Morro's dream wavered, the goofy haze of wiggling noses and balloon squeaks giving way to an oddly clear and vivid memory from his time within Lloyd's mind and body. He had been barking orders at his ghostly allies—Soul Archer, Wrayth, Ghoultar, and the rest—pushing them to execute his plans against the Ninja. It was exhausting work, even for someone as relentless as Morro. During a rare moment of reprieve, he had slumped into Lloyd's subconscious, drained and irritable.
Despite Lloyd's fear and exhaustion, the kid had noticed Morro's worn-down state. He could feel it in their shared space—the tension that Morro carried even when he tried to mask it. To Morro's annoyance, the brat hadn't just stayed quiet and cowered as expected. Instead, he had taken it upon himself to plant distractions in their mind—a slew of images so absurd that Morro couldn't help but be derailed.
This particular time, Lloyd's chosen tactic was an in-depth exposé on Kai's greatest fears.
First came the elves. Lloyd projected an image of one—tiny, smirking, and far too animated. Its movements were jerky and unnatural, its glassy eyes glinting with a mischievous malice that sent an involuntary shiver through Morro's consciousness. Lloyd's accompanying narration was relentless. "Elves can't be trusted," he began, his voice matter-of-fact but laced with humor. "Kai says they're created through dark magic, you know. They're not innocent little helpers like the stories say—they're cursed, and they live to sow chaos."
The scene shifted, the elf springing to life. It skittered across a room with uncanny speed, knocking over furniture and scattering papers everywhere. Then it paused, tilting its tiny head as its grin widened unnaturally. With a leap, it sprang onto a pillow, claws sinking in as it began to furiously shred the fabric, feathers exploding everywhere. Lloyd's voice continued, "They get into your room at night, Kai says. They wait for you to fall asleep, and then—bam! Mischief galore. They'll mess with your stuff, rearrange your weapons, ruin your hair gel. And when you wake up, you'll never know what hit you. They just… vanish."
Morro couldn't help but watch, bewildered, as the elf cackled and vanished into a puff of glitter. "Seriously?" he muttered to himself in disbelief. "This is what keeps the fire ninja up at night?"
But Lloyd wasn't done. The image shifted again, and Morro felt an involuntary cringe as he saw them: gingerbread men. They were small and harmless-looking at first, their round eyes and frosting smiles giving the illusion of warmth and whimsy. But as Lloyd's explanation began, their expressions seemed to twist, the emptiness of their eyes becoming far more pronounced.
"They're the worst, according to Kai," Lloyd narrated gleefully. "Their eyes are hollow—totally empty—and they stare right into your soul." The gingerbread men advanced slowly, their hollow gazes fixed and unnerving. "And they're not just staring for fun. Oh no. They're watching, waiting… because they want to turn you into one of them."
The dreamscape showed one of the gingerbread men snapping its little frosting-covered fingers, a shadowy magic swirling around its hands. Another gingerbread man grinned, its frosting teeth oddly sharp. They all began to chant softly, their voices growing louder as they advanced in unison. "Join us," they whispered, their sugary smiles now ominous. "One of us. One of us."
Morro groaned, dragging a spectral hand down his face as the absurdity of it all reached its peak. "Elves and gingerbread men. That's what haunts him? Really?" But even as he mocked it, he couldn't fully dismiss the faint unease the hollow-eyed gingerbread men left behind. They were disturbingly… uncanny.
Meanwhile, Lloyd's presence buzzed with satisfaction in the shared space, the kid clearly pleased with himself for planting such bizarre imagery. "You needed a break," Lloyd quipped, his tone light yet smug. "Figured I'd give you something to think about other than world domination."
Morro had rolled his eyes at the time, barking back something about how Lloyd's distractions were pitiful and wouldn't work. But now, reflecting on it in his dream, he realized how effective Lloyd's antics had been. They weren't just distractions—they were small acts of defiance, proof that even in his fear, Lloyd wouldn't let Morro win completely.
"Ridiculous kid," Morro muttered, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. The memory lingered as he drifted deeper into his dreamscape, absurd as ever but tinged with a grudging sense of respect.
But as Morro drifted deeper into the peculiar haze of his dreams, the memory of Lloyd's antics lingered, refusing to fade. At first, he'd chuckled at how ridiculous the images were—the nonsensical elves, the uncanny gingerbread men. They were distractions, designed to throw him off, to reclaim moments of control in their shared mindspace. But as Morro's thoughts quieted, another possibility began to creep into his mind.
