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The monastery smelled damp.
Not clean damp.
Not fresh rain damp.
More like someone aggressively extinguished something that should not have been on fire damp.
Kai stood dripping wet in the center of the room, hair flattened to his face, glaring at Nya.
“You did not have to drown me,” he said.
“I absolutely did,” Nya replied, water still swirling calmly around her hands. “You were on fire.”
“I was thinking about fire!”
“And your thoughts were sparking,” she shot back.
Master Wu cleared his throat loudly, holding a piece of paper with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for ancient prophecies.
“This,” Wu announced, “is a new rule.”
Jay gasped. “Ooo, laminated?”
“Yes,” Wu said. “Very.”
Kai squinted. “Why is it wet.”
Nya flicked her wrist. The water moved away, falling to the ground.
Wu began to read. “Effective immediately, Kai Smith is forbidden from using fire indoors.”
“What?!” Kai exploded. “You can’t ban my element!”
Cole crossed his arms. “You boiled noodles so hard they caught fire.”
“They were resisting!”
Zane nodded. “The noodles reached temperatures typically associated with volcanic activity.”
Jay was already filming. “This is going to do numbers.”
The sign went up that same hour.
RULE #17: KAI IS NOT ALLOWED TO USE FIRE INDOORS.
Under it, in neat handwriting: This includes sparks, controlled flames, emotional flare-ups, and ‘it was an accident.’
Kai stared at it. “Wow. You all hate me.”
“We love you,” Cole said. “From a distance. With fire suppression.”
Kai tested the rule immediately.
He snapped his fingers.
A tiny flame flickered— A whip of water smacked his hand mid-air.
“HEY!”
Nya didn’t even look up from her tools. “Rule seventeen.”
“That was barely fire!”
“That was pre-fire,” she said. “I stopped it early.”
Later, Kai stood by an open door, half his body outside.
“I am technically outdoors,” he announced.
A thin stream of water pushed him fully back inside.
“No loopholes,” Nya said sweetly.
Wu nodded. “Your sister has adapted remarkably well.”
The alternatives were humiliating.
Stress balls disintegrated.
Meditation lasted eleven seconds before Kai started to set something on fire.
Zane offered a simulated flame lamp “to provide psychological comfort.”
Kai stared at it. “It doesn’t even crackle.”
“That feature was deemed unsafe.” Kai lay face-down on the floor, defeated.
By day two, Nya had taken full control.
Any time Kai got annoyed, water appeared.
Too hot?
Splash.
Raised voice?
Splash.
Glaring at the sign?
Splash.
“You’re enjoying this,” Kai accused, soaked again.
“A little,” Nya admitted. “You used to set everything on fire.”
Jay whispered to Cole, “She’s the Fire Department now.”
The attack happened that evening.
The doors burst open and Fugidove strutted in dramatically, feathers puffed out.
“Citizens of Ninjago,” Fugidove declared, “prepare to be—”
He slipped on a puddle Nya had left behind. Everyone stared. “…Feared?” Fugidove tried again, standing up.
He threw a smoke bomb. It fizzled uselessly.
Kai pointed. “Can I?”
Wu hesitated. Nya crossed her arms.
The smoke cleared just enough for Fugidove to raise his weapon.
Wu sighed. “…I will allow it.”
Kai’s eyes lit up. “YES.”
Fire erupted in a perfectly aimed burst, singeing feathers and knocking Fugidove straight into a wall.
Before Kai could do anything else, Nya immediately extinguished the flames with a powerful wave.
Fugidove collapsed, dizzy and damp. “…I hate this team,” he muttered.
The next morning, the sign was replaced.
RULE #17 (REVISED): Kai may use fire indoors ONLY in life-or-death situations.
Under it, in unmistakably Nya’s handwriting:
NO COOKING.
NO ‘JUST A LITTLE.’
NO BOILING WATER.
Kai stared at it. “…I’m being oppressed.”
Nya smiled, water swirling lazily around her hands. “Try me.”
From across the room, Jay’s lightning sparked accidentally. Water snapped toward him.
A second sign appeared. Kai grinned. “Welcome to prison,” he said.