On the outside always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap-tap-tapping on the glass

I'm waving through a window.

~ lyrics from "Waving through a Window" from Dear Evan Hansen ~

~around twenty two years before the events of 'Prophecy'~

He hated being a spirit. It was akin to a constant pain, stabbing him whenever he had to witness something he'd rather not. At first seeing those things just made him uncomfortable, but as time wore on, so did the pain. In fact, if it were up to him, he wouldn't be witnessing any of Harumi's life at all.

     When he'd first realized he had become a spirit, it seemed as if he were the embodiment of peace. There was no injustice in the world that could bring about anger; there was no tragedy that could bring sorrow to his heart. He'd been wistful, of course, that he'd had to leave life behind. But he'd also been the one to make the decision to die, so that brought him consolation.

     Then she had appeared and changed his view of everything.

     "Your time has not yet come." Mika had smiled, echoing the words of the demons in the Departed Realm. With those words his mind expanded and he understood.

     He hated that he understood.

     He hated that destiny had chosen him for this—no, he hated that he had brought this upon himself.

     He didn't regret it, that was for sure. The decision to tether himself to the wind was wise; it would always connect him to Harumi. He could watch out for her and be there through her every high and low. Whenever the dormant transference kicked in, and the elemental power of wind passed down to her child, he would be there to watch over them as well. He was a guardian angel, a spirit of light and guidance. He just... didn't expect it to hurt so much.

     Harumi was a mess. She didn't even try to recover after hearing about his death. He stood by her bedside, watching her slip further and further into grief. That was when the peace had first started to slip away. Every time he wondered if she was thinking about him under that layer of unconsciousness, he instantly knew exactly what she was dreaming about. He tried to walk away from it—he couldn't bear seeing her like this—but something magical held him back. He was tethered to her, quite literally.

     "...why is it that if it could happen again... I'd do the same thing over and over? Even knowing what would come next... I would still die for you. Does that make me a terrible person?" Harumi whispered to Lloyd's sleeping from, breaking the spirit out of his stupor.

     The spirit tried not to think about what that meant, but his infuriatingly perfect brain was already translating Harumi's thoughts. She was feeling traitorous, and for the first time the spirit knew he was becoming imperfect. The love of his life was right in front of him, saying she'd rather him die than Lloyd.

     And Morro started to crack.

     He knew jealousy as Lloyd and Harumi embraced, he had to look away as Lloyd confessed his love for her, and he felt as if his gut had been ripped from his non-living body when the two promised to see each other again. He knew that when they did, his memory would be nothing compared to the memories they would make with each other.

     He was supposed to be a spirit who died in light, an infallible phantom of perfection. He was supposed to be like Erasmus, filled with tranquility and wisdom. But he was far from that. Those spirits lived far above, tucked away in the clouds of light. He was trapped in Ninjago, forced to carry out the terms of a contract he created.

     The misery continued as he was forced to watch Harumi hike down to a town called Sherim. The small establishment was filled with rugged homes and dirty people. Not even river water could cleanse them from the coal dust and mud sticking to them. Their hands may have been cracked and blackened, but their smiles were genuine when they greeted Harumi. She worked as quick as she could to gain a job. She ended up being taken on by an elderly woman who served as a nurse for the richest family in Sherim.

     Harumi's new life consisted of tending to the family's garden, helping the nurse prepare meals, and cleaning the house. It was busywork, but Morro knew Harumi enjoyed it. When her hands were busy, her mind was preoccupied. She was flung back to the days of her simplistic childhood, doing chores for an allowance.

     Harumi used to live in a place like this—a small town on the outskirts of the bigger city. Her village was a farming village. From a young age she'd helped her parents with the work. It was the lure of Ninjago City that drew her parents away from the village. Harumi had to leave her friends behind to move with her family. It was the first of many tragedies.

     Harumi didn't like to think about when she moved, however, she focused on the positive parts of her past. Laughing with her friends as they chased each other through the fields. Picking wildflowers to hand out to the villagers. Dancing around bonfires during the winter seasons.

     She used these memories to block out anything to do with Morro, Lloyd, or anything else related to her old life. She just wanted to leave it behind. Then, when she finally faced it later, hopefully it wouldn't be as painful.

     There was something distinctly uncomfortable about watching the love of your life try to forget you.

     Morro tended to find himself being absorbed in the busy work. Harumi started singing as she cleaned. Even though most of that time it was her creepy spider song, it was something, and so all he had to do was listen to that and tune out everything else. Not thinking at all was easier than being acutely aware of everything going on around him.

