Nato G

Chapter 2 – Beachhead From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Someone once told me that the difference between misfortune and malice is intent. If a branch falls and strikes a wanderer on the head, it’s misfortune. But if the branch was cut by one who sought to bring the wanderer harm, then it’s an act of malice. It was we Matoran who voted for a squad Vahki to be kept stationed in Le-Metru, programmed to intercept and attack any fleet that came through the Sea Gates. Turaga Rost was convinced that the Toa were dead. He told us that anyone coming through would be a hostile force, and we believed him. We always believe our Turaga. Was what happened to the returning Toa mere misfortune? Or was our faith used against us, to exact an act of malice? * * * Vhalem Vhalem had never seen Vahki before, but from the stories he’d been told of the city of Metru Nui, that was the only thing these automated attackers could be. Why they were attacking was a question for a later time. Flashes of flame, lashes of lightning, and whirls of water struck out at the Vahki flitting by. Blasts and barriers of all elements rose and roiled around the fleet as the Toa – veterans of a war against far more powerful opponents – swiftly recovered from the shock of the surprise attack. Stationed in the kahu’s nest of one of the middle ships when the attack had broken out, Vhalem was in the ideal position to bring his abilities to bear, summoning a swirling swell of gravity high over the fleet, pulling the airborne automatons and their Kanoka off course. Below, the last surviving Fa-Toa caught on and added her powers to the mix, enhancing the pull of gravity with the force of magnetism. Vahki who flew too high soon began to crash and crush together in the middle of the gravity well, swiftly twisting into unidentifiable shapes as Kanoka collided with their sparking remains, repeatedly Freezing and Weakening and Reconstituting the mess of metal. Sparing a glance towards the decks below, Vhalem noted that some of the fleet’s passengers were now fighting among themselves, or stumbling around dazedly, as the Vahki used their staffs to incapacitate or mind control whoever they managed to hit. Ce-Toa and Komau-wearers were rushing around the decks, springing across from ship to ship, trying to cure or overcome the effects of the Vahki weapons as swiftly as they were inflicted. One Vahki seemed to identify Vhalem as the summoner of the gravity swell, circling wide and loosing stun blasts in his direction, only for them to splash harmlessly against the Hau shield of a Po-Toa, Behjen, who’d clambered up the mast to aid him. A well-thrown spear of stone sent the Vahki careening into the sea a second later, shedding shards of shredded metal from its splintered skull. Offering a grateful nod to his unexpected saviour, Vhalem focused once more on his element, willing the pull of gravity to widen and increase, dragging in more and more Vahki until those that remained finally broke ranks and retreated back towards the city. Sighing in relief as cheers rose up from the fleet below, Vhalem released his power, letting the Fa-Toa below handle the task of flinging what remained of the Vahki into the sea. “Thanks,” he said, slumping against the mast and raising his fist towards the Po-Toa. Bhejen raised his right arm – a fully mechanical prosthetic – and returned the fist-bump with a smile. “You’re one of us now, Brother. We look after our own.” Not so long ago, Vhalem had been looking up at the Toa, not meeting them as equals. He’d been one of the Xian Matoran these heroes had come to rescue, though in the end he’d wound up having to rescue himself. His transformation into a Toa had been brought about by the desperate efforts by one rogue, reckless Ta-Toa, an act that had earned her plenty of condemnation from her kin, and ample gratitude from the Xian Matoran. Her name was Savnu, and three months ago she’d launched a covert mission against the wishes of the Toa leading the efforts on Xia. She’d convinced some of her companions to create Toa Stones, and then smuggled those stones into a coal shipment that was being brought to the foundry where many of the Matoran slaves were being kept. It was a mission that had turned the tide of the war, giving the dwindling Toa the fresh forces and local knowledge needed to liberate the remaining slaves, and eventually mount an effective retreat. But the shift had come at a cost, with many of the new, untrained Toa falling in their initial escape, or the battles that followed. Vhalem was one of only four who had survived. Savnu herself was perched by the railing as Vhalem made his way back down onto the deck. Smoke wafted from the blackened wood of the railing beside her, scorched by proximity to the searing flames she’d summoned against the Vahki. The limited in-fighting had died down now that the Ce-Toa had finished calming those effected by mind control staves. Many, like Savnu herself, were slouched or sitting, physically and psychologically drained by the battle, brief as it had been. No one had expected a fight here. “Vhalem! There you are,” she smiled wistfully as he approached, “That was you doing the swirly stuff up in the sky?” In the relatively brief time Vhalem had spent among other Toa, he’d quickly come to realise that Savnu wasn’t like the rest. She kept things casual and conversational, addressing other Toa by their names rather than by titles or honorifics. Where some of the other Toa were still protective and, at times, even belittling of the recently-transformed Matoran, Savnu spoke to them as equals. It was a small thing, but it went a long way towards making Vhalem and the others feel like they belonged. Like the other members of the Toa Vehi, Savnu’s build was taller than that of most Toa, with a lean, limber frame. Armour of grey and red covered her body, while her face bore both a wry smile and a stylised Kakama. Tattered purple robes hung from her frame, ripped and stained from battle; from what Vhalem had heard, most of the villages Savnu had protected on the Southern Continent hadn’t had Turaga of their own, so it was Savnu herself who had stepped into the role of religious leader. “I had a bit of help, but yes. Are you alright?” “I should be the one asking you that,” she chuckled. “I’m feeling fine. But just do me a favour real quick and tell me to do something.” “Uh... stand up?” She didn’t move. “Not a Staff Of Suggestion, then,” she said, shrugging. “One of those Vahki tagged me with something, but my brain doesn’t seem scrambled. At least, not any more than usual.” She hauled herself to her feet, and started to move past him. “Where are you going?” He asked, as she started heading for the entrance to the lower decks. “Away from any important planning that might be about to happen. I’m not feeling anything weird, so I reckon the blast that hit me was from a Staff Of Presence. If those Vahki come back for another swing at us, we don’t want them knowing anything useful.” “Fair enough. Stay safe.” “I should be the one telling you that.” * * * Trina “What’s the count?” Trina gently asked one of the healers, a Ga-Toa named Lhiyla. The fleet had drawn close, with some of the Ko-Toa summoning an iceberg to bind the vessels