==1. Artisan==

Fire.

Screams.

Fleeing citizens.

He laughed with sadistic glee atop his perch, painting destruction with another wave of his hand.

Power.

He was a god. In his grasp, he held the fates of thousands of mortals.

Life.

Death.

He relished the rush of being a death god and the notion that all would bow and fear him. What a thrill it was to decide which mortal toy was doomed and which was to be spared to be reaped another day...

Pain.

A greater shadow rose up and cast restraints upon the delusional death god, pulling the supernatural chains the way a puppeteer would manipulate a puppet on strings. The shadow laughed with the same twisted pleasure the writhing death god had before being forced into submission by his new and far-more-cruel master.

"You are mine." the red-eyed shadow growled at his new toy with a satisfied grin, lifting his living marionette to eye-level.

The death god winced as he felt the shadow's foul, humid breath escape his jagged, yellow-toothed maw, opening wide to devour him alive.

The great shadow looked the terrified death god in the eye with a sneer as he lowered his prey into his jaws.

"Never will you rise above me." the shadow uttered to the death god, "Never will you return to the light... You are darkness. You are beyond forgiveness. Beyond reconciliation."

The shadow's maw slowly closed shut on the death god.

"YOU. ARE. MINE... AND YOU SHALL SERVE ME... FOREVER..."

Laughter. Insane laughter.

And then, there was nothing.

-------

==Metru-Nui, Present Day==

The solid light of the Metru-Nuiian half-sun struggled to break through the sickly green haze that blanketed the city, scattering it into shimmering, shifting shafts of light that danced across the ruined skyline. Some shafts of light went astray, inviting themselves into random homes, greeting the sleepy inhabitants and signaling a new day. One such stray shaft of light crept into a dusty Le-Metru apartment, stirring a jet-black Matoran up and out of his dreams.

Muttering, he sat up in his bed and blinked his lime-green eyes a few times to adjust to the presence of the patrolling shaft of light that was visiting his home. He gathered up his black noble-Ruru and stumbled to the floor. There was an expression of weariness on the Matoran as he slid his scarred Ruru onto his face, and with a stiff stretch, he trudged to his apartment balcony for some fresh air and to take in the view.

He leaned on the railing, recalling the days when the sky was still blue, and the twin suns looked upon the heart of Metru-Nui like two omniscient and caring eyes...

-------

==Metru-Nui, more than 1,000 years before present day==

A Matoran looked out from the balcony of his apartment, taking in the view of the Silver City as the city streets and transport chutes thrummed with the beat of life. His re-worked and polished body was coated in a muted shade of olive-green and he was trimmed here and there with jet-black; none of the scars he bore a few weeks ago remained. He wore a black Kanohi in the shape of a noble Ruru to replace the cracked mask he wore when he was fished out of the waters off of Ga-Metru's shores. Behind his Kanohi mask, a pair of lime-green eyes shined, bright and innocent like a child.

Deception. That's what his name meant.

Why he was given such a name boggled him.

---

It was the name of one of our heroes, Turaga Dume told him the day he awoke after getting rescued. Bear that name with pride.

Not many people are going to trust you with that name. another Matoran told him off to the side, later that day.

I'll just be honest, then. was his reply.

---

He went back into his apartment and gathered up his tools and some food before he walked out if his apartment and locked the door behind him.

By trade, he was an artisan. Crafter's art was a rare thing for a Le-Matoran to specialize in, as most were either pilots, musicians, or transport servicemen. Being a rarity made him an interesting commodity, in spite of the fact that few would trust a Matoran named 'Deception.' But he did manage to get work, just the same, and for the past week or so, his work had taken him into Po-Metru. There, the workers were a few weeks deep in constructing a monument planned to be erected in Le-Metru. The Artisan had been contracted by the foreman to carve in some artistic details into the stone artifice, a job this Le-Matoran had been looking forward to doing since day one.

