"i'm the kind of girl who doesn't say a word
who sits at the curb and waits for the world."
✧✧✧

Early morning sunlight shines down on the land of Ninjago. A new day has begun, bringing with it a flurry of activity. Ninjago City is already bustling like always, and all over the land, towns and neighborhoods wake up and become busy themselves.

High up in the mountains, Jamanakai Village slumbers, nestled cozily among the snow-capped peaks. As the sun rises, however, the little town gradually comes to life. Villagers emerge from their homes, chirping good mornings and hellos to each other as they start on their daily routines. Some open their stores for the day, while others tend to their crops or start on chores. It's not long before the place is buzzing with life. It's a small, cozy scene, lively yet peaceful at the same time.

In a house toward the edge of the village, a girl groans as she awakens from her slumber. She yawns and sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her half-open eyes. She doesn't recall when she dozed off last night. The last thing she remembers is staring up at the moon, longing for someone she's always missed yet never known. A sigh escapes her and she shakes her head, scolding herself mentally for staying up late again. It's morning now and, as always, there's a long day ahead of her.

She looks around her room as her vision clears. Like her, it's small and rather plain; aside from her bed, dresser, desk, and the carpet in the middle of the floor, it's basically empty. It's not much, but she prefers the simplicity. After all, as they say, sometimes less is more. Her gaze shifts from her room to her window, and she groans as she notices the golden fingers of sunlight extending through the sky. She's already overslept.

Crap.

The girl yawns again and slides out of bed. She doesn't concern herself with what to wear, considering she only has a handful of outfits anyhow–just a few shirts and long skirts, her sleepwear, and her mother's old Yukata for summer months, which would be more useful if she didn't live on a snowy mountain year-round. She grabs a top and skirt before trudging to the one bathroom in her little house. Bathing and dressing don't take long, and soon she finds herself adjusting the final pin on her top, examining her reflection in the mirror.

A pair of dark brown eyes stare back, surrounded by dark circles from yet another restless night. They belong to a small girl, barely five feet tall, if even that. Her face is still round and babyish despite being sixteen, and her figure is lithe and dainty, almost like a doll's. Her dark hair sits disheveled on her head, revealing the simple piercing she has in each ear. No matter how she tries to wear it overnight, it always ends up looking like a rat's nest when she wakes up.

"Kira Desarin," she murmurs to herself, "you look like a tired mess."

She grabs her brush and drags it through the jet-black locks, ridding it of tangles and restoring its slight natural wave as it falls just above her shoulders. Her fingers twine through the dark strands, taking a small portion and twisting, until she's created a small braid that wraps around her head. "That's better." She gives a small smile before leaving the bathroom.

Judging by the mouth-watering aroma of breakfast that drifts up from the kitchen, her mother is already up and about. No doubt she's already prepared their usual: steamed rice, miso soup, and a side of salad, complete with the staple of the Desarin family—a cup of steaming-hot tea. Her stomach rumbles just thinking about it as she makes her way downstairs.

"Late to breakfast, are we?" her mother teases when she saunters into the kitchen. "What a shame. I was hoping you'd help me cook today."

She turns away from the stove to face her with a playful smile. Looking at her, Kira sees why the neighbors say she looks more like her father. Her mother, Aimi Desarin, is nothing short of a pretty woman; neat, chin-length hair that never looks messy, soft and round facial features, and a youthful gleam in her dark eyes, not to mention the subtle curves of a lady her age. Next to her, Kira looks like a ten-year-old boy—small and fragile-looking, with no prominent feminine features to speak of. She tries not to think about it as she approaches.

"Morning, Mom." Kira grins as her mother presses a kiss to her forehead. "Sorry I took so long. I, um...got held up in the bathroom." The lie struggles to leave her lips, but she forces it anyway. Her mother is already painfully aware of her insomnia, and the last thing she wants is to worry her with talk of another sleepless night.

"That's alright." Aimi responds. "I'm almost done with breakfast, so if you could fix us each a cup of tea, it'd be a big help."

"On it!" Kira moves around the kitchen, starting on the process she's memorized by heart over the years: heat the water, decide which leaves to use, steep it, then remove the tea bag. In just a few minutes, she's staring proudly at two steaming cups of tea.

"Ah, you made our famous Desarin Green Tea," her mother observes with a grin. "You know that particular recipe has been in our family for generations."

