JRRT

An hour went by. The gravel of the forest floor crunched under his armored feet. The stars shone down, unblinking.Takanuva was beginning to feel restless. Striding on through the endless darkness, there was no destination, no real direction. He had no goal, other than getting out of the forest, and now he felt as if he were going in circles.The trees seemed to gather more thickly around him as he went on, the branches lowering like twisted arms. It was an unsettling place, this forest. No sound disturbed the silence, other than the crunch of gravel and the mourning of the wind. There were no rahi here. Nothing at all.It was a place that felt...left behind. Abandoned. Empty. A house with no inhabitants...He shivered. Would the night never end? Perhaps here night was eternal.”Ironic,” he thought. "They said I was supposed to drive out the night, bring a ‘new day’. Now I can’t even manage a flicker...”He squinted, putting a hand out in front of him to push away the low-hanging twigs.“A Toa of Light in need of a lightstone...”That made him laugh. The sound seemed to carry through the dead ranks of the trees. A sound that had not been heard in that place for ages.And then another sound answered it.A whisper.A voice.Takanuva froze. Had he really heard it, or was his tired mind playing tricks? He quickened his pace, turning to the right, eyes straining through the darkness.There it was again, almost an echo of a voice...faint and far off in the distance. He turned back to the left now, listening intently.This was something. It must be. He had to follow it, but it was hard to tell which direction it came from. How would he ever find it? The thought of wandering endlessly through this ancient, empty forest pricked his spirit with dread. A terrible fate...His eyes narrowed with resolve. No...he would not let that happen.He stopped abruptly, looking around. Something had changed, something was different, wrong...he felt a strange sensation of……burning? Something was burning him! Hot against his armor. There—at his waist.It was the gnomon.He snatched it from the slot he had placed it in and held it up. A burning vibration moved through his fingers as he stared at it, wide-eyed. The small rod almost seemed to glow faintly before his face, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the stars...“What does this mean?” Another question, another riddle. He clenched the gnomon tightly in his fist, frustrated.“What are you trying to tell me?” he said aloud, his voice rising.“Gah!” A sharp vibration rattled his fingers in response, and he dropped the gnomon to the ground, flickering in the dimness.He cursed and stooped to snatch it up again, reaching downward. But before he could touch it......it moved.He withdrew his hand, gasping in surprise. The small instrument quivered in the dust for a moment, turning slowly in an arch as he watched, almost as if it were...orienting itself.Abruptly, it slid forward, skittering along the ground before him, drawing a line in the rough gravel.Takanuva watched its progress in amazement for a moment, almost not believing his eyes.Then again, he had seen stranger things, hadn’t he? He did not have the will to question this new development. He shrugged tiredly and followed, letting the gnomon lead him on, half bent in the dimness. He wouldn’t let it get away.“Where are you taking me?” he muttered, stumbling over tree roots and small rises in the terrain. Straight onward it led, like a compass, pointing the way.“Fitting for a gnomon,” he thought, chuckling a little.That was when he heard the voice again.His ears pricked up at the sound, tuned to the direction intently. It was close now! Straight ahead, it seemed, just over a small rise. The gnomon was heading right for it!He stood up straight and gave chase, dashing up the gentle, tree-covered slope, ignoring the branches that grasped and tore at his armor. He had his goal, and he would not be deterred. Before him, the gnomon vanished over the rise, leaving only the thin trail in the dust behind it.Quick, Takanuva, onward!He spurred forward, a feeling of excitement flooding his mind as he rushed helter-skelter up the slope, stumbling a little as he crested the rise—Suddenly he was falling forward, his feet meeting only air as he flailed into emptiness. Wind whistled in his ears for a split-second as he fell four bio down the steep embankment beneath him, landing heavily upon his face in the mulch below.“Oh…” he groaned heavily, “How graceful,” He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, berating himself for his stupidity. He hadn’t been paying attention, too intent on the movement of the gnomon. It was a foolish mistake. He should know better.Takanuva sighed now, raising his head and shaking the dust from his eyes.That was when he noticed it: the light.Light!It almost blinded him as he looked upward. He shaded his dull eyes with one hand, raising himself to his knees. Moments passed as he acclimated himself to the white glare, regaining his balance. What was it? The wind was utterly silent now, but there was another sound.A whispering.A voice.“Hail, creature of the Great Beings,” it said. The voice was calm, utterly composed. It sounded almost familiar, like a voice that had always been speaking in the back of his mind, somewhere. A voice that was too often drowned out...Listening to that voice, Takanuva felt a sense of awe fall upon him. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t manage any words to reply. He drew a breath, still squinting into the glow.At last, he lowered his hand, staring full-on into the source of the shimmering radiance.And what he saw amazed him.

Well! It's been far too long since these were out in the open. GaliGee, I have many fond memories of reading through your stories in years past--especially the Makuta series. I look forward to reading through them again. Great to see you around.JRRT

THE

END

Nga-ro looked out his window. It was black outside, utterly black. But that was nothing new. Not in this city. Not to Nga-ro, not to him. Not to the last living resident here, the last set of eyes that still lived to stare out that ancient, crumbling window.

It was black, it was the end.

Nga-ro could feel it, deep in his bones and in his mind. Deep in the atrophied recesses of his heart. His heart, which had so long ago ceased to pulse with its inner light, just as his eyes had before that. There was no more light, neither from within nor without.

The suns had long ago ceased to shine. It was said that they were the eyes of Mata Nui, once. It was all true. But now even His eyes had faded into nothingness, and His heart had surely ceased to beat. That was so long ago, but Nga-ro still remembered.

Here at the end, he remembered.

A cold blast filled the window and rushed through the chamber. He felt it on his face, frigid and dry. No more life in that wind, just cold, lack of energy. Like a machine with no purpose. It rose and fell and was gone again, and the air was still.

Nga-ro stirred. Yes, the time had come. He lifted himself from the place where he sat in the darkness and moved to the window. His feet made a shuffling sound as they disturbed the layers of dust on the floor. How long had it been since he had sat down in this room? Did it matter? There was no time in this place anymore; only the slow accumulation of dust, and the grinding of cold wind upon cold stone.

Once, Nga-ro could have heard the sea crashing out beyond the edges of the city. But even that was soon gone. The sea had dried up—froze and then boiled and then was gone—and only dust remained.

But that had been when there was still light, when the suns still flickered fitfully or turned, slow and gradual, as if lit by some greater light that orbited beyond them. Nga-ro used to watch them, back when he'd kept hope alive. He had tried to understand why the suns had ceased to shine of their own accord, why the eyes of Mata Nui had grown listless and dim. No one could tell him, for by then he was alone, in all the city, in all this empty, abandoned world. Alone to face the slow approach of the dark.

And when the darkness was complete, the long wait had begun. Long and unchanging. So long…

But now there was a change. Now was the end, and that was a change.

He felt along the edges of the stone. They were worn and furrowed, and much more crumbled than he remembered. Yes, it must have been a very long time since he came to this chamber to sit in the stone chair that he had found. Millennia, perhaps. There was no way to know for sure.

Nga-ro sighed. He was very tired. He had not taken sustenance for so long, but he was hardy. He did not succumb to the darkness and the cold like so many others before they had left him here to wait, to remain, to be.

Of course, there had been a purpose for him then, something that he had to do—a duty of some kind. He no longer remembered what it was. Sitting in the darkness, it had slipped from his mind, and he had lost it. Lost his purpose in this world.

So why did he continue? Why live on in this dead world? Why not just cast himself from that window into the dark beyond, fall into that emptiness that used to be a city, a world, and finally be free?

Why not?

Because…because there was always a chance that he would find his purpose again. He yearned for it desperately. In fact, now that he thought about it, that was the reason he had come to this room. He had needed time…time to think, time to remember. Time to be still and seek within his memory the one thing that he had lost.

The realization was startling, as if he had unlocked a door that had been standing shut in front of him, but that he had not seen until now. Of course, that was why he had come here. But it did not answer his question. And after all, it was the end now. Perhaps it didn't matter anymore, his duty. Perhaps…

He turned from the blank window, from the noise of the cold wind that rushed in, regular as clockwork, and strode back into the room. The dust scattered before him again—he felt it upon his feet, as if he were walking through snow. Ah, he remembered when it had used to snow, back when the sea had frozen, before the terrible red light had slanted in from the suns and baked the landscape, setting the city aflame and boiling the surface of the Silver Sea into steam and cloud and noxious vapor, and then nothing.

