Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lair bustled with the usual morning routine, filled with the scent of sizzling eggs and the distant hum of machinery and the occasional clang of metal from Donnie’s lab. The comforting sounds of home.

In the kitchen, Mikey worked his magic at the stove, flipping pancakes with an exaggerated flourish. “Alright, breakfast is served, guys! Get it while it's hot!” he announced, proudly surveying the spread of eggs, toast, and his latest creation–pizza pancakes, drizzled with syrup and a suspicious amount of melted cheese.

Raph, still sweaty from his morning workout, stomped in and grabbed a plate without hesitation. “Y’know Mikey, I used to be worried about your cooking.” he admitted between bites. “But I gotta admit, you’ve got skills.”

Mikey grinned, flipping another pancake with a dramatic flair. “Oh, ye of little faith! Cooking is just like ninpo–it’s all about balance and technique, bro.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope your technique doesn’t send us all running for the bathroom,” Donnie mumbled as he entered, looking half asleep. He was still clutching a wrench, his goggles perched crookedly on his head. He snatched a piece of toast and took a bite, chewing absentmindedly. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m too hungry to be concerned about potential food poisoning.”

“Rude,” Mikey huffed dramatically, pouting as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Footsteps approached, and Leo strode in, toweling off from his morning training. His muscles ached but it was a familiar soreness, one he had grown accustomed to. He rolled his shoulder absently, working out the tension.

Casey Jr. followed close behind, stretching his arms over his head before cracking his knuckles. “Man, Leo. You’ve been training a lot recently,” Casey noted, shaking his head. “I swear, you get faster every time I spar with you. You almost pinned me on the ground today.”

Leo shot him a side glance, arching a brow. “Almost? Don’t get cocky, Case–I went easy on you.”

Casey scoffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. One of these days, I’m gonna take you down, Sensei.”

Leo smirked, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. He grabbed a plate and sat at the table, absently poking at his food while his brothers continued their usual back-and-forth. The energy in the room was lighthearted, warm, but his mind was elsewhere–drifting towards thoughts he couldn’t quite shake.

Mikey plopped down beside him, bumping their shoulders together. “You good, dude?”

Leo blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He looked at Mikey, then at the rest of his family, the people he had fought so hard to protect. He forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said, though his grip on his fork tightened slightly. “Just thinking.”

“Well, think with some pancakes in your mouth,” Raph grunted, shoving the plate of pizza pancakes towards him. “You need the fuel if you’re gonna keep kickin’ Casey’s butt every morning.”

Leo huffed a quiet laugh and picked up a pancake. “Yeah, alright.”

For now, he’s let himself enjoy this moment.

----------

The night air was thick with tension.

Leo crouched on the rooftop’s edge, his keen eyes locked onto the chaotic streets below. Ever since the Foot Clan had gone into hiding after the Kraang invasion, gangs had risen up, desperate to carve out their own territories in the cracks left behind. It had been happening for months–small turf wars, skirmishes in alleys, violent clashes between factions trying to seize control.

Tonight was no different.

Gunfire echoed in the distance, and neon signs flickered against the damp pavement as rival gangs fought over a strip of city blocks. Leo gritted his teeth. They were supposed to have stopped this before it got out of hand.

Behind him, his brothers shifted anxiously.

“Alright, team, stay sharp,” he instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “The Foot’s been quiet, but the gang fights have been getting worse. Let’s keep this clean.”

Mikey sighed dramatically. “Aw man, I was hoping for an easy night. Maybe just scaring off a few punks and calling it a day.”

“Yeah, well, don’t count on it,” Raph muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Vizioso’s mafia and the Claws have been at each other's throats for weeks. We should have stepped in earlier, before things got this bad.”

Donnie adjusted his goggles, peering down at the street. “Typical power vacuum scenario. The Foot disappears, and every lowlife thinks they own the city now.”

Casey grinned, tightening his grip on his hockey stick. “Means we get to crack some skulls. I’m not mad about it.”

Leo shot him a smirk. Truth be told, he was itching for a fight himself. He gripped his katana, nodding. “Let’s move.”

They dropped down into the shadowed alley where the two rival gangs stood at a tense standoff. The moment the turtles appeared, weapons were drawn, and all attention turned to them.

“Oh, great,” one of the gang leaders sneered. “Just what we needed–mutant freaks playing cops.”

Leo tilted his head, smirking. “Wow, rude. We prefer something with a bit more pizazz to it.” He twirled his katana, pretending to think. “Oh! Maybe something like ‘heroes in a half shell,’ but whatever.”

The gang member in front of him barely registered the blur of green before Leo slammed into him, knocking the gun from his hands. “Playtime’s over, fellas.” He smirked before flipping back, dodging a wild swing from another thug.

Raph bulldozed through a cluster of fighters, his ninpo a shield around him, tossing them around like ragdolls. “Pickin’ a fight in our city? Not a good idea.”

Donnie swung his bo staff, tripping one enemy and slamming another across the jaw. “Honestly, I don’t know why they even try at this point.”

Mikey danced between his opponents, agility unmatched. His nunchucks wrapped around a crowbar mid swing, yanking it away before he spun, kicking the wielder square in the chest. “Yall should be thanking us honestly, free fighting lessons!”

It was going well–until it wasn’t.

A stray bullet ricocheted off the pavement near Mikey’s feet. He dodged, but another thug rushed him from behind. Before Leo could intervene, the crow bar slammed onto the side of Mikey’s head. He staggered back, gritting his teeth in pain.

Leo’s chest tightened.

“Mikey!”

He slashed his katanas, disarming the nearest opponent before lunging into a portal and flying out by his little brother, shoving the remaining gang members back. “Retreat!” he barked. “Now” There were too many still standing, too many still armed and pointing weapons at him and his family. They were far outnumbered. He was so stupid.

Raph punched a guy in the gut before grabbing Mikey and carrying him away. “We’re done here.”

Leo covered their escape, deflecting incoming attacks before leaping onto the fire escape. His heart pounded as they disappeared into the night, leaving the war-torn streets behind.

----------

The soft hum of the bed bay’s machines filled the air as Leo carefully dabbed antiseptic onto the side of Mikey’s head. The sting made his little brother flinch.

“Ow! Bro, a little gentler, maybe?”

Leo smirked. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it at ‘mildly unbearable.’ Builds character.”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Character’s already built, thanks. Maybe focus on ‘healing touch’ instead of ‘torture artist,’ Dr. Leon.”

Leo chuckled but didn’t look up as he worked. His hands were steady, moving with practiced ease. This was his domain–the one place he felt in control. If he couldn’t keep his family safe in a fight, at least he could fix them afterward.

He briefly glanced down at the scars creeping up Mikey’s hands and arms. Thin, slowly fading–a reminder of the invasion, of the impossible miracle Mikey had pulled off that day.

Leo’s stomach twisted.

He exhaled through his nose, forcing the thoughts away. Focus. Patch him up. Move on.

Mikey, ever the chatterbox, kept going. “Man, tonight was a mess, huh? Who knew random street thugs could be so organized? They must’ve taken notes from Big Mama or something.”

Leo forced a grin. “Right? Next thing you know, they’ll be setting up an evil Yelp page. ‘Five stars, would gang fight again.”

Mikey snorted. “One-start review from me, dude. Getting bashed in the head, would not recommend.”

Leo chuckled, taping down the last bandage before standing up. “Alright, you’re good to go, Angelo. Try not to get wrecked again.”

Mikey felt around the bandage, wincing slightly. “No promises. You did teach me to be reckless.”

Leo smirked. "I taught you to be awesome. The reckless part? That’s all you, buddy.”

Mikey grinned but didn’t drop it. “Still, you’ve been acting extra serious lately. It’s kinda weird.”

Leo shrugged. “Weird is literally our whole deal.”

Deflect. Move on. Keep it light.

Mikey wasn’t buying it. “Leo.”

That single word made Leo pause, but only for a fraction of a second. He busied himself tidying up the med bay, putting away supplies that didn’t need putting away.

Mikey crossed his arms. “You’re blaming yourself.”

Leo scoffed. “For what? Your terrible dodge skills? Yeah, a little.”

Mikey groaned. “Dude.”

Leo turned, throwing his arms out dramatically. “C’mon, Mikey. What do you want me to say? ‘Oh no, my baby brother got a boo-boo, time to spiral into a pit of despair?' Not happening.”

Mikey frowned. “I just don’t get why you’re so hard on yourself all the time.”

Leo forced an easygoing smirk. “Because I look amazing under pressure.”

Mikey deadpanned. “Leo.”

Leo sighed, running a hand across his head. “Look, it was my call. I thought we had it under control. Turns out, we didn’t. End of story.”

Mkey watched him for a long moment, eyes searching. Then, softly–“It’s not the end of the story, though. And it’s not all on you.”

Leo swallowed but kept his smirk firmly in place. “Eh, tell that to my stress levels.”

Mikey huffed, clearly frustrated. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, y’know.”

Leo grinned, slinging an arm around Mikey’s shoulders. “I know that, Angel Cakes. I just like carrying it because it makes my shoulders look huge.”

Mikey groaned, shoving him off. “Ugh, you are so annoying.”

Leo gave him finger guns. “And yet. You love me.”

Mikey rolled his eyes but smiled “Yeah, yeah.”

Leo placed a hand on the top of Mikey’s head, ruffling his non-existent hair while being mindful of the bandaged area, ”Alright, go get some rest. You need your beauty sleep.”

Mikey swatted at his hand, only stumbling slightly as he hopped off the med bay table. As he walked out, he glanced back at Leo. His expression was lighter, but his voice was still serious. “Just…don’t beat yourself up, okay?”

Leo grinned. “No promises.”

As Mikey disappeared down the hall, Leo’s smile faded.

He glanced at the empty med bay, at the neatly stored supplies, at the scars he hadn’t been able to stop his family from getting.

His hands curled into fists.

“No promises,” he muttered again, softer this time.

Because deep down, he knew the truth.

He was beating himself up.

And he wasn’t planning on stopping.

----------

Leo walked through the lair in a daze, his footsteps barely making a sound against the old subway tiles. The banter with Mikey had ended, but the weight of his brother's words clung to him like a second skin.

“You’re blaming yourself.”

Of course, he was. How could he not? Every bad call, every injury, every scar–they were all reminders of the ways he had failed.

By the time he reached his train car, his body felt heavier than it had in months. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. The once cozy space felt suffocating, too small to contain the storm brewing in his head.

With a sigh, he sank into his bed, resting his elbows on his knees, hands dragging down his face. His fingers curled into fists around his head as his thoughts spiraled.

It never stopped. The guilt. The fear. The feeling that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be enough.

He was supposed to be the leader. He was supposed to protect them.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the memories that clawed at the edges of his mind.

Mikey, his sunshine of a brother, wincing as Leo patched him up–another wound Leo hadn’t been able to prevent.

Donnie, exhausted from overworking himself in the lab, because Leo wasn’t strong enough to keep the fights from reaching them in the first place.

Raph, his big brother, the one who had carried so much weight on his shoulders for so long, now looking at Leo to take that burden–and Leo still coming up short.

And Splinter…

Leo’s gut twisted painfully. His father had nearly lost him that day–should have lost him, if fate hadn’t decided to be merciful. He could still see it, could still feel it–Kraang Prime’s crushing grip, the suffocating pressure, the fear and sadness in his fathers eyes as he sat by Leo’s broken form in the med bay, gripping his hand tightly.

Those moments had changed everything.

He has promised he would be better. He had gotten better, hadn’t he? He trained harder than ever, made the tough calls, took his role seriously.

And yet, his family still got hurt.

Still not enough.

His hands clenched into fists at his knees. He needed to be more than what he was now. He needed to be faster, sharper, stronger. He needed to be the leader his family deserved, the leader who wouldn’t fail them again.

But could he do that here?

The lair was his home, his family his heart–but distractions were everywhere. Here, he could try to be better, but he wasn’t changing fast enough. The thought of another mistake, another failure, another moment where he wasn’t strong enough to save them–he couldn’t risk it.

He exhaled, slow and steady, grounding himself.

I need to leave.

The realization settled in his chest, heavy and certain.

He had to go.

Not forever, but long enough to become the leader he was meant to be. Somewhere he could train without distraction, without the constant reminder of his failures looming over him.

Japan.

The Hamato Clan.

His fingers twitched with the memory of the scrolls Splinter had shown them, the stories of their ancestors, the techniques passed down through generations. The very blood in his veins carries the legacy of warriors–real warriors. Warriors who knew what it meant to lead, who knew how to protect the people they loved.

Maybe Splinter knew something–somewhere he could go, someone who could teach him. But he couldn’t just leave. Not without his dad’s approval.

Leo pushed himself off the bed, shaking the tension from his arms. His decision was made. Now, he just had to face the one person who could either set him on this path or stop him entirely.

His father.

Taking a steadying breath, he stepped out of his room, the weight in his chest momentarily replaced by something else.

Determination.

He was going to do this.

For his family.

For himself.

----------

The lair was quiet, but not empty. Not truly.

Though his brothers had gone to bed, their presence still lingered in the warmth of the space. The air still carried the faint scent of Mikey’s latest culinary creation–something sweet, something spicy, something uniquely Mikey. The faint sound of Donnie's lab equipment hummed in the background, a rhythmic, familiar pulse. Raph’s weighted footsteps had faded down the hall, but the distant sound of snoring told Leo he was fast asleep.

Home.

Even in stillness, the lair breathed with life. But Leo felt apart from it. Like he was standing in the middle of it all and yet…not really in it.

He moved on instinct, his path set long before he even made the decision to walk it.

The living room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of the television, the only light in the otherwise dim space. An old martial arts film played across the screen, muted now, but its faded colors danced across Splinter’s fur as he sat comfortably in his chair. The room smelled of incense and aged wood, a scent Leo had grown up with, one that always made the lair feel like home.

Leo stood in the doorway, gripping the frame as if steadying himself. His father looked peaceful, lost in nostalgia, the soft crinkle of amusement in the corners of his eyes.

Leo almost backed out. Almost convinced himself that this could wait. That he could figure things out on his own.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He had been trying to handle everything alone. And it wasn’t working.

He took a breath and stepped forward.

“Pops?”

Splinter flicked an ear and turned his head slightly, eyes still on the screen. “Yes, my son?”

Leo hesitated. His father had gotten better at being in their lives more since they defeated the shredder. But there were still days when he got like this–distant, quiet, watching old films, reminiscing about things he never quite spoke of. It was a comfort, he knew. A way to relive memories that time had stolen from him. Leo felt guilty about interrupting that.

But he had too.

“Can we talk?”

Something in his voice must have given him away, because Splinter immediately reached for the remote, muting the television before turning fully towards him. His expression was relaxed, if slightly anxious, scanning Leo with the quiet perceptiveness only a father possessed.

“Of course, Blue. Come sit.”

Leo hesitated for half a second before moving to sit on the edge of the couch. He kept his back straight, hands clasped together, staring down at the floor.

Splinter watched him with concern shining in his eyes. “What troubles you, my son?”

He swallowed, a young part of him will always get elated when his dad gave him his undivided attention, when he no longer had to plead and beg to a shell of his father who always stared blankly ahead. But despite the joy Leo felt, the words were hard to come. They felt heavy, stuck in his throat, tangled with the weight of weeks–months–of guilt, of failures, of not enough.

Leo inhaled slowly. “I need more training.”

Splinter huffed lightly, shaking his head. “You have been training, Blue. To the point where even your brothers complain.” His tone was teasing at first, but the undercurrent of concern was impossible to miss. “Surely, you have not come here to tell me you wish to drive yourself into the ground more.”

Leo clenched his jaw. “It’s not enough.”

Something in his voice shifted the energy in the room. Splinter sat up straighter. The warmth in his gaze dimmed, replaced by quiet understanding. “Explain.”

Leo exhaled, looking down at his hands. “I thought I could handle being leader. I wanted to be ready. I tried to be.” His grip tightened. “But I keep making mistakes. Bad calls. And my brothers pay the price.” His hands clenched. “Mikey got hurt tonight because I wasn’t good enough. And if I don’t do something,” Leo pressed on, voice low, raw, frustrated, “If I don’t fix this, I could lose them.” His voice dipped, raw and strained. “I could lose everything.”

Splinter’s expression softened, but his voice remained firm. “Leonardo…you carry a burden that is not yours alone. You do not need to prove yourself.”

Leo shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “But it is mine, dad! I have too. I’m their leader. If I can’t protect them, then what am I even doing?”

Splinter’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. He leaned forward, hands folded around an untouched cup of tea. “Then tell me,” he said. “What do you plan to do?”

Leo hesitated. He has made up his mind, but saying it out loud would make it real.

“...I’m leaving.”

Splinter stilled.

The last bit of warmth in the room was replaced with something colder, heavier.

Splinter’s ears twitched slightly, his brows drawing together in surprise. “...Leaving?”

Leo forced himself to hold his gaze. “I need to be better. Stronger. Faster. I need more training–real training. I need to go to Japan. You told us once about the Hamato training grounds,” Leo said. “The history, the warriors who came before us. If I trained there, if I learned their techniques–maybe I could become the leader they need.”

Splinters lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no words came. He blinked, shoulders tensing. “You…” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Leonardo. My son. You truly believe leaving will solve this?”

Leo straightened. “It’s my best chance.”

Splinter shook his head, disbelief flickering across his face. “You wish to run to a temple you have only heard about in stories, across the world, alone. And for what? Strength?” His voice hardened. “You do not need to go to Japan to seek what you already possess. You have already proved your strength in ways I wish you had not.” He thinks back to the day of the invasion. The day he nearly lost his son.

Leo clenched his jaw. “Then why do I keep failing?”

Splinter sighed, his frustration bleeding through now. “You seek answers in isolation, but your struggles do not come from lack of skill, Blue. They come from within.” He placed a hand over his own heart. “You are at war with yourself.”

Leo’s breath hitched.

“You carry your guilt like a heavy cape, draped over your shoulders,” Splinter continued, his voice softer now, but firm. “You believe that if you train hard enough, if you push yourself far enough, you will outrun the pain.” He shook his head. “But pain does not work that way, my son.”

Leo swallowed, looking away. “I just…” His voice cracked slightly. “I don’t know how else to fix this.”

Splinter’s ears tilted back. “And you believe that leaving your family–leaving those who love you–is the answer?”

Leo’s hands clenched. “I believe it’s what I have to do.”

Splinter closed his eyes briefly, as if grounding himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I do not want you to go.”

Leo exhaled sharply, guilt creeping in, but he didn’t back down. “I know.”

Splinter opened his eyes, watching him with a deep sadness. “You are my son, Leonardo. My second eldest.” His ears flattened slightly. “Do you truly not see how much it would pain me to lose you?”

Leo flinched at the word–lose.

He thought about how his father lost so much in his life. He thought about old, calloused hands stroking tenderly against his bruised head. About his fathers desperate voice begging him to hold on. Telling him that everything is going to be okay. That he had to be okay.

Leo was almost lost once. His life nearly snuffed out under the wrath of a monster.

And yet, he was choosing to leave now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he admitted quietly.

Leo sat slumped, his hands clenching against his knees, staring at the floor like it held all the answers he couldn’t find. Splinter studied him for a long moment. His sharp gaze reading between the lines of everything unsaid. The weight in his son’s shoulders, the exhaustion in his eyes–Splinter had seen this before. Not just in others. Not just in his oldest son's strong frame, but in himself.

Then slowly, he exhaled.

“You remind me of myself, Leonardo.”

Leo’s head lifted slightly, his brows drawing together.

Splinter sighed, his ears lowering as his gaze grew distant. “Out of all your brothers, you have always been the most like me.”

Leo blinked, startled by this admission.

His ears tilted back slightly, and his voice took on a thoughtful, almost wistful tone. “Not just now…not just since you took the position of leader..” His eyes flickered towards Leo, something deep and knowing in his gaze. “I saw it long before.”

Leo’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

“I saw it in your confidence,” Splinter continued. “Your arrogance. Your wit. In the way you crave recognition. Your need to be seen, to stand out. You have a presence, my son. A flair for theatrics.” His lips quirked slightly. "You have an ability to take control of any situation, even if you are in over your head.”

He looked away from Leo.

“I remember how you used to brush off your responsibilities,” Splinter said, his voice taking on an almost nostalgic note. “How you would make light of serious situations, crack jokes in the face of danger. How you would challenge your brothers with that same cocky smirk, only to roll your eyes when I reprimand you.” His lips curled slightly. “You always had the makings of a great leader…but you did not yet understand the weight of it. I often wondered if you would ever take things seriously.”

Leo swallowed.

He remembered too.

Before the invasion. Before everything changed, he had been reckless. He’d joked his way through battles, taken unnecessary risks, believed himself untouchable.

Then reality had hit him like a freight train.

And now, here he was, a year later, bearing the weight of every mistake, every failure, every life-or-death decision on his shoulders.

Splinter sighed, running a hand down his robe. “You have changed, my son. We all see it.”

Leo looked away. “I had too.”

Splinter’s gaze softened further. “In some ways, yes.”

A silence settled again, heavy with the past.

Then, Splinter exhaled. “It scared me sometimes.”

Leo’s eyes snapped back to him, startled. “...What?”

Splinter’s ears flicked slightly, his fingers tightening against the mug. “You are so much like me, Leonardo, that it frightened me.” His voice dropped lower, as if confessing a long-held secret. “I saw my own flaws reflected in you–the same arrogance, the same recklessness.” He hesitated. “The same desire to carry everything alone.”

Leo stiffened.

Splinter sighed, rubbing his brow. “I carried many burdens when I was young. I was much like you. Confident. Charismatic. Playful.” He chuckled. “Perhaps even a little insufferable at times.”

Leo couldn’t help but smirk faintly. “Now that, I believe.”

Splinter smiled, shaking his head. “I had a sharp tongue and a desire for fame. I was quick-witted, proud…and, like you, I wanted to prove myself.” He met Leo’s gaze, something heavy lingering beneath his words. “I needed to prove myself.”

Leo swallowed. His smirk fading.

“I believed I had to be strong for others, that I had to shoulder my pain alone.” His gaze darkened, lost in memories, “I hid my struggles behind a facade. Behind humor and confidence. I too once ran away from my responsibilities. And because of that, others suffered.” He looked at Leo tiredly, guilt and pain in his eyes. “You and your brothers suffered.”

Leo’s mouth was dry.

Splinter continued, his tone softer now. “I look at you, and I see the man I once was. I see the same fire, the same stubborn heart. And I fear…” He hesitated, exhaling shakily. “I fear that you will make the same mistakes I did. That, like me, you would learn too late that strength is not found in solitude.” He met Leo’s gaze. “I feared that you would break under the weight of it all.”

Leo’s breath was shallow.

He knew what his dad was saying.

Because he was breaking.

Because he had spent the past year forcing himself to be stronger, to be better, to be the leader his family needed. And in doing so, he had taken every mistake, every loss, and folded them into himself, letting them stack, and stack, and stack until the burden felt unbearable.

Splinter reached out then, gently resting a hand over Leo’s clenched fist.

“But you are not me, Leonardo.”

Leo’s breath hitched.

“You are better.”

His fingers twitched under his fathers touch, and for a moment, he felt like a child again.

Splinter smiled, weary but full of love. “You are stronger than I ever was. Wiser. Smarter. More loving. You lead with your heart, even when you try to convince yourself that logic must come first.” His thumb brushed against Leo’s knuckles. “That is what makes you different.”

Leo swallowed hard, his throat was tight, his chest aching with something raw and unspoken.

“I know you still joke,” Splinter continued, his voice carrying a quiet fondness. “You still quip and throw one-liners, still greet danger with a smirk.” His ears twitched. “But I also see how heavy your heart has become.”

Leo’s jaw clenched.

“The invasion changed you.” Splinter’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “You take your responsibility seriously now. You are growing up.” He squeezed Leo’s hand gently. “But my son…you do not need to grow alone. You do not need to throw away the things that make you, you.”

Splinter hesitated, then reached out his other hand to cup the side of Leo’s face, his touch light but grounding. “You four have taught me so much.” His thumb rubbed against his jaw lightly. “You boys have shown me that strength does not come from standing alone. It comes from those who stand beside us.”

Leo inhaled sharply, something twisting deep in his chest. “Papa…”

Splinter’s expression was pained, his voice thick with emotion. “I do not say this to stop you, my son. You are not a child anymore–I know you must walk your own path.” His voice softened. “But I need you to understand…that you do not have to do this alone.”

Leo lowered his gaze, his fingers tightening around his fathers hand. “I don’t know how else to move forward,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Splinter sighed, his hand releasing his face and bringing it to rest where his other hand wraps around Leo’s, stilling his shaking fist.”Then let us move forward together.”

Leo stiffened.

“Train with me,” Splinter urged gently. “Here. With your family. Let me help you carry this burden.”

Leo’s chest clenched. It was tempting–pizza supreme, it was so tempting. But…

He shook his head, pulling his hand away. “I need this, dad.” His voice wavered, but he pushed through. “I need to step away from all of this. I need to find my own strength.”

Splinter’s ears tilted downward. His gaze flickered with something deep and pained. But after a long moment, he nodded. Without another word, he stood and disappeared down the hall.

Leo blinked, caught off guard. “Uh…pops?"

Minutes passed. The only sound was the faint hum of the muted television. Then, Splinter returned, carrying something in his hands.

An old scroll and a map.

He handed them to Leo with a heavy heart.

“...The temple lies deep in the mountains of my old village,” he said finally. His voice was quieter now, tinged with something almost distant. “It is a sacred place. A place of solitude. Few have set foot there in centuries.”

Leo sat up straighter, hope stirring in his chest. “Then it’s real?”

Splinter nodded. “Very much so.” His gaze flickered back to his son, searching his face. “Are you certain you want to do this, Blue?”

Leo met his gaze, he smiled–soft, sad, but certain. “I am.”

With a sigh, Splinter stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Then go,” He said softly. “But remember this.” He squeezed Leo’s hand once more. “You have nothing to prove. I am already proud of you.”

Leo inhaled shakily, nodding. “Thanks, dad.”

He stood, hesitating for just a second longer than necessary. Then he turned, moving towards the stairs.

Just as he reached them, Splinter’s voice called out once more.

“My baby blue…”

Leo stopped.

“You do not have to carry this weight alone.”

Leo’s fingers tightened around the scroll in his hands.

Then, without turning back, he walked away.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of the lair was different at night. Quieter, Still. The warm echoes of his brothers’ laughter and chatter had long since faded, but they lingered faintly in the air–like the scent of Mikey’s cookies or the echo of Donnies latest rant about a project he was working on. Leo stood alone in his room, illuminated only by the soft glow of a desk lamp and the occasional flicker from the hallway.

His duffel bag sat open on the bed. Methodically, he placed items inside–extra masks, a clean set of gear, a worn hoodie he stole from Raph years ago, a stash of protein bars Mikey insisted were ‘emergency-approved,’ and a sheathed tanto gifted by Splinter a while back. Not too much. Just what he’d need. He wanted to travel light.

Then came the photo.

He reached for it slowly, fingers brushing over the frame. It was the one they’d taken after the invasion. They looked awful–tired and still bruised–but they were together. Alive. Victorious. Happy. He traced their faces one by one–Donnie’s half-smirk, Mikey’s peace sign, Raph standing tall behind them all. April, with her arm around Casey. Even Splinter, smiling brightly. Draxum stood awkwardly in the back, like he still wasn’t sure he belonged. Leo stared at his own face last. His smile was big. Confident. But looking at it now, all he could feel was a small amount of bitterness.

He sat on the edge of the bed, photo in hand, bag nearly packed.

He wasn’t leaving yet. Not tonight. But soon. A few more days, maybe. That’s all he had left here.

They won’t understand. He thought. They’ll try to stop me. Tell me I’m enough. That I don’t have to carry this weight. But they don’t understand–not really. The pressure. The fear. The guilt.

He took a shaky breath.

He was scared. Not of going. Not of the solitude or the journey ahead. But of telling them. Of seeing the looks on their faces. Of hearing their voices crack and their hearts break. Leo knows he is loved. He is a part of a family that constantly shows him that.

Will they be angry? Hurt? Betrayed? Will they think I’m abandoning them?

The photo trembled in his grip.

But he knew he had to do it. Not tomorrow. Not the night before he left. Tonight. Because they deserved the truth. And he…he needed to face it.

“Okay,” Leo whispered to himself, setting the photo gently into the top of the bag. “Just…breathe. You’ve totally fought worse than this.”

Why did a part of him feel like that wasn’t true?

----------

The lair was quiet. Everyone had gathered in the living room–Raph lounging on the couch, Donnie reading something on his tablet, Mikey curled up with a blanket, Casey polishing his gear. April leaned against the wall, doing what looked like school work. Gross. It was one of those rare, calm nights where nothing was broken, no alarms were blaring, and no one was bleeding.

Leo stood in the doorway, backlit by the light in the stairwell. His shadow stretched across the room like a question no one had asked yet.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Can I…talk to you guys?”

They all looked up, instantly alert.

Leo stepped in, that familiar grin tugging at his lips–one he always wore when something was wrong and he didn’t want them to worry. “So…I’m leaving in a couple of days.”

Silence. Immediate and sharp.

“What?” Raph was the first to react, bolting upright. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I’m going to Japan.” Leo said calmly. “To train. At the Hamato Temple dad told us about a while back.”

Donnie’s brows furrowed. “You’re kidding. Right? Is this a joke? Because if so–ha, ha, very funny, now sit down.”

Leo shook his head. “I’m serious.”

“Dude, why?” Mikey asked, eyes wide, voice rising. “Why would you do this now?”

“Because I have to,” Leo said. “I’ve been…off. Since the invasion. You all know it.”

“Yeah, but we all have!” Donnie snapped. “That doesn’t mean we run off to another continent.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Raph muttered darkly.

Leo’s gaze dropped. “I’m doing this so I don’t fail you again. I have to get better. Stronger. I have to know that if something like that ever happens again…I’ll be ready.”

April stepped forward, voice gentle. “Leo, no one blames you for what happened. None of us do.”

“I do,” he said quietly.

That landed heavy.

Casey looked down, fiddling with the strap on his mask. “I…I get it,” he said. “But…I still don’t want you to go.”

Donnie scoffed. “This is insane. You don’t need to become some mystical super-ninja in a temple halfway across the planet to be a good leader.” He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Nothing could possibly go wrong with that!”

Leo turned to Donnie, offering a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, Dee. I promise.”

But Donnie wasn’t reassured. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed off towards his lab, slamming the door behind him.

Leo sighed. He expected that.

“You’re already a good leader,” Mikey added to what Donnie had said, tears building in his eyes. “You’re my leader. My brother.”

Leo tried to laugh, tried to make it light. “Aw, Mikey, don’t cry, man. You’re gonna make me cry, and then Raph’s gonna cry, and then we’ll have a waterfall in the lair.”

“Shut up, Leo!” Mikey shouted suddenly, and the room went still. He was crying now–silent tears running down his cheeks, his fists clenched. “You always do this. You act like everything’s fine. Like you’re okay. But you’re not! And you won’t even let us help you.”

Leo stepped towards him, but Mikey backed away, shaking his head with anger and hurt filled eyes before running out of the room.

Leo’s heart broke a little.

April sighed and pulled Leo into a hug, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll go check in on Donnie,” She said softly, and then she was gone too.

Casey moved forward next, hesitating, then hugged Leo tight. “Come back. Please.”

“I will,” Leo whispered. “I promise.”

When it was just Raph left, he still hadn’t moved. He stared at the floor like it held the answer to why this was happening.

“Raph,” Leo said.

“You almost died, Leo.” Raph said, his voice rough. “A year ago. I thought I lost you. I watched that portal close. Saw how hurt you were.” His voice cracked. “I can’t do that again.”

Leo didn’t know what to say. He just stepped closer.

Raph finally looked up. “You’re gonna do what you're gonna do. But don’t expect me to be happy with it.”

“I don’t.” Leo whispered. “But I need you to trust me.”

Raph stood. Taller, broader, but not stronger in this moment. “I do. That’s the worst part.”

They didn’t hug. The tension was too thick for that. They just stood there, staring. That was enough.

As Leo walked back to his room that night, the weight in his chest was heavier than it had ever been.

He had to go.

But gosh, it still hurt.

And he still had a few more days left in the only place that ever felt like home.

----------

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft hiss of a pan and the rhythmic sound of a spatula against metal. The scent of eggs and butter hung warm in the air, faintly comforting against the chill of the lair. The overhead lights buzzed low, casting pale yellow across the countertops, the table, and the two figures already occupying the room.

Mikey stood at the stove, his back to the doorway, a dish towel tossed over one shoulder. His movements were stiff, robotic. The usual humming, the morning playlist, the jokes–none of it was there. Just the sharp sizzle of eggs, and the tight set of his shoulders.

Donnie stood near the coffee maker, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other pouring hot liquid into a tall ceramic mug. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were dark behind the glasses he always wore on mornings. Tired. Cold.

Leo stepped into the kitchen and immediately felt the weight of the air shift. Heavy. Unforgiving.

He swallowed thickly and forced a smile. “Morning,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. Like normal.

Donnie glanced up, and something in his gaze cut straight through Leo–sharp, precise, and brimming with disappointment. He didn’t say anything. Just huffed, snatched his coffee, and brushed past Leo with a shoulder check harder than necessary. He left the room without a word.

Leo’s smile faded.

His chest ached as guilt twisted in his gut, curling like smoke. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to Mikey, who hadn’t turned around.

“I, uh…smell eggs,” Leo tried, his voice quiet, unsure.

Mikey’s only response was a harsh clatter of the spatula against the skillet.

Leo shifted awkwardly near the table. The sound of Raph’s furious punches echoed faintly from the dojo–thump, thump, slam–an angry heartbeat reverberating through the lair.

Leo sat down slowly at the kitchen table, watching Mikey’s back. Watching the way his hands moved. Slight tremors betrayed his frustration.

He couldn’t look away.

This was his baby brother. His sunshine, The brightest light in their family. The one who painted stars on broken walls and baked joy into cookies when the world felt too heavy. The one who never stopped believing in people.

You don’t deserve him, Leo thought.

Mikey finally turned, his expression unreadable, mouth set in a firm line. He grabbed two plates, scooped eggs onto each, and walked to the table. Without a word, he shoved one plate across the table toward Leo. The eggs slid a little, but Leo caught it before it tipped onto the floor.

“Thanks,” He murmured.

Mikey sat across from him, hard. His fists clenched in his lap. His eyes shimmered–but not from the heat of the stove.

Neither of them touched their food.

Silence stretched between them, taut and uncomfortable. Leo stared at his little brother, at the way his jaw trembled with held-back emotion, at the subtle shaking of his fingers. His bright orange mask was tied tighter than usual, like it was holding him together.

Leo tried again. “You know, I thought about faking my own death instead. But I figured Raph would actually kill me after.”

It was weak. The joke hung between them like a balloon losing air. Mikey didn’t even blink. He just huffed sharply through his nose and looked down at his plate, unmoving.

Leo’s smile faded completely this time.

They sat there in silence for another minute. Two. Five.

Leo waited. Because he knew his brother. Knew that eventually, Mikey’s heart would open–because it always did. Because Mikey couldn’t hide his feelings for long, not when it came to family. He never had.

And finally, Mikey cracked.

His voice came out rough and thick, like it had taken everything in him to speak. “I hate this.”

Leo looked up slowly, meeting his gaze.

“I hate that you’re leaving,” Mikey said. His voice trembled. “I hate that you waited until the last minute to say anything. That you didn’t talk to us about it before making a decision. I hate that you always do this–you carry everything until you break, and then you just…leave.”

Leo opened his mouth, But Mikey held up a hand, eyes blazing now.

“I get it, okay? I get why you’re doing it. I do. You think you’re not enough. You think that if you don’t do this, we’ll get hurt again. That you’ll fail us.” His voice cracked. “But you’re the only one who feels that way.”

Leo dropped his gaze. “Mikey…”

“I’ve always looked up to you,” Mikey whispered. “Even when you were being a jerk. Even when you got bossy or tried to act like some big-shot samurai. I’ve always thought you were so cool. You never babied me like Raph does. You treated me like I was more than capable. Like I could fight alongside you. Like I could do something.”

Leo felt his throat tighten.

“And yeah,” Mikey continued, voice quieter now. “You struggled. After dad made you leader, you weren’t the same. You got scared. You pulled away. But after the invasion, I saw you try. I see you, Leo. We all do. You took it seriously. You stepped up.”

Mikey was crying now. Tears streaked down his face, his shoulders trembling as he stared across the table.

“You’re already good enough,” Mikey whispered. “You’re already…everything I need in a big brother. Everything I look up to and want to be. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Leo couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

The plates of eggs between them sat untouched. The steam had long since faded.

Leo stood slowly, the chair legs scraping against the floor. He walked around the table and knelt beside Mikey, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

Mikey broke.

He launched forward, arms wrapping around Leo’s neck, head tucking into the crook of his shoulder. He sobbed–full body, shaking sobs–and clung to Leo like he’d disappear if he let go.

Leo held him close, fingers digging into Mikey’s shell. “I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I’m so sorry this is hurting you. Hurting all of you. But I have to do this.”

Mikey said nothing, just cried harder.

“I have to do this for you,” Leo murmured. “For Donnie. For Raph. For pops and April and Casey…But I also have to do it for me. Because this–this fear, this weight–it never went away. Even when I smiled. Even when I led. I’m always afraid.”

Mikey hiccupped a breath. “So face it with us.”

“I want to,” Leo said. “Pizza Supreme, I want to. But I won’t ever be the brother you deserve if I don’t learn how to live with this. If I don’t learn how to carry it without letting it crush me.”

Mikey sniffed and mumbled into his neck, “You’re so stupid.”

Leo chuckled, the sound shaky. “Yeah. I know.”

They sat like that for a long time.

Eventually, Leo pulled back slightly, just enough to see his brother's face. “I’ll come back soon,” he promised. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Mikey scowled through his tears. “You better. Or I’ll rip open another portal and drag you back myself.”

Leo froze.

He remembered that moment. The glow in Mikey’s eyes. The storm in his hands. Golden cracks creeping up his little brother’s arms. The portal, fueled by desperation and love and power Mikey didn’t understand yet.

Guilt roared to life in Leo’s chest again, burning hot and painful.

But he shoved it down, just for now, and hugged his brother tighter.

“I believe you would,” he whispered.

----------

Donnie had been avoiding him.

Leo wasn’t just imagining it–it was blatant. Calculated. The kind of cold shoulder only Donnie could pull off with such effortless precision. Ever since Leo told them about Japan, Donnie had vanished into his lab and slammed the door shut behind him like he was sealing off the rest of the world. No words. No eye contact. No sarcastic quips or tech rants.

Just silence.

The kind that wrapped around Leo like a straightjacket.

He hated this.

He hated the way the tension clung to the air like a storm that refused to break. Every room he entered felt colder, tighter. Like the air itself was holding its breath. Every meal, every casual pass in the hallway–strained. Pulled thin. And Leo didn’t know how to fix it.

He thought about the conversation with Mikey the day before–how his little brother had folded into his arms with so much hurt and love that it had nearly broken Leo open. Mikey had thawed after that. Not completely, but enough that Leo could see the warmth behind his eyes again, the cracks of hope beneath the sadness.

And Casey…Casey hadn’t said much, but Leo saw the understanding in his expression.

That kid had seen too much for someone his age. He’d grown up watching a version of Leo who carried the world on his back and bled himself dry doing it. Who had made every hard choice so his family didn’t have to. Casey knew exactly why Leo felt the need to leave–because he’d seen firsthand what it looked like when he didn’t.

But Donnie…

Donnie wasn’t giving him anything.

Just closed doors and tight silences. And Leo could feel the rejection of it like a bruise under his skin.

He stared at the sealed entrance to Donnie’s lab. The faint purple lighting along the frame flickered with motion as he approached, casting thin shadows across the floor. There were smudges on the metal from Donnie’s gloves–burn marks, fingerprints. Leo remembered when they were kids, how Donnie used to paint stars on his walls with glow-in-the-dark paint because he liked the feeling of sleeping under a sky.

Leo reached out and rested a hand against the cool metal panel beside the door.

“I’m still your sky,” he whispered under his breath, voice so soft it was barely audible. “Even if I’m far away.”

He knocked–three times, firm but gentle.

There was a pause. Long enough that Leo wondered if Donnie was going to pretend he didn’t hear.

But then the door unlocked with a hiss and slid open.

Leo exhaled.

That was something.

He stepped inside. The lab was dim, lit by the glow of monitors and humming machinery. The air was warm, dry–buzzing with the faint scent of ozone, solder, and citrus-based cleaning spray. Familiar, lived-in. And dead silent.

Donnie was at his desk, hunched over something mechanical. His goggles were strapped tightly over his eyes. Hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just kept working.

Leo hesitated in the doorway. The soft hum of machines and the gentle clack of Donnie’s tools were the only sounds in the room. The lab felt colder somehow, despite the warmth. Less like a sanctuary and more like a fortress.

Still, Leo stepped forward, his footsteps soft on the hard floor. He moved to the chair tucked against the wall right next to Donnie’s workspace–the one he always used. He sat there a hundred times before, when sleep wouldn’t come, watching Donnie work late into the night. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn’t need to. But this silence was different.

Heavy. Strained.

Leo studied his brother–how stiff his shoulders were, how fast and sharp his movements had become. Not the smooth rhythm he usually had when he was focused. This wasn’t passion fueled building. This was angry building. Donnie’s form of screaming into a pillow.

Leo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know,” he said casually, “If I was a more sensitive turtle, I might think you were avoiding me.”

Nothing.

No reaction. Just the click of metal against metal and the whir of a screwdriver.

Leo smiled bitterly. “Don’t tell me you installed a cloaking device in your lab just to dodge emotional conversations. Because if you did, I’m both offended and impressed.”

Still nothing.

Leo sighed and leaned back, letting the silence settle again. It pressed against his ribs like a weight. This was worse than shouting. Worse than anger. Because Leo knew this silence. He’d seen it after the invasion–when Donnie had worked himself half to death just to keep his hands moving. When the fear had buried itself so deep inside him that only the clang of tools could keep it at bay.

Leo’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Dee.”

That did it. Donnie’s hand froze mid-movement. Just for a heartbeat. But Leo caught it.

“I’m not here to start a fight,” Leo continued. “I know this hurts. And I know you’re angry. You have every right to be.” He ran a hand over his head, sighing. “I didn’t want to drop this on everyone like that, I really didn’t. But it’s not about just needing to train. It’s about needing…clarity. About needing to feel like myself again. Like I can lead, without feeling like I’m walking on a wire all the time.”

He just sat there, breathing in the static of the lab, letting the moment live without forcing it to resolve. He could be patient. He needed to be patient. Because this wasn’t just about him. This was about Donnie, and what his choice meant to him.

He watched Donnie breathe a slow breath, measured but sharp, before he finally set his tools down with a click. He lifted his goggles to sit atop his head and turned slightly, not fully facing Leo, but just enough that Leo could see the tight line of his jaw.

“You know what’s illogical, Leo?” Donnie’s voice was low, clipped. “Thinking that abandoning the only support system you have is somehow going to make you stronger. That walking into the wilderness with nothing but some overdeveloped guilt complex is going to somehow solve your trauma.”

Leo blinked, guilt already gnawing at him.

Donnie stood abruptly, the stool screeching slightly against the floor. He ran a hand over his bandana-tied head, pacing across the lab with fast, restless energy.

“You say it’s for training. For growth. But what it sounds like is you’re doing what you always do–taking all that weight, all that pain, and shoving it down until it festers into something you think you need to fix alone.”

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but Donnie kept going.

“You promised me,” Donnie snapped, turning to face him fully now. His expression was no longer cold–it was raw, eyes gleaming, voice trembling. “We promised, Leo. After the invasion. That we’d always stick together. That no matter what happened, we’d have each other’s backs. And now you’re just gonna leave?”

“I’m not–” Leo started, voice soft, but Donnie’s voice rose over him.

“You were supposed to stay. After all of it–after we pulled you out of that hell dimension, after watching you break apart and rebuild yourself–you were supposed to stay. I watched that damn portal close thinking that I lost you! My older brother. My best friend.”

Donnie’s hands were shaking now. “And now you’re just…choosing to leave? After everything?”

Leo stood slowly, crossing the space between them with careful steps. “Dee, I didn’t want to make that choice back then. You think I wanted to be the one to do that?” His voice cracked. “But it was you or Mikey or Raph…or the world. And I made the only choice I could, I’d make it again if it meant keeping you safe.”

Donnie turned his face away, jaw clenched so tight Leo could see the strain in his neck.

“You always do that,” Donnie muttered. “You’re always the first to throw yourself on the grenade. Always the first to give pieces of yourself like they don’t matter.” His voice dropped, bitter and broken. “But they matter to me, I don’t care if you think it’s noble, Leo–I’m tired of watching you tear yourself apart for us.”

Leo’s chest felt heavy, like someone had tied lead weights to his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For hurting you. For breaking that promise. I never wanted this to feel like a betrayal. I just…I need to do this. For all of you…but also for me. I need to be able to breathe again. Without feeling like I’m one misstep from failing you all.”

Donnie’s hands dropped to his sides, tense.

“I don’t want some perfected version of you.” he said, quieter now. “I just want my stupid, arrogant, annoying, brave, brilliant, joke-cracking dum-dum brother.”

Leo gave a breathy laugh. “Well, you’ve still got him. He’s not going away forever.”

Donnie’s eyes burned into him. “Promise?”

Leo nodded. “I will always come back to you guys.”

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then Leo stepped forward. “Can I…?” he asked softly, motioning towards him.

Donnie hesitated, throat bobbing with emotion–then nodded, stiffly.

Leo pulled him into a hug.

Donnie’s arms wrapped around him tight, tighter than usual, like he was afraid Leo might vanish if he let go. His face tucked into Leo’s shoulder, quiet except for the shaky breath that rattled out of him.

Leo held on just as tightly, guilt swirling in his gut but also a fragile peace blooming there too. They stood in the middle of the lab, surrounded by glowing monitors and half-finished machines and the quiet hum of a dozen small fans.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Leo murmured, voice thick. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Donnie didn’t say anything, but his arms stayed locked around Leo like a vice.

And Leo knew that was answer enough.

----------

The dojo was dimly lit, warm amber tones filtering through the sewer grates as the early evening sun began to dip below the skyline. Shadows danced lazily along the matted floor as the punching bag swayed from the force of Raph’s strikes. Each punch from him landed with practiced force, his knuckles meeting the swaying bag like clockwork–deliberate, powerful, but just shy of violent. His breathing came hard through his nose, shoulders rising and falling with each exhale. Sweat darkened the edges of his bandana, traced his arms in thin rivulets. It should have been peaceful. But the tension in the air said otherwise.

Leo stood at the entrance. Watching. Waiting. Arms crossed loosely, fingers absently gripping his elbows like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

He didn’t want to interrupt. Raph always trained like this when he was upset. And Leo knew–knew–that he was the reason this time. Just like so many times before.

But before he could say anything, Raph turned.

He wiped his forearm across his brow, tossed a towel over his shoulder, and jerked his chin towards Leo without missing a beat. “How long you gonna hover over there?”

Leo blinked. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re literally standing in the doorway like a ghost. That’s pretty interrupt-y.”

Leo gave a weak shrug, looking down at the floor.

Raph sighed–sharp and tired–and nodded toward the mat. “Come on. Sit.”

Leo hesitated, then stepped inside. The sound of his soft footsteps sounded far too loud in the stillness. He settled across from his brother, mirroring Raph’s posture–knees crossed, arms resting casually in his lap, like it wasn’t taking everything in him to stay still.

Raph didn’t speak at first. He just looked at him.

Leo didn’t meet his gaze.

The silence between them wasn’t tense the way it had been with Donnie–it wasn’t sharp or bitter. But it was heavy. Heavy with everything unsaid. With a history of old fights. With love so fierce for the other but so hard to say.

Leo swallowed. Raph was quiet, unmoving, except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. And Leo…he felt small. Like the little brother again. The one who used to peek into Raphie’s room after a nightmare. The one who used to trail behind him on missions just to prove a point he could keep up. The one who used to make everything worse without realizing it.

Finally, Raph spoke. “What are you thinkin’ Leo?”

Leo blinked slowly, plastering on a grin and leaning forward slightly. “So you admit I can think?”

Raph gave him a look, one brow raised like he wasn’t in the mood to play games. “You know what I mean. You making the decision to leave? And not talking to us about it beforehand? The fact that you’ve already decided to go and it’s not just some idea anymore?”

Leo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I was gonna talk to you about it.”

“When?”

Leo didn’t answer.

Raph sighed again, this time through his nose, long and slow. “Why, Leo?”

That did it.

Leo’s shoulders tensed, his eyes darted–somewhere past Raph, out towards fading light, like he was searching for an excuse out there in the dusk. “You already know why,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Raph said gently. “But I want to hear it from you.”

Leo flinched.

He didn’t want to say it. Not to Raph of all people. His big, unshakable brother who he’s always admired. Because saying it made it real. Made the guilt sharper. The fear louder. Raph’s voice was too gentle, too knowing. It cracked something open that Leo had been trying so hard to keep shut.

Raph reached up to rub the back of his neck, then let his hand drop into his lap. “We talked about this, Leo. So many times. Thought you finally got it–that you don’t need to do things on your own. That you’ve got us. A team. A family.”

Leo’s heart twisted “I’m not–”

“You are,” Raph said. “You always do. You take it all on and smile like everything’s fine. And the second it’s not? You disappear.”

Leo’s throat tightened. He looked down at the floor again. Counting the strings of fabric in the mat beneath him.

“Why Japan?” Raph asked, quieter now. “Why away?”

Leo’s voice, when it came back, was flat, guarded. “I need to train.”

“You can train here.”

“I need to train differently.”

“That’s not the real reason.”

Leo shut his eyes, jaw clenching.

Raph leaned in slightly, his voice steady but low. “Talk to me, Leo. Please. I’m listening this time.”

Leo stayed silent. Why was it always so hard for him to talk to Raph about stuff like this? They used to be able to do it all the time, before the invasion, before they started trying to become heroes. Before, when things were simpler and their biggest concern was watching extreme skateboarding and beating a high score. He hated this–being seen. Raph could always read him, even when he didn’t want to be read.

Raph waited. Patient for once.

Finally, Leo spoke, barely audible. “Because I don’t feel right.”

Raph blinked.

Leo exhaled shakily. “Ever since the invasion…something’s been off. In my head. In my body. I feel like I’m here, but not really here. Like I’m still…somewhere else. And I’ve been trying to hide it, to lead, to be what everyone needs me to be, but…”

He swallowed.

“I can’t breathe sometimes, Raph. I’m always so scared.”

That admission lingered in the air like smoke. Leo hunched in on himself, ashamed.

Raph’s voice came carefully. “Leo…why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Leo’s hands twisted in his lap. “Because you’ve already got enough to carry. You always did.” He swallowed. “And…I don’t want to disappoint you.” Because even still, after everything they’ve been through, letting down his big brother will always be his greatest fear.

Something softened in Raph’s expression.

Leo kept going, the words spilling out now. “And I know…I know we’ve been better since the invasion. But before that? We couldn’t even look at each other without fighting. I didn’t understand you. And you didn’t understand me. You were always so angry and so loud and I just…I pushed back. Harder. Tried to make you give up on me. And you didn’t.”

Raph looked away, blinking quickly.

Leo’s voice dropped. “I thought if I messed up bad enough, pops would give it back to you. The leadership. You always protected us. Even when dad was distant. You were the one who made sure we were okay. I looked up to you, but I couldn’t say it. I was too busy trying to be not you.”

Silence. Choking and suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” Leo whispered.

Raph stared at the mat for a long moment, breathing through something thick in his chest. Then he said, “You really think I wanted to lead?”

Leo looked up, startled.

“Maybe at first, when we were younger and didn’ know anything. But when things started gettin’ serious? Scary? I didn’ want that, Leo. I wanted someone else to carry it. I pushed you because I didn’ know how else to help. I was scared too. You just never saw it.”

Leo blinked hard.

They were so much alike, he realized. So much it hurt.

“I almost lost you that day,” Raph murmured. “I watched that portal close and I thought I lost my little brother. My pian-in-the-shell baby brother who never listens and never shuts up. And now you’re leavin’ to go to Japan.”

“I’m not running,” Leo said, quick and quiet.

“I know,” Raph replied. “But that doesn’t make it easier.”

Leo looked at Raph then–really looked. And Leo saw it. The fear in his big brother’s eyes. The same fear he carried.

Leo didn’t breathe.

“What if something happens?” Raph snapped, the emotion bursting out of him like a dam breaking. “What if you get hurt, or sick, or lost and we can’t find you? What if I’m not there to catch you this time?”

Leo felt the burn in his chest, hot and guilty and aching.

“I can’t lose you again, Leo,” Raph said, and the words sounded small in his big voice. “You’re here. You’re home. And now you’re going to be half a world away and I can’t…I don’t know how to protect you if you’re not here.”

Leo reached across the space and placed his hand on top of Raph’s, grounding him. “I know. And I hate that it hurts you. You won’t lose me. You’ve always protected me. You always will. But this time…I need to protect myself too,” he said. “But I promise, If anything happens, I can portal back. I’ll never be completely gone. I’ll always be able to reach you.”

Raph looked at their hands. His shoulders shook once.

Leo leaned forward. “Please. I need you to trust me.”

And Raph did. Of course he did. But that didn’t take the fear away.

“I do,” He murmured. “I just don’t like it.”

They sat in silence again, the shadows in the dojo growing longer. Above them, the subway roared, the only sound in the quiet stillness.

And then–almost too fast to register–Raph pulled him into a hug.

Leo froze for a second, caught off guard, before sinking into it. Raph’s arms were tight, warm, grounding. He held him like he meant it. Like he needed to.

“Promise me something,” Raph said, voice hoarse. “Promise me that you’ll stay safe. That you’ll come home.”

Leo gave a small nod, cheek rubbing against Raph’s arm, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I promise,” he whispered.

“I’ll miss you, little brother.” Raph mumbled against the top of Leo’s head.

Leo laughed wetly. “You too, Raphie.”

They stayed like that for a long time, the dojo wrapped in golden light and shadows. The sun kept falling. The train kept roaring overhead.

But in the stillness, something settled.

Not goodbye.

Not really.

Just I’ll see you again.

----------

The lair was quiet–still, like the air was holding its breath. Morning light had only just begun to spill in through the cracks in the city above, painting long shadows across the floor. The world hadn’t quite woken up yet.

Leo stood in the center of his room, staring at the packed bag resting at his feet.

His fingers brushed over the cloak draped across his bed. It was heavier than it looked–dark, nearly black, with subtle embroidery running across the fabric in deep blue thread. Sewed lovingly by his father. The Hamato crest was patterned into it–woven again and again along the edges like quiet armor. Not loud or boastful, but ever-present. Like his family. Like his duty. A symbol of where he came from and the legacy he carried.

He pulled it around his shoulders and fastened it at the collar. The fabric settled around him like a whisper, like shadow. Like resolve.

This is it.

He looked around his room one last time–the place where he’d laughed, fought, cried. The drawings Mikey had taped to the walls. The notes Donnie had left when he was testing something new. The scuffed edges on his wall from when Raph punched his giant fist through it. All the memories lived here.

But it was time to go.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, adjusting the strap of his katanas. His heart was already starting to ache.

When he stepped out, they were all waiting for him.

The living room was quiet, bathed in a golden-blue glow from the ceiling lights. Every single one of them was there–Splinter, Raph, Donnie, Mikey, April, Casey…even Draxum, arms crossed and scowling like usual.

Leo stopped in his tracks.

They looked at him, eyes wide and tired and full. No one spoke right away. The only sound was the usual distant noise of New York overhead and the soft hum of the lair.

He swallowed hard.

They don’t want me to go. He could feel it in the air. Thick. Heavy. A silence carved out of grief and love all tangled together.

But he has to.

He stepped forward.

Draxum moved first, arms still crossed, expression unreadable. “So. The Hamato Temple.”

Leo nodded, adjusting his bag. “It’s still standing. Abandoned, but…full of energy. Mystical stuff. Dad says the ninpo there is strong. If anywhere can help me get stronger it’s that place.”

Draxum studied him carefully. “You believe it will help?”

“I need to believe it,” Leo replied, voice quieter now. “Something has to.”

Draxum hummed in thought. His gaze was sharp, calculating, but there was something else in it too–something almost…concerned?

Leo smirked. “What? Worried about me?”

Draxum scoffed. “Hardly. If anything happens, it will be due to your own recklessness.”

Leo chuckled. “So, yeah. You’re worried.”

Draxum rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath before sighing. “The Hamato Clan has always been a resilient bloodline. I suppose you’ll survive.”

Leo grinned. “Wow. Such high praise.”

Draxum scowled. “And yet, despite my growing tolerance for you, I am still reminded of how I once threw you off a building.”

Leo gasped dramatically. “I can’t believe you brought that up.”

Draxum gave him a flat look. “You bring it up every time we see each other.”

Leo smirked. “Because it was rude.”

Draxum huffed, shaking his head. “Tch. Just…be careful, blue one.”

Leo blinked at the sudden shift in tone. He could tell that was as close to ‘take care of yourself’ as he was going to get from Draxum.

The thought made his chest feel warm.

Leo smiled. “Yeah. You too, goat man.”

Splinter walked forward next. His robes were neatly pressed for once, but his hands trembled slightly at his sides.

“Leonardo,” he said softly. “You do not have to go.”

Leo kneeled down so that he could look into his father’s eyes–so much sadness there, and pride too. “I do, Pops.”

For a moment, Splinter just looked at him. Like he was trying to memorize his face. Then he stepped forward and rested a hand against Leo’s cheek.

“You were always so eager to run,” Splinter said. “As a child. Always impatient. Always chasing something.”

Leo smiled faintly. “Some things don’t change.”

Splinter’s hand squeezed gently. “Come back to us.”

“I will.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Promise.”

Splinter pulled him into a hug,and Leo went still–then wrapped his arms tightly around his father. They stayed like that for a long moment. No words. Just warmth.

Leo reluctantly pulled out of the embrace and stood. He smiled down at his father before turning to the rest of his family. Raph stood off to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest, but there was no tension in his stance–just quiet dread. He didn’t meet Leo’s gaze at first. Not because he was angry. But because he wasn't ready.

Leo approached him slowly.

“You okay?”

Raph huffed out a breath through his nose. “That’s a dumb question.”

Leo gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, guess it is.”

There was a pause between them, thick but not awkward. Comfortable in the way only time and healing can make it.

“I’m not gonna say it again,” Raph muttered, voice low, raw. “I get it. I do. I know you need this. I know you’re not running away.”

Leo swallowed, nodding gently.

‘I just…I don’t want you to go.”

Leo’s chest ached. “I know.”

“You’re my little brother, Leo.” Raph finally looked up. His eyes were already red. “It took me so long to figure out how to be there for you, and now you’re–” he stopped, biting down on the end of the sentence.

Leo stepped closer and placed a hand on Raph’s large shoulder. “You were there, every step of the way, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Raph scoffed quietly, but his lips trembled.

“I’m not gone,” Leo said, firmer now. “I’m just…taking a different path for a while.”

Raph’s voice cracked. “Don’t take too long.”

Leo smiled, pulling his brother into a hug that Raph returned instantly, fiercely.

“I won’t.” Leo whispered.

Then, Donnie stepped up, expression neutral but his eyes gave him away.

Leo smirked. “Aw, Dee, you’re not gonna get all emotional on me, are you?”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “Please. I simply wish to remind you not to be a complete dumb-dumb while you’re out there.”

Leo grinned. “A partial dumb-dumb is okay, though?”

Donnie sighed dramatically. “I suppose I can’t expect a full miracle.”

Leo snorted. Then, with no small amount of surprise on Leo’s part, Donnie hugged him.

“...I’ll miss your stupid face,” Donnie muttered.

Leo chuckled. “I’ll miss you too, Don.”

Then came Mikey.

Leo barely had time to react before his little brother slammed into him with a force that nearly knocked the air from his lungs. Mikey’s arms wrapped around his middle, desperate and clinging.

Leo held tightly, pressing his forehead against Mikey’s shoulder.

Mikey’s voice was muffled against his chest. “I don’t like this.”

Leo closed his eyes. “I know.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Mikey’s voice cracked, and he gripped the back of Leo’s cloak tightly. “It feels like I’m losing you all over again.”

Leo’s heart shattered.

“You’re not,” he whispered. “Mikey, I swear–you’re not. I just need to find…the rest of myself. But I’m coming back. I promise you that.”

Mikey pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes swimming with tears. “You always promise stuff like that. And I always believe you. So just…please, mean it this time.”

“I do,” Leo said, and he meant it more than anything he’d ever said. “With everything I have.”

Mikey’s lips trembled as he looked at him. “Don’t let the quiet eat you up, okay? Don’t let it take you away.”

Leo’s breath hitched. “I won’t.”

Then Mikey surged forward and hugged him again, tighter than before, as if he could glue the pieces of their family together just by holding on hard enough.

Leo held him like that for a long time, soaking it in. The warmth. The love. The ache.

