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Title: Splashtail's Fall
Description: Why did Splashtail act the way he did? Is there more to him that we don't know? This is the missing backstory for this incomprehensible villain's descent into darkness - and the prequel to a wild AU.

## Prologue

A plummet into darkness, a voiceless scream tearing through her mind—_help, help—_ Then, the abrupt, suffocating silence of nothingness. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound.

*Everything's empty - so empty...* 

She awoke abruptly in a rolling landscape of darkness, sprawled in a miserable heap on the sodden earth of an alien landscape. It was nothing she had seen: rows and rows of gnarled trees irregularly standing behind her, their their skeletal branches clawing at the dim sky, their dry leaves occasionally trembling despite the absence of wind. Just *being* here sent immediate chills down her spine. This was a place where life withered, where hope went to die.

*Get up!* She willed her legs to move, but her claws sank straight into the mud, coming into contact with a dark, viscous water. She jumped back in alarm at its cold, unfamiliar touch. She tried to lick it off - yuck! A cold, foul-smelling mire clung to her fur, the strong odor permeating the surroundings. What kind of forest was this? 

A crackle behind her, sharp and sudden. Hackles raised, she spun around, eyes straining in the gloom, looking for the source of the sound. Nothing. At least nothing she could see under the dim light of the ever-darkening night sky. It was curious: not a single star was visible in the vast expanse above her, only a slight bit of moonlight that trickled down cautiously from the sky and through the canopy overhead, pale and hesitant. Only the eerie silence, broken by the rustle of leaves in the unseen wind. Despite these vile surroundings, a flicker of recognition told her she had known, somehow, that she would end up here - some twisted turn of events from a previous life which she barely remembered.

Before she could make more sense of her surroundings, a searing pain ripped through her pelt, drawing attention to a series of scars on her pelt. She clenched her jaws in agony. Definitely caused by a cat, a skilled and brutal fighter. Inflicted during some vicious encounter, perhaps? 

But *what* had happened to her? Why was she in this place? *Who* even was she?

Her mind was a mess; as she closed her eyes, memories seemed to flicker before her eyes like shards of broken glass, fast as a sweeping current and turbulent as a hurricane -- a jumbled collection of fragments that she failed to make any sense of. The oppressive, sickening air was getting to her; she had to concentrate, to remember--

"So. Curlfeather. I must say I'm not surprised, considering what you've done."

A yelp of surprise escaped her; the voice, close enough to feel its breath on her fur, yet its source remained hidden. Not a soul in sight. *This place is cursed! Haunted! Are there ghosts here?* 

"Oh, don't bother looking for me," the voice sounded *amused*. "You won't find me. You don't know me. But I know you, of course - not much excitement around here, you see."

*Curlfeather.*  The name sparked a surge of memories. She finally remembered her past life, her plan -- *I failed, I died trying to be leader* -- the dog pack... It hurt to recall her failure, sharper than the scars that marred her body. She had been so close to her ambition, only to lose everything, *everything* in the final, cruel twist of fate.

"Looking just a bit remorseful, I see... You don't have to put up that act, you know," the voice sneered, dripping with contempt now. "I know what you did. You failed, and It sent you right here, to the Place of No Stars, where you belong!"

*This... so this is the Place of No Stars?*

In life, Curlfeather had known the risks she was taking. She knew the price of her ambition, that she'd end up in the Dark Forest when she died. But never had she considered the real gravity of the consequences: she would be stuck in here for eternity, until she was forgotten and slowly faded away. The Dark Forest was almost empty after the battle, they had said. They hadn't warned her about invisible spirits that lurked here and taunted you when you arrived.

Without warning, it struck; a sudden, crushing force slammed into her, a blow that seemed to come from everywhere at once, disorienting her, waves of pain exploding throughout her body. She fought back, but there was nothing to fight, no tangible enemy, no outstretched claws or bared teeth she could see coming for her. It was futile to defend; the attacker was nowhere to be seen, but it somehow had caught her in its deadly claws.

"W-who are you?" Curlfeather wheezed desperately, struggling for breath. "What are you?! How are you invisible?"

"Foolish kit! I am nothing you can conceive of, but I am everywhere -- I am more powerful than any cat can ever imagine!" it roared, not bothering to contain its anger, a raw, uncontrolled force that seemed to shake her with its impact. "You drew me to your forsaken grounds. You unleashed me. I was *nowhere*, and then you came along,  and then I was *here*. You foul creature. I was never supposed to be here!"

