Cole's mother had passed away when he was eleven. That was four years ago. That didn't lessen the burn, though.

Every time he walked down the halls and his eyes wandered to her photo on the cabinet, her cabinet, it reminded him of the person he'd looked up to most. The woman who'd unknowingly kept their family from falling apart. His mother, Lilly.

He looks like her, too. Every stupid time he looks in the mirror he remembers her. The dark curly hair and tall, broad frame with the muscly arms and whatever else they shared. What else did they share, you say? Most parts of their personalities, that's all. They had the same sense of humour, the same thought processes, the same love for food and rocky structures. He was hers, and it was all clear.

Even though it hurt to think of her, and how he wanted nothing more than to have her back, he didn't ignore it. He let the thoughts come and go, even though some stayed longer than others. Suppressing stuff was never a good idea. He'd learned that from his father.

When she passed, Lou had stayed stoic about it every single second, making Cole's depression seem overdramatic. It had made Cole question whether or not something was wrong with him, whether he was being dramatic or attention-seeking. A few years later, when he was thirteen, he'd learned those ideologies were false. He'd grieved and moved on just fine, thank you very much.

It was a Wednesday afternoon after school when Cole was doing his homework at the kitchen table, papers and utensils scattered about his seat. His father had burst through the door after a rehearsal, already frustrated by the work he does. And upon seeing the state of the kitchen table caused by his son, he'd just, well… snapped. He'd said Cole was a disgrace for being so messy, so dramatic, so… good.

'You're too much like your mother.'

He'd said that to the boy, who was already crying at his father's outburst, causing him to scramble away to his room. It was then the elder man had realised it was his own fault. His son wasn't being dramatic, he was just being unhealthy. Cole had received a very sincere apology through the barrier of his locked door that night, and they'd got to work on restoring their relationship the next day.

It was a slow process full of bumps and awkwardness, and it was still going. Still though, any amount of time it took, they would both be patient throughout: last time somebody fell short, there was an argument like no other.

It's days like these, empty and plain boring, that Cole finds himself reflecting on his father's words. The insults passed. He'd forgiven, he knows they're empty and wrong, but forgive doesn't mean forget. Nobody believes those words. Not even the man who'd said them. Not himself.

It's the days that he spends filling up cold water bottles and bandages into his climbing bag and checking the weather that he collects every frustration and insult to use as an empowerment when he climbs the mountain. The rocky structure that his mother loved so much. The one she never got to climb because of her illness. The one he climbs excessively to make up for the times his mother couldn't.

As he looks up, the sun catches his eye. Not before he spies the upcoming ledge, though. With one last push, he grasps the edge, pulling himself up and over, the cool, wet surface refreshing against his warm skin.

He closes his eyes, the sunlight filtering through his eyelids nonetheless. A gentle breeze pushes by, an ever-so-slightly lower temperature raking through his hair. What business a light breeze has up this high on a mountain is beyond him. He still welcomes it, though. He won't be ungrateful just because of true logic.

Sitting up, he slams his bag down from over his shoulder, rifling through it carelessly for a water bottle. Eventually his hand finds one, whether it's the one he drank from before or not he doesn't know, twisting away the cap and greedily gulping down five mouthfuls. He gasps for air afterwards, putting the cap back onto the bottle and checking his hands.

The bandages were actually staying this time, thank the master, even if they were wearing down. There was a few areas where they'd been cut on stone where his hands were grazing underneath, so he sighed and re-wrapped them. It's easy enough, tying them off and cutting with his teeth, even if it is awkward in some places.

Once he finished, he sat back, looking down at his town. He's up high and quite far away. It won't be a good idea to fall (when will it ever be?) He needs to get to the top before he comes back down, though.

The peak isn't that too far ahead, maybe just a few minutes away for Cole, maybe an hour for someone who isn't an unusually bulky teen with strange parenting experience.

It doesn't take him long to get to the top, fuelled by the insults and longing for his mother that's constantly egging him on. He had expected it to only take a few moments. But what he didn't expect was an old man calmly drinking his tea and trying to hand Cole a cup.

"Hello there." He takes a long sip as though he were waiting for Cole this entire time. He looks way too old to be able to climb this hunk of a mountain, especially with a full teapot. Wait- does this guy know him? Are they related or something-

"How did you- who are you?" He asks, shuffling closer to the guy's campfire. He won't trust him staright away, but he seems unlikely to feed him drugs and/or harm him in any way, so…

No. Stranger-danger. Listen to your mom.

"Maybe that is a question for me to ask." Yep, definitely stranger-danger, time to climb down the mountain now, Cole- "but first. Why do you climb the mountain?"

