mattcantorwriting

Toa Kopaka stands alone upon the peak of Mount Ihu. Toa Kopaka stands alone, wherever he stands. He stands alone, despite whoever might be coming to annoy him. Through the zoom-lens of his Mask, Kopaka can see the figure approaching even before they have reached the foothills at the edge of the snowy tundra forest, far, far, down at the bottom of this mountain. He can recognize the Kanohi easily. The angular lines and flanges of the Kakama. Mask of Speed. The mask of Pohatu, Toa of Stone– the first of the five other Toa that Kopaka had ever met– not far from this very spot, in fact. It has not been so long… but even if it had, Kopaka would still remember very well that first meeting– getting buried in Pohatu’s accidental rockslide as a matter of introduction… a hard thing to forget. Even now, with that figure still miles away below him, he finds himself flinching slightly, bracing himself for… For nothing. This is not Pohatu. This is not the Toa of Stone, jaunty and boisterous. This is not any Toa at all, tall and strong, in heavy armor, overwhelming power lurking within. This is a mere Matoran. A villager. Barely up to Kopaka’s leg in height, with barely as much strength as might be imagined for those tiny arms. The Matoran’s body is the same tan and bronze shades of the Po-Wahi Desert sands and rocks… not Pohatu himself, then, but one of his people; a Matoran of Po-Koro. And, ultimately, no more than a moment’s curiosity. Mount Ihu looms tall over all other places on Mata Nui, and over all those who live there. Even Kopaka’s own Ko-Matoran, long native to this mountain, often struggle against its dangers– the steep rises, the ice underfoot with treacherous drops… the blinding snow, the cold, bitter, wind. If this Po-Matoran, this desert-dweller, is coming to visit Ko-Koro, perhaps he will be able to just barely brave the journey, perhaps he will reach the gates of the village before collapsing and the guards will bring him inside. And then, he will be a matter for the villagers to handle, not Kopaka. And if this Po-Matoran is for some unthinkable reason coming in search of Kopaka himself… he will turn back long before he reaches this peak. The Toa of Ice turns his gaze elsewhere. From here, with his Kanohi Akaku, he can see the whole island. Le-Koro, where the Matoran swing and dance amongst the treetops– and where things are quiet enough for now, peaceful enough for now– as peaceful as they ever manage to be there. Ga-Koro in the bay by the sea, with its boats and seaweed huts. Calm waters– quiet enough, peaceful enough. Kopaka can see Turaga Nokama out on a boat with two of her Matoran– she is telling them something, but of course from here, Kopaka cannot hear what she is saying. He can only see the slight light of her speech through her pale blue Kanohi Rau, the Noble Mask of Translation… a copy of the same mask that he himself has only just returned here after collecting. He turns his gaze next to Ta-Koro, on the far side of the island from this mountain. This is where he has only just returned from. The Mangai volcano, ash forever rising into the sky. The Charred Forest. The high and mighty gates of the village of Kopaka’s brother Toa Tahu and his people. The smoldering heat. The lava flows and pools. If the sleeping Great Spirit were to grant any wish at all, Kopaka wishes that he will not find himself in Ta-Koro again for quite some time. The cold and the wind of this mountain are a much better place to be– at least for him. He glances a quick glance back down towards the base of the mountain, where that Po-Matoran had been coming from, to make certain that he has turned back– and if he hasn’t, if he has collapsed somewhere too far from the village of Ko-Koro, Kopaka supposes he will have to go down and intervene… irritating as it may be. That is Kopaka’s vow as a Toa– the vow of all Toa: to protect the Matoran of this place, at any cost. And if this Po-Matoran needs protecting, nevermind how inconvenient– But no. This Po-Matoran does seem to need any protecting at all. He has not turned back. He continues up the mountainside, but his footing is steady and his pace is solid. He has made it further in this little stretch of time than the Kopaka had expected. True enough, he doesn’t move over the ice and crags of Mount Ihu with quite the practiced grace that a native Ko-Matoran would display, but he moves nonetheless. Less of a Frost Serpent carefully slithering its way through the cracks in a glacier and more… more of a Kane-Ra bull smashing straight through by sheer force of stubbornness and a prodigious sturdy skull. Clumsy. And unstoppable. Perhaps the Po-Matoran are more hardy than he has given them credit for. Perhaps they have that in common with their Toa. It is not long before, against what ought to have been steep odds, the villager is making the final stretch of climbing up towards the peak. Shivering like an overexcited insect Rahi, to be sure. But even so… If he has come to speak to the Toa of Ice, then at this point, he has earned the chance to say a word or two. The Matoran’s mask is a slightly lighter shade than Pohatu’s Great Kakama, if Kopaka is remembering his brother Toa correctly, and it’s covered from brow to chin with scuffs and scratches– the results of less-than-careful roughhousing, no doubt, or perhaps a slip of the chisel while crafting down, down, down in the village of Stone, far below this mountain. Similar scuffs and scratches are all across the Matoran’s body as well, arms and legs. The Po-Matoran are a rowdy bunch, perhaps, as much as they are hardy. Kopaka’s own smooth white armor gleams in the cold sunlight. Not a scratch upon it. Nevermind the two whole swarms of Kofu-Jaga Scorpions he had had to face down last night in the crackling heat of Ta-Wahi, searching out that Kanohi Mask. Scorpions and heat and a landslide, and not a scratch– nothing had come even close to rattling the stoic Toa of Ice. But still… all that bother for just the Kanohi Rau, Mask of Translation– to allow him to speak or read any language– all that bother, when Kopaka has never been much for any sorts of words, anyways. Better for those such as Turaga Nokama– or her Toa of Water, Gali. The Toa of Ice says nothing to the approaching Po-Matoran. He knows this villager will speak plenty without being invited; they always do. “I am Hewkii!” the little one calls up to him. “Of the village of Po-Koro!” Again, Kopaka says nothing. He knows that this Matoran already knows exactly who he is, even without having ever met him before. He is Kopaka. He wears the Kanohi Akaku upon his face, and carries his blade and shield upon his back; there could be no mistaking him. “I have been sent by the great Toa Pohatu! He told me that you are most often to be found on the highest peak of the mighty Mount Ihu– and indeed, his wisdom is as solid as the heaviest stone; here you are!” Yet again, Kopaka remains silent. Why shouldn’t he? Why should he say anything? What is there for him to say. He need only wait, and this Po-Matoran, this “Hewkii” will tell him precisely what the Toa of Stone, Pohatu, has sent him here for. So he waits– and sure enough– “Toa Pohatu has humbly requested that you…” Kopaka blinks behind his Kanohi. He must have misheard. “Again,” he says, in a low voice, cold as a plunge beneath frozen water. The Po-Matoran dutifully repeats himself– exactly what he’d said a moment ago. Precisely the same request. Something is wrong, here. Kopaka’s new Mask of Translation, perhaps? Perhaps it is broken, somehow– nevermind that Kopaka is not even wearing it at this moment, nevermind that it is safe in his Toa Suva with all his other gathered masks in the icy village of Ko-Koro, not so far from this high peak of Mount Ihu… perhaps the Kanohi Rua is broken, and instead of allowing Toa Kopaka to understand otherwise unknown languages, it has done just the opposite the moment he claimed it and placed it upon his face, corrupting and scrambling whatever ordinary words might be coming this way, even now, after he has already taken it off again. He frowns– or really, the frown that he had already been frowning deepens, just a bit. “I am to… referee…a Koli match?”