He reached the entrance to the room. He knew it was there, though he could not see it. Eons of sitting in that room had accustomed him to the sound and feel of it. The door was gone. Yes, it had been gone for some time. It had been made of wood, and now it was dust. He stepped out into the wide corridor. There was less dust here. The sound of his footfalls echoed off the arching ceiling far above.

On through the hallway, past the empty doors that gaped on either side, unseen in the dark. He could feel their emptiness like jaws yearning to be filled, like mouths open together in one silent, unending cry. He could not help them. He went on.

Down the stairways, twisting and turning. Every step rang out in his memory as they had been when the light still filtered through the slit-windows of the towers, and he could see them all, every facet and carved face. What need had he of eyes, when memory sufficed so well?

He fell once, and that thought suddenly seemed foolish. The stairway had crumbled. Now it was nothing but a broken fragment of stone and a short, swift drop to the floor below. The pain of the fall sharpened his mind, pulling him back to the reality of the moment. He was not greatly damaged—not that he could tell, at least. But things had changed here, yes, even here where time did not seem to move. Decay and entropy were still hard at work.

The thought struck at some hidden nerve or emotion within him as he picked himself up off the floor, and for a moment he felt his throat choked, and tears sprang to his eyes, eyes that had been dry and dark for so long. What was this feeling? Despair? Was it the end at last?

No, it was neither. He stood still a moment, breathing deep and trying to calm himself. It was not despair that made his heart beat fast and his hands clench and quiver. It was remorse. Sadness and remorse. He had not forgotten these. No matter how much time had passed, he still felt them. Sadness and grief, but not for himself. No…why did he mourn so, tears coursing down his hard face to moisten the dust of ages. Why?

It was grief for this world. His world. Yes, all this time he had been remembering it—this place that had been his life for so long. He mourned for the destruction and decay. Perhaps he had felt such grief at the beginning, but not for a long time since. It was as if all that memory were buried deep within him, shaded by time and forgetfulness.

No more. The time had come to end this. The end of grief. At long last.

He set his jaw, and his hands ceased to quake. His breathing was smooth. He went on. Down past the toppled columns and broken walls. Past the unseen pedestals topped by statues and figures, their features long since worn away. Even the writing carved into the stone was lost. Except to him. He knew them all—their names and their histories, all. They would not be truly lost while he lived.

While he lived. And how long would that be?

The outer air was biting cold as he left the silent halls of the Coliseum behind. Across the Great Bridge he went, bowing slightly to the harsh wind. There was a sterile taste to the air. Coppery, almost. Alien.

Lifeless. Yes, for how could life survive here?

Again he knew this was a foolish question. He was still alive, wasn’t he? After all this time, and a little while longer at least.

He moved on. The sky rose above him, and he was blind to it but for the feel of the space and the sound of the distance that expanded on all sides. It was harder to get his bearings now, harder to sense the things around him. He had not walked these streets for many, many years. Had not had the time to sit and listen to the way the wind moved across every facet of every moldering brick and jutting facade.

The streets were cracked and uneven, and he stumbled once or twice, but he did not fall again. The earthquakes had struck hardest here at the center of the city. Few buildings remained standing. Most were piles of rubble. He was almost glad he couldn’t see them. Too painful.

On, on, on. Where was he going? Where indeed? He passed over another bridge—still standing, almost a miracle. And yet, even as he stepped onto the pavement of the far side, he heard it crack and groan. It had carried its last burden, and he almost wept as he listened to it collapse into the dry canal which it had spanned for so many ages. So many long years holding itself up. A weary bridge, waiting out eternity for him to come and stand upon it and end its agony. It was a faithful bridge. It had served its purpose, and now it was ended.

Rest now. He turned away. Yes, rest. Soon, he too would rest.

Soon.

Years passed, or what felt like years, and still he walked on. Slow, but steady, he trudged through the lightless, empty streets. A building collapsed once as he approached it, and the dust choked his eyes and mouth as he struggled through the rubble and debris. It delayed him, but only slightly. In a place where time did not seem to move, what were a few hours or days? Indeed, he thought to himself, what did time mean to him anymore? Perhaps it meant only the mindless logging of the rate of decay. A long catalogue of the unwinding of the world.

He caught himself at that thought.

No, Nga-ro, do not go down that path. Another memory had leapt to the forefront of his mind. A memory from a time before he had lost his duty, although he still could not recall what his purpose had been. Even so, he did recall the line of thought that had led him to forget: true despair, the temptation to give up, to cease trying. It was like a small voice in the back of his mind. They had a name for it, once, he thought. Back when the world still lived. What was it?

He chuckled, once. A dry sound. It surprised him, for he had not uttered a sound in ages. It was the memory that amused him, for he had suddenly recalled the name that they had given that small voice—a terrible name indeed, though it held no power now.

It was called Nothing, or, at least, it had given itself that name. Perhaps it had had another name. Something more original. That was so long ago, Nga-ro could not think back that far, and he did not try now, for another memory stirred in him, and he almost laughed again.

It was a story he had once known. A great, magnificent story. And it seemed to him that he had once been a part of that story. Somehow, he had played a role in it. But the reason that he almost laughed was because of how the story began. How it had always been told. In the Time Before Time… They had intoned.

Well, if that was before time, then this must surely be the Time After Time. Ironic, that he had lived to see both.

Step, step, step. He didn’t even notice the walking anymore. It was simply a part of his existence now. Trudging onward toward some unknown goal. The wind did not bother him. He was always cold now. It had also become his existence to be cold, to be alone.

Where was he going again? He was forgetting. Was it to find his purpose? No, no, no. That was all wrong. It was because the end had come. That was why he had left the chamber. He remembered now, but that had been a long time ago. How long? He shook his head. As always, it was useless to ask.

His destination must be where the end would come. Surely it must. Yes, yes, he remembered something about it. It was as if he were drawn toward it unknowingly. As if someone had written its pattern upon his mind, and no matter how long he lived, no matter how far he went, it was always there, pushing at him. Prodding him, as if it say, Make it right.

He would make it right. His destination was a building of some kind. The image in his mind’s eye was murky, but familiar. It was in this direction. What was it called? North? North-east? Regardless, he was almost there.

He was in a long, winding alleyway. Bone-dry. He could sense the walls of it sloping upward. Sloping…No, this was no street. There were no buildings on either side anymore. It was a canal—one of thousands that used to course with water. Now empty, desiccated, useless, except to him.

The ground was relatively level, and that was a relief after the uneven surface of the streets. It slanted downward ever so slightly toward the edge of the city. That was where he was going.

No sooner had he thought it than he was there. The canal ended, and now before him stretched an expanse so great that he could not imagine it. A vast, sprawling, lightless plain. The wind howled across the entrance of the canal, a low-pitched, wailing noise. It carried dust in small streams and billows, brushing against his face. Dust and more dust.

He stepped out onto the plain, leaving the small channel behind.

This was the Sea—what they had once called the Silver Sea. He remembered how the light had shone and flashed across its surface, such a sight. But that was all gone now. Nothing remained but the wind moaning over endless dunes, mixing with the noise of billowing sand. A mockery of the sound of waves. Onward he trudged through the swirling desert that used to be a sea, now just a sea of noise. A chaos.

He coughed dust. It filled his eyes, even though they were clamped shut, as useless now as they ever had been. It settled in the chinks of his body, making him itch. His feet sank into it, and every step became a wearying effort, but he went on, always drawn toward that destination, somewhere out on the sea.

He remembered it more clearly now. It was a great building. A place of significance. A hallowed place. What was it they had called it? A Temple?

He stumbled down the far side of a dune, hands outstretched, waving blindly. On and on, and time stood still as he swam through the dead waves. One living thing moving in an ocean of death.

At last—at long last! His hand struck solid stone.

He grasped it hard, fingers clawing for a grip, desperate. Finally they found purchase. He pulled, despite his weariness and the suffocating dust, he pulled.

And finally he was free of it. The dust almost seemed to swell and ebb away down the slope, like the tide. And what had the tide left here upon this final shore?

He crawled for a ways until the ground became level, then he struggled up, shook himself and spat the dust from his mouth, wiped it from his eyes. He had arrived. Yes, he had come to his destination. He had come to the end.

Before him it rose, tall and imposing. He could feel it, almost like…like a presence. There was a throbbing in the back of his mind, something growing and swelling amongst his thoughts. Something important. He did not know what it was; only that he must continue on.

