The wind whistled and howled mournfully, rattling past each of the windows of the Dojo of Spinjitzu with a crackling, bristling noise that chilled and wracked the nerves of everyone who heard it. And deep within the Dojo's corridors, a young, frightened wind-wielder lay huddled in a dark corner of the living room, curled up tightly with his favorite silver-and-green blanket, biting his lip as he struggled to fight back panicked tears. It seemed as if the shadows were leaning in towards him, just waiting to grab him and consume him in utter blackness, pulling him deep down beneath hazy waves of darkness to where he would never be found.
But he couldn't go back to his room now—not if his nightmares were going to come back to plague him once again. He'd been battling dark dreams for days now, and every night they only seemed to get worse. Tonight had been the worst night yet—and he didn't relish the thought of entering those nightmares again. Yet even now, warm waves of sleepiness washed over him in ripples and currents of a comforting tingling sensation, and he felt his eyelids drooping drowsily, even as he struggled to stay awake. A noisy yawn escaped him before he could hold it back, and he snuggled deeper into the folds of the fuzzy, fleecy blanket that Lloyd and Twinkle had given him just a week before. He smiled as he thought of that wonderful and somewhat confusing moment, vivid in his mind as if he'd experienced it just now.
"What's going on, Lloyd?" Morro breathed in shock, staring dumbfoundedly at the beautifully wrapped gift box with its shiny silver bow—the box that Lloyd now held out in front of him.
"It's for you, Morro." Lloyd explained, holding the box out even farther now. "It's a gift."
"A…gift?" the wind-wielder echoed, his brow scrunching in confusion as he shuffled his feet in bewilderment. "But…but why?"
"Well, a little birdy did tell us that it's someone's birthday today." Twinkle piped up, her tail wagging furiously with excitement as Sylph stepped into the room, a huge smile spreading across her face. She was closely followed by Skye, beaming from ear to ear.
Morro was dumbstruck. He didn't know what to say—he didn't know whether he should laugh or cry. He'd never expected that his friends would even care about the day he was born—although, he mused as he scratched his head self-consciously, he probably shouldn't have been surprised. It was just…he hadn't had a real birthday in so long, he'd forgotten what it was like. He'd even forgotten when his birthday was in the year. And he wondered—would anything change about him? Would he finally be able to age now? Or would he stay the same as he had been since regaining his mortality? He could feel so many questions whirling through his mind that it almost made his head spin.
His hands trembled as he took the box from Lloyd's outstretched hands, and his lip quivered involuntarily as he sat down on the small couch. He fingered the beautiful wrapping for a second, and then—noticing the eager looks everyone was giving him—tore into it, clawing the paper away as quickly as his shaking hands could manage. He gasped when he saw what was in the box.
It was a fuzzy, sparkly silver fleece throw with shimmering emerald-green designs on it. Any one of the other boy Ninja would have turned up his nose at such a present, but to Morro—who'd had few possessions of his own in his life—this blanket was more priceless and precious than the rarest gold. He knew right away that this gift was more than just a present, for it had come from Lloyd's, Twinkle's, and Skye's hearts. And that kind of love was a treasure beyond imagination itself.
The wind-wielder sniffled, his innermost being overflowing with emotion as he wrapped the blanket tightly around himself. The touch of it was so comforting and warm and cozy, and he felt so peaceful and relaxed, that he could have fallen asleep right then and there. He curled up on the couch, eyelids drooping in contentment, and simply basked in the warmth and tender fuzziness for a second. Then he sat up again and exclaimed, his voice little more than a tight whisper, "Thank you."
"Happy birthday, Morro." Lloyd crooned, laying a gentle hand on the wind-wielder's shoulder as Twinkle and Sylph shared a grin. Skye leaped onto the couch and snuggled closely to him, and he accepted her presence, tears silently trickling down his cheeks as, once again, he was reminded of how much love he'd been given at the hands of the Ninja and Ninja Pups.
How Morro wished that Skye was with him now! Her mere presence would have been a great comfort to him, as he shivered in the dark of the gloomy room. But she was asleep, as were all the others. Only Morro was awake at this hour, and he knew that no one would be up for quite some time. The wind's howling suddenly became louder, and he let out a small yelp of fright as the shadows seemed to come in closer. His eyelids drooped even more so now, as his fear and fatigue began escalating into sheer exhaustion. Maybe…maybe a little bit of shut-eye wouldn't hurt. It was certainly better than cowering in the dark. And before his mind could protest, he felt his alertness begin trickling away from him, and soon the deep shadows of slumber surrounded him, clouding his vision in drowsy, hazy darkness.