Were they really just distractions? he wondered, his brow furrowing faintly in his sleep. Lloyd wasn't the type to use chaos purely for chaos' sake. The kid had always seen the best in people—sometimes to an irritating degree. Even in the heat of battle, Lloyd didn't rely solely on brute force; he searched for connection, for something deeper. Morro hated it, had mocked it at the time. But now, he found himself questioning whether Lloyd's antics had been more than mere defiance. Had they been an attempt to reach out?
Morro could recall the subtle shifts in Lloyd's presence during those moments—the faint warmth in his tone, the hint of humor that carried with it a note of genuine humanity. Even when Lloyd was terrified, drained to the brink, there had been a spark of resilience in him—one that wasn't just about survival. Lloyd had believed, perhaps foolishly, that there was a chance to get through to Morro. To reach past the anger and bitterness. To find the part of Morro that hadn't been consumed by the darkness of his ambition.
For a fleeting moment, Morro remembered the quiet in their shared space after Lloyd had projected those silly images. There had been no biting remarks from Lloyd, no taunts, no blame. Just a calm, unspoken understanding. The kid had noticed that Morro was drained, just as much as he was. Maybe, through the absurdity of his creations, Lloyd had been trying to remind Morro of something he'd forgotten—of laughter, of connection, of the ability to imagine something ridiculous even in the midst of chaos.
Morro's dreams shifted slightly, the celestial winds of his subconscious brushing lightly against his core wings. He closed his eyes deeper in the dream, feeling the lingering warmth of the thought. Lloyd saw the best in others, he admitted silently, though he'd never say it aloud. Even in me.
And while Morro had rejected that compassion at the time—had scoffed at it, belittled it—he couldn't deny now that there had been something profound in Lloyd's efforts. Something that made him wonder if, for all his faults and flaws, he'd been seen as more than just the sum of his anger and ambition.
Suddenly, as if they could read his mind, the vines shifted subtly, their grip loosening further, as something new began to bloom amidst their tangled forms. Morro blinked drowsily, the motion sluggish, as a peculiar flower began to grow right before his eyes. It resembled a lily, its petals delicate and intricate, but the scent that wafted toward him was unlike anything he'd encountered before. There were notes of jasmine, lavender, and vanilla, but underlying those familiar fragrances was something he couldn't quite place—soft, otherworldly, and utterly unique.
The flower pressed gently against his nose, nudging him to breathe it in. Though wary, Morro couldn't resist the peculiar pull of the scent. He inhaled deeply, the nectar's aroma washing over him like a soothing tide. His body relaxed further, the tension in his muscles fading completely. And then, as if responding to his surrender, the vines began to retreat, curling away from his limbs and uncoiling from his chest. They slid back silently, leaving him free for the first time since his entanglement.
As Morro's eyes fluttered open fully, what greeted him wasn't the forest or the open misty expanse of Mysterium—it was Lloyd. Not the Lloyd he knew now, but an illusion of his younger self, frozen at fourteen years old. The boy stood before him, his green eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and determination, his expression soft but unwavering. He looked almost translucent, as though carved from light and shadow. Yet he felt real, as if he were truly standing there in the vine-cleared space.
Morro blinked, stunned into silence. The hazy effects of the flower's nectar left him disoriented, unsure whether this was some lingering dream, another trick of the vines, or something more profound. For a long moment, he simply stared at the younger Lloyd, his thoughts swirling in disbelief. Finally, he found his voice, though it came out rough and uncertain.
"Kid… why?" Morro asked, his tone a mix of confusion and wariness. He hesitated, his brow furrowing before he forced the words out. "Why the goofy stuff that day? The elves, the gingerbread men, all that nonsense you put in our shared mindspace? Why?"
The illusion of Lloyd tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. "You mean why I made you think about Kai's greatest fears?" he asked, his voice light but calm, carrying that characteristic note of quiet compassion. He shrugged slightly, looking at Morro with an almost knowing expression. "At first, it was just to throw you off. You were all anger and ambition, barking orders and trying to dominate everyone, including me. I needed a way to distract you—and honestly, the ridiculous stuff worked."
He paused, his smile fading slightly as his gaze softened. "But it wasn't just that. I noticed how tired you looked. How… drained you were. And I thought maybe, just maybe, you needed something to break through all that. Something silly, something absurd, to remind you that there's more to life than just fighting and scheming."
Morro's eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his instinct to scoff at Lloyd's words battling against the faint twinge of understanding they stirred in him. "So, what?" he muttered, his voice low. "You were trying to… what, reach me? Make me laugh? You thought showing me hollow-eyed cookies and murderous elves was going to fix me?"
