“It’s not just me, it’s all of us? Have the others noticed it?” Leonardo queried, absorbed in inspecting the odd faint blemishes near the ends of his fingers.
“I don’t think they’ve realised what’s happening. I didn’t notice it until you brought it to my attention. I guess Raph and Mike just figured it was bruising or something, if they noticed it at all.” Donatello shrugged. “But the data the Utroms provided me when I asked them about this phenomenon is very interesting indeed. From their studies into the effects of the mutagen it seems not all of the trace amounts of DNA sheltered in our mitochondria was altered. And, basically, that unaltered mitochondrial DNA is gradually repairing the nucleic DNA sequences transformed in our mutation.”

“Repairing?” Leonardo shot his brother a look of profound concern.
“Don’t worry Leo. At the rate our DNA is reverting we would have to live to be over 3,000 years old before we entirely lost the ability to walk upright.”
“Is that a fact, or an assumption?”
“It’s an assumption.” admitted Donatello, unfazed by the question. He expected no less from Leonardo, knowing his brother did not ask out of disrespect. “However, considering it’s taken close to thirty years for something as minor as cuticles to start becoming visible, I think it’s a fairly safe postulation we won’t survive long enough to fully devolve. It’s an issue we need to keep in mind, yes. But by the current estimates from the Utroms, it’ll be at least another ten years before our claws actually develop enough to even be comparable to human nails.”

---------- ----------

“A sibling Master?”
“Yes, Shifu. You do not believe Tai Lung would benefit from having a sibling?”
“I, uh. I do not see how he could. All of his, and my, time and energy are devoted to his training. Adopting another child would, at best, be an unwelcome distraction for us both. And that would barely be fair on the child to be adopted.”
“I feel a sibling may bring balance, and yes perhaps even a little perspective, to Tai Lung. Something you may both benefit from.”
“How, Master Oogway?”

“Hmmm…” the ancient one smiled. “When I was very young, I had a brother. Three, in fact. But this brother in particular was the finest swordsman I have ever seen. He knew the meaning of humility, far better than I did in those days. Still, he was young, rash. He had not yet fully learned the lesson that the weapon does not make the warrior. When our Master tried to show him the error of his ways my brother left our home in frustration, sure his swords were what made him the greatest of us all. My remaining brothers and I followed him, to ensure he did not stray into trouble.”

Shifu sat attentive, despite Oogway falling silent. The warm breeze stirred the sweet scent of the peach blossoms overhead. A beetle scurried unhurriedly by in the gathering dusk. And Shifu drew a deep breath,
“I can understand how four could be a handful, but I have only the one student. I can ensure he is kept out of harms’ way…”

“Oh ho Shifu.” Oogway chuckled softly. “My kin and I did not keep our brother out of strife. Far from it! We did not interfere when he was tempted with a remarkable weapon by a terrible foe. We did not offer him words of wisdom, or reconciliation. Instead we demanded he share the sword he had been gifted. In our taunting of him, the matter escalated to the point he almost harmed… one of us. It was then he realised the true worth of a weapon could never outweigh the worth of a life. A weapon is merely an extension of the one who wields it.”

In the lingering quiet that followed, Shifu considered his Masters’ words carefully.
“I do not understand Master. What exactly did you do to teach your brother these lessons?”
“Do? We did not do anything. My brother learned the lessons for himself.”
“How, then, does this story prove that siblings can provide perspective?”
“Ah, by being the catalyst. Without us, my brother may not have learned those lessons as quickly or as thoroughly. In ways such as this, we all taught each other much that cannot be learned as effectively in the training hall alone.”

Slowly the sun sank below the horizon. As the final light of day bled from the sky Shifu gave a small nod.
“Thank you Master. I believe I see the wisdom you are sharing with me. However, I do not think that a sibling would be able to teach Tai Lung anything that I could not, in time.” Rising, Shifu gave a deep bow to his Master before leaving for his evening training session with his favoured student.

Breathing deep the heady scent of the peach blossom, Oogway closed his eyes. A long moment later the turtle released his breath in a lingering, melancholic sigh.

