Dojo had seen the lives of many Xiaolin Warriors.
It was something he didn't think about often. Watching as children grew up. Watching as they collected scars, as the hope in their eyes dimmed in the harsh reality of their world.
Watching as their powers slipped away as they lost their hope, like water through bare hands.
Somberly, Dojo watched the small Dragon of Water as he sat on the steps leading into the temple, looking unbearably lonely as his unbandaged eye gazed listlessly out at the sunset.
Since the beginning, this was the part that Dojo hated the most.