Chapter Text
It’s quiet out tonight.
The stars stay silent and fixed, each of them a spark and surveyor to the sloping lands below.
A strange stillness hums in the air. The shapes of grey and darker grey make it difficult to observe little more than the silhouettes of mountains beneath and far north. Only the gently thrumming of a sailing ship aids the silence in its ambient absence. This ship, were it to be seen in day, would take colours of red, yellow and black- finely crafted wood and carvings of dragons and myth decorating its helm and exterior. The woven sails and sleek floors of the deck show the great care taken for the vessel, from those who rest within.
This ship, centuries old and battle worn, would have much to say could it speak. It would recall the toils of the sea, with its salt soaked into each plank of wood and the marks of vengeful pirates and swashbuckling voyages not quite buffed out in the most recent renovations. It would speak of bounty and beauty, of the eye of a tempest and the cheers of the victorious. Most of all however, the ship -The Destiny’s Bounty, as it is so often called- would speak of the change. The change from sea, to sand, to… nothing, and everything all at once. The air, the clouds, the sun, the solitude. Where once this sailing ship and pirates’ vessel struck fear in those who dared cross the high seas, now it’s emerging shadow evokes a similar reaction. Large and looming, there and gone. Hidden behind clouds and giving vantage to the small and powerful ones that steered it. The ship became a symbol, hope for the innocent and a warning for the guilty- almost as renowned as the colourful heroes who call it home.
Their old master puzzles the ship the most. His students, it can read easily, knowing the purpose behind their every action and motivation. It has known them so long, that they are practically its students too, watching over them and steering them in the right direction. The sensei has always been cryptic though, a wry and eternal man who clearly cares for his charges, but the ship is never certain how much. He is secretive, unpredictable and sweet, as old men are want to be. There is more to him however, of that The Bounty is certain, something altogether familiar and… potent. As long as the master serves his students, then it supposes their goals are aligned. But even then, The Bounty is cautious of the cryptic teacher.
Of the children, there is the green one, who at first was so small. A joyful child, so full of determination and potential, yet so utterly alone. Abandoned, misguided but with a heart so pure, The Bounty is grateful to the heroes everyday for rescuing the small boy. For it did not take long for him to become a champion, leader, captain to The Bounty and smallest brother to them all. Green and gold, light and energy, The Bounty feels so alive with the youngest one aboard. And he grew, quicker than he was ever supposed to and often more mature than he ever should be. The green one’s shoulders are weighted with the pressure of legacy and legend alike. So he chooses to share the load with his family.
Though shadows try to dim the youngest’s power time and time again, his determination had always proved them foolish, they would never fully take his youth. Still so trusting, even in betrayal- green will always put faith in his team, and in hope for what is to come. So much has been taken from him, so much more is surely yet to be lost, and yet green still smiles with his fellow heroes and hopes to fight for a better tomorrow, starting today. The Bounty longs for his innocence.
The red one has likewise grown so greatly in his years aboard The Bounty. Far less so in size perhaps, but far more in heart. The Bounty was not too sure of the red at first. Afterall, it is a wooden ship, and the boy’s bite suggested strongly of fire. There is a flame in his words and a cocksure assertion to his place aboard the ship, something which The Bounty has seen in many an adventurer and has witnessed the unfortunate outcome of. But instead of burning the others, The Bounty and himself along with it, red’s fire only stays lit to reserve the warmth of his heart.
Stubborn to all fault and a hot head to no end, red took some warming up to. But as green’s fiercest protector, and a flaming powerhouse for the sake of family, The Bounty found red to be one of its favourites. His flames roar brightly, and with great heat should any of his loved ones be in peril, and though the fire and his own assuredness ever threaten to consume him, red contains those flames and uses them for the betterment of the team. Quick to strike and even quicker to burn, red’s courage has always been apparent. The Bounty feels his passion.
The azure and maroon ninja had not always been that way. The Bounty could always recall her great strength in the face of exclusion, and a stubborn streak almost as reverent as her brother’s. She was the one who first learned to care for The Bounty, bettering its inner workings and driving at the helm with a great respect for what it once was. She was always its favourite. Once a samurai, a defender in a great suit of armour, she utilised her drive and mind to be more than they would permit. She was not granted guidance, so she guided herself.
Her determination flows as assuredly as the water she now commands- a source of life and fluidity, her element spoke ripples from the strength of her character, a source so prevalent all around us, yet we would not exist without it. Taken for granted, yet altogether vital, the ‘sister’ and ‘girl’ of the group summoned a tsunami of resolve and forced them to see her as equal. Trusting of those around her and loving to those who deserve it, azure does not allow past transgressions to harden her heart. Nor does she allow herself to become reliant on them. Proven an adversary for all ages and far more than any had ever thought her capable, the ninja of water does not know the meaning of ‘quit’. The Bounty admires her determination.
