"Three people lived in that house, but only two were alive"

​Whenever Cole looked into the mirror, he didn't see himself. At least, not at first.

He saw his father.

​He saw the same thick, dark eyebrows and the same shaggy black hair - though Cole's was longer, cut in layered waves that brushed his shoulders, while his father's was cropped short and silvered at the temples.

He was nearly as tall as his father now, though Lou was neither an enormous man nor a small one.

​He had inherited the facial features, too - the kind that led strangers to assume he was angry, mean, or strict.

But unlike his father, Cole wasn't.

At least not most of the time. Yet, when temper did flare, that same sharp crease would divide his forehead - a bitter inheritance he had seen on his father far too often.

​His father was a man whose heart had been broken and replaced by something else: anger, a bone-deep weariness, absence, and disappointment.

But mostly, it was anger.

​Cole was a mirror for his father's cracks - a silent vessel trying to stay upright in the wake of his father's loud, unending storm.

But while Lou's heart had been replaced by those cold things, Cole's heart had simply shattered.

And the shards were still inside him, stinging and penetrating deeper every time he caught his reflection.

​Because whenever Cole looked into the mirror, he didn't just see his father.

He saw his mother.

​Her hair was black as well, flowing in thick waves that surrounded her like a silken curtain, glowing in the sun.

They shared the same faint wrinkles around the mouth from laughing - though Cole's were slowly fading, both, the lines and the laughter itself.

​His mother had been tall, taller than his father, and Cole hoped to reach that height soon.

He wanted to look down at the man who had managed to lose two people at once, even though he'd only had to bury one.

​Cole carried her spirit: brave, kind, protective, and capable of a love that filled a room. Her heart had always been in the right place, but Cole's was merely a fragment of what hers had been.

​The most striking resemblance, however, was in their eyes.

A brown so dark it was frequently mistaken for black.

When he had looked into his mother's eyes, he could see her soul. She wore the darkness like a coat - a garment she would wrap around others to keep them warm and safe.

In her gaze, you could find a reflection of your best self, framed by a raw, light-brown glow at the edges of her irises.

​That was the difference.

​Cole's eyes were the same color, but their nature was different. There was no light at the edges, only a precipice.

His eyes were a lake; if you looked too deep, you didn't find yourself. You drowned. It was as simple as that.

Whenever Cole looked into the mirror, he didn't see himself.
Not at first though. But at last.

​Because after a while, the surface of the mirror would shift.

​And he saw himself: the boy with the lake-dark eyes, the ink-black hair, and the pale, bleak face.

A shard where a heart should be.

If anyone dared to look closer, they might see what lay beneath the surface - but no one cared enough to look.

​Not since his mother's death.

Not since that day last summer when her body died and her ghost began to haunt the hallways.

Not since his father's anger began to flood the house or, when Lou wasn't home, flood Cole's mind.

Not since Cole had retreated into a shell, where pain became his only pearl.

​Until one day, a few weeks ago, the mirror shifted again. Cole changed.

​He had been looking into the mirror, following the usual cycle - Father, Mother, Self - when he noticed it.

If someone did dare to look beneath the surface now, what would they see?

​His eyes had shifted. The lightness that had been missing - the amber glow of his mother's "coat" - was appearing. A light brown ring now circled his irides, threatening to bleed into the center.

It seemed his mother's protective love had finally taken root in him.

​He felt different.

Stronger, but not in a brutal way. He felt defensive. Protective. Like he would never hide from a fight again, but instead stand tall against the cruel and the unjust.

Oh yeah. That was also the day Cole had punched the mirror into a thousand pieces and began to dread his own future.

But here he was.

​He had become a creature of the dark, but now, it was time to step into the light.

Or, at least, as much "light" as a high school can offer.

​Today was the day.

Cole's first day at the infamous Ninjago High.

​Though he had lived in the city his entire life, he had spent his years at a boarding school in the mountains.
For years, that school had been his sanctuary - a place far from "home", far from his father's shouting and his mother's lingering silence.

Her sickness.

​But lately, something inside him had been calling.

Aching.

Yearning.

He had a feeling he would find the answer here, in the halls of Ninjago High - arguably the worst place on earth for a sixteen-year-old "new kid",

But ​how bad can it be?, he had asked himself.

​Very bad, he answered now, pulling his headphones down to rest around his neck.

​Very, very bad, he thought again, watching the sea of students.

They were laughing, talking, navigating the social currents with an ease he didn't possess.

They knew their place. Cole was alone, accompanied only by that strange, pulling sensation in his chest.

​For a split second, he almost wished someone would try to destroy the city again. It didn't even have to be Garmadon; any small-time villain would do.

Just something to bring the world to a standstill and cancel school for a week. Or a month. Or forever.

​But Cole knew better.

Luck wasn't on his side - it didn't match his black clothing or his pessimism.

Besides, the moment a threat appeared, the Secret Ninja Force would swoop in and end it before the first bell rang.

​Taking a deep breath, Cole adjusted his bag and began the long trek toward the main office. He needed a schedule, a map for this labyrinth, and a way to survive the first day of the rest of his life.

-----

​Everyone was looking at him, yet no one truly saw him.

​The first was how it felt; the second was the reality.

