Archive of Our Own

It’s been a couple of days since Garmadon had left to join ‘Master’ Chen, leaving Wu alone. For the first time in his long existence, he was actually alone. The familiar walls of the Monastery of Spinjitzu, once filled with the sounds of footsteps, laughter, and occasional disagreements, were now eerily silent. The vast chambers, so alive with the echoes of shared history and teachings, felt impossibly empty without his brother’s presence. 

His father had passed on around a century ago. The absence of the First Spinjitzu Master had created a void in Wu’s heart that never quite healed, a wound that time had only managed to wrap in layers of silence and acceptance. His golden eyes, so often full of wisdom and calm, now seemed a little dimmer. He had spent centuries learning, growing, and guiding others, but without his father by his side, the world felt slightly more distant, the weight of responsibility heavier. There had been nothing in this world that could replace the figure of his father—the First Spinjitzu Master, the Creator, the foundation of all. It had been a loss that left a mark on his soul, and the healing process had been slow. 

Now, with Garmadon gone too, the ache in Wu’s chest grew sharp once more. Garmadon, his older brother—always so cool and confident, yet so full of contradictions. Garmadon with his dry humor, his subtle amusement, his powerful aura that filled any room he stepped into. Their relationship, once marked by warmth and an unspoken understanding, had grown strained over time, especially since the Great Devourer’s bite had infected Garmadon with the venom that slowly twisted him into something darker. 

Wu had hoped for so long that his brother would return to the light, that the bond they shared would triumph over the poison that ate away at Garmadon’s spirit. But that hope had begun to flicker and wane, especially after the many battles they’d fought side by side, where the evil that lurked within Garmadon had only grown stronger. The confrontation had been inevitable. Wu had known it, even as it tore at him. It was an ending they could not escape.

And so, Garmadon had left.

At first, Wu had told himself it would be fine. He was used to solitude, wasn’t he? After all, dragons were solitary creatures, weren't they? His dragon side had welcomed the quiet. The peace. The space to breathe, to think, to practice. Wu could feel the cool detachment of his dragon nature, basking in the silence of the Monastery. The weight of centuries had made him accustomed to solitude—he had spent countless hours training, meditating, and reflecting on the nature of life. Dragons were creatures of independence, able to find solace in the stillness of the world around them.

But his oni side felt the absence in a far more painful way. Oni were pack creatures. They thrived in the presence of others. They craved the closeness, the connections, the shared experiences. They needed their pack to survive, to feel grounded, to have a sense of belonging. And with their father gone, and now his older brother gone as well, Wu’s oni side felt the weight of his isolation even more acutely. It was as if the very air had grown thick with the absence of family. 

It hurt. A quiet, gnawing ache that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. He stood in the center of the Monastery, his golden eyes staring out at the landscape, but his mind was elsewhere—on the faces of the ones who were now lost to him. Garmadon. His older brother, the one who had once been a companion, a confidant, a force of strength by his side. A brother who had become both a stranger and a part of him, his identity forever intertwined with Wu’s own. And now, he was gone. 

Wu could feel the sting of loneliness creeping deeper with every moment that passed. He missed Garmadon, in ways he had not expected. The oni in him longed for the connection, the understanding only Garmadon could offer. Even after all the distance, the fights, the betrayals, Garmadon had been the only family Wu had left. The only one who knew him. Who truly understood what it was to live as both dragon and oni, the constant battle between the light and the dark.

And yet, Garmadon had walked away.

The silence in the Monastery grew louder, pressing against Wu’s mind. The golden light of his dragon half flickered like a distant star, trying to offer comfort. But it was the oni side, the darker part of him, that seemed to grow more restless. His mind wandered back to their shared childhood—long ago, when the First Spinjitzu Master was still alive, when there had been laughter, companionship, and warmth between them. Wu could almost see it: the young Garmadon with his brown hair and those bright eyes, always so serious but so protective. 

But that Garmadon had slowly faded, replaced by the one consumed by darkness. Wu had tried for so long to save him, to bring him back, but even now, with the Monastery once again his own, he could not escape the void that his brother’s absence had created. He had never truly understood how much he had relied on Garmadon until now, how much he had taken their bond for granted. 

Now, only memories remained—snippets of laughter, moments of shared strength, a bond broken by time and circumstance. Wu had always known his brother would choose a different path, but to feel it now, so fully, in the emptiness of the Monastery, made the weight of the centuries feel unbearable.

His dragon side would settle. But his oni side would always feel the absence.

Suddenly, a faint noise broke through the silence. It was barely perceptible, but to Wu, whose hybrid nature granted him immense hearing, it was as clear as day. A faint rustling, a disturbance, something beyond the Monastery's walls. His golden eyes narrowed as he turned his head, instinctively listening for any further clues. There it was again—a soft scrape, a shuffle of feet. It didn’t sound like the wind or the usual rustle of trees. No, this was something else.

Wu moved swiftly, his golden gaze flicking over the landscape around him. His sharp senses led him toward the source of the noise. The Monastery was perched atop a high hill, surrounded by dense trees and stone walls, but there, near the edge of the property, he could see a few figures. Children. Small, scrappy figures, scavenging through the Monastery’s garbage.

Wu hesitated for a moment. His first instinct was to leave them be. The Monastery had always been a place of solitude, a refuge from the world outside. He hadn’t expected visitors—least of all, children rummaging through the trash. But then, a strange feeling tugged at him. His dragon side barely even acknowledged the children, content in its peace. But the oni side stirred, intrigued by their presence.

