T. Ippen Digest

Time to regale you with another lil' somethin' I threw together a few months back. Enjoy.

April 23rd, 2009. I woke this morning in a cold sweat. It was the same dream. I dreamt that today he came, and that we were not prepared, which, at this moment, is entirely the truth. I lost my spirit in the eyes of doom.

Thankfully, in the waking world, we yet have time. Eleven days remain to train, and eleven nights to study and meditate. I am doing all that I can to prepare them, though I am beginning to fear that they cannot, regardless of their enthusiasm, hope to stand against him and survive. I have come to them too late.

It pains me when I look in their eyes and see a glimmer of hope; perhaps they feel that they will grow strong enough to defeat him, or perhaps, as I fear, they simply assume that my strength will be enough to stop him. Indeed, I sometimes find myself adrift in foolish daydreams of my own ability, but this is folly. I cannot stop him. He has become too powerful. I remember long ago, in the halcyon days of our childhood, all of our time was spent training; we tested our strength against one another, and it was I who was the strongest, the most skilled. My advantage faded with our youth, and soon our competition grew agitating and bitter. I could see our places changing, gradually, and poured my heart into defeating him every time we clashed. He did the same, and once we were evenly matched, our relationship soured, and the playful fighting of our past was dead. 

I knew that he would become stronger than I could ever hope to be; he was already more than my match, but I manipulated bitterness and dry excuses to convince myself that I still held some advantage in strength, tactics, or wisdom... after all, I was the elder. I see now how pitiful I was back then. No matter how I rationalized it, the better fighter was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, my younger brother.

His resolve to continuously improve only grew, while mine wavered, humiliated and unsure. It was at this time he traveled East, and I allowed my weary heart and body to rest. In the time he spent there, he wasted not a single moment––he was wholly devoted to his craft, he had become a master––and now he returns. I was a fool to sit idly so long, allowing my skills to deteriorate, thinking this day would never come.

I must now face my mistake. This battle between Kin is now as sure as the tide. I will face him, but what can one man do to stop this encroaching tidal wave? I have found some old strength in myself, some new, and fill the empty spaces with the light in the eyes of my family, whom I now train in a last desperate attempt to weather this storm. Though it pains us all, my brother has become too powerful. We will stop him, or we will not. Regardless, we will stand.

Every day their improvement impresses me. I can see the sparks of a once skilled man in my father. He is always so calm on the battlefield. Even in moments of true intensity and pain, his face is relaxed, as though he has already seen every outcome––the end of all things––and he is pleased. My mother is no fighter, but even she has taken up the charge I have laid upon our house. I cannot imagine how it must feel for a mother to engage her son in final combat as she must, and I pray that when the time comes she will understand what her second son has become, and do what must be done. My sister, the youngest of us, faces this challenge with remarkable tenacity and enthusiasm. She has focused her training on techniques I do not fully understand, and largely ignore. However, my brother and I are two sides of the same coin, and if her unfamiliar style surprises me, it may well have the same effect on our brother. I hope this is so. 

As I write these words, I again dare to hope that he can be thwarted; I am a fool. If I close my eyes now, I feel I can clearly see the entire encounter playing out before me. I see him there, long blonde hair thrashing in a western wind against his blood-red gi. I stand before him, robed in the white of our house, wearing the red headband I wore as a child, in training. I can hear his voice, see the flash of blue, and feel the air rush past my body as I crash into the floor. I can hear him approach, and all I can do is strain to think of my next move as his arm flares a brilliant orange fire, and I can bear no more.

I care not for what my destiny may or may not be. I will fight you, Daniel, with everything I have!