Story #7: Bridled Powers Are Lost Powers
Ninjago (sci-fi AU)
writing prompt: childhood; full potential; "Back in my day"
Summary: In a world where Elemental Powers are "regulated," Cole—a young child of only six—is stunned to find that he can summon Elementals from the past, Elementals who don't need a Chronosteel bracelet to wield powers. One of these Elementals is Morro, and at first, he isn't sure how to answer the inevitable questions that Cole has for him. But when Wu, his master, falls into a terrible coma called the "long sleep," a condition that can only be resolved by a Bridger, he agrees to help Cole both protect and harness his inherently illegal, "savage" Earth Powers. But without Cole's knowledge, another child named Lloyd—the son of Emperor Garmadon—discovers Morro's existence. Will all be lost for Cole, Morro, and Sensei Wu? Or will Lloyd come to realize that bridled powers are lost powers, and lost powers are forgotten powers?
Cole was only four when the Empire rose. Everything he'd ever known disappeared in its wake. Just three days after the Republic of Ninjago collapsed, he saw his first glimpse of life-altering change.
His mother, Lily, had to wear a dark gray metal bracelet, so thick and ghastly that little Cole hated to look at it. She never took it off—even when she was sleeping. When he asked in his childish babbling, lilting, lisping voice, "Why are you wearing that ugly thing on your wrist, Momma?" she answered softly, "Just go to sleep, Cole. It's time for your nap."
Little Cole grudgingly went to his bed on the small couch in the apartment's living room and snuggled under the covers. He didn't want to sleep, but he knew that his momma wouldn't tell him anything that wasn't important. Maybe she just couldn't tell him because she forgot why. Or maybe she couldn't tell him until after his nap. Yes, that had to be it! He'd better hurry up and go to sleep then so he could hear about it sooner rather than later…
But when he woke up again, he'd forgotten all about it. And there was a funny numbness in his mouth…as if someone had poured something down his throat while he was asleep…But he paid it no mind. He just toddled into the other room to find a small snack waiting for him. A chocolate cupcake with creamy white frosting—yum!
Little did he realize that in the next room over, his mother Lilly was rubbing her bare right wrist—the one without the bracelet—sorrowfully and murmuring guiltily and tearfully under her breath, "Oh, Cole, my little baby, why didn't I stop myself from giving you the Obscuritea?"
Cole was only six when he noticed a pattern. Every time he asked his mother about the bracelet, she gave him a strange tea that would make him sleepy. And when he woke up, he couldn't remember what had happened in the past few hours. It was like his memory was being wiped while he was asleep—over and over and over again.
But something else was happening too. Something within him, deep within his core, was changing. Like something was growing within him—grounding him, nourishing him, securing him, like the root of a great oak tree holding the towering mass of wood and leaves steadily and firmly against even the most tempestuous storms.
The first time he realized he had powers was when he was playing outside with his favorite ball and a big, burly teenager yelled, "Hey, you! Come here!" Panicking, Cole dropped the ball and ran for his very life. As he ran, he felt a strange, uncanny strength rising up in him, and suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, whirled around, and stomped the ground with one foot.
Boom! A giant pillar of rock suddenly sprouted out of the ground, and the mean, bullying teenager smacked right into it, the blow knocking him out instantly. But before Cole could cheer in delight, he heard a voice crying, "SAVAGE WIELDER!" Startled and too afraid to find out who the voice belonged to, the little earth-wielder turned on his heel and ran down a shady alleyway. He ran and ran and ran, unsure of where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away—he had to run—he had to flee!
And then, all of a sudden, whomp! Cole tripped over someone's boot and fell face-first to the ground. He let out a sharp yelp when his unprotected nose made painful contact with the hard, pebbly dirt and ash he had fallen into, and when he whirled around, he saw an old, white-bearded man staring deeply into his eyes, standing in front of where he lay, completely cutting off any hope of escape.
He opened his mouth to scream—but then the man held up a small flute and began playing it. Instantly, Cole felt a wave of soothing calm and tranquil peace washing over him…fuzzy, cozy, tingling ripples of warmth coursing through his veins…and then a strong pair of arms embraced him tightly as a deep, healing sleep gently beckoned him away from the waking world…
"A Bridger…so young. How can this be?"
"Is that how he brought us back, Master? Do you really think…"
"It has to be."
"But I thought they all died out."
"Apparently not, if this little one could bridge the past and future without needing to unlock the World Between Worlds."
Cole wasn't sure what the voices were talking about, or why they were talking about him—but he didn't want to let them know that he was awake. Not yet. He was still a bit shaken after that run-in with the old, white-bearded man. And he wasn't quite sure what had happened to him back there.