– there must be some mistake. But Hewkii nods, doing his best not to shiver– and failing. “Toa Pohatu was meant to oversee it, but Toa Gali suddenly arrived in the village, asking for his help with retrieving one of her Kanohi– she could not do it alone.” Kopaka regards the Matoran below him coldly– and coldly, he answers, from above. “She could not.” Hewkii isn’t sure what he means– if he is agreeing that Gali could not retrieve a Kanohi on her own?– because she is not capable?– because that is not who she is, how she chooses to face the world and its challenges? Or is he doubting that she really needed the help?– perhaps she was more just wishing for the company? Or no: it is all of those things at once. Kopaka has just retrieved that Kanohi Rau of Translation on his own, just as he has retrieved most of his masks so far on his own. The Matoran pauses… and then carefully, continues– “So, Toa Pohatu went to assist her. He told me to come find you, and ask you to serve as referee in his place.” Kopaka replies immediately, with just a single word– a name– “Onewa.” The Turaga of Po-Koro, a wise elder and steady leader– surely, a better choice for refereeing a Kohlii match than the stern Toa of Ice. Surely, a better choice than a trek all the way through the desert, and then the tundra, and up the mountainside to ask Kopaka. The truth is, Hewkii isn’t altogether sure, either, why he’s here. The Turaga would have agreed, no doubt– and if not, then one of the other Toa– Toa Onua, of the jovial Earth, perhaps, or Toa Lewa of the Air, who is always bandying about for games and celebration. But no. Toa Pohatu had been very specific. He hadn’t said to go to the Turaga, or to one of the other Toa. “Toa Pohatu told me to come to you,” says Hewkii, in the plain way that Po-Matoran so often do. “So now here I am, asking for your help.” For a long moment, Kopaka stands motionless. Thinking? Considering the request? Waiting for Hewkii to clarify further? Or waiting for Hewkii to give up and leave? Finally, the Toa takes a step towards the Matoran. And then another, directly, as though he is going to walk straight through Hewkii– and it’s only by shuffling out of the way at the last moment that Hewkii manages not to get knocked right back down the mountainside by Kopaka’s swinging feet. The Toa of Ice says nothing, and he does not glance back over his shoulder to see Hewkii’s reaction, or to check if the Po-Matoran is following him; he simply descends towards the Ko-Wahi tundra… and the Po-Wahi desert past that? “You will come and referee our Kohlii match?” asks Hewkii, scrambling at first to keep up with Kopaka’s longer, more snow-practice strides. Kopaka doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself. Hewkii has never met the Toa of Ice before today, but he’s quite certain from just these few moments of interaction that he’s figured out how this works. If Toa Kopaka was not coming to help him, he would simply say so; that would be the fastest way to get the Po-Matoran to leave him alone. And then– “Do you know the rules of Kohlii?”– again, Kopaka doesn’t answer, which is an answer: he does not know the rules. If he did, it would say so; that would be the simplest way to keep the Po-Matoran from listing them all out, explaining them in great detail. And so, as they trudge down through the snow, Hewkii explains the rules of Kohlii. How teams are decided. How points are scored. What is allowed, and what is not allowed. “The most important rule is the ninth rule: That no player shall strike another player. This is the cause of nearly all the disputes that a Koli referee must solve,” Hewkii explains to Kopaka. “Whenever one Matoran kicks another, or shoves another, or trips another, or crashes into another, that’s when the arguing starts– who ran into who?– was it on purpose?– of course it wasn’t!– but obviously, it was!– it’s your fault!– no, it’s your fault!– on and on and on… that’s what referees are for, of course.” Toa Kopaka says nothing. He keeps his mask pointed dead ahead as he walks, a little more than half-listening. Or a little less. They’ve made it down to the bottom of Mount Ihu by now, and they are crossing the tundra, taking what must be the only straight path Northwards through the forest towards the desert– as though the trees of this place had heard in advance of Kopaka’s approach and his destination, and had all quickly shuffled around as he was coming down the mountain so as not to interfere with his passage when he arrived. It’s in the way he walks– just as he had first started walking towards Hewkii… as though he is going to walk straight through whatever is ahead of him, like sunlight through a perfectly clear wall of Ice. Or like X-Ray Vision, maybe… maybe that’s how the whole world just looks through the lens of Kopaka’s Great Kanohi Akaku– like there is nothing at all between him and anywhere. “Hey, maybe that’s why Toa Pohatu thinks you’ll make such a good referee,” Hewkii supposes. “Your Mask!– the lens! You can probably see everything up close, in perfect detail! You’ll be able to decide easily who is at fault for every foul!”– and truly, the Toa of Stone is wise, then. Toa Kopaka really is the perfect choice to– “No.” “No?”– Hewkii stops short. It’s the first word Kopaka has said in quite a while. For a moment, he expects the Toa of Ice to stop as well, to turn and explain it to him– but only for a moment, and then he feels foolish expecting it. He should already know better. Kopaka carries on like nothing at all, and for a few steps, Hewkii has to run to catch up again. “But your Mask can–” “The others have collected the Akaku,” mutters Kopaka, and there’s almost a bitterness to it, or at least that’s how it seems to Hewkii– that the Toa of Ice is wishing that the Mask upon his face was his alone– that he could be nothing like “the others”, and that they could be nothing like him. But maybe not. “Lewa would avoid the question, decide it’s nobody’s fault, and just start the game up again, no matter what Mask is on his face.” A full sentence– Hewkii very nearly stops short again at the new sound of the Toa of Ice stringing so many words together. “Tahu would decide that there should be no rule against striking each other in the first place, and declare that whoever managed to stay on their feet should earn an extra point for doing so. Gali would listen carefully to what both of the players had to say, and she would make them discuss it amongst themselves until they’d both come to their own agreement about what had happened, apologized for it, and forgiven each other.” It’s impossible to read his voice. Approval?