Nato G

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa “I was wearing that label long before yesterday,” T’harrak bit back, too tired for games. “I’m the Skakdi who sits in a workshop all day making the weapons and ammunition that the real warriors use to fight with. No one here is going to think less of me for giving exactly the kind of order they expected me to.” Only a few minutes earlier, she wouldn't have been nearly as confident in that last sentence. But Sohmak's thanks hadn't just been gratifying, they'd been vindicating. So much so that she felt guilty for snapping at him. But even here, on a windswept spit of land far from the eyes and ears of the rest of Skakdi society, weakness was whispered, and strength was shouted. She glanced at the De-Skakdi’s clanking metal gauntlets, warily wondering if Sohmak was just posturing, or actually planning to pummel her at some point to sell his act. “How about you spare me the rest of the setup and skip to the punchline?” she suggested. @Techn0geist

IC: T’harrak – Fort Razorfish;Vaa T’harrak had kept to herself since the return to the Fort. She’d lingered at the beach long enough to wash the dust and blood from her armour, and then spent the rest of the afternoon slumped, huddled at her workbench, absent-mindedly fiddling with the tools in front of her. At some point she’d fallen asleep, her dreams filled with fresh memories of fire and ferocity. Come morning, the moans and cries hadn’t ceased, enduring in the groans of the wounded recuperating around the Fort. She felt like they were mocking her, just like her neighbours back home had mocked her when she’d left to join a Fort. They’d been right. She’d run away. Worse, she’d given the order to run away. Worse still, people had actually listened to her when she’d said it. She didn’t know if that was good or bad, and she was terrified to leave the workshop and face anyone to find out. Was she brave for putting her life before her pride? Or a coward for abandoning Zanakra to her fate? Did the answer even matter? Society on Zakaz only valued strength. History would remember T’harrak as a coward, if it even remembered her at all. In the end, it wasn’t thirst or hunger that prompted T’harrak to step outside, but the thunderous crack and clatter of shattering stone. She stumbled out of her makeshift workshop, launcher in hand, searching around for the source of the sound. Had Fort Garsi sent someone to finish them off? Had another warband sensed their weakness and made a move to seize the island? It came as a relief when she instead saw Sohmak in the courtyard, displaced dust still swirling in the air around his upraised, metal-encased hand. But that relief abruptly evaporated when the De-Skakdi's stony stare settled on her and he bellowed her name with a degree of demandingness that rivalled what T'harrak's mother had managed in her worst moods: "T'HARRAK!" The arm now moved to point deeper into the structure, past the throne. "A word." "Please is a word," she muttered to herself, slinging her weapon across her back as she made her way towards the direction Sohmak was indicating. Whatever he had to say couldn't possibly be worse than what they'd all endured yesterday... but she still wasn't looking forward to it. @Techn0geist

IC: Avinus - Streets of Tajun "That's a good thing to hope for," she said, nodding. "Speakin' of which, were you plannin' to get in the ring for one of the exhibition matches?" @Emzee

IC: Avinus - Streets of Tajun "There's some who'll argue that anyone in this career is an idiot," Avinus replied, after weighing her words for a moment. "The way I see it, if you're an idiot, at least you're a kind one. Which makes you a better brand of moron than most of those you'll be meetin' in the arena." @Emzee

Thanks. That was one of the first ideas I had for the song, to acknowledge the origins of the characters and build up from there. The AI really didn't like every chorus being different, so it took a bit of wrangling to get it to sing everything properly. That's exactly what I was going for. While the song may be about the Toa Nuva, it was planned as an 810NICLE Day upload, so I also wanted it to end on something that captured the hope and creativity of the community as a whole. I'm glad you enjoyed the piece. There are plenty more to come.

Chapter 17 – Brotherhood From the records of Turaga Rost. I know what it is to be a Toa. I understand the bonds of brotherhood that bind them together, the kinship and comradery. My own team are long gone, but I still miss them dearly. That’s why I hoped the lost Toa would never return. I knew the chaos they would bring. I knew the conflict they would cause. I knew the question they would force me to ask. But they came… and so I asked. * * * Trina She stood alone at the balcony where she and Icthilos had spoken the previous evening, looking out across the shining cityscape. The sun had fully emerged now, and the Rahkshi had retreated, leaving the streets empty save for the detritus drifting in the wind. She heard footsteps behind her; someone bringing a report from down below. “Is everyone ready?” “I’m disappointed,” it was the voice of Maliss that greeted her, “But not surprised.” She whirled towards him, instinctively reaching for her weapons, but her armour tightened around her arms, holding them in place. “I guess Icthilos told you about our chat,” he sighed, “I wish he’d taken my advice.” “He did. I changed his mind.” “And you sound so proud about it,” the words came out in a snarl as Maliss stepped suddenly towards her, stopping with their Kanohi only inches apart, “You shouldn’t be.” Trina looked into her brother’s eyes, and saw nothing she knew in them. They were the icy blue of a frozen pond, cloudy and cold. Behind his Kanohi, his face was emaciated, his flesh sickly. The same was true of the organics she could glimpse beneath his armour, all of it pale and scarred and stretched taught over unrelenting metal, as if his very element were consuming him from within, tearing free of his flesh. She could sense electricity moving all through his body, pulsing through the wires that sprouted from the stump of his severed arm, spiderwebbing across his form. There was so much metal in him now, far beyond what would have been necessary to repair the injuries he’d suffered. “Why not?” She asked. “Because you’ve forced our hand.” “So, what? Rost sent more Vahki to stop them?” “No. He sent us to stop him.” For a fleeting moment, Trina figured it was a balanced fight, perhaps even a favourable one. Four Toa against three were decent odds. But one of those three was Maliss, and she’d seen him immobilise multiple opponents at once the same way he was now immobilising her. And if Orane and Bihriis had truly joined the enemy… “You see the futility now, don’t you sister?” He stepped away, his expression solemn. “Why are you doing this? What did the Makuta do to you to make you so willing to stand against your own people? Against our shared purpose?” “It’s your lot who’ve lost sight of our purpose,” Maliss snapped, jabbing a crooked finger towards her, “The Matoran have no right to freedom. They’re supposed to work. We’re supposed to keep them working. We stand in Unity. We do our Duty.” “Our Duty is to serve the Matoran, not oppress them.” “No. Our Duty is to right the wrongs of our makers, not kneel to the whims of feeble beings who were never meant to want.” “Did you come all the way here to lecture me with mad ramblings?” “No, I came here hoping to see that Bihriis was wrong, and I wouldn’t have to cross blades with my Brother today. Now I’ll settle for dissuading you from following him to his fate.” “And if we don’t? How far are you and your friends willing to go?” “I honestly don’t know,” Maliss replied, “If you don’t back down, we’ll find out together.” “We’ll find out now.” Maliss had only a fleeting moment to appreciate his peril before he collapsed, convulsing, an overwhelming amount of electricity suddenly surging through his system. His eyes rolled back, and his body went limp, though his heartlight still flickered weakly. Like most Toa, Trina preferred to channel her power through her tools, but she didn’t need them, especially not when she was controlling an existing source of her element instead of summoning it anew. Manipulating an element within another being’s body was a tactic that many Toa considered immoral, and one Trina had resorted to only a handful of times in the most desperate of circumstances. But Maliss was a Fe-Toa, and one who could teleport. She knew him well enough to be certain that taking him down quickly had been her only chance to best him. Without him on the battlefield, Icthilos and his team at least stood a fighting chance against whatever they were walking into. She knelt down and pried Maliss’ mask from his face. “I’m sorry, Brother.” * * * Vhalem Ko-Metru had come and gone, and now the transport was rolling smoothly through the empty streets of Onu-Metru, heading towards the nearest access point to the Archives. There’d been no sign of Vahki or any kind of resistance so far, and Vhalem was starting to feel the first flickers of optimism welling within him. Maybe Bihriis and Orane hadn’t turned traitor after all. “We’ve got company,” Savnu’s voice cut his hopes short. “Vahki?” Icthilos asked. “Toa.” The transport shuddered and shook, rattling wildly as something lashed at it. The something soon revealed itself to be thorny vines, which began to worm their way in through the windows, slashing at those inside. The transport skittered and stumbled as more vines snagged at its legs. “Icthilos, cover them!” Vhalem felt a shell of cruel cold suddenly envelop him and Pira, at the same time as withering heat washed over the hull of the transport, superheating the metal and setting the vines aflame. Scalding steam filled the capsule as Savnu’s heat met Icthilos’ cold. For a moment, though, it seemed to be working, as the transport started scampering forward at full speed again. And then came the harsh twang of metal pinging off metal as something exploded loose from the controls, the hiss of steam as hydraulics vaporised, the groaning of weakened supports as the heat eroded structures that were never meant to withstand such intense temperatures. The transport groaned, then tumbled to a stop, its legs falling off underneath it. Vhalem felt Pira fall into the back of him, slamming him against the still-sizzling walls. He recoiled with a cry, clutching his shoulder. The heat dissipated as swiftly as it had appeared, Savnu absorbing what she could and Icthilos cooling the rest, but the damage was already done. The transport was sprawled in the street, unable to advance any further. “Everyone out!” Icthilos shoved open the side hatch, diving out and scrambling towards the mouth of a nearby building. A Kanoka pinged off the door, reconstituting it into a mangled mess, and Vhalem ripped it from its hinges with his powers, flinging it wildly in the direction the disk had come from as he too clambered out of the transport. He caught a brief glimpse of two Toa at the far end of the street – one in grey and silver with a two-pointed spear in his hand, and one in green-and-blue wielding a scythe and shield – both scrambling to avoid his makeshift projectile. Rather than joining Icthilos in cover Vhalem decided to press his advantage, lifting up the broken-off legs of the transport then reorienting the flow of gravity to make them “fall” swiftly towards their foes, forcing the pair into cover long enough for Pira and Savnu to get out as well. For the first few moments, he was an autopilot, responding to the attack as he would any other, not fully appreciating the fact that he was attacking other Toa this time, not Skakdi or slavers. So preoccupied was he with keeping the pair pinned down that he didn’t stop to contemplate the fact that neither of the Toa he could see were carrying a Kanoka launcher. Indeed, it turned out no one was carrying one. The shooter was a lone Vahki perched on a rooftop above where the Toa had been, whose next shot would’ve likely turned Vhalem into something indescribable had Savnu not spotted it coming and pulled him out of the way, leaving the disk to instead pretzel the pavement. The Vahki jumped down into the street, already loosing another Kanoka from its jaws, this one being sent spinning away by an air blast from Pira. As Vhalem mumbled a thanks to Savnu and sized up this new foe, he realised immediately that something was very wrong with it. This Vahki seemed unfinished, its surface a dull grey, without the colour-coded paintjobs of most models. Instead of staffs, it wielded a pair of simple swords. Stranger still, its head casing was open, with no sign of the clockwork brain machinery Vhalem had seen in the ones he’d seen destroyed during the battle on the first night. But clearly something was allowing this Vahki to function. “What the-” “Orane,” Savnu scowled, drawing her sai and stepping towards the Vahki, “You two keep Tuxar and Dhozoh busy. I’ll deal with him.” “What about Icthilos?” Vhalem glanced in the direction he’d last seen the Ko-Toa, but there was no sign of him now. The idea that Icthilos had abandoned them was unthinkable, which could only mean he was trying to work his way around to take the attacking Toa by surprise. Which meant… they were committed. The line was crossed. They weren’t falling back. They were fighting their fellow Toa. “It was inevitable,” Pira said gently, touching his uninjured shoulder, “Come on.” “I know,” he muttered, readying his weapon and looking to the Bo and De Toa now emerging from their hiding places. “I just didn’t think it would be so soon. I didn’t think it would be us.” He and Pira worked their way around Savnu and the Orane-possessed Vahki, who were duelling with the grace and skill of opponents who knew each other well. Still, it looked like the fight was falling in Savnu’s favour. Her Kakama-assisted speed and superheated blades were steadily chipping away at the Vahki’s weapons and body, its artificial form incapable of utilising Orane’s elemental powers or keeping pace with Savnu. Once clear of the duel, Pira and Vhalem broke into a run, charging the two older Toa, only to find more thorny vines rising from the ground to block their path. Pira swept her staff one way, then the other, its razored blades shredding the flailing foliage. Vhalem sent a surge of heightened gravity washing over the ground, pinning some of the vines in place. But more vines began to rise up behind them, this time accompanied by a wave of screaming sound, sending the two Toa sprawling. The sound cut out as swiftly as it had started, the De-Toa flopping to the ground from a flail to the face as Icthilos stepped out of an adjoining alleyway, his Kanohi having allowed him to approach unnoticed by even the De-Toa’s sensitive hearing. The vines loosened as the Bo-Toa looked towards the new foe, and Vhalem struck out with antigravity, sending him suddenly floating upwards, to be battered away over the rooftops by another buffeting blast from Pira. “He won’t be floating for long,” Vhalem grumbled, rubbing his ears as he made his way towards the Ko-Toa, “How close are we to the nearest elevator?” “In the square in the next block over,” Icthilos said, reaching down to pry away the unconscious De-Toa’s mask, which he tossed through the window of a nearby building. “What about Savnu?” “I’m done!” Savnu sped forward to join them. She’d accumulated a few new scratches on her armour, but seemed otherwise unscathed. The Vahki, on the other hand, was a mess of melted parts, one intact arm trying to drag the rest of its shredded torso across the street towards them. “You picked the wrong side, Brother,” Savnu spat back towards the mangled machine, “Run back to your new friends and tell them what happened here.” After a moment’s consideration, Orane seemed to do exactly that, as the Vahki suddenly fell limp. “I don’t want to jinx us, but did that feel a little too easy to you guys?” Pira asked. “My ringing ears would disagree,” Vhalem muttered. “You’re used to enemies who are fighting to kill,” Icthilos said, “They were trying to capture us. These two at least,” he nudged the unconscious De-Toa, “I’m not so sure about Orane…” “Orane fights like us. Nothing held back,” Savnu muttered, “We need to keep moving. Tuxar will be back, and I reckon Orane’s already finding another body to possess. If he’s here…” “If Bihriis has joined them, she’ll be waiting for us down below,” Icthilos said, “Her go-to mask is a Faxon, and where better to copy rahi powers than the Archives?” “That’s worrying,” Savnu muttered. “We should be more worried about Widrek and Maliss,” Icthilos countered, “Where are they?” “So we’re still going ahead with this?” Vhalem cut in. “I just need to know… how far are we willing to go now that we’re fighting other Toa?” “Only as far as you’re willing to,” Icthilos said. “If you want to turn back, no one will blame you. You’ll probably be safer. But you need to decide now, not in the middle of the next fight.” “I’m staying,” Pira said firmly, “If these Toa are fighting to keep the Matoran enslaved, then they’re not Toa at all.” “She’s right,” Vhalem nodded grimly, “I’m with you.”

