Tackleboulder rose to his paws. Thin tendrils of mist curled around his legs. He looked up.

Before him stood his father.

Tackleboulder's eyes widened. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, eyes glazing over. His father hadn't been gone long, but Starclan knew how he'd missed him.

Snakestar's eyes were cold. “This wasn't supposed to happen, you know. Not for a very long time.”

Tackleboulder shrank into himself. Only Snakestar could make him feel so small. He chanced another glance at him. Still, Snakestar was expressionless.

“Follow me.”

Tackleboulder had to sprint to keep up. Snakestar seemed to glide across the barren landscape, his ghostly stride far outpacing Tackleboulder's. The mist began to take shape, forming ethereal trees that lanced gracefully across the open sky. Starry pinpricks dotted the leaves, sending white shoots of light dancing across Tackleboulder's pelt.

It was beautiful.

Snakestar came to a halt. They were in a clearing, surrounded by cats. Some Tackleboulder recognized; former Windclan warriors, some of whom had been taken by the fire and others who had died long before. One face in particular was achingly familiar. His eyes, which were already damp, welled with tears.

His mother was here.

Hawkbloom took one look at him and leapt forward with a bound. Tackleboulder went to her with a gasping sob, shoving his head into her shoulder. She chuckled softly, resting her chin on his forehead.

“Oh, my son. My beautiful son, a leader already. Where has the time gone?”

Tackleboulder sniffed, pulling himself upright. “I missed you,” he choked out, laughing. “I missed you so much.”

From her left came a smaller cat, looking at Tackleboulder sheepishly. Tackleboulder grinned. “Skypaw, is that you? Starclan, you're smaller than I remember,” he teased, nudging his apprentice brother. Poor Skypaw had died so young. Tackleboulder remembered mourning him with Blurstalk and his mother.

“Small, maybe, but I could still take you in a fight,” Skypaw retorted cheekily, his smile as impish as it had always been.

“I'd like to see you try,” laughed Tackleboulder, pushing Skypaw away. They squared up, circling each other playfully. Hawkbloom shook her head, sighing fondly.

“Kits, the both of you. Don't you remember what you're here for?”

Tackleboulder stopped abruptly. His lives. He wasn't here to visit, he was here to get his nine lives. Skypaw backed up, nodding soberly.

Tackleboulder turned around, searching for his father. He still stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes narrowed and icy. Once he saw Tackleboulder's attention was back on him, he went to the center of the clearing.

“It is time. Tackleboulder, step forward.”

Tackleboulder looked to Hawkbloom, who nodded encouragingly. Skypaw winked. With shaky legs, he stepped into the middle of the clearing. The cats of Starclan watched him silently, their eyes pinpricks of light.

Snakestar melted back. A large silver cat took his place. He was tall and battle-worn, and clearly a strong warrior.

“I am Silverstar,” he said, his voice low but upbeat. He brought his nose to Tackleboulder's forehead. “With this life, I give you humility. Use it to learn from your mistakes, and grow from them.”

Tackleboulder felt a wave of pain crash through him, sending him stumbling to the ground. Silverstar slid away. His spot was filled by an unfamiliar cat. The tom smelled not of Windclan but of Thunderclan, and as he passed Snakestar he glared ferociously.

“I am Roundear,” he rasped, fixing Tackleboulder with an intense stare. He brought his voice to a whisper. “The first cat your father ever killed in cold blood. I was not the last.”

Tackleboulder looked up in shock. Snakestar seemed to know what Roundear had said, for he had a particularly murderous expression on his face. Roundear ignored him. “With this life, I give you kindness. Use it not only in your own clan, but everywhere you go.”

Again, the new life sent spasms of pain down Tackleboulder's spine. He hissed lightly, screwing his eyes shut. When he opened them, his old mentor stood before him, staring impassively.

“You know who I am,” Flickerhare grumbled, irritated and impatient as ever. Her nose was dry as she pressed it to his forehead. “With this life I give you power. Use it wisely, for your father did not.”

This life hurt more than the previous two. Tackleboulder could only gasp at the fire he could feel in his muscles, making them twitch and jump under his pelt. He hardly noticed Flickerhare leave. Her spot was taken by two small black kits. They looked up at him, solemn and knowing. Their combined gaze made him oddly uncomfortable.

“We are Nightkit and Birchkit,” they said in unison. The names didn't ring a bell. Their young voices were eerily light in the dim shine of the stars. “With these lives we give you the ability to be gentle. Use it well, for with your physical strength you must try twice as hard to temper it with compassion.”

The pain from the last life subsided with these two, dulling to a vague ache. Tackleboulder took a shaky breath. Four more, he thought. Only four more. He could stand it.

Next was yet another strange cat. She was thin and scrawny, with keen eyes. She appraised him with a nod. “I was in Windclan once. I'm glad to see the warriors are as strong as they used to be,” she commented, looking over Tackleboulder approvingly. He glanced away, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

“I am Gypsy,” she continued. “And I was the second cat your father killed in cold blood. I also was not the last. I was a rogue, starving and weak. I asked for help, for food, for anything. Your father bit my throat and watched me bleed out.”