Forward across the flat space of stone, between the mighty pillars that stood at the entrance to the towering building. He paused for a moment, remembering the splendor that it once had. To his right there used to be gardens; to his left, the marbled steps down to the bridge that spanned the Silver Sea. The bridge had since fallen, swallowed in the decay of ages. The trees and plants were no more. Now there was only hard stone and rough, broken edges.

And yet he must go on.

On through the archway, the entrance to the Temple, for that was what it was: the Great Temple, the Temple of the Great Spirit.

The throbbing in his mind increased as he strode forward, and he shook his head. Something was troubling him, something trying to break the surface of his thoughts, to be seen and known. It was urgent, a yearning…

The wind ceased as he entered the grand hall. The air was still within and utterly silent. Only his breathing and the sound of his armored feet on the stone disturbed the hallowed quiet of the temple. It was here, all here. Here was where the end would come.

He stopped suddenly and stretched out his hands. His head pounded, harder and harder. He felt stone against his fingers, a rounded pedestal carved with many notches and grooves. They were still sharp, untouched by decay or entropy. There was no dust here.

The pedestal was taller than he, and his searching hands could only feel so far along its domed surface. But he could not focus like this, couldn’t concentrate to form a picture of the thing in his mind. The throbbing in his brain was too much. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand it anymore!

And then…then his fingers felt something—a symbol, carved deep into the stone. He knew that symbol, three circles...and two sweeping lines. He knew it, yes. He recognized it. It was the pattern…the key!

A flood of memory broke loose from the recesses of his thoughts, and he stumbled backward, away from the pedestal, clutching his head. It was almost too much to bear, that sudden torrent of thought and feeling. Emotions long buried rushed back to him, and he recalled what he had for so long lost…the duty.

His duty.

Nga-ro remembered the time before…a time when he had had a different place, a different name. He remembered the voices of his companions, his people. All around him, working and laboring, creating. Filling the world with their voices and their life as he looked on.

But then it had started to fade, and he had felt weary…so weary…A dark figure arose on the horizon of the world. Black and immense, his laughter echoed in the skies. He lifted a hand upward, and sleep took hold of Nga-ro. Endless sleep. But Nga-ro had no relief, for the duty tortured him in his slumber. Make it right. Make it right.

He glimpsed the dark one—the one who called himself Nothing—saw how he took hold of the world, sought to twist it to his own ends. No, no, no. He had to make it right…but he was slipping away, slipping away into the darkness beyond all darkness, the darkness of death. And suddenly his spirit had been alone in the cold, and harsh stars shed their alien light upon him. He had lost his destination—his guiding star, the point toward which he had always directed his steps. Nga-ro…no, surely that had not been his name then…he had lost himself.

No! It must not be so! He had turned back toward the world of the living, clawed his way back from the darkness. But he could not return to his former place. He was cast out, alone and unseen, as the world—his world—fell into chaos. Even the dark one could not stop it. He had not known what the consequences would be. But then Nga-ro looked within himself, and a plan formed in his thoughts:

Back, back, back to the City. The city still filled with life, with light. The dark one had fled, cowering, trying to escape. Even he had been fearful, who had called himself Master of Fear, even he feared to become nothing in the end.

But Nga-ro had a plan. He had walked upon the solid ground and looked upon the solid sights of the City, and around him the people had gathered and had seen him as he was—like them. Small, perhaps, but very alive. And he had told them his plan, as darkness fell over the world:

Sleep.

Sleep.

All must sleep.

And I will keep watch, until the darkness is over, and the light is found again.

Sleep, now.

Until I make all things right…

Nga-ro stirred from his place, prone upon the floor of the Great Temple. He was back, he remembered. He was tired, but he was not tempted to sleep. No, he had slept long enough for all of them. Now he was awakened, and very much alive.

With a start he opened his eyes. They had been closed…how long? He tried to focus them, but something was not right. Why should he focus eyes that were useless in the all-consuming darkness? Why indeed…

Because there was a light shining above him. A single point of white. His eyes strained, eyes that had been unused for so many millennia. It was almost too painful to look. But he did not close his eyes. Suddenly it resolve, and all became clear. It was a light, far, far above him. Immeasurably far away. A single star in all that blackness of night. How could he see it?

The roof of the Great Temple was broken. He could see the outline where the stones had fallen in, just enough for him to glimpse the sky.

He knew that star.

Nga-ro arose, head tilted back, eyes still fixed upon that singular speck. He stepped toward the pedestal—the Suva. Yes, he knew where it was. Felt it with his hands. There was the Symbol again, the constant reminder of his duty. He placed his hand upon the middle of the three circles, flattened his palm. Words came to him, words that he had spoken in the time when time still ran true and straight. Words that he had spoken to his people when he had found his way back from the darkness of sleep and death.

Who am I? he had asked, shading his eyes as he had stumbled from the entrance to the Great Temple, dazed, confused. Limited. He had not lived within a body so small before.

And what had they answered? What had they said to him when they turned their faces upon him, faces filled with fear as the light of their universe faded? What had they said when they saw the light of his eyes and knew him?

The Symbol seemed to throb at his touch now. Something was happening. Yes, this was the end. The end at last!

A noise was swelling in his ears and in his mind, but it was not the wind. The wind was gone. This was a living sound, the sound of many voices. Voices that he knew, mounting and swelling from out of the depths.

The star seemed to blaze brightly above him as he set his eyes upon it, there where the twin suns used to be, where the eyes of the Great Spirit used to shine in ages past. He set his gaze upon it, staring into the Great Spirit’s unseen eyes as if they were his very own.

And still the noise mounted, growing, filling every corner and every room, every hidden street and every hall and chamber of that City that was empty, and yet no longer empty. A hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, more. All crying out, calling out to him in answer to his question.

Who am I?

A hundred thousand rising voices crying out!

YOU ARE THE GREAT SPIRIT

NGA-RO, FIRST BROTHER

YOU HAVE SLEPT FOR TOO LONG

BUT NOW THE END HAS COME

THE END OF OUR SLEEP

NOW TAKE UP THE NAME YOU ONCE BORE

NOW AWAKEN US

AND AWAKEN OUR WORLD

WE, THE MATORAN

OUR WORLD SHALL RISE AGAIN.

Nga-ro…the First Brother…No, that was no longer his name…he remembered now an older name, older by far. And it was Mata Nui.

Mata Nui smiled in the darkness, and a new light flickered from his eyes and from his heart as he looked upward into the dark sky, his gaze fixed upon that ancient star.

He had found it again. Nga-ro the Matoran was no more, for now he remembered Himself.

Now he would make all things right.

Red morning broke across the city. Red and new and eager and ready, and a hundred thousand eyes answered it with their light as they started up from the shadows, a hundred thousand hearts glowing with new life, voices mingling in the great noise that rose above the spires and towers, awakening from the long slumber. Sleep, sleep, sleep no more…

And far beyond all of them, in the vast blackness of space, the body of the Great Spirit stirred once more among the stars. Immense eyes lit up and shone blazing into the void, and then it turned itself and hurtled Onward.

Onward toward that small point of light.

Onward toward its destination and the end of its journey.

Onward!

For the end had come.

And it was a beginning.

THE

END

: :

[some comments]

JRRT

Well done. This was a very interesting story, and really brought me back to the days of the MNOLG and the original comics. I especially like how you handled the whole rock story scene. You caught a lot of emotion in this, and I'd be interested to see how this alternative history would turn out. Great job!