But he had to let go.

April stepped up next, arms crossed tightly against her chest like she was holding herself together with sheer will.

Leo gave her a small smile. “Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” April said, voice trembling just enough to betray her. “You’re about to vanish into the woods like some brooding anime protagonist.”

Leo chuckled. “I mean…you’re not wrong.”

She stepped forward, her tone softening. “You’ve always carried so much, Leo. Ever since…well, everything. You deserve peace, okay? But I just hate that peace means being away so far.”

Leo’s grin wavered. “I’ll be back.”

April looked at him for a long moment, her eyes scanning his face like she was trying to memorize it. Then she reached out and pulled him into a tight hug.

“You better,” she whispered. “And if you come back all wise and cryptic and don’t hug me right away, I swear I’ll punch you.”

Leo laughed into her shoulder. “I’ll hug you first. Promise.”

When she let go, she punched his arm lightly anyway. “Good.”

Casey Jr. was next. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Leo, arms hanging at his sides, expression unreadable.

“What? Starting to doubt my amazing decision making skills now, Case?” Leo teased gently.

Casey’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Nah. I just still think this is crazy, Sensei.”

Leo smirked. “You’ll learn to love it.”

Casey huffed before stepping forward, gripping Leo’s forearm in a firm shake that turned into a brief but strong hug.

“Just don’t take too long out there,” Caset muttered. “You’re the glue around here. Whether you see it or not.”

Leo pulled back with a small smile. “I’ll come back stronger. I’ll be who I need to be for all of you.”

“I know.” Casey gave him one last pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be here.”

Finally, Leo stepped back away from his family, taking them all in one last time. He unsheathed one of his katanas with quiet grace and sliced the air. A glowing blue portal opened before him, swirling with soft energy.

He lingered, his gaze sweeping across them–April’s trembling smile, Mikey’s red-rimmed eyes, Donnie’s stoic mask cracking, Raph’s clenched fists, Splinter’s shaking hands. Casey. Draxum.

Leo turned back towards the portal. His dark cloak fluttered with the energy coming off it–the Hamato crest faintly glowing along the back in the cool light.

He took a breath, stepping through.

And just before the portal closed behind him, a strange feeling tugged at his chest. A cold wind curled against the back of his neck. For a split second, he hesitated–his instincts catching on something he couldn’t name.

He glanced over his shoulder one last time.

The lair was still.

Whole.

Full.

The portal snapped shut behind him.

Chapter Text

Leo moved quietly through the alley, his wrapped feet barely making a sound against the worn cobblestone path. His cloak swayed around his legs, the fabric catching the breeze as he stepped out into the open.

The village stretched before him like something out of time. Traditional wooden buildings lined the narrow streets, their curved roofs tipped with tiles that caught the moonlight. Delicate strings of red and gold lanterns hung from eaves and poles, casting a warm glow that flickered across the faces of passing villagers. The scent of charcoal, smoke and sweet miso soup drifted in the air, grounding Leo with a strange, comforting sense of familiarity. A woman laughed from a nearby stall, handing a rice cake to a small child. A man adjusted his bike, humming an old folk tune under his breath. A stray cat darted between crates stacked with dried fish and pickled vegetables.

Everything was peaceful. Ordinary. And yet, it felt like a different world. Leo kept his head down, blending into the shifting shadows. His cloak, though simple in cut, carried weight. Its dark fabric was heavy, woven with threads that shimmered faintly when the light hit just right. Along the hem and across the shoulders, the Hamato crest repeated in a subtle, embroidered pattern–like whispers of his family carried on his back. He wore them with him, even now. Always.

He moved with purpose, slipping between the crowd with practiced ease, sticking to the edges of lantern light and ducking beneath overhangs and narrow passageways. When a group passed too close, he drifted into the cover of stacked crates or tucked himself behind a low wall, hood shadowing his face. The villagers, blissfully unaware, kept going about their lives.

His portal had brought him as close as possible to the Hamato Temple, but the barrier protecting it prevented him from portalling anywhere conveniently close to it. A fact he found very frustrating.

The path to the mountain wasn’t marked–at least, not for outsiders. But Leo had memorized the route from the ancient scrolls and map Splinter had given him. There would be signs only a Hamato could see.

The closer he got to the outskirts, the thinner the crowds became. Music and laughter gave way to the chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of wind in the trees. The lanterns faded behind him until he was bathed only in moonlight and shadow.

A narrow footpath cut through the fields beyond the village, winding through knee-high grasses that brushed against his legs as he walked. Fireflies danced lazily through the air, their glow soft and fleeting. In the distance, the mountain rose like a silent guardian–tall, dark, and blanketed in ancient pine.

Leo paused at the edge of the trees, casting one last look back at the village. The lights were small now. Gentle. Like stars fallen to the earth.

He took a breath and stepped forward, into the forest.

The terrain grew steeper almost immediately, the soft ground giving way to rocks and tangled roots. Trees towered on either side, their trunks wide and gnarled with age. Moss crept along every surface, and the canopy above filtered the moonlight into silvery strands that danced across the forest floor.

Leo climbed in silence, his breath steady, his senses sharp. The forest felt alive. The air was heavier here–thick with energy. Every snap of a twig or flutter of movement made his muscles tense. Not from fear, but from awareness.

It feels like this place is watching me.

He passes shrines hidden in the trees, some no taller than his knee, others ancient stone altars worn smooth by centuries of weather. Small offerings lay before them–coins, folded paper charms, pieces of fruit. Leo bowed his head at each one, whispering a quiet word of respect.

Hours passed. The sky began to lighten behind the trees, the stars fading to pale silver as the first hints of dawn crept in. Dew clung to the leaves. His legs ached. His cloak was damp. But he kept going.

Finally, as the sun broke over the horizon, Leo reached a lonely clearing, lit only by the soft glow of the coming morning. There, standing sentinel at the base of the mountain was a weathered torii gate, its red paint faded and chipped with age, half-consumed by creeping moss.

But beyond it…there were no stairs.

No path

Just a sheer, rocky incline veiled by mist and pine. The mountain stood as it always had–untouched. Waiting.

Yeah. This is gonna suck.

Leo exhaled slowly, his breath slightly visible in the morning chill. He stepped towards the gate, fingers brushing the edge of the wood as he passed beneath it. And just before he took his first hold on the rock face, he felt it–a ripple. A whisper without words.

Something was waiting for him up there.

Leo’s grip on the rocks tightened. He stood at the base for a moment, staring up at the vast, jagged silhouette of the mountain. Trees clung to its sides like defiant sentinels, their branches twisted from years of harsh weather. The peak disappeared into low-hanging clouds, as if the mountain itself didn’t want to be known too easily.

He let out a long breath. “Great,” he muttered. “Who needs stairs when you can just scale a cliff like a ninja goat.”

He began to climb.

----------

The first part of the climb wasn’t terrible. Steep, sure, but manageable. Roots jutted from the soil, and he used them like handles, pulling himself upward. The forest still lingered here–moss covered stones, the crunch of leaves beneath his feet, and the occasional call of an owl watching him from a distance. The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air. It was peaceful in a way, though his legs and arms were already starting to ache.

As the hours drew on, peaceful turned into punishing.

The trees thinned out. The wind picked up, sharper now, whipping his cloak and bag around him like they were trying to pull him back. The air grew colder, thinner. He paused on a ledge, chest heaving, and looked down.

Big mistake.

“...Cool,” he panted, eyes wide. “I’m officially way too high up. One bad step and I’m a turtle pancake.”

He slumped against the stone, head tipped back as snowflakes began to drift down, melting into his skin. His thighs burned. And he was barely half way.

But he couldn’t stop.

Not now.

Not after everything.

He dragged himself back up and kept going, pushing through the cold, through the ache, through the exhaustion. The wind howled louder the higher he climbed, screaming in his ears like some ancient warning. Leo screamed back–or maybe he just groaned.

“Why couldn’t it be in, like…a cozy beach area?” He grunted, lifting himself further up the cliff face. “With sand and warm tea and no cliffs? That sounds nice.”

HIs sarcasm gave him some fuel, but not much. Eventually, even that wore thin. His world narrowed to the rhythm of his breath and the ache in his limbs. One step. Another. Pull. Breathe. Rest. Repeat. Sometimes he had to stop and huddle behind boulders to escape the worst of the wind. Once, he nearly slipped and had to dig his claws into the frozen ground to stop himself from sliding back down.

It felt endless. Hours passed. His hands trembled. His knees buckled more than once. And still, he kept going.

He had to.

Because if he didn’t, everything would’ve been for nothing.

Because his family was counting on him–even if they didn’t say it.

Because he needed this.

He didn’t know who he’d be at the top of the mountain. But he knew he couldn’t be the person at the bottom anymore.

Finally, just when his body was ready to give up, he pulled himself over the last ledge.

His chest hit the snow with a dull whumph, and he just layed there, gasping for breath. The wind was calmer up here, gentler somehow. The air was thin, but cleaner, colder in a way that woke up his lungs.

Leo rolled onto his back, cloak spread around him like a dark shadow in the snow. He looked up at the stars–brilliant and sharp in the thin air, like scattered shards of glass across the sky.

“...I am never…doing that…again,” he wheezed.

It took him a while to sit up. Every part of his body hurt. His legs were noodles. His arms were jelly. Even his eyelids were tired.

But when he looked ahead, everything else faded away.

There it was.

The Hamato Temple.

The outer plaza stretched before him like a vision from another world, shrouded in the falling snow. Softly glowing lanterns hung from aged wooden posts, their amber light swaying gently with the wind. The stone tiles beneath him were cracked and worn, etched with delicate swirling patterns–symbols of protection, time, and memory. Though faded, they shimmered faintly with an inner energy, like echoes of those who walked this same path.

At the heart of the plaza stood another massive torii gate, its red lacquer faded to a warm rust color, its silhouette framed by the moonlight behind it. Beyond the gate, nestled against the cliffside, the temple rose from the stone like it had always been part of the mountain. Its curved rooftops were layered with ancient tiles, moss creeping between them. The wooden pillars, dark with age and time, held firm beneath the weight of generations.

The place hummed with power.

And Leo felt it.

The pull.

His heart thudded in his chest–not from the climb, but from something deeper. Something rooted in blood, in history, in purpose. Like something had been waiting for him all this time.

He slowly got to his feet, brushing snow off his shoulders. The wind whispered through the trees, and for just a second, he thought he heard something else beneath it–a voice? A memory? He wasn’t sure. He shook it off.

He took a slow, cautious step forward and reached out with his ninpo. The air shimmered just beyond the torii gate–an invisible barrier, old and complex, interwoven with spiritual seals that had protected the temple for centuries.

Leo closed his eyes and inhaled. Okay. Here goes nothing.

He let go of the tension in his chest, reaching inward. Past his exhaustion. Past the cold in his bones. He found the still center of himself, a flame where his spirit lived. Slowly, carefully, he pushed his energy outward, letting it touch the barrier.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, the air shifted.

The barrier recognized him. It rippled–gently at first, like wind across water–then parted, slow and reverent, as if bowing in acknowledgment.

Leo stepped through.

Immediately, the atmosphere changed. Inside the barrier, the inner courtyard was quieter than silence. The wind didn’t stir. Even the birdsong from the trees beyond the mountain had faded. The biting cold even subsided a little. It was like stepping into a memory.

Crumbling stone lanterns lined the pathway ahead, their small flames flickering with surprising warmth. A few cherry blossom trees stood tall, despite the altitude and the cold, their pale petals were perfectly still on their branches. Not a single one had fallen.

The temple itself loomed in front of him. Grand. Ancient. Alive. The steps made of wood and stone creaked softly under his weight as he climbed them, one slow step at a time. Each motion a reminder of how much he’d endured just to get here.

----------

The door creaked closed behind him with a heavy finality, and for a moment, Leo just stood there–bathed in the quiet golden glow of flickering candlelight, the hush of the ancient hall settling into his bones like a second skin.

Then, slowly, he began to move.

His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way deeper into the temple, the soles of his feet brushing against polished wooden floors that creaked gently beneath his weight. The air smelled of cedar and age-old incense, a comforting blend that wrapped around him like a memory he’d never lived but somehow still remembered.

Everywhere he looked, there was history.

The walls were engraved with intricate carvings, stories etched into the stone and wood–scenes of the Hamato Clan through the ages. Warriors knelt before spirits. Great battles waged against impossible odds. Hands reaching out in peace. Masks broken. Swords raised high. Each panel seemed alive, the grooves of the carvings catching the candlelight in a way that made the figures shift as he walked past.

He trailed his fingers lightly over one wall, tracing the curl of a wave in a stormy sea battle. The details were stunning–each raindrop etched, each warrior distinct. He could almost hear the clash of steel, the roar of the waves.

“Mikey would lose his mind over this,” Leo whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The temple was massive. As he wandered farther in, it opened up into a series of connected rooms and long hallways, some with sliding wooden doors and tatami floors, others filled with old scrolls and relics displayed behind delicate glass. One room held rows of wooden training dummies, worn down at the limbs. Another seemed like a meditation chamber, with a single raised platform surrounded by hundreds of carefully placed stones.

He climbed a narrow spiral staircase, the wood creaking underfoot, and found himself on the second floor, where large open balconies overlooked the mountainside. He paused there, leaning on the railing, taking in the view.

From here, the world stretched out in layers–rolling mist weaving through pine-covered ridges, the village far below like a scattering of starlight, and the early morning moon casting a soft light across the distant horizon. The wind tugged gently at his cloak, and for a moment, Leo just stood still, letting himself feel it.

“This is incredible,” he breathed. “Raph would have loved this view.

He thought of Raph standing here, arms crossed, smiling at the horizon. Of Mikey doing cartwheels down the halls, marveling at every tiny thing. Of Donnie rattling off historical facts while scanning the temple’s energy with some handheld gadget.

A lump caught in Leo’s throat.

He wished they were here. With him.

But they weren’t.

As he descended back to the main floor, the halls seemed to stretch longer. The light dimmed. The deeper he went, the more silent and shadowed the temple became. Some corridors had no windows, only narrow walls lit by sparse candles, their flames flickering as if whispering secrets to one another.

Leo clutched the strap of his bag tighter across his chest.

His feet scuffed against old wood. The air was heavier here. Not hostile…but expectant. Like the temple was watching him. Waiting.

He turned down a dark corridor, the world narrowing to a tunnel of soft gold and deep shadow. His fingers brushed the wall beside him–solid, cold stone.

His thoughts began to creep in.

It's not even the first day, and I already miss them.

He tried not to. Tried to focus on the carvings. The architecture. The energy. But his mind kept circling back.

Donnies half asleep muttering when working late. Mikey’s laugh echoing off the lair walls. Raph’s steady presence at his side, saying nothing but always there. The weight of their absence pressed against his chest.

You chose this, he reminded himself, jaw tightening. You need this.

His footsteps slowed at the end of the corridor, where another large room opened before him–this one round, with a domed ceiling painted with fading murals. Stars. Wind. Fire. Water. Each element swirling towards a single symbol at the center.

The Hamato crest.

He stepped beneath it and looked up, light from a small hole in the ceiling casting a soft beam directly onto the center of the room. Dust danced in the column of light, like drifting snowflakes.

Leo exhaled, his breath shaky.

“I can do this,” he whispered. “I have to.”

And even though doubt curled in the back of his mind, even though the ache of being alone hadn’t lessened, he stepped forward, into the light, and stood tall beneath the crest of his family.

The journey was just beginning.

----------

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the temple’s quiet courtyard. Leo sat crossed legged before it, a protein bar half eaten in his hand, forgotten. The air was cold, biting at his fingers and the edges of his cloak. He stared into the flames, watching them dance–restless and wild, just like his thoughts.

He’d set up camp just beyond the main hall, close to the ancient koi pond. The wind stirred the reeds and rustled the leaves, creating a hush over the temple like it was holding its breath. Leo rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of one of the scrolls Splinter had given him, still sealed tight.

“So…what now?” he muttered under his breath.

He has climbed all this way. Climbed the mountain. Pushed past the exhaustion. He’d done everything alone. But now that he was here, the silence was deafening. There were no instructions. No ancient masters waiting with open arms. Just an old temple and the ghosts of a legacy too big to carry.

“Maybe there are scrolls,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. “Old techniques. Records. Something.”

But doubt curled in his stomach, cold and slow.

What if I came all this way for nothing? What if I fail again?

Leo closed his eyes, trying to shove the thoughts away, but it clung to him like the frost around him. He pulled his cloak tighter and looked up at the temple roof silhouetted against the stars. His family was depending on him. They believed in him.

Why couldn’t he believe in himself?

He stared at the fire again. Its rhythm. Its movement. His ninpo stirred, uneasy. This place was thick with power–mystical, ancient, raw. It vibrated beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.

He sighed. “...Meditation. Ugh. Fine.”

He forced himself to sit straighter. Cross legged. Hands resting on his knees. He inhaled slowly through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. Tried to find stillness.

But stillness didn’t come.

All he could feel was the pressure building in his chest–the fear. The tension. The memories clawing at the edges of his thoughts. His mind flashed to the prison dimension–the crushing cold, the endless dark, the silence louder than his screams. Leo’s breath caught, his hands tightening into fists.

“No,” he muttered. “Not now.”

He fought to pull himself back. Back to the temple. Back to the cold earth beneath him and the warmth of the fire. He tried again. He had to.

Center your ninpo. Reach out. Connect.

And slowly, something shifted.

A warmth–familiar and steady–bloomed from within. Like a distant echo growing louder. The energy of the temple responded, resonating with his own.

Then–

The wind stilled.

The fire’s crackle softened.

Leo’s eyes opened–

And Karai stood before him.

She appeared like a memory stepping into light. No fanfare. No thunder. Just presence.

Her form shimmered faintly, her spirit almost solid looking, draped in ceremonial robes that moved like silk and shadow. Her eyes–those sharp, kind eyes–locked with his.

Leo’s breath hitched in his throat. “Gram-Gram…?”

Her expression softened into a smile. “You’ve come far, Leonardo.”

He blinked at her, the firelight glinting in his eyes. “I…I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Neither was I,” she said gently, taking a few steps closer. Her voice was like the wind through the trees–gentle but impossible to ignore. “But your spirit called to this place. And to me.”

Leo glanced away, jaw tight. “I don’t even know why I’m here anymore. I thought this place would show me something. Give me direction. I thought I could…I don’t know. Find some ancient Hamato secret. Some way to be better.”

Karai sat across from him, her form glowing softly in the dark. “And why do you think you need to be better?”

His fingers curled against his knees. “Because I failed. I failed everyone. My brothers…they trust me. And I can’t even trust myself.” His voice cracked. “What if I’m not enough? What if I lead them into another disaster? What if I lose them?”

Karai's gaze didn’t waver. “Fear is a powerful thing. But it does not make you weak, my child.”

“It makes me hesitate,” he snapped. “It makes me second guess everything and makes me overcompensate. I’m tired of pretending I have it all together.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Karai spoke–calm, firm.

“The Hamato Clan teaches more than just tactics and strength. Our legacy is one of balance. Discipline. Harmony. A ninja’s power comes not only from their skill, but their connection–to nature. To family. To self.”

Leo looked up slowly, heart hammering.

“You are not here to train only your body,” she continued. “You are here to listen. To the wind. The stones. The silence. These elements hold truths. Lessons.”

Karai smiled, her eyes gleaming with something deeper. “The wind. That is your element.”

Leo raised an eyeridge. “Wind? Why?”

“Because the wind moves. It bends around obstacles instead of breaking through them. It is patient, persistent. Gentle…or devastating. A true leader, like the wind, must adapt. Must flow.”

She leaned closer, her voice a whisper against the night. “You carry guilt. You carry control like a shield. But the wind cannot be grasped. It cannot be forced. A true warrior leads not just with precision and planning–but with instinct. With grace.”

Leo’s throat was tight, his chest aching. “But…what if I’m not that kind of leader?”

“You are,” she said simply. “You just don’t believe it yet.”

He looked down at his hands. Scarred. Trembling.

Karai reached out, and though she was spirit, he felt her warmth.

“Let go of your fear. The prison dimension does not define you. Your mistakes do not chain you. You are here to become. Not perfect. But whole.”

Leo’s eyes burned.

“You do not have to be perfect, Leo. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

His voice broke. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Karai smiled softly. “Then we’ll teach you. Together.”

Behind her, other figures began to appear–Hamato ancestors, standing like sentinels of light and memory. Their presence was a quiet roar in the air.

Leo stared, breathless.

Karai stood. “You will train in the way of the wind. You will learn to be elusive, balanced, and strong. Not in spite of what you carry–but because of it.”

She extended her hand.

“Come, Leonardo. Let us begin.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Leo reached forward–not to fight, not to defend–but to accept.

He stood, the fire behind him flickering in the breeze.

And the wind began to rise.

Chapter Text

Month 1–Week 1

Morning broke over the mountains in hues of pale gold and gentle lavender. The air smelled like new earth and rain soaked pine, and a thin mist curled low over the grass like the earth itself was still dreaming. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trilled its song, crisp and clean in the hush of dawn.

Leo stood at the edge of the temple’s outer training ground, his breath misting in the chill. The space was carved into the mountainside, bordered by sloping ridgelines and framed weather-worn statues of warriors long gone. Dew clung to every surface, catching the light like tiny stars.

Above him stretched a daunting course of suspended ropes–twisting, crossing, swaying–threaded between ancient wooden beams that creaked softly with each breeze. Some ropes were taut. Others sagged. A few danced freely in the wind.

Karai stood beside him, silent, her form shimmering faintly in the morning light. Though spectral, she looked solid in spirit–grounded, composed, as if the mountain itself stood behind her.

“Climb,” she said simply.

Leo blinked, glancing between her and the rope course. “That’s it? Just climb?”

Karai smirked, raising a brow. “You say that as though it will be easy.”

Leo chuckled. “Please. I’ve dodged laser cannons, climbed construction cranes, and parkoured across half of Manhattan. This?” He gestured up. “This is like a jungle gym.”

She didn’t reply–only stepped back with that maddening calm, as if waiting to see something unfold.

Leo rolled his shoulders and sprang upward. His fingers caught the first rope. His feet quickly found the lower lines. Muscle memory kicked in, fluid and precise. He moved with the grace of a practiced warrior–years of rooftop sprints guiding him through the shifting weave. The ropes wobbled beneath him, but he adjusted smoothly, weight distributed, movements controlled.

Then the wind changed.

A sharp gust surged up the cliffside, slamming into the ropes. They bucked like wild things. Leo’s stance stiffened, grip tightening instinctively. He paused, recalibrated.

“Okay,” he muttered, “bit more intense than I thought.”

Another gust whipped through. The roped jerked–one slipped from beneath his foot. Leo’s muscles tensed. He fought to stay steady, to force control over the movement.

And that was his mistake.

The wind surged again, unpredictable and unforgiving. The ropes danced out of rhythm. Leo lost balance.

He fell.

The impact knocked the wind out of him, his shell slamming into the dewy grass. For a moment, all he could do was lay there, blinking up at the brightening sky, chest rising and falling like a winded animal.

Karai appeared above him, arms crossed, one ghostly brown arched. “You lasted longer than I expected.”

Leo wheezed. “That’s your idea of encouragement?”

She extended a hand. He took it.

“Again.”

So he climbed again.

And fell again.

And again.

And again.

---------- 

The stone chamber was quiet–so quiet that Leo could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Pale morning light filtered in through the high wooden slats, casting angled beams across the floor like fingers reaching through the mist. A small, flickering incense burner sat between him and Karai, its smoke curling lazily in the air, rising…twisting…disappearing. The scent was earthy and cool, like moss after a rain.

Leo sat cross legged, stiff and tense, his hands resting on his knees. His shell ached from too many falls on the rope course. His fingers were scraped, knuckles bruised. The mountain air has steadily gotten warmer. And now–now he has to sit still?

Karai knelt across from him, serene and unmoving, her ghostly form more solid in the meditative light.

“Close your eyes, Leonardo,” she said softly, her voice smooth as the wind outside. “And breathe.”

Leo sighed, annoyed with himself before they’d even begun. He obeyed, dragging in a deep inhale through his nose and slowly exhaling. He repeated it once. Twice. The stiffness in his shoulders refused to leave.

“Let the air fill you,” Karai murmured, “and let it carry away the weight you do not need.”

Leo’s brow furrowed. He tried again, breathing deeper, slower.

“Visualize the wind,” she continued, her voice barely above the whisper of the breeze that slipped through the stone windows. “Not as an obstacle. Not as a force to fight. See it as a guide. A companion. It does not resist–it dances, it listens. It is patient. Like you must learn to be.”

Leo flinched at that.

He was trying to be patient. But how could he be patient when he couldn’t even stay on a rope for more than a few minutes without tumbling off like a clumsy idiot? How could he be calm when his mind wouldn’t shut up? How could he see the wind as a guide when all it had done so far was knock him on his shell?

Still, he tried.

He breathed in. He imagined the wind wrapping around him, brushing his arms like invisible ribbons. But his mind pulled away–jerked into memory.

Ash.

Screams.

Raph yelling his name.

The rush of cold darkness swallowing him whole–

Leo’s breath caught. He opened his eyes with a gasp, shaking his head. “I can’t,” he said abruptly, his voice tight. “I’m trying, but–I can’t stop thinking.”

Karai opened her eyes too, watching him quietly. “What are you thinking about?”

Leo hesitated. His jaw clenched. “Stuff that doesn’t matter right now.”

“It matters if it pulls you from peace.”

He looked away, jaw tightening further. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted bitterly. “I never was. Meditation’s Raph’s least favorite thing, but even he could sit still longer than me.”

Karai tilted her head slightly. “You believe stillness means silence. It does not. You can be still inside the chaos. That is what you must learn.”

Leo wiped a hand down his face and groaned. “Easier said than done.”

“Do you think the wind is always gentle?” she asked. “Even hurricanes have a center, Leonardo. Even a storm has balance.”

That made him pause.

Karai leaned closer, her voice softer now. “Close your eyes again. This time, do not chase silence. Let your thoughts come…and let them go. Like wind through the trees. You do not grasp the breeze–you feel it, and you release it.”

Leo exhaled, long and slow. He tried again. Eyes closed. Breathing steady.

The wind was there. Not how he wanted it–soft and peaceful–but restless. Rushing. Cutting.

Memories flickered again, but this time, he let them pass like she said. He imagined them caught on the breeze–drifting, circling, fading into the sky.

For a moment, it worked. His heartbeat slowed. His breathing evened. He felt…

Warmth. At the edges of his senses, like hands on his shoulders.

But then–

A sharp flash. Kraang Prime’s face. The weightless, cold nothing of the prison dimension.

Leo jolted back, eyes flying open. His hands curled into fists. “Damn it!” he hissed, standing suddenly. “I felt something–I almost–but then–”

He didn’t finish. His voice cracked too much.

Karai stood slowly, her expression calm, but her eyes sympathetic.“You brushed against your spirit. That is no small thing.

Leo’s shoulders slumped. “I felt them. My family. Just for a second…”

He swallowed thickly, blinking hard. “Then the Kraang came back.”

Karai approached him, resting a hand over his chest–her fingers glowing slightly, not quite touching, but Leo felt the warmth through her mystic energy.

“You carry pain here. You think it makes you weak.”

He didn’t speak.

“But the wind never judges. It only asks: will you let me carry it for a while?”

Leo finally looked at her. “What if I can’t let go?”

Karai gave a small, sad smile. “Then I will sit with you…until you can.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy, but not unbearable.

Leo sat back down again. This time, slower. More grounded. He still didn’t know how to let go. But he knew one thing.

He wouldn’t stop trying.

And neither would she.

---------- 

By the end of the second week the mountain air grew warmer as the sun crested higher. The ropes loomed above Leo like a web of judgement, taut and high, suspended between ancient wooden beams weathered by countless seasons. Morning light filtered through the mist curling around the mountaintop, casting shifting shadows across the grounds. The air was sharp and cool, the silence broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind and the creak of rope saying.

Leo stood beneath the structure, his breath fogging in the air, arms sore and legs burning from hours of failed attempts. His cloak had been discarded, sweat dampening his body. The calluses on his hands had split. His muscles screamed with every twitch, but still he stared up–determined. Frustrated. Tired. And angry. Mostly with himself.

Karai appeared beside him, silent as ever. Her form shimmered faintly in the light, not quite solid, not quite spirit. She regarded him with that same unreadable expression she always wore–measured, calm, timeless.

“You’re letting your anger weigh you down,” she said, voice smooth, steady as the mountain air.

Leo exhaled sharply, eyes never leaving the ropes. “I’m not angry,” he muttered.

“Then what are you?”

He hesitated. His jaw clenched. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to admit it. But the words came anyway, raw and cracked.

“I’m failing.”

Karai tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening. “You are learning.”

Leo scoffed bitterly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well…learning sure feels like losing right now.” He glanced up at the ropes again. “I thought I could handle this. I’ve done harder things before. Fought harder battles. But these stupid ropes–”

“Are not your enemy,” she interrupted gently. “They are your teacher.”

He glanced at her, brown furrowed. “They’re a death trap.”

Karai smiled faintly, but her tone remained serious. “This trial is not meant to test your strength, Leo. Not in the way you think.”

Leo turned to her fully now, his shoulders heavy, his voice quieter. “Then what is it testing?”

“Your control. Your fear. Your expectations of yourself.” She stepped forward, gesturing towards the ropes with a graceful sweep of her hand. “The wind is not something you overpower, Leonardo. You cannot grip it tighter to force it to obey you. “You must move with it. Adapt. Let go.”

Leo looked back up at the ropes. They swayed gently, rhythmically now. He could feel the wind pressing softly against his skin, curling through the training grounds. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t even strong. It was just…there. Moving. Alive.

“So I’m supposed to…what? Dance with it?” he asked, half a joke, half desperate.

“You’re supposed to trust yourself.” Karai stepped closer, her voice lowering. “You do not need to conquer every obstacle with brute force or precision. You are not here to perfect the warrior you were. You are here to become the leader you must be.”

Leo stared at her, throat tight. “And if I can’t?”

Karai looked at him, long and hard, then reached out–her ghostly fingers brushing his shoulder, weightless but grounding.

“Then you will keep trying until you can.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That is what it means to carry the Hamato name.”

Leo inhaled slowly, then nodded. “Okay.” He squared his shoulders, rolling them back. “Okay. One more time.”

Karai stepped back, her form already beginning to fade into the drifting light.

“Breathe with the wind, Leonardo.” Her voice echoed around him. “Not against it.”

Leo took a step forward. Then another. He sprang up, grabbing the rope once more. It still burned against his palms. The ropes still swayed. The wind still shifted.

But this time, Leo didn’t resist it.

He closed his eyes and let go of the tension in his shoulders. His body adjusted–not to fight the movement, but to match it. He swayed with the ropes. Let the gusts guide his weight. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. But he didn’t fall.

One rope became two. Then three. He moved higher.

Sweat dripped into his eyes, his arms shook, but he was climbing. Flowing. Moving with the wind.

Karai’s voice echoed one last time, soft and full of pride. “Good. Now again.”

And Leo smiled through the pain.

Because for the first time since arriving, he believed he could do this.

---------- 

By the fourth week, Leo had mastered the ropes.

His movements were sharper now–controlled, intentional. He could glide from one line to the next with precision, toes barely grazing the swaying cords before shifting again. His breathing stayed steady, even when the wind howled through the mountain pass and tried to knock him down. He had become lighter. Quicker. But the weight inside him hadn’t changed.

That evening, the sky turned a deep indigo, and a hush fell across the Hamato Temple grounds. Stars blinked to life above the jagged silhouettes of the surrounding cliffs. The fire crackled beside him as Leo sat on a stone ledge overlooking the training field, arms resting on his knees, a protein bar half-eaten in one hand. His muscles ached, and his fingers were calloused from weeks of work–but that wasn’t what exhausted him.

Karai appeared beside him without a sound, her form casting no shadow, yet seeming as solid and present as the stones beneath them. She looked out over the darkened field, then up at the stars.

“You’re improving,” she said softly.

Leo smirked faintly and took another bite of the bar. “Yeah? Gonna give me a medal or somethin’?”

Karai chuckled, eyes still skyward. “Is that what you’re seeking? A reward?”

Leo’s smirk faded. He turned to the fire, prodding at it with a stick. The embers scattered, spiraling into the cold night air.

“You know why I’m here,” he murmured.

“I do,” Karai said gently. “But you need to say it.”

Leo exhaled through his nose. His chest tightened. “Because I need to be better. I need to be strong enough to protect them…my family. I wasn’t.”

Karai turned to him fully now, her voice low. “Why do you believe you weren’t?”

Leo’s jaw clenched. His throat worked around a knot. “Because it was my fault,” he said. “The invasion. The Kraang. All of it.”

Silence fell. Only the wind answered for a moment, rustling through dry leaves and ancient wooden beams.

“I didn’t take my role seriously,” Leo continued, staring into the fire. “I was cocky. Reckless. I treated leading like a game, like it was just about being clever or loud enough to get people to follow me. I thought that a leader had to be able to do everything on their own. I didn’t see the bigger picture. I didn’t see what the Foot were planning. And because of that, they got the key.”

He swallowed, voice tightening.

“They got the key and they opened the prison dimension. And the Kraang came.”

Karai’s gaze softened, but she said nothing, letting him speak.

“They destroyed everything,” Leo said, his voice barely a whisper. “People died. The world almost ended. And I–” He stopped, hands curling into fists on his knees. “I shouldn't have let it get so far. I should have been better.”

Karai sat beside him, her translucent presence warm despite the cold. “I’ve heard this story before,” she said quietly. “But never from your heart.”

Leo looked at her. Eyes glassy. “You weren’t there,” he said. “In the prison dimension.”

Karai nodded once. “No, I wasn’t.”

His voice broke. “It wasn’t minutes. Not for me. I don’t know how long it was. Could’ve been days. Could’ve been years. I was just…floating in the dark. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing–until it wasn’t even that anymore. Then there was him.”

Karai’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Kraang Prime.”

“He hurt me,” Leo said. “He knew how to hurt me. And I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t fight back. I was alone. And even after my brothers pulled me out, I never really came back.”

Karai’s hand–ghostlike, glowing faintly–rested over his.

“You survived,” she said. “You endured what most could not. But survival is not the same as healing.”

Leo’s gaze dropped. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still there. Like…like I’m floating again. Like it's still happening.”

Karai was quiet for a long time. Then: “The wind” she said, “does not cling to the past. It does not rage forever through the same canyon. It moves on. It adapts.”

Leo’s brows furrowed, tears streaking down his cheeks unnoticed. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“You do,” she said. “You’ve begun. Every time you fall and stand again. Every time you face your guilt, your fear–without letting it rule you. That is movement. That is the wind.”

“But I still hate myself for it.” Leo whispered.

Karai leaned in slightly. “Guilt is a storm. It serves to cleanse, but not to linger. If you carry it too long, it becomes a burden, not a lesson.”

She turned to look at him fully, her eyes steady and firm.

“You are not here to escape your pain, Leonardo. You are here to understand it. To become light–not because you forget what happened, but because you stop letting it define you.”

Leo shook his head slowly. “I’m scared that if I let go, I won’t be…serious enough. I won’t remember what it cost.”

Karai smiled faintly. “The wind remembers every place it touches. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means moving forward.”

The fire crackled again. Leo looked into it–really looked this time–and saw not just flames, but motion. Energy. Life.

He nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. “I’ll try.”

Karai squeezed his hand gently, then stood. “That is all I ask.”

She faded back into the dark, leaving Leo alone under the stars. But for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel so alone.

He sat there long after the fire died down, the embers glowing softly in the dark, whispering through the mountain air like the wind itself–moving, remembering, but never stopping.

---------- 

Month 2–Week 5

The obstacle course lay sprawled behind the temple like some ancient dragon, long and winding and full of traps. Built into the rising slope of the mountain, it blended seamlessly with the natural terrain–jagged boulders,fallen trees, slick moss covered stones, and carved wooden structures that groaned with age. Thin platforms swayed high above the ground, suspended by ropes and anchored only loosely, shifting with each gust of wind. Hidden mechanisms creaked, and distant chimes sang out whenever something clicked or moved unexpectedly.

Leo stared up at it with narrowed eyes. His arms were folded. His face was serious.

And then he muttered, “Cool. So I die here.”

Karai stood beside him, calm as ever, her hands folded into her sleeves. She glanced at the course like it was a riddle she already knew the answer to.

“Death is unlikely,” she said serenely. “Bruises, however, are guaranteed.”

Leo huffed. “Guess I should’ve brought more bandages and a will.”

“I’ll be sure to carve your tombstone out of that sarcasm.”

“So what’s the point of this one?” he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyeing the unstable platforms ahead. “Let me guess. Another metaphor about wind?”

“Not a metaphor,” Karai said. “A practice. The wind changes. So must you.”

Leo tilted his head. “Okay, but, like…the wind doesn’t have a shell and a sense of self-preservation.”

Karai gave him a look. “Go.”

Leo groaned dramatically, stretching out his arms. “If I get impaled, I’m haunting you.”

“Then at least you’ll be here permanently.”

He snorted and jogged forward.

The first part was easy enough–low hurdles, angled platforms, a few tilted beams–but as soon as he reached the narrow planks that criss crossed above the earth, the wind caught them in a sudden burst.

The platform swayed hard left.

Leo yelped, dropping to his stomach and hugging the board like a cat on a ceiling fan.

“Okay! Rude!” he shouted, clinging to the shaking wood. “Did someone order the wind or is the mountain just pissed at me?!”

Karai’s voice floated up from below. “The wind favors no one. You must move with it. Adapt.”

Leo exhaled through his nose and crawled forward. The plank shifted beneath him with every step, and when he reached the edge, he launched forward–but the gust caught his cloak mid-air, spinning him just enough to miss the next ledge by a few inches.

He crashed into a rope net below with a grunt.

Karai raised a brow. “You forgot the lesson.”

Leo groaned, untangling himself. “Yeah, well, the lesson forgot I don’t have wings.”

The second attempt was short-lived also. A shifting plank spun faster than expected, sending him tumbling into a net. The third time, a gust threw off his balance, and he missed the rope swing by inches. By the fourth try, he was breathing heavily, sweat beginning to gather under his cloak, and muttering to himself.

“Let go of control,” he mumbled, gripping the edge of a platform. “Flow like the wind. Yeah. Sure. Easy for the wind–it doesn’t have legs to cramp.”

From below, Karai’s voice rose up. “Your body resists. Your mind tries to predict. Stop both.”

“How?” Leo groaned. “I’m not a leaf! I’m a very anxious turtle!”

But he kept trying. Day after day.

Each morning he returned to the course, his body aching a little more than the day before. His shoulders grew sore, his legs heavy. The wind didn’t care about his bruises. It just kept moving.

He remembered the ropes–how stillness had taught him movement. How letting go had helped him find control. But this? This was different. This was faster, wilder. Here, the wind wasn’t a whisper. It was a partner mid-dance, unpredictable and unrelenting.

By the fourth day, Leo had made it halfway through the course. Then a sudden gust knocked a rope out of reach, and he crashed again into the dirt.

He sat there, panting, arms resting over his knees. The mountain air was cool, but his body burned. He ripped off his cloak and tossed it aside with a grunt.

Karai’s spectral form appeared near the edge. “You are improving.”

Leo looked up, sweat dripping from his brow, dirt smeared across his face. “Not fast enough,” he muttered. “I get it. Flow with the wind. Be like air. Trust the course. But guess what? Air doesn’t trip. Air doesn’t miss jumps. Air doesn’t wake up every morning with their spine screaming.”

Karai stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. “The wind moves through resistance without breaking. You must do the same.”

“I’m trying.”

“Trying is not the same as trusting.”

Leo scowled and looked away.

“What if I can’t?” he said under his breath. “What if I’m not meant to do this?”

Silence passed between them. A breeze rustled the trees overhead, and the wooden platforms groaned somewhere in the distance.

Karai finally spoke, quiet but unwavering. “I have told you before that you are not here to be perfect, Leonardo. You are here to learn. To try again. To fall, and to rise. Until you no longer fear failure.”

He let out a breath, the frustration softening slightly. “...Can I at least get, like, a juice box or something?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips. “After you finish the course.”

By the sixth day, Leo could feel the rhythm of the course better. His movements grew less rigid. He started anticipating where the gusts were strongest–not with calculation, but with instinct. When a rope swung wide, he moved with it. When a plank tilted, he didn’t resist. He danced through the chaos, messy and imperfect but committed.

On the seventh day, he stood at the starting line again, staring down the course with swollen knees and taped wrists. But this time, something was different.

He breathed in. The air stirred his cloak.

He ran.

He didn’t fight the course. He didn’t try to win it. He simply moved. Sometimes he stumbled. Sometimes he almost fell. But he flowed–reacted–adapted.

And when he landed on the final platform, panting and wide-eyed, wind rushing around him like applause, he threw his arms in the air.

“Boom!” he shouted. “Seven days, three bruised ribs, and one identity crisis later, I did it!”

Karia’s ghostly form flickered beside him suddenly.

“Well done,” she said simply.

Leo blinked. “How–wait–you can teleport? That’s cheating!”

“I’m dead.” She raised a brow. “I’m allowed certain advantages.”

He laughed, genuinely this time, shoulders finally starting to relax.

She looked at him, proud but quiet. “You are learning,” she said. “Not just to move. But to trust. That is harder.”

Leo nodded. His bruises ached, and his lungs burned–but beneath that pain was something else.

Stillness. Balance.

The course still swayed behind him. The wind still shifted. But for the first time, Leo felt like he wasn’t fighting it anymore.

He was moving with it.

Chapter Text

Month 2–Week 7

The protein bars were gone. Leo stared at the crumpled, empty wrapper in his hand like it had betrayed him. He crumpled it tighter and sighed, slumped by the fire in the temple courtyard, the soft crackle offering little comfort to his rumbling stomach.

“Welp. That’s it. Last of the emergency stash.” He tossed the wrapper into the fire, watching it curl into ash. “Guess I’m officially out of snacks and into the survival arc.”

Karai hadn’t said anything directly–but when he mentioned his supplies were dwindling, she only offered a quiet nod and said, “There is plenty to eat. If you are willing to earn it.”

And so, here he was.

Wrapped in his dark cloak, twin swords sheathed at his side, Leo stood just outside the boundary of the temple grounds, staring into the dense woods that blanketed the mountain’s side like a living sea. The trees were tall and ancient, gnarled roots spreading like vines across the uneven forest floor. Wind stirred the canopy above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over everything.

He took a breath.

“Okay. Just gotta remember what Todd said. Blend into the trees. Respect the woods. Don’t act like a predator. Do not eat the no-no berries.” He nodded to himself. “Also…don’t die.”

The forest floor was wet in places, patches of old snow clinging to the shaded hollows, and everywhere he stepped, there were fallen branches and loose rocks just waiting to sabotage him. The terrain sloped sharply in areas, narrow ledges with steep drops hidden under blankets of dead leaves.

Leo moved carefully, keeping low, adjusting his weight like Splinter had taught him years ago. His ninja training kicked in. Silent footfalls. Controlled breathing. No sudden movements.

But stealth in the dojo was one thing.

Stealth in the wild was something else entirely.

Hours passed. He found tracks–deer, he thought–but they led him in a winding path through brambles and over rocks slick with moss. Once, he slipped and had to grab a tree root to keep from tumbling down a steep ravine.

“I’m okay!” he whispered to himself, dangling over the edge. “Just testing gravity. Still works.”

By mid-afternoon, he’d only spotted a few birds and a squirrel who chittered angrily at him before vanishing into the treetops. His stomach growled.

“C’mon, Leo. You’ve fought a scary walking paper shredder and interdimensional squid monsters. You can catch a deer.”

He crouched beside a narrow stream, cupping water into his hands and splashing his face. The chill was bracing. The water tasted pure, untouched by anything modern. He took a longer sip, then looked around. Sunlight filtered through the trees in streaks of gold. Somewhere above, a bird cried.

Everything was alive here. The wind rustled branches, birds chirped warnings in short, clipped bursts, and the underbrush occasionally twitched with unseen life. Leo closed his eyes, breathing in the clean air and life around him, centering himself.

He moved again.

Near twilight, after another climb up a rocky hill and a series of careful tree-hops to avoid a loud patch of forest floor, Leo saw it.

A buck. Mid-sized. Feeding quietly near the base of a ridge, ears twitching with awareness. Leo froze on a branch above. His breath caught. The wind was behind him–bad luck. The buck raised its head, sniffing the air.

Leo didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

Slowly, silently, he reached for one of his shorter blades–not to throw, but to get closer. He descended the tree, inch by inch, landing without a sound. The slope was steep here, dangerous–but it offered cover. He crept from boulder to tree, keeping his body low and movements smooth. His heart pounded. Not from fear–well, okay, maybe a little–but from focus.

This wasn’t about the kill.

It was about connection. Respect. Necessity.

The deer turned slightly. Leo moved.

In one sudden, fluid moment, he surged forward. The deer bolted–but not fast enough. Leo’s blade found its mark.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. He had to finish it swiftly, whispering an apology under his breath.

Afterward, he sat beside the body for a long time. Breathing. Thinking.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For letting me live today.”

It took all his strength to carry it back, the trek slow and heavy. He bundled it in a giant cloth as best he could, dragging it over rocks and through brush. His legs ached, his arms shook. The stars began to prick the sky above by the time he reached the edge of the temple once more.

Karai was waiting at the top of the steps, arms folded. She said nothing at first, just regarded him with that ghostly calm.

Leo dropped the thick cloth and exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. “I brought dinner,” he wheezed. “Hope you’re not vegetarian.”

Karai raised an eyebrow. “It took you long enough.”

Leo laughed–weak but proud. “Guess I’m a slow hunter.”

She approached, kneeling briefly to inspect the deer. Then she looked up at him. “You respected the hunt. You endured the forest. You returned.”

Leo smiled faintly, chest still heaving. “Yeah. And I didn’t get eaten by a bear.”

Karai’s mouth curled into a slight smile. “Well done.”

The wind stirred around them again. Leo closed his eyes for a moment, listening to it. Feeling it. Noticing the rhythm beneath the noise.

He was hungry. Sore. Exhausted.

But still standing.

Still learning.

---------- 

Month 3–Week 12

The air inside the meditation hall was still, sacred in its silence. Smooth stone walls curved around the room like a protective shell, old and worn, etched faintly with symbols Leo couldn’t quite read but felt humming with something ancient. The softest breeze moved through the small opening near the ceiling, guiding the scent of pine and wildflowers into the chamber. Dusk light spilled through the high, circular window overhead, casting golden shadows across the floor.

In the center of the room stood the meditation platform–raised slightly, smoothed by time and the presence of those who had sat upon it before. Around it were low rock seats, positioned like a ring, forming a quiet circle of stillness and reverence. Everything about the space whispered intention.

Leo sat crossed legged on one of the rock seats, trying–and failing–for the fifth time that afternoon to relax his shoulders.

His eyes flicked open. Karai was seated on the platform in front of him, back straight, hands resting lightly on her knees. She hadn’t said a word for nearly an hour.

“Okay,” Leo finally muttered, “I gotta be honest…I think my legs have gone numb.”

Karai didn’t open her eyes. “Then let them be numb.”

“What if I fall over and die dramatically? Will that count as spiritual progress?”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. Still, she said nothing.

Leo huffed and straightened his back again. He drew a breath in, slow and deep, just like she taught him. Let it fill the space between his ribs, hold, then let it slip out.

The breath didn’t calm him. His mind still raced with a hundred thoughts.

Karai’s breathing was soft and deep in front of him. Steady.

Leo exhaled again. Not as soft. Not as steady.

“You are breathing from your chest again,” Karai said, her voice a quiet ripple in the stillness.

Leo let out a slow, almost annoyed sigh. “I know, I know. In through the nose, down to the belly, out through the mouth. Like waves.”

Karai finally opened her eyes, giving him a look that was more amused than stern. “It is not about reciting the instructions.”

“Yeah, well, knowing and doing are two different things.” His voice was rough. Exhausted. He’d spent all morning training. His thighs ached. His shoulders were tight. His body was spent–and now he had to sit here again with his thoughts.

Yeah. Easy.

“Try again,” Karai said gently.

Leo huffed but obeyed. He closed his eyes. The room stretched inward. Quiet pressed around him, not heavy, but expectant. He drew in a breath–shaky at first–then deeper. Down to the pit of his belly.

In.
Hold.
Out.

Karai’s voice, quiet as always, guided him.

“You’ve spent years mastering your body. Training your reflexes. Controlling what you could see and touch. But now you must look inward. The wind is not just a force of nature, Leonardo–it is a lesson. It bends. Moves. Shifts. And when needed…it lets go.

Leo’s breath hitched.

“Let go,” he repeated under his breath. It felt impossible.

Inside his chest, his heart beat faster than it should.
Thump-thump
Thump-thump

“Focus on your breath,” Karai said. “Let it anchor you. Feel the air in your lungs, how it moves through you.”

He tried. Again. In. Out.
He counted the rhythm.

He focused on the space between each beat of his heart. And for a moment, it was quiet inside.

But then–

A flicker of memory.
Kraang Prime’s voice.
Pain.
Alone.
Floating.
His body, his mind, being twisted and broken and–

“I–I can’t,” he muttered, voice shaking. I can’t sit with it. Every time I try, I see him. I feel it. The darkness.”

Karai didn’t move from her place on the platform. She only opened her eyes and regarded him with a calm that never wavered. “It is not a failure to feel. It is only a failure to run from it.”

Leo’s fists clenched in his lap. “But I can’t just breathe it away, Karai. I Lived it. That place–it broke me.”

A beat of silence passed. Karai stepped down from the platform and crossed to sit beside him.

“Then let it be broken,” she said. “Let yourself break, if you must. That is the only way to begin healing.”

He looked at her, eyes stormy. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is not. But it is necessary.”

She held out a hand and placed it lightly over his sternum. “Close your eyes again. One more time.”

He hesitated, but obeyed.

“Breathe. Deeper. Not to escape…but to witness. Let the memories come. Let them move through you, like clouds across the sky.”

Leo clenched his teeth, his shoulders trembling–but he breathed.

In.
Out.

He let the memory come.
The darkness.
The echo of Kraang Prime’s presence.
His own screams.

He didn’t push them away this time. He watched. He breathed through it.

And somehow–somehow–they softened.

Didn’t vanish. But blurred at the edges. Became shapes in fog.

A beat passed. Another breath.

Leo felt…something else now. Warmer. Like hands on his shoulders, unseen. Steady. Grounding.

He didn’t know whose.

He didn’t open his eyes.

But he felt it.

Karai’s voice returned. Soft. Measured.

“You are not alone in this room, Leonardo. Nor have you ever been. The ones who came before walk with you. And if you breathe deeply enough…if you listen in stillness…you may hear them.”

He did.

Or maybe he only believed he did. Maybe that was enough.

When Leo finally opened his eyes, the light in the room had shifted again–cooler now, silver-blue. Evening was falling outside the high slits. A hush filled the space.

He exhaled. His whole chest shuddered with it.

“I think…” he said, voice hoarse,”...I think I felt something.”

Karai gave a small nod. “Then you are understanding.”

Leo blinked hard, looked down, then up again.

“So…next time we do this, I don’t cry, right?”

Karai raised a brow. “Tears are water. Water flows with wind. You are on the right path.”

Leo snorted. “Did you rehearse that?”

“No. But I am pleased you noticed the poetry.”

He smiled, just a little.

And breathed.

This time, it didn’t feel like a struggle. Not completely.

---------- 

The sky above the temple was a quiet canvas, brushed in hues of deep violet and fading gold. Night had come gently, wrapping the mountaintop in stillness like a blanket. Only the occasional chirp of crickets broke the silence, or the distant whisper of trees swaying in the wind far below.

Leo sat near the edge of the upper terrace wall, legs dangling over the drop. A flickering lantern burned beside him, casting a soft, amber glow that barely touched the shadows. The stone beneath him had cooled, but it still held the memory of the day’s sun–like a fading echo.

The cloak he wore rustled slightly as he adjusted, pulling it tighter around his shoulders. Midnight blue, embroidered with the Hamato crest. His father’s hands had sewn that into the fabric. Every stitch was intentional. Every thread a prayer. Leo ran his fingers over the repeated crest slowly, reverently.

He exhaled and looked down at the photo in his hands. It was worn around the edges now, having taken it out of its frame to better carry it. Curled slightly from being held so often. A little smudge on Donnie’s goggles. A faint crease over April’s shoulder. But the faces–his family’s faces–still shone. Still smiled up at him like they weren’t hurt by him leaving.

Leo pressed his thumb gently to the image.

Mikey’s goofy grin.
Donnie’s slight smirk.
Raph’s half smile.
Casey’s warm eyes.
April, arms thrown wide in a dramatic pose.
His dad, smiling with squinted eyes.

“Hey guys,” Leo whispered.

The breeze didn’t respond. The sky didn’t shift. The temple remained silent.

He swallowed, voice raw.

“Three months.” He glanced out at the horizon, where the last light was dying. “It’s been three months.”

His throat tightened.

“I still miss you. Every day. Every minute.” A soft laugh, bitter around the edges. “I think that’s the hardest part. Not the training. Not meditating. Not even obstacle courses from hell.”

He looked down again at the photo.

“It’s the silence.”

The night hummed around him. Deep and indifferent. The silence pressed in–not harsh, just…endless.

“There’s no yelling. No bickering over whose turn it is to do the dishes. No Mikey singing at the top of his lungs. No Donnie yelling at Mikey to stop. No Raph slamming doors or muttering when I tease him. No dad laughing at the TV. No April dragging Casey into chaos.”

He paused.
His breath caught.
His voice dropped to barely a whisper.

“None of you here to talk or joke with.”

A beat. Then another.

He blinked hard and rubbed the back of his hand over his face. The stars above him blinked quietly. Ancient. Distant. Unchanging.

Leo held the photo to his chest and closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, trying to fill the ache with air. It didn’t work.

“I know why I’m here. I know this is the right thing. But…” He sighed. “Some nights, it doesn’t feel like it.”

His hand drifted back down to the pattern of Hamato crests stitched into his cloak. He gripped it tightly.

“I’m doing this for you. All of you. I need to get better. I have to get better.” His voice was shaking now. “If I don’t…then what happened back then–it’s just gonna happen again. And I can’t–”

He cut himself off, biting down on the emotions that clawed its way up his throat. The guilt choking him.

The wind shifted slightly, stirring the grass behind him and the lantern flame beside him. The mountain sighed.

“I’ll come back” he whispered, more to himself than anything. “And I’ll be someone you can lean on. Someone you can trust to lead. For real this time.”

He pulled his knees up, curled the cloak tighter around him, and rested his chin on them. The photo still in his hands. His eyes gazed out at the sea of stars.

“But I miss you.” His voice cracked. “So much it hurts.”

Above him, the stars continued to shimmer like distant watchful eyes. Not a reply, not a sign–but Leo imagined it was enough.

He sat there until the lantern burned low. Until the cool night soaked into his bones. Until the silence didn’t feel quite so suffocating, just for a moment.

And when he finally stood to return to his room, he touched the Hamato crest one last time.

“I’m not done missing you,” he said softly. “But I’ll keep going.”

And he did.

Chapter Text

Month 4–Week 13

The morning air was thick with heat, the kind that clung to skin and made every breath feel just a little heavier. Summer had settled on the mountain with weighty silence, and the world outside the temple shimmered under the golden press of the rising sun.

The training courtyard was already warm, stone tiles drinking in sunlight and radiating it back up in waves. Cicadas buzzed in the trees just beyond the outer wall, and the scent of pine and dry earth floated on the occasional breeze.

Leo stood in the center of the courtyard, muscles already taut with anticipation. A dark cloth was tied firmly over his eyes, casting him into absolute blackness.

He rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose. “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

“This is not about getting it over with.” Karai’s voice came from somewhere in the courtyard–fluid, grounded, always just out of reach. “It is about surrender.”

Leo’s brow furrowed beneath the blindfold. His fingers flexed.

“You know surrender’s not exactly my strong suit, right?”

“Which is why you must practice it.”

There was the sound of a step–a light shuffle over stone–and then something struck him in the shoulder. Not hard, but enough to make him stagger.

Leo cursed under his breath and turned towards the sound, swinging high and wide.

His strike sliced air. Nothing.

A second hit clipped his thigh. He jerked back and nearly lost his footing.

“Seriously? You’re just gonna hit a blind guy now?”

“You are not blind, Leonardo. You are blocked. There is a difference.”

He steadied his stance, heart thumping. “Oh, great. Wordplay. My favorite during combat.”

Another step. Leo twisted and ducked, listening, feeling–trying to catch the sound. Trying to anticipate.

Too late.

A sweep to the back of his leg dropped him to a knee with a grunt.

“Dammit!” He slammed his fist against the stone, breathing hard. Sweat was already sliding down the back of his neck, heat rising in waves from the ground.

“This is stupid,” he snapped. “I can’t fight what I can’t see.”

“Then see differently,” Karai said. “You are not here to fight with your eyes. You are here to learn how to trust what is already inside you.”

Leo gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. His body ached–still sore from obstacle runs and climbing drills–but it wasn’t the pain that rattled him.

It was not knowing. The darkness. The feeling of being lost in his own skin. 

He stood tall again, hands raised in a defensive posture, though every muscle tensed like a coil.

Silence.

Then–

A whisper of motion to his right.

He turned and struck–but again, nothing. Another sting at his back. A hit to his shoulder. 

“You must stop thinking,” Karai said, her voice calm but firm. "You are trying to outthink the wind. You will never learn that way.”

“Easy for the wind to say,” Leo muttered, catching his breath. “It’s not the one getting its shell kicked.”

There was a pause.

Then Karai’s voice softened. “Do you remember what I told you when you first arrived? About the wind not carrying the past?”

Leo stilled.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“That lesson has not changed. The wind does not analyze. It does not cling. It moves . It trusts .” A beat. “Can you trust yourself, Leonardo?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight. The frustration boiled under his skin–but not aimless. Not anymore.

He adjusted his footing.

Breathed

He wanted to get this right.

“No,” he said at last, voice low. “But I want to.”

Karai said nothing. And that silence felt like its own kind of answer.

Another movement. Leo felt it this time–not just the sound, but something else. A shift in the air. A tension, subtle and brief.

He pivoted–not smoothly, but instinctively–and ducked.

The blow missed.

His heart leapt in his chest, even as the next hit caught him in the plastron and sent him stumbling.

“Not bad,” Karai said. “You felt me that time.”

Leo straightened, breath coming fast. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I almost didn’t get hit. Progress.”

“Progress,” Karai echoed. “We will continue later.”

Leo sighed, tugged the blindfold up, and squinted into the bright light of the courtyard. The temple loomed behind Karai, Its shadow long now as the sun climbed the morning sky. Beyond its rooftops, the forest stretched out, dark green and endless.

His body hurt. His pride even more so.

But underneath all that–buried beneath bruises and sweat and exhaustion–was a flicker of something else.

Determination.

He looked towards the training grounds again, jaw set.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s dance again later.”

The wind stirred behind him, warm and wild.

And he stood still, learning how to listen.

The meditation garden behind the eastern wing of the temple was quiet, bathed in warm gold and green. Dappled sunlight filtered through tall bamboo stalks, casting long shadows across the soft moss that blanketed the ground. A slow breeze stirred the leaves above, their soft rustling the only sound aside from the occasional chirp of birds.

Leo sat cross legged on the moss near a shallow stone pond, the air around him heavy with the scent of damp earth and fresh pine. A few dragonflies skimmed the pond's surface, their wings catching light like shards of glass.

Karai sat opposite of him, poised and still, her hands resting on her knees. Between them, incense burned in a small clay bowl, trailing lazy spirals of smoke towards the sky.

Leo’s eyes were closed. His breathing was slow, but uneven–his hands clenched tightly in his lap.

“You’re holding your breath again,” Karai said gently. “Let it flow. Like wind through trees.”

Leo exhaled shakily, his brow furrowed. “Right. Wind. Flowing.”

He inhaled again, deeper this time, but his shoulders stayed tense. 

Karai watched him carefully, her tone softening. “You’ve done well with grounding yourself these past few weeks. You are learning to be still. But today…we are not only listening. We are looking .”

Leo flinched slightly. He knew what that meant. “Into the past? Willingly ?”

“Yes. Into the places you don’t want to go.”

He plastered on a smirk, leaning forward slightly. “There are a lot of places I don’t want to go. Like the bathroom after Raph eats Mikey’s hot pizza burrito’s.”

Karai sighed as she gave him an unimpressed look, though he could see the sparkle of humor dancing in her eyes. She smiled softly at him. “You deflect when it gets hard.”

Leo’s shoulders hunched. He didn’t deny it.

When he got up the courage to speak again, his voice came quiet. “I don’t know if I can handle that, Karai.”

Karai didn’t move, but her presence somehow felt closer. “You are not alone in this. I will guide you, as I have before.” She nodded towards the incense. “Focus on your breath. Let it steady you. Let it anchor you to the now.”

Leo huffed, but closed his eyes again. Breathing.

In.

Out.

The incense curled. The pond rippled. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out before flying away.