He knows why he climbs the mountain. For his mom. So he can pretend that his father's getting better and moving on with his life. So he doesn't have to sit at home and cry about his mom and the effect it had on his dad anymore. He grips his elbow like he always does when something's tough subconsciously, mouth moving against his will. He doesn't have to open up to a random old man on a mountain-

"I- just- lost someone." It doesn't matter if it was four years ago. Looking back, he remembers it as though it were the present times hearing the nurses break the news. His own devastation, his father's carelessness. "My father should be sad, or angry, but he's just- he's-" the weight of it all finally pushes down on his shoulders, crushing his words where they sit on his tongue, unspoken.

"Yes?"

He wants to say distant. He wants to say something that describes the incredibly strange last four years of his life, but he can't find the right word for it. Maybe telling a story? No, that's lame. What he wants is the suffocating weight that crushes him. He wants his family back and it's suffocating.

"He spends all his time with his group singing and dancing. He's never home! Leaving all the chores for me." That's true, the small amount of time his father spends at home is spent talking about how their days went and if they need to say anything about Lilly. Not chores. "With her gone, I guess it's up to me to be the responsible one." Yes, it is. He's the one doing chores, figuring out how to distribute money, consoling his father.

"He acts like nothing's happened, how can he sing and dance at a time like this?!" He knows it's for income, for distraction. But… it seems theatrical, almost, like the smile his father puts on for performances is a little too honest.

The man sighs, gripping his cup tighter. "Grief takes many shapes and forms. Some sing and dance, some climb mountains." He says pointedly, lifting his head a little.

He climbs mountains for an escape. A distraction. Because he likes to. But he'd never known that it was grieving still. He thought he was over it, done with it. But he isn't. Neither is his father, all those hours spent rehearsing and complaining about routines were a distraction, because he enjoys his job. Because mom liked to see him perform.

He climbs mountains. His dad performs. Why did he think it to be so complicated?

Is this guy grieving, too? Or does he just enjoy it as well… First Master this is confusing… "why did you climb the mountain?"

"To find you, Cole." He froze. This man knows his name. Stranger-danger, let's go, time to go-

"How do you know my name?" He says, sitting down near the man's campfire. It's already warm weather, why this guy needs a fire is beyond him.

"I know a great deal of things. Including your talents." He says casually, filling up a stray cup with tea before handing it to Cole. He grabs it anxiously, staring down into the murky liquid. "It's earl-grey. Calms the mind."

He takes a sip, finding that isn't really all-too bad. But it isn't that good either, just an alright drink. But what he said, his talents? Why would the man know of his art skills? "My art skills? Why are they important?"

He chuckles a bit, shaking his head fondly. Cole quirks an eyebrow. "They might be greater than you think. However, that is not what I came to see you for. I believe you know of your own strength, yes?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." He nervously looks down his bare muscly chest, just to make sure they hadn't disappeared from his body during the last few minutes.

"You are very talented, Cole. I think you would like to join my sessions." Before the boy could blink, a small business card was being forced into his hand, a call for… a karate class? He really has absolutely no interest in any of that sort of stuff.

"I'm sorry but I don't think I will." He says quietly, as though the refusal is the most embarrassing thing he's ever done.

The man's face fell before a playful smirk crossed him, flickering for a second before disappearing as fast as it appeared. "Oh, will you not? For what reason?"

"I can't fight and I don't want to. There's no point in unnecessary violence." He remembers the time where his dad had to lead him down the hospital halls to tell his mother of the time he'd beaten up those kids and how proud she was. He didn't need karate class for that. Not to mention time management-

"What's to say it is unnecessary?"

Cole stops, the weight on his shoulders lifting a little at the man's optimism. "So it's like some sort of fighting thing?"

"Perhaps." He says, not looking up at Cole. This optimism just got frustrating. All this, all the opening up about his family issues only to be used to put into a fight club? Yeah, no, he'd rather not be used, thanks.

"Look, I can't just go around joining clubs that I have no clue about-"

"Cole, listen to me." The mountain suddenly grows a lot more quieter, even if it was near silence before. "This group will be fundamental for the safety of hundreds. You will do more than fight. You will protect citizens along with each other, the other five that I will recruit."

Protecting. That makes sense. When he protected that kid from the bully by beating him up his mom was proud, but now his mom's gone. This man seems proud enough, though.

"Okay. Who are the other five?" He says, weighing the options.

"Talented, just like you. Their identities shall remain secret until the time comes, just like the group. Secrecy is key."

"Wait, why does it have to be secre-" he stops speaking. In the blink of an eye, the man, his fire, his teapot and bothcups (including the one in Cole's hand) had disappeared in a puff of smoke.

When does this group start again? After spring break. On the first day of school. Ugh.

I was wrong when I said I would be bad at writing Cole's part. Extremely wrong.

Btw I'm sorry if it seems a little too much like the series right now but have faith in me! Lloyd's part (surprise: the next one) will make it sort of seem like the movie a bit more.

The next chapters will the ninja's recruits and I'll figure out what to do with Cole later. :P