Turaga Vakama walked forward, clutching the Mask of Light. The only sounds were the sigh of the sea and the clunk of his staff. He could feel the eyes of the Toa Nuva, other Turaga, and two Matoran following him.

In the center of the wide balcony where they stood was the symbol of Mata Nui, etched into the stone within two concentric circles. It was just as he remembered. The wind of a thousand years had done nothing to it, even though the railing had crumbled further and the rest of the stone had lost its previous sheen.

He beckoned to the silent group.

“Jala, Hahli, come here.”

~ ToM