– disapproval?– there isn’t even a clear disinterest in the way that Kopaka is speaking of his fellow Toa. The only thing that is certain to Hewkii is Kopaka’s own certainty, nevermind about what. Certainty and precision. Kopaka is saying exactly what he believes to be true, and like the ice of the glacier he strides past, cutting from the West into the snowy forest like a dagger, he does not waver. He is completely and absolutely correct. There is no doubt. “Onua would seek greater wisdom. He would convene the Turaga from all across the island, and only after consulting them and carefully considering everything that they had to say would he finally make a decision– after days, or weeks. And Pohatu…” For just a moment, Kopaka pauses– not his stride, he carries on walking like nothing at all, but his voice lingers upon the name of his last brother, the Toa of Stone. “Pohatu would watch the game through the zoom-lens of his Kanohi Akaku, and he would see everything perfectly, exactly as it happened, every single moment– and then, when he was called upon to make a decision, he would simply choose whatever felt right to him, then and there… because after so much seeing, he would have forgotten what he saw.” And now, Kopaka himself comes to halt– stops short at the very edge of the glacier. He turns his face to stare at the ice that has been pushing its way into this forest since long before he and the others washed up on the shores of this island– moving so slowly, so microscopically, hardly an inch in a year, and yet… impossible to stop. The lens of Kopaka’s Akaku whirs and twists as the zoom adjusts… “It’s not about what I see,” he says. But what does he see? The glacier, moving?– even at such a geologically slow speed, the Akaku can see the motion, the seemingly stone-solid glacier flowing, like an ocean, crawling, and what can stand against the weight of an ocean? Like the Toa of Ice, the glacier walks straight on through whatever it meets. There may as well be nothing in its way at all– where the glacier touches the trunks of the trees, they have already begun to bend or even splinter, crushed helpless like snowflakes under the Toa’s feet. “To pass judgment on what has passed, it is not enough to see. To pass judgment, you must remember.” The Toa of Ice doesn’t bother turning to see if Hewkii is watching. He knows Hewkii is watching as he reaches out with his sword and taps the glacier lightly, right at the tip– a tiny metallic “ping” echoes out into the crisp air, and like the Great Gates of Ta-Koro, the body of the glacier splits down the middle and swings slowly apart, to the left and to the right– it yawns, wide, when it comes to a halt, open to the air, Kopaka faces frontwards again and starts walking, as if nothing at all had just happened. Hewkii quickly moves to follow after, but he cannot help slowing down as he passes the naked heart of the glacier that Kopaka has just exposed– ice that has not seen the air or the sunshine in hundreds or maybe thousands of years– ice that has just sat there quietly in the choking darkness as the world carried on outside, blind and oblivious, and now… “Ice remembers,” says Kopaka, just loud enough for Hewkii to still hear him, even from a half-dozen paces behind. The Matoran stares, agape, at the enormous Rahi encased in the left half of the glacier– like a tiny fly trapped in hardened sap. For how long? It’s an unthinkable question. He has never seen this species before, or anything like it. A lizard…?– or somewhere closer to a whale?– a bird?– a dragon? It’s larger than even the greatest Kane-Ra bull by two, even three times. A chill runs through Hewkii’s body– not from the cold. It stays in him long after he’s past the glacier and the frozen beast. Long after he and Kopaka have passed out of Ko-Wahi into the warmer sands at the edge of the Po-Wahi desert… and then into the proper blazing afternoon heat rippling off of the true desert itself. Sand, stretching far into nearly every distance, rocks and bones, cacti… the comfort of home. But Mount Ihu still looms large behind him… always visible. Watching. The chill remains. Hewkii’s eyes fix onto a Mahi skull half-buried in a small dune, and he realizes that he hasn’t spoken a single word in nearly an hour. He can’t remember the last time he was ever so quiet. When he is sleeping, perhaps… but aside from that? During the epidemic– in his bed, unable to move. Unable to play Koli, or even just cross from one end of his hut to the other. For hours. Days. Silent and still. “Thank you for teaching me that,” he says to Toa Kopaka, quietly, as their feet go hush-hush-hushing through the sand together. “Ice remembers.” It feels better, saying it. Getting it out. A little less weight on him. Makes it easier to relax, again. Kopaka says nothing back. There is nothing to say– or really, there is nothing for the Po-Matoran following behind him to hear. What is coming next is a thing for a Toa to handle, and there is no reason for Hewkii to know it; wasted air to say it. Or worse– panic. The Toa of Ice understands perfectly now why Pohatu sent Hewkii for him, specifically. A thing for a Toa to handle… a Toa with a cool head. A Toa who would not start panicking themselves, speak without thinking. A Toa who would not point out to the Matoran what he had failed to notice in that glacier– who would simply allow Hewkii to fixate with all of his awe and curiosity on the enormous Rahi encased within the left half of the ice… and say nothing at all about the great empty pocket on the right, the opposite… the tunnel burrowing up to the surface of the glacier and out, into the world. Even with the sharp lens of his Great Akaku, Kopaka cannot see the loose Rahi anywhere along the horizon of the desert, or lurking below the sands. If it is the same creature as the other, with the same wings, it could be circling in the skies above… but nowhere across the vast blue can he see it, either– behind none of the clouds. For a moment, Kopaka wonders how Pohatu had known that the Rahi had broken free– but only for a moment, and then he feels foolish for wondering it; obviously, the Toa of Stone had gone and accidentally awakened the thing himself. “…it’s one point every time the ball strikes a pole, but the players are always fighting about that, too– especially Hafu and Golgyo–”– Hewkii has gone back to explaining the rules and particularities of Kohlii, so that Toa Kopaka might be a successful referee– and maybe he really might have been, if he’d actually been listening– “Sometimes the ball will come so close that you can’t even tell if it’s whispered past the pole entirely or just brushed the slightest brush against it, and then comes all the arguing– it missed the pole!– no, it didn’t!– it was nowhere close, are you blind?– are you deaf? Didn’t you hear that little tapping noise as it struck?– that was just the a carver back in the village, striking his rock with a chisel!