Just a few things to consider. Firstly, I am going to be deviating from canon quite a bit in the interest of telling a good story. This means changing backgrounds, estimated time between events, and sometimes character ages. If stuff like that really bothers you, this really might not be the story for you ^^'

Secondly, I've given cultural names to the two OCs in this story. The names are not real and belong to a culture and language I made up specifically for this story. As such, the way they look in English isn't accurate to how they're really pronounced. The Y in Ysaan and Lyka are pronounced like an English double e. Like in Seed. So his name is ee-saan fal-ee, and Lyka is Leeka.

I hope you enjoy!

~Timo

Prologue

How far had I come? How much further until I reached him? I suppose it didn't truly matter. I didn't have much of a choice. I had to climb until I reached the top. No matter my feelings or what I wanted, I could not go back the way I came. I was not welcome in the place I once called home, not anymore. So tiredly I climbed, hoping, praying that my father's dear friend would have it in his heart to save me.

A crash of thunder echoed above me, so loud and powerful that I could feel it rattle the mountain under my feet. Lightning flashed soon after, lighting my way. In those brief moments of light, I could see my destination ahead of me - the Monastery of Spinjitzu. It wouldn't be long now. Soon I would be safe.

I stopped for only a moment to catch my breath. I turned to look behind me, wondering if my home was still visible through the rain. Though I knew I was not very far away, I could not see any lights or torches.

That was a good sign.

The further I was from the village, the safer I was and the safer my son would be. Without a sound, I turned back towards the Monastery and continued my trek. As I looked up to focus on where I was going, an intense bolt of lightning forked across the sky. At the sight of the Monastery, I was both repulsed and filled with hope. This place had been the home of both my greatest joy and my greatest regret. It was my only hope, but as I stared at it, my heart was filled with such anguish and despair that I briefly considered turning away and running elsewhere, frozen in place as I thought.

This had been the home of my best friend, my beloved, my former husband. We met when we were young, and we became very close throughout our childhoods. He was not the first man I married - there was one before him. That man, Athel, had succumbed to a horrible sickness, leaving me a widow, a cursed woman in the eyes of my village. Before I could be shunned and pushed away from the community, however, that dear friend of mine rushed in to marry me, and so too save me from that fate. Such a thing was uncommon, but seen as honorable, saving someone from their punishment… If a widow or widower could remarry, then they would be redeemed, symbolizing that the gods had forgiven them for their crime.

He had been so soft, so kind. He would sing me to sleep, comb and braid my hair as I spoke to him of the day's trouble. Sometimes I would wake up in the night, startled by a loud noise or made anxious from a bad dream; it was as though he could sense my fear. He always seemed to wake up so that he could soothe me and lull me back to sleep.

I never suspected that he would leave me. He never showed any desire to be elsewhere, there were no signs that he would run away... Or maybe there were, and I turned a blind eye to them...

He promised that he loved me, and the first time that he laid eyes upon his newborn son, it was love at first sight. There was nothing else it could possibly be. I recognized the fondness in his eyes as he looked down at the little boy with a full head of fluffy black hair. He'd had to hold back his tears when he held him for the first time.

Now, though, he is gone. When the village discovered that I had been abandoned, my status as a widow was reinstated, and I was no longer welcome among them. It was believed that if a woman's husband died, or if a man lost his wife, then they had done something to deserve it, and it was a punishment from the gods for some unseen crime. Those who lost their spouse also lost their family, their home, their community, their occupations - everything.

The only person who protested this was my mother. She fought hard for me. I was her only child, the only remnant she had of my father. She married again after he passed away, but she never had another child.

I was very suddenly reminded why I left by squirming coming from underneath my tunic. My son.

I was here for my son.

Perhaps if it had only been me, and I had no other responsibilities, no others to care for, then I would have turned and left. But I never could have cared for this child on my own. I did not have the means. I did not have the resources. Even if I did, no one would trust me to do the work I knew how to do. There were others in the village that had my knowledge of herbs and how to use them for healing. They did not need me to save them, and because of that, they had the luxury of avoiding me and leaving me to rot. That was what led me here… He was gone. I was out of options.