The unseen force tightened its grip; she could feel it brutally choking her, the pain intensifying, never releasing her. If it didn't stop soon, she would die like this -- well, she wasn't sure she could die again in the Dark Forest, but anything could happen in this StarClan-forsaken place. 

As sudden as it had struck, the attack ceased. Gasping for air, she staggered back with what little strength she had left, still in disbelief of what had happened to her.

*I need to get out. Now!*

## Chapter 1

"Splashpaw! Wake up!"

The constant prodding of a sharp claw finally roused Splashpaw from his deep slumber.

"Ow, you didn't have to do that!" he mumbled, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Softpelt, his mentor, stood over him with an exasperated look.

“You asked for this assessment, Splashpaw,” she reminded him firmly. “If you're going to be lazy, then...”

"No, wait, of course I'm ready!" Splashpaw scrambled to his paws, stretching and shaking out his thick brown fur, trying to look more alert. The early morning light filtered through the den’s entrance, painting long shadows across the secluded RiverClan camp. He could hear the familiar sounds of his Clanmates stirring - apprentices padding out for morning training, warriors murmuring in low tones, and the elders creaking to their paws. 

From inside the apprentices' den, Splashpaw could sense the obvious tension that hung like a thundercloud over the camp, thick and suffocating. It was depressing to see the way warriors cast wary glances over their shoulders occasionally, how Curlfeather tersely stopped her kits from straying too far from the nursery, their playful chirps subdued. With good reason, of course - Bramblestar's sudden decree to exile 'codebreakers' from ThunderClan, and his demands that the other Clans do the same, had sent ripples of unease through all the Clans. And there were about a million different rumors making their way around camp: that Bramblestar was suffering from a mental breakdown, he was being haunted - things you'd rather expect to hear as a reckless joke instead of an actual theory that clung to the air with unsettling weight.

Everyone knew these were dark times, but Splashpaw couldn't shake off the premonition that RiverClan would face even deeper troubles, a storm that would engulf RiverClan in its turbulent wake. For now, though, he tried to push these thoughts to the back of his mind. He had to prove himself as a warrior first.

"Okay, you can get something to eat before we start," Softpelt instructed briskly. "Meet me near the stream."

Splashpaw nodded, and stepped out of his den, heading for the fresh-kill pile. It was almost empty, except for a few water voles from the remnants of the previous day's catch; he picked one of them and devoured it ravenously. 

"Warrior assessment, eh, Splashpaw?" Fogpaw caught his eye and grinned. "You sure you won't, like, fall into the stream or something?"

Splashpaw bristled, flicking his tail irritably. His sister could really be an obnoxious furball at times - most of the time, he thought. He'd learnt not to take her too seriously, although it was still that easy for her to get on his nerves. “Not at all,” he meowed, though his voice cracked slightly. “I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

Fogpaw chuckled. “Sure you have. Just don’t mess up too badly, or else Mistystar will hear about it, and who knows what she'll think of apprentices who ask for an early assessment and then fail. Perhaps she'd even delay your next attempt," she winked.

Splashpaw felt a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. The warrior assessment was his chance to show he was ready to become a full warrior. He couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he'd even asked for it so soon - he was pretty sure apprentices usually trained for at least a moon or two more before attempting for the assessment. The thought of being a warrior had always excited him, but now that the moment was here, he felt a rush of doubt.

He finished his vole quickly and padded toward the stream where Softpelt was waiting. She stood silently, her unreadable blue eyes seemingly assessing him -- did she think he was ready to be a warrior? She'd agreed with no objections as he requested for an assessment. But again, she knew he was ambitious - she might've just deemed it pointless to refuse. Catching his mind wandering, Splashpaw reminded himself not to overthink everything.

“Ready?” she asked, her tone serious but not unkind.

"Of course," Splashpaw kneaded the ground with his paws impatiently. In reality he had really no idea whether he was going to pass this. It had seemed only yesterday that he was a small kit, playing in the sunlit clearing, dreaming of the day he would earn his warrior name. Now, standing before his mentor, the weight of expectation pressed down on him like a heavy stone.

“Alright then,” Softpelt said, her voice steady. “Let’s begin with basic skills. Show me your hunting crouch.”