But his sleep was not to be a peaceful one. For the moment he let go of consciousness, his mind was swarmed with horrifying night-visions once again—the worst yet this night. He began to shake and whimper and moan uncontrollably, as the terrible lilac mist filled his mental vision once again. He'd never truly gotten over what had happened the fateful night of the wolf moon, when he'd come face-to-face with what was quickly proving to be his darkest dream. And the worst part of the whole matter was that it could happen again—and next time, he might not escape so easily. There was no guarantee that Skye and her song could save him if he were to run into the mist a second time. And that fact alone was enough to make the core of his being shudder.
"No, no, no! Leave me alone! Please—leave me alone!" he begged, scrambling away from the lilac mist as quickly as possible. But no matter how fast he moved, the mist's swirling, mesmerizing tendrils kept coming closer and closer. He tried to escape—but then he let out a yelp as his head suddenly contacted the rocky side of the pit he'd fallen into. And that's when the mist, hissing and seething like a whole nest of rattlesnakes, made its move. Its currents surrounded him, and he could feel the toxic fumes clouding his mind with a drowsiness and lightheadedness that could only mean one thing. The mist was once again infecting him.
His mind was filled with an overwhelming urge to sleep—to let the mist trickle into his veins and snatch his memories away again. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but then the world began to grow fuzzy and blurry as he breathed in more and more of the horrible mist. He mouthed Skye's name in terror, silently pleading for her to hear him. But there was no answer. She was nowhere to be found. His mind and heart cried out with terror—and then the mist pulled him fully into its mind-numbing, memory-stealing influence.
He was trapped.
A bloodcurdling, ear-piercing scream exploded out of the frightened wind-wielder, and there was a sudden whoosh as he—without warning—Spinjitzu'ed smack into a nearby wall. He slumped down an instant later, before curling into a tight little ball on the floor, feeling as if his whole body had been bruised and battered by the sheer impact. His forehead throbbed, and he was sure his nose was bleeding. He clutched the blanket tighter around him, taking comfort in its warmth. Yet he was too frightened to even think of drifting off to sleep again.
"Skye." he mouthed to himself, wishing she could hear him. If only she were awake! But he was still the only one up. He craned his head around to see the time and groaned. 3:15 a.m.
Still many lonesome, miserable, nerve-wracking hours to go before sunrise exercises. And no sign that anyone else would be up before then. As he lay there in stunned, frightful silence, frantically struggling back tears, he decided that he simply couldn't lay there for another painstaking hour, hovering between overwhelming fear and drowsy semiconsciousness.
He needed to go for a run. Not anyplace special, but he needed to get out of here, get some time to calm his nerves and let his heart steady. And what better way to do that then to take a nice, long run underneath the stars and full moon, breathing in the fresh air of the cool early-morning-hours?
Quickly, before he lost his nerve, he scrambled to his feet, dropped the blanket on the couch, and bolted out the door, not looking back once. He wasn't quite prepared for how strong the wind outside would be. Or how cold. He would've rushed back in had he not felt the queasy curling of fear in his stomach at the mere thought of facing the nightmarish shadows again. Without another thought, he scurried over the wall as sneaky as an alley kitten and as spryly as a spider. Hands and feet found handholds and footholds with the speed of lightning, as he scrambled and skittered up the plaster surface with the agile fleet-footedness of a field mouse. Jay would've been proud, he mused to himself. And Master Wu would've smiled, he thought as he pulled himself over the top of the wall and dropped to the ground. He stumbled momentarily but managed to recover his balance within seconds. Then he inhaled deeply through his nose and took off.
His movements were a blur of moving legs and shallow yet steady panting as he raced over meadows and around trees, wriggling through rocks and leaping over small, winding creeks in his path. The cold of the wind was barely noticeable now, as his senses became slowly attuned to his surroundings, and adrenaline surged through his veins in waves of strength and vigor. The wind's power was his power—its strength his strength. After all, he was the Master of Wind, and there was no place he'd rather be than running with the wind, chasing it like a wild colt galloping across a vast plain.
He knew that all Elemental Masters were emotionally connected to their elemental powers and, as a result, their inner feelings were at their strongest when they were close in proximity to their respective elements. Kai was always highly spirited around fire; Cole felt most grounded when he had solid earth underneath his feet; Nya felt most calm and at peace around a moving source of water; Zane was hyper-focused and totally chill around ice; Jay, as far as Morro knew, relished the spark and energy of lightning so much that when a thunderstorm came through, he'd be even more energetic and lighthearted than usual (if you can believe it); Lloyd felt most refreshed when out in nature as a whole. And all the Ninja Pups were the same way—each experiencing heightened sensations and emotions around the natural forms of their powers (or artificial, depending on the power involved. Yeah, not all Mighty Powers were strictly elemental, but that would take too long to explain.)
