Morro sighed deeply as he eased himself back onto the cushion of moss and lichen, the pounding in his head making each movement feel sluggish and deliberate. His bound wrists shifted slightly, pressing awkwardly against his chest as his tired body sank further into the soft, spongy ground. The subtle texture tickled his nose, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Hey," he murmured faintly, his voice lazy and soft, "this stuff's… kind of nice." He let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering half-open. "It's weird, though… feels funny. Like a… like a fuzzy cloud hugging my face." His chuckle grew slightly louder, his voice taking on an odd, lighthearted tone that seemed almost out of place amidst the lingering tension in the forest.
El Silbón blinked, his black eyes narrowing as he crouched closer to Morro. The ghost boy tilted his head slightly, his expression caught between concern and confusion. "You are… laughing?" he asked cautiously, his voice hesitant. "You were weak before. Now you… laugh?"
Morro let out another chuckle, his head lolling to the side as his body sank even further into the moss and lichen. "I dunno," he muttered with a dazed grin. "It's just… funny. Feels good. Really good."
El Silbón's translucent form stiffened, his attention snapping sharply to the lichen Morro was resting on. His dark green-circled eyes widened, realization dawning like a cold wave crashing over him. "Oh, no," he whispered, his skeletal hands twitching. "No, no, no—this is wrong."
He leaned closer, his fingers hovering near Morro's shoulder as he muttered to himself, his voice quick and anxious. "Hollow Joy Lichen," he hissed, his tone filled with both frustration and dread. "I should have known. I didn't think…" He trailed off, shaking his head sharply. "I made a mistake."
El Silbón's gaze darted back to Morro, who was now softly giggling to himself, his foggy mind clearly lost in a haze of empty bliss. The ghost boy swallowed hard, his spectral form flickering faintly as his hands hovered just above Morro's shoulders. "Morro," he said sharply, his voice rising. "You must listen. This lichen—it's dangerous. It hollows mortals like you. It traps you… empties you."
Morro blinked lazily, his unfocused gaze settling on El Silbón with an odd, carefree smile. "Hollows?" he repeated, his voice lilting strangely. "Nah… it's cozy. Feels… nice."
El Silbón's fingers twitched as he leaned even closer, the cold mist wrapping tightly around them both. "No, you don't understand," he hissed. "It's not real. This joy—it's hollow. It will leave you empty. You cannot stay here."
Morro's dazed grin didn't falter, his head tilting slightly as he closed his eyes, clearly intoxicated by the lichen's effects. "Empty…" he murmured faintly, his words drifting away like a distant echo. "I dunno. Feels fine…"
El Silbón gritted his teeth—metaphorically speaking, of course—as panic bubbled in his chest. The forest shadows twisted ominously at the edges of the clearing, as if mocking his mistake and amplifying the threat of what the lichen could do. He clenched his skeletal fists, his voice lowering into a fierce whisper. "You are stronger than this," he muttered. "Wake up. Fight it. Do not let it hollow you out."
No response but a dreamy-eyed blink. El Silbón sighed, his spectral shoulders sinking slightly as he stared down at Morro, who was now sprawled in the lichen, a dazed grin plastered across his face. The ghost boy rubbed the side of his translucent head in frustration. "You really don't make anything easy, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than to the intoxicated Morro.
He crouched low, his dark eyes scanning the empty bliss etched on Morro's face, and let out a resigned grunt. "Alright," he murmured, his skeletal hands twitching as he prepared for the inevitable. "Guess I'm carrying you again. Not like I'm new to hauling around dead weight."
With surprising ease, he slipped his bony arms under Morro's limp form, hoisting him up onto his shoulder in one fluid motion. Morro let out a faint laugh, utterly lost to the effects of the Hollow Joy Lichen, his head lolling loosely as Silbón adjusted his grip. "So soft…" Morro murmured, his words slurred. "Like… clouds…"
Silbón shook his head, his expression a mixture of exasperation and determination as he trudged toward the denser thicket. "Hollow clouds," he corrected quietly, his voice edged with bitterness. "That's all it is. Just like the rest of this cursed place."
He moved quickly, his translucent form gliding more than stepping, the mist swirling at his feet as he carried Morro deeper into the forest. The lichen had to be left behind, no matter how soft or inviting it seemed. Silbón knew its dangers too well—the way it emptied minds and left only hollow husks behind. He wasn't about to let that happen to Morro, no matter how frustrating the mortal—well, part-mortal—could be.