He remembered the flute and its mesmerizing, hypnotic song. He remembered being embraced by the shadows of a deep, peaceful slumber. But to his surprise, he couldn't remember anything else.
It was like his memory had been wiped clean yet again.
But then the memories began to come back again. The mean teenager who chased him…the moment when he'd created that rock pillar…the scream of "SAVAGE WIELDER!"…running, running, running to get away, to flee…and then tripping and falling…
His breathing suddenly grew dangerously short and sharp and strangled. His chest heaved erratically with fear and distress and panic intertwining. Beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead, and he felt weighed down by the blankets piled on top of him. He tried to pry open his eyelids, but they felt so heavy. He tried to scream, but his voice would not obey him!
He began to toss and turn, to thrash and writhe, to squirm and wriggle like a snake underneath his covers, struggling to get out, fighting to get free. The voices let out a simultaneous gasp—feet raced towards him—hands were clamping down on his shoulders, keeping him from moving. But that only made his panic worse. Desperate, he opened his mouth, sucked in a breath, and let out a raw, wild, wolfishly howling scream.
He could hear the older-sounding of the two voices telling him to calm down—but he couldn't. He simply kept on screaming and shrieking and blubbering and howling, wailing at the top of his lungs, longing for his mother to come and rescue him, to take him into her arms and soothe away his nightmarish fears…
And then he heard the flute again, its lovely, delicate notes as soothing and as gentle and as warmly tender as the song of a forest thrush. Slowly but surely, his petrified screams began to dissolve away into small, whimpering sobs and hiccupping coughs as his bunched-up, cramping muscles began to relax, his frantic, buzzing nerves began to unwind and be stilled within him, and a cool, comforting numbness silkily seeped into his tight joints and aching bones. His body was going limp…his chest rising and falling deeply and evenly…a tingling pulse of calming, tranquil energy thrumming through his veins as his heartbeat steadied into a clarion, serene, slightly sluggish cadence…and then he felt a kind, gentle hand stroke his tangled wisps of raven-black hair, smoothing every stray strand back into place as he grew ever so drowsier and sleepier and dreamier…
And the last thing he heard before he fell back into a calm, peaceful slumber was a compassionate, fatherly voice tell him, "Sweet dreams, little one, and be at rest."
For countless hours, little Cole drifted in and out of alertness, sometimes semiconscious, sometimes unconscious, but never fully awake or aware of what was happening around him. All he knew, all he understood, was that he was never alone. The old man who had rescued (or kidnapped?) him was there, and so was the younger one, the one who seemed to be his student. And always, always, there was that flute waiting to comfort his wounded, fearful heart and soothe his worries away.
And the strangest thing of all was that he remembered everything.
He never woke feeling like something was missing…like something had been lost or forgotten. In every moment and every hour of his safeguard (captivity?), he absorbed information, learning, observing, remembering.
He felt gentle hands stroking his forehead. He felt soothing touches tenderly check his pulse and feel for his heartbeat. He heard soft footsteps, hushed voices, comforting tones surrounding him like a constant, melodic symphony of watchfulness and vigilance and protection.
And then, one day (was it a day?), he finally found the courage and strength to open his eyes. But what he saw wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before.
The older man's hands were glowing with golden light. And the young student could wield the wind.
Morro didn't even realize he and his sensei, Wu, were being watched until the obsidian-haired kid gave a sharp cough of amazement from where he had been lying, slipping in and out of an induced coma, for five whole days. When the wind-wielder—who had simply been sparring with his master, using his wind-blasts to block Wu's golden plasmabolts—saw that the kid was staring with his mouth agape and his eyes wide with frightened wonder, he let out his own cough that ended in a kind of bird-call whistle—a signal he and his master had developed long ago to say, "Something's up. Drop everything!" Wu instantly extinguished his Gold Powers and turned to see what Morro was wildly gesturing at.
"You're awake." Wu murmured matter-of-factly in the kid's direction, and the kid just blinked in confusion. Morro couldn't help but shake his head in wonder. Had he ever been like this when he was that age? And if he had, how in the world had Sensei ever been able to cope with it?
The kid said nothing—just let his gaze wander about the dark, candlelit basement, his shimmering, twinkling hazel eyes taking in every detail of his surroundings. Then he turned his head back towards the master and student and asked in a shy, lilting, lisping whisper, "Where am I?"
"A safe place." Wu murmured, gently approaching the makeshift bed he had made for the little tyke after first bringing him here. Dutifully, Morro trailed behind, curious to see what would happen next. He was used to, on occasion, his master using the Sacred Flute to cast him into an induced slumber for his own protection—but this kid wasn't, and it was mirrored all over his pasty, freckle-spotted face.
