I moved carefully, deliberately.
The terrain around me felt ancient—untouched stone, old magic embedded deep into the bones of the land. As I walked, I expanded my senses, magic unfolding outward in layered waves. Not violently. Not recklessly. Just enough to listen.
And then I felt it.
A collision of absolutes.
Creation and destruction tearing at each other with world-shaping intent. Light born from order clashing against a darkness so old it no longer needed hatred to justify itself—it simply was.
My steps slowed.
So this was happening now.
I raised my staff and whispered a single incantation.
A scrying spell bloomed into existence.
Red smoke poured from the air in front of me, thick and roiling, expanding outward until it flattened into a suspended window of arcane vision. The smoke thinned, revealing the battlefield.
And I saw them.
The First Spinjitzu Master—radiant even in exhaustion—wielding both creation and destruction, his power tearing the ground apart with every strike.
And facing him—
The Overlord.
Not yet the godlike calamity history would remember. No stone army. No perfected vessel. But still vast. Still terrifying. Darkness given will, clashing against light in a battle that would echo through ages.
I watched in silence.
Spell against spell.Concept against concept.Two beings fighting not just for victory—but for definition.
Then it happened.
Both of them looked up.
Not at each other.
At me.
Their gazes pierced through the scrying spell as if it weren't there at all.
I severed the spell instantly, red smoke collapsing inward and vanishing. My heartbeat—something I hadn't felt in centuries of borrowed memory—spiked once, then steadied.
So.
They felt me.
That narrowed everything down.
This was before the Dark Island. Before the Overlord's final defeat. Before Ninjago was split in half. The First Spinjitzu Master was still alive—and losing.
Good.
That meant the board was not yet locked.
I leaned against my staff, thoughts aligning with unnatural clarity.
I was a dark wizard. That much was undeniable. The spells in my soul, the books anchored within me, the very structure of my magic—all of it resonated closer to the Overlord's nature than the First Spinjitzu Master's balance-driven ideals.
Aligning with the Overlord made sense.
He rewarded power.
But he also used people.
Discarded them when they stopped being useful.
And while I was powerful—far more than most beings in this era—I couldn't yet say, with certainty, that I could defeat him if it came down to open conflict.
Not yet.
Still… he was losing.
And that changed the equation.
The Overlord needed assets. Allies. Armies. Options.
I had all three.
An army I could summon at will.Forbidden magic he did not possess.And knowledge—ancient, layered, and patient.
I watched the afterimages of their clash burned into my memory.
I don't need to rush.
Let the battle end.Let the First Spinjitzu Master make his sacrifice.Let the Overlord retreat and consolidate.
Then—
I would approach.
Not as a servant.
Not as a pawn.
But as something far more dangerous.
An equal… offering terms.