ninjago-fic-recs - Tumblr blog

ninjago-fic-recs · 10 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 05: Sunburn

Healing Salve + "If my pain will stretch that far"

2385 Words; Raised by Serpentine, sometime before "Can of Worms"

TW for mentions of past attempted indirect genocide (the serpentine entombment)

AO3 ver

“I wonder if we should go down to the lake later.” Lou mused.

Skalidor turned his attention to Lou, “You hate the lake.” It was true—the lake was a deep half-flooded underground cavern that seemed to stretch on forever, the other end unlit and unreachable. Lou did not consider himself a strong swimmer, and rarely went down there if he could help it.

Lou shrugged. “I was thinking we might have fish for dinner.” He stepped to the side as an overexcited hatchling barreled between them, a harried parent chasing after them.

Skalidor hmmed. “That does sound good. Perhapss Cole and I can go down there to surprisse you with one.” The tunnel they were in opened up as they reached the central chamber, torches and patches of growing moss illuminating a spiral up to the ceiling high above. Chanting filled the area—there was an active Slitherpit in progress towards the center.

“You and I can what?” Cole arrived before them, the same hatchling tucked under his arm and squirming furiously. He turned his attention to the hatchling—ah, Skalidor recognized this one. Little Pebbline, the youngest in the entire tomb. “You can’t just run around recklessly,” Cole was chiding, as Pebbline struggled valiantly to return to the ground. “You’re going to break your face on a wall.”

“Will not!” Pebbline protested, hanging upside-down in Cole’s arms at this point.

“Pebbline!” And there was Bytar, her father. “Thank you for catching her, Cole.” He smiled, taking Pebbline in his arms, and she hissed her displeasure before subsiding.

Cole grinned. “Of course!”

Bytar turned back into the tunnel, then, heading off with Pebbline in tow. Skalidor could faintly hear her begging to go back so she could see the Slitherpit.

“It’s a good thing you don’t run around like that anymore.” Lou commented, as Cole fell into step with them. “I could barely catch you back then, I wouldn’t want to imagine having to catch you now!”

Cole opened his mouth to respond—

A terrible grinding sound filled the central chamber, the sound of stone against stone harsh and loud. Screams broke out as everyone looked for the source of the noise, and Skalidor clutched his staff and pulled Lou against his side. Cole leapt forwards, arms outstretched as though he might prevent the inevitable cave-in—as though he was yet capable of moving more than small pebbles.

“It’s coming from above!” Someone shouted.

“The ceiling will crush usss!” Another voice realized.

“EVERYONE OUT OF THE CHAMBER!” Skalidor commanded, watching as Dweller and Constrictai alike dashed for the tunnel entrances lining the wall. He started to slither back, Lou still close at hand, once it seemed as though almost everyone was out—Cole!

“Cole, what are you—” Skalidor started, almost ready to go back in just to drag him out. This reckless boy—!

“It’s not caving in.” Cole’s arms had fallen to his sides, and he was gazing up into the shadows of the ceiling with an unreadable expression. “It’s—”

He stumbled back at the same time that the grinding stopped, arm raised above his head as he stared up towards the ceiling.

“Cole.” Skalidor hissed. The whole chamber was clearly unstable, after a noise like that—or worse, it had been one of the tunnels, and Skalidor’s order had seen several of his people buried—

“Skal,” Lou stepped forwards, pointing up towards the ceiling, “dear, look up.”

Skalidor looked up.

His staff clattered to the ground from a suddenly boneless hand—Skalidor ducked down to pick it up, keeping his eyes up on the ceiling—at the top of the stairs that wound around and up, a remnant of when their community had first been entombed generations ago—

Eyes locked on the bright circle of light where before there were shadows.

The light shooting down the stairs was brighter than any torchlight Skalidor had seen before, brighter than any glowing moss. It almost didn’t seem real—never, in all of his decades, had Skalidor conceived of the tomb being opened. But that was what the light had to be, right? Surely, it couldn’t mean anything else.

Faces were peeking into the central chamber from the tunnels scattered about, curious mutterings filling the air as everyone present took in the new development.

“Open?”

“That light!”

“Impossible! Nothing can break the barrier!”

“It’ss ssso bright…”

“How did it open?”

“A monster! A monster iss coming down to kill uss all!”

There was a shape casting a shadow upon the steps. Skalidor gripped his staff, and slithered forwards. Cole fell into step beside him, and Skalidor held his staff in front of the boy to stop him.

“Wh—lemme help!” Cole protested, voice close to a whisper.

