So, this story is by reader request by sivinightfury, but I just want to talk quick about the concept this story hinges on. You'll see it mentioned by name later, but you should probably be aware that in this tale, Morro has what is called "dissociation." Simply put, dissociation is a condition caused by severe trauma, which typically causes a person to experience disorientation, numbness, and perceived separation from his own body, among other symptoms. I don't have this condition myself, but I just thought you should be aware of dissociation's role in the story, in case there are readers who are very much frightened of the idea, or in some cases the reality, of dissociation.
Bonus Story #1!: The Grey Mist (Reach Out to Me…)
Ninjago (Season 11—The Ice Chapter)
writing prompt: reader request (for sivinightfury)
Summary: The grey mist is always there for Morro, ready to take him away when he needs to escape the trials of his traumatic reality. It's unpredictable and uncontrollable, and yet…he finds a strange comfort in it. But what if the grey mist takes Morro away from his troubles in the middle of a dire situation? What if instead of saving him, the grey mist could jeopardize his very life?
The grey mist…
Always there…lurking in the shadows of his mind…like a scared, helpless wolf pup curled in a huddle…ready to strike at any moment…
The feeling of not being present…of being an observer in his own body…
No matter where he went, the grey mist was constantly there, ready to whisk him away when reality became too much to handle…
Whiteness.
That's the first thing Morro saw when he woke.
Whiteness all around him…whiteness everywhere he looked.
And it was cold, and empty, and dull, and numb.
It seemed to go on forever—like he could walk for miles and miles and never see another living soul around. Not a bird, not a deer, not an owl, not a single living, breathing creature within this great, white expanse except himself.
He sat up as best he could in the thick, clumpy white stuff that he vaguely remembered being called snow. His eyes blinked rapidly as his gaze darted frantically around and he struggled to regain his bearings. A bitterly frigid breeze blew chillingly by, and he wrapped his arms around himself, already beginning to shiver and quake and shudder from its biting frostiness and icy coldness. The Selkie-Silver of his Wind Powers whimpered wolfishly in fear, weak and drowsy and fatigued within him. This was one breeze he could not control—one gust of air he could not manipulate or shape or direct.
He was lost, and he was cold, and he was more scared than he had ever been in his entire life.
Even more frightened than when he had lost his sister, Sylph, to the Ethereal Divide.
Even more timid than when he'd been sucked into the darkened, spooky, hauntingly shadowy depths of the Cursed Realm, never to emerge from its ghoulish, nightmarish surroundings until he that had cursed him to that life-forsaken place inadvertently took his place.
Even more afraid of the unknown than when he'd let himself be pulled under by the Preeminent, taking his last breath within moments of being drawn into the Endless Sea.
Oh, sure…there had been the Day of the Departed. But even those fragile moments had been overshadowed by the gloomy foreboding that sooner or later, he would have to return from whence he came. And even then he'd struggled to maintain his cool amidst the cataclysmic chaos of the Yin-Yang Eclipse.
Could he have accepted Wu's offer to travel through the Rift of Return—to regain his mortality, to be a part of the living world again?
Yes, he thought to himself as he pushed himself onto his knees and scrabbled to his feet, stumbling a little as he fought to whip his balance back into shape after being trapped in the chilly shadows of perpetual slumber for so long.
And yet…
His thoughts were interrupted when 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 nearly trip over his own feet many times in succession.
His torn, tattered, bedraggled and disheveled green-and-black gi offered no protection against the penetrating chill of the icy blizzard swirling all around him like a cataclysmic, hurricanic whirlwind that could neither be controlled nor coaxed into submission. The weight of the snow piling up around his legs seemed to drag his feet down, pulling him deeper and deeper into the suffocating depths of the snowy landscape's stifling, life-snuffing embrace as he struggled and fought against the force that had once been his ally and his protector. The chilling cold of the wild, catastrophically powerful snowstorm seemed to pierce into his unprotected greenish skin like the fangs of a wolf, making him feel so weak…so drained…so dizzy…so oddly lethargic and listless…
He shuddered. He shook. He trembled and twitched and convulsed. As he continued to struggle forward, his pulse was sleepy, his heartbeat diminished to nothing more than a blipping thrum of resonance. As he wrestled to keep his stubbornly Deepstone-weighted eyelids open, his eyelashes fluttered so slowly that time itself seemed to be moving in slow motion. Blink…blink…blink…blink…
His forehead throbbed lightly behind his temples. His ears burned from sheer white-cold. His muscles were buzzing with fluttering adrenaline, yet the blood in his veins was seemingly turned to ice, slow and tired and fragile. Dagger-sharp shards of cold were swirling through his veins, seeping into his nonexistent bones, sending weariness trickling through every ounce of his fiber and every cell in his body, piercing his humming core and twisting taut, morphing his very nerves into little prickles of freezing frost.
