The transit van was only half full of gasoline.

It would be enough to get them to the very edge of Ninjago city, just bordering the western sea of sand. Even with a slight detour, it would only add just under a half hour of walking to reach the city.

So Garmadon would take the transit. Per his request, might he add.

His ankles ached from disuse as he dropped from the passenger side of the vehicle, sand crunching under his uncovered feet. It was warm and unpleasant, like hot and worn fibreglass.

"I could drive you up the rest of the way, you know," His father mutters from the drivers side. The engine hums in break, hardly letting the sentence cut through its noise, but Lloyd heard it nonetheless.

"The sooner you get out of here the better." Lloyd turns his back on the vehicle, opting to begin his trek up the long drive and avoid the man's line of sight. Lloyds face is bitter, the same expression it seemed to rest at almost constantly as of recent times. It's a face that scrunches his nose and puts a chasm in between his brow, a face that shrouds the sockets of his eyes in a dark light. It makes the glint of red in his eyes all the more surprising when the light hits them, a direct contrast on the colour wheel to the green they once shone.

His steps are heavy. He wonders if that reflects his poor life choices.

The engine hacks to a stop. He's hardly made it a yard from the truck before he halts in his traverse. From the driver's side, the window rolls down just a little. "You don't have to do this. This is-" He cuts himself off with a poorly masked frustrated huff, but the end of his sentence goes unheard in Lloyds ears: This is too far.

It was almost funny how contradicting it was. Almost funny how an ex-warlord, who had terrorised thousands for countless years, was telling him he was going too far. Maybe that was why he cut himself off, he realised how stupid he sounded. Although the way the man leaned out of the car ever so slightly, some twisted kind of hope glinting in his aged eyes, engine stopped and car already unlocked, ready for Lloyd to jump up like a little kid and plant himself in the passenger seat, ready to go home with dad: It seemed he wasn't joking.

He didn't humour his father with a response.

His feet dragged him up the hill, away from the waiting vehicle and further towards his goal atop the hill. When the engine of the transit vehicle shudders to life again, he doesn't turn back to lock. When the sound of gritty tires kicking up sand fills the air behind him, he doesn't turn around. When the vehicle is long gone, he doesn't turn around. He's on his own now, just as he should be.

The hill isn't as tall as he remembered it. Maybe it was because he was so small the last time he'd walked up or down, with weak, boney legs that survived off of the scraps he ate, and tiny lungs that churned at the mere thought of excursion. It was like time travel, walking the rough concrete path that once felt like heaven against his feet, sore from scorching sand frostbite. Now, it felt just as heavenly, concrete gritty in just the right way and soothing to the undersides of his feet. Even though he always wore boots, his feet were worn and strong, skin thick and calloused, prepared for drastic weather and durable from the ridiculous amount of training he had been put through the majority of his life, much like his hands. It was a welcome difference to the smooth, too smooth floors of Kryptarium. After a while, they began to feel like rubber, and he'd tuck his legs up onto the bed with him to avoid the feeling (only to realise the bed was made of the same material.)

His powers, while hardly recovered, still buzzed inside each of his muscles, fuelling his travel even more so than his age and experience.

In the near distance of the peak of the hill, the decorated roof of a building began to sway into his vision. It's roof was decorated with curved spines on each corner, resembling oni horns, and as he climbed higher, new layers of building peeked into his vision, each larger than the last, a feature typical in old-ninjago architecture.

Each layer of roof glinted in freshly-stained teal, and red windows adorned the stoney building, giving it a colourful touch. Wavey walls blocked the buildings yard from the cliffs edge, keeping the playing children inside and protected, though the gate was always open, welcoming the option for runaways.

He frowned.

A clock sat front and center on the building. He still couldn't tell what it said; the sun could always tell him that it was past midday.

The ground grew hollow as he crossed over the bridge to the boarding school, footsteps long and devoid of hesitation. He'd been delayed far enough already, this was his moment. This was his revenge, this was his beginning.