IC: Skrall - Stronghold Office "We have… a standing order, you might say. A customer in Tajun, who will pay well for a Skrall slave in mint condition." Several seconds passed before Skrall realised that he'd stopped breathing, so stunned was he by the audacity of the Gatherer's request. It took all of the self control he could muster not to to make his eavesdropping obvious by snapping around to stare at Fero. Skrall cared little for his disgraced kin, but this was crossing a line. Trading nameless failures to the Gatherers was one thing. They were kin, of a kind. But to surrender one of their own to the Southerners? It wasn't just sacrilegious, it was strategically stupid so close to Tirveus' intended conquest of the South. Atakus had to realise that, surely? He wouldn't even consider Fero's request, would he?

IC: Skrall – Stronghold Office In Skrall’s (admittedly limited) experience, there was a fine line between a simple life and a primitive one, and the Bone Hunters walked it well. They knew what they needed, and seemed willing to accept the bare minimum when it was sufficient to serve their purposes. Shade was shade. Walls were walls. And a fallen pillar was technically a desk. As Fero and Atakus spoke, Skrall took up guard by the door. Though he was certainly listening in on the conversation of his companions (it would be near-impossible for him not to), he was also listening for any sounds outside the makeshift office. The door was good for privacy, but that worked both ways. If Fero, for whatever reason, intended to betray the Skrall, he would likely have allies taking up position somewhere in the corridor outside, poised to ambush them on their way out. As he considered that fact, it occurred to Skrall that of all his companions, he had perhaps been the poorest choice to serve as bodyguard in this specific situation. While he was comfortably confident in his ability to best a desert-dwelling scavenger half his size in a straight fight, the Bone Hunters had numbers. Against multiple opponents, in the confines of the corridors, Skrall’s spear was going to be of limited use. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

BS01 has a rough breakdown of the numbers, based on confirmed canon information and quotes from author Greg Farshtey: "Now, little more than 40 Toa are alive in the prime universe. Currently, 26 of the remaining Toa are definitely accounted for: Toa Mata Tahu, the five remaining Toa Nuva, the five remaining Toa Mahri, six Toa Hagah, Takanuva, Lesovikk, Krakua, Helryx, Tuyet, Orde, Chiara, Zaria, and Varian. Naho may or may not remain alive. If she is, then the total number of known living Toa is 27." Bear in mind also that it's entirely possible for more Matoran to be transformed, so your story can have as many or as few Toa as you want.

Ballads of the Bionicle I've long been a fan of lore/character songs for my favourite franchises, but I was surprised to discover that there's not a lot of that kind of content around for Bionicle. Since I have no musical skill of my own, I started writing some lyrics and playing around with Suno AI to see what I could come up with. I was very impressed with what the AI has been able to produce, so I've decided to start uploading some of the better pieces to YouTube to share with the community. The first video went up this morning to coincide with 810NICLE Day: I know AI-generated content can be a controversial topic, so if it’s not your thing, I completely understand. I’m not trying to take anything away from the amazingly talented real musicians we have in our community. I'm creating these songs purely for fun, and make no profit from them. Free download links for the MP3s are included with each video for anyone who wants to have the songs. New tracks are scheduled to go up weekly, covering everything from the Matoran Universe, to Bara Magna, to G2, so make sure to subscribe to the channel if you're interested in hearing more. Check out the list below for direct links: Toa Nuva Song - Six Heroes, One Destiny Makuta Teridax Song - The Plan Turaga Vakama Song - A Leader's Lies Turaga Dume Song - My City Will Stand Makuta G2 Song - I'm Back! Miserix Song - The Dragon Lord Nektann Song - The Last Warlord Hakann Song - Flames of Ambition Thok Song - The Smartest Piraka Lesovikk Song - I Will Not Fail Takadox Song - Look Into My Eyes Tren Krom Song - The First Flesh Lariska Song - You'll See it Coming Helryx Song - Beyond Destiny Skrall Song - On The March Tahu Song - The Red One Bahrag Song - Stronger Together Matoro Song - Sacrifice Naming Day Song - Renamed

Lots of intriguing stuff in that teaser! I look forward to seeing the finished project.

Chapter 16 – Lost Souls From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. In legend, Toa are always upheld as virtuous, noble, incorruptible. It was people in my profession who wrote those legends, and it shames me to know their words were lies. The truth is that Toa are as flawed and complex as all the rest of us, just as prone to misjudge and make mistakes, just as vulnerable to the whispers of deceit and doubt. But sometimes lies aren’t needed to turn a hero away from the light. Sometimes Toa choose to do so willingly. * * * Icthilos It was a cold night in Le-Metru. Icthilos was used to the cold, and though it didn’t bother him, he could still feel it, and sense just how bad it was. The windows were fogged with frost, metal surfaces were painful to the touch, clouds of mist formed in the air as beings breathed or spoke. Though it was still connected to the power grid, the Moto-Hub seemed to be cut off from the city’s heating, leaving Le-Metru nearly as frigid as Ko-Metru, with none of the infrastructure or insulation to make that cold bearable. It was only the efforts of Savnu and the other Ta-Toa who tended to the fires on and off through the night that kept the frigidity at bay. But where the night had brought cold temperatures, the break of day brought with it truths that were colder still. “How many are we missing?” Icthilos asked Trina. “Just the two we know of so far. Savnu’s still asking around.” “How’s she holding up?” “Not great, as you can imagine.” He didn’t need to imagine; he knew exactly how she felt. They’d been woken an hour before dawn with grim news. Orane – in the company of a black-and-purple Rahkshi – had walked up to the door where Bihriis was keeping watch. According to the reports of another Toa who’d been guarding nearby, Bihriis had left with them, passing unharmed by the other Rahkshi roaming outside. “I just… don’t get it,” Trina muttered. “What’s not to get? They’ve joined the enemy.” Icthilos was rarely one to jump to conclusions, but this seemed a foregone one. Why else would Bihriis leave without a word before dawn, under the protection of Rahkshi? “The Makuta probably already knows what we’re planning.” “It seems that way. What I mean is that I don’t understand why. Or how.” “I don’t know how, or why, but I think I know what: Makuta Vhel’s secret truth. He spoke of it, so did Widrek and Maliss.” Anticipating the question Trina was about to ask, he quickly continued, “Orane would have overheard it when he was spirit-spying on Widrek in the Coliseum. And Bihriis learned it from reading Widrek’s mind when she tried to talk to him yesterday.” “What kind of truth could change people so profoundly?” “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not an actual truth, but something else. This is a Makuta who spent the last hundred thousand years watching over the universe’s most skilled hypnotists. Maybe this is some new kind of mind control or infection they came up with together.” “So what, it’s like some kind of… psionic earworm? Anyone who even hears the words turns evil?” “If it were that easy I think Makuta Vhel would’ve just told everyone in the city by now,” Icthilos shook his head, “Whatever it is, he’s been selective about who he tells and when. He only asked for one volunteer, remember? Widrek was intentional; he had the time and privacy to make whatever he did work the way he wanted to. I think Orane and Bihriis were just… happy accidents for him.” “Neither of them were acting the same way Rost or Widrek were,” Trina replied thoughtfully, “And purple, that’s a Mind Reading Rahkshi, right? Maybe it could sense that Bihriis and Orane were thinking about this… whatever it is, and sought them out?” “I’m putting a ban on Suletus for this mission, just to be on the safe side. No Ce-Toa, either. If picking up a stray thought about this thing is enough to sway people, we can’t take the risk.” “But we can risk going on the mission?” Trina protested. “You’re still going ahead with it?” “Of course we are,” Savnu appeared at their side. “Acting quickly is still our best chance for success, right?” “You’re at least changing the plan, right? If we take an airship and they are expecting us, we’ll probably be blown out of the sky.” “Probably. So we have indeed changed the plan,” Icthilos gestured to a workshop across the way, inside which awaited a small six-legged transport. “Instead of going by air, we’ll send a smaller team overland to scout ahead in the small transport, followed by the bulk of our forces in the larger ones. There’s plenty of spare Speed disks in this place, so we can really get this one moving.” “I’ve got some folks scrounging up what scrap metal we can find to add some reinforcements to the front,” Savnu added. “If they do set up defences expecting us to come by air, we can turn this thing into a battering ram and punch right on through.” “Savnu, are you sure-” Trina started to ask. It was Icthilos who cut her off, speaking firmly, “She and I agree on this plan.” “You realise your approval doesn’t actually make the plan less reckless, right?” “Nah, but we’re sticking to it all the same,” Savnu insisted. “This occupation needs to end.” “It’s not going to be that simple,” Trina said, “I know you’re both hurting, you know I am too, but there’s no easy fix for this situation.” “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Icthilos replied, knowing all too well that he was challenging rather than discouraging her by saying it. “The transport can only take four.” “And what team have you got so far?” “Savnu’s the most experienced with moving at speed, so she’ll be driving. We’ll have to cross through Ko-Metru to get to Onu-Metru, so I’ll be needed to navigate and clear the path. Vhalem can clear any other obstacles that get in our way. That leaves room for one more.” In that moment, he saw a mischievous twinkle in Trina’s eyes, a look he hadn’t seen since before the fall of the Great Spirit. Seeing that spark within her might have been encouraging under different circumstances, but in this instance it was borderline terrifying. “Take Pira,” Trina said, lips aligning in an impish grin, “She can be your fourth.” Icthilos glanced at Savnu, her expression mirroring his own. It wasn’t the response that either of them had expected, but it wasn’t one either of them really had any objections to. Pira was capable enough, and she had something to prove; now she’d have her chance. “I’ll let her know,” Savnu said, starting to turn away. “Wait, before I forget, were we missing anyone else?” “Just Ilton and the other volunteers,” Savnu said, before flitting off out of sight, “They’ve probably been out on the ocean all night.” “Piraka!” Icthilos stopped himself just short of facepalming, “Trina, could you please-” “-send someone to go find Ilton? Of course.” “Thank you. And if something goes wrong-” “-I’ll be on my way with the second wave to say I told you so.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” * * * Vhalem Vhalem sat against the wall of the transport, his bow-blade balanced across his knees, absently pulling at its string as the streets flashed by out the narrow window beside him. Sunlight had only barely begun to spill across the city; he glimpsed a few Rahkshi still lurking in alleyway mouths and abandoned chute sections as they passed. Savnu was at the controls, while Pira was sitting up the back, striking Kanoka into the transport’s mechanisms whenever Savnu requested an extra burst of speed. Icthilos sat across from Vhalem, his expression sombre as always. “You good?” Icthilos asked, noticing Vhalem looking his way. “Just thinking things over. This isn’t the first time I’ve rode into battle with some of you guys, but this time… it feels different.” “Because we’re the ones starting it,” Savnu said. “That’s not strictly true,” Icthilos replied, “There was something Crisda told me yesterday. I wasn’t sure when or how to break it to the rest of you.” “It’s about Yayle, isn’t it?” Vhalem leaned forward, “I saw how you reacted when Trina mentioned him yesterday.” “Who?” Pira asked. “The fourth injured Toa who was sent back to Metru Nui near the beginning of the war,” Icthilos explained, “The only one who wasn’t with Turaga Rost at the Coliseum.” “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Vhalem asked. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have dared be so blunt and insensitive. But his experiences had hardened him, and now wasn’t the time for niceties. “He is, but not for the reason you think. It’s… worse than that.” “Go on,” Savnu said, not looking away from the road before her. “The Matoran tried to resist. A few months after Vhel arrived, Yayle and a group of Matoran fought their way through the Mesmers and marched into the Coliseum. Yayle went inside, and… do you know what a Kanohi Felnas does?” Vhalem did. The Vortixx had wielded all manner of immoral masks, and Vhalem had had the misfortune of seeing more than a few of them in action. One of the guards who had been supervising the enslaved Matoran had worn a Felnas, and on the day Savnu’s Toa Stones transformed them, that guard had brought his mask to bear against the new Toa during their attempted escape. Ironically, it was the chaos caused by that action that had allowed the prisoners to escape in the end, but it had come at a cost, in lives and blood. “I’ve seen what it does,” he nodded, before glancing Pira’s way and noting her still-confused expression, “It’s the Mask Of Disruption. It makes you lose control of your powers.” “Yayle went inside, and Makuta Vhel used a Felnas on him,” Icthilos said, “And then he teleported him straight back outside. Right into the crowd of Matoran. Yayle… took his own life to make it stop.” “A hero to the end,” Savnu said softly, spoken in the tone of someone who’d known him, “I suppose that’s all any of us can aspire to.” “I… wavered last night. I’m sorry for that, and I’m thankful for all of you for helping steer me back,” Icthilos said, “I went to Xia to ensure that the deaths of my teammates weren’t without meaning. Now we must do the same for Yayle. For the missing Av-Matoran. For the Order Of Mata Nui members. For everyone.” “We’re nearing Ko-Metru. I need you up front.” Icthilos nodded, moving past Vhalem to hunch behind Savnu’s seat, extending his hand to exert his elemental influence over the terrain ahead. “How do you feel now?” Pira asked, nudging Vhalem’s arm. “Different, again,” he replied, “I guess… knowing this does kind of make it easier.” The statement sickened him, but there was no denying the truth. Once upon a time, the death of even one Toa would have been a tragedy. Today, it was a potent motivator. “Yesterday, before we spoke, I was almost ready to accept the way Vhel was running things,” he said, “But not anymore. You were right.” “I wish I wasn’t.”