Every breath felt like a whispering tongue of flame. Every movement ached and seethed and bristled with anguish. His muscles were cramping, his fingers twitching with misery, his side burning like wildfire as his heart pounded like a gong of shattering reverberating in his mind over and over again.
Walking hurt. Breathing hurt. If he moved so much as a finger, or wiggled but a single toe, the mere effort caused a thousand sting-like needles of corrupted iciness to penetrate his body all at the same time, causing him to shriek in utter anguish and agonizing pain every time. Even fighting his way through the nippy, endlessly stretching snow drifts seemed to be draining all of his remaining strength, leeching every thread and every crystalline fragment of his endurance away as he slowly grew groggier and sleepier and drowsier and hazier by the second…
And that's when his vision began to blur…his senses to grow muted and thin…his very perception to warp into something surreal and otherworldly as he felt the world around him dissolve into little more than a kaleidoscopic mass of dim, dull colors and faint smells and blurred sounds and growing fuzziness…
The grey mist was coming for him once again, blurring the edges of his turmoil, taking away every stint or semblance of pain, numbing everything around him so that everything seemed sleepy and soft and strangely soothing, without any undercurrents of agony or misery or sadness…
And as he lay down on his back and stared aimlessly up at the cloudy horizon—not blinking even once as his pupils dilated, his irises went milky and glassy as they slowly morphed from emerald-green to misty-grey, and his gaze grew unfocused and aimless—he silently closed his eyes and let out a slushy, slurry sigh of unnatural bliss and tenuous contentment as the dazed, dreamy disorientation that had become his solacious refuge fully sank in, and the sharp edges of reality drifted slowly away…
Little did he realize…he was not alone or unwatched.
For a certain powerless Formling was secretly spying on the unsuspecting wind-child…right at that very moment.
Vex the Formless, his eyes gleaming with malice, was gazing intently into his scrying crystal once again, hoping to survey the realm and squelch any possible threat to his Emperor's reign. The swirling mists within the crystalline stone gradually cleared, revealing the sight of a small, scrawny figure laying motionless in the snow. As Vex peered deeper and deeper into the crystal's hypnotic depths, he began to make out details here and there that slowly, ever so slowly, warped into clear, chillingly clarion focus. The figure appeared to be no more than fifteen years of age—at least, at first glance. A closer look revealed that the teen was not of this world—or even within the living world at all. His frame was slightly translucent, his skin tinted a slight greenish tone, and his form shrouded in a sage-green ethereal, ghostly aura.
The blizzard raged all around the boy, the snowflakes whipping past with relentless fury, but he remained still, his motionless form with its snow-dusted, raven-black, wispy locks and peculiar-looking emerald-green hair streak faintly shimmering with an otherworldly glow.
A twisted grin spread across Vex's face as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. The ghost-teen's presence within the Never-realm presented a unique opportunity—one that could serve his Ice Emperor well. He turned and made his way to the throne room, where Zane, now the Ice Emperor, sat in cold, regal silence, the Scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu having become a permanent fixture as he clutched its frozen staff within a frigid fist of corrupted ice.
"Your Majesty," Vex said slyly, bowing low before the throne in a shabby show of great honor and respect. "I have come across something... intriguing. There is a ghostly figure, a boy, lying in the snow amidst the blizzard. His aura suggests he possesses great power."
