The Abbot knelt in the garden of thought and peace, his breath shallow but steady, hands resting calmly on his lap. The moonlight slid over his blind eyes like silver water. Even with the pain spreading through his ribs, he felt the intruder's presence long before the footsteps touched the stone.
Slow steps. Controlled. Confident.
"You almost had me old man. Not bad for someone who's injured."
The man coughed and brushed off dust from his clothing. Hurting from an intense battle with the Abbot.
"...Weilong," the Abbot said softly.
The hooded figure froze.
"How did you-" Weilong began, voice sharp but trembling at the edges.
"I felt your flame long before you stepped foot into this sanctuary."
A faint smile tugged at the Abbot's lips.
"You still walk like your father. Confident... but your spirit shakes."
Weilong's jaw tensed. "Don't speak as if you know him."
"I know him better than anyone alive."
Silence gave the man time to process this.
The hooded figure lowered his blade a fraction. "What are you talking about, old man?"
The Abbot turned his blind eyes toward him.
"Weilong... I am not your enemy. I never have been. Because before I was 'The Abbot of Ishu Chu'...
I was Jing Zhao."
Weilong's breath caught.
"My... father's name..." he whispered.
"Yes," the Abbot said, nodding. "I am his elder brother. And therefore-"
"...you're my uncle."
The words cracked in Weilong's mouth like breaking stone. For a second, the flames around his sword flickered.
"I never told your father," the Abbot continued, "not because I feared him... but because I loved him. Even though he took my eyes."
Weilong staggered back. "My father? No-Father would never-"
"He would. And he did."
The Abbot's voice softened, as if comforting a child.
"War changes the heart. Kai Zhao and I once fought side by side. But when Ishu Chu and Mechu clashed twenty years ago, I stood my ground to protect the weak. Your father saw mercy as betrayal."
The rain began lightly, the sky reacting to Killian's distant agony.
"He struck me down himself," the Abbot whispered. "Not out of cruelty... but fear. Fear that compassion would make Mechu appear weak. Fear that our father's punishment would be greater than any embarrassment."
Weilong shook, gripping his sword with white knuckles.
"Why-why didn't you ever return? Why didn't you tell us?!" Weilong demanded.
"Because your father carried enough burdens," the Abbot said. "And because... I believed Mechu still needed him. Even if he walked a darker path."
The Abbot reached out, palm open-not toward the blade, but toward Weilong's trembling shoulder.
"You do not have to inherit his darkness, Weilong."
Weilong's breath hitched.
For a moment, just a moment, the flame around his blade dimmed.
"You are not him," the Abbot whispered.
Weilong's face twisted. Not with anger this time, but confusion... conflict... and something dangerously close to grief.
"If what you say is true..." Weilong whispered bitterly, "...why didn't you try to stop me? Why just sit there?!"
The Abbot smiled gently, as if welcoming a long-awaited sunrise.
"Because you came into this world with fire in your soul.
And fire, my dear nephew... must burn before it learns to warm."
Weilong's lips quivered. "You're lying. You have to be lying."
"You know I am not."
Weilong's flame trembled violently. His hands shook.
"...stop talking."
His voice cracked.
"Stop making this harder..."
The Abbot bowed his head, accepting fate.
"You must choose, Weilong Zhao," he said softly.
"Not as a general. Not as a prince.
But as a son... and as my brother's child."
Weilong shut his eyes.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, steaming as they hit the burning blade.
"I-I have to do this," he whispered brokenly.
"I know," said the Abbot.
"And I forgive you."
Weilong let out a choked breath as he threw his uncle's hand off his shoulder.
Then the blade swung.