By the time I returned to my castle, the Lava Lands were calm in the way only a conquered territory could be. Lava rivers flowed where I had decreed they would, stone citadels rose like broken teeth from the earth, and my banners—etched sigils of domination and magic—hung unmoving in the heat-hazed air. Everything was precisely where it belonged.
Clay was waiting for me in my private audience chamber.
He knelt the moment I entered, but I waved the gesture away. Formality had its place, and this was not it.
"I have it," he said, his voice steady, controlled. "One of the Oni Masks."
At that, I felt a flicker of genuine interest.
He rose and produced the artifact from a containment field—black metal curved into a cruel, expressive shape, etched with symbols that radiated restrained malice. The Oni Mask of Vengeance. Not the most destructive of its kind, not the most transformative, but undeniably potent.
I reached out, not touching it directly, and let my senses brush against its aura.
Hatred. Retaliation. Memory sharpened into obsession.
"Yes," I murmured. "Vengeance indeed."
Clay watched me carefully. "It resisted some of my wards. Nothing I couldn't suppress, but it wanted… focus. Direction."
I smiled faintly. "That is the nature of vengeance. Left alone, it devours itself. Given purpose, it becomes a weapon."
I sealed the mask away myself, layering spell upon spell—dimensional locks, soul-binding constraints, conceptual anchors. When I was finished, the artifact was no longer merely contained; it was isolated, cut off from influencing anything beyond itself.
I stored it in my private study, deep beneath the castle, in a chamber warded so heavily that even I would need to consciously allow myself access.
"For now," I said aloud, more to myself than to Clay, "you are a subject of study. Not a tool."
Clay inclined his head. "As you wish."
I dismissed him soon after. There was more to do, and this next task was not one that required an audience.
The Traveler's Tea trees were planted along the inner slopes of the Lava Lands, where the heat softened into something manageable and the soil—enriched with volcanic minerals and carefully transmuted stone—was ideal for magical cultivation.
They were unassuming things at first glance. Slender trunks. Modest leaves. Nothing about them screamed rarity or power.
And yet, their value was extraordinary.
Traveler's Tea was more than a beverage. It was freedom, condensed into liquid form. Distance collapsed before it. Exhaustion became irrelevant. For those who knew how to brew it properly, a single cup could carry you across continents in a heartbeat.
Obtaining the trees had not been easy.
But difficulty is relative.
When you command an army of near-indestructible stone warriors, possess magic capable of rewriting terrain, and rule a territory rich enough to fund any expedition, "rare" simply becomes another word for "eventually mine."
I had sent forces across Ninjago—disguised, indirect, precise. No great battles. No legends. Just efficiency. The trees were uprooted with care, their roots preserved with alchemical gel and spatial stasis spells, then transported through portals directly into prepared ground.
Now, they grew.
I walked among them slowly, my senses extended, monitoring their health, their magical resonance, the way their roots intertwined with the ley lines I had subtly redirected beneath the Lava Lands. I adjusted a sigil here, reinforced a growth charm there.
"These will be useful," I said quietly.
Not just for travel.
For trade. For leverage. For emergencies. For war.
An army that never tired, commanders who could cross the world instantly, messengers who could not be intercepted—Traveler's Tea enabled all of it.
And unlike artifacts or spells, trees could be replicated.
Cultivated.
Controlled.
I smiled at the thought.
That night, back in my study, I sat surrounded by floating diagrams—arcane schematics of Oni masks, elemental power flow, forbidden spells, and Ninjago's unique magical frameworks. The Mask of Vengeance pulsed faintly within its containment, like a heartbeat slowed to near stillness.
I did not rush.
That was something immortality taught you very quickly.
Power rushed was power wasted.
For now, the mask would wait. The tea would grow. My territory would stabilize. Clay would continue his search for the remaining Oni masks. Krakenskull would tighten our grip on the Lava Lands. Ruina's research into hybrid magic was already yielding promising results.
And beyond all of that, the future loomed—unchanged, predictable, ripe for exploitation.
The Serpentine War would come.
The Elemental Masters would rise.
Heroes would be born, alliances forged, destinies fulfilled.
And through it all, unseen and unchallenged, I would be ready.
After all, empires are not built in moments of glory.
They are grown—slowly, deliberately, from carefully planted roots.