“Sstay here.” Skalidor hissed. “I will invesstigate. You will protect.” Cole made a face, but backed off, standing beside Lou as Skalidor ascended the ancient steps.

That the stairs were completely out of use wasn’t actually true—though the tomb was magically sealed, the stairs allowed access to the upper walls of the central chamber—Skalidor passed by murals and carvings that had existed long before him without a second glance. He slowed down as he reached the top, squinting against the light.

The form that cast the shadow stood at the entrance, backlit by light so bright that Skalidor couldn’t make out any features. But their shape was vaguely serpentine—they would likely be strong, if it came to blows. They might even have some of the strange adaptations Skalidor had heard the supposed other tribes of Serpentine possessed.

“Who goesss there?” Skalidor asked, when the figure remained still. After a moment, they moved, slithering forwards and ducking their head. Their neck was very long—a potential handhold for grappling, then.

“Greetingss, my Constrictai cohort.” Their voice was smooth and even, and they moved to the side of Skalidor. They were scaled, just as he expected—but where Skalidor bore the blacks and oranges of a Constrictai, they were violet.

“An Anacondrai?” Skalidor asked. He’d heard the tales—they were the strongest of the Serpentine, the fastest and most resilient. They outmatched every other tribe, and lead the charge in the ancient war—but even they, too, had fallen, or so every tale assumed.

The Anacondrai nodded his head. “Oh, where are my manners?” They offered a hand, “Pythor P. Chumsworth, at your service.” He smiled, then, pleasant and disarming.

“How did you open the tomb?” Not even an Earth Master could break the barrier, nor could they tunnel around it—though there had been plenty of attempts. The tomb was meant to be permanent—a resting place, where those entombed were to die and never return.

“Curious, no?’ Pythor inclined his head towards the entrance. “Far as I can tell, for all the effort they put into making the tombs inescapable from within, that same effort wasn’t given to prevent them being opened from the outside.”

Skalidor balked. “That easy? But why?” There were no intentions to let the entombed out—or else they wouldn’t have been trapped down there for generations. Right?

Pythor shrugged. “Well, the rock was rather heavy. But yes, I could feel the magic breaking as I moved it. The seal didn’t wear off.”

Skalidor hissed. The light seemed to beckon him, and he tore forwards, needing to see for himself that the tomb has well and truly been breached—

Skalidor recoiled as the light from outside the tomb hit him in full. After a moment, he reopened his eyes, slowly enough that, though the light still burned, it did not sear quite as bright as before. His eyes adjusted, to a light level they had never experienced before—

Skalidor gasped.

Pythor slithered up beside him. “Well?” He prompted, staring out at the sights he had already seen.

“It’s…” Skalidor searched for the words. He had thought nothing could dwarf the underground lake in terms of sheer size—and yet. The light bearing down was hot, far hotter than any torchlight, and brighter as well. It reminded him of a festival years past when they had set up a bonfire in the central chamber. Back when Lilly… back when she had still been alive, standing at his side and making sure the smoke didn’t flood the caverns.

But not even the bonfire had anything on this. Skalidor turned his head towards the sky, eyes squinting against the light raining down. It was so bright. He could hardly see—and yet it was still better than when he had first emerged, and couldn’t see at all.

Pythor watched as Skalidor breathed in the outside air—it was hot, bone dry, so different from the caverns—patiently allowing the general to adjust. “Incredible, is it not?” He asked.

Skalidor breathed slowly, just trying to take in the enormity of the sky above him. Brilliant blue—he wasn’t sure he had seen blues so deep—cascading from horizon to horizon like the roof of a cavern—and yet the sky seemed to go on forever in a way that stone did not.

“It’ss something.” Skalidor breathed, dizzy from the magnitude of it. “I never imagined…”

Pythor chuckled. “I think we’ve all felt like this.” He swept an arm out, “I can’t believe this was kept from us—and for what?” his expression darkened. “Because of some trifle like a war that ended long before you and I were born? For generations, we’ve suffered beneath the surface, locked away from all of this world that they’re not even using—!” He paused, taking a breath. “My apologies,” He bowed his head. “I lost control of myself. But the knowledge of all that we’ve been denied—” He cut himself off with a hiss, shaking his head.