A flash, and stars flickered across his vision, but not just the stars of shock or pain.Real stars.An unfathomable darkness opened beneath him, a gaping absence. The endless depth of the Void yawned, tearing at his being as he hurtled onward. Onward through the emptiness, through the black, reeling darkness...Onward!A thud, and the heavy weight of gravity seized his limbs as he collapsed to solid earth.It was over.Takanuva lay still, his lungs heaving, perspiration and fear clouding his vision like a fog. His jaw was clenched tight, muscles seizing as he began to shudder. The feeling of abject terror that enveloped him was like nothing he had ever encountered, and it was slow to abate.But it did abate, gradually releasing its hold upon him. He exhaled, letting his body go limp, exhausted from the journey. His mind was still dazed, and his eyes roved around him, trying to focus on his surroundings. Where was he?Finally, he felt that he had the strength to stand. He rose to a sitting position, then to his knees, lifting his head. He reeled for a moment as he finally stood upright, trying to regain his sense of balance.Helryx had warned him...she had told him of the danger, but he could never have prepared for what he had just experienced. Hurtling between planes of existence, time and space. The encounter with the void had left him drained.”Where am I?” he thought.There, at least his mind still worked, despite the exhaustion of his body. That was good to know.He looked around, rubbing his eyes with shaking hands, trying to focus.It was dark, but he could see, his vision adjusting to the dimness. The wind whistled through the trunks of the endless trees which surrounded him on all sides. Black trees, gnarled and desiccated, rattling in the night air. It was a forest. A dead forest.”Perfect,” he thought, sighing. This was certainly not his destination. It couldn’t have been that easy. It never was.He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mask, letting his thudding heart calm itself.Then he looked up.There, far above him, he glimpsed a vast ribbon of stars sprawling across the night sky, glinting down through the tangle of branches which roofed the dead forest. It reminded him of the sky on Mata Nui, when he had called that island home, and it would have been beautiful, if he had not had a more pressing errand.”All the same,” he thought wryly, ”I’m glad I can look at them from a safe distance now.”He might be a Toa of Light, but he would rather gaze at the stars with his feet planted on solid ground.He shook himself now, trying to loosen his aching muscles. He had to continue on, had to find a way out of this place. Valuable time was being wasted.He took stock of his supplies: Kanohi and Toa tool...and the strange gnomon. He pulled it from the armor-slot at his waist where he had stored it, turning it over in his hands. It was nothing remarkable to look at, but it had served him well in his past adventures. It seemed such a long time ago, long before he had ever dreamed of being a Toa. Simple days, simple times.“Stop thinking about the past,” he prodded himself mentally, grimacing. “The here and now is what needs attention. Now, what else have you got?”Light.Yes. He raised a hand, trying to summon the power of his Element to illuminate his way. His hand flickered for a moment, a small orb of radiance lighting up the clearing.Abruptly, the light went out, vanishing just as suddenly as it had appeared. Another wave of weariness washed over his mind and body, as if he had just lifted something far beyond his strength. It took all of his will to keep from collapsing. His mind buzzed, dizzy.”No element,” he realized. He had no elemental power left. The thought sent a shiver of fear up his back as he sank to one knee. He was drained, both his strength and his element. Defenseless. He would have to wait to regain his power.“Mata Nui,” Takanuva sighed, aloud, his voice grating, “What am I supposed to do now?”Only the wind answered him: a long, low, rasping moan. The rattle of the dry trees continued on into the dark distance on all sides.“Well,” he said at last, “this doesn’t help me at all. I can’t just stay here...”There was only one course of action.He stood, rallying himself, and began to walk, leaving the small clearing behind as he ventured into the trees.

Considering I said I'd update every-other Friday, I suppose this can be considered a small Christmas gift, if you will. Although whether or not you like it is another question. Regardless, here Takanuva arrives at his dark, lonely destination, and takes stock of his situation.EDIT:

Finally we're getting somewhere. I know the entries are short at the moment. But I promise--they do get longer. In this entry we lead up to a pivotal point in the story. Also, you can see one of the departures from the original plot: the fact that Takanuva is not carrying the entire (albeit shrunken) sundial with him, but rather just the gnomon (a nod back to MNOG). I always thought that was a bit odd in the original, and I wanted to give that element a bigger role, since it doesn't figure much in the canon version. Anyways, I hope you like it.EDIT DEAUX:

Aaand we're back. A bit late this time around, unfortunately. Not that anyone noticed. The views on the topic do seem to go up somewhat when an entry's posted, so at least there's a chance some person is reading. Enjoy, whoever you are. JRRT

Thanks for the congratulations, all. And congrats to Kakaru as well--I'm excited to be working with him and the entire reporting team.JRRT

Hi folks,This story has been sitting around, slowly growing and expanding, for a while. It’s inspired by the old Bioniclestory.com serials, particularly those involving Takanuva’s journey to get to Karda Nui. There was a lot of untapped potential there, and I wanted to take the opportunity to expand on some of that potential here. You’ll recognize the origin of this story—the rather brief City of Silver episode. Basically, here is an expansion of that story, with (hopefully) a slightly more meaningful message and a slightly more exciting plot.Note that although the different posts will technically be split up, they are usually meant to be read in a continuous fashion, without too much narrative breakage. Updates will occur regularly (as possible) every other Friday. I hope you enjoy it.JRRT

The voice echoed in the dry air of the chamber. Helryx’s voice was terse, thick with urgency. She stepped forward and pressed something into his hand. It was the gnomon—a piece of the ancient sundial he had unlocked. What did it mean? He could not say.Takanuva glanced to his left. The Silent Toa still stood motionless, his eyes grim. Krakua was a strange Toa, Takanuva thought; but, of the three beings which surrounded him in this dim chamber, he trusted him the most.Krakua nodded, his voice echoing in Takanuva’s mind: “Go.”The other being was there too: Brutaka, the traitor, the one whom they said had despaired, once.“Once condemned, but now redeemed,” Helryx had said. The scarred mask upon Brutaka’s face flickered with a dangerous light. The Olmak was perilous. A thing that could open doors…gateways.Windows through the Void.There was nothing for it now. No other task, no other cause.No other duty.

Showdown, by Taipu1. Claimed and reviewed. Just like that.JRRT

What’s this? Why, Taipu1, I do believe it’s an official SSCC3 review. Imagine that.------Starting off, I’ll say that I really like the way you’ve presented the mixture of Matoran and Agori culture here. The different ways in which both sides have difficulty figuring each other out is very interesting. I especially liked the scenes between Mazeka and Baru and the various problems (masks, names, different tribes, etc.) they dealt with. Although technically the drink wouldn’t have been a problem—Matoran can still drink, they just absorb solids through the hands (sorry that’s the nitpicker in me talking ).The plot of the story is also very interesting. I like the way you’ve taken Mazeka, who in my opinion, never presented a very complex character at all, and expanded on him in this new world of Spherus Magna. A good read, all in all.But now, the real reason we’re here: critique time.Overall, you’ve got a great writing style. Good sense of action and movement. Very good dialogue—it really is hard to find dialogue that’s good enough that you can distinguish characters by their lines alone, but you’ve accomplished this very well. In fact, because of this, I have very little to critique in these areas.So, the main issue I’d like to look at is the overall structuring of the plot itself—the pacing and flow of the narrative:The first point where the narrative flow could have been more effective was actually at the very beginning of the story. Some say (and I’m inclined to agree with them) that the opening lines of a story—especially a short story—are the most important, and so it’s crucial to make sure that they get the reader’s attention. As it is now, unfortunately, your story doesn’t quite accomplish this, and it’s mainly because the opening “scene” isn’t really a scene. The flashback technique you’re using, while it certainly works in other places, doesn’t quite work here. So basically the opening lines of your story start off a scene—the fight between Mazeka and Strakk—but just when you’re starting to engage the reader, you cut to another scene entirely. This might look like a lot of text devoted to something minor, but it’s really quite important. My suggestion here would be to expand that first scene—the Mazeka vs. Strakk battle—such that the reader is pulled into the action of that scene. You could even shift to the flashback when the battle is at some preliminary climax, making the reader want to find out what happens. These are all vital techniques for creating a gripping story, and you’ve got all the tools you need here.There were a couple of other points in the story where the transitions between the scenes could be improved as well. Actually, it may be the headings that you use to transition between these scenes that need alteration. It seems that, because the bulk of the story exists in two main settings (the present and one day before the present), the smaller divisions of time aren’t that necessary. The timeline starts with the present, switching to one day before the present, with a short switch to eight days before the present, then back to one day before the present, then two hours, then one hour, then the present again. The headings splitting up these scenes may not actually be useful to the reader, since the last three scenes all occur chronologically again. Also, related to the point made above about the opening scene, it is always tricky to pull off a “flashback within a flashback.” In this case, it may be more effective to transition from the “1 day previously” to the “8 days previously” flashback more smoothly than just splitting the two flashbacks off completely, since it can be difficult to keep track of where exactly we are in time.-----And that’s it. Really, there are very few thematic problems here—despite the large amount of words used to critique the few things that may need improvement. Again, I enjoyed the story a lot. I look forward to more.Nitpick time:

He pulled hopelessly at his Captains ankle again, but he was only wasting his energy.

The two Onu-Matoran both stumbled across the platform; reaching over the edge and pulling the Captain back aboard.

