Story #17: Writer's Gift

Ninjago multi-fandom crossover (SI-AU)

writing prompt: AU; free day

Summary: Kit, a young teenage girl with autism and an avidness in writing fanfiction, cannot understand how Morro can communicate with her—and in her search to find out, she discovers a horrible danger stemming from "unfinished stories gone wrong." When Morro reveals himself and tells her that only she can fix the unfinished stories and save the realms of fantasy, she must determine the answer to the question, "Do I truly have what it takes? Do I have the writer's gift?"

Contains implied Christian themes.

"Goodnight, Nya. Goodnight, Akita." Kit whispered under her breath, saying goodnight to her plushies like she normally did—albeit without anyone knowing. "Goodnight, lil' Morro." she breathed at a small, blue-furred fox figure sitting on her dresser. "Goodnight, Lloyd." she murmured with a shy, cheeky giggle at the dragon egg that sat beside the fox. Then she turned her sapphire-blue eyes up at the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to her ceiling and whispered in the faintest, wispiest voice yet, "Goodnight…Morro Windchaser."

And then felt her skin tingling with a humming vibration of confusion and wonder as a voice from an unseen being whispered back, "Sweet dreams, Kit."

Bewildered, frightened, and slightly amazed all at once, Kit rolled over and closed her eyes, trying to let the silky threads of dreamy, drowsy slumber beckon her away from the waking world, whisking her away into a world beyond her wildest dreams. But even as she was falling asleep, she couldn't help but wonder, Was that Morro? The Morro?

And if he was, was he friend or foe?

The next morning, Kit was out-and-about, laying quietly and serenely under a great oak tree, humming happily to herself as she watched the leafy boughs dance and shift and rustle butterfly-like in the whirling, breezy wind above her. It was good to be out here, enjoying nature like no one else could. Her autistic child-core thrummed and thrilled with delight, as she just lay there, lost in contemplation and tranquil, soothing peace, cocooned in a warm, tender stillness and comforting quietness.

"I will ride, I will fly," she sang softly under her breath, "chase the wind and touch the sky."

But then a soft, airy, definitely masculine voice echoed her starry heart-song with, "I will fly— chase the wind and touch the sky."

Kit blinked in shock and a twinge of fear. What was happening to her? Was she hearing things? More to the point…was she being haunted by something…or someone?

"Hello?" she breathed hesitantly, feeling her heart begin to thump frantically in her chest, her heartbeat beginning to race, her pulse beginning to flutter, and her whole body beginning to tremble like a leaf in a hurricane as she slowly sat up and looked around. Her eyes darted around in a harrowing frenzy, searching for whoever—or whatever—had echoed her symphonic song so mysteriously, so phantom-like, that it sent shivers coiling up her spine.

"Morro?" she breathed yet again—not too loudly, for fear the wrong person would hear her. "Are you out there? Morro?" she asked again when nothing but silence answered.

Still nothing.

Her breath was starting to come in pants and gasps. She couldn't think straight—her mind was racing too swiftly. And then, things got a whole lot worse. Suddenly, there was a squawk of alarm and a rushing blur of motion as something cold and hard seemed to slash through her heart and core, and she doubled over, stifling a petrified scream as icy frigidness and numbness sunk into her skull, shuddering wildly as a white-cold chill trickled slowly through every vein and every nerve and fiber in her body, bringing panic surging and swirling frightfully into her mind. She began to feel sluggish and languid and listless and lethargic all at once, as if her very eyelids were being weighed down by Deepstone and Vengestone combined. Sleepiness and drowsiness were swarming her senses, and she suddenly had a strange sense that something foreign had infiltrated her very subconscious and was pressing on it, prodding it, controlling it.

What had just happened to her?

What was still happening to her?

In a frantic frenzy, she screamed in her mind, Get out! Get out! Get out!, feeling her whole body quaking and quivering and trembling like lightning, fighting whatever had linked itself to her semiconscious with every ounce of strength in her body. She was weakening fast—whispers of panic were seeping into her mind as the cold just got stronger and stronger…

And then, all of a sudden—the cold, numb, weakness-inducing feeling left her just as quickly as it had come. Still shaking and shivering, she flinched slightly as she felt a hand gently resting on her shoulder a moment later, and an eerily echoey yet softly ethereal voice crooned apologetically in her ear, "Sorry…I haven't tethered to anyone in so long I forgot how involuntary it could be."

Tethered?

Involuntary?

