Acronix had once been more than a keeper of time.
He had been a warrior—one of the finest Ninjago had ever produced.
That knowledge alone made him valuable, even after his elemental power was gone.
Using my mind magic, I did not interrogate him. Words are inefficient. Instead, I reached past memory and into instinct itself. Battle is not merely learned—it is etched. Reflex layered over reflex. Decisions made faster than thought. I copied it all.
Every feint he had ever recognized.
Every opening he had ever exploited.
Every moment where hesitation meant death.
I felt centuries of combat knowledge settle into my mind like a second spine. His experience did not overwrite my own—it integrated. Magic guided my hand; time guided my timing; now instinct guided my body.
When it was done, there was nothing left to take.
Acronix and Krux were no longer threats, scholars, or symbols of power. They were simply labor. I sent them deep into the mines of the Lava Lands, where time mattered little and strength mattered more. Guards were unnecessary. Where would they go? When history itself had moved on without them?
With that matter concluded, I turned my attention to something far more practical.
Weapons.
Power is meaningless without application, and while magic is unmatched, industry sustains empires. Ninjago had craftsmen whose skill bordered on legendary—smiths who could create weapons capable of channeling elemental force without collapsing under it.
Ray and Maya.
Their names carried weight, even now.
I summoned Stone Clay and Ruina Stoneheart to my presence. No explanation was required. They understood the importance of subtlety, speed, and silence. This was not war—it was acquisition.
The mission was simple: retrieve them alive, unharmed, and unalerted.
They returned days later.
Ray was defiant. Maya was quieter—but far more dangerous in her stillness. I respected that. Fear breaks people. Purpose bends them.
I did not threaten them.
I explained.
I showed them what I had built—foundries powered by magma currents, anvils forged from enchanted stone, facilities where their skill would not be wasted on petty village weapons but elevated into something greater. Tools of conquest. Artifacts that would endure.
They did not have a choice.
But I ensured they had work.
And work, to a craftsman, is a powerful chain.
As they were settled into their new roles, I stood alone once more, testing my balance, my stance, my timing. Acronix's instincts flowed through me now, harmonized with my own magic and my mastery of time.
I was no longer merely a sorcerer commanding armies.
I was becoming something far more dangerous.
A ruler who understood war not just as destruction—but as inevitability.
And Ninjago, still distracted by its victories and its heroes, had no idea what was quietly being forged beneath its feet.