Epilogue

"I would have a report, daughter, on your activities."

In his informal receiving area, the Shredder was only slightly less intimidating. He removed his mask and stared haughtily but without antagonism at his adopted child over the top of a small tea table. Karai was showing initiative in their ancient war. He had waited a long time for such a move, but whether it was for or against him, was uncertain.

"You followed Hargrove. What did you find?"

Karai bowed low before meeting his expectant gaze with a calm stare.

"He was planning a revolt, Master. He could not recruit the local gangs, so he hired international mercenaries and was equipping them in secret in an underground waystation outside our territory." Her eyes narrowed in ferocious indignation. "I engaged his troops and found them wanting. On the field, they may have been formidable wolves, but unprepared in their den they folded like cubs. They will trouble us no further."

She lowered her eyes and remained standing, waiting for his next question.

"And Hargrove?"

"My forces did not engage him directly, but in a final sweep of the compound my men found what was left of the traitor. I believe the Hamatos took their revenge for the death of one under their protection."

"You mean Morgan?"

Karai shrugged. "If that was her name."

"Are you certain the remains were his? He is wily and I expect could easily falsify his own demise."

She bowed again, not letting any of her trepidation show as memories of horrendous screams echoing through the tunnels reverberated in her mind. She had not allowed her forces to investigate until the sounds died away completely.

"Yes, Master Shredder. The head was entirely intact, though the rest of the man was nothing but strips of flesh, pools of blood, and broken bone."

The Shredder smiled. Something few outside of his daughter had ever seen.

"I warned him about crossing the Hamato clan. For once our enemies have done us a service." His expression sobered and his interest became more intense. "Did you see the Turtles? Or the girl? Hargrove was hiding more than simple rebellion. If she is alive, we may yet recover her. I wish to understand how she reacts to the serum. Stockman wants further tests. Perhaps the healing potion can be modified in some way for my own army."

Such an inquiry was not unexpected.

She had observed the Hamatos' arrival and purposefully drawn the guards to the far side of the complex. It was the only way she could assist in their revenge and ensure the Foot did not become Leonardo's next target.

The last thing they needed was a new blood feud to reignite the old.

The ferocity of Hargrove's death convinced her the girl must be truly gone, despite her father's suspicions. But as her men pulled out, they reported another sighting. Two of the Turtles and a woman covered in gore under the trees near the tower. She had investigated, but by the time she arrived, the three were gone.

If Morgan lives, best keep her out of sight, my honorable enemies...

Karai locked eyes with her father and lied without changing expression a hair.

"I did not."

"Stop frowning at me, big guy," Morgan said. "I'm just sick. I'm not gonna keel over."

It had been three months since her return to the lair and every day Raphael woke with a start and held her tight for a long time. Normally, that wasn't a problem. She loved waking in his protective embrace and it usually led to quite an enjoyable morning.

But the last few days, she didn't feel so well and today, she bolted out of bed- running for the toilet as if her life depended on it. He followed her, of course, gathering her hair and holding it out of the way as she was noisily ill, then hovering and offering her a glass of water to rinse her mouth.

"Sick is not supposed to happen, 'member?" He said. "You're supposed to be in perfect health after we, uh..."

"Make love?" She prompted.

She laughed knowingly as he flushed a deep green. As worldly as he was, speaking of their sex life outside the bedroom still made him blush. Inside the bedroom, though... Now her cheeks colored as she remembered some of the crazily intimate things he said to her.

"Right," he said, not letting her distract him. "You shouldn't be sick. You gonna be ok here for second? I'm getting Donnie."

She sighed, but nodded and let him fetch his brother. Being examined was never going to be her favorite thing, but she could handle a check up as long as it was Donatello doing the assessment.

A short, confident rap at the door let her know the genius had arrived.

"You, stay out there," Don said to a sputtering Raphael. "The bathroom isn't big enough for us all and you asked me to take a look."

He shut the door in his brother's face before turning to Morgan where she sat on the edge of the tub.

"What's up sweetie?"

"Sweating, nausea, vomiting... I've been feeling ill a few days, but this is the first time I was actually sick. I'd blame food poisoning from that awful Chinese take-out but you guys all ate the same thing."

"We can't rule it out, though," Donatello said while checking her vitals. His gentle hands took her pulse, lifted her eyelids and felt the glands beneath her chin. "We've got cast iron stomachs. You don't."

"Well, I'm better now, so maybe that's it."

"Humor me," Donnie said.

Morgan smiled as he tucked a thermometer under her tongue but frowned as he hummed over the results.

"What?"

"A small increase in temperature," he said. "Probably nothing. But..."

She sighed. "Blood sample?"

"I'd like to run one to be sure. It doesn't have to be large, a few drops on a slide should do it."

He held out the glass and she pricked her finger with a sterile needle he offered. She waited while he lowered his special goggles into place, running who knows how many tests simultaneously. He whistled and she raised her brows.

"Your white blood count is up as is your... hCG."

"What's that mean?"

She waved her hand at him when he didn't answer right away. "Donnie?"

"I'm gonna need to build some more equipment," he muttered.

"What?"

A note of panic entered her voice and Don immediately turned back to her.

"Everything's going to be OK," he said. "It's a little earlier than I expected but I'll stay on top of this and-"

"On top of what, Donnie?"

Excitedly, he knelt to her level, took her hand and stared into her eyes.

"Congratulations," he said, patting her hand. "You're going to be an excellent mother."

Here ends 'Whispers in the Dark'. Stay tuned for more adventures

with Morgan and our heros in 'Fearless.'