She craned her head around, but no one else was there. All she knew was that there was another presence with her—but she appeared to still be alone.

Was she?

"Morro?" she breathed hesitantly again—but no one answered. Yet she knew deep down that someone was indeed with her.

But who?

And in what form?

Later that day, around lunchtime, Kit was mechanically eating pulled pork, rice, and beans, her mind growing ever more distant and withdrawn as a bazillion questions swirled about wildly in her subconscious.

What was going on?

Why was Morro (she was thoroughly convinced now that she had definitely heard Morro speaking) here?

How was he here?

Was he still a ghost? Kind of? Sort of?

Was he an ally or an enemy? Friend or foe?

More to the point, what could Kit do about this? She couldn't tell anyone—that was certain. They'd think she was schizophrenic or something! But how could she communicate with Morro without drawing unwanted attention or unbidden, nosy questions?

And then she thought of something. A note! She could write him a note! But then she stopped, puzzled once more. What should she tell him? What should she say? Only one way to decide.

Quickly, she scarfed down the rest of her food, snagged some looseleaf paper and a couple of finely sharpened pencils, and went outside to sit under one of the few apple trees the property had. Settling herself comfortably on the lush, sweet-smelling grass, she wrote quickly, double-checking her spelling and grammar as she went. She then pondered whether Morro could actually read, and then drew a few pictures on the back to explain her message more clearly, just in case. Reading it over silently, she smiled to herself in satisfaction. The note was rather short for clarity's sake and simply read as follows:

If you ever need me, winter, spring, or fall, just cry out my name, and I will hear your call.

Kit.

She then folded the note into quarters and tied it with a piece of sparkly selkie-silver yarn, cut from one of her mother's myriad yarn balls. Hoping against hope that the note would be light enough, she held it in the tips of her fingers and let the wind blow it out of her hand. She half-expected it to fall into the grass, but it didn't.

It kept going…and going…and going.

Kit couldn't help but sense a grin flashing across her face. If Morro was here, there was no doubt in her mind that either he would find the note—or the note would find him.

She did not yet know how soon that would indeed be the case.

The next morning, after breakfast, Kit was sitting at her computer, her lip puckered in a frown at the screen as she silently huffed, frustrated. She had been trying to upload one of her many Ninjago fanfics to the site she used when she'd gotten a "privacy error" on the screen—for the zillionth time in a row that week. She'd been trying to get the dumb thing to cooperate with her for over an hour, but it was no use. But her dismay suddenly morphed into raw, wild distress as she realized her computer's battery was dangerously low.

Great. Just great. It would take more than an hour to charge it—if she didn't touch the computer during that time. Now what would she do?

Suddenly, her attention was drawn by a sharp rapping of knuckles on the window. Or was that just a tree branch banging the glass? Again, only one way to find out. As quickly as the sound came, it stopped. But Kit wasn't perturbed by this.

She scrambled to her feet, scurried to put her computer on the charger, snagged a silky, sheer nippy-blue cardigan, and hustled out the door, gaze darting around frantically for any sign or sound of Morro. As she searched, she sensed a bizarrely strange moonstone-white-and-nippy-blue aura overshadowing and cloaking everything—including her—in a fuzzy, cozily tender warmth and peace. The sensation was so tranquil and peaceful that she could've laid down and fallen into a deep, long, serenely healing slumber right then and there. The very air seemed to tingle with an airy, celestial, ethereal glow, a pulse of power, a flame of light. Creatures were soothed into blissful, contemplative stillness, not running in fear from her, but curiously gazing up at her as she sat down in the springy grass, criss-cross-apple-sauced her legs into the lotus position, and called out, "Hello? Morro, are you out here?"

No longer was she unsure about the ghostly wind-child's presence. Morro was here—she was sure of it.

Was he?

As if in answer, the wind began to blow breezily past her, its gusts scintillating with a wondrously melodic, fantastically delicate and bell-like heart-song like that of the silver-gold stars above. Kit giggled, childishly delighted by the sound. This was just how she imagined the star-song to sound like. Clearer than crystal's shimmering chime, purer than a mountain waterfall's rush, fuller than a mighty orchestra's symphonic aria-tones, brighter than full moon's pearl-precious light…

Suddenly, her ears pricked up. Her haunches rose. Her shoulder blades hunched instinctively. Every hair on the back of her neck stood up as a frightened, imploring voice like that of a mournful, melancholy breeze cried out in her mind, Kit…Kit…

That's when she remembered the note—If you ever need me, winter, spring, or fall, just cry out my name, and I will hear your call.