Before he could make a decision, his sharp eyes caught something—a child, smaller than the others, was stuck. The boy was tangled in a heap of discarded food and debris, his clothes torn and stained, his small hands struggling to free himself from the trash can. The other children had already scattered, frightened by Wu’s imposing figure, but this one—this child—was trapped.

Without hesitation, Wu stepped forward, his movements fluid and silent. He crouched down beside the boy, who flinched at his approach, his wide, fearful eyes flicking up to meet Wu’s. Wu’s golden gaze softened slightly as he reached out, careful not to make the boy more afraid.

“Hold still,” Wu said, his voice calm, a quiet command that seemed to steady the boy's trembling form. The child didn’t speak, but his wide eyes seemed to plead for help.

Wu’s large hands gently pulled the boy from the trash can, his strength evident in the ease with which he freed him. The child staggered back, looking up at Wu warily. The boy’s appearance was rough—his clothes were little more than rags, torn and dirty, his face streaked with grime, and his eyes hollow with hunger and fear. Wu could sense the boy was not only scared but also desperate. His heart tightened, something inside him shifting.

“Where are your parents?” Wu asked, his voice soft, though his eyes searched the boy for any sign of an answer.

The boy didn’t speak immediately, his gaze flicking nervously toward the other children, who had long since disappeared into the distance. It was clear he was alone.

“I don’t have any,” the boy mumbled, his voice barely audible, the weight of his words sinking in. Wu could see the sadness in the boy’s eyes, the loneliness that mirrored his own.

Wu’s oni side stirred again, and for a brief moment, his mind raced. The boy was alone. Alone and vulnerable. Wu’s dragon half remained cool, distant, watching with little emotion. But his oni side, that darker part of him, saw an opportunity—an opportunity to care for someone, to bring someone under his wing, to fill the void that had gnawed at him since Garmadon’s departure. 

“I could give you some food,” Wu offered, his voice low, though not unkind. “It’s not much, but it’s something.” 

The boy hesitated, glancing at him with suspicion. His dirtied hands fidgeted, unsure. Wu stood slowly, then turned and made his way to the Monastery’s door, knowing the boy would be too hungry to resist. His oni side whispered in his ear, urging him to bring the boy inside, to offer him shelter, to take him in. It would be easy, Wu knew. Too easy. And yet, his dragon side countered, a deep, instinctual refusal. There were risks—perhaps the boy was not what he seemed. But the temptation remained. 

As he entered the Monastery, his movements quick, almost too quick for a mere human, he felt the familiar cold of the oni nature tugging at him. He had lived centuries with these impulses, but today, something felt different. His mind, split between his dragon and oni halves, found a strange agreement in the situation. If the boy was an orphan, what harm would there be in taking him in? There was no one else to care for him, no other family. It was simply natural, wasn't it?

A few moments later, Wu returned, a plate of shrimp held delicately in his hands. He placed the plate down on the stone steps leading up to the Monastery, just far enough for the boy to feel safe, but close enough that he could see the food clearly. 

The boy hesitated again, his eyes darting between Wu and the plate, his stomach growling. His hands were shaking as he reached out, snatching the plate in one quick, desperate motion. He didn’t thank Wu. He didn’t speak at all. He simply ran toward a nearby rock, sat down, and began to devour the shrimp in quick, ravenous bites.

Wu watched him for a moment, standing still, feeling a strange pull within himself. His oni side, so used to the idea of control, of power, of dominance, found satisfaction in this. It felt right to care for this child, to bring him under his wing, to give him a place, a purpose. After all, what was the point of power if you had no one to share it with? The boy was young, impressionable, and clearly in need of guidance.

His dragon side, ever the observer, remained distant but approved. Perhaps there was more to this than simple charity. Perhaps this boy could be something more.

Wu stood there in the silence, his golden eyes fixated on the child. As the boy finished the shrimp, his empty plate now tossed aside, Wu could feel a deep stirring in his chest. He felt a need to protect, to shelter the child, to give him a future that had been stolen from him by circumstances beyond his control.

“What’s your name, child?” Wu asked, breaking the silence, his voice gentle, though tinged with something darker, something primal that the boy couldn’t possibly understand.

The boy, now finished with his meal, looked up, eyes narrowed in wariness. He had already begun to pull away, as if ready to run again at any moment.

“Morro,” the boy finally answered, his voice small, almost reluctant.

Wu smiled softly, though there was a glint in his golden eyes, something unreadable.

“Well, Morro,” Wu said slowly, his voice smooth as he took a step closer, his presence more commanding now, “you are welcome to stay here for as long as you need. The Monastery is a place for learning. Perhaps you will find something here that you didn’t know you were looking for.”

_____

Over the next few days, Wu took his time earning Morro’s trust. It was a slow, delicate process—one that required patience. The boy was cautious, always watching him with those sharp, suspicious eyes, as if waiting for the moment Wu would reveal some hidden cruelty. Morro didn’t speak much, and when he did, his words were clipped, careful. He was a child who had spent too long surviving, rather than living. Wu recognized that sort of wariness. He had seen it before.  

But Wu was patient. He let Morro come to him, never forcing, never demanding. He left food on the steps, never commenting when it was gone moments later. He spoke to Morro without expectation, letting the boy grow used to his presence, his voice. And slowly, ever so slowly, Morro began to trust him—just enough to step inside.  

And oh, did that feel *right.*  

The moment Morro stepped past the threshold of the Monastery, something in Wu's chest eased. It felt... natural. As if this was where the boy was always meant to be. His dragon side barely reacted, indifferent to the small human presence. But his oni side? His oni side curled around this moment like a beast claiming its own, like a protective force tightening its grip. *Mine.* The thought came unbidden.  

But there were more pressing matters to attend to.  