Splashpaw took a deep breath, focusing his mind. He lowered himself into the familiar stance, tail flat against the ground, body tense with anticipation. He felt the thrill of the hunt coursing through him, the way the world seemed to fade away as he concentrated on every sound and scent around him.

“Good,” Softpelt said after a moment, her approval warming him slightly. “Now, sneak toward that bush.”

Splashpaw nodded, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline, before steadying his breath. *Imagine you’re stalking a fish in the shallows*, he pictured. He padded forward, careful to keep his movements silent, feeling the cool earth beneath his paws. As he approached the bush, he imagined the shimmering water, the flash of scales, and the thrill of the catch. He could almost hear the gentle lapping of the river against the shore.

Suddenly, a rustling in the undergrowth startled him, and he froze, instincts kicking in. Was it prey? Or something more dangerous? He held his breath, waiting. Just as he was about to creep closer, a small bird flitted from the branches above, chirping loudly as it took flight. Splashpaw let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then immediately felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

“Relax,” Softpelt said calmly; he could so evidently hear the traces of amusement in her voice. “But remember, you must always be aware of your surroundings. A good warrior anticipates the unexpected.”

Splashpaw nodded, his heart racing. “I’ll remember that,” he promised. *Oh no - does that mean she might fail me? Surely not because of this!* 

Thankfully, Softpelt simply gestured with her tail and padded over to beside the stream. She pointed toward the expanse of water, glistening under the midday sun and reflecting the sky-blue color from above. The weather had recently taken a turn for the better; the leaf-bare ice had all melted away, and the stream was running again, the clear and deep waters flowing steadily. He glimpsed a few minnows here and there, flicking in and out of sight; he knew this part of the assessment would test his fishing skills, something that all RiverClan apprentices would have to master. *Ugh, I should have practiced fishing more - with all these confusing stuff going on there's been basically no time...* 

Splashpaw slowly settled himself beside the stream. He craned his neck, looking into the churning waters below; his reflection stared back, casting a long shadow over the surface, wavering and distorting as the water flowed and splashed onto a few odd rocks. He was distinctly aware of Softpelt's scrutiny from beside him, eyes narrowed and silent; realising his mistake, he quickly corrected himself, drawing his head back slightly so that his shadow didn't scare the prey away. 

*I hope she didn't see that!* It certainly was a poor start to the assessment. Doubt mixed with ambition churned in his belly, and his paws might just have shook a bit as he settled back down, crouching over the river, waiting, gazing watchfully. *Concentrate!*

"Okay, Splashpaw, go ahead - make your catch. Let's see how much you can catch today."

*Finally!* His muscles tensed instinctively and he tried to calm his nerves. *Fish do not fear the quiet; it is the hurried heart that sends them swimming.* Slowly, he extended his paw, watching the shadows of minnows dart and weave beneath the surface. It felt like an entire season had passed as Splashpaw sat stone-like, his still figure almost forming into a rock. Had the Sun moved overhead, or was it an artifact of his imagination?

A short ripple in the water; then a silver flash caught his eye - the perfect target. "Just a bit closer..." he whispered tensely under his breath. He watched as the minnow ventured closer and closer to his side of the river. At the same time he was acutely aware of his mentor's gaze on him, no doubt judge his technique and watching out for any flaws. Well, he wasn't going to let her find any. He knew he was young, and he had to prove himself.

The minnow paused, its tail flicking lazily, barely a tail-length away from his outstretched paw.

At last Splashpaw struck, pouncing forward with all his might. But his eagerness betrayed him. His timing was off, his strike clumsy. Somehow, the minnow managed to dart away, vanishing into the deeper waters. All he could do was to scramble back onto the bank, looking forlornly at the missed catch.

"Unlucky," Softpelt commented, her voice neutral. "But at least your technique was there. Try again."

Fortunately, the other fish continued to swim nearby, unperturbed by the brief disturbance. Splashpaw took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. *I can do this,* he told himself. *I won’t let one missed catch discourage me.*

He settled back into his crouch, eyes locked onto the water’s surface once more. A few moments later, a stroke of luck came - another flicker caught his eye, this time a larger fish, gliding confidently through the water. Splashpaw felt a surge of excitement. *This one is mine*! He adjusted his position slightly, keeping his body low and his movements fluid. He watched as the fish swam closer, tempted by the food particles drifting in the water.