Was it Morro? Had he found the note? Was it he calling out to her?

Yet again, only one way to find out.

Kit sucked in a shy breath, clambered to her feet, and softly began to sing, "Cold winds blowing, wild and stormy,

From the hearts of selfish, lonely men.

Evils lurking from the shadows of the heart

That lies within."

It was then that Kit heard a soft, shy voice of a resonating timbre and masculine tone and lilting, lisping cadence begin to sing with her, as the form of a teenage boy with raven-black hair, emerald-green eyes, and a singular emerald-green hair streak on the right side of his head morphed into visibility in front of her. Within moments, she knew that she had found him. Morro was standing in front of her—and singing his heart out as she did hers.

"But I am not afraid," he breathed in a gentle tenor, perfectly harmonizing with Kit's own childlike treble-soprano as he continued,

"Of the storm and of the gale.

For I know light prevails,

And I don't have to fear."

Slowly, Morro approached Kit and shyly yet sweetly and consideringly took her hand, the muted softness of his slightly tinted almond-tone skin sending a shiver up Kit's spine as she realized that he was not fully a ghost and not fully human, but seeming to be caught in the middle—yet the scar that she had always imagined would be stretching across his chest wasn't there. It was gone—and she wondered if the curse bound to his core had been, at least in part, lifted away from him as she and the wind-child continued in sync with each other,

"Powers rising,

True and tender, shatter darkness cold and deep and dim."

He was looking deeply into her eyes now, staring deep into their sapphire-blue depths as she stared deeply into his own soulful emerald-green ones. He seemed to be trying to be gentle and kind towards her—and not pushy or inconsiderate in any way. Kit couldn't help but feel her voice quiver with shock and relief and delight intertwining as she and Morro finished as one,

"Shadows scatter,

For the light illumines all who then draw near."

Kit was dumbstruck. Simply dumbstruck. Not just that Morro knew the song, but that now she could see him. He was still at least partially a ghost—that much was certain from the chilly, all but intangible touch of his fingers and the sickly-green aura cloaking him in incorporeality and ghostliness. But his eyes showed no undertone of malice or mask of deceit or shades of bitter hatred and aggression. Instead, they shone with a slight melancholy woe and lingering guilty regret. And when she looked closely, she thought she could see sage-green specter-tears glistening in his eyes.

Without even thinking about it, she shyly, nervously embraced him in a tight, tender hug, closing her eyes, hoping against hope that she would not dissolve him with her tears. He let out a startled oof at the hug, but soon he gratefully returned the embrace, whispering breathlessly, "Kit."

"Morro." Kit returned, feeling her voice choking up in her throat as she stammered, "You're…you're here. You're real. And you're alive—well, sort of."

Morro let out a wry chuckle at that, and as Kit gently pulled out of the embrace, he flashed her a sad smile. Then he shook his head in wonder and murmured half to himself, "You really would 'echo my tears and feel my pain,' wouldn't you?"

Kit gasped. That was a line—or a paraphrase of a line—from one of her Ninjago poems! But how did Morro know it?!

As if he heard her thoughts, Morro coughed sheepishly and stammered sorrowfully yet gratefully, "Kit, you're one of the only people out there who can see past my wrong actions— and give me a second chance through your writing. I was right to come to you. You truly have the writer's gift."

"The writer's gift?" Kit echoed in surprise. She'd always known that she was an imaginative writer, but she'd never heard anyone say she had "the writer's gift"—whatever that was.

"You have the power in your hands to shape our world—my world." Morro elaborated. "You used the writer's gift to change my fate."

"Well…" Kit stammered, her cheeks flushing three shades of luminescent pale, "I don't have the power to change fate exactly. That's not within my power. It's greater than what I could ever do on my own. That power belongs to Someone greater than me."

"I know." the wind-child reassured her. "I know about your faith, and I believe you. But what I'm trying to say is that, with the writer's gift, you could save our world—and all other worlds connected to it. Fact is, I need your help. Ninjago desperately needs your strength, your speed, and your power—your writer's gift."

Kit flushed even paler at that. How could her writing help save…Ninjago? More to the point, save it from what? A low growl from behind her interrupted her train of thought, and her eyes grew wide in fear. She knew that she shouldn't turn around—but she had to know what was behind her.