Now, the Artisan had grown accustomed to the armed escort of Vahki waiting for him by the entrance to the transport chute. The first few days of this activity was obviously alarming, but seeing as the Honorable Turaga Dume had been treating this Le-Matoran artisan as a treasure, the Artisan soon came to accept the Vahki as personal security guards.

It was starting to get annoying, too, he would admit, but they've saved the Artisan from many run-ins with the more uncouth Po-Matoran workmen.

I guess I should be thankful. he thought with a hint of sarcasm, looking sideways at the Vorzakh riding the chute alongside him.

He exited the chute two or three kio from the construction zone he was assigned to while several Vahki Zadakh conversed with the Vorzakh. Rolling his eyes, the Artisan walked past the chattering Vahki, knowing that the Zadakh were only confirming the daily changing of the guard. Sure enough, the green Vorzakh marched back into the chute and three Zadakh flanked the Artisan, prompting looks of menace, exasperation, and boredom from the Po-Matoran working nearby.

"Here he comes, Ahkmou." muttered one with a wry grin.

"Shut it." snapped the Rau wearing workman, shooting a jealous glare at the Artisan passing by. Then he nervously looked over his shoulder at the Akaku wearing foreman standing just out of earshot before adding one last remark.

"The star treatment will be over soon enough for Dume's new pet. I'll be sure of it."

Oblivious to Ahkmou's seething, the Artisan looked at his mechanical bodyguards and sighed as he absently listened to the idle chitchat of the other Po-Matoran workers.

This 'star treatment' really isn't helping me make friends...

-------------------------------------------

"So... you must be the new guy."

The Artisan paused in the middle of his carving and looked over his shoulder, a little surprised at the friendly voice that greeted him. The greeter was another Le-Matoran, the Artisan noted.

"Tsolgel figured you'd need some company." a broad smile appeared on the dark-green on black stranger's lime-green Ruru.

"Tsolgel?" the artisan asked the other Le-Matoran as he put away the chisel he was using.

"Our foreman." the greeter pointed to a scaffold platform overlooking the work site, and the black bodied, brown Akaku-wearing Matoran reading blueprints standing atop said platform. "Tsogel's his name."

The Artisan picked up a new chisel. "You know him?"

A sharp nod was the reply. "He's a friend of mine, and not all the other workers here know it, but I'm also one of his partners." The stranger leaned over the carving table and whispered with a chuckle, "He only acts hostile to Le-Matoran just to save face around the majority of workers. Catch him after-hours with a bottle of brew, you'll find that he's not as intimidating as he would like you to think." He walked around the table and watched the Artisan return to his carving. "I do give him a right to complain, though. Most of the Le-Matoran that work for us are chute-speaking danger-magnets, always causing trouble for the sake of having fun."

"Glad we're not like those guys." the Artisan chuckled, placing the tip of his chisel on the uncut stone.

The visitor chuckled in agreement, then held out his closed fist to the Artisan. "Name's Tauan."

Smiling, the Artisan clanked his knuckles of his own fist with Tauan's. "I'm--"

The panicked shout of a Po-Matoran Surveyor interrupted the Artisan's sentence.

"STAMPEDE!!"

-------

It was bedlam.

Reacting to the stampede, all the on-duty Zadakh (including the ones assigned guard the Artisan) scrambled to pacify the raging herd of Kikanalo in earnest.

Tauan and the Artisan ducked under a loading ramp and out of sight just before an angry Kikanalo smashed into the nearby carving tables. Taking care not to attract more unnecessary attention, the two Le-Matoran made a mad dash for one of the paths that led out of the assembly fields and hid behind a boulder to watch and survey the mayhem. Tauan muttered an invective under his breath when he noted the slow progress the Vahki were having against the stampede.

"Do... Do Kikanalo just trample things on a whim like this?" the Artisan asked naïvely.

"No." was Tauan's exasperated reply. Tauan then remembered that the Artisan was new and changed his tone. "No... Kikanalo need to be provoked to get this destructive."

The Artisan paused before asking his next question. "If they were provoked... Who set them off?"