---------- ----------

“For all they’re brains an’ shit, the Utroms sure can be fuckin’ stupid! Surely they saw this comin’ when they only banished Shred-head over topping the bastard?”
“If they had killed him in cold-blood that would have only made the Utroms, and us I might add, sink to Ch’rells’ level.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. Personally I woulda preferred a ‘stain’” Raphaels’ lip curled in sarcasm, “on my honour to an all out fuckin’ war. The Utroms knew… Fuck it, we knew, Shredder had followers all throughout the damn universe who would stop at nuthin’ to get him back. Leavin’ him on that chunk o’ ice was just askin’ fer this. We shoulda been done with this back then. Not still be fightin’ the same battle after sixty damn years. It’s too much.” Raphael lifted the mug of whiskey to his lips, “It’s cost us too much.” he muttered against the rim before taking a hefty gulp.

“What would you have me do, Raph? Tell the Utroms’ we want to retire as Guardians?”
“Retire?” Raphael gave a humourless chortle, “We haven’t exactly gotten a steady pay-check outta this gig.”
“Don’t be facetious. Money has nothing to with it.”

The brothers stared out into the endless black of the cosmos drifting past their small cabin window, the view blocked suddenly by the scarred and barren surface of a once thriving planet. A world they recognised all too well, both giving a small subconscious bow to the resting place of their Master.
“Yeah, I know Leo.” Raphael relented flatly.

---------- ----------

A tentative sniff warned Monkey it was sickly sweet, but how could he refuse such an offering from the one who had saved him from himself? Taking a sip of the brew it was a battle to stop his mouth contorting in disgust before he forced himself to swallow, the tea searing a tacky path down his throat to settle like a glowing ember in his stomach.
“Do you like it?” enquired Master Oogway. Schooling his face into a grateful smile, Monkey nodded. It was a few moments more before he trusted himself to speak.
“I’ve never had a peach tea quite like it.” he admitted.

Oogway chuckled. “Yes, it is quite an experience the first time you taste it. However you will find this tea not only invigorating, but may help you to find the right frame of mind to focus on your meditations. I, too, had trouble putting distractions from my mind in my youth.”
“So you developed this tea to help you?” asked Monkey, starting to find the warmth spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body was pleasing enough to consider taking another sip from his cup.
“I did not invent this tea,” smiled Oogway, pouring a cup for himself, “It is an old family recipe passed down to me by my Master.”

“Your Master?” Monkey couldn’t quite believe his ears. “But I thought you were the one who first mastered Kung Fu?”
“I was, in this place and time.” Oogway paused to relish a long sip of his tea. “But I was not the first to understand that achieving harmony of the body and mind through training and discipline can bring harmony to the worlds around us. I was merely fortunate enough to remember it, during my life-time here.”

Perplexed, but not wanting to appear foolish for asking about an answer he had already been given, Monkey decided to finish his tea. He figured if it did indeed help him to achieve a meditative state, Master Oogways’ words may well prove interesting to meditate upon.

Inside their ramshackle hut, the numerous members of the Rabbit family were gathering around their kitchen table for their modest evening meal. A sudden blinding flash from outside had the head of the family, Father Rabbit, running into the street to investigate, fearful the Crocodile Clan were attacking the village yet again. Glancing up and down the street he saw… nothing. The hairs on his the back of his nape and long ears stood on end, and he succumbed to an overwhelming urge to look up; the instant before he was flattened.

Groaning, Father Rabbit struggled to crawl out from under the weight pinning him down. Concerned for her husband, Mother Rabbit peered around the doorway and with a gasp ran to his aid, helping to roll the unconscious reptile off her spouse. Standing over their unexpected visitor, the two rabbits wondered what to make of him. He was no crocodile; that much was certain.

“Do you think the Crocodile Clan attacked him?” fretted Mother Rabbit, concern furrowing her brow as she took note of the way the creatures’ blood seeped from multiple gashes to stain the dust on the road.
“Whatever his tale,” replied Father Rabbit, “I fear he won’t live to tell it if we don’t see to his wounds.”