Chapter 15 – Resistance From the journal of Turaga Marik. The elders say that in the time before time we were separate, without purpose, so the Great Spirit illuminated us with the Three Virtues. But it never felt like illumination to me. The beliefs we clung to for so long were shackles, chains that kept us as content and complacent as the god that gave them to us. We didn’t see the end coming. Even the Great Spirit himself didn’t see the end coming. And now here we are, left to die in the dark without any illumination at all. There are times I wonder if I should get my mask fixed, to see if its maddening visions might show me something of worth for once. All it ever showed me were shadows and sorrows, worries and woes that I was powerless to prevent. I wish it had simply shown me how my story would end. I don’t want to wonder or worry anymore. * * * Ilton “This is madness,” Marik muttered, his nervous hands clenching like claws around his gnarled staff, “How long are we going to sit here and let this thing hold us hostage?” He and Ilton were sitting up on the deck along with most of the rest of the crew, waiting impatiently under the foreboding shadow of the airship still hovering before them. Save for a single word blasted forth from some kind of on-board loudspeaker – “Wait.” – there had been no noise or movement from the mysterious airship since it had first shown up that morning. When the sun had gone down a spotlight had been turned on and trained on the boat, but that was the only change. Mercifully, it seemed that the Rahkshi the last messenger had brought word of didn’t roam this far away from the city. “Patience,” Ilton said quietly, “We wait for as long as it takes.” “As long as what takes?” “As long as it takes for one of our people to show up to check on us, or for whoever they’re waiting for to get here.” He’d been studying the airship since it had arrived, reaching out with his powers to gain a better sense of how it fit together and operated, so that if a fight did break out he could try to disable it before it could fire on the ship. With no Su-Toa on board to block or absorb incoming fire from the airship’s cannon, Ilton felt it wasn’t worth the risk to do anything that might provoke the airship until he was certain that it posed a threat. His background as a forger of Kanohi and Kanoka, combined with his elemental abilities, allowed him to recognise most types of disks and masks at a distance, sensing their unique compositions. It had proven an invaluable ability on Xia, where the Vortixx – owing to their very different facial features – had forged their Kanohi in different shapes and styles to those used by most Matoran craftsmen. It also meant he could usually make an educated guess as to the nature of unfamiliar Kanohi, and the Vortixx had brought plenty of immoral or unusual masks to bear in battle that most Toa had never seen before. That same talent allowed him to sense that the occupants of the airship were a mere two Matoran and a Turaga. It was a guess, but an educated one. All three beings were similar in size, but two wore Powerless Kanohi, while one wore a Noble Iden, and that one had been sitting still for quite a while now, which suggested they were actively using the Mask. The two figures he guessed to be Matoran were armed, carrying basic blades and Kanoka launchers equipped with Freeze disks. He could also sense the familiar compositions of the levitation and weight increase Kanoka that allowed the ship to function, though they were too many and too spread out through the hull for him to be able to easily bring down the vessel. Manipulating a few of them in the right spot at the right moment might be enough to throw off the airship’s aim if it was about to open fire, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. The fact that it was Matoran on board, not Vahki or Rahkshi, left Ilton equal parts curious and hopeful. Marik, however, did not share these feelings. “If you take out their levitation disks, or pull them down or something, I can hit them with a tidal wave and smash them against the Barrier,” he whispered. “That ship emerged from the sea, so it’s safe to assume it’s been waterproofed,” Ilton replied, “It also appears to be well-armoured. Rocks aren’t going to be enough.” In simpler times, he might have dwelled on the strangeness of a Toa giving counsel to a Turaga. But many things had changed when the stars had gone out. The status quo he’d known was long gone. “We have to do something,” Marik insisted. “We are. We’re waiting. And not for much longer, I suspect.” He could sense the Iden-wearer moving around again, hurrying towards a porthole on the side of the ship. Ilton rose to his feet and extended his senses out across the water in the direction the Turaga seemed to be looking. He swiftly found a small boat moving in their direction, and soon the sound of its sputtering engine echoed over the waves for all to hear. He rose to his feet and moved towards the railing to watch the vessel approach. It looked to be another kind of modified airship, this one far smaller, with some kind of hose system that allowed it to siphon the liquid protodermis it was travelling over and expel it out through a pressurised nozzle at the back. The vessel slowed, then sputtered to a stop alongside the larger boat. Once it had fully stopped, a panel in its side flopped open and a rusted gangplank extended forth to bridge the gap. Out from it emerged the sole occupant Ilton could detect, another Turaga. Even by Turaga standards this one was stooped and decrepit, his frame flimsy and his movements unsteady. He bore all the hallmarks of a being who’d had the misfortune of being “fixed” in Karzahni, his limbs skeletal, with rusted pistons and exposed wiring visible through his desiccated organics. Random patches and plates were bolted or welded haphazardly to his armour, as well as to his Kanohi. A matching pair of hand axes hung from the armour of his thighs, a far cry from the usual badges of office most Turaga carried. “I’m very sorry for keeping you all waiting for so long,” there was a harsh, rattling rasp to the Turaga’s voice as he spoke, and even the single sentence seemed to leave him out of breath, “My name is Larone. Who here speaks for you?” “That would be me,” Ilton said quickly, heading off any attempt Marik might make to assert himself, “Toa Ilton.” “Iron… you’re a rare breed, boy,” the twisted Turaga stepped fully onto the deck, his eyes – sharp and bright in stark contrast to the rest of his form – inspecting Ilton and the rest of the crew. “And I hear I’m exactly what this city needs,” Ilton replied, “Would I be right in guessing that you and your friends here represent some kind of resistance to the Makuta’s occupation?” It felt like a safe assumption. If the Vahki and Rahkshi were the Makuta’s main enforcers, it stood to reason any Matoran or Turaga lurking this far away from the city – operating from a submersible airship, no less – were in hiding. And these people seemed too well-armed to be simple refugees. “Astute,” Larone said, nodding, “I’m well-watched by the Makuta’s cronies in the city. I’m afraid I couldn’t speak openly with your companions when I encountered them at the Coliseum.” “So you jumped at the chance to come introduce yourself far from prying eyes?” “Exactly. There is much your friends do not understand about what they’re up against, and I fear the other Turaga may already be trying to coerce them into taking action.” “They won’t take much convincing. But if you’re a resistance, why are you against taking action?” “I’m against hasty action,” Larone said, “This Makuta is a crafty one. He’s had months to consolidate his power, to learn all there is to know about the city, its citizens, and the Toa who might someday return to it. He is well-prepared for any eventuality.” “I’m sure my companions realise that. But if they think this is a cause worth fighting for, they won’t much care. Nor do I.” “They should. An uprising was attempted once before, and it ended in bloodshed. So too shall the efforts of your friends. Only through Unity – the combination of your forces and resources, and mine – can we hope to prevail.” “Then let’s get to it.” “Are you serious?” Marik hissed. “We cannot,” Larone said, ignoring Marik to point at Ilton. “You cannot. Not tonight.” “Me?” “As I said, the Makuta is well-prepared. He read our records and chronicles, to learn all he could about the Toa who left for Xia, and plan for their return. The Rahkshi have long had orders to kill you if you ever set foot on the island. Those same orders extend to the Fa-Toa as well, though I hear only one of them made it to shore, and she’s been sensible enough not to strike off on her own so far. You cannot return until daylight, and even indoors you may not be safe at night.” “And if my friends decide to do something stupid tomorrow morning?” “Then we shall pray for their safety. In the meantime, I suspect we have much to discuss.”

