Chapter Forty-Five: Past and Future
Shadows grew in the corners of Tigress' mind.
She drifted through a vast, shifting emptiness, neither awake nor truly dreaming. The air was thick, heavy, yet insubstantial, like mist clinging to her fur. Shapes moved at the edges of her vision—uncertain, formless things that disappeared when she tried to focus on them.
She could feel something pulling at her, dragging her deeper into the dream. Though her instincts screamed to fight it, her mind felt sluggish, unmoored.
Darkness.
Then… ripples.
A surface broken by an unseen disturbance. A pale reflection, distorted by movement. She thought she saw herself staring down into a pool of water, but the image wavered before she could be sure. A glowing orb with the likeness of the moon was suspended high over the surface, luminous and cold.
Something beneath the water stirred.
A shimmer of orange light twisted in the deep, coiling like a serpent just out of reach. A voice, smooth like wind passing over endless desert dunes, curled around her thoughts.
Beneath the Darkness of the Moon.
The sky cracked open, pouring shadows into the pool, and for a brief moment, she saw it—the moon's pale glow sinking beneath the waves, swallowed by something deep, something waiting.
All became darkness as the vision faded to black.
The tiger master gasped awake as the scent of damp wood and brackish water filled her nose.
The ceiling above her swayed gently with the movement of the barge. The low groan of the hull, the rhythmic splash of water against its sides, and the muffled calls of soldiers outside grounded her in reality. She exhaled slowly, pressing a paw to her temple.
She was aboard one of the many barges ferrying Boragal's army through the ancient crisscrossed network of Sichuan canals. The journey had been ongoing for days now, the long convoy of vessels dragged along the waterways by teams of soldiers moving along the banks. Though far from luxurious, she had been given a private cabin—a necessity for a warrior of her rank, though the solitude had done little to ease her thoughts.
And now, once again, Fei Lian had found her in dreams.
Tigress exhaled slowly and pushed herself upright, the thin mattress beneath her having offered little comfort. The steady sway of the barge was familiar now, the rhythmic groan of timber and the distant murmur of soldiers outside marking the beginning of another day on this relentless journey eastward.
She swung her legs over the side of the cot and rose to stand, stretching out the stiffness in her muscles before stepping across the dimly lit cabin. Ever since returning to the mortal realm, the ever-present pain in her side had been suspiciously absent. Having been maimed by Shen's cannon years ago, Tigress thought it was highly unlikely for this injury to have healed on its own.
She reached the small basin near the far wall and leaned over it, bracing her paws against the worn surface as she stared down at the still water inside. Her reflection wavered, fractured by the faint trembling of the barge, but she could still make out her own amber eyes.
Beneath the Darkness of the Moon…
She considered the cryptic message for a moment, recalling what she had seen in the vision of Oogway's past.
The darkness… the moon… the Moon Pool at the Jade Palace?
It was the only sensible meaning she could decipher—though it had fascinated her as a child, she had never considered what might lie beneath the mysterious depths of that pool. Her focus had always been on the prize hanging high above its waters…
Maybe the Dragon Scroll was a distraction all along…
Dropping one paw into the basin, she scooped up a handful of the cool water and brought it to her face, letting it splash against her fur and then back into the bowl. The shock of the cold liquid chased away the lingering fog in her mind.
Restful sleep had once again been eluding her.
A lifelong struggle, really.
Straightening, she let out a breath and turned, her gaze inevitably falling upon the outfit draped neatly over the nearby armor rack. Midnight blue, rich and deep as a cloudless night, with intricate gold trim woven into the finest Mongolian textile. The fabric still held the strength and softness of its craftsmanship, unweathered despite the months of battle and travel.
But it was the Ulzii Khee symbol, embroidered in shining gold upon the drapery of the tunic, that always stood out. The eternal knot—a blessing of protection, prosperity, and unbroken harmony.
She traced its edges with her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, she wondered what became of Zhenjin.
He had been the one to tell her the symbol's meaning, back in a world that now felt impossibly distant. He was headstrong, yet not like the others—he had a fire in him, but it was not the reckless, consuming brand of passion which defined his kin. There had been something else there, something unformed but promising.
There were so many lives already lost to this war, their stories cut short before they had the chance to be more. She hoped the prince had not become one of them.
A firm voice called from beyond the cabin door.
"Lady Tigress, Lord Boragal has summoned the war council."
