ZOMBI3S

Chapter 6 - Friends and Enemies Takua stumbled as he was thrown into the cell, the door’s iron hinges creaking as it was slammed shut behind him. He whirled around, watching Sithrak as the Kryll did the same. His black armor glimmered in the early moonlight, streaming through a small window near the ceiling. The Kryll had spent the better part of the day parading Takua through the streets like an animal — an exotic beast to be shown off, a thing for people to ogle at in fear and wonder. But finally, after hours, they had made their way to the fortress at the top of the island. This was where the crew would stay while they restocked on supplies and prepared for journey ahead. And it was where — as Sithrak put it — Takua was bestowed with his own luxurious quarters: this stone and iron prison cell. The two stared at each other before Sithrak spoke up, clearly not done antagonizing. “Do you like it?” he smiled, taking pleasure at the Matoran’s glare. “I oversaw the building of this place, so many years ago now.” Takua crossed his arms, letting his back slide down the wall until he sat on the floor, never breaking eye contact. “I’ve seen better.” Sithrak ignored him, sighing as he looked to the ceiling. “This island was once a place for your people. In older ages, before it was lost to time.” Takua continued his stare, determined to show the Kryll how much he didn’t care. But nevertheless, Sithrak continued. “Three-Finger Island, is what they once called it. Your people claimed it was the hand of Mata Nui, rising out of the depths to serve as a refuge for desperate sailors. The only earth between Mata Nui’s shores and the distant lands of the Eastern Continent.” Sithrak knelt to Takua’s level. “They said it was a sacred place. A peaceful place. One to be respected, preserved, and savored.” Takua blinked. He’d grown so tired of the Kryll’s words. “But Mata Nui didn’t care when we took it over. Mata Nui didn’t care when we built upon this quiet rock, molding it into a noisy place of business and trade. He didn’t care about its sacredness. He didn’t care about your sailors’ sanctuary.” Sithrak clicked his mandibles, eyes narrowing as he finished his threat. “Just like he doesn’t care about you.” And Takua continued staring, thinking of all the ways he could respond to that, before deciding to let out an exaggerated yawn. He stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck before looking back to the Kryll. “You know, after the first thousand taunts, it gets a little repetitive.” Sithrak smiled, enjoying himself. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he hissed. “We’ll only be here a few days, then our journey begins again.” He stood and turned to leave, walking down the stone hallway and out of sight. His voice echoed a moment later, barking at some unseen guard. “Fetch this one dinner! I want someone nearby at all times; make sure he eats and stays healthy….” Takua stared at his bars as Sithrak’s voice faded away, the moon highlighting their rusted iron. The fortress was barren and cold, and the breeze flowing through the barred window certainly didn’t help. The moon’s blue light streamed across his vision, and as Takua rubbed his arms, he began to wonder how all of this had happened. How did he get here, in this cell within a fortress, miles away from the island he had always called home? How had it happened that his only company for weeks had been Kryll? How had he become such a pitiful prisoner, unable to fight back, unable to do anything but watch as he was paraded around by his captors? He sank lower to the ground as his isolation got the better of him, his hatred for Sithrak fading, replaced only with hatred for himself. And he felt the endless cycle of rage and sorrow continue, one he had been trapped in ever since Ga-Koro. Ever since he had let his friends down. Ever since he had let the world down. For a brief instant, he remembered Le-Koro. He remembered the Spring Solstice, he remembered Talim, he remembered sitting atop those cliffs, watching the fireworks light up the sky as the people below celebrated. It all seemed like a dream now, a fantasy. Something he had made up to distract him from the real world. Takua closed his eyes, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as he remembered the life he used to have. The Twisted Nail, the Storyteller, the day Matau had given him the Atouri. He’d thought it was an honor at the time. A blessing. Something to be proud of. And look where it had gotten him. Why did you do this, Matau? Takua gritted his jaw, just a bit of water forming in the corners of his eyes. You could’ve sealed it away, you could’ve thrown it in the ocean. But you gave it to me instead. He wished he could go back, knowing what he knew now. He wished Matau would hand him the stone again, so he could bury it in the ground and forget about it forever. He wished he could scream at the Turaga, to show him all the heartbreak he had caused, all the pain he had brought to Le-Koro, to Talim, to his friends. If he had never touched the stone, none of this would have happened. If he had never held the Atouri, he would still be safe at home. If he had never felt Makuta’s heartbeat…. Takua squeezed his eyes shut, a tear falling down his cheek as he realized how much he missed the Turaga who raised him. …You’d still be alive. Thump-thp. There was a clatter of metal on stone, and Takua looked up, wiping the water from his mask as a tray of food slid through the bars towards him. A figure stood in the shadows just outside his cell, and while Takua at first thought it to be the cook who normally fed him, he quickly recognized his visitor’s crimson eyes and dark war paint. He scowled as he looked from Rashi to the tray, noticing a small portion of fish and a ball of rice wrapped in thin paper. Rashi knelt to slide something else across the floor, and a second later a crude metal fork came to rest near Takua’s boot. He picked it up, eyeing it suspiciously in the moonlight before looking back to the Kryll. He leaned back against the wall, putting up his usual front of hostility. “I get a fork today? What’s the occasion?” Rashi stared at him without emotion, her armor almost melding into the fortresses’ stone. Then, slowly, she nodded to his rice. “It is wrapped in sugar paper. Edible. But do not eat it until you have finished the other food.” Takua lowered his gaze, not sure what to do with this information. The Kryll stared back, and the two beings were silent for just a few seconds longer than was comfortable. But then Rashi stood up, nodded briefly, and walked off. Her footsteps echoed away, and Takua’s cell was silent again. He stared at his food, twirling the fork between his fingers, feeling like the encounter had been… strange, for whatever reason. But his stomach quickly got the better of him, and he pushed the thought out of his head, picked up the tray, and began to eat. He wasn’t sure why, but he did as Rashi said, leaving the sugar paper untouched as he cut away at his fish, as he scooped rice into his mouth with the fork. It wasn’t normal to have any kind of silverware, but perhaps the cook was in a good mood and felt the urge to spare him the simple kindness of an eating utensil. No matter why, Takua appreciated it; it made him feel more like a person, rather than a chained animal. Having finished his dinner, Takua put the tray down and grabbed the small square of edible paper, feeling its waxy texture as he tore off a corner and put it in his mouth. It dissolved quickly, sweetly, and he found it quite the delicacy. He’d never had anything of the sort before, and figured it must be a distinctly Kryll confectionary, when he — His train of thought stopped. Something on the paper caught his eye. Something, in a single string of moonlight… glimmered. Instantly he looked up, keeping watch for anyone who stood outside his cell, listening for any nearby footsteps, but for the moment he seemed to be alone. He sprung to his feet, flattening the paper out and holding it up to the moonlight, and… there! Written in a kind of glaze, some kind of syrup, were letters. Words! Sentences! He squinted, trying to make them out and, concentrating through his pounding heart, Takua… able to read it. Takua — Your friends yet live. The fight continues. Do not lose hope; we are coming. Takua gaped, wide-eyed, trying to comprehend what he had just read. He looked for a signature, for some way to figure out who had written the letters, but there were only a few markings in the corner he had already bitten off, and he was only able to make out the letter “I.” And he instantly knew. Only one person would be able to pull this off. Only one Matoran would be able to get a message to him all the way out here, in enemy territory, surrounded by guards and Kryll he — Takua turned around, thinking of Rashi, his image of her suddenly muddied. Surrounded by Kryll he had thought to be his enemy…. Looking over the paper again, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, Takua quickly balled it up and shoved it in his mouth, destroying all evidence of its existence. He looked out his cell’s window, shaken, confused, cautious, and yet… hopeful? His friends were alive? Kokani and Aya were alive? Could it be true? Takua stared out the window, watching the moon as it’s light twinkled across the endless sea, as it highlighted the gentle waves of the infinite ocean. A few specks of light, here and there, in what would overwise be an endless, dark horizon. Takua squinted, trying to make sense of it all. Whose side are you on, Illum? ~~~ Aya watched the back of Mako’s head as the Ta-Matoran escorted her and Kokani through the long, narrow hallway. There was something off about him, something that unnerved her, but she couldn’t quite place it. The captain of the Ta-Koro guard walked on, his maroon boots clumping softly on the mahogany floor, and Aya decided she didn’t like the way he slouched, the way the tips of his fingers twitched, the way he seemed to flinch at every sudden noise. She squinted, folding her arms before abruptly opening her mouth. “So which room is ours?” she blurted loudly. As expected, Mako flinched at the sound of her voice, before quickly regaining his composure and leading them to the second to last door in the hallway. “Right here,” he said quietly, as if his low voice wasn’t already hard enough to hear. He handed a metal key to each of them before motioning to one, then the other end of the hallway. “Guards are positioned at each end of the hall, at the top and bottom of the stairwells. They will come running at the slightest hint of provocation. When the Turaga require your council, a runner will be sent to give ample notice and to escort you to the council chamber when needed.” He gave a slight bow, opening the door to let them in. “I will be stationed on the first floor of the guard house just across the courtyard, if you have any concerns.” Aya took her key, entering the room behind Kokani. She took a quick look at the place. It was… functional, to say the least. Mako bowed again, his Matatu twitching only slightly. “You are in good hands, Kokani and Aya, Protectors of the Atouri.” “Thanks, but I think we can handle ourselves.” Aya said over her shoulder quickly, but Mako had already shut the door, and the two were alone in their new quarters. Protectors of the Atouri… she frowned, wishing the title would’ve been accurate. Good joke. Upon their arrival to the city, their caravan had split in a few different directions. About half of their number had stayed outside the city’s walls, and would camp with the convoys from the other Koro. Those who would have some role in the council were invited into the city for lodging, Aya and Kokani among them. But the Turaga and Toa had gone their own separate route, no doubt to wherever in the city was most secure, and while Aya wished she could have gone with Nokama and Gali, they had been instructed to follow the captain of the guard, and so here they were. In what they were told was a luxury inn. But the Ta-Matoran were known for their utilitarianism, and it definitely showed in their hospitality. The guesthouse was nice enough, but when it came to décor and comfort, it left a bit to be desired. Her and Kokani shared the space, and while they each had their own bed in opposite corners, that was about all the room offered. Save for a decorative tapestry that hung above Kokani’s bed, the rest of the room was barren and black, having been carved from volcanic rock. Only one small window sat on the far wall, offering a mediocre view of the courtyard below their third-story accommodation. Aya tossed her belongings in the corner as she walked to the window, opening it and sticking her head out as Kokani slowly sat on his bed. The cane Aya had made for him helped with his mobility, but his steps were slow and shaky, and he still needed to rest every few minutes or so. Aya glanced back to make sure he was okay before turning her attention to the skyline. “I don’t like it,” she said, staring out at the mess of spires and smokestacks, silhouetted against the early evening sky. “Something’s off about him. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it.” Kokani closed his eyes, breathing heavy as he leaned back on the bed, resting his scarred body. “You’re overthinking.” Aya’s gaze drifted downward, to the stone courtyard that separated the inn from the wide, grey guardhouse on the other side. Below, a small group of Po-Matoran advisors talked, waiting to be shown to their rooms. A moment later, Mako walked out of the inn to greet them, and Aya stared some more. “Did you see Raipu earlier? He was with all the Onu-Matoran.” Kokani nodded, but didn’t respond. “I don’t like that either.” But again, the Ko-Matoran said nothing. He stared at the ceiling, lost in whatever thoughts passed behind his off-white Akaku. Aya let out a low grumble, feeling more anxious the longer she stood, watching the Matoran mill about below. It was only their first day within Ta-Koro’s walls, but already she’d decided she’d rather be anywhere else. She understood the need for security, but all the guards, all the nobles and politicians, all the tall, packed-together spires that constantly surrounded them… she felt like she was being watched. As if no matter where she went, there would always be a pair of eyes following, prying, just out of sight. “We shouldn’t be here.” Aya turned around, slumping down to sit on the floor. “We should be helping find Takua and Jaka.” Kokani continued to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t think I could help much with that anymore.” Aya paused, regretting having said anything. She couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the fact that Kokani just couldn’t do the things he used to. She twiddled her thumbs, needing to do something, unable to simply sit and wait for the Turaga to summon her. How long would this whole thing take, anyway? Days? Weeks? The thought of watching Matoran meander from her window when she knew Takua and Jaka were out there, somewhere, held prisoner against their will — it was enough to drive her insane. She had to do something. “They’re still alive, right?” Aya asked, hoping for some validation. “If Krosis wanted them dead they would’ve been killed on the spot, right?” It took Kokani a moment to respond, but he did with a subtle nod. His mask was emotionless as he spoke. “That’s what I tell myself.” Just a little relieved, Aya shrugged. With newfound determination, she stood up and started to gather her belongings again. “Do you know where the Turaga are staying?” Kokani looked at her. “Aya….” Aya strapped her bow to her back and tightened her belt. “I heard someone say at a palace within the Lake of Fire. That’s toward the center of the city?” “Aya.” Aya paused, turning around to spare him a second of her attention. “What?” “We’re guests here,” Kokani said slowly, giving her a knowing look. “But that doesn’t mean we can do anything we want.” “I know that, I’m just having a look around.” Kokani propped himself up on his elbows, clearly aware that her response could mean a great many things. “Don’t do anything stupid.” “I’ll be back before nightfall,” she replied, patting the sword and dagger that rested at her hips. “I’ll be safe.” “I’m not worried about your safety.” Aya rolled her eyes as she turned to open the door, making sure to grant the Ko-Matoran a light-hearted farewell. “Bye, Kokani.” He didn’t have time to respond before the door shut behind her, and without hesitation, Aya pressed onward. She marched to the end of the hall, turning into the stairwell and ignoring the guard who snapped to attention at her presence. Within a minute she was on the ground floor, making her way through the inn’s bar and dining area, through the polished wood double doors, and into the courtyard. It took her only a few moments to get her bearings. The inn sat just a block off Ta-Koro’s main road, a wide, bustling street lined with shops, forges, artisans, and market stalls. Ta-Matoran of all sorts gathered here, looking to buy, bargain, smelt and sell, and while a few other types of Matoran roamed the busy streets, Aya felt she stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of red, orange, and maroon armor. But, undeterred, she pushed forward, heading to the city center. The vast majority of the people they arrived with had been granted lodging around this area, about halfway between the outer wall and the shell of the Mangai, which apparently separated the rest of the city from the oldest, most ancient districts. That coveted real estate rested within Ta-Koro’s infamous Lake of Fire, and was where — according to the rumors — all the Turaga would be staying. Aya paused, looking out at the cacophony of the street. She and Kokani weren’t important enough for the Lake of Fire, apparently. She moved, ignoring the vendors as they hocked their wares at her, ignoring the smells and sounds of the city, the roasting meat and vegetables on fiery grills, the hammering of crafters, the corded tapestries that flapped in the breeze as she kept pace. It was, she thought, certainly the loudest city she’d ever been in. If it wasn’t the chatter of the marketplace, it was the pounding of metal, the whooshing of bellows, the clanking of gears and steel and iron as the city worked and heaved and breathed on and on and on, well into evening light. Soon, the golden rays of sunset found their way through Ta-Koro’s billowing steam and smoke, and Aya found herself bathed in an orange, hazy light, face to face with a small guard tower, rising above the rest of the city’s charcoal buildings. It was built into the shell of the Mangai, and beyond it, as Aya could almost see through an open gateway, was the Lake of Fire. She stepped forward, passing two guards in crimson armor who carried tall, dual-pronged spears. They ignored her as they paced back and forth, patrolling the city’s oldest gate as the Ta-Koro Guard had done for centuries. Aya moved on, turning her attention to…. Mata Nui. All thoughts drifted away as she stared at the sight before her. It was a huge cavern, or perhaps more of a canyon, as a hole in the Mangai’s shell left the vast space open to the outside air. Fumes from far below billowed toward the sky, and Aya looked down to see the Lake of Fire itself — a boiling, churning lake of lava. She stared out into the smoky air, feeling the heat rise, taking a minute to process the blistering, fiery scene. But then, she swallowed and stepped forward, her boots moving onto the long, stone bridge that extended into the haze beyond. Aya wiped sweat from her brow as she glanced at the few other Matoran who crossed the bridge, going about their daily business. She’d never been one for cities in general, but at least Ga-Koro had beaches, and nice weather. She shook her head, hiding a grimace behind her mask. Fire-spitters…. But soon enough, she could see it. There, in the middle of the cavern, the faint outline of elder Ta-Koro arose; a giant, stone and metal column, rising from the magma’s center. All sorts of pipes and vents and bridges branched off it, extending into the lava, the walls at the edge of the lake, or back into the pillar itself, drawing power and warmth from the volcano. Dozens of towers and fortresses were built upon its flattened peak, towering above as Aya approached. She stared up at the blackened structures. Ominous and powerful, it reminded Aya of everything she knew to be inherently Ta-Matoran; strong, sturdy, and stubborn. Seriously… Aya thought as she reached the end of the bridge, passing through yet another gate. She remembered her history, how once, long ago, this city had been destroyed by Makuta’s forces. But what had the Ta-Matoran done? Moved to a safer spot? No, of course not; they’d rebuilt in the exact same place. Aya shook her head. Even I’m not that stubborn. Finding herself in a large square surrounded by thick fortress walls and grand, important-looking buildings, a huge stone clocktower among them. Aya examined the city’s center. All sorts of Matoran bustled about, and there were guards were almost everywhere: atop the walls, on street corners, beside gates and doors. But what really drew her attention was the palace — or fortress, as it was sometimes hard to tell with Ta-Koro — looming the opposite end of the square. Already knowing she was in the right place, Aya made a beeline for it, pushing her way through the crowd as she stared at the structure’s tall pillars and thin, slit-windows. Grand, powerful, and in the center of everything, it shone like a star among the other buildings, lit up by a hundred lightstones imbedded into its black stone. Its entrance was secured with a pair of tall iron doors emblazoned with the symbol of Ta-Koro, and as Aya reached them her heart fluttered, both intimidated and excited by what she might find inside. She reached out, pressing her weight against the iron, pushing her way inward, and — The doors didn’t budge. Vakama’s palace, it seemed, was not open to the public. Overlooking the few Matoran who shuffled around her, she stepped closer, resting her hands against the doors’ metal, feeling their warmth against her palms. Ta-Koro’s signature glow reflected in their design, and Aya frowned as she looked up into the steamy, hazy, red air. She took a deep breath. It smelled of sulfur and smoke. “Hey!” a voice called out, and Aya looked to her left, where a guard was fast approaching. A helmet covered half his mask, and he carried a guardsman’s tall, customary spear. “You lost or something? The palace is off-limits.” Aya took her hands off the doors, immediately ready to play her part. “Thank Mata Nui you’re here! I’ve been summoned by Turaga Illum; he needs my testimony for the council immediately, but I’m new to the city and haven’t quite found my way around yet.” she said, acting as flustered as she could. “Won’t you please help me? Am I in the right place?” The guard stopped just a few feet away and eyed her up and down. “Yeah, you are. But its standard protocol that no one gets into the Turaga’s quarters or the council chamber unless escorted by the captain of the guard or the Turaga themselves. So sorry, but those are the rules.” “You don’t understand,” Aya placed her hands on her hips. “This is an urgent matter! Every minute that ticks by is another minute wasted. I’d really rather not have to tell the Turaga that our meeting didn’t happen because some guard at the gate was obsessed with protocol.” The guard crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, Turaga Vakama’s a pretty forgiving guy. And we got a lot of important people visiting right now, so I think he and Illum will understand if I err on the side of caution.” “Listen to me,” Aya glared at the guard, quickly running out of things to say. “I have to get through this door!” And the guard leaned forward, a taunting smile spreading on his face. “Then you’re more than welcome to ask the captain or the Turaga to escort you.” Her face growing hot, Aya clenched her jaw. In an instant she had sized up the Ta-Matoran, determined his armor to be too clunky, his spear too long, and in a matter of seconds she would be able best him, search for a key, and be on her way. Her fingers twitched for her dagger, hovering at her waist, but… no. She shook a finger at him instead. “You’re doing the Turaga a disservice! I have official business to attend to, and when I meet with them I’ll make sure that you are held accountable!” she scolded, making sure to back off before she completely blew her story. But the guard wasn’t worried. “Come back with a better excuse tomorrow, I’ll be here.” He grinned, leaning against his staff. Aya shot him one last dirty look before she stormed off, muttering something about finding his superior, and slid into the nearest alleyway, out of sight. “Fire-spitters!” she cursed. Once free from the eyes of the guard and the crowd, Aya took a moment to think. She pressed her back against the building behind her, concealed within its shadow and the many fabrics that hung from several clotheslines above. She bit her lip in frustration. Getting to the Turaga — getting to Illum — was going to be harder than she thought. The clocktower above her went off, startling Aya with a deep, bellowing bong. The jarring, metal sound echoed throughout the city, and Aya counted the number of times it rang in her head. One, two, three… a total of ten — the day was growing old; perhaps it was time to head back. And besides, Aya shrugged, stifling a long-winded yawn. She had learned what she’d set out to. With a deep breath, Aya turned and headed back the way she came, scheming of all the possible ways she could bypass the guard. If she could get a letter to Nokama, perhaps, or Gali…? That option seemed slower than what she was looking for, and she’d prefer this whole thing to be as secretive as possible. She could always just wait until the Turaga summoned her, but again, who knew how long that would take? And besides, she doubted they would let her roam freely once inside. If she had to guess, people would be watching Illum, and if she could get a close-up with the Turaga of Onu-Koro, the last thing she wanted was people watching. He knows something. Aya remembered the way he had smiled at her and Kokani, the way he had seemed so confident and comfortable, even though half the reason this council was happening was to determine if he should be dethroned or not. He has to know something…. With her brow furrowed, she continued her way home. By the time Aya reached the inn again, the sun had set and city was dark. Business on the main road dwindled, and while a few Matoran still roamed the streets, it was much quieter. The courtyard was empty, almost silent and as Aya crossed it, and she looked over her shoulder at the guard house sitting on the other side. It was dark, save for a lone window on the first floor, one she assumed to be Mako’s quarters. She briefly thought about barging in and demanding entrance into the palace, but… Aya yawned. It had been a long day. Tomorrow, perhaps. She turned to head back to the inn, and — Raipu stared at her, just a few feet away. It seemed the two had caught each other by surprise, as neither moved a muscle. They both stared, frozen, the air motionless around them as each tried to think of what to do or what to say. But, after an excruciating few moments, Aya swallowed, managing to pull just a few words out of her throat. “Hey,” she said, her voice cracking. “I saw you earlier, when we first arrived. Didn’t… uh… didn’t really expect to see you here.” “Yeah,” Raipu said, managing a slight nod. His tan Hau was almost stoic, save for a bit of confusion, or maybe worry. “You either.” The city was silent as the seconds ticked by, and Aya suddenly wished it would go back to the noisy rabble from earlier. The moon slid out from behind a cloud, shining a dim light upon the two Matoran. “So…” Aya crossed her arms. “So, what happened? Sorin went back to look for you, but we never heard anything. And… none of us were ever sure…” “I made it back to Onu-Koro,” Raipu replied quickly, almost cutting her off. “Illum found me. And apologized for everything. For anything his guards may have done…” Aya narrowed her eyes, her temper creeping at Illum’s name. “…And… what? Now you’re a part of his posse?” “He was just doing what he thought was right. And if you’d hear him explain it, you’d understand.” Raipu replied, his voice only slightly giving away his emotions. But he paused, took a deep breath, and it quickly returned to normal. “He offered me a job, so… I’m here.” “Yeah, an apology and a job offer,” Aya felt her chest warm. “That absolves him of everything right?” “He got Nika’s body out,” Raipu retorted coldly. He stared at Aya, his eyes shining in the dim light as he paused again, obviously having trouble with his words. But still, he persevered. “And we gave her a funeral. A beautiful one. One that she… one that she deserved.” Aya cursed. “Raipu, none of us wanted that to happen — ” “Yeah, well — it did.” She breathed in, filling her lungs to their brim before exhaling all at once. Arms still folded, she looked to the ground, biting her tongue. There was a lot she could say, but none of it felt right. Not now, at least. Not after all this time. “…Well, it’s good to see you back on your feet.” “I heard Takua’s dead.” Aya looked back to him, instantly tensing. He’d said it with spite, as if it was good news, as if he was mocking their failure. She gritted her jaw and stared him in the eyes, her gaze nothing if not intense. It was her turn to speak coldly. “You don’t know that.” But Raipu had his response prepared. “Then where is he?” He let out a sad smirk, gesturing to the empty space around him. To the quiet, empty darkness. “Where is he?” he repeated. “Where’s the Atouri? Where’s the Toa of Light?” And Aya knew she couldn’t respond to that. She stood there, unmoving, gripping her biceps with white fingers as she stared at him, suppressing every emotion she felt but couldn’t explain. She tapped her foot, swallowing, trying to force out some sort of reply, if not an explanation than a witty comeback. Something, anything to fill the silence as Raipu’s eyes bored into her. But in the end she found nothing, and forced herself to say the only thing she could. “…Have a good night, Raipu.” And after only a second, Raipu walked off. His voice reached her ears just as he passed beyond her vision. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Hey, better late than never, and I love it!! Just the kind of lighthearted (and somewhat absurd) adventure I was hoping for. A 'Honey, I Shrunk the Kids' and Bionicle mashup is something I never knew I wanted until now. I didn't expect to find a Mavrah tie-in with a Mata-Nui setting, but I always found his character interesting and I can't wait to see where you go with it. The way you use treespeak -- which is always a challenge, from my experience -- definitely isn't canon, but I like the liberties that you took with it (poop-crud, lol. I am an adult.) Also, Kopaka's 'What the Fikou?' Hahaha classic. Thank you for this, and I can't wait to read more! PS. I know I'm not supposed to comment in an epic's primary topic, but I didn't see a review topic available, and I just had to respond, so... yeah. Please feel free to delete or move to another review topic if I missed it... sorry!!