"How long 'ave I…bin here?" was the next question that flew out of the kid's mouth, and Morro internally braced himself. He had a hunch as to what was coming next, and it probably would not be a pretty situation.
"Five days, give or take…" was Wu's answer, and sure enough, five seconds later, the kid opened his mouth, probably to scream again. Before Wu could make a move, Morro rushed forward, unable to hold himself back, and knelt down to grasp the little one's shoulder tightly yet tenderly, whispering, "Shh, shh, it's okay," as the child buried his head in the covers and burst into heartsick, passionate sobs. "It's okay." the wind-child crooned softly, moving to stroke the kid's back kindly and soothingly. "It's all right. That's it—breathe." he admonished sympathetically, "Just breathe. Relax and breathe. Breathe, little one. Just breathe. Relax and breathe."
Slowly, the kid's sobs began to fade away into sniffling hiccups, and he gradually found the courage to raise his head and gaze deeply into Morro's emerald-green-hued eyes with his own red, puffy ones. Wu let out a small chuckle, probably thinking of all the times in the past when he encouraged the often-anxious wind-child to do just that—"Breathe, little one. Just breathe. Relax and breathe."
But then the kid breathed something so quiet and whispery that Morro had to strain his ears to hear it—"I want my momma. Where's Momma?" Morro didn't really know how to answer that. He looked at his sensei questioningly, and his master just gave a slight shrug, as if he hadn't realized that this kid wasn't another orphan child, like Morro had been when Sensei had first found him. Or maybe he was just as unsure about the right answer as Morro was.
"I'm afraid…we don't know." Morro finally exclaimed, sighing heavily. "But don't be afraid. You're safe here."
"But my momma…" the young child protested, his eyes welling with tears anew. "She doesn't know I'm here. What if she tries to look for me? What if she thinks I—sob—ran away?!" Suddenly, the kid's voice choked up in his throat, and his chest began to heave with new sadness and grief as breathy sobs ebbed out from between his lips. Morro just kept on comforting him as best he could, stroking his forehead compassionately and whispering soft, ethereally airy hushing noises in the child's ear.
"It's okay…" he soothed quietly, "It's okay. You're all right. Don't worry about your mother. You're a Bridger—Bridgers aren't bound by time or space. When you want to go back, you can go back—and nothing will have changed in the time you were gone."
"R-Really?" the child murmured, his sobs already beginning to fade away once again. Then his brow scrunched in confusion and he asked, "But…what's a Bridger?"
"Sensei?" Morro replied, looking up at his master for help explaining this. He didn't know much about Bridgers himself, and he wasn't sure how to explain a Bridger's powers in a way that would make sense to a little kid. Sensei Wu sensed Morro's uncertainty and hesitation and stepped up, softly saying, "Just go back to sleep, little one, and I'll tell you all about it when you're awake again."
There was a flash of distrust in the boy's eyes, but then his gaze fell on the flute, and he nodded his compliance. Then he closed his eyes, let out a soft yawn, and within moments had drifted back into the dream world.
"Sensei, are you really going to tell him?" Morro asked, his lip quivering in worry. What if Wu said something wrong? Would the boy still trust him—and Morro?
"He has to know, doesn't he?" Wu commented, and Morro didn't say another word after that. But then something terrible happened. Something so horrifying that it made Morro want to cry buckets of tears. Something so heartbreaking that the wind-child longed for it to never have happened at all.
His master fell into a deep sleep—and didn't wake again.
When Cole woke once again, the room was very, very quiet. The old man had fallen asleep sitting up, with his legs crossed in a strange position that Cole thought resembled a very gaudy lotus. The student was laying on his back, staring contemplatively up at the ceiling, watching a garden spider move about on its cobwebby, silk-thin web. He looked so peaceful…so calm…and yet so poignantly sad. There was a melancholy look in his eyes, almost as if he had suffered a great loss, and the little earth-child thought he could hear the soft, subtle sound of shy, shuddery sobbing. Cole's own eyes began to well with tears, and without even realizing what he was doing, he slid out from underneath the covers of the bed that he'd been laying in and padded softly over to the student, who was still lying on his back, lonely and utterly forlorn.
When he heard Cole tiptoe close to him, the student looked up in quiet surprise as the earth-child knelt down and opened wide his arms in an invitation for a hug. The student then sat up and gladly accepted the tender, empathetic embrace, sobbing and wailing his very heart out as Cole rocked gently and incessantly back and forth on his heels and made soft shushing noises under his breath, trying to comfort the student as the student had comforted him.
