Traveler's Tea was a marvel.
I poured the steaming liquid into a simple stone cup, the leaves dissolving into glowing threads as the magic activated. The air in front of me folded inward, reality thinning like stretched silk. With a quiet crack, a portal bloomed open—high above the clouds, where the sky never truly ended.
The Sky Kingdom.
I stepped through and let the portal seal behind me, leaving no trace of my passage.
The wind here was constant, sharp and clean, carrying with it the faint hum of destiny magic. Floating landmasses drifted lazily through an endless blue, connected by bridges of stone and light. Towers rose from the islands like spires of fate itself, each one etched with runes meant to observe, record, and decide the future.
I cast my invisibility spell fully this time—not a simple light-bending trick, but a multilayered concealment that erased my presence from sight, sound, magical perception, and probability itself. To the Sky Folk, I did not merely vanish.
I ceased to be relevant.
I moved quietly across the bridges, my boots making no sound against the stone. The Sky Kingdom was… disappointing.
Beautiful, yes. Impressive architecture. Elegant magic.
But secure?
Not even close.
There were no patrols worth mentioning, no layered wards, no adaptive defenses. A few predictive runes shimmered faintly in the air, attempting to chart possible intrusions—but they were laughably rigid. Linear. Dependent on the assumption that the future followed neat, readable paths.
Arrogance, I realized.
They believed they controlled fate. Or at least observed it so completely that nothing could surprise them. Why guard something when, in your mind, theft is simply not part of the future?
That kind of thinking always ended the same way.
I slipped into one of the inner sanctums, passing through a door sealed by destiny-locks that unraveled the moment I touched them. The magic protested briefly, confused by my presence, then gave up entirely—as if it had decided that resisting me was not worth accounting for.
At the center of the chamber, resting on a raised pedestal of pale stone, was the artifact I had come for.
The Sword of Sanctuary.
It was elegant in a restrained way, its blade a soft silver-white that seemed to blur at the edges, as though it existed slightly out of phase with reality. Runes ran along its length—not inscriptions of power, but of outcomes. Possibilities. Forking paths condensed into steel.
A weapon that did not merely strike—but decided.
I circled it slowly, studying the enchantments. The sword did not enhance strength or speed in the conventional sense. Instead, it influenced causality itself. When swung, it nudged the future toward outcomes favorable to its wielder—missed strikes became hits, fatal blows found vital points, impossible defenses failed at precisely the wrong moment.
Subtle.
Dangerous.
And profoundly useful.
I reached out and took it.
The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, I felt resistance—not physical, but conceptual. The sword tried to read me, to place me within its lattice of fate. For a heartbeat, the chamber trembled as its magic strained.
Then it failed.
My existence was too tangled, too layered with stolen futures, rewritten destinies, and foreign metaphysics. The sword could not decide what I was supposed to be.
So it accepted me.
The runes dimmed, shifting their allegiance without ceremony. I felt the artifact settle into my grasp, its power coiling quietly, obediently.
"Well," I said softly, "that was easier than expected."
I sheathed the sword across my back, wrapping it in a suppressive field to keep its fate-altering effects dormant for now. No sense in letting the Sky Kingdom notice fluctuations in their precious timelines.
As I turned to leave, I spared one last glance at the chamber.
All that power.
All that foresight.
And no one guarding it.
I almost laughed.
I poured another cup of Traveler's Tea as I walked, the liquid sloshing gently despite the wind. The portal opened smoothly this time, revealing the familiar heat-hazed skies of Ninjago beyond.
I stepped through.
The Sky Kingdom vanished behind me, none the wiser, their future now missing a very important variable.
Back in my castle, I dismissed the invisibility spell and set the Sword of Sanctuary carefully onto a stone table in my study. Arcane diagrams immediately flared into existence around it as I began analyzing its structure, its limits, its interaction with other forms of magic.
Between the Oni Mask of Vengeance, the Airjitzu Scroll, the Skull of Hazza D'ur, and now this—
My arsenal was becoming… impressive.
And the best part?
No one knew.
The heroes were still children. The wars had yet to begin. Fate itself was being quietly dismantled piece by piece, stolen from those who believed it immutable.
I smiled as I traced a finger along the sword's sheath.
Let the future come.
I was already rewriting it.