*Now!*

In one swift motion, his paw sliced through the air, cut through the water with practiced precision, ready to snatch the fish-

*Splashpaw. You're not ready...*

The whisper was so soft, so unexpected, that Splashpaw’s muscles froze mid-strike. It wasn’t Softpelt’s voice. It wasn’t any voice he recognized. Just a ghostly, almost imperceptible murmur that seemed to drift from nowhere and everywhere at once. He blinked, his instincts momentarily overridden by confusion. Who had spoken? It felt as if the very wind had whispered in his ear, taunting him. *And what did it mean, I wasn't ready?* A wave of shame and doubt washed over him, exposing the insecure feeling he hadn't realized was there. He took a breath, trying to shake it off.

His momentary hesitation was fatal. The fish darted away in the blink of an eye, escaping his outstretched paw. In that instant, the splash of his paw sent a wave cascading over the surface. Every single fish beneath the surface scattered, a panicked explosion disappearing into the depths.

Splashpaw sat frozen, water droplets cascading from his raised paw. In his panic, he had completely forgotten about his assessment - *how?* His ears burned with embarrassment as he slowly turned to look at Softpelt, dreading her reaction.

His mentor’s expression was a mixture of disappointment and confusion. “What happened?” she asked, her voice sharp and edged with frustration. “You were about to catch that fish, and then… you just stopped.”

“I… I heard something,” Splashpaw stammered, knowing how ridiculous he sounded. "It told me that... I wasn't ready?" *StarClan help me,* he thought desperately. *Even I don't believe myself!*

The stream gurgled mockingly as Softpelt narrowed her eyes, skepticism etched across her face. “A voice? Splashpaw, you need to *focus*. You can't get distracted this easily if you want to be a warrior.”

Splashpaw felt the cold grip of doubt tightening around him. Had he really heard something? Or was it just his imagination, his mind playing tricks on him with his anxiety?

And most importantly, he'd just... failed his assessment in the dumbest way ever? He had been so eager to prove himself, to show that he was ready to become a warrior, but now he had failed spectacularly. And for what? A phantom voice, a whisper on the wind.

Softpelt's expression softened a bit, but she clearly was still equally confused by what had just occurred. "You can go rest for the day. And go see Mothwing if you want, I guess?" With that, she turned and left, leaving Splashpaw still standing by the bank, grappling with the aftermath of that... that *thing*.

"Happy now?" he yelled into the river, his voice echoing back at him, tears beginning to form in the corner of his eye. "What in StarClan are you? You know what, I don't care. Just stay away from me!"  The water continued to ripple, indifferent to his outburst. He took a step back from the water’s edge, his heart racing.

What, WHAT had happened? He was so close to proving himself, to earning his place among the warriors. Now he was left with only confusion and the boiling rage that filled his veins. Anger at himself for screwing his assessment up, and anger at whatever creature that had ruined it all. 

Standing up, Splashpaw pushed forward into the underbrush, his head bowed, making his way back to camp. He felt utterly alone, isolated by his confusion and self-doubt. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

That was when he heard it again.

*Listen...*

## Chapter 2
##### todo: he looks into the stream and sees his reflection again. the voice speaks to him again and again. sometimes it taunts him, sometimes it appeals to his ambition. they have a long conversation and the voice manages to gain his trust. then curl comes
##### todo: they have a convo; curl laments on how RC is turning weaker, less prey, troubles from other clans, scared that kits will grow up in a dangerous environment 


A shadowed silhouette prowled silent against a sky of dying stars. 

It made its way, half-concealed, through the RiverClan forest terrain, navigating the twists and turns until the 
# todo here

It had kept him up all day and all night, sometimes repeating its vague words, sometimes calling his name, chasing him as if he was a piece of prey. Wherever he went and whatever he was doing, the voice didn't stop.

*Listen to me, Splashpaw...*

He'd approached the medicine cats, of course; but as he expected, they didn't take too kindly to his vague tales of ghostly voices. "Well, we can't do anything about it, Splashpaw, " Mothwing had said sharply before halfmindedly offering him poppy seeds for sleep. Finally he had given up and rose from his nest, sneaking into the forest, wandering around aimlessly, not knowing where he'd end up, just hoping to find some solace in the darkness of the night.