Finally, he reached a patch of bare earth nestled beneath an ancient tree, its gnarled roots winding like protective arms. The spot was firm but safe—no moss, no lichen, just the solid ground. With careful movements, Silbón lowered Morro onto the earth, propping him up slightly against one of the thick roots. "You'll thank me later," he muttered under his breath, brushing off his spectral hands.
He crouched down, his black eyes studying Morro's face closely. The dazed grin was still there, but faint cracks of awareness began flickering across his expression. Silbón's spectral form shimmered faintly as he leaned closer, his tone low but steady. "Now wake up," he murmured. "There's no joy here worth hollowing yourself out for."
Morro stirred slowly, his head tilting to the side as his eyes fluttered open. His gaze was hazy at first, unfocused, but then he blinked a few times, the remnants of the fog lifting as awareness began to creep in. He let out a small, groggy whine, rubbing the side of his face against the tree root he was propped against like a grumpy child reluctant to wake up.
"Nooo," he muttered, his tone taking on an almost petulant edge. His bound hands shifted awkwardly on his lap as he let out a drawn-out sigh. "I was… it was… there were clouds, and they were soft, and…" His voice trailed off wistfully, and he blinked again, a faint pout forming on his lips. "Why'd you have to ruin it? It was nice."
El Silbón, crouched nearby with his translucent arms crossed, tilted his head slightly, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "It was not real," he said flatly, his black eyes narrowing. "You were being hollowed out. Do you not remember?"
Morro groaned dramatically, leaning his head back against the gnarled roots. "Ugh, yeah, I remember," he muttered, though his tone made it clear he wasn't quite ready to let go of the dream. "But it didn't feel bad. It felt… good. Better than this anyway." He gestured weakly with his bound hands, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh yeah, look at this paradise. Roots digging into my back, and it smells like rotting leaves. Just great."
El Silbón sighed, shaking his head as he crouched closer, his skeletal fingers twitching faintly. "You are alive," he said pointedly. "You are not empty. That is better than a lie, no matter how soft it feels."
Morro glanced at him, the grogginess slowly ebbing away from his expression. He let out another exaggerated sigh but didn't argue further. "Fine," he muttered, slumping slightly. "Guess I should say thanks… or whatever."
"You should," Silbón replied, his voice flat but tinged with faint satisfaction. "You can thank me by not stepping into danger again."
Morro rolled his eyes but smirked faintly as he adjusted himself against the roots. "No promises," he said, though his voice carried a hint of humor. The dreamy fog that had dulled his mind was gone, but the memory of it lingered faintly, a strange contrast to the sharp reality he'd returned to.
Morro adjusted himself against the tree root, wincing slightly as he stretched his stiff shoulders. His eyes flicked toward Silbón, and with a deep breath, he broke the silence. "Okay, seriously," he began, his tone edged with frustration. "What's the deal with this place? First, I get dragged into Mysterium—without anyone asking for my input, by the way—and now I've managed to dodge getting killed, what? Three times?" He paused, considering. "No, wait. Make that four."
Silbón's translucent form stiffened, his black eyes narrowing as he turned sharply toward Morro. "Four?" he repeated, his voice carrying an edge of indignation. "You make it sound as though Mysterium exists only to destroy you."
Morro arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward despite his bound wrists. "Well, forgive me if it feels that way," he retorted, his sarcasm biting. "I mean, let's recap. The shadow beast? That hag? Oh, and who could forget you? The guy with the sack of bones who whistles doom through the mist." He gestured loosely toward Silbón. "Not exactly a warm welcome party."
Silbón's skeletal fingers twitched at his sides, his spectral shoulders squaring as his black eyes glinted faintly. "I am not a bringer of death," he snapped, his voice sharp but measured. "What I am… is complicated. Yes, I carry the weight of what I've done. But I am no monster chasing you through the shadows."
"Could've fooled me," Morro muttered under his breath, though the edge in his voice softened slightly as he caught the flicker of something deeper in Silbón's expression—pride bruised, perhaps. He sighed, slumping back against the tree. "Look, I didn't mean it that way. It's just… this place. It's like it's trying to chew me up and spit me out, and I can't figure out why."
Silbón's gaze lingered on him for a moment, his translucent form shimmering faintly in the dim light. When he finally spoke, his tone was quieter, though no less firm. "Mysterium is dangerous, yes," he said, his words deliberate. "But it is not… cruel. Not like you think. It reflects what you bring into it. And you, Morro…" He paused, his black eyes narrowing slightly. "You bring conflict. Chaos. It is no wonder you feel it presses back."
