Morro swallowed the last handful of mealworms with a begrudging groan, his body sagging back against the ferns as exhaustion overtook him. He shuddered violently, his entire frame trembling as though trying to shake off the experience—and then, unexpectedly, he let out a low, guttural belch that echoed faintly in the stillness of the night.
The dryads exchanged amused glances, their glowing forms rippling slightly in silent laughter. Morro, however, was anything but amused. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut as his mind reeled.
"Never," he rasped, his voice hoarse and laden with frustration. "Ever. Again." He paused for emphasis, his hands balling into tight fists against the soft bindings at his sides. "Nope. Not ever."
With another shudder, he slumped further into the cradle of vines and ferns, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. The faint hum of Mysterium's magic still lingered in the air, wrapping around him as if it, too, had witnessed his ordeal.
He glared half-heartedly at the stars above, their shimmering patterns oblivious to his suffering. For all their beauty, they offered no solace—only an indifferent glow as if mocking his plight. Morro sighed heavily, his thoughts swirling as the dryads resumed their soft whispers, their melodic voices weaving through the mist.
Tonight would be a memory he'd never forget, and one he'd never willingly relive. The taste of Moondust Mealworms might linger faintly on his tongue, but one thing was certain: he'd had enough of weird for one night.
Hours later
Morro lay motionless in the cocoon of vines and ferns, his gaze drifting between the glowing constellations above and the gentle sway of the trees around him. He'd been awake all night, his thoughts in a relentless spiral as he braced for the inevitable—his stomach turning against him, punishing him for the indignity of consuming roasted bugs. The memory of the crunch, the texture, the taste, haunted him every time he closed his eyes.
But as the soft light of morning broke through the mist, illuminating the forest in faint hues of silver and gold, Morro realized something. The nausea he'd been dreading never came. In fact, he felt… different. His limbs, though bound, felt lighter, less burdened by the ache of exhaustion that had weighed him down since his transformation. His chest rose and fell in deeper, steadier breaths, his energy no longer strained by hunger.
He flexed his fingers slightly, testing his strength. It was faint, but it was there—a surge of vitality he hadn't felt in years, not even during his spectral days. He hated to admit it, but the mealworms—disgusting as they were—had done their job. The protein coursing through his body, however repugnant the source, had restored some of the balance he didn't even know he'd been missing.
Morro groaned softly, his head rolling to the side as he muttered under his breath, "Alright… fine. I'll admit it. I needed the protein." His voice was laced with reluctant acceptance, but his face twisted into a grimace as the full realization hit him. "But the source? Absolutely not. Never again."
He paused, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk as an idea occurred to him. "Actually," he murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought, "maybe I would wish it on my worst enemies." He chuckled dryly, the sound low and raspy. "Watching them gag, groan, and squirm? Yeah… that might actually be worth it."
The humor of the thought brought a faint spark of life to his weary expression, even as the dryads' melodic whispers stirred around him. Morro stared up at the glowing sky, his mind still restless, but now carrying the smallest flicker of strength—not just physical, but in the sardonic, survivalist spirit that had always kept him moving forward.
But then Morro bit back a groan as the itching started—a maddening sensation crawling along his wrists where the vine bonds had tightened. His fingers twitched helplessly, his bound hands unable to provide even the smallest relief. He squirmed against the ferns and vines cradling him, shifting his shoulders, arching his back, anything to make it stop. Instead, the itching only seemed to intensify, and he let out a low, frustrated growl.
This, of course, caught the attention of the dryad kids. A small group of them, luminous and wide-eyed, tilted their heads in unison as they observed him like he was the most fascinating anomaly they'd ever encountered. They whispered amongst themselves, but their volume quickly rose as their guesses began to spiral out of control.
"Maybe he's trying to molt!" piped up the girl, Naya, her amber-and-emerald eyes sparkling with excitement. "Like the moon moths!" She clapped her hands together, utterly delighted by the prospect.
"I don't think he's a moth," the boy dryad countered, squinting thoughtfully. "But maybe he's… sprouting leaves! Sometimes new saplings do that when they're stressed."
Morro's eyes widened in horror. "I am not sprouting leaves!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though the squirming somewhat undermined his authority. "And I'm not molting either! It's—" He broke off with a hiss of frustration as the itching worsened.
