It's been a week since I learned she was gone.

"A week," I mutter out loud. Not because there's anyone around to hear it, but to break the deafening ticking of the clock that's become increasingly apparent in the silence. "So why does it feel like a month?"

I sigh and roll over on my bed. The snow is still falling outside; perhaps a walk in the cold will wake me up. Then again, why should I want to wake up? Sleep isn't fun, but it is something. Something other than lying around all day and mindlessly tinkering with my projects, that is. Then again, if I fall asleep, I might have another dream…

That thought gets me out of bed faster than anything else. Before last week, dreaming was rare for me, and I hardly ever remembered my dreams anyhow. But since that fateful day in the town, nightmares of the oddest sort have plagued my mind— nightmares that are perfectly joyful and happy while I'm having them, but cause tears to well up in my eyes as soon as I wake up. I HATE the feeling of tears in my eyes. I hate knowing my emotions have a stronger grip on me than I have on myself. It goes against every form of logic and function; even the dreams themselves are bizarrely tied together in some alternate continuity, which is completely illogical and unusual. I should know— I've reread The Psychology Of Dreaming four times back-to-back since the nightmares started up.

I take a step outside and then quickly retreat back to my hideout— it's much colder than I expected. I hesitate, then start heading towards my desk where I frequently work on sketches and blueprints for new inventions. Half-hidden by some pointless chicken scratches from earlier today is a white sheet of paper with a startlingly realistic portrait, only lightly sketched out so far. I take a deep breath and shudder upon seeing it, but I pull it out and pick up a nearby pencil, deciding against my better judgement to continue the piece of art.

I have never met the boy whose picture I am drawing, and I am painfully aware that I shall never meet him— for he will never exist. The thought saddens me, and I hate that the thought saddens me, because it is a ridiculous notion to be sad over. I should not grieve over his blond, crew-cut hair, or his beautiful, shining blue eyes, or his innocent, childlike grin— but I do. For I have seen him in my dreams, and I know him by now near as well as I know myself. Even now, awake as I am, I can still hear his laugh playing over in my mind, causing me no end of anguish. I don't understand the way I feel for him, and it distresses me to think I never will. He doesn't exist and he'll never exist, and that's that. I do not even know him, I try to convince myself.

You know him well.

I tense up, startled, and look around the room— only to realize that nobody could possibly have spoken. I'm only hearing things in my own mind. I've been doing that a lot, lately.

"I have no idea who he is," I say out loud, trying to ward off the voice-thoughts even whilst adding strokes to the portrait's hair.

He is your son.

I'm so startled by the sudden acknowledgement of this fact that I accidentally snap my pencil in half. My hand starts to shake slightly, and I glare at nothing in particular.

"He doesn't exist," I repeat, out loud, wondering vaguely if I might be going mad. Maybe I went mad a long time ago.

He must exist, the voice says. And before I can respond to this demand I find myself gripped with fear and realization— the voice is right. He MUST exist. I do not know how I know such a thing, or why it must be, but the child I have dreamt of must exist at all costs.

"It's too late," I hear myself whisper out loud. "I… I cannot change what I have done. Even if I leave now, I know I won't acknowledge my mistakes when the time comes." I steal a glance down at my hand to see if I'm dreaming, but it is clearly defined and I am definitely awake.

My lineage must not end; the boy must exist. Ninjago is doomed without him.

Now I'm really startled. This isn't the sort of thing I would make up, even while delusional.

"Who are you?" I whisper, but now I am speaking without pretensions. I admit to myself that I am speaking to someone or something I cannot see or hear or feel— although I still hate it.

…He must protect those who cannot protect themselves. One day I shall return to ensure this.

Suddenly, I drop to my knees in a cold sweat. I don't remember having stood up, but there is one thing I am aware of: the presence that has been haunting me for a week— although I've only just spoken to it for the first time— has left. Left me, or departed entirely, I'm not sure.