together and make it easier for those in charge of each vessel to cross over and talk. Spare Kanohi of Healing and Shielding were being brought up from belowdecks to assist with recovery, and defend against the next wave, if one came. The rear ship, which had been far enough away from the fleet to avoid the battle, had re-joined them long enough to offload its Matoran and supplies before venturing out to allow Ilton to continue sealing the Sea Gates; if it was attacked while out on its own, there would be no lives at stake save for those few who’d volunteered to remain on board. “A dozen or so injured, four seriously,” Lhiyla replied. She was a little shorter than the average Toa, with iridescent blue armour over a grey body, her face bearing a Kanohi Hau. “One lost an eye, two have stab wounds inflicted by other Toa, and another’s been reconstituted pretty badly. It was a lower-level disk, so as long as we keep him stable in his current state he should revert back to how he was once the effect wears off.” “Did we lose anyone else, aside from…” Trina glanced towards the greasy stain on the foredeck that was all that remained of the other two Toa who’d been reconstituted. There was no hope of putting them back together. “One other. They found him floating, facedown. We don’t know if a Vahki ordered him to drown himself or if he just took a hit to the head and fell in. We’re doing a headcount now to make sure we’re not missing anybody else.” “The Matoran?” “Most were still safely belowdecks when the fighting started. As far as I know, none of them were hurt.” “That’s something, at least. Thank you.” She vaulted over the railing and onto the iceberg, donning a spare Suletu as she approached the circle of Toa standing in the middle of the ice. Telepathy masks had been key to operating on Xia, a tactic the Vortixx had used against them frequently in the early days before the Toa had managed to secure a Kanohi forge and start making their own. With the risk that some of the Toa here had been unknowingly struck by Presence blasts, the Suletus had been brought to bear again, to plan the next move without the Vahki learning of it. “…can’t just call this a mistake.” Icthilos’ voice was the first thing Trina picked up as she donned the mask, his rage and remorse roiling over the mental plane like a tidal wave. “Those Toa risked everything for these people. We all did. They didn’t deserve to die like that.” Though Icthilos carried himself as a typical Ko-Toa, closed-off and uncaring, there was no hiding one’s emotions in a telepathic conversation. Trina knew better than most that her brother had the righteous rage and tortured temper to rival even the most choleric of Ta-Toa. And no one here was going to begrudge him his grief; the surface thoughts and feelings Trina could sense told her everyone felt much the same way. “What was or was not deserved isn’t up for debate, brother,” came the voice of Widrek, a goliath of an Onu-Toa whose burly build could nearly match that of a Steltian bruiser. Even his mental voice came out in a guttural growl. “What is, is our next move. Do we risk approaching the shore, where the Vahki have the home advantage?” “The greater risk is remaining on the open water,” Trina felt now was the moment to enter the conversation. “If the Vahki return and decided to focus fire on the boats rather than us, the Matoran’s lives could be in danger.” “She’s right,” thought the Ce-Toa Bihriis. She was only one of the group not wearing a Suletu, having no need for one. Slung across her back was a Skakdi-made Buzzsaw tool, a souvenir from the battles on Xia. “A few leaks we can fix, but if they hit a ship with one of those reconstitution disks there’ll be nothing we can do.” “Then we push on, secure a beachhead,” resignation rang through in Icthilos’ mental voice. “You all know the drill. Physical element wielders with Haus up front to provide cover once we hit the sand. Everyone else in position to provide cover fire.” “This city was supposed to be a safe haven,” a new voice arose on the mental plane, as the young Ba-Toa Vhalem approached the group, “Now you’re planning to go to war with it?” “Hopefully this is all just a misunderstanding, and there won’t be any need for further violence,” Trina quickly cut in. “The Vahki are probably reporting back as we speak, and will be stood down once the Turaga know it’s us, and not some invading force.” “That sounds too little, too late for the two brothers we lost,” Vhalem’s mental voice was ablaze with bitterness. “Three,” Trina corrected, grimacing. “They pulled another out of the water.” In a motion that would have been meaningless to anyone else, Trina glimpsed one of Icthilos’ hands drift towards a leather pouch hanging from the side of his belt. Inside it, she knew, was a stone tablet upon which Icthilos had painstakingly inscribed the name of every Toa who had fallen on Xia. He’d told her once that he intended to someday turn the tablet into a Toa Stone, so that some good could be done in the names of the fallen. But for now, he had three new names to add to the list. “How’s Pahlil holding up?” He asked, referring to the last remaining Fa-Toa. “Even more withdrawn than normal,” it was Bihriis who answered, “But about as well as can be expected from someone who’s just become the last of her kind.” “Let’s get this done, then.” Icthilos said. “Watch your siblings. Let no one else be lost tonight.” * * * Icthilos No one was upset to find the beach devoid of Vahki when the boats finally reached the shoreline. What was upsetting was how devoid of everything else Le-Metru seemed to be. As his companions set about raising barricades of stone and earth to defend the spot where the boats had put ashore, Icthilos took a few hesitant steps up the beach, peering into the shadows of the city. Le-Metru had been his least favourite part of the city, alive and alight at all hours, machinery and chutes constantly active. Now it was a silent, empty shell of its former self. Not even any rahi seemed to be roaming around. There were definitely lights on somewhere in the city, they’d seen that from a distance, but the entirety of Le-Metru appeared to be shut down. It looked like it had been that way for quite some time, given the dust and foliage that had accumulated over some of the structures. And it was cold, too, the kind of stale, psychological cold that one might associate with a tomb or graveyard. Cold enough that even Icthilos felt a slight chill. “I’ve got movement!” Came the shout of one of the lookouts still on the ships, a Turaga wearing a scoped Akaku. “In the alley, by the chute station on your left!” Icthilos whirled towards the indicated direction, his flail rattling as he let it unfurl at his side. Before he’d even finished turning, the alleyway’s opening was already being illuminated by two of the Toa on the frontlines who owned Kanohi Rurus. The shape that emerged from the crevice between the two structures was an artificial entity of grey and green, carrying a staff in its hands… but it was no Vahki. “Get the Matoran below!” Icthilos roared, “We’ve got incoming!” The Rahkshi’s mouthparts unfolded as it raised its stave and let out a horrific screech, a screech that was answered tenfold from further in the city.