     He knew this was going downhill the minute children came into the picture. The owner of the mansion was a tall, brooding man about thirteen years older than Harumi. His wife had passed away with the birth of their fourth child. Since the owner was out a lot with his trading company (as he was in charge of dealing with Sherim's coal buyers), the nurse was left behind to tend to the children. And since Harumi was the nurse's little assistant, it wasn't long until she was introduced to them.

     The children were children, and easily clung to whoever showed them kindness. They adored Harumi, who used them as yet another method of forgetting. It was easier to play with adolescents then to try to dwell on your destiny of having them. One idea that did start growing in Harumi's mind as she tended to them, though, was that she might not mind having children of her own one day. One day, when the grief of loving was less heavy to bear.

     "If you will allow me to be curious," the nurse started one night as she and Harumi chopped cucumbers, "why did you decide to come to Sherim?"

     Once again Harumi morphed into that scared little girl in the hospital room. Her face tightened, her eyes reddened, and her fingers curled into fists. Morro knew that every evening she'd reread his letter. Every night she'd sob herself to sleep. It'd been around half a year since his death, and she still couldn't think about him without a lump forming in her throat.

     "Was it a person?" the nurse asked gently. She touched Harumi's shoulder with fingers that had been stained black since childhood. Despite the ages of hard work lining the nurse's hands, they were soft and caring to the touch.

     Harumi couldn't speak, so she nodded.

     "You have my condolences. Were you very close?"

     "He was my best friend," Harumi forced the words out. She turned her head away, chopping faster. The knife sounded click, click, click. "No, that doesn't sound right. We were closer than friends... but not siblings. Not lovers either. I don't know. We'd just been through so much together that... that I couldn't imagine life without him."

     "And you came here to escape that?"

     "I came here to accept it."

     The nurse patted Harumi's back. "I've seen much loss during my life. It does get easier; you are taking the right steps to recover."

     Harumi nodded again, but Morro knew she wasn't entirely convinced. As soon as he wondered, it was revealed to him. Harumi was afraid she'd never recover.

     Months slipped by. Sometimes Harumi would be too exhausted at night to cry herself to sleep over a letter. The children were relentless in seeking attention from her, even to the point of coming to her room when they were scared at night. As time went on her longing to have a family of her own strengthened. She began to take time to think about Lloyd and where they stood.

     Sometimes Morro wondered why he watched her. It was painful for him, even with his spirit side lessening the effects of his grief. Why did he continually study Harumi, even when he knew that she would never choose him and they could never be together? As Harumi labored to accept his loss, he finally decided it was time for him to do the same.

     At night he turned away. He'd walk as far away from her as he was allowed and stare off into the distance. He'd use his ever-expanding mind to think about what it was like in the clouds of light, the true story of how Ninjago was created, or how simple things like how dirt was maintained by wildlife. It was still painful to watch Harumi try to move on from his death, but over time, the aching began to lessen.

     Harumi had been at the mansion for about two years when the owner finally noticed her.

     The owner, a widowed father, had never put much thought into marrying again. He was always so busy with his trading business that he was certain he'd never be able to find, court, and marry another woman. As much as his children needed a mother, he wanted to make sure he found the right one for them, not just a youngling who wanted to marry into money.

     It might have been a curse, then, that Harumi got along well with his children.

     She was young, kind, and they loved her to death. She didn't seem to care much about his fortune, seeing as she never talked to him unless it was polite to do so. She already watched the children while he was away. The owner became quite sure that Harumi would give them the motherly love they deserved.

     Harumi was very surprised when the owner asked her to walk with him after dinner one evening. Morro watched uncomfortably as the owner poured out his ideas to her, trying to convince her that a marriage of convenience would be beneficial to both of them. Harumi would have all the essentials she needed to live comfortably, and the owner would have a mother for his children.

     Morro hated watching these kinds of ordeals. He could clearly see Harumi's frantic thoughts as she—only briefly—considered the offer. But then she had to kindly decline, as her hand in marriage was needed for a prophecy, making the situation extremely awkward. The owner was sympathetic towards her response and tried to give her as much grace as he could. Harumi would still be employed after this decision, and they could keep being cordial and unattached.

     It was that night that Harumi knew she had to leave.

     And Morro had to watch her labor to get back to Ninjago. And he had to watch her reunite with Lloyd. And he had to watch them fall in love all over again.