“Let your mind step through the door,” Karai said, voice barely above a whisper. “What do you see?”

Leo’s hands twitched.

“Darkness,” he whispered. “It’s always darkness first.”

“Describe it to me.”

“It’s cold. Not like snow, but…empty. Like I’m floating. Alone. There’s no sound. Just…my heartbeat. And his voice.”

Karai’s brow furrowed slightly. “Kraang Prime.”

Leo nodded. His jaw clenched.

“He didn’t speak in words much besides screaming. It was…feelings. Pain. Pressure. And he laughed.” His breath caught. “He enjoyed it. Breaking me apart like that.”

Silence fell again, except for the wind in the leaves.

Karai spoke softly. “What else do you remember?”

Leo’s voice trembled. “I couldn’t move. I could feel him crawling into my thoughts. Pulling me apart. I screamed but no one heard. I thought–I thought I’d never get out. That I’d be stuck there.” He curled in on himself further, voice breaking as if it was something shameful spilling out. “...That maybe I deserve to be.”

His hand drifted to his chest, over the place where his heart beat just a little faster now. “They said I was only gone for minutes.”

Karai opened her eyes and looked at him. “But for you, it was longer.”

Leo nodded. He opened his eyes too, staring at the pond's still surface. “It felt like hours. Days, even. I don’t know. I lost track. I kept replaying everything. How I failed them. How I did in one timeline. How it all started because of me .”

He lifted his gaze to Karai, voice barely a whisper. “I practically gave them the key. The invasion…it was my fault.”

Karai didn’t speak right away. Instead reached towards the river, pulling out a flat stone and placing it between them–smooth and black with specks of white scattered around it. 

“This is obsidian,” she said. “Volcanic glass. Forged by intense heat. The river is littered with them. It reflects without distortion. Hold it.”

Leo hesitated, then picked it up. It was cool, strangely grounding.

“What do you see?”

He looked into it, frowning. “Just me.”

“Exactly. Just you. No past. No pain. No burden. Just Leonardo.”

He held it tighter. “But I am all of that. I can’t just forget.”

“As I have said before, we are not trying to forget.” Karai leaned closer. “We are learning to carry it differently .”

He stared down at the stone. The reflection of his eyes trembled.

“It still hurts.”

“Good,” she said gently. “That means you are still healing. Scars do not form on stone.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hollow, but full. Wind rustled the trees above. The incense was nearly burned out.

Leo looked up at her again. “How do I live with it?”

She offered a faint smile. “You already are, my child. One breath at a time.”

A shaky breath left him. But it was still a breath. “I want to get better.”

“And you are.”

They sat in silence, the past still close–but no longer crushing. Leo didn’t feel whole. Not yet. But today, he had faced the memory. And that alone felt like a kind of victory.

He clutched the obsidian stone to his chest.

Month 4–Week 16

The training yard behind the Hamato Temple was alive with movement, though not a single leaf stirred from the trees. It was a hot day, the summer sun pouring molten gold across the stone tiles. A warm breeze whispered now and again through the bamboo at the edge of the courtyard, and in the quiet hush of the mountainside, every sound felt louder, sharper, more present . 

Leo stood in the center of the yard, feet bare against the warmed stone. The long strip of black cloth was back over his eyes, casting him in complete darkness.Yet he stood with his shoulders relaxed, posture steady, twin katanas reversed in his hands. 

He breathed. In. Out. The silence wasn’t as oppressive as it had once been. Today, it buzzed with possibility. 

From somewhere in front of him, Karai’s voice echoed softly. “Ready?”

Leo grinned. “Was born ready. Well, maybe not this ready, but you know. Close.”

“We shall see.”

A rush of energy stirred in the air–not wind, not really. It was movement, pressure. The shift of another’s presence.

Leo reacted without thinking. He stepped aside just as Karai’s staff whistled past his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the air that it displaced. His grin widened. He turned on his heel, ducked low, feeling the scuff of his own movement and the subtle vibration of hers. His senses flared open. Every breath. Every shift in the air. Every scrape of wood on stone. 

“Come on, Karai,” he called, rolling back and springing to his feet again. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want to sneak up on a ninja.”

“Bold,” she replied from somewhere behind him, “for someone still blindfolded.”

He heard the flicker of her staff again,and this time, he spun, raising his swords just in time. The wooden staff struck against the flat of his blade and rebounded. Leo stumbled slightly but caught his footing.

He couldn’t help it–he laughed .

It was a light sound, warm and surprised, like he hadn’t remembered laughter could feel that good . 

“I felt that one coming!” he exclaimed. “You hear that? I felt it!”

“You are learning to listen. Not just with ears–but with presence.”

Leo lowered his stance slightly, breathing deep.

The warmth of the sun kissed his skin, the heat clinging to his arms, soaking into the folds of his training gear. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath the blindfold, but he didn’t mind. This wasn’t the frustration of the first week–falling on his face, swinging wildly into empty space. This wasn’t about panic anymore. 

This was flow .

He moved again, dodging another strike. His footfalls were quiet. His blades light.

“This is so weirdly fun,” he said between breaths. “Like…terrifying. But also awesome. Terri-awesome.”

Karai’s voice was serene and amused. “Do not let pride blind you more than the cloth.”

“No promises,” he quipped, ducking again. “Pride’s kinda new. I'd like to keep it for a while.”

They danced like that for another minute. He wasn’t perfect–Karai’s staff tapped him in the shoulder, the ribs–but each time, he adjusted. Each time, he listened more closely. Trusted himself more deeply.

And then, silence.

Karai’s movement ceased. The air stilled.

Leo straightened slowly. Sweat rolled down his temple. His chest rose and fell with exertion. “Did I pass?”

The sound of her staff planting into the stone. “You have not passed anything. But you have progressed . You move like one who truly listens. That is rare.”

He pulled the blindfold off with a grin and blinked into the light. The temple shimmered under the weight of the sun. Dragonflies buzzed lazily near the pond. In the trees, cicadas hummed.

Karai stood a few feet away, staff planted beside her, her form translucent in the light–less shadow than memory, more presence than ghost.

Leo breathed in deeply. The air was thick with summer heat, but somehow it felt light.

“You feel it now?” Karai asked.

Leo turned towards the sky, a smile tugging at his lips. “I do.”

He looked down at his hands. Steady. Sure. “It’s not just about movement,” he said. “It’s knowing where to be, when to be there. It’s…It’s trusting yourself. Even when you can’t see it.”

Karai nodded, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Like the wind?” She teased.

Leo huffed out a small laugh. “Like the wind,” he echoed, a note of amusement and quiet awe in his voice. 

And for a moment, standing in the sunlight, his heart racing with victory and humility, Leonardo felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time:

Hope.

Chapter Text

Month 5–Week 17

The path beyond the temple wound upward into the mountains, narrow and overgrown, lined with gnarled pines and moss-covered stones. The air was cooler here, sharper, filled with the scent of damp earth and something floral carried by the breeze. It had rained the night before, and now the world felt scrubbed clean, alive.

Leo trudged along the path with his cloak tied around his waist, twin swords strapped to his side as usual, though they were of no use today. His feet crunched over gravel, the soft swish of leaves brushing against him as he pushed  through the underbrush.

“Okay,” Leo muttered to himself, batting aside a fern, “Karai said ‘just a short hike.’ This is a whole episode of National Geographic.”

A laugh, soft and amused, echoed just ahead of him. Karai floated down from a high stone ledge, her ghostly form glowing faintly in the filtered sunlight.

“Come now,” she said, folding her arms, “a ninja must endure terrain more treacherous than this.”

Leo smirked and wiped sweat from his brow. “Sure, but ideally with snacks. Or at least a trail mix.” He looked around. “You know, I’d kill for a protein bar right about now.”

Karai chuckled but didn’t respond. She simply gestured with a nod.

They stepped through a cluster of trees–and the world opened up. 

Before them, nestled in a carved-out gorge, was a towering waterfall cascading down jagged rock. The water roared as it spilled over the cliff, crashing into a wide pool below, spraying mist in every direction. Ferns and small flowering plants clung to the stone walls, slick and glistening in the sunlight. A few birds zipped through the air, undeterred by the sound. Everything shimmered, alive and bright.

Leo stared, awestruck.

“...Okay. Yeah. That’s a lot of water.”

Karai turned to him, face serene. “Today’s lesson,” she said, “is about presence. Stillness. And control under pressure.” She stepped towards the water’s edge. “You must learn to balance not just your body–but your energy. Your breath. Your center.”

Leo tilted his head skeptically. “Let me guess. You want me to go under that thing?”

She smiled. “Not under. Beneath .”

“Great,” Leo said, sighing. “So I just park myself beneath nature’s giant showerhead and try not to get crushed. Cool. Easy.” He paused. “Does my health insurance even cover spirit-led ninja training?”

“This is not a challenge of strength, Leonardo. It is a test of focus. Of trust. You have already begun to quiet your mind. Now you must learn to anchor it.”

Leo stepped forward slowly, feet crunching into the pebbled shore. The spray was already misting his face. He squinted up at the fall and whistled. 

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

He pulled off his cloak and laid it over a rock, setting his sheathed swords beside it, then stepped carefully onto the slick stones leading towards the waterfall’s base. Each step was deliberate–testing his footing, arms slightly out for balance.

The water thundered. The closer he got the louder it became. It was a wall of sound and movement. He had to shout to hear himself.

“This is fine! Totally fine! Nothing terrifying about a literal force of nature trying to knock me on my shell!”

Karai watched from the bank, arms still folded, smiling softly. 

Leo reached the stone platform beneath the fall–a flat, narrow outcrop jutting just into the pounding column of water. He hesitated, heart pounding, then took a deep breath and stepped into the fall.

WHUMP

The water slammed down on him like a giant hand. It was heavy. Freezing. He staggered, nearly slipping off the stone. 

“OKAY!” he yelled. “NOT FINE! THIS IS NOT FINE!”

He dropped into a crouch, arms hugging his knees. His entire body shook. 

Breathe. Breathe.

Karai’s voice echoed faintly in his mind, as it sometimes did during their deepest meditations. “ Let the water pass around you. Not through you. Be rooted like stone–but hollow like bamboo. ”

Leo gritted his teeth and forced himself to slow down. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

The water still pummeled him, but slowly– slowly –his body began to adjust. He focused on his breath. On the rhythm of his heart. The ache in his thighs. The cold on his skin. The pressure on his shell.

He managed a shaky grin. “I feel like a soggy fortune cookie.”

Still, he stayed.

Not long. Not today. After a few minutes he stumbled back out, gasping, soaking, dripping. But alive. Breathing.

Karai met him at the bank with a nod. “You did not fall.”

Leo laughed, wringing out his mask. “Nope. Just got mildly pulverized by nature. But hey–ninja stuff.”

Karai smiled. Proud. “We return tomorrow. You will remain longer. Stand taller.”

He groaned and flopped down onto a dry patch of rock. “You really do take ‘tough love’ to new heights, huh?”

“Hamato heights,” she corrected, smirking.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

Month 5–Week 18

Leo’s breath came slow and steady as he stepped across the thick stone path leading to the waterfall’s  basin. The rocks were familiar now–each one memorized by the soles of his feet, the cracks, the texture, the give beneath pressure. The early morning mist clung to everything, silver in the soft light. 

The waterfall roared ahead, endless and deafening, but something inside him had changed. Where the sound had once overwhelmed him, it now faded into a kind of background rhythm–a heartbeat of the earth he was learning to match.

He reached the outcrop beneath the waterfall, squared his shoulders, and stepped into it.

WHUMP

The cold still hit him hard. The weight still pressed down. But this time, he didn’t stumble. He breathed.

In. Out. In. Out.

He anchored himself low, feet braced, arms loose at his sides. His muscles trembled with effort, but he stayed.

Karai stood at the shoreline again, more a silhouette today–hazy in the veil of mist and morning sun. She watched in silence, a quiet sentinel. 

Leo focused. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t see the water, but he could feel it. The way it crashed down. The way it pushed against him. It wasn’t personal–it was just movement. Just energy. Just nature.

“Be still,” he whispered to himself. “Let it move around you…not through you.”

His mind wandered. To the photo in his pack. To Mikey’s smile, Donnie’s sarcastic smirk, Raph’s glare that was really love. To his dad. To April and Casey. To everything he left behind.

But then he heard Karai’s voice–real this time, calling through the mist.

“Return to the moment.”

Leo exhaled slowly, grounding.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Right. Here. Now.”

The spray lashed against his face. The rock beneath him was slick and uneven. But he was centered. Balanced. Breathing.

He opened his eyes.

He didn’t fall.

After ten minutes, Leo finally stepped back, drenched and shaking–but with a triumphant grin on his face. 

“Did you see that?” he called to Karai, jogging back barefoot over the stones. “I didn’t fall! My legs are Jell-O, but I didn’t fall!”

Karai nodded, the hint of a smile curving her lips. “You are getting better at enduring. Better at maintaining control under pressure. That is strength.”

Leo threw his arms out dramatically, water flying from his arms. “So what you’re saying is, I’ve unlocked the secret ninja technique of… waterproof stubbornness? ”

“Something like that.”

He dropped onto a mossy rock near her, panting, arms draped over his knees. His body ached, but there was a lightness to his chest. A flicker of confidence.

“I still hate the cold.”

“And yet you persevered.”

He looked at her then, water dripping from the tips of his mask tails. “...Yeah. I did.”

And he would again tomorrow.

The sun hung high over the Hamato Temple, blanketing the inner plaza in warm gold. Heat shimmered across the stone tiles, and a breeze stirred gently through the carved archways, rustling the hanging flags that fluttered along the temple’s edge. Shadows cast by the tall columns stretched long and graceful, the only movement in the otherwise still courtyard.

Leo stood at the center, hands clenched and empty at his sides. The familiar weight of his twin katanas–usually sheathed at his side–was missing. Deliberately so.

His swords lay respectfully on a folded cloth outside the training ring. Karai stood near them, her spirit form luminous beneath the sun’s light, calm and silent.

Leo shifted uneasily, rolling his shoulders. HIs mask tails fluttered lightly behind him in the wind.

“Okay,” he muttered, exhaling slowly, “just gonna…do the thing. Portal with my bare hands. No big deal.”

He gave Karai a quick side glance.

“I mean, sure, I barely figured out how to portal with my swords at first, but let’s just skip the training wheels and jump to expert mode.”

Karai gave no reaction, serene as ever.

“...Right,” Leo said, rubbing the back of his neck, his humor dimming.

He took a few steps forward, stopping in the middle of the stone platform. The tiles were cool beneath his feet despite the summer warmth. Around him, the air was still–quiet. The wind had calmed to a gentle hush, as if the temple itself was holding its breath. 

“What if I can’t do it?” Leo said finally, breaking the silence. 

Karai stepped forward, her voice soft. “Then we try again.”

Leo looked down at his hands. They trembled slightly. 

“I’ve only ever done it with swords. They’re like…a focus point. A safety net.” He glanced up. “What if that’s all it ever was? It was hard enough getting my ninpo to work with a sword.”

“Your swords are a part of you, but they are not all of you,” Karai said gently. “Your ninpo lives within. It is born of spirit, not steel.”

Leo nodded slowly. He stepped back into stance, closed his eyes, and breathed.

In.

Out.

He reached for the flame of energy deep inside him–the familiar hum that pulsed just beneath his skin. His ninpo. He tried to draw it forward, center it in his palms. Just like before. But this time without the katanas channeling it.

The wind shifted.

The air grew heavier somehow.

He focused harder, sweat beading at his temple.

A spark–there it was–just the faintest flicker. He grabbed onto it, heart pounding.

He opened his eyes and drew a circle in the air.

Nothing.

The air rippled, but no portal opened.

Leo’s shoulders sagged. He tried again.

Still nothing.

Again.

Nothing .

He gritted his teeth, frustration curling in his gut. “Come on!” he hissed, jabbing at the air once more with his hands, willing it to work.

Again–just a flicker. A twitch. Then gone.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled, turning away.

He stomped over to the edge of the ring and sat hard on the stone, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His breath came fast and uneven. 

Karai moved beside him, kneeling. “Why are you truly angry?”

Leo didn’t answer at first.

Then quietly–

“Because I don’t want to fail.”

A pause.

“Because if I can’t do this, something that’s meant to be my thing, then maybe I was never strong enough to begin with.”

Karai’s voice was soft. “Strength is not in perfection, Leonardo. It is in persistence. In willingness to grow.”

He let that sit for a moment. Then sighed. 

“It’s just…it’s hard. And I want to be ready. I want to be better–for them. For everything I’ve done.”

Karai reached out, her hand hovering over his shoulder like a breeze. “And you are. Already, you are.”

Leo gave a tired smile, looking out over the plaza.

“Guess I’ll have to try again.”

“Yes,” Karai said. “And again. And the next day. And the next. Until the power answers you.”

Leo stood, brushing off his knees. He walked back to the center of the ring, looked down at his hands, then at the blades resting peacefully across the courtyard.

“Okay,” he muttered, flexing his fingers. “I’ll get it. Just gotta keep punching air until it obeys me.” He threw one last mock jab, grinning faintly at the futility of it.

The air shimmered–just faintly.

Karai tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

Leo missed it.

Month 5–Week 19

The inner plaza glowed beneath a cloudy summer sky, the usual golden warmth filtered into cooler, muted hues. The stone tiles had absorbed the day’s heat but were slick with moisture from the morning’s drizzle. The air felt thick, humming quietly–like a song waiting to be remembered.

Leo stood alone at the center again. His swords were placed just beyond the ring, untouched since he started this training. His arms ached from hours of repetition, his thighs burned from stance practice. But he was back. Still trying.

“Round…what, thirty-five?” Leo muttered to himself “Pfft. Who needs rest? Not me.”

He took a breath. Closed his eyes.

Behind him, Karai’s form shimmered into view, silent and watchful. She had said little this morning.Watching him struggle had become routine.

The air shifted gently. A breeze picked up around the courtyard, tugging at the edges of his cloak. 

Leo moved his hands slowly, circling the air with intent. He breathed in rhythm, as he had practiced. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. He imagined the feeling of his ninpo–deep, warm, and coiled like a spring inside his chest. Tried to draw it forward.

Nothing.

He tried again.

A flicker. A shimmer of blue light in the air. But it collapsed as quickly as it came.

He groaned and dropped his arms.

“Ugh, this would be easier if I could just scream at the air and will it into obeying,” he said “You know. Like Donnie with technology.”

Karai’s voice finally broke the silence.

“You are trying to control what must instead be guided.”

Leo turned towards her, brow furrowed. “Okay, but guiding my ninpo to rip open space is kind of abstract. I used to point swords at the universe and boom–portal.”

“And the swords focused your will. They were bridges.” She stepped forward, her voice steady. “Now you must become the bridge.”

Leo gave her a flat look. “No pressure.”

Karai knelt down and motioned for him to do the same. He sat, exhaling sharply, tension radiating from his limbs. HIs muscles twitched. Sweat clung to his brow.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed.

He did.

“Don’t force it. Don’t reach. Let it come. This is a lesson you have already taught yourself when you found your power. The lesson has not changed, it has only gotten harder.”

Her voice softened.

“Focus on your breath. Let it deepen. Let it widen.”

He breathed.

The world dulled around him.

“Feel your heartbeat,” she continued. “The pulse of life. The air within. That is your current. Follow it.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak.

“Now,” she whispered, “imagine the space just in front of you bending. Not breaking. Just parting. Like curtains in a breeze.”

Leo did as she said. He imagined the still air stirring. Not real wind, but a current that moved with his breath. His energy. His will.

And then–briefly–something responded.

He opened his eyes.

A thin slit of blue light shimmered before him. Just for a couple seconds. Barely more than a full breath.

But it was there.

Leo blinked. Stared.

“Did you see that?” he asked, voice hushed.

“I did,” Karai said with a small nod.

Leo exhaled–half laugh, half release.

“Okay,” he said, still catching his breath. “Okay. That..that was something .”

“You are learning,” she said. “Now continue.”

Leo stood slowly, his legs stiff from sitting.

 “Y’know,” he said, shaking out his arms. “I’m starting to think this training arc needs a montage sequence.”

“Then make one,” Karai replied simply. “Every step you take is the music.”

He blinked at her, then cracked a tired smile. “That was actually kind of cool.”

She smiled, her eyes holding something close to pride.

The breeze swept through the plaza again, faint and warm.

Leo stepped back into the center of the platform, ready to try again. 

Month 5–Week 20

The sun had dipped low behind the peaks hours ago, leaving the sky a wash of deep indigo, smeared with faint amber clouds. The stone corridors of the Hamato Temple were cool now, humming with silence. Just the gentle rustling of evening wind outside the open windows, the chirping of distant crickets, the soft creak of ancient wood settling into sleep.

Leo’s feet padded slowly along the hall, his movements heavy and sluggish. Every step echoed his exhaustion, but it was the good kind–the earned kind. Muscles worn to the bone, mind fogged from hours of focus, and yet a small, stubborn warmth in his chest reminded him it was worth it. All of it.

Meditation had come first that morning. Three full hours of stillness and breath. He still struggled with it. His body itched to move, his mind wandered, and silence always stretched too long. But Karai’s voice had guided him gently. Her presence was steady, unyielding. So he endured. Slowly–painfully–he was learning to quiet the storm.

Then came the rest of the day. Pouring his energy into physical and mystic training. Summoning his ninpo without his blades. Each attempt like trying to grip water with his bare hands. Slippery. Elusive. Exhausting. Frustrating . But not impossible.

There had been progress.

And progress tasted sweeter than anything he had eaten in weeks.

Speaking of eating–he had made dinner himself tonight. Again. Charred venison from the deer he’d hunted three days prior, now carefully preserved. Wild grains boiled until soft. Fresh vegetables he’d pulled from the garden behind the east wing, where sun filtered in just enough to nourish life. He cooked in silence, save for the occasional hum of an old tune Mikey used to sing when they’d mess around in the kitchen. It made him smile. Just a little.

Now, at last, the day was done.

He slid open the worn shoji door to his room. It let out a soft creak, like it was tired too.

The room was small. A square cut of stone and shadow, lit only by the moonlight spilling in from a window carved into the wall. The floor was smooth, covered by a single, woven mat. In a corner sat a low wooden bed frame with a futon mattress–simple but clean. His cloak folded neatly across the blanket. There was no dresser, no mirror, no clutter.

Just Leo.

And the photo. 

It rested on the small bedside table where he left it, the image having worn slightly from how often he held it. His family's faces smiling back at him like a greeting. Leo stepped toward it, like he always did. He sat at the edge of the bed and reached out, tracing a finger lightly over the smooth paper. 

“Hey, guys,” he whispered. His voice was soft and a little rough.

The air was cool against his skin. The stone beneath him seemed to breathe slowly.

“I’m doing it,” he murmured, huffing out a laugh. “Not great, not perfect…but I'm learning.”

He exhaled, shoulders slumping as he leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees. “I miss you. All of you. Every single day.”

He closed his eyes for a moment.

“I wonder what you’re doing. If you’re taking care of yourselves. If Mikey’s keeping up with his painting, If Donnie finally got that upgrade working. If Casey’s still struggling to fit into this version of peace. If April’s drowning in schoolwork again…”

A soft smile.

“If Raph’s punching away at some poor bag pretending he’s not freaking out.”

He didn’t say Splinter’s name, but he thought it. Felt the weight of it in his chest. The cloak he often wore laid beside him–dark, soft, embroidered with the Hamato crest his father had sewn for him.

Leo reached for it, drew it close, and let his fingers press into the fabric. Like he could feel Splinter’s hands there. Like he could still hear him shouting his name in that exasperated tone. Leo always knew which buttons to push. 

“I’m getting better,” he whispered. “I promise.”

He slid under the thin blanket, the thin blanket wrapping around him like the arms of the night. The moonlight cast long shadows across the ceiling. Somewhere outside, an owl called once, then again.

His body ached. His mind drifted. But a small ember of warmth glowed inside him.

Progress.

Slow, painful, real.

With one last glance at the photo, Leo let his eyes fall shut. 

The wind outside stirred gently, letting the cool breeze through the open window.

Chapter Text

Month 6–Week 21

The sun had barely begun to rise, casting a delicate golden hue over the temple grounds. Morning mist clung to the grass like a secret, and the air was cool enough to make Leo’s breath fog slightly as he stretched in the quiet courtyard. The inner plaza was bathed in pale light, its circular stone platform cracked slightly from age, worn smooth from generations of training. 

Leo stood at its center once more, exhaling a long, tired breath as he stared at the space in front of him.

“Okay,” he muttered, adjusting his stance. “Focus. You can do this. You have done this.”

Behind him, Karai’s ethereal form hovered above the stone, arms crossed in calm observation. Her eyes glinted with quiet encouragement. “Remember, Leonardo,” she said gently. “The swords were never the source of your power. They were only the channel. Your ninpo lives within you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo replied, shaking out his arms. “I know . I just with it came with, like, a ‘Portal for Dummies’ manual or something.”

Karai gave him a patient smile. “Trial and error I’m afraid.”

“Ugh. My favorite kinds of lessons.”

With a sigh and a determined grunt, Leo extended his hands, palms open, drawing in a slow breath. He focused–on his center, on the energy thrumming in his core, on the connection he was slowly building between his will and the space around him. The edges of his vision tingled. The air pulsed faintly.

A flicker.

A shimmer.

A portal swirled open in the air like a ripple across glass–shaky and small, just big enough for one very determined turtle.

Leo blinked. “Ha! I did it! I did it! He shouted, pumping a fist.

Karai raised an eyebrow. “Where does it lead?”

Leo paused. He…didn’t think that far ahead. 

He plastered on a cocky smile. “I’m sure it leads to the kitchen this time.”

Karai nodded towards the portal, her amusement giving away in a slight smirk. “Let’s see then.”

“...Right. Yeah. Okay.” Without hesitating, which was maybe his first mistake , Leo dove through the portal with a grin and a triumphant yell.

And immediately fell into a freezing cold creek.

SPLASH!

“ACK! SON OF A– ” Leo flailed, water rushing into his mouth as he tumbled against slick rocks, limbs kicking in confusion. He scrambled upright, soaked from head to toe, his mask tails dripping and sticking to the side of his face.

He looked around wildly.

He was…in a forest clearing. The same one he’d stumbled into several days ago when he’d portalled and accidentally ended up face-to-face with a very annoyed badger.

“...Well,” Leo muttered, brushing the wet mask tails away from his face. “At least it’s not the badger again.”

A moment later, a soft shimmer filled the air and Karai’s spirit form appeared above the creek, standing atop the water as if it were solid stone.

She tilted her head. “Wrong again, I see.”

“Define ‘wrong,’” Leo said, climbing out and squeezing the water from the edges of his cloak. “I got here, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she allowed. “And you’re improving. But your mind must be sharper, your intent clearer. You cannot portal blindly and expect precision.”

Leo flopped dramatically onto a nearby log, still dripping. “Says the woman who floats everywhere and can’t get wet.”

Karai chuckled softly. “You are progressing well. But mastery requires patience.”

“Ugh. That word again.” He threw his head back, staring up at the branches swaying overhead. “You know, when I pictured mystic training, I didn’t picture surprise swimming lessons.”

“And yet, here we are.”

Leo snorted. “Here we are.”

They stayed in silence for a moment–Karai poised like a statue, Leo sprawled like a very damp and defeated ninja. The sun had risen higher now, casting dappled light through the trees, catching drops of water on his skin like tiny gems.

Eventually, Leo stood, brushing himself off and taking a breath. “Alright,” he said. “Back to the plaza? Or do I have to portal back and risk ending up in the chicken coop again?”

Karai raised a brow. “Your choice.”

“Cool cool cool, no pressure or anything.”

He rolled his shoulders, exhaling deeply, and extended his hands once again. 

He was exhausted. Still dripping. He felt a bruise twinge on his leg. Another added to many. 

But his grin was genuine.

Progress.

Messy, damp, hilarious progress.

Month 6–Week 23

The sun filtered gently through high, pale clouds, the warmth of summer softened by a quiet breeze that rustled the tall trees surrounding the temple. The inner plaza was still, it worn stones dappled  in shifting light and shade. The birds had quieted for a moment, and even the insects seemed to hush–as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Leo stood on the stone platform, steadying his breath. His eyes were closed, arms loose at his sides. The silence around him was thick, sacred somehow.

Karai’s spirit emerged from the shaded edge of the courtyard like mist gathering form. Her presence brought with it a familiar calm, the sense of countless lifetimes behind her eyes. She hovered over the stones, arms folded, expression serene. 

“You’ve grown,” she said quietly.

Leo cracked one eye open. “Taller?”

“Wiser.”

“Ah. Lame.”

Karai arched an eyebrow, unamused. Leo chuckled, dropping his gaze and exhaling slowly. 

“I mean, thank you,” he added, softer now. “It’s just weird hearing it. I never really thought of myself as… wise material.”

“That is why this lesson matters.” She drifted to the center of the plaza and gestured for him to follow. He padded forward on silent feet and stood across from her, the air heavy with purpose.

“You’ve learned to open portals,” she said. “You’ve begun to sense direction. This is progress. But today, we do not move.”

Leo blinked. “Wait. So…the lesson today is…to do nothing ?”

“No.” she said. “The lesson is to be still.”

She lowered herself into a seated position, legs folded gracefully, hands resting on her knees. The sun caught in her translucent form, making her glow faintly like morning mist. Leo copied her, flopping a bit less gracefully into a cross legged seat and squinting at her.

“Haven't we been practicing that in meditation?” he shook his head. “Karai, I love you,” he said. “But I have ADHD, trauma, and a very loud inner monologue. Stillness is not exactly my thing.”

She smiled. “Then it will be your greatest teacher.”

Leo sighed through his nose. “Of course it will.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. The kind of silence that stretched–wide, vast, a canvas rather than emptiness.

Karai broke it softly. “The power of pause is a moment suspended between choices. A breath before the blade moves. A second when a leader listens instead of speaking.”

Leo shifted slightly. “Sounds like a long dramatic way of saying ‘think before you act.’”

“It’s more than that,” Karai said. “It’s sensing the world around you when your eyes are closed. Hearing the truth beneath words. Feeling your spirit’s alignment with your path.”

Leo swallowed, looking down at his hands. Calloused. Steadier now than they used to be. “...I used to rush everything,” he admitted. “Talk fast. Move fast. Lead fast. Thought if I kept going, I wouldn’t mess up. Or fall apart.”

Karai’s gaze softened. “And did that help you?”

He paused.

“No,” he whispered. “Not when it mattered.”

Silence again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was gentle, Supportive.

“You are not who you were,” Karai said. “Stillness will show you who you are becoming.”

Leo took a breath. This time, he didn’t try to fill the quiet with a joke or a sigh. He just sat. Listened. Felt the sun on his skin. The breeze moving past his cheeks. The subtle pulse of energy within him–his ninpo–resting quietly at his center like a cat waiting to pounce.

There was movement in the stillness, and peace in the pause.

After a while, Leo spoke again. “You think I’ll ever be good at this?”

“You already are,” Karai said.

He looked over at her, skeptical. “Are you sure, or is that like a ghost-teacher pep talk?”

“Yes.”

Leo laughed quietly and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky.

“Okay,” he said. “Teach me how to pause.”

Month 6–Week 24

The sun had only just crested the mountaintops, spilling liquid gold across the ancient stone temple’s inner plaza. Shadows stretched long and cool in the quiet, broken only by the rhythmic rustle of leaves stirred by a passing breeze.

Leo stood alone in the center of the plaza, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. His twin katanas were strapped across at his side, but Karai had instructed him to leave them untouched. 

Today was different.

Karai’s spirit shimmered into being at the edge of the courtyard, as she always did–silent, steady, luminous like moonlight captured in a human shape. Her gaze lingered on Leo, unreadable but warm.

“You’ve been progressing,” she said, drifting towards him. “Your portals are cleaner. Your focus is tighter. You are growing stronger.”

Leo gave her a crooked smile. “I’ve stopped falling into mountain creeks mid-portal, so that’s something.”

Karai tilted her head. “You still landed in a tree yesterday.”

“Small victories,” Leo shrugged.

Karai’s eyes narrowed with fond exasperation, but she let the humor pass. She stepped to the platform's edge and gestured for him to follow. 

“Today, we begin something that cannot be seen,” she said. “But without it, no strength will hold, no technique will endure.”

Leo frowned. “Is this one of those ‘feel the truth within yourself’ things?”

“No,” she said, and then added, “...Yes. But not as vague.”

He followed her into the center. The air around him felt heavier now, charged–but not with mystic energy, but purpose. Somewhere above, a bird cried into the wind, its wings carving lazy arcs across the morning sky.

“You know how to be still in silence,” Karai said. “You have sat with your pain. You have listened to the voice beneath your thoughts. But what happens when everything is moving? When the world spins around you and you must choose?”

Leo’s face twitched. He didn’t answer right away.

Karai watched him. “This is where the power of pause lives. Not just in stillness of body, but of mind. In the breath between instinct and reaction.”

Leo exhaled through his nose. “Like when you’re sparring…or in a fight.”

“Or when you’re leading others. Or when you’re afraid,” Karai said gently. “In the Prison Dimension, did you ever pause?”

Leo’s eyes dropped to the stone beneath his feet.

The wind stirred.

“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t have a chance to. I wouldn’t have dared even if I could. If I stopped, even for a second, he’d catch me. If I sat too long listening to my thoughts I'd go crazy.”

Karai stepped closer. Her voice was a whisper now, just for him. “And now?”

He looked up, jaw tight. “I’m learning to breathe again.”

A soft smile touched her lips. 

“Then today, we find the breath in motion.”

She clapped her hands once.

A pulse of green mystic energy rippled outward, and suddenly the training dummies around the plaza came to life–floating, swirling, darting through the air like spirits with purpose. They moved unpredictably, too fast to fully track with sight alone.

Leo’s instincts kicked in. He crouched slightly, arms raised. “You want me to fight them?”

“No,” Karai said. “I want you to move. React. Flow. But not from fear, not from instinct. Find the pause in every strike. The still point in every step.”

“This feels like one of those paradoxes Donnie would explain with a whiteboard and then somehow blame me for not understanding.”

Karai said nothing–just gestured for him to begin.

Leo sighed. “Alright. Flow like the wind. Breathe like the mountain. Channel my inner poetic nonsense.”

Then he stepped into the storm.

The dummies spun and dove. Leo moved with them–ducking, weaving, narrowly avoiding each pass. He tried not to overthink it. That had been one of Karai’s first lessons: “Too much thought is as dangerous as none at all.” But still, his heart pounded. His muscles twitched too soon. He moved before he felt .

He overreacted. Slipped.

A dummy clipped his shoulder, spinning him onto the ground with a grunt. He rolled out of the way before another could strike.

Karai’s voice echoed from somewhere nearby. 

“Pause, Leo. Listen. Where is the space between?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted, frustrated, getting back to his feet. “Everything’s happening too fast!”

“No. You are moving too fast.”

The dummies slowed. He looked around, panting.

Karai appeared beside him again. “You are not here to win. You are here to understand. Stillness in motion. Silence between beats. Breathe.”

Leo stared at the dummies, still circling him like shadows waiting to pounce.

He closed his eyes.

Breathed in.

He listened–not with his ears, but with something deeper. The thud of the wooden feet hitting the stone. The rush of air when they spun. The faint shift of pressure that came before impact.

His heart slowed. Just a little.

He moved again, but this time not in reaction. Not in panic. 

There was a strike coming from his left. Instead of dodging, he waited. One heartbeat. Two. The ducked–not too early, not too late. He felt the air rush past his head.

He smiled.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I think I get it.”

“Good,” Karai said. “Now do it again.”

He groaned. “Ugh. Why do all of the profound lessons require getting hit in the face first?”

“Because it is the best way to humble your ego.”

“Yeah, well, my ego’s bruised and so is my butt.”

But still, he stood tall, rolled his shoulders, and turned to face the storm again.

This time, with a quiet mind.

Month 6–Week 24

The sky outside was bathed in soft firelight–amber and rose streaks bleeding into the clouds, the last colors of day slowly fading into a quiet indigo hush. Crickets chirped somewhere in the trees, their rhythm steady, like a breath drawn and released over and over again.

Within the temple walls, Leo sat cross-legged on a stone seat in the meditation chamber. The floor beneath him was cool, ancient stone warmed just slightly by the late summer air. The scent of pine and ash drifted through the open windows, stirred by the occasional breeze. A single candle flickered in front of him, its flame dancing gently–small, but steady.

He didn’t move.

His hands rested lightly on his knees, palms open to the sky. His shoulders weren’t tense like they used to be. His brow wasn’t furrowed. His breathing was slow, rhythmic–anchored in his chest like the roots of a tree.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

This stillness didn’t come easy. Months ago, it had felt like sitting in a storm–his thoughts racing, guilt rising up like a tide trying to drown him. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in the Prison Dimension. Back in the fire. Back in the moment he let the key fall into enemy hands.

But not tonight.

Tonight, it was quiet.

Inside and out.

Leo sat in the center of it all. Nit the world. Not the noise. Just himself.

His breath became deeper. Slower.

And then–he felt it.

A warmth.

Not from the candle. Not from the setting sun.

Inside him.

A quiet flicker. A glowing ember nestled deep beneath his ribs. His ninpo. The ninpo of his brothers, even though they were far away. The sacred connection that tied him to those he loved.

It no longer felt out of reach, no longer something he needed to force or command. It was simply there , alive and waiting. Like it has always been.

“I feel you,” Leo whispered, eyes still closed. HIs voice barely stirred the air.

The flame pulsed in response, not with fire, but with recognition.

He could feel his ancestors now, too. Not in words. Not in ghostly vision.

But in presence.

Like standing beneath a canopy of stars knowing every light above him was someone who came before. Every spark in the dark was another name in the Hamato line. He didn’t have to see them to know they were watching.

And for the first time, the thought didn’t scare him. It didn’t crush him beneath its weight.

It steadied him.

He exhaled slowly, his breath curling into the air like smoke.

“I’m still afraid,” he admitted  quietly. “But I’m not running anymore.”

There was no response.

No need for one.

The silence answered him better than words ever could.

It told him he was not alone.

That he never had been.

He stayed like that for a long time–his pulse slow, his mind quiet, the fire inside him burning low and calm like the heart of a lantern.

Outside, the stars began to appear one by one. The wind shifted through the trees. And the candle burned on, mirroring the steady flame now growing strong within him.

Chapter Text

Month 7–Week 25

The stone beneath Leo’s feet was warm from the morning sun, its surface smooth from centuries of wear. The inner plaza was quiet except for the rustle of leaves shifting in the trees above, the soft creak of wood in the wind. The air still carried the heat of summer, but there was a crisp edge to it now–like the season had taken its first cautious breath of fall.

Leo stood at the center of the plaza, eyes closed, arms relaxed at his sides. No swords. No movement. Just stillness.

Months ago, that would’ve made him antsy. But now?

Now he waited.

Karai’s voice echoed from the edge of the space. Her tone was calm, but expectant. “Feel your center. Do not reach. Do not grasp. Let your ninpo flow through you.”

Leo took a breath in through his nose, deep and full, and let it out slowly. He could feel the fire of his ninpo, the burn deep within him. No longer wild. No longer frantic. Just steady. Present.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “No big deal, right? Just…bend space with my bare hands. Easy stuff.” He smiled at his own sarcasm, but didn’t let it pull him off balance.

He planted his feet just a little wider apart, then lifted both hands, palms open. Fingers loose. He listened–not with his ears, but with something deeper.

The wind stirred against the back of his neck. Birds called from the trees. A leaf fell. His breath moved in and out.

Stillness in motion. Silence between.

Leo exhaled, lowering his center. His heart beat in his chest like a drum, steady and sure.

And then–

A flicker. A shimmer of energy, warm and cool at once, rippled at the edge of his fingertips.

He didn’t force it.

He didn’t push.

He allowed .

There was a snap in the air, a subtle crackling noise like someone turning a page in the sky. Then the space in front of him parted–just a sliver at first. Then wider.

A portal

Small, imperfect, flickering around the edges like a candle struggling in wind–but it was there.

Leo’s eyes opened slowly. The portal pulsed before him, and he stared into it with cautious awe. Even if he’s already made several… functional portals without his swords, Leo doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being surprised at this new ability. That he was able to achieve it.

“Okay, Leo,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see where your ninpo thinks the kitchen is today.”

He stepped forward into the glowing doorway.

He landed with a whump in a pile of leaves. Not the kitchen. Not even close.

The trees around him were thick, twisted with age, and the light overhead was dim. A squirrel screeched at him from a branch above, clearly unimpressed.

Leo blinked, spitting out a leaf. “...Okay. So maybe not the kitchen.”

Kara’s voice echoed faintly in his head, as if amused. “Progress, not perfection.”

Leo lay there for a moment, staring at the golden canopy above. 

“Could’ve dropped me in the pantry, though,” he sighed. “Just once. Just to be nice.”

But the pride curled in his chest all the same. The portal worked. He didn't need his blades. Not completely. He was getting stronger.

He grinned up at the trees.

“Alright,” he said aloud, sitting up. “Let’s try that again. Maybe this time I won’t end up in a tree.”

The air was dry today, the last remnant of summer clinging to the warmth that pressed against the earth, but the sky had turned that soft blue only Fall could paint. High above, clouds drifted like slow ships, unhurried and serene.

Leo stood once more in the center of the inner plaza, the familiar stone warm beneath his feet. His body was sore, as always. His mind, tired. But underneath it all pulsed a quiet excitement.

Today, something felt different.

He took a long breath, grounding himself in the moment. The scent of dry leaves and temple incense lingered faintly in the air. He could hear the occasional rustle of wildlife beyond the grounds, the gentle creak of wooden beams, the world turning slowly as it always had.

Karai stood beside one of the wooden columns at the edge of the plaza, arms folded in he sleeves. She didn’t say anything–she didn’t need to. Her calm presence had become as steady to Leo now as the beat of his own heart.

“Okay,” Leo murmured to himself, stretching his fingers out in front of him. “You got this. Don’t overthink it. Just feel . Let it flow.”

He flexed his arms out in front of him, closing his eyes.

The fire of his ninpo flared quietly within his chest–warm, steady, playful. A reflection of his nature. Of him .

He slowed his breath, focusing inward. The rhythm of his heart. The way the air curled around his skin. His awareness expanding outwards like ripples in still water.

And then–he reached.

Not with his hands. Not even really with his power.

With trust .

A familiar warmth sparkled at his center, blooming outward. It tingled through his fingers, down his arms, out in front of him. The world seemed to hum gently, like the moment before rain

He visualized the temple kitchen. He knew its layout, its soft wood counters, the rack of herbs he hung on the far wall after he picked them from the garden. He could feel it in his memory–the scent of broth and jasmine tea, the comfort of small routines.

The power within him stirred, curved, folded.

And opened .

A swirling, luminous portal split to life before him, quiet and controlled. The energy shimmered like heat rising off stone, but there was no crackle, no instability.

It was precise . He could feel it in the steadiness of his ninpo. The way it crackled with quiet glee. The same feeling he got countless times whenever he portalled effortlessly with his katanas. 

Leo blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then he broke into the biggest, most disbelieving grin he’d worn in months.

“Oh my gosh,” he breathed. “I actually did it.”

Karai’s voice was steady, but warm. “Then go. See if it’s truly the place you intended.”

Leo didn’t wait. With a laugh, he stepped through the glowing doorway.

The moment his foot hit the floor, Leo knew.

The soft scent of dried herbs. The light filtering in from the small window near the stove. His tea cup, still resting where he’d left it earlier that morning. Familiar, warm, quiet.

He let out a sharp, triumphant whoop that echoed off the temple walls.

“NAILED IT!” 

From somewhere above, a pot wobbled precariously on a shelf.

Leo spun in place, arms outstretched like he was expecting a grand round of applause.

“Did you see that, Karai?!” he called through the still open portal. “Because I felt that. That was clean. That was chef’s kiss perfect!”

Her voice echoed faintly in return. “It was progress well earned.”

He pumped his fist into the air, then caught himself and grinned, pulling in a breath as his body remembered how exhausted he still was.

“Okay,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow as the portal closed. “Now I deserve a snack.”

He moved to the counter, picking up an apple he saved, and took a bite. The crisp crunch echoed like a victory bell. 

And for the first time in months, Leo allowed himself to feel that deep, unshakable pride. 

He’d done it. Really done it.

One more step forward.

Month 7–Week 27

The air was crisp and damp, holding the scent of pine needles and earth, of fallen leaves curling into the beginnings of decay. Darkness still wrapped the world in its quiet arms, the moon a thin sliver behind a veil of mist. The forest was not asleep–it never truly was–but it rested in the early hours, hushed and reverent.

Leo stood at the edge of the trail, the hem of his cloak gathered in his hands, tied around his waist for the run. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold air. His breath steamed in front of him. 

The silence wasn’t heavy this morning.

It felt like a promise.

Then, he ran.

The familiar crunch of soil and twigs underfoot beat out a steady rhythm as his body surged forward, muscles burning to life. His feet landed with certainty, even as the trail twisted and dipped into uneven paths and overgrown roots. He’d walked these trails countless times over the summer and spring, learned their rhythms, memorized their tricky turns, their sudden drops, their narrow streams that glinted when the sun rose high.

But now he was running them. Blind, in a way. Trusting his memory, his instincts, the feeling of the path beneath him. 

Branches whipped past his face, and he ducked low, heart thudding–not in fear, but in tune with the world around him. He leapt clean over a moss-covered log, landing hard but sure, and kept going. Pebbles skittered behind him. His breath rasped out in even bursts, his arms pumping, his body low and fast.

The forest was waking around him now–an owl taking flight, the soft rustle of a deer in the distance, the faint chorus of crickets giving way to morning birdsong.

Leo grinned.

And then–he laughed .

It tore out of him, breathless and bright, the kind of laugh that came from joy , unfiltered and sudden. His chest burned, his legs ached, but he didn’t care. He felt light. He felt fast . He felt like the wind he had chased all spring, like the silence he had wrestled all summer.

For the first time in what felt like years, Leo wasn’t running from something.

He was just running.

And it felt good .

The path turned sharply and Leo threw his weight into it, skidding slightly on damp leaves but catching himself. His movements weren’t perfect–but they didn’t have to be. They were his . Controlled chaos. Nimble. Free.

He splashed threw a shallow stream, water soaking up to his calves, but the chill only sharpened his focus. Every breath in his lungs was earned. Every step forward was another inch claimed.

He remembered Karai’s words from weeks ago.

“ Trust the body you’ve trained. Trust the heart that carries you. ”

And he did.

By the time the temple came into view, the eastern sky was blushing with pale lavender and gold. The stones of the courtyard were kissed with dew, soft mist rising like incense smoke in the cool air. The familiar curve of the rooftops, the carved beams, the gentle clatter of bamboo chimes–all of it waited for him like home.

Leo stumbled up the temple steps, chest heaving, his cloak flaring behind him.

He bent forward, hands on his knees, gasping through a grin.

His body was drenched in sweat, every muscle burning, his feet muddy and scratched–but his spirit was soaring . 

“Holy crap,” he breathed between gasps, laughing again. “I crushed that.”

The silence in the courtyard greeted him like an old friend.

In the distance, he could almost feel Karai watching.

And for a moment, with the sunrise beginning to warm the sky, Leo closed his eyes and simply stood there, letting it wash over him.

He was tired. He was sore. But he had never felt stronger.

The kitchen of the Hamato Temple was simple but sturdy. Stone and wood-paneled walls still faintly carried the scent of smoke. A single window framed the soft amber light of the rising sun, spilling across the warm countertop and into the small space like a quiet blessing.

Leo moved with practiced ease now. Three months ago, he’d nearly burned rice. 

Now, he gently peeled slices of ripe persimmons and plums into a small wooden bowl. Beside it, a plate of smoked fish–cured and prepared days earlier–waited patiently, the rich scent curling into the morning air. He plated his breakfast in slow, careful motions, taking quiet pride in the small ritual of it. 

He sat at the low table in the corner of the kitchen, back straight despite the soreness in his limbs, arms loose across his knees. He took a bite of plum. Sweet. Cold from the morning chill.

Footsteps didn’t echo in this place–not really–but somehow he felt her presence before she appeared.

“You’re up early,” came Karai’s voice–soft, smooth, and familiar.

Leo glanced towards the doorway with a tired smile. “You say that like I haven't been running forest marathons before dawn for a month now.” He smirked, motioning to his disheveled appearance. “This is my ‘just out ran a deer’ look. Very on trend.”

Karai’s spirit form didn’t drift so much as glide across the floor, her hands folded gently in front of her. The sunlight did not truly touch her. But the warmth in her gaze rivaled it. “The deer might disagree,” she said with a raised brow, settling herself across from him at the table.

Leo offered her some plum by habit–forgetting, again, that she couldn’t eat it.

He shrugged and popped it in his mouth instead.

“It was a good run,” he said after a pause, wiping his fingers on a cloth napkin. “Felt like…I dunno. Like everything was clicking. Like I wasn’t thinking anymore, just moving .” He laughed quietly. “Didn’t even eat dirt once, which is new.”

Karai chuckled softly, her tone full of affection. “You are learning to trust yourself.”

“Guess so,” Leo murmured, then reached for the fish. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Still tastes like smokey sadness, but hey–I didn't burn it.”

“You’ve come far,” she said, and her tone wasn’t about food.

They lapsed into a long stretch of silence, but not the kind that pressed in. It was comfortable. Shared. The kind of silence that filled the room without needing to be explained.

Outside the window, the courtyard stirred. A leaf detached from its branch, spinning gently as it fell. Somewhere, the bamboo chimes whispered.

Leo leaned back on his hands, shoulders loose. “Y’know…” he began slowly, eyes still on the window. “I used to complain about doing the dishes a lot. Now I’d kill for a sink full of dishes and an argument about who’s turn it was and who did them last.”

Karai’s gaze softened.

“You miss them,” she said gently.

“Every day.”

His voice didn’t crack, but it was close. He looked down at his plate again, at the small, intentional meal he’d prepared for himself. He pushed a bit of plum with his chopsticks, thinking of Mikey’s elaborate breakfasts, Raph’s mountain of scrambled eggs, Donnie’s bizarre soy-caffeine-omega goop that made everyone gag. Splinters quiet tea.

April’s coffee.

Casey’s laugh.

“I thought I’d get used to it,” he admitted quietly. “Being without them. I thought the ache would lessen. It hasn’t.”

Karai didn’t answer right away.

She reached out and her presence moved closer, like a hand on his shoulder without ever touching.

“You are not meant to forget them,” she said. “That ache…it means you remember why you’re here. Why you fight. Why you grow.”

Leo blinked a few times, then offered a small smile. “You’re full of fortune cookie wisdom today.”

“I’m your ancestor. That’s in the job description.”

He laughed quietly, and something loosened in his chest. 

“Still,” he murmured, poking at his fish. “I’m glad to have you, even if you don’t eat breakfast with me.”

Karai tilted her head, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “And I am proud to sit beside you, even if you do over-smoke the fish.”

Leo grinned and took another bite, this time not just out of hunger but out of peace.

The sun climbed higher, brushing golden light across the floorboards. Birds were singing outside. The temple was waking slowly, and so was he.

Not the Leo that left New York. Or the Leo that started at the bottom of this mountain. But the Leo who was becoming something more.

And for now…he was okay.

Month 7–Week 28

The sun had started its slow descent behind the mountains, casting long amber streaks across the mossy stones of the Hamato Tample’s training grounds. The heat of summer still lingered, clinging faintly to the earth, but the breeze carried the first teasing notes of autumn–cooler, sharper, almost expectant. Overhead, the sky stretched wide and cloudless, a perfect blue canvas.

Leo sat cross legged on the earth, positioned at the heart of the temple’s open courtyard where the stones were warm from the sun and framed by rustling trees. His hands rested loosely on his knees. Palm upturned, thumbs brushing the edge of his fingers. The backs of his wrists were dusted with soil and the faint green of crushed grass. His twin swords lay a few feet away from him, sheathed and put aside.

He breathed slowly.

In.

Out.

Again.

And again.

It wasn’t easy. It never was . Stillness wasn’t his natural rhythm–movement was. He was born to flip, dodge, sprint, and strike. But over the months of his training, meditation had become a discipline just as vital as sparring. It taught him how to listen. How to feel the currents beneath his skin. And right now, that was what mattered most.

Karai’s presence hovered nearby. Her spirit stood several feet in front of him, where the wind caught her form and scattered tiny threads of her essence like falling petals. She watched him, not as a teacher ready to correct–but as a guardian, steady and silent.

Leo let his eyelids fall halfway. He drew in a breath. This one deeper.

And he reached.

He’d learned over time that his energy–his ninpo–wasn’t something he could just summon . It was something he aligned with. Like tuning a stringed instrument. If he pulled too tightly, it would snap. If he didn’t engage it fully, it would hum out of tune. 

And today’s practice…was alignment.

Wind tugged gently at the loose ends of his mask. He didn’t fight the movement. His body swayed with it, just slightly, like a reed responding to a current.

He exhaled slowly, counting the seconds.

“Good,” Karai’s voice drifted to him, gentle and warm like the breeze. “Feel the energy beneath your skin, but do not grip it. Breathe into it.”

Leo let his focus drop from his racing thoughts–about whether his back was straight enough, whether he looked ridiculous sitting here in the dirt–to the feel of the earth beneath him. It was firm. Solid. Supportive.

The warmth of the stone seeped up into his calves.

He thought of his breath not just as air–but as life. Movement. Flow.

Inhale. The wind brushed over his skin. The breath entered.

Exhale. His ribs softened. The energy moved.

His pulse slowed. And within that growing quiet…he felt it.

A glow. Deep in his center. Low in his chest. Steady.

He visualized it like a small ember–his ninpo. A fire that had once been scattered and flickering, but now held shape. Contained. Burning brighter.

“Now,” Karai said, stepping closer, voice like rustling paper. “Harmonize. The fire within you. The air around you. The earth below. Let them be you . 

He grit his teeth lightly, not out of pain. Just concentration. 

He wanted to do it right.

His muscles twitched once, reflexively, like they missed movement. He ignored them.

Instead, he imagined the ember spreading–not raging, but expanding slowly with each breath. Like a lantern being lit within him–it flowed with him. The ground didn’t hold him down. It held him up.

And somewhere in the stillness, he felt his body lighten.

His hands tingled with subtle energy. The kind that wasn’t lightning or fire or any flashy show of power–but something deeper. Something that hummed with truth.

He opened his eyes.

And everything was brighter.

Not blinding. Just…vivid. The colors of the inner plaza had more depth. He could see patterns of veins in the leaves above him. He could hear the buzz of insects, distant bird calls, even the subtle crackle of stone cooling in the evening air.

“I…I feel it,” he whispered.

Karai nodded slowly, stepping into the circle of sunlight. “Good. It is important for a ninja to be connected to the world around them. This connection often reflects ties of unity. Bonds. That is your center. Your alignment. You will lose it at times. We all do. But now, you know the way back.”

Leo stared down at his hands, then at the sky. He felt peaceful. Not completely empty–he didn’t think he’d ever stop missing his family, his home–but there was a quiet inside him now. A clean, resonant quiet.

“Still not sure I like all this sitting,” he muttered, cracking a grin.

Karai laughed, a rare and delicate sound. “You like the results though.”

“I like not feeling like I’m going to explode every time I stop moving, yeah,” Leo said, rubbing his neck.

He stood slowly, letting the energy settle back into his limbs like water into a bowl. He picked up his swords and strapped them back around his hips–but he didn’t draw them.

Not yet.

Not for this moment.

As the sun finally dipped behind the temple’s outer wall and cast long, golden shadows across the stones, Leo stood tall in the silence, breathing in harmony with the wind, the earth, the fire inside him. Feeling whole.

Chapter Text

Month 7–Week 29

The sky was bruised in fading indigo, the moon just beginning to rise over the jagged silhouette of the trees. Cicadas droned low in the background as if humming a warning–or perhaps anticipation.

Leo stood in the center of the stone courtyard behind the temple, his blades sheathed at his sides, muscles taut with a mixture of fatigue and excitement. He had been training since before the sun rose, and yet here he was again, face lit with a glimmer of challenge.

Across from him, Karai floated slightly above the ground–her form more defined tonight, her shape a little less translucent. In her hands, she held a scroll wrapped in silk the color of deep twilight, embroidered with golden thread in the symbol of the Hamato Clan.

Leo squinted. “You’re being dramatic Gram-Gram. That scrolls got some serious reveal energy .”

Karai smiled faintly, amusement dancing in her eyes. “This scroll predates your lineage by nearly a thousand years. Treat it with respect. It is a relic of the first masters–woven with the illusions of their greatest trials.”

Leo’s grin didn’t falter. “Sounds like a party.”

Karai raised a brow. “This will not be easy. The illusions you are about to face are drawn directly from your inner world and the landscape of your senses. You will not simply react. You will adapt.”

She unfurled the scroll with care, setting it on the stone floor in the center of a ring marked with chalk. As she spoke the incantation–low, ancient syllables spoken in tongue Leo barely recognized–the air trembled.

The moment the final word left her lips, the wind shifted.

So did the world.

One second, Leo was standing in the familiar courtyard. The next, he was knee-deep in sand. Hot, golden dunes stretched in every direction. The sun above was massive and white. The courtyard was gone.

Leo blinked. “...Okay, rude .”

Karai appeared beside him, just as tangible. “The scroll allows for shared illusions. I am here with you. But remember, this world is shaped by your instincts, your fears, your movements.”

“Great,” Leo muttered. “So I get to run around in my own personal stress bubble.”

Without warning, the sand beneath him shifted. A jagged stone pillar jutted up from below, and another illusions surged in–dense jungle vines crawling in like fingers around the edges of the desert. Then a cliffside. Then a wooden bridge suspended over dense fog. 

It kept changing. Constantly. With every step he took. Dizzy and disorienting. 

Leo moved.

Karai moved with him.

They were in a blur of motion–spinning, ducking, rolling through the shifting terrain. Sometimes they were on solid ground, speeding through sewer tunnels that were familiar but not, running from something metal and dangerous. Other times they traversed through dirt and mud, through snow and heat. It was chaos. But somehow, their motion flowed together. Like dancers in a storm.

“Don’t fight the change,” Karai said as they passed through a corridor of mirrors that split into a forest of blades. “Flow with it. Breathe. Adapt. Let instinct guide you–not fear.”

Leo ducked a swipe from one of the mirrored illusions. “Kinda hard when instinct says ‘panic and throw things’!”

A moment later, the environment shifted again. They were in a crumbling temple– not the Hamato one, but a dark twisted version. Wind howled through cracked archways. The ground shuddered beneath their feet. Firelight flickered. The air felt dark and corrupted. Red gleaming from symbols he didn’t recognize. 

The scene changed.

Replaced by an endless, swirling void–a desolate landscape of broken rock and metal and shifting shadows. 

The Prison Dimension .

Leo stilled for half a second, eyes wide and slightly distant. 

Karai floated beside him, her voice gentler now. “Leonardo?”

He tried to swallow, to force the words past the rapid thud of his heart and scattering mind. But he couldn’t get past the fear choking him. The prison dimension. An endless void. A fractured space. Shadows twisting unnaturally, warping into unstable, shifting landscapes. The air always thick with something heavy and suffocating. A never-ending nightmare. A prison with no walls, no escape, and no end. A place he never thought he would have to see again.

No. No. Please. Not Again . 

He tried to center himself. To breathe through the shock and the phantom pains he could feel lacing through him. Trying to tell himself that this isn’t real . He’s not back there. Not back with him . Tried to remind himself of all the teachings Karai drilled into his head over the past months. Tried to listen to his Gram-Gram’s voice as she struggled to gain his focus. But her words went in one ear and out the other. Distant and muddy in the face of his overwhelming panic. 

All he could see in his mind's eye is himself, Leonardo, lying broken on the jagged, barren ground. His blue bandana torn, his body a map of bruises, gashes, and fractures. Blood trickling from his mouth, staining the dust beneath him. His fingers trembling as they grasp something–small, delicate, and worn. A photograph. His family. His anchor.

 A monstrous shadow looming, casting an eerie glow over his still form.

All he could hear are the THUDS that shake the space around him. The screams of an angry monster seeking revenge against the little pest that trapped him once more.

Scenes flashed before his eyes.

.

.

.

.

Leo could barely breathe.

His limbs screamed in protest as he tried to push himself up, but his strength was failing him. Blood dripped down his face, mixing with the sweat and dirt. He forced himself to lift his head, vision swimming as he turned towards the massive alien tyrant before him.

Kraang Prime landed hard, the impact creating a shockwave that rattled the ruins of the Technodrome. Leo braced himself, barely staying upright as the force sent cracks through the already broken battlefield. 

They’re safe, they have to be. 

He forced himself to believe it, even as his body wavered under the force of his injuries. Mikey and Donnie were down there. Raph would catch them. He always catches them. They’d make it. 

They had to.

Because Leo didn’t think he was getting out of this.

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.

.

.

