The Day of the Departed.
A day of festivities, happiness, and family, yes, but also one of remembrance, reverence, and the settling of debts.
All across the land of Ninjago, from the most remote villages across the Sea of Sand, to the heart of the Great City itself, people of all race and creed fill the streets.
A new father gazes in joy and wonder as his wife tends to their newborn son, even as he prepares a lantern to remember the passing of his beloved parents.
A young girl puts the finishing touches on her own paper light, crafting each piece with delicate care, just like her departed grandmother showed her.
At a lively karaoke bar, a woman drowning her sorrows meets eyes with a rather handsome man across the room. He smiles, and she decides her dear parents wouldn't want her to spend a holiday in grief.
The sun sets early- the Day of the Departed always occurs on the shortest day of the year- and the festivities begin in full, accompanied by a happy orange glow from every vendor, torch, and neon sign.
The people of the world live, laugh, and love… and in the shadows of their revelries, something lonesome lurks.
He is a spirit; a ghost, with the dull green glow to match. In life, he was a thief; now he is but a shadow, a scavenging survivor, one of the handful who escaped the drowning of the Cursed Realm- and, more recently, the drowning of the entire city.
He darts throughout the city, winding cautiously through dark alleys and open windows. He never stays too close to the light, not because it would hurt him, no, but because he knows exactly who would come for him if he was seen.
He makes no sounds save a passing brief as he slips through an open window, into a place that he once called home. He searches for his mother, and his mother… and his arrogant siblings.
When the specter spies them, he is taken aback at just how old they are… was he really gone so long? He shakes the thought away, and listens. There are children now; little ones scurrying too and fro in play, little boys and girls who he could have been an uncle to… in another life.
That thought brings with it a whirlwind of memories: mistakes, failures, poor decisions, desperation… so many things he could have done better. So much time lost, pursuing injustice. So many relationships, cut and burned, all so that he could have more.
The ghost mourns in contemplative silence, before he turns his attention back to the adults, and the purpose of his visit. He wants to know, on this day dedicated to remembrance of the dead, how his family remembers him. He expects no cake, no grand celebration- he was a terrible son and brother, deserving of no gifts, nor praise.
But he hopes that his family might choose to remember when he was young and innocent. To remember those rare few occasions when he bothered to comfort them in their suffering or pain. To remember something, anything that makes them sad enough, just so that he may announce himself.
"I'm here!" He'll say, "I'm here, and I know I did terrible things, and I don't deserve your love… and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry… I want to be together again. I want to make amends, please… here, look what I can do!" And then- and then! -then he would show them all manner of ghastly tricks, and spooky shenanigans, and they would pass the rest of the night in laughter, reunited at la-
He hears his name, and all his daydreams- nightdreams?- disperse like smoke on a blustery day, replaced by a burning excitement. Is this it? Is this the moment he's been waiting for? Oh, the anticipation is so electric it almost made him feel something! Almost…
He presses his ear to the door… and hears his elder brother reciting his exploits with bitterness. A deserved bitterness, to be fair, coming from a man who had his car stolen and wrecked three separate times.
Then it is his elder sister's turn, and she recounts the tale of how he swindled her of her life savings for a fake medical condition, her words dripping with venom… again, nothing he doesn't deserve, but have they nothing nice to remember of him? His little sister shall speak next, perhaps she-
She is the worst. She launches into a tirade of curses and profanity- once the children have been shunted downstairs, of course- detailing exactly all the ways he made her life a festering cesspool of misery. She blames him for making her husband cheat on her, all so that she would be more vulnerable to his schemes, for tricking her into hiding him from the police- an event that put them both in prison- and for getting her hooked on a drug that ruined her second marriage, and caused irreparable damage to her fatherless child.
If the thief still had a heart, it would have hit rock bottom. Not every accusation she levelled against him was fully true; the husband was already making moves on another woman, he was just given a push; the day they had been arrested, he had legitimately come for a family visit, and was unknowingly pursued; and her addiction had been the result her stealing a product he had been couriering… but he still admitted to part of the responsibility.
The once-man looked to his father and mother from his hiding place, desperately hoping that at least they would remember when he had been nothing but a small, helpless baby in their arms.
They did not, and their words, though not so nearly as fiery as those of their children, stung him to his soul.
"An immeasurable disappointment."
"I wish we would have put him up for adoption."
"It would have been better if he was never born at all!"
He left silently, not bearing to watch as they raised their glasses in a toast.
Instead, he made his way to his hideaways, to his other friends and compatriots, in the hope that at least they will have some fond remembrance of him… but no. Everywhere he goes, it is the same.
The lonesome spirit is remembered by few… and cared for by none. No lanterns shall be lit in his name tonight, no drinks raised in fond remembrance of his life…
He briefly let loose a frustrated scream, before covering his mouth, and darting through the concrete into the sewers- careful, of course, not to float too lowly.
Was this his true curse? To be left alone, forever, the last of his kind on the mortal plane, shunned by the living for all eternity? Was nothing in his life redeemable? Surely he had paid penance by now? He's died, after all! Does no-one in this blighted world know how to forgive and forget?! Why must he sink in sorrow and misery, while all else celebrate in happiness and joy!?
"iT'S NOT FAIR!" He bellowed, and it echoed through the sewer pipes. He waited for something, anything to happen, but the festive noises on the street above continued without pause.
"What is the point of this holiday if the dead aren't even remembered!?" He shouted to the air, satisfied that he cannot be heard. It is then, however, that he remembered an oft-forgot part of the holiday, one that even slipped his memory… "We light lanterns to remember our ancestors… and settle our debts… and oh… do I have debts to settle…"
He hovered back aboveground to get his bearings… and made for the Ninjago cemetery...