“No, I think I get it.” Skalidor spoke. “There’s just. Sso much.” From this perch atop—a mountain, was that the word? Skalidor had to think back to the stories of the surface passed down through generations—but from up so high, Skalidor could see so much. And yet he couldn’t make out anything living—that he recognized. All this space…

The tomb was never really cramped, in Skalidor’s memory—there simply weren’t enough Constrictai or Dwellers in it. Maybe it had been cramped when the original community had first been sealed away—but that had been long before Skalidor’s time. But he had heard the stories, of what could grow up here, of animals much bigger than cave newts. The vast distance laid out before him suddenly seemed so ideal—and yet he couldn’t spot a single surface human, nor any sign of their communities. He absently noticed his tail buzzing. He didn’t quite care to stop it.

“They have all this space that they’re not even ussing.” Skalidor hissed. “We have had to sscrape together what little we could find—”

“They don’t deserve this.” Pythor agreed, “Not one bit. Not after locking us away like vermin!”

Skalidor’s grip on his staff tightened.

“Skal, you ok—OWWW—” Skalidor turned around to see Cole poking his head out the entrance—well, no, the boy had stumbled back into the shadows of the entrance, what little of his face wasn’t hidden behind his arm scrunched against the light.

Skalidor chuckled. “Bright, isn’t it?” Beside him, Pythor’s eyes narrowed.

Cole tentatively reached his hand out into the light. “It feels like I’m sticking my hand in fire.” He muttered, before pulling back. Slowly, he lowered his arm, eyes blinking open—and immediately squinting against the light.

Pythor grimaced. “There are humans in your tomb?” He sounded put out by the very idea.

Skalidor regarded him curiously. “Sssurface humanss were willing to entomb their own kind.” He spat. “But now the dwellers are simply more of our kind—our community—” He looked at Cole with fondness— “Cole is our Elemental Master. Earth, in fact.” There was uncontained pride in his voice, for all that Cole had yet to fully inherit Lilly’s mantle and powers.

Pythor hmmed. “I had heard that a Master of Earth took up arms on the side of the Serpentine.” He stared at Cole curiously. “I had thought it just a tale to tell hatchlings, to give them false hope.”

“Well, I’m real.” Cole replied. He glared at Pythor for a moment more before schooling his expression. “Thanks for opening the tomb.” He said, in tones of quiet disbelief.

Skalidor could hardly believe it himself. “We can leave the tomb.” He murmured. “We wouldn’t be trapped anymore—what you’ve given us access to, I—I don’t know how we could ever repay you.”

Pythor waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, no no! I don’t need anything in return! I just abhorred the thought of any of my fellow Serpentine continuing to suffer in their tombs.” His mouth curled in distaste, “It really was cruel of the humans to entomb us all. They don’t deserve this pristine surface of theirs.” He hissed. “Not one bit.”

Skalidor nodded. “You have my agreement on that.”

Cole leaned against the side of the entrance, arms crossed. When Skalidor glanced back, he could see others had climbed up the stairs—even if most of the watching faces were sticking to the shadows, eyes squinted against the light.

Pythor’s head tilted as he regarded them all. “Well, while I did say that I didn’t need anything in return…” He mulled over his words before continuing, “I was hoping you might join me in my endeavor to reunite the Serpentine once again. It would be so wonderful to take the surface back from the humans, don’t you think?”

Skalidor wanted to. Just looking at the open space spilling out before him, and knowing that there was yet more that had been denied to his people by the sealing of the tomb—he wanted the surface humans to pay for their crimes. To deliver the grievances of hundreds of Constrictai and Dwellers from generations of suffering unto them, and make them pay.

There was one problem, though. “We barely number two hundred.” Skalidor pointed out. “And many of our number are not built for war.” There were the elderly, the young, the sick and those disinclined to fight. Nobody was at full strength—especially not with the current blight. “How will we ever defeat the surface humans, when our ancestors could not?”

Pythor chuckled. “Oh, my practical friend, I have just the plan for that!” He looked to Cole, and then to the cautious faces peeking out of the tomb’s entrance, and spoke.

“Have any of you heard of the legend of the Great Devourer?”

15 notes · View notes

ninjago-fic-recs · 10 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 12: Starvation

Underground Caverns + "Just a little more"

3602 Words; Raised by Serpentine, pre-canon

TW for death, blood, injury

AO3 ver

Cole had never seen the sky.

This wasn’t unique, in the tomb—the last dwellers to see the sky had passed away long before Cole was born, before even his parents were born. But his father told him that stories had some root in reality, so even if Cole had never seen it, he had to imagine it existed, somewhere above the rock.

He’d heard it was blue like the hanging moss that grew in the corners, that it had a big ball of fire in it brighter than any torchlight. He’d heard about clouds, too, big white balls of fluff carrying water.