Haha Lewa was always my favorite too! I really tried to get his character right; I feel like he tends to be forgotten when it comes to fanfiction. And I love that you love it! I tried to make something that focused heavily on the themes, was definitively and recognizably Bionicle, all while making sure it was something I enjoyed writing about as well - early 2001 seemed to fit the bill. And I actually did think about adding a MoL-esque Makuta scene (we seem to be one the same wavelength here), but in the end I thought it was better to keep everything small and grounded. This was my first fanfic exchange ever, so I was actually pretty nervous about how this would be received - but in the end you do have the final say, so I guess I did a good job! (Read: I AM SO FRICKIN STOKED RN HECK YES) So yeah, glad I could be a part of this! In the immortal words of Marie Kondo, your comments and thoughts sparks joy

This is like... one of the nicest things anyone's ever said about my writing?? Brb I'm gonna go cry for a minute. But seriously thank you so much. I really really tried to capture that signature atmosphere of 2001, and I'm so glad you could feel it. Thank you!! It just always feels off-putting when I read fics and the characters act out of their canon selves, so I really tried to keep them as true as I could. And I don't know why, but I absolutely LOVE putting lore references into my work. So glad you found them! Concerning the treespeak - ah, the freakin treespeak. It just ranges so much in the canon depending on the time and who is using it, it's difficult to find one definitive way to implement it. I'm glad you thought it worked for the most part, I tried to keep a good balance of the old-school, choppy way it was used in MNOG, and what was actually understandable and consistent with how Lewa talks it the majority of the timeline. But as for your question! I tried to slip it in just a little after Bionicle Issue #2 - Trapped by the Rahi (as is referenced by Lewa obtaining his Kakama, getting ambushed by a Nui-Rama, and being saved by Onua), but before most of the events of Bionicle Issue #3 - Triumph of the Toa (where the Toa seem to learn the value of teamwork). I never actually read the Bionicle books (I have no excuse for this; I am a bad fan), so I wasn't entirely sure it fit there, but that's what I was going for. I actually did spend a solid amount of time on BS01 looking up the time frame's of everything, so... awesome! I guess it worked! Oh, and as for the title... I was aiming for something descriptive yet short and relevant, something that would help the story rise up; something that would help it levitate, if you will. Ehhh that was pretty bad I'll see myself out.