"I didn't believe this would happen so soon." the wind-wielder sobbed partially under his breath. "But now it's too late. I knew there was a risk with time-jumping, but I never thought it would lead to this!" His voice was suddenly choked up with more sobs, and he balled Cole's thin garments so tightly in his fists that his knuckles were turning a ghostly pale.
"What happened?" Cole asked, wondering why the student was so sad and so heartsick and so shattered inside.
"My master…he…he…" Once again, the student could barely find the will to speak, but then he finally managed to stammer, "He's trapped in the long sleep—and I cannot wake him!"
Long sleep?! Cole's heart suddenly froze within him. Long sleep?! What's the long sleep?! Is the master…DEAD?!
So distressed was he that he didn't realize he had asked these things out loud—until the student answered in a sniffly whisper, "No, he's not dead. But his core is trapped in a coma. I cannot wake him on my own. I need the help of a Bridger."
A Bridger? But Cole was a Bridger, so why couldn't he…
Suddenly, the student pulled away, letting out a loud yawn of his own. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, and his body was beginning to go limp, sagging to the floor of its own accord as his eyelids drooped uncontrollably. Dropping onto his side, he let out yet another yawn, this time seeming to drain away all of his strength as his body began to go cold and numb.
Cole began to panic. What was happening to his new friend? Was he falling into the long sleep too?! What was going to happen to him?! More to the point—how could Cole stop this from happening?!
As Cole watched helplessly, the student's body began to ripple and pulse with a sickly ashen-grey hue, his almond-toned cheeks blanching a moonstone-white, his fingers turning blue, his chest rising and falling sluggishly, his breathing growing all too deep and even and sleepy. His eyes seemed to have been sealed shut by some unknown force, his hands were growing clammy, and his legs were stiff and still, completely numb and listless and languidly senseless.
Suddenly, Cole felt a surge of strength welling up in him. Just as when he had created the spike of earth, he reached deep into his core, felt a strange power and might within him, and harnessed it, crying out in a great howl of anguish and determination, "NO!" A great flash of blue-purple-and-white light lit up the entire chamber, and the student's eyes shot wide open as he bolted upright, sucked in a sharp breath, and began to cough fitfully, desperately gasping for life-giving oxygen as he wheezed and hacked raggedly and gulped in great, shivering breaths of air. Cole patted his back encouragingly as he continued to hack and gasp, and within mere moments, the student was soon able to breathe deeply and naturally without coughing up a storm.
"Oh, kid…" the wind-wielder murmured gratefully. "You saved my life. Thank you."
"Cole." the earth-child said. "My name is Cole."
The student smiled wryly yet slightly cheerfully and replied softly, "The name's Morro—Master of Wind. And I guess you're the Master of Earth. Wu told me about what you did to that nasty teenager back in the time-shaped world. He sure had it coming to him, that's all I can say!'
Cole blinked in sudden confusion. "Time-shaped world?" he couldn't help but asking.
"World where time and space are always constant, always changing." Morro explained. "But because you are a Bridger, you can travel at will between the time-shaped world and timeless realm, which is the realm we're in right now."
"So…" the earth-child began to reason, "that's why no time is passing in my world right now?"
"Yep. The rules of normal existence don't apply to a Bridger like you. You can literally be here for days and days, and when you get back, no time at all has passed. It's like the outside world was completely put on pause."
"Whoa." Little Cole was astonished. With this kind of power, he could do…well, anything! He looked down at his hands in amazement, and immediately began thinking of all the things that this new ability was capable of. But then his face fell as he thought once again of Morro's sensei—and the terrible long sleep Wu had been cast into—and how he, Cole Brookstone, was the only one who could save him.
"Train me."
"What?" Morro was rather taken aback by this request. "But I…I've never trained another Elemental before, much less a Bridger! Usually, Sensei does the training around here—or at least, he did." the wind-wielder amended, looking sorrowfully at his comatose master, still trapped in a gripping, numbing, heart-stilling slumber.
When Cole heard this, he scrabbled to his feet, stood firmly in front of Morro (who was still sitting on the floor), and spread his hands wide, asking yet again, "Train me. Teach me the secrets of the Bridgers. Tell me why I have these powers. Tell me why no one else kin do what I do. Tell me how to find my full potential. Tell me why you can wield the wind. Tell me—"
"Okay, okay, slow down, little Cole!" Morro exclaimed suddenly before letting out a long, heavy sigh. "I'll tell you all I know about Bridgers—and why no one else has the power to do what you can do. And if I can, yes, I will help you realize your full potential. But you have to keep this secret—and keep your powers safe. No one can know of this, understood?"
"Not…not even my…my momma?" Cole questioned tearfully, realizing what Morro was saying to him.
