Kim and Mao

A cinematic fantasy scene inside a royal chamber where a glowing, rectangular blue portal ripples in the air, dropping a sealed parchment letter. Below, a young man in dark tunics (Kim) catches the letter while shielding his wounded, pale brother (Mao) who lies on the floor. In the background, an older King sits on a golden throne with a shocked expression, surrounded by tall bookshelves and candlelight.

                              

The Southern Garrison "More arrows to the left flank—fire at will!"

Kim’s voice tore across the battlements. From his vantage point atop the Southern Garrison, the scale of the crisis was staggering. Below, a sea of a hundred thousand invaders surged against his five thousand defenders. If this wall cracked, the kingdom fell.

As he watched the chaos, an unwanted memory surfaced. He had once been a nobody—a poor youth who preferred silence to steel. It was General Sao who had plucked him from obscurity. Everyone had whispered when the General made a mere aide his protégé, but there was no time for whispers now.

An arrow whistled past Kim’s ear, missing him by a hair’s breadth. The near-miss snapped him back to reality. His eyes scanned the line, widening in shock as he spotted a breach. The enemy had exploited a thin line on the right flank, their grappling hooks already biting into the stone.

A grim smile touched Kim’s lips. They had taken the bait.

"Eagle Squad, to the right flank!" he bellowed. "Bless them with the oil!"

A hundred sappers heaved heavy vats over the edge. The air filled with the liquid’s heavy scent, followed immediately by the soul-piercing screams of the men below.

"Flaming arrows—loose!" Kim signaled.

The world turned orange. The ground below became a charnel house of writhing shadows and thick, oily smoke. When the enemy trumpets finally wailed the retreat, a heavy, hollow relief washed over him.

The Command Tent "This won't last," Kim said, the map on the table illuminated by flickering candlelight. "We need to end this war tonight."

"We need reinforcements from the capital," Eagle Squad’s leader argued, wiping soot from his brow.

"That’s a two-week march," Pak, the logistics officer, countered. "We don't have five days. Look at the numbers. We’re ghosts already."

"So what’s the move?" Jung, the infantry leader, asked.

"Tonight, I infiltrate their camp and kill their King," Kim declared.

The tent erupted. "No! That’s suicide!"

"The men look to you, Kim," Pak urged, his voice dropping. "If you fall, this garrison falls with you."

Kim sighed, meeting their eyes one by one. "I suppose it’s time for the truth. I am the last student of Master Mao."

The room went dead silent. "Impossible," the Eagle leader spat. "Master Mao died twenty years ago. You’re barely nineteen!"

"Master Mao died two years ago," Kim corrected softly. He raised a hand to still the coming outburst. "Please. Listen. Master Mao was a Prince—the King’s younger brother. He hated the court and loved the sword. He found me when I was an infant, adopted me, and raised me as his own. He taught me every strike, every shadow-step. He was the one who recommended me to General Sao."

The leaders stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

"Master Mao had a biological son, too," Kim continued. "But like his father, he shuns titles. Even with his uncle on the throne, he prefers the dirt to the palace."

"Where is he?" Pak asked, glancing toward the tent flap.

"The little rascal is nearby," Kim smirked. "Probably watching us right now. He’s stubborn, loud-mouthed, and hates orders. But he’s my brother—and we’re going into that camp together. Only Master Mao’s students have a prayer of getting close to that King."

Suddenly, a heavy thump echoed from behind a supply cabinet, followed by a muffled curse.

"Who’s there?" Pak demanded, his sword clearing its scabbard in a flash.

"Shut up!" a voice hissed from the shadows. Fast, retreating footsteps drummed against the ground outside.

Kim broke into a genuine laugh. "Gentlemen, relax. That was my brother—Mao."

The Capital Miles away, the King stared into the swirling depths of a scrying glass. "Mao... my nephew," he murmured. He straightened, his regal bearing returning as he turned to his court. "General Kung, how soon until the army reaches the Southern Garrison?"

