The next day unfolded exactly as I remembered.
Through my scrying spell, the image sharpened into motion and noise—engines roaring, crowds shouting, the crude spectacle of a race deciding the fate of a dojo. Ninjago had a strange way of placing the future of the world on the most absurd fulcrums.
The ninja entered the grand race for prize money, desperate to save Dareth's dojo. Predictable. Desperation always pushed mortals toward spectacle. Still, I watched closely—not because the outcome mattered to me, but because Garmadon had decided to involve himself.
That was what made it interesting.
True to form, he didn't enter with subtlety. He arrived in a flying ship—stolen, modified, bristling with weapons and arrogance—clearly intending not just to win, but to crush the ninja publicly. He wanted to remind the world who he was.
Lloyd, however, surprised me.
The boy entered the race astride his dragon, green scales cutting through the air as if it had always belonged there. His control had improved—dramatically. No hesitation. No panic. His movements were instinctive now, guided by something deeper than training.
Power settling into place.
"Hm," I murmured. "He's growing faster than expected."
Not fast enough to threaten me—but fast enough to be interesting.
The race itself was chaos incarnate. Vehicles clashed, traps detonated, shortcuts collapsed under reckless weight. Garmadon harried the ninja relentlessly, firing from above, forcing them into dangerous maneuvers. He wasn't trying to win cleanly—he was trying to break them.
And yet, once again, teamwork carried the day.
Jay's parents intervened at precisely the right moment, their engineering brilliance tipping the scales. The ninja's vehicle surged forward, stabilizing when it should have failed, accelerating when it should have stalled.
Probability bent.
Luck favored them.
They won the race.
The prize money secured the dojo. The Destiny's Bounty was reclaimed. The crowd cheered. A neat, satisfying little victory for heroes who still believed the world rewarded effort.
I barely noticed.
My attention was locked on Garmadon.
Despite losing, he escaped—again—thanks to the Serpentine. Slithering loyalty had its uses, apparently. He vanished into the sky with the Mega Weapon still in his possession, frustration radiating off him in visible waves.
Good.
Frustration made him careless.
I leaned back in my throne, fingers steepled, Oni fire flickering faintly around my knuckles. The race had changed nothing of consequence. The ninja were still scrambling, reacting, always one step behind the forces shaping their world.
Garmadon, however, was stepping closer to the edge.
He had used the Mega Weapon twice already. Each time, I had watched the drain pull at him—not enough to kill, but enough to weaken. His aura no longer flowed cleanly. There were fractures now, tiny temporal inconsistencies where his existence failed to fully anchor.
He didn't feel it yet.
But I did.
"The next wish will do it," I said quietly.
I adjusted my preparations.
Temporal anchors hummed softly beneath my castle, synchronizing to my elemental power. Oni wards layered over illusion, illusion over probability distortion. If the Mega Weapon discharged during the transfer, the backlash would be contained. If Garmadon resisted, time itself would slow around him.
And if something went wrong—
I would rewind.
Through the scrying spell, I watched Garmadon pace aboard his ship, Mega Weapon resting against the deck. He was angry. Humiliated. Surrounded by followers he didn't trust.
That combination always led to one thing.
A wish made too soon.
The ninja celebrated below, unaware of how irrelevant their victory truly was. Lloyd laughed. Wu guided. Hope flickered.
I allowed it.
Hope made the fall sharper.
I closed my eyes briefly, extending my senses across Ninjago. The timelines aligned cleanly. No interference from the Source Dragons. No temporal anomalies beyond my own.
Perfect.
"Enjoy your small victories," I whispered, reopening my eyes as the scrying spell focused once more on Garmadon. "The real prize is about to change hands."
And when it did—
The Mega Weapon would finally belong to someone who understood restraint.