“And it changes color, too!” Cole added, excitedly retelling the stories to his peers. They had all heard the same stories, of course, but the sky was always a popular topic to the tomb’s children—certainly a preferred story to the tale of the Surface War and the Evil Master Chen. And at almost five years old—by tomb time, which ran based on growth cycles of the moss and mushrooms, though Cole of course wouldn’t know about the cycle of seasons that defined the surface’ faster calendar—Cole was no different.

“No it doesn’t.” A new voice joined the group as Beffa walked up. One year Cole’s senior, a whole head taller than him, with bright eyes and more scales on her face than Cole had. “The sky’s not real.” Beffa declared, hands on her hips as she looked down at the group. “It’s just rock.” She said it with such certainty, too, as though maybe there really was just more rock above the barrier they couldn’t dig through.

“Nuh-uh!” Adel was the first to protest. “My dad ssays my great-grandmother ssaw it!”

“Yeah, it’s real!” Alina added, Lyssie and Bryan and Cole voicing their agreement.

Beffa sniffed. “Nope. It’s just a story for hatchlings.” She sat down, pulling a beaded cord from her dress pocket. “I’m doing you all a favor, really—you can’t hold onto fairytales forever.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong.” Lyssie said, crossing her arms. “My momsss ssay the ssky’sss real, sso it hasss to be.” She turned her snout up with a hiss, as though it made her words any more convincing.

Cole scowled. “My dad says all stories have their roots in truth.” He added. “So there has to be something up there.” He nodded, satisfied with his argument. His dad was smart, and knew all of the stories in the tomb, and Cole trusted him implicitly. Culture was important, Cole’s dad claimed, because it was how people connected.

Beffa snorted, fiddling with the cord. She tied the two ends together, threading the new bracelet on her wrist and examining it. “You’re all dummies.” She decided, standing back up. “I’m gonna go hang out with smart people.” And with that, she left, ducking down a tunnel at the edge of the cavern.

Adel was the first to break the silence. “Is the ssky fake?” He asked.

“It can’t be.” Lyssie reassured him.

Cole nodded. “It’s up there.” He promised, pointing towards the ceiling. “Somewhere.” Past dwellers had seen it, from before the Surface War’s end, and they had passed the stories down. If someone had seen it, then it had to be real.

And maybe Cole and all his friends would get to see it, too.

+=+=+=+=+

There was always some gathering going on in the central chamber. The tomb was a community, after all—they all had to work together to survive.

It was a festival, the kind with music and dancing, harsh and heavy vibrations that the Constrictai loved played in tandem with the harmony of voices singing. The noise rose all the way to the ceiling high above, and Cole laughed, dancing with Alina. This was fun!

Spirits were always high, in the tomb—festivals always lasted several shifts, so that everyone could participate no matter what cycle they slept on. Cole giggled, running over to his father as the song changed and Alina grabbed Lyssie’s hands to drag her into a new dance.

“Daddadad!” Cole had caught his dad between dances, and his dad turned to him. “Are you and Mom gonna dance together?”

“Well, of course!” Lou chuckled, moving to hoist Cole up, and wincing only slightly as Cole clambered onto his shoulders. “Well, can you spot her from up there?” He asked, and Cole peered out into the crowd.

“There!” Cole pointed to where his mom was dancing, darting from partner to partner, the polished stones of her necklace glinting in the torch and firelight. Lou broke into a light run, dancing through the crowd as Cole laughed, keeping his finger pointed at Lilly. “And there’s Skal!” He added, as his mother approached the General.

His dad twirled around a grinning pair of teens—Dreska and Vera, who liked to help out in the medical caverns and used to sneak Cole treats during festivals—and slid to a stop in front of a bemused Lilly and Skalidor. With a tired sort of groan, Lou put Cole down—and Cole wasted no time in grabbing at his mother’s hands. “C’monc’monc’mon! You gotta dance with dad!”

“Ah, give me a moment,” Lou breathed. He reached out and ruffled Cole’s hair. “You’re starting to get too heavy for me to carry!”

Lilly had no such problems, sweeping Cole up into a crushing hug as he laughed. “There’s my little Beetle!” She greeted, pressing a kiss to Cole’s forehead. After a moment, she passed Cole to Skalidor, who fumbled to hold Cole and the staff at the same time as Lilly grabbed Lou and dragged him to an open space.

Cole fell to the ground with a giggle, grabbing Skalidor’s free hand as he watched his parents start to dance.

He didn’t need to see the sky to be happy.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole watched the fighters in the Slitherpit from his vantage point on the stairs winding up the central chamber, enraptured. It was a little hard to make out details, here, but this was also the prime spot for Not Getting Caught watching the Slitherpit when he was supposed to be sleeping.