Morro frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered the words. "Conflict, huh?" he muttered, glancing off into the swirling mist. "That's one way to put it."
Silbón watched him closely, his skeletal form still but his presence steady. "You are still alive," he said quietly. "That is what matters. If Mysterium wished otherwise, I assure you—you would not be sitting here now."
Morro scoffed softly, though there was a faint flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Guess I'll just count myself lucky," he muttered, though the words carried a grudging edge.
The ghost boy tilted his head slightly, the tension in his form easing as he settled back into his crouch. "Luck," he echoed softly, his tone neutral. "Or perhaps something else entirely."
Hearing this, Morro groaned dramatically, his head tilting back against the tree root as his bound wrists thudded lightly against his chest. "Even the plants," he whined, his voice rising in exasperation. "The plants here have it out for me! I mean, Hollow Joy Lichen? Really? What's next, man-eating moss? Venomous vines?"
El Silbón watched him silently for a moment, his black eyes narrowing slightly as Morro ranted.
"And Wu," Morro continued, throwing his head forward now to glare at nothing in particular. "Wu didn't tell me this place was DANGEROUS! No heads-up, no warning, no, 'Hey Morro, don't touch the flora because it might literally hollow you out.' Just tossed me into the mess without so much as a guidebook!"
At the mention of the name, El Silbón's entire form went rigid, his black eyes widening in shock. The mist around him seemed to pause for a brief moment, swirling tighter as if reacting to his sudden tension. His skeletal fingers flexed faintly, and his voice, when it came, was low and full of disbelief.
"You… know him?" Silbón whispered, his tone thick with awe and apprehension. "The Dragon-Child of the First Spinjitzu Master?"
Morro blinked, his rant temporarily derailed as he glanced toward Silbón, frowning. "What? Oh. Yeah, I know him." He let out a huff, shifting against the tree root. "Spent years training under him. Long story short—it didn't end well. You could say we're not exactly on good terms."
El Silbón leaned forward slightly, his expression still a mix of horror and fascination. "Wu," he murmured, his voice reverent yet strained, as though speaking the name carried weight. "The son of the First Spinjitzu Master… the one who shaped realms. You trained under him?"
Morro raised an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably under Silbón's intense gaze. "Yeah, I did," he said flatly, his tone clipped. "What, is that a big deal or something?"
"You could say that," Silbón replied softly, his translucent form flickering slightly as he stared at Morro. "To be connected to him… to the First Spinjitzu Master through his bloodline…" He shook his head faintly, his spectral form shifting with the motion. "It is not something many can claim."
Morro sighed heavily, his irritation rising once more. "Great," he muttered. "Love being reminded of the big cosmic connections I didn't ask for." He gestured loosely with his bound hands. "Can we go back to the part where the plants are trying to kill me?"
But Silbón remained quiet, his dark eyes fixed on Morro with a newfound intensity.
As the seconds stretched into minutes, El Silbón's translucent form seemed to tremble, his black eyes wide and glistening as ghostly trails of what could only be described as specter-tears began to streak down his hollowed cheeks. He shook his head, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as his skeletal hands twitched at his sides. The mist around him thickened, curling tighter as if mirroring the turmoil bubbling within him.
And then, before Morro could say anything, Silbón turned abruptly, his spectral shoulders heaving as a faint, broken sob escaped him. His movements were swift and chaotic, his form flickering faintly as he sprinted into the forest, disappearing into the swirling mist. The sound of his soft, uneven sobbing lingered in the air for a moment before fading entirely into the oppressive silence of Mysterium.
Morro blinked, stunned by the abruptness of it all. He pushed himself up slightly against the gnarled tree root, his bound wrists pressing against his chest as he frowned. "What… just happened?" he murmured to himself, his voice uncertain and edged with confusion.
The name lingered in his mind—Wu. He'd only mentioned it offhandedly, another gripe in his long list of complaints. But the way Silbón had reacted… the way his form had shifted, the tears, the sobbing—it was clear something about the mention of Wu struck a deep chord.
Morro's frown deepened as he leaned back against the roots, his mind racing. He didn't understand it, but the thought gnawed at him: maybe some of the creatures in this place feared Wu. Maybe his old master's name carried weight here—more weight than Morro had ever realized.
And as much as Morro hated to admit it, not knowing why left a heavy knot of unease twisting in his chest.