This story is part of the 2018 BZPower Fanfic Exchange, and was written for Torran! He wanted to see grand adventure, character development, and internal conflict — I hope I did a good enough job for you. Enjoy, buddy! The Mask of Irritation Lewa… he was the worst. Kopaka took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he stifled a scowl. He trudged along the underbelly of the jungle, plowing his way through mud and leaves and roots as his companion flitted easily alongside. The Toa of Air was in his element, leaping and swinging across branches, humming a happy tune as he waited every few minutes for Kopaka to catch up. He was — as he always seemed to be — in a wonderful mood, and that annoyed Kopaka to no end. “I’m quick-telling you,” Lewa’s voice echoed as he dangled like a monkey a dozen feet up. “Just try leap-swinging, brother! We’ll make much faster progress.” Kopaka’s sword sliced through a thick vine as he waded through murky, calf-deep water. He glared straight ahead. “That’s not how I work.” “Suit yourself, bog-foot walker.” Kopaka pushed forward, suppressing an urge to fire a bolt of ice at the Air-Toa. It had only been a few weeks since their arrival on Mata Nui, and in that time he’d gotten to know his fellow Toa well enough. Onua and Pohatu were alright; he admired their prowess, and while he normally preferred to work alone, their strength was sometimes useful to have around. Gali was wise and had proven herself a peacekeeper when tempers were hot, which he felt was a necessary addition to their team. Even Tahu, an arrogant, hot-headed, impulsive, fire-spitting — Kopaka took a breath. Even Tahu had a strong sense of duty, among a few other redeeming qualities. But then… but then. There was Lewa. His sword flashed through the misty air, slicing a path through leafy-green foliage as the Air-Toa flew overhead, his green armor glinting as he perched on a branch, humming some tune from Le-Koro. Lewa’s head was in the trees, literally and figuratively. He was overconfident, aloof, wild, without a care in the world. He had no sense of duty or purpose, and had yet to prove himself capable in any sense of the word. Sure, he had managed to find a Kakama, but he’d been ambushed afterward and had lost his mask in the process. Onua had managed to get him out of that situation and all was good in the end… but still. It was sloppy. And they were up against Makuta. Kopaka hacked his way through a broad cluster of undergrowth. They were Toa — they didn’t have the luxury of being sloppy. Up ahead, Lewa had climbed to the forest canopy, looking out above the trees. His voice carried down, muffled slightly by all the leaves. “Daylight wanes, and we have long-miles to go. Perhaps it is best if we rest for the night?” Kopaka looked up, halfway through a bramble patch, only now realizing that the light had faded into the golden-orange of early evening. His response was short. “We can go a bit longer.” “…Bad-Rahi prowl the jungle at night, brother.” “Then we’ll deal with them.” Kopaka retorted. He began hacking his way forward once more. Lewa gazed down at him, stifling a concerned look before continuing to swing through the branches. But Kopaka paid him no attention. He had to get this mask, if only so he could stand being around Lewa. With the Air-Toa having both a Miru and a Kakama, Kopaka figured it was in his sanity’s best interest to at least obtain his own Mask of Levitation. Lewa had heard rumors of one nestled in the depths of Le-Wahi, quickly offering his expertise in reaching it, and while Kopaka dreaded putting himself in this situation… one way or another, he had to get this mask. And so the two continued, Kopaka following Lewa’s lead as he hacked and slashed his way through the jungle, wading through murky waters and streams, weaving through towering trees and grasses, climbing up creepers and vines, all to get a few feet deeper into the rugged rainforest. The hours went on and soon the light faded, turning from yellow to orange to blue and then, eventually black. A mist fell upon the trees and the temperature dropped, going from hot and humid to… well, chilly, but still humid. Not that Kopaka was complaining about the cold, by any means. Crickets, cicadas, and other creatures of the night awoke, their calls soon echoing through the trees, muting the sound of Kopaka’s sword has he pushed his way ever forward. His blade never failed him, but as he kept going, as he kept lashing out, carrying his shield on his back, trudging through waist-deep water and mud, Kopaka soon found himself exhausted. His breathing became labored, his legs strained with every step, and his arms grew heavy from cutting through miles upon miles of jungle. And all the while Lewa hung effortlessly overhead, pausing every few minutes as he patiently waited for the Ice-Toa to catch up. It was. So. Annoying. Silent as ever but stifling a storm inside, Kopaka swung his blade at a tangle of vines, cutting, tearing them apart as he advanced, slowly, steadily. This way and that his blade sang through the air, his face emotionless as his body tired, as his eyes struggled to see in the shadowy night. But still, he wouldn’t stop. He kept up his grind, he kept moving, he kept cutting and hacking and slashing, delving deeper and deeper into the mass of green and brown, refusing to be beaten by the jungle’s snares, until — A hand on his shoulder. Kopaka whirled around, ready to defend himself from an attack, only to see Lewa’s dim outline before him. The Toa’s lime eyes glowed in the darkness, the only light for miles around as the trees towered quietly around them. “Perhaps we should rest, brother.” And Kopaka stared at him, his armor scratched and muddied, his mask stoic but his shoulders slouched, arms hanging low at his sides. He took a few deep breaths, regaining his posture as he took in his surroundings. It was late. Night entombed the untamed jungle, and the Ice-Toa crossed his arms. “If you insist.” ~~~ “Where is this mask, exactly?” Lewa paused for a moment, the firelight reflecting off his Miru. “Deep-wood. Perhaps a day or so more. I’ve only seen it from a far-distance, but it is hard to miss. Atop cliff-bound, old-bone ruins. Matau says they’re spirit-haunted, but I don’t think so. Rahi, maybe, but not ghost-demons.” Kopaka squinted, managing to make sense of his treespeak. Even the way Lewa talked managed to get on his nerves, and he wondered if he had come to Mata Nui speaking like that or if he’d learned it from the Le-Matoran. He wasn’t sure which option annoyed him more. His response came as a grunt from where he sat, and Kopaka leaned back against a tree trunk, trying to put it out of his mind. Trying to rest his tired body and nerves. Across their fire, Lewa lounged on a low hanging branch, his axe sunk into a great root below him. And for a moment, their small, secluded camp was quiet, just the way Kopaka liked it. He took a deep breath, crossing his arms as he listened to their crackling fire, to the sounds of the forest, and Kopaka closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of reprise. But it couldn’t last. “So what masks have you search-found?” Kopaka’s icy blue eyes opened, narrowing as they stared at the fire. His response was short. “A Hau.” “Shielding?” Lewa plucked a leaf from a nearby branch, fiddling with it before blowing it into the air, using his powers to send it skyward. “I could pass on that one. Way I see it, why does a Toa-hero need shielding when he has ever-quick agility? Miru and Kakama are the most important, I say-think.” Kopaka attempted to close his eyes again. “We need all the masks to defeat Makuta, Lewa.” “Yeah, but I can slow-wait on a few of them. Like Kaukau? Mask of Water Breathing? Why water-breathe when you can dry-stay on land?” Kopaka grunted, choosing to end the conversation and focus instead on his breathing. It was easier to meditate in the mountains, where the snows muffled sound, and where Lewa didn’t like to go. He fixated on the cicadas, their constant drum serving as a backdrop to the night, a subtle white noise that he could use as a canvas to drape over his turbulent mind. He relaxed his shoulders, letting go of the day’s worries, returning once more to his calm, collected self — “You ever get shiver-cold up in those mountains?” Kopaka’s eyes snapped open. “No.” “What about wet? All that freeze-water, it must soak into you after many long-walks, yeah?” He gritted his jaw. “If it melts, I freeze it.” Lewa cocked his head, the orange firelight flickering off his armor. “So when you’re thirsty, do you drink water, or does it quick-freeze the moment it touches you?” And Kopaka looked at him, unable to tell if he was joking. He closed his eyes again, not granting Lewa a response. But again, the Air-Toa was undeterred. “I just don’t understand how you do it,” he went on as he looked to the dark canopy. “Snow… it’s water, but cold. Gross-bad. And it sticks to you. Annoying.” “Not as annoying as certain people.” “Ah, people!” Lewa laughed, clearly not taking the hint. “What would we ever-do without them?” he sniggered for a minute before looking out at the forest again. “It is good to be out in the quiet, don’t you think? In the ever-wilds.” Kopaka sighed, his patience waning faster than ever. “Lewa — I’m going to sleep. You take first watch. Wake me if anything approaches, or when it’s my turn to take over.” “…Oh,” Lewa paused. “Alright, deep-sleeper. Your closed eyes are safe with me.” And again, Kopaka was quiet. His mask still, his body relaxed, he once again focused on the trees, on his breathing, on the ever-constant rustle of leaves above. It was, now that he finally had some peace, quite calming. Different from the mountains, yet similar in many ways — instead of the snow’s quiet embrace, the mist hung around him. Instead of the frost-dusted pines, the jungle’s broad leaves — “You want the fire doused? The flames keep away bug-Rahi, but might attract bigger —” Kopaka’s eyes erupted, and his stare alone was enough to freeze the Toa of Air in place. Fiercer than Ko-Wahi’s winds and colder than its glaciers, his mask was somehow stoic yet menacing at the same time. Lewa hovered halfway over the fire, a water-filled gourd in one hand, suddenly not sure how to move. “…I just thought it might be a little bright if you want to deep-sleep.” “Do what you will.” And Kopaka closed his eyes. Again. It took a while for sleep to come, as he kept expecting Lewa to make some other sudden, annoying noise, but this time the Toa of Air seemed to get the message. The night remained quiet, it remained calm, it remained everything Kopaka needed it to be in order to get just a little bit of rest. The crickets chirped, the fire cracked, the leaves rustled, and all around, Kopaka let the forest embrace him. He let himself relax, and finally, he rested. For a while, at least. ~~~ Vibrations. Twigs snapping. Leaves… moving. Something was coming. Kopaka stirred. He lay still as his mind awoke, his spine tingling as his body went on edge. He opened his eyes, though he couldn’t see much — the fire was out; only a few coals glowing beneath a pile of smoking ash. The leaves were motionless, the mist hung low, and Lewa lay across from him, unmoving on his branch, facing away from camp. It seemed to be just before dawn. There it was again. Leaves pushed out of the way as something stalked the forest floor. It was coming towards them. Silently, Kopaka reached for his sword, looking to Lewa. He had to have felt it too, right? A slight thump to his right — a leg, pausing on a tree root? It had to be big. Kopaka braced himself, his muscles tensing as everything went silent, ready for anything. Squeezing the hilt of his sword, his heart pounded as the seconds ticked by, and he knew it was coming. The world paused and time froze as he took a deep breath, holding steady… steady… and…. Nothing. Kopaka squinted, looking to his right as he activated the powers of his Akaku. And for an instant his vision lit up, an orange heat signature confirming that something nearby was — Skreee! The screech filled his ears as a monster flew towards him, barreling through the air as it pounced. Kopaka rolled out of the way just as its claws sank into the earth, popping to his feet, whipping out his shield and readying his blade as it turned on him again. Behind, Lewa stirred, but Kopaka had no time to spare any attention — the beast was on him. It leapt forward again, its eight, spindly legs scraping against his shield as he stumbled, pushed back by its weight. He swung his sword in retaliation, and the giant spider-thing screeched, retreating for only a second before pouncing again, but this time Kopaka was ready. Sidestepping, it flew past him, sinking its claws into a nearby tree, and Kopaka fired one, two, three icicles through his sword, each spike embedding into the wood as the Rahi scuttled upwards, narrowly avoiding his attack. Kopaka looked up just in time to see it jumping down, flying forward, but this time he didn’t have the speed to dodge. With a thud he hit the dirt, the spider on top of him, its dark eyes shining just inches from his mask as he tried to shove it off, drooling fangs yearning to sink into his armor. But with a roll and a kick he was free again, and he swung his sword as he sprang to his feet, unleashing his ice at the monster once more, forcing it back once again as Kopaka — Fwoosh! A fire erupted behind him and Kopaka had to pause, shielding his eyes as light engulfed their camp. The large spider-Rahi squealed, sinking away from the flames, pausing for only a second before it scuttled off, a trail of foliage fluttering in its wake. Kopaka turned to see Lewa, standing across the fire, smugly having used his air to reignite the smoldering coals. But Kopaka wasn’t happy. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice calm but stern. “I thought you were keeping watch.” Lewa frowned, obviously expecting a different reaction. “Sorry for quick-saving you, I suppose.” “I had that under control. Why weren’t you keeping watch?” he insisted. “I was watching.” “I specifically told you to wake me if anything approaches. You fell asleep, did you not?” “It was just a Fikou,” Lewa crossed his arms, obviously avoiding the question. “Maybe a big-strong one, but not too dangerous.” Kopaka felt his chest warm. “And it if wasn’t? If it was a Nui-Rama, or a Muaka, or something that could’ve crippled us with one hit? What then, Lewa?” “Easy, brother, everything is alright.” “It is not, Lewa!” The clearing was silent as the two Toa stared at each other, both in a bit of shock after hearing Kopaka raise his voice. The fire flickered as a dim light began to shine through the leaves, and they both knew that dawn would be arriving. Another day would soon be upon them, along with many more miles of travel. Kopaka sheathed his sword, placing his shield on his back as he went on. “There are only six of us,” he said plainly. “We have a responsibility to the people of this island, and we need to take this threat seriously if we’re going to succeed. Everything is very much not alright, Lewa, and if you want to survive all of this, something is going to have to change. I suggest you think about that.” And Lewa didn’t have much else to say. He stood there, motionless for a second, before answering with a quiet nod. He loosened his shoulders and walked over to where his axe was still embedded in its root. And then, picking it up, he turned and pointed to his left. “About a day’s journey, southeast. Look for tall spire-cliffs; the mask should be at their peak-top, in the middle of the ruins.” Then he turned, looking over his shoulder at Kopaka. “I know when I’m not wanted, Ice-Toa, and I work better alone. So if you need me, I’ll be search-finding my own masks.” He swung his axe over his shoulder and hopped onto the nearest, low-hanging branch. “I suggest you quick-think about that.” And in a moment, Lewa was gone. Disappeared through the trees, leaving Kopaka to fend for himself. The Toa of Ice didn’t move for a minute or two. He stood there, letting dawn shine ever brighter through the canopy of leaves as the jungle slowly awoke to start another day. And as Kopaka prepared to leave, he made sure to douse the fire. With a swing of his sword ice shot into the coals, which sizzled for a moment before turning dark and dying. It would be another bright, warm day in southern Mata Nui, but Kopaka liked it cold. ~~~ As it turned out, Lewa’s directions were wrong. Maybe it was a day’s journey at his speed, swinging and levitating through the air, but it took Kopaka three until he could even see his destination: a cluster of tall, spire-like cliffs, standing in the middle of a deep, overgrown valley. From where he stood now, at the edge of the basin, he could almost make out the stone ruins that rested at their peak. He could almost see where his next Kanohi waited. The journey had been long, hard, and exhausting, and Kopaka had spent it in a foul mood, but he had made it all the same — even without Lewa’s help. He had always preferred to be alone, and perhaps that was the one trait he shared with the Toa of Air; perhaps that was Lewa’s one redeeming quality. Kopaka huffed, securing his shield before beginning his final descent into the valley. It had been foolish to accept the Air-Toa’s help in the first place. He knew the only person he needed was himself. Still traversing at a snail’s pace, Kopaka was ever-patient, cutting, climbing, working and wading his way through the valley, until finally, after hours, he stood at the base of the tallest spire, looking up at the great cliff before him. It stood, tall as a mountain, rising almost straight up into the sky, daring him to try and climb it. It’s peak, barely visible from so far away, gazed down on him, as he would the tiniest of insects. The Toa of Ice cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. He had climbed many mountains in his time, but never as steep, as abrupt, or as intense as this. The Mask of Levitation… he thought. How fitting that one would need to levitate to find it. And so he began his ascent. Searching for handholds, he climbed the vertical rock, carefully placing his boots, cautiously wedging his fingers into whatever crevice he could find. He climbed and he climbed, rising above the treetops that grew from the valley’s floor, soon finding himself exposed to the open air of Le-Wahi. It was tiring, pulling himself higher and higher, bit by bit, but he knew he could do it; he could do anything he put his mind to. He just had to focus, and he would make it, in time. Kopaka was beginning to notice a trend about this island, about this strange land of Mata Nui. There was a certain… logic to it, a certain dry humor to the places he could find these Kanohi. Makuta seemed to be testing them, choosing hiding places that were never impossible to reach, but always difficult enough to test their merit. As if finding these masks were simply a game to play, a puzzle to solve, a riddle to understand. Kopaka pulled himself onto a narrow ledge, frowning as he spared a minute to rest. He looked out to the valley. He had always hated riddles. Although only a third of the way up, he still towered above the treetops. Able to see for miles, the vast expanse of Le-Wahi stretched out before him, ending in a green haze at the horizon where the endless jungle met the bright blue sky. The mid-morning sun shone upon his armor, and a cool breeze brushed against his mask, smelling of earth and soil and life. Allowing himself this moment, he stared to the horizon, taking it all in: the sun, the sky, the trees, the earth, the air. Le-Wahi, as vastly different as it was to Ko-Wahi, was still… beautiful. Kopaka took a deep breath, filling his lungs to their brim before exhaling. But alas, he still had much work to do. And so Kopaka turned his back on the view. Up and up he went, climbing ever higher, the distance between him and the ground rising to terrifying heights. But he never looked down, always keeping his mind on his prize. Eventually he managed to find a broken, narrow ledge that wound its way up the cliffside, some parts of which were still wide enough to walk upon, and so he shuffled his way along it. It seemed to have once been a trail, perhaps to reach the ruins at the summit, but if that was the case it was last used ages ago, and was by no means reliable, or safe. But still, the narrow, inconsistent platforms helped his progress, and he found himself another third of the way up by midday. It was here that his narrow path stopped, instead turning into the spire itself, and the Toa of Ice found himself staring into a gloomy tunnel, carved into the rock by forgotten hands an uncountable number of years ago. The sun shone bright at his back, but he gazed into the dark, unsheathing his sword, knowing that it had all been too easy. He would’ve been a fool to think Makuta would leave this Kanohi out in the light, unguarded. And so Kopaka stepped into the mountain, his icy eyes glowing as he left the light behind. Come now, Makuta, he challenged. You should know by now that I do not fear the dark. The black consumed him quickly, and soon, everything was silent. Drip… drip… drip…. Water, falling somewhere nearby. The quiet tapping of his boots, echoing on tunnel floor. The steady, in and out of his breathing. Kopaka’s fingers were white around the hilt of his sword. The air was still. The air was quiet. The rock watched from all around. Tap… tap… tap…. He wished he could walk quieter, but in a world as silent as this, every movement echoed. He wasn’t alone here, in this twisting, climbing tunnel — that much was obvious. He could feel it in the air, in his spine, in his bones. With a twitch of his neck he activated the powers of his Akaku, allowing him to scan the gloom for any trace of life, for any signature of heat, even through rock. And there it was: a ways upward and ahead, somewhere deep within the rock: a great blur of heat, far larger than himself. Something massive, some great and terrible Rahi, lying in wait for him. But without any light, how would he know when he was close? Exactly how large was the beast, and which way would the tunnel take him? If he moved straight forward, would he soon meet his foe, or would the tunnel twist and turn for miles before forcing them together? Kopaka took a deep breath, readying his shield just in case. There was only one way to find out. Keeping one hand on the wall to guide him, he marched onward, steadily climbing through the inside of the spire, keeping his gaze on the strange heat signature. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen — seemingly without a head, tail, or even a clear body, it displayed as an orange blob through his mask, like the entire thing was one twisting mass of appendages. He kept it in his vision no matter how the tunnel twisted, and as he drew nearer it grew larger and larger, until it was far beyond the size of any Rahi he’d ever encountered. Blind, and up against something massive he wasn’t familiar with, he feared for a moment he was in over his head, but he soon pushed that thought away. He was a Toa. He had no room in his head for doubt. Moving, walking, shuffling through the darkness, he eventually found himself at the same level as the beast, and he knew he had to be close to the spire’s summit. And then he turned one last corner, and the wall quickly fell away from his hand. Realizing he was in a larger cavern, with the orange blob ten times his size now, he readied his sword and shut off his mask, seeing light for the first time in what seemed like hours. It streamed through a small opening at the other end of the cavern, barely highlighting the edges of boulders and rock columns, and providing just enough light to see the massive, twisting beast that sat before him. Kopaka froze in place. What… what was it? The light silhouetted it from behind, and so he couldn’t see much, but his initial instincts seemed correct. It was a mound of armored legs and claws and tails, twisting around each other, with no head or body to be found — a huge, disgusting, horrid thing that clustered in the center of the room. Kopaka hoped he could avoid it by skirting along the cavern’s edges, and so carefully, he took a step to his left. But… His boot met a puddle of unseen water, making a splash. A tiny, small, trivial splash — one that echoed throughout the cavern. And suddenly, the beast had eyes. First two, then four, then eight, then a dozen pairs of eyes, all glowing orange in the dark, all turning to the Toa of Ice as he cursed to himself. It wasn’t one massive Rahi, it was many, clustered so tightly together they had seemed to merge. Kopaka stood on the balls of his feet and readied his blade, channeling his power as he realized what he was up against: a dozen stingers, two dozen claws, six dozen legs. Nui-Jaga. A nest of them. “Come on then, you…” Wasting no time, he unleashed his power, throwing giant spikes of ice as he sprinted for the exit, but he wasn’t the only one to move. All at once the Rahi came alive, scuttling across the cavern floor, walls, and ceiling, making a beeline for him as they dodged his attacks, closing the distance in seconds. Thinking quickly, Kopaka coated floor around him in ice, and the nearest of the Rahi slid, scrambling for traction as they smashed into each other and the cavern wall. Dazed, it granted Kopaka a precious few seconds, which he used to get just a few feet closer to the light. Crunch! A boulder to his right crumbled, crushed under the power of a Nui-Jaga’s claws, and the force of the blow sent Kopaka sliding sideways across the cavern floor. Wincing, he whirled around, just barely able to dodge the nearest one’s stinger, which sank into the ground above his shoulder. The massive scorpion struggled to free its tail from the rock, and Kopaka retaliated with one great swing of his sword, a spear of ice slashing through its armor, sending the beast flying backwards, pinning it to the cavern wall. In a second, Kopaka was back on his feet. One down, eleven to go. He jumped back as three more lunged at him, just barely avoiding their claws before turning to run again, raising a wall of ice between him and the monsters — but with a crash they broke through; they were too strong, too quick! Another had scuttled down from the wall, cutting off his escape, and he fired another ice spear at it, but to no avail: it scuttled out of the way, and he was surrounded as two more came from the sides. Kopaka turned to face them. “Foul beasts —” But he didn’t have time to finish his taunt. The Nui-Jaga to his right lunged, its stinger plowing forward as Kopaka leapt into the air, twisting his body as the poisonous barb sailed underneath him, and with a flick of his arm, his blade cut through flesh and armor, lopping off the end of Rahi’s tail. With a thud Kopaka landed safely, the Rahi’s high-pitched squeal reaching his ears as he whirled around, ready for the next attack. It came from his left as he dodged a pair of snapping claws, rolling back before popping again to his feet, and — “Aah!” His eyes. Kopaka cursed. His eyes! He stumbled back as a cloud of venom hit him in the mask, and his already poor vision went blurry, disorienting him as he whirled around again, ready to fend off another of the beasts. Swinging his sword wildly, he fired a stream of ice at the large shape in front of him, trying desperately to clear his vision… Slam! A hit from behind and Kopaka was down, losing his grip on his sword as he slid across the cavern floor, gravel and dust cutting into his back. He winced, throwing his shield above him as he heard scuttling, as something massive came down upon him, the full weight of a Nui-Jaga pushing him down, the blurry forms of its pincers trying to bite through his shield, trying to tear at his flesh and armor. He kicked upward, still blind, still desperately trying to get the Rahi off him, fighting for every inch of space. But there was more scuttling, and he knew he only had seconds before the rest of them came down as well. He didn’t have the strength to push it off… he didn’t have the time! Already he could feel the others coming, and he had to move, but the Nui-Jaga clawed at his shield, its drool dripping onto his mask, its great weight pinning him down, and… and… A sudden gust of air — no, a hurtling burst of wind, with the speed and power of a hurricane! The Rahi above him grew lighter, its weight lifting, and with one final kick, Kopaka pushed it off, springing to his feet and feeling for his sword. His fingers closed around its hilt and he swung it upwards, unleashing the power of winter. His frost merged with the wind, a blizzard forming before his blurry eyes, the whirling sheets of ice and snow forcing the Nui-Jaga back, back to the darkest end of the cavern. And Kopaka put distance between them, moving towards the light as he regained his bearings, already knowing who had come to his aid. “Couldn’t just let you become Rahi-bones like that, could I?” Lewa’s voice reached him as he finally managed to wipe the venom from his eyes, and he moved backward, keeping up his constant stream of chill until the Toa of Air appeared in the corner of his vision. They stood just before the cavern’s exit now, and Kopaka’s response was calm. “I had that under control.” “Uh huh, and I’m the Toa of Water.” But with a subtle nod, the two Toa put forth one final burst of power, moving back into the light as the Nui-Jaga scrambled at the other end of the cavern, trying to gain their footing. But Lewa was relentless, pinning them to the far wall with his hurricane, his Miru smiling, his axe glinting in the streaming sunlight. And Kopaka turned his sword to the stone around them, his power freezing everything he pointed at. His ice coated the rock, crystals forming atop each other, growing and growing as he moved his weapon back and forth, back and forth, slowly forming a wall of ice between them and the Nui-Jaga. And in a minute, it was over. Lewa lowered his axe, cutting off his wind as Kopaka plugged the final hole in his wall, a dozen feet thick and spanning the cavern edge to edge. He admired his work for a moment before turning around, satisfied, knowing that even in Le-Wahi’s heat, it would take weeks to melt. Finally, he turned to Lewa. “Not bad, I suppose.” And he walked out of the cavern. “…You’re welcome for quick-saving you!” Lewa called after him, pausing for dramatic effect before hurrying to catch up. “Again!” But Kopaka ignored him. As usual. He stepped into the light, greeting the outside world at sunset, finding himself atop a small, stone temple surrounded by tall, broken spires. The peak of the summit was flat, only a few hundred feet in diameter, and was covered in thin grass and mossy boulders. But what caught Kopaka’s eye was another temple — or perhaps more of an altar — placed directly across from where he stood, near the opposite edge of the summit. Atop it, he could see a shining silver object, glinting ever-so-slightly in the setting sun, and he paused, his heart almost fluttering. The Mask of Levitation…. But all was not well. His moment of triumph fizzled as he realized the air around them was humming, and they were not at all alone. His attention diverted from the shining mask, and he finally saw what they had stumbled into; he finally saw the horror that they were up against. All along the edges of the summit, clinging to the cliff walls, clustered within the grass, and climbing across the boulders, were Rahi. Dozens, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of fast and agile Rahi, each large and winged, all with grabbing pincers and all-seeing, compound eyes. And Kopaka, exhausted as he was, drew his sword once more. The scourge of Mata Nui’s skies; a great swarm of Nui-Rama. “Kopaka…” “Ready your blade, Lewa,” Kopaka retorted, feeling energy surge through his blade once more. “We have the fight of our lives ahead of us.” “Brother!” Ready to run straight for the mask, Kopaka didn’t have time to listen to anything else Lewa had to say. Standing on the balls of his feet, his muscles twitching, he braced himself for what was to come. His shield up, his sword ready, he scanned the summit, watching the countless pairs of wings, ready for this last stretch, this last challenge. He lowered his weight, ready to charge, and — A hand on his shoulder. Kopaka whirled around, seeing Lewa standing there, relaxed, his axe slung across his back, completely unprepared to fight. Confused, and at this point completely exasperated with the Toa of Air, it took all his willpower to not lash out. “What are you doing?” he snapped, settling on an icy glare instead. “Relax, Toa of Slush,” Lewa walked to the edge of the temple and sat down, beckoning him to follow. “Have a sit-rest. Sheath your knife-blade.” And Kopaka, so bewildered by his actions, was unable to move for a second. At a loss for words, he looked from Lewa to the Nui-Rama and back again, unable to comprehend what was going on. “Come on, Brakas,” Lewa beckoned again. “Trust your local king of know-nothingness.” And after a few moments of hesitation, Kopaka obeyed, if only because it seemed the swarm hadn’t noticed them yet, and maybe Lewa had some sort of plan. He walked over to stand next to his companion, still gripping his sword, but allowing the Toa a moment of his time. But instead of laying out a plan, or a well-thought course of action, Lewa took a deep breath, stretched, and laid back to stare at the sky. Kopaka gazed down at him. Lewa, in turn, closed his eyes. And still Kopaka stood there, his momentum all but dissolved, waiting, but not necessarily expecting something to happen. The air around them hummed with the beating of wings, the sun moved closer to the horizon, and a cool breeze blew across the spire’s summit. And eventually Kopaka sighed, asking his ever-constant question once more. “…What are you doing?” “Taking a nap.” “Do you realize where we are right now?” “Do you realize where we are not?” Lewa peeked open an eye, his Miru smiling as it always did. “Because we are not in ever-danger.” Kopaka was about to retort, about try and make Lewa see reason, but as he took another look around at the swarm, he realized, begrudgingly, that Lewa might be right. The Rahi’s masks… they were clean, and matched the insects’ natural color. There was no rust, no scarring no pitting… Kopaka lowered his sword, suddenly quiet. The swarm wasn’t infected. It didn’t belong to Makuta. Lewa looked up at him, noticing his change in demeanor. “You see?” Kopaka didn’t reply. “The buzz-flyers are big and irritable, but not evil.” Lewa added, sitting up again. “You quick-run into their swarm and they’ll attack, but leave them be and they’ll slow-move on. They just want to eat the moss-grass, and not be bothered.” He took a moment to breathe, motioning again for Kopaka to sit. “Come on, might as well slow-wait it out.” And this time, Kopaka complied. So together, the two Toa sat, quiet as the swarm moved, feeding and crawling and buzzing about, content to ignore them as long as they did the same. Kopaka watched, quiet as the breeze blew and the evening wore on, their humming ever-constant in the background. The sunset soon spread across the sky, casting yellow, orange, red and purple against thin, wispy clouds, and for once — Kopaka realized as the minutes went by — Lewa seemed content to stay silent. It was peaceful, Kopaka thought as his shoulders relaxed. Tranquil, even, watching the sun inch closer to the horizon, watching these Rahi go about their lives. He had always meditated, of course, but this seemed different, somehow. As if here, in the jungle, there was something offered that he couldn’t find in the mountains. A different kind of peace; a certain connectivity, a bond with all the life that was constantly in motion — a tie to Mata Nui that the snows couldn’t quite grasp. Sure, it was good to be alone, in the quiet, but perhaps — not often, but maybe every once and a while — it was good to be surrounded, too. Perhaps — he thought as the Rahi slowly, steadily, began to move — for all his flaws, Lewa did have something useful to offer. And so Kopaka leaned back, breathing the fresh, cool, evening air as the swarm made their way across the summit. One by one the bugs buzzed over the side of the cliff, having had their fill of moss and grass, flitting to the next spire, or to the trees at ground level below. And one by one, more followed, the swarm slowly thinning, slowly quieting as the two Toa watched. They didn’t speak a word to each other, instead content to simply sit, to relax, and to exist in such a strange, beautiful world as this. The sun eventually dipped below the horizon, its colors fading to a soft orange glow, then yielding to the dark blue, starry sky. And as the last of the Nui-Rama passed on, the Toa were, finally, alone. “See?” Lewa said after a few minutes of silence. “Calm-relaxing isn’t so bad, is it, snow-walker?” Kopaka took a moment to respond. “…Perhaps.” Lewa smirked, and the two got to their feet, Kopaka marching forward, finally ready to claim his prize, and Lewa tagging along behind, because what else was he going to do up here? They crossed the open summit in a minute, the light of the moon reflecting off their armor as Kopaka approached the mask. Eager to feel its power, he soon stood before the stone alter, the shining silver-grey Miru gazing up at him, finally — finally — his for the taking. He reached down, his fingers feeling its cold metal, lifting it from the stone, and — he put it on. Power. Power! It surged through his body, tingling his nerves, the Miru imbuing him with the energies of levitation, adding to those he had already obtained — shielding, vision, his elemental mastery of ice. He felt alive, fulfilling this little part of his duty, his destiny, and he knew that soon more would follow. He knew, with this power, he could go farther, faster, reach places he never dreamed of reaching before, and — “Alright fellow Miru-wearer, quick-race you back to Le-Koro! Ready set go!” And before Kopaka could react Lewa had sprinted away, throwing himself off the cliff ahead, plummeting straight down to the jungle below. “Lewa…!” Kopaka ran to the edge of the cliff, only to see the small shape of his companion disappear within the canopy far below. And Kopaka realized that he was alone, hundreds of feet up with no easy way down, except for a brand-new mask that he still didn’t quite know how to use. He took a step forward, teetering at the edge of the vertical drop, confident in his abilities, yet secretly wishing the Toa of Air had stayed a moment to teach him how, exactly, to use this new-found power. Kopaka took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he stifled a scowl. Lewa… he was the worst. The End Author's note: special thanks to my wife, my beta with absolutely zero Bioincle knowledge, who asked if Lewa's character was basically "Yoda, but younger, and possibly in a frat."