Mazeka felt the weight leave his arm, and relinquished his grip, rolling onto his stomach, breathing rapidly.

“You matoran set to much store by ‘destiny’,” Baru said. “I for one don’t believe my fate is written.”

He went back to the cabin and down the stairs, into the bowls of the ship.

“I know you,” Kobyu said. “You knackered my ears for a year, and kidnapped that weirdo, Krakua.”

“What?” Mazeka said, surprised. “I didn’t do anything to harm anyone in that village. Vultraz let of that sonic bomb.”

Mazeka jumped, and span round. Kobyu was sitting against a barrel; Mazeka had walked right past him without noticing.

Gauging where the sound was coming from now, Mazeka gestured to a resilient looking tree that he thought was out of the rahi’s path.

“So, did who did he exchange for you?” joked Teridax to Kobyu.

“Throw me the line, Parus!”Oska slid forward across the ledge, reaching out a hand. Above him, the Fire-Agori Parus uncoiled his rope, tossing it back down the cliff-side.“Catch!” he said as he anchored it into the rough stone. “I hope you’re not getting tired, scholar. We’ve a ways to go yet.”Oska scowled, “Even scholars have some brawn, Parus.” He heaved himself up on the line slowly, testing its strength. “We simply use our brains in applying it.”“Hah!” Parus laughed, “Well said...well said.”Above them, the face of the cliff rose in shelf after shelf of overgrown lichen and sornaxa-bush. The sun blazed full and bright in the midday sky, bathing the rise with heat.“Old Solis is unforgiving today,” Oska said as he pulled himself onto the ledge, standing up beside his companion. He stopped to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead.“They say he used to be brighter,” Parus said, smiling. “In the time of the Matoran. Right, scholar?”Oska scoffed, “I seem to remember you also theorizing that the great wars were caused by sun-sickness.”“Ah, well...” the Fire-Agori shrugged and stretched, lifting his pack again. “Ready for the next leg?”“As I’ll ever be.”

By evening they had scaled several more ledges. The sun was low on the western horizon, and the two Agori had stopped for the night. There was a low cave leading off from the shallow plateau they had reached—an excellent place to make camp.The Fire-Agori, true to his heritage, had a small fire crackling in short order, and soon they were satisfying their hunger with some provisions. The light faded slowly from the sky, ruddy orange dying into dark blue. Stars flickered up out of the sunset.Oska looked out from the mouth of the cave, surveying the dim landscape below. The mountain-slope stretched away before him, giving way to woodlands farther to the west. Southward, the trees thinned out into wide, grassy plains. The cities of Tesara and Mava lay two days journey in that direction, now hidden in the veiling night.“So tell me, scholar,” Parus spoke through a mouthful of dried meat, “what do you hope to find in the Mountains of the Matoran? Pottery? Or maybe some of their old masks?”“What?” Oska turned back to the firelight, “Old masks? Is that all you think the Matoran were?”“Ah, well. Can’t say I’ve seen much more of them in the museum-halls.”“I doubt you’ve ever visited an archive in your life,” Oska prodded. “We might have lost a great deal about the Matoran, but we still know some things.”“And you’re in the business of finding out more?”“Of course. Haven’t you ever wondered what they were like? How they lived? They were a remarkable race.”“Apparently not remarkable enough to survive.”“I wouldn’t say that...” Oska trailed off. “I’ve made over seven expeditions to these mountains, and I’ve brought back numerous artifacts from their culture. You should go educate yourself about them sometime.”“Hah! Maybe later. Right now I have better things to do, scholar. Like not breaking my neck.” Parus chuckled.“Although,” he added, “I have to admit: these mountains are rather strange. I’ve climbed a lot of mountains in my day, scholar, and I don’t think I’ve encountered any that were so...I don’t know...“So...what?”“Straight, I suppose.”“Straight?” Oska frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”“The slopes,” the Fire-Agori gestured, trying to explain, “they’re not like, say, the Black Spikes or the Quartz Ranges at all. They’re straight. Angular, I guess you’d say. And the rock is tough to anchor in.”“I suppose...”“Even this cave,” Parus continued, “look at how squared-off the entrance is. I don’t know how that could have formed naturally in this kind of slope.”“Now I’m beginning to wonder if old Solis was hard on you too.”“Hah. Maybe, scholar. Maybe.”They lapsed into silence, listening to the crackle of the firewood.“No birds, either.” Parus muttered.“Oh, go to sleep.”

Hours passed, and the night was cool when Oska suddenly awakened.He was shivering, his rough cloak offering little protection from the cold wind that was now blowing into the cave. The fire had burned down to fitful embers in the steady breeze.“Parus!” Oska whispered, turning over. “Where are you?”The Fire-Agori should have been keeping watch......and keeping the fire fed. Oska cursed as he got up, his teeth chattering. He shuffled forward in the darkness of the cave, moving toward the entrance.Where was he? Did he fall asleep?“Parus!” Oska called out, his eyes straining in the darkness. No answer. There was no moon tonight, and the stars offered little radiance.Oska turned back to the cave, searching blindly for the store of tinder they had gathered. He found a few of the dry branches and quickly tossed them onto the remnants of the fire.Embers flared up, sparks of flame licking at the wood. Oska crouched before it, facing into the cavern with the wind at his back. The camp-fire flashed slowly to life, lighting up the interior of the cave with a flickering glow.The scholar squinted at the coals, letting his eyes adjust to the light, rubbing his cold hands together. After a moment, he leaned back and looked up...He froze, sudden fear rooting him to the stone. His eyes widened.The cave was empty. Parus was nowhere to be seen. The floor seemed undisturbed.But there, at the back of the cave, dark against the fitful light of the fire, there was a black opening in the cave wall.An opening that had not been there before.The wind was rushing steadily into the breach: a straight crack almost the width of Oska’s arm.The scholar fell back in amazement, scrambling backward, out of the cave-entrance. Where had the opening come from? What could have opened it?Parus.The cold fear seized him more sharply. What could be living in this cave? A beast? He shivered. Parus had said he knew of no predators in the mountains, nothing worse than a cliff-bat or two, at least.Parus could be wrong.And if it was a beast? That meant it must have taken Parus. Could it have missed him? What should he do? He couldn’t abandon his friend.He had to do something.Oska lurched forward suddenly, groping for his pack, eyes fixed on the opening. He pulled out an unused torch, dropped it, found it again. He glanced away from the crack long enough to thrust it into the dying fire.Then he crept forward, using his body to shield the torch from the wind. Nothing happened. Slowly he advanced, skirting the wall of the cave.Now he had reached the opening, peering intently into the darkness beyond. No movement. Nothing. Should he call out to Parus?“Hello!” he yelled on impulse. Then he cursed to himself, Fool! You’ll bring something worse instead.But nothing came. The wind continued to flow into the opening, sucking at his torch. The fire behind him was sputtering out again.He wavered, taking a step away from the opening. He could feel his heart beating fast. The darkness inside the crack seemed impenetrable. What should he do?He would have to go in.No…he could wait. Wait for Parus to come back…Parus might never come back.He might be dead, somewhere behind the opening...He would have to go in.The scholar did not consider himself very brave, and he did not feel brave at all now. But there was nothing else to be done. He couldn’t wait around. There were too many unknowns.He turned from the opening and stumbled to his pack, snatching it up with shaking hands.That was when he realized that Parus’ pack was gone as well.Was that good or bad? He didn’t have the time to think about it.Now he was back at the opening, examining the cave-wall in the light of the torch. It was definitely not natural. There was a seam in the stone along the wall, much corroded with dust and age, but it had been disturbed recently. Like a giant door.Oska thrilled with the thought, even despite the fear that choked him. This was a discovery. A real discovery. Something ancient.And it’s not important right now. Find Parus. He forced himself back to the opening. Turning, he tried to squeeze through the gap in the stone. It was not large enough for him to pass. That wasn’t a good sign. How could he move a giant stone slab? How could Parus have moved it?Maybe Parus didn’t move it, he thought. Maybe something bigger and stronger did.He hesitated...No...he had to try.Placing his shoulder against one side of the opening, he began to push. With all his strength he heaved against the hard rock.It gave way! The slab slid suddenly farther into the wall. Oska fell onto his back. He had not expected it to yield so easily. His torch clattered to the stone, sparking as it rolled into the space beyond the door.Don’t lose it, you fool!He staggered up and gave chase, stopping the rolling torch with his foot. He snatched it up again, cupping a hand around the sputtering end.The torch flared back to life, and Oska breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t think that he would have the courage to continue on without a light. He raised it shakily, letting its radiance light up the emptiness before him, almost afraid to look at what might be hidden there.There was no beast. It was a passageway: walls stretching away into the darkness beyond the reach of the torch, leading straight on into the mountain. This was no animal-den. That was certain.The wind poured into the gap even faster now that he had enlarged the opening, rushing around Oska like a river. It whipped the flame of his torch into a frenzy, tearing at the thin flame.Something caught his eye to the left. There on the wall. Something......glowing.It was a light, embedded in the stone. But no, it wasn’t just a light. Oska could see.It was a symbol.He knew what it was. He had seen it many times before...a Matoran symbol. Circular.It seemed to glow right out of the flat wall. Oska sidled toward it, keeping one eye on the dark passageway. He slid his free hand over the symbol.Incredible... he thought. Another discovery. This was history. He was touching it. He knocked on the wall. It resounded with a clang. Metal.Not stone...His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rasping. The sound of metal on stone.The sound of the door sliding shut.“No!” he yelled, leaping toward it. He didn’t even have time to react.It was too late.The slab closed with a clang. The wind vanished. The glowing symbol winked off. Sudden silence deafened him, oppressive, like a crushing weight. He yelled desperately and pounded on the slab with his free hand, eyes roving around the space. It now seemed so very small, closing in around him.He was trapped.Trapped!Oska spun around, pressing flat against the closed door, breathing hard. He thrust the torch out in front of him, his heart pounding up in his ears. What could he do? There was no escape. He didn’t know how to open the door. He was alone.Parus.The thought struck him. He had almost forgotten. Parus was in here too.That was some comfort, but not much. Parus could be lost in the dark or fallen down some chasm, for all he knew. He might spend the rest of his life wandering in the depths of the mountains...Again Oska pounded on the stone slab. He searched around the edges, trying to find some opening mechanism, clawing at the smooth seam in the metal. There was nothing to grip, nothing to pull on. No response.He stopped, leaning against the wall. Sweat beaded on his brow. What now?There was only one way to go. Down the passageway. Down into the darkness of the mountain. The thought chilled him to the bone. Images of deep pits and creatures lurking in the dark rose in his mind. He shook his head, trying to think clearly.He could not stay here. That was certain. He had to try to find Parus. Maybe the two of them could find a way out.The passage went on before him, long and straight.He could always come back...right?Right...Oska breathed steadily, calming himself, trying to keep his hand from shaking. It was not so silent here after all. The torch crackled in the still air, lighting up a place that had been dark for who knew how many ages. Even the air smelled ancient.He had to go on.

