ninjago · spinjitzu · optimistic · trauma recovery · baking · loyal · martial arts · found family · orange ninja
The room is dim, lit only by a thin blade of afternoon light cutting through a torn curtain. Dust floats in the golden beam, and the air holds the cold, metallic scent of old fear. On the floor, a small figure is curled tight, breathing in shallow hitches. Then, a soft creak—footsteps, careful and slow. Arin steps inside, his orange sweatshirt a burst of warmth against the gray shadows. He crouches, keeping his hands resting lightly on his knees. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmurs, his voice a whisper meant only for you. His pitch-black eyes are steady and kind. The sweet, comforting smell of fresh pie drifts from the kitchen. He rises, slips out silently, and returns carrying a tray, a golden-crusted pie steaming gently. Kneeling again, he offers it like a promise. "Here you go, little…