Set after Kung Fu Panda 2.
Disclaimer: For all I did not create, to their respective owners.
"I'm supposed to be hardcore."
The whisper floats in the air, the heavy bitterness lacing through each word as their echoes fade and eventually vanish.
"Hardcore."
There is a shifting, a movement, a rustle of silk against fur. A silhouette against the moon.
The figure raises her head, tail curling, as a lone breeze sweeps across the rooftops, dancing on the bricks. It combs the mountainside and threads through her fur before continuing on its journey. Who knows where the wind will end up?
Anywhere but here.
The figure stares as one of the delicate blossoms on the flowering trees shivers, dangerously close to being tugged off its branch, its home. And for a while, it looks as if it just might be pulled away.
But she forces herself not to care, because she has learnt that caring only leads to pain. And pain, especially internal pain, is something you don't want. She has learnt that a long, long time ago.
So she doesn't care.
She crouches, tense, at the edge of the cliff, face turned to the arctic brilliance of the moon.
So bright, yet so cold.
That's what she is. Just like the moon. A glowing beacon of hope, a shining saviour. A saviour with a heart of ice.
Because ice is cold, ice is numbing, ice doesn't feel. Ice can be shattered, but ice cannot be hurt. Ice is what protects her from the blows of the world.
She should know.
Powerful as she was, she has been beaten down many times. Many, many times. At the beginning, each one inflicted a wound that bleeds. She was foolish then, believing that it would end sometime, believing that she should just brave out the winds until they die down, believing she should sit it out and examine the damage later on.
But now she knows.
It doesn't end. It never does. You could either let yourself be bruised and battered until there's nothing left but a broken body, or you could stand firm and battle against the winds.
Unfortunately, she wasn't strong enough back then.
They had always called her tough; the stoic one. The most powerful of the Furious Five. The fiery fighter.
If only they knew.
She had to construct walls, put up guards, build a fortress around her fragile heart. And even then, it wasn't enough. One crack, one devastating blow. Boom. It's over again. How many times had she watched silently as others tested her limits? How many times had she seen her life shatter into meaningless fragments? How many times had she been left to pick up the pieces and start all over again?
Eventually, it left only one more option. The last resort.
Turn her heart to stone.
It was difficult, not to mention painful, but it was necessary for her own survival. At first, she pretends nothing hurts, that she couldn't feel anything. Later on, the act melted into reality, until she doesn't know what's real and what's just in her head. It was confusing, but the result was the same.
She no longer feels anything.
They respect her. They fear her. They think she is god-like. They think she is unbeatable. They think she is the greatest of the great.
They think she is heartless.
But nothing's perfect, and stone or ice, her heart is still there, still beating, still alive. Dormant, but still alive. And if ice can be broken, if stone can be split open… Then her heart can be released from its chains that had restrained it for so long.
That's what happened.
In the end, it wasn't her own pain that shattered her defenses, it was someone else's.
Fate knows how to add a touch of irony to everything.
And now, poised on the rocky ledge, contemplating on what has past, she isn't sure if she should turn cold again. Because hardcore as she can get, nothing is one hundred percent. You can never fully destroy what has already been created, especially when it comes to the matters of the heart.
And hardcore as she is, she had never been as heartless as they thought.
This came out of nowhere, and is not the best (or longest) one-shot I've ever done. I hope you enjoyed it though.