With effort, the two managed to haul themselves out of the pit, the last of the vines retreating into the shadows below as if their strange purpose had been fulfilled. Morro collapsed onto the forest floor, his body giving in to the weight of exhaustion. His chest rose and fell heavily as he sprawled out, too drained to care about his disheveled appearance or the dirt clinging to his once-prized outfit.

Silbón, on the other hand, stood nearby, brushing himself off with an air of practiced indifference. He glanced down at Morro, his dark eyes glinting with faint amusement as his translucent form flickered slightly. "You look like you're about to hibernate," Silbón remarked dryly, his tone teasing but light. "Should I gather some leaves and moss for your den, oh great wind-master?"

Morro cracked one eye open, glaring halfheartedly at Silbón. "Don't push it, spooky," he muttered, his voice muffled by the ground. "I just got squeezed by vines, drained of poison, nearly had my nose bitten off by a goblin, and then climbed out of a pit. I think I've earned a nap."

Silbón chuckled softly, crouching down near Morro with a faint smirk playing on his spectral lips. "Oh, sure, take your time. It's not like we're in the middle of the most unpredictable realm ever or anything. Go ahead; hibernate. Maybe I'll get some peace and quiet for once."

Morro groaned, dragging a hand over his face as he rolled onto his back. "You're hilarious," he deadpanned, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips despite himself. "If I snore, just kick me awake."

Silbón shook his head, his skeletal hand resting lightly on his knee as he watched Morro with an odd mixture of humor and reluctant respect. "Don't tempt me," he replied, the teasing tone softening as he added, "Rest while you can, Morro. The vines let us go, but this place… it's not done with us yet."

Morro sighed, closing his eyes again as he muttered, "Yeah, yeah. Wake me when the next disaster hits."

Several moments later, Morro was dead gone in sleep. Silbón glanced over at him, noticing how he had sprawled out across the uneven forest floor without a care in the world. His arms flopped out to the sides, his head tilted back at an awkward angle, and his legs were stretched haphazardly, one bent slightly as if he had collapsed mid-thought. His sage-green core wings shimmered faintly, but even they drooped, as if matching the utter lack of dignity in Morro's unconscious form.

A faint sound escaped Morro's slackened mouth—a snore, light but persistent, punctuated by the occasional mumbling of incomprehensible phrases. One of his fingers twitched lazily, his posture shifting from undignified to downright pitiful, as though the ground itself had sucked every ounce of composure from him.

Silbón tilted his skeletal head, his dark eyes narrowing faintly as he studied Morro. His translucent form flickered slightly as he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say the almighty Master of Wind has decided to impersonate a sack of potatoes. Very convincing."

Morro mumbled something unintelligible in response, though whether it was part of his dream or just a reflex, Silbón couldn't tell. He leaned slightly closer, his expression unreadable for a moment before he snorted softly. "Master of Wind, huh? Right now, you look more like Master of Dirt Nap Deluxe."

Silbón stood, brushing off his spectral form with an air of indifference, but the faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced at Morro again. "If your enemies could see you now," he added dryly, "they'd probably pity you more than fear you. Not quite the fearsome legacy you were aiming for, huh?"

Despite his teasing, Silbón remained nearby, settling into a quiet watchfulness as Morro continued his less-than-glamorous snooze. For all the ribbing, Silbón couldn't help but recognize the exhaustion underlying Morro's collapse—an exhaustion that ran deeper than physical fatigue, tied to the chaos and burdens he carried. Undignified or not, Morro had earned this moment of rest. Even Silbón could see that.

Silbón stood over Morro's splayed-out, undignified form, his spectral arms crossed as he tilted his translucent head. The faint pulse of wind through the mist didn't even ruffle Morro's hair—he was so deeply out of it, sprawled in a way that bordered on comical. Silbón narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, his translucent fingers drumming against his skeletal arm. Finally, with a faint smirk and a shrug, he nudged Morro's side with his foot—a light, testing poke.

At first, nothing happened. Morro remained still, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of deep, exhausted sleep. But then, a tiny stream of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth, glinting faintly in the hazy light. Silbón leaned back slightly, his dark eyes narrowing in faint revulsion. "Lovely," he muttered dryly. "Truly the picture of dignity."

Morro's murmurs, initially muffled and incomprehensible, began to grow clearer. His lips twitched faintly as he mumbled something under his breath, his words tumbling out in a disjointed, sleep-addled jumble. "No… no goblin toes… they're too chewy… needs spice…" he muttered, his tone low and dreamy.

Silbón froze, his skeletal face remaining impassive for a moment before a ghostly snort escaped him. "Chewy goblin toes?" he repeated, his tone incredulous. "You're dreaming about eating goblin toes now?"

