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End of An Island The red sun played tricks on his old eyes. Mirages of Matoran here, Rahi there. Some days, he thought he saw trees in the distance. He always laughed. There were no trees here. Not anymore. He would walk from one end of the flat expense to the next, and would always stop by the sealed door in the ground. The entrance to a dead universe, but they all wanted out, a long time ago. Before they died. Before the land above died. He rubbed at the chips in his mask, the holes and cracks of age and injuries. His back would creak, his knuckles would pop, and his feet dragged. But he would walk. Here, he would note, was where Tahu arrived, eons ago and here, he would nod, is where Tahu now rests. Here, on Mata Nui, is where they all rest. A final graveyard on top of a dead universe. He craned his neck skywards and squinted at the red sun. Swollen in age, it floated without strings in the grand expense of the sky, night and day. He strained to remember when it was yellow and small. Warm, inviting. He strained to remember when he and his friends played in the trees and the valleys, in the villages and in the markets. He strained to remember when life was full of promise, when the Great Spirit was to come and save them all. When the Toa Mata would save them and defeat Makuta. Something went horribly wrong that day. He remembered that much. The Toa Mata went down, and they came up. Makuta was dead, but he played a trump card. The Great Spirit died with him, and with him went the universe. It tooks eons upon eons, but all died. He remembered building the great seal to hold back the universe from their island. He remembered the cries of thousands of beings. Then he remembered when they realized the trees were dying. The grass were dying. The entire island dying. Some Matoran tried building boats and sailing away. Some went mad and killed themselves. Most, though, just went about their lives, hoping to live as long as possible. He remembered the Toa, all of them, doing what they could for the Matoran. He remembered Pohatu being killed by a mob of crazy Matoran. He didn't even try to fight back or escape; He was the first to give up. Gali was the last one. As the island failed, and grew unstable, she became trapped under a landslide. Nobody could pull her out. He wasn't sure many cared. And now, eons later, here he stood. The last Matoran of Ta-Koro, nay, the last Matoran of Mata Nui. And there stood that red sun, growing brighter and brighter. He hopped down in the hole he had dug for himself ages ago. With a teary glance, he patted the grave next to his. "Well, Jaller, old pal, it's been a good life. I'll see you on the other side." He looked up at the imploding star; ignoring the pain and the heat, he smiled, and an instant later he, and the entire planet, were reduced to dust.