"No, I'm afraid not even she can know." Morro concurred sadly. "These times are dangerous for all Elementals, and if you're caught using powers, that's when you get the Chronosteel bracelet."
Wait a moment.
Bracelet. Chronosteel bracelet. Was that what Cole's mother wore? A Chronosteel bracelet? '
What did it do? And why was it so dangerous to Elementals?
But before Cole could open his mouth to ask any one of the bazillion questions beginning to flood into his mind, Morro reached into his pack and suddenly pulled out a golden flask. He then shoved the flask into Cole's hands and said, "Take this cordial."
"What?"
"Just take it! It will let you remember!" Morro exclaimed, his face turning grim and solemn yet panicky and disturbed at the same time.
"Remember what?" Cole was distraught now. "What do I have to remember?"
"Bridled powers are lost powers. Remember that." Morro answered. "No matter what, remember—bridled powers are lost powers. Now go! You have to get back! You can't stay here, or you'll be trapped!"
"Wait, what?!" Cole was even more bewildered and distressed than before, but Morro simply said, "Just go! I'll call you back when the time is right through the Sacred Flute. And remember, if you ever need me winter, spring, or fall, just cry out my name, and I will hear your call."
"Wait, I don't understand!" Cole was in tears now, his eyes red and puffy as he blubbered and fussed and cried his very heart out from dismay, confusion, and a great, gripping fear. But before he could protest, Morro grabbed the flute from off a nearby table, set it to his lips, closed his eyes, and began to play it. The melody he played was hauntingly beautiful, mesmerizing and hypnotic, harmonious with a clarion cadence that made Cole feel so airy and ethereal and wispy and drowsy…
All of a sudden, the timeless realm and Morro and the unconscious Sensei Wu all began to fade into a grey-white mist, and the time-shaped world was beckoning him to come back as he tumbled backwards and sank headlong into a deep, peacefully healing slumber…
When Cole woke, he was back in the alley where Wu had first found him. To his surprise, he recognized immediately where he was—and how to get back home. He immediately scrambled to his feet and began to trace his way back, sticking to the shadows, bobbing and weaving, ducking and dodging, zigging and zagging through the streets as he made a great effort not to be seen. Finally, when it seemed he could go no further, he found himself stopping, panting and thoroughly exhausted, right in front of his apartment building.
He scurried in, choosing to take the stairs rather than the elevator, seeking to avoid as many interrogations as to his disappearance from nosy neighbors as possible. When he finally clambered his way up the last flight of stairs, he burst into the hallway, flung open the door to his home, and when he saw that his mother was there, crowed with joy, "MOMMA!"
"COLE!" Lilly whirled around to see her son rushing to engulf her in as big a bear hug as was possible with his little arms. She gladly returned the embrace, making a loving mmm noise in the back of her throat, which was immediately answered with a shy giggle from the son she thought she might have lost forever.
But when she pulled away and asked, "Cole, would you like some tea?" Cole's haunches immediately rose. His shoulder blades tensed. His muscles stiffened. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. If he took that strange tea again, he knew—he just knew—he was going to forget everything Morro and Wu had shown him—everything they'd done for him. He couldn't let that happen! He just couldn't!
But he couldn't just refuse! If he did, his mother would know something was definitely up! And he didn't want to risk Morro's and Wu's safety any more than he had. But what could he do to keep from forgetting everything he'd seen and learned in the timeless realm?!
And then he remembered something. Take this cordial! Morro had begged him. It will help you remember!
The cordial…
"Um, okay." Cole finally managed to choke out, struggling not to appear he was hiding something. When his mother turned to prepare the tea on the little stove in the kitchenette, he darted to the bathroom as fast as his little legs could carry him, shut the door behind him, and pulled out the flask he'd been given. The golden liquid looked so pretty under the glass, like honey or liquid sunshine in its hues. But he couldn't dwell on its prettiness for long. Wrapping one pudgy hand around the cork, he popped it off, held the flask to his lips, and drank down every drop.
Instantly, his body, mind, and core all zinged with energy. A cozy, tingling warmth cocooned him head to toe in gentleness and peace. But he did not feel sleepy. In fact, if anything, he felt more and more awake by the moment. Suddenly, there came a soft knock-knock-knock on the door, and he gulped. Shoving the flask, cork and all, into the trash can behind him, he sucked in a breath and opened the door shyly and quietly to let his mother in.
"Yes?" he asked, struggling desperately to hide the quiver in his voice and the shakiness of his convulsively trembling frame.
"Your tea's almost ready." Lilly said matter-of-factly. Then her tone turned more melancholy and soft as she crooned, "Cole, you understand that whatever I do, I do to protect you and care for you, right?"
