A whisper across the sky

The night was damp and calm inside the monastery, the blue starry sky reflecting in the dewdrops, the air was cool, and the wind radiating from the mountain peak brought comfort to the old Sensei, who gazed at the now clear sky, just waiting for it to fill with various lights and memories of the people who had once passed through those lands.
Many losses are seen in a life as long as his, all his former companions with whom he fought by his side until the end, his beloved father who joined the light and shadow beyond anyone's reach, his brother whose body still lay in the earth, and his young students.
Each of his students had died in some way, but they always returned, but this time, his student did not reside in the Departed Realm, resting and waiting for her fate to be fulfilled, but rather within the vast ocean. Her sacrifice weighed heavily on the rest of her group, which slowly dissipated, knowing that their sorrows would not leave them in peace for long.
The silence hung heavy in the monastery; the only sounds to be heard were the chirping of crickets and the flapping of wings of the falcon that circled the mountain. No one dared to make a sound in those circumstances; it seemed that even the slightest noise would disturb the melancholic peace of the place. Sitting in contemplation on the steps of the mountain, Wu listened to the wind passing through the peak, creating a comforting melody as it passed through the small openings of the ancient monastery, which was as old as time itself, holding precious memories that would never leave his mind.
He turned his attention to the lantern in his hand. He had many people to pay tribute to on the Day of Remembrance, but that particular lantern was for the person who had never left his heart since the day he found him on the streets, hungry and alone. There was Morro, his son. Adopting him had been the best choice he had ever made. Every moment his son had been there was a minute he cherished, even after everything that had happened. Morro managed to look back and not only recognize his own mistakes but also forgive Wu's. To the Sensei, this only showed how much he had matured, now at peace knowing that his son rested.
Some glimmers were seen heading towards the vast sky, lanterns were released one by one, creating a sight that he would never grow tired of, raising his lantern, Wu gently pushed it upwards, the scent of the candle entering his lungs as the lantern drifted into the dark blue expanse of the sky, getting farther and farther away. The Sensei was so focused that he didn't notice one of his students approaching from behind and sitting beside him. The melancholic silence from before had now become a melody in the face of the light show ahead. Serenely, they both continued to watch the lantern move away.
"Sensei... may I ask a question?" the student inquired.
"Hm? Yes, what would you like to ask, Pixal? Is something troubling you?" Wu responded.
"Well, I tried searching through my entire database, but I can't find an explanation that makes sense with the Lantern Festival tradition being on the Day of the Departed."
There was a hint of embarrassment in Pixal's words, discernible through her robotic tone.
"That's a legend long lost in history, long before time had a name. It was believed that on every Night of Remembrance, the intangible gates of the Departed Realm would open, a way to send one last message to those who had passed on. The idea was to send lanterns into the sky, hoping their beliefs would make the material light enough to pass from one Realm to another," the old Sensei explained, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "But now, it's just a way to honor them."
"This is beyond my comprehension, but does it really work?" Pixal asked.
Wu returned a friendly smile. "Have you ever seen a lantern after the Day of the Departed?"
He then stood up, preparing to enter the monastery, but not before casting one last glance at the now no longer visible lantern, leaving Nindroid Pixal outside with his own thoughts to sort through.

____

Peace was all they felt. Their souls neither saw, spoke, moved, heard, nor felt, yet at the same time, they perceived their surroundings vividly. They heard the joyful whispers of those who rested and felt the eternal night above them, beautiful and perfect. They sang and danced because they would finally receive news from their future generations, and the oldest and most forgotten among them simply reveled in the contagious joy of the others.
It was a place covered with ancient trees, where the dark waters were as transparent and crystalline as glass. A colorful mist hovered over the water, following those who touched it. The bright blue leaves of the trees and the luminous purple leaves of the bushes brought a nostalgic air to all who chose to stay in that part of the Realm.
A sweet sigh escaped from Morro, who was hanging from one of the branches of the old trees. The feeling of not feeling something seemed to have lost its meaning for most of the souls in the area. But the former ghost had experienced death more than once; it was something he would never truly get used to, yet at the same time, he seemed accustomed to it. He used his wind to sway the trees around him. It was strange; the wind of the Cursed Realm was tamed and difficult to control, but here, it was free and untamed. While he controlled it with his elemental powers, there was no wind to control in this realm.
Another soul approached, accompanied by a dazzling purple mist. It was an old man with gray hair and a remarkably memorable kimono, sitting beside Morro with a serene smile.
"It seems like someone is eager for the lanterns," he said with a teasing voice.
"Please spare me your speeches," Morro replied, looking the other way. "Is being overly sentimental in your family's blood?"
"You are part of my family, Morro."
Morro looked at him expressionless. Such comments from Sensei Garmadon had been increasingly frequent. He felt at peace with his family, but the other Sensei seemed to have seen something in him that he hadn't seen in himself. Maybe it was the fact that someday he would have to face the people he had hurt or the fact that two of those people he had hurt were from his family.
"Leave the boy alone, Garmadon," a female voice emerged from beneath the canopy of the old trees. It was the ancient Oni, Mystake, whose human form had merged with her original form, making her the only one of her kind residing in the Realm. She owned the largest chain of tea shops in all of Ninjago.
"Speaking of which, your lanterns are arriving, so you'd better hurry!" she added.
Morro gazed at Garmadon for a few moments. Everything seemed distant and indifferent most of the time he spent here, but on this particular day, it felt different. He could sense something, something familiar and nostalgic. Ignoring that feeling, he simply nodded to Sensei Garmadon and jumped from the branch where he was perched, using his wind to control his descent. He landed close enough to the water to prevent it from touching his skin. His body froze for a few seconds in mid-air. Even in death, he had never dared to touch any of the local thermal waters. He knew he wouldn't die, but that bright and translucent pool seemed much more menacing after his experiences as a ghostly general.
He floated, following the current of the water, using his wind to guide him. He could hear the voices that accompanied him, songs and tears of joy, music that seemed to be played, and conversations that seemed to be heard. They were sweet and calm, unlike the cries of pain and lamentation that circulated within the Cursed Realm.
The green field opened up through the trees, and the blue sky took over. Stars illuminated the path to their respective lanterns, a sight that would enchant anyone. It didn't seem possible, as the departed couldn't see, but it was the one time of year when all the residents of the Departed Realm could be found in one place, from the cursed to the freest of spirits.
Of all the lanterns, among the most colorful and eye-catching, one caught Morro's attention. It was a simple one, orange in color with ancient script as decoration. He knew who had sent it; it was his former Sensei. A feeling seemed to spread through his body, a real feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. He shrank back as the simple lantern slowly approached his hands. The damp scent of the old monastery filled his lungs along with the scent of burning white candles. The fabric reminded him of his old red kite, the one that had been so important to him when he was younger.
The lantern landed in his hands, and the thought of throwing it away crossed his mind as he felt the warmth of the candle. But the bitter and painful memories of magma flowing over his skin were replaced by memories of warm winter nights spent with his Sensei...
or rather...

his father.