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Sora was eleven when she snuck on that ship to Crossroads. It is both the best and worst decision of her life. Best, because she escaped. No one escapes Imperium. Especially not little girls with genetic mutations and a file that says too emotionally sensitive alongside intellectually gifted. They’re stuck there. Staring at dragons in too much pain to scream anymore, wondering when naturally pink hair will stop being an interesting quirk and start being something to be exploited. Soon, she figured, because no matter how impressive your inventions are, you mean nothing in the face of an empire willing to devour anything to support its own weight.
No one would dream of looking for her here, on the only moon of the planet that managed to kill the Preeminent in less than a cycle.
The proximity to Ninjago is part of why this was the worst decision of her life. Imperium was planning to colonize it back in the sixth centurium, but reconsidered. And for good reason; the place is a Deathworld! The average citizen experiences at least two potentially world-ending threats in their lifetime, according to her fourth-year statistics class. From constant warfare between the three native species of sapients to overtly aggressive megafauna to seemingly malicious weather patterns, it’s clear why sane spacefarers avoid the place entirely. No amount of vengestone or tea could fix that.
Hence: Crossroads. The moon’s only habitable in the biodomes, but that’s better than pretending to be habitable and then watching apathetically as you’re swallowed whole by a giant snake. Which actually happened on Ninjago. Arin showed her the newsholos. He was trying to show off their planetary defence team, the ninja, but all Sora could think about was the way it ate a car and didn’t even slow.
Arin is another reason why her brief stint as a stowaway was the best decision in Sora’s life. He lost his parents in the Nova of ‘22, the same one Sora used as cover to sneak aboard that ship. It apparently messed up everyone’s navigation systems when it knocked out the power. Scattered everyone. When Sora ended up at Crossroads, she did as yet another child flung from home in the disaster.
If it weren’t for Arin, no one would’ve given her a second glance. He’s her best friend, her binary star and platonic soulmate if she’s feeling poetic. She’d follow him to the edges of the universe where stars die without forming nebulas and she knew he’d do the same for her in a heartbeat.
That doesn’t mean she can’t tease him though.
“You aren’t a ninja,” she says the moment his tale has a lull. “You’re a ninja enthusiast at best.”
“Do you have any other ideas to calm down Kreel’s cyberdogs?” Arin asked. “… I’m serious. I don’t think they’ll listen to me talk about the Nova for much longer.”
“Grab the parts and run?”
He sighs. “Grab the parts and run.”
The cyberdogs don’t chase them past the junkyard fence, but they run all the way home anyway, giggling and racing. They’re so close to winning this Mech Master 5000. So close. Victory is in the air and they can taste it. In just three days, they’ll have enough money to live.
They’ll get to have real food, won’t have to dedicate all their good ingredients to Arin’s pie gig. They can move down to a decent apartment, not one so close to the dome that it smells like sulfur and never gets warm enough. Arin can afford to pay the Madness' Administration to find his parents. Sora can get a good-paying job at a mechanic shop. They both will have time to sleep instead of bouncing between odd jobs from folks who pity the Nova's Orphans.
Sora can’t wait to have a life she built with her own two hands. Victory is so close she can taste it.
Victory is so close we can taste it, Sora remembers, hours later in an imperian cosmorail car. It’s cold, scarcely insulated against the oppressive leeching of outer space. She thinks she has a concussion. She hopes the baby dragon is okay. She knows Arin is scared. He should be.
The Claws of Imperium are the best of the best. The most ruthless, heartless, vicious people Imperium has to offer. The most obedient people Imperium has to offer. They laugh about torturing dragons, hunt them down with glee just to force those poor innocent souls into a life of tiny cells and constant agony.
Sora is certain they’ll do the same to her and Arin. She did that… that weird energy thing at the mech race! They’ll need to harvest it, to take her apart to see how it works and only put her back together enough that they can keep doing it. Just like her namesake.
As for Arin… There’s no way any self-respecting impirian scientist would pass up on the opportunity to dissect a Deathworlder.
They’re going to die. Alone, trapped within the cold, forsaking walls of an imperian science facility. Arin will never find his parents. Sora will never build her life. They probably won’t even get to die together. They’ll probably—
The door to their cell opens with a bang.
“I think that mask belongs to me.”