Perfect…
Tigress let out a slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment before turning back to the armor rack. Her brother had seen fit to include her in his strategic decisions—a position she had not sought, yet could not refuse. If she had any hope of steering this war away from complete catastrophe, she had to remain close to the nexus of power—no matter how much she loathed the politics of conquest.
The tiger lifted the tunic from its resting place and dressed herself with practiced ease. For just a moment, she allowed herself a breath of stillness, gathering her thoughts, steadying her mind.
She stepped toward the door and pushed it open.
A rush of fresh, damp air met her as she emerged onto the flat deck of the barge. She cast a glance down the length of the canal, where the convoy of vessels stretched in an unbroken procession, their forms dissolving into the haze in either direction. All around her on the surrounding banks, the army pressed forward in a slow march.
Looking to the forward deck, Tigress spotted a familiar figure crouched near the bow.
Yul.
The young wolf sat near a large censer burner, its smoldering embers warding off the morning chill. He was not alone; a handful of Mongol warriors huddled close, eating their morning rations and murmuring in low voices. But as Tigress emerged, Yul's ears perked. He set down his bowl of rice and pushed himself up to stand.
Tigress regarded him with a measured stare. "Yul."
He lowered his head, not quite a bow, but an acknowledgment.
"I have to try it," he said simply.
"Try what?" she returned, admittedly confused.
"You know what."
The way he carried himself told Tigress everything she needed to know. He wanted to prove himself.
She exhaled sharply through her nose. So that was it.
Yul wanted to spar.
She looked him over—his stance, his breathing, the way his weight was balanced just a little too forward than it really ought to be.
"You don't stand a chance," she told him flatly.
"Maybe." A pause ensued before one of Yul's fellow warriors tossed him a wooden staff. "But I still want to try."
Tigress exhaled, shaking her head. "You're wasting both of our time."
Yul's tail flicked, but he didn't back down.
She let a beat of silence pass before adding, "Besides, you wouldn't want to get embarrassed in front of your friends now, would you?"
That got a reaction. A ripple of laughter passed through the gathered warriors, some grinning as they nudged each other. One jabbed Yul on the shoulder, smirking. The young wolf's ears flattened for a fleeting second, his jaw tightening. But he recovered quickly, rolling his shoulders back as if brushing off the comment.
Yul's grip tightened around the staff, his stance steadying as he took a breath. "I can take it."
A knowing murmur passed through the soldiers. Amusement, curiosity.
Another warrior picked up a second wooden staff resting nearby and tossed it toward Tigress. She caught it with ease but didn't immediately ready herself. Instead, she weighed it in her paws, considering. Then, just as smoothly, she tossed it back.
Yul blinked. "So you yield, then?"
Tigress' expression didn't waver.
"No," she said casually, shifting into a ready stance. "It's fair this way."
A few of the watching soldiers chuckled, catching her meaning before Yul did. The young wolf's brow furrowed as realization dawned.
He lunged forward.
Tigress sidestepped his attack with little effort, guiding his momentum past her with a simple shift of her weight. He stumbled, only just managing to keep his footing. A second charge came faster, more controlled this time; she intercepted the shaft of his weapon, sweeping his leading leg out from under him and forcing him to pivot awkwardly to keep upright.
The engagement lasted less than a minute. Every strike he attempted was deflected with minimal effort, every opening he left exploited before he even realized it was there. Tigress wasn't cruel, but she was efficient. By the time Yul was on one knee, panting, the reality was undeniable.
The laughter echoed across the deck, a chorus of jeers and amusement at Yul's expense. Some of the gathered warriors slapped each other on the back, others smirked and shook their heads.
Tigress didn't join them.
She stood where she was, arms folded, watching as Yul remained on one knee, still breathing hard. He didn't complain, didn't make excuses. He just stared at the ground, taking the humiliation in silence.
Tigress sighed through her nose.
Her voice cut through the noise, calm yet firm.
"At least he was braver than any of you."
The laughter died almost instantly.
A few of the warriors stiffened, exchanging glances. Others shifted uncomfortably, their amusement replaced with something more uncertain. No one wanted to be the next target of her scrutiny.
Yul blinked, glancing up at her. He didn't speak, but the look he gave her—brief, subtle—was one of quiet gratitude.
Then, before anyone could dwell on the moment, a voice far heavier than hers broke the silence.
"That's enough."
The crowd turned as one, their postures stiffening with sudden discipline.
Lord Boragal had arrived.
