Twenty minutes before Killian's arrival…
The Abbot sleeps in his chambers, still recovering from the training injury. Unbeknownst to him, death was already on its way.
An explosion jolted him awake. He rushed to the window and horror seized his face. Villagers trying to fight off attacking enemies, the monks being slaughtered by strong enemies.
The door to his room burst open, a hooded man held a sword, a warrior from Ihuoin Mechu. The Abbot blasted him with a powerful gust of wind and got up groaning as he stepped out. The man quickly got up, igniting his fist with flame, taking on a familiar stance. The Abbot dashed in reaction, punching the air and sending a powerful short burst of wind to extinguish the flame as easily as one would blow out a candle. The man persisted, tearing down his mask and breathing fire out of his mouth, the Abbot was forced to dodge a right where the man wanted. He punched the Abbot right in the gut, where his injury was, sending him through the entrance gates, and into the gardens of peace and thought.
The Abbot sank in the cold water, feeling relaxed for a second before a ball of fire came his way, he came to his senses just in time to get out the way.
"I'm getting too old for this kind of danger," the abbot sighed, he rested his mind, emptying his thoughts. His Ether seemed to grow, flowing like a peaceful stream. He readied himself, as the hooded man rushed at him from behind a pillar, but the Abbot sensed him, ducking in time and kicking him into the air. He used his wind to slam the man back down into the water, the Abbot walked towards the man who seemed injured now. "Your flames will be weakened now that you've been in water, now, who sent you here?" The man said nothing, instead his entire body seemed to catch on fire, boiling the water till it evaporated, the heat forced the Abbot to back up.
They stood facing each other now, the hooded man made the first move, throwing a dagger towards the Abbot, and following up with a ball fire.
When the smoke cleared, the man was gone.
A dagger was buried deep in the Abbot's chest.
He let out a gasp, falling to his knees, the man stood above him now, "I suppose I should let you see the face of the man who killed you," he said as he pulled down his mask and lowered his hood. "But then again, I guess you can't."
"I don't need my eyes to know who you are… Weilong Zhao."
"Ah, so you know me, good," Weilong raised his blade, igniting it.
"You don't know what you're doing. I can't believe your father never told you, he's always been a fool." The Abbot said.
Weilong's jaw tensed. "Don't speak as if you know him."
"I know him better than anyone alive boy!" The Abbot said.
The silence gave Weilong time to process this. He 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.
"That last name…" he whispered.
"Yes," the Abbot said, nodding. "I am his elder brother. And therefore—"
Weilong finished his sentence for him, "…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 went back to the village," the Abbot continued, "I couldn't face our father, and I hadn't learned to forgive him yet. But over time, I felt it was meaningless to hold a grudge, but with my allegiance to Ishu Chu, I could never go back, even if I wanted to."
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 worse than any shame."
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 grew closer to burning out...
"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.