In Their Hands

You know," Dojo says as he sets down the teapot, looking over the the railing of the veranda to the wide, open courtyard of the monastery, "I really hate it, sometimes."

Master Fung only closes his eyes and takes another sip of his tea. "You know there is no other way, Dojo."

The dragon nods, but doesn't look away from the courtyard. "Yeah, but that doesn't make it any better." He crawls across the table and up Master Fung's arm, settling himself comfortably across the man's shoulders. "It never does."

"They will understand one day, even if they do not understand now."

Dojo falls silent and continues to look out across the courtyard. The young monks are there, all four of them, playing a game of soccer. It's hard to believe that just this morning they had traveled the world in their pursuit of Shen Gong Wu, foiled the plans of an over-ambitious boy genius and his ghostly companion (yet again), won a mystical artifact in a reality-altering competition, and had come back home to the temple again, all before lunch; if he didn't know any better, Dojo would have thought that they were just a bunch of kids taking advantage of a sunny day to be just that—just average kids, without mystical elemental powers or incredible martial arts prowess or the fate of the of the world resting on their young shoulders. "They're still kids, though.

Master Fung's expression falls, and he sighs. "I know," he says, "but they will not be for much longer."

The dragon curls himself tighter around the old monk's shoulders. "I've seen it happen a hundred times over the last fifteen hundred years," he says, "and each time, it just gets more and more difficult to watch." He frowned sadly. "I swear, they get younger each time."

"The strength of the Xiaolin is in the conviction of the children." Master Fung pauses and watches the children as they run around the courtyard. A smile plays about his lips as Omi scores a goal and Clay lifts the smaller boy onto his shoulders in celebration; Kimiko and Raimundo, meanwhile, seem to be arguing about the best way to protect the goal, with their apparent discussion ending when the girl delivers a swift kick to the boy's midsection, knocking him to the ground. "They are our future."

Dojo shakes his head sadly and snakes his way down Master Fung's arm and back onto the table. "You've never seen it, though—the Heylin side's got immortal, evil warriors. And every time they get to acting up again, we have..." he gestures to the courtyard. "Kids who are forced to grow up to quickly because they're the only ones who can save the world."

"Their sacrifice is not in vain, Dojo," comes the reply. "You know this."

Dojo curls up in the patch of sunlight shining on the table and closes his eyes. "That still doesn't make it better."

Beyond the fact that I've always thought it rather sad that the future of the world—and that of the forces of good—lie in the hands of a bunch of kids who essentially give up their childhood in order to train and devote their lives to the fight of good versus evil, I have nothing else to add.