Salvation comes in the strangest forms. In one case, it was the supernova that let her out of Imperium four years prior. In this one, it’s a tall, albino, green-clad stranger.
Despite Arin’s fawning over this Green Ninja, Sora has a hard time believing they’re Ninjagian. There are three sapient species there: merlopians, humans, and serpentine. The stranger looks like none of them.
They’re human-shaped in the same way imperians are human-shaped: bipedial, mostly hairless, vaguely similar proportions and face shapes. They’ve got a tail, but unlike an imperian’s, the fur is only on the end, and the rest is scaled. It flicks behind them idly. They’re curious, Sora thinks before remembering that body language isn’t always shared between species. The same scales swirl across their neck, but fade before reaching their face. Out of their hair pokes a short crown of horns, five in all, spiraling upwards. No visible ears. Sora’s twitch instinctively. The stranger’s nose is half-way between a proper Imperium snout and the flatter human orifice that Sora always wonders how Arin can smell out of. Their irises are that pinkish purple color that comes with a lack of pigmentation, set in eyes much bigger and straighter than Arin’s. Their smile, friendly as it is, shows pointed teeth.
Sora thinks they kind of look like an imperian fetus.
“Just call me Lloyd,” they say to Arin’s increasingly incoherent rambling. “What happened to that other ninja?”
“What other ninja?” she asks.
“The… the one that did Spinjetzu? I saw them following the Claws of Imperium.”
“That was me,” Arin says, rubbing his neck in that awkward way that usually means he’s flustered. “Uh… Sorry?”
“Who taught you?”
“I… taught… myself…?” Arin shrinks under the stranger’s—Lloyd’s gaze.
“He’s a huge ninja fan,” Sora hedges. “Watches reruns of all your battles constantly. Even the ones from before he was born.”
Arin hisses her name frantically.
“He says he wants to be one someday,” she adds, heedless. “And he practices your moves all the time.”
They don’t really have time to keep talking. The Claws aren’t all that happy about Lloyd busting their poaching operation, even if it’s just two kids and a baby.
Sora tries to do that energy burst again, but nothing happens. Arin hits a Claw in the face with his grappling hook and spends the rest of the fight apologizing. Lloyd ends up fighting everyone. Sora would feel worse about being useless, but she did manage to get the baby.
Lloyd decides they’ve been here long enough and starts herding the group towards his skipper. It’s cramped. Skippers are definitely not meant for passenger transport.
“Do you kids mind going to the Monastary?” they ask.
Arin glances over at her. It’s nice that he’s being considerate, but Sora’s a bit too brain-dead to remember what they’re talking about.
She almost asks if it’s on Ninjago. “Um, that’s a satellite station, right?”
“Yep! High orbit. Uh, used to be on a mountain, if you can believe that, but uh… It burned down. Twice. Soooo…” Lloyd’s tail curls around the drive stick. “It hasn’t burned down since we converted it! Mostly because it’s in space. And also made of metal.”
“That was after the Overlord, right?” Arin is currently vibrating with barely contained manic glee. “Uh, the first time! Not when his ghost possessed Borg Industries. That was weird. Aren’t you guys sponsored by Borg? Do you ever get worried about the systems getting hacked again?”
“Going to the Monastery is fine,” Sora interjects before she learns enough about this to back out.
The skipper takes a turn. Is Lloyd piloting with their tail? How— Different species, Sora. Whatever Lloyd is can do that. Don’t freak out.
“Okay,” Lloyd agrees. “Uh, yes we started converting it after the Overlord, but it didn’t take off until ‘17.”
“That’s… recent.” Sora’s own tail flicks nervously.
“Not really? We didn’t have space travel until that little stint with Spectral. The project started before we knew there was anything beyond the dragon gate. Nine years is a long time when you think about it.”
What in the First Master’s good name is a dragon gate also holy craap we’re going to die! Sora thinks and does not say. What she does say is: “Huh, okay.”
“Uh, to answer your other questions Arin: yes, we’re sponsored. As far as corporate conglomerate CEOs go, Cyrus Borg is great. And we have anti-ghost measures to keep ‘unauthorized consciousnesses’ out. It even works sometimes.”
What is the opposite of being filled with confidence? Because the longer Sora listens to Arin and Lloyd talk about the ninja, the more of that she feels. These people are insane!
The baby dragon makes a noise that’s kind of a chirp and kind of a gurgle. Sora hesitantly runs a hand along the top of its head.