Chapter 14 – Change Of Heart From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Our heroes have words for their fellow Toa. They’re not merely teammates or colleagues, but Brothers and Sisters. On rare occasions, even Mothers and Fathers. As an outsider, I’ve found myself wondering what those relationships truly mean. These words feel more familial and affectionate than affirmations of mere friendship or comradery. To be transformed together, to endure turmoil and share triumph… until we’ve lived as they have, can we mere Matoran ever truly understand the bonds between Toa? * * * Trina Trina found Icthilos on the Moto-Hub’s upper level, occupying a balcony overlooking the streets below. He was leaning on a railing, looking down at the Rahkshi roaming about. Some of the creatures were returning his stare, though none of them seemed inclined to engage. Either being on the upper level of a building qualified him as being indoors as far as their orders were concerned, or they understood that he was close enough to an entrance that he could safely get inside before they could climb or fly close enough to reach him. “Brooding again?” Trina asked, joining him by the ledge. “Or tempting fate?” “No. Just… contemplating it.” “Well, contemplate this while you’re at it: you’re being too harsh on yourself. No one back there hates you.” “They should. I do most of the time.” “Well, I don’t,” she gently took his hand in her own. “You buried your best friend in a shallow grave on a Xian beach because of where I led you both. You should hate me.” “Great Spirit grant me strength,” she muttered, screwing her eyes shut for a few seconds to stave off the tears his words threatened to bring forth. She hadn’t expected him to dredge up that memory. “I really try to be here for you, Brother, but I can only take so much of your self-pity. You might have been the team leader, but that doesn’t mean it’s all on you. All five of us agreed with your decision to investigate Xia.” “But everyone else? I convinced them to come.” “I felt the same rage you did. I was every bit as vocal about freeing the Xian Matoran as you were. Maliss too. Sure, we appealed to their emotions, and you played the Duty card, but at the end of the day every Toa who went to Xia chose to be there. You never forced any of us to do anything.” Mentioning her brother brought Icthilos’ other revelation back to the forefront of her mind. She didn’t need a Kanohi Rode to know that Icthilos had been telling the truth about his encounter with Maliss, but that didn’t make it any less unbelievable. She had more questions that she could count, but they could wait a while longer. “Those Toa don’t look to you because they blame you,” she said. “They do it because they believe in you, but what you said back there has shaken that belief.” “Then they can go believe in someone else.” “There is no one else. Widrek’s gone. Savnu’s too reckless, Keidal’s too hesitant, Orane’s too lazy, Bihriis isn’t a leader, and the new Toa are too inexperienced.” “Ilton. He’s the best-suited to leading us against a Makuta.” “Ilton isn’t here right now, and he’s never wanted to take charge. He was always happier taking a support role and letting you call the shots.” “Pahlil, then.” “You’re just throwing out names now. She’s more closed-off than any of us.” “Then you do it. They trust you,” he turned to her, a tired look in his eyes, “I trust you.” “I can’t. I’m not like you. I can’t… shut myself off the way you can. They need someone who can set their emotions aside and make the hard choices. You’ve always been good at that.” She hated it. Even as she spoke the words she felt revulsion roil within her. She and Icthilos had known each other as Matoran, transformed into Toa together, fought side by side for centuries, but the war in Xia had turned him into someone she barely recognised. She missed the man she’d once known, the Brother who’d had her back through the innocent, low-stakes adventures of their youth. But the Icthilos she wanted wasn’t the one the Toa and Matoran needed right now. “I’m done with that,” Icthilos growled, “I did what I had to do to get us all here, so that I could stop being that person. I just want to go back to being myself… the Brother you used to know.” “I wish it could be that way, I really do. But right now, the Brother I need is the one who can organise an army, not the one organising his own private pity party.” “If this is meant to motivate me, it isn’t working,” Icthilos grumbled, “And if it’s meant to change my mind, it’s also not working. I stand by what I said earlier, until you can convince me that we stand a Piraka’s chance in Artakha of winning this thing, I’m not changing my mind.” “The Archives,” Trina said, “Nadrua told me that pretty much everything of value has been stashed in Onu-Metru. The Kanohi and Tools from the Great Temple’s Suva, Exo-Toa suits, other artefacts the refugees brought from their own lands, and the things the Turaga used to keep in the Coliseum… like the Mask Of Time.” “Assuming the Makuta didn’t take it for himself…” Icthilos replied, reluctantly enticed by her suggestion, “…assuming we could even get it… we don’t know how to use it. From what I understand even the Toa Nuva struggled to control its power.” “We don’t need to use it, we just need to have it,” Trina argued, “It was used as a bargaining chip against Teridax once. We can use it in the same way against Vhel.” “It’s a bold plan,” Icthilos withdrew his hand from hers and folded his arms across his chest as she regarded her sceptically, “You’d truly have us gamble with the power of Time?” “The way I see it, we can’t make this universe much worse.” Trina had never really been a risk-taker. She took her time with decisions, carefully weighing options and possibilities. She fought from a distance, to better understand the scope of a battlefield. This idea was a reckless one to be sure, but she’d taken her time to consider it. So many legendary artefacts and Masks Of Power were lost out there in the dark; this was the only thing in Metru Nui she knew of for certain had the power to give even a Makuta cause to pause. “If we did consider this, how sure are we that we can access the Archives? Aren’t they full of Rahkshi now?” “The tunnels under most of the city are, yes. But Matoran still work in sections of the Archives directly under Onu-Metru itself, which means at least some levels are still safe. Vhalem and Pira were there today and confirmed that there’s not much of a guard presence above-ground.” “And this building is full of vehicles,” he smiled as he realised her true reason for choosing this location, “We can be on our way to Onu-Metru as soon as the sun’s up.” “If we act fast, they won’t even know we’re coming.” “I don’t know how you do it,” he chuckled, his smile broadening. “You think it’s a good plan?” “I think it’s a terrible plan. We don’t know where we’re going, what we might be up against, or even if the thing we’re looking for will be there. But it’s a hopeful plan, and that’s what everyone down there needs right now.” Trina gasped in surprise as Icthilos suddenly enveloped her in an earnest embrace, his closeness comforting despite the cold that came with it. “Never lose your hope, Trina.” * * * Vhalem Vhalem and Pira were waiting by the stairwell that they’d seen Icthilos and Trina go up. He was simply slouching against the wall, while she was pacing impatiently. But both of them were waiting for the same thing, clinging to the same hope that the two older Toa would return with changed minds and renewed conviction. Vhalem still wasn’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. He didn’t have the experience or history of most of the Toa here, and that seemed to be as much a blessing as it was a detriment. In many ways, he was still coming to terms with his transformation into a Toa, to say nothing of the many other changes that had occurred in the months since. Today’s events were just the latest in a long procession of problems he wasn’t prepared for. But out of everything that had occurred today, it was perhaps Pira who had surprised him the most. Like many in the group, he’d been swayed by Widrek’s disdain, discounting Pira as a scavenger and loner who didn’t belong with the “true” Toa. But he’d seen her heart today. Everyone had. The sound of footsteps drew his attention back towards the stairwell. Trina and Icthilos were making their way down together, both of them appearing more upbeat than they had when they’d gone up. Pira whirled towards them, her expression conveying the same question that Vhalem himself had been about to ask. “Yes, I changed my mind,” Icthilos said. “And yes, we have a plan.”

I feel like I just walked through a fog wall. Fantastic builds!

Chapter 13 – The Answer From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. I thought I’d known Icthilos. Not personally, of course. But who he was, what he stood for. It was he who rallied the rest to leave for Xia, he who had fought the hardest and sacrificed the most to save the Matoran of that city. It was in that moment of his refusal that I finally understood just how profoundly the war had changed him. The way it had changed all of them. * * * Icthilos He’d expected anger, but the direction it came from wasn’t the one he expected. A wave of air battered him off his feet as Pira leapt to her own, staring at him in abject anger as if he’d been the one to strike her, not the other way around. “No? No!” No one moved to stop her, no one spoke up to calm her. Every face Icthilos could see shared her confusion, pain, and outrage. Even those Toa and Turaga at the other campfires were staring at him in surprise and sorrow, understanding all they needed to from Pira’s reaction. “No,” he repeated, picking himself up off the ground. Pira started to step forward, one hand rising towards the staff slung across her back. In that moment, Icthilos wasn’t sure if even Pira herself knew what she intended to do with the weapon, and fortunately they never had to find out, as Vhalem reached up and caught her arm, physically holding her back but still saying nothing to dissuade her from her rage. “Why?” Trina asked, softly. “Because an hour ago our Brother put a blade to my throat and threatened to kill me if I didn’t discourage you all from this course of action,” he snapped. “A man I’ve known all my life, a man who has honoured the code for centuries, spoke of killing me as if taking a life is an everyday occurrence for him. And we all saw this morning how quickly Widrek became a fanatical thrall. I don’t know what truth or torture can transform a being so completely, but it’s not one that any of us can fight.” Trina gaped at him, stunned into silence. “We’re all afraid, Icthilos,” Savnu said gently, “We always have been. It’s never stopped us before.” “This is different. You already know that, or you wouldn’t have given me your Toa Stones.” That earned a murmur from the rest of the group, who were quietly stepping away from their own fire pits to converge on the conversation. A colourful curse was the only response Savnu offered. “You laid down your lives to save us from slavery,” Vhalem said, releasing Pira’s arm and standing up at her side, “We’re ready to return the favour. You don’t even have to ask.” “I’m not asking,” Icthilos said firmly, “I’m telling you, this isn’t happening. We’re not up against Xian slavers or Skakdi warbands. This is a Makuta, with an army of Rahkshi and a city full of hostages.” “Six Toa are enough to take down a Makuta,” Pira protested, “Toa Seals aren’t just a story, right?” “We’ve got a Fe-Toa and a Fa-Toa,” Vhalem pointed out. “Ilton and Pahlil could take care of this one on their own.” “This Makuta has had months to prepare for our possible return. He’ll have a counter for anything we can come up with” Icthilos retorted, “There’s an army between us and him, and even if we got through it all, he can just teleport away before we have a chance to do anything. This isn’t a fight we can win.” “It won’t even be a fight,” Bihriis muttered. She was almost certainly sifting through the series of grim scenarios playing out in Icthilos’ mind, or perhaps dwelling on some of her own imagining. Makuta Vhel simply sitting back and letting the Toa fight their way to his doorstep was the best-case scenario, but it was far more likely that the Makuta would become directly involved long before it got to that point. Icthilos shuddered to think how many lives could be lost in a crossfire against the Makuta if he chose to fight in a populated area. “Why are we even listening to him?” Pira scoffed, ignoring Icthilos to address everyone else, “We all want to do something about this, right? We don’t need him to lead us.” A few of the gathered group mumbled half-hearted words of support, but most were looking at the ground, or at each other… anywhere but towards Pira. “What do you know of how we came to Xia?” Icthilos asked her. “Some Toa came to the city, saw things sucked, and came back here for reinforcements.” “We were the first. My team. I led them to Xia. I led three of them to their deaths. And then I came back here and convinced dozens more that it was their Duty to do the same. Some days I tell myself it was to save all of you… but Savnu was right today when she called it revenge. I refused to let the deaths of my friends be for nothing.” That gave Pira pause. She stared at him now, eyes wide, her expression one of long-sought understanding finally realised. “They won’t show it, they won’t say it, but deep down, most of these Toa here resent me,” he gestured to the crowd, “I’m the one who convinced them to leave. I’m the reason their teammates are dead. I’m the reason they had to break the Code. I’m the reason this city was left undefended. And for what? To save Matoran too feeble to save themselves? To fulfil a Duty to a dead deity?” “It wasn’t for nothing,” Vhalem whispered. “We’re here. You succeeded.” “You’re my Brother, Vhalem. I love you as dearly as I do every other Toa here,” Icthilos said, “But I’m still going to spend the rest of my days wondering if the lives we saved are worth the ones we lost.” Vhalem slowly sat back down. “Do you get it now, Pira?” Icthilos stepped closer to the Le-Toa, “These people want to fight, but they’ve seen war before, and none of them want to be the one responsible for leading the rest into it. They need someone to hate, to hold responsible. Someone to blame so they don’t have to blame themselves. If you think you can be all that for them, little girl, step right up.” Pira didn’t move, continuing to stare at him in stunned silence. Determination and indignation still shone brightly in her young eyes, but the fires were fading. “I’ll spend the rest of my days debating whether I was right to lead us all to Xia,” Icthilos turned his attention to the rest of the group, “But there’s no doubt in my mind that the fight we would face here is unwinnable. Until someone can convince me otherwise, my answer will remain unchanged.” With that, he began to walk away, wishing he’d simply stayed with Savnu in the cave. * * * Pira Pira was still standing there long after Icthilos had gone and most of the others had quietly returned to their own fires. A determined defiance still blazed within her, but its fire was one fuelled by stubbornness and spite, not the selfless aspiration to offer aid that had first prompted her to speak. She didn’t want Icthilos to be right. She didn’t want a better future to be impossible. She didn’t want these Matoran to be abandoned as she had been. She looked around at the others, most of them staring at the ground or the flames, the only gaze still raised to meet her own being Trina’s. “I’ll talk to him,” was all the Vo-Toa said.