The moment she whirled around to look, she heard a soft tick-tick-ticking sound and a low, raspy hiss. A hot breath blew in her face (well, that was a first), but she couldn't see its source. And that's when it happened.

A shadowy apparition began to take shape no more than twelve feet in front of her. She sucked in a sharp breath and instantly felt Morro's hand on her back, reassuring her in the best way the wind-wielder knew how. "Just stay perfectly, perfectly still." he hissed in her ear, his voice strangely strangled and distant, almost as if he knew what was happening—and dreaded it with a vengeance.

Sure enough, just moments later, the shadow-creature was joined by another—and another— and another. As the grotesquely hideous beasts drew nearer and nearer, Kit felt her panic rising and her hands trembling convulsively. They had to run—they had to flee!

Morro seemed to be thinking the same thing—for when the monstrous, all-but-formless ghoulish nightmares began to cackle and hiss and bare their fangs, snarling and snapping and licking their chops, the wind-child grasped Kit's hand, squeezing it so hard that both his and her knuckles turned a ghostly pale, and yelled, "Run! RUN!"

And did they ever run! Whirling around on their heels, Kit and Morro took off like lightning, scurrying and scrabbling and scrambling to get away from those things as fast as they could and as far away as possible. The nightmarish creatures yipped and howled, instantly giving chase. Hearing the baying and growling of the creatures lunging forward and hot on their heels, the two unlikely companions ran even faster.

Kit's legs burned. Her feet ached. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs like a gong of shattering reverberating in her mind over and over again—like a thundering stampede of skittish colts neighing with frantic ninnies and nickers out of gales of raw, wild fear. But she kept going. She kept running.

Risking a glance behind her, she screamed in horror, "They're gaining on us!"

"Just keep running! Dead ahead!" Morro cried back, gesturing wildly to a sea of brush and bracken, separated from the rest of the yard by a single babbling beck.

"The back 40?!" Kit shouted. "But I can't go in there!"

"We're not going in." Morro explained. "We're hopping through."

"WHAT?!" But there was no time to answer that question. For it was then that Morro called, "Do you trust me?!"

Knowing what might come next, Kit—still running—sucked in a short, shaky breath and yelled back, "Yes! Tether now! Tether now!"

There was a gust of wind—a sharp, bitter chill—and then Kit felt her senses black out momentarily before realizing that Morro had tethered his consciousness not to her body but to the locket she wore around her neck. Like a Miraculous, she thought to herself as she sensed Morro's adrenaline and Wind Power coursing through her own veins, driving her ever forward. Knowing exactly what to do next, she called on Morro's Mark of the Pack, crying out at the top of her lungs, "Power of the Pack, cross over!"

A beam of nippy ice-blue, misty energy shot out from Kit's outstretched hands, stemming from Morro's Pack Power, circling all around her before coalescing into a glowing moonstone-sapphire-and-amethyst vortex. A spark of recognition lit up in Kit's mind, as through Morro's memory, she realized it was a portal—a portal to Ninjago. But the Power of the Pack could only hold the connection for so long. And already the portal was beginning to close!

Jump! Morro cried out in Kit's mind, and Kit instinctively jumped, diving through the vortex just as one of the pursuing monsters lunged for her heels, missing her ankles by mere inches as the portal snapped shut like a rolling clap of thunder answering the lightning's sky-splitting cry.

On the other side of the portal—deep within the heart of the Merged Realms—Kit, with Morro's being still tethered to her own through her locket, flew headlong out of the vortex, tumbling over and over in an uncontrollable somersault before coming to a dizzying stop in a clump of grass and summer wildflowers.

Oh, ouch—that hurt! Morro moaned in Kit's consciousness before a shiver rippled up Kit's spine and she felt the wind-child's consciousness separate from her locket as Morro took his own form again on the grass beside her. The wind-child was curled into a painful-looking ball, with his legs pulled up tightly to his chest and his hands cupped underneath his knees. His breathing was awfully short and sharp and strangled, and Kit couldn't help but feel slightly breathless and exhaustively winded herself. Now I know how Lloyd felt, she thought to herself. I think I was better off not knowing!

"Was it this painful to be controlling Lloyd?" she couldn't help asking as she precariously sat up, still huffing and puffing from shaky fatigue.

"Not important…" Morro choked out, still panting and trembling slightly, "but let me just say— this was a cakewalk compared to Lloyd!"

"Because he was fighting you every step of the way?"

