Po charged.

Po smiled, tears on his fur. “And I know you chose me. That makes you just as real.”

“The panda!” Shen laughed, a high, brittle sound. “The orphan who thinks he’s a warrior. Do you know what your parents were? Weak. They ran. They left you to die.”

Po faltered. For a split second, he saw the radish crate again. The rain. The red. Shen saw the hesitation and struck. A blade of metal caught Po across the chest, sending him crashing through a wall.

Shifu opened one eye. “The past is a wound, Po. Do not pick at the scab.”

The fireball shot back, striking the cannon. The explosion was colossal, swallowing Shen’s war machines, tearing the tower apart. Shen looked up, his perfect feathers singed, his madness finally meeting reality.

Po walked out of the smoke. His eyes were no longer confused. They were as clear as a mountain lake.

He looked at his paws. The past was not a chain. It was a river. It had brought him here, to this moment, to this dusty floor.

“I love you,” the vision whispered. “I did not leave you to be weak. I left you to be strong. To live.”

Inner peace.

“Po, run!” Tigress yelled.

And Po closed his eyes.