IC: Gayle – Iron Canyon Cave Gayle’s decision to take second watch had been a calculated one. If any creatures in the canyon had the group’s scent, they would catch up sooner rather than later – during the first watch. If any creatures regularly used this cave as a shelter from the midday heat, they would be arriving soon – during the first watch. And if any member of the group was going to suddenly snap and turn on their companions, it would be while everyone was tense and tired – during the first watch. There was another reason, something simpler and more selfish: Gayle really didn’t want to spend a whole watch with Tueris’ stern, single-eyed stare as her only companion. The gruff Glatorian seemed less-than-enthused by his travelling companions, the Agori most of all. And though Gayle had faced a great many fearsome foes in her journeys across Bara Magna, she yet to find a method or weapon capable of defeating a persistent, disapproving glare. Mercifully, Gayle didn’t awaken to the sound of screaming, nor the sensation of being stabbed in her sleep. The first watch passed without incident, and she took her place at the mouth of the cave, hoping her own watch would be as uneventful. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ IC: Somok – Hall Of The Honoured It had been many months since Somok had last visited the Hall Of The Honoured. Though the cavern wasn’t very deep underground, the stairs were old and uneven, and made all the more precarious by the lack of lighting in the entrance tunnel. For the past decade, Somok had only visited the cavern once a year, on his birthday, to reminisce and remember among the remains of his ancestors. Today, however, he felt a greater need than usual for their guidance. It took Somok several minutes to descend the stairs, using his staff to brace and steady himself as he made each careful stride across the weathered stones. The entire cavern had been carved out of the bleak black rock of the mountainside generations ago, though the floor of the central chamber had been covered with sand to soften its surface. Somok relaxed somewhat as he took another downward step and felt that sand underfoot, moving more confidently now that he was on firmer ground. A single flame burned in the centre of the chamber, the blackened brazier bearing the symbol of the Fire Tribe, the smoke filtering out through the small grille embedded in the ceiling overhead. The brazier was one of the few artefacts that still remained intact from the founding of Precipere, a fiery reminder of the Ash Tribe’s past. An attendant was tasked with ensuring the flame was lit anew each morning, ensuring that the light remained alive for any who visited the Hall. The chamber was a perfect circle, with open archways set around the wall at regular intervals, leading into the crypts – one each for all of the Ash Tribe’s founding families. Few of the crypts contained bodies, however. For the most part, they were filled with arms and armour, the metal and bone of those long gone. The footprints in the sand made it all too clear that several of the crypts had gone without visitors for a long time. More than a few of the founding bloodlines had come to an end over the years, through death, or in a few rare cases, reintegration into the Fire Tribe. Somok’s own line would be the next to end. His one sibling had died young and childless, and Somok had long ago dedicated himself to a solitary life of leadership. He’d known what that would mean, for his line, his family’s legend. But it had been worth it. He’d presided over fifty years of peace for his people. Other bloodlines had been broken with far lesser legacies. His shadow stretched before him as he hobbled towards the entrance of his family’s crypt. His own face stared back at him from the far end of the chamber, a bust he’d commissioned decades ago. What he’d intended to be a monument to immortalise his youth now felt like more taunt than tribute, silently laughing at him from the shadows. Further effigies joined in the mute mockery as he entered the chamber, lining the walls to his left and right. Weapons, armour and tools were stacked like tributes at the base of each statue, made from or belonging to the figure each statue represented. Somok stopped in the centre of the chamber, head bowed, eyes closed. There had been times, long ago, alone in the dark, where he’d believed he could still hear the voices of his family. This was where their presence was strongest. This was the only place where he could still remember their faces. They were in the sand beneath his feet. They were in the air he breathed. He wanted to hear them now. He needed to hear them. Their legacy was under threat. The mysterious death of Precipere’s previous prime Glatorian, tension between the other tribes, and now reports of pestilence in Ferrum… the Ash Tribe was more vulnerable now than it had been in generations. He didn’t know what to do next. He needed their guidance. But he heard nothing.

Yes, and no. I would honestly hesitate to describe those years as being the saga of the Toa Inika/Mahri. Those years were Matoro's story, through and through. They were about his tests and tribulations, his struggle and sacrifice. It's his story, and his alone, that makes those years hit as hard as they do. The other five were just... kind of there. I reread the Complete Biological Chronicle only last year, and I honestly can't recall now if the other members of the Inika/Mahri even had character arcs. I'm not sure it's fair to contrast two years that focused very heavily on the story of one specific character over years that worked much harder to give meaningful character development to entire ensembles of characters. The shift from clone waves to villains with personality was a great idea, but it adds to the problem of the hero characters not getting as much character development. The novelty of the Piraka being completely new and unknown made them infinitely more interesting than the established characters of the Inika, and the fact that they got more than half of the screentime that year means there was a lot less room to give the Inika meaningful narratives. Unfortunately, there's a lot of wasted potential with both villain waves. The Piraka just get randomly abandoned at the end of 2006, are turned into snakes offscreen, then get one-shot by Axonn during their one confrontation with the heroes in 2007. The Barraki get introduced with this sweeping new backstory with game-changing ramifications that completely reframe everything we thought we knew and understood about the history of the Bionicle universe... and nothing is done with it after that year. As much as I love the lore of the Barraki, the story of those two years would have worked so much better if the Piraka had returned instead of the Mahri going up against the weakest wave of villains the story had seen up to that point.

Chapter 12 – The Question From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. We all wanted the same thing. Most of us weren’t brave enough to say it, let alone ask for it. But as Chronicler, I often find myself being the one to ask the hard questions. * * * Icthilos The Ko-Metru Hideaway, as it had colloquially come to be called, had once been the secret sanctum of the mysterious rahi Keetongu, during the days before the Great Cataclysm. In the time since, it had become a place of quiet contemplation for more than a few Matoran, and more recently, one Ko-Toa refugee. “Trina said I’d find you here,” Savnu said, as she entered the chamber where Icthilos sat on a frosty outcropping of rock, looking down at the glassy surface of a long-frozen pool in the room’s centre. He’d been staring at it for a while now, engaged in a senseless staring contest with his own reflection. His encounter with Maliss had shaken him in a way he hadn’t felt since the day that Maliss had been struck with a Skakdi’s Devastator lance on the beaches of Xia. What he felt for his Brother now was very different to what he’d felt then. “Were you taking bets?” He asked absently. “In hindsight, we probably should have,” Savnu said, sitting down across from him, “You know how I love to gamble.” “What I said- I didn’t mean-” “You did,” she cut him off. “And I… well, things got a bit heated back there, but I’m not angry at you. Not really. I’ve heard it from almost everyone else, it was long overdue coming from you.” “No, it’s not alright,” he growled, looking up at her, “I broke my one rule.” “Your rule?” “I never spoke ill, never judged any of you for what you had to do, or chose to do.” “Some of us deserve judging,” Savnu said, “Because you’re right, I didn’t think about the consequences. I almost never do. Even today, when I was thinking about using these.” She withdrew a small leather satchel from a pocket of her robe and tossed it across to him. “But I am thinking about the consequences now.” Icthilos had a feeling he knew exactly what he was going to find inside the satchel, but he opened it nonetheless, tipping it towards his open palm. Stones of all shapes and sizes tumbled out onto his hand, each one aglow with energy. There looked to be a few dozen in total. “Toa Stones,” he observed, “You kept collecting them?” “From anyone I could convince. In case we needed more… recruits.” “And the need is greater now than ever.” “When I told Trina I’d go looking for you, I thought about heading to the other Metrus instead, passing these out among the Matoran returning to their homes from work.” “But you’re giving them to me instead? Not interested in being Mother to any more Toa?” “Last time, we were desperate. Last time, I was sure it would work,” she said, “I’m not certain of anything now. You’re right. We need to know more before we act… if we act.” “I’ll keep them safe,” he promised, returning the rocks to their pouch and tucking them away alongside his memorial stone. “I told Trina I’d keep you company if you didn’t want to rejoin the group,” Savnu said, standing up again. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to spend the night somewhere a tad more temperate. They’re gathering in Le-Metru. I reckon everyone would appreciate having you with us.” “I think that would be for the best,” he stood up as well, resigning himself to renew his search of the Knowledge Towers another day, “Let’s go.” * * * Pira For all their maddening mannerisms, the Le-Matoran of Metru Nui sure knew how to build. Even dusty and disused, the Moto-Hub was an impressive testament to engineering and technological advancement. The structure was packed with workshops and storage rooms, each filled with half-finished vehicles and components, and Pira already found herself eager to explore them more thoroughly. With her mask, who knew what she could cobble together? Especially now that another group had finished bringing all of the gear and gadgetry they’d salvaged in Xia from the boats to the Moto-Hub. But for now, she and the other Toa were only exploring enough to ensure that the building was secure, that the doors and windows were intact and no rahi or Rahkshi were lurking about. True to the information they’d been given, there were no signs of Rahkshi tracks anywhere inside. It seemed the creatures truly did avoid buildings, though that wasn’t enough to dissuade Pira and a few others from volunteering to keep watch at the entrances. Though everything in Le-Metru had been turned off, all of the equipment remained intact and connected to the city’s power supply. Most of the Moto-Hub’s wired lightstones and other machinery still worked, even the chute systems would probably function if switched back on, though there was no real reason to test that theory. For now, the lights were enough, and those lights made it easy enough to spot the first Rahkshi that were beginning to creep forth from their hiding places by the time Savnu and Icthilos finally arrived, bursting through the front doors in a hurried haze of white and red. A few of the Rahkshi seemed to take an interest in the duo as they sped past, but backed off as soon as the Toa were inside. “The neighbours seem nice,” Pira quipped, in way of greeting. “Hopefully they’re not too riled up about last night’s party,” Icthilos grumbled, “Whose idea was it to set up camp in the same Metru where we fought a bunch of those things, anyway?” “Trina said it was a group decision,” Pira replied, “There aren’t too many places in Metru Nui big enough for all of us. Aside from the Coliseum, of course.” As she spoke, Pira noticed a new Rahkshi step right up to the glass of the front door, peering at the three Toa. It was blue and yellow, with a simple piece of silver plate attached to its chest, which didn’t look to be part of its natural armour. The creature studied them for a few moments, then clacked its faceplates together and began to walk away, its demeanour more like that of someone taking a casual stroll than the animalistic scrabbling of the other Rahkshi roaming around. “But I don’t think anyone was too excited by the thought of spending a night with the Mesmers,” Savnu said, unaware of what had just happened over her shoulder. “Who’s here?” Icthilos asked, forcing Pira to pull her attention away from the receding form of the strange Rahkshi. “Almost everyone,” she said. “A few of the Toa and Turaga have gone back to whatever homes they had here. That Tuxar guy apparently extended an invite to all of Bo and Ga elementals to stay in Ga-Metru for the night. Widrek seems to be staying at the Coliseum with his new friends. And I haven’t seen Orane around,” she glanced at Savnu, “Did he say anything to you?” “He’ll be curled up somewhere ghosting around, probably,” Savnu said, shrugging, “He spends more time in spirit form than his actual body. Hopefully he’ll have some intel to offer when he gets back.” “Speaking of getting back, we’ve been waiting for you,” Pira gestured over her shoulder, towards the corridor that led deeper into the Moto-Hub. “The Chronicler decided to stay the night, says he has something he wants to ask. Trina insisted we wait for you.” Not for the first time, Pira wondered what exactly the chain of command was around here. Even after being with them for months, she was no closer to understanding, and too apprehensive to ply her companions for answers. Many of the Toa looked to Icthilos as some kind of leader, even though none of them save for Trina herself was a member of his team. Yet she rarely saw or heard of Icthilos actually giving any orders. It was more like the others looked to him for permission rather than instructions, and there were exceptions to even that, with Toa like Savnu doing whatever they wanted and generally remaining on good terms with him. But though Pira was at least partly curious, she also didn’t really care. Other people making the decisions meant less for her to worry about. As long as they made the right decisions. That’s what she told herself, at least. The trio made their way towards the former test track, a wide-open area marred with old skid trails and scorch marks, where the Toa and Turaga had space enough to sleep where they wished, while still having the security of being close to one another. Makeshift bedding and even some tattered tents were strewn about the area, while some of the Ta-elementals among the group had set up small campfires for the scattered groups to sit around. After sending another volunteer back to take her spot at the door, Pira decided to follow Savnu and Icthilos to one of the fires, where Vhalem, Bihriis, and Trina sat speaking with the Chronicler, Crisda. Vhalem offered her a nod of acknowledgement as she sat down, and no one else objected to her presence, which came as a surprising comfort. After Widrek’s departure and her conversations with Savnu and Vhalem earlier in the day, she felt like she was finally… tolerated? Accepted? Whatever it was, it was better than what she’d had the day before. “I’m told you have a question for me, Chronicler,” Icthilos said, as he sat, “Why didn’t you ask it when we spoke earlier today?” “It wasn’t a question to ask where the Makuta and his Mesmers might hear,” Crisda said. “Though they know it will be asked, nonetheless. No doubt they’re prepared for the possibility.” Pira didn’t need to be a mind reader like Bihriis to know what the question was. Everyone knew what the question was. Every Toa who’d felt the slightest inkling of discomfort or disappointment at the way the Matoran of Metru Nui were being treated had been waiting to hear this question. “The people of this city have suffered since you departed, brave Toa. They toil and tremble, slaves to a savage shadow,” Crisda said, with the practiced ease of someone who’d probably written this speech specifically to feature in his chronicle. The words felt hollow and artificial, with none of the emotion they should have come with. “You left to free our kin in Xia from tyranny, and though we know it is unfair to ask more of you, we’re asking all the same.” He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect, before finally speaking the words that were no doubt on the lips of every Matoran in the city. This time, the emotion was there, the fear and desperation of a man trapped under the thumb of a tyrant. “Please, will you set us free?” The answer, when it came, was not the one anyone expected. It was one that cut Pira to her core, every bit as cold and cruel as a blade through her heartlight. It was only a single word, spoken without rage or remorse. A word that brought all of her own memories of loneliness and abandonment surging to the surface. “No.”