"Ah! Don't remind me!" Morro mumbled wincingly, his voice muffled by his sleeve as he hissed and groaned in pain and smothered misery.

"Sorry." Kit muttered apologetically, blinking sheepishly. Desperate to change the subject, she asked fearfully, "What were those things? Those shadow-beasts who chased us just now?"

"They're called Savagers." Morro spat out, finally screwing up the courage to unravel himself and sit up beside Kit. "Unfinished stories gone wrong."

"Unfinished stories?!" Kit echoed, feeling her panic spiking again. "Please tell me these weren't my unfinished stories!" She didn't even realize she was hyperventilating until a strange dizziness and lightheadedness began to seep into her mind, and she felt strangely hazy and woozy and weak all at once…

"Shh, shh, calm down." Morro crooned reassuringly, gently rubbing her back in soothing repetitive circular motions as he added, "Breathe, Kit. Just breathe…"

"Relax…and breathe." Kit piped up, finishing Morro's statement for him, feeling slightly calmer already. She felt even more calm when the wind-child breathed, "I can assure you that those particular Savagers didn't come from your stories—or any of the ones you enjoy the most. Those Savagers came from unfinished, forgotten stories—stories that have been sitting, neglected and forsaken for so long that unspeakable dark forces have found a way to bring them to life—but in a crooked, twisted, gnarled, disfigured form devoid of any true life and love and light. Those things are little more than mindless monsters and fiendish night-terrors, hollow and empty inside—their cores completely drained away."

"Yikes." Kit couldn't help but exclaim. "That is freaky!"

"And those aren't the only ones out there." Morro continued, his face blanching from raw, wild fear as he added, "In fact, there's thousands of Savagers out there, swarming the Merged Realms and all realms linked to them."

"Not Adventure Bay!" Kit whisper-shrieked.

"Pups are taking shelter with me and the Ninja." Morro murmured wryly. "The portal back is completely corrupted."

"Araluen?"

"Can't say for sure, but the Kulkarra have been making an appearance again—a very unnatural appearance."

"Are the Dreamchasers okay?"

"They're with us—the Ninja and I. Logan's foster 'rents are too—and get this—they're with the Night Bureau."

"No way." Kit breathed in shock.

"Way." Morro returned, shaking his head in equal shock.

"And are the Miraculous bearers all right?"

"I think the kwamis are more shaken than the bearers—Sass, Tikki, and Plagg especially."

"It's like every world—every fantastical universe—that I've ever known and loved," Kit exclaimed in horror, "is being attacked by these Savagers!"

"You're telling me!" Morro exclaimed in like terror. "PJ Masks, TRON, the Nexo Realm, the SW galaxy, Middle-Earth—and that's just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak!"

"Well, how do we stop these things before they get out of control?!" Kit whimpered mewingly, feeling tears springing to her already-red-and-puffy eyes.

"The only way to stop an unfinished story," Morro explained grimly, "is to finish the story. That's where your writer's gift comes in, Kit. You're the only one with the power to finish the stories and stop the Savagers—and their master—once and for all."

"M-me?" Kit was all but dumbfounded, staring aimlessly down at her hands, not quite believing what she was hearing. "But how? I can't just fix all the unfinished stories out there! It would take a lifetime to fix all the Savagers and finish the stories!"

"And you don't have to do it alone." the wind-child reassured her. "Besides the heroes of the realms that have been affected, you have friends in your own world who also have the writer's gift. You just have to know who you can trust to help you finish the unfinished stories—and finish them effectively."

"Like Sivi, and Zara, and Fangirl, and Kitten and Hazel and Silver Seawing!" Kit realized, her face glowing with excitement and wonder at the revelation.

"Exactly. You see? With your friends standing with you, you can finish the stories and save the realms!"

"But can I really do something this big?" Kit questioned worriedly. "What if I mess up the stories, and they become ten times worse than before?"

"Don't worry about that." Morro breathed gently in Kit's ear. "I'll help you. We all will—the other heroes and I. The point is, you're not just a girl anymore—you're Kit, the Master of Stories."

"'Master of Stories.'" Kit echoed, trying out the phrase to see how it felt. "'Master of Stories.' I like the sound of that."

"So you're in?" the wind-child asked, holding out an inviting hand. "Yes, I'm in—on one condition." Kit exclaimed, grasping Morro's hand tightly in agreement.

"What's that?"

"We use tethering only as a last resort." Kit shivered as she added fearfully, "I'd prefer to use it only when all other strategies have failed."