As fun as it it so speculate and come up with ideas, I actually prefer having some of the members missing. The whole point of Hero Factory is that they're constantly being sent out on different missions and stuff, so a few team members being busy elsewhere makes a lot of sense to me. I think having a revolving cast of protagonists is the only thing Hero Factory possibly did better than Bionicle. Instead of having to introduce an entire new team or new design every year or two, Hero Factory was able to able to maintain a consistent cast, while keeping things fresh with an occasional new addition, and by mixing up who returned for each story arc.

Here’s my entry. I’ve been toying with this design on-and-off for a few days. Originally I had a much more elaborate idea in mind, with a whole bunch of different hands, vines, claws, etc. coming out of the Kanoka segments to represent the many different enemies seen during the 2004/2005 story arc. That ended up looking far too cluttered, so I decided to just keep Vakama and Makuta’s hands and put in the Vahi to make it a tribute to Time Trap specifically. The Metru Nui arc arguably started and finished with the Vahi, so I felt like it was a fitting inclusion to represent that period of the storyline.

Thanks for the feedback. I knew from the outset that I'd be setting myself up for those kind of comparisons. There was a time where I considered making the first few chapters a little lighter to ease readers into the darker tone, but given how the rest of the story came out it almost felt kind of disingenuous and deceptive. I wanted this first chapter to really set the tone and let readers know what to expect from here on out (in case all of the content warnings I put in the intro post of this topic weren't enough). When I started out, my one-sentence summary for Embers was “Bionicle as a war movie”, so it’s been a real balancing act throughout to treat certain topics with the severity and seriousness they deserve, while also trying not to trip head-first into full grimdark territory. I ended up spending an unhealthy amount of time watching war films over the past two-ish years to get myself into the right mindset.