"You only say that every time I make it." Kira laughs, but it's cut short by a yawn as she sets the cups down at the table.

"You look tired," Aimi observes with narrowed eyes. She pinches the bridge of her nose as the realization hits. "Oh, Kira, you overslept, didn't you? Were you up late again?"

"Um...nooooo...."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, sweetheart." The brightness in her mother's eyes fades, replaced by a look of concern. "You need your rest. Staying up till midnight every night isn't healthy."

Her daughter doesn't reply. She bites her lip, gaze flickering to the wall off to the side. A lone photograph hangs in the center of it. It shows a man and a woman, a happy couple by the looks of it. Although her hair is longer and her features are more youthful, the woman is clearly her mother. The man, on the other hand, Kira has never met. He's handsome, with a chiseled jawline and dark eyes that gaze at his wife with compassion. There's a tenderness to him that she's never seen in anyone else, one that makes her wish more than anything she could see his smile and feel his embrace in person.

She's never known him, but she knows his name: Kenta Desarin. Her father.

Aimi follows her child's gaze, eyes growing mistyl. "I know you miss him, darling. I do, too." A bittersweet smile crosses her face. "Your father and I went to the city to get that picture taken. It was my first time ever going there. It was so crowded and noisy, I almost couldn't take it...but with him there, it felt so romantic. He even treated me to dinner after."

Her daughter's eyes don't leave the picture. "I just can't help but stay up thinking about him."

"Kira..."

"I'm fine, though! It's nothing to worry about, really," Kira says quickly, managing a weak smile. "I think you just worry about me too much."

"Why wouldn't I? You're my favorite daughter, after all."

"I'm your only daughter."

"Even more important!" She exclaims, making Kira laugh. "As long as you're living under my roof, I'm always going to worry about you."

"There's no one else's roof I'd rather live under."

"That's my Kira," her mother teases. "Always such a homebody. You've loved staying home since you were a little girl." She moves to her daughter's side, and Kira giggles as she ruffles her hair, batting at her arm playfully.

"Who do you think I get that from?" she laughs.

Her mother rolls her eyes, but she's smiling just as wide. "Oh, hush."

----------

Before long, breakfast is finished, and the Desarins head off to work—which, conveniently, is quite literally a short walk away. Their little tea cart rattles as Aimi pushes it along, while Kira carefully transports the few cups of fresh tea they'd prepared for their first few customers. The air of Jamanakai Village is crisp and chilly as always, but like the other villagers they've grown used to it. Kira takes a deep breath, inhaling the familiar mountain aroma of soil and moss. Their feet crunch through the occasional patch of snow as they make their way toward town square, waving and murmuring greetings to their neighbors along the way.

In a way, the village is like a little family. Isolated as they are up in the mountains, the villagers all rely on each other to keep things up and running, and everyone knows everyone. Kira recognizes every face, every smile–Ms. Ishida and her twin daughters, Mr. Murakami who runs the bakery, the elderly Tanaka couple who yells at children to get off their lawn. Aside from the rare squabble or disagreement, everyone is always on good terms with one another. It's funny, really. Jamanakai has been the center of some of Ninjago's most major conflicts—from the Serpentine War to the Overlord's conquest—and yet it's probably the most peaceful place in the land.

The squeals of children sound when the Desarins approach the schoolhouse. Sure enough, Kira sees them playing out in the front yard as they walk past, laughing and shouting as they wait for school to start for the day. They're locked in a rather intense game of kicking a rubber ball among each other. One of them kicks a little too hard, and Kira perks up as the ball goes rolling out into the pathway, bumping against her ankle. The children stare at her with wide eyes, as if afraid to approach her.

"Here you go." She offers a small smile, nudging the ball with her foot and sending it rolling back to them.

"Thank you!" they squeak before returning to their game.

As endearing as it is, Kira can't help but feel a pang in her heart as she watches them play. She wasn't nearly as social or energetic when she was their age. For the few years she went to public school, she was the shy, nervous child, the one who cried when her mother left and never found the courage to talk to her peers. For a moment, her mind wanders–how different would life be if she'd been able to live without fear? She shakes her head clear of the thought, hurrying after her mother.