As there was no day-night cycle in the tomb, there was no set “day” or “night”—dwellers slept when they were tired, in overlapping shifts that meant there was always some awake to watch for cave-ins or tend to cavern upkeep.

Of course, there was a shift where children and their families all tended to be asleep at once—and that was the shift with the most Slitherpits, and the most exciting Slitherpits.

That Cole and Lyssie were supposed to be asleep right now meant little to the six and a half year olds—the Slitherpits were just so cool. It was a lot like watching his mom and dad and Skal dance late at night—but the Slitherpit had weapons, which made it so awesome!

Cole leaned forwards as one of the combatants bowed down, leaving the pit as another took their place. After a moment, the pair launched into motion, and Cole started to whisper-shout his excitement in tandem with the crowd below. Lyssie’s eyes sparkled with the same excitement, her hands thumping the stone in tune with the excited chanting below.

“Cole.”

Cole’s head snapped around so fast he almost fell off the edge—scaled hands grabbed his arm to haul him back towards the wall, towards the rows and rows of names and handprints. Cole squirmed, putting on his most innocent face while Lyssie attempted to disappear into the shadows between the torches. Skalidor simply stared at Lyssie until she trudged forwards, arms crossed.

Skalidor sighed. “Cole, Lyssie, you are both supposed to be sleeping.” He turned his attention onto Lyssie, “What would your parents think?”

Lyssie hissed softly, chastened.

“And where is Adel?” Skalidor added. At the mention of her brother, Lyssie frowned.

“I dunno.” She denied.

Skalidor glanced up the stairs, then sighed. “Both of you need to go to sleep.” He ordered, before slithering up to where Adel and Bryan were trying to hide in a crook in the wall.

Cole scowled, then sighed. He was supposed to be the Master of Earth, eventually. Which meant being responsible, even if Slitherpits were so cool—”c’mon.” He offered his hand to Lyssie, who took it in her own.

“Let’s go home.”

+=+=+=+=+

“A healthy baby!” Lilly said, holding the infant and making faces. A flick of her hand, and the clay in the bowl she had brought came to her fingertips so she could mark their forehead.

Cole watched his mother work, murmuring blessings of strength and heart to the baby in her arms. It was a sight he had seen plenty of times before—this was part of his mother’s job, and would eventually be Cole’s job, too.

Cole respected his parents a great deal, even at almost nine. His dad collected stories and dances and songs and came up with new ones—and helped put together all the festivals and events that unified the community. Skalidor was the General, which meant he carried the staff with him nearly everywhere. It was his job to make sure things ran smoothly, to hear out concerns and make plans. He was so cool, and for a bit when he was really little Cole had wanted to grow up just like Skal—

But Cole was fated to be something else.

His mother was the Master of Earth, able to bend rock and dirt to her will. It was a prestigious role, Cole understood, and one that would pass onto him someday. To be a Master of Earth was different from being General—where a General impressed order through command and action, the Master of Earth was a pillar of community and strength. It was often that Cole would follow along after his mother as she traveled through the caverns, offering a helping hand where she could and representing tenacity in human form.

Which meant holding babies only a few days old to bless them with some luck, in the hopes of them living through their first year. Lots of babies were born, especially when the fan mushrooms bloomed, which meant visiting a lot of caverns to personally see all of them.

Lilly handed the child back to the father, wishing them well before exiting the cavern to head to the next. Cole trailed after her like a shadow, bowl of clay in his hands.

On and on, from cavern to cavern, blessing babies or just checking in, until the shift was over and it was time to head back to their family’s cavern. Some shifts were just like this, while others saw Lilly attending gatherings in the central chamber. Whatever it was, it was the Master of Earth’s job to give to their community in the ways that only they could.

They were halfway across the central chamber when Bytar ran up to them, wringing his hands. “Oh, Lilly! There was a cave-in—”

Immediately, Lilly straightened up, any trace of cheer or tiredness gone. “Where?” Bytar started running towards one of the tunnel entrances, and Cole rushed to follow as Lilly shot off after him. They made it to the tunnel entrance, worried dwellers scattering to the sides as Lilly rushed through. Cole pushed through the crowd, afforded some leeway but less than his mom, and arrived just as his mom was pressing her hands against the collapsed wall, feeling for any air pockets. It looked like two cavern entrances had collapsed—that was pretty big, as far as cave-ins went.