The mountain wind carried Crane high over the Jade Palace, the sweeping currents holding him steady as he surveyed the temple below. He tilted his wings slightly, circling once over the tournament grounds. The palace had changed. The once-pristine hallways of legend were now lined with scaffolding, its golden roofs patched here and there. Yet even amid the ruins, there was renewal.
Crane dipped his wings and glided downward, the main staircase rushing toward him. He landed lightly at the entrance of the Hall of Warriors, his talons skidding against the stone as he folded his wings and stepped inside.
The palace workers had been relentless in their reconstruction. In the months since his departure, they had restored much of what had been lost, though the scars of destruction remained. The walls bore fresh beams, their lacquer still unweathered, and new banners hung where the old ones had been torn down. Servants and villagers moved with purpose, hauling crates of supplies, hammering wooden supports into place, and reinforcing the temple's defenses. Below them, villagers ascended the winding path from the valley, burdened with sacks of valuables that needed to be stored or secured.
Crane pressed forward, stepping past the workers and making his way toward the western wall—where the past was not so easily erased.
The gaping holes left by Kai's destruction were still raw. Though some sections had been reinforced, the splintered wood and shattered stone bore testament to the battle that had once raged here. The wind whistled through the gaps, carrying with it the voices of those still laboring to restore what had been lost.
The bird master ducked beneath one such fractured opening and stepped outside.
A small, winding path led away from the Hall, climbing toward a secluded villa perched on the cliffs—the Chrysanthemum Suite.
Ascending the steps, he entered the villa, and the atmosphere changed instantly. The scent of fresh water and wood polish filled the air, blending with the faint aroma of incense. Sunlight filtered through latticework windows, casting shifting patterns through the golden curtains and upon the polished celadon floor. A waterfall flowed seamlessly from the cliffs outside into a stone collecting pool within the room, its gentle trickling the only audible sound.
And there, at the heart of the tranquil space, was Mei Ling.
She moved like the water itself, her motions fluid, deliberate—practicing Tai Chi with quiet meditative precision. Her paws traced slow arcs through the air, shifting between postures with effortless grace. The light from the waterfall shimmered against her fur, turning gold to pale amber.
Crane lingered at the doorway, watching.
He had spent so much time amidst chaos that stillness felt like something distant, unfamiliar.
But here, in this quiet space, she was at peace.
At least, she appeared to be.
Crane tilted his head slightly, watching the way her movements slowed, how the tension in her shoulders was more rigid than usual.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
Mei Ling completed the last of her movements, lowering her paws to her sides. She let out a slow breath before turning toward him.
"I'm fine."
Crane didn't move from where he stood. "Are you sure?"
She hesitated.
For a moment, it seemed as though she might insist again that she was alright. But there was something about the way he asked—so steady, so certain that he knew better—that made the words catch in her throat.
Mei Ling exhaled through her nose and stepped away from the collecting pool, crossing her paws gently over her arms. "I don't want to burden you," she admitted. "You've had enough to carry as of late."
Crane gave a quiet huff, stepping further into the room. "You were there for me the other night." He tilted his head slightly. "So let me return the favor."
She studied him carefully for a moment, but then conceded her true feelings.
"My father's death," she said, her voice lower than before. "It's been… harder than I expected."
Crane nodded slightly, giving her space to speak.
"I told myself I had come to terms with it. That I'd made peace with the kind of man he was," she continued. "But some nights, I wonder if I truly did. Maybe I should have tried to reconcile, rather than pushing a blade through his chest."
Her eyes flicked back up to his, something heavy lingering within them.
"I don't know if I ever really let myself grieve—or if I even should at all."
Crane's expression softened as he stepped closer. No matter how much pain Mei Ling carried, she never let it consume her. Instead, she endured. And somehow, even in moments like this, she remained whole.
"I've always admired something about you, you know," he murmured.
Mei Ling blinked, tilting her head. "Admired what?"
He gestured vaguely with a wing. "How strong you are. Not just in a fight, but… for the people around you. You've pulled me out of my own self-doubt more times than I can count."
She let out a quiet breath, looking away for a moment.
"I don't always feel strong," she admitted.
Crane gave a small, knowing smile.
"Yeah, well. That's how I know you are."
Mei Ling exhaled slowly. There were no easy answers. No clean resolutions. Maybe there never would be. But she still had him. She gave the bird master a smile in return.