Tauan shook his head, sighed, and sat down with his back to the rock. "I don't know. ... but I know two things: We're Le-Matoran, and we're gonna get blamed for this."

Infuriated at the prospect of unjust persecution, the Artisan exhaled a sigh of exasperation of his own... then felt the hot breath of something huge on the back of his neck.

"T-Tauan?" the Artisan whispered, "Is there a..."

Tauan sat petrified for a second as he noticed the massive shadow looming above the Artisan.

"Kikanalo? Yes..." Tauan whispered in reply. "Now... Don't make any sudden moves. Just... shuffle away from him... very... slooowwly...."

*GWWWOOOOAAAAAARRRRRR!!!!*

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUGH!!"

-------

The next few minutes baffled even the Artisan. The last thing he remembered was that he was clinging to the prominent horn of a bull Kikanalo twice the size of the ones in the herd as it rampaged around the Assembly Field. Apparently, the very presence of the bull Kikanalo was enough to chase off the stampede... but that act left the Assembly Field in an irreparable mess.

All the Artisan knew was that he had just woken up after passing out from his ride on the Kikanalo, and that same Kikanalo was standing over him like a faithful Ussal Crab, wagging his thick tail in happiness.

"That proves it!" an angry voice shouted over the sound of a murmuring crowd, "I knew that new Le-Matoran was a troublemaker! He's no different from all those other green monkeys that buzz by here!" Several shouts of agreement rose up from the mob of Po-Matoran gathering around.

Confused and disoriented, the Artisan sat up, his body still stiff from the shock of his rodeo ride.

"You okay?" Tauan's concerned voice whispered, "I tried to help you, but the Kikanalo scooped you up too fast... I thought you were going to get trampled when I saw you fall off."

"I'm fine... I think." the Artisan blinked to get the dust out of his eyes. At the moment, the big Kikanalo nudged the Artisan with his horn in concern. "What happened?" the bewildered Le-Matoran sputtered, nervously patting the Kikanalo on the nose.

Tauan put on a nervous grin. "I think the Kikanalo made you his friend."

Meanwhile, the Po-Matoran mob started getting louder, not just from pointing fingers at the Artisan, but also from arguing with each other over what they just saw.

"Did you see that?"

"Yeah. It's his fault! He screwed over several weeks of hard work!"

"Forget the project! He saved our lives!"

"I say we ship him to Karzahni!"

"Yeah! Le-Metru's too good for him!"

"But he tamed a Kikanalo! It could have been much worse!"

"I've watched the guy! He's really not bad for a Le-Matoran. Let's give him a chance!"

"Chance?! Fhah! I'd rather make friends with a pack of Kavinika!"

Sensing a two way riot about to boil over, the remaining functioning Zadakh worked their way into the crowd and separated the two sides.

"Alright gentlemen, calm down." a voice boomed from the (miraculously still standing) platform scaffold. It was the voice of Tsolgel, the brown Akaku-wearing Foreman for that assembly field. "What seems to be the problem?"

Almost immediately, the whole crowd pointed at the Artisan.

"Him?" Tsolgel asked the crowd. "Just him? ... Who's leading this protest against him?"

There was an indecisive pause as the crowd talked amongst themselves, then they all unanimously pointed at Ahkmou.

Ahkmou cursed under his breath.

At the same time, Tsolgel nodded pensively, as if though he had just discovered the answer to a riddle. Then, with the help of a nearby Vahki, Tsolgel was helped off the platform and he walked toward the Artisan.

"I'll have the lot of you know that I've kept an eye on this particular Le-Matoran for past week or so now." Tsolgel announced, pointing at the three lenses of his Akaku. He put an assuring hand on the Artisan's shoulder before turning back to face the crowd, "I'll honestly say that he doesn't cause any trouble. It's only the fact that he's a Le-Matoran that attracts trouble to him." The Foreman crossed his arms. "So my advice to the lot of you in regards to him is -lay off-."

The Artisan breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his foreman's eyewitness was enough to clear his name somewhat.