Wu glanced at the boy, taking in his appearance now that he was standing under proper light. Morro was thin—far too thin. His clothes hung off him in loose, filthy rags, the fabric stiff with dirt and wear. His hands were grimy, his nails caked with filth. And his hair, once a wild mess of tangled locks, was practically matted. He looked as though he hadn’t had a proper bath in months, if not longer.  

Wu exhaled softly. This would not do.  

"Come," he said, leading Morro through the Monastery’s halls. The boy followed hesitantly, his bare feet making no sound against the floor. Wu could feel his eyes darting around, absorbing everything, mapping exits. A survival instinct. It would take time for that to fade.  

He brought the child to the bathroom, a simple but clean space, and turned to face him. "You need to bathe," Wu said simply.  

Morro stiffened slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t argue, but Wu could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.  

"Get all that dirt off of yourself," Wu instructed, stepping back toward the door to give him space. "I’ll be outside if you need anything."  

Morro hesitated a moment longer before finally stepping forward, eyeing the bathtub as though it were some kind of trap. Wu didn’t linger. He turned and left, closing the door behind him, though he stayed just outside, listening.  

As he waited, Wu focused his energy. There were no clothes in the Monastery small enough to fit a child like Morro, which meant he would have to create some. His golden eyes flickered as he concentrated, drawing upon his power. It had been a long time since he had used Creation Essence for something as simple as clothing, but it was not difficult. He let his mind shape the fabric, the stitching, the texture—simple, practical clothes that would suit Morro’s needs.  

After a time, he heard a voice—small, hesitant.  

"I'm done."  

Wu stepped back inside... and immediately realized that was not true.  

Morro stood near the tub, his wet hair clinging to his face, droplets of water still trailing down his arms. He had made an effort, that much was clear—the grime had been washed away *somewhat*, and his hair was at least damp instead of stiff with dirt. But the water in the tub told the truth of it all. It was still murky, still holding the filth that should have been scrubbed away. Wu's sharp eyes took in the untouched bar of soap resting on the side of the tub.  

Morro hadn’t truly bathed.  

Wu exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression unreadable. Of course. Why had he assumed that a *homeless child* would know how to bathe properly?  

Morro fidgeted under his gaze, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His eyes darted downward, avoiding Wu’s own. His hands clenched into small fists at his sides, defensive, bracing himself for reprimand.  

Wu did not scold him.  

Instead, he stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. "You're not done," he said simply.  

Morro’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "I said I was," he muttered, his voice carrying a stubborn edge.  

Wu arched a brow. "And yet, you're still dirty."  

Morro flinched slightly, his hands curling tighter. He was tense, bracing for something—an insult, a harsh word, a cruel hand. Wu gave him none of that. Instead, he knelt beside the tub, dipping his hand into the water, testing the temperature.  

"You didn’t use the soap," Wu observed.  

Morro swallowed. "Didn’t need it," he muttered.  

"You do." Wu’s voice remained calm, unwavering. He reached for the bar of soap, rubbing it between his hands to lather it. The scent of clean, sharp herbs filled the space.  

Morro stared at him, suspicion creeping back into his expression. "I can do it myself."  

Wu looked at him for a long moment before replying, "Can you?"  

Morro’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his pride warring with his own uncertainty. He had never had anyone do this for him before. Not that he could remember. And he hated feeling *helpless.*  

Wu, sensing the battle inside the boy, did not force him. He simply held out the lathered soap. "Here," he said, offering it.  

Morro hesitated before snatching it from his hands, as if expecting it to be taken away. He rubbed it against his arms clumsily, scrubbing half-heartedly, his movements awkward and uncertain. Wu watched for a moment before realizing—*he doesn’t know how.*  

Wu sighed internally. He had never bathed a human child before. But… he had memories. Faint, ancient memories. His father, bathing him and Garmadon when they were young, guiding them with a firm but patient hand.  

"Like this," Wu murmured. Carefully, he reached out, taking Morro’s hand in his own and guiding it along his arm in slow, firm circles. "Scrub until you see the dirt come off."  

Morro stiffened at the contact, but Wu was careful—his grip was light, his touch never forceful. After a moment, Morro slowly began mimicking the motion, still tense but following his lead.  

Wu remained there, guiding him in silence, watching as Morro gradually relaxed—just a little. The stubborn glint in his eyes remained, but there was something else now. Something uncertain.  

For the first time in a long time, Morro wasn’t completely alone. And though he wouldn’t say it aloud, though he would rather bite his tongue than admit it—he didn’t hate it.

Wu remained patient, sitting beside the tub as Morro scrubbed himself with slow, uncertain movements. The boy’s stubborn pride kept him from asking for help, but his hesitance betrayed his lack of experience.  

Wu guided him where needed, showing him how to work the soap into a lather, how to scrub behind his ears, along his neck, between his fingers. Morro followed his instructions begrudgingly, though every now and then he shot Wu a wary glance, as if trying to determine *why* he was doing this. Why he was helping.  

He wouldn’t understand, not yet.  

Wu could feel his oni side rumbling in satisfaction. Oni were *pack creatures*. They took care of their own, and though Morro was not his by blood, the oni in him had already made its decision. The boy belonged here. He would not be left alone again.  

But dragons were possessive creatures, and Wu’s dragon side, while usually indifferent, *agreed*. That was rare. They hardly ever agreed on anything.  

For once, Wu did not push the thought away.  

After Morro had finally scrubbed most of the dirt from his skin, Wu reached over and turned the tap, letting clean, warm water rush into the tub. The murky bathwater swirled as it drained, and Morro watched it go, his sharp eyes flicking back to Wu as if waiting for instruction.  