“You’re gonna be safe soon, buddy,” she murmurs. “Promise.”
The Monastery is big. Mining colony on Imperiam-V big. Could double as a small city big. Amazing it’s still in orbit and hasn’t crashed into the planet below, killing millions big. It has three towers, connected with a mess of bridges and wiring. They orbit a much taller fourth so fast Sora wonders how Lloyd plans to dock.
The answer is recklessly. At least they were kind enough to hand her a bucket to barf in.
“Sorry. Jay always says I drive like I’m trying to compress myself with nothing but G-force. Do you want some tea? Master Wu has this blend that helps with motion sickness.”
Sora has no clue who Jay is, but if that isn’t the most accurate description of the past eight minutes, she’ll eat her own tail. “I’ve never had tea before. Does it work with imperians?”
“That I don’t know. I can run a toxicology if you want?”
Sora forces her breathing steady. “I’m— I’ll be fine.”
Lloyd doesn’t press further.
The inside of the Monastery is significantly cleaner. The walls are decorated to look like wood and paper paneling. The “windows” connect to exterior cameras that are apparently far enough away from this centrifuge of a station to not be violently spinning. Sora appreciates it almost as much as she appreciates the crude artificial gravity.
They insist on checking everyone out in the medbay. Sora ignores the part of her brain that screams dissection at the white walls and neat medical equipment. Lloyd probably isn’t like that. Imperian scientists wouldn’t put stickers on their pollo generators. Or have a shelf of plush toys. Or a whiteboard. Not a holoscreen. A whiteboard. Sora thought those were obsolete.
She bites her tongue to keep from saying anything as Lloyd guides the dragon into the scanner. It’s not a power drainer. It’s not going to hurt the baby. Lloyd even went through it first!
The baby walks out with a disgruntled squeal.
“Yeah,” Lloyd agrees. “Feels weird. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those. On the plus side, you’re only slightly malnourished! Means we can get you home faster!”
Sora thinks it feels like a medical scanner. Doesn’t even use x-rays. Nice to know she didn’t have that concussion after all though. Just swelling and “interesting vitals, let me double check the manual.” She pretends she doesn’t notice Lloyd sag in relief or mutter “thank grandfather that’s normal for imperians.” Most species would be getting heavy metal poisoning at her wyconium level.
Arin gets a clean bill of health—thank the First Master. Sora doesn’t know what she’d do if he didn’t.
They stop at the mess hall to fix the malnutrition problems and then they’re off to navigation.
The Monastery's designers dedicated an entire tower to information gathering. Sora can’t tell if this is genius or the result of drastic short-sidedness. They pass through a library filled to the brim with real books and physical scrolls. There’s an entire room with a hologram of Ninjago, showing weather patterns and energy patterns and noodle house locations for… some reason. Lloyd says it updates in real time. For the weather and energy patterns, Sora thinks. Probably not the noodle houses.
And then finally the astro-nav.
“A lot of the ships and stations lost contact in the Nova,” Lloyd says. “So this is the best we’ve got. My brother—sorry, fellow ninja—has been going ‘round reestablishing honing beacons.”
A city-station in the Madness system lights up as if to prove it.
“Ships have honing beacons?” Arin asks.
“Ours do. BI regs.” Their tail curls around their leg. “We umm… When we went out to help in the Nova, our systems got scrambled too. Until… three? years ago? I was the only active ninja. Least, ‘till Kai came back. He went back out to try and find them. If we get the network up and running again, he’s hoping it will auto connect our missing ships. Find them, find the ninja. And maybe we’ll find other lost souls along the way.”
Sora glances over at Arin. His face is twisted into something akin to hope.
Dragons are sapient. Dragons are sapient! Sora stares at herself in the mirror, breathing too hard and too fast and looking every bit like the monster every imperian is. Because holy Empress’ balls dragons are sapient. It— It’s one thing to torture animals but people? They— They can’t— The Empress wouldn’t—
Sora vomits in the sink again.
Imperium would, is the thing. Hasn’t that been what Sora’s been scared of this whole time? That they’ll move on to cutting up people. Like Arin? Like her? Is it really that big of a shock that they rip the dragon’s lives away knowing full well that those are people with thoughts and families and— and—
Sora left them there. The only thing she thought about was getting herself out when she should’ve been helping, atoning for the sins of her planet and her Empress and her idol and—
The bathroom door swooshes open.