As the rain continued to pour, I hiked up my skirt so that walking would be easier. Walking closer, I could see that two torches still burned. Something about them gave me hope. The rain should have put them out ages ago, and yet they still smoldered, giving off their faint light. When I finally reached the massive, blood red double doors, my energy returned in full. I rushed up to them, wrapping one arm around my son to hold him in place as I raised my free hand, curling it into a fist before slamming it down again and again against the door. As expected, my thundering against the door woke my little boy and he began to cry out in fear. I could not stop, though, not until I was answered.

"Wu!" I cried, continuing to pound against the door. "Wu, please! I need your help!"

I stopped for only a moment to breathe, and just as I pulled my fist back to rap against the door again, it opened, and there before me was Wu Garmadon.

"Tela Lyka?" He gaped at me, shock blooming across his face. "What are you doing here, you will-"

"I've been run off," I gasped, clutching my son through my tunic. My sopping hair began slipping into my face and I reached to brush it back. "They call me a widow again,"

The shocked expression on Wu's face faded into one of deep sorrow. He looked at me with understanding. Without so much as a word, he drew me to him and hugged me, despite me being drenched, before leading me across the courtyard and inside the Monastery. He motioned for me to follow him. I did as asked, albeit a little slowly, trailing behind him a little.

He stopped and slid a door open. He led me into a room that was clean, pristine to the smallest detail. It was noticeably different from the rest of the Monastery. The walls were blotchy, almost as if the color had leached into the walls somehow, patched black, purple, and green - all colors believed to be evil. Black for loss and death, purple for hatred, and and green for envy.

"You may stay here," Wu murmured as he crossed the room and opened a wardrobe. He pulled out a set of clothing that I could only guess belonged to his brother at one time. He came back to me and held the clothes out to me. I took them gladly.

"Was this your brother's room?" I asked softly.

"It was," he muttered in reply. "Please. Make yourself comfortable. You are welcome here. And safe." With that, he left me alone to dry myself and change.

With Wu gone, I unwrapped my fussy, wet son and laid him on the bed, which sat in the far left corner of the room. As I laid him down, he threw his tiny, balled fists up into the air and began to cry again. He cried every moment it took me to undress, hang up my clothes to dry, as well as every moment it took me to change into the clothing given to me. It was difficult to make them fit properly, as they had been tailored to a person much larger than I.

There was nothing for me to dress Ysaan in, so, with the extra fabric, I was able to fashion a makeshift carrier for him that kept him close to me and covered. He was so cold when I first bundled him up, but soon, with him against my chest, he warmed up again; not long after that, he was asleep.

For a moment I sat on my new bed in silence, watching my son sleep. I was in awe of him. He was a precious little boy. He had come early into this world, so small and weak. His first cries had been faint and quiet. We suspected he would not survive the night. Just moments after his birth, the priests were being called in case he passed… Against all odds, he survived. Now he was almost seven months old, and he was as full of life as his father had been… I leaned down to place a kiss on top of his head, and my movement made him squirm, but he did not cry again. When he settled back down, I rose from the bed to go and search for Wu.

I could hear the soft patter of rain against the tiles of the roof as I walked. I could tell that the rain was not as heavy as it had been. The storm was coming to a close.

I found Wu in the dining room, trying to scrape up enough food for me to eat. When he saw me, he smiled, even though I knew he was stressed. He told me to sit, and I wordlessly walked over to the table and took a seat. Soon, a bowl was placed in front of me, half filled with rice, half with a stew I had never seen before. I didn't ask what it was. I didn't complain. I simply thanked him and began to eat.

For some time, we sat in silence, not saying a word. What was there to even say? Both of us had been left to pick up the pieces of my husband's disappearance. We had yet to recover from it.