“Rinse your hair,” Wu said simply.  

Morro hesitated, then leaned forward and dunked his head under the fresh water, running his fingers through the tangled mess of dark locks. It was slow going, and when he surfaced again, Wu could see that the filth still clung to certain strands.  

“This will take forever,” Morro muttered, pushing dripping hair from his face.  

Wu hummed in agreement before reaching for a small wooden cup, filling it with warm water. “Tilt your head forward,” he instructed.  

Morro frowned at him. “Why?”  

“So I can help.”  

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I can do it myself.”  

Wu exhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to smile. The boy was stubborn, that much was clear. But Wu had patience.  

"Then do it," he said simply, placing the cup beside the tub.  

Morro huffed but picked it up, attempting to pour water over his own head. He missed half of his hair, spilling more onto the floor than on himself. He tried again. Another failure.  

Wu watched, his expression unreadable.  

Morro gritted his teeth. "This is stupid."  

"You are making it harder than it needs to be," Wu said evenly. "Let me help."  

The boy hesitated.  

He was clearly unused to people *offering* help. He had survived on his own for so long, relying on no one, expecting no kindness. Accepting help was *not* in his nature.  

And yet, something in Wu’s voice—steady, calm, patient—made him pause.  

Slowly, begrudgingly, Morro tilted his head forward.  

Wu moved carefully, pouring the warm water over the boy’s head, fingers working through the knots gently but efficiently. Morro flinched at first, unused to the sensation, but he did not pull away. Wu took his time, making sure every last bit of dirt was washed out, every stubborn tangle loosened without causing the boy discomfort.  

Morro remained still, his shoulders stiff, his fingers gripping the edge of the tub.  

“Relax,” Wu murmured.  

Morro scoffed. “I don’t relax.”  

Wu let out a quiet hum of amusement. “So I see.”  

Silence stretched between them as Wu continued washing his hair, his careful movements gradually lulling some of the tension from the boy’s frame.  

After a long moment, Morro spoke, voice quieter than before.  

“Why are you doing this?”  

Wu didn’t answer right away. He poured another cup of water, watching as the last of the soap was rinsed away. Then, setting the cup aside, he finally met the boy’s sharp, searching gaze.  

“Because someone should have, a long time ago.”  

Morro blinked. His fingers twitched against the rim of the tub, his expression unreadable. But he did not argue.  

Wu reached for a clean towel and held it out. “Dry off. I have clothes for you.”  

Morro hesitated only a second before snatching the towel and wrapping it around himself. Wu turned, stepping out of the bathroom to give him privacy, though he remained close.  

He could already sense it—Morro would fight him at every turn. The boy was not used to kindness, not used to being cared for. He would resist, he would push back, he would challenge Wu’s patience again and again.  

But that was fine.  

Wu had time.  

Morro stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his small frame swallowed by the towel wrapped tightly around him. He looked uncomfortable, almost exposed now that the layers of dirt had been scrubbed away. Without the grime and rags, he seemed smaller somehow, less like a feral creature and more like what he really was—a child.

A very wary, very stubborn child.

Wu waited patiently, holding out the fresh set of clothes he had created. A simple tunic and pants, dark green like the storm-touched sky before a heavy rain. They were slightly loose but comfortable, made from soft, durable fabric that would last.

Morro eyed them suspiciously.

“Where’d you get those?”

Wu arched a brow. “Does it matter?”

The boy frowned but didn’t push further. Instead, he snatched the clothes and retreated a few steps before slipping them on. The tunic draped over him a little too much, but he didn’t seem to mind. Once he finished, he tugged at the fabric awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

“…Feels weird.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Wu gestured toward the main hall. “Come. You must be hungry.”

Morro hesitated. The wariness in his gaze had not lessened. If anything, it had deepened, as though he didn’t quite trust that this wasn’t some elaborate trick.

Wu could guess what he was thinking.

No one gives something for free.

The world had taught Morro that kindness came with strings attached, with hidden conditions lurking just beneath the surface. He was waiting for Wu to name his price, for the inevitable moment when he would demand something in return.

But that moment never came.

Instead, Wu simply turned and began walking, leaving the choice to Morro. He had learned long ago that trust was not something you could force—it had to be built, slowly, steadily, with patience and persistence.

For a few seconds, Morro didn’t move.

Then, with a barely audible sigh, he followed.

_______

The meal was simple—warm rice, fresh vegetables, and a generous portion of shrimp. Wu watched as Morro eyed the food, his fingers twitching slightly, a clear tell of someone who was used to fighting for every bite.

“You don’t have to steal here,” Wu said, placing his own bowl down. “Eat as much as you like.”

Morro scowled. “I wasn’t gonna steal.”

Wu simply sipped his tea, allowing the silence to stretch between them.

After a moment, Morro huffed and grabbed his chopsticks. He ate quickly, stuffing food into his mouth as though afraid it would disappear if he didn’t claim it fast enough. Wu said nothing about it, merely refilling his bowl when it started to empty.

Morro froze, staring at the second helping as though it was some sort of trick.

Wu met his gaze steadily. “Eat.”

The boy hesitated. Then, slowly, he picked up his chopsticks again.

He ate a little slower this time.

Still not relaxed—Morro did not relax—but something in his posture eased, just slightly.

Wu did not smile, but he allowed himself a quiet breath of satisfaction.

Yes. This was right.

_______

Wu walked with steady, measured steps as he led Morro through the Monastery, making sure to move at a pace the boy could follow. He could sense the child's sharp eyes darting around, scanning the surroundings, memorizing every hallway, every door, every possible escape route.

Smart.