Zane's bitter, ice-blue eyes, still holding a flicker of humanity within their steel-cold depths, narrowed as he considered Vex's words. The Ice Emperor's voice, though cold and commanding, held a hint of curiosity in its tones and timbre as he murmured, "A ghost, you say? And you believe this to be of use to us?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," Vex replied smoothly. "Such a being could be a valuable asset to your rule. Shall I send out the Black Wolves to retrieve him?"
Zane's mind raced frantically, the remnants of his true self battling against the icy grip of his new identity. He knew that this ghost, whoever he was, was vulnerable to hypothermia in the gripping depths of the unforgiving blizzard. The conceived inkling of leaving the boy to perish, all alone and unprotected, weighed heavily on his heart, and he saw a chance to act under while still under the guise of his role as the Ice Emperor.
"Yes," Zane commanded, his voice firm but betraying a flicker of concern. "Send out the Black Wolves to bring him to me, alive and unharmed. We will see for ourselves what potential he holds."
Vex's grin widened, his twisted thoughts taking a sinister delight in the perceived cruelty of the order. "As you wish, my lord. The Black Wolves will bring him here without delay."
As Vex turned to leave, Zane's gaze drifted back to the scrying crystal, laying seemingly forgotten on a nearby ice pedestal. Within the folds of its crystalline layers, he bleakly watched the ghost-teen, his heart clenching with a mixture of pity and determination. He had to save this boy, even if it meant maintaining his icy facade.
The Black Wolves howled as they were released into the blizzard, their dark forms blending seamlessly with the storm. Their mission was clear—retrieve the ghost-teen and bring him before the Ice Emperor, alive and unharmed.
Sivi's paws burned with mixed adrenaline and frenzied worry as she and her pack tore through the blizzardly, howling winds of the snowstorm like a stampede of skittish elk. Throughout the chaos of the biting snow and whirling gale, the Black Wolves communicated in their primal language, a guttural symphony of howls, whimpers, yelps, yips, and barks, each sound conveying urgency and concern as they sniffed about, searching high and low for any sign of the wind-child they'd been sent out to locate and protect.
"Find the ghost-teen!" Sivi howled, her wolfish voice carrying over the roar of the storm. "He must be near!"
The other wolves echoed her call, their voices blending into a cacophony of determination and desperation. "We must hurry! The storm is growing worse!"
As they pressed on, the wolves' keen senses guided them through the swirling snow. Sivi's nose twitched as she caught a faint scent—a mix of sage and sea-wind and something otherworldly that she could not quite put her paw on."This way!"she barked, leading the pack toward the source. A few moments later, she spotted a faint flickering of a sage-and-emerald-green light—and her primal instincts screamed at her that this was who she and the others had been sent to find.
Rushing over to the motionless ghost-teen, she tore the snow away from him with her paws, digging at his half-buried body, pushing the snow away as fast as she could. She struggled to roll him over onto his side—and gasped in horror at what she saw.
Morro's symptoms were unmistakable. His fingertips and toes had turned a ghostly white, and his greenish-blue skin was mottled with patches of selkie-silver frostbite. His body shivered uncontrollably, even as his consciousness drifted directionless in the haze of hypothermia-induced delirium. Despite the chill of the blizzard, he could already feel a strange sense of warmth spreading through his whole body, a dangerous illusion that made him believe he was safe and comfortable, soothed and protected from the direness of his fragile condition.
Sivi put a gentle paw under his chin. His pulse was faint.
She bent her head down and listened to his heartbeat. It was slow and sluggish, as if on the verge of giving out at any second.
To make matters worse, she could already feel warmth ebbing out of his body, his phantom life beginning to leave him.
As if the very realm sensed the wilting, withering core of the wind-child's being ebbing slowly away, the air was suddenly filled with a rotten, choking stench like that of copper pennies and smoky charcoal, acrid sulfur and flaky lichen, peeling bark and molting dragon scales, black mold and decaying, mossy, grub-infested, termite-eaten wood, syrupy incense and smoldering candle wax, suffocating wood smoke and a hint of cloves-and-vanilla—like the very essence of death itself was poisoning the air all around the tiny band of black-furred feral canines and their unexpected quarry. Wrinkling her snout in disgust, Sivi's sister, Nori, approached cautiously, her wolfish eyes wide with akin concern. "He's so cold," she whimpered, nudging Morro gently with her snout. "We need to get him out of here."
