Did I mention there was gonna be angst here? There is gonna. BUCKETS of angst. Bring buckets. I'm not joking. My room is full of buckets to store all this angst in. (Okay, okay, so I am joking. Not about the angst though.)

GUEST05: Awww. Thank you very much for the review! ^_^

Heh, fair enough, fair enough. He's definitely the nicknamingest out of all of them, though. You have to work to find a time he doesn't call the others by nicknames.

Wait, have you seen the second half Season 4? I wouldn't want to spoil it for ya . . .

Aha, you caught the reference! Nice. X3 The triangle, tho . . . heh. We'll see.

Can you tell me who you are?

Can you tell me where I am?

I've forgotten how to see.

I've forgotten if I can.

-Touhou, "Bad Apple," English version

The Ultra Dragon refused to eat. They brought it all kinds of nourishing foods, tempted it with sugar cubes (more like half-pound sugar bricks, this was the Ultra Dragon), but all to no avail. Even Rocky's head, which everyone had always joked ate enough to satisfy the entire body all on its own, sniffed at the liver-and-toads Cole offered and only gave its favorite treat a half-hearted lick. The dragon's temperature never rose above dangerously low levels, and it lacked the energy even to spread its wings.

Sensei Wu wracked his brain, trying to remember the sparse information he'd picked up over the years regarding the care and feeding of dragons. Nya contacted Misako, who started going through all the scrolls on dragons she could find, and called up a few of the other Elemental Masters, just in case someone out there knew something. Somehow she also managed to get the Bounty tapped into Wi-Fi this far out in the wilds, but she was disappointed to find that dragons were not very well-documented on the internet. Most of the results she turned up were just news articles mentioning the Ultra Dragon, or fantasy games where you could play as a dragon, or ridiculously ill-informed webpages proclaiming utter nonsense. There was one particular "science and mysticism of dragons" site that they would have found hilarious, if the situation hadn't been so grim.

Finally they had a breakthrough. Cole happened to phone home to catch up with his dad, and they got to talking about the Ultra Dragon's condition. Lou brought it up with the rest of the Royal Blacksmiths, and it turned out that one of them happened to have heard of a real live dragon expert—right in Cole's hometown! The ninja were a little skeptical that this person was legit, since even the internet didn't mention him, but they certainly weren't about to ignore a chance like that.

"We're gonna have to leave for a bit, 'kay?" murmured Cole, stroking each of the Ultra Dragon's noses. "We've set up to meet with a guy who can help you. He's an expert, so he'll know what's wrong. You're gonna get better, ya know?"

He made one last attempt to get Rocky's head interested in the liver-and-toads, sighing as the dragon ignored the morsel entirely.

"Nya says the Bounty's ready; we're heading out in half an hour," announced Jay, appearing in the entry tunnel. Cole reflexively opened his mouth to say something snappish, but caught himself at the last second. It was slightly unnerving how often that happened nowadays. Had fighting with Jay become that deep-ingrained a habit?

Settling for a mute nod, he turned back to Rocky's head and found that the dragon seemed more interested in sniffing along the floor idly than even looking at the liver-and-toads.

"If you change your mind," mumbled Cole, leaving the treat where the dragon could reach it. He snuck a glance over to Wisp's head, where a discouraged-looking Jay was offering a sugar block and having similar lack of success. For a second he considered going over to say something comforting, but matters hadn't really reached that point. Even though he and Jay were no longer fighting, it's not like things just went back to normal as if nothing had ever happened. It's not like they could have. In a sense they had nothing to say to each other anymore, and they wouldn't have known how to say it even if they did.

They piloted the Bounty over to the village where Cole had grown up, stopping in to visit his dad first and bringing their old boater hats from the talent show as a joke. There'd been a little anxiety that it would be painful for Lloyd, so soon after losing his own father—but he seemed fine, asking questions about the talent show and ragging the others for having fun without him. While he'd been captured by the Serpentine, no less.

"Fair warning," said Cole as they approached Lou's house. "Lloyd, this is the first time my dad's seeing you while we're not in the middle of saving Ninjago or something. If he asks you if you have any song or dance skills—run."

"Ah, come on. I'm game for it if he's got ideas," said Lloyd casually. "I'm not so bad at breakdancing."

"Do not tell my dad that you even acknowledge breakdancing," grinned Cole.

"Traditionalist?" Lloyd gave a faint smile back.

