Guan Yu

"His loyalty was never to an oath; it was to a faith." —Lu Bu The rain fell hard, drumming against his armor like a muffled bell. Red Hare planted its hooves at the edge of the rushing river, stamping, snorting, and refusing to enter. "Easy now, Red Hare... Take me back to them," Guan Yu murmured into the horse's ear. For a moment, he thought he saw Liu Bei on the far bank, calling out through the storm. Suddenly, a flash of lightning struck, and he awoke from this nightmare. Snowstorms howled at the cave entrance. Guan Yu got up to see, but felt a prickling unease as a voice echoed in his memory, from a conversation he had months prior: "At Hulao Pass, three heroes stood against me, and the world praised their names. To see one of them now, so worn and lost… it almost stirs pity." "Lu Bu... Dong Zhuo has been dead for years. And yet you still roam this realm?" A hollow laugh echoed. "You pursue honor, yet fail to see that you, too, are an exile of that old world. There is no master here, Guan Yu. No order." "Then, what remains?" "Truth," Lu Bu's voice faded against the howls of the storm. "Ride east, across the land, and see it with your own eyes." Now, it seemed Lu Bu had been right. Guan Yu's nerves trembled: If the old world was gone, then what meaning did Liu Bei's cause, or his own loyalty, still hold? For whom would his Crescent Blade strike? Through the Blackroot Bog and across the Denso Prairie, Guan Yu headed east towards the Mordeus. Here, the Tides of Darkness were surging. Darkness howled, evil screamed. The living, the dead, the greedy, the innocent—all were equal here, all swallowed into chaos. As Guan Yu approached a ruined settlement, a battered squad of guards stormed past him, ragged and blood-stained, yet anchored with a desperate resolve. Behind them, a young soldier—no older than seventeen—braced himself against the pursuing chaos, lifting his shield to protect an injured companion. Terror twisted his face, yet he held until his knees buckled. Guan Yu left the Mordeus, but the screams echoed in his mind, and a familiar feeling began to permeate his heart. He wandered the festered lands for some time, watching goodwill turn to dust, and small hopes of flame get extinguished. Many a time, Guan Yu could have prospered from the others' suffering—after all, what did he owe this land? Yet each time, something in him held back. He was waiting—For what? For whom? He didn't know. Until, on another night of restless rain, a loud cry jolted him upright. Outside, wagons lined up as fleeing villagers scattered. Bandits had arrived, and they were closing in on the family who'd offered him shelter that night. Then, in an instant, a bolt of lightning tore across the sky, revealing their terrified faces—it was the same expression he had seen on the boy in the desert. Helpless, panicked, despairing. Guan Yu closed his eyes and drew a long breath. It had all become clear: The peach garden of his dreams was no more. They say new beginnings breed new opportunities, but perhaps the actors never change. Indeed, all this time, he had not been seeking a new brother, a new master, or a new war, but instead, a reason to stop turning away. Guan Yu opened his eyes and slid his steel from its scabbard. Thunder responded.