Sora does not yelp, but her tongue bleeds from the restraint.
“Oh,” she breathes out, shaking too much for her weak attempt at a smile to be believable. “H-hi Riyu…”
Riyu squeaks at her.
“I-I don’t… I’m okay. Really.”
She’s not, but she’s not telling Riyu that. It—he, by the First Master can’t Sora do anything right?—is far too forgiving. Sora’s been treating him like an animal, like a cute puppy instead of a toddler, and he still cares if she’s feeling okay. And— and he’s a baby so he can’t really understand how terrible she is, how terrible Imperium is, so of course he doesn’t mind it! He’s too little to know just how condescending she was being. He—
…He’s gone.
Of course he is. He should be. Sora feels worse anyway.
Not that she has any right to, not after what Imperium did to his family and what she did to him and— And they’re still in there. The— The Matriarch said her tribe’s been raided by the Claws before. They’re being tortured and drained of their energy and it’s all her fault because—!
Someone knocks on the door. “Sora? You okay in there? Riyu said you aren’t feeling well.”
“I’m fine!”
Lloyd hums. “Mind opening the door then?”
She turns the faucet to rinse the bile out. “It’s not locked.” If it was, Riyu wouldn’t be able to get in here.
“You’re saying that like it means something. I’ve lived with Kai long enough to know it doesn’t. I don’t think he knows that doors can lock.”
Sora lets out a strangled laugh. She splashes her face to disguise how puffy her eyes are and taps the door twice.
“Hey,” she says, feeling both trepid and relieved.
“Hey yourself.” Lloyd smiles toothlessly. “Did the toxicology on tea. You should be able to drink it, so… Want some?”
Somehow, Sora agrees. Her feet carry her to the tiny room the Bounty uses as a kitchen, sit her down at a table. Lloyd moves around the cupboards with the kind of familiarity that almost resembles a dance. Sora watches because she really doesn’t want to throw up again and so needs to keep her mind off of how terrible she—
The tea kettle lets out a shrill burst of steam. Lloyd picks it up with their tail, pours it into a pair of cups and throws in the little bags they were prepping.
They set one down in front of her. “You’ll have to let it steep before you can drink it. Uh… 1450. It’ll be 1450 when it’s done.”
“Thanks.” Sora stares at the darkening water.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Sora looks up at the ninja she’s known for less than a week, the only adult she’s known who’s been kind without pity.
And somehow Sora manages to breathe the words out.
“I— We— In Imperium, we were taught that— that dragons…”
“Hey Sora?” Arin isn’t looking at her, instead watching Riyu’s attempt to catch a paper blown around by the Monastery's vents. “Do… do you want to be a ninja?”
“That’s kinda your thing, Arin,” she says.
“You have elemental powers.”
“Riyu could’ve shared those with anyone.” Sora turns to stare Arin dead in the face. “You taught yourself Spinjetzu.”
Arin looks away and rubs his neck. Neither of them really knew how impressive that was until Lloyd started fawning over it. They knew it was cool, obviously, but theoretically impossible? Arin hasn’t seemed to know how to feel about that.
“Well, yeah but— Lloyd! Hey! I was just telling Sora about your offer.”
“Offer?” Sora blinks rapidly. “You never said anything about an offer! You just asked if I wanted to be a ninja!”
“I was getting there!”
Lloyd shrugs. “Well, I might as well explain. I know you have a life that you probably want to get back to down in Crossroads, but I think you’d make a great ninja. I’m not really much of a teacher, but…” Lloyd fiddles with their tail poof, “I can train you. If you want to. Be one. Y-you don’t have to! I just… thought I’d offer.”
Sora glances over at Arin. From the way his face is carefully blank and his fingers play with his sleeve, he wants this. Wants her to want this.
Sora thinks back to their sulfur-infused penthouse, to the constant ebb and flow of jobs that never pay enough to make ends meet, to dragons still locked in Impirium’s halls and ninja are supposed to protect people, Sora.
“Do ninja get paid?” she blurts.
Arin gasps like Sora just threatened to run over a puppy or something. Lloyd’s tail snaps back and forth like a whip. It takes her a second to recognize it as laughter.
“You’ll get to save the galaxy,” they grin. “Does that count?”