Lloyd's illusion chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not fix you. I knew I couldn't do that. But maybe I could remind you that there's still more to feel than anger. That there's still a part of you that can laugh, even if you don't want to admit it." His green eyes met Morro's directly, his gaze steady. "It wasn't about making you change, Morro. It was about showing you that change is still possible."
Morro fell silent, his thoughts churning as he stared at the younger Lloyd. The boy's words hit something deep within him, something he wasn't ready to face. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he muttered, "You really are exhausting, you know that?"
The illusion smiled gently, taking a step back as the vines stirred faintly around them, though they made no move to ensnare him again. "You're stubborn," Lloyd replied. "But I think you're starting to get it. Even just a little." With that, the illusion began to fade, the glowing figure of the young Lloyd dissolving into soft light that danced briefly in the air before vanishing completely.
Morro exhaled slowly, alone again in the quiet clearing. The peculiar flower remained nearby, its scent lingering faintly in the air, but the vines stayed still, their earlier menace replaced by a strange tranquility. For a long moment, Morro simply stood there, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and questions he wasn't ready to answer. But one thing lingered above the rest: the faint, reluctant echo of a boy's compassion, reaching out even in the darkest moments.
Morro turned his head as he heard a faint sound of stirring nearby. Silbón, still spectral but recovering, twitched faintly as his form began to solidify. His dark eyes fluttered open, hazy and uncertain, and he groaned softly, struggling to sit up. The vines that had encased him slid away gracefully, retreating into the mist like shadows dissolving into the dawn. Silbón rubbed his translucent face with a skeletal hand, looking groggier than usual.
"What... what happened?" Silbón muttered, his voice rough as if it had been pulled from the depths of sleep. He glanced around, clearly disoriented by the shift in their surroundings. His gaze landed on Morro, who was standing nearby, looking oddly... reflective.
"Oh, you missed all the fun," Morro said, his tone dripping with sarcasm but laced with humor. He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Let me catch you up. We were tangled in Strangle Vines. They decided not to crush us—lucky us—but instead, they did some weird purging thing on me. Got rid of the junk I picked up from the hag and that awful Hollow Joy Lichen." He paused, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, and there was a goblin. Tried to go after my nose."
"Your...nose?" Silbón asked, blinking in confusion as he tilted his skeletal head. "Why your nose?"
"Beats me," Morro replied, rolling his eyes. "Goblins have weird priorities. Anyway, vines weren't having it. They grew thorns, yanked the goblin down, and… well, let's just say it didn't survive. Think spider draining a fly. Grossest thing I've seen all day. And trust me, I've seen plenty."
Silbón stared at him, his expression unreadable for a moment before he sighed, his spectral form flickering faintly. "I'm… sorry I missed that." There was a faint, dry edge to his tone, but his exhaustion clearly overshadowed any humor he might have intended.
"Yeah, well, I handled it," Morro said with a shrug before his gaze shifted to the peculiar lily blooming nearby. His brow furrowed slightly as he gestured toward the flower. "Oh, and then there's that. It popped out of the vines, gave me some weird jasmine-vanilla-lavender thing to sniff, and…" He hesitated, unsure how to explain the vision of Lloyd. "Let's just say it did something… weird."
Silbón followed Morro's gaze, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied the flower. For a moment, his spectral form remained still, as though searching his fragmented memories. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer. "That's a Wish Bloom."
"A what-what?" Morro asked, his tone sharp with curiosity.
"A Wish Bloom," Silbón repeated. "They're rare, even in Mysterium. Their pollen doesn't just carry a scent. It reaches into your core—deep, where your truest self resides—and brings to life whatever you most desire or need. It manifests it, in some way. Whatever you saw, whatever you felt… it came from your own soul."
Morro blinked, stunned by the revelation. He turned back to the flower, his expression a mixture of awe and unease. He hadn't even realized how deeply the vision of Lloyd had affected him, but now, with Silbón's explanation, it made sense. The vines and the Wish Bloom hadn't just been restraining him—they'd been showing him something. Something he hadn't even known he needed.
"Well," Morro muttered after a long pause, his voice quiet but wry, "that's not unsettling at all." He glanced back at Silbón, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. "So… what? You think this plant decided I needed to play therapist with a fake version of Lloyd?"
Silbón shrugged faintly, his dark eyes glinting. "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it thought you'd figure something out about yourself." His tone was neutral, but the weight of his words lingered in the air.
Morro didn't reply immediately, his gaze returning to the Wish Bloom as the faint scent of its pollen lingered. Whether it had been therapy or revelation, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he felt… lighter. Not entirely, but just enough to notice. And that, for now, was enough.