October 1st: A Flicker Of The Past

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The monastery was quiet, save for the crackling of a small flame held in Arson Morro's palm. He often did this when thinking—letting the fire dance and swirl, reflecting the chaos within him. At fifteen, Arson was a complex mix of two worlds: his father Kai's fire powers and his other father Morro's sharp, cold personality. Despite the heat he controlled, there was always something unsettling about the way he embraced silence. His fire didn't roar; it whispered, like the ghosts of people he had never known.

Arson had been born on October 27th, 15 years ago—a fact that no one could explain. His existence was an enigma, something the universe must have created by mistake, or so he thought. How did two men, Morro and Kai, come to create a son? That wasn't a question anyone seemed interested in answering. All that mattered was that he was here, with their blood, their powers, and their ghosts embedded in him.

Shortly after his birth, Kai had died—how, no one ever explained in detail. Some said it was during a battle, others whispered about a terrible accident. All Arson knew was that his fiery father was gone before he had a chance to remember him. And Morro, unable or unwilling to raise his son, had dropped him off at the monastery like a package too heavy to carry. Morro disappeared after that, becoming something of a recluse, a wandering spirit in his own right, leaving Arson behind without a second glance.

Master Wu had taken him in, as he had taken so many lost children over the years. Arson had grown up under his care, accepted into Wu's strange and quiet family. The monastery had once been filled with ninjas, heroes who fought to protect Ninjago. But now, it was only Wu, Misako, and Arson. The quiet was unnerving sometimes, but it was home. Even though Wu and Misako treated him like family, there was always something missing—a sense of belonging that Arson couldn't quite grasp.

He watched the fire twist and flicker in his palm, feeling the heat but never burned by it. His powers, inherited from Kai, were nothing short of incredible. But the temperament that came with them—that was Morro's legacy. Calm on the surface, but dangerous when provoked. It made him the perfect weapon, but the truth was, he didn't know what he was fighting for. He didn't know who he was.

Arson got up from the stone steps where he sat and let the flame in his hand snuff out, leaving behind a faint trail of smoke. He looked around the courtyard, where the leaves were just starting to turn gold and red with the arrival of autumn. The cold air prickled at his skin, but he liked it. It was a welcome contrast to the fire he constantly carried within.

With a sigh, he turned and made his way back inside the monastery. The halls were quiet as ever, and the air was filled with the faint scent of incense. Wu had taught him a lot over the years—patience, discipline, control. But there was only so much a teacher could impart. The rest, Arson had to figure out on his own.

He walked past the room where Wu and Misako were likely meditating together, their relationship something strange and old, much like them. He had never questioned it, but sometimes he wondered if he'd ever have something like that—something real, something lasting.

As he reached his room, he paused, looking out the window at the fading sunlight. In a few weeks, it would be his birthday. He wasn't sure why, but this year felt different. There was a restlessness in his chest, like something was about to change. He couldn't shake the feeling that his past, or maybe his future, was coming for him.

But for now, the day was over. The fire within him still burned, but tonight, it would have to stay a flicker.

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