I wouldn't be friends with anyone who acts like a Toa. In the real world, self-righteous morality police who go around abusing their power and picking fights with anyone who doesn't follow their belief system aren't the best people. I know that's kind of a harsh interpretation, but there were a lot of times in canon were Toa talked down to their enemies for not following the Three Virtues/accepting the Matoran as the "chosen people"/honouring Mata Nui's will. And how many times have we seen Toa use their powers to actively threaten someone, or throw a destructive temper tantrum when they don't get their way?

Chapter 11 – Forgotten Futures From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. My people used to look to the stars for meaning. The stars offered promises and prophecies, preaching to us our purpose and potential. But now the stars have darkened, the Matoran have moved on, and the Knowledge Towers stand abandoned. Abandoned, but not empty. The records and writings of the soothsayers and scholars still remain, forgotten on their shelves. I’ve visited on occasion, sifting through the records for literature to add to my chronicle. But there’s so much waiting to be rediscovered. I never knew what was important, or where to even begin. Icthilos knew better. He knew what he was looking for. But he didn’t know what was looking for him. * * * Icthilos Much like their counterparts in Metru Nui, the Ko-Matoran of Icthilos’ homeland had been stargazers, though their beliefs were far more primitive. They’d been trackers and trappers, guides and guerrillas, the most adept at navigating the mountainous terrain that surrounded the villages in their region. To them, the stars were signposts and navigation tools, occasionally offering omens and portents for what tomorrow might bring. The Ko-Matoran of Metru Nui were far more privileged in that regard. Their practice of complex prophesising had fascinated Icthilos from the moment he’d first learned of it, but of course the stars were already going out by the time he’d arrived in the city, and soon there were no new predictions to be made. But the observations remained, scribbled and scrawled in pieces throughout the towers. There was one story he’d once heard in passing, one he’d thought nothing of at the time, one that had suddenly resurfaced in his memory when Widrek had given his speech. Specifically, when he’d mentioned the Mask Of Life. The Matoran who’d told Icthilos this tale had been older than most Turaga, ailing and frail, and had sadly suffered a fatal fall shortly before the Toa had departed for Xia. Icthilos had investigated the incident himself, and found no cause to believe it anything other than an unfortunate accident. But now, he wondered if Destiny had had a hand in it. It was entirely possible that no one else knew of the story the old Matoran shared with Icthilos, or at the very least didn’t realise its true significance. It was the story of the one star that hadn’t gone dark… and a night when that star had briefly become two. For several hours, Icthilos explored the towers, searching for the notes left by the Matoran he’d met. It was as he emerged from yet another fruitless search that he found a figure waiting for him in the snow outside. A twisted Fe-Toa clad in black and orange, his form infused with machinery, and an icy blue hue to his beady eyes. “Mal,” he beamed, holding out his fist in way of greeting, “It’s good to see you, Brother.” Maliss made no move to draw closer or complete the fist-bump. “Is it?” He replied, his voice a hoarse whisper, “You might be able to hide your feelings from the rest of them, even from Trina, but I see you. You’re disappointed.” “The Brother I knew fought against tyranny. He would never have stood with it.” “The Brother you knew was proud, and principled, and it cost him dearly,” Maliss rasped, brushing his fingertips over the metal of his fake limb. “I’m sorry. These… augmentations. They look like they must have been excruciating.” “Pain is merely a message. Information to be interpreted. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.” “I don’t understand,” Icthilos lowered his outstretched hand. “There is much you don’t understand.” “Then tell me!” Icthilos demanded, “What became of my Brother?” The Chronicler’s words hadn’t been exaggerated. Maliss had become more machine than man, in mind as much as meat. Even as he spoke to Icthilos he seemed distant, detached, his gaze fixated on something only he could perceive, his thoughts far afield from the conversation at hand. “Makuta Vhel showed me the truth, a truth that even Widrek was too afraid to speak to you all. It’s a terrible truth, one that pushed Dhozoh to misery and Tuxar to madness.” “And what truth would that be?” “The truth of the lie. The lie we have lived all our lives. The lie that is our lives.” “You’re not making any sense.” “I am. Just not to you.” “What do you want, Mal? Why did you seek me out?” “Truth be told, I was thinking about killing you,” he raised his hand and curled it into a fist; Icthilos felt his armour constrict around him, holding him in place, “I could make it look like an accident, or suicide. No one would question it, given all the guilt you’re clearly carrying.” Icthilos opened his mouth to say… something, he wasn’t even sure what. He’d faced death countless times on Xia, but he had no words for this. But before a single syllable could spill forth he felt cold steel against his skin as a blade grew from his own armour and curled across his throat. “I doubt even sweet Trina would be surprised to find you’d put a knife through your own neck,” Maliss sneered, “But ultimately you’re worth more to me as a messenger than a martyr.” He opened his hand, and let it fall to his side. In the same moment, Icthilos’ armour returned to its natural state, and he flopped forward, sprawling in the snow. “What message?” He sputtered, too stunned to rise, too numb to ask much else. “Some among the Toa wish to act against our new order, and they will look to you to lead them. Deny them. Your Duty is done.” “You expect me to take the side of tyranny?” “I expect you to do what you need to do to save lives. This is the way the world must be. That is the only truth that really matters. You’ll find no more satisfactory answers among the forgotten fates and failed futures recorded in these towers.” “What truth could possibly justify this?” Icthilos forced himself to his knees, “What truth could make you turn against your own Brother?” “Our Brotherhood is part of the lie,” Maliss said sadly, turning away from him, “We’re cogs in a machine, Icthilos, and cogs were never meant to be conscious.” And then he was gone, falling through his own shadow as if it were a hole in the ground. * * * Trina “Here they are,” Savnu said, as she and Trina came to a sudden stop before Pira and Vhalem, who were on their way back from the outskirts of Onu-Metru. “News, Mother?” Vhalem asked. “A plan. For the evening, at least.” “Some of the Toa and Turaga who had homes here are already returning to their old residences, and the wounded have been taken to Ga-Metru,” Trina said, “The rest of us have decided to make camp in the Moto-Hub in Le-Metru. It’s big enough to house everyone, and we might be able to scrounge up some useful tech.” Even as she spoke the words, they sickened her. Scarcely a day since returning to the city, and they were already thinking about scavenging whatever technology they could find to give themselves an advantage, just as they had on Xia. Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. “I’m in,” Pira said, “Hanging around with all of you for one more night beats going back to sleeping on the streets.” Vhalem cast a quizzical glance in her direction for a moment, before nodding to Trina, “I’ll be there.” “Alright, I think that’s everyone,” Savnu said. “Everyone who still wants to be with us, at least.” “Everyone except Icthilos,” Trina said. “You two haven’t seen him?” “Nope, sorry,” Pira said, “Should we go looking for him?” “It’s getting close to dark,” Trina sighed, “We should get moving if we want to make it the Moto-Hub in time. Icthilos knows to find somewhere safe before the Rahkshi show up.” She had an inkling as to where he’d wandered off to. She knew him well enough to know he would want to be alone right now, though she had half a mind to try to track him down and deny him that. The group needed him every bit as much as he needed them. Unity mattered more than ever now. “I’ll go look for him,” Savnu offered, seeming to read her expression, “I’ll bring him back, or at least keep him company. None of us should be alone right now.” “Thank you, Savnu,” Trina smiled, “Try Ko-Metru. The old hideaway.” Savnu disappeared without a further word, leaving the three Toa to set off to Le-Metru as the shadows lengthened around them.

