going to do that."

"I just want it to stop. I want the visions to stop and the fear and the dread and everything that makes me hate living so much."

Something about his words struck the ghost, though he wasn't sure why. He looked at the injured tom sadly and saw into him. He saw that same flicker of nihilism. He saw the hardship and the hopelessness and the despair.

"Just let me die. Please just let me die."

"I pity you," the ghost replied, "But I cannot let you die."

The tom pounded the rocks with his tail frustratedly, "Why not?" he cried out, and the sound of his unhappiness broke the ghost's heart. "Why am I still here? Please, please, please oh no oh no oh no oh no—"

The ghost couldn't bear to hear any more. "Quiet!" he ordered sternly, taking a step towards the tom that lay beneath him, "You cannot die just yet. You're important, Brinepaw. You're vital."

"For what?"

The ghost was suddenly irritated with himself. He had no idea. Frankly, he wasn't really sure what he was talking about. "I... don't know," he stammered, "I forget." He narrowed his eyes and dropped his head, thinking hard. But he still couldn't remember anything.

"You forgot?" scoffed the TideClan tom, "I can't believe this. A figment of my imagination comes to me to remind me that I'm important but has forgotten why. Incredible."

"I'm not a figment of your imagination!"

"Then what are you? A StarClan warrior?"

"No," the ghost responded, "Not yet, anyway." He knew of StarClan, but he wasn't sure why he knew of them. What was his purpose? Why was he here? It felt important...

"Right," meowed the tom sarcastically, "Let's start with your name, then. Can you tell me that, at least?"

The ghost was certain he had a name, but he couldn't remember what it was.

"You don't even know your own name."

"I'm not sure. Look, all I know is that I'm here to help you," the ghost lashed his tail and stared hard at the cresting waves, "I just wish I could remember why, or how."

It seemed that the tom had had enough. "This is all very entertaining," he grumbled, "But if you could shut up now I'd be quite appreciative. I'd like to die in peace."

The ghost looked at the apprentice. He was so familiar. But why? There seemed to be no real answer. But as the ghost watched his blood collect in the pockets of the rocky outcrop, he knew without a doubt what he had to do. Death was not an option for this young one. There was something that awaited him in his future... something big.

He called upon the life of the ocean to aid him. He closed his eyes softly and breathed in the salty brine. He felt power pulsating from the moon high above, pushing and pulling the tides. He brought vibrant color to the coral and the plants of the sea. His translucent paws glowed as he pulled cool water onto the beach.

The tomcat's blood was washed away and pulled into the ocean. His wounds healed with the touch of the water.

"No," the apprentice said ever so softly. There was disappointment in his big, bronze eyes.

"You will thank me," the ghost promised, and he turned to leave. He walked over the open water, where the plants and seaweed had stopped glowing. Now there was nothing but dark waves and the heaviness of a death that had not been allowed to happen.

The ghost paused on the ocean's glassy surface. He turned back to see the tom pushing himself to his feet. He could feel fate stir the air. He could see a cloud of destiny hanging over the young tom's head.

And then a name came to him. He faintly remembered having a friend that went by the same name, and now it felt it was his turn to use it.

"Call me Ghost," he told the tom, and then he vanished.