Leo could feel Kraang's booming footsteps shake the surface of the Technodrome as he approached. Heavy footfalls seeming to crack the earth beneath it. His glowing eyes narrowed. “Outmatched and alone.” he rumbled, “yet you persist. And for what? Honor? Redemption? 

Sacrifice?”

His mouth curled into a sneer. 

“All meaningless.”

His stance wavered only for a second. Leo rolled his shoulders, flipping one of his swords with practiced ease as he spoke in a determined voice. “We’ll see about that.” He launched forward, blazing towards Kraang Prime. 

Kraang swung. 

Leo dodged through one of his portals, going behind Kraang, barely missing a massive clawed hand. His breath was shallow, his muscles weak. But he pushed himself faster. He wasn’t aiming for Kraang. 

He was aiming for the portal behind him.  

At the last second, he threw his katana.

The blade swung through the air, its glowing edge slicing towards the prison dimension. He watched as Kraang Prime easily dodged it and lunged for him instead. 

There was no way he could move in time. Leo choked as Kraang’s massive hand closed around his body. Before he could react, before he could do anything—

SLAM.

The impact cracked the ground beneath him. He bounced and the world spun as agony ripped through his shell, knocking the air from his lungs. 

He barely had time to cough before Kraang's foot came down. Hard and fast.

Leo screamed. Blood splattered against the cracked metal floor as the alien pressed down, crushing his body into the ground. 

His vision blurred. His comm crackled to life, glowing a familiar green. 

.

.

.

.

.

“Weak words. Weak actions !” Kraang spat, voice filled with anger and contempt. “I have forever known what you fail to understand—”

The pressure increased with each furious word he spoke.

Strength! Always! Prevails!

Leo’s body begged him to stop. To give in. To let go. 

But he wouldn’t. 

Not now. 

Not while the world needed saving. 

A spark of blue flickered around his body as his determination rose. His ninpo—weak and fading, but still there. Still fighting. 

Leo gripped his katana, gasping for breath. His hands trembled, but he lifted the blade and drove it into the kraang’s leg. Black liquid squirted from the wound. Prime barely flinched. “Pathetic.”

Leo gritted his teeth, eyes burning with defiance. 

“What you fail to understand is…” his voice shook. “I missed on purpose!”

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.

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“CASEY! CLOSE THE PORTAL NOW!” 

Kraang’s head snapped back towards the flickering tear in reality. His eyes wide in anger and disbelief. “WHAT!” Kraang bellowed, fury overtaking him as he threw Leo backwards. He watched as Prime’s monstrous form shifted, preparing to lunge back through the portal.

No. No way. Not happening. 

Leo launched forward, latching onto Kraang’s form with everything he had.

Kraang staggered. Momentarily caught off guard as Leo yanked him back. He clung on, pulling backwards, using every ounce of strength left in his battered body. His arms trembled, his ribs ached, but he refused to let go. 

Kraang growled, wrenching forward, inching towards the portal. 

Leo held tighter.

“CASEY, PLEASE!” Leo screamed, voice cracking with desperation.

Kraang’s fist came down– one, two, three times, each hit forcing the air from Leo’s lungs and making his head spin. 

But he wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let Kraang escape. 

Leo pulled harder, despite the pain. Kraang’s fist slammed into his face, into his arms, into his ribs–Each hit more brutal than the last.

Leo gasped in pain, his vision blurring.

Still–he held on.

And then–

The portal snapped shut.

He grinned as he let go of Kraang Prime’s stunned form.

Cocky. Victorious. Relieved.

“You’ve been portal chopped!”

.

.

.

.

.

.

A weak, breathless laugh escaped him. He turned his head, eyes catching something buried in his belt.

A photo.

His family.

Leo stared at it, vision blurring—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief. He smiled as he weakly grasped the photo in his hand, tears slipping down his bloodied face.

They were safe.

They were—

“ YOU!”

Kraang’s furious snarl tore through the air. Echoing across the void.

“YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!”

Kraang Prime staggered towards him. “And now,” he chuckled darkly. “My wrath will be reserved for you alone.” 

Leo barely had time to brace himself before the first punch landed.

Pain .

Then another.

And another.

Kraang’s voice rang through the darkness, every word punctuated by a blow.

“You think you’ve won?”

CRACK

“You wretched!”

SLAM

“Little!”

THUD

“PEST!”

The impact sent them through the landmass. Leo screamed as his body took the brunt of it, crashing through rock and debris before finally hitting the ground hard.  

Kraang landed atop him, pinning him down.

Leo’s body refused to move.

Pain. Everywhere.

But through the haze, he could still see the photo.

And he smiled.

Even now. Even at the end.

Because they were safe.

Kraang saw that smile and snapped . 

“WIPE THAT GRIN OFF YOUR FACE!”

The final blow hit his chest. He barely registered the moment the world exploded around him.

He was falling. Floating. The void swallowed him, and for the first time…

Leo let himself cry.

He clutched the photo to his chest, his last tether to home. This was the cost. This was the sacrifice. 

He would never see them again. But he had made things right .

.

.

.

.

“ --eonardo. Hamato Leonardo !”

Leo’s world snapped back into focus at Karai’s firm shout. 

Leo felt dizzy and sick as he looked back at her. Fear and agony shooting through him. “...Gram-Gram?” he said in a small, shaky voice.

Karai gripped his shoulders even as they floated in the void. Her face set in a grim line. But even in his panic, he could see her concern. With a firm but loving tone, she spoke. “ Focus , Leonardo. Do not run from it. Do not force it to stop. Let it flow. Move through it. Command the space.”

Leo hesitated. The darkness around him threatening to pull his mind back into the memories of that painful and horrifying day. Threatening to remind him of all his mistakes and failures. Threatening to make him relive all of the agony and suffering he went through in the prison dimension at the hands of–

He shook his head, focusing on the warm presence of Karai. On what was real . On what was in the present. Not the past.

Leo pushed forward.

Not away. Not running. Through.

He dodged a clawed hand, vaulted over broken mech suits and debris, jumped off willingly into the void–and somewhere in the movement, his fear gave way to rhythm. Flow. The wind caught him as he twisted through it, commanding the environment in his headspace as he twisted through it, using it instead of resisting it.

The room changed again.

Back to the courtyard.

The illusion dissolved like dust in the wind.

Leo fell to a crouch, panting, still shaking from what he just went through, shoulders heaving with effort–but grinning like a fool. 

“Okay,” he wheezed, laughing despite the fading fear. “Okay. That…was kinda awesome. Terrifying . But awesome.”

Karai stepped forward, her ethereal form flickering but stable. “You are beginning to understand. Motion does not end at the body. It is a conversation–with the world, with your senses, and with yourself.”

Leo dropped backwards into the grass, arms flopping out beside him. “Does the conversation always have to include a headache and psychological trauma?”

“Sometimes.” Karai folded the scroll with care. “But not always.”

He looked up at the sky, which was once again the gentle dusky blue of the real world, streaked with orange and pink clouds. 

“I felt free in there,” Leo murmured. “Even when it was hard. Even when I was scared out of my mind.”

“That is the gift of motion when it is pure,” Karai said, sitting beside him in the grass. “And the gift of partnership. You were not alone in it. Not once.” She looked at him, a warm smile gracing her lips, endearment and pride in her eyes. “I am proud of you, my child. You have come far.”

Leo turned his head to look at her. Throat tight. “Thanks, Gram-Gram.”

“You’re welcome, Leonardo.”

The last golden light of the day melted into stars, the stillness between them feeling earned. 

Month 8–Week 30

The stone courtyard was quiet but alive with energy. Crickets chirped in the trees just beyond the temple walls. The sky was a watercolor blend of gold and orange, and a faint breeze danced through the air, tugging at Leo’s cloak and whispering through the open colonnades.

Karai hovered at the far end of the plaza–serene and unreadable as ever, her spectral form flickering slightly in the late sunlight. Her hands were behind her back, her posture perfect, expectant. The scroll had been tucked away. There were no illusions now. No shifting landscapes.

Just open air, open ground, and no rules.

“No objective today,” Karai said, voice light but with an edge. “No drills. Just move. Just feel.”

Leo grinned and rolled his shoulders, his twin katanas gleaming as he drew them slowly. “No rules? That sounds…risky.”

Karai’s lips twitched. “Only if you rely too much on those blades.”

“Oh, I would never do that,” Leo said, dramatically flourishing his swords before launching forward without warning.

Their movements were explosive from the start–metal slicing through air, feet striking stone, two bodies in rhythmic chaos. Leo moved with practiced elegance, alternating between swift offensive slashes and fluid defensive footwork, reading Karai’s movements and adjusting mid-blow. Their sparring was fast, almost too fast for the eye to follow.

He ducked under a sweep of her hand, twisting mid-air, and countered with a sharp upward arc of his blade. She deflected with ease, their momentum spiraling around each other like two leaves in the same current. 

For several minutes, they traded blows. No words, no thought. Just movement.

And then, Karai slipped under his guard.

With one smooth, ghost-like spin, she struck the hilt of one sword–sending it flying. Before Leo could recover, the second was knocked loose as well, skidding across the stone yard with a metallic screech. 

Leo stumbled back, breath hitching. His heart thudded once. But his body didn’t stop moving.

“Oh no you don’t,” he muttered under his breath.

Karai lunged for a finishing blow–and in that instant, Leo summoned a portal behind him with a sharp flick of his hand, pulling from his ninpo like it was second nature. A flash of blue light tore through the air. He vanished into it.

He reappeared behind her–tumbling out of the portal with a practiced roll, shoulder to hip–and landed just beside where his katanas lay. Without hesitation, he scooped them up, sprang to his feet, and spun into a tight, controlled stance.

Blades up. Breath steady. Eyes blazing.

A proud, cocky smirk tugged at his lips. “Told you I wasn’t just a sword guy.”

Karai blinked once.

Then she blurred .

Leo didn’t even see the full move. Just a flash of movement–too fast, too efficient.

The next thing he knew, his feet had been swept out from under him, his swords flung in opposite directions, and his shell landing flat on the stone with a deep, graceless thud.

He groaned.

Above him, Karai’s face appeared, floating over his upside-down view of the sky.

“Pride,” she said with a wicked little smile, “goes before a very dramatic fall.”

Leo laughed, breathless and wheezing. “Okay–okay, that one’s on me.”

“You moved well,” she said, offering no hand to help, but her tone was warm. “Your instincts are sharpening. That portal? Clean. And well timed.”

Leo rolled onto his side, rubbing the lower part of his shell. “I’m gonna feel that one tomorrow…”

“Good. Pain means you’re alive. Alive means you can learn.”

He sat up, grinning despite himself, his face streaked with sweat and dust. “You know, you’re way less cryptic when you’re being a smart-ass.”

Karai gave a short laugh. “Perhaps you’ve finally earned the privilege.”

Leo tilted his head up to the fading sky, letting the breeze wash over him. The ache in his muscles was familiar now. Welcomed. Earned. 

“...That was fun,” he admitted.

“It should be,” Karai replied. “When you move without fear, when you trust yourself, even combat can be joy.”

He looked at her then, really looked. “You always say that like it’s some deep truth.”

“Because it is.” She paused, then added more gently. “You are not meant to be burdened forever, Leonardo. You are meant to live .”

Leo’s breath hitched faintly at that.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he smiled again, eyes soft. “...Wanna go again?”

Karai’s eyes gleamed.

“Always.”

Month 9–Week 32

Leo stood in the courtyard, posture slumped forward just enough to betray the soreness in his limbs. His breath fogged faintly in the cooling air of autumn.

The sky above was overcast, painting the temple in a soft, gray-blue hue. He had woken up sore–more sore than usual, his muscles tight and heavy like wet sandbags strapped to his bones. His legs protested every step. His arms burned from the previous day’s training. Still, he stood there in the morning mist, waiting for Karai to appear and begin another lesson.

When she did, she appeared silently, as always, stepping through one of the side gates in a gentle shimmer of light.

Leo straightened immediately. Or, at least, tried to.

Karai took one look at him, and her brow arched slightly. “You look like you’ve been trampled by a small army.”

Leo forced a half smirk. “Only you , technically.”

“Then my aim was true.” She paused, folding her hands behind her back. “Today, you’ll rest your body.”

Leo blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Your body is not a machine. It requires time to repair. Push it too far, and it will fail you when you need it most.”

Leo frowned. “So…what? I just…sit around all day? That’s worse.”

Karai’s mouth curved slightly, and she tilted her head. “Not quite. Come with me.”

They descended deep into the temple, far beneath the meditation halls and gardens. Leo had only passed by the large wooden doors once before. They were tall, with carvings of swirling wind and water, twin dragons, and the Hamato Crest embedded in the wood like a heartbeat.

Karai pushed them open with a wave of her hand. The doors groaned slightly as they revealed a dim, cavernous room beyond.

Rows of tall, lacquered shelves stretched down the stone chamber. Scrolls of all sizes sat nestled in careful holders, each labeled with delicate Japanese script. Candles flickered in sconces between the shelves, casting golden light over the worn stone floor. There were no windows here. The air smelled of old ink, aged parchment, ceder, and time.

Leo stepped in slowly, eyes wide. “Whoa.”

“The Hamato Archives,” Karai said softly. “A library of our family’s collected history, lessons, mistakes, victories. Every grandmaster since the clan’s founding, and even before, has written here. Stories, reflections, strategies. Even poems.”

Leo glanced around, eyeridges raised. “Poems? Seriously?”

“Even warriors have hearts, Leonardo.”

He snorted. “Tell that to Donnie.”

Karai ignored that, leading him to one of the long tables near the center. She retrieved a handful of scrolls from a side shelf and laid them out, carefully, with the reverence of someone placing offerings.

“You will read these today.”

Leo gave her an incredulous look. “Studying? Really?”

“You’ve spent nights memorizing surgery techniques from medical journals and textbooks,” she said without pause. “Do not act as if this is foreign to you.”

“That’s different,” he said quickly, trying not to sound defensive. “That was–”

“--For your brothers,” she finished for him, her gaze soft but knowing. “And this is no different. Your growth as leader, as their brother, affects them just as deeply.”

Leo looked down at the scrolls. The parchment was yellowed with age. The titles were in graceful Japanese script. He squinted at one.

“Okay, but like…I barely remember all the kanji.”

Karai gave him a small, sly smile. “Then today, you remember.” And with that, she turned and began to walk away, her voice floating over her shoulder. “I will return at sundown. Do not spill tea on centuries of history.”

Leo made a face at her back. “No promises.”

Leo sat cross legged at the long wooden table. He only ever sat this long and still during his meditation sessions, and his body was lowkey mad about it. A soft lantern glowed beside him, casting light over the scroll currently unrolled in front of him. 

He groaned quietly as he tried to read the old script. “This is more Donnie’s thing…” he muttered. “He’d be geeking out.”

Still, he slowly parsed the words. The first scroll was a journal entry from a Hamato warrior named Shinji. A lone patrol mission that went wrong. Injury. Isolation. A wound not just in the flesh, but in the spirit. Shinji had written about crawling back to his village, not just physically broken, but ashamed. And how his master had simply tended his wounds and offered him tea, saying “Failure is a page, not the end of the book .”

Leo stared at that line for a long time.

He moved to the next scroll. Then another. Each one different. A story of a clan member who had lost their way. Another about a young leader who doubted himself until the day he stood between his people and an enemy three time’s their size. Each entry was honest, humble. They didn’t just recount victories; they explored fear, shame, redemption.

Leo found himself leaning forward more, reading slower. Letting it seep in.

By the time he hit the fifth scroll, he’d stopped grumbling entirely.

The door creaked open again, and Karai stepped inside.

Leo didn’t look up right away. His head was bowed over a scroll, brows furrowed in concentration. 

Karai stopped beside him. “You read more than I expected.”

Leo blinked up, startled. He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah…I, uh…just wanted to get through a couple more.”

Karai folded her arms, smiling. “And?”

Leo leaned back a little, staring at the scroll before him. 

“...They went through a lot,” he murmured. “The people who came before us. They weren’t perfect. But they kept going. Even when they were scared. Even when they messed up.”

Karai nodded. “There is wisdom in imperfection. In truth.”

He looked at her, something quiet and steady in his eyes. “I think I get why you made me come here.”

“You needed a different kind of training today.” She gestured around the archives. “And remember, you do not carry the weight of your path alone. Others have walked it before you. And survived.”

Leo was quiet for a moment, then cracked a small smile. “Still think I could’ve gotten away with a cliff-notes version.”

“Perhaps. But you read with your heart. That matters more.”

Leo laughed gently, a soft, real sound that echoed faintly through the ancient shelves. “Man, you really know how to get all…deep and philosophical when I least expect it.”

“It’s my calling.”

He grinned, then leaned down and rolled up the last scroll with care. “Okay. I’ll admit it. Slightly interesting.”

“Slightly?”

Leo stood and stretched, groaning loudly. “Okay, fine. It was…helpful. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Karai smirked. “Too late.”

They left the archives together, the heavy doors shutting slowly behind them, sealing the stories of the past once again–though now, Leo carried a few of them with him.

The moon hung high above the mountains, veiled behind a wash of thin clouds. The wind outside whispered through the eaves of the temple, brushing softly against ancient wood and stone like a lullaby sung by time itself.

But Leonardo wasn’t asleep.

He lay in his bed–if it could be called that–a thin mat nestled in the corner of his modest room. A paper lantern flickered gently beside him casting long shadows against the sliding shoji walls. His hands rested on his plastron, but his fingers twitched with thought.

He had tried to sleep. Eyes closed, breath even. But his mind wouldn’t still. Not tonight.

The stories he had read earlier churned inside him. The words of Shinji. Other entries full of heartbreak and redemption. The scribbled calligraphy of warriors long gone, men and women who had failed and risen again. And what struck him most was that…they were still remembered. Their mistakes. Their courage. All of it was there, carefully preserved. They had endured. They had survived.

So could he.

Leo sat up quietly. He moved slowly, mindful of his stiff muscles, and rolled his shoulders with a grimace. He pulled on his cloak and stepped out into the hallway. His bare feet padded silently across the smooth wooden floors, the chill biting pleasantly at his skin, keeping him sharp. 

The temple was still, wrapped in a silence that felt sacred. Not empty–never empty–but full of something watching, something ancient. As he passed beneath old beams and lantern-lit alcoves, the soft sound of cicadas and rustling leaves from outside kept him company.

He didn’t hesitate at the large doors now. The ones that led to the archives. He pushed them open gently, and the familiar scent of cedar, paper, and old ink washed over him. The room was dim, lit by a few lanterns that burned low but warm.

Leo made his way to one of the tables, the one he’d used earlier. He pulled out a fresh sheet of rice paper from the drawers and a brush with its well of black ink. He sat down, exhaled slowly, and stared at the blank parchment.

His reflection stared back at him in the gleam of the inkwell–tired eyes, red stripes, his face now marked with lines he hadn’t noticed before. A face no longer as boyish. 

He dipped the brush in ink.

And then he began to write.

My name is Leonardo. I am of the Hamato Clan.

His words bled slowly onto the page, bold and deliberate. His kanji a little more sloppy than he’d like it to be.

This is my account.

The brush glided across the parchment as he wrote the first story–his memory sharp as a blade.

The fight against the Shredder. He wrote of how they’d faced him–his towering form encased in dark mystic armor, his soul twisted. How they lost the only home they had ever known. He wrote of Karai’s pain, the ache in her voice when she faced her father, but still protecting them with her life. He described how together, they summoned their ninpo and freed Oroku Saki from the armor’s hold. How they destroyed the armor. And in doing so, Karai returned her father to the light. Of how his Leo’s father sprung the role of leadership on his shoulders, leaving him stumbling. He wrote of the fights and constant conflict between him and his older brother. The doubt and fear Leo felt, how he tried so hard to just show how unequipped he was to be leader. To prove that whatever Raph and Splinter saw in Leo wasn’t true. This continued for two years.

He paused, breath catching. He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing.

Then came the invasion. 

He didn’t spare himself.

He wrote how they had been caught off guard. How the key–the one he was supposed to get–fell into the Foot’s hands. How he hadn’t taken his role seriously enough, hadn't realized what was at stake until it was far too late. 

It was my fault. He wrote, the brush trembled faintly in his grip. The Kraang came because I failed. And my family–my city–paid the price . 

He detailed Casey Jr.’s miraculous venture to the past, the battles, the fear from that whole day, the pain and guilt he felt at his older brother's capture and horrific transformation. How he was forced to fight him. Every decision he made that put the lives of his family in greater danger. He described the moments he looked at his brothers and wondered if they were going to survive. And then, the end.

We had one chance. One opening. I took it.

He described how he threw himself into the portal, dragging Kraang Prime with him. How he told Casey– begged him–to close it, to seal him away along with the monster. 

I don’t remember exactly how long I was trapped. Time didn’t make sense there. I only know it felt like forever.

He hesitated. Then dipped the brush again.

He wrote of the pain. The psychic attacks. The way Kraang Prime rooted through his mind, turned his guilt into weapons, twisting every memory into something sharp and cruel. How he made his mind an echo chamber of his darkest thoughts.

He wrote of how he screamed. And how, eventually, he stopped screaming.

And then…

He paused again.

I thought I would die there.

But Mikey found a way. Pulled a miracle only my little brother ever could. He opened a portal–golden and bright–and pulled me home.

He let out a breath. The brush hovered over the page.

I didn’t come back whole. I was broken. But they didn’t leave me.

He wrote of the early days. The healing. The nightmares. The fear. The disassociation.

And then…the choice.

To leave.

To train.

He wrote of arriving at the Hamato Temple. Of Karai’s calm patience. Her maddening riddles. Her wisdom. Her trials, the meditation, the ache in his legs and the clarity in his heart. He wrote of his connection to the wind. The fire in his ninpo. The strength he’d begun to reclaim–not just as a ninja, but as a person. 

And the longer he wrote, the more he felt it–

A flicker of something deep inside. Not just peace. Not just pride.

Love.

For his brothers. For his dad. For April. For Casey. For the clan. For the ones who came before him. For Karai. For himself .

He paused and looked up.

The archives were still. The candlelight had burned low. The shadows danced along the shelves, as if leaning in to listen. 

He dipped the brush again.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’re hurting, too. Maybe you’ve made mistakes, like me. Maybe you think you’re broken. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that the Hamato do not give up. We endure. We grow. We protect each other and those who need it. And we always, always, come home. Remember, you are not alone.

This is my story. But it doesn’t end here.

He set the brush down with care.

His hand ached. His eyes burned. But his heart felt steady. 

Leo leaned back on his hands, gaze rising towards the ceiling where ancient beams stretched across like the bones of giants. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel crushed by the past. 

He felt part of it.

One of many.

A thread in a much larger tapestry.

He looked down at his entry–still wet with ink, scrawled with honesty, stained at the edges by the lightest smear of a tear he hadn’t noticed fall.

He smiled softly.

And then, carefully, he reached for another sheet of paper. 

He wasn’t done yet.

The tip of Leonardo’s brush stilled at last.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping as he set it aside. The final character glistened with fresh ink, delicate and precise despite the cramp in his hand. Hours had passed. The candlelight burned low, casting warm, flickering light across long wooden tables. His wrist ached. His fingers trembled faintly, muscles tight from gripping the brush for too long. But he had done it.

The scroll was finished.

He waited as the ink dried–watching it settle into the page like roots into soil. His mind was quiet now. Tired, but calm. No nightmares had come tonight. No visions of Kraang Prime. Just the rustling of parchment and the hum of something ancient that lived within these walls.

When the scroll was ready, Leo reached for the string–carefully rolling the paper into a smooth cylinder, fingers deft despite their soreness. He tied it off with practiced knots, hands moving slow and steady. Then came the final touch. A carved wooden stamp dipped in red ink. The Hamato Crest.

He pressed it down gently.

And just like that, his story became part of the clan. 

The act felt ceremonial. Almost sacred. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it–the quiet, methodical nature of it–but he did. There was something peaceful in the care it required. In the thought that his words would be read long after he was gone. 

Leo stood and stretched, spine popping as he did so. He gave a soft, dry laugh under his breath, rolling his shoulders as he looked over the scroll.

Now came the harder part. Finding where it belonged.

He walked down the long aisles of the archive, scroll in hand, weaving through shelves that towered high with timeworn knowledge. The air here was cool and dry, the scent of wood, ink, and old stories strong. Paper rustled faintly as he passed hanging charms and dried herbs placed long ago for preservation and protection. 

He followed the scrolls by date, fingers brushing lightly over faded titles and inked markings.

Finally, near the back of a side shelf, he found it–the last account before his. 

It was dated almost three decades ago. The seal was cracked and faded, the name at the bottom missing. He tilted his head, wondering who it had belonged to. What story it told. What pain it carried. What victories it celebrated.

His eyes lingered on it. 

Then, carefully, respectfully, Leo slid his one scroll beside it. There, side by side–past and present, memory and continuation. It felt right.

He hesitated for a beat…then reached for the older scroll. He tucked it gently into the folds of his cloak. A story for another time . 

He turned to leave.

That’s when he saw it.

Out of the corner of his eye– something wrong.

A door. Tucked in the back wall of the archive room. Old. Weathered. The wood was darker than the rest of the room, almost blackened with age, like it had been sealed long ago. And above it–

His heart stuttered.

The Foot Clan symbol.

Red and stark, it was carved into the beam above the door in bold, deliberate strokes. Faded but unmistakable.

Leo froze.

The weight in his chest shifted–heaviness blooming with a flash of shock, confusion, and…anger. Why ?

What was the Foot’s mark doing here ? In this sacred place. In the temple of his ancestors?

He stepped forward, fist clenched at his side, the other rising instinctively toward the door. His breath hitched. Muscles coiled. He thought of the invasion. The part the Foot played in it. He may have been the one to lose the key, but they used it. They let the Kraang into their world. Served them even as they destroyed it.

He was going to open it. He needed to know. He needed–

“And what do you think you’re doing, Leonardo?”

He jumped .

He spun, nearly losing his balance, his heart leaping into his throat.

Karai stood behind him, arms folded, expression calm but stern. Her form flickered faintly–she’d materialized from the shadows like a wisp of smoke. The quality of her presence was always one he took comfort in, but she can be unnerving when she wants to be.

Leo scowled, clutching his chest. “You have got to start wearing a bell.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “That would ruin the fun.”

He turned towards the door again, his voice sharper now. “What is this place? Why is that symbol even here?”

His tone was edged–half confusion, half accusation. He wasn’t yelling. But his frustration was clear.

Karai stepped beside him, gaze steady on the carved sigil. Her voice was level, quiet, but stern. “Because it would be a failure on our part not to study our greatest enemy.”

Leo blinked. His mouth opened, then shut again.

“...Right,” he muttered, ducking his head. “That makes sense.”

“Would you like to see it?” she asked.

He hesitated, then nodded.

Karai placed a hand on the door and pushed. The old wood groaned open slowly, revealing a smaller chamber tucked behind the archives. No windows. Only candles. The walls were lined with dark scrolls, faded maps, diagrams, and aged books bound in leather or cloth–some of them stained, others so cracked they looked like they might fall apart if touched.

The air was heavier here. Older.

Karai led him inside. “This is where we keep records of the Foot-Hamato conflicts. Every war. Every betrayal. Every alliance, brief though they were. Locations, tactics…even rituals and spells.”

Leo scanned the room. “All of it’s real?”

“Most of it. Some is speculation. Much of it is forgotten, even by the Foot themselves.” She looked around the room, her voice softening. “My story is in here, too.”

Leo looked at her, startled. “You…?”

She nodded. “The account of how I sealed myself and the Shredder within the Twilight Realm. To stop his corruption. To protect the world.” She met his gaze. “I gave my life to stop my father. As you did…to stop the Kraang.”

Leo’s chest tightened. His grip on the scroll in his cloak shifted. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice thick. 

But Karai only smiled–sad and soft and proud.

“There’s no need to be sorry. We do what we must…for those we love.” She placed a hand briefly on his shoulder. “You understand that better than most.”

Leo turned away, his throat tight, his emotions churning in a quiet storm. His fingers ran over the spine of an old book, worn and delicate, the kanji on the cover unfamiliar. The ink had faded almost entirely.

He squinted at it. “I…can’t read this one. The characters are older than anything I’ve learned.”

Karai stepped closer, her expression suddenly shifting.

Darkness passed across her features. Not fear–but caution.

“I’ve never read that book either,” she said slowly. “But I know of it.”

Leo looked at her, brows raised. “What is it?”

Karai’s gaze lingered on the book, her voice low. “It’s said to contain the Foot’s most forbidden mystic knowledge. Adopted from enemy clans long ago. Spells. Rituals. Accounts of acolytes…and witches. Those who pursued power without balance. Without honor. Beings warped by their hunger. Dangerous, even now.” Her grimace deepened. Speaking sadly. “ That is what the Foot has become.” 

Leo stared at it, unease crawling down his spine. 

The book didn’t look special. But the weight of it in the room felt wrong .

Karai turned to him, expression softening again. “That’s enough for tonight. You need rest.”

Leo blinked. “You knew I was here all night?”

“I always know.” She smirked. “And I’m proud of you.”

Leo gave a tired chuckle. “So I still have training tomorrow?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said. “Even if you collapse halfway through it. You still need to work on that kata.”

He groaned dramatically, and she laughed. Together, they stepped back into the archive proper, the Foot door closing softly behind them. 

But Leo’s gaze lingered–just for a moment.

That book. That feeling.

He didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

As he left the archives behind, something deep in his gut remained heavy.

He added his story to the history of the Hamato. But there were other stories still hidden–ones that waited, silent and coiled, in the dark.

Month 9–Week 35

Golden light filtered through the thinning canopy above the inner plaza, casting shadows that danced on stone and fallen leaves. The air was crisp but not quite biting yet, tinged with the scent of moss and something faintly sweet–maybe persimmon, drying in the sun somewhere.

Leonardo sat cross legged on a flat stone at the garden’s center, the hem of his dark cloak dusted in leaves. Around him, the world had quieted into that delicate stillness only late autumn could bring. A gentle wind stirred the trees, loosening another cascade of golden-orange. He watched as one leaf spiraled down to his lap, landing without a sound.

Everything ends , he thought. But everything continues, too .

Karai’s voice cut through the silence, soft but firm. “You are not the mistakes you made, Leonardo.”

Leo blinked, gaze lifting from the leaf to where she stood nearby, hands folded in front of her. The breeze passed through her like smoke, but her presence still felt grounding–solid, even in its incorporeality. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just…forget sometimes.”

Karai stepped closer, settling into a graceful kneel beside him. “That’s why we train the mind. Not to forget pain. But to remember truth .”

He offered a wry smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of this whole ‘not spiraling into self-loathing’ thing.”

Karai gave him a look–one of those soft, proud glances that said she saw right through him. “Progress. Not perfection.”

“Hey, I’m a perfectionist and a ninja. It’s a tough combo,” Leo replied, grinning.

She didn’t laugh–but her smile grew, just a bit.

“I used to think I had to carry it all,” Leo continued, quieter now. “Every bad decision. Every fight we didn’t win. Every injury my brothers took. Especially...what happened with the Kraang.”

He paused. The wind stirred again, brushing through his bandana tails and stirring the leaves like ripples in a pond. 

“I made a bad call. I let the Foot get the key. That’s on me. And…the Kraang getting out, the invasion…that’s on me, too.”

His voice cracked just a little.

“I got lucky,” he said, ”That my sacrifice didn’t stick . That Mikey pulled off a miracle. But I went into that portal fully ready not to come back.”

Karai was silent for a long moment. Then, gently, she asked, “Would you do it again?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Then your choice had clarity,” she said. “Even if the path to it was flawed. That’s what matters.”

Leo was quiet. The breeze shifted again, pulling a few loose leaves across the stone like whispers.

“Do you know what makes a good leader?” Karai asked.

He glanced at her. “I’ve got a few guesses. Lot’s of meditation, definitely less pizza.”

She rolled her eyes–fondy. “It’s not perfection. It’s presence . A leader shows up. He listens. He adapts. And when he stumbles, he learns.”

She leaned forward, her voice lower. “You’ve made mistakes, Leonardo. That is not failure. That is experience. And you have carried those lessons well.”

He looked down at his hands. The callouses. The faded scars. The new steadiness in them.

“I think I finally believe that,” he said.

Karai smiled. “Good. Because fall is nearly over. And winter is not forgiving.”

Leo groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the flat stone with a thud. “Ugh. I knew this was a trick. Emotional breakthrough and seasonal threats? Is this training or a really intense therapy session?”

She raised a brow. “Why not both?”

He laughed. “I’m gonna need a bigger journal.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while. A few birds chirped in the bare branches. Somewhere in the distance, water trickled through the small stream that ran along the edge of the temple. 

Leo tilted his head back to watch the sky through the thinning leaves. His breath fogged faintly as he exhaled. “I’m not perfect,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But I’m here. I’m learning. And I want to lead because I love them. Not because I need to prove anything.”

Karai nodded. “Then you are already becoming the leader they deserve.”

He turned his head toward her. “You know…for a ghost, you give pretty solid pep talks.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “And for a turtle, you’re doing just fine.”

He lay there for a bit longer, watching the last leaves fall.

No weight pressing on his chest. No guilt clinging to the edge of his thoughts. Just…peace. Fleeting, but real.

He wasn’t perfect.

But he was present.

And for now–that was enough.

Chapter Text

Month 10–Week 37

The cold was relentless.

It didn’t bite–it gnawed. Gnawed at Leo’s fingers, at his ankles, at the exposed edge of his jaw where his cloak didn’t cover. Wind screamed down from the cliffs above the temple, slicing through the mountain passes like a blade honed over centuries. It sent drifts of snow tumbling across the courtyard, scattering pine needles and leaving the world white and sharp and howling.

Leo stood in the snow, arms bare, breath visible in the frigid air.

It had been Karai’s idea. Of course it had.

“You must learn to kindle the fire within you,” she said earlier that morning. “The world may freeze, but your spirit must remain unfrozen. A leader endures what others cannot.”

So now here he was.

Standing ankle deep in snow, fingers twitching, teeth clamped together so hard his jaw ached. The mountain wind tore at his cloak, but he’d shed it minutes ago at Karai’s instruction. Now, he wore only his ninja wraps and gear, damp and already stiffening from the cold.

He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, watching his breath curl in the air like smoke from a dying fire.

“Maintain stillness,” Karai said from her place on the stone steps nearby. She was seated, unmoving as the statues in the temple halls. “And bring your mind inward. Your warmth does not come from your blood. It comes from your center.”

Leo clenched his fingers, forcing his arms to remain at his sides. This was stupid. Everything screamed at him to move. To run. Turtle instincts wanting him to find a fire or dive into a pile of heated blankets and hibernate like a normal turtle. But instead he closed his eyes, breathing in again.

Inhale. Exhale. Focus.

Inside him, he pictured a flame. Small. Flickering. Nestled just below his sternum. He’d visualized this before–during meditation training. But this was different. This wasn’t to center his thoughts. This was survival.

The cold was starting to burrow into his chest now. His muscles cramped. His legs felt like glass about to shatter.

“I feel like a popsicle,” he muttered sourly.

Karai’s voice was calm. “You will turn into a popsicle if you do not focus. Even ice has structure. You are not meant to be comfortable. You are meant to grow.”

Leo groaned. “Remind me to put that on a motivational poster. Right next to a penguin doing pushups.”

Karai ignored the comment. “You’re resisting the cold. Fighting it. That is not the way.”

Leo’s brow furrowed. “You want me to…accept being a turtlesicle?”

“I want you to become unbothered by it. Let it pass through you, not into you.”

Leo breathed again. Tried.

It was hard. So hard.

But slowly–so slowly–he let his thoughts soften. He imagined the cold as a river rushing around him. He let his breath move with it. In and out. In and out.

The flame in his chest flickered again. He focused on that. Made it brighter.

He thought of Mikey’s laugh. Of the way April’s jacket smelled like coffee and paper when she hugged him. Of Casey’s curious face every time he encountered something new to him. He remembered Raph lifting them high on his shoulders like they were something precious. Donnie’s lab in the middle of the night, always warm from machines and welcoming. Of dad, always making sure his sons were warm enough during the winter.

Warmth.

Family.

That small flame grew–steady. Not enough to chase away the cold. But enough to bear it.

His shivering slowed. His breath evened.

He opened his eyes.

The snow still fell, steady and soft, coating his shoulders and the stone behind him. The wind still howled.

But inside?

He was calm.

Karai stood silently and approached, watching him with steady eyes. “You did it,” she said.

Leo nodded slightly, jaw tight. “I mean, I’m still freezing. But…it’s not in me, I guess.”

“Good,” she said, tone approving. “That is the first step. We build from here.”

Leo flexed his fingers again. He still couldn’t feel them, but he could move them without wincing now.

“Great,” he said with a crooked smile. “Next step better be hot tea and a fire.”

Karai smiled faintly. “Next step is a full-body movement kata. In the snow.”

Leo groaned. “Of course it is.”

The kata was brutal.

Not because it was complex, but because every motion was deliberate, sustained, and done with frozen muscles. Leo moved in slow arcs, carving patterns into the air and kicking up snow with every step. The movements were meant to keep him just warm enough–just focused enough–to build tolerance, but not heat.

It frustrated him. Movements that were once smooth and controlled were now sloppy, slow and unsteady. It felt like all the hard work he put into these long months were gone in the blink of an eye. Swallowed by the wind and bitter cold. But, he supposed, that was the point of this training, brutal as it was. To build tolerance. To grow and push past his limits despite his body feeling like it was freezing from the inside.

He was determined to succeed.

By the end of it, his breath came in steady gasps. His body ached. But something had shifted.

The fire he visualized earlier–his ninpo–still burned bright. It stayed with him, small and steady and playful as always.

Karai approached again, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“You are learning to endure the season,” she said softly. “To bend with it, not break beneath it.”

Leo nodded. “I think I’m gonna name my ninpo,” he said, teasing and breathless. “Little Leo. He’s much better at this than I am.”

Karai chuckled. “Perhaps one day he will be big Leo.”

Leo grinned despite himself, frost on his mask.

“Still not beating the cold,” he said. “But I’m not losing to it either.”

Karai’s gaze was warm. “That is what it means to survive winter. You endure, even when you cannot bloom.”

Month 10–Week 39

The world outside had fallen into silence.

Snow blanketed the mountaintop, smoothing every edge, softening every noise. The trees bent slightly under its weight, branches heavy and still. Wind whispered faintly along the temple’s stone walls–no longer howling, but sighing, as though even the mountain had begun to sleep.

Inside, the fire crackled.

Leo sat alone before it, legs crossed on a simple mat. The flames cast flickering shadows that danced against the paper walls and worn wooden beams above. His twin sword rested on the ground beside him, untouched. The temple was quiet save for the occasional pop of burning wood, the low hum of wind pressing against ancient stone.

He had been here for hours.

Karai had left him with a simple instruction “Feel. Not with your thoughts. Not with your senses. But with your soul.”

At first, Leo didn’t know what that meant.

He had fidgeted. Adjusted his posture. His tail kept twitching. His mind, always sharp and darting like a blade, had rebelled against the stillness.

He thought of Mikey making breakfast in the early morning. Donnie asleep at his desk with some tool still in his hand. April trying to hold them all together after the invasion. Raph’s quiet presence, his silent way of saying I’m here. Splinter, asleep in his chair. The laughter they shared. The fights. The way everything had once felt so normal.

And how quickly it all shattered.

Leo closed his eyes now, letting out a soft breath.

He had stopped resisting.

Now, he sat completely still–his body warm, his hands resting gently in his lap, palms up. He had passed discomfort, passed distraction. Now all that remained was the fire and the breath.

Inhale. Exhale.

His breath synced with the flickering light. The warmth seeped into his limbs, soaking into the marrow of his bones like melted snow. His heartbeat slowed. Time stretched.

He wasn’t thinking anymore.

He was simply feeling.

And what he felt was…quiet.

A profound quiet. Not emptiness, but fullness. As though the silence in the room held something–something alive. Something old. Like the air itself had memory. Like the fire was telling a story in every crackle.

He could feel the spirit of the place now. The warmth of his ancestors still lingered in the walls.

He thought of the scrolls he had read–of Hamato warriors who had lived and died, fought and loved, and carried burdens just like he had. They had felt this cold. Sat in this silence. Sought peace in a world that rarely offered it.

He felt…connected. Not just to the temple. But to them.

The wind slipped through the cracked window behind him, rustling a hanging charm overhead. The movement was subtle. But Leo felt it. Not just on his skin. In his chest.

Like a presence brushing past him.

And he knew–he wasn’t alone.

Not in a frightening way. It wasn’t haunting.

It was comforting.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his heart responded. The quiet warmth inside him–the one he’d nurtured and watched grow full again–glowed brighter.

“I get it,” he whispered to the fire, the words barely audible. “Stillness isn’t about doing nothing. It’s about listening.”

The fire answered with a soft hiss as a log shifted.

Leo smiled faintly, his eyes still closed.

“I used to think I had to fight all the time. That a good leader had to act, fix, move fast.” His voice was low, reverent, almost confessional. “But now I think…sometimes a good leader needs to pause. Needs to wait. Needs to feel everything before choosing a path.”

The wind stirred again, brushing his cheek.

Leo’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something softer. Deeper.

“Is that what you want me to learn?” He asked quietly, addressing no one and everyone. “That I don’t have to carry everything by force? That sometimes…I just need to…be?”

Silence.

But it wasn’t empty.

It was full of knowing.

Leo’s heart tightened. Not in pain, but in peace. A steady warm ache that spread through his chest. A knowing that he wasn’t broken. That he didn’t have to prove anything to be worthy. That just being here, just trying was enough.

And that…maybe…just maybe…

He was loved.

As he was.

Leo sat in that feeling for a long time, letting it wash over him like firelight. No action. No words. No burden.

Just breath.

Just stillness.

Eventually, he opened his eyes. The fire had burned low now, reduced to glowing embers. The room had darkened. But Leo didn’t feel cold. Not in the slightest.

He reached for his tea, now lukewarm, and took a sip. The bitter taste made him smile.

“I’m gonna be so zen after this Karai’s gonna make me teach the next class,” he murmured to himself. “Master Leonardo of the Blank Stare Style.”

His grin softened.

And as he stood slowly, bowing to the fire with quiet respect, he whispered a final word under his breath. “...Thank you.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the deeper halls of the temple, leaving only the glow of coals behind him.

Month 11–Week 40

The snow fell slower here. Not soft, exactly–never that high on the mountain–but patient. As if each flake took its time choosing where to land. The courtyard had been swept earlier–by him–but white still gathered in the corners of the stones, between cracks in the path, and in the furrows of the wooden training posts. The wind had lost its bite but not its voice, howling quietly through the bare trees and posts like it was whispering forgotten prayers.

Leo sat on his knees near the temple’s northern arch, shoulders hunched beneath layers of fabric. His breath came in slow puffs, visible in the cold. He watched as Karai knelt beside him, her graceful fingers moving with care as she dipped the brush into black ink and began to draw.

The symbol took form in fluid, elegant strokes. A swirling eye surrounded by crescent lines, two arcs beneath it resembling wings. She finished the base, then pressed the brush's tip to the edge and pulled downward–completing the mark with a sharp taper.

“A ward of stillness,” Karai said softly, her voice steady but low, like it belonged to the wind itself. “This one calms the spirit. Weakens invasive energies. A foundational sigil.”

Leo studied it. The lines were simple, but there was a rhythm to them, like music in visual form. “It looks…familiar,” he murmured.

Karai nodded. “Some of these are woven in the temple’s structure. You see them, even when you do not realize. The old Hamato knew that symbols can speak when words cannot.” She gestured to the paper. “Now, you.”

Leo hesitated. He wasn’t sure why the brush in his hand felt heavier than his swords. “I dunno,” he muttered, eyes narrowing at the page. “I’ve never been great at this stuff. Mikey’s the artist in the family.”

“You were not great at portals, either,” she reminded him with a small, knowing smile. “And now they are second nature to you.”

“Barely,” he muttered. “They still misfire sometimes. Sometimes they open too far, or I land face first in–”

“Yet you never stop using them,” she cut in gently, tilting her head. “You trust yourself enough to try. That is all I ask now.”

Leo exhaled slowly. He dipped the brush into the ink, then brought it over the paper. His first stroke was clumsy–too thick. The second wobbled at the curve. He grimaced, but Karai didn’t correct him. She watched. Patient. Steady.

He went again. And again. Each time, a little smoother. A little closer to the original.

“Why teach me this now?” he asked, not looking up. “Feels like I’ve barely got a handle on everything else.”

“Because you have the foundation,” Karai replied. “This is not about strength. It is about intent. Symbols are focus. Precision. Connection. You have learned to move like the wind–now you must learn to speak through it.”

When the sigil was finally decent–shaky, but shaped–Karai placed a hand lightly over his. “Now, draw from your center,” she said. “Let your ninpo linger in the strokes. Like frost on glass.”

Leo closed his eyes. He focused inward. Felt the familiar spark of his energy swirling just behind his ribs. He moved his hand slowly over the paper, not redrawing the symbol, but infusing it. He imagined his energy settling in each line like light spilling into grooves.

Nothing happened.

He opened one eye.

The ink still looked…like ink.

“I don’t think it's working,” he muttered.

Karai didn’t answer at first. She reached for another brush and dipped it in a different pot–this one filled with a pale silver mixture. “You’re focusing on the result,” she said. “Focus on the giving. Like you do when opening a portal. You don’t force it. You offer your energy. You guide it.”

She painted a clean sigil on the stone in front of them. As she lingered her palm over it, the lines began to glow. Softly, at first. Then more pronounced. Green-white light shimmered through the ink like embers hidden beneath snow.

Leo’s eyes widened.

Karai looked at him. “You try again.”

He swallowed, nodded, and closed his eyes. This time, he imagined the lines as threads. His energy was the wind. All it needed to do was move through them.

A faint pulse shimmered over the paper.

The symbol flickered, then dimmed.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was something.

Leo blinked at it, lips parting slightly. “...Did I just do that?”

“You did,” Karai said softly. “And now we begin the true practice.”

She drew out several more symbols. One shaped like a spiral wrapped in flames, another with interlocking crescents, and a third that resembled a blooming lotus with a swirl at its center.

“These are for warding. For protection. For anchoring energy,” she said. “They will become your voice when your blades are not enough.”

Leo stared at them. Symbols of peace. Of defense. Of holding the line.

He didn’t know it yet, but one day, these sigils would be the only thing standing between New York and complete mystic collapse.

For now, he just breathed in the cold air, fingers trembling over brush and ink, determined to learn what he could–one line at a time.

Month 11–Week 42

The sky above the mountains was a soft grey, heavy with snow not yet fallen. The courtyard’s stone floor, swept clean earlier, was scattered with the remnants of Leo’s attempts. Scraps of paper covered in sigils, some glowing faintly, others smudged with frozen ink and half-faded mystic light. The bitter cold bit at his fingers, but Leo didn’t feel it. Not today.

A sigil glowed on the ground before him–his sigil. Lines born from his hand, inked with silver and threaded with blue ninpo that pulsed like a heartbeat. It wasn’t Karai’s. It wasn’t ancient. It was his.

Leo stood, cheeks flushed with cold and excitement, his breath visible as he turned towards the temple steps.

“Karai!” he called, voice echoing off the stone pillars. “You need to see this! I think–I think I finally got it!”

Karai descended the stairs, her steps silent, serene as ever. The snowy wind seemed to catch her sleeves and her hair, despite her being a spirit, she moved like she barely noticed. Her eyes swept over the courtyard, landing on the sigil Leo had drawn. It still glowed faintly, a soft blue pulse in the center like it was breathing.

She stepped closer. “You created this?”

Leo nodded, kneeling next to it and brushing away a bit of snow that had settled near the top curve. “Yeah. I followed the form you showed me–base symmetry, balanced lines–but I adjusted the flow. See the center?” He pointed at the spiral nested between four curved arms. “Each arc points in a different direction. I was thinking…like a compass. Or…like us.”

Karai crouched beside him, examining it. “Explain.”

Leo scratched the back of his head, sheepish but excited. “Okay, so–this spiral in the middle, that’s me. And the four arms–north, south, east, and west– are my brothers and my dad. The whole thing stays balanced because of all of us. It’s…connected. I poured my energy into it while thinking about them. About home. About who I’m still fighting for. How I always find my way back to them. No matter what.”

Karai was quiet for a moment, then–“That is a powerful intent.”

Leo blinked. “You’re not gonna say it’s too sentimental?”

Karai smiled, soft and proud. “No. Emotion is not weakness, Leonardo. It is what gives ninpo shape. Without it, symbols are just lines. Ink. But you’ve created a mark of protection–and of remembrance.”

She touched two fingers gently to the glowing spiral. The blue light shivered, responding not to her ninpo, but to his. “Your will lives inside this. It will anchor your energy to wherever it is placed. Like a tether. A flame that stays lit in the dark.”

Leo’s eyes widened. “So anywhere I put this–”

“--will carry your presence,” she finished. “Your will. And in some cases…your defiance.”

He laughed, breath fogging in the cold. “Now that’s more my style.”

Karia looked at him thoughtfully. “Would you like to name it?”

Leo looked down at the sigil again, a soft ache blooming in his chest. The spiral really did feel like them. Raph’s strength in the center, solid as stone. Donnie’s precision in every curve, each line perfectly measured. Mikey’s warmth spun through the movement, the shape full of life and motion. And Splinter–formed the foundation that held them all together.

Leo’s fingers brushed over the spiral softly. The light pulsed beneath his touch, steady and quiet like a heartbeat.

“I was thinking…” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “Maybe I'd call it Hearth.”

He glanced at Karai, unsure. “Because it’s where the fire stays lit, right? Even when everything’s falling apart. Even when I’m far away. It’s…it’s where they are. Where I belong.”

Karai’s smile deepened. Touched with something older than words–pride, perhaps, or understanding that reached back through generations. “Hearth.” she echoed. “A place to return to. A source of light.”

Leo nodded slowly, the word settling into him like a gentle weight, grounding and true. “Yeah. I like that. Hearth.”

He said it again, quieter. To himself this time. Hearth. Home.

Then he stood, the sigil still glowing faintly beneath his hand. He could feel them, even though they were far away. Even though they felt like they were out of reach. Their ninpo was still intertwined with his, swirling around each other in a never ending cycle of love and trust.

He carried them with him. In every step. In every breath. In every stroke of that symbol. A tether. A flame. A promise.

He smiled gently to himself, the word echoing in his chest like a soft drumbeat.

Hearth.

Chapter Text

Month 11–Week 43

The fire cracked softly in the hearth, its golden light flickering along the worn walls of the temple. Outside, the wind howled and brushed snow against the paper covered windows, but inside, there was warmth–a deep, steady warmth that came not just from the fire, but from the heart of the temple itself.

Leo sat cross legged in front of the flames, his blue eyes reflecting the dancing embers. His twin katanas lay across his lap, their polished blades catching glints of firelight. He moved slowly, methodically, running a cloth along the length of each blade. Not just to clean them, but to feel them. To remind himself of the weight. Of the purpose.

He had done this countless times before. Sharpened his blades, cleaned them, maintained their edge. But it felt different tonight. Maybe it was the stillness of the snow, the way it quieted the world, or maybe it was the slow ache in his chest–the kind that came not from exhaustion or cold, but reflection.

Two months of winter. Nearly a year since he’d left home.

He took a breath, long and steady, watching the fire dance. He’d changed. He knew that. He could feel it in his body, in his spirit. The boy who had left New York in a storm of guilt and grief was not the same as the one sitting here now.

He had learned to sit with his thoughts.

To feel the weight of silence and not fear it.

To forgive himself, even if the ache hadn’t fully left.

He thought of his brothers–Mikey’s laugh, Donnie’s tired but patient smile, Raph’s strong arms around him–and his heart clenched. He missed them. Fiercely. But he also felt closer to them now than he had in a long time. Because now…now he understood what it meant to lead not with answers, but with presence. To carry their love with him, even in silence.

He sheathed one blade with a soft click and picked up the second.

“Your heart is still troubled.”

Leo’s shoulders flinched just slightly–In his defense, he’s not able to hear her come in, not even the sound of a step. “You really gotta stop doing that,” he muttered, not looking up, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna put a bell on you.”

Karai’s ghostly form drifted closer to the fire, her expression warm but calm, unreadable in the shadows. “You would be unable to, though I would like to see you try.”

Leo chuckled softly. “One of my many flaws.”

She lowered herself gracefully to the floor across from him. The firelight passed through her faintly, illuminating her outline. “You’ve come far, Leonardo.”

He paused in his cleaning, eyes flickering up to meet hers. She was serious.

“I mean it,” she said. “You’ve changed. Not just in body, but in heart. Your journey has not been easy, but you’ve walked it with courage.”

Leo’s hand tightened around the cloth in his grip. “...Have I?”

Karai tilted her head.

“I’ve learned a lot, yeah,” he admitted, setting the second blade aside and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve changed. I know that. But…what if it’s not enough? What if I go back and screw everything up again? What if I fall back into the same patterns? What if I’m still not the leader they need?”

Karai was quiet for a moment, then she smiled, gentle and knowing. “That fear is what tells me you’re ready.”

Leo blinked.

“Doubt is not a weakness, Leonardo. It is a sign that you care deeply. That you understand the weight of responsibility. But you cannot let it paralyze you. You lead not because you are flawless, but because you show up. Because you love them.”

“...But what if I’m not strong enough?” he whispered.

“You are,” she said, with absolute certainty. “But your trials are not yet over.”

He straightened a little. “What do you mean?”

“There is one final lesson you must learn,” Karai said, standing slowly, her eyes watching him with pride and something unreadable–something heavy.

Leo stood with her, uneasy. “You’re not gonna tell me what it is, are you?”

She gave him a small smile. “Not yet.”

“That’s just evil,” he said, raising an eye ridge. “You’re supposed to be the good ancestor.”

She stepped closer and reached out, her translucent hand brushing his forehead. There was no real weight to the touch, but it sent warmth flooding through him all the same.

“I’m proud of you,” she said quietly. “More than words can say. You’ve honored the Hamato name, and your heart is strong. Sleep now, my grandson. You’ve earned rest. But come dawn, training continues.”

Leo nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Okay. Okay…yeah.”

Karai turned to go, fading gently as she walked. Just before she disappeared completely into the darkened hallway, Leo called softly, “Hey…Karai?”

She paused.

“...Love you too.”

She didn’t say anything, but the warmth that lingered behind her was answer enough.

Leo stood by the fire a little longer, letting his thoughts settle. Letting the peace of the temple hold him for another night.

Then, finally, he turned and made his way back to his room, his blades at his sides, the firelight at his back.

The temple was silent.

The kind of silence that came only in the deepest hours of night, when the snow had stopped falling and even the wind dared not stir. A stillness hung in the air, suspended like a breath held too long. Moonlight slipped through the wooden slats and paper of the window, casting faint beams across the floor in gentle stripes, like the bars of a quiet sanctuary.

Karai appeared in the doorway to Leonardo’s room without a sound.

She lingered there for a moment, half in shadow, half in silver light, her form glowing softly with the dim warmth of spirit. The fire in the brazier at the corner of the room had long since burned low, casting only a faint orange ember-glow across the walls. And there, in the corner of his room, lay Leonardo–fast asleep atop his mat, a blanket tucked haphazardly around him, his arms curled beneath his head in a position more childlike than he’d ever admit.

Karai’s eyes softened.

She stepped forward quietly, her movements soft, as though the very air might shatter if she moved too quickly. She knelt beside him, folding her legs beneath her in one graceful motion. Her knees did not touch the mat, nor did her weight shift the world, but she sat as though she belonged there, as though she had always belonged in this moment.

Her eyes lingered on his face.

There was peace there now, a kind of stillness that had not existed when he first arrived. She could still see the lines of burden in the corners of his eyes, the shadow of sorrow that clung to his brow even in rest–a fact he would deny until his final breath, she knew–but they were lighter now. Softer. Like old wounds healing beneath fresh snow.

Karai reached out, a transparent hand hovering just inches from his cheek.

The boy who came to me. She thought. He was drowning in the weight of his own heart.

She remembered that first night, the way he’d wandered the temple grounds, shivering from cold and uncertainty. How he had bowed too deeply, too long, his voice tight with guilt as he asked to be taught. Not for strength. Not for pride. But because he believed he had failed.

He had carried so much then. Guilt like shackles. Fear like fog. Anger hiding behind careful jokes and forced smiles.

But now…

Now he breathed deeper. His face was lined with thought, yes, but also with clarity. Resolve.

You’ve come so far, my grandson.

Her chest ached with pride and sorrow.

It was strange, to love so deeply and yet not be able to touch. Not truly. To want so badly to hold him, to gather him into her arms like a mother would, like a grandmother could, and reassure him that everything would be alright.

But that wasn’t her role anymore. Not for now.

She had guided. She had trained. She had helped him find himself again in the swirling winds of doubt.

But now…now it was time for him to walk the next part of his journey alone.

Her hand drifted lower, brushing against his cheek–not in flesh, but in spirit. A whisper of warmth. A gesture of all the love she could give.

Leonardo didn’t stir, but a small breath escaped his lips, slow and calm.

Karai closed her eyes.

I am proud of you. More than you’ll ever know.

And yet, her heart grieved.

He has struggled so long with distance, she thought. The isolation. The silence between him and those he loves. I know he misses them. I know the weight of solitude weighs heavy on his spirit.

And now she would leave him.

Not forever. But long enough.

He must learn to stand alone. Truly alone. Without my guidance. Without my presence. The final lesson is not one I can give…only he can earn.

The temple shifted around her, the shadows deepening as the moon moved through the sky. Outside, snow began to fall again–soft and slow–like ash from the heavens. The wind hummed low, threading its voice through the cracks of the wood and stone.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips gently to his brow–a phantom kiss, lighter than wind, but filled with the soul of every ancestor who had walked before him.

Then she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if spoken into the deepest fold of his dreams.

“Anata wa hitori ja nai. You are not alone, even when it feels like you are. You carry your ancestors and your family inside you, always.”

She lingered a moment longer. Long enough to memorize his face. The rise and fall of his breath. The way his hands were still calloused from practice, his muscles faintly twitching even in sleep–always alert, always aware.

You are my legacy, she thought, with a final, quiet smile. And you are loved.

She stood, rising slowly, her form dimming into the cold stillness of night, only the flickering embers in the brazier remained, casting a faint glow beside Leonardo’s sleeping form.

Alone.

But never truly alone.

Month 12–Week 44

The morning was quiet.

The kind of cold that pressed into your bones greeted Leonardo as his eyes blinked open. This frost webbed across the wood of the window, glowing silver in the early dawn light. He lay still for a moment beneath the blanket, eyes half-lidded, his breath curling faintly in the air, his fingers twitched beneath the blanket.

Another day.

Leo pushed himself up with a soft groan, muscles stiff from sleep and the relentless cold. He had long since stopped complaining aloud. Winter didn’t care if you were sore, or tired, or lonely. It simply existed, unyielding and beautiful. Just like the training.

He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and moved through the motions, folding his bedding neatly, rolling the mat and securing it, running a cloth over his skin with water chilled from the basin beside his bed. He hissed slightly as it touched his neck.

“Better than coffee,” he muttered under his breath, voice dry with sarcasm. “Said no one ever.”

Despite himself, he smiled. A small, wry grin. The kind of humor that came when the silence was a little too long.

The floorboards were cool underfoot as he padded towards the small kitchen space of the temple. He moved with familiar rhythm, his body remembering what his mind no longer needed to direct. He prepared a simple breakfast–miso soup with rice and some leftover vegetables he’s preserved. He poured water into the cast iron kettle and set it over the fire, watching the flames lick upward, heating the water slowly.

He stood there for a moment, rubbing his hands together.

“I miss coffee,” he said aloud. His voice echoed back to him in the emptiness. “Like, a lot.”

The kettle whistled, breaking the quiet. He made his tea–earthy, bitter, grounding. He sat near the window, sipping carefully, steam curling around his face like mist. Outside, the world was painted in shades of white and blue, snow layered gently over every tree branch, every stone. It was stunning, peaceful.

He watched a bird flutter across the snow, then vanish.

For a little while, Leo felt calm.

There was a sense of balance now. The harsh winter wasn’t a shock to his system anymore, it was something his body knew how to meet, how to push against. And everyday that he endured it made him stronger. Not just in body. In discipline. In resilience. In patience.

When he was done eating, he cleaned the bowl and cup, dried them with a cloth, and set them back in their place. No waste. No clutter. A tidy space for a tidy mind–or so Karai had said.

He gathered his gear next. His swords, his belt and wraps. Then he stepped out into the morning chill, breath catching in the cold air. Snow crunched underfoot as he made his way down the narrow trail leading to one of the training grounds. His limbs moved easily now, joints no longer aching with every step. He’d adapted. He’d grown.

The wind swept across the mountaintop, scattering loose powder into the air like shimmering dust.

He bowed at the edge of the training field, a quiet ritual, then began his stretches, slow and deliberate. Arms extended, spine long. He flowed into his katas, his breath familiar to him now as the pulse in his chest.

He waited.

And waited.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

The snow began to fall again–light, like whispers. Leo paused after a particularly fluid kata and looked around.

No sign of her.