     Over time, Morro started seeking the peace he felt when he first became a spirit. He didn't want to be jealous every time he looked at them. He knew they were happy, and he tried his best to be happy for their sake. However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forgo his contract. He was bonded to the wind, and thus, could never leave the couple behind.

     Healing truly started coming when he first learned Harumi was pregnant. The idea of little boys, scurrying about the small house, playing and laughing and squealing, brought a smile to Morro's face.

     His heart absolutely melted when Harumi cradled her firstborn in her arms. He knew it was only seconds until she went into labor again, but the amount of happiness in her face filled his undead soul to the brim. He already knew the child was going to be named after him. Somehow, it consoled him to know even though Harumi would never see him in the way he saw her, she'd never forget him.

     Harumi was always with her little boys, so Morro had the pleasure of watching them all the time. He'd chase them around the lawn (though they couldn't see him), verbally correct their fighting stances (though they couldn't hear him), and ruffle their hair when they did well (though they couldn't feel him). For the first time since he became a spirit, he started to be fine with Harumi and Lloyd being a couple. The joy that came with watching the family was enough for him.

     Morro supposed it was during that time where he made the most peace with his position. He may have been a spirit, always waiting, always watching, but for the first time in his undead life, he was okay with that. It was one of the rare moments where seeing Harumi and her family happy was enough.

     And along came Ver.

     She was a small baby, so small Zane expressed concern she might not make it. She was born bald, but her eyes were such a stunning blue that Morro immediately knew what was going to happen to her. She would be the next Queen of the Oni.

     You can imagine his surprise, then, as a spirit who knew everything, when he looked down upon her and she started crying.

     Her little blue eyes would lock on him wherever he sulked around the room, following him like he was an actual presence. Morro didn't know whether to cry or shout with joy at this development.

     The baby could see him.

     The baby could actually see him.

     Morro was ecstatic. This little girl was his link to the real world. He could use his infinite knowledge to aid Harumi in her quest to fulfill Erasmus's prophecy. There was so much he could warn her about, like the danger of keeping things secret, or that Ver wasn't a schizophrenic child, or that—

     "Mommy, can you see him?"

     Morro turned, watching the blonde child point at him. She titled her head in confusion when Harumi looked nervous.

     "What do you see, honey?"

     "He's a... he's a little fuzzy," Ver cupped her hands in front of her, as if she were trying to hold Morro in her palms. "Like a big teddy bear."

     "Ver... no one is there," Harumi squinted at where Morro stood, but she could only see the wall.

     Morro stepped closer to Ver, kneeling down to meet her gaze. "Tell her I said hello."

     Ver's big, blue eyes widened. "Wow, Momma, he talks! He said hi."

     "Ver, sweetie, you're hearing him talk?"

     The caution in Harumi's voice froze Morro. He suddenly understood what was going through her head. Her little girl wasn't only hallucinating, but also hearing things too. In Harumi's eyes, there was no one there. Morro's spirit didn't exist. Ver was too little to explain his situation, and he sadly knew trying to explain it would only cause Harumi harm. Her mind was already spinning with reminisces of her past, and how she might have passed down some of her mental problems to her child.

     Before Morro knew it, invisible strings were pulling him back to the wall, pushing his lips shut, begging him to keep everything under wraps. He knew the future, but that didn't mean he was allowed to alter it. He had to make his peace with what happened now, before more people got hurt.

     Morro hated the expression of betrayal on Ver's little face when Harumi led her to a therapist. Ver was poked and prodded and asked a million question. Then, when she got home, her mother forced medicine down her throat to help with the visions. Suddenly, Ver's fuzzy companion had become an inciter of terrible things.

     It didn't get better as she grew. Ver hated Morro with a seething passion, and her flared temper soured as she aged. She started avoiding her medicine, insulting him whenever he tried to interfere, and her annoyance with him transferred to an annoyance of her life in general. Morro knew where this was going, and even worse, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it.

     One night he finally broke down.

     He had survived the love of his life trying to move on. He had survived his best friend leaving memories of him behind for another. He had survived dying multiple times, the burden of life in general, truth, lies, swords through hearts, and heartbreak so potent it broke the barriers of undead life.

     It was almost silly that he'd be broken by a little girl.

    "Please!" Morro pleaded one night, waiting until Ver went to shower so she couldn't hear him, "Please, if you have any mercy, please get me out of this! I don't want to be tied to the wind anymore. I'll take anything—even the chasm—just please, stop this torture."