With Morro, the wind was refreshing and calming and tingly all at once. Whenever he felt the breeze stroking his face and ruffling his shaggy hair, or when he saw it rustling and dancing through the trees, he felt awake, at rest, free. And yet sometimes, when he looked at the wind dancing and twirling through the sky, he felt restless and wild and spirited, yearning to run, to climb, to fly, to be in constant motion.
Skye knew how Morro felt. She had always felt most at home in the clouds, soaring on the breeze, feeling the wind blowing her ears this way and that, bringing with it tantalizing scents of flowers and fruit…it was so invigorating and refreshing all at once. Sometimes, she'd simply take off and go for a long flight on the currents of the wind, and she'd always come back tired and panting yet excited and rejuvenated.
But every element also had its setbacks. Getting on Kai's bad side when he was around fire was only asking for trouble. Cole would always feel more jittery when an earthquake hit, reacting violently to even the slightest sensations. A severe squall would set both Jay and Nya on edge, and you didn't want to be around when one or both of them were having a bad day. Zane was especially quiet and closed-off in a blizzard. And Lloyd…oh, just thinking about it gave Morro the willies.
For the Wind Ninja, the worst time for him was in windstorms. Any sort of windstorm, big or small, would make him extremely restless and jittery. Tornado drills during a watch were disasters, to say the least—because no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't sit still. He'd run in circles. He'd rock back and forth incessantly. He'd bounce and wiggle and shake uncontrollably—like a little kid with a sugar rush.
And when the wind was howling and whirling about outside, he'd get so shook-up and agitated that any sort of surprise or shock would make his powers kick into overdrive—or send him bursting into tears. In these times, Skye often found herself snuggling against him, trying to calm his tense, wound-up nerves and soothe away his restlessness. And he had found time out of mind that when she was sitting in his lap and burrowing her little body into his chest, he would find his racing heart begin to settle down, his involuntarily tensed muscles relaxing, and his frantic breathing deepening. Stroking Skye's soft, fluffy fur was wondrously therapeutic for him, and he'd sometimes fall asleep sitting up, cheek resting on the top of her head, arms gently wrapped around her. And when he'd wake up, he'd sometimes find that she had fallen asleep waiting for him to wake. Then he'd get back to stroking her fur, and…oh, it was just pure bliss thinking of that.
Who could have imagined it—two former enemies being so much like family—like brother and sister—that they'd be there for each other through thick and thin? Yet it was true—and it was no small wonder that they should be connected through power as well as teamwork, sharing each other's strength, and yes, each other's every pain too.
Hence why the mere thought of coming across the lilac mist again shook Morro to the core, freezing the very blood in his veins with its terror and torment. He didn't ever want to forget again—to lose his memories of his past—of his family—of Sylph—of Skye. And the fear of forgetting again made his eyes well with tears every time the mere inkling of it crossed his mind.
If he forgot again...if he lost his memories a second time…it would be as if a part of him—a fragment of his true inner self—had been destroyed, crushed, shattered. And he couldn't let that happen—not on his life.
Amidst the flurry of his thoughts, he didn't even realize where he was going—until his foot hit a rock and he suddenly tumbled into nothing but air. He screamed as he careened uncontrollably down a steep, rocky ridge. Not even his Wind Powers could keep him from striking the ground with a sickening thud, and a small cloud of dust exploded as he crashed.
For several moments, he simply lay there, groaning in agony. Pain slowly crept through his veins, and an overwhelming sense of dizziness flooded his senses. He turned his head slightly to try and gain his bearings, but then he let out a sudden, wheezy gasp as he realized that his arm was bleeding. He'd hit a sharp rock in his tumble, and it had left a long, jagged gash that ran the length of his forearm. It wasn't too deep, but it could still prove dangerous if he lost too much blood. As if matters couldn't be any worse, there were dozens of scratches and cuts and welts all over his face, and one ear was scraped badly. His head ached like wildfire, pounding lightly in his ears as his vision began to blur over. Worst of all, his ankle had been badly mangled in the fall and now lay at an irregular angle. He'd twisted it when he tripped, and already it was beginning to swell with a sickly crimson-purplish hue.