Cole paused for a moment, pondering that. Then he sucked in a small, wispy breath and murmured, "Yes, Momma." Then his face fell and he asked, "Momma, why do I keep forgetting things?"
His mother blinked in surprise. This wasn't exactly the question she was expecting. She'd been thinking that he was going to ask about the bracelet again. But finally, she managed to compose herself and answer, "Oh, Cole. I'm afraid…I'm so sorry. I know I should stop—but I'm just so scared that someone will find out that you…"
Then she reached out and pulled Cole into a great big bear hug, weeping and sniffling as she wrapped her loving arms around him. "I understand, Momma." Cole murmured sorrowfully, "I understand. But, Momma, what if I could remember—and hide it?"
Lilly suddenly paused. Her confusion was clear on her face. "Remember? How, Cole?"
"Just let me drink the tea, and I'll show 'ou."
Lilly paused again—then breathed quietly, "Okay." The look on her face made it clear that she didn't really want him to forget—but that remembering could be dangerous. But Cole paid it no mind. He was ready to remember—or to forget. Either way, he would be keeping Morro and Sensei Wu safe.
Would he?
If he forgot, would he really be protecting his new friends?
Or dooming them to destruction and abandonment?
But he didn't have time to ponder that question. For then Lilly silently stood, took Cole's hand sadly, and led him to where his tea was sitting, ready to make him forget all that had happened in the past few hours.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Cole got on his chair, picked up the cup, and drank the tea down to the last drop. Within moments, he had once again fallen fast, fast asleep from the Obscuritea's influence—but the cordial, distilled from the nectar of the rare and precious golden firelily, was already flowing through his veins, protecting his most treasured memories and thoughts, keeping all he had learned secret and safe within the deepest depths of his very core.
And when he woke again, he knew instantly that something was different.
He was different.
For he was a Bridger.
And he had remembered.
When Lloyd, the son of Emperor Garmadon, was only seven, something bizarre took place. He'd snuck out of the palace, yearning for an escape from his lessons and princely duties, looking for some sort of adventure. And he'd found it when he saw a young obsidian-haired child create a rock pillar on his own.
Remembering what his father had told him about illegal wielders of Elemental Powers, he'd screamed at the top of his lungs, "SAVAGE WIELDER!" and then proceeded to follow when the child panicked and ran away. He'd stuck to the shadows, tailing the kid everywhere he went, trying to catch him and clamp a Chronosteel bracelet on him. For that was the only way to reel in a savage wielder, he'd been told repeatedly.
The bracelets were crafted from a blend of technology and Chronosteel, the only metal strong enough to absorb Elemental Powers. The way the bracelets were made gave the Emperor the power he needed to turn powers on and off as he deemed necessary to keep the unsteady peace the Empire felt. If an Elemental used his powers in a way that could prove dangerous to Garmadon's reign, he could simply switch off that person's powers— sometimes permanently.
However, Lloyd's father had no way to keep track of the Elemental Powers' spread from wielder to wielder. He'd discovered a handful of genetic links, but those were so few and far between that he couldn't regulate them efficiently. So when an unbridled wielder—a savage wielder—was caught using his powers without official permission, he could and would be imprisoned—or silenced.
To keep up the illusion that what he was doing was beneficial and necessary, Garmadon had spread rumors that "savage wielders" were dangerous killers—that their powers, being unbridled, were as wild and vicious as the wielders themselves were—and that the only way to protect the "good people of the Empire" was to track down all Elementals and restrict—or even cut off—their power access through the Chronosteel bracelets.
Only Lloyd knew that the real reason his father was doing what he did was because he was afraid of Elemental Powers—for he could not control them or dictate their movement. And if there was one thing that Garmadon was most afraid of, it was forces that he could not tame—could not regulate—could not control or suppress. So, he went for another technique—cutting off the powers of whatever wielders he could track down.
The day the Empire rose, he had commanded all Elementals, under pain of death, to be documented, registered, and fitted with a bracelet. The bracelets were never to be taken off—and anyone who tried would be found, imprisoned, and quite frequently, executed. But because Garmadon had no way to track power growth or the passing of power from one person to another, there were a handful of wielders—the savage wielders—that he had missed.
Savage wielders were his biggest concern of all. Though the rumors had grown in proportion until all non-wielders feared unbridled powers and were ready to turn in any "savage wielders" they could find, Garmadon was still preoccupied with trying to track down each and every unbridled wielder in the Empire's territory—and silence them forever. But in doing so, he didn't pay much attention to Lloyd and his needs, and as a result, the prince had grown up without any true sort of fatherly love or attention. Garmadon had even been heartless enough to slap a Chronosteel bracelet onto Lloyd's wrist on the suspicion that his own son might be an unbridled wielder.