---------- ----------

Master Splinter looked over his young students, trying in vain to mask the pride glinting in his eyes. They each kneeled upon the battered tatami mat, as still as their excitement would allow them. Despite numerous trials and tribulations, they had all worked long and hard in the dojo to earn this rite of passage. To begin their training with the jo, bokken and other wooden practice weapons.

“There is one final lesson you must learn, before I teach you any weapon techniques.”
“Awwww.” five year-old Raphael couldn’t help but utter. Splinter smiled to himself,
“You do not wish to know what the ultimate weapon is, Raphael-san?” Sitting up straighter, Raphael clamped his beak shut, nodding eagerly.

Splinter made them wait, enjoying letting the tension build until his young charges almost jumped in anticipation as he drew from behind his back… a mirror.
“Huh?” Michelangelo voiced what all the turtles were thinking.
“In this mirror,” explained Splinter stepping closer to hold the mirror up to his boys, “you will see the secret to ultimate power in any endeavour, including ninjutsu.”

All four turtles craned to look into the glass, puzzling at their own reflections.
“Um, what does it mean, Master?” Leonardo prompted nervously.
“You are the key. It will not be the weapons you wield, nor the techniques you learn. The only thing that will make you all great ninja, is your belief in yourselves. You must believe, my sons.”

---------- ----------

“I… cannot, Master. I am sorry.”
“It has been many months since Tai Lung attacked the valley. I have been assured by Commander Vachir that he is secure and comfortable in Chor Ghom prison. And your leg has healed well, has it not?”
“Yes.” admitted Shifu, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Why then can you not resume your role as teacher in the training hall?” Oogways’ voice was full of compassionate concern. Shifu paced at the waters’ edge, ripples spreading across the Moon Pools’ surface made the reflection of the dragon overhead shimmer and distort.

“How can I?” Shifu finally uttered, refusing to meet his Masters’ eyes. Leaning heavily on his staff, Oogway shuffled closer,
“May I ask a favour of you then, if you will have some time to spare?”

Shifu lifted his head, curious about the unexpected change of topic.
“Of course.”
“Good.” drawled Oogway, his smile warm and a glint in his eye, “The local orphanage has a small problem. A cub in need of a little guidance and gentle discipline…”

---------- ----------

The first thing he registered was the scent; warm, heavy and comforting. Like the fur of a rat. Accentuated by the aromas of hay, wood smoke and stew. Vegetable stew, he was certain.

Next came the pain. The familiar ache of deep wounds dressed and dulled with an analgesic. He creased his brow with a sudden conundrum over why the feeling should be familiar. How often did he get himself hurt like this? And what the heck was the language he could hear being spoken softly nearby? It sounded like Chinese. But then he couldn’t recall exactly what ‘Chinese’ actually meant.

Cautiously he opened his eyes, taking in the details of the cottage as well as he could; a bandage wrapped low over his forehead partially obscuring his view. Close to a dozen children milled about in the room; some gazed at him curiously, others tugged anxiously on their long, furred ears. By the fireplace an older couple of rabbits were talking in low voices with an ancient, dignified looking boar.

He groaned, shifting his head to get a better view making the pain in his skull flare. But he couldn’t help it, something didn’t seem right here. Everything he could see did look familiar in a way. However, something was niggling in his mind that what he was witnessing wasn’t normal, wasn’t home.

Wracking his brain trying to figure out just what that ‘normal’ should be made him moan again, gaining the attention of the adults. The matronly rabbit fussed with his dressings, speaking to him in soft, warm tones that helped ease the discomfort wrought by not knowing a thing she was saying, or what the pig was directing her to do.

It took him a while to register she was repeatedly asking him a question. His shrug and small shake of his head made him wince, but his carers seemed to understand what he meant. The male rabbit and pig striking up low conversation together that involved many a glance and gesture in his direction.

Eventually the pig gave a solemn nod and stepped over to place a hand gently on his patients’ chest.
“Oogway.”
“Huh?”
“Oogway.” the boar repeated levelly.
“O… Oogway?” What did it mean?

The pig pressed his hand to his own chest, “Zhu.” then placed his hand back upon his patient, “Oogway.”