Legacy of the Departed

Chapter 1 - Morro Alone

~ Six months later ~

Superstition might as well have been a sacred custom for the Day of the Departed. It was as much a staple of celebration as lighting lanterns and collecting cavities. People tended to become more wary when talking about the dead, as if the invisible walls between realms were thinning and the ghosts of long-gone souls would return if only they were given the right reasons.

On this particular eve of the Departed, the moon was clear and bright, nearly a full disk that seemed to drench the sky in an eerie blue. The late fall air was chilled, stagnant, not a whisper among the leaves. Moonlight slanted through the spindly trees, which were only growing more barren as the days passed. Brittle leaves fluttered underfoot, but they kept their silence. Morro couldn't have asked for better conditions.

Up ahead, Morro could see an orange light that shivered feverishly in the cold. Voices mumbled to each other in confidence in the lonely forest as he drifted closer, almost fading naturally into the forest ambience.

"Just feels like a bad idea's all'm sayin'."

"Relax, you saw their faces. Can you imagine any of those pitiful souls trying to come after us with nothing but farming tools? They wouldn't dare. You're only on edge because of the day. I can't remember a time you were ever this cautious."

Keeping to the shadows, Morro crouched near the clearing where two men had made their camp. The first one was huddled close to the fire, looking particularly nervous for one so imposing, while his friend sat propped against a thin tree stump. Both men had rifles lying next to them, which was a rare sight. Even nowadays, guns weren't very popular anywhere in Ninjago, as they were more difficult to produce and considered less reliable to the more preferred weapons of the world. But they were especially rare this far out in the country. Additionally, the two men each had a lumpy rucksack for supplies, and another full to bursting with the day's treasures.

"That's 'cuz normally the land of the living don't intersect with the land of the dead," the fearful bandit answered. "You know, some folks believe that on the Day of the Departed, their loved ones return to visit 'em. And if any ghosts from that village come back and hear what we did–"

"Grow up!" the other scoffed. "You should know that there's no such thing as ghosts."

"But I heard it was ghosts that attacked Stiix!"

The skeptical bandit rolled his eyes. "Are you going to believe everything you hear in a run-down rest stop like that?"

"No, it wasn't just that!" The fearful bandit sat up a little straighter. "I know a guy who knows a guy from there who says it was a buncha ghosts that took over the place!"

His partner waved his hand. "Those ninja will say anything to make themselves look better."

"But he saw–"

"Yeah, that's what they all say. But everyone knows people from Stiix like to stretch the truth."

That seemed like as good a cue as any. Morro decided to start with a strong breeze, pulling the air through the men's clearing so that it stirred creaking branches overhead and caused the fire to cower low to the ground.

The fearful bandit shivered and rubbed his arms to warm them up. "I'm just saying, we oughtta move on. Just a bit further out. Or we could keep walking 'til daybreak and rest then. We'll have less chance of bein' caught that way."

"I already told you, those people won't dare try to mess with us. Little towns like this haven't got any firepower to speak of, let alone any guts to use 'em. We're already scot-free." The skeptical bandit laughed to himself. "Even if there were any ghosts, I doubt that even their ancestors would be bold enough to come after us."