     He didn't know who he was pleading to. Whether it be a fellow spirit or some deity above, he wasn't sure. He was pleading to whoever could hear. To whoever had the power to end this. He had cursed himself, and he was ready to end it. Even if it meant an eternity of physical torture. He couldn't bear to watch as his one link to Harumi degrade into madness and misery.

     Then, miraculously, she appeared.

     Her hair was still light, her eyes starry, her form well-kept. She was fuzzy, as if she were too far away for him to see clearly. She did not come into focus when he inched closer, nor did she smile when she saw him.

     "You chose this path," Mika reminded him.

     "I did," Morro wept, "but I'll do anything, anything to end it. Please!"

     "You know when this will end."

     He hated that he did. "It will end when grief consumes both mother and son."

     "Correct," Mika folded her arms.

     "Can... can you at least give me back that peace, that emotionless feeling that I got when I first became a spirit? Just... I hate it when she shuts me down. There's so much wisdom I could share with her, but she refuses to even look at me half the time. My presence in her life is only making her worse, and it makes me worse by proxy—"

     "You are not fully a spirit, nor will you fully be one until the wind releases you," Mika reminded him, speaking words he already knew and understood. "You will have a perfected mind when that time comes, but not now."

     Morro's infinite mind whirled with possibilities. "Is there a way I could be less visible to Ver, or something—"

     Mika's face softened. "I have great sympathy for your pain. We all do. But it is necessary for Ver's path."

     "Please," Morro choked out.

     Mika pursed her lips, sighed, and looked to the sky. It seemed for a second that she was communicating with the stars above. "Very well, Morro, we will grant your wish. You can still speak to Ver at all times of day, but she will only be able to see you during the night. That is the only compromise we'll give."

     He fell to his knees, clasping his hands together as if in prayer. He knew that it was the best compromise she could offer. He knew that the decision made here would tighten the noose on Ver's destiny. He knew everything that just happened was entirely selfish and out of place for a spirit, but he was so relieved.

     "Thank you," he breathed.

     He couldn't feel her hand touch his cheek, but he understood she had done it. "When grief consumes both mother and son, I shall see you again."

      "When grief consumes both mother and son," Morro repeated.

      Mika smiled warmly, her eyes filled with care and warmth. Then she was gone, gone back to the place it would take Morro years to go. He stared at the empty room she left behind, hearing Ver turn off the water inside the bathroom. Ver's bed was messy, unmade, and covered in wrinkled clothes she procrastinated folding. It wasn't outstanding enough to catch Morro's attention, but he couldn't help but be overcome with joy upon seeing it. Tomorrow, Ver would wake up and wouldn't be able to tell he was there.

      And Morro grinned, feeling lighter than he had in years.

>(<>)<

It did get easier with time.

     Ver continued to grow, the twins continued to practice their powers, and Lloyd and Harumi continued to oversee it all with unending patience. Morro relished his days outside of Ver's supervision and steeled himself through her bitter nights. It wasn't easy—it hadn't been easy since his first moments born into this halfway life—but it was bearable.

     Morro thought a lot about his freedom as the time grew closer.

     When grief consumes both mother and son.

      When Shade used his powers to kill and when Harumi believed all of her children were dead. That was when the fight would truly be over. The Overlord would finally be dead, and the world would be corrected from the First Spinjitzu Master's mistakes. The realm could finally fade away in peace. Storm Lightning's solution wasn't perfect by any means, but it was enough.

      He could see it now, Ver's troubled expression when she realized he'd be gone for good. In their last moments together, he knew she'd finally see him in a new light. While he wished she would come to that conclusion now (he already mourned the lost opportunity), he knew she wouldn't, and thus he accepted it. He and Ver would part on good terms, at least. It was enough.

     His infinite mind understood the pain and peace he'd go through getting to that point. But he also knew every bit of it was worth it. He had been able to watch over Harumi and her spawn over all these years. As much as it pained him, when he looked on his anguished past and on the tranquility ahead, he knew it was good. It was enough.

     He may not have been a spirit of infinite goodness and wisdom. He may not have been a human of flesh and fragility. He was a half-spirit stuck in between, living an existence that had never been lived before. The experience showed him the light of the afterlife, along with the treasure of humankind.

     Morro found, in his moments of reflection, that it was good.

     It was enough.

     And he didn't hate being a spirit, not one little bit.

Finis.