Cole jolted as he realized where they were. That cavern… Bryan’s family lived there. And Beffa’s was right next door—

Cole spotted Beffa leaning against the opposite wall, pebbles scattered at her feet. She looked shaken, in a way that Cole had never seen her look. Slowly, as his mom began to push the stone up, expression taut, Cole made his way over to Beffa. “You okay?” She had a cut on her arm, and Cole dug into his pocket for spare fabric to wrap it with.

“Just peachy, dirtclod.” Beffa spat, pulling her injured arm away from Cole. “My dad was in there—” She cut herself off, looking down at the ground, pale brown hair falling over her eyes.

Cole turned back to the reforming entrances—it didn’t look like the left cavern had caved in fully, and Cole could see Bryan and his moms crawling out through the opening Lilly had made. But the cavern on the right—

Stone lifted to reveal the bloodied paste that used to be Callum. Cole grimaced—cave-in deaths were always the worst. He glanced at Beffa, who stared at the corpse with wide eyes, jaw clenched—

“I’m sorry.” Cole murmured, as someone asked where Bryan’s little sister was and Bryan burst into tears, as his mom declared the area unstable and everyone started to shuffle out.

“Sorry won’t bring dad back.” Beffa muttered, and Cole shrank in on himself. She was right. It wasn’t enough.

It never was.

+=+=+=+=+

“I’m sorry, Cole, but Lyssie and Adel aren’t feeling well today.” Vera said, from where she was standing in front of their family’s cavern.

Cole huffed, scowling at the carvings framing the entrance. “When will they get better?” A lot of people were falling ill recently. It was starting to get worrying.

Vera shrugged. “I don’t think the symptoms are too bad? They’ll probably be hale again in a few shifts.

Cole sighed. He trusted Vera to be telling the truth—and it wouldn’t do to worry over things he couldn’t help, anyway. He turned back down the tunnel, heading towards the central chamber. He had started trying to push a pebble upslope without touching it, recently, having turned ten just a few weeks ago—his mother had been able to make rocks jump up the steps around his age, and her powers had started to wane ever so slightly. So Cole made his way to one of the dips in the central chamber, taking a pebble from his pocket and setting it down.

Masters of Earth held the tomb together. The whole community gave what they could, and through that there was enough for everyone—but Masters of Earth could prevent and undo cave-ins, or dig new tunnels and caverns with little effort—

Cole wanted to help. It was going to be his job, eventually, to bear these powers and use them for the good of everyone. And as much as he hated to think about his mother no longer having those powers—

(She’d had trouble lifting Skalidor a few shifts ago. Loss of strength was one of the first signs.)

Cole needed to be ready for when that did happen.

Cole concentrated on the pebble. It was small enough to fit in his fist, a little smooth in some places and rough in others. He happened to like this pebble; he had found it when he was three and kept it ever since. It was a good luck charm, something to turn over in his hands when the ceiling looming above him felt too heavy to bear.

Cole glanced up towards the ceiling. The central chamber’s stairs wound all the way up to where the tomb had been sealed, to that massive rock that couldn’t be budged even by a Master of Earth in their prime thanks to the magic keeping the tomb closed—

Cole turned back to his pebble, and pushed out with his hand. He had attracted a few spectators, mostly children wondering what in the name of the abyss he was doing. Cole ignored it, breathing in, out, and imagining the pebble rolling up the slope—

Much like the tomb entrance, the pebble didn’t budge.

+=+=+=+=+

“We’re going spelunking soon, right?” Cole was excited, to finally see the deeper, unused caves, way down past the underground lake and the tunnels used to grow moss and hunt cave newts. Those deeper tunnels had been blocked off since before Cole was born, accessible only to a Master of Earth. Cole wouldn’t be able to open them, yet, but he had managed to make a pebble roll upslope last week—one of the first signs that he was inheriting his mother’s powers.

“Of course!” Lilly said, before getting swept up in another dance. Cole grinned, letting the music pour through him, low vibrations and mixing voices filling the central chamber.

Cole looked for a group to join in with—he was itching to dance, to let his body move with the rhythm until he felt as bright as the torchlight dotting the chamber. He looked for Lyssie or Alina or Bryan—he spotted Beffa, hanging back and leaning against one of the walls, chatting with Alina. Bryan was trying to get an impromptu Slitherpit going—

And there was Lyssie, exiting the central chamber, despite the shift not being over yet. Cole jogged over to the tunnel, tapping the wall as he followed after her, finding her in a crook at the bend.

“Lyssie?” Cole asked. She was sitting down, arms curled around her knees.

“I misss him.” Lyssie murmured, as Cole sat down beside her.