"Your Majesty," Kung bowed low, "two weeks, if we push the horses."

"Too long! My nephews are raiding the enemy camp tonight. It seems my brother was busier than he let on. An adopted son and one of his own blood... I will not lose them. Treat them as Princes of the Realm. If they fall because we were slow, heads will roll. Move!"

General Kung frantically left the palace after collecting a full battle lion. He dared not delay, or his head would roll. He wondered how no one knew about the King’s brother’s children—and to cap it all, they were defending the country at the thick of the battle. He felt a glowing pride as he mounted his horse. "There will be no delay! We hurry to the Southern Garrison even if we have to crawl. Travel light; we move fast!"

After Kung left, the King fell into a nervous state. He remembered that he was never meant to wear the crown; his brother Mao had been the chosen one. He could still see his brother’s face as he spoke those final words years ago:

"My beloved brother, it pains me to do this, but I have no interest in the kingship. I am passing it to you. I hope you will forgive me, for this will be a heavy burden upon your shoulders. You deserve to rule better than I. You will understand when the time comes."

Mao had vanished shortly after. The King still hadn't come to terms with what he meant by "forgive me." He had avoided scrying his brother for years, knowing the absence would hurt too much. But now, everything had changed. "Oh, Mao... my beloved brother," he vowed. "Your sons will be my sons, and I will show them the fatherly love they deserve."

He was distracted by his advisors. "Your Majesty," the Chief Advisor called. "A bird just arrived with a note from the Southern Garrison."

The King tore it open. It was from Master Pak.

Your Majesty, Master Mao and Master Kim are infiltrating the enemy camp to eliminate their King. We are desperate for reinforcements.

The King roared, "How can my sons be this desperate?" He excused himself to his private chamber. He didn't want the court to know his nephews' plans, fearing traitors might leak the word.

The Enemy Camp At the edge of the enemy camp, the two brothers spied on the sentries. Mao’s impatience was boiling over. "You distract them, I slip in," he whispered, kicking a stone.

"No," Kim said. "We do it together. Our powers work in tandem, not separately. That was Father’s final lesson."

"Is that why you told the officers about me?" Mao grumbled. "I liked being invisible."

"Too bad. Now they know," Kim grinned. "Focus. The enemy King has the Mandate of Invincibility. But your power of Divine Identity and my power of Shadow will reveal him. Father researched this for years to protect the kingdom."

"Does our King know about us?" Mao asked.

"He scries," Kim replied. "He may be watching right now."

"Can he hear us?"

"How would I know? Just look—the guard on the right counts three steps before he moves. The one on the left is lazy. That’s our gap. Go!"

Mao slapped Kim on the back of the head. "Fool. Focus."

In the palace, the King watched through the glass. He pricked his finger, sprinkling blood on the surface and whispering an incantation. Their voices filled the room. He smiled, watching them bicker. He quietly prayed for their success, determined to bring them to the palace by any means necessary.

"They are my sons now," he muttered.

The Shadow’s Retreat

The enemy King stood like a statue of black iron in the center of his tent. Mao’s blade, fueled by his Divine Identity, struck the King’s chest, that was a mistake because his power could only work with Kim's shadow power, with the force of an hurricane—but it shattered. As the king activate the divine invisibility he stood there shock and forget to retreat of create a defense.

Before Mao could recover, the enemy King backhanded him with a gauntlet fist lace with the power of invincibility. The blow sent Mao spiraling into a weapon rack, a jagged spearhead that has been dip into the power of invincibility piercing his side, and he started bleeding as his divine power was unable to mend the wound.

"Mao!" Kim screamed.

The enemy King stepped forward to finish the job, but Kim didn't hesitate. He attack the enemy king with the skills he had horn through the years, he forgot about his shadow power and struck with the lighting the thunder strike. The enemy king just grin and struck with his power of invincibility turning the tent black, and a thick, unnatural ink bled from the air making it hard to breath, swallowing the brothers in a void of darkness. When the enemy King struck the spot where they had stood, he hit nothing but a chunk of his tent pole.