Wu had expected as much. A child who had survived on his own for as long as Morro had would naturally be wary, always looking for a way out, always prepared to flee. Wu allowed him to take his time, making sure to pause at key points so Morro could take everything in.

“This is the training hall,” Wu said, pushing open a set of wooden doors.

Morro peeked inside, gaze flicking over the open space, the polished wooden floors, the sparring dummies standing against the walls. He lingered near the threshold, fingers curling slightly at his sides, as though itching to step in but unwilling to show it.

“You train?” Wu asked casually, though he already knew the answer.

Morro lifted his chin. “I know how to fight.”

There was a fierce edge to his voice, a deep-rooted need to prove himself. Wu recognized it instantly.

“Good,” he said simply. “Then this place will be useful to you.”

Morro’s eyes flicked toward him, searching for some kind of mockery or challenge in his tone. He found none. After a second, he gave a small nod and stepped back as Wu closed the doors.

Wu continued leading him through the halls, showing him the kitchen, the storage rooms, and the meditation chamber. He spoke little, letting Morro take in the space for himself. The boy was still tense, still wary, but Wu could tell he was watching, assessing, taking mental notes.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” he said, stopping before a plain wooden door. He pushed it open with ease, revealing a small but comfortable room inside.

It was simple—nothing more than a bed, a small dresser, and a single window overlooking the garden. The bedding was clean, the wooden floor swept, the air still carrying the faint scent of incense from the previous day.

Morro took a single step inside, then stopped. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

Wu could feel the hesitation radiating from him.

“What?” Wu asked, tilting his head.

Morro didn’t look at him. “…You’re just giving this to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Wu met his gaze evenly. “Because you need it.”

Morro scowled at that, like he hated the idea of needing anything from anyone. But he said nothing, only shifting his weight from foot to foot before crossing the room and inspecting it with slow, deliberate movements.

He checked the window first. Wu had expected that. He slid it open, glanced outside, then shut it again. Next, he moved to the corners of the room, inspecting them as though searching for something hidden. A trap. A condition. Something that would confirm his suspicion that this was too good to be true.

He found nothing.

Eventually, he turned back to Wu. “It’s… plain.”

Wu huffed a quiet chuckle. “You are welcome to decorate it however you like.”

Morro wrinkled his nose at that, as if the idea of decorating something was entirely foreign to him.

“There is no rush,” Wu said gently. “You may take your time getting used to it.”

Morro didn’t respond. He simply touched the desk with hesitant fingers, trailing his hand along the smooth wooden surface. He wasn’t looking at Wu anymore, but his body language was telling.

He wanted this.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

After a few moments, Wu spoke again. “My room is nearby, just down the hall.” He gestured toward another door a few steps away. “If you need anything, you may come to me.”

Morro’s expression flickered, as though he wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

Wu then turned slightly, motioning toward the farthest end of the corridor. “Garmadon’s room is further away, in the other wing.”

Morro perked up slightly at the name. “Who’s Garmadon?”

“My brother.”

“Where is he?”

Wu exhaled softly, gaze drifting toward the empty room at the end of the hall.

“…Not here.”

Morro frowned, but didn’t push.

Wu smiled softly, though it was fleeting. “Come. I’ll show you the rest.”

He led Morro further down the hall, the boy trailing behind him in quiet steps. They passed a series of empty rooms, all of them simple, no decorations, just the bare essentials. It wasn’t until they reached the end of the corridor that Wu slowed his pace. Here, the hall opened up into a wider space, a door at the end leading into a large, well-kept wing of the Monastery. The walls were lined with intricate carvings, the air heavy with old magic.

“This is my room,” Wu said as he opened the door to a spacious chamber. It was quieter than Morro’s, larger, more open, with large windows that let in the light of the evening sun. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, and there was a small sitting area near the firepit. It was a place of solitude, of peace, but also one of responsibility. Everything about it spoke of years of study, of wisdom, of the weight of leadership.

Morro took it all in, but there was no judgment in his eyes. No curiosity either—just a quiet, subdued expression that Wu couldn’t quite place.

“I keep to myself here,” Wu said, as though reading the boy’s mind. “It’s where I can focus on my duties, my studies.”

Morro didn’t answer, but Wu knew the boy was processing it, just as he had processed everything else so far. He would need time, time to adjust to this place, time to learn what it meant to be here, time to trust it.

They reached the end of the hallway, where the wing took a turn to the right, leading into a quieter, more isolated portion of the Monastery. Garmadon’s room, a long corridor away from the main living quarters, was tucked away in a corner.

The door was much larger, more imposing. A heavy wooden frame adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and oni—the two halves of Garmadon’s nature. Wu hesitated before unlocking it, the key turning with a faint, echoing click.

Unlike Wu’s room, this room  felt more like a fortress than a place of rest, its walls adorned with ancient relics, with weapons and armor that had long since been used. There was a coldness to it, an air of distance and isolation, as though it were built for someone who wanted to be left alone. It was a way of marking his boundaries, making clear that he, like the dragon that dwelled within him, was a creature who preferred to be alone.

Wu’s heart gave a small, sharp pang as he stood there, his hand resting on the doorframe. “He keeps to the far side of the Monastery,” Wu said softly, eyes distant. “He likes his space.”

Morro stood back, arms crossed, watching the door but not moving toward it. “So, he’s like you, huh?”

Wu turned his head slightly, surprised by the question. “In some ways. Yes.”

Wu turned to Morro, who had been standing in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to show it. "Your room is close to mine," Wu continued, voice gentle. “I want you nearby. In case you need anything.”

Morro met his gaze, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something—maybe confusion, maybe skepticism, maybe just a trace of hope, but it was fleeting, like a cloud passing over the sun.