"It's a canon weapon; you can look it up on BS01" lmaoooo Really good job overall. I was convinced it was going to be Dumon, but you managed to keep me going till almost the very end! Also Roz is my new favorite character. He is canon now.

Me: hey remember this character? Readers: I mean that was literally years ago but okay Me: :) :) :) :) Sorry for being the biggest procrastinator in the world lol Buuuut thanks for staying with me!!!

Chapter 5 - Gathered Friends “Do you believe in destiny, Takua?” Something was happening. The ship had stopped, the crew were moving about above them, and Sithrak had brought his entire entourage to the hull so they could pay him a visit. Takua took a quick look around, watching the half dozen brutes who stood at attention before briefly making eye contact with Rashi, leaning against the back wall. His focus switching back to the captain, who knelt in front of him, Takua returned the Kryll’s narrow, penetrating gaze. “Because I do,” Sithrak went on. “I always have. I’ve always known what fate held in store for me.” Takua watched him for a moment more before deciding to respond. His retort was dry and aloof. “And… what might that be?” The Kryll smiled, his mandibles twitching. “Blood and fire. I’ve seen it in my dreams. Felt it, in my soul. I will be the one to bring about the new age.” Takua couldn’t help but notice the Kryll’s sash. It was scattered with his usual trinkets and baubles, but this time, at his right hip, there sat a rusted key ring, made of the same metal as his shackles. Trying to figure out what was going on, he clenched his jaw. “Blood and fire sounds like a terrible way to start a new age.” “No, little one…” Sithrak reached out, his claws gingerly resting on Takua’s cheek as the Matoran suppressed a shudder. “This world your kind have created, it will all come crashing down. In creation, there is destruction, and in destruction…” he placed his other hand over his heart and closed his eyes. “…There is rebirth.” Takua held his breath, expecting an attack, expecting Sithrak to pivot and strike out, but the seconds ticked by and nothing came. The hull was quiet. Takua stared at the Kryll before him, watching him hold his chest as he calmly breathed in and out. And, after a moment or two, Takua realized something: whatever it was that Sithrak was working towards, however he hoped all of this would end — he truly, deeply, believed in it. And in a way, that was admirable. Yet also… terrible. The Kryll’s eyes opened once more, their deep green flashing with energy as he stood up, pulling the key ring from his belt as he outstretched his arms, addressing the brutes behind him. His polluted whisper morphed into a booming address. “How long as it been, my brothers?” The keys jingled between his claws. “How many years have passed since our great king heard Makuta’s calling, and sailed beyond the edges of the earth to meet it?” The brutes moved in unison. Twice they pounded their fists against their chests, followed by jarring chant. A short, deep, throaty yell: “Hoo! Hoo!” “How long, since we devoted ourselves to His reunification? Since He, in turn, showed us the path to victory? The path to power? The path… to salvation!” Sithrak responded, his words resounding as he leaned over Takua, sliding one of the keys into his shackles, freeing the Matoran first from the wall, then opening the chains around his ankles. The Kryll pounded again. “Hoo! Hoo!” Watching, tensing, Takua prepared himself for the worst. Frantically he looked around, noticing Rashi in the corner, silent as always. She seemed to have no love for Sithrak’s theatrics, for the brute’s display of power. She stared at the ground, ignoring it all, only present, it seemed, because she had to be. “How long, since we rose up? Since we took to arms against our oppressors, and the hunt for the Atouri began? How long…” His key slid into the metal at Takua’s wrists, and the last of his shackles fell away, clattering to the ground. Sithrak towered over the Matoran, his voice growing quieter as he addressed Takua specifically. Exhilaration, almost euphoria, tingled in his voice. “…Since we reunited Makuta with his heart?” Free of his chains, but still cornered against the wall, Takua clenched his sore wrists, his senses on high alert. The Kryll pounded once more, chanting ever louder. “Hoo! Hoo!” “And now!” Sithrak grabbed Takua by the forearm, forcing him to his feet, half dragging him as he whirled around and moved toward his brutes and the stairs. “The path to destiny is paved! We are the lucky few who shall witness history! We are the blessed who shall fulfill prophesy!” He pulled Takua to the foot of the stairs, his grip like iron, unyielding even as Takua struggled. “We are the ones chosen to escort this final offering. Chosen! To witness Makuta’s return!” “Hoo! Hoo!” And the hull went quiet again. Sithrak stood halfway up the stairs, the light from outside shining down upon him. Takua struggled at his feet, trying to free himself from the Kryll’s grasp, but still to no avail. The schooner’s captain ignored his movements, looking down only to grant him a brief, wicked smile. “Our people have suffered so much under your tyranny.” Takua froze. He looked up at Sithrak, ready for anything. “I think it is time they met their true enemy.” The hull came alive once more. The brutes chanted, pounding their armor as Sithrak whirled around, pulling Takua up the stairs, through the hatch and onto the deck of the ship, into the bright light of day. Temporarily blinded, Takua was assaulted by sounds from all around; the creaking of ships, the moving and scraping of supplies, of crew members working, of faraway bells chiming. All of it meant they had docked at some harbor, but that wasn’t what caught Takua’s attention. Through it all, above it all, was the sound of a crowd, of talk and murmur, of hundreds of eager voices that had gathered somewhere nearby, seemingly — he could only assume — to greet Sithrak’s ship. To greet him. And as his eyes adjusted, he saw everything. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of Kryll had gathered just below their schooner, filling up every narrow dock, every gathering space, every flat rooftop that the tiny harbor could give. They had packed themselves so close together, Takua couldn’t imagine anyone being able to move, but as he looked beyond, to the small island that arose beyond the harbor, he realized that these Kryll had to be used to such conditions. The entire island was three, near-vertical spires of rock, almost completely covered in grey wood, stone, and metal; the result of hundreds of buildings clustered together, each fighting for its own tiny plot of real estate. The structures honeycombed into one another, the island itself disappearing beneath as every building’s foundation was built into the one below it, to the point where it seemed if one timber snapped, if one wall collapsed, the entire island would crumble, taking everyone with it as it fell into the sea. And at the very top of the rock spires stood a fortress. An ominous, utilitarian structure with high stone walls and sloping roofs, towering above the other buildings, above the calm blue sea that stretched to the horizon in every direction. It seemed the only thing on the island that was permanent and sturdy. That wasn’t at risk of collapsing. Sithrak breathed in the ocean air, looking to the citadel with familiarity. But in a second, he pulled Takua forward, yanking him to the ship’s railing as he smiled at the chattering crowd below. “Behold!” Sithrak’s voice boomed, echoing among the clustered buildings, and the chatter of the crowd ceased. All eyes turned to Sithrak, and the entire harbor, the entire island, was seemingly so… silent. Not quiet, but silent. Unnaturally so. Takua felt his spine prickle. This wasn’t the crowd politely letting Sithrak speak. This wasn’t a respectful hush, the kind he was used to whenever he’d heard the Turaga speak in public. No, if that were the case, there would be at least some murmur or shuffling in the background. But these Kryll didn’t dare whisper to each other, they didn’t dare move, make themselves more comfortable, or speak over Sithrak in any way. This was… a special kind of silence. A silence born out of fear. “Behold!” Sithrak boomed again, grabbing the back of Takua’s mask and forcing him to stand so he was visible to everyone. “I give you the face of your enemy! The one the Matoran call ‘Herald of the Atouri!’ The one who has kept you from your destiny!” Half leaning over the railing, Takua studied the people as they, in turn, studied him. Some were warriors, like the ones on the ship, but most were like those he had seen in that village in Ga-Wahi. Families, elderly, children, just people trying to get by. Carefully, he watched them, slowly learning more as he took in the details, as he noticed a few traits here and there. So many were thin, so many seemed like they were tired, hungry and desperate. Refugees from the war, perhaps? Takua took another look at the island, cobbled together so hastily, so haphazardly. So much about this place… was desperate. Sithrak went on. “But now, the final pieces are falling into place! Makuta has called us to him, and the White Tower awaits our footsteps! For you, my friends, we shall make the journey across the sea, we shall make the journey to our people’s triumph! We shall make the journey to our salvation!” And once more, the brutes pounded in unison, their fierce voices chanting. “Hoo! Hoo!” The crowed cheered. Takua watched as they all came alive at once, as their energy exploded out on cue. But it still didn’t seem right. It seemed fake, as if everyone was putting on a play. As if they were only cheering because of what might happen if they didn’t. Sithrak spoke as if he was doing all of this for these people, but Takua knew him better. He didn’t care about them, he didn’t care about anyone. All Sithrak cared about was his own purpose, his orders from Krosis, or Makuta, or whoever. All he cared about was this idea in his head, this salvation he spoke of. This belief that he was chosen for greatness. This self-conjured image of his own destiny. Takua winced as Sithrak tightened his grip, still watching the cheering people below. And from the look of things, he would stop at nothing to achieve it. ~~~ Morning came much faster than Aya would have liked. The early, white light of a cloudy sky hit Aya in the face as she found herself lying atop Kokani’s roof, slowly coming to terms with what an absolute mess she had been the night before. It was with a disgusted acceptance that she realized the caravan was already moving, already bumping along the winding road, and that she had missed the morning’s preparations, not to mention breakfast. Aya pulled Nokama’s blanket around her as the shunted sun aggravated her already throbbing headache. Opening her eyes, she noticed the empty bottle still lay next to her, and with an appalled groan she reached out, pushing it off the carriage’s roof, listening as it shattered onto the rocks below. “Have a bit of my drink last night, did we?” “Ugh,” Aya squeezed her eyes shut as she recognized the voice of Kokani’s driver. She rolled away from him, pulling the blanket over her head. “Leave me alone,” she mumbled. “You going to replace it? It’s Fireforge, my personal favorite.” “Fireforge?” Aya grumbled, never having heard of such a brew. And, judging by the size of her headache, for good reason. “What kind of off-brand garbage…” she trailed off, deciding not to dig herself into a deeper hole. “Just drink Lavaflow like an adult.” “You going to replace it or not?” “Yeah, fine, whatever.” Aya rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you a new one when we get to Ta-Koro.” “Well then,” the driver let out a slight chuckle. “Looks like you’re in luck!” As if on cue, a deep bass note sounded through the air, echoing throughout the caravan, and Aya sat up, startled awake by the far-off noise. The distinctive sound of the Koro’s great shells blared from in front of them, and as Aya looked towards it, her blurry eyes adjusting to the light, she was greeted with an impressive view. There, before her, the road descended from the scrubby highlands and into a grey valley, dominated by volcanic rocks and farmland, rising out of dark, fertile soil. Scattered throughout the landscape were houses, windmills, and blacksmiths, powered by waterwheels that spun quietly, pushed into motion by the occasional stream or narrow river. The water cascaded over and through the rocky landscape, making its way to the bottom of the wide basin, where it coalesced into a dammed lake, seemingly created to provide water for the fortified city that stood next to it. Aya had to rub her eyes again to take it all in: Ta-Koro, the City of Fire. It truly lived up to its name. Half imbedded into the base of the great Mangai, active lava flows poured into and around the city’s high, black walls, giving life and power to the Ta-Matoran’s spires, fortresses, and forges. Though dwarfed by the size of volcano above, the city itself towered over the surrounding countryside, looming ominously as countless smokestacks billowed black clouds into the sky. It screamed of industry, of progress, of creation and construction; a stark contrast to the calm and beautiful temples of Ga-Koro. The entire city was like a loud, constant, churning machine, intent on marching forward no matter what the earth, the sky, or even time itself around could throw at it. It was, honestly, everything Aya had expected from the so-called ‘Firespitters.’ Another shell sounded, this time from the front of their caravan, answering Ta-Koro’s note with one of their own. Aya cracked her neck, stretching as she mentally prepared for whatever waited ahead, and it was only then that she noticed the tents and carriages clustered outside the city’s main gate: the remnants of other, earlier caravans. She squinted, trying to make out the markings on their banners, until finally recognizing the symbols of both Po and Onu-Koro. Wordless, she reached forward, her hand closing around her bow, lifting it from where it sat next to the driver. She strapped it to her back, taking care to remember who had given it to her in the first place: Illum. The new Turaga of Onu-Koro was already here. Drums pounded from inside the walls as they descended into the valley, and Aya began to see why the Turaga had picked this place to meet. Ta-Koro was in no short supply of strength and security, and the Ta-Matoran seemed to flaunt it, practically daring any enemy to try and break their walls. She watched as the city’s great iron doors parted, making way for some forty-ish Ussal-mounted Matoran, riding out into the countryside to meet them. Aya turned around as Kokani’s door opened below her, and she briefly met the Ko-Matoran’s gaze before he too looked forward, taking in the scene as he leaned against the moving doorframe. Aya stared at the incoming party, surrounded by armored guards, banners flapping in the wind, drums pounding through the open gates behind them. She crossed her arms. “…Seems like a bit much, doesn’t it?” Kokani’s face was as stoic as ever “Get ready. Nokama wants us both to be there when we meet.” Aya straightened her belt on her hips, having figured as such. “You lead, I just follow.” The driver whipped his reins, propelling the Ussal faster, pulling the carriage to the front of their caravan. Aya sipped from her canteen, wetting her throat and splashing her mask as the two parties approached each other. The road intersected with another just ahead, forming a broad circle of dirt within the low fields, accented by a few rough, black obelisks standing quietly at its edge. The drums pounded louder as they drew close, and Aya couldn’t help but feel her heart flutter, almost as if they were riding into battle. Boom, ba-boom. Boom, ba-boom. Aya closed her eyes for a second as they reached the clearing, squeezing the hilt of her sword as their Ussal lurched to a halt. She jumped from the carriage, her feet hitting the dirt with a soft thud, and, all around her, in a sudden flurry of sound and motion, others did the same. Ta-Koro’s drums thundered now, and to her left and right, behind and in front, huge, armored Ussal slid into the clearing, carriages and transports in tow. In a matter of minutes, the crossroad was crowded with nobles, chieftains, guardsmen, politicians, advisors, and Turaga alike. Successfully supporting his weight on his new cane, Kokani hobbled up to stand at her right, and a second later, Nokama was on her left. Onewa appeared just a dozen feet away, and on the other side of the clearing, escorted by a handful of the Sanctum Guard, Turaga Nuju stepped into view. Boom, ba-boom. Boom, ba-boom. Her heart pounding to the thunderous beat, Aya looked around, feeling uneasy in the company of so many powerful people. But then, on the outskirts of the circle, even more! Tall, imposing figures; the far-off shapes of Gali, Lewa, Onua, and Pohatu. Even Kopaka stood beyond the line of armored guardsmen, watching the countryside, protecting the Turaga from any possible threat. Aya whirled her attention back to the circle, steadying her fingers on her sword again, just as a final carriage pushed its way through a group of Onu-Matoran, drawn by arguably the largest of all the crab-Rahi. Its shell and armor were polished jet black, and its beautiful, lavish transport slid to a halt in the middle of everything, only slightly, almost fashionably, late. Its door opened, and a lone Onu-Matoran stepped into the light: Illum. Aya watched him like a hawk. If what she’d heard was true, if Onu-Koro had really gone through a revolution, Illum certainly didn’t show it. His mask was polished, his armor shone, and the decorative sash he wore around his shoulders exhumed expert craftmanship, with purple and gold accenting his aura of regal, exquisite black. The only thing that had changed from their last encounter was a shining gold eyepatch, imbedded into his purple Rau. The Turaga of Onu-Koro made even his wounds look fashionable, it seemed. The Onu-Matoran’s eyes drifted around the clearing, acknowledging everyone present before finally pausing to meet Aya’s glare. It took him only a second to notice Kokani beside her, and with a slight smile, he nodded. It would have been a friendly gesture. It should have been a friendly gesture. But still, Aya felt her spine shiver. Boom, ba-boom. Boom, ba-boom. The drums pounded, sinking into the ground as all movement in the crossroad settled, and all these Matoran, all these leaders, all these Turaga stared at each other. The beat grew louder and louder, faster and faster, and as the wind whipped through the center of their circle, Aya felt her chest tighten, her mind growing more and more uneasy. She gripped the hilt of her blade as her eyes flicked from Kokani to Illum, from Nokama to Nuju, and for a tense, terrible minute no one spoke, until finally the drums came to their great and powerful conclusion. Boom, ba-boom. Boom, ba-boom. Boom, ba-boom, boom boom! And then, a single voice. “Gathered friends….” It was an elderly voice, cautious but wise, one that didn’t demand respect, but humbly requested it instead. It was the voice of Turaga Vakama, Aya found as the figure stepped forward, moving into the barren space at the center of the crossing. The Turaga was extremely, achingly old, and wore a lined, weathered Huna on his face. His hunched-over shoulders were adorned with the customary sash of the Turaga, woven in the colors of Ta-Koro. His steps were slow and shuffling, and the amount he leaned against his firestaff along with the slow, stuttering of his movements made Aya to think that he was much older than even the other Turaga. Or, on second thought, perhaps in much poorer health. Either way, it seemed to her that the Turaga of Ta-Koro had seen better days. But then, slow and ambling as he was, Turaga Vakama smiled, letting his kind, azure eyes shine as his mask lit up. And as it did so, Aya felt the tension inside her melt away. “…How long has it been… since we’ve all seen each other?” “Too long, my brother!” Nokama replied, moving to embrace him at the center of the clearing, her own gait looking almost youthful compared to Vakama’s. “You and I, Onewa, Nuju…” she nodded to the other Turaga present. “It feels right to see you all in one place again.” She leaned against her trident and paused, reminiscing of older, perhaps better days. But the wind soon carried the moment away, and she looked back to Vakama with wide, and suddenly quite solemn eyes. “…If only Matau and Whenua were here as well.” “Mhmm,” Vakama, nodded slowly, looking to the ground as he rested his shaking hands upon his staff. His gaze met Nokama’s once more. “After all these years, sister… I’d say they’ve both earned their rest.” And Nokama smiled the way one only can when watching a loved one leave. Her eyes shone just a little brighter in the mid-morning light. “Perhaps we all have, by now.” Aya looked to her boots. She wasn’t one to pray much, but for whatever reason, she felt the need to bow her head, if only for a second. A subtle act of reverence for all those who had fallen. And after a few short words, the Turaga began their business. Aya stood beside Kokani as Vakama continued, welcoming their party, making introductions, and announcing his plans for proceedings and accommodations and whatever else needed to be discussed before everyone got settled. Aya made brief mental notes as they talked, mostly so she knew what to expect, but also because it was a guilty pleasure of hers to judge people as she was introduced to them. Only a handful really stood out, the first being the Captain of the Ta-Koro Guard: a slim Ta-Matraon named Mako, who had murky, yellow eyes and wore a maroon Matatu that matched his armor. He seemed nervous and fidgety at first glance, but after Vakama listed his many military accomplishments Aya decided he must have more within him than initially met the eye. He would oversee security, and Aya made special note of that, seeing as she always managed to find her way into trouble. The party from Ko-Koro was exactly what she expected: quiet, stoic, and akin to Nuju and Kokani in almost every way. They had brought only their Turaga, a handful of advisors, and a regiment of the Sanctum Guard. Their small number was dwarfed by the members of the other Koro, but Aya had no doubt that their intolerance to political games would keep them at the same level as the largest of Mata Nui’s cities. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Le-Koro was still absent; apparently they had been in the process of appointing a new Turaga when the council was called, and no one had heard from them since — it seemed they were running a bit behind schedule, but as soon as some sort of Le-Matoran representative arrived, Vakama promised that proceedings would commence without delay. She found the Po-Matoran unremarkable, half of them having arrived with Turaga Onewa, and the other half with the party from Onu-Koro, seeing as their people were still struggling to find a place for themselves in the Underworld. They seemed… a bit disorganized, and perhaps that was to be expected, given their current situation. But it was the party from Onu-Koro that caught her attention. Not only because of her personal history with the so-called Turaga — she was able to restrain herself enough to ensure Illum’s physical safety, assuming others were watching, of course. Nor was it the luxurious, decorative way they presented themselves — while it came off as snobbish, she had seen that before and expected it now. No, the group from the City of Earth stood out to her because of one member in particular; one that wasn’t even an Onu-Matoran, yet stood in their midst anyway. Aya furrowed her brow as she looked on, staring past their first line or so, curiously inspecting the small figure who had caught her attention. He hadn’t noticed her yet, and so she blinked a few times and craned her neck to get a better view, but yes; her first instincts had been correct. Moving on their own, her fingers squeezed the hilt of her sword once more, her nerves fluttering again at the confirmation. She hadn’t expected to see him here. Here, of all places… it didn’t make any sense. Why would he come? Why would he want anything to do with this crowd? In fact, she hadn’t expected to see him anywhere, ever again, let alone here. But as she looked again, just to verify — yes, it was definitely him — she could feel her chest tighten a little. He was here, attending this council, and, for whatever reason… it worried her. Aya gritted her jaw. What was Raipu doing here?

