Specters of the Charred Forest
Kapura liked it here.
Amongst the sharp angles, darkened shadows, and complex burned odor of the Charred Forest, some found revolt, most found apathy, and the vast majority saw uselessness. Not him - not now, not ever. There was nothing here, and he looked upon it, and he saw that it was peaceful. Nowhere else upon the entire island could he have a place of quiet. He could practice in peace, and he could keep his thoughts to himself.
Sometimes, though, he did not practice. On the most desolate of all desolate days, he eschewed what he was going to do, instead just sitting in a tiny clearing in the Charred Forest, where the trees were even taller and his sense of aloneness was even further amplified.
On these types of days, he sat, and sat for long periods of time, contemplating the nature of good and evil, Mata Nui and Makuta, light and darkness, what had come to be and what might come to pass, and what today had brought that impacted his thoughts of the past and elucidated - at least in part - the future. But that was not the reason he would come here. Occasionally, he would get brief thoughts, as if he was reaching back into the past and pulling bits out, illuminating them with a flash before subsiding into oblivion. It was worth it, he thought, to stay here just for those moments, because they would make him feel whole again, even if it was only for a moment.
Today, he was sitting down once again, feeling the charred earth underneath him, almost feeling the weight of the shadows. He was at peace, but yet he felt restless, more restless than he had ever been. He closed his eyes, feeling like he was falling back, and back, and further back ...
His flight took him up, above the forest below. All of his Matoran brothers and sisters were flying with him up into the sky above, climbing higher than the highest of circling birds. He called out to them, but they were not listening - their heartlights had slowed to halts, and they had curled up in tiny balls, morphing into silver spheres. The Island of Mata Nui was far below, almost to the point where the Wahis became indistinguishable. As soon as they had, the entire Island rushed towards them, faster and faster, until they would surely die.
The island opened up, leaving a vast sea below. A much smaller island was visible, and it became clearer as they came to it ...
He came down lightly on his feet in this metropolis, as his ball-encased friends came down to rest around him. Above him, two large stars winked and illuminated the city.
Tentacles, brown and mottled as they were, reached for him, swatting away the massive spider webs that hung everywhere. He could not move, and he could not feel, as he too was inside one of those curious spheres. They engulfed him, and he was on the move again, staring into two gigantic orange eyes. Evil, embodied in laughter, burned its way through his head, echoing louder, and louder, and louder still ...
He gasped, exhaling loudly through his mouth. The spiked texture of the burnt earth had dug into the armor of his back, and he could feel droplets of sweat evaporating off of his organic parts.
He knew, now, that there was a world beyond, and that there would be redemption and sacrifice, and that he was just only a pawn - if that! - in a universe so vast as to be unimaginable.