“…I don’t need anything.”

Wu hummed. “Perhaps.”

The boy scowled at his non-answer, but said nothing more.

They reached Morro’s new room again, and Wu gestured toward the open doorway.

“You may rest,” he said simply. “The Monastery is yours now, as much as it is mine.”

Morro hesitated.

Wu could see the war in his expression—the instinct to reject the offer, to deny that he wanted this. But beneath the stubbornness, beneath the walls he had built around himself, there was something else.

Something tired.

Something yearning.

“…Fine,” Morro muttered, stepping inside. “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

Wu allowed a rare smile to touch his lips.

“I would not dream of it.”

Morro huffed, turning away.

Wu lingered only a moment before stepping back into the hall, sliding the door shut gently behind him.

He stood there for a while, golden eyes fixed on the closed door.

The oni in him rumbled in satisfaction.

The dragon in him purred in agreement.

Yes.

The hatchling was his now.

________

The night stretched long and still, the silence only broken by the occasional creak of wood settling or the soft rustle of wind through the Monastery's ancient halls. Wu sat upright in his room, his golden eyes reflecting the pale moonlight that spilled across the floor. He had trained himself long ago to go without sleep for extended periods, and tonight, he had no intention of resting. 

Instead, his focus was elsewhere—on the quiet movements coming from the room just down the hall. Morro. 

He could hear the faint shuffle of the boy’s footsteps, the shifting of blankets, the soft rustling as Morro tossed and turned. He could feel the boy’s unease, the restless energy, the tension in every small movement. It didn’t take long for Wu to realize that Morro wasn’t sleeping at all. 

The child was too afraid to sleep. 

Wu’s gaze softened, his sharp senses picking up the slight tremor in the boy’s actions—small breaths that were a little too shallow, a tension in the way he moved that spoke of a deep-seated fear. Morro had been through too much, far too much, for his small, fragile mind to simply turn off and let go. 

But Wu would not let the boy suffer. 

Sleep deprivation was a form of torture, after all. And Morro, despite his bravado, was still just a child. 

With a quiet sigh, Wu pushed himself off the floor and stood. His feet barely made a sound as he moved through the shadows, gliding through the hall until he reached Morro’s door. He paused for a moment, listening. The boy’s movements had slowed, but they hadn’t stopped entirely. A soft, rapid breathing—the kind of breathing someone might make when they were desperately trying to hold themselves awake—drifted through the crack in the door. 

Wu knocked softly, twice, the sound barely more than a whisper. 

“Morro?” 

There was a long pause before the door creaked open. Morro stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and tired, face flushed with the struggle to keep awake. He didn’t speak, just stared at Wu as if unsure of what to expect. 

Wu stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The warmth of the room surrounded him, but it did nothing to ease the tension in the air, the silence that hung between them like a heavy cloud. 

“Why are you not sleeping?” Wu asked gently, his voice steady and calm. 

Morro shifted on his feet, looking away. “I don’t need sleep.” 

Wu raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. He could hear the lie in the boy’s words, the way his pulse quickened, betraying the fear that was eating at him. 

“You do need sleep,” Wu insisted. “Everyone does. You are only hurting yourself by staying awake.” 

Morro shook his head, his lips trembling slightly. “I… I don’t want to.” 

Wu tilted his head. “You do not want to? Or you cannot?” 

Morro remained silent for a long moment, staring at the floor, as if trying to hold back the emotions threatening to rise. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, as though unsure of what to do with himself. He wanted to be strong, wanted to refuse, but the fatigue was slowly creeping in, making his resolve falter. 

Finally, he muttered, “I can’t trust you.” 

Wu softened, his expression unreadable. “You do not need to trust me right now. You need to sleep. That is all.” 

Morro’s eyes darted toward the bed, the comfort of sleep battling against the fear that still gripped him. 

Wu stepped closer, his voice dropping into a reassuring tone. “If you need me to stay with you until sleep takes you, I will.” 

For a long moment, Morro didn’t respond. His lips parted, but no words came out. Finally, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion, his eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and need. 

“Please…” Morro whispered, his voice almost breaking. 

Wu reached out, his hand steady but warm. “Come.” He guided the boy gently to the bed, pulling the blankets back and sitting beside him. Morro hesitated, but the call of sleep was too strong. He crawled into bed with a slow, stiff movement, lying on his back with his arms clenched to his sides. He still looked tense, his small body rigid as if every instinct within him was screaming to keep fighting. 

Wu laid beside him, careful not to crowd him, but close enough that the boy could feel his presence—strong and steady. His golden eyes softened as he gazed down at the child, the soft rise and fall of Morro’s chest barely noticeable as he fought sleep. 

Wu exhaled softly, his mind going quiet as he shifted slightly closer. 

Morro tensed at first, but Wu did not force him. He simply let the boy feel the quiet assurance of his presence, the calm that had been his for centuries. 

Then, Wu began to purr. 

It started as a low rumble in his chest, a vibration that reverberated through his very bones, a sound of reassurance and safety that was both ancient and instinctive. It was a sound that, in all his years of existence, had never failed to soothe the anxieties of those around him—especially the young, the vulnerable. 

At first, Morro stiffened, eyes wide. He didn’t know what to make of it. But slowly, as the sound of the purring filled the air, the tension began to leave his small frame. His shoulders, once tight with fear, softened, and the wariness in his eyes started to fade. His body relaxed, bit by bit, as sleep began to claim him. 

Wu kept his purring steady, gentle, like a lullaby for a creature that had been starved of comfort for far too long. 

Morro’s eyelids fluttered, then closed. His body finally sank into the mattress, his breath even and deep as the exhaustion finally caught up with him. 