"He's in danger," one of the other wolves yipped, pacing nervously. "We have to move quickly!"
Sivi nodded, her heart pounding with the mix of fear and determination that could only come from the pack mentality she had been born with. "Help me lift him," she barked, her voice steady despite the storm. "We must get him to the Ice Emperor alive."
The wolves worked together, their primal language a constant flow of communication. "Careful, don't let him slip," one growled softly. "Keep him warm—we can't lose him now," another whined.
Morro was only slightly aware of what was happening, every external sensation dulled and numbed, muted and barely able to be sensed. He felt the tugging and nudging of the wolves as they tried to lift him, but the sensations were distant and surreal, as if happening to someone else. The world around him was little more than a swirling haze of monotonous colors and echoey, ephemeral sounds, as the tender yet unyielding grip of the grey mist wrapped tighter around him, making him feel as if he were being held in a safe, tingling-warm cocoon of sleepiness and deceptive peace, the shadows of perpetual slumber and oblivion gradually but stubbornly beckoning him away from the waking world for what could quickly become an eternity of perpetual slumber and fading existence.
As the wolves carefully lifted Morro and began to carry him through the blizzard, careful not to jar him or jolt his form too much, his body remained numb and listless, languid and limp and completely unresponsive. His mind was nothing more than a distant, hazy fog, and he was barely aware of the efforts being made to save him. The wolves' howls and barks seemed like echoes in an airy, celestial night-vision, far removed from his dazed, dreamlike state.
"We're almost there," Sivi howled, her voice strained with the effort. "Hold on, ghost-teen. We'll get you to safety. Just hold on a little longer, please."
When Morro woke, he saw nothing but utter black. It was as if he hadn't woken at all. He closed his eyes, then weakly pried them open again. Still pitch-black.
What was happening to him? Had he gone blind?
Where am I? he wondered desperately to himself. How did I get here?!
His Deepstone-weighted eyelids were strangely heavy as he pried them open all the way, almost as if the weight of all the realms possibly in existence was pressing down on him, pushing him to the ground, numbing his joints, stilling his nerves, gripping him in a bitter paralysis that would not let him go. His face was so frigidly numb…his cheeks, so moonstone-pale…his consciousness, so muted and frail…his chest, rising and falling so tiredly and sluggishly that he wasn't sure whether he was actually breathing.
As his fatigued gaze darted around wearily, and the hold of the grey mist abated slightly, he became softly and subtly aware that he was in a dim, duskily lit chamber within the walls of a great, stone-cold fortress. The air was sharp and bitterly nippy, and the space around him seemed to turn even the faintest whisper into an echoey, warbly cry of panic as the sound bounced incessantly off of the nooks and crannies of the isolated, hollowed-out room. And only then did Morro truly realize where he was.
Ice!he thought desperately to himself. I'm surrounded by thick, impenetrable ice!
The realization sent a shiver rippling mercilessly down his spine, but as his senses gradually sharpened, he noticed something shockingly unusual. Instead of the cold, hard floor of a dungeon cell, he felt the soft weight of several thick, warm blankets piled on top of him, insulating him from the bitter chill that permeated the air. The warmth of the blankets was a stark contrast to the icy surroundings, and it provided a small measure of comfort even amidst his bleak circumstances.
Slowly but surely, his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he slowly began to make out the details of the chamber. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of smooth, crystalline ice, which reflected the faint light in eerie, shimmering patterns—a far cry from the dark, dismal dungeons he had expected to find himself in.
As he looked around, his gaze fell upon a small ice pedestal a few inches away. On it sat a platter of food—various breads and dried meats, arranged neatly and invitingly. The sight of the food made his stomach growl, reminding him of just how long it had been since he had eaten.
Morro hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to make of the situation. Why had he been brought here? Why was he being treated with such care? The questions swirled in his mind, but his body, weak and exhausted, demanded nourishment. Food first, answers later, he finally decided, reaching out with trembling hands and shyly groping for a piece of bread from the platter. As he ate, he felt a small surge of strength returning to him, and his hazy, jumbled thoughts grew a little clearer. The food was simple but satisfying, and it helped to ground him in the present moment as the grey mist weakened even further.