Chapter 1 – Homecoming From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Turaga Rost once told me that he regrets allowing the Toa to leave for Xia. Sure, none of us could have known what would arrive in their absence, but he still argued that leaving the city protected only by the few Vahki we could afford to keep powered up was a mistake. The Matoran of Xia, he said, would have been an acceptable sacrifice to ensure the safety of the remaining Matoran. I remember at the time dismissing his words as the grim grumblings of an old man who’d lost his hope. The other Turaga had dismissed him in much the same way when he’d raised his concerns to them. But today, the Toa returned. And after learning how much they sacrificed… I too can’t help but wonder if the meagre number of Matoran they saved was worth the price we all paid. * * * Icthilos Shrouded in mist and murk, a fleet of battered, blackened boats limped through the languid waters of the Sea Gate tunnel, on approach to the Great Barrier. The lightstones that had once illuminated the passage were long dead, with only a few ailing lanterns hanging on each boat offering enough illumination to keep them from running into the walls, or each other. A year earlier, that fleet had left with fifty Toa and high hopes. It returned now with less than thirty Toa, a dozen Turaga, more than a hundred rescued Matoran, and hopes of a different kind. Hopes for a brighter future in a safe city, free from further fighting. Hopes that would soon be dashed. Leaning by the bow of the lead boat, silver-white armour glimmering in the dim light of his lightstone lamp, was a tired Toa of Ice. Icthilos was his name, though his actions before and during the war in Xia had earned him a fair few other nicknames and titles, from enemies and allies alike. Some were friendly, even affectionate. Others… decidedly not. Save for the few crew members quietly going about their duties and the lookout on the mast above, Icthilos was the only passenger on deck. Most of the others were down below, enjoying the first truly safe rest they’d had in months. Like many Ko-Matoran, Icthilos had lived a relatively solitary life as a Matoran, and that trait had never entirely gone away even after he’d transformed into a Toa and become leader of his own team. And now for the first time since leaving for Xia a year ago, he could step away and sit in silence, letting his thoughts drift to tomorrow. Once, he’d looked to the stars for guidance on what the future might bring, but there were no stars left now. They’d gone dark, like everything else. Now, all he had was uncertainty, and hope. Metru Nui wasn’t his homeland. He and his team – the Toa Gelida – had come from windswept mountains and sheer cliffs of the Northern Continent’s southern coastline, being among the many who’d migrated to Metru Nui after the darkness had come. He hadn’t stayed long enough for the island to truly feel like home. It was a strange city, full of silvery steel and sprawling structures, metal and machinery overtaking nature. It was far too similar to Xia for his liking. But the outer reaches of Ko-Metru, where industrialisation had yet to mar the landscape, that wasn’t too different to the mountain village he’d left behind. Perhaps- “Gateway ahead!” Came a shout from above, followed by the frantic ringing of a bell, the sound greatly amplified by the abilities of the De-Toa on lookout. The bells and shouts were soon taken up by the other boats in the fleet, who all slowed their approach to avoid colliding with the first vessel as it came to a halt before the Sea Gate. Splashes echoed through the darkened tunnel as anchors were cast, mooring the fleet in place. “Watch the rocks!” Another Toa called, their Kanohi Ruru cutting through the dark like a spotlight, “The water level’s a lot lower than when we last came through here.” The last ship they’d sent from Xia, almost a year past, had been ordered to ensure all of the Sea Gates and underwater chutes leading to Metru Nui were closed and sealed, preventing any hostile forces from entering the dome or reaching the city. Fortunately, the fleet still had the means to unseal the gates from the outside, possessing a pair of Fa-Toa and Masks Of X-Ray Vision to help guide them in their work. Already those Toa were working their way up from belowdecks, along with a number of Ga-Toa to assist with navigating through the gate, so Icthilos took up his lantern and moved away from the railing to give them room to work. Like the others in the expedition, Icthilos had gotten used to operating in near-total darkness. While some areas in Xia had still had generator-powered lightstone lamps or good-old fashioned flaming torches, light swiftly proved itself to be a hindrance rather than help in battle, marking one out as an easy target for the enemy. So the Toa had learned to coordinate by sound and sensation rather than sight, moving in certain ways or speaking in hushed whispers to announce their presence and position to one another. And though the war was behind them, and many, like Icthilos, now felt comfortable carrying lights, those practices still held sway. The Toa murmured as they moved, speaking softly more out of habit than necessity. A few acknowledged Icthilos as he passed them by, but most were focused on their tasks, too driven by the thought of finally seeing Metru Nui again to care about much else. One, however, passing close enough for his Kiril-clad face to be illuminated by the lamp, stopped to smile at him. “There you are!” Ilton grinned. “I figured you’d be up here somewhere.” Ilton was a Fe-Toa, one of only two that Icthilos knew to still exist. While many Toa in the war had changed their armour colours to better conceal themselves, or confuse the enemy, Ilton wore his heritage proudly, clad in metallic grey and burnished yellow-orange. He’d been a Mask Maker prior to becoming a Toa, and his expertise in identifying and creating Kanohi had been instrumental in the campaign on Xia. Like Icthilos, he was the leader of his Toa team – the Toa Vehi – who hailed from the Tren Krom Peninsula, the southern-most edge of the Northern Continent. Unlike Icthilos, he still had most of his team. Indeed, Ilton’s team held the distinction of being the only one to emerge from the Xia conflict with more than half of its members still alive. It was a grim statistic, and not one Ilton had ever felt the need to boast about. Not that Ilton was an especially boastful person to begin with. Their two teams had essentially been neighbours, crossing paths many times over the years on missions, sometimes loaning team members to each other for missions that needed a particular element. There’d been plenty of interaction during their downtime as well, with tours of each other’s territories, and the occasional friendly sporting competitions. Most memorably, they’d once combined the full forces of both their teams to help repel an attempted Frostelus invasion a few centuries ago. In short, Icthilos knew Ilton well, and trusted him implicitly. “Were you looking for me?” He asked. “Trina was.” “Where is she now?” “Headed to the bridge to look for you.” “Thank you,” Icthilos started to move away, then stopped, “You don’t have to be out here. After everything you’ve already done, no one’s going to think any less of you for sitting this one out.” “Oh, I’m not coming up to help open the doors. Now that we’re stopped, I’m moving to the last boat to help close them once we’re all