He tilted his head, frowning. “She’s probably watching from somewhere. Testing my punctuality.” He tried to keep his tone light. “Ten out of ten, as usual.”

But as another half hour ticked by, unease began to settle in his stomach. He paced, then stilled. Sat, then stood again.

Where is she?

He walked to the edge of the training grounds, looked out towards the forest path. Nothing.

His breath was heavier now. Not from exertion, but from creeping anxiety. His fingers twitched at his sides. The peaceful rhythm of the morning–his breakfast, his tea, his stretches–all of it had unraveled.

Karai never missed a lesson. She was always here before him, waiting with a calm presence and some cryptic comment about his stance or his spirit. Always.

Unless…

No. He shook the thought away. No, she’s fine. She’s a ghost. Ghost’s don’t get lost. Or sick. Or…gone.

But the longer he waited, the louder the silence became.

It pressed in around him, echoing between his ribs. The kind of silence that didn’t just exist in the world, but inside your head. He could feel it growing there–tight and sharp, crawling through his chest like ice.

Leo sat down on the snow-packed ground and tried to breathe.

It’s fine. Maybe she’s testing me. Maybe this is the lesson today–waiting. Patience. Discipline.

But something felt different. Something was different.

He stared down at his hands, fingers curled against his knees. They trembled slightly, not from the cold, but from the feeling that had begun to root itself in his core.

She wasn’t coming.

And he didn’t know why.

The wind picked up.

It was subtle at first–just a slow sigh weaving between the trees–but Leo heard it. Or maybe he felt it more than heard it, the way it tugged gently at the edges of his cloak, the way it passed over his skin like a warning.

He stood.

Something cold and quiet pressed against the center of his chest. The snow underfoot crunched as he moved forward a few paces, eyes scanning the edge of the training grounds, the path that always brought Karai to him.

Still nothing.

“Karai?” His voice rang out into the air, clear and even.

It came back to him empty.

Leo frowned, squinting toward the tree line. “Karai,” he said again, louder this time. “Okay, seriously, not funny. You’re late. That’s never happened before.”

He turned a slow circle. Still only snow. Trees. Silence.

Frustration flared briefly in his chest. “Come on,” he muttered. “If this is one of your riddles again, I’m not in the mood.” He raised his voice. “Karai!”

Silence answered. Only the wind. A branch creaked somewhere in the woods.

His heart beat faster.

He took another step forward, feet sinking into soft snow, the cold starting to bite. His hands clenched at his side, then released. “Karai!” he shouted, the name tearing from him now, louder than before. “This isn’t funny!”

Still nothing.

The edges of his thoughts began to fray. She wouldn’t leave without saying something. She wouldn’t–

“Gram-Gram?” he called out, his voice small, uncertain.

It felt strange to say it out loud again. It was a name he hadn’t used in months–not since she started training him. Back when everything was too big, too painful, too much. It had slipped out one night in desperation, and Karai had just smiled and placed a hand gently on his head, saying, “You honor me, little wind.”

Now he said it again, but this time it cracked in his throat.

“Gram-Gram?” he said, quieter.

Nothing.

His knees hit the snow before he even realized he’d dropped. He didn’t cry, not right away. He just knelt there, in the center of the field, his breath hitching as the wind circled him like an old friend.

He looked around again, a wild kind of hope still clinging to his heart. Maybe she’d appear behind him. Maybe she’d phase through the temple wall and scold him for yelling. Maybe this was all part of the next lesson.

But there was no warmth behind him. No flicker of spirit light. No voice.

Only cold.

The kind of cold that settled deep within and curled its fingers around your lungs.

Leo’s hands trembled.

He stood again, stumbling slightly as he made his way back to the temple. Every step felt heavy. The crunch of the snow was too loud, like it was disturbing something sacred. He threw open the temple doors and searched every hallway. Every room. He called her name again and again–sometimes soft, sometimes loud, sometimes barely a whisper. But there was no trace of her.

Not even the faint ripple of spiritual energy he’d come to sense so well over these months.

She was gone.

Panic rose, unsteady and sharp. His breath came fast and shallow as he stood in the center of the hall, spinning slowly in place like a child who’d lost his parent in a crowd. This isn’t happening. She wouldn't just vanish. I’m not ready. I still have so much to learn. I don’t want to be alone.

His voice cracked again. “Karai,” he whispered. “Please…”

But the silence remained.

And that’s when it hit him fully. Not like a punch or a blast, but something more subtle. A sinking. A hollowing.

She’d left.

She’d really left.

The stillness of the temple wrapped around him like a shroud. The fire in the hearth had gone out, leaving only the faintest hint of warmth Shadows stretched long across the wooden floor. Leo backed into the nearest wall and slid down until he was sitting again, swords still strapped at his side, gear still clinging to his limbs like armor he couldn’t take off. His breath hitched again, and this time it didn’t stop.

“I wasn’t ready,” he whispered into the quiet.

It echoed faintly back to him, swallowed by the walls.

“I wasn’t ready,” he repeated, fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak. “You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t–” He choked on the words. “You didn’t say I was ready. Not for this.”

The tears came slowly, hot against his chilled cheeks. He didn’t sob. He just sat there, trying to breathe, heart aching in that deep, soul-deep way he hadn’t felt since the day he said goodbye to his family.

You left too.

The thought came unbidden. It hurt.

He tilted his head back against the wall, eyes glassy as he stared up at the wooden beams above him. The scent of old incense still lingered faintly in the air, though no one had burned it today. It was like the temple itself remembered her, too.

And suddenly he felt small again. Like he was fourteen years old, scared and overwhelmed, trying to pretend he had it all together. Trying to lead. Trying not to crumble.

“Gram-Gram,” he whispered again, voice shaking. “Please come back.”

No answer.

Just the soft creak of the temple around him, the settling of wood and stone, the hush of snow beyond the walls.

Leo wrapped his arms around his knees and lowered his forehead into them, drawing in tight. He stayed like that for a long time. Not sure how long. Time moved strangely in sorrow and fear.

But even in his grief, in the mess of his panic and pain, part of him knew.

This was the final trial.

The one Karai couldn’t guide him through.

He was alone now.

And he had to learn how to stand.

Chapter Text

Month 12–Week 45

The days blurred.

Leo didn’t really know how long it had been since Karai left. He didn’t keep track. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the days no longer had shape.

Winter had a way of erasing the edges of time. Every morning looked like the one before. Snowflakes swirling past the windows, white and gray blending the world into stillness. The cold was biting but familiar now. Like an old ache he’d made peace with.

And still, Leo rose.

The soft creak of the mat under his weight was the first sound he heard every day. No voice to greet him. No light chuckle from Karai. Only the sound of his own breathing and the soft whisper of wind brushing against the temple walls.

He got dressed without a word. Pulled on his cloak, tied his wraps and went down to the kitchen. Once there, he sat down at the hearth where the fire had become his only companion. The flames were small this morning. He coaxed them to life with practiced ease, but even fire, he noticed, didn’t speak much anymore.

He spoke anyway.

“Alright, fire buddy. It’s just you and me again,” he murmured, poking at the embers. “No pressure, but I could really use some witty banter. Or, like, a cryptic riddle about my destiny. You know. The usual.”

The fire crackled. Clearly unamused.

Leo sighed. “Tough crowd.”

He poured himself tea. It tasted weaker today, more water than flavor. Maybe he’d gotten the ratio wrong. Or maybe the leaves were just tired, like him. He sat at the fire a little longer than usual, staring into the flames, hoping–wishing–that Karai might step out from the shadows again. That she’d tell him this was just another test. That he’d passed, or even failed, he didn’t care which, as long as she was there.

But she didn’t come.

So he cleaned up and stepped outside.

The air hit his face like ice. He sucked in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as the cold stung his skin. Snowflakes slung to his face. His feet crunched through fresh powder as he began his trail run.

This too, was ritual.

Down the slope, through the clearing, up the narrow trail winding along the mountain's edge. He moved slower now, not because his body was weak, but because the stillness demanded it. Every breath sent steam curling from his lips. Every footfall echoed too loudly in the hush of morning.

He spoke aloud as he ran.

“Okay, day…whatever this is. Operation ‘Don’t Go Crazy’ continues.” He leapt over a patch of exposed rock, landing with a grunt. “Current status. Talking to myself. That’s not weird, right? I mean, monks probably do it all the time. Super zen stuff.”

The wind offered no agreement.

By the time he returned to the temple, sweat clung to his neck despite the freezing air. He cleaned off with a damp rag, changed, and made himself breakfast–tea and rice with pickled plum.

He sat alone at the low table, staring at the space across from him.

“Karai would’ve probably made fun of my cooking.” he muttered, poking at the food. “Then she'd say something ‘as long as your spirit is not bitter, young one,’ or whatever.”

He forced a smile. It didn’t stick.

Later, he made his way to the training grounds. He stretched slowly, methodically. Then he ran through forms, over and over again. Blade arcs. Footwork drills. Breathwork. His movements were precise, but muted. No flair. No showmanship. Just discipline.

Discipline was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Okay, Leo. Form three. No distractions. Keep your center.” He adjusted his stance, raised his swords. “You are the wind. You are the wind. You–whoa, not that kind of wind, easy now,” He muttered as he slipped slightly on the snow covered stone.

A breath. Another breath.

He began again.

The silence crept in around the edges, especially in the pauses. It coiled between the trees, pressed against the back of his neck, settled into his bones.

By mid-afternoon, he found himself back inside the temple, sitting cross legged by the fire again.

He lit incense.

He closed his eyes.

He tried to meditate.

He heard the wind outside. And his own voice whispering in his head.

Are you still growing? Or are you just surviving?

He didn’t know the answer.

The fire cracked beside him.

His eyes opened.

He looked at the flames for a long time. Then at his reflection in the tea kettle hanging above them–blurred, flickering, uncertain.

“Karai…” he said, softly. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

No reply.

He placed his hands together, closed his eyes again, and breathed.

He stayed like that until nightfall.

When he finally moved, the cold had deepened.

Leo didn’t shiver. Not anymore.

He moved through the temple in silence, walking past the lit lanterns one by one, whispering to them like they were old friends.

“Hey, hallway lantern. How’s your day been?”

“Nice glow, corner light. Very aesthetic.”

“Window lamp, you look lonely, need some company?”

He smiled at the absurdity.

But the silence answered him back all the same.

When he laid down that night, he stared at the ceiling for hours, arms folded behind his head. The mat felt wider than ever.

He didn’t cry. Not tonight. But he didn’t sleep much either. Outside, the wind whispered through the beams. Leo closed his eyes. “I miss you,” he whispered to no one. “But I’m still here.”

And the silence–his oldest companion–held him through the night.

Month 12–Week 48

The temple was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that invited peace, but the kind that echoed. That settled deep into the bones and hummed there, low and persistent. It had been weeks since Karai’s departure, and though Leo had come to understand, had accepted why she left, the silence she left behind was a different kind of challenge.

He stood outside now, the breath misting from his mouth in short puffs, snow gently falling around him. The training grounds were blanketed in white, undisturbed except for the precise, familiar footprints he carved into it each morning. Today was no different.

“Alright, snow. You win this round. But just know…I’ll be back,” Leo muttered under his breath, stretching out his arms. His joints cracked. “Ugh. That was my back waving the white flag.”

No one laughed. Of course not. But he grinned anyway. It wasn’t really for anyone else anymore.

He worked through his katas, the motions deliberate, slower than in the warmer months but just as sharp. He had learned to pace himself, to conserve heat, to flow like the slow, frozen streams that trickled down from the mountain's edge. His body was leaner now. Hardened. His breath was steady, even when his fingers went numb.

What surprised him most was how much his mind had changed.

Once, the silence would’ve unraveled him, left him restless, doubting, spiraling into guilt. But now, it was a companion. He didn’t always like it, but he understood it. It was a teacher in its own way.

Still, sometimes…it got a little too quiet.

“You know, Karai,” he said aloud, brushing snow off a log and sitting on it, “I get it. Solitude builds character and all. But couldn’t we have had, like, one enchanted raccoon or something? Y’know, for morale? Disney princess vibes all the way.”

He chuckled to himself and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his swords at his sides. The stillness settled in again, like a thick cloak around his shoulders.

He wasn’t sad. Not outwardly. But there was a dullness underneath his skin, an ache that came not from pain, but from endurance. The ache of long term effort. Of pushing forward when no one’s watching, when no one’s praising, when the only voice pushing him is his own.

And yet, he never considered stopping.

This was what he came here for. To grow. To understand himself not just as a leader, but as a person. As a brother. And though he missed his family, though he sometimes wanted to talk to Donnie about science nonsense or hear Mikey ramble about his latest painting or train with Raph, he didn’t yearn in the way he used to. That ache had evolved into a quiet, steady warmth inside his chest. A presence.

He knew now, he was never really alone.

“I carry you guys with me,” he said softly, glancing up at the gray sky. “Every time I choose to get back up. Every time I make tea instead of coffee–sorry Donnie–and every time I mess up on my portals and land myself in the river or that darn chicken coop, I think of you.”

He tilted his head. “Though I could do with fewer surprise baths. They’re very cold.”

He exhaled, a breath that fogged the air and disappeared just as quickly.

Then, he stood. Swords in hand. Still strong. Still moving forward.

The pain of solitude was real, but it wasn’t the end. It wasn’t breaking him. It was shaping him.

And tomorrow, he’d do it all again.

Month 12–Week 49

The temple’s wooden steps groaned softly beneath Leo’s feet as he made his way inside, brushing snow off his shoulders. His fingers were stiff, tingling from the cold despite the way he trained himself to endure it. He left his swords by the door, setting them down gently like old friends, and stepped into the warmth of the inner chamber.

The fire was already lit. He'd done that before training, part of the rhythm of his morning. The flames crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows against the walls, flickering light dancing across the worn floorboards. Leo moved on instinct now. He prepared his tea with calm hands, green this time, earthy and grounding. Then he took a seat before the fire, exhaling slowly as he held the cup between his palms.

Still alone.

Still quiet.

But no longer unsettled.

He stared into the flames, watching them sway and lick up towards the chimney, and something in him matched their movement–alive, shifting, but contained. That was new. Months ago, he would have been fidgeting by now, bouncing his knee. Itching to do something. Be something. But he simply breathed. Present.

“You know,” he murmured into the still air, “tea doesn’t solve all of your problems. But at least it doesn’t create any.”

He sipped. Bitter. Just right.

His eyes wandered to the corner of the room, to the small altar of incense and cloth Karai had helped him construct months ago. It had become a place of daily reflection, a quiet, visual reminder of where he came from and where he was going. A place where he could pay respects to the ones who came before him. He hadn’t lit the incense this morning.

He stood, tea still in one hand, and padded over. Struck the match. Watched the thin line of smoke curl into the air.

“Hi, Karai,” he said, softly. “Still not talking to me, huh?”

There was no answer, of course. Just the fire, the smoke, the room.

Leo didn’t expect one anymore. Not really.

But he did hope. Did believe. That somewhere, she could hear him.

“I get it now,” he said, setting the match aside. “You leaving. I know it wasn’t abandonment. It was trust. You trusted me to stand on my own. Still sucks, though.”

He knelt there for a while, letting the silence settle again. It was heavier here, inside. No oppressive, just intimate. The kind of quiet that lets you hear your own heartbeat.

He breathed in deep. The smoke was warm, spicy. Calming.

“I think I understand,” he said after a pause. “All the stuff you were trying to teach me. That being a leader isn’t about being perfect or fearless or even always right. It’s about showing up. Being there. Trying. Moving forward, even when you’re unsure. Especially when you’re unsure.”

He sat back, the firelight catching his eyes.

“And I’m still me,” he added, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Still sarcastic. Still kinda a pain. But maybe now I’m just…a more balanced pain.”

The joke hung in the air. The smile stayed on his face.

He stood again, walked back to the fire, and sat cross legged. His shoulders relaxed. His breath steady. It was quiet. But Leo didn’t feel hollow. He felt full. Heavy with memory. Anchored by the weight of everything he survived, and everything he’d learned. And even though he didn’t say it aloud this time a thought echoed in his chest. Clear, warm, steady.

You’re not alone. You never were.

Month 1–Week 50
One Full Year Since Leo Came To The Temple

The cold mountain wind whispered through the barren trees, brushing leftover snow across the packed earth like the breath of a sleeping dragon. The obstacle course stood at the edge of the training grounds, quiet and formidable in the pale morning light–still dusted with frost, its beams and ropes and platforms laced with still thawing ice like veins in stone.

Leo exhaled slowly, his breath purring out in a white cloud. He rolled his shoulders, arms loose at his sides, eyes scanning the course.

He’d done this a hundred times. Maybe more. But it never got old.

Without a word, he broke into motion. His body knew what to do.

First the low beams, he dipped under the wooden arches in quick succession, keeping his center low, hands brushing the snow. Then he leapt onto the climbing wall, fingers finding familiar holds. The texture of the worn wood under his calloused palms was like a handshake from an old rival. He scaled it with ease, landing in a crouch on the platform above.

A breeze blew past, and he took it with him, rolling into the next jump, twisting mid-air over a gap and catching the rope with perfect timing. He swung, momentum carrying him forward, then tucked his body and flipped into the narrow beam beyond it.

His feet barely made a sound when they landed.

“Not bad, Leon,” he murmured to himself with a grin. “You’ve come a long way from the first face plant.”

That first time, it had been messy. He’d overthought every step. Muscles stiff with doubt, mind tangled with frustration. Trying to fight against the wind pushing him down instead of moving with it. He remembered slipping off the rope and landing flat on his back, wind knocked from his lungs, ego bruised more than his ribs.

But now?

Now he moved like water flowing through carved stone. His breath came in rhythm. His limbs stretched and contracted with precise efficiency. He no longer thought his way through the course–he felt it. Trusted it. Trusted himself.

He ducked beneath the horizontal bars, then vaulted cleanly over the next hurdle. His hand skimmed the wooden edge for balance as he twisted, spun, and landed low. Snow kicked up behind him in a white arc.

He didn’t stop.

He hit the final stretch–narrow pillars arranged like stepping stones and tilting platforms, each one slick with frost. Months ago, these had been his nemesis. Now they were just markers on his path. He danced across them in a fluid, unbroken line, never hesitating. His balance precise. His body centered.

At the end, Leo landed on the final platform and dropped to one knee, one hand on the ground.

He stilled.

Only the wind responded, soft, steady, threading through the quiet landscape like a lullaby.

His chest rose and fell with calm, practiced breath. He stayed there, crouched in stillness, gaze on the snow-dusted trees ahead. His pulse was steady. Not from lack of effort, but from control. From mastery.

The obstacle course was the same.

But he wasn’t.

He stood slowly, wiping a bit of snow off his arm, then looked back across the course he’d just cleared. The wind moved through the trees again, catching the tips of the ropes and swaying them slightly.

Leo smiled. Not a triumphant smile. Not a smug one. A quiet one. One of peace. He didn’t need to beat the course anymore. He was moving with it now.

Month 1–Week 50

Leo knelt on the floor of his room, surrounded by half-sorted scrolls, the low winter sun casting soft golden light across the wooden floor boards. Though he could feel the freshness of the air, the beginning of Spring forming once more. The fire crackled in its small hearth, warming the space with a steady breath of orange and amber. The scent of aged parchment and cedar smoke mingled in the air, familiar now. Comforting.

Stacks of scrolls leaned against the far wall, carefully tied and labeled. Leo had brought them up from the temple’s lower archives over the last few weeks, pouring over them in quiet moments, finding stories in the folds of time. Tales of warriors, poets, healers, protectors. His ancestors. His family.

He smiled to himself as he reached for another scroll, gently tucking it back into its sleeve.

“If you told me I’d be knee deep in dusty scrolls for fun, I’d have laughed and thrown a shuriken at your foot,” he muttered aloud, amused. “Comic books and the occasional textbook only. Anything else was a crime against my attention span.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

There was something grounding about reading the words of those who came before him. He could feel them in every brushstroke, every faded mark on the parchment. Their warriors, their dreams, their doubts. He’d come to love it, these quiet glimpses into the hearts of those who built the path he now walked.

He picked up the last few scrolls from the floor, preparing to return them to their proper place, when something caught his eye.

A single scroll, laid gently to the side, half-forgotten. The edges weren’t as worn as the others, the cord not quite as frayed. Leo blinked, then sat back on his heels, recognition dawning.

“This is the one from that night…”

The night he had written his own account into the lineage. The night he had truly committed to the path ahead. He’d taken this scroll, thinking to read it later. But life and training, and the thousand little aches of transformation had pulled his attention elsewhere.

Carefully, he set the other scrolls aside and reached for it. It felt heavier than it should in his hands. Not in weight, but in presence.

With a breath, he untied the cord and unfurled it slowly.

The parchment was aged, but the ink was steady and deliberate. The handwriting unfamiliar, yet practiced. Strong.

The first line made his breath catch in his throat.

To my grandson, Hamato Yoshi–wherever you are, I hope these words find you one day.

It was signed Hamato Sho, his great-grandfather. Splinter’s grandfather. A man Leo had only heard brief mentions of, often shrouded in formality and the heavy legacy of the clan. But this…this was not a history lesson.

This was a confession.

As Leo read, the fire crackled softly behind him. Time melted away.

Sho wrote of regret. Of how he had burdened Yoshi with impossible expectations, pressing the weight of the clan, of the Shredder, and the duty of sacrifice into hands too small to bear them. He had admitted his pride had often overshadowed his love, and that his silence had built walls where bridges should have been. He feared he had driven Yoshi away–not just from him, but from the Hamato legacy itself.

He spoke of grief.

Of how Yoshi had vanished from his life, slipping into the bright, untouchable world of fame and stage names. Of how he scoured the news, the tabloids, for any sign of his grandson. A smile in a photo. A quote in a magazine. Proof that he was alive and well and happy.

I had resented Yoshi at first for his choice. I tried chasing after him and beating his duty to the clan, to the world, into his skull. But over the years, after my Yoshi had disappeared from the public view, I prayed that he had found joy, even if he had to leave the clan to do it. Sho had written. But I also hoped, quietly, that he might return one day. That he might forgive me, even if he never spoke it out loud.

Tears prickled behind Leo’s eyes. He swallowed hard, his hands tightening just slightly around the edges of the scroll.

Sho’s letter ended not in despair, but in hope.

If you ever find this, my grandson, know that I loved you more than I ever said. And if you have a family of your own now, love them. Better than I did. Show them that the Hamato name is more than legacy and burden. It is love, passed down like fire. May you be the kind of father I could not be. And may your children carry the name with pride, not weight.

The silence in the room deepened. Leo’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest ached not with pain, but with something softer. He could see it now–three generations of pain and healing, stretching across time. A letter left in hope. A message never received…until now.

Leo wiped his eyes quickly, chuckling softly to himself. “Jeez, Gramps…I didn’t think I’d need tissue in a ninja temple.”

He stared down at the scroll in his lap, the ink still so vivid despite the years.

“Dad should see this,” he whispered. “He needs to know.”

He didn’t know how his father would react. But he knew this. Splinter deserved to read these words. To know he was loved. That he hadn’t been abandoned–only misunderstood.

With gentle care, Leo rolled the scroll back up and tucked it into his bag, laying it carefully among the other items he’d bring home when the time came.

He sat still for a while longer, eyes on the firelight flickering against the paper walls.

“I understand.” He murmured. “The love..the burden…the sacrifice. But also the grace. The second chances. The way we keep showing up for each other, even when we mess it all up.”

He leaned back, smiling faintly.

“I’m lucky,” he said, not to anyone in particular. “I’m lucky to be a part of this family.”

And as the flames danced gently in the hearth, Leo sat in quiet gratitude, holding the warmth and love of his family close. Across time, across mistakes, across lifetimes.

Chapter Text

Month 1–Week 53

The air inside the meditation room was still thick with incense. Thin ribbons of smoke curled upward from a low bronze burner, the scent of sandalwood and pine filling the space with a sacred hush. The room was dimly lit by lanterns whose soft orange glow flickered across the stone walls, casting moving shadows that swayed like spirits, living and breathing in tandem with the flame.

Leo sat cross legged on the raised central platform, his cloak pooled around him. His posture was tall, dignified, though his shoulders carried a tension he hadn’t been able to shake. The cold breath of the mountain seeped in through the cracks of the old temple, icing along the floors and walls. Even with the fire burning, his breath left faint clouds in the air, but he paid it no mind.

Still winter–but barely

The air held a note of promise. Like a whisper beneath the snow. A thaw waiting beneath ice. The beginning of something shifting.

Leo breathed in deeply.

And exhaled.

The rhythm of breath had become a sacred ritual. A return. A place to go when the world grew too loud, too fractured. Meditation had become his refuge through pain, guilt, loneliness, and growth. Here, in this room, on this platform, he had built himself again from broken pieces. A thousand times he sat just like this. Still. Listening. Reaching.

But today…today was different.

There was something coiled in his chest–tight, low, persistent. A dull thrum of unease, almost imperceptible in its familiarity. It had crept in slowly over the past few weeks, like ice forming beneath the skin. An ache without a name. A silence too deep.

He closed his eyes.

Slowed his breath.

Let his awareness reach outward.

The quiet expanded. First into his body, then beyond it, like ripples in still water.

He could feel them, his ancestors, anchoring the room like stone beneath the wind. Their presence shimmered gently at the edge of perception, a warmth like firelight pressing against his spirit. Guiding. Wordless. Constant. He bowed inwardly to them, his breath softening.

He could feel Karai too, though she had been gone for weeks now. Her physical guidance no longer needed. Her presence was quieter, fainter, but still folded into the rhythm of the temple like a heartbeat in stone. She was always with him now. Part of him.

Leo reached further.

Instinctive. Like breathing.

He reached for the one bond more familiar than all the others, the connection of ninpo. The mystic thread that wove him to his brothers like strands of a single soul. Even across distances, even in silence, that web had always been there–alive with emotion, movement, essence.

Raph’s fire, burning fierce and steady.

Donnie’s spark, vibrant, analytical, ever shifting.

Mikey’s light, golden and effervescent.

They were his compass. His strength. His home.

He reached for them now.

But where their light should have been, he found–

Cold.

Empty.

His breath hitched.

The connection was…wrong. Twisting and fraying around the edges. He couldn’t feel them. They were muted. Like yelling underwater and hearing nothing back.

He reached again, more urgently, stretching his focus wider.

Still nothing.

A coldness bloomed in his chest. Hollow. Deep. He reached again–desperately this time, pushing his ninpo further than he knew he should. There had to be something. Anything.

But all he found was silence.

No fire.

No spark.

No light.

His heart began to pound.

No. No no no.

He forced himself to try again, sweat beginning to bead on his brow despite the cold. But the deeper he searched, the colder it became. His breath hitched sharply as panic punched through his plastron like a blade.

That’s not right. That's not right.

They were always there.

They should be there.

Something’s wrong.

The realization hit him like a blow to the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped, eyes flying open, body lurching forward with the momentum of his fear. The silence felt deafening now, pressing in from all sides. The room, once his sanctuary, now seemed to close in around him.

“Raph?” he whispered, voice cracking as he stumbled to his feet. “Mikey? Donnie?”

Nothing answered. Not even the wind.

His cloak flared as he moved, but he barely felt it. The world around him spun as he staggered from the platform, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. His instinct roared in his skull.

His mind screamed.

They’re gone..

No. Don’t think like that. They’re not gone.

But the fear had already taken root–curling in his gut like wildfire. Hungry and fast.

He ran.

His feet barely touched the polished floor as he tore through the temple’s silent hallways. His body moved on autopilot–graceful but unthinking, driven entirely by instinct and dread. He reached his room in seconds. The shoji door rattled violently as he shoved it open, nearly knocking it from its frame.

He dropped to his knees with a thud.

Bags. Baskets. He yanked everything open with trembling hands, his focus narrowed to a single thought. Go. Go now.

He shoved supplies into his bag–medicinal herbs, scrolls, paper, a spare blade. He strapped on his swords with shaking hands, nearly fumbling with the clasps. Every breath was shallow. Every heartbeat thundered in his ears.

He didn’t allow himself to think.

Didn’t look around the room that had become his home. The room where he’d rebuilt his spirit, grieved the past, found fragments of hope.

He couldn’t bear to.

Not now.

Leo bolted down the corridor towards the main hall, the stone echoing beneath his feet. The grand chamber opened before him, its pillars etched with ancient carvings, its hearth fire still burning low. But he didn’t pause to look. His hand was already reaching for the hilt of his katana, ready to cut open a portal.

Until–

“Leo.”

The voice froze him.

Soft. Familiar. Gentle as snow. Solid as earth.

He turned, heart still hammering.

Karai stood in the shadow of one of the great columns, half shrouded in flickering lantern light. Her expression was calm, her eyes deep with knowing.

“You’re here,” he breathed, barely able to say the words. “You’re really here.”

Her lips curved. She nodded slowly, stepping forward. “I never left.”

He moved towards her before he could stop himself. She met him halfway, her hand rising to rest against his arm. Her touch was warm, grounding.

“I missed you,” Leo whispered, voice breaking around the edges.

“I know,” she said, her own voice full of quiet affection. “I missed you too.”

Her eyes searched his, and he saw no fear in them–only concern, only love.

Her touch was warm, grounding him even as his fear still clawed at his insides.

“You feel it too,” she said softly.

Leo stilled. It wasn’t a question.

He swallowed hard. “Their ninpo…it’s gone. I can’t reach them.”

Karai’s expression darkened slightly, but she did not look surprised. “I’ve felt the same disturbance,” she said. “Their spirits…are veiled. Distant even to me. It’s never been like this before.”

Her words struck like a hammer to the chest.

“But they’re alive?” he asked, barely able to get the words out.

She opened her mouth like she was going to respond, but hesitated. She pursed her lips before sighing. Her hand squeezed his arm tighter.

The lack of answer sent ice pooling through Leo’s veins.

Karai looked at him then, truly looked. Like a teacher. Like family. “It’s time for you to go,” she said. “You’ve learned everything I can teach you, my child.”

Leo opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He looked around the temple. The place that had cradled him through the hardest year of his life. The silence that had once terrified him, now almost sacred. The stone, the wind, the stars. The peace.

“I don’t want to leave,” he admitted quietly. “Not yet.”

Karai stepped closer, and with infinite tenderness, placed her hand over his heart. “You’re not leaving me,” she said. “I will always be with you. In here.”

Her fingers tapped lightly where her hand rested over his plastron.

Leo’s eyes burned.

“You’re never truly alone,” she whispered. “Anata wa hitori ja nai, little wind.”

She reached up and brushed his cheek with her fingers. Leo closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

She nodded, her forehead resting briefly against his. “That means you care,” she whispered. “That means you’re ready.”

Leo took a breath. Then another.

When he opened his eyes again, they were clear.

She smiled.

“Go,” She said. “Make sure our family is safe.”

Leo hesitated only for a second longer before he nodded. He turned towards the center of the hall and drew his sword in one fluid motion. Blue light flared to life, illuminating the carvings and the shadows alike. The scent of ozone swept through the hall like a promise.

He paused, looking back at her one last time. “Thank you,” he said, voice thick. “For everything. I…I love you.”

Karai smiled, one hand over her heart. She nodded. “I love you too.”

Leo stepped through the portal.

And the temple was silent once more.

Leo stepped out of the portal and onto a New York City rooftop. The portal snapped shut behind him with a ripple of mystic light, leaving only the chill of winter's end in its place.

The cold hit him first–sharp and dry, the kind of cold that curled its way under his cloak and made the tips of his fingers sting even through his wrappings. But it wasn’t nearly as cold as the mountain wind he had grown accustomed to. He exhaled, and his breath fogged the air slightly in front of him.

The city stretched out before him in a sea of shadow and light, buildings rising like crooked teeth under the dark sky, windows glowing with gold and neon. The distant hum of life thrummed in his ears–cars, voices, music spilling from half-cracked windows. The smell of snow, soot, and pretzels lingered on the wind.

Home.

A smile tugged at Leo’s face. Small. Crooked. But real.

The temple had changed him. Had healed him. But this? This city? This was where his story began.

He didn’t realize how much he missed it until this moment. The smell of exhaust. The way everything felt alive, even at night. The steam rising from vents. The thunder of the subway underground.

But then–he thought of them.

Raph. Donnie. Mikey.

His smile fell.

The warmth in his chest shriveled under the weight of his fear. That cold, empty hollowness where their presence should have been still lingered inside him. Something was wrong.

Leo didn’t waste another second.

He darted across the rooftop, movements fluid and light. Wind rippled through his cloak as he jumped to the next building, landing silently, tucking and rolling, already moving again. His body moved on instinct now. Reflex and rhythm. Dozens of rooftops blurred past beneath him. Fire escapes, vent shafts, broken antennas. He twisted through narrow spaces and vaulted over clotheslines with effortless grace.

The wind stung his face, but he didn’t slow. Didn’t let himself think.

Just get there. Just get home.

He reached the edge of a building and paused only long enough to spot the familiar manhole cover nestled in an alley below. He dropped down in a single, silent leap, landing in a crouch on the damp concrete, breath rising in quick bursts. With a grunt, he heaved the cover aside and slipped into the darkness of the sewer below. The metal clanged shut above him. The sounds of the city were replaced by the echo of dripping water and the creak of old pipes.

The air was thick and damp. He pulled his cloak higher over his face and started running. The tunnels stretched before him like the arteries of the city–twisting, old, familiar. Every shadowed turn, every rusted pipe, every faded spray of graffiti etched into his memory. The stone walls were slick, covered in grime, but he didn’t falter. His feet splashed through puddles, echoing through the tunnels like ghost steps.

It was colder down here. Biting. But Leo didn’t feel it. Couldn’t.

His mind burned with questions.

What happened? Are they hurt? Are they okay?

He had to believe they were. Maybe this was just a fluke. Maybe Mikey just did something with his budding mystic powers. Maybe–

But the silence in his ninpo said otherwise.

The sewer tunnels seemed darker than he remembered.

Not just dim–dark, thick with shadow and silence. Like the city’s veins had turned to ice in his absence. Leo ran through them with breathless urgency, each step echoing louder than the last. The stone walls, usually dripping with the quiet sound of city runoff, now stood still. Stale. Lifeless. The air was cold and heavy, carrying a faint bitter scent that didn’t belong–something wrong.

He clutched his cloak tighter, not for warmth, but for comfort. His swords bounced lightly at his side as he ran, heart pounding in time with his footfalls. He was almost there. He turned a corner, feet splashing through shallow puddles, and skidded to a stop.

The entrance to the lair–once a familiar, comforting silhouette etched into the wall–was gone.

In its place was a jagged wound.

The hidden wall that once sealed their home lay twisted and crushed, the brick blackened and covered in soot. Chunks of stone had collapsed from above, scattering rubble across the path. The archway was scorched, consumed by flames that had long since burned out but refused to be forgotten.

Leo’s breath hitched. His hands trembled.

No–

He stepped forward, feet crunching over broken tile and scorched debris. The smell hit him full force now. Smoke. Burned plastic. Char. Something metallic.

He stumbled inside–and froze.

The air was thick with soot. Ash clung to every surface like a second skin, layering over the ruins of what had once been home. The lights were dead, the wires above him hanging limp and burned. A cold draft slipped through the crack in the ceiling where part of the tunnel had collapsed inward, letting in just enough dim city light to reveal the wreckage.

The walls–walls that had held pictures, weapons, art, laughter–were cracked down the middle. Entire sections caved in. The ceiling above the common area had partially fallen, pinning old furniture beneath jagged slabs of concrete and rusted rebar. Water dripped steadily from a ruptured pipe overhead, the sound rhythmic and cruel in the silence.

Leo’s knees nearly gave out.

His mouth opened–he wanted to call out, someone’s name, anyone’s name–but no sound came. His throat was too tight, dry with ash and disbelief. His limbs trembled as he forced himself to move, staggering deeper into the ruins. He needed proof, a sign, something.

He ran first to Donnie’s lab.

What he found wasn’t a lab. It was a grave.

Smashed equipment littered the floor, half of it fused and blackened wreckage. The smell of scorched circuitry still lingered. The whiteboards, once covered in theories and half-jokes, were melted beyond recognition. The desks were overturned, his chair crushed, glass crunched underfoot as Leo shoved a beam aside with shaking hands. There were no signs of struggle. No signs of escape. Just…devastation.

He stumbled out, throat thick with rising panic, and ran for the dojo. The once sacred room was buried. The training mats were unrecognizable beneath splintered wood and fallen stone. The weapons rack had toppled over, its contents spilled and scorched. A family shrine, carefully maintained even in the worst of times, was gone. Shattered. Incense burners cracked, prayer beads charred and scattered like spilled lifelines.

His breath came faster.

No. No no no. This couldn’t–this shouldn’t–

He ran again.

Past Mikey’s room. What had once been color and music and light was nothing but smeared ash and torn posters. The walls were blistered from heat. Melted paint ran down like blood.

Past Raph’s. The door was hanging off its railing. Inside, his punching bag lay gutted, torn open, sand bleeding across the floor. The mattress was burned. The walls cracked from something strong, furious, trying to fight back.

Past Donnie’s, his vision blurring.

The silence was unbearable. Worse than any battle. Worse than sitting alone for hours on end. Worse than the prison dimension.

There were no voices. No laughter. No arguments or groans or clatter of tools or beats of music or lectures about not using the microwave for pizza rolls.

Just emptiness.

And finally–

He reached the living room.

Leo stumbled in, his feet tripping against the ash-covered steps. His heart stopped. And for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

In the center of the room, illuminated by a single shaft of dying light from above, stood a tall, tattered flag.

The Foot Clan’s emblem.

His eyes locked onto it. His whole body went cold.

At its base, like an offering, lay a pile of weapons.

His brothers’ weapons.

Donnie’s bo staff, snapped clean in half.

Raph’s sai’s, dented, bloodstained, and cracked.

Mikey’s nunchaku, one side splintered, chain broken, edges still smeared with something dark.

Leo staggered over, static filling his limbs, and collapsed to his knees. The thud echoed through the space like a final toll. He reached out, fingers trembling violently as they brushed Mikey’s weapon. It was–

Cold.

The breath he took came out broken. Shallow. The kind that makes your ribs ache. His chest twisted with horror, disbelief, grief, and guilt so thick it strangled him.

He couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t here.

He left.

He chose to leave.

He told himself it was to become stronger. To be worthy. To become the leader they needed. To find peace.

But they needed him. And he hadn’t been here.

He wasn’t here when everything fell apart.

A sob tore out of him, sharp and jagged. He clutched Mikey’s nun-chuck to his chest, curling forward until his head was pressed to the ash-covered floor.

I left them. I left them and this happened.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered, voice frayed and useless.

He remembered their faces. All of them. Smiling. Laughing. Promising to be okay while he was gone. Trusting him.

He’d promised to come back.

“Of course,” he choked out, a bitter, broken laugh escaping through his tears. “Of course this happens…”

Liar.

He clenched his fists. Rage started to seep in beneath the grief–hot, sharp, clear.

They’d been attacked. Marked. The Foot had done this. Left their symbol like a claim. Like a victory.

Leo’s eyes burned as he stared up at the flag.

No.

They didn’t get to win.

He rose, slow but steady, grief and so much pain and heartache rising into fury with every breath. His hands shook as he clutched his little brother's weapon tighter, energy humming around him.

A scream tore from his throat, raw and thunderous.

It echoed through his broken home, shaking dust from the ceiling. It was pain. It was fury. It was mourning.

And it was war.

Let them hear him.

Let them come.

Because if his family was gone–

Then so was his mercy.

Chapter Text

500 Years Ago–Japan

The temple loomed like a sleeping beast.

Its stone walls were blackened with soot, engraved with jagged symbols only mystics could read. Flickering torches bled orange light into the air, casting shifting shadows on the polished, obsidian floors. Somewhere within its belly, a child’s scream was quickly muffled–swallowed by silence, discipline, and tradition.

Tang Shen was born into the Foot.

Not just as a recruit, but a bloodline–a lineage carved in iron. Her mother, Seika, was a high-ranking occultist, her every step followed by whispers of awe and fear. She did not speak with tenderness, only precision. Her hands never held–they shaped, struck, scarred. Love was weakness. Comfort was a lie.

Shen’s earliest memory was kneeling.

Small knee’s pressed into hard stone, her back ram-rod straight as the scent of dried blood filled her lungs. Her mother stood behind her, reciting a lesson.

“A mystic must dominate the unseen. Obey without question. Feel nothing. Want only power.”

A flick of a cane to the spine. A correction. A lesson. Another bruise earned. Shen learned not to cry. She learned that failure brought shame, and shame demanded punishment. She learned to stay still when the room grew cold–that meant the elders were watching.

Even as a child, there was something unnatural about her stillness.

Years passed. The girl did not fade. She sharpened.

While others choked on their own potential, she soared. Her chakra flowed with unnatural clarity, her spirit responding to energy as if it were air, water, instinct. By age eight, she could form a binding spell that rivaled the adults. By ten, she was drawing power from incense and flame, absorbing their heat into her skin like a starved creature.

She began to feel the world in layers.

A person’s fear had a scent–copper and smoke. The chakra shimmered like a second skin. Her instructors praised her, but behind their words lurked unease. She was gifted…too gifted. Her control too effortless. Her eyes too quiet.

“You are not like the others,” her mother once said. “You will surpass me. But if you ever disgrace this clan, I will unmake you.”

Shen only bowed, a small girl with cold eyes and ink-stained fingers.

She believed her mother. She worshipped her. Until she didn’t.

Adolescence brought the turning.

Shen trained harder than anyone. She fasted for weeks, meditated in freezing caverns, bled willingly into seals, fought until she could hardly move and still continued, screamed only in silence. She could bend small curses around her limbs like armor, create sigils from memory in seconds. The older mystics eyed her with weariness now–not awe.

But the more she grew, the more she saw.

The elders were hesitant. Restrained. Fearful of the unknown. The teachings praised power–but only in pieces. They feared the old rites. Locked them away. Minds only consumed with reawakening a master that had so easily been defeated.

And so, one moonless night, Shen slipped beneath the old library. There, in a chamber sealed by ancient talismans, she burned the paper lock and stepped into a tomb of forgotten knowledge. Scrolls so old the ink bled like wounds. Names that had been stricken from every record.

The essence of the void.
Soul-binding.
Ninpo-harvesting.
The lost rituals.

She read for hours. Days. Weeks.

She felt the scrolls whispering, promising. They spoke not of peace, but of ascensions. Not of balance, but of dominion. They taught her how to feel a soul's weight, how to twist it, how to bind it into symbols, weapons, herself.

And for the first time in her life, Shen felt clarity.

She began in secret. Small rituals. Willing sacrifices.

When she summoned her first spirit flame from an animal carcass, it danced in her palm like a trapped heartbeat. When she extracted chakra from a fallen ninja, she felt ecstasy. The energy was alive–thrashing, furious, potent.

She fed on it.
Studied it.
Mastered it.

She discovered that willpower altered its taste. The stronger the soul’s drive, the brighter the energy. The more it hurt going down, the more powerful she became.

To Shen, this was not evil. It was evolution.

Then came the Hamato stories.

Whispers of their mystic prowess. Their ancients ties to the elements. Their loyalty to peace, to each other. Even in the Foot’s darkest halls, their name was remembered with grudging respect.

She did not respect them.

She despised them.

They wasted their power–shared it with family, tempered it with restraint, taught compassion. Compassion. She saw their strength and called it hypocrisy.

“I could become a god with what they throw away,” she once muttered, standing before a torn scroll depicting a Hamato warrior defeating the Old Master. “And to think. We were once tied to these fools.”

From that moment on, her hunger had a direction.

The Hamato Ninpo was not just sacred–it was ancient, older than even the clan itself. She believed that consuming it would allow her to ascend beyond the veil–to become more than a mystic.

To become the flame that consumed all others.

And somewhere in the shadows, she began her coup.

Quiet at first. Her voice sowing doubt in young minds. Her rituals concealed beneath the layers of sanctioned training. She told them power was sacred–but only if you earned it. That the leaders had become cowards. That the old ways they had stolen long ago were not gone–only waiting to be reborn.

And Shen would be the one to carry the flame.

The chamber pulsed with breathless silence, tucked deep beneath the northern wing of the Foot Clan’s ancient stronghold. Stone walls, slick with age and soot, bore the stains of centuries–ash, dried blood, and cracked reliefs etched by fingers long turned to dust. The scent of burnt incense clung to every surface, bitter and earthy, mixing with something more raw–like scorched iron and decay.

At the center knelt Shen, draped in obsidian and crimson robes laced with the emblem of the Foot. Her dark hair was unbound, wild and swept back from her face lit not by candlelight, but by the flickering flame of power dancing on her palm. The air around her warped with heatless energy, pulsing in sync with the heartbeat of the ritual circle carved into the stone beneath her.

The circle was incomplete. Not for long.

Across from her, three young ninja–barely older than recruits–twitched in their restraints. Their mouths gagged, eyes wide with terror, the glare of their own chakra leaking from their skin like mist in the moonlight. Shen’s hand hovered over the nearest one, her voice a razor-thin whisper of incantations in an ancient tongue, one long banned after the fall of the Shredder.

Her hands trembled, not from hesitation, but from hunger.

She had studied the forbidden scrolls in secret. Information that once belonged to the Essence of the Void, an entity said to exist beyond life and death, beyond form and name. The ones who gave the Old Master the great Kuroi Yoroi, the armor that once allowed him to lay waste to those who dared oppose him. One’s who had the ability to take away ninpo. It had spoken to her, she swore–promised her that the soul was not sacred, but currency. The stronger the soul, the more potent its yield. And if the body failed, the spirit could endure.

Power eternal.

That was the promise.

A high-pitched scream pierced the dark as she plunged her hands forward, mystical shadows of ink-black light surged from her fingertips, burying themselves into the recruits chest. His energy arced into her like a lighting strike–raw, golden-blue, and searing. Shen gasped as it entered her, pupils dilating, breath hitching. Her spine arched.

It was exhilarating.
Addictive.
It burned.

The recruit went limp.

She turned to the next.

But something was wrong. The first soul had not dissipated–it lingered, resisting, clawing at her from within. His will was strong, even in death, and it twisted inside her, pulling her already fragile spirit at the seams. She screamed, once, loud enough to shake the dust from the rafters–but did not stop. She could not stop.

She was so close.

Power surged into her again, and again. Each soul fought back harder than the last, and by the time the third collapsed, Shen’s skin had darkened, spider-webbed with glowing red fissures. Her irises now burned violet, ringed with black. Her heartbeat no longer sounded human.

And still, she smiled.

Hours Later

The door to the chamber burst open with a clap of thunder and five Foot Elders stepped in, flanked by ninja, their faces stricken, not with fury–but fear.

What they found was carnage.

Ash coated the floor like snow. The air shimmered with residual power that buzzed against the skin. Shen stood amidst the circle, arms outstretched, her silhouette barely recognizable–like a statue carved from obsidian and blood. The bodies at her feet were hollow, their eyes open, but their spirits long gone.

“You defy the sacred order,” hissed Elder Nakasu, stepping forward. “This is not mysticism. This is devouring.”

“This is evolution,” She replied, her voice layered with something inhuman, doubled and warped. “The universe is not bound by your rules. Why should I be?”

The Elders raised their hands, and the room filled with symbols–banishment seals etched mid-air, swirling into place. Shen lunged, but her strength buckled. The souls inside her still rebelled, flaring in resistance, and for one frozen moment, Shen’s scream became several screams–hers, and the three she had just consumed.

Then came the ritual of binding.

Chains of light whipped around her, dragging her down. The floor cracked from the force. Elder Nakasu raised an amulet–dark and jagged in its form. A gold gemstone at its heart, cut like a pupil. Sharp edges like claws or bone surrounded the stone. It glowed like a flame surrounded by fangs.

Her body began to unravel, her essence siphoned, twisted, sealed.

“You cannot kill me,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I am the future of the Foot. I am–”

“You are the Hungry Flame now,” one Elder spat. “And you shall burn alone in silence.”

With a final surge of energy, the amulet pulsed and consumed her scream.

The piece clattered to the stone floor. Still. Silent.

They buried it in the deepest vault beneath the temple, beneath iron locks and mystic sigils, and her name was struck from the records, her mother–once proud and cruel–took her own life within the month.

Shen became a myth, a warning told to recruits who dreamed too big. Who disobeyed.

But in the quiet corners of the Foot’s crumbling remnants, whispers still stirred.

She would burn again.

After the Kraang Invasion

The air still reeked of Kraang decay.

Above ground, the city smoldered. Its skyline fractured by the war that had ripped the city apart. Steel skeletons of collapsed towers loomed like ancient titans. Blackened craters still hissed with fire and smoke. The Kraang were gone…sealed. Destroyed. But what they left behind was destruction. Death.

In the wake of the Technodrome’s explosion, what remained of the Foot Clan scattered like broken ash. Their leaders, once cloaked in dark robes and delusions of alliance, had been turned, bodies warped by Kraang infection, minds erased. And with their deaths came an unspoken truth.

The Foot were leaderless.

Dishonored. Devoured by the very power they bowed to.

The survivors wandered through the shadows and wreckage, hollow-eyed, some dragging still bleeding comrades, others clawing at their own masks in rage. They had served. They had obeyed. And still–they had been left to rot.

But legend endured longer than shame.

Whispers echoed beneath the earth of a sealed temple, as old as the city itself, buried in the stone ribs of the underworld, created by the Foot long ago when they first migrated to New York in search of the Dark Armor. A place said to house power greater than Shredder.

“The Ashen Temple,” one called it. “Where she sleeps.”

They found it in the third month.

A carved stone archway, half swallowed by roots and time, etched with mystic symbols long forbidden. The door had been sealed with mystic wards, trembling faintly with fury. On a dias in the center of the room lay a bone laced amulet, glowing faintly in power despite its imprisonment, as if it was watching, waiting. A massive stone relief stretched across the back wall, depicting a woman's face split in two, half serene…half screaming.

The Foot did not hesitate.

They were desperate. Their hands were burned. Their souls cracked. And from that madness came devotion.

They spilled blood.
Chanted forgotten rites.
Carved sigils in the ground beneath them.

The air grew thick and wet with energy, like breathing in steam made of dust and grief. The moment the seals on the amulet broke, the air seemed to scream. A crack split the chamber with a sound like breaking ribs. Black smoke swirled from the amulet, twisting into clawed shapes before vanishing.

And then–

Silence.
Stillness.
A heartbeat…that wasn’t anyone’s.

Within the darkness, something began to take shape. It began as a ripple in the air like heat rising from scorched stone. Then a pull–like gravity shifting sideways. And then, out of the black, a silhouette emerged…slowly stitching together like ash and bone, smoke and memory.

Shen.

Her face was pale and cracked like porcelain scorched in fire. Her eyes glowed a cold violet and deep gold, pulsing with energy and something dark. Her body was slim, covered in dark robes and blood-red cloth and whispering shadows. Her bright white hair moved like smoke, rising unnaturally, weightless. Her nails looked more like talons that shimmered with spectral heat.

She looked like a curse given shape.

Her voice echoed as if coming from a cavern within her chest. “You…broke the seal.”

The Foot fell to their knees, some weeping openly. Some bowed so low their heads bled against the stone. Others screamed in joy, clutching the ground as if it were divine. They felt her power in their teeth. In their bones.

One brave soul looked up and whispered, “We need a leader. We need revenge. Make us strong.”

Shen’s smile was not kind. It was carved.

“It seems your leaders have proved their weakness. Despite being given power to conquer time and time again.” She leaned forward slightly, smile stretching wider. “Earth has proved its weakness as well. Power does not come from mercy–it comes from claiming what you are owed.”

She stepped forward. With every motion, the temple shifted–walls groaning, symbols igniting in flickering red light. As her foot touched the center seal, the entire floor bloomed with mystic sigils–spiraling outward, pulsing like a living thing.

“We are no longer a clan,” Shen whispered, voice like a blade dragged over silk. “We are gods in the making. And we will take what this world fears to give.”

The Ashen Temple transformed overnight.

Where once ruins slept underground, now lay a stronghold–chambers lined with shadow and flame. Great pillars strengthened and engraved with sigils supporting the surface above. The air itself felt thick, as though saturated with ambition and malice.

Dark energy flowed through the ground in streams–corrupting ley lines pulsing with stolen energy from old rituals and stolen sacrifices. It spread throughout the city. Slowly. The deeper one traveled, the more oppressive it became. Time bent. Thoughts slowed. The walls whispered words long forgotten.

Shen stood at the heart, seated upon a throne made of stone. Foot survivors–now fanatics–trained in the art of energy draining and sigil making. Their eyes shone with fractured light.

And Shen watched.

Planning. Waiting.

Because she knew what came next.

“To become divine,” she muttered, fingers weaving shadow in the air, “I must consume more than power. I must consume lineage.”

“And only Hamato carry that weight in their blood.”

Present Day–A Few Weeks Before Leo’s Return

Darkness.

It clung to the stone walls like rot, heavy and wet, pressing in from all sides. The cell stank from mildew, blood, and something older–corruption. The air was cold and still, thick with silence that vibrated with the threat of something waiting just out of site.

The glow from the cracks in the ceiling pulsed red. Faint and alive. It wasn’t light–it was a warning. A heartbeat. A countdown.

Raph stirred first, teeth clenched, face twisted in pain. His arms strained against the chains that dragged from thick iron manacles glowing faintly with dark purple energy. Every move made his muscles scream, his bones grind. His shell felt like it weighed a hundred tons. But he forced himself up. Not because he wanted to–but because he had to.

Across the cell, Donnie groaned. He was slumped against the wall like a ragdoll, face pale, green scales mottled with bruises, cuts, and dried blood. He blinked slowly, as if returning from a fog, his breathing thin and ragged.

Mikey lay beside him in a similar state, curled into a tight ball. His arms wrapped around himself, his orange mask stained and frayed. His eyes were open, glassy. But he was mouthing something. Over and over as if it were a promise.

Raph forced a dry breath. “Mikey…”

Mikey blinked slowly, looking at him with clear eyes. He whispered. “He’ll come, Raph. Leo’s still out there.” His voice cracked as he curled up tighter. “Leo’s never given up on us. I’m not doubting him now.”

Raph leaned forward as far as the chains would allow, his muscles straining, not with rage this time, but with longing. Desperation. He just wanted to be closer to his baby brother–to Mikey, to Donnie. To shield them, if he could. If his body were enough to stand between them and this hell, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He spoke softly, his voice raw with tenderness, thick with emotion that threatened to crack. It was the voice only an older brother could summon, the kind born from years of scraped knees and whispered reassurances in the dark.

“I know, big man. We're not down yet.”

And he meant it. Despite the darkness creeping into every corner of his hope, despite the sharp sting of metal digging into his wrists, Raph still believed. Believed in them. In Leo. In some future where this pain didn't end with them broken and lost. But belief was a sharp-edged thing. Hope, a double-edged sword. Because with it came fear. And that fear bore Leo’s name.

Because if Leo was out there, if he was safe, it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Raph knew his little brother like he knew the beat of his own heart. If Leo so much as heard a whisper that his family was in trouble, he’d come running, sword-first, heart-bared. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Leo would throw himself into the fire for them without blinking. He always had. That selflessness, that aching need to protect everyone around him, it was something that made Leo shine. It terrified Raph.

Because he had seen what it cost.

He had watched Leo bleed for them, break for them, and still smile like it was worth it. Like he was worth less than they were. And Raph hated that. He hated that Leo could look in a mirror and see everyone else’s safety as more important than his own.

But Raph also loved it. Loved him.

Loved the way Leo carried the world on his back and still found time to lighten everyone else’s load. And it humbled him–scared him, yes, but humbled him too. Because that same fire Leo had burning in his chest, Raph felt it in his own. They were more alike than either of them would admit. Both willing to suffer if it meant the others got even a second of peace. Both wearing armor that looked like anger or pride or calm… but was really just love, twisted into shapes they thought would protect the rest.

Raph smiled for Donnie and Mikey, careful, practiced. It wasn’t big or bright, but it was real. As real as he could make it. They deserved that, deserved something warm to hold onto in the cold pit of this place.

And maybe that’s what scared him most of all. That if Leo came charging in to save them, heart first, blades drawn, Raph would recognize that look in his eyes.
Because he wore it too.

And he wasn’t sure either of them could survive another sacrifice.

Splinter stirred next. He was bound separately, chained just a little farther from them. His limbs were weak, but his eyes, sunken and shadowed, were alert. Watching them. Loving them. Despite everything. His robes were torn, bloodied. The years had weighed heavily on him, but this…this failure had aged him more than any battle.

“I am sorry, my sons,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse. “This…this is my burden. I failed you all.”

“Don’t say that,” Raph growled, his throat raw. “None of this is on you.”

Splinter’s gaze dropped. “I should have seen it coming. I thought we had peace. That the Foot Clan was finally gone. I was hoping it was over. But peace is a lie when evil waits in the shadows.”

Donnie winced as he shifted. “She came out of nowhere. Broke through our defenses like they were paper. Shen knew what she was doing.”

“She knew how to hurt us.” Mikey whispered.

That was when the footsteps came–measured, sharp and deliberate. The hallway beyond the iron door glowed faintly with purple light. A presence loomed. It seeped into the room before she even arrived. Like poison.

The door groaned open.

Shen entered like a shadow given form. Her robes–dark as obsidian and deep crimson–trailed across the ground. Her long silver hair glimmered like moonlight, but her face…her face was sharp, beautiful, terrible. Eyes like twin golden voids, hungry and endless. Shadows clung to her like a second skin.

She didn’t walk in. She commanded the space.

“Well,” she said, voice smooth as oil. “What a lovely family gathering.”

Raph glared. “Get bent.”

She chuckled, slow and condescending. “Still so spirited. I admire that.” She drifted toward Donnie, hand reaching through the bars and ghosting one clawed finger over his head. “You are the clever one. The mind. So precise. I expected more from you.”

Donnie spat blood at her feet, glaring. “Sorry. I left my manners in my lab. Right next to the laser I was gonna use on you.”

Shen smirked before turning her gaze to Mikey. Her expression darkened into something predatory. “And you…I’ve never seen such raw light in a soul before. You glow like a sunrise. It's sickening.” But her voice was filled with awe. She knelt in front of him, her fingers brushing under his chin. Mikey flinched, shrinking back.

“You are useful. Your power. I’ve already wrung so much from you and yet you still have much to give. So much for me to take.” Her eyes narrowed, a smirk dancing across her lips, evil and cold. “But you are fading. Flickering. Like a dying ember.”

“Don’t touch him!” Raph’s voice thundered, yanking against his chains.

She rose slowly, smile growing. “Touch? No Raphael. I don’t need to touch him. I am already breaking him.”

She turned towards Splinter. Her expression twisted into something colder. More personal. “And the great Hamato Yoshi. Look at you. Drenched in failure.”

Splinter met her gaze without fear. “You understand nothing. Not of power. Not of love. That is why you will always lose.”

She tilted her head. “But haven’t I already won?” She stepped back, spreading her arms. “Your sons are broken. Their ninpo mine for the taking. Your home is ashes. And yet…” She paused. Her voice darkened. “Where is he?”

The cell fell silent.

“Where is your final piece?” Her voice sharpened like a blade. “Where is the last Hamato?”

Raph’s jaw clenched. Donnie stared at the floor. Mikey didn’t even blink. It’s not the first time they’ve been through this song and dance.

She waited. When no answer came, she smiled wider. “So loyal. So noble. So stupid.” She turned, pacing slowly. “You won’t tell me. You’d rather suffer. That’s fine.”

She stopped at the door.

“Because I know one thing.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, venomous and certain. “The Hamato protect their own. No matter the cost.” She sneered. “That is your greatest weakness.”

She turned back, gold eyes glowing in the gloom. “He will come. Not because he’s brave. Not because he’s ready. But because you are his heart. And he will come for it.”

Splinter’s tail twitched. Raph’s breath came faster. Mikey’s eyes flickered with tears. Donnie snarled.

“Let him come,” Shen said softly. “I’ll be waiting.”

She disappeared into the hallway. The door groaning shut behind her.

Darkness returned. Heavier now. Filled with dread.

And waiting.

Chapter Text

The ruins of the lair were long behind him, but Leo still carried the weight of them. Slung over his shoulder was his travel bag–heavy with the broken pieces of his brothers’ weapons wrapped carefully in cloth. The scent of smoke still clung to his cloak from where he stood and watched the Foot Clan’s banner burn, red and black twisting into ash beneath his fingers. But that was hours ago. Days ago. He wasn’t sure.

Time had gone soft around the edges.

The underground stretched ahead like an endless vein of memory. Brick-lined tunnels half swallowed in shadow, broken only by the occasional flicker of a maintenance light or the shimmer of water trickling along the old sewer arteries. The deeper he walked, the less the world seemed to exist.

Just a ghost, moving through a grave.

Leo didn’t make a sound.

His cloak was the color of storm clouds, dark and worn at the edges now. It swayed with the rhythm of his steps. Silent. Measured. Mechanical.

He couldn’t eat. The dried rations in his pack remained untouched. His body screamed for fuel, but hunger had dulled to a background ache, like everything else. He drank only when the thirst became unbearable, taking only small sips from his canteen every now and then.

