A/N: I've never posted anything KFP before… So in celebration of the third movie, I dedicate these three drabbles to the fandom! I apologize in advance for grammar mistakes and OOC-ness. Everything here is pre-KFP and post-KFP2 (KFP3 didn't happen though).

Disclaimer: Kung Fu Panda is the property of Dreamworks Animation, I only own the dvds and my fangirlism for it.

Of Monsters and Skies

...

One of the kids in Bao Gu once told her that the sky can't be orange. What a lie, she told him. She'd seen beautiful colors, not just blue, stain the sky in hundreds of georgeous shades. At dawn, she could see soft pink and purple complementing each other on the horizon. At sundown, the sky would lit up in pretentious mix of gold and red. And at night it was black and silver that adorned the earth's vast open sky. He was wrong. There was so much more to the sky than the cerulean he had splashed over her orange sky painting.

That day she pushed him against the table. It instantly broke into two pieces; the boy got a fractured wrist, and she was not allowed to paint anymore.

"You're a monster, a monster! The sky is blue! The sky is blue!" they chanted as the caretaker sent her to her room.

Nothing frightened her more than the haunting echoes of her bedroom door's metal lock twisting into its intended position, serving its purpose as confining tool.

She had a very small window above her bed. It was slightly far from her reach, but when sunset came near that day she had desperately stood on her toes, pushing herself upwards as much as she could. The effort was only enough for her eyes to reach the window's height. Those orange eyes of hers came face to face with the setting sun's glorious rays, both of similar color.

The sky was not blue, and she slept soundly only to wake up to a sky that was not (yet) blue either.

Lullaby for Heroes

...

He felt his upcoming end within the voids. Perhaps that feeling was a warning of the end of his life. But that would mean a spare granted from the universe, and he knew he had too much faults to be presented such a gift as the afterlife.

His heart was burnt alive when the final cannon destroyed Gongmen Bay.

Shifu remembered Mantis' scream. He remembered Crane pulling Monkey and Viper under the protection of his wounded wings. He remembered his daughter shouting a name that was neither his nor theirs, and he remembered how she had swam in pure horror and hopelessness to the last standing boat. They all disintegrated as the loud boom sounded; quick, powerful, just like the thunder that warned him.

The fire did not consume him.

But his… children.

They were gone as soon as he shielded his eyes from the blinding light.

"They knew the risk," said the emperor during the trial in which Shifu was called upon to bear witness. There was no use in judging the dead, now, was there? And his children won't come back. But those now seemingly heartless politic-obsessed people had asked him in his grieving state to relive his ultimate nightmare over and over again, as if he was a record scroll who couldn't break down out of hopelessness like a living being. Could they not feel sympathy when his ears twitched in fear as he remembered those horrified screams?

"They knew the risk and they died a hero's death," he said again. "They died with honor."

Shifu shouldn't be grieving like this, everyone tried to say. He was a grandmaster and of high status. His students were nothing compared to his experience and age, they implied in their condolences.

I don't care.

"They might have been your hero yesterday, but they've been my savior for years, even when I didn't realize it," the grand master said when he finally got home where ghosts now dwell in the shadows of the student barracks, whispering accusations to the old man who now only dreamed of a proper goodbye and an apology. In his prayers the ghosts did not dare speak, but they plagued his nightmares and fanned his flames of guilt as days go by and people started to retire from their mourning. How could they not go on with their lives? Heroes are more often than not strangers to the people, and that was the bitter truth.

But the grand master paid with his inner peace.

In their shrine, under the ancestral tablets carved with their names, lay an incomplete set of dominoes, a ribbon, an acupuncture needle, a bo staff, a small panda doll he found floating on Gongmen Bay, and a paint brush. If he was not there praying for them, he would often find himself meditating on the very same spot where his own master had said goodbye, asking him to believe in Po as the panda believed in him and the Furious Five. Believing did not only get him the hero they needed; it got him patience, a daily reminder that he had a wonderful family surrounding him, and it got him inner peace. He was hoping he could try to gain it back, to start over from the beginning. But there was no such thing for him anymore, he realized, as he brushed his stiff fingers against a small cherry blossom petal, hearing Tigress and Viper's soft laughter somewhere beyond his reach. He averted his gaze upwards, where a red handmade lantern was hanging from one of the tree's branches. It was a winter festival gift from Po, to guide him if he should ever find himself lost.

In the end the master rose, but there was no one left around to fix him.

"And what of the Dragon Warrior?"

Shifu gazed into the distant past, trying to ignore the giant panda's enthusiasm for kung fu. Failing. The prestige title sounded alien in his ears now. "He was…" his eyelids drooped, but a clear memory tugged the corner of his lips, even if just slightly, upwards. "He wasn't there."

All eyes in the court were on him.

"Then who stopped Lord Shen's army?"

"Po."

Because the title didn't make him a hero. His love for the world did.

Rest

...

Dawn was upon them. Reality shall shine with the sun, cascading truths among the illusions and fantasies. It will enlighten them, elders say, from the endless maze of terrors at night that since generations ago have collected lost souls. And so mortals risked separating themselves from the world every night, thinking they could escape.

Therefore, at the sight before him, the Dragon Warrior wished that it was all just a horrible nightmare.

They say history repeats itself, in ways no storytellers or soothsayers could ever imagine. But it does repeat itself, Po realized, as his home burned to the ground for the second time. And instead of a radish basket, this time he found himself on top of the world, gazing down at a black speck on the bottom of the mountain stairs where Valley of Peace no longer stood, its name's glory lost to the bloody battle that came one sunrise ago.

He couldn't force himself to ask when Viper slithered out of their refuge hospital, bruised and tattered and without her smile.

Crane had been by the cliff since dusk, staring at the sky. Trying to ignore the ghostly brushes of a wing that was no longer there.

Po just stood there by the river, emotionless, avoiding the villagers' gazes. He couldn't force himself to say a word to honor Mantis and Monkey's sacrifice. But he was the first amongst many who lit the incenses, and he bowed down with full respect to bid his two friends and many innocent victims goodbye.

He couldn't even thank Tigress who was torn both physically and mentally. The one thing he wanted her to know never reached her because he was a broken coward, stuck between grief and hollowness, and she slipped away from his arms with a sincere smile that will forever haunt him.

His dad was asleep.

They never found his body amongst the noodle shop ruins.

But Po knew his father was asleep. Somewhere. In a world much better than this.

Hopefully, in a world where Po never doubted…

…I'm your son.

There was no home. No radish basket and Mr. Ping to save him. No powers to forget.

All that remained was the right to be silent.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope to post more in this fandom. Which was your favorite?