Me, signing up after stumbling across this topic out of nowhere:

Thank you so much!! Your thoughts are always appreciated. I hear what you're saying about Kokani, and that's totally valid, but I've done a lot of thought on the matter and... well, i guess his story just isn't over quite yet Another note I'd like to add: I didn't trip or pass out at the altar, so I'd say the wedding was a huge success! And now all that time spent on wedding planning gets to go right into writing! So... yeah! Excite. Gracias for reading as always, amigos.

Chapter 4 - Change The going was slow, too slow, for Aya’s liking. She huffed, taking a swig from her canteen, as she stared at the line of carriages and Matoran, impatiently tapping her foot as they made their way forward. She sat atop the roof of Kokani’s carriage, preferring it over her own lonesome mobile quarters. But this… she glowered, feeling every bump in the road as the wooden wheels lurched along. This was taking entirely too long. She reached forward, tapping the carriage’s driver on his shoulder, who whirled around with a glint of his navy armor, the Ussal’s reins still wrapped around his wrists. His raised eyebrow asked what exactly it was she needed this time. “How much farther until we get to Ta-Koro?” The driver rolled his eyes and turned back around. “Asking every hour isn’t going to make it come any quicker.” Aya’s lip curled. He never told her any good news. “I don’t like you.” The driver threw a rude hand gesture over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the road as Aya returned the favor. It was overcast and windy, traits that seemed all too common along the eastern shore of Mata Nui. The wide, dirt road never strayed more than a mile from the coastline, and so the ocean winds caught them around every turn. Aya sat huddled, her knees close to her chest, alone in her thoughts as she wrapped Nokama’s blanket around her, watching Ga-Wahi slowly morph into Ta-Wahi. Such was her routine, day in and day out as the caravan meandered its way south, in the direction of the City of Fire. Perched like a bird on a roof, rubbing her arms as the wind pushed and pulled, she annoyed the driver as much as she possibly could to pass the time. When evening fell their march would cease, the Ussal crabs would rest, the Matoran would start fires and cook dinner, and Aya would tend to Kokani. She fed him, changed his dressings, stopped him from picking at his wounds, exerting too much before his body was ready, and — in other words — kept him from doing a variety of Kokani-ish things. Her own wound had started to heal, and within a few days she was able to walk without her stomach stabbing her with every step. Kokani seemed to follow her lead, but he had a lot more ground to cover, and so it was only when Aya’s wound had scarred over and her pain had subsided to a dull ache that he was able to take his first steps. But with his injuries so severe, with so much scar tissue forming, it seemed he would have to re-learn how to walk entirely. So every night Aya did her best to help, holding him steady as he struggled to get to his feet, to put one foot in front of the other. And every night Aya grew more and more concerned. She remembered what Gali had told her; that not everything could be healed, that Kokani would be lucky to even walk again. But that was all just talk, right? This was Kokani they were talking about, he’d been through countless battles and always came out on top. He always bounced back, no matter how deeply cut. Given enough time, he’d return to his old self, right? But every success was chased with a dozen failures. Every step came with ten collapses into the dirt. She tried to stay positive, to be there when he needed it, to cheer his victories and shrug off his defeats, but the days wore on and it only grew harder. Eventually, the weight of reality started to sink in. What little progress Kokani had made quickly plateaued, and Aya found herself in a deepening spiral of boredom and frustration. All day Kokani would rest as the caravan moved, and she twiddled her thumbs, waiting for yet another evening of disappointment. Every night as the sun fell, she plastered a smile on her face as Kokani tried to move like he once could, only to have his severed nerves and stitched-together muscles get the better of him. She kept on hoping that maybe this time he would be able to lift his staff, maybe this time he could make it more than just a handful of shaky steps. But always, just like the day before, a spurt of pain would best him, and he hit the ground once more. And every time Kokani fell, so did Aya’s hopes. She felt terrible. She knew she couldn’t blame him, she knew she shouldn’t be angry, but as the cycle continued she found herself increasingly unable to keep up her charismatic charade of support. Despite her best efforts to hide it, after so many days of the same thing, her frustration became obvious. Not that she was alone, however. Kokani grew quiet and kept to himself, spending most of his time inside the carriage, only coming out in the evening whenever Aya came knocking for their daily session. And at night he sat by himself, silent as she watched him from across their lonely fire, trying to figure out what else she could do. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like, having lost so much control over his own body. It was obvious; Kokani was suffering, just like her, and there seemed to be nothing that would help. One particularly silent night, a cook came over to their fire, offering them both a bowl of stew. Aya accepted, but Kokani didn’t respond. He stared into the flames as a bowl was set beside him, and Aya tried to read his eyes. There was no shine in them, no fire that sometimes crept up like it used to. She slurped her dinner for a minute or two, watching as the firelight reflected off his scarred armor. He looked… Aya furrowed her brow. She hated to even think it, but it was true. He looked like the world had beaten him. He looked, after all his battles… defeated. Suddenly, she couldn’t take it. Aya stood and left without a word, leaving Kokani with a few other quiet Matoran to occupy the orange glow. Marching back to her carriage, she threw open its door and rummaged through her things, picking up her bow and strapping her sword and dagger to her waist. Downing the rest of her soup in one drag, she tossed the bowl over her shoulder and stared at her gloomy, abandoned, lumpy cot. With a huff, she kicked it over. Just for good measure. Slamming the door shut, she passed Kokani’s carriage on her way out of the caravan, stopping only briefly to rummage through his driver’s knapsack. Her fingers closed around a glass handle, and she smugly pulled a bottle free from the fabric. After eyeing it in the dim light, she decided it belonged to her now. It wasn’t exactly Lavaflow, but it was close enough, and should do the trick. Her legs moving briskly, she stomped until she was a good hundred yards away from the farthest of the torches, all alone with the night. Picking out a clearing surrounded by scrub grass and boulders, she uncorked her confiscated bottle, took a great swig, and, eyeing a small bush in front of her, unsheathed her sword. The bush didn’t stand a chance. She hacked and slashed, cutting stem and leaf and branch alike, whipping her arm back and forth between hasty, sloppy sips. She whittled it down, picking it apart as leaves flew about. This way, that way, her sword sang into the darkness, her muscles curling as her frustration destroyed the poor plant. Branches fell as her steel flew, and within minutes she had reduced the leafy green hedge into nothing but a pile of potential compost. Her arm fell to her side, still gripping her sword as she pressed the bottle to her lips, chugging it before turning back to the stump. She squinted, staring as it defied her by existing, her sour mood only growing more rancid. After a minute she threw her sword and bottle to the dirt, squatted down, and grabbed the stump with both hands. Digging her heels into the dirt, she pulled, determined to rip the thing from the ground, all the while yelling into the air like some kind of barbarian. Her legs straining, she felt the roots give way to her strength, tearing through the soil section by section as she rocked her weight back and forth. A rip here, a shudder there, she repositioned her hands, grabbing onto the stump’s back end as she pushed with her legs, before, with one final heave, she tore it from the earth, falling over backwards in the process. Breathing heavy, she sprang to her feet, taking another turn at the bottle before kicking the stump over, walking a few feet back, and nocking an arrow in her bow. Thunk! One, two, three arrows she sank into it, pulling more from her quiver as fast as she could, resolute in her need to pulverize it into oblivion. Six, seven, eight, she punctured the tangle of wood, breaking smaller roots as her barbs sliced through the air. Ten, eleven, twelve — “You make an awful lot of noise for someone all alone in the dark.” Startled, Aya whirled around, fingers twitching on her bowstring as she laid eyes on a figure sitting atop a large boulder. Instantly she recognized Gali, and Aya cursed, lowering her bow and loosening her grip. She sighed, putting the weapon on her back, preferring the bottle instead. “That’s the second time I’ve almost shot you.” The Toa smiled. “We seem to have a good thing going.” Aya’s anger fizzled, shaken away by surprise and a need to act civil. She clapped her hands, looking around for a moment before forcing words out of her mouth. “So… uh… what can I do for you, Toa Gali?” “You seem troubled, Aya.” “…Troubled?” her shoulders dropped. “Pfft — what makes you think that?” Gali’s gaze drifted from the pile of broken branches, to the arrow-laden stump, then then back to Aya. “I just… uh…” Aya stalled, taking another swig before she remembered her manners and offered it to the Toa. “Do you want a drink?” Gali politely declined. “More for me,” she muttered as she turned to pull her arrows out of the stump. The Toa watched her for a moment before speaking again. “Would you rather I left you alone?” Aya paused, swallowing as the first effects of the drink tingled her face. Her response came as a subtle grunt, if only because she didn’t know what else to say. “…Aya?” “I don’t know what I want!” Aya snapped, immediately regretting being so rude. She pulled the last of her arrows from the stump, now angry with herself for doing it so fast, as now she had nothing to busy her hands with. She stood there, twiddling her thumbs as she tried not to look at the Toa. “Well,” Gali said softly, turning around. “If you need anything, I’ll be around.” “…Wait.” The Toa met her anxious gaze. “Kokani…” Aya stopped, hesitating a bit before forcing herself to go on. “Kokani’s never going to get back to the way he was, is he?” “I’m afraid not.” “Yeah… I know it. He knows it.” Aya exhaled, almost wincing at hearing her own thoughts. “He’s fought all his life; he’s nothing if not a warrior. How am I supposed to tell him that everything he’s ever been is gone? He trained me, he practically made me who I am. How… how am I supposed to accept that?” Gali sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she looked at Aya. Then, she beckoned the Ga-Matoran to come forward, who, after some indecision, grudgingly agreed and climbed up to sit next to her on the boulder. The air was quiet as the two beings stared out across the caravan. “That’s always a hard thing, isn’t it? Acceptance?” Aya frowned, answering her by drinking more. “Can I tell you something, Aya?” “Hmm?” “I’ve always had… dreams,” Gali went on. “Or visions, as some might say. Whether they’re random imaginings I believe to be predictions, or the voice of Mata Nui himself, I’m not sure. But I’ve always had them.” Aya looked at her. “You mean… like your visions of the Toa Kaita?” She’d heard the ancient story; everyone had. But until now she’d always figured that particular detail was an embellishment, something the old Chroniclers had added in to make it more interesting. The Toa nodded. “So, what, you can see the future?” “I wouldn’t say that,” Gali laughed. “But I do think it’s given me a greater sense of destiny that most don’t truly understand.” There was a slight pause while Aya tried to figure out what that even meant. Her face warm, she stared out at the night, the caravan’s fires dwindling as Matoran began to retire. She squinted, pressing the bottle to her lips again before coming up with the only reply she could manage. “…Alright then.” Gali smiled, sensing her skepticism, but she continued nonetheless. “You see, the night after the battle, after Ga-Koro, I had one of these dreams. About the end of all this.” Aya perked up. “The end… of the war?” “Well, yes,” Gali trailed off for only a moment, until finding her words again. “But it seemed like… like it was more than that. The end of an era, an age, or perhaps something greater that we don’t fully understand. And you know what? We weren’t there.” “We?” “The Toa, I mean.” Gali paused, closing her eyes as the wind pushed up against them for a second. “I saw the Kryll, I saw the Matoran, I saw this island of Mata Nui. But not myself. Nor any of my brothers.” Concern spreading across her mask, Aya turned to face the Toa of Water. “You’re not leaving us, are you? We still need you! Everything was going downhill pretty fast before you arrived.” “No! No. Not that I plan on, at least,” Gali replied. “But I’ve been thinking about it. If it is real, if it is a vision of the future, what does it mean? I love my people, and I never wish to leave them, but if Mata Nui calls us back to him, who am I to refuse? Do I try and fight it? Do I let destiny take its course? Have we already fulfilled our destiny by summoning the Seventh, and thus we are no longer needed? And, if it is true destiny, will anything I do even be able to change it?” “Wow,” Aya looked forward again, watching the caravan’s torches flicker before deciding to push away an incoming existential crisis with more drink. “Those are… pretty big questions, I guess.” “What I’m trying to say is,” Gali explained, “whatever I think, whatever I believe, it doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? Because all I can do is keep pushing forward, keep fighting for what I believe is right. I can spend every night worrying about what may come to pass, or what could have been, but in the end that will only distract me from doing my best, from making the world a better place.” “So…” Aya squinted, trying to make sense of it all. “I’m just supposed to accept that Kokani is going to be a cripple forever and be done with it?” “I’m saying stop beating yourself up over things you can’t change. Instead, make the best with what you’re given. It’s really the only way you can face it all, learn from your mistakes, and in the end, heal.” Gali looked at Aya, trying to make sure that her message was getting through. “You’ll thank yourself later for it, believe me. And Kokani will too.” Her voice fell away into the night, and Aya sat there, gazing out at the numerous shadowy carriages spread out before her. She felt… strange. Gali’s words left her… comforted, yet nervous. Sad, yet accepting. The night was so quiet, so calm, but she felt so much turmoil inside. She knew what she had to do, but she hated doing it. Turning her head, she glanced briefly back at her stump. It was so much easier to break things than it was to fix them. With a groan, Aya put a stop to her thoughts. “Why’d it have to be you? If Tahu or Kopaka were here, I’m sure they’d tell me to bottle everything up until it blows up or I go insane. I’m much better at that.” Gali laughed, standing up. “And if everyone listened to their advice, the world would have ended a hundred times over by now.” She held out her hand to help Aya up. “Now, come on. I have to finish checking the perimeter, and the foliage has suffered enough. Kokani needs you.” But Aya shook her head. “I… I just need a minute.” Gali looked down at her, slowly nodding, and understanding. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said before hopping down from the boulder to continue her walk. She pushed her way through the tall grass, but only got a dozen feet before turning around again. “Oh, and Aya?” “Yeah?” “You’ll let me know if you need anything, alright? If Lewa finds you hacking apart a palm he might not be as understanding. I’m sure you know how much he likes trees.” Aya managed a slight bow and a smile. “Will do, Toa Gali.” And with that, Aya was alone again. How long she sat there, she wasn’t exactly sure, but it was long enough to finish her bottle, long enough to have its effects fill her head, and long enough for her to decide what exactly she should do now. But eventually, with an idea having formed in her mind, she got up and began to scour the clearing. At first, she searched for a piece of her shattered bush, hoping for some kind of poetic rebirth for the plant, but she quickly realized that after what she had put it through it would be of no use to anyone, and settled instead on a long, knotted, twisted piece of driftwood. With her head warm and her vision blurry, she sat down, pulling out her dagger as she very slowly, very carefully, began to whittle it down. Cutting off snapped ends and shaving away rough patches, she worked as the night wore on and her hands grew sore, the moon slowly rising above her as the idea in her head began to take form. She was by no means an expert craftsman, but bit by bit, the rough driftwood in her hands began to look… well, slightly less rough. The pile of shavings at her feet grew, and after spending what she deemed to be enough time, she stood up and admired her work, She sighed. Nothing’s going to be the same, is it Kokani? And she returned to the caravan once more. Weaving her way through the carriages, Ussal crabs, and whoever else was still milling about, she passed the fire where she had left Kokani earlier that evening. It was abandoned now, coals softly glowing, and so she turned her attention to his carriage, sitting just a few dozen yards away. Taking only a moment to psyche herself up, she gripped the driftwood in both hands, took a deep breath, and marched for it. It could have been the drink, or her nerves, or simply some combination of the two, but everything that happened next was a blur. She remembered opening his door, seeing him lying there, silent but awake, and proudly, stupidly, presenting what she had made. It was a cane, or a walking stick, or something in between the two that, hopefully, would help Kokani to become functional again, at least on some level. A sturdy but crude thing, she admitted she probably could have spent more time on it, in order to make it look pretty and all that, but in her defense — as she had made sure to mention — she had crafted it after an entire bottle of brew, and quite frankly it was a miracle she hadn’t injured herself in the process. However their conversation went, Aya wasn’t quite sure, but she remembered blabbering a lot, and at some point she had said something slightly embarrassing, something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry you’re helpless now, but Gali said this stick might help,’ even though that wasn’t quite exactly how events had unfolded. But whatever she had said, it mustn’t have been too terrible, as she remembered Kokani accepting the gift and thanking her. He even managed one of his recently-absent signature smirks, before suggesting that perhaps it was time for her to go to bed. And if she was being honest with herself, Aya completely agreed. ~~~ In the corner of the hull, surrounded by freight and ballast, chained to the wall behind him, Takua watched the shadows in silence. He sat, staring off into the abyss of his mind, his eyes unseeing, his mind unthinking. This was what he did now. This was the type of being he had become. The Kryll had taken everything from him, and this was the hollow shell of himself that was left. He wished he could fight back, he wished he could rise up, take arms, and rebel, but he couldn’t. He had to obey, or Jaka would be the one who suffered. He had to eat, or Jaka would starve. Takua stared as the ship lurched, pushing its way over a wave, his insides queasy, sick, and rotten as Sithrak’s words slithered through his head. He had to be good. At least before, he had had his rage. At least before, he had been able to survive off hatred, off his need to avenge Kokani and Aya. He had thought so many times about sticking a blade through Sithrak’s gut, or wrapping his hands around Rashi’s throat, but eventually the joy those images gave him had started to fade. Eventually it just felt like he was going through the motions, killing them over and over because he was bored, not because he really cared at all. But, even then, he had tried to find purpose, he had tried to channel his emotions, his strength of will to continue on. And yet, he knew that even if he could, even if he could free himself and fight back — in the end, none of it really mattered. Because Makuta had the Atouri. Takua blinked as the shadows around him flickered. He had already doomed the world. “Is this what you’ve become, then?” Takua’s eyes snapped open, a chill running down his spine as he recognized the deep, beastly growl. He froze in place, wishing he were somewhere else — anywhere else — already knowing exactly what kind of being visited him. Its foul, putrid voice rumbled again. “You promised you’d stop running. You promised you’d stop being powerless.” Takua turned his eyes upward, staring to the hatch at the top of the stairs, trying his best to ignore the monster as he yearned for some way to escape. In the corner of his vision the beast lurched out of the shadows, its orange eyes glimmering in the dark. “Yet here you are….” “You’re not real,” Takua let out, speaking more to himself than to the intruder. “You’re not here.” Thump! The hatch above shook at its hinges, as if something on the other side was trying to force it open. Takua kept his eyes fixed on it, doing everything he could to block out the ghost-like being that lurched toward him, its claws dragging ever closer. “You can’t escape me, Takua. You can’t banish me away. After all, you already tried that, remember?” The hatch rattled again, and Takua took a sharp breath. He pressed himself against the wall, wishing for it to burst open, wishing for the light to come pouring in. Something told him that there was safety, that there was salvation on the other side. There was — he blinked, unable to ignore the monster’s fangs widening, its drool dripping to the floor — there was the White Tower, waiting for him, just beyond that shaking door. “You can’t hurt me,” Takua stared beyond as the beast loomed above him, shadow leaking off its twisted body. “I’m not… I’m not afraid of you.” Thump thump thump! The hatch shook faster, some unseen force battering it from the other side, trying to force its way in, to set him free, to bring him closer to the Tower’s embrace. “Ah… but we both know the truth, don’t we?” “Get out…” Takua closed his eyes as the rattling grew louder, faster. “You’re dead; I killed you. You can’t hurt me anymore!” But the beast reached out, its long, horrid claw scraping the edge of his cheek, petrifying him as its decaying breath lay siege to his senses. The Mask of Shadows grinned. “Don’t be a fool, Takua….” Thump thump thump thump! The hatch threatened to fly apart, vibrating at its hinges. “…I’ll always be a part of you.” And the hatch burst open. Light poured into the hull, and Takua opened his eyes, the world of his dreams instantly shattering. He blinked, startled, his heart pounding, his body still on edge from what his mind had put him through, and through his blurry vision he noticed a lone Kryll descending the stairs toward him. Thankful for the intrusion, Takua watched the Kryll as it scrambled forward, reaching the floor level in a second. It wasn’t anyone he recognized; just a simple crew member, clad in grey armor, who paused only a second to make eye contact with Takua before whirling around and rummaging through a few crates that were tucked under the stairs. Takua watched the Kryll in silence, curious at its actions. It seemed anxious, as if every second it spent down here was precious time wasted. It bent over, hastily shoving the crates around, frantically searching for something forgotten or misplaced. But then, after a minute, it stood back up, several scrolls of parchment clutched between its claws, and ran back up the stairs. As quickly as it had come, the Kryll disappeared at the top of the steps, the hatch slamming shut behind it. And Takua was free to be alone once more. Free to sit, free to stare, free to think. It seemed to be getting worse. The monstrous version of Saku plagued his dreams more and more frequently, and with nothing to keep him occupied down here, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Every encounter with the dead Toa felt realer than the last, every dream left him more anxious, more unnerved. He kept on telling himself that it wasn’t real, it just his mind playing tricks on him, just his guilt rising up as he slept. But secretly, he feared that one day it would be, one day he would try to wake up, only to find that the beast was his new reality, and he would be trapped in the darkness forever. Takua shuddered, turning his thoughts to other matters. And then there was the White Tower. He had no idea what to think about that. In his dreams it offered peace, it offered safety and sanctuary, and the first few times he’d had the dream he’d believed that, but not anymore. He knew now that it couldn’t be true. After all, how many times had he heard it? From Illum? From Krosis? Even Nokama? That was the place that awaited him across the sea. On the Eastern Continent, in the Land of Charred Earth, as Krosis had once put it. That beautiful, towering temple still waited for him. That was where the ship was taking him now. That had to be Sithrak’s destination. You’ve been touched by him. Krosis’ words echoed in his head. Chosen for a greater purpose. That was Makuta’s lair. Takua frowned. But then again, how could that be? Why, in his dreams, did it push away the darkness? Why did it seem like a beacon of light, a beacon of hope? Why did it feel like a place for… for… Takua tried to find the right word for it. A place for something more. Something greater. Something like… destiny. Takua huffed, almost laughing as the thought surfaced. Shaking his head, he filled his lungs for a second, letting out a deep sigh as he rubbed his eyes. He stared off at nothing once again, loosening his shoulders as he brought himself back to reality. It’s just a dream, Takua. He thought. It’s only a dream. And suddenly: screaming. Takua’s eyes snapped open at the sound coming from directly above him, from the captain’s quarters. It was Kryll, that much was certain. A scream of surprise and pain, followed by muffled thumping and yelling. Takua looked up at the ceiling, feeling a slight vibration through the wall as something heavy hit the floor. He strained his ears, barely able to make out Sithrak’s voice pushing its way through the wood. “…This one thing! And you can’t even manage that!?” More movement, followed by more abrupt thumps as whatever had fallen to the floor moved around. “I have been lenient! I have been forgiving! And this is how you repay me!?” “Sithrak!” Rashi’s voice carried over the sound of more thumps, more cries of pain, and Takua realized it had to be a crew member writhing on the ground, on the receiving end of the captain’s wrath. “After all that I do for you! What is the one thing I ask for in return!? That you do as you are told!” “Sithrak!” Rashi’s voice rang out again, and there were more sounds of feet stomping, people moving, shuffling around. Takua strained his ears some more, but the voices that continued were softer now, and he couldn’t make anything out. He sat there, waiting for something else to happen, and, after a minute or so, it did. The hatch flew open, pouring light into the hull, and Rashi came flying down the stairs, skipping two steps at a time before reaching the far end of the hull and rummaging through a crate in the corner. Hastily pulling out a few distinct bottles and a hefty roll of bandages, she whirled back around, her arms full of medical supplies, and just briefly made eye contact with Takua. It only took him a second to read her nervously clicking mandibles, and her anxiety appealed to some small, sick part of him. “…Problems with the captain?” he mocked, letting out a subtle, dry smirk. But Rashi ignored him, not even sparing a cold glare in his direction. In a second, she was gone, taking the supplies with her, and the hatch was closed once more.