The cold helped. When it was cold, he could feel something. Otherwise, he felt nothing.

Just dead air.

A dull numbness settled over Leo like a heavy fog, creeping across his skin and sinking into his bones. It wasn’t pain. Pain would’ve been clearer, cleaner. This was something worse. A static fizzed inside him, like the echo of a voice that had just vanished, leaving behind only the noise. His thoughts felt distant, muffled under the weight of disbelief. His limbs moved, but he barely felt them, as if the world had thinned around him. Grief didn’t crash–it whispered, slow and merciless, clouding his mind until he couldn’t tell if the ache in his chest was sorrow or emptiness.

Gone. They’re gone.

The thought came slow and heavy, dragged down like stones tied to his chest.

You weren’t there. You should've been there.

What good is training if you can’t save anyone?

You said you’d be better. You said you’d protect them.

Liar.

He stopped walking, breathing sharp, eyes burning.

His hand went to the edge of his cloak, clutching at the fabric as if it could hold him upright. It didn’t. His knees buckled beneath him. He sat hard against the wall, sliding down until his shell scraped brick. The tunnel was silent but for the sound of his breathing–ragged now, trying not to sob. His teeth clenched tight, but a sound still escaped, somewhere between a growl and a broken gasp.

You failed again. Just like last time.

The Kraang invasion. He remembered that silence too. The way he’d screamed for Raph, begging to have one more chance. He remembered the portal snapping shut in front of him, sealing him and his family apart. That awful, pulsing, infinite emptiness in the prison dimension.

This was worse.

He thought he had finally learned to forgive the boy who had failed–the one who almost let his family die. But why should forgiveness be offered to someone who only ever repeats his worst mistakes? What is growth when it circles back to ruin? What is a second chance when the ending is always the same?

Back then, there had still been hope. They were alive.

Now…

He pulled the bag closer, unwrapped the cloth gently. There they were…

The snapped pieces of Donnie’s staff, wires dead and exposed.

Mikey’s broken chains, stained with soot.

Raph’s sai, one cracked clean down the middle.

He ran his fingers along the metal like it was something sacred.

They fought. They didn’t run. They fought ‘til the end. I know it.

They were so strong.

Stronger than me.

Leo’s grip tightened until his hand shook.

I should have died with them. Why am I the only one left?

He pressed the tattered cloth closed, knotted it tightly, and returned it to his bag with trembling care. Then he stood. The grief had weight, but it also had teeth. Gnashing, furious teeth that curled behind his ribs like fire.

He kept walking.

He moved through the tunnels like a phantom. No destination, no voice, just purpose etched in silence. Sometimes he passed areas that used to mean something. The drain pipe with the cracked edge where Mikey used to sneak down snacks. The tunnel wall Donnie once drew formulas onto. The old ladder to the alley where Raph first learned to climb.

Now they were all tombstones.

Each step forward was a step deeper into solitude. He walked until the tunnels narrowed and crumbled, until mold clung to the ceiling like rot, until even the rats stopped following.

He wanted to disappear.

No, more than that.

He wanted to burn.

He wanted to find the Foot, wanted to tear through their armies, scream his brothers names into the dark until the shadows scattered and the earth shook.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. He was too hollow. To lost.

And so, he wandered. One step. Then another. Cloak trailing behind him like smoke. A broken ghost with no home, no plan, and no family.

Only silence.

It had been days.

Leo didn’t count them anymore. Time in the sewers bent around him like the dim, dripping pipes–stretching, echoing, folding in on itself. He hadn’t seen daylight since the ruins of the lair. He hadn’t spoken aloud. He barely breathed.

The old station he found was forgotten by everything, buried deep beneath the surface, past half collapsed tunnels and rusted gates. The walls were covered in moss and graffiti lost to time. A cracked platform held an overturned bench. Broken vending machines leaned against the wall like corpses.

It was perfect.

Empty.

Dead.

He sat cross legged on the floor, his cloak pulled tight over his shoulders. His hood cast shadows over his eyes, but they were already dark. Blank. Red-ringed. The bag beside him sat silent, sealed shut. Inside, the remains of his brothers’ weapons slept like relics. Leo’s fingers twitched over his knees. His hands shook sometimes, and he didn’t bother stopping them anymore. The silence was thick, but not empty. Not for him. Because the voices wouldn’t stop.

“You’ve trained well, Leonardo. But the wind is not only movement. It is presence. It is balance.” Karai’s voice, calm, centered. Distant.

“To let go is not to forget. It is to move through the storm without becoming it.” Another whisper. Another teaching etched in memory. Fading.

“Be like the wind, Leo.”

Leo’s jaw clenched.

He wanted to scream. But his throat wouldn’t let him. It was like the grief had taken root there, twisting tight and sharp.

He wasn’t the wind.

He was stone.

He was ash.

“What was the point?” he rasped, voice raw and unused. It echoed back at him. “What was the point of all that training…if I wasn’t there?”

No answer.

Just the slow drip of water from the ceiling. A rat scurried somewhere behind the tracks. The darkness trembled around him.

“I was supposed to be stronger,” Leo whispered, louder now, voice breaking. “I was supposed to protect them.”

He pressed his palms to the cracked concrete, shoulders hunched, breathing uneven. The anger had been patient, coiled low in his stomach, but now it climbed, slow and hot and hungry.

“They needed me.”

And he wasn’t there.

Not when the Foot came. Not when their home was overrun. Not when their weapons were broken.

He had been in the mountains. Across the world. Meditating. Learning to feel the wind in his bones. Letting go.

Letting go.

His hands curled into fists.

He let go–and now they were gone.

His knuckles cracked as he slammed his fist into the floor.

Again. Harder.

“I let go,” he growled, “and I lost everything.”

The grief was still there, still choking, but it also had edges. Sharp ones.

The Foot.

He saw their flag in his mind again, stitched into rough cloth, hanging over the wreckage of their home like a trophy. Desecration.

They killed his family.

No. They murdered his family.

Somehow they found the lair. Somehow they got past Raph. Somehow they got past Mikey. Past Donnie. Past Splinter.

Leo’s nails bit into his palms. Blood bloomed from his knuckles, but he didn’t care.

He would find out how.

He would find out why.

He would burn their entire clan to the ground.

His breath came hard now, short and vicious, and the air around him seemed to pulse with his fury.

“I’ll find them,” he snarled under his breath. “I’ll tear them apart. Every single one of them. I don’t care what I have to do.”

And just like that–the wind was gone.

Everything Karai had taught him.

Everything the temple taught him.

Stillness. Balance. Presence. Compassion for oneself.

He had traded them all for fire.

Hatred had coiled around his heart like smoke, tightening with every breath. This was not clarity. This was not peace. This was rage–and rage was easier. It was something to cling to when grief made him hollow.

Leo lowered his head into his hands, and for one flickering second…he felt the truth of it.

He was lost.

Again.

Worse than after the Kraang invasion. Worse than the prison dimension. Because then he had hope. Then, he had his family.

Now, all he had was fury–and a promise.

The Foot would pay.

No matter the cost.

The manhole creaked open in the dead of night.

Leo emerged silently, movements fluid, precise. The city’s air hit him like a wall–thick and acrid. It stuck to his throat, tasting like ash and rust. He paused just beneath a rusted fire escape, eyes narrowed beneath his hood, then vanished into the shadows.

The rusted ladder groaned under his weight as Leo pulled himself up, rung by rung. Every muscle moved with precision, but there was a tremble beneath the surface–just a whisper in his fingers, a quiver in his calves, but he ignored it.

His fingers gripped the edge of the roof, and he hauled himself up, feet landing without a sound on the cracked concrete. A loose pebble skittered over the edge and disappeared into the alley below.

Leo fell to a crouch.

The city greeted him with silence.

The wind whispered against his cloak, stirring the edges. The sky overhead was a dull, gray smudge–stars choked by thick clouds and haze. Even the moon, pale and bloated, seemed uncertain behind the smog, casting no real light.

The streets were darker than he remembered.

The skyline was the same, technically–steel towers and grimy rooftops stacked like bones–but the life of the city was faded. Quieted.

Leo moved across the rooftop, crouching low as he stepped over shattered glass and loose gravel. His eyes scanned the neighboring buildings, every window and shadow. And in the corner of his vision, something caught his eye. A small corner store across the street, its familiar awning sagging and weather-beaten. The place where he and Mikey used to sneak off to snag candy when they thought Raph wasn’t looking. The old ‘Mister Yang’s Market’.

Closed. Boarded.

But not forgotten.

Because painted across the slats of the windows, bold and blood-red, was the Foot Clan insignia.

Leo froze. His breath caught in his throat, sharp and cold.

No. That’s not possible.

The sigil was different than before–more stylized now. Jagged edges. Curving lines. A strange mystic burn to it, like it had been seared into the wood rather than painted.

He blinked, and for a moment, the symbol pulsed–just once. A slow, deep throb that stirred something ugly in his stomach. He swallowed hard and turned away, leaping to the next rooftop. His landing was clean. Silent. But his balance faltered for a heartbeat.

Keep moving.

He pressed forward. Block by block.

Each rooftop revealed more.

More changes.

More corruption.

More decay.

When did it get this bad? When did the Foot become so bold?

He passed over the old cinema where Donnie once hacked the projector so they could watch Lou Jitsu movies all night. The building was collapsed now, gutted by time and something more violent. In its place was a massive black tarp with the Foot sigil stretched across it like a banner, hanging like a flag over a battlefield.

Leo’s fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. He dropped into a crouch behind an old chimney, eyes narrowed as he watched movement below.

Two figures moved through the alley, their steps crisp and unnervingly deliberate. Gone were the worn cloth wrappings of the Foot Clan he remembered. The red remained–a deep, arterial hue–but now it was buried beneath layers of dark, jagged armor that caught the faint light like the edges of a blade. The metal looked cruel, predatory, as though it had been forged not just for defense, but for intimidation. They looked dangerous. Far more dangerous than any common Foot ninja had any business looking. They didn't sneak. They didn’t need to. They walked with the calm certainty of predators in territory that they already owned.

Patrolling. Leo’s chest tightened.

He leapt to the next rooftop, panic rising like bile, desperate to outrun the truth pressing in around him. To find one corner of the city still whole. Still familiar. Still theirs. But dread coiled in his gut. The deeper he moved through the concrete veins of New York, the worse it became.

On a quiet corner where a family-run bodega used to glow with yellow light and the smell of fresh bread, the windows were boarded up, charred and cracked. Burned into the wood, scorched black and deliberate, was the Foot Clan symbol. Branded. Like a warning. A claim.

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep going.

Another block. A familiar street. There, strung across it like some perverse celebration, was a crimson banner flapping softly in the summer wind–the Foot emblem stitched boldly across its center. It hung between lamp posts like a crown, like they owned this place. Like they earned it.

Leo’s jaw clenched so hard it ached.

He dropped lower, landing silently in an alley he once knew as a shortcut home. A path he’s raced through countless times with his brothers, laughing, teasing, breathing easy. Now it reeked of old smoke. The walls were lined with graffiti, but not the usual scattered tags or layered posters. No, every few feet was the same mark again. The Foot’s insignia. Black paint still fresh, still dripping.

They weren’t just here. They were staking claim. Inspiring fear and taking over the city one block at a time. A sickness twisted in Leo’s gut. His pulse thundered in his ears. His panic was rising, clawing up his throat, threatening to choke him. He wanted to scream, to tear the signs down with his bare hands. How dare they do this? How dare they desecrate his city–their city–like this?

How had it gotten this far?

When did they stop hiding?

He climbed and perched atop a rusted radio tower, breath shaking. The city below him was not the city he bled for. And that realization burned. Leo gritted his teeth, but no tension could keep the memories from flooding in.

He remembered the fires during the invasion. The screams. The desperation. He remembered rallying his brothers, pulling off impossible odds with split-second plans. He remembered standing in the ashes with his own blood dripping down his arms, vowing it would never happen again.

But this…this was decay allowed to fester.

And it happened under his watch.

Because he left.

Because he thought the wind would be enough.

His chest tightened.

He remembered Karai’s voice. “To be like the wind is not to flee the world, but to move with it–unseen, unfelt, until you are everywhere.”

He had failed that. Completely.

He had vanished from the world. And now the world had changed without him. Fallen without him. His grip tightened in the steel rail until his knuckles turned white.

This is your fault. Your family is gone. Your city is lost. You weren’t here. You left.

You left.

He was shaking now. Tremors in his legs, his arms.

Not from fear.

From fury.

The Foot didn’t just survive the Kraang. They thrived. They waited.

And they took everything.

Leo lowered his hood slowly. His eyes were hollow. Focused.

They will pay.

Not just for his city.

Not just for the corruption.

But for them.

For Raph. For Donnie. For Mikey and Splinter. For his whole family.

He didn’t care what he’d have to become. He would find out how they found the lair. How they so ruthlessly overpowered his family. He would make them talk.

He turned from the tower, wind tugging at his cloak again. But this time…the wind did not carry peace.

It carried vengeance.

And Leo–silent, trembling, burning–was ready to ride it into war.

The night was heavy with silence, the kind that clung to the skin and settled deep in the mind. High above the cracked streets of New York, Leo moved like a shadow between the rooftops–silent and focused. He was tailing them.

Three Foot soldiers, masked and swift, darted through alleys and climbed rusted fire escapes with calculated efficiency. Their movements were fluid, familiar. They stuck to the shadows with precision.

But Leo kept up easily.

His footsteps were nonexistent, his breath measured. He didn’t blink. Didn’t falter. The cloak around his shoulders fluttered only when the wind begged it to. To the world below, he wasn’t there. Just a whisper of motion. A ripple in the dark.

The Foot soldiers reached a derelict building tucked into a forgotten part of the Lower East Side. Brick crumbling, windows long shattered, its presence was an eyesore, a stain no one looked too closely at. It looked abandoned.

It wasn’t.

Leo crouched low on the rooftop above, peering down as the Foot slipped inside through a concealed entrance in the alley wall. They didn’t hesitate. They knew the place.

Now, so did he.

He moved without sound, leaping down on a rusted ledge. He held out a hand, fingers drawing a circular shape in the air. A faint glow shimmered into existence. No blades. No flash. Just pure will, his ninpo responding like breath.

The portal opened. Leo stepped through, vanishing into the shadow of the building’s rafters. Inside, the scent hit him first–oil, sweat, and faint traces of burning incense. The walls were scrawled with symbols. Crude, quick, but strong. Foot banners hung limp in the stagnant air. Below him, the soldiers gathered in a tight circle, voices low.

Leo didn’t move.

His third eyelid slid over his eyes, casting them into a solid, glowing white sheen in the darkness. He was nearly invisible among the beams above, but the glow betrayed the predator watching them.

He listened.

“–shopping district. Tomorrow night,” one soldier muttered, pulling a map from his sleeve and pinning it to the broken table. “Foot presence is light there. The civilians’ll panic easy,” another said with a shrug. “Quick in and out. Grab the cash, grab the goods, burn what’s left.”

Disgust curled in Leo’s stomach. They weren’t even pretending to be subtle anymore.

“Boss wants it clean,” the first soldier added. “Money goes straight to the reserve. We’re running low.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed.

Reserve? For what?

Their words twisted in his ears like oil across water. Cold. Dispassionate. They spoke of destruction, of suffering, like it was routine. Like it was necessary.

Power. That’s all they care about. Power for its own sake.

Leo had heard enough.

He opened a portal in silence and dropped from the rafters like a ghost made of fury. He landed hard between them, his cloak swirling around his form like smoke. They barely had time to gasp.

The first one lunged.

Leo spun, grabbing his wrist and flipping him into the table. Wood shattered. The others sprang into action, kunai and blades already flying.

Leo didn’t bother speaking. No banter. No quips. There was no point.

He moved like a storm. One Foot soldier tried to charge him head-on. Leo disappeared in a flash of a portal and reappeared behind him, slamming a knee into his back and knocking him out cold. Another soldier summoned paper cranes–razor edged, enchanted with biting wind. Leo ducked, weaved, and slipped through another portal that dropped him just above the caster. He drove his elbow down into the back of the soldier's neck, and the man crumpled with a cry.

The final two backed up, forming seals with their hands.

Then something happened.

The air rippled. One of them ignited their blades in black fire. The other conjured glowing chains made of mist, which whipped out towards Leo.

He was stunned, but only for a moment.

Mystic powers. New ones. Not the same tricks he remembered.

He dove back through another portal, letting the chain miss him by inches. He emerged from their side, spun, and kicked the chain-wielder in the ribs. The man wheezed and stumbled. Leo dodged a swipe of the black fire and sent a kunai slicing through the air, catching the soldier’s shoulder and dragging him across the room. He crashed into the far wall and didn’t get up.

The last one tried to run.

Leo caught him mid-step, dragging him back through a quickly placed portal and slamming him to the floor. Hard.

Then, silence.

Five soldiers, unconscious. bound quickly and tightly with torn fabric and chain.

All but one.

Leo turned to the last soldier still awake–the one with the mist chains. He hauled him upright by the front of his uniform and slammed him against the wall hard enough to shake the beams. The soldier tried to fight–kicked, clawed–but Leo didn’t move.

His face was shadowed under the hood, his third eyelid still glowing faintly. His breath came hard and fast, shoulders trembling, not from fatigue, but from restraint.

His blade was cold and sharp, pressed against the soldier's throat.

“You’re going to talk,” Leo said, voice low, feral. “Right now.”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t scare me.”

Leo leaned closer, a crooked smile cracked across his face, but it wasn’t friendly. It was empty. The kind of smile a grave might wear. “You should be scared.”

The soldier hesitated.

Leo pressed the blade in just enough to draw the faintest line of blood. “I want to know how you rebuilt. Who taught you that mystic garbage. How far your corruption runs. Talk.”

“I’m just a city runner,” the soldier spat. “I don’t know anything. Just…do what I’m told.”

“Bullshit.” Leo’s voice snapped like a whip.

“I swear–” the soldier stammered, “–we just do raids, deliver money. That’s it. No names. We don’t see faces. Just orders. Just assignments.”

Leo’s nostrils flared. The man wasn’t lying. He could tell. Frustration boiled in his chest. He slammed the soldier back once more, harder this time, and the man groaned. “Pathetic,” Leo muttered. “All of you.”

The soldier didn’t move. Unconscious.

Leo scoffed before letting the man crumble to the ground, turning his back on him. One by one, he lifted the unconscious soldiers and tossed them into a large pile. He opened a portal beneath their bodies, the air shimmering with soft energy, and dropped them all unceremoniously through it–straight to the steps of the nearest police precinct.

He didn’t care what happened after. Just that they’re gone.

The building was silent now. Leo stood in the center of the room, surrounded by broken boards and the distant echo of what just happened.

His breath was ragged. His shoulders shook. He stood there for a long time, saying nothing, listening to the beat of his own heart against the silence. The blood still sang in his ears.

You let this happen. They killed your family. They ruined your city. And you weren’t here to stop it.

Who’s really the pathetic one?

Leo clenched his fists and forced the thoughts away. He couldn’t break now.

He wouldn’t.

But as he stood in the hollow place, surrounded by shadows and the scent of burning paper, the pain refused to let go.

The air of the sewer was damp and quiet. The only sound was the faint trickle of water down rusted pipes and Leo’s soft, measured footsteps echoing through the tunnel. He moved quietly and slowly, as if each step cost him something.

He returned to the old chamber he had claimed for himself hours ago, sitting tucked behind a broken grate and partially collapsed wall. A makeshift shelter in a forgotten part of the sewers. It smelled of mildew, old concrete, and sewage. He didn’t mind. The silence wrapped around him like a shroud.

His bag sat exactly where he left it, leaning against the wall like a silent sentinel. The cloth was worn, patched in places from years of use, bulging from the broken weapons it carried inside. Pieces of them. Symbols of the family he failed to protect.

Leo stared at the bag. His knees felt weak, and before he could stop himself, he sat down heavily on the concrete. His head dropped into his hands, the weight of the night catching up to him all at once. He tried to breathe, but each inhale trembled. The memory of the fight, the soldier’s words, the cuts and burns on his skin, none of that compared to the weight clawing through his chest now.

The Foot were growing. They were organized. And they were dangerous in a way he hadn’t seen before.

Too much, his thoughts whispered. It’s too much for one person.

He lifted his head slowly, staring into the darkness of the abandoned subway tunnel. The sewers, once their home, now felt suffocating. The darkness didn’t comfort, it crowded. The walls felt like they were leaning in, pressing closer.

He couldn’t stay here.

If the Foot were watching, if they were hunting, they’d check the sewers first. This was their old ground, their past. Their weakness. A memory made of brick and water and love. But memories couldn’t shield him now. They could only expose him. Hurt him.

He rose on shaking legs and reached for his bag, fingers brushing the worn strap, then stopped. Froze. A sudden chill bolted down his spine like lightning striking water.

April. Casey.

The names exploded in his chest. So sudden, so sharp, it stole his breath away. His hand hovered above the bag, suspended in air. Had they been there? At the lair when it fell? Had the Foot found them too? Taken them? Killed them?

He swallowed hard. His throat tightened, a dry ache forming behind his eyes. He hadn’t let himself go there, not until now. He had been too consumed by his grief. It had been easier to focus on movement. On silence. Letting thoughts of them in meant opening the floodgates to everything else.

But now that door was open, and behind it, hope.

That cursed, beautiful thing.

It bloomed in his chest like a flame, fragile and flickering, and he hated it. Hope lied. It spun dreams from shadows, made corpses feel warm, made every second of silence sound like someone might still be breathing.

But still…

Hope had gotten him and his family through everything in the past. April had made it through worse. Casey was built from sheer stubbornness and nerve. Maybe they had escaped. Maybe they were waiting. Maybe some of the only family he had ever known made it. Maybe they were alive.

The hope hurt.

He grabbed the bag and flung it over his shoulder, movements fast and trembling. A flash of energy from his sword cut through space. He opened a portal two blocks from her apartment complex, just far enough not to draw attention. He leapt through and landed running. His feet pounded against the rooftop as the night air rushed past him, cutting cold against the edge of his hood.

He reached the building a little over a minute, stopping dead in his tracks. The sight in front of him stole the breath from his lungs. The apartment complex was a husk of what it once was. Charred walls stood like jagged teeth against the night sky. Windows were broken, blackened by smoke. Sections of the structure had collapsed entirely, leaving gaping wounds in the building's side. He could even see remnants of Draxum’s vines curling along the cracked frame of the building, burned and shriveled. A testament to a battle Leo had missed.

His heart dropped.

A tremble ran through his fingers as he jumped down from the building beside it, wanting to get closer. Ash crunched beneath his feet. Wind stirred the soot, swirling it through the empty shell that had once been people's homes.

A scream tried to claw its way out of his throat, but he locked his jaw shut.

No. No, no, no…

His hands curled into fists, shoulders shaking. “April…” he breathed, voice cracking. “Casey…”

He carefully made his way up the familiar fire escape to April’s window, looking through the blackened glass, hoping, praying, he might see something. A flicker of light. A shadow moving. Anything. But the windows stared back like empty eyes, scorched and silent.

They were gone. They were all gone.

His chest ached.

How many times had he and his brothers scrambled up this fire escape, laughing too loud, trying not to knock over her flowerpots? They always enter the same way, tapping the window in a dumb little rhythm. She’d roll her eyes, yank it open, and greet them with a lopsided smile like they were some weird but welcome chaos in her otherwise normal life.

Leo could still feel the warmth of her apartment, hear the low hum of her music always playing in the background. He remembered the nights where it was just him and April hanging out together. Just the two of them sitting on her bed, talking for hours. Him letting April paint his nails with whatever half empty polish she had in her bag–black, blue, glittery-gold–rambling about high-school drama or, more recently, college stress. And he’d listen, not just politely, but fully invested, matching her tone with sharp commentary and theatrical gasps like some kind of gossip-gremlin. It had become their thing. It made him feel normal. Human. Known.

Now the window was nothing but soot-stained glass, the curtains behind it hung limp and torn. The fire escape creaked under his weight, groaning like it was mourning with him.

Leo dropped his gaze, the grief clawing up through his chest, hot and sharp and mean. The blackened and cracked window reflected his face–tired, strained, eyes wide with fear and pain. But he kept staring, just in case. Just in case a shadow moved. Just in case this nightmare gave him one last piece of hope.

But hope, he was learning, was a cruel and bitter thing. It dressed itself in warmth and promise, whispered soft lies in the dead of night, then watched without mercy as they shattered at dawn. He had hoped that if he had trained hard enough, pushed himself far enough, fixed himself, then maybe he could protect his family. He had hoped that his family would be alive and well once he returned. He had hoped that April was alive. Hoped that Casey was fighting and still cracking jokes. That even Draxum, that stupid, cryptic, infuriating old goat, was still kicking.

But every shred of hope he had managed to gain had been trampled under the Foot’s boots, left to decay in crumbling sewer tunnels and alley’s marked by their symbol. And now hope sat heavy in his chest, not a light, not a guide, but a blade with nowhere left to dig but inward.

His grief surged anew like a crashing wave. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. His vision blurred with hot tears that streaked silently down his cheeks. He clenched his teeth, hard, trying to hold it in, trying not to fall apart.

Hope. A ninja’s greatest weapon. What a joke.

He turned away, jumping to the next rooftop, steps shaky and uneven as he broke into a run. He needed to move. He needed to get away.

He sprinted across rooftops blindly, one after another, each leap a desperate attempt to escape the pain twisting in his chest. He ran until his lungs burned. Until the wind stung his face. Until his legs threatened to give out.

And then, finally, he collapsed.

He stumbled down into a narrow alley, falling to his knees in the dark. He sank into the shadows like a wounded animal, his bag thumping to the ground beside him. He yanked his cloak tighter around himself, needing something, some kind of warmth, some kind of comfort. The Hamato crest, once light around the edges, seemed dull and faded now.

He gripped the cloth tightly, fists shaking. “Why…” he whispered. “Why them too?”

There was no answer. Only the distant hum of traffic and the muffled sounds of a city too broken to care.

Leo’s breath hitched as he cried, not loud or wild, but quietly. Deep, guttural sobs that came from somewhere buried far below his calm surface. The tears streaked down his cheeks, soaking into the edge of his cloak as he tried to curl into himself, to hide from the pain. But it clung to him.

He grieved for his sister, for his brothers, for his father, for Casey and Draxum. For everything they’d lost. For the burden he now carried alone.

The alley didn’t judge him. It held his pain in silence.

And there, in the heart of the broken city, beneath a sky that offered no stars, Leonardo grieved. Completely and utterly alone.

Chapter Text

The moon hung low over the docks, casting a pale silver sheen across the water. It was quiet here. A quiet that echoed and made things feel empty. Leo moved through the shadows of rooftops with practiced precision, hugging the walls and avoiding the soft glow of streetlights below. HIs eyes flickered left and right, scanning for movement.

The warehouse loomed ahead, tucked between two decaying storage facilities. Its exterior was cracked and worn, the once white paint peeled back to reveal rusted metal and weather-warped wood beneath. A few broken boards lined the second floor windows, and the metal loading doors hung slightly ajar. But it stood. And that was enough.

Leo pressed his back to a wall, listening. No sound. No shuffling of feet. No low murmurs of conversation from squatters seeking shelter.

No Foot.

He slid inside, feet light on the dusty concrete. The interior was dark, save for moonlight streaming in through holes in the roof. Abandoned crates and rotted pallets were stacked in one corner, and a cold draft slid under the doors. But the structure was intact, and the far wall had a little alcove, half shielded by a steel support beam. A place he could rest. A place he could hide.

It’ll have to do.

He moved to the alcove and lowered his bag down with a soft thud. The weight of everything, the silence, the loss, the unbearable ache still pressing against his ribs, settled on his shoulders again.

Don’t fall apart. He told himself. Not again. Not yet.

He unzipped the pack and began pulling everything out. One by one he set the items before him. Leftover rations, a worn blanket that smelled faintly of soot, his canteen, and the half melted candles he salvaged from the wreckage of the lair. He set those aside gently.

Then came the tanto, its hilt still wrapped in faded red cloth. The small blade represents strength, precision, and durability. A reminder that even something small can be incredibly powerful when designed with purpose. The blade his father gave in long ago. He never used it. Being more of a sentimental piece. One he had always cherished dearly, even if he didn’t show it. Which was why he had brought it with him to the temple in the first place. Not for protection but memory. Leo paused, hands lingering on it, breath catching. The ache swelled behind his eyes, sharp and familiar. For a moment, he let himself hold it like a son might hold a father’s hand. But it couldn’t last. His grip softened before he set it down beside the candles.

Last came the bundle of weapons.

He pulled it out, slow and steady, like he was lifting something precious. A cloth wrapping, singed and soot-stained, held together broken pieces. His brothers. Pieces of them.

Leo shook, unwrapping the bundle with trembling fingers, and laid the weapons out in a neat row. His hands ghosted over each one, remembering the grip of each, the way they each used to move, so distinct, so alive. A tightness welled in his chest. He exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself. Stay focused. Stay here.

He reached into the bag again, and paused.

The photo.

He knew it by touch, the soft, familiar crease of the worn paper between his fingers. He didn’t look at it. Couldn’t bring himself to. But he set it beside the weapons with infinite care, aligning it so it faced forward, like they were all still there. Like they could still see.

At the very bottom of the bag, something stiff pressed against his fingertips. He blinked, pulling it free, and froze.

The scroll. The one he had meant to give to dad. The one written by his great-grandfather, sealed with the Hamato crest in dark ink. He had made sure to keep it safe all these weeks, wrapped in cloth and tied with thread. But in everything that had happened, he’d forgotten it was even there.

His hands shook as he unraveled it and turned it over, brushing a thumb across the paper’s edge. The ink had faded only slightly, but the meaning was still clear. Legacy. Hope.

His father would never read it now.

A lump rose in his throat. He held the scroll tighter, fighting the ever present burn in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry again. He wouldn’t break down.

He had a job to do.

Leo stood in silence, the cold stillness of the warehouse pressing in around him. Dust hung thick in the air, catching the dull light like ash. His eyes drifted to the back wall, where broken stone lay scattered–remnants of an old loading dock long since crumbled. He moved toward them, jaw clenched, fists tight.

He gathered the rubble one piece at a time, fingers scraping against rough edges, palms red with grit. He didn’t care. The stones were heavy, awkward, and uncooperative, slipping from his grasp more than once, but he kept at it. With every piece stacked, his breath grew sharper, more uneven. Each stone was a sentence unspoken, a scream stifled in his throat. He pressed them down with a trembling sort of fury, like if he just aligned them right, maybe the universe would let him undo even a second of what he’d lost.

It wasn’t elegant, nothing about it was. But it was stable. It would have to be. He stepped back, staring at the crooked pedestal as if daring it to fall apart.

His shoulders sagged. Then he turned, walking back to his pack. His hands shook, not from effort, but from the weight of everything he hadn’t said. Everything he hadn’t done. Guilt gnawed at the edges of him, clawing through the cracks.

But this, this shrine, he would not fail this. If there was one thing left in his cursed, broken life that he could do right, it would be this. He owed them that much. At the very least.

The candles came first, five of them, melted and misshapen. He arranged them in a half circle atop the stone. Next came the tanto. Then the photo. Then the scroll, which he tied closed and placed at the center, as if offering it to the loved one he couldn’t reach. Finally, he placed the weapons, each one aligned carefully. He knelt down and gently brushed some dust away from the stones.

The shrine was small, uneven, but it was his best. He knelt before it for a long time, eyes lowered. His chest ached with every heartbeat. He thought of Mikey, always trying to lighten the load of others. Of Donnie, tweaking his battle shell while humming along to music. Raph’s heavy footsteps echoing in the hall. April’s sharp wit, her laughter when he said something dumb. Casey’s relentless energy and eagerness. His fathers smile. Even Draxum’s deep, gravelly voice, calling him a fool but protecting them all the same.

Memories flickered, soft and brutal. The rooftop months after the kraang were defeated. The movie nights Mikey forced them into. Donnie showing off a new invention. Raph silently tucking a blanket over him when he fell asleep.

A shaky, broken breath left his lips, and he almost laughed. But the sound caught in his throat and died.

They’re all gone.

A tear slid down his cheek. He let it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse. Raw. “I should’ve protected you.”

The candles flickered gently, casting long shadows across the weapons, the photo, the scroll. The shrine glowed softly in the dark, a small oasis of warmth in a broken world.

Leo stood slowly. His legs were stiff. His body tense. He should meditate. That’s what Karai would tell him. What his father may have told him. But he couldn’t. Not like this. He reached to his side and drew his twin katanas with a metallic hiss. The blades caught the candlelight, gleaming faintly. He stepped into the center of the warehouse, the cold floor grounding him, and began to move.

Katas.

Movements etched into muscle memory, stances, slashes, footwork. He moved with mechanical precision at first, each breath syncing with a motion, each pivot exact. But soon, the movements became something else.

Faster. Sharper. Fiercer.

He wasn’t just practicing. He was burning. The anger inside him ignited, rage at the Foot, at the universe, at himself. Anger like he’d never felt before. It boiled under his skin, rising with every motion. A fury he was so unused to. He had always been slow to anger. With every slash, every spin, he tried to bleed it out. His breath came in sharp bursts. His limbs ached, but he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He trained long into the night, until his legs trembled and sweat dripped down his brow. Until his muscles screamed. Until his grief dulled to a quiet throb in his chest.

The shrine glowed behind him, flickering quietly in the darkness.

And Leonardo kept moving, because it was all he could do not to fall apart.

The warehouse had grown colder with the night. Outside, wind howled through the narrow spaces between buildings, rattling old metal sheets and pushing through every crack in the walls. Inside, the air hung still, touched only by the faint flickering of candlelight of the shrine.

Leo lay curled on the hard concrete floor, his blanket pulled tightly around him, doing little to keep the chill from his bones. The ground beneath him was unforgiving, pressing into his shell, his shoulders, his hip. But it wasn’t the cold or the ache that kept him awake.

It was the thinking.

He stared up at the ceiling beams, at the scattered holes where moonlight slipped in. His thoughts churned in slow, painful spirals. Why is it always us?

Why his family?

Why did trouble cling to them like a shadow, following wherever they went?

HIs fingers gripped the edge of the blanket tighter. It never stopped, not really. Even before the Kraang. Even before the Shredder. The Foot. The Ooze. Every chapter of their lives had been one of war. One of survival. Living in a sewer, struggling to find food at a young age. Created to be soldiers. Fighting crazy mutants and cultists. Facing demons and tyrants from another world.

They were always fighting.

Always bleeding.

Leo turned over, pulling the blanket higher, pressing his cheek against the rough fabric. His eyes burned with sleeplessness, but he didn’t close them.

It’s our duty, he reminded himself. The phrase was a familiar echo, one his older brother had drilled into his head for years, one Karai had spoken in the sacred hush of the Hamato Temple. We protect those who cannot protect themselves.

It was noble. Sacred.

But was it worth this?

Was it worth them?

Was it worth Mikey’s laughter going quiet, Donnie’s tinkering falling still, Raph’s ever steady presence turning into a ghost? Was it worth carrying the weight of every choice, every failure, every moment too late?

He closed his eyes, finally, and the darkness behind them felt heavier than the room around him. He thought of Raph’s voice, low and steady, telling him he had his back. Of Donnie’s sarcasm wrapped in care. Of Mikey’s boundless joy. Of April’s fierce determination. Of Casey’s trust. Of his father’s hand on his shoulder.

All of it felt so far away now. The hole left in his chest burned.

And what did it all lead to?

Destruction. Death. Loneliness.

His jaw clenched. He turned again, lying on his back once more, eyes tracing the rusted rafters.

He knew his clan had always been protectors. He’d read the scrolls, studied the history. The Hamato name was drenched in conflict, always rising to meet the evil that threatened the balance of the world.

And they had paid the price for it. Again and again.

It’s not fair.

But it never had been. It wasn’t about fairness. Never was. He understood that. Had always understood that.

Still…

Still it twisted inside him like a knife.

What if they’d never been mutated? What if they’d been created and born as a normal family? Would the world have left them alone then?

Would his brothers still be alive?

Would he be able to sleep at night without the ghost of their voices whispering through his memories?

The blanket shifted as he curled inward, trying to bury himself in the warmth, to escape the noise in his head. His breathing grew shallow, shoulders tense. The ache in his chest refused to fade. It pulsed with every beat of his heart, a silent rhythm of grief and guilt. He bit down on the inside of his cheek. Just enough to ground himself. Just enough to remind himself that he was still here. Still alive.

Why me? The thought came, uninvited, ugly. Why am I the only one left behind?

No answer came. Just silence. Just the wind groaning outside.

Hours passed.

He counted the cracks in the ceiling beams. He listened to the creaks of the old building, the whisper of candle flames. His thoughts looped and spiraled, tangled in grief, in fury, in quiet hopelessness.

But eventually, his body gave in. His eyelids grew heavy. His grip on the blanket loosened. The warehouse blurred in shadows and soft light as his mind slipped sideways into sleep.

Rest didn’t come gently.

It came in flickers, images, half-memories, phantom touches. Laughter that vanished when he turned his head. The sound of the shrine’s candles burning down. The weight of katanas in his hands. The faces of his family, both smiling and broken. Leo twitched in his sleep, brow furrowed, breath uneven. He dreamt of battles he couldn’t win. Of voices calling his name from places he couldn’t reach. Of darkness swallowing those he loved.

And under it all, a single truth pulsed, deep and inescapable.

He missed them more than anything. And he didn’t know how to live in a world without them.

The city never slept, but it had learned to go quiet. Silent in fear.

Cloaked in shadows, its towering skyline a jagged silhouette against the bruised purple of the night sky. The moon hung low, half-shrouded in clouds, casting long streaks of silver across the rooftops of New York. Wind whistled through alleyways and over fire escapes, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the occasional shout from a late-night wanderer. But up here, above the world, it was quieter, almost still.

A dark figure moved with purpose across the rooftops.

Leonardo’s hood was drawn low over his face, his cloak snapping behind him like a shadow torn from his back. His movements were precise and silent, each landing absorbing momentum like he’d done it a thousand times. And he had. But tonight wasn’t a drill.

He trailed them, three Foot ninjas, leaping from building to building as they slipped through the city, unaware of the predator on their heels. Leo’s white eyes burned beneath the shadow of his hood. His breath was slow, controlled, but it couldn’t hide the coil of tension winding tighter in his chest.

The Foot dropped into an alley below, boots thudding softy against the concrete.

Leo followed.

He landed in a crouch, the edge of his cloak billowing around him as he rose silently. The alley was narrow, walls hemmed with old brick, fire escapes overhead casting jagged shadows across the wet pavement. A single flickering light buzzed above a rusted door. It cast just enough light to gleam off the edge of Leo’s twin katanas.

They didn’t see him coming. He moved like a whisper of death. The first ninja didn’t even have time to draw his weapon, Leo struck him across the temple with the hilt of his blade, dropping him instantly. The second managed a shout before a spinning kick slammed him into the wall. The third drew a pair of kunai, but Leo parried the first strike, swept his legs out from under him, and pressed a blade to his throat before he could blink.

Three bodies on the ground. Only one conscious.

Leo stood over them, panting slightly. He sheathed his swords and stepped forward, kicking the man’s weapon out of reach, then bent down and bound the three of them quickly, tightly. The man squirmed.

Then Leo stood again. Silent.

The alley had grown quieter too. The distant hum of the city faded behind a wall of fury boiling just beneath Leo’s skin. He reached to his side and slowly, deliberately, drew one of his katanas. The steel whispered as it slid free, gleaming faintly in the alley’s low light.

The man’s eyes widened.

Leo stepped closer. The blade hovered just inches from the man’s face, unmoving. “You’re going to answer my questions,” Leo said, voice low, gravelly, barely more than a growl. His hood still shadowed his face, but his eyes glinted dangerously in the dark. “Why is the Foot terrorizing civilians? Why now? What’s their goal?”

The ninja glared up at him, refusing to speak.

Leo’s patience snapped.

He grabbed the front of the man’s garb, yanking him up onto his knees, his blade flashing closer. “Answer me!” His voice cracked like thunder through the alley, echoing against the walls. “Why are you doing this? What does the Foot Clan want with money? What kind of power are you after this time?”

The man flinched, but still shouted with anger. “I don’t know man! I swear! I just do what I’m told!”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “Told by who?”

“I–I’m just a lower rank recruit, man! Most of us are. Half the new recruits used to be in gangs, alright? We saw the Foot growing–taking turf, getting stronger. We’d have been stupid not to join!”

Leo scoffed. “You are stupid. All of you. Trading one gang for another, thinking mystic powers make you invincible.”

The man looked away.

Leo let him go, pressing the blade closer to his face. “Then tell me, how did the Foot get so strong? Who’s giving you these mystic weapons?”

“I don’t know! I’m in it for the cash, alright? They’re paying!”

Leo’s voice dropped to an icy whisper. “They’re paying you?”

The ninja hesitated. “...Yeah.”

Leo’s grip on the hilt tightened.

“Who’s paying you?” he asked coldly. “Who’s the new leader of the Foot Clan? And how do lowlifes like you get access to mystic energy?”

The ninja stared at the blade, now trembling slightly. “I-I don’t know! It’s some kind of freaky magic. And I’ve never met her!”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Her?” he repeated. His voice deadly quiet. He stepped forward, pressing the very tip of his blade between the man’s eyes.

“Y-Yeah,” the man said, gulping. “She’s dangerous, man. I don’t know who she is. I was just told not to get on her bad side.”

Leo’s jaw clenched. A cold, sinking feeling opened in his gut. “You’re lying.” Leo whispered, seething, pressing his sword just the tiniest bit harder into the man’s face. A droplet of blood rolled slowly down the arch of his nose and was quickly sucked into the dark cloth of his mask.

“I don’t know! I told you everything I know, dude! Why do you even care, huh? What, are you some vigilante freak with a death wish? You think you’re gonna take the Foot alone? You’re insane!”

Leo’s eyes flashed. “I’m the one asking the questions,” he growled.

Silence fell. The man's eyes never left the sharp blade between them.

Leo breathed hard through his nose, the fury surging behind his ribs like a wildfire. He wanted to scream. Wanted to break something. Instead, he sheathed his sword with a hiss and flicked his wrist towards the ground. A shimmering blue portal opened up beneath the bound ninjas.

“You’re done here,” Leo said quietly. “Say hi to the cops for me.”

The ninja screamed profanities as he vanished into the glowing rift, landing hard on the steps of the nearest precinct.

Then, silence again.

Leo stood in the dark alley, his breath coming in sharp bursts. His hands trembled at his sides. He closed his eyes, head tilting upward, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.

Grunts. Just grunts chasing a paycheck…with powers they shouldn’t have. Mystic weapons being distributed through their ranks like a drug.

And ‘her.’

That one word repeated in his mind like a curse. Only because it was the closest thing he had to finding who the new master to this whole charade was. Leo tried to think of any female Foot ninja that had any significance in the clan, but came up short. His thoughts briefly drifted to Cassandra before pushing it away, the new onslaught of grief too much to bear in the moment. Not now. Not here.

With a sigh, he quickly formed a circle with his hand again and opened a portal, stepping through to the rooftop above. The wind met him, sharp but no longer biting. He stood there, looking out over the city. New York etched endlessly before him. His home. His responsibility.

He clenched his fists. How was he supposed to do this? To protect it all? Alone? It wouldn’t feel so impossible if he still had his brothers. If they were here, fighting beside him. But they weren’t. They were gone. And it was his fault.

He felt the weight settle on his shoulders again. Guilt. Pain. Grief. But he forced it down into the pit of his stomach. Buried it like he always did. It didn’t matter how many there were. How strong they were becoming. How deep this mystery ran.

He would find the answers. He would hunt every last member of the Foot if that’s what it took. He would stop them.

Days Later

Deeper in the city, Leo moved. The streets here were tighter, older, the alleys between buildings narrow like veins in a living thing. Brick walls loomed with grime-slick graffiti, and the air smelled of rust and damp stone. The city felt like it was holding its breath.

He had been patrolling when he caught sight of them, four shadows shifting in the alley below, marked by the subtle shimmer of mystic energy that clung to them like smoke. Foot ninja. Shrouded in the darkness of the alley. Unassuming to the untrained eye, just another shady deal happening between the cracks of the city, but Leo knew better. The way they moved, the silent hand signals, the flash of something glowing faintly as one cracked open a crate, they were Foot. Hidden in plain sight

Leo narrowed his eyes.

For days now, he’d been fighting them, tracking them. Like blood in water, the scent of the Foot Clan had returned to the city, threading itself through the backstreets and rooftops like a disease. He didn’t know how they had gotten so embedded so quickly, but it didn’t matter. They were here. And so was he.

He trailed silently across the edge of the rooftop, each step a whisper, cloaked in shadow and practiced stillness. His cloak rippled faintly behind him, patterned with the Hamato crest, worn down and soot stained from long nights without rest. His knee ached, but he didn’t slow down. They hadn’t seen him.

Good.

He dropped into the alley like a falling star. The impact wasn’t subtle, he didn’t want it to be. He wanted them to feel the weight of him, to feel hunted. His feet struck the pavement hard, loud enough to scatter the four men like startled animals. One turned to shout, but Leo was already there, a streak of motion. His fist cracked across the man's jaw with a sound like wet stone shattering. The ninja crumpled to the ground with a choked cry. Another, faster, lunged with a blade glowing an unstable green. Leo’s swords snapped free of their sheathes in a silver flash. He parried, twisted. The Foot’s momentum betrayed him. With a pivot, Leo redirected the strike, forcing the man’s own blade into the brick wall. The steel sparked on contact, the glow flickering wildly before snuffing out.

The fight turned ugly fast.

Leo was tired. He could feel it in his knees, in the slow burn of his muscles as he moved. Sleep had been a luxury for days now, replaced by adrenaline and resolve. But tonight, it was worse. The fatigue mixed with something sharper–anger, frustration, and something deeper underneath. Something raw.

He blocked a strike from behind but too slow–pain lanced across his cheek as another ninja landed a brutal punch. Leo stumbled, gasping, but his recovery was immediate, honed from years of fighting. He spun into a vicious elbow that cracked against the attacker's nose, then followed with a swift kick that sent the man slamming into the side of a dumpster. He didn’t get back up.

Blood was dripping from a gash in Leo’s forearm, a bright smear against the pale green of his skin, blood soaking into the fabric of his wraps. His plastron ached. Probably not cracked, but someone had slammed a staff into him earlier, and now every breath reminded him of it. But he didn’t stop.

He couldn't stop.

If he paused, if he even let himself breathe, he’d have to feel everything else. The silence of the lair. The echo of voices that weren’t there anymore. The unbearable image of rubble where his home had once stood.

So he kept moving. Kept hitting.

Minutes later, three were unconscious, one remained. He wasn’t trying to run. He was too dazed, propped against the alley wall, cradling an arm that hung at the wrong angle. Leo approached him like a storm cloud. Wordless. Blade still out. His breath came hard, fogging in the night air.

He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the wall hard enough to snap him into focus.

“Where are you getting the weapons?” Leo growled. His voice low.

The Foot soldier squirmed, shaking his head. “I–I don’t know. Please–”

Leo pressed the flat of one blade against the man’s throat. His other hand pinned the broken arm. The ninja gasped in pain.

“Then who does?”

“They–uh–they just give them to us, okay? From higher up,” the man stammered. “There’s, like, some ritual–some magic stuff–I don’t know! They gave us the weapons and we deliver the money back. That’s it!”

Leo’s eyes narrowed beneath his hood.

Mystic rituals. That confirmed what Leo had hoped wasn’t the case. His grip on the Foot ninja tightened. Mystic rituals always led to something worse. Especially with the Foot. When the Foot dealt in mysticism, it always meant one thing. Power. Dark, ancient, corrupt power that twisted everything it touched.

He had seen what it could do. To people. To the city. To his family.

The Foot didn’t use mystic energy without purpose. It was always in the pursuit of building something. Summoning something. And whatever it was, it was never just a weapon, it was a threat. A force. A god.

And nowadays they weren’t even trying to be secretive about it.

Leo’s nostrils flared. He forced himself to breathe through the sudden spike of rage. Don’t lose control.

“Where?”

“I-It never happens at the same place. Or the same time! We barely get a warning before those creeps show up. I don’t know anything else, I swear!”

Leo stared into the man's eyes, searching. Looking for lies, tells. But there was nothing.

He released him.

The ninja crumpled to the pavement like a dropped puppet, gasping quietly. Leo turned away and looked at the crate the men had gathered around. Wooden. Crude. But what was inside…Spears. Daggers. Katana. All seemingly hand-forged by the looks of it, the Foot symbol carved into each one. They pulsed with unstable mystic energy. The feeling of wrongness was so strong he could sense it without even touching them. Nothing like how his own blades felt. Stable and warm and always buzzing with life. It was almost like they tried to imitate natural mystic energy, replacing it with something corrupt.

Leo frowned and stepped closer. He knelt beside the weapons and gently touched the hilt of one blade.

The reaction was immediate.

A low vibration thrummed against his skin. Mystic energy pulsed through the metal, subtle but alive, reacting to his ninpo in a way that was off. It wasn’t harmony or stability. It was interference, chaotic and cold, like a parasite trying to worm its way inside him.

Leo recoiled instinctively, snatching his hand back like he’d been stung. Heart pounding slightly. He briefly thought back to the weapons he’d seen in the last several days in fighting the Foot. Chains made of smoke, blades that caught fire, staffs that could crack stone with just one hit. All kinds of weapons with all kinds of abilities. This kind of mystic energy on such a wide scale took power. Enormous power. To imbue weapons like that, not just charge them, but truly forge them with mysticism, you needed a source. A constant stream of energy. That wasn’t common. That wasn’t simple spell work from some low-tier mystic hidden in a basement. He’d listened in enough times on the lectures Draxum gave Mikey on the dangers of mystic abilities and their costs to know that much.

Who was doing this? How were they pulling in that kind of energy? Who had the knowledge and control to weave that kind of power into combat gear, and do it en masse?

Confusion clawed at the edges of his anger. A sick, gnawing frustration. He needed answers. But these grunts didn’t know anything. None of them have so far. They were just tools. Extensions of something larger. He could almost feel it. A shape behind the shadows. Someone pulling the strings.

Leo sighed, bringing a hand up to massage the space between his eyes before standing. No matter how they felt, he couldn’t leave them here. Not for the Foot to use and not where civilians could stumble upon them. He exhaled slowly and opened a portal beneath the crate, drawing a quick circle with his hand. His ninpo responded, the blue swirling with faint white edges and static, his will pressed into it like ink into paper. The crate fell through, landing on the ground in the small warehouse he had secured for himself. The portal closed.

I’ll deal with that situation later.

He stood there for a moment, shoulders slumped. Every night was like this now, more questions with no answers. More pain. More silence. He looked back at the Foot soldiers still spread across the alley floor, glaring. “Enjoy lockup,” he muttered. Another portal bloomed beneath them, taking them straight to the nearest police precinct. Close enough for someone to find them.

Now only he remained in the alley. Alone again. Leo adjusted his hood before leaping onto the nearest fire escape, disappearing into the shadows once more.

There was still so much to do. And he barely even knew where to start.

Chapter Text

The first scream came from inside an old antique shop.

Leo was already mid-leap, shadows breaking around him as he vaulted from one rooftop to the next. Below, glass shattered. The night lit up with a flash of mystic energy. A group of Foot ninja burst from the store entrance dragging a heavy looking crate out of the busted front door. He watched from above, crouched low on the edge of the rooftop, eyes glistening with a white sheen under his hood. The crate held scrap metal, old and rusted, torn from the walls and shelves, iron candle stands, bronze fixtures, copper wind chimes, all clanging around together. One ninja held a duffle bag, one he knew held coins and paper bills from the store's cash drawer.

They were laughing.

One of them tossed an old katana, clearly ceremonial, into the crate. “They said bring anything metal, swords, forks, doesn’t matter. It can all be used.”

Leo’s fists clenched. So they were stealing metal. Probably to melt down and make even more weapons, he theorized.

A black van screeched up, rear doors already open. The Foot scrambled to load the crate in.

“Go! Go!”

Leo narrowed his eyes. They were getting smarter. Faster. But not fast enough. He jumped, landing on the van’s roof like a meteor, denting the metal with the force of his fall just as the doors slammed shut and the driver hit the gas. The van swerved violently, the driver yelling, “He’s on us!”

Leo didn’t hesitate. He stabbed one blade straight through the top. The metal punched through the roof like paper, slicing into the steel shell. The van swerved hard through the intersection. Sparks flew. Horns blared. The smell of burning rubber filled the air, but Leo stayed balanced, crouched low and cloak snapping in the wind. Below him, from inside he could hear one of the men curse before firing upward, a mystic dart powerful enough to burst through the roof of the vehicle just inches from Leo’s foot. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he swept a hand across the air, drawing his portal in a tight circle. A flash of blue light appeared inside the cabin.

Bamf.

The passenger vanished through the portal, tumbling into a filthy dumpster in a side alley two blocks back. Another screamed, startled.

“Driver next,” Leo muttered.

The van veered again. Traffic blurred past in the dark. Horns still blaring and New Yorkers shouting. The van turned again, taking out a fire hydrant. Water sprayed. But Leo was patient. Focused. He crept forward on the roof, then kicked down hard.

The windshield spiderwebbed.

The driver panicked, jerking the wheel, and that’s when Leo acted. He flipped forward, springing off of the hood of the van, portal already forming mid-air. It opened just inches above the pavement. Leo vanished into it–

–and reappeared inside the van behind the crate. The Foot ninjas froze. Three remained. One with a glowing scythe and two with mystic brass knuckles, dark mystic energy pouring off of them in waves.

Leo’s voice was low as he gave them a cruel smirk. “Last stop.”

The one with the scythe lunged. Leo ducked, sidestepped, and disarmed him with a quick twist, using the cramped quarters to his advantage. He drove a knee into the man’s gut, folding him and kicking the weapon aside. The second tried to punch him, mystic energy flaring with every swing. Leo leaned, dodged and drove an elbow into the ninja’s temple. He dropped instantly.

The third reached for the door.

Leo snarled, “No.” He kicked the crate full of metal forward like a battering ram, slamming the Foot against the van’s wall with a sickening crack. The van veered violently again, tires squealing. Leo lunged forward as the driver turned to him with an angry shout, drawing a kunai. Leo grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it at an odd angle before clocking him in the jaw. The ninja slumped and Leo quickly grabbed the wheel and twisted it into a hard right turn. The van screeched in protest, spinning sideways and hitting a pole before flipping once, twice, and crashing into a parked car with a thunderous crunch of steel and glass. Steam rose. Glass glittered across the pavement like scattered stars.

For a moment. Silence.

Then Leo kicked the side door open and climbed out, panting, body aching. His shoulder screamed from the landing. Blood ran down the side of his face from a shallow cut. The night air was thick with humidity, its heaviness leaving a sticky weight on his skin, the last traces of winter having finally faded days ago.

He stood over the wreck like a ghost, staring at the mess of torn metal and glass.

Probably not my smartest idea. He thought. Crashing the thing.

One of the Foot ninja’s groaned, trying to crawl out of the back of the van. Leo was on him instantly. A blur of motion. He grabbed him by the back of his armor and slammed him against the twisted metal frame. Blade already drawn and pointed at the man’s chest.

Leo’s voice was low, seeming calm but holding a thin veil of anger. A note of danger. A warning. The ninja groaned, blood trickling from a cut across the bridge of his nose, but he looked Leo in the eye. There was fear, but also something else. Something…stubborn.

Leo brought the edge of the blade up to the man’s throat, just barely grazing the skin. His voice was cold, low and sharp as steel. “Where were you taking the metal?”

The man coughed, eyes narrowing at him before smirking beneath the fabric of his mask. “I’m not telling you.”

Leo leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. "You will. Or you’re going to wish you had.”

The Foot soldier actually chuckled, though his voice was hoarse with pain. “You don’t get it, do you?” he rasped. “You think I’m afraid of you? I’ve seen what happens to the ones who talk. To the ones who try to slip away. I’d rather die here than be dragged back to them.”

Leo’s jaw tensed.

“Who are they?” he snapped. “What’s this punishment that’s worse than death?”

The ninja’s jaw clenched. He stared not at Leo, but into the gloom beyond him. The alley’s, rooftops, every stepping-stone of escape or surveillance. “I said I’m not telling you anything,” he hissed. “They’re always watching. Listening. I’m not stupid. I’m not gonna betray the clan.” He glared back, eyes watery, breath ragged.

Leo’s own gaze burned beneath his hood, a storm of conviction and rage. The man’s defiance faltered only for a second as he looked down at the blade, pressed flat against his skin. He continued, desperation creeping into his tone. “I’ve heard plenty about you,” he spat. “Taking out our ranks, stealing our weapons. As fast as the wind and just as dangerous. A shadow.”

Leo’s grip tightened so hard that his knuckles whitened. The flat of the blade edged an almost imperceptible millimeter closer to the man’s throat, drawing a slick bead of blood. One breath away from rupture. A warning to stop talking.

The ninja pressed on.

“You think you’re some hero, huh? But you’re not gonna stop anything. You’re nothing compared to her!”

Leo’s eyes snapped open wider. The man’s words cracked something within him, anger, fear, guilt. He tightened his grip on the ninja’s collar, pulling him flush.

“Stop talking!” Leo barked, voice ragged. The blade’s flat pressed harder, steel biting through cloth. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

That’s when something gave.

In a flash of violence born from weeks of grief, stress, and too many unanswered questions, Leo’s forearm whipped forward. The heavy pommel of his katana connected with a solid thud at the ninja’s temple. The man’s eyes rolled, head lolling sideways, and he collapsed into a limp heap at Leo’s feet.

He stood over him, heart pounding, fists trembling. The air seemed to hum with silence, the echo of the strike still reverberating. He inhaled, long and unsteady, trying to center himself.

He lost his cool.

His stomach tightened. Frustration flaring brighter than the city light. At the situation. The Foot. Himself. He’s not gonna gain any new information from these goons if he knocks them out every time they make him angry. That wasn’t normally his style. That had always been Raph’s thing. Hit first, questions later. He watched the ninja’s chest rise and fall in a ragged rhythm, alive, but stunned beyond speech. On the glass-littered concrete, a droplet of blood glinted in the half shadow.

What kind of punishment scares these guys so much? What is the Foot doing to their own? But he could barely bring himself to care. Not tonight. Not after the man mouthed off at him. Not after chasing ghosts for weeks and getting nothing but riddles.

Leo stood there for a moment longer, breathing harshly and trying to push down the white-hot hum of frustration ringing in his ears. He turned away, ignoring the crunch of glass beneath his feet as he approached the van, peering into it. The other three Foot soldiers were still unconscious, each sprawled out at odd angles from the crash. The crate was still intact, as was the duffel bag stuffed with the stolen money.

Leo stared down at it all, teeth clenched. All this damage…for this? He didn’t even think, with a sharp motion he formed a portal, spiraling open beneath both the crate and the bag. They fell through, landing back in the antique shop they came from right in front of the counter.

It wasn’t much he could do for the owners, but it was something.

Leo stood in the wreckage for a bit longer, silent, his breath coming out more even, but the knots of emotion still sat heavy in his chest. Anger. Guilt. Futility. He knew he wasn’t a hero. He’s known that for a long time. But why should he let that stop him from doing the right thing?

Though, it is frustrating. Leo huffed. He could fight a hundred of them every night. He could portal every weapon out of their hands. And still, somehow, the Foot were winning. Every answer he got only led to more questions and more shadows. He doesn’t even know exactly what he’s fighting.

Just how deep does this go?

In the distance, sirens began to rise, growing louder, closer.

Leo’s head snapped up. He couldn’t be seen. With a deep breath he pulled his hood back up from where it had fallen, cloak drawing closer around his shoulders. He took one last look at the broken van, the unconscious Foot ninja still slumped like trash on the curb.

Then he turned and disappeared, scaling a building and allowing the night to swallow him.

The alley was quiet now.

The only sound left was the echoes of Leo’s breath, shallow and sharp, as he stood over the crumpled bodies of the Foot soldiers. Four of them. Their armor dented, clothes torn slightly. One groaned faintly and Leo’s foot silenced him with a swift kick to the head.

His twin blades gleamed in the low, flickering light of the nearby streetlamp, slick with grime and blood, humming faintly with mystic energy. He exhaled through his teeth and flicked one clean with a sharp motion before sheathing it. The other he kept drawn, its weight a familiar comfort in his hand.

This was supposed to be simple.

A patrol route. A chance to ambush a few of them. Hit fast and disappear faster.

It had been anything but.

They were armed with more mystic weapons, glowing batons laced with mystic energy, darts that burned going in and left the appendage feeling numb, knives, shurikan. Even their armor seemed to glow with the corruption now, making it harder to land an effective blow.

Leo stood in the center of the alley, chest rising and falling beneath his cloak, breath forming mist in the damp night air. He felt the weight of the fight still pressing into his limbs. He shouldn’t have been this tired from just the four of them.

But it wasn’t just the soldiers.

It was the air.