– honestly, it’s worse than the shoving, I swear– if we worked as hard on our chores as we did on our–” “Paint,” says Kopaka. “Cover the ball in paint?” says Hewkii. “Yeah, I’ve suggested that, too– but Hafu always argues back that it would make such a terrible mess, and wouldn’t bits of paint come splattering off the ball anyways, every time you kicked it?– and if those splattered onto the pole, what’s that?– is that a point or not? It’s just a whole new mess, but I don’t know… Toa Pohatu’s idea is probably better, anyways.” Kopaka doesn’t ask what Pohatu’s idea is. “I don’t mean that his idea is better than your idea, Great Toa Kopaka!” Hewkii quickly adds, flustered. This Toa of Ice doesn’t have anywhere close to the same personality as Toa Pohatu, that much is already clear– and if Toa Pohatu would hardly be bothered by a thing like that, perhaps Toa Kopaka would naturally be offended. “Obviously, you are just as clever and wise as our own Toa of Stone! I simply meant that–” “No.” Hewkii falls silent. They have crossed much of Po-Wahi, now. It’ll only be a little further before they reach the Koli field, where the other players are waiting. It would hardly be a good time for the Toa of Ice to turn around and head silently back to Mount Ihu… but Hewkii can so easily imagine him doing it. To be sure, Hewkii is still surprised that Toa Kopaka even started his way towards Po-Wahi in the first place, much less come this far towards such a trivial thing as refereeing a Koli match. “I’m sorry if I–” “No.” Again, Hewkii falls silent. But Kopaka continues. “Not his idea. Not my idea. Ideas belong to no one, because ideas come from no one.” “I don’t understand,” says Hewkii. “You don’t,” agrees Kopaka. “You are a stone-carver. You can only understand the inside of something once you have chipped away whatever is covering it up– and when you do, it is no longer the inside, and you cannot learn the truth about it.” “What is the truth about it?”– Hewkii isn’t even sure what he’s asking, but it feels like what he’s supposed to be asking. “The truth about ideas is the same as the truth about a Toa’s power. To see the inside of a person’s thoughts is to understand that they hold every last idea within themselves that has ever been or could ever be, all of the time– as does every person. Every person holds every thought, and to see things opaquely is to think that those thoughts that manage to escape us out into the world must belong to us, because we have made them, haven’t we? But I do not make the ice. Gali does not make water. Tahu does not make fire. We do not own these powers. We merely contain them, as tightly… or as loosely… as we contain the universe of thoughts. And then, when the moment comes… we stop.” Kopaka studies the horizon again. Below the sands. The sky. Nothing. “There is Fire without Tahu,” he says. “There is Ice without me– and there is not more Ice now, in this world, simply because I have arrived. I am nothing but a new container for a power far greater and more ferocious than any living thing could ever hope to be, except perhaps the Great Spirit himself.” “That sounds…” breathes Hewkii, “…I don’t know.” Toa Pohatu has never spoken of anything like this. Toa Pohatu hardly speaks of anything at all that isn’t the sort of thing you say with a smile. Is this how Toa Kopaka speaks to his own villagers of Ko-Koro? Is this why Turaga Nuju refuses to speak at all, except in that strange language of his? “…it sounds… overwhelming…” “No.” “So… then… you get used to it after a while?” “No.” There is no simple comfort in power. There is no steady, stable state– even for the slowest-flowing ice. “I don’t understand,” says Hewkii. “You don’t.” Finally, they arrive at the Koli field. Six Po-Matoran are waiting; “Podu, Piatra, Hafu, Kia, Kamen– and Bour, as a substitute, in case.” The Koli field is as wide as long as Kopaka would have heard Hewkii describing if he’d been listening. Tall stone posts at opposite long-ends. And along both the wide-ends are broad stone spectator-stands, easily room for two-dozen Matoran to sit on either side and watch… completely empty. “It’s… well, it’s more of a…” starts Hewkii sheepishly. “It’s a bit of a… grudge match. Rather than some big official sporting-event for the village. You see, two days ago, Hafu was claiming that–” “You say claiming, Hewkii, but I was stating the simple facts, which are that–” “He doesn’t need to hear this,” says Podu. “The noble Toa of Ice has already traveled a great distance to serve as referee for our match. Let’s not waste his time any more than we already have.” “Yes, yes, let’s get started,” agrees Kia. “I’m only playing on Hafu’s team because I want to play against Hewkii, so let’s play, already!” “You stand there, noble Toa of Ice,” explains Kamen, pointing to a small ring of white chalk traced out beside the field. “The Referee’s Circle– from there you will have the clearest view of the match, and the easiest time determining the correct calls to make. For instance, when one player–” “I’ve already told him all of that,” says Hewkii. “He’s as ready as we are to get started.” Kopaka swings his gaze onto the last of the Po-Matoran, the one called “Bour”– and the only one among them not to have spoken yet, as though he’d been waiting his turn to speak after all the others, show off his own particular personality, as they all seem to be so fond of doing. But Bour simply stares back at Kopaka for one second, two seconds until finally– “What?” he asks plainly. “Is there something on my mask?” “Don’t be rude to the Toa!” barks Hewkii. He leans in towards the others and speaks in what he thinks is a hushed whisper. “He’s not at all like Toa Pohatu. No fun and games. We have to be on our best behavior.” Kopaka goes to stand in the Referee’s Circle. All the Matoran except Bour take their places on opposite sides of the field, with one of their two Koli balls placed halfway between them. Bour simply sits on the spectator stands and waits, in case he should need to step in and take someone’s place. Everything is all set to go, now. A long moment of silence. Several long moments of silence. Bour leans in towards Kopaka from his seat. “Now’s the part where you say ‘Play Well’,” he murmurs. “Play Well,” says Kopaka. “Loud enough for them to hear you,” says Bour. “Play Well!” shouts Kopaka. And so the game begins. Kopaka stands in the Referee’s Circle, and through the lens of his mask he watches everything that happens. He watches the Matoran and their game. He watches the distant horizon for movement. He watches up above, behind the few clouds in the sky. He watches down below the sands, for any sign of the Rahi. But nothing, nothing. Nothing at all. For the first minute or so, there is nothing in the game that needs his intervention, either. No crashes or tripping or shoving. No ambiguous shots near either team’s goal-post– no shots toward either goal-post at all, just a tense back-and-forth exchange in the middle of the arena. One team manages to take possession of the Koli ball, but they don’t keep it long before a Matoran on the other team quickly darts in with an impressively accurate kick, knocking the ball away towards one of their own teammates without making any sort of contact with the opposing Matoran– a clean steal. Back and forth. Back and forth. Finally, after a particularly quick series of turnovers, Hewkii pulls off an impressive scissor-kicking dive, stealing the ball from Hafu and sending it careening straight into the other team’s goal post in a single maneuver– it impacts with a dull “Thwack!”