Chapter 10 – Hitting The Streets From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Our universe was once vast and mysterious, its most distant shores unseen, its darkest depths unexplored. And yet, we thought we understood it all. It is only now, when our universe has become so much smaller, that we came to understand how little we truly knew. * * * Pira “He called it shadow sickness,” Pira said. Icthilos and Savnu had stormed off by the time she and Vhalem had made their way back to Trina, so she was just telling her and trusting the information would be passed on. Trina had always come across as one of the more level-headed Toa leaders, striving to balance out the unchecked egos of her companions. “I’ve never heard of it,” Trina said, frowning. “Go on.” “He said it happens when a Toa tries to absorb energy from a Rahkshi, or even a Makuta. Like, if you tried to catch a blast from a Lightning Rahkshi, that sort of thing. The powers of some Toa overlap with those of Rahkshi, but their abilities are… different, you know?” As she spoke, Pira glanced at her spear, suddenly feeling far less comfortable with integrating Rahkshi staff pieces into the weapon. Had she inadvertently exposed herself to some kind of illness by salvaging scrap from the creatures? “Because they’re creatures of antidermis. Everything they are is twisted and tainted by the Shadow they were wrought from,” Trina nodded grimly. “I think I understand.” “Exactly. The way it was explained to me, when a Toa absorbs an energy like that, they willingly take that Shadow into themselves. It infects them. Feeds off their elemental energies. Festers.” “Like infecting a Kanohi. Or draining their light with Shadow Leeches.” “But slower, and…” she grimaced, “…and a lot more painful, I’m told.” “Did this Turaga tell you anything else?” “Just that even if treated, not everyone survives.” “Thank you. This Turaga, did he tell you his name?” “No,” Pira shook her head, “He just showed up while I was asking some of the others about the wounded. You should be able to find him pretty easily, though. He stood out.” “Stood out?” “He looked kind of off. He had all this scrapwork armour with patches on it, like he was cobbled together out of spare parts or something.” Pira had seen more than her fair share of unpleasant things since the universe had gone dark, but the Turaga had been on another level. The way he was pieced together looked excruciating, barely survivable. If he hadn’t been walking and talking Pira would have thought he was dead. And there had been a weariness in his voice that made it sound like he wanted to be dead. “Was he an Onu-Turaga?” “Yeah.” “I know of him. Larone. He was the Turaga of Metru Nui during the time of the Matoran Civil War. He was injured during that conflict, and sent to Karzahni for repairs afterwards. From what I hear, he’s been a bit eccentric ever since.” “Can we trust what he says, then?” Vhalem asked. “I think so. It makes sense. It’s a Vo-Toa, Le-Toa, and Ba-Toa who’ve fallen sick. Those all line up with possible Rahkshi powers. And if anyone would know about an obscure ailment, it’s someone who’s had the misfortune of spending time in Karzahni.” “Is there anything we can do?” Vhalem asked. Before Trina could answer, the voice of Turaga Rost rang out across the arena once more. “Thank you for your patience, friends. The Vahki have completed their task of cataloguing you all-” Pira didn’t recall him ever declaring that the Vahki were doing that. “-and now you’re free to go. Your injured will be taken to Ga-Metru to rest and recover, and the Matoran will be allocated new residences before the day is done.” That’s it? Pira thought bitterly. No fanfare, no welcome, no citizenship ceremony… “You Toa are free to go where you wish, settle in whatever Metru you feel most comfortable in. Those of you who had homes here will find your lodgings exactly as you left them, the rest may requisition any empty residence you wish. Just ensure that you’re behind closed doors come nightfall, when the Rahkshi roam the streets.” “I think you’ve both done enough for one day,” Trina said, turning back to Pira and Vhalem. “You should check out the city. You both fought for the right to be here. You’ve earned this.” If you say so… Pira turned away without a word. Trina’s words had seemed like a compliment, but they felt more like a dismissal. How was Pira ever meant to prove herself if they kept pushing her away? * * * Icthilos He should’ve been happy. He was back where he belonged, officially freed of his burdens and responsibilities, the mission and its grim memories finally behind him. The Matoran were home. His work was done. And yet, his thoughts were tormented. As the Toa had dispersed from the Coliseum, Icthilos had quietly activated his Kanohi and slipped away in the direction of Ko-Metru. His was the Kanohi Alaka, the Mask of Obscurity. Where the Kanohi Huna prevented the wearer from merely being seen, the Alaka made the wearer imperceptible to every other sense. Those who glanced his way would see him plainly enough, but no one would hear him pass, nor even feel the vibrations of his footsteps. He was indiscernible to even the subtle, subliminal sensations that so many beings subconsciously relied upon, and so went entirely unnoticed by most he passed. Even other Kanohi, such as the Arthron or Suletu, wouldn’t have been able to detect him. He deactivated his mask once he reached Ko-Metru; there was no one here to notice him. There didn’t seem to be much of anything at all here now, not even rahi. The only fresh tracks he could make out in the snow were those of Rahkshi. And the only companions he had were ranks of deactivated Keerakh scattered around, standing or sprawled in whatever position they’d been in when their power supplies had finally run out. Even the snows, it seemed, had stopped. Whatever systems in the city that created separate climates in each Metru seemed to have malfunctioned or been shut off. The entire Metru felt warmer than it once had, and the snow underfoot sodden and half-melted, with no signs of fresh snowfall anywhere in sight. Ko-Metru had truly been abandoned. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t find what he needed here. He soon spotted the silhouettes of the Knowledge Towers in the distance, and set off towards them. * * * Vhalem Pira had been uncharacteristically quiet since departing the Coliseum. Vhalem didn’t know her all that well, but he knew she was someone who loved to talk, and had no qualms about making her thoughts known. That she was keeping those thoughts to herself now spoke volumes. They were exploring the streets of Onu-Metru, which seemed to be mostly empty save for a few patrolling Vahki and Mesmers. The Matoran they saw were few and far between, moving about in twos or threes, hurriedly pushing carts or crates to or from the various elevator entrances that led down to the underground Archives. They didn’t walk, they ran, as if terrified to be caught doing anything at a steady pace. “So, what’re your thoughts on the city so far?” Vhalem asked, after a half-hour of sullen silence. “I know Ithnen would love all of this. She’s been wanting to see Onu-Metru since we left.” He was somewhat wishing he’d brought her along instead of Pira, but he hadn’t been able to find her among the crowd on their way out of the Coliseum. “It’s a step up from Xia. A step,” Pira replied glumly, “At least here I can see the sky. Not that there’s much to see up there since whatever was projecting the stars stopped working. It’s kind of weird knowing that I should have a Spirit Star, but I’ll never get to see it…” Even in Metru Nui, the sky wasn’t much to look at. The conditions were more twilight than daylight, with the positions of the sun holes and the dense clouds overhead allowing very little direct light down into the city. “Have you given much thought to the future?” He asked. “Well, everyone seems to think that me, you – all of us that aren’t Turaga yet – still have some kind of Destiny ahead of us, so I guess I’m just waiting for that to happen so this can all be over with.” “You don’t like being a Toa?” “I didn’t even like being a Matoran,” she laughed, but there was no mirth in it, “My life was misfortune and misery long before Terry turned off the lights. Things would work out for a little while, but my luck would always turn.” “Things could be different now, though, you know?” Vhalem said. “The war’s over, and it sounds like we don’t have much in the way of responsibilities here.” “So we should be carefree and happy while these Matoran are subjected to the same kind of slavery you all endured in Xia?” Vhalem felt like he’d been slapped. He had his qualms about the Makuta’s way of running things, but somehow he hadn’t fully appreciated how bad it really was until she’d phrased it like that. “Well, I mean-” he scrambled for a response, and settled for snark, “-I thought Le-Toa were meant to be carefree and happy?” “Firstly, that’s stereotyping,” Pira stopped to jab an accusing finger in his direction, “Secondly, if I had something to be happy about, I might be. But I keep thinking about all those Matoran we rescued and brought here. They wanted a better life, and instead they’ve been given the same one.” “You didn’t strike me as someone who cared much about anyone else,” he countered, leaning back against the side of one of the buildings. “I might not be great with other people, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have empathy. Are you really okay with freeloading while the rest of the Matoran are left slaving away?” “Not really, but I’m choosing to be grateful for what I have,” the words came out hollow; his heart wasn’t in it, despite Icthilos’ earlier insistence that he should be thankful. “That’s not good enough for me,” Pira said firmly. “I don’t think it’s good enough for you, either, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to convince me.” “What is that even meant to mean?” “I’m not stupid, Vhalem. You’re not really trying to convince me. You’re trying to convince yourself.” “Of what?” He challenged, unable to deny her words. “That you’ve done enough. That you deserve what you’ve been given. I ask myself those same questions at least a few times a day.” “And what’s your answer?” “I don’t have one, yet.” “Then what do you have?” “Perspective.” “On what?” “The Great Spirit… the Toa… my whole life, none of them have ever done anything for me. Even this power I took for myself. I know what it feels like to never be saved, Vhalem. It’s what all of those Matoran are going to feel if we do nothing to help them.” She wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t mean she was right. “We’re just two Toa. There’s nothing we can do.” “You know full well we’re not the only ones.” “Sure, yeah, some of the other Toa might be unhappy about how things are being run here. But they’ve just come home from a war that wiped out half their number. No one wants another one.” “That’s the thing,” Pira said, sighing, “If freedom for the Matoran is what they fought for, then I don’t think the war ever ended.”