Wu sat beside me, a kettle of tea placed on a thick cloth to keep it from burning the table, as it had just come off the stove. His face was dark and morbid, much unlike his typical light-hearted demeanor. He stared into his cup as though he were waiting for it to give him a vision of the future. Morro had only left two months ago, but already his teacher had changed. His face had aged, his hair had begun to gray from worrying over his student; small wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes and above his lips. He had also neglected shaving, and the beginnings of his beard made him look older.

"I'm sorry," he murmured at last.

I paused in the middle of taking a bite, lowering my utensils back to the bowl. I didn't know how to respond at first. "It is not your fault," I muttered in response.

"In a way, it is. I should never have told him he could be the Green Ninja. I should have kept it to myself until I was certain." Wu said, raising his cup to his lips.

Morro had great great potential. When we were still children, no more than ten, I had told him to come here. I told him that Wu was kind and would give him something to eat if he needed it. Wu hadn't just given him a warm meal, he had been given hope. Morro was grateful for Wu and everything he did for him. When Wu found out that Morro was a descendent of a Master of Wind, he offered him a permanent home at the monastery and offered to train him.

He never refused a lesson. He never turned away an opportunity to learn. Morro was hungry for knowledge. It was this drive that made him so fearsome. He was a gifted fighter and a diligent student. Watching him hone his abilities was mesmerizing. No one could have guessed that he would have such a gift. It wasn't long before Wu began regarding Morro as his own son. He protected him and loved him as though he were his own flesh and blood.

Just over two years ago, Wu told Morro that he suspected that he might be the legendary Green Ninja. Upon hearing this, Morro began to change. He had been hungry before, but then it had been a hunger for understanding, for wisdom. Now it was a hunger for power and control. He was desperate to find where he belonged, and he believed that becoming the Green Ninja was the key to doing so. Even when it was revealed that Morro was not destined to save Ninjago, he did not give up. He refused to take no for an answer. He trained for months non-stop. He scarcely did anything else. He often had dark circles under his eyes from hours and hours of practice and sleep deprivation. He became reckless, relentless, terrifyingly ambitious…

Despite this, in spite of all his flaws and shortcomings, I had believed Morro to be a good, kind person. When he came home at night, he was gentle and spoke softly to me - such a vast contrast to the man he became in a fight. In the arena he was violent and ruthless. He showed no mercy and would relentlessly beat down his opponent until they surrendered. At home he sang his son to sleep. He took care of his son without being asked, and he reminded me how much he treasured me when he saw that I was sad or tired. He had been good to me. It made me believe that he had been that way to everyone else.

"You didn't force his hand," I said. "He is a grown man. His choices are his own,"

"If I had never told him, none of this would have happened,"

"You could not have guessed it would come to this," I countered. "Neither us knew this would happen,"

At that, Wu dropped the subject and changed it to something else. "Why is it that you came here?" He asked.

"I had no choice. I have no way to earn money. I have no one I can turn to. You were a dear friend of my father's. If anyone could help me, it would be you…"

"Your father… A good man," Wu said, his voice still hushed. "An Elemental Master, as I am sure you knew,"

"Who didn't know," I said, smiling for the first time in ages.

My father was a gentle, kind-hearted man. He had a gift when it came to caring for others, especially their illnesses and injuries. He acted as an apothecary - the closest thing we had to doctors in my home village. Not only that, but he was the Elemental Master of Healing. He could lay hands on anyone, and in moments, their wound was gone, transferred to his body, and destroyed, returning them both to good health in a matter of minutes. It was as fascinating as it was beautiful.

My father had died just over three years ago. He was taken by a horrific disease that many considered impossible to survive. The fact that my father had been caught up in the plague and passed away due to it had surprised me greatly at the time. My father was more immune to most diseases than the average person. Until he became sick three years ago, I had never even seen him fall ill before. He used to joke about how he had never been sick before. I believed him because I had never seen him get sick either - never so much as a cough or fever. The man had never even had a headache before that point.