through. I’m the only one who can make sure the Sea Gates can never be opened again.” “Understood,” Icthilos nodded numbly, unable to find further words before Ilton had disappeared into the dark again. Closing up the Sea Gates for good was an idea that had been discussed on-and-off during the voyage back. Icthilos himself had voted in favour of the plan, but he hadn’t realised it was going to be put into effect right now, without consulting the people of Metru Nui first. Icthilos, like many, still harboured some hope that there were other friendly survivors out there in the dying universe who might still find their way to Metru Nui someday. Permanently sealing the gates like this would close the door on that hope forever. Despite his disappointment at the decision, Icthilos understood the necessity of it. If the Dark Hunters and Skakdi ever got tired of fighting each other, or if any other hostile force managed to make it to Metru Nui… well, these Toa weren’t ready for another war. As he made his way up the stairs towards the bridge, he almost bumped into Trina on her way down. A lanky Vo-Toa clad in blue and black, her face adorned with the helm-like shape of a Mask Of Threat Detection, Trina was Icthilos’ oldest and closest friend, and the only member of his original team still part of the expedition. Their only other surviving member had been one of the wounded Toa sent back to Xia a year ago. “Well, I guess I owe Ilton a few widgets,” Trina grumbled, in way of greeting. “Were you two taking bets on where I was?” “No… well, maybe,” she grinned, leaning back against the railing, “I thought you’d be down below somewhere, napping. He said – and I quote – that you’d be somewhere above decks, brooding.” “I don’t brood.” “Oh, of course not. You just stand still, stewing in stoic silence.” “Well, when you put it like that…” “Brooding is quicker.” “-anyway, Ilton said you were looking for me. What’s wrong?” “Nothing, I just wanted to check up on you,” she replied, “You’ve been even more reserved than usual since we left Xia.” “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he mumbled, “On Xia there was never really time to think more than a few hours ahead, most of time. But now…” “…there’s so much time it feels overwhelming?” He nodded, “You feel the same way?” She returned the nod. “Once we close the Sea Gates for good, the most we’ll ever have to worry about is the odd rahi. Will the Matoran even need protectors anymore?” “Would it be so bad if they didn’t?” Icthilos replied, “A part of me hopes they never need us again.” “What of our Duty? Our Destinies?” There was a tone in her voice that Icthilos recognised well; she was asking more out of curiosity than umbrage or disappointment. “We’ve done our Duty,” he said, shrugging, “And with the gods of this universe dead and gone, I’m not sure if Destiny even exists anymore. If it does, I’m sure mine will find me eventually.” “So what will you do, once we’re back in Metru Nui?” “I was thinking of settling in Ko-Metru, somewhere on the outskirts, away from everyone. But close enough to the light from the Sun Holes that I won’t have to pester you to charge up this lamp every few hours anymore.” “I really don’t mind.” There was something in her voice that gave him pause, an earnest, almost pleading, sincerity that made the simple sentence come across as something far more profound. But before he could fully process or ponder its meaning, a great grinding of metal rumbled through the tunnel as the Sea Gate began to open. The ships shuddered and shifted backwards as liquid protodermis rushed into the tunnel in a tepid torrent; the water level inside the dome seemed to be much higher than it was in the tunnel. With it came an unpleasant scent that stung Icthilos’ nostrils and made him gag; the acrid reek of seawater that had long gone stagnant. The tides had died with everything else. Disappointingly, there was no great ray of daylight coming through to greet the expedition, just murky twilight seeping through the dim, distant specks that were the Sun Holes high above. It seemed that it was night-time in whatever world lay beyond their own. Lower, through the mists that hung over the sea of protodermis, the lights of Metru Nui twinkled. There were fewer of them than Icthilos remembered, but they shone all the same. The city still stood, safe and awaiting their arrival. “There it is, Brother,” Trina’s arm draping over his shoulder stirred Icthilos from the sight, “Let’s bring these people home.” The two Toa made their way down the stairs and back towards the front of the boat, where the Fa-Toa duo who’d opened the way were now standing by to watch the approach. The fleet’s crews were bustling about, pulling up the anchors and bringing engines, sails, or oars to bear to move the fleet forward once more. Ga-Toa manipulated the waves, reversing the flow of the water to allow the ships to move through into the dome. The last ship – the smallest of the fleet – didn’t follow the others, instead moving just beyond the Sea Gate so that Ilton could seal it up when it was closed. In the lead ship, Trina and Icthilos stopped near the front of the deck, gazing out at the city. “I’ll be honest,” Icthilos said softly, “There were times I really thought we weren’t going to make it to this moment.” “Oh, thank the Great Spirit,” Trina exhaled, “I was worried it was just me.” As the boat rolled forward and the city steadily drew closer, Icthilos felt a strange sense of dread whirling within him. The thought of the pomp and parades of the hero’s welcome that no doubt awaited them turned his stomach. This didn’t feel like a triumphant return. In many ways, it felt like a defeat. A defeat that many of these Toa personally blamed him for. He didn’t resent them for feeling that way. Most days, he blamed himself as well. As the shoreline grew close enough for the keen-eyed to make out the shapes of Le-Metru’s chutes and spires, a babble of noise broke out behind the gathered group as a panicked Le-Toa blundered up from below, clutching at his temples as if he were in the throes of a terrible headache. Such a sight might have been strange were it not for the fact that this Toa wore a Mask Of Clairvoyance. “What’s wrong?” Trina asked, only for the Le-Toa to brush right past her. He shouldered through the group to stop at the very front of the ship, where Icthilos himself had been ruminating earlier, and stare out across the water for several seconds. “This is it!” The Toa blurted out, whirling to face the crowd. “Here, now! We have to turn back. We have to leave! The city isn’t safe!” “What did you see?” One of the Fa-Toa asked, taking the Le-Toa by the shoulders and shaking him as if he were a faulty appliance. The seer looked crestfallen. “Death.” “What death? Whose?” “Yours…” the seer’s eyes widened, surprise and despair filling his face as he seemed to only now recall the most important part of his vision, “…mine.” With a warbling whine, a silvery disk streaked out of the sea mist and struck the two Toa, randomly reconstituting them into a mangled mess of meat and metal that sloughed apart almost instantly, splattering across the deck and its occupants. Icthilos could only stare, shock and sorrow paralysing him more effectively than any stasis field could have managed. Not again. Not here. The murderers made themselves known a moment later, as ranks of airborne Vahki came flying out of the night, unleashing volleys of Kanoka and stun blasts upon the boats.