Chapter 9 – Uncertainty From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. I thought when the Toa finally returned I’d spend weeks, maybe months, quizzing them for every detail of their expedition. Instead, I was the one who found himself being questioned. Icthilos was the one who sought me out. He’d always been something of a leader among the Toa, even before they’d left for Xia, and that fact remained unchanged now. Though we’d come from different islands originally, he and I had both settled in Ko-Metru, and come to know each other in passing (though I suspect I followed his exploits much more closely than he followed mine). I knew him well enough to understand that – more so than perhaps any other Toa – the conflict on Xia had been his war. And now he seemed ready to start another. He and I spoke for some time. I told him of Makuta Vhel’s unexpected arrival, of how he and his followers had simply appeared inside the Coliseum in full force. It had been a bloodless takeover; the invaders took the Vahki offline as soon as they arrived, and four Toa and a handful of Turaga stood no chance against hundreds of Odinans and Rahkshi. I told him of the changes the new rulers enacted within days of their arrival, of the abrupt evacuations of Le and Ko Metru, and the forceful amalgamation of the Matoran populations. I told him of how Order Of Mata Nui members in the city had been rounded up, and never seen again. After that had come the Rahkshi curfew, the restriction of recreation, and the increased work quotas. And after that had come the attempted rebellion. Icthilos seemed unsurprised when I told him of its grim outcome. Eventually, Icthilos’ questions turned to his Brother Maliss, though I fear the answers I gave were not the ones he was hoping for. For the first hour or so of our conversation, Icthilos was clearly sceptical and suspicious, no doubt wondering if I’d been swayed to the Makuta’s side like so many others. But the longer we spoke, the more his apprehension abated, until at last he was willing to allow me to ask some questions of my own. He told me of the battles on Xia, describing it as a gruelling guerrilla war of temporary alliances and betrayals as Toa, Dark Hunters, Skakdi, and Vortixx all vied for control over advantageous terrain and vital resources. He told me of the liberation of the slaves, and the retreat that followed, the Toa and Matoran fleeing the city while the other forces were left to tear each other apart. And when his tale was done, he showed me a simple stone tablet. It was inscribed with names, some I recognised, some I didn’t, but I didn’t need to know them all to understand what it was… what it meant to him. He asked me to write down their names, and make sure they were remembered. I promised him I would. * * * Vhalem It was somewhere past noon when Vhalem regrouped with Trina, Savnu, Keidal, and Icthilos. At Trina’s request, he’d had conversations with several of Metru Nui’s Turaga, approaching them under the guise of seeking advice about his Toa transformation, before slowly steering the conversation towards the status of the city and the nature of its new rulers. Savnu and Pira, as well as Trina herself, had been having similar conversations with some of the other local Turaga and Matoran who were here offering aid, while Icthilos had been doing the same with the city’s Chronicler. All of the accounts they’d collected concurred on the key details, and it all painted a grim picture of daily life in Metru Nui. “We have to do something about this, right?” He urged. “This is… inhumane.” “It’s pragmatic and oppressive, but-” Icthilos sighed, “-I don’t want to be the one playing Piraka’s advocate, but so far the way Vhel is running things isn’t that different to how Metru Nui or even Xia were run before.” “And I came here because I was told this place would be better than Xia,” Vhalem said softly, “You promised all of us a better life.” He knew it wasn’t fair to lash out at Icthilos of all people for this, but he also didn’t really care right now. This wasn’t the future any of them had fought for. “You have light,” Icthilos jabbed a finger towards the sky, “You’re free. This is better.” “All recreational activities, religious ceremonies, and social gatherings cancelled. Increased work quotas and no days off or downtime, even though the city is using less power with the chutes offline. All these people do is labour, day after day, with barely any breaks. The only difference between this city and Xia is that these Matoran don’t sleep at their workstations.” “What do you want me to say, Vhalem?” Icthilos snapped. “It’s awful, but even if everything else Vhel said about the universe is lies, we do need heat and power to keep everyone in this city alive, and those things do require the Matoran to work.” “Nah, it doesn’t add up,” Savnu interjected, “With all of the refugees that came in, there were more Matoran around than workstations that needed filling. The Matoran were doing enough work to keep the city going before we left, and that was with the chutes online, and break days. But Vhel is working them all even harder now.” “So it begs the question, where is all of the extra power going?” Trina asked. “It certainly wasn’t lighting up Xia or Zakaz or anywhere else in the universe, at least not as far as we could tell when we were still out there.” “I don’t have the answers,” Icthilos shrugged, “Maybe you should ask Talok, or Orane whenever he gets around to returning his body.” “What about the people who’ve gone missing?” Keidal spoke up. “There used to be Av-Matoran here who escaped Karda Nui, but no one’s seen any of them in weeks.” “Apparently the Order Of Mata Nui members who were in the city were also rounded up,” Icthilos added. “I have another question,” Vhalem said, “You guys told me that you sent four Toa back to Metru Nui, right? But I only saw three up there with that Rost guy.” “Yayle. A Su-Toa,” Trina said, “I asked around, no one seemed to know anything.” Vhalem noticed Icthilos’ gaze shift abruptly downwards, as if he found himself suddenly unwilling to meet anyone else’s eyes. Before Vhalem could pry, Savnu spoke up. “No one seemed willing to say anything is more like it,” she said, “I asked after him as well, and a few Turaga that I haven’t seen around yet. The fact that they won’t say says it all, I reckon.” “Couldn’t Bihriis get us a clear answer?” Vhalem asked, “Where is she?” “Attempting to get answers out of Widrek.” “I don’t think we’re going to get any more answers out here,” Icthilos said, appearing back to his normal self, “Not with the Vahki and Mesmers around, and not this close to the Coliseum; we don’t know the effective range of a Makuta’s mind reading.” “That’s assuming there even is a Makuta,” Savnu said. “I’m no expert, but what we heard seemed pretty convincing,” Vhalem spoke up. “That… felt like a Makuta. That aura… that presence… I don’t know how else to put it.” Makuta Vhel seemed far more intent on secrecy and theatrics than the Makuta of Xia had been. Antroz had always been very direct and straightforward, appearing in public to make proclamations rather than relying on emissaries. It hadn’t been uncommon to see him roaring around the streets on his Destral Cycle some days. By Makuta standards, he’d been quite down-to-earth, albeit not in a friendly sense. But still, on those rare occasions were Vhalem had found himself close enough to the Makuta to see and hear him clearly, he’d felt what he’d felt today when Vhel’s voice had issued from the speakers. A sense of smallness, an awareness of how powerless he was in the presence of this alien demigod. “You said the same thing during Vhel’s speech earlier,” Trina turned to Savnu, “You really think the Mesmers are somehow faking a Makuta?” “That’s impossible.” Vhalem said firmly. “There were a lot of things I once thought impossible, Vhalem,” Savnu said, “But on Xia I saw Kanohi, weapons, and powers I’d never dreamed of before. We know these Mesmers can hypnotise people, we know they can wear Kanohi, we know they had the tech and tactics to conquer the universe once before, and they’ve had tens of thousands of years to develop since then. I reckon enough of ‘em working together could pull off just about anything.” “And this story about the universe being a machine?” Vhalem asked, “I don’t know this city and its history as well as the rest of you, but I saw the way the story rattled you all. There’s something to it, isn’t there?” “A fiction forged around cherry-picked facts,” Savnu said firmly, “The idea of a Makuta gives people something to fear, but no one can rule for long through fear alone. So they came up with this ridiculous story to give everyone something to hope for. We need to act now, and bring this farce to an end before anyone else gets swayed to their side.” “I know consequences are usually an afterthought to you-” Icthilos growled, “-but we can’t dismiss any of this out of hand. If there’s truth to any of it we can’t risk acting rashly.” “Icthilos, please-” Trina said gently. “Nah, I want to hear what he has to say,” Savnu snapped, waving dismissively in her direction, “Go ahead, Icthilos. Tell me how I’m the rash one, when it was your reckless need for revenge that landed us all on Xia in the first place!” “You sounded enthusiastic enough at the time.” “The difference between us is that I regret it.” “You truly think I don’t?” “You don’t show it.” “Neither do you.” Vhalem slowly stepped away from the group, a cold knife of guilt twisting within him. He’d pushed them to this, his own anger fuelling the fires of their deeper, darker sorrows and resentments. So much for unity… He turned his back on the bickering group and started wandering back towards the transports. Icthilos was right; they needed to understand the consequences before they started another conflict. Savnu was right; they needed to take action before more Toa like Widrek switched sides. There was no right way. “Looks like Mother and Father are having their first fight,” Pira appeared out of the crowd, falling into step beside him, “And in front of the kids, too.” “Can you just… not, right now?” Vhalem grumbled. “Where have you been, anyway?” “After Savnu headed back to give her report, I decided to keep chatting with the Turaga.” “And?” “And I think I know what’s wrong with the sick Toa.”

I always knew it was only a matter of time until carcinisation conquered the Bionicle community. All praise our new crab overlords! (And these awesome builds!)

Chapter 8 – Truth From the notes of Chronicler Crisda. Few beings have had one-on-one audiences with Makuta Vhel, and each of them has come back changed. Even now, the Turaga don’t understand how or why. There is no sign of Infection on their masks, no evidence of meddling in their minds, and yet they are changed. What truth lurks in the Makuta’s memory that can warp a being so completely? Rost became joyous and jubilant. Dhozoh became more dour and withdrawn. Maliss became cold and cruel. Tuxar now consider himself to be a god. Widrek too, returned a different man to who he was when he departed. * * * Pira “How’re you holding up?” Savnu appeared at Pira’s side, making her jump slightly. “I appreciate the check-in, but I’m not one of your brood,” Pira said, waving her hand and summoning a brief breeze to dispel the dust that had been kicked up by Savnu’s Kakama-assisted arrival, “You don’t need to Mother me.” Savnu had been blurring about the crowd since Widrek had disappeared, speaking with some of the other Xian Toa. Ever since they’d transformed she’d taken full responsibility for them, overseeing their care and training. Due to her affectionate attitude and role in their creation, many of them had taken to calling her Mother, rather than Sister. Though Pira hadn’t been one of those transformed by Savnu’s Toa Stone gambit, she was the only other Matoran from Xia to have been turned into a Toa, so she’d often been lumped in with Savnu’s four surviving charges. While she didn’t mind having someone looking out for her, she wasn’t so big on the touchy-feely stuff. “Noted. But while I’m here…?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “I’m worried about him. Is that what you want to hear?” She blurted out, “Widrek hates my guts, and I’m still worried about him.” “He’s your Brother Toa. Our strength comes from our ability to set aside our squabbles and stand together when it matters. It’s only natural to feel as you do.” “Natural? What’s natural about any of this?” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed stares being directed her way by others in the crowd. Before she could send some scathing remark towards the gawkers, Savnu suddenly wrapped her in an embrace, and after a brief blur they were both standing behind the transport, out of sight and earshot from the crowd. “Sorry about that. People are worried enough as is. Let’s not make it any worse,” Savnu said, letting her go. “You were saying?” “I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what to say to any of this!” “For what it’s worth, you’re far from the only one feeling this way. We’re at the mercy of a situation we still don’t understand. I feel just as helpless as you do right now.” “You don’t show it.” “It wouldn’t help.” “So… what? You just shut off your feelings and pretend everything doesn’t suck?” “Nah, that’s Icthilos’ job. The sad truth of our universe is that sometimes bad things have to happen for good things to follow. The forest has to burn for new life to take root in the ashes.” “I’ve never been one for metaphors. You got anything more tangible?” “I keep faith in the Three Virtues. The world may have changed, but our Duty hasn’t. The fact that we’re all still here means our Destinies still lie ahead.” “Maybe you missed the news, but the Great Spirit is dead, and so is his evil replacement. I’m pretty sure Destiny died with them.” “How do you explain your own transformation, then? Or those of the other Matoran and Toa who changed after the Great Spirit seemingly perished?” “Dumb luck. Happens a lot to me. I still haven’t decided if it’s good or bad.” “It sounds like you and I believe in the same thing. Just with different names.” The only response Pira could bring herself to offer was an ambiguous grunt. She wanted to believe there was some plan or purpose to her transformation, to everything that was happening, but all facts were to the contrary, and blind faith had never come easily to her. “Perhaps the Great Spirit isn’t as dead as he seems,” Savnu said, “Or maybe, our Destinies are decided by some Greater Being beyond the confines of this universe. Maybe concepts like Luck and Destiny are just words we use to assign meaning to random chance.” “Or maybe it’s all meaningless. Maybe-” On the other side of the transport, the crowd stirred and murmured as a sound like a whirlwind swept across the arena. “-maybe we should go see what that’s about,” Pira finished. In a blink, Savnu had brought her back around to join the rest of the crowd. Widrek had reappeared, and now stood in the box platform alongside Turaga Rost and the other three Toa. He still looked like himself, with no sign of Infection on his mask, but when he spoke, there was a fanatical glee in his usually-sombre voice that made him seem an entirely different man. “My friends… I have spoken with the Makuta, shared in his memories, and he has shown me the error of our ways,” Widrek proclaimed, gesturing grandly as he spoke, “For too long, we have called ourselves the chosen people, placed our faith and praise upon a being who saw us as nothing more than cogs in his machine.” Pira felt something twist inside her. The Widrek she’d spoken to this morning was gone. “I have seen the truth,” Widrek pointed at his mask, “And I tell it to you now. The Great Spirit is not dead, but exiled, trapped within the Mask Of Life and banished into the void beyond our universe. Without him, this machine we live in is breaking down, and only the labours of the Matoran can keep this universe alive until he can be recovered.” Pira exchanged a glance with Savnu; the taller Toa’s expression indicated that she shared Pira’s scepticism, but there was also a grim kind of acceptance in her eyes. Pira understood why. Widrek – or whoever was putting words in his mouth – had just given all of the believers in the crowd cause to hope, preying on their faith to dissuade them from interfering with the new world order. His unspoken threat was a powerful one: any disruption to the daily work of the Matoran – such as the attempt to overthrow the Makuta’s rule that many of the Toa had no-doubt already been considering – could ruin any hope for the future. “So, is this Destiny’s design?” She asked Savnu, her tone bitter. “I hope not.” * * * Icthilos Any doubt he might have had about something nefarious unfolding behind the scenes had been swiftly dispelled by Widrek’s impassioned speech. He’d been gone less than a half-hour and his entire demeanour was different. “What are we going to do about this?” Trina asked him, speaking softly. “And don’t you dare say nothing.” “Nothing, for now,” he replied, not looking away from Widrek. “Round up a few Toa we trust, ones on the less… spiritual side. Get them to chat up as many of the local Matoran and Turaga as they can. We need a clear picture of what’s really going on in this city.” “What about you?” “I’m going to talk to the Chronicler. I figure he’ll either be the voice of free speech around here, or the propaganda orator for the new order. Either way, I’m sure I’ll learn something from him.” “What about Mal?” Icthilos’ gaze shifted from Widrek to the Fe-Toa standing behind him. The Brother that Icthilos had known was nearly unrecognisable; beyond his new prosthetic arm, his whole build was different, with a stooped posture and gangly proportions, enhanced all over with mechanical components, encased in jagged armour. The only consistent detail was the familiar, Kualsi-esque shape of the Mask Of Shadow Travel he wore. It had been nearly a year since he’d seen his brother, and time had clearly taken its toll on both of them. “If we go over there to him, he’s just going to toe the line, whether he’s bought in or not,” Icthilos said, “I think we need to wait for him to come to us, and hope he’s still himself.” “And if he’s not?” “We’ll find a way to help him. To help all of them.”