Of course, this resistance was due to the fact that he was an Elemental Master. Like a handful of others in the region, my father was the descendant of one of the First Spinjistzu Master's protectors. With his Element, he was able to heal others of their injuries and sicknesses - so long as he took them on himself. All he needed to do was lay hands on a person's wound, focus on it, and allow his element to heal them through contact. This process had only one drawback, and that was: in order to successfully heal a person, he must take on the thing that ailed them. If it was a wound, it would disappear from their body and then slowly appear on his. His body would then heal it, sometimes leaving a scar behind. The entire process took only a few minutes, and he could not be killed by taking a person's sicknesses or injuries. The only thing he could not do was bring people back from the dead. Once they passed, there was nothing he could do for them.

Wu had told me that he believed the reason my father had succumbed to the red fever, the disease that had killed him, was due to the fact that his element had been passed onto someone. He guessed that I had inherited it. I didn't believe I had, though. If I did, it would certainly have shown itself by now. Usually, the children of Elementals are born with unusual abilities - or they acquire them once their parent's element is passed onto them. Masters of Earth are born very strong. Masters of Fire are able to withstand great heat. Masters of Ice went unbothered by the cold, and so on. I had not gained any abilities that I hadn't had before.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead in the palm of my hand. I had finished eating and was growing weary. There were so many thoughts swirling around in my head - of my father, of my mother, of Morro, of what would happen to my son… It was all so overwhelming.

"Tela," Wu began softly. "What is his name?"

"Did Morro not tell you?" I asked.

"No. He refused to speak of you when he came to work. The only thing on his mind was proving himself,"

I did not find that hard to believe. Morro was a dedicated and stubborn man. If he was honed in on something, it was difficult to make him change his focus.

"Ysaan," I said quietly. "Ysaan Faly,"

"An interesting choice," Wu pointed out.

"I did not choose it for him,"

"I am aware… Whoever did has a bitter sense of humor,"

Back in my village, when a baby is born, they are not named for ten days. When they turn ten days old, it is believed that they gain a soul. That was when they were to be named. To name a child, a special ceremony is held. The baby is dressed in special clothing, and a priest is called. The priest drinks a special tea and goes into a meditative trance. When they come back out of it, they will have been given the proper name for the baby. When I was presented with the name that I was to give my son, I was shocked. Ysaan means boy. Faly means reborn. His name is "the boy who is reborn". At the time, I suspected this must have been a name given to him by my father. Or Morro's father - someone dear to one of us that was no longer here. I could tell, though, by the way that Wu found fault with the name, though, that he believed it to have been a warning of Morro's disappearance and an omen that he would not return.

I tried to push that possibility from my head. Surely he would return to me, to his son… Once he saw sense, he would come back. He had to. We loved him and wanted what was best for him. Morro must have known that. I traced my finger along the rim of my blue cup. I stared into the tea inside it unblinkingly.

I just wanted him to come home…

I can only assume that Wu had realized just how heavy these thoughts weighed on my heart, as without a word, he rose from where he sat and came over to me. He placed his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him; the sadness in his eyes was deeper than any I'd ever seen before. Wu too had loved Morro, loved him as though he were his own son. I was not the only person who had lost something great when he decided to leave.

He leaned down to hug me, and it was as if a dam had burst. I began to cry into his shoulder. My weeping quickly turned to sobbing. Until then, I hadn't had any time to express my sorrow. Between caring for my son and getting prepared to be shunned by the village once again, I could not think of Morro, if he was safe, if he would ever come back to me… Now that I was safely able to mourn, I did.

What would happen from here, now that I was safe. Was I truly safe? Wu was a well-respected man, very loved by the people of my village. If they knew that he was the one protecting me, perhaps I would be alright, and Ysaan would be able to have a future. If those in my home village loved Wu as much as I had observed, then my son would not have my legacy…

I could only hope.