His body felt like ice. He had suspected Snakestar harbored less than honorable intentions, had even aided him in rather dubious acts, but he'd never dreamed Snakestar could be so horribly cruel. Gypsy looked at him with pity and touched her nose to his forehead. He barely felt it.

“With this life, I give you empathy. Use it, and use it often. Use it to see the struggles of others and help them.”

He had thought Flickerhare's life had hurt. That was nothing compared to this. He shuddered into the ground, unable to breathe as the crushing pain buried him. He wasn't sure how much of it was from the life itself or what he now knew about his father. The cats of Starclan waited patiently for him to rise.

Shaking again, he stood.

Three more.

Skypaw smiled gently and came forward.

“You knew?” Tackleboulder asked, his voice a whisper. Skypaw nodded.

“There's more,” his brother sighed, looking pained. “But Starclan will only tell you so much. It's not my place to explain to you. I'm sorry.”

Tackleboulder just nodded. His brother's nose was warm against his forehead.

“With this life I grant you introspection. Use it to do what's right. Tackleboulder, I know that deep down, you know good from bad. All you need to do now is to take a long look at yourself and ask the question: is what I'm doing for the clan, or for myself? You'll know the answer, but it's up to you to act on it.”

His brother nudged his shoulder. “You've got this,” he murmured, blinking away his own tears. “I love you. You're going to be a great leader. Tell Blurstalk hello for me, would you?”

Snakestar stepped forward.

The mist became frigid, chilling Tackleboulder to the bone. Snakestar's stare was piercing and terribly hollow. Where he'd once seen what he'd thought was love and pride was now empty of anything save anger.

“I wasn't supposed to go so soon,” he hissed, more to himself than his son. Snakestar was furious. “That clan was under my paw. It was still my turn!” He whipped his glare to Tackleboulder, tail lashing the air frenetically. His father stood tall, nostrils flaring, towering above Tackleboulder.

“With this life,” he growled, “I give you rage. Use it always. May it stick with you until your last breath, so you might become a leader like me. Remember this, son of mine,” he snarled. “Nothing but pure force will keep you in power. You must do anything, anything it takes to control them. Starclan knows I did.”

Nothing could compare to the excruciating anguish that this life gave him. It was like the wildfire again, multiplied by thousands. The very flesh seemed to be tearing from his bones, ripping and flaying with a searing heat. Throes of utter agony overtook him. Tears and sweat matted his fur as he thrashed violently, yowling in a silent scream.

It took a long moment to feel his mother at his side, whispering soothing platitudes into his ear as his body was wracked with sobs. Hawkbloom was crying quietly as well, unable to bear the torture her son was enduring.

After a while, Tackleboulder sat up. He shivered, feeling nauseous.

Hawkbloom touched her nose to his forehead.

“With this life, I give you guidance. I give you the love I wasn't there to provide,” she choked out, voice breaking. “I give you comfort. Most importantly, I give you the knowledge that you need not be so angry. You can fight and still be kind. You can be strong and still be gentle. You can be a leader without being your father.”

Tackleboulder looked at her numbly. He wasn't so sure. As if sensing his thoughts, she caught his gaze and held it.

“You want his approval. I know this. I know everything you have done to get it.”

He looked to the floor in shame.

He had done so much.

So much fear and hatred and despair, and for what? For a father that had never really loved him?

For a murderer?

Hawkbloom pressed on. “I know what you've done, but I also know what you're capable of, and it's so much more than you realize. You want Windclan's love and support? You can have it. All you need to do is what's right. I know you can. You are not your father, and I am so, so sorry that I couldn't be there for you. Know this: I'm proud of you, and I can't wait to see just how wonderful of a leader you will be.”

Hawkbloom's life was a wave of redemption sweeping over him. It cooled the sting of his heart, calming him.

Oh, how he'd miss her.

She stepped back, rejoining the ranks of shining warriors. The nine cats that had graced him with his lives came closer while the rest backed up. Hawkbloom was front and center, flanked by his brother and Silverstar.

“I hail you by your new name, Tacklestar,” she called, her voice ringing across the clearing in a powerful echo. “Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and Starclan grants you guardianship of Windclan. Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

Tacklestar felt the power of all the starry warriors flow through him, making his fur stand on end. Starclan began to chant his name, softly at first but mounting in intensity.

“Tacklestar. Tacklestar. Tacklestar, Tacklestar, Tacklestar!” The voices hit a deafening pitch and fell silent. The cats began retreating into the trees, disappearing one after another into the mist.

At the end, only Hawkbloom remained.

Her eyes were full of pride and love. “I'll see you again one day. My beautiful son. I'm so very proud of you.”

Tackleboulder shut his eyes against the sting of tears and woke up.