That's fair. Hero Factory's bright, cartoony style doesn't lend itself super well to tonally darker stories like this one. Once again, I commend you on your ability to deliver twists. I didn't go into this chapter expecting the entire story to be wrapped up here, but the ending certainly delivers. Great work.

IC: Gayle - Iron Canyon Cave No one wants to stand watch, she thought to herself, resisting the temptation to give voice to the remark. Instead, she said "I'm happy to take the next watch," and followed Tueris towards the cave. OOC: @Burnmad @oncertainty @~Xemnas~ @Toru Nui @a goose

I’ve been waiting for someone else to comment so that I could avoid double-posting, but it’s been over a month, so I figure it’s safe to do so. I’ve been loving all of the twists and turns so far. Poor Wane has been getting his hopes squashed at every turn, so I’m hoping this next mission sees things improve for him (though it sounds like he’ll need to get through some formidable villains first). You did a great job of emphasising how existentially terrifying the idea of reprogramming is, and in just a few scenes you’ve managed to transform Mr Makuro into quite a menacing figure. My only criticism is the lack of description. Sci-fi is a great genre for crazy vistas and visuals, but there hasn’t been a lot of that so far. We’re nine chapters in and I still have no idea what Wane or the other heroes really look like. We don’t need entire paragraphs dedicated to description, but even just a line here or there about the colour, build, mannerisms, etc. of characters can help readers build up an image in their minds. I look forward to seeing where things go from here.