Blue had always been so full of fear. A self-proclaimed comedian and the most light-hearted of the group, the blue one’s constantly stated excitement is and was ever in perpetual flux. The lightening he commands has no grounding nor foundation, and crackles over the anxiety felt in every word and action. The blue one holds great strength in his positivity, uplifting the team in great times of terror, whether they want him to or not. When clouds darken too harshly however, and the shadows come swarming in, the rumble of thunder forewarns an electric strike. You’ll rarely see lightening hit it’s mark, but when you do, you’ll wish you hadn’t. The Bounty had noticed in the first few days of meeting the heroes, how much the blue one could feel.
The repetitive tumult of whining and puns that roll out of the redhead’s mouth only act as roiling thunder for the building shocks and clicking static hovering beneath his skin. Forever resounding noise, forever expressing his inner thoughts, yet never speaking plainly. The biggest thing to fear of the blue one is when the noise stops, because it means all hope of distraction is lost. There is no hope for admiring the beauty of a storm in the midst of certain horror, because you are its epicentre. When the blue one no longer babbles of gizmos or cheesily tries to flirt with azure, you can be assured that hope is waning, and must be reassembled quickly, lest you be lost in the tempest. The Bounty respects his performance.
Though the pun is detestable, the black one is their rock. Some would call him plain, perhaps others would stoop to brooding, but The Bounty saw their little team in its very beginnings. It knows how doomed the lands would it be, were it not for the foundation that black provides. An absence of colour, on which he lifts all others upwards. Though doubts and questions of his own worth and place troubled the young man in the beginnings, he never allowed them to disrupt his instructing of the team.
Although fear is not foreign to the black ninja, he breaks it down to dust, and uses what’s left to sediment his heart. His strength finds root in the power of his physical being, but his empathy and understanding remind one of that the scent of earth- natural, dependable, unbreakable. The Bounty knows it well, from flying over forests and crags, it always thinks of black when that scent appears. He feels for his friends so deeply, shown in every movement and intention. Despite his love of food and celebration, the black hero would happily starve would it feed his family. He feels their pain and he aches from their torment, but he does not break. He is just as strong, wise and solid as the first day that it felt his assured step-up onto its deck. The Bounty reveres his strength.
Finally, there comes the one of white and the cold. The one to first find The Destiny’s Bounty, in that barren desert - such a foreign biome to them both- all those years ago. He had been so quiet when he approached, following a brown falcon, with a light smile lighting his pale face. There had been a sadness to those frost-tinted eyes, when he had placed a hand upon The Bounty’s outer-hull, whispering to just himself and the ship that ‘This new home will make amends. It must.’ There were nights of quiet in those early days, much like this one, where the ship and the white ninja would sit in the peace, the former weighed down by those many decades of memories and voyage, while the latter was burdened by a lack of history, able to recall only his role in the battle between good and evil- nothing more. That and the disjointed flashes of what is to come, unavoidable and unchangeable as ever. The quiet of the moonlight changed, after the white one discovered his true mind and meaning. He no more questioned the what and who, but instead pleaded with why and how. ‘Why leave me without memory but insist your love?’ And ‘How can I feel so much pain when I’m not even alive?’
Then there had been the time when The Bounty was in disrepair. When it returned, it learned that White had been too. Killed. Sacrificed. Taken. What difference does the wording make when it all equates to Gone? White returned, only different… More metal and more lost than ever. A new form and new questions to what life truly means to one who’s flame is so easily reignited. ‘Where is the limit to sacrifice, if I can give everything and still be left with more to lose?’ But they had little time for such questions, when nights were filled with such haunting and loss. But The Bounty noticed the titanium one’s growing disrepair. Each battle brought more dented plates and frayed wires. What matter when they’re so easily repaired? No blood? No problems. He hid the pain from family, and continued to take the hits that would break bone and tear muscle. He cooked for and fed his growing siblings with a smile, and tried to avoid the thought that he does not age, only breaks and is fixed- much like The Bounty, it muses. Then came a supposed 60 years within a week. A metal man and protector, who lost everything again, and took everything in turn, from innocents that he terrorised for decades. He did not tell his brothers. Did not tell his Sensei. But in nights like these, with the quiet and a familiarly creeping chill in the air, the never-dead-one whispered his fears to the ship and the clouds which passed them by.
Chinks of ice jammed into the crevices of scratched metal. Some try to trail down the cheeks of the living weapon but freeze before they reached the end of its set, artificial jaw. A light dusting of frost began flurry through the brisk wind of the night. The machine thought of the pain undertaken for ones so dear to it.
Golden armour, so terrible that it still burns through memory and mind.
A chest compartment that has been prised open and mauled at too many times to count.
A staff of immeasurable power and a mentor in absolute peril.
An order. Command. Initiative. Meaning? What point is there in labelling it? A directive to protect those who cannot protect themselves; over all else. Over himself.
Sensei Wu, about to die. Standing in the way.
The cold. The screams. The years and the whispers and the lies… Him.
Yes, in this frozen night, with only the stars and an upgraded but all-too tarnished sailing ship to hear him, Zane allows himself to whisper his confession:
“I would do it all again.”
Then, a pause in the crisp air. It feels all too much like a sacred promise broken. Passed from father to son, now unsworn to the rolling hills of a land that has taken so much and given so little. It feels like betrayal.
“But I wish I didn’t have to.”
The Bounty fears his sacrifice.