Slowly and painfully, he scrambled into a sitting position before crawling weakly over to a nearby clump of leafy ferns. Breaking off several leaves, he proceeded to wrap them around his injured arm in a makeshift bandage that he hoped would hold until he could have his wound properly treated. For good measure, he reached up and snagged a large vine, tying it around his arm with one hand, using it as a makeshift rope to hold the leaves in place. Then he focused on trying to scramble back on hands and knees—before attempting to scrabble his way up the steep rocky slope.
He clawed and scraped at the rocks, looking once again for any solid handholds and footholds he could find. His attempts were difficult and painful, as more than a few times the rocks proved to be unable to hold his weight, and the roughness of the stones cut into the tender flesh of his palms and badly scraped up his knuckles. By the time he managed to clamber back to the top, he was dizzy and exhausted, and his forehead was aching mercilessly with the dampness and cold.
His makeshift bandage was tight enough to hold, but already he could see blood crusting on the leaves. He might only have an hour or so, he realized, before the fern leaves proved useless altogether. He could feel several bruises already beginning to form on his face and limbs, and the almost crippling pain in his right shoulder and shoulder blades was excruciating.
Desperately, he scrambled to his feet, struggling to run back the way he'd come. But then even the wind suddenly turned against him, whirling all around him and threatening to knock him off his feet. He shivered and shook profusely, as its frigid bite slashed into his frail body. No longer was the wind his friend—it was now a monster. A chilling, brutal, wild current that pushed and jostled him around, causing him to stumble many times.
As if the wind wasn't enough, the sound of crashing thunder and shrieking lightning soon sounded above him, and he was suddenly greeted by torrents of freezing-cold rain that seeped into his joints and made him feel weak and sleepy and numb. His pajamas (he hadn't thought to change into his gi before he ran off) soaked up the wetness like a sponge, sticking to his skin like glue as he struggled onward. Raindrops trickled from his mop of black hair and ran into his eyes, but he was too feeble and cold and exhausted to wipe them away.
Just when he was going to count himself lost, his vision—blurred from the rain and his growing weakness combined—caught a welcome glimpse of the Dojo of Spinjitzu at the top of a mountain path not more than five feet from him! Spurred by a sudden rush of hope and longing, he fought his way up the mountainside as quickly as he could. But when he got to the gates, he made a horrible discovery. They were locked!
For several moments, he tugged at the doors furiously, but to no avail. In all his hurry to get away, he'd forgotten that his friends always locked the gates at night to keep out intruders. And since no one knew he was outside…
After several futile attempts to get inside, he finally sighed heavily and proceeded to huddle behind the trash cans that sat near the gate. Too drained and drowsy to shift into his wind-wolf form, he curled into a ball to try and keep warm against the wind and the rain, hoping against hope that someone would realize he was locked out here and come looking for him. Oh, what he wouldn't give to be back inside there, a nice mug of hot, steaming tea in his hands, his blanket tucked in around him, safe and warm and dry—and not stuck out here, miserable and shivering and injured and alone…
And before he even realized how tired he was, he felt his eyelids drooping, and he fell into a restless, unsettled doze as his cheeks suddenly began to grow warm with a sudden, severe fever.
A sudden crash of thunder shocked Nya awake, and she rubbed her eyes sleepily, blinking rapidly in the dim semidarkness until her vision finally adjusted. Her gaze darted around the room as she recalled where she was, and a sudden thump startled her as Zuma—who'd been sleeping like a baby at the end of her bed—rolled over in his sleep, tumbling to the floor. She smiled as she saw him stir slightly before falling back into a quiet, restful slumber.
But then the reverie was broken when the hinges of the bedroom door creaked, and a small, lilting voice whispered, "Nya? Zuma?"
Zuma woke immediately, and Nya snapped to attention instantly as the two both realized who'd been speaking. It was Skye, and from the looks of it, something was up. But it was Nya who first ventured to speak. "Skye?" she asked, nervously noticing how pale and cold the cockapoo looked in the thin moonlight.
"Are you okay?" The words had hardly left her mouth before the small, shivering pup stammered weakly, "I…I don't feel so—" And that's when, without any warning whatsoever, the cockapoo let out a wracking, raspy cough, and her legs buckled underneath her as she shook with a horrendous chill. Her breathing became dangerously shallow, and when she looked frantically at Nya and Zuma, her eyes were shining with an unnatural glow—a fever glow.
"Skye?" Zuma breathed in worry. "Skye!" he shrieked a moment later. And in that moment, as Skye began coughing even more, Nya could feel her heart quake with sheer, gripping fear.