As he ate, Morro's mind raced with possibilities. He knew he was in a fortress made of ice, most likely belonging to either a king or an emperor—but if that was the case, what did the ruler of this frozen realm want with him? Why had he been spared from the storm and brought to this place of relative comfort—or secret captivity?
For now, all Morro could do was eat and regain his strength. He knew that answers would come in time, but he also knew that he needed to be ready for whatever lay ahead. If he was going to find a way out of this, he had to be vigilant and alert, no matter what happened to him next.
A few hours later, the heavy door to the chamber creaked noisily open, and the Ice Emperor stepped inside. He had finally managed to shake off Vex, who had been following him around like a subservient puppy for the past hour and a half. The constant, unyielding presence had begun to grate on Zane's circuits, and he eventually realized that he had no choice but to lose Vex in the labyrinthine corridors of the fortress—just to get him off his back for a bit.
Gazing around, Zane's eyes fell upon the figure lying beneath the thick blankets. Morro appeared to be asleep, his breathing shallow and rhythmic as his chest rose and fell deeply and evenly. The Ice Emperor hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to disturb the boy or let him rest. Finally deciding that the ghost-teen needed to know why he was here, Zane approached the bed and began to speak.
"I am the Ice Emperor," Zane began, his voice echoing softly in the icy chamber. "But I was not always known by this title. My memories are... fragmented, skewed by the manipulations of a being named Vex."
He paused, glancing at Morro's still form before continuing. "I awoke in this frozen wasteland with no memory of who I was before. I only knew that I had to survive. It was Vex who found me, who twisted my thoughts and turned me into what I am now."
Zane's gaze grew distant, as if he were reliving the moments in his mind. "I can't say for sure…my mind is so foggy, but…I believe Vex might have manipulated me, feeding me lies and half-truths, until I succumbed to his sway, believing that I was meant to rule this realm with an iron fist. He rescued me, but he also convinced me that it was my destiny to bring order to the chaos of the Never-realm."
Zane's voice softened as he continued, "And yet…there are moments when I feel... something. A flicker of humanity, a memory just out of reach. It is these moments that make me question everything I've done and said."
He looked down at Morro, his expression one of conflicted sorrow. "When I saw you out in the storm, I knew I had to save you. I knew that I could not let another soul suffer the same fate I have. I commanded Vex to send the Black Wolves to bring you here, alive and unharmed."
Zane sighed, running a hand through his white hair. "I do not know if you can hear me, but I needed to tell you this. I needed you to understand that I am not your enemy. I am simply a victim of circumstance, struggling to reclaim the fragments of my past."
Morro, though his eyes remained closed, was fully awake and listening intently. He could sense the turmoil within the Ice Emperor, the conflict between the persona imposed by Vex and the remnants of Zane's true self.
Zane continued to speak, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and determination. "I cannot promise that things will be easy, but I will do everything in my power to protect you. You are safe here, as long as I draw breath."
Hours passed monotonously as Morro slipped in and out of unconsciousness, the power of the grey mist waxing and waning mesmerizingly and rhythmically, uncontrollable and unpredictable, yet providing a welcome measure of comfort and solace amidst the dim darkness of his surroundings. At long last, he let go of awareness entirely and fell into a long, healing slumber and tenderly warm sleep. Yet even through the shroud of deep, gripping unconsciousness, he could still vaguely sense a gentle hand occasionally running its way through his silky raven-black locks and tenderly stroking his cheek, like a silent plea to just hold on a little longer.
Time slowly disappeared into meaninglessness, the passage of temporal moments little more than a stream of blurry consciousness and fuzzy perception. Whether minutes, hours, or an eternity passed, Morro did not know. But in time, the haze of sleep gently lifted and Morro began to stir, his body trembling slightly under the warm blankets.
The deep, dreamless slumber he had undergone clung to him like a suffocating fog, and he quite visibly struggled to break free from its sweet yet paralyzing grip. His eyelids fluttered bleakly, heavy and resistant, as if they were weighed down by an invisible force. Each attempt to wake felt like pushing through thick, molasses-like darkness, his mind fogged and sluggish and misty with the remnants of mind-numbing drowsiness.
