I have acquired something… unprecedented.
It has been another year. Perhaps several. The exact number slips through my fingers whenever I try to grasp it, and I no longer bother forcing it to stay. Time bends around immortality in strange ways. What matters is not when something is gained, but what it becomes after you claim it.
Deep within my base, I have constructed a new chamber.
Not a vault. Not a prison.
A habitat.
Stone walls etched with adaptive runes curve inward to form a circular enclosure, layered with environmental spells that simulate warmth, pressure, and the slow, steady pulse of subterranean life. Veins of enchanted crystal run through the stone like capillaries, regulating magical saturation so nothing inside is overwhelmed—or starved.
At the center sits a reinforced containment tank, transparent yet stronger than adamantine, floating slightly above the floor in a cradle of force.
Inside it coils my newest acquisition.
A snake.
Small. Almost unassuming.
If one did not know better, one might mistake it for an ordinary serpent—sleek, dark-scaled, eyes bright with instinct rather than malice. It is no longer than my forearm, its body light, flexible, curious. It moves with the lazy confidence of a creature that has never known fear.
That is the most dangerous part.
Because this is not just any snake.
It is the First Devourer.
Yes. That Devourer.
The ancient, world-ending serpent whose hunger once threatened all of Ninjago. The creature capable of infinite growth, limitless consumption, and catastrophic imbalance. Reduced now—through cycles of death, rebirth, and dormancy—to this.
A beginning.
I found it by accident, if such a word still applies to me. Buried deep within overlapping magical signatures while researching regenerative curse-loops and predatory growth enchantments. The resonance caught my attention—a familiar, ancient echo that should not have been so quiet.
I followed it.
And there it was.
Dormant. Newly reborn. Alone.
I did not hesitate.
Some might call it reckless to take possession of such a creature. Foolish. Arrogant. They would be wrong—but not for the reasons they think.
I am a wizard.
And no wizard worthy of the title empowers a weapon before understanding it.
Before controlling it.
Before taming it.
The Devourer watches me now through the glass, tongue flicking lazily as it tastes the air. It is aware of me—not as prey, not as master, but as something… interesting. Its mind is primitive but not stupid. Hunger defines it, but hunger can be guided.
That is what this chamber is for.
I have layered the tank with behavioral imprinting spells, subtle and non-invasive. No domination. No pain. No coercion. Those methods create resistance, rebellion, instability. Instead, I allow the serpent to associate my presence with safety, sustenance, and calm. When I approach, the ambient magic softens. When I withdraw, it cools.
Reward and absence.
Trust before obedience.
I feed it carefully—measured fragments of magically inert matter, enchanted to satisfy instinct without accelerating growth. Every intake is logged. Every reaction observed. I study how its body processes energy, how its scales react to different magical wavelengths, how its eyes respond when it senses my aura.
Most importantly, I monitor its potential.
The Devourer does not grow unless allowed to. Growth is not automatic—it is triggered. Emotion, environment, excess energy, perceived threat. All catalysts. All variables.
Variables can be controlled.
I have also placed fail-safes—quiet ones. Not chains or seals, but conditions. If the serpent's magic output exceeds a certain threshold, the tank shifts phase, isolating it from external reality. If it displays aggression beyond curiosity, the environment dims, inducing torpor. None of these hurt it.
Pain teaches nothing useful.
Understanding does.
Sometimes, I sit near the tank for hours, doing nothing. Reading. Meditating. Letting the Devourer acclimate to my presence as a constant rather than an event. It has begun to coil closer when I am near, pressing against the inner field as if curious about what lies beyond.
Good.
I am not in a rush.
The world has already proven what happens when this creature is unleashed without preparation. I have no intention of repeating that mistake. Power that cannot be stopped is worthless if it cannot be directed.
One day—far in the future—I may allow it to grow.
But when that day comes, it will not be driven by hunger alone.
It will respond to me.
For now, it is small. Safe. Contained.
A pet, if one insists on the term.
I adjust a rune, watching the serpent settle, and allow myself a rare moment of satisfaction. Between the orbs, the skull, the evolving magic of Ninjago, and now this… I am assembling something greater than any single weapon.
I am cultivating inevitability.
Let the First Spinjitzu Master believe balance is secure.
Let the Overlord scheme in shadows.
I am raising the future—slowly, carefully, and entirely on my own terms.