Morro's murmurs continued, undeterred by Silbón's commentary. "Kai… why elves? Can't trust 'em… pillows ruined… too much glitter…" he mumbled, his voice trailing into faint chuckles. "No gingerbread… staring… frosting teeth…"

Silbón straightened up, his spectral shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh. "Oh, this is even better than I expected," he muttered to himself, his smirk widening. "Not only are you drooling, but your dream commentary is pure comedy gold. Chewy goblin toes, glittery elves, and terrifying cookies? What goes on in your head, Morro?"

Leaning back against a nearby tree, Silbón crossed his arms, a rare glimmer of amusement lighting up his otherwise somber demeanor. "Go on, then," he said softly, more to himself than Morro. "Let's see what other gems you come up with."

Moments later, the whistler leaned forward slightly as Morro's murmurs took an even stranger turn. His lips twitched with suppressed laughter as he listened to the sound—no longer coherent words or even silly phrases. Instead, Morro's sleep-talk had dissolved into outright babbling, the kind that sounded suspiciously like infantile nonsense.

"Ba… da… goo… goo," Morro muttered between unintelligible sounds, his mouth slack as another faint stream of drool slipped from the corner of his lips. Silbón raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of faint disgust and undeniable amusement. Morro's limbs twitched faintly, his fingers curling slightly in an almost childlike motion.

Then came the giggles. Light, airy, innocent—even joyful. Morro's snores transitioned into hiccupping laughter, his expression softening as though he were dreaming of some distant, babyish memory. Silbón tilted his head, his skeletal form flickering faintly as he stared at the spectacle before him. "Oh, this is a new low," he muttered dryly. "Master of Wind, reduced to a drooling, babbling infant. What are you dreaming of, Morro? A bottle? A stuffed dragon? Someone burping you?"

Morro giggled again, his hand twitching like he was reaching for something in the air. Silbón's smirk widened, his dark eyes narrowing in faint mischief. "Are you dreaming of yourself as a baby? Maybe rolling around on the floor, swaddled in cloth, chewing on your toes?" He snorted softly, his ghostly shoulders shaking. "I wonder if anyone would recognize you. Most dignified villain in Ninjago, they'd say. Oh, how far you've fallen."

Despite the teasing, Silbón couldn't deny the faint curiosity tugging at him. What kind of dream had pulled Morro into such an infantile state? Whatever it was, Silbón thought wryly, he hoped Morro wouldn't remember it when he woke up—or else the teasing would never end.

Morro shifted in his sleep, curling tightly into a ball as his exhaustion pulled him deeper into infantile dreams. His balled fist found its way to his mouth, and he began nibbling on his knuckles, his drooling increasing as soft, incoherent murmurs escaped him. Silbón, watching from nearby, raised a translucent brow, his dark eyes narrowing in faint disbelief. "You've outdone yourself, Morro," he muttered dryly. "Master of Wind, reduced to a teething toddler."

But before Silbón could continue his teasing, a faint buzzing sound caught his attention. He turned his head just in time to see a small, shimmering creature land on Morro's wrist—a beetle, its iridescent shell glinting faintly in the misty light. Silbón's expression shifted, his skeletal form flickering slightly as he muttered, "Oh no. Not an Innocence Beetle."

The beetle, undeterred by Morro's oblivious state, scuttled across his wrist before sinking its tiny pincers into his skin. Morro's eyes snapped open immediately, his body jerking upright as he let out a startled yelp. "Ow! What in the—" he began, but his words faltered as his expression shifted. His sage-green and emerald-green eyes widened, their sharpness fading into a soft, childlike gaze. His posture slackened, his movements clumsy and uncertain.

Silbón stared, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched the transformation unfold. "Oh, fantastic," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "The beetle's bite worked. You're officially reduced to the mind of a small child. Just what we needed."

Morro blinked up at Silbón, his lips trembling slightly as he rubbed his wrist where the beetle had bitten him. "It hurt," he mumbled, his voice high-pitched and quivering. "Why'd it bite me? I didn't do anything…"

Silbón sighed, pinching the bridge of his spectral nose as he muttered, "It's an Innocence Beetle, Morro. That's what it does. It bites, and it temporarily regresses your mind to that of a child. Lucky for you, it only lasts a few hours."

Morro sniffled, his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he curled his knees to his chest. "I don't like it," he said softly, his voice trembling. "I wanna go home…"

Silbón shook his head, his ghostly shoulders slumping as he muttered, "You're not going home, Morro. Not yet. Just… sit tight and try not to cry, okay? I don't think I can handle that."

Morro nodded faintly, his childlike demeanor making him seem far smaller than usual. Silbón sighed again, settling nearby as he muttered, "This is going to be a long few hours."