The Command Tent Kim collapsed into the tent at the Southern Garrison, dragging Mao’s limp body behind him. They were lucky to escape with their lives, it had been a stoke of good luck when his power had activate as he near Mao's prone body. The white fabric of Mao’s tunic was now a deep, pulsing crimson.

"Master Pak! Get the healers!" Kim roared.

An elder priest was brought in. He performed a Divine Ritual, tracing ancient symbols in the air over Mao’s wound. The symbols glowed red, and then a deep blue, then turned a sickly white no herb or concoction can stop it. There is only one cure."

"What is it?," Kim demanded, clutching Mao’s cold hand.

"The blood of the True Lineage," the priest said. "Only the King's blood the ruler of this realm—has blood pure enough to wash away this rot. If he does not receive it before the moon sets tomorrow, your brother will be a dead."

"I have a divine power too, can it work?

"No.

The Road To The Capital

The Road to the Capital Kim didn't wait for a horse. He strapped his brother to his back, using his Shadow power, and combining it with Mao's divine power which he was glad is still functioning even though he was out cold to lighten Mao’s weight, and began a desperate sprint toward the capital. His lungs burned, but he never slow not even to take a drink, and his boots were shredded by the rocky road, but he don't care, he is ready to do anything for his brother even if it means to sacrifice his own life for Mao's he would gladly do it.

As dawn broke, the sound of rhythmic thumping shook the earth. Kim slowed, his hand going to his sword, until he saw the golden banners of the king.

General Kung, mounted on a massive, armored beast, pulled the reins so hard the creature reared back. He saw the two youths—one covered in soot and shadow, the other pale and dying.

"Princes!" Kung shouted, leaping from his mount.

"Who are you? Kim asks as he had never meet the general before.

" I'm General Kung, sent by his Majesty.

"He’s dying," Kim gasped, falling to his knees. "He needs the King. Now, can we hurry, there should be no delay or all would be lost.

Kung didn't hesitate a second. He looked at his elite legion. "Listen to me! Half of you proceed to the Southern Garrison, hold the wall or die trying! The rest of you, form a diamond ring and protect the princes! We are taking the Princes to the palace. If anyone slows us down, he would regret the day he join the army, cut them where they stand!"

The soldiers let out a deafening roar. Kim was hoisted onto the General’s own war horse, cradling Mao in his arms. With the thunder of the elite solders hooves behind them, they turned back toward the capital in a race against time. Kim was soon tying Mao's to his body tightly as he made the horse to ride with every speed it has got.

The Price of Blood

The journey was a blur of dust and fear for his brother, but they reached the capital just as the sun began to dip. The palace guards, acting on the King's standing order, hurriedly take them inside and rushed them directly into the royal chambers. The King stood waiting, his eyes red from hours of staring into the scrying glass.

Kim’s heart was heavy. He was afraid by the image of the Southern Garrison falling without them, he just pray the men would do the needful, and avert any disaster since their mission is a failure. He had a plan to stop the enemy King, but its success depended entirely on his uncle the king, and on Mao survival.

As they burst into the room, Mao’s skin was a sickly, blue. The King rushed forward, his face etched with raw emotion as he embraced Kim briefly before turning his full attention to the dying boy.

"Out! Everyone out!" the King roared. Only Kim remained.

"My sons," the King croaked, his voice thick with grief. He didn't waste another second. He drew a ceremonial dagger, sliced his palm open, and pressed the gushing wound directly against Mao’s jagged injury. He then let several drops of the royal blood fall into Mao’s mouth to ensure the counter-curse took hold.

"Is there a price to pay?" Kim asked quietly, watching the color slowly return to his brother’s cheeks.

The King frowned, his brow furrowing. "What price?"

"For this," Kim gestured to the wound that was visibly knitting itself back together.

The King sighed, a weight settling over him. "There is no price. I only ask that you both stay. I want you here, in the palace. I want you to live as the Princes you are."