Cole winced. Adel had passed weeks ago. Sickness. Slowly, he reached out his hand. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked.

“No.” Lyssie said, taking Cole’s hand. “I’ve already talked about it.”

“Okay.” The music from the festival was still audible here, vibrations faint through the walls. “I’m sorry.”

“‘Ss not your fault.” Lyssie said.

They sat in silence for a moment, side by side against the stone.

Eventually, Lyssie broke the silence. “You know the sstoriesss, about the ssurface?”

Cole nodded. “Yeah?” He wondered what Lyssie was getting at.

“I heard one, once, about the ssun.” Lyssie said. “How it fallsss, and the ssky turnsss the color of fire.”

“They called it sunset, I think.” Cole nodded, having heard this story himself.

“But nothing actually burnsss,” Lyssie continued, “How doesss that work? How doesss a ball of fire fall, without ssetting fire to the ssurface?”

“I dunno.” Cole murmured. “Maybe it doesn’t actually fall. Maybe it goes out.”

“I think it fallsss.” Lyssie decided. “I think it fallsss, and when it doesss, ssomeone diesss.”

Huh. “You think that’s why the sky turns red? Because someone’s dying?”

“Yeah.” Lyssie nodded. “Becaussse I can’t imagine Adel dying under a bright ssky.”

Cole had never seen the sky, or the sun, or experienced any kind of weather. Nobody still alive in the tomb had, for all that they still had the stories about it from their ancestors. The tomb was sealed tight, magically unopenable, leaving them with only solid stone above their heads. But the sky supposedly existed somewhere up above the stone, above them all—

“Yeah.” Cole agreed. “I can’t imagine it, either.”

+=+=+=+=+

His mother was getting worse.

She wasn’t the only one, either—the weeping cough kept spreading, despite everyone’s efforts. Another blight had hit, as well—the tomb was once again fasting.

Still, Cole did his best to smile through it. To greet his neighbors and tombmates warmly, to stay connected in all the ways his mother couldn’t. His dad was doing much the same, singing and dancing at festivals.

Cole had to be responsible. He was eleven, now, only four more years from hitting majority. He had to hold together, so he could hold the community together. He and his mother had never managed to go on that spelunking trip, despite her promise to show him the way down—but surely, she would get better, and then they could go down to the uninhabited cave network. Surely.

So Cole smiled, and chatted, and worked, and danced. He smiled, because crying and fretting wouldn’t do anyone any good. He chatted, to stay connected to everyone and make sure everything was going well. He worked, because the moss wouldn’t harvest itself, clothes wouldn’t weave themselves, and everyone had to do their part to keep things together. And he danced, because his mother wasn’t well enough to attend the festivals and dance herself—and if he didn’t dance, if he didn’t lose himself to the rhythm, then he’d gnaw his own arm off.

His mother would get better soon, surely. Sure, the weeping cough had proven deadlier than other sicknesses, and sure, his mother’s breathing was getting more and more labored—

But Cole could not let himself worry, because if he started—

He’d never stop.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole stared at the empty bed, at the rock scraped clean of the moss his mother had once rested on.

It just wasn’t fair. There was never quite enough in the tomb for everyone, even when they all pooled what they had and worked together—

Cole rubbed his eyes with his arm, his chest tightening. He needed to go out and walk around and smile and talk and—

And he just couldn’t. Because he wasn’t the pillar of strength he was supposed to be, because eleven and a half wasn’t enough—because there was never enough—

Cole let himself fall forwards onto his knees, leaning over onto the cold stone as he buried his face in his arms. He wanted his mother back. He wanted everyone who had died early to cave-ins or sickness or starvation to have never died so unfairly in the first place. He wanted things to be better, but all he could do was keep smiling and persevering—and he couldn’t even do that right now.

Beffa was right. Cole had been holding onto fairytales as a child. He glared up at the ceiling, at the unyielding stone that refused to recognize him as its Master, at the barrier cutting his people off from the surface and its supposed bounty—but it didn’t budge, and never would.

The tomb was sealed tight.

Cole would never see the sky.

#sobbed at this one

12 notes · View notes

ninjago-fic-recs · 11 months ago

Text

Memory Problems (Oneshot)

-Inspired by @somelegobird 's headcanon list

(Apologies for the bad fake code)

Running Systems Check … ///

CPU.Speedtest():

> speed normal

run [malware_scan.exe]:

> 0 malicious programs detected

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

/ / /

Something was wrong. He had been feeling it for weeks now. Every framed photo mocked him. Every familiar voice put him on edge. The dim hum of electricity in the monastery walls was becoming more piercing than he had grown used to. He was frequently so close to the verge of completely freaking out at mealtimes, he had no doubts the others had noticed.