Gali: Mata Nui was shot off into space inside a mask. Makuta rules everything now Lewa: this is so sad alexa play despacito

good job on arting i award you a gold star but uuhhhhhh pakari is the best mask sorry not sorry

Part VI - Chapter 3 is up!! Finally. Writing has had to go on the back-burner recently, and I super apologize for that. But hey, a man's gotta plan his wedding, right?? Thanks for your continued patience and support. More coming (hopefully) soon!

Chapter 3 - Water and Wind When Aya woke again, everything had changed. It was quiet now, and no one was around for her to eavesdrop on. She blinked, focusing her eyes, letting her head clear. The fog over her mind began to disperse, and she filled her lungs repeatedly, inhaling the cool air as she began to gather her bearings. Slowly but surely, the ability to think returned, and for the first time the realization hit her; she was, in fact, still alive. Well, that was certainly good news. She felt… almost rested. Not particularly energized, but not tired either. Her body ached all over, but her mind was alive, and if she ignored the splitting headache that wreaked havoc behind her forehead, she was able to function reasonably well. Turning her scrutiny to her surroundings, a small but comfortable space came into view, nothing like the bright room from before. Wood paneling surrounded her on every side, save for a small, screened window above her head that let in just enough light to see. She was lying on a well-used cot, which fit snugly along one wall, taking up nearly half the floor space, as there was only room for one, maybe two people to sit beside her. A narrow door was latched shut on the opposite wall. It seemed, on second thought, to not be a room at all, but rather the inside of a carriage. Was she being taken somewhere? Aya furrowed her brow. She didn’t like not knowing things. Wasting no time, she sat up, swiveled her legs over the side of the cot, and — Aya clutched her stomach, doubling over as pain stabbed her abdomen. She exhaled, closing her eyes, forcing herself to breathe deeply. She sat there for a few minutes, not daring to move again, and eventually it began to subside into the dull ache that had greeted her upon awakening. Removing her hands and looking down, she noticed her entire torso had been wrapped in clean, fresh bandages. She scowled, and promptly proceeded to rip them off. And there it was. A thick line just below her ribcage from where the Kryll’s barb had met its mark; a partially-healed wound, stitched up with fine, black thread. It was scarred, uneven, and nasty, but Aya was used to such things, and so she didn’t think much of it. It was only a wound, after all. Only the latest in a long line of them. Naturally, she poked it. “Ow.” Her voice, soft as it was, pierced the silence, and after a moment of repose a number of sounds responded from just beyond the carriage’s door. Shuffling, clinking armor, the jingling of many keys on a ring. Aya raised her eyebrows, staring as the door in front of her rattled before being pulled open. Light poured in, and she sat there, suddenly face to face with a Ga-Matoran clad in heavy armor. “Y-you’re awake…!” the Matoran stammered, as if that thought was surprising. He was young, younger than Aya, and for a second she wondered how young they were recruiting soldiers these days. “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she looked him up and down. “And you are…?” “Just a guard, miss.” “Sorry — Guardsman Obvious, then,” Aya corrected herself, before getting straight to the point. “Where am I? What’s going on?” “Just… stay here,” the guard hesitated, before backing away slowly. “They’ll want to know you’re up. I’ll be right back!” he said, jogging off in the opposite direction before disappearing through a thicket of tall grass. Aya frowned, already having decided she wasn’t going to stay put. She looked around. It was cloudy, perhaps mid-evening, and she seemed to be somewhere on the border between Ga and Ta-Wahi. Scrub grass and palms mixed together, peppering the sandy, volcanic soil. Large, black boulders jutted from ground here and there, probably the remnants of ancient lava flows, and the smell of salt in the air meant she had to be somewhere close to the coast. Swiveling her head, she could barely see the outline of the Mangai in the distance, looming ominously over the landscape. Her carriage was only one of many, smack in the middle of an impressive caravan, which had stopped for the time being. A few guards milled about, their attention focused mainly on a cast of Ussal crabs a few yards away, resting after what seemed to have been a long day of travel. Aya remembered the conversation she had heard while half-awake. It seemed she was being taken to Ta-Koro, for whatever reason. Having had enough of speculation, she decided to follow Guardsman Obvious, determined to figure out who ‘they’ actually were. Another spurt of pain surged through her as she stood up, but her determination won, and she quickly found that as long as she moved slowly and carefully, she was able to manage everything her body threw at her. Using the palms to keep her balance, she made her way through the clump of tall grass, revealing a gradual hill that led down to a black sand beach, fifty or so yards away. A few dozen Matoran gathered there on the sand, a fire warming their hands and cooking their meals. With renewed perseverance, Aya started down the slope. By the time she reached the black sand she was exhausted, her wound having sent spurts of pain with every step. She breathed heavily, regaining her strength, leaning against a thick palm as she took in the scene before her. The Matoran here seemed important, as they were either armored guards or lavishly decorated noblemen, chieftains, advisors, or whatever it was that lavishly decorated Matoran did. The bonfire crackled, flames licking into the darkening sky, but the more Aya looked, the more she realized everyone here had their attention on something else; a pair of beings who stood just offshore, calf-deep in the waves, staring out to sea. And it was quiet. Eerily so. Aya squinted, the sea winds whipping against her, tying to make out the two beings. One was female, in blue armor, and the other was male, in green. They both stood tall, lean and powerful, the way… the way a hero would. And then it hit her: Toa Gali. Toa Lewa. Aya joined the dozens of others in watching them as Gali knelt down, placing her hands into the water. Lewa, in turn, looked up to the sky, and at the same time the two warriors closed their eyes. They stood there, waiting, or perhaps meditating, while the wind and waves whirled and crashed, the black sand pushed and pulled by both forces, over and over again. They stood, unmoving as time ticked by, unyielding as the world turned. It appeared almost surreal to Aya, as if she were witnessing a dream, but her senses told her that this was reality. It seemed, now that she thought about it, the realest thing she had ever witnessed. Something ancient, powerful, as old as the earth itself. Something innocent, natural, and yet… magical. Aya blinked, and the air came alive around her, tickling her fingertips and humming, as if charged with electricity. The spray from the waves danced against her mask, like the footsteps of fairies, and suddenly, strangely, she felt fire in her chest, energy in her soul. She felt tied to these Toa, to their elements, and to the people around her. She felt, in all essence of the word, alive. She breathed in, tasting the salt, the soil, the sand, and the air filling her up, humming louder and louder, growing, spreading roots like a great, invisible tree. Everything grew more and more intense, and she filled her lungs to their fullest, forcing herself to cut off the air abruptly, and — It was over. The Toa opened their eyes, and she was Aya again; a simple, injured Ga-Matoran, on a wind-swept beach with dozens of others. She looked around, staring at her peers, wondering if she had been alone in… whatever had just felt. But if she hadn’t been, no one spoke a word of it. Lewa and Gali turned around, making their way back to the beach, and everyone went back to their duties. Sound and movement returned, chatter, the crackling of the fire, the crashing of waves, the whipping of the wind. Aya shook her head, trying to comprehend what she had just experienced, when a hand clapped onto her shoulder, startling her enough to wince. “I knew you were a tough one,” Turaga Nokama smiled through her lined mask as she came into view. “Come,” she beckoned, “have a seat. Warm yourself. Rest, and eat. I think you’ll want to hear what is about to be said.” Aya was offered a bowl of colorful berries, and blanket to keep her warm. Accepting graciously, she threw the fabric around her shoulders, and soon found herself sitting on a log next to the Turaga, staring toward the sea as Gali approached. The Toa stood tall and greeted the two warmly. After an acknowledging nod to the Turaga, she looked Aya up and down, and let out a soft, relieved smile. “It’s good to see you well again.” “Yeah…” Aya bowed slightly, remembering her manners through a subtle state of awe. This was, after all, the second time she’d gotten a close up with the Toa of Water. “…Well?” Nokama addressed the Toa. “What did you find?” Gali knelt in the sand so that she was at eye-level with the two. “I felt him,” she responded. “He’s out there. Far away, farther than I have ever dared to go. But he is still alive.” Nokama closed her eyes and sighed. But whether it was from relief or exasperation, Aya couldn’t tell. Either way, her voice was cold. “Every ship I could spare is searching, but I’ve heard nothing yet.” “If he was closer, maybe I could pinpoint his location. But it’s too far. I only know he’s out there, somewhere.” Gali looked to Lewa, who now sat beneath a palm on the outskirts of the group, quietly sharpening his axe. She shook her head slightly, as if apologizing, and turned back to Aya. “Lewa and I… we’ve done all we can for him.” Guilt rose up in Aya’s throat as she realized who they were talking about. She looked to her companions, knowing, but she asked the question anyway, just to be sure. “…Takua?” They nodded. “Let me go,” Aya insisted. “Put me on one of your ships. It’s my duty. I’ll find him and bring him back. I’ll bring the Atouri back.” “No,” Nokama’s response was quick. “We need you here.” “Why? Where even is here? Where are we going? What’s going on?” “Of course, you must be confused,” Nokama cleared her throat. “Long story short, the Turaga and Toa are gathering at Ta-Koro. It’s the safest place to hold council in times like these.” “A council? For what?” “If we can’t find Takua soon, if Krosis continues to elude us with the Atouri…” She paused, nodding to Gali. “…We have to assume the worst. That Makuta has been reunited with his heart. That he has returned to full strength, and will be coming for us.” Aya looked at the ground. “There’s been no sign of the return of the Seventh, and we can’t afford to sit idly by any longer. Until now, the Koro have stood alone, each fighting their own battles, but that won’t work for what is coming. We need a plan of action.” It was Gali’s turn to speak up. “And we have to decide what to do with Illum.” Aya perked up at the sound of the Onu-Matoran’s name. “…Illum?” Nokama nodded. “There are — as Onewa puts it — too many rumors about his involvement in Whenua’s death, and Onu-Koro and Po-Koro’s people are suffering because of it. They’re locked in endless debate, unable to act while the rest of the island is engulfed in war. We must hold trial, and secure Illum’s place among the Turaga, or appoint Onu-Koro’s new leader, if it comes to that.” Aya held her tongue, starting to get frustrated. “With all due respect Turaga, what good will I be in any of that? I should be out there,” she pointed to the sea, pausing to swallow as guilt began to rise up her throat. “Helping find Takua. I failed him to protect him, I’m the reason the Kryll have the Atouri. I… I should be out there, making this right.” Nokama paused, letting out a brief sigh as she leaned against her trident. “I don’t know what happened on those docks, Aya. I wasn’t there to see any of it.” She leaned forward, her yellow eyes boring into the Matoran’s. “But I know the kind of person you are, and I know that none of this could ever be your fault.” Aya looked to the ground, tearing her gaze away from the Turaga before she let out anything else she would prefer to keep in. She didn’t respond to Nokama’s statement. She had no idea how to. But the Turaga quickly leaned back, ending their brief exchange as her voice became less empathetic and more professional again. “We are doing everything we can for the boy, believe me. But if you want to help, help us find where the Kryll are taking him. Now, there are rumors of this… temple, or tower, across the sea. No credible source of mine has ever seen it, but it is whispered that Makuta resides there, and Krosis’ forces are flocking to it.” She shook her head. “I’ve sent ships to see if there is any truth to the matter, but I’ve heard nothing back yet. We need to know what we’re up against, and at this point we still have very little to work from.” There was a pause in her words, and Gali picked up the Turaga’s thoughts. “If the rumors are true, if Illum did have a part in Whenua’s death, if he has had dealings with the Kryll, our best source of information about the enemy —” “— Would be him,” Aya finished her sentence, resigning to the fact that they both knew more about the subject than she did. She didn’t like it, but it was obvious that she didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. “Alright. Whatever you need, Turaga.” “Mostly your testimony,” Nokama replied. “What you know of him, how he treated you during your visit, what you took away from his coronation. Your role in escorting the Atouri will give your voice a fair amount of credit with the council.” Aya looked down, focusing on the berries in her lap. She picked one up and ate it, thinking about how much sweeter it could’ve been if received with happier news. She didn’t like the thought of councils and trials. It seemed all so dry, so gray, so… unproductive. She’d rather put a sword through Illum’s gut and be done with it. But then again, that was probably why she wasn’t the one in charge. “Whatever you can do to help will be appreciated,” Gali added. Aya nodded, agreeing. A slight lull in their conversation allowed her thoughts to rise from the back of her skull, and a question she was almost too afraid to ask bored into her. Chewing on another berry, staring out at the grey water with her back to the fire, she thought about how best to phrase it. Her mind stirring, she made eye contact with the Toa for only a second, but Gali read her like a book. The Toa’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear over the waves. “You were almost dead when we found you.” Aya averted her gaze. It would’ve been sunset, if the sky wasn’t covered with clouds. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders as the wind whipped across the beach. She didn’t know how to ask it. “You’ll be fine, as long as you give yourself time to heal,” Gali said. “The water, it can work wonders, but it can’t heal everything.” Aya closed her eyes, suppressing her emotions. “Just… tell me.” “Aya…” Aya couldn’t respond. She felt Gali place a hand atop her own, but the Toa said nothing else until she met her gaze. But instead of an apology, or a subtle shake of her head, Aya saw a warm smile on the Toa’s face. “Kokani’s not dead. Not yet, at least.” The words were like splash of water, and Aya stared at her, shocked to hear them. She blinked, her mouth slightly ajar. “I thought… I thought you were going to say…” she lost track of her sentence, and stared off into space before emptying her lungs with a curse. And then she smiled. The Toa returned the gesture, but went on cautiously. “How much he’ll heal though, is yet to be seen. He has so many wounds, and a lot of scar tissue. Deep scar tissue. He’ll walk, if he’s lucky, but I doubt he’ll ever be able to swing a weapon again.” Aya nodded, taking the information with a grain of salt. “But… he’s alive?” “Come on,” Gali laughed. “I’ll take you to see him. Just be gentle, he’s still very weak.” A great weight lifted from her shoulders, Aya silently thanked Mata Nui as the Toa helped her up. Nokama smiled to her as they departed the bonfire, and the two made their way back up the hill to the caravan. A few torches were lit here and there, fending off the night with an orange glow that reflected off the Ussal crab’s shells. But Gali ignored the little Rahi, only stopping in front of one particular carriage near the caravan’s end. She nodded to its door, which was unlocked. “I’ll give you two a moment,” Gali bowed, before retreating back through the grass. And Aya thanked her again. For everything she had done. Her fingers just briefly hesitated before she pulled the doorknob, and she peeked into the carriage, cautious, yet hopeful. It was dark inside, about the same size as her own, with only a few square feet for a passenger to sit. A figure lay alone on a cot, bandages covering scarred, white armor. Her heart thumping, Aya pushed the door open a bit more, allowing the nearby torches to chase away the shadow. And the figure looked back at her, icy blue eyes reflecting in the night. “Kokani…” Overcome with emotion, she pushed her way inside and threw her arms around him, squeezing him as tight as she could, holding him as if he were bound to escape if she let go. Her mask, buried into the crook of his shoulder, couldn’t help but smile as she felt his arm move, lightly coming to rest in the middle of her back. Neither of them moved for a minute; neither felt the need to do so. They were simply grateful to feel each other’s presence, after being so sure that they would never be able to again. When Aya finally let go, she leaned back, looking him in the eye as she sat next to his head. She cleared her throat, trying to stop her grin from growing any wider. And she said the only thing she could think of. “I’m… I’m glad you’re not dead.” Kokani looked up at her, managing a small smirk of his own. His voice was weak, hardly louder than a whisper, but Aya didn’t care. She was just glad he was here. Still alive, still speaking. “You still owe me a fruitcake.”

