The Masked Man removed his mask and looked at himself in the polished silver shield. He took in his own features, the features he had not born since his death in that fateful battle. He'd only discovered the change when he'd fled to the river that flowed several miles from the palace and saw his reflection in the water. Somehow he knew that someone was responsible for this change. Whether it was the creature, the girl or the flood that had formed from their deaths, he didn't know but he did know that he wished they hadn't. Now he could never remove the mask in public again.

He used to have a name, but had given it up the moment he was reborn. Hei Nuwang had wanted to name him, but he'd refused. He wasn't worthy of a name. He'd lost his worth a long time ago, and he'd lost it again several weeks ago, just when he thought that nothing else could stand in his way. He was no longer that person, he thought. He pulled off his gauntlet and looked at the stump of his index finger. This is his wound. He thought of the carnage inflicted on the Valley so long ago. Those were his crimes. He thought of Tai Lung. That was his name Not mine. If only the girl hadn't returned my true face. No, not true. False. Old. But I still have the mask.

As the Masked Man bid farewell to his old self for the last time, he felt that familiar fear, saw it in his reflection. His hiding place wouldn't be safe for much longer. He had to leave before the imperial soldiers found him.

Or something worse.