The dryad boy ignored him entirely. "What if he's trying to take root?" he mused aloud, stroking his chin like an ancient sage. "He's been sitting in the vines for a while now…"
"Oh no," another dryad child chimed in, her glowing features etched with mock concern. "What if he's wilting? He looks pretty wrinkly right now."
"Wrinkly?!" Morro's voice cracked, and he shot her a glare that only made her grin wider. He squirmed more vigorously, his bound wrists tugging against the vines in sheer desperation. "I'm not wilting, and I'm definitely not turning into a tree!"
The small group burst into giggles, their melodic laughter echoing softly through the forest. "Maybe he's trying to do a… wiggle dance!" Naya suggested cheerfully, shifting her own shoulders in a playful mimic of his movements. The others instantly joined in, their graceful forms swaying and twisting in exaggerated imitation of Morro's squirming.
Morro groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the ferns with an audible thud. "I'm itching, alright? My wrists itch, and I can't scratch them because your stupid vines have me tied up!" He glared at the kids, his face a perfect portrait of exasperation.
Naya gasped dramatically, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Ohhh, why didn't you just say so?" she chirped, clearly unbothered by his frustration. "We thought you were doing something magical! Like…turning into something new!"
Morro groaned again, letting out a long, defeated sigh. "If this is what I have to deal with," he muttered, half to himself, "maybe sprouting leaves would be easier." The itching, unfortunately, did not care about his suffering.
The dryad kids exchanged quick, understanding glances after hearing Morro's irritated admission. Though they had spent the better part of the night teasing and guessing wildly at his predicament, their glowing features softened with genuine sympathy. One by one, they gathered closer, their small glowing hands reaching out to help relieve him of his plight.
"Don't worry," Naya said brightly, her voice lilting with earnest determination. "We'll help with the itching! Right, everyone?" She looked around, and the other kids nodded in unison, their glowing forms rippling with excitement.
Morro froze, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as the first tiny hand brushed against his wrist. "Wait—hold on—what are you—" His words broke off as another dryad's fingers lightly grazed the inside of his bound arm, sending an unexpected jolt through him. His body twitched instinctively, and a sharp intake of breath hissed through his teeth.
"Ohhh," Naya breathed, her eyes lighting up like twin fireflies. "He's ticklish!" Her face broke into a wide grin as she poked his side, eliciting a sudden, involuntary jerk from Morro. The other dryad children gasped in delight, their glowing eyes sparkling like mischief given form.
"No," Morro growled, his voice laced with warning as he squirmed against the vines. "No, absolutely not. Don't even think about—"
But it was too late. The dryad kids descended upon him like a pack of playful forest sprites, their glowing hands darting toward his sides, ribs, and arms. Their efforts began as itch-scratching, but it quickly devolved into gleeful tickling as they discovered all the weak spots the Wind Master had tried so hard to protect.
"Stop! Stop that!" Morro barked, his voice cracking as laughter bubbled up against his will. He twisted and writhed, but the vines cradling him only made it easier for the children to launch their mischievous assault. "I'm warning you—I—hah! Stop! That's not—ack!" His protest dissolved into a choked laugh as one particularly bold dryad poked his ribs, sending a jolt through his entire body.
"The mighty Wind Master is ticklish!" one of the kids declared triumphantly, her melodic voice ringing through the forest as she giggled.
"More like the Wiggle Master!" another one added, barely able to contain his laughter as Morro squirmed helplessly beneath their glowing hands.
"I hate all of you," Morro managed to say between gasps, his face flushed from both indignation and suppressed laughter. "Every… single… one of you!" But his words lost their bite as his body betrayed him with another loud, breathless laugh. He twisted futilely against the vines, his fists clenching and his toes curling as their tiny hands found every sensitive spot.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the tickling began to subside, the dryad kids retreating with wide, satisfied grins plastered across their glowing faces. Morro lay there, his chest heaving, his disheveled hair falling into his face as he tried to regain what little dignity he had left.
"That," he said hoarsely, shooting the kids his best death glare, "was completely unnecessary."
"Oh, but it worked!" Naya chimed, her amber-and-emerald eyes twinkling. "You're not squirming anymore, are you?"