Chapter 2 - Introductions Aya pulled herself along the dock, blood pooling from her wound. She’d lost too much. Her head spun and her vision blurred, but still she fought, dragging herself, digging her fingertips into the grain of the wood, moving forward inch by inch. She groaned like a dying animal, painfully making her way to the white shape lying ahead. “Kokani…” her voice creaked. Splinters dug into her armor as she pulled her shoulders over one more plank, and her hand found his mask. His eyes were dark. “Kokani… wake up!” she patted his cheeks, trying to bring him back. Trying to keep him alive, even as she felt herself fading. “…Please… wake up….” She shook him, grimacing as a haze settled over everything. It clouded her eyes, numbed her body. She clutched his mask, her fingers tingling. She had to stay awake…. “You… have to… wake….” The sentence went unfinished. Her hand slipped off his mask, thudding onto the wood as her strength failed. Little by little, black encroached from the edges of her vision, until it snuffed out everything. The last thing she saw were the stars above. Pain. Stinging, white-hot pain. Like lightning. Aya opened her eyes and screamed, or at least, she tried to scream. But her lungs were empty, and she ended up gasping for air, like a fish out of water. Burning, electric pain! She reached for her stomach, but she couldn’t move. Fingers pressed into her wrists, her ankles, holding her down. She couldn’t see, not really. Only blurs, only moving, colored shapes. People? Another surge of electricity, and she cried out, successfully this time. “Hush, child. All will be well.” The voice reached her ears, and her first reaction was to curse at it. Frantically, she looked for the source, and saw someone standing over her. A blur that pressed into her stomach, kneading her flesh. More pain. Aya yelled again, letting out only three or four obscenities. “Let the water heal you.” Her vision went in and out, sharpening and muddling repeatedly. Warmth, in her stomach. It spread across her body, wrapping over her pain like a blanket. It was almost numbing, but not quite. Like a stiff drink, watered down many times over. “Heal, child….” She tried to form words, tried to ask what was going on, where she was, or something of the like. But her eyes rolled back in her head. And again, she saw no more. Voices. Hushed and hurried, but audible. Well, audible, as in Aya could tell they were speaking. But it took her a few minutes before she could actually understand was being said. Elderly, but still sharp words, having… an argument? A disagreement. Something like that. She rested, listening as her brain slowly made sense of it all. “…Now? We’re in the middle of a war, Onewa.” “They’ve been caught in a standstill ever since the revolution, and my people are stuck because of it. If we can resolve this while the Kryll are retreating, we can add Po and Onu-Koro’s soldiers to our ranks, regroup, reassess our strategy, and finish this before Krosis can get back on his feet.” “And you think we’ll have time for that? The Rahi Nui trampled half my city, so I’m sure you’ll understand if I say I’m a little preoccupied.” “I’ve done everything I can to tip the scales, but Onu-Koro’s elite have everything stopped. They’ll squabble forever unless the other Turaga step in.” “That’s… probably true. But why Ta-Koro? It’s not exactly central.” “Their walls are thick, and they have a river of lava protecting them. I’d say it’s the safest place to meet during wartime.” Onewa replied. “My sources say the majority of the Kryll’s ships are anchored in Leva Bay, so they’ll be too far north if they decide to attack.” The Turaga’s voice paused for only a moment or so. “We’ve always had to work together to defeat threats like this in the past. You’re the one who’s always preaching unity, Nokama.” Aya stirred, recognizing the names of those speaking. She opened her eyes, but quickly shut them again, as the room was blinding. “And the Toa have agreed to this?” Nokama asked. A third voice sounded for the first time. This one seemed… younger, but mature, and no less significant. “Onua and Pohatu are escorting Illum’s caravan as we speak.” Nokama sighed. “Alright. If you think it is best. I’ll just have to delegate some of my other duties, I suppose.” There was another pause in the conversation, and once again Aya tried to see. Sluggishly, her eyes adjusted to the light, and she moved her head to the side, barely able to make out the three figures who talked on the other side of the room. Two Turaga, Onewa and Nokama. And the third was tall… Toa-sized. Blue armor. Gali? Had to be. “We should take her with us,” Onewa nodded in Aya’s direction. He went on, his voice growing softer. “We’ll need her council… as soon as she can give it.” “We can’t be move her, not yet. She’s still too weak.” “We can only delay so long, Nokama.” Comprehending they were talking about her, Aya opened her mouth. Her voice creaked like a door on rusty hinges as she tried to speak, but she had no strength, and only managed a few, strung-out words. “Hey… I’m not… weak…” Heads whirled around, staring with surprised eyes. Before she knew it hands were on her, voices were saying too many things at once, and someone was forcing a cup of something smelly close to her mouth. She tried to speak again, but someone shushed her. “Drink this, you need to rest.” Thirsty, and unable to resist, she took a few gulps of the stuff, and laid her head back, exhausted by the whole ordeal. She blinked a few times, and Nokama came into view. “Aya… I need you to listen to me,” she looked at her with pity, but also purpose. “Takua and the Atouri… what happened? Where are they?” Aya could already feel her strength fading again. “…Kryll. On a ship. They sailed… out to sea…” “Where? Do you know?” She shook her head, feeling dizzy again. But she had her own questions that needed answered. “…Is… Kokani...?” Nokama hesitated. She looked up at someone Aya couldn’t see, nodded, and disappeared from view. Aya tried to object, but she was so weak, and so tired. A second later, Gali appeared. “You’ll be okay,” the Toa smiled, placing a hand on her forehead. “Just rest…” Suddenly very sleepy, Aya closed her eyes, and did as she was told. ~~~ Takua sat up as he heard the Kryll scrambling around; he could always tell when something was going on. Their feet thumped on the deck above, hurried, with more purpose than normal. He heard someone speaking, muffled through the wood, but a few seconds later the hatch opened, and the golden-orange of twilight poured into the hull. Takua squinted as a handful of figures made their way down the steps — five Kryll; two generic, hulking brutes, and three others Takua recognized. The first was the ship’s cook, a quiet, small, mottled-brown Kryll, the one who occasionally left food for Takua, not that he ever touched it. The second was the dark, war-paint covered female, the archer who had shot Kokani and Aya. She stood to the side in the shadows, her crimson stare piercing into him. And the third was one Takua hadn’t seen since he’d been captured, but had heard a lot about from the mutterings of the crew: Sithrak, the ship’s captain. Looking at him now, Takua realized that he was, for lack of a better word, very strange for a Kryll. His first impressions of Sithrak being tall and broad-shouldered weren’t because he was built like Krosis or other Kryll warriors, but rather because the rest of him was seemingly so withered. He was thin, unnervingly so, to the point that it seemed his jet-black, polished armor had been modified so that it wouldn’t fall off his body. His forest green eyes matched the sash wrapped around his waist, securing a variety of trinkets that dangled down to mid-thigh — an odd mix of carved bones, dried leaves, and tiny wooden symbols. Takua thought he looked more like a shaman than a captain, but before he could study the Kryll any longer, Sithrak spoke. “So… here you are.” Takua almost grimaced at his voice. It was a mix between a whisper and a soft rumble, like an ocean breeze, but tainted with pollution. His eyes made their way to the scar on Sithrak’s right thigh, already regretting that Kokani hadn’t finished him off back in that village. Perhaps it would have saved him the hassle of... whatever was about to happen. “I meant to come see you sooner, I really did! But you know how things are.” Sithrak approached, his movements short and abrupt, like a lizard. “Busy, busy, busy. Reports to write, routes to navigate, soldiers to keep in line…” he chuckled to himself. “…I sometimes wonder when Krosis will give me a vacation!” Takua stared, half-wondering if the Kryll thought he was funny. He seemed… a little off. In an unnerving, unsettling way. Takua remained silent. Sithrak squatted, staring at him, leaning in just a little too close. “You don’t talk much, do you, little Matoran?” Takua leaned back against the hull, letting his eyes do the talking. “…Okay then.” Sithrak blinked, and in a second everything about him changed. His green eyes went bloodshot and he lunged forward, claws wrapping around Takua’s throat, slamming the back of his head against the hull. His mandibles clicked, uncomfortably close to Takua’s ear as he pointed to his cook. “Do you see this nice Kryll?” he hissed, barely louder than a whisper. “He slaves, day in and day out, to make delicious, healthy food for all of us. And he gives you your very own portion! Because he is nice. Because he is good.” Takua struggled, trying to get Sithrak off of him, but the Kryll only tightened his grip, cutting off his air just enough to make his point clear. “And he tells me… that you have not been eating! Are you stubborn? Do you think yourself a rebel?” He nodded toward the female, who still stood in the shadows. “Rashi says she even talked to you about this, but still… you… refuse!” His claws dug into Takua’s throat, forcing him to gasp for air. He struggled against his chains, trying to free himself, trying to fight back, but there was nothing he could do. Sithrak scowled, pushing his mandibles even closer to Takua’s ear. “I do not like it...” his knuckles went white as he squeezed tighter, enunciating every word that came out of his mouth. “When people… do not… do as… they’re told!” “Sithrak….” It was Rashi who spoke. Her voice interrupted the scene, as if she were warning the captain. Sithrak looked to her briefly before letting go of Takua, taking a few steps back as the Le-Matoran gasped for air. Takua filled his lungs, his throat burning, taking a minute or so to regain his strength as the Kryll observed him. Eventually, his eyes flicked to Rashi, and then back to Sithrak, and he spoke. “As I told her,” Takua glared. “I’ll eat when I see Jaka.” “Oh!” Sithrak clapped his hands together, revealing jagged, sharp teeth as he smiled. “Of course!” He nodded to his two brutes, who began to make their way up the stairs. “I almost forgot about your friend. He’s doing quite well, you know! Sleeps with the crew. They tolerate him as long as he stays in his corner. A few have even taken a liking to him; he’s very good at fixing hammocks.” Takua furrowed his brow. Was Sithrak serious? He’d gone from friendly — well, relatively speaking — to monstrous, and back again in a matter of minutes. Was Jaka really okay? Doing just fine? Takua doubted he could trust anything that came out of the captain’s mouth. A minute later the brutes returned, clumping down the stairs again, a smaller figure in tow. They stepped into the light and Takua sat up, surprised to actually see Jaka standing behind their mass, just as he remembered him. “Jaka…!” “Takua !” Jaka pushed his way around the brutes, running for his friend, only to be stopped by Sithrak’s arm, holding him just a few feet away. Words tumbled out of his mouth. “Are you okay? What have they done to you? Do you know what’s going on?” “Ah ah ah!” Sithrak waved his finger, cutting him off. “I said you could see each other, not that you could talk.” Jaka quickly — smartly — shut his mouth. He seemed full of worry, full of pity, which forced Takua to look down at himself. Now that he’d seen Jaka, who was still strong and healthy, he realized just how much his own body had withered away. He’d been starving himself for so long it’d become his norm, and he’d forgotten what it was like to feel anything else. But now that he’d broken his mental barrier, his stomach rumbled, and he realized just how hungry he was. “Such a nice reunion,” Sithrak looked around the room, smiling happily as he took in his surroundings. Then, excitedly, he clapped his hands together. “Well! To business.” His brutes lunged forward, grabbing Jaka by his wrists and forcing him to the ground. His mask hit the wood as Sithrak drew a dagger from his belt, perching himself just above Jaka’s right hand. The brutes spread his fingers, keeping his palm flat against the floor. “Stop! What are you doing!?” Takua objected, pulling against his chains. But Sithrak ignored him, instead bringing his dagger close to Jaka’s index finger. He turned to Rashi. “It was last night that we talked, right?” He looked up, pondering, counting the claws on his left hand. “So, that’s what… two meals little Takua has missed? Maybe three?” Rashi took a cautious step forward. “Sithrak….” Sithrak ignored her, shrugging to himself. “We’ll go with three.” He turned to Takua, smiling not in an evil, taunting way, but one that implied he was genuinely happy, that he loved what he was doing. “Three little fingers the Le-Matoran doesn’t get to keep!” he chimed. “Sithrak!” Rashi’s voice rang out just as Sithrak had brought his dagger to Jaka’s trembling hand. The sharpened steel paused on his knuckle, sitting there for a solid five seconds before Sithrak rolled his eyes and sighed, looking up at her, clearly annoyed. He held out his hands. “What!?” “He is just a boy.” “Ugh,” Sithrak looked at the ceiling before responding, casually using his dagger to stress his words. “He’s a worm. A parasite.” “Give the boy a chance.” Ignoring Jaka, who still shuddered beneath him, Sithrak looked at Rashi as if she were stupid. “And… why would I do that, exactly?” “If you cut him now there is nothing left for the rest of the journey.” Rashi folded her arms and returned the captain’s gaze, suggesting some sort of mutual dislike. “Pace yourself,” she added, feeling she hadn’t properly made her point Sithrak stared off into space, pondering with his lip curled, almost grumbling to himself. Finally, he nodded to his cook, who scurried off, a minute later bringing back a bowl of leftovers from his latest meal. Warily, the small Kryll squeezed past Sithrak and his brutes, placing the bowl just within Takua’s reach before retreating back to his spot. Takua stared at the food, eyes flicking from it to Jaka to Sithrak, afraid to move for his friend’s sake. Jaka trembled beneath the weight of the brutes, and Sithrak stared at Takua, his eyes burning. “Eat!” Sithrak screamed. He didn’t waste any time. Picking up the bowl, Takua scooped the gruel into his mouth, not pausing to breath or to wipe his mask until its entirety was scraped clean. To the cook’s credit, while it looked like disgusting mystery-slop, it wasn’t actually half bad. But then again, Takua was also starving. He let the bowl clatter to the floor, not breaking eye contact with Sithrak. The Kryll, trying to hide his dissatisfaction, stood up and motioned for his brutes to let Jaka go. The Le-Matoran’s breathing was heavy, and he grabbed his wrist and wiggled his fingers, thankful that they were all still there. With wide eyes, he nodded a silent thanks to Takua. “See?” Sithrak shoved his dagger back into his belt, plastering another smile on his face. “Just do as you’re told, and everyone is happy!” With a subtle glance in Sithrak’s direction, Rashi turned around, making her way back up the stairs. The cook hurried forward, grabbing Jaka’s arm and pulling him back, following the dark Kryll as she exited the hull. Sensing their work was done, the brutes turned as well, leaving Takua alone with the schooner’s captain. “Now,” Sithrak squatted again, an arms-length away from Takua. “Do you promise to cooperate? I despise bloodshed, I really do. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you or your friend. But if you don’t cooperate, I am — believe it or not — very good... at making bad things happen.” Takua glared, equally enraged and terrified of this Kryll. He wiped the remaining gruel from his mask, his breathing still heavy. “…Do you promise? Tell me, Takua.” Realizing the Kryll wouldn’t leave until he cooperated, Takua swallowed. Slowly, subtly, he nodded his head, knowing that any trouble he caused would be taken out on Jaka. “No, no, I need you to say it,” Sithrak leaned forward, pushing Takua’s chin up with his claw. “Go ahead, say, ‘I promise I’ll be good.’” Takua gritted his jaw, his face hot behind his mask. He wished he could crawl away this foul Kryll, away from his jagged teeth and putrid breath. But he could only stare forward, meeting Sithrak’s dark, twinkling eyes. They seemed so calm now, so still and peaceful, but he knew now the kind of monster that lived behind them. “Won’t you, Takua? Won’t you please say it for me?” Takua swallowed. “…I promise I’ll be good.” “There!” Sithrak smiled, pinching the edge of Takua’s mask affectionately. The trinkets on his sash jingled as he spun around, excitedly making his way up the stairs. “Look how far we’ve come already!” Catching his breath, Takua once again leaned back against the hull. He closed his eyes as Sithrak reached the top of the stairs, realizing that he was in over his head. At least with Krosis, Takua could follow his logic, could see where he was coming from. But Sithrak was… something else. Something else entirely. The captain’s voice reached him once more before the hatch shut, plunging Takua again into the dark. “What a wonderful journey this is going to be!”