– no ambiguity to that– and drops to the ground. All the Matoran stop what they are doing and turn to look at Toa Kopaka. They are all waiting for something. Bour starts to lean in towards him again– but he’s already figured it out. “Hewkii’s team scores one point,” he declares flatly. The game continues. Another long series of tense back-and-forths before Piatra, on Hafu’s team, manages to steal the ball from Kia and pass it to Kamen, who quickly kicks it towards the opposite goal-post. And this shot… this shot is not quite so clear. It’s just as Hewkii had warned; before the ball has even hit the ground, Podu, on Hewkii’s team, and Hafu, are right up against each other, mask to mask, barely inches between them, arguing as loud as they can. “Worth nothing!” shouts Podu. “Not even close to a point!” “Blatant lies!” shouts Hafu– “A clear goal, hardly even a question!” “It went wide by an armspan at least!” “Absurd!” Neither of them is bothering to turn and ask Kopaka– though he knows perfectly well from his mask and his own memory that the shot did, in fast, strike the pole. Until they ask him, he won’t say anything at all. He just stands in the Referee’s Circle, studying the horizon and the sky, and under the sands, and still nothing– the Rahi is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Kopaka was wrong to be worried about it. Perhaps that has nothing at all to do with why Pohatu sent Hewkii to fetch him. He turns his gaze back again to the Matoran, still shouting. “If that was not a proper goal, then never in the entire history of Koli has a proper goal been scored!” declares Hafu. “Oh, please!” groans Podu. The others, on both teams, are rolling their eyes by now, sighing– they don’t care anymore which way it is, they’d rather just keep on playing. Toa Kopaka decides that it’s gone on long enough, and that maybe he will speak up anyways, even without being asked. He opens his mouth– “The ball–” And that’s when he sees it. A tiny point of darkness where the Matoran stand arguing. No one without a Kanohi Akaku could ever hope to notice it there– or even if they did, they would hardly think anything of it– just a slightly darker-colored patch of sand, perhaps, or a bit of gathered moisture. But no. The instant Kopaka spies it, he knows better. He realizes in that instant exactly what’s gone wrong– the mistake. His own mistake. His own assumption– that an ancient Rahi would think in primitive ways, or not even think at all. Kopaka bursts across the Koli field with all the speed his legs can manage– no time to shift his Mask to the Great Kanohi Kakama– and he tackles Hafu and Podu– “Oof!!”– out of the path of the shadow– rapidly growing from just that single dark pinpoint to a wide circle, a shape with edges and– As a comet, the Rahi slams into the ground, forelegs first, absorbing its impact, sending out a stiff shockwave. Anything underfoot is completely obliterated– the Koli ball splinters like a broken promise, shards everywhere… But Kopaka at least has kept his vow as a Toa; he has protected the Matoran. “What?!” shouts Hewkii, already backpedaling, terrified, towards the empty spectator-stands. “Where did that come–” “The sun.”– the Toa of Ice is already back up on his feet. This is no simple, dumb beast. The X-Ray power of the Akaku can see through the ground and through the clouds– through anything that is solid. But it cannot see through the blinding glare of the sun. He hadn’t even thought to try… the one place that Kopaka did not look… the one place that this Rahi had been hiding, lurking high, waiting for the perfect moment. It looks just like the other one, still in the ice. The same six legs, in pairs of two down its long, heavily armored body– the same clawed feet at the end of each. The same six eyes arranged across the front of its skull– the same series of jagged horns running up between them. And the same pair of thickly muscled wings sprouting from its back; the Rahi leaps up again into the air with a powerful beat of those wings, and it returns to circling, preparing to make its next strike at the tiny, helpless creatures below– huddled behind the Koli stands. It’s the Matoran this Rahi is aiming for. It’s hardly even noticed Kopaka. He’s hardly done anything yet to be noticed about, besides just tackling Hafu and Podu out of the way. It’s the Matoran who have been running around, making all the noise. It’s the Matoran who seem to own this place… Or seem to think that they do. The Rahi locks its eyes onto its targets and prepares to make another dive-bomb. The Matorans are defenseless– the stands will not protect them from this. This is the moment for a Toa to act. Kopaka points his sword. He aims, with perfect precision– all the focus his mind and the lens of his Akaku can muster. He holds his breath, for just an instant, and all the world seems to hang still. And then he lets go. It happens just as he wants it to– just as it always does, from the very first moment he awoke upon the island, pieced himself together. He did not know where he had come from, or why. He did not know his own name. But this… the ice… the way to let go, to un-contain… this and his Mask are the things he’d known from the start, the same as he’d known how to breathe, or walk forwards. He has never learned this. No one has taught him this. This is simply what he is. And he does something that none of the Toa could have quite done. Tahu might have let loose a mighty jet of fire from his own sword, blazing and fierce, and perhaps it would be quick enough and violent enough that the Rahi couldn’t dodge it in time. Onua and Pohatu would hurl great gobs of earth or stone with the strength of their arms and fight, or they would summon the earth and stone itself to rise up from the ground, spear upwards towards the Rahi, and perhaps that would be quick and violent enough. Lewa, no doubt, would have whipped up a twisting cyclone, sweep up this ancient Rahi in its fury, and maybe it’s wings would be strong enough to fly free, or maybe not, or maybe it would pull in its wings altogether and dive towards the ground to meet the Toa of Air with those jaws. Gali would gather the thin moisture in the air into heavy rain, or perhaps wicked blades of moisture. And Kopaka… he can’t feel that moisture like Gali could, but he knows that it’s there; there is moisture in the air, even in this arid place, spread all around, dancing to the heat of the sun, frenzied vapor. But Kopaka has never been one for dancing. “Calm,” he mutters– to the crazed Rahi?– to the Matoran huddling behind the stands?