"The traditional-est."

"What if I bring up dubstep?" asked Kai from the back.

"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" Cole deadpanned over his shoulder, ringing the doorbell. They waited for a few seconds, then the tap of a cane and the sound of a limping step filtered through the door.

"Hi Mr. Brookstone!" chorused most of the visiting crowd as the door opened, while Cole grinned and gave a "hi there!" wave.

"Ah, there you all are! I was wondering when you'd show up," said Lou with his usual gruff joviality, waving them inside. "Straight from a competition, eh?"

"Not really, Dad," laughed Cole, hugging him hello as the others trooped indoors. "More for old times' sakes."

"Fair enough," grinned Lou. "I swear, you've all changed so much since I saw you last. Jay! Any improvement in that singing voice?"

"Still hitting notes only sitars can play," said Kai, earning an indignant snort from the lightning ninja.

"And who's this, then?" asked Lou cheerfully, squinting. Everyone froze, and an awkward silence suddenly crashed down from the ceiling like a cold shower.

"It's me, Mr. Brookstone. Zane," the Nindroid cut in after a moment, smiling. Still, Cole's heart remained lodged in his gut; having seen how Zane reacted to the Ultra Dragon's scrutiny, he suspected his friend was still more than a little anxious about his rebuild and how different he was from the "original." Either way, not being recognized by a close acquaintance had to hurt.

Lou seemed to register this too. He fumbled with the head of his walking stick for a moment, his moustache twitching, then muttered something about the lighting and seemed to search for a recovery method. Kai, quick thinker, "accidentally" knocked over a floor lamp to provide a welcome change of topic. A touch inelegant, but effective. He even managed not to break the lightbulb.

It soon turned out that a lot of Lou's possessions were in boxes. He explained that he had gotten tired of "rattling around" in this house and was looking for a smaller place. Although he hadn't found one yet, he had his eye on some apartments two blocks down and was already starting to pack up some of his non-essential goods. The ninja, of course, offered to help out.

The news was a little startling to Cole, to be honest. This had been his family's house since he was little, and even though he'd only lived there until he was nine (and then came a certain apocryphal stay at Marty Oppenheimer's School of Performing Arts), he still had a lot of memories of the place. He found himself looking around the rooms a little more lingeringly, as if subconsciously trying to commit them to memory. Here in the living room there'd been a Christmas tree (and that glorious year he'd gotten a harmonica), here in the kitchen he'd lost his first tooth while eating a pilfered cookie (and panicked, since he hadn't known baby teeth were supposed to do that), here in the front hall was where he'd seen his mother last. He tried to shake that last one away.

It was then that he remembered the attic. There was a little space underneath the roof, right above the hallway—Lou didn't keep anything in there since he couldn't manage a ladder with his bad leg. Cole, however, had stashed a few boxes of his own things there when he'd left for Marty Oppenheimer's, and dropped off a few other items now and then after mending relations with his dad. He figured he'd better get the boxes down from there before they got left behind. For now he could take them into the Bounty so Lou wouldn't have to move them.

Unlike those fancy attics with fold-down ladders, this one was just a square opening in the ceiling with a wood frame and painted plywood cover. Cole looked up at it, debating whether he felt like going back to the Bounty to fetch a ladder. Nah . . . he'd stick with the easier method. Fetching an umbrella, he stood on his toes and poked the cover up and away. Then, sizing up the china cabinet just a little down the hall, he backed up, took a running start, and used the side of the cabinet as a braceboard to the ceiling. His hands met the wooden edge of the attic entrance and he swung once, then hoisted himself up and in. Sitting back and brushing off his hands, he allowed himself a tiny smirk. Yep, still had the moves.

He looked around the cramped space, with its slanted walls made of bare wood joists and insulation, and bit back a sneeze. The boxes were still here all right, shoved off to one end of the little man-made cave. Crawling over, Cole flicked on the bare lightbulb hanging from a wire overhead and began shifting them about.

Inevitably he was struck by the urge to rummage. Old boxes just have that effect on people. Almost straightaway he found a carton filled with all his favorite books and comics from when he was little, and there went the next forty-five minutes. He barely even registered the sound of the others passing by occasionally in the hallway below, and nobody noticed the attic cover was open either. People don't tend to randomly look up at the ceiling very often.