At the risk of sounding harsh: what fans? And where are they talking about it? I just had a skim of the main Hero Factory-related sites, and the only active username I see on most of them is yours. According to the changelog on HS01, you're the only person who's contributed to it in any way in months. The same is true of the Heropedia wiki. The Custom Hero Factory wiki has a little activity happening, but it all seems to be in relation to a single ongoing Youtube series. r/HeroFactory only has 369 members, weeks go by between posts, replies are in the single digits, and once again it looks like you're the most frequent poster by a vast margin. The only outlier is r/HeroFactoryLego, which has 3.4k members, and averages few posts a day, but that one seems to be used for general CCBS MOC-posting now rather than HF-specific discussion. I'm not saying that HF has no fans, or that it doesn't deserve to be remembered, but the general attitude of the wider community seems ambivalent at best. No one else seems to be anywhere near as fixated with the theme as you appear to be. Instead of sitting around making wistful posts hoping others will recover old content for you, why not create new content of your own, or engage with some of the existing fan content that's currently running? (Such as Master Inika's current HF story on this site).

The customer service page clearly lists the topics they're responsible for. No Lego representative is going to answer questions about sets that haven't been officially announced, and digging up archived content from long-dead themes isn't LCS' responsibility. Complaining that Lego's customer service didn't adequately answer questions that don't fall under their purview in the first place is like complaining that a restaurant couldn't service your car. It's not their job.

Prologue – Dying Of The Light From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Deep down, everyone’s afraid of the dark. It’s a powerful, primal thing, an instinct born long before any of us were created. In the dark, anything could be waiting. A ravenous rahi, a roving Rahkshi, Karzahni or Irnakk or Tren Krom or any one of the other nightmares of legend. But now we know there’s nothing waiting for us in the dark. Nothing at all. And somehow, that makes it even more frightening. Two years have passed since everything changed. Two years since the Turaga of Metru Nui sent the universe’s greatest Toa heroes to Karda Nui to reawaken the Great Spirit, a mission from which they never returned. Two years since the day that the stars formed the shape of the Kanohi Kraahkan and Makuta Teridax proclaimed his dominion over creation. Two years since war and strife wracked our universe. Two years since the terrible earthquake, and the even more terrifying stillness that followed it. Two years since the lightstones started to die. It started small, at first. Old stones fizzling out, as they sometimes did. But then newer stones started to die as well. Even the fresh ones dug out of the mines seemed dimmer. And then, within only a few weeks, there were no functioning lightstones left to be found. We could still hook them up to the city’s generators and charge them that way, but whatever had once empowered them naturally no longer worked. Soon, the same thing started to happen to our heatstones. And it wasn’t just Metru Nui. Boats began to arrive, ferrying Matoran, Turaga, and Toa from shores far afield, where the dark and cold had rendered entire lands unliveable. I myself was among them. Only the heat of the Great Furnace and the lifegiving light of Twin Suns still shining high overhead had kept Metru Nui from meeting the same fate. The city welcomed the refugees with open arms, of course. More Matoran meant more workers to help keep the city functioning enough for us all to continue surviving. More Turaga meant more wisdom to aid in navigating our new situation. More Toa meant more protectors. However, we soon learned of one land that our fellow Matoran had been unable to leave. Though those who sailed past or docked to resupply said its streets remained busy and its foundries still spewed smoke, Xia hadn’t sent a single ship our way. A team of Toa were sent to meet with the Toa of Xia and arrange the relocation of their Matoran, but of the six who departed, only three returned. The tidings they brought were grim: the Vortixx of Xia had slain their city’s Toa team and taken the Matoran as slaves, forcing them to work the power plants to keep their city alive. And when they’d learned of new Toa in their midst, the Vortixx had promptly tried to kill them as well. Debate raged for days, but the decision was never in doubt. The last fifty Toa in existence departed for Xia, intent on liberating the trapped Matoran. Weeks passed, and a lone boat limped back to Metru Nui, bearing four injured Toa and a few dozen rescued Matoran. Their report on the situation in Xia was a dire one. Embroiled in a battle to liberate the Matoran, the Toa had found themselves caught in an unexpected crossfire. From the South had come the Dark Hunters, intent on taking the city’s technology and power for themselves. And from the East had come the Skakdi hordes, seemingly motivated by nothing more than a defiant desire to end their lives fighting in the universe’s last great war, instead of dying quietly in the dark. We waited for our Toa to return. We prayed to our absent Great Spirit. Some even offered prayers to Makuta Teridax. Neither god answered us. A few brave Matoran even boarded a boat and set sail for Xia. They didn’t return either. And still, the rest of us waited. And waited. More than a year passed before the Toa finally came home, but the world they found was not the one they had left behind. And the world they made was not one any of us expected.