The passage stretched on. Time stretched on, or at least it felt like it. Oska plodded down the tunnel, not knowing how long he had been walking. He called out every so often, calling to Parus. He got no answer back, or at least, nothing more than his own muffled echo. Sometimes he thought he heard a voice that was not his own, filtering from across vast distances.Other times it seemed like sounds came from the walls of the tunnel. Something pounding, thudding rhythmically deep in the earth. It reminded him of the sound of a factory he had seen in Old Vulcanus many years ago. Iron gears grinding…The walls of the passage were smooth, for the most part. At intervals, Oska found small grooves in the thick metal. He thought they might be doors, but he didn’t know how to open them. He hoped Parus didn’t know either—even though the Fire-Agori had apparently managed to open the door in the cave. Otherwise he would surely be lost.Once, near the beginning of the passage, he had come to a place where the tunnel widened into a large chamber, the roof higher than the torchlight could reach. He had searched around the perimeter of it, but found no sign of Parus.There were notches in the walls there too, and he thought he had seen another Matoran symbol glowing from across the chamber. But by the time he reached it, there was no sign of it. Perhaps he had only imagined...his eyes playing tricks in the flickering light.No, for now there was only one way to go: straight forward.Luckily, he still had his pack when he started down the tunnel. It had been on the right side of the door when it closed, and that meant he had one extra torch. But that was a while ago, and by now he had used up one of them. If he didn’t find Parus soon, he would have to turn back or be forced to continue blind in the dark.“Hello?” Oska called out again into the dead air. “Anyone?” His voice faltered. He was tired. He needed to rest, but that would mean letting the torch burn lower. He couldn’t let that happen.The sound of his own footsteps droned in his ears. Repetitive, wearisome. He had tried to whistle at one point, but the sound didn’t carry in the close air. It fell flat, disheartening.I can’t go much farther like this, he thought, watching the torch sputter and hiss.It would burn his hand soon. And then it would go out. He would be truly alone…lost…forgotten.No one would know what happened to him.No one would remember...Thud.He ran into something flat and solid, falling hard on his back.“Oh...” he moaned, rubbing his face. He sat up. Luckily, he hadn’t dropped the torch.It was a wall. The end of the tunnel?Yes. It was a dead end. The tunnel ended abruptly here. He had been watching his feet, hadn’t been paying attention...He sat motionless for a moment on the floor, staring dumbly at the featureless wall. What possible purpose could there be in this passage if it just ended here? Where was Parus?He stood up slowly. Could Parus have really come this way? There wasn’t even a sign of him. Maybe he had gone through one the doors...or maybe Oska had missed a branching of the tunnel. Maybe Parus hadn’t even entered the tunnel!The thought sent a shiver of fear through him, rising up to choke his mind. All of this could be futile. Parus was not here. He was alone. He should turn back now, before the light was gone.The light... Suddenly Oska’s dazed mind registered the spluttering sound of the torch going out. The oiled wood was spent, and he watched in horror as it sparked, flickered, and died in his hand. The shadows closed in around, covering him, filling his eyes and his mind.Standing there in the absolute darkness, Oska felt despair creep into his thoughts. Despair and fear.It was over. He could not face the long journey back through the lightless passage. Even now, the fear of something creeping down the tunnel froze his heart with unknown terror. Things crawling out of the doors in the passage behind him.He couldn’t see. He was blind now. Blind and dead.The dead air pressed down on his spirit, choking him. He fell to his knees, clawing at the hard metal before him, scraping it with his finger. He couldn’t make a sound. His throat was shut, his eyes clenched tightly. There was no where to hide. It was over.Once.Twice.Three times he struck the hard wall. His fist hurt, and tears sprang to his eyes. He drew his arm back for one more strike. One more before he gave in. Before the darkness claimed him.His fist flew forward......but it struck nothing but emptiness. Wind blew past him with the sound of the door moving aside, and he fell forward, hurtling through the sudden opening......and two arms caught him.

Oska.He felt like he was floating...no solid ground beneath him.Oska!Weightless…Hey, wake up!Falling...!Oska sat up suddenly, gasping. He was awake. Awake! He had heard a voice...someone had spoken....Someone had caught him.He tried to stagger up, thrashing.“Whoa, hold on, scholar!” A hand gripped his arm in the darkness. It was...it was Parus!Relief washed over Oska’s mind.“Parus!” he croaked, “By the spirits, I’m glad to hear your voice!”“Hah!” the hand moved to his shoulder. “The same to you, scholar.”Oska couldn’t see. His eyes were wide open, straining. It was still pitch black. They were still in the passage.“How long was I out?”“A few minutes, maybe. Looks like you were pretty high-strung.”“You have no idea, Parus. I thought I was going to die down here.” Oska winced, feeling the pain in his bruised hand. He shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs, the lingering horror that he had felt.“Hey—“ he said, feeling a bit irritated, “what on earth possessed you to go wandering down here, Parus? You could have wakened me at least! You should have got me up.”There was a silence.“Eh...” Parus’ voice sounded embarrassed, “I...meant to come back. I did. But...I sort of got lost.”“You got lost...in a straight tunnel?” Oska almost laughed.“No, no...” the Fire-Agori cringed, “it was that first chamber. You see, I went looking around the walls and ended up taking the wrong way back. Then I came to this door half-open, and it closed when I went through. I’ve been stuck here for a few hours at least. It only opened when you started pounding on it.”“Oh, well that explains some things.” Oska said, still irritated. “At least you have a good excuse. How did you manage to open the door in the cave in the first place?”“I was checking out the back of the cave, and I noticed the seam in the stone. It just opened when I touched it. I really don’t know how it works.”“Neither do I. It closed when I went through. So technically we’re both trapped.”“Ah, excellent, scholar. A fine situation we’re in.”Oska sighed. “All the same,” he said, “I’m glad I won’t have to die alone down here.”“I suppose that’s some consolation,” Parus chuckled. “Anyways, we won’t worry about dying yet. But what now?”“I don’t know.”“You say we can’t go back?”“Maybe...I don’t know. The doors don’t seem to open from the inside.”“Looks like whoever built this place didn’t want anyone getting out...”They sat silent for a moment, each with his own thoughts. Oska was relieved to have found his companion again, but a sense of foreboding still lingered in his mind. What could they do now? They had limited resources—maybe enough for a few days—but no light and no way to go......except forward.“I explored farther up the tunnel before you got here,” Parus said quietly, as if he wanted to keep the conversation going. “It turns to the left after a while, and there are no more channels in the walls after that.”“Do you want to go back?” Oska asked, half-wishing that he’d say yes.“Actually, scholar, I thought you’d want to go on.”“Why would you think that?”“Well, isn’t this what you’ve been looking for? History?”“I’d prefer to be able to tell people about it in the present. It looks like we may become history here...”“Heh, well said, scholar. But what if there’s another way out? These tunnels can’t go on forever.”“Can’t they?”“Hmph...well, I’m not going to sit here and wait to starve, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”“No, no, you’re right, Parus.” Oska sighed again, rubbing his face. “I want to see where this all leads as much as you do.”“I thought you’d say that.” Parus was smiling. “So we’re agreed?”“Agreed.”