"You're not the only one." was Morro's muttered reply as he scrambled to his feet. Kit clambered to her own feet beside him and asked, "So where are we going now?"

"To Cloud Kingdom." the wind-child answered as matter-of-factly as if it were simply a walk in the park on a sunny day. "If you're going to learn about how powerful your words need to be, then it's best to go to the experts."

"You do realize that even full-fledged Scrollwriters can only guide paths and not control them, right?"

Morro gave a short, lighthearted laugh. "Don't I know it better than anyone?" he cheekily exclaimed as he and Kit began walking away from where the portal had been. The two shared a simultaneous laugh at that, and that's when Kit asked the big question—"What about my family? Will they be okay without me?"

"As long as you are here, using your writer's gift to finish the unfinished stories, time will stand still in your world." Morro explained. But then his face fell as he added, "But…it may not be much longer before the barrier between your world and the realms of fantasy and power begins to weaken, allowing the Savagers to cross over. And if they do…your family could be in grave danger."

"We can't let that happen!" Kit wailed, bursting into tears unexpectedly. Morro immediately responded by pulling the crying girl into a tight embrace, echoing her tears just as she had his own, and murmuring reassuringly, "We won't, Kit. We won't. I promise. We have to stay bold. We have to stand together, for we're in this together, and together…"

"We are strong." Kit finished with him, thinking back on all that had happened to her in the past few days—on her new mission—and on the dire consequences that would ensue if she didn't do this right. But most of all, she thought of something she had heard and taken to heart—a dream she had captured and made her own—a pledge that would keep her strong through even the darkest hours of the night.

Our character is defined not in the battles we win or lose, she thought to herself, but by the battles we dare to fight.

And from the look on Morro's face, he was thinking the exact same thing—pondering how he had come to her for help when he knew that this was one battle he couldn't dare to fight alone. And as he pulled away from her, she noticed the melancholy specter-tears coming back into his eyes. At first, she couldn't comprehend why he would react this way. But then…

That's when she realized it.

"Sylph." she exclaimed. "And Tasha."

"They're counting on me." Morro whispered sorrowfully and wistfully. "They're counting on me to do this—to stop the Savagers. If I lose them again…"

And then, without warning, he burst into heartsick sobs and slumped weakly to the ground, his legs buckling underneath him as he sagged into a little, pitiful heap in the leaves, curling into a tight ball again and wailing his very heart out as the fear that he'd kept hidden deep within his core came tumbling out, ebbing uncontrollably from his lips as he shuddered and shivered and shook. Kit, feeling a panging chord of grief and somber sorrow in her heart, knelt down beside him and pulled him upward into her arms, clasping him tightly to her breast, making soothing hushing noises in his ear as she rubbed his back tenderly and warmly, rocking slightly back and forth on her heels. Slowly, Morro's sniffly sobs began to dissipate into tight, ragged hiccupping coughs, and as he slowly opened his soulful emerald-green eyes, he gazed at her with mixed sadness and wonder as he murmured, "You really aren't afraid of me? After all I've done—all the wrong I've committed in my darkened, selfish past?"

"I used to be afraid—very afraid." Kit admitted, pulling away from Morro for a second before looking back at him and continuing, "But now I understand."

"Understand…what?" Morro asked in confusion, and in that moment, Kit saw not a former enemy of the Ninja but a lost child crying out for the light, with no language but a cry, and not being able to find it on his own.

"I understand…" she hesitantly ventured, "that you have a story behind your bittersweet story. And because I understand that, I'm not afraid anymore."

As the two stood up again, Morro wiped his eyes, let out another sniffly cough, and then—he pulled the unprepared Kit into a tight, tender embrace of his own, murmuring in mixed sorrow, joy, amazement, and lingering bewilderment, "You truly have the writer's gift."

And in that moment, as Kit awkwardly yet willingly returned the hug, she knew that what he was saying was true.

She did have the writer's gift. And she had to use it—to save Morro's family, to save the ones she loved, both within the realms of fantasy and without. Legends, she knew, began in truth but ended in imagination, and these realms were the same way. She was now in an ongoing battle to keep the realms and their legends and lore alive—to not let the Savagers destroy the worlds she had come to love and cherish through the stories that made them existent.

Her time had come to be a hero—to fight—to be a Ninja for what's right—and now, in this moment, she was indeed ready to stand strong and stand firm, to stay bold and to dare to fight.

And in that moment, so was Morro.