So if Lloyd—who'd been wearing the Chronosteel bracelet for as long as he could remember—was able to catch an unbridled wielder red-handed, he was sure to win favor with his father—and maybe have the ugly bracelet taken off. If he could just prove that he would be loyal to his father to the end, then Garmadon would have to take pity on his son and let him have his bracelet deactivated. After all, if Lloyd caught an unbridled wielder and didn't let him escape and brought him before the Emperor, wouldn't that prove that the bracelet was useless—that he didn't need it because he would never betray his own father?
And now here was opportunity knocking—the chance he had been longing for staring him right in the face. An unbridled wielder, all alone, with no one to turn to for help and no sense of direction whatsoever, running through the streets, just asking to be caught!
Or at least, he would have been caught if that strange old man with the flute hadn't shown up and rescued him—inadvertently taking Lloyd with him. The flute hadn't just made the savage wielder sleepy—it had put Lloyd to sleep as well. When the green-clad prince had woken up, he'd found it hard to focus on his private mission. The world he had been pulled into was fluid—timeless—and so peaceful that his guard had dropped instantly and he almost lost himself in the rest, the tranquility, the soothing warmth and comforting stillness of the "timeless realm"…
If it hadn't been for his ingenuity of slipping some of the lilac mist he'd stolen from his father's lab into the old man's tea, casting the old man into an indefinitely long, deep sleep, he might have lost himself entirely and forgotten his mission on behalf of his father. He was very much annoyed, though, when the old man's student did not fall under the spell of the lilac mist himself—when that little gremlin savage-child awakened his savage powers and broke through the mist's charms. Lloyd would have drugged the child himself with the rest of the lilac mist had the student not sent the kid back to the "time-shaped world," as he called the real world.
And now here Lloyd was, with no way to get home and tell his father what he had seen, and no way to catch this savage earth-wielder the student and master had called a "Bridger."
But then, as he lay there, hidden in the shadows, a cruel smirk flashed across his face as he remembered something the student had said before.
"I'll call you back when the time is right through the Sacred Flute."
The flute! If Lloyd could break the flute, or get ahold of it and use it against the student and his master, then he could gain the upper hand! Perhaps he himself could put the student into a deep sleep, or call the Bridger back and capture him, or even create a gateway and come back with an army to capture these two savages and the savage wielder-kid when they were least expecting it. With a monstrous glee thrumming in his heart, Lloyd slowly shimmied his way along the floor towards where the flute lay. The student was nowhere in sight—perfect timing!
But just as he was reaching out his hand toward it—thwap! The student appeared out of nowhere and clamped his hand smack down on Lloyd's wrist—before dragging him out into the open and fixing him with a petrifying glare.
"OW! How dare you! OW! Let go of me, traitor!" Lloyd demanded in his best princely voice as the student continued to drag him across the dirt, smudging his best clothes with sand and ash and traces of smoky charcoal. "I'll have you know this is Lloyd Garmadon you're dragging around, and my father will have your head for this!"
"Your father?!" the student choked out in half-surprise. "The Emperor is your father?!"
"Yes! Now unhand me this instant!" Lloyd commanded. To his utter surprise, though, the student let out a scoff, let go of his wrist, and suddenly collapsed to the ground in gales of sheer, hilarious laughter. His face was turning red, and his legs thudded up and down as he rolled over and trembled with rollicking pangs of mirth and chords of giddiness.
"Your father—your own father—is the Emperor of Ninjago, and he puts a Chronosteel bracelet on his own son?!" the student howled with laughter. "That's so hilarious—sad, but hilarious!"
"How dare you speak of my father that way!" Lloyd accused angrily, starting to really get fed up with this whole thing. "As if you had the right to treat him as a silly commoner and not as the highest authority in all of the Empire!"
But the student was paying him no mind—just curling into a ball, shaking with gleeful snickers and chuckles and wheezes of sheer, wild disbelief at the mere idea of a man being terrified of his own offspring. "B-back in my day…wha-ha-ha-ha-ha…" he roared hilariously, still giggling and laughing uncontrollably, "I never would have thought…ha-ha-ha-tee-hee-hee…that a father couldn't trust his own son…ha-ha-ha…to not be the very thing…ha-ha-ha-ha-ha…that h-he was afraid of! Wha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Lloyd at this point was more than starting to lose patience with the student, and finally, when he could stand the mockery no more, shot out his hand and snagged the student by the collar so fast he stopped caterwauling with glee and let out a screeching scream of panic. Then he fished in his pocket for the rest of the lilac mist and struggled to uncork the bottle with one hand.