The deeper he moved into this alley, the heavier everything became. The shadows clung tighter, the already hot air feeling heavier and suffocating. And now…something pulled at the edge of his senses. A wrongness.

Leo turned slowly, scanning the brick walls and fire escapes, until–

There.

Tucked into the far end of the alley, just above a rusted trash bin, was a sigil.

He stared at it. It was inked in a dark, glistening paint, thick and uneven, like blood drawn from something unwilling. Jagged lines spiraled outward, curling into brutal angles and sharp, unnatural curves. It was nothing like the sigils Karai had taught him back at the Hamato Temple. Hers had been purposeful. Balanced. Symbols of clarity, of peace, of strength and protection.

This?

It’s like it was the corruption he could feel pulsing from the city made visible.

Leo’s heart gave a slow, hard thump. He took a cautious step closer, katana raised slightly. The sigil pulsed. And for a moment, he felt the world bend inward.

The wind died.

The alley narrowed.

The light dimmed further.

His skin crawled as though a thousand eyes had just blinked open all at once and turned towards him.

What is this? He thought, jaw tightening. Why here?

He crouched in front of it, careful not to touch. Just looking at it made his stomach twist. It didn’t hum like a mystic sigil should. It whispered. There was something in the air around it, something that sucked in sound and heat and breath. Like the space around it was being slowly devoured.

He glanced back at the Foot soldiers, scattered like discarded puppets.

Did they make this?

He hadn’t seen one of them paint it. But it hadn’t been here before. He knew this area. He’d memorized the alley’s angles, used its fire escape to move silently though the grid of the city.

Why tag it? What’s it drawing?

He reached towards it, but stopped short, fingers inches away. The closer he got the more it felt like it was trying to take something from him. Similar to the weapons, but worse. Not just trying to take energy, but will.

He jerked his hand back, his breath shaky for a second.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, backing up. “Whatever this is…it doesn’t belong here.”

But he didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know if touching it would spread its influence. Or worse, activate something.

He remembered Karai’s voice, stern and quiet in his memory. All energy leaves an echo. Good or bad. But even corrupted marks can be severed if you act with purpose.

Right. Purpose.

Leo stood tall again, anger boiling beneath his ribs. This alley, this city, wasn’t theirs to twist. They’d already taken everything. His family. His home. And now they were infecting the very streets?

He wouldn’t let it stand.

He gripped his katana with both hands, took a steadying breath, and slashed across the sigil with a single, clean stroke. Steel cut through stone and paint and symbol alike.

The reaction was instant.

Something in the air seemed to crack, like the alley exhaled after holding its breath too long. The air cleared, just a bit. The sigil flickered, unraveling at the edges like a dying flame.

Leo stepped back, sword lowered, chest tight.

It’s not gone. But I disrupted it. That’s something.

His jaw clenched as he sheathed his blade. Gaze sweeping the alley once more, the tension in his body refusing to leave.

He knew it wasn’t the only one. He didn’t know how he knew. But he did. There would be more. Far more. A chill ran up his spine. Not from the night. Not from the wind. But from realization.

They’re doing something, feeding off something. And I don’t know what.

But he’d find out. And he’d stop it.

Leo crouched low on the edge of a rooftop, hood drawn over his head, the city sprawled beneath him in an ocean of glittering light. The night stretched black and wide. Below, neon signs flickered across broken windows and half-boarded storefronts, casting uneasy glows across the empty streets.

He scanned the blocks below him, street after street, alley after alley.

Another one.

A sigil.

He could just barely make it out, painted along the beam of a crumbling laundromat, visible only when the streetlight flickered just right. Sharp, jagged lines. Twisting spirals. That same aura of pressure in the air.

Leo narrowed his eyes.

That was the third one this week.

He pulled a tattered map from inside his cloak and flattened it on his knee. He’d marked every sigil he’d found. Scratched X’s and circled areas in angry red pen. At first, they had seemed scattered. But now…

Now he thinks he sees something.

Lines connecting sigils. Clusters forming in specific areas. Some that he knew were entrances to the Hidden City. Or at least, they were near them.

But why?

His thoughts snagged on theories, clawing through old memories of Mikey’s rambles or Donnie’s info dumps. Was it because those entrances were so closely tied to mystic energy? His brow furrowed. Because that was where the Hidden City bled into the surface world, making it easier to tap into whatever power ran through its veins? Or was it something else?

Leo swallowed, an uncomfortable lump catching in his throat. He didn’t have answers, and that made him uneasy. Being leader had taught him to adapt, to anticipate. And at the temple he had refined those lessons, cementing him into his being and helping him be still even in the chaos. But now…now it felt like he was just chasing shadows in a language he barely understood.

His eyes dropped back to the sigil below him. Alien, jagged, pulsating with a dark luminescence that made his instincts scream. He’d seen mystic symbols before, plenty. He’d fought a crazy goat warrior alchemist and battled creatures that breathed mysticism, faced off against forces that had the power to change their reality. But he had never seen sigils like these.

And that scared him.

A breath escaped through gritted teeth. Admittedly, he thought bitterly, I don’t know too much about them. Only what Karai showed him. Mikey had always been the one with a better handle on mystic stuff. Donnie could at least run it through his scanners, give it a scientific angle. But now…now it was just him, standing over a forgotten alley, staring at symbols that felt like they were watching him back. Feeding. Breathing.

That was the worst part. The feeling. Like these marks weren’t just painted onto the world, they were draining it. He could almost sense it in the air, like something was being leeched away. Warmth, life, stability. The closer he got to them made every breath feel heavier, like it cost a little more to exist in this space. Were they feeding on the air? On the old magic buried beneath the streets? Or…on the people? On the city itself?

Leo’s grip tightened. The questions were mounting, pressing in on his chest like a vise. His frustration built, hot and bitter. He hated this. This uncertainty, this slow-burning realization that he was in over his head. Every instinct screamed to move, to act, to do something. But how do you fight something you can’t understand?

His pulse thudded in his ears as he traced a clawed finger along the marks on the map. He didn’t have the answers. But whatever was happening here wasn’t natural. And it wasn’t good. Not for him. Not for the Hidden City. And definitely not for New York.

Bile rose in his throat.

He’d slashed through every one he found, his sword sinking into brick and paint, mystic energy pulsing from each strike. It worked, mostly. It disrupted them. Shattered the pull of energy for a time. But they never stayed dead. When he doubled back days later, they had returned–or grown. As if they adapted like some living thing.

He clenched his jaw, frustration crawling under his skin. What he was doing obviously wasn’t working.

He thought of Karai’s teachings again. Calm and patient even when he had none. Sigils are language. They’re memory. Will given shape.

Yours will be different than mine. That’s the point. Your symbol protects what you believe in.

Leo closed his eyes.

The sigil he’d created at the temple flickered in his mind. It was simple, balanced around a spiral with four branches reaching out. A sigil that represented family, protection, and home. Karai had been proud of him when he made it. Heck, even he was proud of himself for the accomplishment then. She had told him that it was uniquely his. A symbol of his promise. His will.

But he hadn’t used it since returning to New York. He hadn’t thought it would matter. He hadn’t thought he deserved to use it. Because what family was he protecting now?

What was left?

The image of his brothers flashed behind his eyelids. Raph’s defiant smirk, Donnie’s genius, Mikey’s warmth.

Then the sound of stone crashing. The smell of ash. The sight of their weapons broken on the floor.

Leo’s eyes snapped open. His grip on the map tightened before he forced himself to release it. Folding it and quickly placing it back inside his cloak before leaping from the rooftop without a sound, landing in a crouch beside the sigil painted on the laundromat wall. It was fresh. No more than a few days old. Humming with cold, leeching energy.

He stared at it for a moment.

Then, like every time before, he drew his blade and slashed it in half.

A ripple shot through the wall, dust kicking up, the sigil lines bleeding out into black cracks. But the cold remained. The air still pressed in on him. Still heavy. Still wrong.

Leo’s lips curled into a snarl.

“I’m tired of this.”

He turned his blade in his hand, then paused, his eyes flickering to a clean patch of wall just beside the wounded sigil.

He sheathed his sword slowly.

Then he reached for the chalk he kept tucked inside his belt pouch. A thick, blue-grey stick. One he’d taken from the temple for this very purpose.

He stepped close and drew in a slow controlled motion. A practiced grace.

A spiral first. Centered. Stable.

Then the four branches–one for each of them. Raph. Donnie. Mikey. Master Splinter.

When he finished the lines, he knew not to force his ninpo into it. He offered it.

Leo breathed in deep. Not like in a fight, but like at the temple. Like on those still mountain mornings where the snow crunched beneath his knees and the sun was just a sliver over the ridgeline.

His hand hovered over the sigil, fingers trembling not from fear, but from the storm raging in his chest. He closed his eyes, shutting out the ache in his frame, the soreness in his legs, the ever-present weight pressing down on his shoulders. He reached deeper, past the gnawing sorrow, past the raw, jagged guilt that clung to him like a second skin. Past the white-hot, blinding anger that threatened to consume him if he let it. He pushed it all down. Buried it, locked it away where it couldn’t poison what he was about to do.

Instead, he searched for something softer. Something purer. The love.

The love that sparkled like sunlight whenever Mikey’s laughter echoed through their home. Pure, carefree, and infectious, making Leo’s burdens feel just a little bit lighter. The love that swelled in his chest when Donnie launched into rambling lectures, correcting him with that sharp, stubborn logic, rolling his eyes but trusting Leo to listen, even if he didn’t understand. The love that steadied him when Raph, solid and unshakable, looked at him with that quiet, unspoken belief that Leo could handle anything. That he was enough. The love that warmed him to his core when Splinter’s tired voice, full of pride, called him “my son.” reminding him that no matter how hard it got, he was still loved, still needed. The love that he felt for his home. For the city he grew up in. Fought for and bled for time and time again.

Leo’s throat tightened, his breath hitching, but he pushed through it. For just one moment, one small moment, he wouldn’t let the grief and anger drown him. They were there, oh they were always there, scratching at the edges of his mind, burning beneath his lungs and threatening to pull him under. A pain that he deserved, he knew. But this moment wasn’t about pain. Wasn’t about him and his hurts.

It was about getting rid of this darkness.

Every good memory, every precious moment, every burst of warmth. They surged through him, brighter than any flame and stronger than any darkness that tried to take hold. He gathered it, every fragment of that fierce, unbreakable love, and poured it into the sigil. Let it burn through the lines like wildfire. Let it chase away the corruption clinging to the world around him.

His ninpo shimmered from his palm, flowing like threads of moonlight into the chalk. The mark glowed, not red and hungry like the Foot’s magic, but silver and true.

The corrupted mark beside it flickered again, this time more violently.

Leo stepped back, eyes wet, breath heavy, watching.

The shadows thinned.

The cold began to lift.

The pressure…broke.

He stared.

Not just disrupted. Overwritten.

A long, quiet breath slipped from him. His shoulders sank a little beneath the weight he always carried. “It worked,” he whispered, a small smile taking hold. “Holy–Karai…you were right.”

For the first time in weeks, something felt right.

He touched the sigil again, and the warmth pulsed gently back into his skin. Not much, but enough to help him stand a little straighter.

This wasn’t just about destroying the Foot’s marks. This was about reclaiming the city. One sigil at a time. One act of will at a time.

He looked up, eyes narrowing, his hand still pressed to his sigil. Hearth.

“Let’s see how you like it when I start leaving my mark.”

And with that, Leo turned from the wall, cloak sweeping behind him as he vanished back into the city.

Driven.

Still angry.

But now he had a goal. Now he had something to cling to. Something that would help him fight back.

The night air hung heavy and damp over New York, weighed down by smog, cloud cover, and the oppressive hush that always followed chaos. Somewhere down below, the city still pulsed. Cars hissed down wet pavement, neon signs flickered, and tired conversations drifted up from distant windows. But up here, it felt like another world entirely.

Leo sat on the edge of a rooftop, the soles of his feet planted firmly against the cold concrete, his knees drawn tight to his chest. The wind tugged at the dark, tattered hood of his cloak, brushing gently against his face.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running tonight. Or yesterday. Or the day before. The nights were beginning to blur together. One long stretch of pursuit, of clawing at the same puzzle with shaking fingers and too little sleep.

More sigils had popped up tonight. Four. No–five, if he counted the one scrawled across the back of that rusted delivery truck. He’d overwritten three. The fourth pulsed behind a chain link fence, and the fifth was still a good few blocks over. He’d get to them. He would. But no matter how many he fought to erase, more always followed. Like ivy choking brick. Like bloodstains in water.

Leo exhaled slowly, his breath coming out soft. The rooftop beneath him was cracked and weathered, covered in soot and broken glass. The kind of place no one would look up to.

Fitting.

He tilted his head back and stared at the moon. Or at least where he knew the moon should be. The clouds were too thick to let it shine through.

What’s the end goal?

He asked himself the same question every night now. The Foot wasn’t just causing chaos. These sigils weren't random acts of vandalism or power grabs. They were deliberate. Systematic. There was a purpose to them. A structure.

And yet…he still didn’t understand it. Not the why. Not the how. Not even the who.

Leo clenched his jaw. He has been fighting, hunting, overwriting, and stealing their mystic weapons, dismantling their tools one by one. He’d taken more than he could count. But he’d barely made a dent. His heart pounded in his ears, and not just from exertion.

He didn’t know who was leading the Foot clan now. He didn’t know what the sigils were building toward. He didn’t know how they kept crafting new mystic weapons so quickly or where they were getting that kind of energy from. He didn’t know how to stop them.

All he was doing was postponing the inevitable.

A shudder crawled through him. His hands were trembling again. He hadn’t even noticed. He pressed his forehead into his knees and curled in tighter, wrapping his arms around his legs like he could home himself together by force alone. For a moment, just a moment, he let the weight fall. The exhaustion. The grief. The sick, gnawing dread of it all. It hit like a collapsing building.

He was failing.

And the city was paying for it.

According to the police scanners, people were going missing now. Had been for months. Civilians. Whole families in a few cases. Leo knew it was the Foot. Because who else would it be now-a-days? But he didn’t know why. Or what was happening to them after they vanished. It wasn’t like the Foot to take hostages.

And worse than not knowing…was knowing he hadn’t stopped it.

Because of me.

Because I can’t keep up. Because I can’t stop them. Because I’m not enough.

He dug his claws into the fabric of his cloak. The police were trying their best. Gosh, they were trying. He’d seen the aftermath. Bullet holes melted shut by mystic fire, entire squads knocked out cold, patrol cars scorched with mystic runes they couldn’t comprehend. Officers hurt or dead. They didn’t stand a chance.

So that just left him.

Leo, who didn’t know what he was doing and wasn’t even sure who he was anymore.

He used to be light-hearted. The quick one. The leader, at least in title. The funny one who’d make stupid puns in the middle of a fight. The ‘face man’. But none of that mattered now. That version of him was gone–left high up on some mountain across the world, burned out in the flames of a ruined lair and lost family.

Now all that was left of him was a ghost in a cloak, stumbling from rooftop to rooftop, trying to fight a war that never stopped growing teeth.

And it was too much.

The idea of it–of facing an entire mystic-wielding clan alone, without his brothers, without anyone to watch his back–felt like drowning. When he’d first come back, when his anger had been fresh and blinding, it had been easy to believe he could win. That rage would carry him.

But anger burned fast. And when the flames went out, all that remained was ash.

He gritted his teeth, trying to bite down on the swelling lump in his throat. His breath hitched once, then again. It was getting harder to pretend he was okay.

Anger was easier. So much easier. Because when the anger died down, what was left was grief. Was fear. Was guilt. Crushing, unrelenting guilt.

He wanted his family back.

He wanted them back.

He wanted Raph’s arms around him, gentle and grounding despite his strength. Donnie’s special way of showing that he cared. Mikey’s laugh bubbling up when he made something stupid. He wanted to prank them, to fight over what to watch, to sit on the couch and do nothing together.

He wanted to be normal again. To go back.

But he couldn’t.

He would never feel the warmth of their ninpo again. Never hear their voices. Never walk back into the lair greeted with laughter and the smell of pizza.

They were gone.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

And the Foot.

Leo’s body tensed, jaw clenching hard as the grief ignited into fury again. The familiar roar in his ears came back, his heart thudding in protest. He hated them. He hated the Foot Clan. They took everything. Every scrap of joy and hope he had left, they snuffed it out. He may not have been there to save his family. But they were the ones who killed them.

Leo took a shaking breath, lifting his head and wiping at his face with the heel of his hand. His cheeks were wet. He hadn’t noticed the tears.

No time to care.

His resolve started to solidify again, the way it always did when anger returned to protect him from the rest.

He was scared.

He was tired.

He was hurting, confused, and lonely.

But none of that mattered. None of this was about him.

It was about the city. About stopping the Foot. About avenging his family. Protecting the innocent.

Nothing else mattered.

Leo stood slowly, rolling his shoulders, the joints aching in protest. He stepped to the edge of the roof and looked out over the city. His city.

It looked a little dimmer than it used to. Like the lights were struggling to shine through the haze.

He breathed in deeply, searching for that ember of ninpo inside himself. The flame that once felt like it danced in his chest now flickered low. Smaller. Worn down. But it was still there. And it would have to be enough.

Leo snapped out of his daze as he heard a scuffle. Muffled shouting. The sharp clang of metal-on-metal a few alleys over.

Leo’s vision narrowed in that direction, his instincts locking into place.

He tugged his hood up tighter, masking his face once more.

The fatigue, the pain, the fear. It could all wait.

Without another thought, he sprinted towards the sound.

He already knew what it was.

Leo ran across the rooftops like a shadow bleeding through the night. His footsteps were silent, deliberate, every movement a sharpened edge, a habit chiseled by necessity and pain. The alley was close. He could hear it clearer now. Low voices and the scrape of metal. A strange electric hum.

Skidding to a halt at the lip of the rooftop, Leo crouched low, the folds of his cloak rippling in the breeze as he peered down.

Foot soldiers. At least four of them in the alley below, shrouded in darkness. But Leo’s vision was sharp. He watched with narrowed eyes as one of them knelt at the far wall, a brush in hand, dipped in an ink that bled crimson and shone violet like bruised lightning. The sigil he painted began to take shape. Concentric circles around jagged lines, sharp angles merging with sickly curves. Leo could almost feel it start to pulse.

The parasitic pull of the sigil hit him like a whisper in his bones. It wasn’t loud, not yet, but it was growing the longer it took shape. The air in the alley thickened. Something alive crawling into the stone.

A cold dread coiled in Leo’s gut. His heart beat faster. This was the first time seeing one made. He never had the chance to catch the process before. Always arriving too late or stumbling across one late into the night. They were always one step ahead, leaving sigils behind like rot in their wake.

They didn’t realize they were being watched.

Leo’s fists clenched around his drawn blades before he even realized he unsheathed them. “STOP!” he roared, voice splitting the alley like a gunshot.

The Foot froze mid-movement. The ninja painting the sigil flinched, dragging a crooked smear through the lines. They all looked up at him from his perch. Three of the soldiers turned in unison, stepping forward with weapons already drawn, shielding the one creating the sigil. The alley’s gloom warped around them, mystic energy flickering from their weapons.

“Keep going,” one of them ordered the painter coldly. “We’ll handle him.”

Leo didn’t wait.

He leapt from the rooftop, landing hard, knees bent, blades gleaming under the sick glow of the half formed sigil. The second his feet touched the ground, he moved.

The first soldier lunged with a jagged glaive. Leo ducked low and slid beneath the arc of the strike, dragging the edge of his katana across the ninja’s ankle. The soldier screamed, falling to the ground and Leo kicked him, sending him skidding across the alley. Before he stopped moving, Leo was already twisting towards the second.

This one was faster, coming at him with two mystic daggers that sparked with corrupted energy. Their weapons clashed, the air singing with each strike. But Leo was more precise. His movements were a storm of controlled fury, every motion honed and brutal. He knocked one blade away and slammed his shoulder into the soldier’s chest, ramming him into the brick wall hard enough to crack the stone.

The third soldier came from behind.

Leo didn’t turn. He let instinct guide him, listening for the ninja’s movements before spinning into a backwards slash that knocked the staff from the attacker’s hands, then swept his legs in a blur of motion. As the ninja fell, Leo pivoted and elbowed him in the temple.

The alley fell silent in under a minute.

The soldier painting the sigil had frozen halfway through connecting the lines, eyes wide.

Leo turned towards him, fury burning behind his eyes.

“I SAID STOP!”

With a snarl, Leo hurled his katana. It spun end-over-end and stabbed deep into the wall, through the sigil’s center. The symbol pulsed once, violently, then sputtered like a dying star.

Leo disappeared.

Then in a flash of blue light, he teleported to the embedded blade and came crashing down onto the painter, pinning him to the cold ground with a grunt of impact.

The man struggled, gasping, but Leo was already hauling him up by the front of his armor, eyes blazing with fury.

“What are the sigils for?” Leo snarled, sick of everything. Sick of having no answers and sick of the dark energy he could feel throughout the city. “What are you using them to do? What’s the plan? Tell me. Now.”

“I–I can’t–” the soldier stammered, trying to pull away. “They’ll kill me if I say–”

“I’ll beat them to it if you don’t start talking.” Leo’s voice was low, dangerous, and he pressed the edge of his remaining katana up to the man’s throat. The threat wasn’t real, not really, but the cold fury in Leo’s eyes made it feel real. And that was enough.

The man paled beneath his mask, swallowing hard. “I don’t know everything,” he whispered. “I–I was only taught how to make the small ones. They’re supposed to–supposed to draw mystic energy. From the city. From the places where it runs thickest.”

Leo’s stomach turned. “What for?”

“To charge the weapons,” the soldier said quickly. “The mystic weapons. They don’t hold power on their own for long. The sigils–they feed them.”

Leo’s eyes widened slightly. The realization hitting him like ice water.

Wasn’t mystic energy equal to life? Or is that only in some cases?

They weren’t just stealing power. They were draining the city. Draining its life and energy. And what about the Hidden City? Does it affect them at all? They could be hurting people.

And for what? Weapons? No…no, this is bigger. It has to be.

Leo’s expression darkened.

“Tell me more.”

“I–I don’t know anything else,” the man said, shaking his head. “They don’t tell us, just enough to do the work.”

Leo narrowed his eyes. Then, with a frustrated snarl, he slammed the man against the wall.

The ninja went limp, unconscious. Leo let him fall.

He turned to the ruined sigil, still flickering like a dying ember. His katana was still stuck deep in its center, the energy sputtering weakly around it. Even incomplete, Leo could feel it. The way it reached, clawed, fed.

He hated it. Hated that he couldn’t understand how to stop them entirely. Hated that he had no idea how many more were out there. Hated that he was always behind.

Grinding his teeth, Leo yanked his blade free, muscles straining as stone and steel screeched in protest. The lingering hum of corrupted energy crawled along his skin, but he shoved it aside, reaching for the small stub of blue-gray chalk tucked inside his belt. With a steadying breath, he pressed it to the wall beside the twisted sigil. His hand moved with quiet purpose, muscle memory guiding him as he sketched the lines of Hearth. As the final line met its starting point, the sigil pulsed faintly, waiting. Leo closed his eyes, summoning his ninpo. He felt it flicker, then roar to life, crackling with energy both sharp and warm. Pressing his palm to the fresh chalk lines, he gave his energy, feeding his essence into it. His love and determination surged through his hand and into the symbol, until the wall softly thrummed with life. His protection.

The moment it sealed, the dark symbol sparked violently, then dimmed, power snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Leo stumbled, catching himself on the wall. His vision swam for a second.

Too much. Again.

He closed his eyes and forced the vertigo to pass. His body ached. Every time he made one of these counter-sigils, it took a piece of him with it.

But he didn’t have time to rest.

Leo walked back to the pile of unconscious Foot soldiers and began checking them one by one. He patted them down, finding and removing their mystic weapons. Daggers, throwing stars, darts, all crackling faintly with corrupted energy. He threw them into a pile and opened a small portal beneath it, sending the cache directly back to his warehouse. The portal burned behind his eyes. A spike of pain jabbed through his skull, sharp and sudden. He clenched his jaw and bore it.

Weak. I should be better than this.

He growled under his breath. He couldn’t afford to rest. Couldn’t afford to falter. Not when the city was bleeding mystic energy. Not when people were going missing. Not when the Foot were tightening their grip with every passing night.

He didn’t care if it cost pieces of himself. If that was the price, then so be it.

Leo pulled out his phone, giving the police a quick, random call, just to tell them there was a disturbance in this alley before hanging up. No portals this time. He needed what little energy he had left for the next fight.

He tied up the Foot soldiers with what cord he had, tight and secure. Then he climbed the fire escape slowly, wincing with every step, and perched on the rooftop above, crouched in the shadows.

Waiting. Watching.

Down below, distant sirens approached, weaving through the city’s fractured heart. Leo sat there, motionless, the pain in his head throbbing like a second pulse.

And all the while the blue flame inside of him flickered as the storm of his spirit battered it down. Where the wind should have nurtured the flame, it raged against it instead. Relentless, wild, and slowly suffocating.

Hours Later

Deep beneath the surface of New York, where the city’s pulse of life doesn’t reach, a cold darkness breathed.

The heart of the Ashen Temple, twisted stone formed by ancient, forbidden mysticism–rose around the chamber like the ribcage of a long dead god. Dark pillars of stone veined with glowing red sigils pulsed in rhythmic cadence with a faint, ghostly heartbeat, Chains of shadows twisted along the ceiling like vines. In the center, high above the ground, sat a throne carved from a single monolith of black stone. A dark figure reclined on it. Posture relaxed yet suffused with dread authority.

Shen.

Draped in robes of obsidian and crimson, her form seemed to blend into the throne itself. Her pale skin was like polished bone in the dim light. Eyes like cut gold, sharp, ancient, and burning, glimmered beneath a white veil that crowned her face. Around her, the air felt thick, as though the shadows themselves obeyed her breath. A lone Foot Elite knelt before her. Head bowed so low it nearly touched the floor, the warrior remained motionless. His deep, red cape pooled like blood around him. Armor of layered steel covered his chest, shoulders, and legs. Though, none of it protected him now. The lower half of his face was hidden behind a dark mask, and beneath the brim of his straw hat, gold eyes gleamed unnaturally with corrupted mystic energy–gifts from Shen herself.

He dared not look up.

The silence stretched, cavernous and oppressive. Only when Shen’s cold, silken voice slithered into the air did the elite breathe again.

“Speak.”

Her tone was calm. Too calm.

The Foot Elite swallowed hard. “Mistress…the shadow interferes again.”

Shen said nothing, merely shifted a single finger, and the shadows at her feet stirred alive.

“He’s stolen more of our mystic weapons,” the Elite continued quickly. “Three crates, gone in a single night. He’s overwriting the sigils too. Somehow using Hamato ninpo to cleanse them. It’s affecting our network…far more than we anticipated.”

A low hum resonated from Shen’s throat. “And?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper but heavy with weight.

“We’ve attempted to capture him,” the Elite said, more rapidly now. “Five times, perhaps more. He slips through every trap. Moves like smoke, hits like a hammer. His portal abilities have improved. He’s…more dangerous than he was in the past.”

Shen slowly rose from her throne. The shadows behind her uncoiled like snakes. The Elite froze as a thin, tendril-like wisp slithered from Shen’s sleeve, silent and sure. It snaked across the ground towards him. He flinched, but did not move. The black tendril wrapped around his right arm, cold and constricting like iron dipped in frost.

“I do not,” Shen said, her voice now a breath away from venom, “want to hear your excuses.”

The tendril tightened. The Elite clenched his jaw, trying not to cry out.

“You disgrace my name,” Shen said. “I captured four Hamato's alone. You and your trained soldiers cannot even subdue one. Pathetic.”

The shadows yanked the man upward, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. He dangled there, caught in the grip of her will, armor creaking under the strain.

“I do not permit failure,” she whispered, now fully standing. Her voice was velvet and steel. “And those who fail me–”

The shadows crawled up his body, slow and sure, swallowing him inch by inch like oil poured over flesh.

“–are consumed.”

“Mistress–!” he rasped. “Please!”

He writhed slightly as the shadows reached his chest, but dared not struggle too much. “Even now,” he gasped, “the shadow, Hamato Leonardo, is slowing. His mystic energy drains day by day. He burns it to overwrite the sigils, to disappear into the dark. It’s only a matter of time before he burns out entirely.”

Shen halted, tilting her head ever so slightly. A curious sound left her lips. A thoughtful hum. Then she smiled, slow and wide, and released her hold.

The Elite dropped with a dull thud, landing hard on all fours, gasping. He trembled, trying to compose himself.

“You should have led with that,” Shen said coolly.

The man bowed his head even lower. “Forgive me, my lady.”

She waved him off like shooing an insect and retook her throne, long fingers drumming on the armrest as her mind turned.

“If the Hamato shadow is so desperate to waste his life force,” she murmured aloud, almost to herself, “then let him.”

A cold grin spread across her face.

“Double the sigils across the city,” she said lazily. “Triple the patrols. I want him exhausted. Broken and bleeding.”

She leaned back, voice now thick with delight. “We will play a little game, he and I,” she whispered, eyes glowing in the gloom. “Let us see how long the child lasts before he shatters.”

Her laugh was low and cruel.

“The Hamato's greatest weakness has always been the love they hold. For each other, for this world. That precious little light they cling to. Their need to protect, to sacrifice, to bleed for others. I will twist it. I will use it.”

She twirled a thin thread of shadow around one finger.

“And when Leonardo falls, when he has nothing left to give but his soul, then I will strike.”

She looked down, her gaze piercing. The Foot Elite flinched as if her eyes burned him.

“And you?” she asked, voice suddenly sharp again. “You have more for me?”

He nodded quickly. “Two matters, my lady.”

She raised a brow.

“The first,” he said, “are the others. April O’Niel. The yokai warrior, and the human boy. They–”

“I care not for the insects,” she interrupted, already bored. “Let them squirm. They pose no threat to my plan. Continue.”

He bowed lower, fumbling over his next words.

“The second is a recruit, mistress. A low-ranking sigil maker. He…spoke to Hamato Leonardo. Told him the use of the sigils.”

Silence.

A long pause.

Then a sigh from Shen. “So. It was only a matter of time before the boy learned.” Still, she smiled. ”Bring the recruit to me. Drag him from whatever cell he rots in. I’ll decide how useful he is. His life force can serve some purpose before I break him.”

The Foot Elite bowed so deeply he nearly kissed the floor. Then, without another word, he turned and exited swiftly, cloak trailing behind him like blood spilled on tile.

Shen remained seated, her grin widening in flickering red light.

“Oh,” she murmured to herself, “what fun this all is.”

Her shadows swirled around her feet, hungry and eager.

And somewhere far above on the surface, a lone ninja carved his path through darkness, unaware just how closely he danced along the edge of her game.

Next: Chapter 19

The Turtle and the Spider

Chapter Text

The warehouse was silent, save for the soft click of a needle being drawn through thick, dark fabric. Pale blue dawn crept in through the uppermost windows, washing the space in a dim, ghostly light. Dust floated lazily in the shafts of morning, catching on the remnants of Leo’s breath. The city outside was beginning to stir, but here, inside this hidden place carved out of abandoned concrete and rust, it felt like the world had stopped.

Leonardo sat cross legged on the cold floor, hunched over his cloak, carefully threading a tear. A deep gash along his upper bicep, still red and puckered from the night’s fight, was loosely wrapped in gauze, and the white fabric had already started to stain through with blood. He ignored it. His fingers trembled slightly, not from the pain of it, but from anger. And frustration. The kind that sat just beneath the skin, boiling like magma.

His cloak was laid across his lap, the long, sweeping folds worn by use and care. The tear wasn’t even that bad. Just a thin line from one of the Foot’s mystic blades, slashed across the side during the chase. But it felt personal. Like an insult. Another failure.

He clenched his jaw and yanked the needle through the fabric a little too hard.

“Darn it,” Leo hissed, nearly pricking his thumb. The thread caught and tangled. His grip on the cloak tightened, muscles in his arms flexing as the frustration rose again. He stared down at the needle in his hand. It trembled with the same fury bubbling inside his chest. A stupid little thing he swiped from some corner store, nothing special. And yet it mattered. The cloak mattered. He couldn’t let it be ruined. It was the only thing he had left of his dad.

A bitter guilt curled in his gut. Even now I’m stealing just to keep something together.

The needle slipped from his fingers and clinked softly onto the floor. Leo leaned back, exhaling sharply through his nose, eyes squeezing shut. His body ached in ways he hadn’t felt in months. But it was easy to ignore. Three weeks. Three straight weeks. No rest. No real sleep. Just endless nights of violence and chasing shadows. He was hitting the Foot harder than ever, interrogating anyone he could catch, stealing their mystic weapons, overwriting their sigils, returning whatever they stole.

And still…nothing.

No answers. No face to the enemy. Just more sigils and more rot.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it connects. Every time I think I’m close to understanding, it’s like everything shifts around me.

He growled low in his throat, hands flying up to his face. He curled in slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers gripping at his head.

What am I missing? Why can’t I see it? This is supposed to be my job. I’m supposed to be the one who reads the battlefield. Who sees the pattern. That’s who I was. That’s who I’m supposed to be.

And he was failing. Miserably.

He knew now what the sigils were being used for. They were drawing power away from the city. Mystic energy being sucked up from the very veins of New York and maybe even the Hidden City since there was a site always so close to an entrance. But why? That's a lot of power going to just mystic weapons. Does it always take so much mystic energy to forge a weapon? He and his brothers had done it countless times, channeling their ninpo into everyday objects and turning them into something stronger, sharper, and alive with their essence. Donnie had even tested it once, roping Leo into one of his weird experiments—seeing how many random things Leo could convert into a katana. Though, he barely managed four before his energy hit its limit, panting and worn out, but never drained.

So…was that why they were stealing so much energy? To forge weapons on a massive scale?

Maybe.

But Leo didn’t think that was the full picture. Sure, mystic weapons were dangerous, especially against those who don’t have the means to defend themselves. They were perfect tools for fear and control. But this felt bigger than that.

What was the endgame here?

Was the plan just to take his family out of the fight and scare the people of New York into submission? The Foot were idiots always looking for power, but never like this. And never on their own. The Foot had never been dangerous by themselves. From his experiences, they were always chasing some greater power. So that leaves the question–

Who or what exactly did they summon this time?

And he didn’t know. He didn’t have answers.

How could he? He hadn’t seen even a glimpse of whoever was orchestrating this. There was no posturing, no grand declarations. No outright attacks like with the Shredder. No reality bending nightmare like the Kraang. This was different. A more back door approach. Like that one villain from the Jupiter Jim movies who didn’t make their move until the hero was already trapped.

And as much as Leo hated to admit it, it unsettled him, coiled like a knot in his stomach. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just powerful…they were smart. Smart enough to keep outmaneuvering him. Smart enough to dismantle his family piece by piece and to force Leo into playing catch-up.

His shoulders shook with breath as he sat there, still. The light grew higher, the sun finally rising behind the warehouse’s rusted windows.

Eventually, Leo forced himself to sit upright. He glanced towards the corner of the warehouse to the piles of growing reports, maps of the city, and red-marked schematics of Foot hideouts, both raided and not. His gaze then landed on another growing issue sitting on the far side of the warehouse, as far away from him as possible. His gaze lingered on the crates of stolen mystic weapons stacked under a tattered tarp.

He hated them. Hated that they were here, so close to him. Just being near them made his skin crawl. The corrupted mystic energy rolled off them in waves, hissing and coiling through the air like invisible snakes. It made it hard to concentrate. Hard to breathe. They were like parasites, whispering and clawing at his thoughts. Wanting to Take. Take. Take.

Leo’s fingers twitched. He tried his best not to touch them, only doing so a few times to better organize them. But that was a taxing process. They got into your head. Even from far away, he thinks they have an effect on him. He could feel it. The way his anger spiked whenever he came near. The way his chest felt tight and his breath short. He hadn’t slept in days, and when he did he wished he hadn’t.

The nightmares were brutal.

One night it was the Shredder, laughing as he killed Karai and destroyed his home. Others, it was the Kraang, dragging him back into the prison dimension. Sometimes it was just blood. His brother’s faces, blank, staring, and gone.

He’d wake up drenched in sweat, gasping hard with tears running down his face. Clutching his sword like he could fight off dreams.

He turned his head away, lips curling in disgust at the crates.

I should get rid of them. Portal them somewhere far. Burn them. Sink them.

But every option ended with risk. He couldn’t afford leaving the mystic residue anywhere if he destroyed them. And if someone found them, being the Foot or some poor civilian, well…it probably wouldn’t be good.

The Hamato Temple flashed through his mind.

He shut it down instantly. No. That place was sacred only to the Hamato’s. He wouldn’t poison it with the Foot’s filth. And…he didn’t know if he wanted to go back there again.

So…where?

Leo stood slowly, the stiffness in his legs fighting him. He walked across the warehouse, pacing without realizing it. His thoughts spiraled.

He needed a place that was secure. Strong enough to block mystic influence and where people couldn’t stumble across easily. Somewhere someone could maybe even keep an eye on them.

His eyes narrowed.

“Big Mama…” he muttered.

The words felt like poison in his mouth. He stopped pacing, staring blankly at the concrete floor.

It was a terrible idea.

She was a maniac on a good day. A spider with too much power and no moral compass. She’d lock him in the Battle Nexus the second she got the chance. And if she got her hands on these weapons, she’d use them. She’d make yokai fight with them, hurt people with them. Televise the whole thing for entertainment.

Leo groaned and dropped to the floor again, flopping onto his back with a loud thunk. He glared at the warehouse ceiling like it had wronged him personally. “Stupid idea,” he muttered aloud. “She’d betray me before I even got a full sentence out. Probably working with the Foot Clan.”

But…

But things had changed since they last fought her. A Lot has changed since the whole Shredder and ‘Battle Nexus New York’ fiasco. Big Mama had left them alone. Even helped them, once or twice. The uneasy truce had held. Maybe, just maybe, he could use that.

Strike a deal.

She was powerful enough to keep them locked down. Her hotel was built to contain mystic energy. Maybe this was the best shot he had.

Leo groaned again and rolled onto his side, pouting slightly and pulling his cloak around him like a blanket he didn’t deserve. His eyes locked on the shrine he’s built in another corner of the warehouse, candles burnt low to stubs, a scroll and broken weapons from a past life. A photo sat heavy in the pouch at his side.

His family.

He stood again, slowly, and walked to it. Cloak still clutched close. The moment he knelt before the shrine, guilt clawed its way up his throat like bile, choking him once more. He bowed his head low, eyes shut tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know what you guys would say. I know how stupid this is. But I’m running out of options. And I can’t keep doing it like this.”

His hands curled into fists.

“I wish you were here,” he whispered, voice cracking, jaw clenched. “To tell me this is a bad idea. To argue with me. To help me figure it out.”

But you're not. He thought, unable to say it out loud. And that’s on me.

He opened his eyes slowly, a hard glare forming behind the moisture.

“If she’s involved…” Leo muttered, eyes burning, “then she’ll pay just like the Foot.” His fingers flexed, the familiar tingle of ninpo sparking across his knuckles. “I’ve outsmarted her before. And if I have to, I’ll do it again.”

He stood fully, squaring his shoulders, letting his cloak fall around him like a shadow once more, the weight grounding.

No more hesitation.

If Big Mama had any role in the city’s corruption, if she had any hand in the death of his family–

Then she’ll see just how precise he’s gotten with his portals.

Sneaking into the Battle Nexus Hotel was easy. Laughably so.

Leo smirked bitterly to himself as he slid through the metallic belly of one of the hotel’s outer ventilation shafts, the only sound being the rhythmic creak of old bolts beneath his weight and the soft whistle of air blowing past his face. The air was stale, dry and dense with dust, and each motion of his limbs stirred up fine grey particles that clung to his cloak and mask and burned the edges of his nose. He had to stop every now and then to muffle a sneeze into his elbow, freezing in place each time the echo of footsteps passed below. But no alarms blared. There was no rushing of feet or shouting.

Typical. For all of Big Mama’s flair and grandeur, for all her grand speeches about dominance and control, she still hadn’t learned a thing. Her wards kept him from portalling into her hotel, sure, but the vents? They were left unguarded and practically begging him to sneak in. That was just arrogance. Or laziness. Probably both.

He smirked bitterly. You’d think Big Mama would have learned by now from all the times he’d snuck in here. Maybe upgrade the security on the roof. Or cover the obvious holes. But noooo. Guess the Queen of the Nexus still thinks she’s untouchable.

The crawlspace was tight, barely high enough for him to move on his elbows and knees. Each shift sent another puff of dust into his face, and he stifled another sneeze, holding it behind gritted teeth. A few seconds later, another one escaped. Quiet and sharp.

“Ugh,” he whispered, nose wrinkling. “Mystic billionaire spider lady, and she still hasn’t cleaned the ducts. Of course.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d used this route, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. It felt like hours since he’d entered the system from its exterior, scaling the hotel’s massive back face like a wraith in the night. Once inside, the labyrinth ducts swallowed him whole, twisting through dozens of rooms and hallways he’d seen several times on his little visits. And yet, for a hotel once bursting with life and mysticism, the place was silent.

He stopped near a grated opening, peering down through narrow slits into the hallway below. A purple clad bellhop fox yokai trudged along, eyes half-lidded and tail dragging as he carried a stack of untouched room service trays. Leo waited silently until he turned the corner.

Each time he passed a slatted grate, he paused to peek through, expecting to see the usual hustle and bustle of yokai activity—guards walking the halls, guests drinking as they gathered around screened orbs to watch the fights, bellhops hurrying about.

Instead, he found…emptiness.

Empty lounge chairs, unattended counters, and quiet hallways. No crowds, no tournaments. No laughter or the usual blood thirsty cry of gamblers hoping to win their bid. Even the tournament pit itself seemed abandoned. A strange, unnerving stillness settled like a fog in his chest, heavier than he’d anticipated. The Battle Nexus had never been quiet before.

He tightened his grip on the vent’s edge and eased himself forward, muscles silent and coiled.

A slow day, maybe?

His mind flicked back to the empty lounge areas he’d passed. No customers, barely any staff, the silence almost echoing. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah…more like bad business,” he muttered, the words dry with sarcasm and barely louder than a breath.

He didn’t allow himself to hope, not fully, but the thought flickered regardless. If Big Mama’s operations were this sluggish…then maybe she wasn’t in league with the Foot Clan. Maybe the Foot’s influence was screwing her over too.

But that thought brought another. One he didn’t like.

If her hotel was this empty, if even Big Mama couldn’t keep her grasp on the Hidden City, then just how far had the Foot’s shadow spread?

He'd tried getting into the Hidden City dozens of times since returning. Every entrance he knew was sealed shut. No matter what he tried, it never opened. Not even the entrance to Run of the Mill. He'd waited there for hours once. Watching, waiting for someone to go through or come out of the restaurant. But no one ever did. The image of Hueso flashed through his mind—his dry wit, his calm sarcasm, his carefully hidden kindness. Leo’s expression darkened, a chill running down his shell, and he forced the thought of Hueso out of his mind before it could solidify. He couldn’t afford to spiral now. Couldn’t let himself ache for familiar faces that might never return.

The silence crawled into his bones.

After what felt like hours, Leo crawled toward a narrow exit panel. Close enough to the top floor. Perfect. With a quiet breath, he slipped through a portal in a curl of blue light, reappearing in a low crouch behind the corner of a hallway. His cloak pooled around him, its frayed edges whispering against the floor.

He didn’t move. He listened.

Nothing.

Good, he thought, at least the inner wards didn’t block his portalling, not once he was inside at least.

His gaze swept the hallway. Dim light spilled over art deco patterns curing along the walls, a long stretch of red carpet bleeding towards a side corridor. The silence was unnatural. No distant clash of steel. No muffled cheering. Not even the faint hum of mystic energy. Just stillness.

He moved, quick and silent, crossing the carpet with the ghost-weight tread of a hunter. The gilded elevator doors waited ahead like a set of jaws, gleaming and patient.

The soft ding as they opened made his skin prickle. No bellhop. No guard. No one at all.

Weird.

He stepped in slowly, eyes flickering to the mirrored surface of the elevator. Muscles tight, breath controlled. He half expected something to come lunging out of the reflection at any moment.

His finger hovered over the buttons for a moment before pressing the one etched with shimmering gold script that read: Penthouse – Executive Level Only.

He leaned against the railing as the doors slid shut, a whisper of cool air swept through the cab, unsettling the dust on his shoulders.

His reflection stared back at him in the polished interior of the elevator. Tired, sharp-eyed, and drawn thin. His cloak hung a bit looser off his frame than it had before, the Hamato crest barely visible beneath the folds. His finger tapped idly against the hilt of his katana, rhythm irregular with the thud of his pulse.

“This is weird,” he muttered under his breath. Not a single yokai in sight except for that one employee. The elevator hummed upward, the numbered floor indicators blinking softly above the doors.

Fifteen…sixteen…seventeen…

His heartbeat rose with it. Not out of fear. Not quite. It was anticipation, maybe. Or nerves. Maybe even frustration, the pressure behind his lungs building like a scream he didn’t have the breath to voice.

Would she attack him the moment she saw him?

Or worse…would she choose to play pretend? Smiling, purring, manipulating like the scheming spider she was?

He’d fought Big Mama before. Faced down worse. She wasn’t the scariest thing in this city, not by a long shot. But still, something about this meeting twisted at him. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to fight her. Not tonight. Maybe it was because he needed her help.

That was the worse part. He needed her.

He needed to convince her to take the mystic weapons off his hands and keep them far, far away from the Foot, but still close enough that he could keep track of them, guard them from afar if needed. She’s powerful, selfish, and ruthless. But she wasn’t suicidal. And she certainly wasn’t stupid. If the Foot were a threat to her business, she might cooperate.

Might.

But that meant getting through to her.

Should I try to act like I used to? He thought, shoulders drooping slightly. Flash the charm? Smirk and joke around? Toss in a few dramatic poses? He made a soft sound, halfway between a laugh and a grunt. Right. Like I’ve got that kind of energy.

Just thinking about it made his bones ache. He could barely summon the strength to crawl off the floor each evening, let alone play the charismatic, flippant version of himself–the one that used to smooth-talk his way through impossible odds and joke his way through fights. That version had died along with–

Don’t go there, he warned himself.

Even thinking about smiling now felt like lifting a boulder with his teeth.

He sucked in a slow breath through his nose and clenched his fists. “No point in pretending,” he whispered to the silence. “I’m not that guy anymore.”

He thought about how exhausted he was. Not just from the night of patrols, from dodging Foot agents, dismantling sigils, and interrogating every lowlife grunt he could find. But from everything. The routine, the rage, the sorrow. The guilt.

All of it weighed on him like armor he couldn’t take off.

But he couldn’t fall here. Not now. Not when he was this close to finding a way to get rid of the mystic weapons. To get them away from the city and away from him. He needed a deal with Big Mama. Needed her help, or her vault, or something to keep them safe.

Even if it meant putting himself in her debt.

Even if it meant seeing her smug face again.

The elevator slowed. Leo’s breath hitched in his throat. His eyes narrowed as the glowing numbers above blinked to the final floor.

Ding.

Leo steeled himself as the doors parted with a slow, elegant sweep. He stepped through them with slow, deliberate intent. His hand remained clenched on the hilt of his katana, ready to unsheathe in a heartbeat. The plush crimson carpet absorbed his silent steps as he moved into the grand office, but his presence echoed in the stillness like a storm cloud ready to break.

The room was just as he remembered—gaudy and overdone. Gold accented furniture gleamed beneath the soft, unnatural light pouring from the high chandelier above. The air smelled faintly of lavender and burned silk, and the enormous floor-to-ceiling window behind the desk revealed a breathtaking view of the New York skyline, mist and moonlight casting the shades of silver and gray.

Big Mama sat at her desk, bathed in that cold, ethereal light, her fingers steepled together over a cluster of parchments and tablets. She looked up when she heard the elevator, surprise flashed briefly across her sharp features before it was smothered beneath a manicured mask of glee.

Eugh boy. Here we go.

“Well, well, well…” she purred, standing gracefully, arms outstretched in theatrical welcome. “If it isn’t my darling turtly-boo! And after such a dreadfully long absence, too!”

Leo didn’t respond. He moved forward, silently stopping a safe distance from her desk. His blue eyes, once full of brightness and mischief, now burned with suspicion and restraint. One hand rested casually on the hilt of his katana, though there was nothing casual about his stance.

Big Mama tsked as she gracefully rounded the edge of her desk, that saccharine smile never leaving her face. “No hello? No charming quip? You’re not nearly as flamboyant as you used to be, darling. What’s the matter? Lost your sparkle?”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “We need to talk.”

She arched an eyebrow, amused. “Ooh, straight to business. How dreadfully dull. And look at you…dirty, tired. You reek of exhaustion.” She let her gaze flick down and back up him like she was appraising a damaged antique. The mockery in her voice was silk-thin. “The city’s been unkind, hasn’t it?”

Leo’s jaw tightened. “Are you working with the Foot?”

The question landed like a stone in a pond. For a brief moment, her expression stilled, then she let out a light, ringing laugh. “Oh, darling. The Foot Clan? Do I really look that desperate?”

“You tell me,” Leo replied. His voice was steady, but there was steel under it. “You’ve never been shy about cutting deals if it meant staying on top. And you’ve worked with them before.”

Her smile thinned. “That was…a business arrangement. Circumstantial. At the time, Baron Draxum had something I very much wanted.”

“Not making you sound better.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Please. The current Foot is hardly worth the trouble. No style, no subtlety. They scrawl their nasty sigils across the city and think it’s power. I gain nothing from partnering with them.”

Leo’s gaze sharpened. “You know what the sigils are for?”

“I know enough. It’s not hard to guess,” she said, her accented tone cooling as she moved towards the tall window. “The purpose of any sigil is to either draw or ward off power. I don’t know what the Foot Clan hope to gain from them, it’s all very hush-hush, but the whole affair reeks of unpleasantness. I’ve no interest in their brand of mess.”

“You’re avoiding them,” Leo said.

She glanced over her shoulder, mouth curling in a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Avoiding? No, turtly-boo. I’m…choosing my company with care.”

“Funny,” Leo said, taking a step closer, “because the Big Mama I knew never backed away from a power play. She made them happen.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a long moment, reading the edge in his voice. “My, my…the little showman’s grown claws.”

Leo’s voice dropped. “And you’d be smart not to find out how deep they cut.”

Big Mama turned back to face him, rolling her eyes as she spoke in an exasperated tone. “Oh calm down. I am not in pocket with the Foot Clan, no need to get your pretty mask tails in a twist.”

He tilted his head, one eye-ridge raised. “So you get nothing out of it?”

She stopped, annoyed now. “You must have noticed while crawling through my vents like a rodent. My glorious Battle Nexus isn’t exactly booming.”

Leo’s lips curled in a cold smirk. “Kinda hard to miss.”

Big Mama huffed, eyeing him angrily. “What do you want, Leonardo?”

“I need a favor,” he said.

Big Mama blinked. Then laughed. “A favor? From me? Oh, sweetling, Big Mama doesn’t do favors.”

He took another step forward, keeping his tone flat and continuing anyway. “Mystic weapons. I’ve been collecting them from the Foot during raids. There’s…a lot. And still more to take. Too many to keep at my place.”

Her eyes glittered with sly interest. “And where is this little hideaway of yours? Mama promises she won’t tell a soul.”

“Not your business,” he said, sharper than he intended. “What I need is a place that blocks mystic energy. Somewhere they can't be traced, sensed, or used.”

Big Mama’s eyes lit up. “Ooo, mystic weapons. Rare. Powerful. Oh what a delicious temptation. Just the thing—”

“No.” Leo’s voice cut across hers like a blade. “You can’t use them. Not in the Battle Nexus. Not anywhere. They’re dangerous.”

Her painted smile thinned. “Well then…” she said slowly, “It seems I get very little out of this arrangement, now doesn’t it? I can’t use them, can’t flaunt them, can’t even whisper about them…so tell me, bluebell, why should I put my neck on the chopping block for you?”

“Because if the Foot keeps using them, the city’s done,” Leo shot back.

Big Mama gave a low laugh. “Darling, the city’s always ‘done.’ That’s its natural state.” She tilted her head, mock-sympathy in her eyes. “So tell me, love, what else do I get?”

Leo hesitated, jaw tightening. The truth was he had nothing to offer. Nothing but himself. And he can’t do that. Not when the city needs him. Not when the Foot still needs to be stopped. He lifted his head higher, looking into her eyes as he spoke. “Just the weapons. That’s it.”

She studied him for a long moment, her gaze picking over the details he'd tried to hide—the dirt caked on his cloak, his uneven stance, the bruises looming underneath his skin, the haunted shadows beneath his mask.

Her tone softened. Not much, but enough to notice. “You know, turtly-boo…I haven’t seen your brothers around in ages. And you…” She made a thoughtful noise, feigning casualness. “Make it seem like you’re galivanting out there by yourself. Odd. Where is your family?

Leo’s shoulders stiffened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. The emotions he keeps trying so hard to push down bubbling up to the surface in the face of a simple question. He didn’t want to tell her. Didn’t want to say the words that would make what happened all the more real. But there wasn’t any point in hiding the obvious. Big Mama was right about one thing. It was odd seeing one of them without another close by. “They’re gone,” he said. The words scraped out of his throat like broken glass

The room went still. Big Mama froze for just a moment. Caught off guard by the small statement.

“I…see.” For a moment, the sharpness in her eyes dulled. “Well then,” she said at last, straightening, “Fine. I’ll take them. Keep them locked away where not a soul can find them. Bring me any more you find.”

Leo blinked at her sudden change in tone, suspicious. “No strings?”

“Oh, don’t be naive.” She said, straightening her glasses. “There are always strings. But in this case…consider it a gesture of nostalgia.”

Leo didn’t reply.

“And I’d do anything to get my business back to popping. But don’t mistake this for charity, darling,” she added briskly, mask snapping back into place. “Mama has a reputation to uphold.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Leo muttered.

With a flick of his wrist, a swirling blue portal split the air. Several large crates tumbled onto the plush carpet, each humming faintly with dangerous mystic energy that brought the sick feeling back into the blue-clad turtle. Big Mama’s eyes widened at the sight.

“My, my,” she purred, walking a slow circle round them. “You’ve been very busy.”

“Remember what I said,” Leo warned. “No Nexus. No games. You don’t use them. If I find out you are—”

She waved him off. “Yes, yes, dangerous relics, et cetera, et cetera. Cross my heart.”

Leo looked at her for a long moment, hesitating. “I have one more question.”

Big Mama turned back to him, rolling her eyes. “Of course you do. Go on.”

“Who’s leading the Foot now?”

Big Mama exhaled sharply. “I don’t have a clear answer for you, I’m afraid. There are only rumors. My sources have only heard whispers of a witch. A powerful mystic. I believe they call her…Shen.”

Leo froze. The name punching the air from his lungs. “Shen?” he echoed.

“Quite the eerie title, isn’t it?” Big Mama said. “I don’t know anything about her, but from what I can tell…” She peered at Leo above the rim of her glasses, voice serious. “She’s not someone even I would bargain with.”

Leo looked away, his thoughts spiraling.

It’s not much. But it’s a lead. And it’s the farthest I’ve gotten.

Big Mama clapped once, sharply, snapping Leo out of his thoughts and breaking the growing tension in the room. “Well! Shall we wrap this up, darling? This has been positively exhausting.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed before he nodded and turned toward the elevator, but before he could leave her voice stopped him.

“Leonardo.”

He glanced back.

Her eyes seemed softer now. “For what it's worth, I am sorry about your brothers. And Lou.”

He didn’t trust himself to answer, so he just nodded once and stepped into the elevator. The golden doors slid shut. In the quiet, he let out a long breath, sagging briefly against the wall before pushing himself upright. One name burned in his mind.

Shen.

His jaw tightened. He summoned another portal beneath his feet.

He had work to do.

Chapter Text

The cell was cold.

Not the kind of cold that bit into your skin and left you shivering, but the kind that seeped inside you, pooling in your chest and sitting heavy in your stomach until you almost forgot what warmth felt like. The kind that made every breath taste stale and metallic. It wasn’t just the damp air or the wet stone walls that sweated with condensation. It was the red glow of the runes carved into the rock, a glow that pulsed faintly with the same rhythm as the cuffs digging into their wrists. That was the real cold. The steady draining, the constant pull of their ninpo being leeched away.

The air smelled of smoke and dust and something acrid. Metallic with a sharp herbal stench that burned the back of the throat. No air ever moved here. It was like the temple was breathing them in, swallowing them a little more each day. From somewhere deep in the lair came an odd humming, the sound always low and steady. It had been going on so long Raph wasn’t sure if he actually heard it anymore or if it was just in his head.

He shifted against the wall, the back of his shell pressing into the damp stone. His knees were drawn up, his arms draped loosely over them. He didn’t move much anymore. He’d tried at first—pulling at the cuffs, pushing against the cell bars, throwing himself against the walls until his body ached. That had lasted a few days. Then he’d realized the cuffs only dug deeper, draining faster, whenever he resisted.

So now he sat still. He simmered instead of fought. Glaring at the cracked stone floor until his eyes hurt, until he could pretend the heat building in his chest was enough to keep the fear away.

Across from him, Splinter slept curled up against the wall. He’d been sleeping more than he was awake these days. It scared Raph in ways he wouldn’t admit out loud. Despite his small frame, his father had always been larger than life to him. Loud and boisterous, taking up space in every room he walked into. Splinter could make the whole lair shake with his laughter or silence it with a single glare and a crack of a tail. He always seemed untouchable.

But now…now it was different.

The sight of him sitting slumped, his breath rattling in shallow spurts, was too close to the days Raph would rather forget. The early years when Splinter spent most of his time half asleep or staring blankly at the flickering glow of the television, letting the noise of some old movie drown out the cries of four little boys. Back then, Raph would tug at his father’s robe with tiny hands, begging for attention, begging for help, begging to be told just what to do. He’d cry himself hoarse just trying to wake him, not just from slumber, but from whatever fog had stolen him away. When his father didn’t stir, it had been Raph who wiped his brother’s tears, Raph who cooked what little food they had, Raph who shouldered the burden of care on muscles far too small to carry it.

He had learned to be strong because he had no choice.

Now, looking at Splinter’s frail form pressed against the cold wall, Raph felt the ghost of the same ache creeping back into his chest. The same helplessness. The same gnawing fear that his father was slipping away. But this time, it wasn’t the same. This time, it wasn’t Splinter’s fault. His father wasn’t avoiding them, wasn’t drowning in his own sorrow while leaving them to fend for themselves. No, this time, he was hurt. Worn down to the bone. Every shallow breath proof that he fought, bled, and broken himself to protect them.

Raph never blamed him. Not then, not now.

And yet, the resemblance was enough to twist something deep in his chest. Because despite knowing the truth, despite knowing Splinter deserved and needed his rest, it didn’t change how small and fragile he looked now. The same man who once loomed like a mountain before them now looked like he might fade away at any moment. And that terrified Raph more than anything.

He felt a weight settle on his shoulders, old and familiar as it was bitter. But that was okay. Raph had never shied away from that weight. From the time he was little he’d stepped forward without hesitation. His arms had always been wide enough to gather up three frightened little turtles, his shell broad enough to shield them from the world that demanded too much too soon. His strength was made for this, for holding them together when everything else threatened to pull them apart.

Mikey sat beside him, legs curled with his chin on his knees. His mask tails hung limp, the bright orange faded by weeks of grime. He still fidgeted, though. He always fidgeted. Right now he was twirling his fingers, like he was trying to coax sparks of ninpo out of thin air. They never came, of course. The cuffs made sure of that. But he kept trying, because Mikey needed to.

Donnie sat on the other side of the cell, near the bars, his long legs were stretched out, his back against the metal. He stared out into nothing, eyes hollow and sunken behind his mask. His fingers twitched restlessly in his lap, tapping, flexing, searching for something to do. He hated stillness, Raph knew. Donnie without tools or data or tech was like a fish without water.

The silence had been pressing on them for too long.

Raph cleared his throat, his voice rough from disuse. “Alright,” he muttered. “We’re doin’ it again.”

Donnie didn’t look up. “Doing what, exactly?” His tone was clipped, brittle.

“A game,” Raph said, trying to sound lighter than he felt. “Like last time.”

Mikey’s head popped up immediately, the dullness in his eyes flickering just a little. “Oh! What kind? Twenty questions? I-spy? Guess-that-noise?” He grinned weakly. “Ooo, I could make noise!”

Donnie pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the love of—Mikey, no. Please, not noises.”

Raph shot him a warning look. “C’mon, Dee. It’ll help.”

Donnie finally turned toward him, irritation sparking through exhaustion. “Help, what?” he snapped, a little louder than he should’ve been. He quickly lowered his voice, his words coming out sharp and fast. “What exactly does playing some ridiculous game in a dungeon cell do for us? Does it break these—” He yanked at the cuffs, grimacing when they flared with that horrible draining burn. “—off our wrists? Does it put food in our stomachs? Does it magically teleport us home? No? Then what’s the point?”

Mikey flinched at Donnie’s tone, shoulders hunching as though he could make himself smaller.