Wu lay there for a while, watching over him. His heart, as ancient as it was, felt a warmth it hadn’t known in centuries. The boy was finally asleep. 

And for the first time since he had come to the Monastery, Wu allowed himself to relax, even if just for a moment. 

He stayed there, with Morro curled beside him, listening to the soft sound of the boy’s breath and the gentle purring that filled the room. 

____

It had been a week since that first night, and the Monastery had settled into a rhythm—one that, despite the silence of its ancient halls, felt more alive than it had in a long time. In the stillness of the night, Wu would often hear the soft shuffle of footsteps outside his room, the sound of Morro sneaking closer like a shadow trying to remain unnoticed. But there was no avoiding it; the boy wanted to be near him, to feel the presence of someone who, in his own odd way, had come to be a constant comfort.

It wasn’t just that Morro slept in his room or curled against him in bed. No, it was the way the boy had become part of Wu’s life in these few days, the way he adapted, like the wind carving its path around rocks. At first, Wu had been unsure if Morro would truly settle here, or if his instincts to flee and run would overpower the stability Wu was trying to offer him. But the boy, though wild, was resilient—like a storm that rages for days and then suddenly shifts into a calm breeze, Morro had taken to the Monastery with surprising speed. Perhaps he had never truly known stability, perhaps the quiet of Wu’s presence was something his restless soul recognized as a safe harbor.

But that safety had not come without its price. As much as the boy had adjusted, he was still young, still feral in some ways. His instincts were sharp, like the keen edge of a blade that could cut with little warning. There were moments when the wildness would return in full force—when he would snap at anything that seemed to threaten him, his words quick and sharp, his eyes flashing with defiance, his small fists ready to strike.

Wu had learned to expect these moments, to remain still, calm, and patient, just as his father had done for him and Garmadon all those years ago. He would let Morro bare his metaphorical fangs, would let him growl and resist, and when the storm within him began to calm, Wu would offer nothing but understanding and space. It was a delicate balance, one Wu was learning to maintain, and though the boy’s wildness was at times a challenge, it was also a reminder of how far Morro had come, how far he still had to go.

What Wu found most curious, however, was how Morro behaved when the storms rolled in.

The first time it had happened, Wu had been quietly meditating, the flickering light of the candles casting soft shadows against the walls. Suddenly, the winds began to howl, and the sky outside the Monastery grew dark with thick clouds. The wind howled louder, throwing the trees outside into a frantic dance, their branches creaking and groaning in the fury of the storm. It was as if the sky itself had become an extension of the chaos that brewed inside Morro’s heart.

At first, Wu hadn’t given it much thought—storms were common in Ninjago, a frequent visitor in the world of dragons and Oni alike. But when he heard the familiar sound of small feet scurrying down the hallway, he knew something was different.

Morro’s eyes were wide, his face flushed with excitement, and he was already making his way toward the back door before Wu could even speak. The wind howled in the distance, like the roar of a creature in pain, and the air smelled of rain.

“What are you doing?” Wu asked, stepping into the hallway, his voice a soft but firm presence in the storm’s wake.

Morro turned his head, his hair wild from the wind, his smile wide and dangerous, like the sharp edge of lightning. “Storm’s coming,” he said breathlessly, his gaze flicking toward the clouds gathering above. “I like the storm. It makes me feel…” He trailed off, searching for the right word, his eyes alight with something Wu could only recognize as joy—a joy that was raw and untamed, like the crackling lightning overhead.

“Feel what?” Wu asked, his voice gentle, watching Morro carefully.

“Alive,” Morro finished, his grin widening. He was already halfway to the door, his energy unmistakable, the wind whipping through his hair as if the storm itself had become an extension of him.

Wu didn’t stop him. He couldn’t. The boy’s need to be outside, to watch the storm, was too strong. Instead, Wu followed him, stepping into the growing tempest that swirled outside the Monastery’s walls. The wind picked up, howling in their ears, and the rain began to pour in sheets, soaking the earth beneath their feet. The storm was fierce, but it didn’t seem to bother Morro.

Morro crouched under the edge of the roof, the rain pelting against the stone, his eyes focused on the swirling clouds above as though he could see something in them that Wu couldn’t. His little hands were gripping the edge of the building, and his breath was rapid, as if every gust of wind was feeding him more energy.

Wu watched for a while from the doorway, the rain drenching his cloak, the wind tugging at his hair, but he was unmoved by the elements. The storm was nothing to him. He was used to the chaos of nature. It was what the storm stirred in Morro that intrigued him.

Eventually, Morro turned to face him, eyes wild but calm, as if the storm had given him something Wu had been unable to. “I like it,” Morro said again, his voice carrying an edge of satisfaction. “I like the storm, and I like being in it.”

Wu nodded, stepping forward, letting the wind rush past him, his golden eyes reflecting the streaks of lightning. “The storm gives you energy, doesn’t it?”

Morro’s face lit up, and for a moment, Wu saw the wildness in him, not as a danger, but as something untamed, beautiful, and pure. It was a reflection of the chaos that ran through the veins of every living thing, the way nature could be both fierce and gentle in the same breath. “Yeah,” Morro breathed, his chest rising with excitement. “It feels like I can do anything when it’s like this.”

Wu watched him for a moment longer, feeling the wind stir his hair and brush against his skin, but there was something more—something that tugged at him, pulling him to the boy.

“Perhaps you can,” Wu said softly, his voice blending with the storm. “Perhaps you are like the storm itself—wild, unpredictable, but also capable of great things, if you learn to control it.”

Morro looked up at him, eyes filled with both wonder and wariness. “Can you teach me?”

