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The day Prince Zuko chose to learn the dual dao was not one Piandao would easily forget.
The 8 year old had brought the practice dao in their worn leather sheeth to him with teary determination as he held them out and stated that he desired to weild dual dao, and that they would be his first blade mastery.
It was memorable not only due to the fact the prince was 8 and very small, but the fact he had stated they would be his first mastery in the Way Of The Blade.
The child that held the swords up to him intended to study under him for as long as he would have him.
The boy was not deterred with every loss in a sparring match, nor with Piandao's offers of other blades.
He remained steadfast in his choice, and so Piandao had taught the boy.
Piandao was reminded of Zuko's words a year later, when he handed down Zuko's mastery before his the boy's cousin, uncle, mother, and grandfather, and the boy bowed before him and requested he teach him yet another blade. This time, he requested the Katana.
His second mastery was earned mere months later, and he retained his skill with the dao, sharpening his skills every day, determined to not be the weakest.
The second mastery, was not witnessed by anyone.
Neither were the third, fourth, or eighth masteries.
He only advertised his dual dao, but Piandao knew the boy was a swordsman of his own calibre in the making. The discipline he held himself to was unparalleled, but he was still a child.
A sweet child.
A kind child.
When the news came to him that Prince Zuko was banished, Piandao wept.
He cried bittersweet tears into his honey lemon tea, silent sobs racking his body while he mourned his nation, his home, for the atrocity that had been dealt to them.
He cried as the sun set, mourning the innocent child he had spent three and a half years teaching, a child he had come to appreciate as if he were his own. He mourned the boy that held those dual dao he kept in his chambers up to him with sparkling eyes and a childish thank you as he complimented the boy's progress.
He wept in his dreams, haunted by the memories of his wonderful student, forever marred by the cruelty of a bloodthirsty tyrant.
"Respect" the Fire Lord had demanded.
The man had demanded the respect of a child who held him on a pedastal in a way only a bright eyed child could.
Piandao scoffed, wiping his final tears away.
The boy knew discipline and respect.
The prince knew honour.
The Prince had more honour in his small frame than the man who scarred him.
This much he knew.
The Fire Lord only knew how to instill fear.
And it was this fact that guaranteed his fall.