Mei Ling's gaze turned toward the far side of the room, where a weapon rested upon a decorative stand. Unlike the ornate spears and staffs of the Hall of Warriors, this blade carried a presence of its own.
She stepped forward, reaching for the guandao with a careful, deliberate touch. The lacquered wood of its shaft was smooth beneath her paw, its grip wrapped in fine silk, though the fabric had long since faded from its original pristine white to something more muted. The weapon's most striking feature, however, was the blade itself—an undulating, kris-like edge that shimmered coldly even in the dim light.
Mei Ling lifted it from its stand, feeling its balance. It was flawless. Effortless.
"This weapon," she murmured, running a claw along the blade's serpentine curves, "it's beautiful. Perfectly balanced."
She twirled it once, and the air itself seemed to recoil, hissing as the wicked edge sliced through it. The movement was elegant, precise—just as it had been in the grasp of its original owner.
"But it reeks of hatred and vile deeds," she added, her voice quieter now.
Crane stepped beside her, his expression unreadable as he regarded the weapon.
"It should," he said. "It belonged to Lord Shen."
The words settled heavily between them. The very thought of Shen—the fallen warlord, the architect of Gongmen City's darkest days—was enough to turn the air in the room colder. His spirit lingered in more than just memory. It lingered here, in the weapon he once wielded, in the cruel elegance of its design. The sweeping guard, the crimson accents, the feathered motif along the base of the blade—it was unmistakably his.
Mei Ling turned the guandao over in her grip with a flash of movement, weighing its past against its future.
"It will serve me now," she said at last.
There was no hesitation in her voice.
Crane met her eyes, then gave a small nod.
And with that, the past was left behind.
Tigress stepped aboard the largest of the convoy barges, its sheer size making it feel less like a vessel and more like a floating fortress. Crossing the wide deck, she keenly felt the many eyes of the guards watching her every movement. She proceeded nonetheless, descending the stairs into the cavernous hold of the ship. The air inside the interior meeting hall was thick with the subdued murmur of voices deep in debate.
A long wooden table stretched through the center of the chamber, covered in maps, scrolls, and carved figurines representing units spread across the various regions of China. Around it, generals of both Mongolian and Chinese descent huddled in heated discussion. Some gestured sharply at the maps, debating supply lines and strategic footholds, while others murmured among themselves, weighing options with measured expressions.
Tigress took a moment to assess the room. The Mongols were hardened warriors, their armor bearing the marks of their recent victories. The Chinese officers, though no less seasoned, carried themselves with a different kind of authority—steeped in tradition, their expensive silk robes and lacquered armor a stark contrast to the more rugged Mongolian garb.
At the far side of the room, standing apart from the others, was Su Wu. She showed little interest in the debate, her arms crossed as she leaned against one of the wooden support beams. The leopardess' eyes flicked toward Tigress as she entered, but she did not greet her. The old assassin clearly did not care which way the rest of the advisors decided.
The tiger strode further into the room, her eyes scanning the maps and the tense expressions of those around the table.
It didn't take long to find her brother.
Lord Boragal was at the center of it all, seated at the head of the war table, his posture one of measured authority even as the debate raged around him. He was listening intently, absorbing the arguments of his advisors with a furrowed brow and a calculating glint in his eye. He had only been ahead of her a few moments, and yet he had already been fully submerged into this madness.
To his left, a Mongolian general—a Gobi bear with a voice like rolling thunder—slammed his paw against the table. "We should press on to Hangzhou without delay! Khasar's forces are already mobilizing, and every moment wasted grants him the chance to fortify his position. If we strike now, before he consolidates his strength, we can break him before the true war even begins!"
Across from him, a Chinese ibex strategist in flowing green robes folded his hoofs calmly. "And leave our southern flank exposed?" he countered, his voice cool and deliberate. "The capital city may soon be the heart of Khasar's power, but the provinces of Guangxi and Guangdong hold the keys to long-term stability. With them under our control, we will have the strength of the south behind us. Ignore them, and we risk fighting a war on two fronts—against both Khasar and the local warlords who still weigh their allegiances."
The table erupted in divided murmurs. Some nodded in agreement, others scowled. The tension in the chamber was thick, but Boragal remained silent, his gaze moving back and forth between his advisors as he weighed their words.
Tigress remained at the edge of the room, watching. She could hardly have imagined ever finding herself in a situation like this; it still seemed altogether ridiculous that her brother was now at the command of forces powerful enough to even be discussing things such as this.
Then, Boragal's gaze lifted—and locked onto hers.
For a brief moment, the war council, the maps, the arguments—all of it faded into the background. His expression shifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before settling into something more measured.
Boragal rose to his full height, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the war table. His voice carried a weight that silenced even the most fervent of his advisors.
"And what of you, Tigress? What do you think?"
Boragal's golden eyes never left hers, even as the voices of the council fell away into an expectant hush. His question had been laced with something between mockery and intrigue, but the weight of his attention—and the room's—made it clear that her answer mattered. Even Su Wu, previously detached from the debate, glanced in her direction with quiet intrigue.
Tigress shifted her gaze to the map spread before them, the parchment creased and marked with careful strokes of ink. Cities, rivers, provinces, battlegrounds—each one a piece in the grander struggle. But her eyes settled on Guangxi. Home of the Jade Palace. Home of the Five.
Khasar's forces had already begun to encroach on the province. The longer Boragal's army delayed, the greater the risk to the people there. More than that, the Moon Pool had now surfaced in her dreams. The vision had been hazy, but its message had been undeniable—she had to get there. And if Boragal's campaign moved south, so would she.
"The southern route," she declared at last. "Secure the southern provinces. Gather their support. A war against Khasar is not just about one battle—it's about having the endurance to fight many."
The room instantly erupted into a frenzy of voices, arguments flaring hotter than before. Some barked their agreement, others scoffed in frustration, and a few took the chance to press their own strategies with renewed vigor. The din of debate surrounded her, but Tigress barely noticed.
Her eyes remained on Boragal.
He did not return to the table, nor did he engage in the discussion that now swirled in response to her words. Instead, he stepped back, slipping away from the chaos without a word.
Tigress followed.
They moved through a side door and into a smaller chamber, the noise of the war council fading into the background. Here, away from the others, the leopard finally turned to face her, arms folding over his chest. There was something about the way he regarded her that put Tigress on edge—something familiar, something dangerous. At this moment, he was not Lord Boragal, not The Demon—he was Tai Lung.
The leopard's eyes narrowed as he leaned towards her. "Why do you really want to push south?"
Tigress didn't hesitate or waste words.
"I've seen the Moon Pool in my dreams."
His expression shifted instantly, the casual arrogance slipping from his face like a discarded mask. He knew at once what she was referring to. The dreams were always the first sign of what was to come.
"You're certain?" he prodded. "I have no desire to return to that place."
Tigress folded her arms. "Yes, I'm certain."
Tai Lung looked to the side, his jaw clenching. "Fei Lian."
"You've met him too." she said. It wasn't a question.
The spotted feline exhaled through his nose. "Of course I have."
"You and I were both sent back. By the same wind god." Tigress asserted. "That's not a coincidence."
"No," he admitted. "It isn't."
"Then tell me why," Tigress pressed. "What did Fei Lian show you?"
For a moment, he only watched her, as if deciding whether she was even worth telling. The yelling in the other room crescendoed again. He made up his mind.
"He showed me the truth," Tai Lung said. "The truth of who I am." He looked at her, something dark and knowing in his expression. "Do you know why I never had a name? Why I was left at the temple with nothing?"
Tigress frowned, arms tightening across her chest.
"Because you were abandoned."
Tai Lung's expression contorted, and his reply came like a knife.
"You were abandoned." He stepped closer, his voice a low growl. "I was hidden."
Tigress matched him with a threatening gnarl that carried into her words.
"You don't know what you're saying."
"But I do," he countered, his gaze burning into her. "Fei Lian showed me what was stolen from me. The blood in my veins makes me heir to two empires, the rightful claimant to both realms. He told me my true name: Boragal, The Grey Flame. I am the fire that will forge a new order from the ashes of corruption."
Tigress just stared at him.
"You're delusional," she said, stepping forward. "You've let yourself be manipulated by a deity who sees us as nothing more than pieces in his game."
Tai Lung only chuckled. "You think Fei Lian controls me?" he said, voice thick with amusement. "No, sister. He revealed what I was meant to be." His eyes gleamed, his voice gaining a dangerous edge. "I saw it. I saw the future. Myself, seated upon the imperial throne. The armies of the world's greatest empire kneeling before me."
Tigress felt a cold weight settle in her stomach.
"Khasar, my half-brother, will try to stop us," he continued, his voice brimming with conviction. "But the Mandate of Heaven is not his to command. The winds favor us."