Cole was the new kid, a ghost in the hallways of Ninjago High, but no one cared enough to notice.

Naive as he was, he had expected to recognize at least a few faces-maybe from the neon-lit aisles of the shopping mall or the scent of the local bakery. After all, he lived here too, at least during the holidays.

​But the faces passing him were a blur of cold indifference. To them, he was just another silhouette against the lockers.

​He gripped his schedule tightly, the paper slightly crumpled from his visit to the principal's office.

He was looking for Room 214, but the school felt like a labyrinth. The hallways were wide and sterile, lit by flickering fluorescent tubes that cast a pale, sickly light on the rows of dented lockers.

The air smelled of floor wax, old textbooks, and the faint, lingering metallic scent of the city's industrial district.

​A loud, echoing thud broke the silence.

​Cole rounded a corner. This hallway was narrower, lined with heavy lockers painted a chipped, institutional blue.

He checked a door: 118. He sighed; his class was likely on the floor above.

​Then he saw him.

​Lloyd Garmadon.

​The name alone carried the weight of a fallen empire.

The son of Lord Garmadon-the four-armed warlord who treated the city like his personal playground of destruction.

Though the Secret Ninja Force had kept the city safe for the past year, the scars of Garmadon's attacks were everywhere, and the resentment of the citizens ran deep.

​Looking at the mention of the ninja made Cole shudder. He thought of them often-the five masked protectors who risked everything for Ninjago.

• ​Blue: The Lightning Ninja, quick with a joke and even quicker with a bolt.

• ​Red: The Fire Ninja, a blur of heat and aggression.

• ​White: The Ice Ninja, precise and cold as a winter gale.

• ​Aqua: The Water Ninja, the only girl in the group, moving with the fluidity of a crashing wave.

• ​Green: The Leader. The Master of Energy. The mystery at the center of the storm.

​Cole had never seen them in person, only through the cracked screen of his phone.

Yet, they were the reason he was here.

He had traded the prestige of the Marty Oppenheimer School of Performing Arts for this crumbling public high school.

He had risked his future, his diploma and his father's dwindling patience because of a yearning he couldn't explain.

He needed to be in the heart of Ninjago. He needed to find out who they were.

The ninja.

​But right now, he was just watching a boy get bullied.

​Thud.

​Lloyd's head hit the metallic door of a locker again. The sound was hollow and sharp.

​"Haven't you had enough yet, Loser-Lloyd?" one of the bullies sneered.

Five of them had Lloyd cornered-three hulking boys with the broad shoulders of rugby players and two girls who watched with icy, judgmental stares.

​The leader held Lloyd by the collar, shoving him back against the steel. When he finally let go, he brushed his hands off on his jacket with a look of pure disgust, as if Lloyd's very existence was contagious.

​Lloyd was panting, his blonde hair messy, but his eyes-a startling, vivid green-burned with a defiant fire. He didn't scream.
He didn't beg for them to stop.
He just stood there, backed against the cold metal, a solitary island against a sea of hate.

​"Why don't you just kill yourself?" one of them muttered.

They laughed and turned away, their footsteps echoing down the hall like a victory march.

​Cole froze. Do something, a voice in his head whispered. Stand up for what's right. Wasn't that his new mantra? The "New Cole"?

​Instead, he turned on his heel. He hurried toward the stairs, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He hated Lord Garmadon, and he had his own prejudices against the son of a villain, but no one deserved that.

Yet, the fear of becoming the next target kept his mouth shut.

​Maybe it's not too late to go back to the Marty Oppenheimer, he thought bitterly.
Tonight, I'll tell Dad.

He was already done with this nightmare.

-----

​He finally reached Room 214 and knocked softly.

As the door creaked open, twenty pairs of eyes locked onto him.

The twenty-first pair belonged to the teacher, and they were narrow and sharp behind thick spectacles.

​"You're late," she stated.

​Mrs. Ragid looked like a relic from another century.
She wore a knee-length skirt and a stiff blouse, all in various, depressing shades of brown.
Her desk was organized with terrifying precision.

​"I-... sorry," Cole mumbled, pulling his black hoodie tighter.
He liked to be invisible. He wore black to blend into the shadows, to be the person no one thought of, no one remembered.

But under the harsh classroom lights, he felt like he was under a spotlight.
​"Mind taking those off?" she asked, gesturing to his neck.

​Cole blinked, then realized with a jolt of embarrassment that his headphones were still on.

​"Put them on my desk. You can have them back after class," she ordered.

​As Cole walked to the front, he heard the stifled giggles of the students. He felt like a fool.

He placed the headphones down and looked for a seat.

There were only two left: one in the very front, directly under Mrs. Ragid's watchful eye, and one in the back corner-the "cool" row.

​Cole started toward the back, but just as he reached it, the door swung open again.

​"Sorry, Mrs. Ragid!"

​A figure rushed past Cole, sliding into the back seat before he could even blink.

A girl with long, ink-black hair and a ginger boy covered in freckles immediately leaned in, whispering frantically to the newcomer.

​Defeated, Cole turned around and slumped into the only chair left: the front row, right in the line of fire.

​And the boy who had taken his seat in the back? The one who actually seemed to have friends despite the world hating him?

​It was Lloyd Garmadon.