Wu gave a small smile, though it was only faint, like the first soft light of dawn creeping over the horizon. “I can teach you, Morro. But first, you must learn to calm the storm within yourself.”

____________

The weeks had turned into months, and in the blink of an eye, two full years had passed. The boy—no longer just a child, but a young student—had transformed under Wu’s guidance. At first, there had been hesitation, a quiet reluctance to trust completely, to embrace the structure that Wu was offering. But slowly, piece by piece, Morro had begun to adapt, not just to the training but to the quiet understanding between them, the bond they were both forming without quite realizing it.

Wu was always patient, always steady in his teachings. He would push Morro when the boy needed it and step back when he had to. The training was grueling at times, and Morro’s raw talent, while formidable, needed refining. But the boy was relentless. Even when he stumbled, even when the frustration bubbled to the surface, Morro would not stop until he mastered whatever task was before him. It reminded Wu of Garmadon when they were young—so full of potential, so driven by an insatiable hunger for greatness.

And so, day after day, Morro worked. He practiced the elements that Wu showed him—earth, fire, water, and even the small glimpses of lightning and ice. Morro absorbed it all, eager to learn, to grow, to become someone strong. His speed was unparalleled, a natural fighter with quick reflexes, yet it was his relentless desire to be better that was truly something to behold. If he failed, he tried again. If he stumbled, he picked himself up with an almost brutal determination. Wu watched the fangs within the boy’s nature grow sharper, more pronounced, as if they were emerging from a place deep within him, hungry for something more.

There were moments, though, when Wu would catch a glimpse of something else beneath the surface—a softness, a vulnerability that Morro would quickly hide away. Those moments were rare, fleeting, but Wu could see them, as if the boy’s need to protect himself from the world still lingered, even after all the progress he had made.

But as the seasons passed and Morro trained harder, the boy began to find a different kind of peace. He no longer flinched at Wu’s presence, no longer felt the need to keep his guard up every second of the day. He was unrelenting in his training, but he also learned to trust Wu as a mentor, as a father. He had come to think of the Monastery as home, and of Wu as the one person who would never leave him.

One of the most significant moments in their journey together came without warning. Morro, in his wild, untamed way, had never had a birthday. Or at least, that was what he thought. He had never celebrated the day he was born, never had anyone mark it as special. So Wu, ever perceptive, had made a decision.

The day Morro first stepped into the Monastery, June 29th, became his birthday. It was a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but it was one that meant more to Morro than anyone could imagine. It was the day his life had truly begun.

Wu remembered the way Morro’s eyes had lit up when he gave him the news, the quiet, uncertain joy that had flickered across his face. For a moment, Morro had been speechless, overwhelmed by the simple idea that someone cared enough to give him a birthday.

That year, when Morro turned ten, he asked for something simple, something that seemed so far removed from the fierce and focused child he had become. “Wu,” Morro had said, his eyes glinting with excitement, “could you make me a kite? A red and gold one?”

Wu had been more than happy to oblige, a smile tugging at his lips as he nodded and raised his hand. The power of creation coursed through him, and in moments, the kite was real—a beautiful, elegant design with bright red silk and golden patterns swirling along the surface. Morro’s grin had been wide, full of joy, as if it was the first real gift he had ever received.

Morro had taken the kite outside the Monastery, eager to play, his energy never running out as he raced up the mountain to find the perfect spot. Wu, in his usual calm and observant way, stayed inside, giving the boy space. It was only when the scent of food filled the air, and the day turned toward evening, that Wu made his way outside to call Morro in for dinner.

But when Wu stepped into the cool air of the mountain evening and looked up at the sky, his heart skipped a beat. The kite, once fluttering gently in the breeze, was now soaring high above the Monastery, far higher than any normal wind could carry it. It was almost as if the kite was tethered to the heavens themselves.

And that’s when Wu saw Morro.

The boy stood on a ledge just a few yards away, but it was his focus that drew Wu’s attention. His small hands were raised in the air, fingers extended as if commanding the elements themselves. The wind swirled around Morro, carrying the kite on a perfect, controlled path, higher and higher, with no sign of the chaos that had once been Morro’s life. Instead, the kite soared with a grace that echoed the boy’s raw potential.

Wu’s eyes widened as he understood what was happening. The wind was bending to Morro’s will, twisting and turning with purpose. It was a power unlike any Wu had seen before.

It was wind. His wind.

Wind, the element of Wojira, a force that had been forgotten by time. A power that had been lost to the world, the twin of water—fluid, elusive, and mysterious. And there, in the wild abandon of Morro’s focus, Wu realized the truth: Morro was wielding an elemental power that had not been seen for centuries.

“Morro,” Wu called, stepping closer, his voice steady, but the surprise in his heart undeniable.

Morro didn’t turn at first, lost in his own world, the kite twisting higher, the wind responding to his every subtle motion. But when he finally looked over his shoulder, there was a faint, proud smile on his face. His green eyes glittered with something deeper, something Wu hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I did it,” Morro said simply, his voice filled with quiet triumph. “I can do it.”

Wu nodded slowly, the weight of the moment sinking in. His heart swelled with pride, and for the first time, he saw not just a boy with untapped potential—but a son. A son who had found something powerful within himself, something beyond anything Wu could have ever expected.

“You’ve done more than you realize, Morro,” Wu said softly, his golden eyes reflecting the wind’s power. “You’ve found your own path.”

And as the kite soared higher, carried on the wings of a power long thought forgotten, Wu couldn’t help but feel a quiet thrill. He had known Morro would grow into someone great—but he hadn’t expected this.

This child, his son, was a force of nature himself.