A taste is below... the rest is coming soon!

In the past... Feudal Japan, 1601

A small girl child of seven or eight, with shorn hair and a short gray frock, appeared to peek cautiously around the next house, checking the street in front of her for trouble. Her golden eyes remained slitted for a split second, before morphing into the round pupils of the humans around her and darkening to a soft chocolate brown.

Now there was nothing to give her away.

Stealthily she crept through the ancient town; dark mud caking on her bare feet, splashing up her ankles, and coating her calves. In the chaos before the battle, it wasn't hard to make her way to the golden palace and slip in. She was small enough now to fit through the bars of the rear gate and no one spared a second glance as she strode boldly through the gardens. With an attack imminent, no one had time to worry about a street urchin wandering about the grounds.

Inside the manor, they ignored her as well, even as she drifted through opulent halls where her peasant garments screamed she did not belong. She didn't pause to admire the walls, adorned as they were with meticulous paintings. Mostly, these delicate friezes on rice paper screens illustrated the history of the ruling family, outlining the hereditary lands and the greatness of their name.

She already knew all of that, but if one peered closely, her likeness could be found occasionally amongst the intricate designs. She stopped, staring at one unsubtle rendering close to the floor and snorted. This artist had never actually seen her. The colors were wrong and he didn't even capture her wings in his depiction.

As she stood critiquing the work, a small boy peeked out of a nearby room to stare. The only one to notice how out of place she seemed in his home. Yet she didn't seem impressed by the grandness of the palace. And he wondered what about the painting held her attention so firmly when all the adults around them ran and scuttled about like lost crabs.

In all the hustle and bustle her stillness was magnetic.

Obviously, she didn't fear whatever had caused the uproar and he felt the need to follow her courageous example. Slowly, so as not to ruin the moment, he crept into the busy hallway to her side to see what she was examining. When he saw the picture he understood.

She didn't move or even glance up as Yoshi came to stand beside her and, greatly daring, reached out his hand and took hers. Without the slightest hesitation, she entwined their fingers and together they stood staring straight at the image in front of them, neither regarding the other.

"This one's my favorite," he whispered when the silence grew too heavy.

She did not reply for so long he began to wonder if she knew how to speak, but eventually, she uttered a single word.

"Why?"

"It's the only one where the Guardian is down low enough for me to see," he admitted. "Someday, when I'm older, I'm going to find it and ask it to teach me. I want to be a protector."

He risked a stealthy glance at her face, hoping she didn't think his ambition amusing since everybody knew he really couldn't be anything but the prince and heir.

Their eyes caught and she suppressed a gasp. His were a beautiful combination of grey and blue, like the sea after a storm. A color which appeared in the family line only once in a dozen generations. They projected an innocent determination, reminding her forcefully of why she adopted the clan in the first place.

When she said nothing, his gaze returned to the painting and his other hand traced the gleaming lines of the beast in reverent awe. Very few families had a physical Guardian. Many had spiritual or ancestral ones, but the Hamato line had been blessed with an entity who intervened directly when the continuation of the clan was threatened, at least, according to legend.

"You believe in the Guardian?" she asked and he nodded with endearing eagerness.

"It makes me feel safe."

"Your guards and teachers don't?"

He shrugged a little sadly, already wise beyond his years.

"They are only here because the regent requires them, but the Guardian protects my family because they are a part of it."

His quiet statement tugged at her heart. This young prince had lost his whole life. Parents, cousins, uncles, the entire rest of his clan had been quietly removed by the regent, one by one. The only thing he had left to cling too was a name and a myth.

A legend which now stood beside him.

She nodded thoughtfully deciding right then, to reveal herself. It was against the rules, but he had no one else. He deserved the comfort of the truth, but she could not show him here. There were too many eyes and not enough space.

"I bet with all this commotion, the Guardian is nearby," she said instead. "We should go search for it!"

The prince's eyes lit up and a huge smile crossed his little face. He nodded wildly in anticipation of such an adventure and with a gentle tug, she towed him down the hall toward the exit.

It wasn't long before she revealed her true form, exposing herself as his beloved Guardian. They stayed together for several weeks and she adored her little prince, but ultimately she was called to account and forced to place him in a more permanent home.

She didn't want to leave him. In so short a time, she cherished him as her own. But the role of Guardian had strict rules, enforced with an iron fist. She was meant to love the line, not any particular individual in it and she would be removed if she continued to interact with little Yoshi in defiance of tradition.

She vividly remembered the day she left him, clutching the hem of the robes of an old man. It was in a beautiful forest, far from the province of his birth. She worried for him, but the elder had a granddaughter who swore on her honor to watch over him.

Mitsu was true to her word. Yoshi grew, prospered, learned to fight, and lived a long, full life. He married, founded a large family and died without ever seeing her again.

But tales of her endured within the clan as myths and legends are want to do...

New York, NY - present day

Leonardo knelt briefly at the shrine in the dojo and dropped his head, muttering the ritual phrases for assistance. He did not speak his wishes aloud, but his thoughts screamed for aid. Not only for what he was about to attempt but for the whole situation in which they found themselves.

It was dangerous.

Tonight, he risked losing himself and weakening the family. But it was necessary, for that same family's future was in peril. He raised steely, blue-grey eyes to the shrine filled with determination and blinked softly in surprise.

For one moment, the candle dimmed, then flared. Had his pleas been heard?

Whether they had or not, it was time to go or he would be late for his meeting. Gathering himself, his weapons, and his hope; he left the dojo and the lair. Evading his family. Silent as a shadow.

Behind him, the flame on the altar flickered and went out.