Raph’s jaw clenched, heat rising in his chest. “That’s exactly the point,” he growled, his voice spiking before he forced it lower. “We sit here doin’ nothin’, thinkin’ about all the ways we’re screwed, that’s worse. That’s poison, Don. We gotta keep ourselves together. And games—games are somethin’ we can do.”

Donnie’s eyes narrowed, sharp despite the dark circles under them. “Games don’t fix reality, Raph. Pretending doesn’t fix this.” He gestured at the cell, his hands shaking just slightly. “We’re rotting in a cage while some mystic lunatic siphons us like batteries, and you want us to play charades?”

“Better than sittin’ here makin’ Mikey feel worse with your doom-talk!” Raph shot back, anger flaring. “You think it helps him when you keep sayin’ stuff like that? You think it helps me?”

Donnie’s voice cut like glass. “I’m being logical. That’s what I do. Someone has to be.”

“And I’m tryin’ to keep us alive,” Raph gritted out. His hands curled into fists, the cuffs buzzed angrily, as though feeding off the emotion. “You think I don’t know what’s happenin’? You think I don’t feel it every second?” He shook his wrists hard, the glow searing brighter. “They’re drainin’ me dry too, Donnie! But if we don’t try to hold onto somethin’, anything—then we’re already dead!”

“Guys…”

Mikey’s voice slipped between them, small and trembling.

They both turned.

Mikey’s wide eyes shone wet in the dim light. His shoulders were tight, his body pulled in. “Stop fighting. If you don’t stop…” He swallowed hard, trying for a shaky smile. “...I’ll get Dr. Delicate Touch out.”

The silence after that was thick. The attempt at levity falling as flat as a deflated balloon.

Raph inhaled slowly, pushing the fury and the fear down, unclenching his fists. He turned towards Mikey, voice gentler. “...Sorry, big man.”

Donnie rolled his eyes, muttering, “Whatever,” and looked away, though his own breathing had gone uneven.

The quiet stretched again, heavier than before and the tension thick between them. Splinter’s snores filled it, along with the faint dripping of water somewhere in the tunnels.

No one spoke for a long while.

Then Mikey’s voice broke it, fragile as glass. “Do…” His voice quivered. “...do you guys think we’re gonna die?”

The words hit Raph like a fist to the gut. Both he and Donnie froze, staring. Mikey sat hunched, hugging his knees, tears threatening to spill down his round cheeks. Donnie’s face twisted, guilt flashing across it, before he turned away quickly, scrunching his eyes and placing his hands on the sides of his head, unwilling to be a part of the conversation any longer.

Raph shifted closer, his heavy hand finding Mikey's shoulder. “Hey. Hey, look at me, lil’ bro.”

Mikey sniffled, lifting his gaze, watery and scared.

“We’re not dyin’ here,” Raph said firmly, though his own chest ached with the lie he refused to believe was a lie. “We’ve gotten through worse. Way worse. Some witch who likes playin’ with shadows ain’t keepin’ us down. You hear me?”

Mikey blinked up at him, a watery laugh hitching in his throat. His lips curled into a small, trembling smile. “...Yeah. I hear you.”

Raph squeezed his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause as long as we’re together, we’re not losin’. Not now. Not ever.” He glanced over at Donnie as he spoke, words just as much for him as they were for Mikey.

Mikey leaned into him then, his smaller frame pressing against Raph’s side. For a flicker of a moment, Raph felt like he could still do his job. Protect. Shield. Carry the weight.

But when he glanced up, Donnie was staring hard at the wall, his jaw clenched, his fingers twitching endlessly with restless energy. Silent.

The cell grew quiet again, suffocating in its stillness. Splinter’s breathing rasped on. Mikey’s weak smile faded back to fear. And Raph sat there, swallowing his guilt like broken glass.

The game was long forgotten.

The hours bled together in the darkness of the room.

Mikey didn’t know if it had been days or weeks since they’d been thrown into this cell, but he knew it had been too long. The air was always damp and heavy—always cold, always thick with that strange crushing weight that pressed on his chest until it hurt to breathe. The walls continued to pulse with the glowing sigils. Sometimes they seemed to shift, just enough to catch the corner of his eye, like they were watching. Like Shen herself was always leaning close, whispering against the back of his neck.

He hated the walls. He hated the silence more.

Mikey sat curled up in the corner of the cell, arms looped around his knees, shell pressed against stone. His brothers were sprawled around him. Raph near the bars now, always closest to the danger when they slept; Donnie slumped against the opposite wall, his head tipped back, jaw tight even in sleep; and Splinter…their father, fragile and folded in on himself, sleeping more than he’d seen in a long time. Raph’s chest rose and fell in jagged rhythm. Donnie twitched occasionally, muttering indistinguishable things under his breath.

But Mikey couldn’t sleep. Not tonight. Not most nights.

He pulled his forehead to his knees and let out a shaky breath. The cuffs around his wrists pulsed with a dull, sickly glow, not just keeping him in place, but draining him, all of them. Pulling their ninpo, drop by drop, until nothing would be left. He squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach was tied up with knots, trembling with fear that he couldn’t swallow down.

He thought back to the fight Raph and Donnie had only a few hours ago. They were fighting a lot lately. He hated it. The sharp edge in Donnie’s voice, the frustration in Raph’s. The way they jabbed at each other like their words could cut, because they were too tired and too scared to hold back.

Mikey hated when they fought. Hated how small it made him feel. Hated how it twisted something deep in his chest until he wanted to scream just to drown it out.

He sniffed, burying his face deeper into his knees.

I don’t want us to fall apart, he thought. We can’t fall apart. Not now. Not here.

But they were fraying. Piece by piece. He could see it in Raph’s clenched fists, in Donnie’s sharp tongue, in the shadows under Splinter’s eyes. Even in himself.

Mikey was tired.

But they were all tired. And tensions were high. Each of them had endured the ‘one-on-one time’ with Shen. Moments alone under her shadow, when the air seemed to thicken, when her hand would hover at their chest as if she could simply reach inside and tear away their light. They had all felt the poisonous press of her magic probing, searching for what it could not claim. And when that failed, and it always did, she would demand answers. Her voice silk over steel, her questions sharp and precise. Always about their clan. Always about Leonardo. About how he fought, how he thinks, what he would do when cornered. And every time she would be met with defiance. Every time they refused.

Yet, when they stayed silent, she did not lash out with blades or fists. No, her cruelty was more insidious. She needed them intact, their ninpo strong, their spirits unbroken enough to harvest. So, instead they got bruises, shallow cuts, and the twisting grips of her mystic power that sank into their nerves and rattled through their bones. It was enough to weaken and wear them down. To remind them that resistance had its price.

And that price seemed to fall heaviest on their father.

Shen despised him openly. He met her venom with barbs of his own, quips and insults that made her sneer. He turned her questions into mockery, her threats into something small, always putting up a front to protect them, and for that she took him away more often. And each time his dad came back, more weary and exhausted, Mikey’s fear grew. It was scary to see his dad so weak. So fragile.

But even with the fear growing and consuming his family like rot, they held. Shen wanted their brother, her ‘missing piece’. She wanted to know where he was and how to break him before she even had him in her grasp. And together, wordlessly, they refused.

At least that was something they could agree on.

Mikey felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, and this time he didn’t bother to fight them. He curled in on himself even tighter, arms wrapped tight around his shell, and let them fall hot down his cheeks. Everything inside him ached. Not just from the bruises and the cuts, but from the constant press of fear, the helplessness that never seemed to loosen its grip. He just wanted it all to stop. The pain, the dread, the endless questioning.

More than anything, he wanted to go home. Back to a time when laughter filled the lair, when movie marathons stretched late into the night, when family dinners ended in bickering over the last slice of pizza. Back to a time when they were whole, when he didn’t have to wonder if pieces of his family were already gone, stolen by Shen’s cruelty and the Foot’s reign.

He wanted normalcy. He wanted safety. He wanted the comfort of knowing his family would always be together.

But right now, all he felt was fear.

Mikey was so tired.

He sniffed and dragged the back of his hand across his damp cheeks, untangling himself only long enough to pull his arms back around his legs. His knees pressed tight to his chest, his chin sinking into the cradle of his folded arms. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Pulsing at his temples, crawling down the back of his neck, and knotting into his shoulders. He couldn’t tell if it was from crying too much, from the gnawing hunger and thirst, from the constant weight of fear pressing on him, or simply from never truly sleeping. Maybe it was all of it at once.

But even when exhaustion wrapped around him like chains, real sleep never came. He was too restless, too wound tight with the desperate urge to do something—anything other than sit here and watch his family unravel, thread by thread, under Shen’s hands. Yet, there was nothing he could do. Not really. His brothers didn’t want Dr. Feeling or Dr. Delicate Touch right now, didn’t want him poking into wounds that had no balm. And truthfully, Mikey didn’t have the strength to play those roles anyway. What good were they here? None of his personas could fix this. They wouldn’t make things any better just like Mikey himself couldn’t mend the threads tying his family together.

He felt so useless.

Mikey scowled, shaking his head hard enough to make the ache flare sharper, forcing those thoughts back into the shadows where they belonged. Getting down on myself isn’t gonna help either.

A quiet, heavy sigh escaped him as he slowly uncurled, legs folding loosely in front of him. He let his arms drop into his lap, fingers knotting together, thumbs circling one another in restless patterns. His head tipped back against the cold stone wall, the chill soaking into the back of his skull, and he closed his sore eyes. They burned the way his chest burned.

Because, as always, his thoughts drifted back to Leo.

And the ache sharpened—deepening like a strike to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing. A hollow pain that only grew heavier the longer he sat with it.

Leo had always struggled with sleep. Mikey couldn’t count how many times he’d pad into the kitchen in the dead of night, eyes heavy and half-shut, only to find his big brother already there. Leo would sit hunched over a mug of tea or coffee, staring into the swirling steam like it might rearrange itself into answers he could never quite reach. Sometimes the glow of the TV flickered over his face, the volume turned low, or Mikey would catch him scrolling through his phone with that far-off look in his eyes. It was such a familiar sight that it became part of their lives, woven into the quiet rhythm of their home.

But familiar didn’t mean it stopped worrying them. Every time one of the brothers found him like that, they would make a point of dragging him back to bed, piling pillows and blankets around him until there was no escape. Mikey always clung tight, determined that maybe being surrounded by warmth and family, Leo might finally rest.

Now it had been over a year since Leo had left for the Hamato Temple. A year without his dumb jokes that could pull laughter out of even the darkest days. A year without that cocky grin or the sound of his voice filling the lair with some ridiculous pun. A year since Mikey last tugged at Leo’s wrist and insisted he come to bed, since he curled against him and drifted off to the steady rhythm of his older brother’s breathing, the comforting drum of his heartbeat beneath his head.

Mikey’s chest ached. Sharp and raw. He missed his big brother so much.

In the pressing darkness of the cell and fear and frustration curling in tight, Mikey thought back to a more simpler time where his worries and fears could be easily fixed. He remembered when he was little, still soft in the face and small in his shell, sitting in the middle of the room where their arcade would one day be, surrounded by toys. In his hands, clutched tight, was Raph’s favorite stuffed bear. A soft brown one that had a red patch where its heart would be. Mikey had been playing with it, making it fly around like some great warrior, caught up in his own imaginary adventure. He wasn’t supposed to have it. Raphie had told him hundreds of times that he wasn’t allowed to play with it. That it was his, not Mikey’s.

But Mikey hadn’t listened. And in his excitement, tugging the bear too hard by its arms, he heard the seam rip. The limb tore loose with a sound so sharp it might as well have been his own heart breaking.

Horrified, Mikey froze. His eyes instantly filled with tears as guilt punched its way through his little chest. Raph was going to be furious. He loved this bear. He slept with it every night. He would never forgive Mikey.

Panicked, Mikey scooped up both the bear and its fallen arm and ran to his room. He yanked his orange curtain shut and collapsed into his pillow pile, the broken bear slipping from his grip as he retreated into the safety of his shell. He hid there, shaking and sobbing, clutching at himself as he imagined Raph’s anger. Raphie’s gonna hate me. He’s never gonna talk to me again.

Minutes blurred together, thick with hiccuped crying, until the curtain rattled and was pushed aside.

“Hey, Mikey—” Leo’s voice filled the room before his body did, fast and bright like always. He barged in without hesitation, words spilling out of him in a rush. “Donnie’s being boring again and won’t stop messing with some dumb project, so I figured we could—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

His eyes flicked from Mikey’s trembling shell to the stuffed bear lying in the pillow pile with its arm dangling uselessly beside it. Leo’s expression softened, though the corner of his mouth still tugged up in that faint smirk. Without missing a beat, he walked over and plopped himself down in the middle of the fort, grunting as he tugged Mikey’s shell into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Geez, you’re heavy,” Leo muttered playfully, resting his elbows against Mikey’s rounded back. Then, with a mischievous grin, he drummed a quick little rhythm on the shell. Ba-dum, ba-dum-bum.

Mikey sniffled inside, trying not to hiccup too loudly. His heart was still hammering with guilt.

“I thought Raph said you weren’t allowed to play with that one,” Leo teased, the smirk evident in his voice.

A shaky breath puffed out of Mikey, equal parts frustration and sorrow. “Sh-shut up,” he mumbled from inside his shell, his lip trembling.

Leo chuckled. “What? I’m not the one who ripped Raphie’s favorite bear apart.”

“It was an accident.” Mikey whimpered, curling tighter. The sound must’ve hit Leo harder than he let on, because after a beat, his tone gentled. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t freak out. I’ve broken plenty of stuff before! Lots of it way more important than some stuffed animal. And you guys never stay mad at me. Raph’ll get over it.”

“It’s different,” Mikey croaked, voice muffled from inside his shell. “He’s gonna hate me.”

Leo laughed, not mean but soft, reassuring. “Mikester, trust me. Raph couldn’t hate you even if he tried. None of us could. Not ever.”

Mikey stayed hidden, still stubborn, still scared. Leo sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. If you’re not coming out, then I’m just gonna have to…” He reached past him, snagging the bear and its severed arm. He twirled the plush limb between his fingers. “...make a deal with you.”

Mikey sniffed. “A deal?”

“Yup,” Leo said brightly. “If you come out of that shell, I’ll show you how to fix it. Good as new. But—” he pointed a finger down at the shell, even though Mikey couldn’t see it, “—you gotta promise to come skateboarding with me after. No excuses.”

“You’re lying,” Mikey accused, voice watery.

Leo gasped dramatically, scandalized. “Lying? To you? Michelangelo, I’ll have you know, I am an expert at stitching.”

Mikey finally poked his head out, cheeks wet and eyes wide, glaring skeptically at the budding medic. “You only practice on oranges.”

Leo scoffed, puffing his chest out. “Close enough. A stuffed animal’s basically the same thing. Except, y’know, less juicy.”

Mikey huffed, unconvinced.

“Oh, come onnnnn.” Leo groaned, shaking him gently. Please? For your favorite brother?”

Mikey sighed, shoulders slumping before he finally uncurled fully, eyes still glassy with tears.

“There he is!” Leo grinned, gently setting him down before springing to his feet. “Wait right here.” And then he was gone, darting out of the room as fast as he’d come in.

Mikey sniffled again, staring down at the bear and its torn limb in his lap, chewing his lip nervously. Before long, Leo burst back in through the orange curtain, clutching a small box of needle and thread, which he definitely took from papa’s room, like a prize.

“Ta-da! Told you I was prepared.” He plopped back down, snatching the bear gently from Mikey’s hands. “Okay, so—step one, thread the needle. You gotta lick the end, see?” He exaggerated the gesture, tongue sticking out as he squinted one eye shut. “Step two, make a knot at the end, or else everything comes undone. Learned that the hard way.”

Mikey watched, fascinated, as Leo carefully pressed the needle through the fabric, guiding it in and out, tugging the thread snug each time. The stitches were uneven, crooked in places, but steady enough to hold.

“See?” Leo said, flashing him a grin as he worked. “Simple. Just gotta be patient.” When the last knot was tied, he held the bear up proudly, its arm once again attached. “Good as new!”

Mikey’s face lit up, awe and relief washing over him. “Leo…thank you!”

“Yes, yes, I am amazing,” Leo said dramatically, handing it back with a flourish. “No need to thank me too much. I know I’m great.”

Mikey rolled his eyes, but his smile was real this time. He launched himself forward, tackling Leo into the pillows. They tumbled, laughing, until Mikey wrapped his arms tight around his big brother.

Leo patted his shell, chuckling. “Told you it’d be fine.” He looked at Mikey, a mischievous smirk breaking across his face. “And now, go put Raph’s bear back. It’ll be our little secret.” He winked. "Then—skateboarding. A deal’s a deal.”

Mikey nodded, beaming.

Leo stood, smirking down at him with one hand on his hip. “For the record, though? Raph would’ve been mad at first, sure. But hate you?” He shook his head. “Not possible. Besides! None of us can ever stay mad at each other for long.” He crouched, reaching out to squish Mikey’s chubby cheeks between his fingers. “Besides, who could stay mad at this squishy face?”

Mikey groaned, laughing. “Leeeeooooooo!” He batted his brother’s hands away, both of them giggling as the tension melted in Mikey’s chest.

The memory faded like mist, but the echo of Leo’s laughter lingered in Mikey’s head, warm and familiar, yet hollow without the real thing. Leo was right when he said they never stayed mad at each other. Despite their many trials and challenges, they always made it to the other side with their bond stronger. The reminder soothed some of the sharp edges of his worry, but it also made the emptiness sharper. Comfort and ache tangled together until Mikey could barely tell one from the other. Leo had always been inspiring, always hopeful, even at a young age. Always able to ease Mikey’s fears with nothing more than a bright smile and a teasing quip. He believed in him. And if Mikey said he was going to lasso the moon and ride it to Jupiter, Leo would’ve already started building the rope.

Leo…

Was he okay? Was he safe? Did he even know where they were? Did he find the lair?

Then, a darker thought curled up from the pit of his fear.

Does Leo think we’re dead?

The idea made Mikey’s stomach twist. Because he knew his brother. He knew how Leo liked to carry weight that he didn’t have to bear alone, how he carried guilt in silence and buried it with work until it ate him alive. He’d seen it first hand after the invasion. And now Leo was out there, fighting alone, bleeding alone, because he thought he had to.

Mikey shook his head fiercely. “No,” he whispered, voice breaking in the dark. “It’s not your fault, Leo. It never was.”

But the words dissolved into the silence, swallowed whole by stone walls and shadows. Saying it out loud wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He needed Leo to hear it. To know they were still out there, still fighting, still alive. That he wasn’t alone in whatever hell he was trapped in.

The quiet pressed in, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance and the faint, low hum of mystic energy. The sound was constant, relentless—like a reminder of how trapped they were, how cut off.

His thoughts spun restlessly, circling the impossible. Could he reach Leo? Even with his ninpo being siphoned away, leeched by the chains that all but severed him from the flow of energy, the bright sun inside him, that he’d come to rely on? Could he push past the invisible barrier, if only for a moment?

The ninja mind-meld.

It came to him like a spark in the dark. A bond deeper than words, woven of blood and trust and love. He’d never quite been able to achieve it before, not outside of fleeting flashes in battle where instinct carried him, where he just knew where his brothers would be. But to speak through it? To call out across that void? That was a whole other challenge.

Still…Leo had done it. He’d touched Raph’s mind once, years ago, and if Leo could open that door, then maybe Mikey could follow the path. Maybe love would carry him the rest of the way.

Besides, if Leo and Raph could do it, then Mikey definitely could. He was a mystic warrior after all.

He shifted carefully, making sure Raph didn’t stir. The cuffs burned as he straightened his spine, but he ignored them. He closed his eyes, drawing in a long, shaking breath, and reached inward.

The effort felt like scraping the bottom of a well. His ninpo, once bright, warm, and alive, was little more than scattered embers now, drained near to nothing by the chains coiled around him. Still, he gathered what fragments he could, clutching at sparks as they slipped between his fingers. He tried to coax them together, willing them into flame, pushing back against the invisible barrier that held him caged.

It was like shoving against a locked door that would not budge. Each attempt left him weaker, every pull of energy burning through his chest and down his arms until they ached like fire. His wrists screamed, his lungs trembled, but he refused to stop. He remembered the sun that once lived at the center of his chest, his ninpo glowing steady and sure, and the absence of how it felt like a hollow void, a cold ache where his light used to be.

Still, he pressed. Harder. Desperately. His breath hitched as he gave everything he had, pouring all his will into the effort, heart thrumming like a drum in his ears.

And then, something shifted.

The resistance cracked, thin as glass. For a heartbeat, the weight of the chains seemed to loosen. The cold, damp cell dissolved around him, stone melting away into nothingness. The air fell silent, and Mikey realized he was no longer sitting on the hard ground.

He was floating.

Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction, an ocean without sky or floor. Shadows bled into the dark like ink dispersing in water, swirling and pulling at the edges of his awareness. The vast emptiness pressed down on him, strange and endless, but he didn’t falter.

He reached.

At first, there was only a void. Emptiness stretching forever. Then—

There.

A spark. Blue flame, flickering faint in the distance.

Leo.

Mikey’s breath caught. His heart surged. He pushed toward it, arms trembling though his body wasn’t really moving. The cuffs screamed in protest, heat biting into his wrists, but he didn’t stop. The flame trembled, and then responded. It flared faintly, a fragile candle in the wind, but alive.

The moment Mikey touched it, emotion slammed into Mikey like a tidal wave. But it wasn’t his. It was Leo’s. Sadness so heavy it threatened to crush him. Rage sharp and scalding. Exhaustion that sank deep into his bones. And beneath it all, guilt—raw, jagged, and festering. The force of it made Mikey choke on a gasp, his chest seizing as if his heart had been caught in a vice. “Oh, Leo…” he whispered into the void. So much pain. So much blame. His big brother had tried to bury it, but Mikey felt it all. The endless nights, the loneliness, the belief that he had failed his family. That he was to blame.

Mikey shook his head, tears burning his eyes as he reached with everything he had. I’m here. We’re alive. You didn’t fail. You never failed. Please…don’t carry this alone. He cupped the little flame in his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the world, shielding it from the dark that pressed on all sides. It pulsed faintly against his palms, warm and achingly familiar.

The flame wavered. For a heartbeat, it flared bright, as if it had heard. Like Leo was reaching back.

But then the strain tore through him. Mikey flinched as the cuffs seared, molten pain lashing his wrists, and the dark void yanked at him with brutal force. The flame jerked, recoiling, slipping from his grasp.

No—no, no, no! Mikey whimpered, reaching with everything he had as the flame wavered again, desperation shattering his voice. I miss you, Leo. I miss you so much! I love you. You’re not alone!

The flame sputtered, dimmed—then vanished.

The connection snapped.

Mikey slammed back into his body as the void collapsed. His eyes flying open, chest heaving. His arms burned with molten pain. He looked down and saw golden cracks spiderwebbed across his skin, glowing faintly before fading into the now raw scars beneath. He sagged forward, breath hitching. Tears blurred his vision. The cuffs hissed with heat.

He’d pushed too far.

But he didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

The tears spilled over as he pressed a hand to his chest. The echo of Leo’s pain still lingering there like smoke after a fire. He curled in on himself, whispering, “I’ll try again. I’ll keep trying. However many times it takes.”

He didn’t know if Leo had heard him. He didn’t know if his words had made it through. But for a moment, he’d felt his brother again. And that was enough.

Mikey laid back down, slowly, every bone aching. The cell was still cold. Still cruel. But as sleep dragged him under at last, he clung tight to the residual warmth of that flickering blue flame.

Leo jolted awake with a sharp gasp. His whole body trembling as though something had ripped him out of the depths of the ocean. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. His heart thundered in his chest, his breath came in shallow bursts, and tears blurred his vision. His hands clutched at the concrete beneath him like he was afraid the ground might fall beneath him too.

The warehouse.

He blinked, forcing the darkness into focus. The faint neon glow of the city seeped through the boarded up windows, streaking across scattered stacks of papers, sigil sketches, and inked maps. His katanas leaned against the wall within arm’s reach. The air smelled of dust, mildew, and faintly of burnt candle wax.

It was only a dream.

Leo pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes, groaning softly. He hated how wet his face felt. Hated the tremor in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up like this—his heart racing, lungs clawing for air and the sting of tears in his eyes. He hadn’t had a decent sleep in weeks. The few scraps of rest he managed were filled with nightmares, fragments, voices he thought he heard but couldn't hold onto. And tonight…tonight had been different. A warmth. A flicker of something that almost felt real.

Mikey.

The thought clawed at him, sharp and painful. He shook his head hard, as though he could dislodge the memory. No. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. His mind was just filling in the gaps, painting shadows with voices he missed. His subconscious was cruel like that.

With a long exhale, Leo rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright. The motion made the world sway. His knees buckled, vision swimming in and out of focus. A pulse of pain shot through his skull, the ever present headache gnawing with renewed sharpness. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

“Great,” he muttered, rubbing at his temple. “Another productive night.”

Sleep wasn’t coming back. He knew that much. It never did.

Stumbling across the warehouse floor, Leo made his way to the corner where his world had become a nest of chaos. Papers were spread in messy layers, covered in his jagged handwriting and messy sketches. Maps of New York where sigils areas were circled in red ink, small X’s marking Foot hideouts he’d raided, scribbled notes about missing people and strange sightings. All of it sprawled around him like the wreckage of a storm.

He lowered himself heavily to the floor, legs folding beneath him. His hand drifted automatically to one particular sheet of paper. A single word stared back at him, inked darker than the rest.

Shen.

That was all he had.

A name. A shadow behind every thread he pulled, the center of a web he couldn’t untangle. No history. No background. Just whispers of a mystic so dangerous that even Big Mama would refuse to mess with her, that her own soldiers would rather face his wrath than hers. Leo’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist over paper. He had tried to dig deeper. He’d tried every resource he had. But the internet was useless. And the Mystic Library in the Hidden City, the one place that might hold the answers, was cut off. Locked down. All he could do was keep chasing shadows. Keep hunting down soldiers and their little stockpiles of mystic weapons, hoping that one of them—just one—would slip. Would give him something more than the same rehearsed defiance.

But every time he thought he was getting closer, the trail slipped through his fingers like smoke. Every sigil he neutralized, another sprang up. Every hideout he destroyed, another took its place. Always a step forward, then two steps back.

The frustration was corrosive. It ate at his resolve until he could feel the edges fraying. His heart thudded with the urge to hit something, to draw his blades and cut the silence apart until it bled answers. But there was nothing here to fight except himself.

He dragged in a slow, unsteady breath, pressing his knuckles against his mouth. Think. Focus. He needed a plan. Something bold enough to draw out someone higher in the Foot’s ranks. Someone who knew more. Or, if he was lucky, Shen herself. But how? How did you bait a ghost? How did you catch smoke?

The papers didn’t answer him. They just stared back, accusing. A testament to everything he didn’t know.

Leo’s gaze wandered to the far corner of the warehouse. To the crude little shrine he’d built weeks ago. His family, preserved in memory. A fragile reminder of what he was fighting for. Pain stabbed through his chest, hot and raw. His throat tightened. He forced his eyes away, but the ache lingered.

His mind whispered back to the dream, to the phantom of Mikey’s voice, soft and desperate.

Leo.

He flinched, shaking his head. “Stop,” he whispered to himself. It wasn’t real. If he let himself believe that it was, even for a second, he’d break. He pressed a hand against his face, pulling in a ragged breath. He couldn’t afford to break. Not now.

Groaning softly, Leo pushed himself to his feet. His knee cracked, his shoulders ached, and his shell felt like it carried the weight of the whole city. Every joint screamed with exhaustion and soreness. Eighteen years old, and already his body moved like it was twice that age. Great, he thought bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck where he could feel the muscles had knotted tight.

Leo was tired.

His gaze drifted over to the corner of the room that made up his sleeping space. A couple of protein bars lay in their crinkled wrappers next to his bag, spoils he’d snagged days ago during one of his patrol runs. They sat there accusingly, reminders of what he should do. He should eat. He needed to keep his strength up to keep moving, to keep fighting. But the thought of tearing one open, of chewing and swallowing, made his stomach twist into a painful knot. Hunger gnawed at him, hollow and insistent, but it was nothing compared to the nausea that came whenever he thought of food. His body wanted it, craved it, yet his mind recoiled. His throat felt tight, as though anything he forced down would only sit like stone in his gut. He knew it was only exhaustion. The stress of the situation manifested into something physical. But despite knowing that, he couldn’t make himself eat. Not right now, at least. He told himself he would. That he had too. Just…not yet.

Water would have to do.

He staggered to a battered jug and poured himself a cup, sipping slowly. Even that made his stomach lurch. He set the cup aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and forced himself to move. There were still hideouts left on his list. Still sigils waiting to be burned out. Still Foot soldiers who might—might—crack under enough pressure. He won’t stop now. Not with so much still at stake.

His hands moved automatically, strapping his swords to his side, checking his gear. He felt weaker than he’d like to admit. His ninpo burned out quicker these days. His vision swam at the edges when he pushed too hard. But none of that mattered. None of it.

He paused once more, his gaze sliding unwillingly toward the shrine. The candles had long since burned out, but their waxy remains glistened faintly in the low light. Memories flickered like ghosts in the shadows.

Leo.

He turned sharply, the whispers of his dream snapping at his heels, and disappeared into the night.

Chapter Text

The abandoned building stank of rot and smoke, the air choked with dust and the faint copper-burn tang of lingering mystic energy. Leo crouched low, chest heaving as he bound the last Foot soldier’s wrists, his hands trembling so badly he had to retie the knot twice. His breath scraped in and out like sandpaper, every inhale sharp, every exhale catching in his throat. His whole body screamed at him to stop—just sit down, just rest—but he shoved the thought aside.

He forced himself upright, swaying as dizziness washed over him. Black spots prickled across his vision, his knees locking just to keep him standing. He stayed still until the world steadied. into something that wasn’t spinning. His gaze dragged across the floor to the heap of mystic weapons, their faint glow a sickly heartbeat of corruption. The sight twisted something inside of him.

He summoned his ninpo out of habit, like reaching for breath. But instead of the steady, fierce flame he had grown accustomed to feeling inside him, what came was something weak. More smoke than fire. A dying ember barely smoldering. It ached in his chest, that emptiness, like something vital had been scraped out and left hollow. Still, he managed to flicker a disk beneath the pile, the void yawning just long enough for the weapons to vanish before the portal sputtered out.

The effort cost him. His stomach clenches as his balance broke, and he had to slam a hand against the wall to keep from crumbling. His tongue tasted of iron where he’d bitten through it mid-fight. His skull throbbed in time with his pulse, every beat sending shards of pain across his temples.

Breathing hard, he lifted his head towards where the sigil burned on the far wall, lines twisting with an oily, pulsating glow. Corruption seeped off it in waves, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on his lungs until every breath was too shallow. Rage bloomed sharp in his chest.

Always another one. Every time. Everywhere he went. Another sigil. Another tumor spreading through the veins of his city.

Dragging his feet forward, he fumbled for the chalk in his pouch. It was worn down smooth, edges crumbled from use. His hand shook as he pressed it to the wall, the scrape of rock on stone unsteady as he carved out his own mark. He started with the spiral at the center, then the four branches that curled outward. A symbol of his family. Of their unity. Their love.

His throat tightened at the thought, sour in his mind. Unity. Love. He didn’t feel any of it anymore.

Still, Leo closed his eyes and turned inward, reaching. Scraping the bottom of an empty barrel. Reaching for that spark of warmth Karai had taught him to ground himself in. But the spark wasn't there. He gritted his teeth as pain split behind his eyes, a low moan forcing its way past his lips. He tried to breathe through it, tried to anchor himself in the love he still carried for his brothers and father. But the grief hit harder. The anger swallowed him whole. Every memory of failure, of loss, tore through him and frayed the edges of his focus. He tried. Tried to brush it aside as Karai had taught him, but the connection was slipping through his fingers, unraveling faster the harder he held.

His knees trembled, legs threatening to fold beneath him. He pressed his forehead to the cool wall, gasping, sweat dripping hot down his face. His chest heaved, frustration biting at his insides. He should be able to do this. He’d done it dozens of times in the last few weeks. It was supposed to be simple by now, as natural as breathing. But each time it got harder. Each time the bond he once relied on grew thinner, weaker, until it felt like nothing at all.

Snarling, Leo shoved himself back from the wall and planted both hands over the spiral he’d drawn. No more offering. No more coaxing. He gathered everything he had, scraping at the scraps of ninpo buried inside him, and forced it outward. Not guiding, but ramming, a flood of desperation rather than harmony.

The chalk lines flared, sparks spitting as they drank in his energy. Blue light spread outward, weak and muted, far dimmer than it should have been. Leo choked on a gasp, the recoil slamming through him. His knees finally buckled, and he crashed to all fours. Bile surged up, hot and bitter, and he vomited onto the cracked floor.

His body shook, muscles trembling so violently it felt like his bones might splinter under the strain. His skull pounded, white hot pain searing behind his eyes. It was everything he could do not to collapse face first into the mess in front of him. Instead, with a groan, he shifted back, sinking onto his heels. Head tilted toward the ceiling, he dragged ragged breaths into his lungs, chest aching with every inhale.

He’d done it. Barely. The cold, suffocating weight of the Foot’s sigil lifted, the oppressive aura fading until the air tasted clear again. His own mark still glowed faintly on the wall, muted, but steady enough to push back the corruption. For now.

Leo staggered upright, swaying on his feet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, spit bitter on his tongue. His eyes lingered on the glow, shame twisting in his gut. He wasn’t supposed to force it like that. Karai had warned him again and again. Ninpo wasn’t about force, but alignment. If he pulled too hard, the connection could snap. And yet, here he was.

His unease deepened. Every attempt grew more difficult. Every effort to reach that well of love and connection slipped further from his grasp. The place where his family’s ninpo should have been was hollow. A cavern carved straight through his chest, echoing with nothing but silence.

But the job was done. That was what mattered. Not the how.

He drew a sword, his grip unsteady, and lifted it to cut the air. Summoning a portal was harder these days—much harder without his katana to anchor it—and shame burned harder at the back of his throat. The sirens outside were growing louder, closing in on the chaos he’d left in his wake. He couldn’t linger.

Breathing deep, Leo forced his ninpo to rise once more, focusing on the warehouse, on the safe space he had carved out for himself. The air swirled reluctantly, the portal shimmering into being, smaller than usual and flickering at the edges. But stable.

His stomach clenched, bile threatening to rise again. He swallowed hard and looked one last time at the bound Foot soldiers, glaring at them from beneath his hood. Then he staggered forward, stepping into the glowing circle.

The world dropped out beneath him.

Leo’s foot sliced through empty air, and suddenly he was falling, the portal spitting him out ten feet above the warehouse floor. He crashed down hard, his shell and shoulder taking the brunt before his head snapped back against the cold stone. Stars burst in his vision, and for a moment, he just lay there, breath ragged, pain screaming in every nerve. The portal winked out above him.

Groaning, he shifted, rolling onto his back. The ceiling blurred above him. His chest rose and fell quickly, every breath scraping raw against his throat. Frustration and disbelief twisted in his chest, sharp and bitter. He hadn’t messed up that badly with his swords in years. Not since those first few months he found his mystic odachi, when every swing risked ripping holes in places he hadn’t meant to. He had trained, bled for that control.

And now his portals flickered and he was messing up all over again. Like they were mocking him, laughing at his inadequacy, leaving him sprawled in the dirt, weak and fumbling like a rookie again.

He pressed his forearm over his eyes, teeth grinding. Why? Why am I failing so much? Why am I falling short, over and over, no matter how hard I push?

How pathetic.

A sob clawed at his throat, threatening to break free. He shoved it down. None of it mattered. Not his bruises, not how sick he felt, not the pounding in his skull or the aching emptiness in his chest. This wasn’t about him. It was about the city. About stopping the Foot. About avenging his family. If he slowed down now, if he stopped even for a second, he’d fall even more behind. The Foot would take more—drain more lives, spread more corruption, grind New York into ash. He couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t let everything his family had fought for be in vain.

Shakily, Leo pushed to his feet and crossed the empty warehouse. His thin mat waited in the corner. He sank onto it heavily, the floor cold beneath him. His hand groped for the half empty water bottle at his side. He twisted the cap and took the smallest sip, just enough to wet his parched throat. Then he pressed the cool plastic against his still aching forehead, sighing softly.

Beside him lay his battered map and journal. He set the bottle aside and reached for them with trembling fingers, flipping the journal open and marking off the sites he’d cleared tonight. Another sigil erased, another base dismantled. The lines blurred slightly as his eyes burned, exhaustion pressing down like a weight too heavy to lift. But he ignored it, jaw clenched, already planning where to strike next.

He wouldn’t fall behind.

The Next Night

The paper factory squatted like a carcass at the edge of the industrial district, its broken windows glinted faintly under the city’s weak moonlight. The brick walls were cracked and mottled with moss, and the rooftop groaned under Leo’s crouched weight, the tar gritted beneath his feet.

From above, the factory was a maze of rusted skylights and sagging metal beams, its insides bathed in the dim glow of lamps.

Through the fractured pane, Leo peered down at the scene below. Ten Foot grunts, their uniforms dark and thick with dust, moved like worker ants across the open warehouse floor. Some hauled heavy crates, the dull thud of wood echoing through the cavernous room as they stacked against a wall scorched black from fire damage. Others bundled weapons in straw wrappings before tucking them into crates. The air seemed to shimmer around the mystic weapons, leaking dark, corrosive energy that clung to the rafters like smoke.

They were getting ready to take them somewhere.

Leo’s jaw tightened. Another base. Another cancer growing under his watch. His hands drifted to the hilts at his side. The metal whispered as he drew his blades, moonlight glinting along their edges. He crouched lower, feet balanced on the narrow steel rim of the skylight. For a heartbeat, he inhaled, steadying himself. The scent of the city was sharp in his lungs.

He exhaled.

Then he moved.

Glass shrieked as he drove his foot into the skylight, shattering it into a rain of jagged edges. The world slowed as he fell, shards spinning lazily around him, catching the light like falling stars. He twisted midair, katanas flaring outward, and the second he hit the ground, time snapped forward again.

The first Foot soldier didn’t even register his presence before Leo’s blade hit him across his chest plate, sending him sprawling into a crate. Another lunged from the left, and Leo spun, his second blade catching the man’s staff and wrenching it aside before he buried his foot into the soldier's gut.

Shouts erupted. The warehouse exploded into chaos.

They swarmed him, weapons flashing, steel clanging against steel, the sound echoing against the hollow walls. Leo moved like lightning, each strike sharp and merciless. He ducked low beneath a sweeping blade, slashing upward and knocking a soldier's head back. He pivoted hard, parrying a spear thrust, his body screaming in protest at the sudden movement. His muscles burned, his knees ached, and he felt his vision threatening to swirl.

Maybe jumping into this wasn’t my brightest idea. Leo thought.

He shoved the thought aside just as quickly as it had come. He could handle this. He has plenty of times already. He’ll push past the pain.

He didn’t dare use his portals in the fight. Every flicker of ninpo was another drain he couldn’t afford. So he’d fight the old way. Footwork sharp, strikes brutal, every ounce of strength spent in close combat.

He let one of the men get too close, swinging a curved blade with desperate force. Leo turned too slow, fatigue dragging at his limbs. Steel met skin. The edge kissed the side of his cheek, slicing below the dip of his mask, straight through the red marking on his skin. The cut burned instantly, molten hot and far worse than it should have been. Leo hissed, staggering back, and for one terrible moment, it felt like lava had been poured under his flesh. He could feel it, like the blade's corruption seeping into him, dark mystic energy threading beneath his skin like poison. But the feeling would fade. He’d been cut, beaten, and bruised hundreds of times by now from the Foot’s mystic weapons. The burning sense of wrongness would fade. Even still…

Rage surged, white hot.

Snarling, Leo drove his knee into the grunt’s chest and kicked him backward with a savage force that sent the man crashing into the wall. The sound of cracked stone and a muffled groan followed.

“Don’t touch me.” Leo spat, voice low and ragged.

The fight blurred after that, blood in his mouth, cheek burning, his body too tired to keep pace but his anger driving him forward. It was like he was on auto-pilot. Every slash was heavier than it needed to be, every kick fueled with enough force to leave bruises that would take long to fade. He disarmed them and knocked them out, one after another, until only one remained.

The Foot had been cornered against a table stacked with crates. He barely raised his blade before Leo barreled into him, slamming him flat onto the table’s surface. The wood groaned under the impact, its legs rattling from beneath.

Leo leaned his full weight forward, pressing one katana’s edge to the grunt's throat. The steel gleamed inches from cutting skin. ”Where?” Leo rasped, his breath hot, his words a growl. ”Where are these weapons being forged? Where are you taking them?”

The Foot soldiers chest heaved, his eyes darting anywhere but Leo’s face. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. “I–I can’t…I can’t tell you.”

Leo pressed the blade closer, the edge dimpling the skin. His voice was low and even. “You can, and you will.”

Tears welled up at the corners of the soldiers eyes. “If I do…she’ll kill me. I’ll be dead. Please, I–I can’t.”

The words lit a fuse inside Leo’s chest. His vision blurred with red. Always the same. Always the same cowardice. If not stubbornness and silence, then fear. Fear of Shen. Fear of what she’d do if they broke. Fear that outweighed the lives being stolen in the streets, the families broken, the city rotting from the inside.

He leaned closer, shadows cutting sharp across his face. His white eyes burned like slivers of fire beneath his hood, a bead of sweat slid slowly down the side of his face and landed on the man beneath him, mixing with his tears. His hand trembled against the hilt, the weight of too many emotions clawing their way to the surface.

“You’re afraid of her?” His voice was low and venomous. “Who’s the one with a blade to your neck right now? I think you should be a little more afraid of me. Do you understand?”

The grunt whimpered, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the blade’s edge.

Anger surged again, a tidal wave drowning reason. Leo’s mind filled with faces—the people gone missing, the screams he hadn’t been fast enough to stop. His brothers. His father. His family lying dead because of the Foot. Because they spread and corrupted and took everything.

It wasn’t fair.

For weeks he had been running around this city, wasting his time and energy, giving everything he had. He’d been picking off Foot soldiers, hideouts, and sigils one by one without rest. And he’d only scraped the surface of the rot buried beneath. He's tired. He’s hurt. And all his efforts amounted to nothing. He’s gotten nowhere.

None of them deserved to live. None.

Without conscious thought, his ninpo sparked to life. A faint shimmer of blue spun into being around the Foot’s throat. A portal—thin and unyielding—a ring of light clasped like a noose. Leo pulled the sword back slightly, voice dropping to a chilling whisper. Cold and empty.

“None of you deserve to live.”

He could feel his energy drain as he let the portal tighten, but he ignored it. What was one more drop of blood, one more ounce of himself, if it meant ending this? His hand shook harder, trembling so much it made it difficult to keep hold of his katana. His teeth bared into a snarl. One thought—just one thought—and this Foot would be gone.

And he wanted it. Gosh, he wanted it. To make it stop. To punish them. To bleed out every ounce of rage and grief until there was nothing left. To make each and everyone of them feel exactly how they’ve made him feel. To make them understand the pain of what they’ve done to him. What they’ve taken away.

The portal hummed, ready to close at his command.

His breath came out low and shaky, staring down with unseeing eyes at the man under him. His grip tightened as he started to squirm.

He would do it. He–

LEO!

The voice cut through the fog like a blade, thin and distorted, as if carried from somewhere impossibly far away. It wavered, muffled, like words shouted through water. But it was there.

Leo’s breath caught. His head snapped upward, as though he could find it in the rafters. He looked towards the corners, the spaces where darkness clung thickest. His pulse thundered in his ears, aching with the smallest hope. That maybe…it was real.

But the space above him gave nothing back. Only silence and shadows. The echo lingered in his skull, refusing to fade.

Mikey…

He felt tears burn his eyes as his lips trembled slightly. Just a voice. His mind playing tricks on him once again. Another reminder of how thin the line had become between exhaustion and madness.

Still…it had been enough.

The red haze thinned. His breath shuddered and his focus snapped back to the boy beneath him. His gaze was met with wide eyes, shimmering with tears and fear. A choked gasp sounded, words breaking past trembling lips. “P-please…”

Leo froze.

The soldier couldn’t have been any older than himself. His face still boyish, smooth. A kid.

Just a kid.

Horror crashed through Leo’s chest. He let go instantly, the portal dissolved in a flicker of blue. He stumbled back, katana still clutched tightly in his hand, his body shaking violently. The grunt slid off the table to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. His gaze locked on Leo with naked terror.

Leo felt sick.

What…what had he just been about to do?

His heart thundered, but he forced steel into his voice, trying to bury the guilt and shame tearing through him. “Go,” he barked. “Now. If you’re smart, you’ll stay far away from the Foot Clan from here on out.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “Got it?”

The boy scrambled away, bolting for the shadows.

Leo turned sharply, unwilling to watch him flee. He tore open a portal, focus splintered but driven by instinct and adrenaline. The circle shimmered weakly, unstable at the edges, but it held long enough for him to stagger through.

The rooftop swallowed him, night air rushing sharp and humid against his clammy skin. Leo collapsed to his knees, gasping and desperately trying to get his breathing under control. His lungs dragged in ragged air, his stomach twisting with nausea. He clutched the hilt of his katana like a lifeline, his body shivering with leftover rage and shock.

What had he almost done?

The thought clawed at him once again, brutal and merciless. He could still feel it, how close he’d been. Not a strike made in the chaos of battle, not a mistake born of desperation. A choice. A deliberate choice driven by nothing but fury and hate.

And worse, some small, ugly part of him had wanted it. Wanted to see the Foot tremble, to watch them finally understand what it meant to cross him. To give them a reason, a real reason, to be afraid.

The thought sickened him. Why would he ever crave that? Why would he ever want to become the very thing they fought against?

His stomach turned, bile rising in his throat as the image burned in his mind. His brothers watching, Splinter watching, horror etched into their faces. Not pride, not trust. Only shame and disgust.

If they saw what he almost did…if they knew what he had been willing to become…they wouldn’t see a leader. They wouldn’t see a Hamato. They wouldn’t see their brother.

They’d see a monster.

Some hero.

But a darker voice still whispered beneath the guilt. They deserved it. The Foot deserved far worse than anything he could ever do to them. They’re destroying the city, killing innocent people for their own gain. They’d taken everything from him.

Why should they get to breathe when his family didn’t?

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, shoving the thought down and locking it away with the rest.

But the voice. The voice had stopped him. Mikey’s voice. It sounded so much like him, like the baby brother he’d never hear again. He’d been ignoring it for days now, brushing it off as grief, fatigue, his own mind cracking under the weight. But tonight, he felt grateful for it, even if it wasn’t real.

Even if he was probably going insane.

Shakily, Leo rose to his feet, sheathing his katana with trembling fingers. His cheek throbbed where the cut still burned, hot and wrong under his skin. He pressed his palm against it, trying to ground himself in the pain, in something real.

There was still work to do tonight. Those crates needed to be dealt with. Big Mama was waiting, and he couldn’t afford to break his deal with her.

He drew a slow breath of night air, trying to steady himself. To center himself. But he hadn’t felt centered since the Hamato Temple. Since before he was left alone in the wake of his family’s…absence.

Still, he tried.

Because trying was all he could do.

The rooftops blurred beneath him, a ghostly rhythm of motion and shadow. His legs moved automatically, muscle memory carrying him from ledge to ledge even as his mind lagged behind. The wind bit at his mask tails, tugging them like phantom hands. His breath came short and uneven, lungs burning, body heavy with the weight of everything he’d nearly done.

What had he nearly done?

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to see the terrified eyes of the Foot soldier he’d nearly cut down in anger. The memory clung to him like soot, cloying and thick in his throat. He swallowed hard against the nausea rising again. The city lights swam before him.

Leo landed on a higher roof and stopped, crouching low. His hands trembled where they pressed against the cracked tar. For a moment, he stayed perfectly still, breathing through his nose and forcing the dizziness to pass.

He had never let anger take him over so blindly like that. He’d never been so driven by it. What was wrong with him? Had he really reached a point where he couldn't even keep his own emotions in check?

His stomach turned. He swallowed bile, gagging as he pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth. “Ugh–great,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse and thin. “Probably should have eaten something before going out, genius.”

But when he thought of food, of the protein bars back at the warehouse, the stale crackers and the cans of soup, the nausea doubled. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. When was the last time I ate? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter.

He pushed to his feet, ignoring the burn in his legs, and moved again. Keep moving. Keep fighting. Keep doing. Anything to drown out the thoughts of how close he’d come to losing himself tonight.

A scream suddenly cut through the night, high and terrified, echoing off the alley walls below like a knife scraping steel. Leo’s head snapped towards the sound, instinct overtaking exhaustion before his mind could even process. He was already running, leaping across the gap to the next building, then another, the sound of his footfalls swallowed by the night wind.

When he reached the ledge, he dropped low, peering over.

Two Foot soldiers stood in the narrow alley below, their shadows stretching long against the brick. Between them, a girl—young, maybe in her late teens—was tied and blindfolded, struggling weakly against the ropes biting into her wrists. The Foot stood close, one of them crouching beside her, the other painting something onto the wall.

Leo’s blood boiled. He knew that shade of red all too well. The paint shimmered and pulsed, crawling across the bricks until it formed a complete circle. The air shifted. The warmth of the night bled away, replaced by the oppressive cold that Leo had grown far too familiar with.

He gritted his teeth, gripping the hilt of his katana so tightly the leather creaked. The girl whimpered, crying out as one of the Foot snapped something harshly at her, striking her shoulder when she didn’t quiet fast enough.

That was it.

Leo vaulted off the rooftop. His knees bent on impact, the landing heavier than usual, he stumbled for a heartbeat but forced himself to steady, ignoring the pain that flared through him.

“Let her go!” His voice rang sharp in the narrow space. “Now!”

Both Foot turned. Their eyes, visible through their masks, burned with hatred. Neither moved to obey.

Leo’s jaw tightened. His blade caught the faint glow of the sigil’s light as he raised it defensively. “I’m not asking twice.” The words came out low and sharp, trembling at the edges with barely contained fury. His frustration clawed up from somewhere deep. Anger at them, at himself, at this endless, meaningless cycle of violence. It burned in his chest, threatening to spill over. But he shoved it down, forcing his breath steady. He wouldn’t let it take him again. Not this time.

One of them shifted slightly, hand moving towards his belt. Leo’s muscles coiled. Here it comes. He braced for an attack, for the usual flurry of shuriken or mystic weapons. But the ninja didn’t throw the weapon at him. Instead, he turned and hurled it at the wall.

The shuriken embedded itself just below the glowing sigil with a dull metallic thud. For a split second, Leo’s confusion overrode his anger.

“What–?” he started, taking a step forward.

And then the air in front of them rippled. A low hum filled the alley, vibrating through the soles of his feet. The glow around the shuriken deepened from red to crimson, spreading like veins across the brick before folding inward on itself. A jagged tear of light opened in the air, pulsing an ugly red.

A portal.

But this wasn’t like any other mystic portal he’d seen the Foot create before. He’d never seen one formed like that. And in any other situation, Leo would be hard pressed to admit he’s impressed by the concept. But this one looked warped and jagged. Its edges serrated with writhing shadows. It felt wrong. He could feel it, the same corrupted energy that was bleeding throughout the city, a sliver of it now roaring right in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Leo demanded, his voice echoing faintly against the walls.

The Foot soldier turned just long enough for Leo to catch the faintest glint of a smirk behind the mask. Then he and his partner grabbed the girl, one on each arm, and dragged her towards the red light.

“Wait!” Leo barked, stepping forward, but they were already gone.

They vanished into the portal's crimson swirl.

Leo froze. The alley fell silent except for the hum of the portal, steady and low, vibrating like a heartbeat. The edges of the red light flickered against his mask, painting the world in blood and shadow.

The portal didn’t close.

He waited—ten seconds, twenty, thirty.

Still, it stayed open, the light pulsing faintly as if inviting him closer.

A trap. It had to be. Leonardo wasn’t stupid.

“Why isn’t it shutting?” he muttered. The air still tasted like metal and ozone, a taste that always meant danger was near. He stepped closer, every muscle in his body tight. Did they want me to follow?

Probably.

He swallowed hard. His heart pounded hard enough he could feel it in his throat.

The girl…

His hand twitched around his sword hilt. He could still hear her crying, begging to be let go. The sound replayed in his head, over and over, an endless cycle of another failing.

He looked towards the sigil still glowing faintly on the wall above the shuriken. He should dismantle it. Leave the portal and go on his way and not fall blindly into an obvious trap. He should be smart.

But every second he hesitated was another second that girl was trapped on the other side, another life hanging on whether or not he acted. And if he didn’t go…if he stayed behind and something happened to her…

He clenched his teeth. Then I’ll just add her to the list of people I failed to save, huh?

The thought made something snap inside him.

“Fine,” he whispered to the empty alley. “If it’s a trap, then it’s a trap. I don’t care.”

His limbs felt heavy as lead, his cheek still burned where the corrupted blade had cut him, and his ninpo was unsteady and thin. If he went in there like this, would he come back out?

I’ve already made so many mistakes tonight, in the past weeks. Am I about to make another?

He didn’t know.

He straightened, forcing himself to breathe evenly. He rolled his shoulders once, steadying the tremors in his hands, then tightened his grip on the katana.

“Hamato don’t run,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He took one step forward, then another, until the crimson glow painted his skin. The air was cold and sharp as he raised his chin, weary eyes hard with resolve.

He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t know what waited for him on the other side. But it didn’t matter. He bolted forward, diving straight into the red light.

The portal instantly snapped shut behind him with a violent his, jaws swallowing its prey, sealing the alley in silence once more.

Only the sigil remained, burning faintly against the wall, and the single shuriken still buried deep in the brick—its glow reflecting like a bloodstain on the wet ground below.

The stone chamber thrummed with a low, unnatural hum, like the earth itself was groaning beneath the weight of the sigils etched into the walls. Crimson sigils spiraled and intersected across every surface, alive with a faint pulsing glow, breathing like veins feeding the heart of something foul. The air was damp, heavy and acrid, reeking of iron and smoke.

Shen stood in the center of the room, her silhouette sharp and poised, robes pooling around her like spreading ink. The shadows bent towards her, obedient, whispering across her skin as if eager to be commanded. In one pale hand gleamed a thin blade, its edge catching the light of the runes, red reflecting red.

Before her, suspended by heavy chains, was Michelangelo. His arms were stretched high above his head, wrists cuffed raw where metal bit into his skin. A rough gag had been forced into his mouth; the cloth was damp with sweat and the wet of his tears. His plastron bore shallow cuts, precise and deliberate. Drops of blood shivered down his arms, his legs, and pooled beneath him. He hung there, cradled in iron, shoulders trembling with the effort of breathing. Even wounded and gagged, Mikey’s eyes burned. Defiance still lived in them—a small, fierce spark—but fear had salted the edges. He strained at the chains, every tug chafing the cuffs to a rawness that left red tracks on his wrists.

She tilted her head as she studied him. Even now, with exhaustion hollowing his eyes and sweat dripping from his brow, he met her gaze with a cold glare. That stubborn Hamato fire, burning when it should have gone out long ago. She regarded the struggling turtle for a long moment, the corner of her mouth quirked with amusement. She ran the blade along her palm, watching the sigils flare in response.

“Still reaching,” she said softly, almost indulgently. “Such stubborn little currents, you Hamato’s. You waste yourselves trying to tether a river to a dry stone.”

Mikey’s eyes flashed accusingly, pupils blown with pain and fury. He could not answer. He could only glare, breath hitching against the gag, each inhale a small war.

Shen smiled wider, and the room leaned closer, as if to listen. The heavy wooden door at her back groaned inward. Two Foot Elite stepped into the red glow of the room, heads bowed in respect. “The trap is set, Lady Shen,” One reported, his voice low and reverent. “The Shadow took the bait.”

Shen smiled, low and serpentine, satisfaction curling her lips. She could almost taste it. Leonardo, worn down, desperate, walking willingly into her jaws.

How predictable.

“Good,” she purred, turning towards the chained turtle. Her fingers brushed the air, and lines of ruined light ran along the closest runes. “You see, little one? Everything falls in place. The last Hamato will not deny himself when others stand on the edge. He exhausts himself night after night, thinking he is hunting us, when in truth he dances exactly where I lead him.”

Mikey’s jaw worked. The gag muffled a desperate tug at his throat. He worked the chains with his feet, trying to find purchase. The cut where the blade had run along his shoulder bled slowly down his skin. Sweat and blood mixed, streaking the little band of orange that had once seemed so bright.

Shen leaned in until she could smell the metallic tang clinging to him. “You’ve been useful to me, you know,” she said, almost kindly. “Every time you reach for your pathetic brother you hand me another thread. Your mystic fumbling's make him thin. You’re doing me a favor. Not yourselves.”

The words were a knife with the velvetest handle. Mikey’s stare turned to ice. Even through his fear and horror he spat his outrage with his eyes. Even gagged, he managed a ragged, furious shake of his head. He wanted to scream. He would not be used. His reaching was meant to give strength to his brother, to show him that they were alive. To help.

Shen let him rage. “Ah,” she said softly, as if acknowledging a charming folly. “You try to whisper across the night. You cast your weak little nets and call out for him.” Her gold gaze hardened. “Each call only drains you further. This defiance, this exercise in stubbornness, is futile. You only succeed in bringing me closer to my goal.” Her voice rolled like smoke. “How appropriate.”

Mikey’s face crumpled a fraction at the words. The knowledge of what he’d been doing, sending the pieces of his light into the dark, trying to pull Leo back, had been his only comfort in the long hours.

Was he really hurting Leo? He didn’t mean to! He just wanted his—

No. He wouldn’t listen to the words of this witch. He wouldn’t let her make him spiral and lose his hope. Still, the fear made his stomach twist. But he kept glaring. He was hurt and he was afraid, but he would not give her the satisfaction in showing it.

He was ready to go back to the cell with his brothers and dad.

Shen’s grin grew at his show of stubbornness. She lifted the blade and dragged it across his forearm in a careful, practical motion that left more of a sting than blood, and let the shadows slide into that fresh line. The shadows fed at the wound, curling like smoke, and Mikey’s body twitched in raw reflex. He stifled a sound with the gag and tears burned his eyes. The corrupted energy teased beneath his skin, a hot pressure that made him dizzy. He’d never felt mystic energy so vile.

“You are so noble,” Shen cooed, circling like a vulture. “So terribly predictable. You all throw yourselves into the fire for faces you love, but never seem to stop to ask if there’s even a point. ‘Duty’, you call it. ‘Honor’. How quaint.” She crouched so her face was level with his, watching the way his small chest rose and fell. “Hamato's are marvelous for that reason. You are loyalty-shaped, forged to give and give until the light inside you is nothing more than scraps. I will harvest it. I will make it mine.”

Mikey lifted his gaze despite the burning pain coursing through him and the energy leaving him. He met her eyes with the clearest heat he had, spit without words. He wasn’t weak.

Shen’s grin widened into a smile that could have been a sun burning the horizon, so bright and hungry it was obscene. She touched the amulet at her throat—a sharp relic made of gem and stone. “See this? This once bound me,” she whispered, voice cold. “Once I was caged because of my ideals. No more. This time, I will swallow your clan whole. I will boot the last ember from your chests and wear your power like armor. I will be–” her voice softened into a single, exquisite aspiration–”a goddess.”

Mikey’s eyes widened despite himself. Tears welled, blurring at the edges of the room. Horror passed over his face and then hardened into hatred. He wanted to yell at her, but the gag turned it into a wet, futile sound.

Shen laughed at him. “Defiance,” she said, fingering the amulet idly. “So bravely wasted. Fear not, child. You will not be consumed until I have all of your pathetic family.” She straightened and turned to the Elites. “Go prepare the site. He walks into what I have woven for him.”

The Elites bowed and retreated, the heavy door closing behind their measured steps. Shen looked back at Mikey one last time with a cold smile. She spoke softly. “Don’t worry, Michelangelo. You will be reunited with your brother soon enough.” The red runes flared, swallowing the last of the light as Shen left the chamber as well, humming with satisfaction.

Left in the half dark, Mikey hung suspended. He gagged silently, trying to cough, but the cloth stuffed in his mouth muffled each attempt. He pulled against the chains again, fingers slick with his own blood, struggling for purchase on the metal. Every movement taught his wrists new lines of fire. He tasted iron. He felt hollow in a way that went beyond the bruises.

Fear sat heavy and open in his stomach now. Tears streaked down his cheeks and low whines pushed past the cloth as he struggled. But even terror could not wring his courage dry. Mikey’s fingers twitched in a gesture like a promise. He wouldn’t stop reaching for Leo, despite what Shen said. Maybe he could warn him. He didn’t care if it drained every drop of mystic energy he had left. He blinked once, fiercely, as if burning his defiance into the stone.

Beneath the flicker of red light, the chains creaked and swayed. Mikey’s eyes fixed on the thin sliver of corridor light. Outside, Shen’s plans crawled forward like a spider weaving its web. And somewhere in the city, Leo walked into it.