I glance around me fervently. What is to be done? Even as the fate of Ninjago depends on it, my own stubbornness will never break. If I leave my isolated fortress, I will soon convince myself that it has all been a dream, or a delusion brought on by loneliness. I will force myself to forget all that has transpired, but I will live with a terrified suspicion in the back of my mind for the rest of my days. And if the presence ever did return, as it said it will— no, it's simply too late for me to leave now. I know myself too well. I hold my head in my hands and let out a low groan, unable to see a way out of my predicament.

Suddenly, a glint catches my eye. I stand back up and look at the portrait I've been working on, but my gaze wanders to the edge of my desk until it lands on a small, abandoned scrap of metal that I haven't had the heart to throw away. My AI cube.

A forbidden thought sparks in the back of my mind.

"The boy must exist," I whisper to myself, "and I know how to make it happen." My voice grows louder as I make a promise to myself, and perhaps to the mechanical security guard outside and any wildlife that can hear me and is willing to listen.

"He is now my only project," I announce in a rather official sort of tone. "Until he is finished, I shall work on nothing else, save for sellable wares to buy material and food. I'll start blueprints today, and not a day will go by that I do not work on the cube. He will be my Magnum Opus, and my constant companion. I will raise him well— as well as a loner and a shut-in like myself possibly can— and I will teach him to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I will do as I have been told."

Hot tears start welling up in my eyes. "And— and I will honor her wishes," I manage to say, although my stomach feels queasy and my voice sounds uneven as the recollection of a particular 'hypothetical' conversation awakens in my mind. "If I could do nothing to treat her well before, I will at least honor her memory now." My voice drops back to a whisper. I close my eyes and, for once, let the tears stream down my face uninterrupted.

"His name… shall be Zane."

After five years, he is finally complete.

I have to admit, my heart is almost pounding with excitement, but I admonish myself to stay calm. After all, I want his first memories to be filled with warmth and stability— nothing like the constant clashing of fervent studying with the cold demeanor I had in my younger days. My son will be better than that. My son will be very much like the house I have designed and lived in for now the better part of my life: he will be as natural seeming as I can muster with the use of a metal frame, and inside, his warmth and life will be well past any average human being. After all— though I feel some guilt for it— I intend to raise him so that if at all possible, he might make up for some of the grievances I've caused myself.

He's almost done charging, but I know better than to try and switch him on early. Impatience and over-curiosity are vices I've long gotten rid of. Every detail of my most beautiful creation has been meticulously crafted and refined, from his inner wiring to his lifelike synthetic skin that is soft to the touch. His face in particular has taken me many a night to perfect, as I've always wanted it to be exactly accurate to the face I saw in my dreams— although I haven't had such a dream since I started work on him. But he will be a dream no more. Starting today, he will be as real as I am, and no doubt even more full of life. Starting today, I will not be alone, limited in my contact with others through my rare trips to the market and forever avoiding any topic of conversation that has to do with my work. Starting today, I have a new reason to live.

A soft beep lets me know that the charging is complete. With rays of sunshine in my heart, I lay my hand on the still boy's chest and gingerly flip the "on" switch, then reach to close his paneling before he wakes up. I suddenly remember I took off my glasses earlier, and reach to put them back on. As I do, I see the boy in front of me stir, and slightly open my eyes. A warmth and pride that I've never felt before in my life rises up inside my chest as I grin and smile down at the creation I've finally brought to life.

"Hello, Zane."

(A/N: Surprise, I'm alive...! X'D Okay, tbh I have like 500 things to say, but all of them are either apologizing for this chapter not being so good or explaining why I haven't updated in so long, and honestly I don't think any of that will be super beneficial to myself or to my readers... so... um, yea, hope you enjoyed, I hope I'll get back into the swing of things once I'm not sick as frick anymore, annnd y'all have a good day! K bye~) (P.S. My muse would like to thank all of you who have been leaving me reviews; I didn't realize how epic the Ninjago fandom was at reviewing stuff until I tried writing for other fandoms. You guys are apparently superhuman and you all get a gold star.)

(A/N UPDATE: Writing this update on 2/27/18, I made some minor edits so this aligns with the new canon about the previous Master of Ice.)