– to himself? To that water in the air– “Calm,” he says– and it does. The air slows, cools, slows and cools, gently for just a heartbeat, and then a heartbeat after that, it all screeches to a dead stop, and every last droplet of vapor flash-freezes with an eerie crackling sound, like splintering wood against the inevitable mass of a glacier. Today, it snows in the desert. There isn’t nearly enough water to encase the Rahi back into ice. But there’s plenty for locking up the joints of those wings. The monster lets out a metallic screech that makes Hewkii and the others want to bury their heads deep, deep beneath the sand, but already it’s plummeting, helpless– not a dive but just a numb drop, tumbling and thrashing, struggling to regain control. The Rahi hits the ground with an enormous burst of dust and noise, a tremble that can surely be felt from the opposite end of the island. Hafu lets out a cheer as the creature’s frozen left wing shatters entirely from the shock of the impact. The right wing remains intact, but the Rahi won’t be flying again anytime soon. It lets out another horrible screech. “I think it’s angry!” cries Hewkii. “As would you be,” chimes in Piatra, “if you, too, had been so effortlessly bested by the mighty Toa of Ice!” “The unstoppable Toa of Ice!” adds Podu. “Not over,” says Kopaka. Here in the flat, open desert, there is no cliff’s edge to knock it off of, now that it can’t fly, as Kopaka would have done in Ko-Wahi, as he so often does to overly aggressive Muaka when they come too close to the village. What, then? What is the shape of the end of this battle? To obliterate it, as Tahu would? To empathize and negotiate, as Gali would? The Rahi narrows its eyes– it bares its countless fangs, and it charges towards Kopaka. Now that it has seen a glimpse of his power, it no longer bothers about the Matoran. To defeat him, that would be the thing that matters. But the Toa won’t be so easily defeated. He makes a small flicking movement with the tip of his sword, and the frost built up along the joints of its one remaining wing starts to crawl quickly across its body like a chittering swarm of proto-mites– over the armor-plates of its back and ribs, up the sides of its neck and around the crests of its skull until suddenly the Rahi’s eyes are encrusted under a thick new layer of ice! Blind and confused, it stampedes straight through the spot where Kopaka had been standing just a moment ago– he’s already stepped smoothly aside to let the Rahi crash headfirst into one of Koli posts. The thick stone shatters like a dropped bowl. Clumsy, despite its clear intellect. Unstoppable. “A point for Toa Kopaka!” declares Kamen, triumphantly– and another great cheer from the other Po-Matoran. The lens of his Akaku whirs intently– the Rahi, whatever it is… it bears no infected Kanohi. This thing is not under the sway of Makuta– indeed, it is so ancient, it may be from the Time Before Time of which the Turaga so cautiously speak. Before the coming of the Makuta to this island in the first place. It is no simple instrument of evil; the monster is attacking on its own will– a predator, hungry after countless centuries trapped in the ice? Angry from its imprisonment? Both, perhaps, and something else, too. Deeper. The Rahi smashes one of its great forelegs across its face, shattering away the ice– once again, it can see clearly. It turns back towards Kopaka with a rageful growl. But it stands its ground. It waits. It does not charge– and so it is Kopaka, instead, who comes charging. This needs to be ended, and quickly. It is foolish to carry out a long battle against a clever opponent. Every moment the Toa of Ice spends fighting this creature is another moment in which it might deduce some way to outplay him. If it turns its attention and attacks the Matoran instead, he will have to leave himself vulnerable defending them, or– “Toa Kopaka, look out!” A bright jet of sapphire flame comes bellowing suddenly out of the creature’s open mouth– easily a rival for what Tahu himself could produce at a quick notice. Kopaka’s shield comes up instinctively to block the flames– just as it always does when he is sparring with Tahu. But this is exactly what he had feared. The Rahi recognizes that Kopaka’s powers are of the ice. So it responds with fire. Already temperature in this desert was on the very, very high edge of tolerable for the Toa of Ice. And now, with the heat rippling off of these flames against his shield… the smooth white protosteel is quickly heating up. Kopaka does not know at what point it will melt. Kopaka has never wanted to find out. The jet of flame subsides, but only for a moment– only for barely just long enough for Kopaka to retreat again, out of range. Now it’s the Rahi moving inwards towards him once more, driving him back with powerful blue fire. It’s no wonder this thing had been able to so easily escape the ice after Pohatu had awoken it. Perhaps if Kopaka lets it drive him backwards far enough, he can lure it to… certainly not all the way back to the cooler air of the Ko-Wahi forest, not across such a great length of desert… but he can lure it away from the Po-Matoran. He can preserve his vow. Keep them safe. He can– “Hey, ugly!” “Leave Toa Kopaka alone!” “He’s much too strong to be wasting his time with you!– I’ll bet you can’t even take us on, you overgrown Rock Newt!” The Matoran are all shouting. They are trying to get the Rahi’s attention. They are trying to get it to stop focusing on the Toa of Ice and come attack all of them instead. Kopaka wonders for just a ghost of an instant if every single one of the Po-Matoran in Pohatu’s village are like this, or if he’s just by some terrible luck found himself watching over the worst of them. “Come on! Come here and show us what you’re made of!” “Yeah!– or are you too scared??”– they’re jumping up and down, flailing their arms… still mostly huddled behind the Koli stands as they do, but even so… Even so… the Rahi seems to be completely ignoring them. It doesn’t understand a word they’re saying, after all. It’s all just noise, and it’s not even all that much noise, anyways. The Matoran are small. Weak. Puny. Not worth noticing, or dealing with. Nothing to be proven by it crushing them. They can’t even touch it. Kopaka, at least, is a– “Here, get a load of this!”– one of the Matoran is running out from behind the stands, holding a Koli ball. The Rahi continues to ignore him. “Face the mighty kicking foot of Hafu, the greatest Koli player in all of Po-Koro!” “In your dreams, Hafu!” calls Kamen. “In reality itself!” counters Hafu. “Behold!” He drops the ball, and gives it a solid kick. The ball goes sailing through the air, swift and true– smack into the Rahi’s skull with an echoing “Pok!” sound. A clean hit on the side of its head. Not any damage to its thick armor– not enough of a blow to properly stun it, even– but finally, enough to draw its attention away for just a split second– the sheer indignity of it! The disrespect! Too much now to ignore. “Does that also count as a point?” asks Podu. “I think so,” says Hewkii. “Another Hafu original!” The Rahi turns its mighty head as the Koli ball bounces off it, and before the ball hits the ground it catches it in its jaws and crushes it to dust. A very clear message, very clearly sent– Hafu lets out a tiny squeak and goes scampering behind the stands with the other Matoran. He’s done what he’s able to do, and it’s not a whole lot. But it’s everything. It’s the end of this. By the time the Rahi turns its gaze back to where Kopaka had been standing, barely half a second after the distraction, Kopaka is no longer standing there. The Toa of Ice has shifted his Mask to the Kanohi Kakama, the same Great Mask of Speed worn by the mighty Toa of Stone who would most usually be protecting this place– and with the