So great to hear you guys are still around and enjoying the story! Your comments always manage to push back the existential dread (jk jk... but seriously I do appreciate them). I should let you all know that due to the rewrites that I had to do to the upcoming chapters/parts, I needed to go back and make a few edits to what I've already posted. Nothing substantial and nothing that will change the story at all, but I have gone back through everything and, well, edited it. Punctuation and capitalization for the most part (why did it take me so long to realize that I should capitalize 'Kryll??'), but also the occasional line of descriptive detail. Again, very minor stuff, but if you re-read some older chapters you may notice a different sentence here or there. I realize this probably doesn't matter, but I thought I should let you know anyways 'cause I like to be real with you all. So... yeah. Thanks for reading guys, and new chapters are coming soon!!

What is up my dudes. Chapter 1 of part VI is up, finally. So sorry for the wait! Hopefully it won't be as bad in the future

Chapter 1 - Promises The hunt was over. Krosis let out a smile as he crumpled the report in his claws, throwing the balled-up paper into his fire. Feeling content, he leaned against the trunk of a mangrove, his attention switching to the dagger that lay in the dirt beside him. After a moment of contemplation, he picked it up. Switching back and forth between different grips, he felt its weight, admiring its design. It was, he had to admit, a very well-crafted weapon. A sturdy thing, it held a sharp edge, and had near-perfect balance between the blade and the hilt. The protosteel, partially serrated and slightly curved, was inlaid with a thin strip of gold near the back edge — a purely decorative, but still beautiful detail. It seemed, by all accounts, the blade of a palace guard, a decorated noble, or a royal assassin. One thing was for sure; it did not seem to be the blade of Takua, the simple Le-Matoran traveler. Krosis rapped his claws on the steel, allowing himself this moment of satisfaction. Given everything that had happened in the past few weeks, it was a delightful change to have this small bit of news. But it wasn’t a surprise — he had expected this of course. But it was still one less item on his plate, one less factor to worry about. He set the dagger down, leaning over to turn a skewer which quietly cooked a few slabs of meat over the fire. Closing his eyes, the savory smell wafted towards him, and he nodded to himself. Makuta had the Atouri. The little Le-Matoran would bother him no more. But even before he’d read about the events in Ga-Koro, he’d known how it had ended. He’d felt it. Deep in his mind, the moment Makuta had taken the stone, he knew. It had been… a shockwave of realization, an epiphany of sorts. He couldn’t explain it, not really, but he knew what it meant; Makuta was growing stronger. Soon, he thought. Soon… it will all be over. But alas, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. There were still so many obstacles to overcome. He’d watched as the Rahi Nui broke Ga-Koro’s walls, as his warriors spilled into the city and victory seemed within reach. They had pushed forward like a river, unrelenting, but while his troops had numbers on their side, Ga-Koro knew the territory. The city’s soldiers knew when to run, when to fight, how to slip through the buildings unnoticed. And after hours of fighting, Krosis’ warriors had found themselves at a standstill. Ga-Koro had cut down their momentum, and with it, their chances of success. He’d watched as his people faltered, and slowly began to succumb to the Matoran’s blades. He’d watched as a blinding light erupted from the Kini, inspiring the Matoran to push back, to fight harder. He’d even watched as the Toa battled the Rahi Nui, slowly, patiently, relentlessly working to bring it down. The Kryll’s mood turned sour at the thought. It had been impressive, to say the least, witnessing such a battle. The ground had shook, the waters had parted, the very air had seemed to vibrate. But after almost an entire day of conflict, the beings from the sky stood victorious, bathed in the light of a new dawn. And now the Great Beast rested. Motionless, beneath the sea. That had been the nail in the coffin. After seeing the Rahi Nui fall, his warriors’ will to fight shattered, and Krosis had been forced to call the retreat. He hated it; it was a mark on his honor, a wound to his pride, but it had been necessary at the time. It was, he presumed, better to suffer defeat and fight again, than to die a meaningless death. Even if he didn’t like to admit it. The Matoran had always benefited from their cities, their walls, and their Toa, but at least before Krosis had been able to outnumber them on the battlefield. And while he could confidently say that each of his warriors was superior when it came to combat, after such heavy losses, he knew he was at the disadvantage. No matter how he looked at it, he doubted they would be able to hold the territory they’d gained, let alone push further. And without Saku behind them, without the might of the Rahi Nui… well…. He looked at the remains of the report, all but disintegrated within the flames. It was good to have this one, small, bit of news. “What is the meaning of this, Krosis?” The King of the Kryll looked up to see Noruk making his way through the mangroves. It was dawn in northern Ga-Wahi, and Krosis had camped his remaining troops deep within the trees, in order to escape any retaliation from Ga-Koro. Noruk barged through the thick foliage before stepping into the small clearing, his gaze narrow, mandibles twitching. Krosis’ reply was smooth and simple. “You seem troubled, Noruk.” “Troubled?” Noruk hissed, trying but failing to keep his anger in check. “I heard about the Le-Matoran.” Krosis met his gaze through the smoke of his fire, addressing his comrade the way a scholar would a pupil. “…And?” “Rashi!?” Noruk spat. “You put her in charge of his capture? Over me? She’s a traitor!” Krosis’ attention quickly returned to the flames. “You were my preferred choice, and I gave you that opportunity. But if I remember correctly, that ended with Nilum dead in a snowbank, did it not?” Noruk twitched, holding his tongue. His mandibles clicked as he squeezed his claws tight, and he took a deep breath, pulling himself together, if only out of respect. He went on, his voice still hot, but low and controlled. “I do not trust her.” “I know. But she has proven her worth countless times before,” Krosis replied. “And besides, Sithrak is with her. You know as well as I do he will keep her in line.” “Sithrak?” Noruk scoffed. “You know what she is capable of. If she wanted to she could —” “Free the Le-Matoran? Sabotage the operation?” Krosis cut him off, his patience waning. “Sure. But then what? Where would she go? Her followers have long since abandoned her, and if she could barely cooperate with Illum the rest of the Matoran certainly wouldn’t have her.” He paused, looking back to Noruk before summing up his point. “We are all she has left.” Noruk stared as his brow furrowed. It was obvious he still didn’t agree with the decision, but he didn’t seem to have any rebuttal. Or if he did, he chose not to voice it. Krosis sighed, standing up. His voice was slower now, gentler, if such a thing were possible. “You are a great warrior, Noruk, but you are loud and do not think. Rashi is quiet and calculated, and has a knack for infiltration.” He held out his hands, as if weighing his two officers on a scale. “If you can name anyone better suited for getting in and out of Ga-Koro undetected, you are free to do so.” Noruk folded his arms, sighing as he realized that Krosis was right. He stared at his feet, absent-mindedly kicking the dirt before he looked back up. “Saku would have been better.” Krosis let out a small laugh as he sat back down. “My mistake. I’ll be sure to consult the dead before I make any more decisions.” Noruk’s face loosened, shoulders relaxing. His armor clinked as he sat down on a stump across from Krosis, sinking his head into his claws. “I mean no disrespect. But… given her history,” he stumbled for his words. “…Well, you know.” Krosis nodded, silently accepting the apology. “Eat, my friend,” he said, taking one of the skewers off the fire and handing it to Noruk. “You must be hungry.” Noruk nodded and took the spike, biting into the charred flesh. The clearing was quiet for a few seconds as he chewed, until he swallowed and spoke again. “You’ve heard the rumors though, haven’t you?” Krosis’ inquisitive gaze led him to go on. “Some of our scouts in Onu-Wahi, they claim he’s still there.” “Who?” “Saku,” Noruk chewed. “In the darkest tunnels, they say you can see glimpses of him. Always fleeting, and always twisted into some kind of monster… but you can recognize the orange of his eyes, staring back at you through the Mask of Shadows.” Noruk shrugged, indicating his indifference. “Hard to believe, but he was the Toa of Shadow, after all.” Krosis shook his head, cracking a smile. “Well, next time they see him, have them ask when he plans on coming back to life. We need all the help we can get.” Noruk nodded, taking a minute or so to chew his food. Quiet once again ruled their small fire, and the two Kryll were left to their own thoughts. But Krosis’ comment seemed to have opened a door, allowing the bleakness of reality to set in. It spread over the clearing, blanketing everything like a mist, and gradually, the world seemed just a little bit colder. Just a little bit darker. Noruk’s next words were tinged with a hint of … was it sadness? Regret, perhaps. “You’re really leaving, then?” Krosis nodded. It was clear the two Kryll felt the same about their next move. Noruk shifted on his stump, leaning forward. “You don’t have to, you know. There are other options.” “You know as well as I do that we can’t win this war. Not anymore, not by ourselves. We need him.” “No, we need you,” Noruk rebutted, trying to comprehend Krosis’ train of thought. “Why must so many make the journey? If the Matoran or Toa decide to attack while the majority of our forces are away —” “Then you’ll retreat to Po-Koro, and keep our people safe at all costs,” Krosis answered. “But that won’t happen. As soon as the Turaga realize they’ve lost the Atouri, Po-Koro will be the least of their worries. They’ll put all their resources towards getting it back, even if it means following us across the sea.” Noruk took a bit to respond, grappling with his words. “I can’t…” he shook his head, his frustration building up again. “…I won’t let you abandon our homeland, Krosis.” “You knew this would happen eventually. And we’re not abandoning it. We shall return, stronger than ever. Makuta has willed it.” “Makuta is not our leader. You are,” Noruk retorted, his jaw clicking. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth, but this… this doesn’t seem like you.” “To serve my people I must serve Makuta. There is no other choice, Noruk.” “There is always another choice,” Noruk stood up, his ambition taking over. “If we leave now, after Ga-Koro, we leave in defeat, we leave disgraced. We promised our people glory and victory, but everything after Po-Koro has gone downhill. They’ve lost so much, and they’re frustrated. Some are starting to question if this is all worth it.” “You know it is.” “But they don’t. And we have to remind them,” Noruk pleaded. “Don’t leave. I’ll gather my finest, and we’ll send the Matoran a message. We’ll let them know that this isn’t over, and that we are not broken. We’ll avenge our fallen brothers. We’ll avenge Saku, we’ll avenge the Rahi Nui and —” “No, Noruk,” Krosis cut him off, putting his foot down. “You’ll hold Po-Koro while we answer Makuta’s calling. And we’ll return when we are ready. That is final.” And Noruk was left hanging, his passion cut short as his words stopped on empty air. There was no way he alone could convince his king, that much was certain. His arms fell to his sides, and gradually, he nodded. “Well... perhaps it’s time then,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “What?” Noruk looked over his shoulder through the mangroves, nodding to someone who stood just out of sight, signaling movement from within the branches. A minute later, two Kryll made their way into the clearing, carrying a rectangular wooden box, just big enough to fit a Matoran inside. Krosis stood up as the box was set gently beside him. He watched it, suspicious. “…What is this?” “I hadn’t meant to tell you like this,” Noruk said sternly, yet respectfully. “But maybe after all this time you’ve forgotten why we fight as well.” “Careful, Noruk…” Krosis rumbled, reminding him of his place. But Noruk continued. “After the retreat, a portion of Ga-Koro’s soldiers marched west, searching the wilds for our trail. They didn’t find us,” he nodded to the other two Kryll, who quickly made their way back into the mangroves, out of sight. “But they did find a village.” Krosis’ eyes widened, snapping back to the box. “The guards were overwhelmed, and I sent a squad as soon as I heard the news, but it was too late. The huts were burnt to the ground, and I…” Noruk’s voice stopped. He grew quiet, finishing his sentence just barely louder than a mumble. “…I am told no one survived.” Krosis stared at the box — no, the coffin. A small coffin. His hands twitched at his sides, and for a second he couldn’t move. He stood there, staring at the plain wooden box, suddenly not sure if he wanted to open it. Suddenly not sure if he could open it. “I’ll…” Noruk’s voice broke the silence once more. “I’ll be with the troops. If you need me.” And just like that, Krosis was alone. He stood there amidst the mangroves, staring at this simple wooden coffin, drumming his fingers against the side of his leg. Seconds ticked by, turning into minutes as he hesitated, unable to take the small step forward and see who it was that lay within. In his head, he felt the pressure building, like a boiling pot of water, steam rising, growing stronger and stronger, until — He shoved the lid to the side, sending it into the dirt with a thud. And Krosis, mighty warlord and King of the Kryll, fell to his knees. For the body before him was one of his own. A young Kryll, a little Kryll, with soft claws and small mandibles, who had always looked through big, yellow, curious eyes. Except now those eyes were shut, never to admire the world again. To say that sorrow enveloped him would be an understatement. There was sorrow, yes, but so much more consumed him. So much blood, sweat, and tears, all wasted. So much failure, regret, and emptiness. Goals never met, memories never to be repeated. Broken promises and shattered dreams. Frustration, anger, rage. So much rage. Krosis reached into the coffin, gingerly bringing the Kryll’s head close to his chest. He closed his eyes, unmoving as he cradled this little Kryll for what he knew would be the last time. He made no noise; the entire clearing was silent, save for the soft crackling of the fire behind him. And he knew Noruk had been right. He knew what they had to do, in order to survive this next chapter of the war. They had to travel across the sea, far away from their homeland, away from what they fought for. But they wouldn’t go like this. Their legacy would be carved out of blood and fire. They would have victory, they would have vengeance, and they would bring about a new age, even if they had to topple gods to do so. Krosis knew what had to be done. He placed the Kryll back in the coffin, picking up the lid and sliding it back into place. There was no time for grief; there was no time for sorrow. He picked up Takua’s dagger, again twirling it between his fingers as he sat down. He had to prepare for what was to come; he had to prepare for his next hunt. Only this time, they wouldn’t be hunting a small group of Matoran travelers. No, he thought to himself. This time, they were hunting Toa. ~~~ “Eat.” Takua looked up, blinded by light that poured through the hatch at the top of the stairs. He shielded his face, barely able to make out the silhouette of a Kryll. It approached slowly, until it stood a few feet before him, tall and lean. A wooden bowl of gruel slid across the floor, just within reach of his chains. “Eat,” it repeated. The Kryll had a thick accent, one Takua hadn’t heard before. He didn’t move. Takua stared up at the figure, letting his eyes adjust to the newfound brightness. It was the first sunlight he’d seen all day, or at least, since the last time he’d slept. It was hard to tell time in the ship’s hold, as he only had small cracks between the planks of the hull to go off of. It took a minute or so, but eventually he could make out the Kryll’s dark grey armor, covered with subtle, black war paint. Instantly he recognized it as the archer, the female Kryll from the ambush. The one who had shot Kokani and Aya. With a scowl, he kicked the bowl, splattering its contents across the floor. The Kryll sighed, patiently squatting down so that she was at eye level with Takua. “The cook says you have not eaten for three days. Krosis says to keep you alive. So you must eat.” She spoke slowly and simply, as if she couldn’t speak his language very well. What she said was true; a few times a day, a small, brown Kryll would leave some scraps in a bowl for him, but Takua always refused them. The way he saw it, he’d rather starve than do anything the Kryll wanted him to. His chains clinked as he leaned back against the hull, letting his body language do the talking. He had nothing to say to this Kryll. She cocked her head, eyeing Takua as she clicked her mandibles. A few more seconds dragged by before she spoke up. “I do not like you.” Takua snorted, almost smiling at her comment. “But Sithrak?” she nodded to the deck above their heads. “He hates you.” Takua had heard other Kryll say that name before, and after eavesdropping on a few conversations he had determined it to be the captain of the ship. The broad-shouldered one with jet black armor. The one Kokani had wounded in that village back in Ga-Wahi. He seemed to run his warriors — sailors, whatever they were — with an iron fist. Everything on the schooner ran like clockwork, and a select few of the Kryll resented him for it, from what Takua could tell from their grumbles and whispers. “If you do not eat, I go tell Sithrak,” the Kryll said, as if that should’ve had an effect on Takua. But still he didn’t move, and so she continued. “Your friend is comfortable now. But if I tell Sithrak, he will bring your friend here, and chop off one finger for every meal you do not eat.” This caught Takua’s attention. He had been alone with the cargo for so long, he’d almost forgotten Jaka was somewhere on the ship, too. He hadn’t seen or heard anything about him since Ga-Koro, and that was… how long ago? He was beginning to lose track of the days. “Show me,” Takua demanded, his voice cracking from the lack of use. “Prove to me he’s still alive.” The Kryll smiled, picking up the bowl from where Takua had kicked it. With a few flicks of her wrist, she slopped the remaining gruel at Takua’s feet and pointed to it. “You eat, and I see what I can do.” She turned around and headed back toward the light, taking the bowl with her as she made her way out of the hold. She was about halfway up the stairs when Takua called out to her, his voice loud and stern. “It was you.” The Kryll turned to look at him, and he noticed a faint red glimmer in her eyes. She tilted her head back, looking down at him without emotion. “You killed my friends.” Takua said, his chest growing warm, even now. “They were already outnumbered, and you shot them. You shot them from the boat. From far out of reach.” He clenched his fingers through his chains, wishing he could wrap them around her neck. “Real brave of you.” The Kryll blinked, remaining still. The hold was silent, except for the muffled waves, gently crashing outside. “I’m going to kill you,” Takua threatened, his gaze cold, but his eyes hot. He nodded, silently swearing an oath to himself. “Mark my words. Someday, somehow; I’m going to kill you.” Still silhouetted by the light from above, the Kryll took a few moments to react. But eventually, she cracked a smile, her shoulders moving up and down as she let out an airy laugh, briefly touching her cheek with her claws. Then, with the hand that held Takua’s bowl, she motioned toward the gruel she had slopped onto the floor in front of him. “Eat,” she said, making her way up the stairs. In a few seconds she had reached the top, and smiled at Takua one last time as she closed the hatch behind her.

Pohatu and Lewa because I bet they'd be down for excessive late night Rocket League tournaments. Also Good Guy, because memes

THIS. But I don't think you'd need all the time travel stuff. It just makes everything more confusing and creates logic fallacies (in my own humble opinion, of course). Just market it as a retelling, I don't think it necessarily has to fit perfectly with the rest of the canon. Maybe the other Toa could be like your inner circle in Dragon Age: Inquisition? You could take them with you when you go out exploring, assign them to missions that would eventually change the game world, and they'd each have their own story quests as well. Also, since this is our dream game after all, some implementation of Middle Earth: Shadow of Mordor/War's Nemesis system. Just cause I think that whole thing is pretty neat. You spend the entire game as a Toa, doing the best you can to make the land right, uniting everyone under your banner. But as the game goes on choices get harder and harder, forcing you to make increasingly darker decisions. No matter what you pick someone gets hurt, and eventually everyone blames you for all the island's problems. But you know you're in the right, they just don't understand the choices you've had to make. Tensions rise, and people start to rebel, but you can't let everything you've made go to waste. You'll squash them. You'll make them see. You were Makuta the whole time. *Cue the ending to The Godfather*

I'd like remasters of the old sets! Not like the Stars or those other tiny promotional sets, but like G1 Toa Mata collector's editions. Full range of motion, bigger and more complex than they ever were before. I know I'd definitely buy that. Would it be profitable for Lego? Idk. But can one dream? Yes. I think if the story was to be remastered, they should do it in short, episodic 'legends,' cutting all the fluff and focusing on major story lines. Think about it: these classic collector edition sets appear, you get a recap of the story, reminding you of the universe and what happened in G1. Then, a few months later....G3! I like the idea that it would be an entirely new story, but everything that happened in G1 could be just legends and stuff, you know? PS. You use a lot of smiley faces, OP. I like you

I love how half this topic is "You don't need reproduction to love. Love is natural and beautiful, in all its forms," and the other half is "Ayy I see you Graahlok the ash bear ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)"

You've inspired me to make this: