She opened her eyes, and Zen knelt before her. He held one hand to his stomach, where a large gash ripped across his robes. Rain mingled with blood, dripping down his face. She lowered her ocarina. “Lan,” he panted, and she flinched at the sound of his voice. Once, her heart might have ached at the sight of him bleeding and injured before her. But that had been for Zen, the boy who had saved her on the walls of Haak’gong, who had patiently taught her practitioning, who had followed the tenets to the Way with rigid stubbornness. Who had kissed away her tears and promised she would never need to
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