incredible speed of the mask, Kopaka has closed the gap. There is no space at all, now, between the two of them. The Matoran watch in awe. Anxious. Amazed. There are those among them who have never even seen their own Toa Pohatu in action. There are those among them, before today, who have had to just imagine for themselves what a Toa can truly do. And now… Toa Kopaka stands alone below the great Rahi beast. Toa Kopaka stands alone, wherever he stands– the Rahi is not here with him, not really, any more than a Husi Pecking Bird is “with” a Muaka Tiger after it has been chewed and swallowed. …or the other way around. Neither of them moves. Detente. A moment of careful deciding; what to do next? Kopaka has his blade right up against the creature’s throat, wedged just the slightest bit between two of its armor plate– not deep enough to hurt it, but deep enough to be felt… deep enough to have its meaning be perfectly clear. And just in case it isn’t… Kopaka lets his mind drift for just a moment to his Toa Suva again, back in the distant mountain village of Ko-Koro– where he keeps all the Masks he’s collected. For just a moment, his mind drifts through his gathered Kanohi, like leafing through all of the infinite possible thoughts inside every head– and which will emerge? The Kanohi Pakari?– will he unleash a greater extent of his power now that he’s in close enough to easily flash-freeze the entire creature with his sword?– and then the Mask of Strength will let him haul the new block of ice away to somewhere safer. Or the Kanohi Kamau?– Mask of Mind Control?– will he use it to lead the Rahi away from this place?– back to the glacier which it had escaped?– will he seal it away once more there? Simple plans– or simple enough. But no. This is not what he will do. He selects the Kanohi Rau instead, and returns his mind to the here and now, with the Mask of Translation appearing on his face, like a gathering stormcloud. The last few flakes of loose snow which have managed not to melt drift down past him and the Rahi as he whispers to it in whatever ancient language it was made to speak. But not to negotiate, like Gali. There is no negotiation– this is an ancient creature, the absolute top of a food-chain that no longer exists. The Rahi considers the whole island as its territory… more than that, as its property. That much has been clear to Kopaka from the start, an instinctive understanding of things… and it’s confirmed now by the single word the creature deigns to speak to him, a deep and spiteful growl: “Interloper.” This is how it sees the world. But it is from a time before Toa. It has never seen one or heard of one. It does not know what it does not know. So… Kopaka teaches it the new shape of things. Meanwhile, Hewkii and Hafu and the other Po-Matoran strain to hear what he is saying, but they cannot– and by the time any of them have built up the courage to emerge again from behind the Koli stands and dare closer to listen better, he has already finished and fallen silent once more. Kopaka has never been one for so many words. Just the right words, at just the right time. He withdraws his blade from the Rahi’s throat, and he keeps his gaze fixed dead onto its eyes as it staggers backwards. It stares down at him with an expression like none of the Po-Matoran have ever seen on a Rahi before. Terror?– no, this is not the right word for it; they have seen Rahi terrified plenty, they have seen Rahi quivering in primal fear; this is not that. This is not such a fear of the body, instinctual. This is horror. This is a fear that only intelligence can know… that infinitude of thoughts and ideas burning and bittering and eating away at their container from the inside. Power’s own will. Fear of things that cannot be seen or felt. Kopaka has told it the things that he did not tell Hewkii. The things that none of the Toa say. There is no such thing as hungry enough to face this sort of fear. The Rahi turns from Kopaka and flees as fast as its six legs will carry it– and he does not follow it. He simply shifts his Mask again, to the Kanohi Matatu, the same Mask that his own Turaga Nuju proudly wears, and with little nudges of Telekinesis, he gently steers the running creature away from the direction of Po-Koro– and away, again, from the direction of Onu-Koro, instead towards the sea. One final time, he shifts back to his Kanohi Akaku, and with its sharp lens he watches the Rahi across the great distance, finally reaching the edge of the water and diving straight in without hesitation, and continuing straight away from him, swimming, now, as desperately as any creature can swim. He cannot say where it will go, any more than anyone on Matu Nui can say what lays beyond the Silver Sea, but he can say that it will not return to this island. Not for a very long time. It will carry that fear somewhere new. Far away. Kopaka feels better. Slightly. Got it out, for now. A little less weight on him. The Toa turns back towards the Matoran, who have all emerged from behind the Koli stands to join Hewkii. “The other one,” he says. “Send a runner to Turaga Nuju to warn him that there is a second ancient Rahi still slumbering in the ice; none of the Matoran are to approach the glacier in Ko-Wahi until I have returned to free it.” “Free it?”– Hewkii’s eyes widen– “Why would you–” “Send a runner,” Kopaka repeats. Hewkii spends just one more breath hesitating before turning to Bour and sending him to deliver the message. Hafu steps forward– “What did you say to the Rahi?” Podu– “What was that creature?” “How many more of them might there be?” “Why did you not use your power to return it to the ice? Shouldn’t such evil be sealed away?” Po-Matoran and their questions… Kopaka strides across the sand to the spot where he had been standing at the start of all this– the Referee’s Circle. “The blizzard is hungry and vicious. It can kill– and so can the rainstorm or the cyclone. So can the earthquake or the rockslide. So can the eruption. A thing is not evil simply because it can kill,” he says. “I can kill,” he says, so quietly, but it is impossible for the Matoran not to hear it, words like that from the mouth of a Toa. “I am not the blizzard,” he says, “but the blizzard speaks to me. It weeps to me. It mourns.” “I don’t understand,” says Hewkii. “You don’t.” Silence– a moment, and then– “Already, I am a container for a thing that yearns to breathe free. I am a jailer of the Ice. I will not make myself the jailer of anything else.” “But… it–” “When the second Rahi is freed, it will not attack any of the villages, even hungry as it surely is. It will follow the scent of this first creature… wherever this creature is going, that is where it will go.” “…because it doesn’t want to be alone?” The Toa of Ice understands perfectly now why Pohatu sent Hewkii for him, specifically. Truth is, Lewa could have handled this creature. Or Gali, or Onua. Tahu, probably not. But even so… Kopaka doesn’t glance towards Hewkii as he answers– “No.”– but that’s a lie, or something next to one. Kopaka stands in the Referee’s Circle, and he waits. The Po-Matoran look at him, and they look at each other– what is he waiting for? “…the game is over…” says Podu. The Toa tilts his head. “Over?”