Tigress' ears flattened. "Khasar—" She cut herself off. "You're saying you and Khasar share the same bloodline?"
Tai Lung spread his paws as if the answer should have been obvious. "The last Great Khan had many heirs. Some legitimate, some… inconvenient. Our father ensured Khasar's claim was known. Mine, however?" His smirk deepened. "Mine was buried."
Tigress could hardly believe what she was hearing. "And you believe that makes you fit to rule?"
Tai Lung exhaled sharply, almost a laugh.
"It makes me the only one fit to rule. Khasar is a mindless beast with no vision beyond conquest. The Song Dynasty has crumbled, the Mongol empire is fractured, and Fei Lian himself has set chaos itself in my favor. It is my destiny to unite what has been divided."
Tigress stared at him, searching his face for some sign of hesitation, some moment of doubt. But there was none. Her brother truly believed this.
"That's what Fei Lian wants you to think," she said coldly.
Tai Lung stepped forward again, his golden eyes gleaming with self-assuredness. "Perhaps. But you and I both know—what Fei Lian wants and what will be are often the same thing."
Tigress' eyes darkened.
"Not if we try to stop him."
Tai Lung exhaled, a short, dismissive sound.
"Please." He waved a paw, turning slightly away as if the very thought was beneath him. "I have no interest in chasing after the 'grand designs' of the Wind Lord, nor in debating what schemes he's woven in the heavens. I know my own destiny, and that is all that matters."
Tigress clenched her fists. "And what about mine?"
Tai Lung tilted his head, looking at her as though she had just asked something pitifully naïve.
"If you don't know your own destiny, sister, that's your own fault," he said smoothly. "You had the same choice as I did. You asked to see the past." His expression twisted into something mocking. "Such a waste."
Tigress bared her teeth slightly, but he continued before she could speak.
"I saw the future," he said. "And I saw what is to come." He stepped past her, moving toward the door. "But since you have now seen the will of chaos in your dreams, then so be it. I will command my armies southward."
With that, he left her standing alone in the dimly lit chamber, her breath tight with restrained fury.
Beyond the doorway, the war council still roared with debate—until Tai Lung stepped inside once more, his presence cutting through the tumult like a serrated blade.
"We move south," he declared, his voice carrying across the hold of the ship. "Send word to the commanders."
The room fell silent, then erupted again—this time not in argument, but in action. Tigress watched from the shadows as officers and generals moved swiftly, bowing their heads before hurrying to carry out their orders.
A quiet presence moved beside her.
"So," came a voice, smooth and edged with wry perception. "It seems The Demon still fancies himself an emperor."
Tigress turned her head slightly. Su Wu stood next to her, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with the same look of detached amusement from before. She had been eavesdropping the whole time, clearly. The lantern light caught the dull hue of her blind eye, a pale contrast to the sharp glint in the other.
"I don't care what he fancies himself," Tigress muttered. "So long as he's moving south."
Su Wu hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, well. Convenient, isn't it? That your visions and his ambitions just so happen to align."
Tigress shot her a sidelong glance. "You don't believe in visions?"
The snow leopard smirked. "Oh, I believe in plenty of things. Divine revelations? Premonitions from the gods?" She shrugged. "Not so much. But I do believe in opportunity."
Tigress exhaled through her nose. "Is there a point to this?"
Su Wu uncrossed her arms and tilted her head toward the table, where Tai Lung was still speaking with his closest generals. "Just that you're playing a dangerous game, little sister."
Tigress tensed at the phrase.
Su Wu's smirk deepened, clearly enjoying herself. "Your brother loathes the idea of sharing power."
The striped feline folded her arms, her tail flicking once behind her. "I don't care about power."
"Ha," the leopardess mused as she turned to leave. "You may not care about power, but power cares about you."
With that, she disappeared into the throng of advisors, leaving the tiger alone with her thoughts.
Tigress hated that she knew Su Wu was right.
Author's Notes:
- Hey there, thanks for reading! I'm really happy to have been able to post some updates in fairly quick succession lately
- I thought it would be nice to give Yul another scene, as well as to continue with more Crane / Mei Ling interaction, finished off by Tigress and Tai Lung having some good old fashioned sibling banter about the fate of the world and all that
- The concept of Mei Ling replacing her destroyed spear with Shen's guandao was simply too badass of a notion to pass up
- Hope you enjoyed this one, until next time!