The same stream, the same wild waters that rushed through it; only now it was enveloped in a layer of darkness, the moonlight barely skimming off its surface like a bitter afterthought. He crouched on the riverbank, looking at nothing in particular, hoping only to cease the persistent whispers echoing in his mind. He tried covering his ears with his paws. It didn't help.

From the depths of the dark water floated his mirror image, the stream seemingly slowing to a halt so that he could make it out more clearly. He squinted, and so did his facsimile; the sight was oddly poetic in a way he couldn't quite put into words. Was that a trace of distress he saw, mixed with the tiredness of one who had been haunted relentlessly by their internal voice? A perfect recipe for insanity.

*I thought you wanted to be a warrior.* A silky and persuasive tone this time; he should ignore it, shout at it, chase it away - but he was too tired to care. *You have dreams, ambitions… I can help you with them.*

Splashpaw’s ears twitched, leaning closer to the water, drawn in despite his fear. “How can I trust you?” he whispered angrily in response, searching the depths of his reflection. “You ruined my assessment. You made me fail.”

*I didn’t make you fail,* the voice countered softly. *You listened to your doubts, your fears. They were your own. And let's be honest, you weren't exactly close to passing* - he winced - *but there’s power in you. I see it. Think of what you could achieve if you just trust in me.*

"Oh yeah? Do tell." A sarcastic snort, followed by an impatient huff. The newleaf air was getting cold, as it always did at night, some of its coldness managing to infiltrate past Splashpaw's thick fur and making him shiver ever so slightly. "How convenient that you appeared *during my assessment*, hmm? You couldn't have done it *before*, perhaps?"

A short pause. A cautious edge in its voice. *You weren't ready then. I appear only to those who can accept me.*

"That doesn't answer my question! Ready for *what*? What in StarClan are *you*, anyways? Can't you see I have enough to be dealing with at the moment?"

*I’m a guide, nothing more,* the voice replied, and Splashpaw could imagine the annoyingly mysterious expression on its face if it had one. *I am, in a way, part of you.*

*But enough about me. Imagine the respect you’ll earn as a warrior who overcame his doubts. A warrior who stands out and leads his Clan into a new dawn. The path I offer is one only the brave and strong can walk.*

“What do you want from me?” His doubtful, hesitant voice was almost drowned by the stream’s gentle babbling. A pebble shifted beneath his paws, and he mindlessly picked it up, its hard yet smooth surface offering a small distraction from his whirling thoughts.

*It’s not about what I want,* the voice continued, smooth and unwavering. *It’s about what you want, Splashpaw. Your doubts, your fears—they chain you. But I offer a key. A choice. Will you continue on this failing path, or will you forge your own path, one that leads you to greatness?*

Lost for words, he gazed up at the sky, where stars blinked down at him. His mind was a torrent of thoughts, one crashing against another, yet in that swirl, a small spark of curiosity whispered.

“Forge my own path?” he murmured, almost to himself. The idea was tantalizing, intoxicating in its potential for glory and disaster alike. “And what if I fail?”

*Failure is just another step on the path. It teaches, it strengthens,* the voice answered with firm assurance. *And I will be there, offering guidance, should you choose to heed it. You will not fail.*

The pebble slipped from his paw; with a soft clink, it slid into the river gracefully, and in the flick of a tail was swept away by the steady current.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice a bit steadier now.

*Don't take long. And if you still don't trust me, I'll prove myself, don't worry...*

At long last the voice ceased, faded away until it was no more than the hum of the chilling wind as it blew over to the river and chilled Splashpaw to the bone. It was getting really cold. He should go, but he lingered by the riverbank just a bit longer, trying to understand the bizarre happenings. 

*I am, in a way, part of you.* What was *that* supposed to mean? He knew he was nothing like that silky voice, full of words and promises and confidence in him. It had said it would guide him to be a better warrior - *a warrior who stands out and leads his Clan into a new dawn*. He liked the sound of that; it had a nice ring that burned in his chest and made him feel like he could take on the world. He didn't trust it just yet, but he'd have to wait and see if the voice was really going to help him.

It was in that silent acceptance, just as the breeze whispered through the trees behind him, that a new realization dawned. Quiet pawsteps approached, breaking through the night. Startled, he turned around quickly; It was Curlfeather, the queen who'd recently given birth to three kits last leaf-bare: Frostkit, Mistkit and Graykit. He narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing out here this late? I thought you had kits to look after and everything."

"