– he crosses his arms. “The score is one to one. There is no winner.” “One of the poles has been obliterated… and so have both of the Koli balls we brought to play with. We didn’t think to bring any more spares…” Kopaka simply stares at him. “You can’t play Koli without at least two poles,” says Hewkii. “And you certainly can’t play without a ball.” “Oh,” says Kopaka. He pauses for a moment. And then he nods. “The game is over. There is no winner.” The Po-Matoran think that they have come to understand Kopaka a little. They think they have an idea of the sort of Toa that he is– and so now that the game has been officially ended by its referee, they expect him to turn and march away, out of the Circle and out of Po-Wahi altogether, all the way back to Mount Ihu, where Hewkii had first found him. But he does not budge. “Thank you for your help,” says Hafu– perhaps that is what the Toa had been waiting for?– acknowledgement of his deeds? Their own Toa of Stone has never been one to demand recognition, or to boast, but perhaps this Toa of Ice is different? Or perhaps not. Kopaka still does not budge. “You have done a great job as referee,” offers Piatra. “Now that the game is over, your duty is complete.”– perhaps Kopaka is the sort of Toa who does not step away from his mission until he has been told that it is done– who does not stop helping until permission is given? But still, still, Kopaka does not budge. “Oh!” exclaims Hewkii. “You are waiting for Toa Pohatu to return from his mission with Toa Gali! Surely, you have many important things to discuss with him– and with her as well, I would imagine! Matters of the Toa, matter of the grand destiny of this island and its Great Spirit!”– the Po-Matoran gestures past a nearby outcropping of rock, further into the desert– “When the mighty Toa Pohatu does return, he will come straight to our village of Po-Koro!– Turaga Onewa and the other villagers will welcome you, will be honored to host you until he–” “I’m not waiting for Pohatu,” Kopaka mutters. True enough that he’ll have a few choice words for the Toa of Stone the next time they cross paths… words about Rahi carelessly released from glaciers. But that will come when it comes. Kopaka is in no rush for it. Hewkii frowns, uncertain– “Then… what is…” “There is the matter of my payment,” says Kopaka. “Your… payment?” “I have acted as referee for your Koli match, as requested. And I have defeated a powerful Rahi monster, in defense of you and your village.” “Well… um…” “I’m not sure how… if…” “The people of Po-Koro will… we will… celebrate you… and praise you, naturally– as all the great Toa of our island are worthy of praise… and especially for what you have done here today!” stammers Hewkii. “Stories will be told of it… songs written… games will be played in your honor– and statues carved, if that is what will bring you satisfaction, mighty Kopaka… all these things, we offer freely…”– the Matoran pauses. “…but… it is strange to think of a Toa demanding… payment…” “And yet here we are,” says Kopaka. The Po-Matoran all glance at each other, some more nervous than confused, some the other way. What is this? What is happening? What are they to pay a Toa for his heroic deeds? What could possibly be payment? What trinkets could they have that he could possibly want? “I have done you two favors. You will do two things for me.” “…what will we do?” Kopaka doesn’t answer. He points his sword at the ground, right at Hewkii’s feet, and unleashes a small burst of his power. It is wild, even such a small burst, untamed, as a Toa’s power is always untamed– only steered, and only with force. But Kopaka’s steering is perfectly precise. Right at the tip of Hewkii’s foot suddenly sits a glimmering crystal of ice, smooth facets, crisp edges, elegantly angled. The exact size and shape of a Kohlii ball. Hewkii and the other Po-Matoran stare at the ice-ball. Kopaka stares at Hewkii. Kopaka waits. And waits. Finally, Hafu speaks– “You want us to make you a Kohlii ball?”– not at all a terrible thing to ask– “Mighty Toa Kopaka, it would be my honor to take the finest stone in all Po-Wahi and–” But Kopaka simply points his sword again at the ground– this time at Hafu’s feet, and another little outburst of his power creates a second perfectly shaped Kohlii ball of ice. “…another Kopaka original…” breathes Hafu, wide-eyed. The Toa says nothing. He doesn’t need to– the meaning is clear. He can make his own. “So… then… you want us to…”– to what? Kamen isn’t sure– and neither is Kia, or Podu or Piatra. Hewkii stares at the first ice-ball Kopaka created, sitting before him. Even in the late-afternoon desert heat of Po-Wahi, the ball hasn’t even started to melt, and for just a moment, Hewkii wonders again what it really means to be a Toa. For just a moment, he thinks again about what Kopaka had told him on the way here. And he thinks about Pohatu… the Toa of Stone’s friendly attitude, his laughter, his easy forgiveness, his open heart… Hewkii wonders about that, for just a moment; for all the things Pohatu will gladly say with a smile and a slap on the back… what doesn’t he say? What doesn’t he want anyone else to have to carry? Hewkii pulls back his foot and gives the ice-ball what he thinks is a gentle kick– he doesn’t want to shatter it. But he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know; Kopaka’s ice is nowhere close to so easily broken. And yet… the ball is a hundred times lighter than any stone Hewkii has ever touched. Just that gentle kick is enough to send it sailing away a great distance, nearly over the opposite stands of the Kohlii pitch. When he turns back to Kopaka to apologize, the Toa of Ice is staring down at him– the lens of his Great Kanohi Akaku whirs and twists as the zoom adjusts… and Kopaka’s uncovered eye is fixed intently on Hewkii’s foot. And now, suddenly, the Matoran understands. “We…” he starts– and then he stops. He waits, like Kopaka waits. He waits like the mountain waits, for the Toa of Ice to confirm it. “You will teach me.” Hafu steps forward, rolling his own ice-ball with the tip of his toe– he knows better than to try and kick it, yet. “You want us to teach you how to play–” “You will teach me,” Kopaka repeats, simple as that, and it really is simple as that. “That is the first thing you will do.”– for a third time, and then a fourth, and on and on, he lowers his sword towards the sand and crystalizes shimmering Kohlii-balls of ice at the feet of each of the Po-Matoran– Piatra, Kia, Podu, Kamen. “And what is the second thing?” asks Hewkii, after Kopaka has made him a second Kohlii-ball to replace the one he’d accidentally kicked away. Kopaka takes a step forward, towards the small Matoran. And then another step, as though he is going to walk straight through him– but this time, when he reaches Hewkii, he stops. He towers, like the quiet mountain Ihu in the far distance, and even in the desert heat, the shimmering air, Hewkii can feel the world seemed to shiver with Kopaka’s presence. Kopaka leans down until the lens of his Great Mask is right up against Hewkii’s own powerless Kakama, and when he speaks again, it is soft and cold as the fresh snow, but there is no bitterness to the chill of it. Simply truth– the truth that is ice, clear and solid. When Kopaka speaks, it is the wind and the frost, whispering. “You. Will never. Tell. Pohatu.”