Morro groaned, closing his eyes as if to block out the sheer embarrassment of it all. "I'm never going to live this down," he muttered to himself. But even as the dryad kids giggled amongst themselves and wandered off, he couldn't quite suppress the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
As Morro slumped back against the ferns, his cheeks still faintly flushed from the tickling assault, a horrifying thought crept into his mind: If the Ninja ever found out about this… His entire body stiffened, and his eyes widened in alarm. He had to make absolutely sure this particular humiliation never saw the light of day—or the light of Lloyd's judgmental, knowing smirk.
He grimaced, closing his eyes as vivid images played out in his head, each scenario worse than the last. Kai would be the worst—his loud, unrelenting laughter ringing through the monastery like a bell. "Ticklish Wind Master? Oh, this is gold!" he'd crow, probably while reenacting the whole ordeal in exaggerated gestures.
And Nya? Oh, Nya would be just as bad—if not worse. She'd raise an eyebrow, smirk knowingly, and mutter something like, "So much for the tough guy act, huh?" Her sarcasm would be sharp enough to cut through Morro's pride like butter.
Morro groaned audibly, burying his face in his bound arms. "Nope. Nope. Not happening," he muttered to himself, as though speaking the words aloud might solidify his resolve to bury this memory forever. The thought of Zane's detached yet pointed observations or Jay's endless teasing sent shivers down his spine. Even Cole, who was usually the calm and reasonable one, would probably let out a chuckle and say, "Well, at least we know how to beat you now—tickle attack!"
As for Lloyd… Morro could almost hear the Dragon Ninja's diplomatic yet smug tone. "You know, Morro, it's nice to see you lighten up for once. Though I didn't expect tickling to be your downfall." And then the infamous golden grin would follow, a grin that Morro would want to wipe off the kid's face with a tornado.
"This stays here," he growled to the dryads, his voice sharp with panic as his emerald-green eyes darted between them. "None of you mention this to anyone. Ever. Especially not to any other humans—or Ninja." He sighed heavily, muttering to himself as his head thudded back against the vines. "I'd never live it down."
Still, as his thoughts swirled, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Maybe if the Ninja were forced to endure roasted Moondust Mealworms, they'd understand a fraction of what he had suffered. He could already picture Kai's dramatic gagging, Jay's squeaky protests, and even Lloyd grimacing while trying to keep his composure. Yeah… Morro thought to himself. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad after all.
But then a sly grin tugged at the corners of Morro's lips as his mind drifted toward a far more amusing thought: imagining some of Ninjago's worst villains enduring the same culinary horrors he'd just survived. If he had to suffer, then why shouldn't they? In fact, they deserved far worse than mealworms. His imagination took hold, painting vivid, and oddly satisfying, scenarios.
He pictured Lord Garmadon seated at a grand, ominous banquet table, his four arms juggling plates of fried crickets, roasted beetles, and glowing centipedes marinated in stardust. Garmadon's dark, fearsome demeanor faltered ever so slightly as he hesitated over a particularly large cricket. "This… is for ultimate power," Morro imagined him muttering to himself before crunching into the insect, his face contorting with suppressed grimaces.
Then there was Pythor, the serpentine schemer, smugly claiming that eating bugs was beneath him—until a platter of wriggling, honey-glazed grubs was presented. Morro could see Pythor's tongue flicking out cautiously, his usual snide confidence melting as he recoiled in horror. "Perhaps… an acquired taste," Pythor would hiss through clenched teeth, his pale scales nearly glowing with discomfort.
And Chen? Oh, Chen wouldn't be able to resist showing off. Morro could almost hear him boast to the room, "The great Master Chen can eat anything! Watch and be amazed!" Only for him to promptly pop a fat, roasted stag beetle into his mouth, chew, and then freeze mid-bravado as the taste hit. "Mmm… crunchy," Chen would squeak, his expression turning a slightly greener shade.
Even Samukai wasn't spared in Morro's mental parade of vengeance. The skeleton warrior sat surrounded by plates of charred scorpions and deep-fried tarantulas, which did little to bolster his already skeletal frame. "I don't even have a stomach," Morro imagined Samukai complaining, but nonetheless crunching down on a spider leg just to avoid looking weak in front of his generals.
Finally, his mental masterpiece was Nadakhan, the smug djinn who always thought he was above everyone. Morro chuckled darkly as he pictured the pirate prince faced with a bowl of live, glowing fireflies. "Such a delicacy," Nadakhan would sneer, his voice dripping with insincerity, only to flinch as one of the fireflies lit up in his mouth mid-chew. The image of the light glowing faintly through his cheek made Morro snicker under his breath.