A handful of children play outside. They have a ball, it bounds between the feet of the kids, before one of them, a little boy with a black bowl cut, kicks it too far. It veers from the little girl who was supposed to receive the toy, and rolls down the ledge in quick skips.

"Benji!" The girl yells. Her voice is shrill, and pokes at the dehydrated migraine in his temple. "Go get it, Benji."

"You're closer!" The boy yells back. His logic is shrewd, yet understandable. He would have said something similar.

"But you kicked it, so you go get it!" A second boy snarks, "Or are you chicken?"

The boy scoffs, lip pulling back in offense and revealing the toothless gap. "Am not!" He stomps his foot in frustration, and like a little dog he runs of down the path, to where the ball had rolled.

Right up to the feet of the green ninja.

When the boy sees him, his jaw hangs loose and he skids to a halt, dust kicking up and onto his worn roman sandals. The shock quickly makes way for pure excitement, wonder exploding in his eyes as they crinkle with a full face grin. He shakes his fists in front of him, jumping on his heels, ball forgotten already.

"You're the green ninja!" He squeals. His friends must have seen him too, as they all come barreling down the hill, fear of whatever rules they may follow completely melted away. From up close, he realises how small each of them are. The first boy was the smallest, while the other two- who look an awful lot like each other- stand about a head taller.

Excitement buzzes overwhelmingly from each of them, and despite how the back of his mind irks at him to get going, he smiles down at them.

He crouches down to the smallest boys height and picks up the ball with little effort. The sun faded green looks unfamiliar in his hand.

Lloyd hands it to the little man, and the boys lips pull back in the biggest smile he's ever seen. The other kids, despite however much older they may be, cannot contain the joy in their own expressions.

"You're like a superhero!" The older boy bubbles up.

"I am," Lloyd supplies, cringing at the patronising lilt in his tone. He'd hated when adults talked to him like this as a kid, but right now he's sure these three would love it.

"Are the other ninja here as well?" The girl squeaks. He looks to her and notes the makeshift nun-chucks tucked haphazardly in her uniform pocket.

"No, it's just me today," He answers in that same tone. The younger boy has taken the ball back from him, brimming in a way that says 'I'm never washing this ball again!' so he stands to his full height, a little hunched so as to not scare the children. He was fairly tall, after all. "Can you three please bring a teacher out here?" He asks. Well, it's less of an ask and more of a statement: He knows that the buzzing children would do anything he asked of them.

Like clockwork, they all nodded their heads and ran off, racing tp the stairs and playfully shoving each other with fits of laughter as they passed through the double doors. Some of the other children from the yard notice their excitement, and while some follow, others look to the source and notice him. He sighs, and with heavy steps he passes through the gate and onto the school grounds.

The few children swarm him, and he notes that the kids inside must have heard the fuss and thought to join as more come from inside the structure. They pull in his sleeve, none noticing how threadbare it is, and they bombard him with frankly too-personal questions that he does his best to avoid answering.

Lloyd tries his best to not let his annoyance show in his features, not let his nose scrunch everytime their grubby hands grab at him, to not let them see how badly he wants to burst his own eardrums to avoid hearing the shrill squeals of the toddler-to-pre-pubescent screams. He almost sighs in relief when a single teacher emerges to his rescue.

The ginger haired woman shakily tents her fingers, her expression surprised and frankly concerned. She does a terrible job at hiding her emotions. "L-Lloyd Garmadon, wow! At our humble little school, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

He doesn't bother to hide the way his eyes narrow at her, forced grin fading from his face. She's familiar. He recognises her as one of the teachers who took over after the boarding school was reformed. He wonders how little she values, considering she's remained a teacher all the years, and at a school with such horrible history of all places.

But her time spent in the school granted her knowledge. She knew of all its past students, of all their reputations and experiences, and considering his fame he doubts she could resist from seeing his schooling history.