Welcome to the review topic for Embers. This tale unfolds in an alternate timeline where the Great Spirit Robot mysteriously shuts down in the midst of Teridax’s takeover. In the wake of this second Great Cataclysm, lightstones and heatstones begin to dim and die throughout the universe, dooming its denizens to a dark, cold demise. Metru Nui – with lifegiving light still seeping through the sun holes overhead, and its cold streets heated by the fires of the Great Furnace – becomes the last bastion for the Matoran species. But when the city’s Toa depart to rescue Matoran still trapped out in the dark of the dying universe, they leave the populace vulnerable to the machinations of an unexpected enemy, and return to a city they no longer recognise. I won’t include content warnings for each specific chapter, so be aware that this story will have a darker tone, both literally and figuratively. There are no clear-cut heroes in Embers, no easy answers or perfect heroes. The story deals with themes of loss and despair, PTSD and misplaced faith, but also hope despite adversity, and unity against great odds. In chapters to come, there will be depictions of violence, mentions of suicide, ethical dilemmas, and bonkle-styled cursing. For the purists out there, be warned that within the world of Embers, genders aren’t locked to specific elements, romance does exist, and some aspects of Bionicle history have been reinterpreted. On a similar note, I generally prefer not to mess with canon characters too much when writing fanfics. As such, this story won’t be featuring too many familiar faces. I’ll leave it up to the imagination of readers as to whether there were simply different heroes in this universe, or if the heroes of prime canon met with unfortunate fates off-screen. Those who’ve read some of my older stories on this site, or have played with me over on the RPG forum, may also recognise some names or character concepts. That’s just me recycling old ideas I like; no prior knowledge of older versions of those characters is required, and they will likely be portrayed differently in this story anyway (though I may slip in some sneaky references on occasion). With all of that out of the way, any feedback and comments are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy Embers. Book 1 - Darkness Book 2 - Duty Book 3 - Disunity Book 4 - Death Book 5 - Divinity Book 6 - Defiance

IC: Zha’ar – The Crossroads For several long moments, Zha’ar just looked down at the other Gatherer, his words reverberating in her mind. She’d spent so much of her life trying to keep to herself, to go unnoticed, to avoid making herself a target. At best she’d only ever been a nuisance, tolerated by other Gatherers, not worth the effort for Glatorian to hunt down. After all of that effort, it was surreal to realise that someone had noticed. Someone had seen her, not just for what she was, but for what she could be. She couldn’t refuse. This was her chance to become something more, to be known, to be remembered, to have a life that was more than just scraping by until her luck ran out. “I’d like to see that as well,” she said. “You have my bow.” @a goose

IC: Zha'ar - The Crossroads "Skills?" She sputtered, shifting around in her saddle as if trying to escape the unexpected praise. "All I've ever done is... not die. That's not to say that not dying isn't an accomplishment, I guess, but I don't..." she trailed off, unable to muster more meaningless noise to cover for her conflicted thoughts. Self-worth didn't come easily to someone who'd been abandoned by her own clan. What could someone as powerful and important as Crucius see in her that she didn't even see herself? "...you really want me? He really wants me?" @a goose

IC: Zha'ar - The Crossroads “Imagine what you could do with two working legs.” More than any other trait, it was caution that had kept Zha'ar alive in her isolation. When something looked or sounded too good to be true, it was almost always a trap. Gatherers were bandits and thieves; they didn't go around giving gifts. On the other hand... what would be the point of trapping her? She couldn't recall robbing anyone recently that would have made her an enemy of another Gatherer clan, and a lone wanderer like herself was no threat to whatever unified group Crucius was trying to build. Which meant Crucius wanted something. Zha'ar herself, or something he thought she could provide. And the offer itself... from anyone else she would have laughed it off, but Crucius' mechanical arm spoke for itself. This was someone who had the means to make good on such a life-changing promise. "That's quite the generous offer to make someone you've just met," she replied, forcing herself to slow down and choose her words carefully. "What do you want in return?" @a goose