"Tsolgel. It's great that he's off the hook for starting the stampede," Tauan spoke up, gesturing to the Artisan, "But it doesn't answer the question of who set off the Kikanalo..."

All eyes fell on Ahkmou.

After a long, awkward silence in the dusty assembly field, Ahkmou cracked. "I did it! By the Mask of Karzahni! -I- did it!"

The restless crowd started to get raucous in response to Ahkmou's confession, only to quiet down when the Zadakh squads began to charge their staves and when the big bull Kikanalo took up a defensive posture.

Disturbed and curious, the Artisan stood up and faced Ahkmou with one question: "Why?"

"Don't you know who I am, you green monkey?!" Ahkmou jabbed his thumb into his own chest, "I'm Ahkmou, one of the three best carvers in Metru-Nui, and I intend to be Number One!" He threw an indignant finger point towards the Artisan, "And I don't need some Zyglak-spawn Le-Matoran who thinks he's a carver competing with -me- on MY turf!"

The crowd was in an uproar, and the Vahki prepared their staves to quell the simmering riot when a desperate shout silenced the mob.

"I don't WANT to compete with you!"

The sound of a tumbleweed was all that was heard as all eyes fell on the now slightly vexed Artisan, his facial expression indicating mixture of disgust, disbelief, and distress.

Even Ahkmou was a little shocked. "Say that again?"

"I never wanted to compete with -anyone-!" the Artisan blurted, looking like a toddler on the verge of throwing a tantrum. "If you weren't so wrapped up in your prejudice and personal goals, you would have learned that I'm just here to make an honest living! Ranks, skills, and status are (and should be) the -last- thing on my mind when I clock in!"

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, sensing the wisdom and sincerity of the Artisan's declaration. Noting that there wasn't going to be a riot, the Zadakh squads seemed to sigh in disappointment and started to leave, while a large number of Po-Matoran workers started to trickle towards the Artisan. A flabbergasted Ahkmou was slowly being left behind in the process.

"You really don't believe what that green monkey said, do you?!" Ahkmou protested.

"He's really not that different from us." a Kakama wearing Matoran replied, walking away.

"Yeah!" added another, Ruru-wearing Matoran passing Ahkmou, "I think we're not giving him a decent chance."

"Losers..." Ahkmou muttered under his breath. He then shouted, "You're all lo--"

The shadow of a Vahki Zadakh interrupted him.

"--sers...."

Standing astride the Zadakh was Tsolgel, an amused (and slightly disappointed) expression was on the Po-Matoran Foreman's face. "Ahkmou. You're being reassigned."

Meanwhile, oblivious to the zapping Ahkmou received, the bulk of the Po-Matoran were dispersing to their posts and cleaning up as much as they could of the mess the Kikanalo stampede left behind, while a few bold Matoran were taking the time to get to know the Artisan. The huge bull Kikanalo, sensing that all the drama was calming down, provided his massive bulk as shade from the setting twin suns for the Artisan and his new friends.

"I'm Hewkii." the Kakama-wearing Matoran introduced himself, holding out his closed fist in greeting. He nodded his head to the Ruru-wearing Po-Matoran carver next to him, "That's Hafu."

"Yo." Hafu acknowledged, holding out his fist, too. "You know, you really aren't all that bad for a Le-Matoran."

The Artisan chuckled, and clanked his fist with the two Po-Matoran.

"See, I told you! He's a nice guy!" another Po-Matoran chimed in with a sing-song 'I-told-ya-so' tone. The group of friendly Po-Matoran laughed, and nodded in agreement.

"I never got your name," Tauan confessed after some friendly conversation was traded, "... No thanks to that stampede earlier."

"Yeah, we need a name!" blurted another Po-Matoran.

"Something better than 'Hey, you! New guy!'" Hafu joked. Chuckles rippled through the group.

"Hehe... So, what -do- they call you back in Le-Metru, new guy?" Hewkii asked.

The Artisan smiled.

"Sailaye." he spoke, "My name is Sailaye."

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((ALOW:LL is written in collaboration with Ancient Mirrors as a story aid and prequel.))