Jirii hesitated for a moment, his sapphire-blue gaze darting nervously between Morro's blank stare and Yami's glowing, concerned form. His shoulders slumped slightly, a faint, sheepish grimace spreading across his face. "Uh... so," Jirii started awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, um... I might have said something that... could've been the trigger."
Yami's crimson eyes sharpened immediately, locking onto Jirii with a mix of urgency and curiosity. "What did you say?" Yami asked, his voice steady but tinged with a quiet intensity.
"Well, you see..." Jirii trailed off, shifting uncomfortably as Silbón raised an eyebrow and crossed his translucent arms. "I, uh, might have made a joke. Just a harmless little joke! I said something about Garmadon being the 'black sheep of the First Spinjitzu Master's family.' You know, because of, uh... everything. You get it, right?"
Silbón let out a low, exasperated whistle, shaking his head. "You've got to be kidding me, Jirii," he muttered, his tone threaded with disbelief. "Of all the things you could've joked about..."
Jirii threw up his hands defensively, his sapphire gaze flickering with guilt. "I didn't think it would matter!" he protested weakly. "I wasn't trying to upset him or anything. I didn't know it'd... well...this."
Yami's gaze softened slightly as he turned his attention back to Morro, his hands still resting gently on the younger teen's shoulders. The warmth of his touch remained steady, grounding, as he pieced together what had happened.
"Garmadon," Yami murmured softly, the name carrying a heavy weight. His crimson eyes flickered with understanding as he glanced back at Jirii. "That's not just any name for Morro—it's tied to some of the most painful memories of his past. Memories he's still grappling with."
Jirii winced, his guilt deepening as he crouched down beside Morro, his sapphire-blue eyes filled with regret. "I didn't mean to trigger anything," Jirii said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't know it'd hit him like this. I'm sorry, Morro."
Yami nodded faintly, his voice calm but firm as he addressed both Jirii and Silbón. "It's not about blame," he said gently. "What matters now is helping him feel safe enough to return—to pull him back from where his mind has retreated."
The weight of the moment settled heavily over them as they focused their combined efforts on supporting Morro, their concern for him evident in every movement, every word.
Morro existed in a strange liminal state, teetering on the edge of wakefulness and sleep, yet belonging fully to neither. His body felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of his exhaustion had pinned him down, pressing against him like an invisible force. But his mind—his mind was sharp, too sharp, racing with a strange and disjointed clarity that left him alert in a way that only deepened his weariness.
There was a strange stillness in this in-between space, a pervasive quiet that wasn't peaceful, but hollow. It wasn't soothing like sleep, nor engaging like wakefulness. It simply was. A suffocating nothingness that stretched endlessly, a space where time felt as though it didn't exist. He was aware of everything and yet connected to none of it, adrift in a haze that he couldn't quite shake.
His muscles twitched faintly, an instinctive reaction to the pull of reality just beyond his reach. But it was like trying to move through water, the resistance slowing every movement, dragging him back down into the fog. The warmth of Yami's hands on his forehead and shoulders was the only thing anchoring him, a steady presence amidst the emptiness. That touch felt real, solid, grounding—unlike the rest of the world, which had become muted and distant, as though viewed through a shroud.
Morro's exhaustion hung over him like a storm cloud, thick and unrelenting, but his mind wouldn't relent. The contradiction left him trapped, a prisoner in his own body and thoughts, his breaths shallow and uneven. And yet, despite the disconnection, something in him stirred faintly—an awareness of the warmth, the grounding, the silent assurance that someone was still there. It wasn't enough to break the spell entirely, but it was enough to remind him that he hadn't been lost completely. Not yet.
Morro's voice emerged like a wisp of air, faint and disconnected, each word carrying an echoey, distant quality that reverberated through the quiet forest. His lips moved slowly, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes blank and unfocused, staring into the middle distance as his murmur pierced the stillness.
"Where am I?" he whispered, his tone trembling yet hollow, as though the words came not from him but from some detached corner of his mind. "Who am I?" The questions hung in the air, heavy and fragile, his voice wavering with an unsettling uncertainty.
"How did I get here?" Morro continued, his breath uneven, the words barely audible but pressing against the silence like a faint plea for understanding. "Am I... real?" The final question lingered, trembling on the edge of despair, as though he was caught in the space between existence and oblivion, searching for something to anchor him.
Yami's glowing crimson gaze softened, his spirit form steady as he leaned closer to Morro, his hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. The warmth of his touch remained grounding, unwavering, as he whispered with quiet reassurance, "Morro... you are real. You're here, with us. You're not alone."
Jirii and Silbón exchanged uneasy glances, their sapphire-blue and shadowy gazes flickering with concern as they watched their friend struggle to form words, his murmurs hauntingly detached. They crouched closer, their presence forming a steady circle around Morro, even as the weight of the moment pressed heavily against them.
Yami adjusted his grip on Morro's shoulders, his voice soft but firm. "We're here, Morro. You're safe. Just follow my voice, okay? Come back to us."
The quiet stillness of the forest seemed to echo Morro's distant words, the weight of his dissociation holding him in that liminal space between the world and himself. Yet the presence of his companions, steady and grounding, offered a fragile lifeline that refused to let him drift away completely.
Morro's glazed eyes drifted further from the waking world, his consciousness folding into the fragmented remnants of Yugi's realm. The forest vanished around him, replaced by an expanse of parched earth and jagged cliffs—the dry valley. Something deep within Morro stirred faintly, a quiet recognition that told him this place had seen a battle far more significant than its desolate appearance revealed.
As the details sharpened around him, his gaze landed on the figure in the distance. Yugi. He was slumped against the coarse ground, magical chains shimmering faintly as they bound him, their energy wrapping tightly around his form. Even from here, Morro could see the exhaustion etched into Yugi's face, his half-closed eyes heavy with weakness. His spirit form seemed fragile, almost translucent, as though the Seal of Orichalcos had drained him of everything but the faintest thread of presence.
Morro's chest tightened at the sight. His first instinct was to move closer, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes narrowing as he crouched beside Yugi, his hands immediately reaching for the chains. Their energy sparked faintly as his fingers brushed against them, a sharp warning that breaking them would cause harm—not to himself, but to Yugi. He hesitated, his hands trembling as he realized the delicate balance he faced. He couldn't simply tear the chains away without risking Yugi's already fragile state.
Looking at Yugi's semiconscious form, Morro felt a surge of empathy swell within him. He wasn't just seeing Yugi's condition; he was feeling it. The emptiness, the weight of exhaustion, the faint glimmer of confusion that came with being trapped in a state neither living nor entirely gone. Morro exhaled slowly, grounding himself as he shifted focus. If he couldn't break the chains without harm, then he would try another way.
"Yugi," Morro murmured softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet urgency. "Come on. I know you're tired, I know everything feels impossible right now—but you have to wake up. You can't stay here like this."
Yugi stirred faintly at the sound of Morro's voice, his form trembling slightly as his half-closed eyes fluttered. Morro leaned closer, his presence grounding and supportive, as he continued speaking, his tone calm but deliberate.
"This place—it's not where you belong," Morro said, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes shimmering with quiet determination. "You've already been through so much. You're stronger than this. You just need to hold on a little longer."
The chains sparked faintly again as Yugi's fingers twitched, the faintest hint of movement returning to his form. Morro didn't stop, his words serving as an anchor, something to pull Yugi back from the edge of the void where his core had been taken. Though Morro didn't fully understand how he was here, or why this moment had chosen him to witness it, he knew one thing with certainty: he wasn't leaving Yugi to face this alone.