His mind was lying to him again. At least, that’s what he kept assuring himself. He was safe. His friends were safe. All five of them.

Five.

There are six ninja.

Cole, Jay, Kai, Nya, Lloyd, and Zane.

That’s all there has ever been.

There are no other ninja. He hadn’t forgotten anyone or anything that happened.

No matter how many times his stupid, traumatised brain told him he had.

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

Nya had started questioning him the second time he had begged her to do a major systems check with the cave computer. All he could bring himself to tell her was that something “felt wrong” and he needed to be sure.

The third time he had been so distraught that by the time he found her in the Samurai X cave he was barely able to string enough words together to ask for the scan.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for Zane.” She turned away from the screens. “Your CPU is fine, and I can’t find issues with any of your other systems.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Nya rolled her chair over to the table and gently held one of his hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with your software. Why don’t you believe that?”

Zane felt a pressure behind his eyes. He didn’t cry very often, so if he did now Nya would worry even more. He didn’t want that to happen, but he found that he unfortunately couldn’t will the tears away.

“Something just feels wrong.” He asserted. Nya tried to make eye contact, but he turned his head away. She took his other hand.

“Why won’t you tell me what that something is? I can’t help you fix a secret problem.”

The silence spread agonizingly across the unnecessarily large space. Zane realised that Nya wasn’t letting him avoid the questions this time. He sighed.

“I’ve…” He bit his lip, turning to face her. “I’ve forgotten something.” He felt every part of his body tense up, as though admitting had made it real

“Forgotten what?” Nya’s face was calm, but in that deliberate way that he knew she did when she was trying to control a delicate situation. She was making that face a lot around him recently.

“I don’t know.” His cheeks were wet. Nya’s grip on his hands tightened slightly.

“How do you know you’ve forgotten it then?” She smiled slightly. Pity. He hated that look. He frowned.

“I just do, Nya. I’m missing something from my memory.” He grit his teeth.

“But your system would have flagged a gap in your memory."

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

The result flashed up on the large computer.

“See?” Nya nodded at the screen, “There’s nothing wrong, Zane.”

His hands balled up, tearing away from Nya’s. His body filled with a rage he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“YES THERE IS!”

He froze.

Nya looked scared.

He gently folded his hands in his lap, face twisted with guilt. He had thought that pity was the worst way his friends would look at him.

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

He was wrong.

A hand rested on his knee.

“Look at me, please?” Her other hand touched his cheek. He looked at the fingers before meeting her gaze. She looked… sad. Zane never thought he would have been relieved to see one of his friends sad.

“Did something bring this on?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He sighed.

“I have forgotten something. I don’t know what, but I have.”

“But why do you think that?” She stood up and tenderly grasped his biceps. “Zane, this is a perceived problem.”

run [memory_tamper_check.exe]:

> No tampering detected

“You’ve ran that program three times since the scan finished. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t there.”

“I’m not crazy.” He squeezed his eyes shut, tears still leaking out.

“I know buddy, no one thinks that.”

Zane didn’t respond.

“What kind of thing could you have forgotten?” She sat back down in her chair. Zane hesitated.

“I’m worried that I have forgotten someone.” Nya’s face contorted in confusion.

“Forgotten someone?”

“Yes. I know I have not, but I can’t shake the feeling.” He covered his eyes.

“You can’t have forgotten someone” she tried to brush it off, “You would have to be missing huge portions of your memories. It would interfere with ones you do have.”

“It would not be the first time.”

Nya thought for a moment, afraid to say the wrong thing.

Lightbulb

“Oh right… Your dad.”

Zane nodded.

“But you knew you were missing those memories. They were all gone.” She pulled his hands down. “Plus, that only happened because of physical tampering. You don’t even have a memory switch anymore.”

“That has not provided me much protection in the past.” Nya unfortunately had to agree, remembering his decades in the Never Realm without his full mind.

“That was a freak accident, there’s not much I can do on my end to help you with that sort of thing. It only happened cause we weren’t there to help. We will never let it happen again.” She stood up. “Every time you’ve been damaged we’ve been able to fix it. There is always an answer.”

She held his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. His arms wrapped around her tighter than usual.

“If you feel you need to manually check every file in your memory banks for errors or gaps, I’ll get the others down here and we will stay with you.”

“Thank you Nya.”

“We will fix this.”

run [memory_tamper_ch---

>Action cancelled

“We always do.”

23 notes · View notes