And the nervous way her shaking fingers tugged at each other, her eyes strictly on him, he knows that she's aware of his reasoning for being here. At least, she knows it's no good reason.

A glare settles in his eyes.

"How about we talk inside, Mrs-" He scans the nametag planted on her jacket, "-Davis?"

He wants to confirm it for her. He wants her to know that the green ninja is gone right now, and that Lloyd Garmadon is back at Darkley's Boarding School and he's here for revenge.

She nods disbondantly, her eyes leaving his if only for a moment to scan the unaware runts around the courtyard. Without a second to spare, she leads him inside, almost tripping over the thin framed doorway and playing it off. He imagines that if Jay were here, he would have snorted a laugh, and Nya would elbow him in the ribs for it.

Being honest, there was always a chance that she hadn't made the deduction of his intentions based off of gut feeling and limited prior knowledge. It was entirely possible that his imprisonment had been made public knowledge. That she had heard of his "arrest" and made the deduction that he was a dangerous, revenge seeking criminal.

Or maybe it was neither of those options. Maybe she'd seen how rough he looked, bare-foot and armourless, and decided simply enough that he looked dodgy. He'd have to agree, if that was the case: Who in their right mind would go barefoot with full length pants?

In the halls of the boarding school, which were far smaller and better kept than he remembered, they passed many empty lockers and few wandering children. It seemed as if the school was haunted by ghosts rather than little humans.

Mrs Davis turns to a gap between two rows of lockers and into a staiway, facing the dingey doors of an underused and frankly unnecessary elevator. "Do not graffiti" was tagged at eyeline in bright red spray paint, below it a small marker drawing of a middle finger, followed by an incessant amount of tags below.

Before the woman can reach out to press the worn-in button, Lloyd blocks her hand with his own, directing her attention.

"How about we take the stairs instead?" He recommends; it's not a question. He stares down at her, unrelenting and impatient. She's about the same height as him, yet he still looks down at the woman.

He's all too aware of the emergency button in the elevator. She knows this, with the way she shakily nods her head with a sigh.

They turn away from the grotty machine and slowly ascend the sand coloured half-pace stairs, up just one floor. Lloyd shoves past the woman and into the second story, abandoning her at the doorway. She doesn't take the hint, and follows after him like a scared dog.

The principles office is just past a small handful of classrooms. He reaches it without issue, staring fleetingly, bitterly, at the small row of connected chairs outside the door. One is more worn out than the others.

He hardly waits for his hands to swing open the door, barging in without a sense of remorse with whatever unfamiliar principle resided in the room, and seeing as no one else sat behind the desk, he turned to face the woman behind him. He turns just in time to see the woman stiffly walk past him, and take her place at the seat behind the desk.

His face morphs into a grimace as she suddenly decides that there is no time to waste.

"I'm well aware of your, uh- history at this school," She states, hands tenting over the desk. They continue shaking and she pulls them back just as quickly. "And I'm aware of the current status that you uphold."

Lloyd humours her formal act, pulling a chair back and seating himself at the desk. He crossed his arms slowly across his chest fingers flexing below his elbows and tendrils of dark power creeping across them, out of her view. It's fueled by bitterness, years of harboured hate for the building and the memories that came with it. He missdirects it to the new principle- This wasn't Noble, or the man prior whose name was long gone from his memories, this was an innocent woman he new only the last name of. She had done nothing to him, and yet Lloyd hated her more than anything at that moment.

"Have you called any authorities yet?" He queries. More importantly- "The ninja?" At schools- this one especially- there was typically a quick push button that called the authorities, no question asked. And the way she tenses uncontrollably, he guesses she's already pressed it.

There really is no time to waste.

He leans forward in his seat.

"I'm gonna cut to the point," he cuts, "I want you to get every last kid out of this school. I don't care what you tell them, and I don't care where you take them, I need them out." He flexes his fingers where they rest against his knee, flipping his palm upside and allowing a tiny flicker of power to dancing across it. Tiny, hardly noticeable, and seemingly harmless, but the principles face pales.