By the time his mental theater drew to a close, Morro's smirk had widened, his earlier frustrations momentarily forgotten. Sure, his ordeal with the mealworms had been humiliating, but imagining his enemies squirm, gag, and grimace made it almost… worth it.
"They'd never recover," he muttered to himself, his eyes twinkling faintly with amusement. "But it'd be glorious," he added, suppressing a slight giggle.
The thought struck him like a spark igniting dry tinder. One moment, Morro was lying there, simmering in his humiliation, the faint itch of the vines still teasing his wrists. The next, he was imagining Nadakhan's glowing firefly-cheek, Pythor recoiling in horror, and Garmadon chewing through a cricket with ultimate reluctance. It started as a low chuckle, deep and rough from disuse, but it quickly grew, breaking free from his chest like a long-forgotten storm.
He rolled onto his side as the laughter built, his shoulders shaking violently against the ferns. It came in bursts, uneven and unrestrained, each one louder than the last. His eyes squeezed shut as tears began to form at their corners, his face contorted into an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement. It was raw and unapologetic, the kind of laughter that left no room for composure.
The dryads paused their whispers, their glowing forms tilting curiously as they watched the Wind Master unravel in front of them. Even the children, who had only moments ago delighted in his ticklish demise, exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what to make of the sight.
Morro clutched his stomach, his bound hands useless but pressed against his sides as though trying to hold himself together. "Oh—oh, no," he gasped, barely able to catch his breath as another wave of laughter overtook him. The image of Chen's wide-eyed panic as he crunched into a stag beetle sent him over the edge again, and he let out a wild, unrestrained cackle that echoed through the forest like a clap of thunder.
For the first time in decades, his laugh was genuine—not a mocking sneer, not a bitter chuckle at someone else's expense, but a full-bodied, soul-rattling laugh that made his chest ache and his ribs protest. It was as though every piece of tension he'd ever carried, every burden, was spilling out in the form of chaotic, gleeful sound.
When he finally started to come down, he flopped back against the vines, completely breathless. His chest heaved as he gulped for air, his face flushed and his hair disheveled. The dryads continued to stare, their melodic whispers picking up again, but this time tinged with wonder and perhaps a little amusement of their own.
Morro wiped at his damp eyes with his bound hands, still grinning like an idiot despite himself. "If only they could see me now," he muttered hoarsely, his voice cracking slightly from the effort. "The mighty Wind Master, laughing his head off at bugs and villains." He chuckled again, softer this time, shaking his head as though he couldn't quite believe it himself.
But then he saw all the children looking at him again—staring at him. Morro gulped. What would they do now? Tie him to a tree? Leave him for the wolves to find?
But then it happened.
The dryad children practically exploded with excitement the moment they processed Morro's laughter filling the air. Their glowing forms rippled like fireflies in a frenzy, their melodic voices rising in joyful chaos. They twirled around him, their delicate hands clapping and feet bouncing as they joined in the moment, giggling uncontrollably.
"He's laughing!" Naya shrieked gleefully, throwing her arms up as though Morro had just performed a miracle. "The Wind Master can laugh!"
Another dryad boy leaped onto a nearby vine, gripping it tightly as he swung back and forth like an excitable monkey. "It's so loud!" he yelled, his voice bursting with delight. "Listen! He's laughing his head off!"
A third child ran circles around Morro, her luminous figure practically vibrating with glee as she chimed, "It's the funniest thing ever! Do it again!"
Morro groaned through his wheezing laughter, his bound hands pressing against his heaving chest as the giggles took on a life of their own. "I—can't—breathe!" he managed to sputter between bursts of wild laughter, his voice cracking as he tried to regain control. But the sheer joy radiating from the dryad children was infectious, and no matter how much he wanted to stop, their cheers and laughter kept pulling him back in.
"Look at him!" another child shouted, hopping gleefully. "His face is all scrunched up like this—" He exaggeratedly puffed his cheeks and squinted his glowing eyes, sending the others into peals of laughter.
Naya darted closer, her amber-and-emerald eyes alight with mischief as she pointed at Morro's bound hands. "You can't even hide it!" she teased. "You're so ticklish, and now you're so laughing! Keep going, Wind Master! Don't stop!"