The Desarins waste no time setting up when they reach town square. In just a few minutes, a small cart with a sign reading "DESARIN'S TEA EMPORIUM" stands in the heart of the village. It's not long before the first few customers stop by, eager for a cup of tea to get them through the cold morning. The two work together seamlessly; Aimi takes orders with a smile and calculates totals, while Kira scrambles to find the right products and bags them. The fresh cups sell out rather quickly, but even then, people still purchase tea bags and leaves to prepare later on.

"Oh, raspberries." Aimi face-palms after a while. "I left the black tea leaves back at the house. Kira, would you mind watching the stand while I go grab them?"

Her daughter's jaw tightens at the thought of answering to customers by herself. "Of course," she says anyway.

"What would I do without you?"

"Be lonely and miserable, probably," Kira teases. Aimi rolls her eyes, but she's chuckling.

Kira watches as her mother hurries back toward their home. She sighs and props her elbows up on the cart. The initial crowd of buyers has calmed down, leaving her to watch the tranquil scene of village life play out. As quiet as her home is, sometimes she wonders what it would be like to live somewhere different, maybe like Ninjago City. How would it feel to walk along buzzing streets, or to fall asleep to the spectacle of city noise and lights dancing outside her window?

No way.

She shakes her head, smirking at the absurdity of the idea. It's fun to imagine, but she'd take the peace and quiet of the village any day. Ninjago City gets attacked way too often anyway—at least more than Jamanakai does—leaving the Ninja to come and clean up the mess. No, she could never see herself leaving her home, not that she'd last long outside of it anyway.

"Hello there."

Kira jumps, startled, at the sound of a voice. She turns to face an en elderly man holding a walking staff, looking faintly amused by her reaction. He's dressed in regal white robes, complete with a straw hat and lengthy red cape. A long, rather impressive white beard flows down his frame, and she can just make out a single braid toward the back of his head. Kira eyes him for a moment. Who in Ninjago is this? He must be a traveler passing through or something of the sort, although he looks a bit too old to be traversing the mountains alone.

"Oh! Er, good morning," she says, trying her best to stop her voice from shaking. "Welcome to Desarin's Tea Emporium. H-how can I help you today?"

"Good morning to you as well." The old stranger gives her a smile warmer than any tea. "I seek something special, something that cannot be found anywhere else. A crystal among rock, you might say."

"...Oh." Kira's brow furrows. "Well, um, if you're looking for something special, how 'bout a bag of Desarin Family green tea? My mom says it's the best in Ninjago. Let me find some for you..." She ducks beneath the cart, rummaging through the shelves in search of the aforementioned product.

"You seem quite unique," the man says as she continues to forage. "I don't think I've met a soul quite like you before."

"What? Oh, no," Kira laughs and shakes her head as she digs through her tea stash. "You must have me mistaken for someone else. I'm just a village girl."

"Sometimes we surprise ourselves with what we're capable of, if only we should have the courage to see beyond what holds us back. Wouldn't you agree?"

Kira can't help but wonder if this man has lost his mind, but she decides not to question him. "I suppose so."

"Tell me, young lady, who are you?"

"Kira Desarin, sir. And you?"

The old man hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is low, careful. "I am...a man conflicted. I am faced with a dilemma, and though I've made my decision, I can't help but wonder if I have made the right one."

"Oh. Well, a good cup of tea is enough to solve any problem, right? Maybe a drink is just what you need to clear your mind, figure out what you should do."

"Indeed." The man chuckles. "My, how tender you are. You're just like your father."

"What?" Kira jerks up so quickly she bangs her head on the cart. She hisses in pain, bringing a hand to her head as she stands back up. "How do you–?"

She cuts off and does a double take.

The old stranger is gone.

The girl stands there, blinking dumbly. Her gaze darts left and right, trying to ensure her vision hasn't failed her. It hasn't—whoever that man was, he's disappeared like he was never there in the first place.

What just happened?

"Kira? Are you alright?"

Kira blinks. Her mother approaches with a few bags of black tea in her hand, her expression concerned.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No...no, I'm okay."

"Well, in that case, let's get back to business. That tea won't sell itself, right?"

"Right."

The mother and daughter team return to work. Villagers come and go steadily, buying up their supply for the day by early afternoon. The whole time, Kira remains on edge, the image of the mysterious stranger burned in her memory.

__________

Translations

Yukata - an unlined cotton summer kimono, worn in casual settings such as summer festivals and to nearby bathhouses. They originate from Japan.