"No! What are you doing?! Stop!" the student begged, thrashing and writhing in Lloyd's iron-hard grip.
"I've had enough from you." Lloyd growled under his breath, before finally succeeding in uncorking the vial. He then shoved the vial's rim in the student's face, stuffing it almost all the way onto his nose, forcing him to breathe its contents in. The student struggled to pull away as his eyelids drooped and his face blanched, pushing desperately against Lloyd's chest with his feet, but it was no use. Soon, the student was nearing a deep sleep…his body was going limp…his struggles were beginning to fade…and Lloyd kept pressing the vial to his nose, trying to knock him out, to silence him and keep him quiet…
"Bridled powers…are lost powers…" the student slurred drowsily. "Please…don't do this…bridled powers...are lost powers…"
But then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fainted dead away. Lloyd, satisfied with his genius, dropped his limp, senseless body to the ground like a sack of potatoes, took a look at the deep, even rising and falling of his chest, and grinned maliciously. That student wouldn't wake for a long, long time. Oh, he wouldn't die, and he wouldn't be asleep for more than…oh, a day or so. Direct exposure to the mist, in Lloyd's experience, might work faster, but it certainly wouldn't last as long as prolonged, secret exposure would. And he wasn't shallow enough to finish someone off himself—unless his father had anything to do with it. But still, by the time the student woke, Lloyd would have an army gathered to deal with this menacing renegade and his master, and then…
But then he suddenly remembered something so chilling, so horrid, it sent freezing, mind-numbing shivers tingling up his spine. The last thing the student had said before succumbing to the charms of induced slumber was, "Bridled powers are lost powers."
As Lloyd stood there, lost in thought, that phrase—that one, singular phrase—began to echo in his mind, heart, and core incessantly. No matter how much he shook his head to clear his mind and rid the thought from his subconscious, it still kept on beating, beating, beating in his heart and core.
Bridled powers are lost powers.
Bridled powers are lost powers.
Bridled powers are lost powers.
Bridled powers were lost powers…but what did it mean? He had to find out—what did it mean?!
He shook his head even more vigorously now. No, pull yourself together and focus! You can't turn tail now! You've got to stay focused!
But he still couldn't get the thought out of his mind. And then, he noticed something for the first time.
He was bridled.
He was wearing a Chronosteel bracelet.
He'd been wearing it all his life—but he'd never truly noticed it. It had just always been a part of him—or so he'd thought.
But why would he—he, of all people—be bridled?
Didn't his father trust him?
Didn't his father know that Lloyd would be loyal to him to the very end?
He couldn't stand it any longer. He had to find out what that phrase, that oh-so-eerie, haunting phrase, meant. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.
Slowly and fearfully, he turned his braceleted wrist over to view the connector button. It was there—all he had to do was press it, and the entire thing would come off. With every nerve on edge, he raised his trembling index finger on his right hand, sucked in a breath, and plunged the button home.
Click! Clatter-clatter-clang! The bracelet peeled away as if it were a leaf from a tree and fell unnoticed to the ground. Immediately, blurry images and lost recollections flashed like a lightning bolt into Lloyd's mind, the thoughts and feelings and memories that had been withheld from him flooding his comprehension so fast he let out a piercing scream and felt his knees buckle under him as he fell headlong to the ground beside the broken bracelet. He desperately clutched the top of his skull with both hands, seeking to push out the lost memories that were streaming in like a waterfall of gushing, churning whitewater, unwanted and unbidden, and just screamed and shrieked and howled and wailed and blubbered and cried his very heart out. It was just so much—too much for him to process all at once—too much to understand—too much to comprehend, to accept, to believe!
The green sparks of energy that once flew from his fingers as he lay helplessly in the cradle…
The giggles and coos of wonder at the balls of pure Elemental Power he could form in his tiny hands…
The cruel, frigid chilling hand that grasped his arm, forcing a bracelet—no, a cuff—onto his little, weak, white-hued right wrist when he was but an infant waif…
"NO!" he screamed in horror, sobbing and shrieking like a banshee as the truth sunk into him like a brick hitting him in the head.
His father had constrained his Elemental Powers.
He had once been a savage wielder.
And he had forgotten everything about his mighty energy when the cuff was forced onto him, strangling his strength, straining his power, wiping his mind clean of any remembrance or trace of Elemental force left…
Bridled powers…weren't just lost powers, he realized.
Bridled powers were forgotten powers.
When he realized this, he crawled sadly over to the unconscious student, laid down beside him in great sorrow and grief and guilt, and began to cry, "I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry." under his breath, until he had finally exhausted his last dregs of energy and cried himself to sleep.