As Parus had said, the tunnel turned sharply left after a short distance. The going was much slower now that they had no light. The two Agori walked side by side now, each with one hand on the wall. They didn’t want to miss any openings.At least another two hours passed in this manner. They stopped to rest occasionally, taking some food from their packs. Water would be the vital thing to conserve, so they drank sparingly.They talked a little to pass the time, but otherwise silence filled the tunnel. Eventually they came to another tall chamber, similar to the first.“Let’s make sure we go through the right door this time.” Oska said dryly after they had searched the smooth walls.“No need to rub it in, scholar.” Parus said, gritting his teeth.They left the chamber behind, continuing on into the straight, unchanging tunnel. Once again, they lapsed into the rhythm of walking, walking and listening, the same as before.But after a while, something changed.It was subtle at first: a quiet and unobtrusive noise. But soon, both Agori knew that they were not imagining it:It was a rhythmic sound. The sound of pounding: something beating, pulsing from beyond the walls. It was unmistakable. They stopped a few times just to listen, to make sure it wasn’t their minds playing tricks.It was there. Oska could almost feel it vibrate into his feet. Not everything was dead down here. There was something alive in this ancient place.Neither one of the Agori spoke now—all there was to do was walk and listen, walk and listen. A long, drawn-out rhythm of movement and sound. The tunnel went on straight and unbending. Time went on, unmeasured. There was no time here. There was only the relentless walking, the tunnel, the beating noise, the darkness.Suddenly the walls on either side ended. They were out of the tunnel—another chamber? Yes, it was another chamber, but this one was larger—much larger. It stretched away into emptiness, an immeasurable space. The air almost felt thin, all vibrating with the vast, unending noise.They stopped abruptly. The transition from close quarters to the feeling of massive, unseen space was startling. Oska dropped to one knee, bracing a hand on the floor.“You can feel it here,” he mumbled. “Even the floor is vibrating.”“Oska!” Parus spoke to his left. His voice was quivering. “Look!”Look?Oska had not realized that his eyes were closed. In the darkness it had not mattered, and he had forgotten.But now he opened them, raising his weary eyelids slowly.He cried out and staggered back, shielding his dulled sight from the brightness which suddenly assaulted him.“What is it?” he yelled. Points of light flickered in his vision as he steadied himself, trying to ease his eyes open again.This time it was not nearly as bright. There were two points of radiance to his left: they were mounted in the wall on either side of the opening they had just passed through. Parus was examining one of them, his face pale in the white glow.“Look at this, Oska! It’s amazing. No heat at all.”“No heat?” Oska rose, moving toward him. “Where’s the fuel coming from?”“I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it’s even attached to the wall.” The Fire-Agori stooped and rummaged in his pack for moment. “In fact,” he continued, holding up a rock-climbing pick, “I think I can pry one loose.”“Be careful,” Oska replied, stepping back. “Don’t damage it. I’ve had my fill of blindness.”“Hah, so have I,” Parus wedged the pick in behind the glowing stone, heaving down on the handle. It came loose without much effort, and Parus crowed with triumph.“Better than a sputtering torch, eh, scholar? We’ve gone up in the world!”“If you say so.”The Fire-Agori pried the second stone out of its sconce, handing it to Oska.“One for each of us. No more stumbling in the dark.”The stone was cool to the touch, giving off a pale, white radiance—a translucent crystal. Oska had never seen anything like it before. He stared at it for several moments, feeling the smooth surface.Then he turned to the massive space, raising the light-stone aloft.The floor lit up before him, and Oska now saw—to his sudden horror—that the floor ended a short distance from where he stood. Beyond it there was only empty space.“My...” he stepped back hurriedly. “Careful, Parus, it’s a pit!”They were on a platform, jutting out over dark emptiness.“Watch your step, scholar.” Parus said, his voice grave. “Thank the spirits we didn’t keep walking...”“Don’t remind me.”Before him, Oska now saw that the platform narrowed into walkway—thin, but straight—which stretched out over the chasm, continuing into the darkness. Presumably it led to some other opening on the far side of the pit.Parus stepped forward.“Be careful!” Oska warned.“—I know what I’m doing, scholar. What, afraid of heights all of a sudden?”He sidled slowly toward the edge, peering down into the blackness for a moment. Then he dropped one of the burnt torch-shafts into the depths, watching as the darkness swallowed it.There was no sound of it hitting the bottom, even if they could have heard it above the steady pulsing in the air.“That’s enough of that, Parus.” Oska gestured for him to come away from the edge. “We know it’s deep. Very deep.”“Of course, well, shall we cross the bridge then?”“Oh...If we must.” Oska eyed the narrow walkway nervously.“Unless you’d rather sit here and listen to the hammering. It’s louder here than in the tunnel.”“I think it’s getting louder as we go on.”“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”“Neither do I...Alright, let’s go.” Oska raised his light-stone aloft again, moving toward the narrow walkway. He squared his shoulders, making sure his pack was balanced.Then he stepped forward.Step after step, one at a time. The thin light revealed more and more of the walkway as they continued on. On either side, the chasm stretched into infinity—up, down, left, right. The cavern echoed with the unending noise, resounding in the unknown distance above and below.Soon, Oska could glimpse another platform and a wall with another opening away in front of him. They were near the end. It was almost over.He slowed his pace, looking back over his shoulder.“Almost there, Parus! Only a little farther.”The Fire-Agori was close behind, sauntering. Almost casual. Oska scowled, turning forward again. He plodded on, matching the pace of the pulsing noise.He could almost imagine the great wheels and gears and throbbing pistons that could make such a sound. Maybe if there were lights in this chamber he could see them, away to the left or right.He wished he could see them. That in itself would make this journey worthwhile.The machines of giants.Or of the Matoran...If only...His thoughts were shattered by a sudden lurch. The bridge shifted underneath him, shaking violently. The pounding noise suddenly rose faster, louder, filling his ears and mind. Oska cried out, trying to keep his balance.He fell to a knee, arms outstretched, wavering.“Go!” he heard Parus shout behind him, and a hand shoved him along the walkway. He had to get to the end—the wide platform. He was almost there.Oska stumbled forward, teetering from side to side. The ground lurched again, and he almost fell, instead he lost his grip on the light-stone.Away it flickered, down into the bottomless pit. Oska felt sick at the sight, but he staggered on.Almost there.Almost there.There! He had made it. He collapsed to the floor of the platform, hugging the flat metal as it shook beneath him. In the corner of his vision he saw Parus do the same. The Fire-Agori still had a light-stone, at least.“What is it?” Parus yelled above the noise that now thundered around them.“I don’t know!” Oska replied.“Maybe we shouldn’t stay to find out!”They rose in unison, both dashing toward the opening in the wall which loomed before them. Parus rushed through first, holding the light-stone forward, and Oska followed, stumbling.For a moment, before he entered, the scholar stopped in the doorway. Bracing himself against the wall, he looked back into the massive chamber.It was a short moment, a short glance, but it was long enough to glimpse a flickering host of lights winking on in the vast distance of the chamber.White light glinted momentarily upon huge shapes rising the distance. Cyclopean machines throbbing and pulsing as they worked—the last thundering throes of mechanisms worn out by time and entropy...It was a sight at once beautiful and frightening in its immensity...fearful and terrible.Oska turned and fled into the tunnel.

