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Toa Regmar.On walls and scrolls they stand apart,Above the other Toa,Not for deed or duty, role or riseBut for size. They were thirteen strong. Their homelands are lost;Powers and masks are footnotes,Even names are lost in smudged ink and weathered stoneSave two; noble AravAnd poor, mean Carr. Arav was deemed leader, and bore it well.Sure orders, clear eyes, and proud heart lentItself to many victories. And beside him alwaysWas Carr. Ne’er a warrior before, only a reluctantOne thence, but his spirit was true. Stories aboundOf thwarted assassins, protected flanks, even brunt of fireBlast borne—all with modesty. Four virtues, it said,Burned in his heartlight—three for the watching Spirit,The final for Arav. None knows what transpired—walls stand unblemished, scrollsStay furled on the matter. Only confirmed is a sojourn into unmapped jungle, aDesperate charge out. Arav stood worse for wear, armor pockmarked, tissue burnt,Jaw set to bite back screams of pain,…But Carr… He lay immobile, limbs limp, eyes closed,Face set in repose, suggesting the peace that only theDead may lay claim to. Yet the claim was false;He was not at death, though he played it well. His heartlightFlickered as a beacon to a bobbing junk—a lighthouse to theSoul, which had left stable Body to brave the ephemeral Sea. He was, yet was not.Half a being.Arav had brought him back, told a taleOf heroism and sacrifice.“The twelve-and-a-halfth member,”With a quirked smile.The moniker stuck. Such is the story the records display… but know this.Arav’s tale is spun of webs,An opaque screen, hiding from view the terribleTruth.And as the truth stays submerged, the universe is in peril. I am Carr’s stranded spirit, and I implore you,Look beneath Arav's lies.The truth is there; it must be brought to light!