As the moments passed and his unconsciousness wavered, he let out a weak, muffled groan, the sound barely escaping his chapped, frostbitten lips. His limbs felt leaden and numb, unresponsive to his desperate attempts to move, to twitch, to twinge, to stir. The grey mist that had once offered him solace now held him captive, blurring the lines between reality and the void. His breathing was shallow and strangled, each inhale and exhale uncontrollably labored and slow.
Zane, standing by the bed, sensed the change in Morro's state. He noticed the subtle movements, the flicker of consciousness struggling to break through. But then, he felt a familiar presence approaching—the menacing aura of Vex. The Ice Emperor knew he had to act quickly to avoid being detected as wavering in his bitterly cold resolve.
Switching to an interrogative tone, Zane's voice took on a façade of coldness, though it retained a trace of gentleness. "Wake up, ghost. I need answers," he commanded, his words sharp but not unkind.
Morro's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. Before he could so much as even blink, the grey mist clung to his thoughts again, pulling him back into its numbing embrace. He tried to focus on Zane's voice, but the effort was immense, his mind teetering on the edge of consciousness.
"Who are you?" Zane asked, leaning closer. "Why are you here in the Never-realm?"
The grey mist surged, wrapping around Morro's mind like a suffocating shroud. He felt himself slipping away, the edges of reality growing softer, blurrier. He remained calm, accepting the familiar sensation as it washed over him, numbing his senses into docile senselessness and warm oblivion.
Sensing the shift, Zane's expression softened. He placed a hand on Morro's shoulder, the touch surprisingly toasty despite the icy surroundings. "What is ailing you?" he asked, his voice more gentle now, tinged with genuine concern intertwined with rising panic.
Morro's lips moved, but the words came out in a sleepy, slurring voice as he murmured in a groggy, distant voice, "The grey mist...it comes to take me away...when I can't handle the pain..."
The realization of the grey mist's true nature struck Zane like a stinging, sky-splitting bolt of lightning. The grey mist the wind-child was experiencing—it was dissociation. Morro was using dissociation as an escape, a way to numb himself from the overwhelming pain and turmoil of his bleak existence. But to the clearly traumatized wind-child, it was surprisingly a refuge, not a trial.
Zane's heart suddenly clenched with a mixture of pity and understanding. He knew the darkness that came with losing oneself, the desperate need to escape the trials of reality—and it was then that it clicked. He knew what he had to do, though it would not be easy. Vex and his own agenda aside, he had to find a way to help Morro, to pull him back from the brink—before it was too late.
Zane knew that moving too quickly to break Morro out of the grip of the grey mist would only escalate the problem. He needed to approach this delicately, with gentle questions that would help him understand what the wind-child was experiencing.
"Ghost-child," Zane began softly, keeping his voice calm and steady, "Can you tell me more about the grey mist? What is it like for you when it comes?"
Morro's eyes remained half-lidded, his voice still faraway and faint. "It's... like a blanket," he murmured semiconsciously. "It wraps around me and makes everything feel... distant. Soft. Like I'm floating in a dream."
Zane nodded, his expression thoughtful as he followed up with, "Does it help you feel better when you're in pain?"
Morro's head moved slightly in what could be interpreted as a nod. "Yes..." he confirmed wistfully, "it takes the pain away. It makes everything... quiet. Peaceful."
"Do you feel safe when the grey mist is there?" Zane asked gently, hoping to gain more insight into Morro's perception.
Morro's lips curved into a faint, dreamy smile as he closed his eyes and sucked in a wistful breath before murmuring, "Safe... yes. It's like nothing can hurt me when I'm in the mist. It's my refuge—like a fortress—like your fortress, but without the cold and the darkness..."
Zane's heart ached with understanding, knowing that Morro had found solace in the grey mist, using it as a way to cope with the overwhelming pain and turmoil he had faced. He understood now that he still needed to find a way to protect Morro but without taking away the one thing that brought him comfort amidst the chaos.
"Thank you for sharing that with me, ghost-child," Zane said softly. "I want to help you feel safe and at peace, even when the grey mist isn't there. We can work through this together."
Morro's eyes flickered open slightly, and he looked at Zane with a mixture of curiosity and hope. The Ice Emperor's words resonated within him, slowly but surely reaching out to him through the haze of the grey mist.
But it wouldn't last long. For Vex was on the prowl—and he wouldn't be as forgiving as the Ice Emperor was.
Just as Zane was about to leave the chamber, the door swung open with a sickening thud, and Vex entered with a triumphant smirk on his face. "Ah, there you are, my lord. I've been looking all over for you," Vex said, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction.
The grey mist, sensing the intrusion, became overprotective and pulled Morro completely away, numbing and blurring everything around him. Morro felt the familiar, hazy sensation wash over him, providing a sense of safety amidst the danger, but rendering him completely unable to move or speak. As his dissociative state deepened and the lines between his waking mind and his unconscious mind began to blur and meld together, he felt as if he were hovering halfway between dreams and waking—not fully awake, nor fully asleep, but caught in the middle, locked in a gripping state of bleary, dim subconsciousness.
As if he were asleep yet not at rest.
As if he were awake yet not alert.
Zane's eyes widened in panic as he noticed the change in Morro's demeanor and the glazing-over of his unnaturally grey eyes. He could feel the shift chillingly rippling through his own circuits as the boy slipped further away into the depths of the grey mist, with no sign of ever being able to emerge again. "Ghost-child, no! Stay with me!" Zane pleaded, his voice tinged with a frenzied urgency as he shook Morro's limp, senseless body imploringly.
But Vex's presence was a distraction Zane couldn't afford to ignore. "My Emperor, there's no need to concern yourself with this ghost-child," the deceptive manipulator said smoothly, his voice a syrupy croon with a slight underlying hiss that demanded obedience without question. "Come, my lord. We have other matters to attend to."
Zane's heart raced, his breath quickening as he struggled to maintain his composure. He knew he had to leave, but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled in his chest. With a final, desperate glance at Morro, Zane allowed himself to be led away by Vex, heading back to the main hallways of the fortress and leaving the dissociative wind-child behind.
As the door closed behind them with yet another thud, the chamber fell still and silent once more. Morro's heartbeat was slow and steady within the grey mist, a rhythmic thrum in the quiet room. His breathing was shallow, each breath in and out barely more than a whisper in the darkness. Through and through, the grey mist held him in its tight yet protective embrace, blurring the edges of reality and keeping him safe from the outside world.
Mere moments after Vex and Zane left, the grey mist, sensing the danger passing, began to recede, slowly releasing its hold on Morro. His senses gradually sharpened, and the dim chamber came back into focus. He felt the warmth of the blankets around him, the cold bite of the air, and the lingering presence of the mist.
But then, his breath caught in his throat—a previously withheld memory and spark of knowledge springing to the forefront of his mind as a lump formed in his raw, hoarse throat. His hands trembled convulsively—his heart began to pound—his ears burned with fear and pain intertwining.
But why?
What was his unconscious mind recognizing what his waking mind could not?
And then—it sunk in.
A beat of stillness—a spell of silence—and then, a strangely poignant, powerful flicker of recognition lit up in the back of Morro's mind.
It was a name.
A name that seemed to hang in the very air, a fragile thread of connection between the ghost-child and the Ice Emperor.
The name began to echo relentlessly and incessantly in Morro's mind as his heartbeat quickened slightly. His breathing grew a little deeper as he fully emerged from the grey mist, still feeling the faint echoes of its numbing embrace swirling all around his weary, weak frame. Could it be? Was it even possible?
But it was.
There was no question about it.
He knew who the Ice Emperor was—and it was a revelation that caused his whole body to shudder and his stomach to ball into tight, tumultuous knots within him. Even the lingering remnants of the grey mist couldn't dampen the sick feeling growing within his core—the feeling of great, mind-shattering heartache that swelled within his sorrowful soul.
With a shaky, quivering breath and a soft, slurred voice, Morro whispered a single, solitary word, his voice quavering with recognition, fear, and anguish combining as he breathed grievingly, "Zane?"
Later that night, Zane found himself drifting into a restless sleep, his mind swirling with fragmented memories and lingering doubts. The icy chill of the Never-realm seemed to seep into his dreams, turning them into a blend of frost and shadows.
In the midst of the cold, a figure began to take shape—a ghostly, ethereal form—the form of the ghost-child that Sivi and the other Black Wolves had rescued from the blizzard and brought to him.
Morro. The wind-child's name was Morro.
In the dream, Morro stood sobbing before him, his eyes flickering between emerald-green and misty-grey. His expression was one of desperation, his arms outstretched as he pleaded, "Reach out to me, please... reach out..."
The words echoed in Zane's mind, carrying a weight of sadness and urgency. He reached out instinctively, his hand trembling as it moved through the icy air. But just as his fingers brushed against Morro's, the ghostly figure began to fade, slipping away into the void.
Zane woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The dream lingered in his thoughts, leaving him with a sense of unease and confusion. Who was this ghost-child, Morro, and why had he appeared in his dream? The name felt oddly familiar, tugging at the edges of his fragmented memories.
He couldn't help but wonder—did Morro know him before he ever awakened within the Never-realm?
And if he did, how?
The questions gnawed at Zane, filling him with a longing for answers that seemed just out of reach.
As he lay awake in the dim, icy chamber, Zane resolved to uncover the truth. He needed to understand who Morro was and what connection they might share. The dream had sparked a flicker of hope within him, a glimmer of humanity that had not yet been extinguished by the cold.
"Reach out to me…" the dream version of Morro had begged. "Please, reach out."
He had to reach out.
But how?...
Morro lay restlessly in bed, staring up blankly at the icy ceiling. Despite the warmth of the blankets, he felt a restless energy coursing through him, urging him to move, to gain his bearings and understand where he was. Slowly, he pushed himself up and slipped out from under the covers. The feeling of his bare feet touching the cold floor sent a shiver up his spine, but he pressed on, driven by an inexplicable need to explore this frigid, lonely place.
He crept mouse-quiet through the dim corridors of the fortress, his footsteps silent on the icy ground. The walls glowed faintly, casting an eerie light that barely illuminated his path. As he wandered, Morro kept his senses alert, aware that Vex could appear at any moment and send him spiraling back into the depths of the grey mist—leaving him open and vulnerable to attack. In his wanderings, he just barely managed to evade the malevolent advisor, slipping into the shadows whenever he heard footsteps approaching. After what felt like an eternity of skulking about, Morro stumbled upon a large chamber. In the center of the room lay Boreal, a magnificent dragon made entirely of ice. The dragon's eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and its breath created small clouds of frost in the cold air.
To Morro's surprise, a deep, masculine voice echoed in his mind, clear and resonant. Come closer, ghost-child. You do not need to fear me.
Hesitant but curious, Morro took a step forward. "You... you can speak to me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Yes, the dragon replied telepathically. I am Boreal, created by my master with his magical staff. Come, curl up in my wings. They will keep you warm against the cold.
Morro approached tentatively, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the dragon's presence. He reached out and touched Boreal's frosty wing, feeling a surprising warmth emanating from it. Carefully, he curled up within the dragon's wings, finding solace in the unexpected embrace as the wings enveloped him in a blanket of toastiness and tender rest.
As he settled in, Boreal continued to speak, his voice cool and introspective as he explained, My master, the Ice Emperor, created me with his staff. It holds great power, the power to control and to create.
Morro's curiosity was piqued, and he blinked in wonder at the dragon's words. "What kind of staff is it?" he asked.
It is a magical staff, Boreal explained, not mincing words but getting straight to the point. Forged with ancient magic and imbued with immense power. It can shape ice and bend the very fabric of reality to the wielder's will.
Morro's thoughts began to race. Could it be? He had heard tales of such power before. As he felt the warmth of Boreal's wings around him, a thought took root in his mind. Could the staff be connected to the Scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu?
Before his question could be answered, his eyelids grew heavy, and he found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. As he surrendered to the pull of slumber, a single question lingered in his thoughts: Is it the Scroll of Forbidden Spinjitzu?
And if it is, what do I do about it?
The chamber fell silent, the only sounds the soft breathing of the ghost-child and the gentle hum of the ice dragon's presence.
And yet…the battle for Zane's true self had only just begun.