Morro couldn't help it—he erupted again, the laughter rolling out of him so hard that tears streamed down his face. He tilted his head back against the ferns, his hair falling into disarray as his chest heaved uncontrollably. The dryad kids shrieked and cheered louder, their voices blending into a symphony of pure delight.
Finally, as the laughter subsided and Morro gasped for air, his face flushed and his body trembling from the effort, a coughing fit took over. He doubled forward, wheezing lightly, though his grin didn't fade. "Never… again," he rasped, his voice hoarse but still tinged with reluctant amusement. "You're going to make me laugh myself to death."
The children only giggled louder at his dramatics, bouncing around him with renewed energy. Their glowing forms filled the clearing with a warmth that somehow made Morro feel less alone—annoyed, yes, but undeniably alive in a way he hadn't felt in ages.
Morro leaned back against the ferns, still catching his breath from the laughter-induced coughing fit, when an idea struck him. He glanced at the glowing dryad children bouncing around him, their curious eyes fixed on him, and decided to share the vision that had sent him spiraling into hysterics. He was careful, though—no need to confuse them with names they wouldn't understand. Instead, he opted for vivid, ridiculous descriptions.
"So, there's this one guy," Morro began, his voice still hoarse but carrying a mischievous edge. "Tall, terrifying, all doom and gloom—looks like he just crawled out of a volcano. Picture him sitting at a grand, dark table, trying to eat crispy crickets. He'd pick one up, glare at it with all the fury of a storm, and then reluctantly crunch down, like he's chewing betrayal itself. You can hear it—crunch, crunch, crunch. Every bite would echo like thunder."
The kids giggled at the image, their glowing forms rippling with delight. Encouraged, Morro pressed on.
"And then there's the slippery one," he continued, shifting slightly as he spoke. "Slithering all over the place, acting like he's too good for bugs. But imagine him faced with a plate of roasted grubs—fat, squishy, honey-glazed ones. He'd flick his tongue out to taste one, shudder dramatically, and then nibble at the edges like he's afraid it might bite back."
More laughter burst from the dryad children, Naya clutching her sides as she doubled over. "That's so gross!" she squealed, though her grin betrayed her amusement.
"Gross, yes, but not as bad as the SHOW-OFF," Morro added, his eyes twinkling. "Picture this guy—he's loud, over-the-top, wearing some ridiculous feathered robe. He'd boast, 'I can eat anything!' and grab the biggest bug on the platter—a giant beetle with shiny black wings. He'd bite into it, pretending he's fine, until he realizes it tastes like burnt bark. And his face? Priceless."
One of the dryad boys hopped excitedly, his glowing hands clapping together. "What about the bone one?" he asked eagerly. "What would he do?"
Morro smirked, nodding thoughtfully. "Ah, the skeletal one. Imagine him holding a roasted tarantula leg—long and crispy, but the hairs still sticking out. He'd stare at it, rattle his jaw a little, and mutter something like, 'I don't even have a stomach!' But he'd eat it anyway, just to prove he could. Poor guy doesn't have the taste buds to realize how awful it is."
The dryads giggled and twirled, their glowing laughter filling the clearing as Morro chuckled softly to himself. He wasn't done yet, though—he saved the grand finale for last.
"Then there's the smug one," he said, his grin widening as he leaned forward conspiratorially. "All fancy and full of himself, acting like he's the smartest guy in the room. But picture him with a bowl of live, glowing fireflies—tiny things, buzzing around, lighting up like lanterns. He picks one up, bites into it, and—bam! His cheeks light up like the moon. He tries to act cool, but you can see the glow through his mouth while he chews. Absolute perfection."
The children erupted into laughter, Naya practically collapsing in giggles as she tried to mimic the glowing-mouth scenario. "I wanna see that!" she managed to squeak, her voice high with delight.
Morro chuckled again, shaking his head. "Trust me," he said dryly, "it's better in your imagination. And for the record? I wouldn't even wish that on me… but on them? Oh, definitely."
As the laughter rippled through the clearing, Morro felt the weight in his chest lighten just a little bit more. For all he'd been through, this…this was worth it. Hearing the dryads laugh with him rather than at him was totally, totally worth it.
Even if he had to eat bugs and endure a tickle attack to do it.