"See? That... that was what I was afraid of," came a weak, raspy voice.

Kim looked down. Mao was looking up at them, his eyes weary but clear. "Mao!" Kim cried, tears of relief spilling over as he hugged his brother. "You’re going to be fine."

"Yeah," Mao muttered. "But at what cost?"

"There is no cost," the King insisted. "Forgive me if I sound overbearing, but I am alone. The palace is a vulture's nest of politics. I need people I can trust."

"I hate politics," Mao said, turning his face away.

The King managed a sad smile. "Your father hated politics, too. It seems he passed that to you."

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," Kim interrupted, his voice turning urgent. "But there is no time for this. We failed our mission, and the enemy King will be launching his final assault soon. I have a plan, but we must act."

Before the King could respond, the air above them shivered. An invisible door rippled open in mid-air, and a single parchment fluttered down before the portal vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Kim caught the letter and handed it to the King. "It is for you, Sire."

The King broke the seal. His hands began to shake as he recognized the handwriting of his long-dead brother.

My Brother,

If this letter has appeared, it means you have met my sons and I am no longer of this world. It means you have given your blood to Little Mao to save his life—just as I gave my life to save yours, unknown to you. It comes with a price, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my silence.

Long ago, a prophecy was spoken: "The Ruler of Hell will choose one of the two Princes. To save the kingdom and continue the bloodline, a life must be given at the cost of the King's vitality."

In order to save the realm during your coronation, I traded my future. The cost was that you could never father a child of your own. You will still have two sons—one of my bloodline, and the other a mystery that only time and divine power will solve. Forgive me for not telling you, brother. Everything I did, I did to keep the crown on your head.

—Mao

The King's Realization

The king was stunned by the letter he had just read. He knew something was wrong as he couldn't father a child; it had been nagging at the back of his mind, but he guessed the stress of ruling had made him forget his shortcoming as a man. He watched as Mao's color started returning and he could see he was getting stronger. He was thrown out of his thoughts by Kim's voice.

"How can you be so stupid as to attack that devil alone?" Kim was saying to Mao.

"He was defenseless. I thought I could end it all," Mao croaked weakly.

"I told you, our powers had to work together to defeat him, and now he would be angry and may have attacked the Southern Garrison due to your brashness."

"I'm sorry," Mao said with a downcast look.

"You're crazy and stupid. You made my heart nearly stop when I saw you getting impaled. I..." His voice cracked.

The king watched all this and he thought his brother had done good in raising them to be this emotional with raw love.

"What is done is done," the king said, and they turned to look at him.

"I have a plan to stop him," Kim said. "All I need is for the both of you to cooperate."

"We will get to that," the king said with a sigh. "We need to talk about the three of us first."

"That should wait. Lives are at stake."

"You can't do anything until Mao here is strong enough. Let us talk."

"About what?" Mao asked. "I'm not going to live here if that is what you want."

"Don't make it hard on me. You both are my sons now and I need you, just as the kingdom needs you."

"But we have been doing fine without you, and you too have been doing fine without us," Mao said stubbornly.

"Mao! Cut it," Kim said.

"What! Am I not right? I don't want to live in this nest of vipers."

"Cut it out!" Kim roared. "This is not the time to whine about what you want and what you don't want."

"I'm sorry," the king said. "I didn't mean to drag you here like this."

"Don't worry. It is not your fault; circumstances happen."

"And?" the king asked hopefully.

"We will get there. We are your family and we will never let you down. I promise you this: we will always be there for you. But first, we need to fight for that peace we are seeking. We need to defeat the enemy so we can live happily, and after that, then we will have that long talk you want."

"Fair enough," the king said as he looked at Kim. "You're full of wisdom at your age. Your father trained you well."

"Thank you. I hope I can learn more from you."

"And you, Mao?" the king asked.

"I have got no choice in this. Kim has already decided and that is good for me."

"So, what is the plan?" the king asked Kim.