"I don't mind collateral damage. Those kids, however, would mind a lot." It sounds like dark humour in a comment section, what he adds, but the lack of lilt in his tone, the flat and humourless way he says it, makes his spine chill. For a moment his eyes clear over and the green ninja feels a pang in his chest at what he's doing. What is he doing? This kind of revenge; Master Wu taught him better.

Heck, not even Garmadon would have gone this far. He's threatening to hurt children, first-masters sake! He's about to destroy a school, and for what, petty revenge against his childhood? A show of power? An attempt at control? What is this?

The principles shaking hands tighten into fists, and she leans onto her elbows on the desk. "Most of these children are homeless, this school is all they have!"

He scowled at her. "It was all I had too, but I moved on. I'm sure they can do the same."

The force at which he stands pushes his chair of it's legs. It dryly thuds against the ground, skidding as he kicks a leg in his quest to leave the room. He can hear a second chair his the ground, and the woman behind hurries after him, choking on her attempts to dissuade but he's not even listening to her anymore. All he's listening to is his own mind, telling him that it doesn't matter what he has to do, all that matters is how he does it, and Lloyd has always had a flair for over-achieving.

He shoves the door open, striding into the hall and waiting for the principle to hurry and commence with the evacuation.

Again, she wastes no time. She only has a precious amount left.

The school speakers buzz to life. She spouts a stoic excuse, something about a fire drill, something about how everyone needs to follow their typical procedure and line up in the courtyard with their home-room teachers, and a final note about not using the elevator. A quick excuse, but a good one nonetheless.

There were few children on their floor. He spotted only a handful of kids emerge from the classrooms lining the halls, running off with groans of annoyance.

From a red lined window, he pulls back the paper blinds to peer down at the growing collection of kids. Just like his time here, there was hardly three classes worth of kids, split off into six different groups and each lined up in front of their respective teacher.

Only the stragglers emerge from the building now. Behind him he hears the telltale footsteps of the principle hurrying down the stairs, panic in her stride.

He doesn't wait. There's no time to waste.

His grip on the paper blinds begins sweltering with horrible, cold cutting splinters, before quickly, without warning, exploding with purple heat. The paper disintergrates from between his fingers, flaking away into smouldering flickers.

The source flame spreads quickly, hungrily, climbing upwards and tearing away the paper like a starved man. It's tendrils lick the ceiling, trying desperately to grab at it, and quickly the roof is gripped by now orange flames.

He watches it.

It's mesmerising in the way mere proximity to the natural weapon can make his eyes sting, and pull sweat from his skin. Its amazing how quickly the tiny ember explodes into a raging, staring fury of blinding colour, the way it spits out what it doesn't like in the form of smoke and ash, the way it chokes the breath from his lungs and replaces it with something thicker, something foggy and disgusting on his tongue.

The paper blinds are entirely gone at that point. The pressure in the room is heavy, filled with smoke as the oxygen is gradually stripped from the atmosphere. From below, he can hear the faint screams of the first children to notice the fire.

Lloyd calmly reaches the stairway, as if simply excusing himself from the dinner table, and begins climbing down.

The building is warm, and he can feel sweat ebbing into the hair that stuck to the back of his neck. His lungs ache faintly. His ears ring from the sound of the crunching of flames against wood infused with chemical-memories. Glass shatters somewhere, and something collapses against the floor with a thud that reverberates through the floors and up his legs.

Despite all that he isn't scared. Not quite calm, not quite brave. He's not really sure what he's feeling.

His pace would say that he's calm. Collected and undisturbed, even and balanced.

The sweat on his forehead would say he's nervous. Shamed, scared, but not regretful.

The furrow in his brow- it's been there for a while, unavoidable in the gritty future he sees for himself.

Lloyd doesn't know what he's feeling.

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