Eventually, however, Cole heard his own name and snapped out of the corny adventure book he'd so lovingly dog-eared when he was eight. At first he thought someone was calling him and started to call back, but then he realized that the conversation was still going on below him.

"No, I have not seen him." It was Zane's slightly-echoey voice. "He might have gone back to the Bounty. Do you want me to find him?"

"No, no, that's fine. He'll turn up," Lou's voice replied. Cole hesitated, wondering if he should let them know he was right over their heads before they said any more. He who eavesdrops never hears any good about himself . . .

. . . On the other hand, as long as he went in assuming he was going to hear no good, it might be kind of fun. And besides, eavesdropping was a ninja thing, right? Lloyd and Jay did it all the time. Learned that one the hard way.

Grinning slightly, Cole settled back, careful not to make a sound, and tuned in his ears. The conversation turned out to be fairly stale, however, as Lou and Zane merely discussed some details of the packing process and that new diner downtown where Lou insisted the liver and onions were to die for. Cole shook his head in annoyance at that; he'd warned his dad about fried foods . . .

Then the conversation seemed to lull. Zane made some polite inconsequential statement that was clearly a prelude to excusing himself, but Lou cut him off.

"Just a minute there, Zane. As long as we're alone, I . . . wanted to apologize for not recognizing you earlier. Didn't mean to throw you in for a loop like that."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Brookstone," said Zane, an odd mixture of cheerful and uncomfortable. "I—guess I do look very different now."

"Not that different," said Lou gently. "Just shinier. Don't take it as a sign of anything, son; these old eyes aren't what they used to be."

"I know," Zane's voice fell. "My condolences."

Up till now Cole had been smiling in a mixture of sweetness and guilt at having caught such a sensitive moment, but now he stiffened. Condolences? What? Why?

"You know? What? How?" Lou also sounded startled, put on his guard.

"I . . . I'm sorry," stammered Zane. "I ran an automatic physiological scan earlier, by accident. I didn't mean to pry."

Or Pixal had run it and Zane was covering for her, Cole thought distractedly. She seemed to be in charge of all the old and new features Zane now commanded, and she still wasn't quite socially adept enough to know about niceties like invasion of privacy. But that was only a thread in the very back of his mind; his heart was pounding now as he strained his ears. What had the scan found? What did Zane know? What if . . . it couldn't be . . . no, no, it must be something else—please—

Meanwhile Lou was grumbling something indistinct about nothing being sacred anymore, but his heart was definitely not in it.

"I suppose it'd be pointless telling you otherwise, then," he said at last, heaving a sigh. "Yes, Zane. I'm going blind. Doctor says two years tops before I'm fumbling in the dark."

A silence.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Brookstone," said Zane softly.

"Ah, we all dance to the tune life plays us," scoffed Lou, leery of anything like pity. There was the sound of a hand closing around metal. "Don't tell anyone. Don't tell Cole."

"But how will you—"

"I'll be fine. The smaller house will help me find things, and if I really can't make it I'll tell someone. Get help somehow. But I don't want Cole knowing this, not for as long as possible. His place is on the ninja team, protecting Ninjago, and I don't want him worrying about me. I don't want him feeling guilty or thinking he should be here fussing over me instead. He needs to be out there with the rest of you."

Another silence.

"Promise me you will keep this to yourself," said Lou, his voice taking on that terrifying stern note of yore.

"I . . . cannot promise." Zane sounded anything but happy. "But I will keep it quiet for as long as I feel is possible."

Lou sighed.

"I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that." He put a hand on Zane's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Listen to me. The five of you, you've got something special. I'm proud to know my son is one of you; as long as you stand as one, Ninjago has nothing to worry about. Stick together. Look out for each other. All right?"

"Of course," said Zane quietly. "Always."

Lou gave another slow sigh, then chuckled wearily.

"All right. I think that's enough rambling. You mentioned there were stacks of old newspapers in the back closet, yes?"

"Err—yes, I . . . think so?" said Zane, and the continuing conversation drifted away through one of the hall's doors.

Cole sat motionless in the attic, feeling like his insides had been blown to pieces. Blind. His father was going blind. No more playing the piano. No more watching dance competitions on television and grumbling about youngsters' sloppy form these days. No more collaborating on sheet music with the Royal Blacksmiths. His life's greatest passion, dancing, had already been taken away when he hurt his leg; now almost everything else that brought him joy was going after it. Blind . . .

Cole slumped back against a box and buried his face in his hands.