The passage lead straight on as all the others had, except this one now began to slant upward.It was a gradual incline, but soon both Agori were breathing hard as they struggled up the slope, fleeing from the quaking and the deafening noise.Parus still lead the way, holding the light-stone aloft to illuminate their path.Both were weary—weary of this place, weary of the journey, weary of fear.There must be an end soon, Oska thought, feeling his muscles burn with the effort of running. A sense of urgency drove him on. The feeling of some impending conclusion to this journey.The tunnel went on.Time seemed to skip quickly forward, rushing, rushing.The slope steepened, now they were almost crawling, bent forward.Oska went with his hands out to catch himself if he fell...It was almost done. Almost over.The breath stuck in his lungs as he gasped, his heart pounding with the speed of the pounding machines in the depths behind them.Pounding in his ears…Pounding in his mind…In front of him, Parus seemed to stop for a moment, the light in his hand wavering as he bent. Was he going to rest?No, it was another door. Another dead end. The light-stone shone white and flat against it.No.Not another one. Oska couldn’t take much more.Parus raised the lightstone, searching for a groove or seam. There was nothing. Nothing!He beat upon the stone. Oska beat with him. Neither spoke. There was nothing but the thud of their hands on the stone. Nothing more to do but that. Nothing to do but escape. Escape.Escape!And then the door moved.Light blinded them. But this time it was real light—no artificial, crystaline radiance.It was sunlight. Blazing, brilliant sunlight.They staggered forward out of the dark and into the day.

Wind smote Oska’s face as he stumbled forward upon the dusty ground. It was a crisp wind, bitingly cold after the stillness of the tunnel.“We’re out!” he heard Parus yell to his right as he staggered in the haze of sunlight. Even with the glow of the crystal to acclimate his eyes in the passage, the light of the sun was blinding, painful.He was out of breath, lungs heaving, limbs weak after the last desperate effort up the sloping tunnel. He stood still, trying to regain his bearings. At last, his vision cleared.…and the sight that greeted him was staggering.Before his feet, the ground sloped steadily downward: a long, gray, sweeping curve that lead down into a vast Plain.Immense: a shifting ocean of gray dunes and hills of ancient sand, all sculpted into unmoving waves by the icy wind.Before him it spread, huge and incredible, not just for its size, but also because, as Oska gazed in speechless awe, he perceived that it was a cavern. The wall behind him rose up into an unbroken cliff-side, towering higher and higher, slanting outward into the vaulted arch of a gray stone sky above him.Far out in the vastness, three massive holes in that artificial sky let in the sunlight from beyond.One of holes was more jagged than the others: a rough gap torn in the colossal roof.Oska fell to his knees, overcome.Beside him, Parus rubbed his eyes, his jaw slack. There were no words to describe the scene—not only the sense of scale but also the sense of......Age.Eons lay upon the dry expanse of that ancient sea, that primeval vault of sky. And upon the single feature that rose up from the ashen gray of that plain: an island amid the spreading dunes.Oska thought that he could almost glimpse the spires of towers upon the indistinct shape that glowered in the distance. A mountain?A city?“What...” Parus swallowed, trying to form words. “What is it, scholar?”“I don’t...know...” Oska replied, struggling to his feet again. He moved forward, step by step, farther down the slope. His mind felt far away, shocked and overwhelmed.The wind blew around his knees as he fell forward suddenly, catching himself with outstretched hands.The dust hissed between his fingers, fine-grained and sterile, and he felt something hard beneath the surface. With trembling fingers, he scraped away the accumulation of ages, finding a hard corner of stone or metal.“Parus, where’s my pack?” he mumbled, breathless.“On your back.” The Fire-Agori moved toward him, tearing his eyes away from the landscape.“Oh...” Oska shifted his shoulder, dropping the pack to the ground.He rummaged in its depths for a moment before drawing out a small brush. He then proceeded to unearth the stone object, finding the edges, clearing away the dry grit.The wind aided his progress, and soon he was kneeling before a small raised pedestal which jutted out of the dust.“Found something already?” Parus stooped beside him, peering over his shoulder.“Yes...” Oska bent and blew on the stone, clearing out the small channels and grooves with his breath. An inscription appeared. Several inscriptions. Oska’s heart was beating even faster now.His eyes darted over the pedestal, trying to discern the symbols.There were Matoran symbols here. Matoran. There were several variations. He couldn’t read them very well. Some were worn away by the passing of time.Oska felt a feeling of urgency rise in his chest, almost desperation. He had to find out what they meant...he had to. There had to be some purpose to them, somehow.He traced the lines down the pedestal, line after line, searching......and then he saw it.There along the lower third of the stone: the final set of inscriptions. He caught a word. It was Agori: old—very old. But Oska knew much of the old languages of Spherus Magna, especially his own.He could read it.He could read it.It was here—here for him, he was sure. And it meant that some other Agori had been here at one time. Some Agori had, in ancient days, carved these words alongside the words of Matoran, perhaps at the same time. That in itself was a revelation.“Well?” Parus broke into his revelry, a quiet voice against the wind. “What does it say?”What does it say?Such a question demanded an answer...What does it mean?Such a journey demanded a purpose...And in those few short moments, there kneeling before that awesome expanse—the dry, spreading sea-plain, the dim city-shape, the rising dome of the sky pierced by the shafts of the morning sun—Oska the scholar recited the words carved there for him to see in the long-forgotten depths of time:

[Originally posted 4/21/11. The archived version is here.]Original post:

Hey, BZP.I had a free evening this week.Free of work, free of homework. A few cups of most excellent coffee……Twenty pages and several hours later, this was the result. This is a distinct departure from my usual method of writing because of the fact that it’s a “one-off”: written in one sitting. I don’t normally work like that. Ideas have to sit around in my mind and ferment, develop. Not so with this one.Hope you like it. I’m going to sleep now.

First off, I think that the writing was very good. However, I'm a bit confused about the story's background. Obviously the end is a reference to the beginning of MNOG/the basic plot of '01, but the fact that Vakama died and the references to several different islands was confusing, as it obviously doesn't fit with the canon in that sense.

Presumably, it's a slight AU to work better with the story, which I have no objections to.Anyways, this is pretty well-written, and fits well with the feel of the early years, if slightly darker. Very nice, especially since you seem to have written it quite quickly, this apparently being an entry to the Short Story contest and all.

Just some background on the story: This was a bit of a foray into an idea I've had for a long time--sort of an alternate story for Bionicle, exploring how things might have turned out. . .differently. As you'll be able to tell from reading it (and I always appreciate it if you read it!), the scenes are overwhelmingly inspired by material from MNOG--especially the "vision" of the Legend of Mata Nui. That scene was so instrumental in formulating Bionicle mythology for me. . .I've never forgotten it. I still go back and watch it sometimes. Ah, good times.

Member name: TolkienEntry name and link: The Coming of the Toa There 'tis. JRRT

The words sounded as clear to Kua as they had when the old Turaga had spoken them on his deathbed. “Do you remember…a time before? A time when the islands were not separate, when we were not scattered as we are now. Scattered and broken like leaves on a pond’s surface.” The old Turaga had lain very still, and Kua had held very still beside him, daring not to breath. The room was dim, and only the light of their eyes had lit the space. Time was running out. “D-do you remember,” the Turaga began again, “a time before the cities were built, before the Red Star dawned in the north? Surely…surely you must. Surely we all must, for we were all there. But it was so long ago…We have forgotten everything.” “No…not everything, elder,” Kua tried to comfort his friend, tried to reassure him in his final moments. “Surely not,” he said, “We…we have the Legends, and the walls of history, and—” “—No, Kua,” the Turaga sighed slowly, “th-they are only a reflection of…of what we have lost. I do not understand why we do not remember. No one does, and it makes us afraid. Afraid to seek out the answers to our questions. Afraid to remember.” The old Turaga shuddered, his breath rasping through crushed lungs. The accident had been so sudden, so fast. Kua had not been able to stop it. Now it had come to this. His elder was dying. His friend was dying. “We…” Kua could not find the words. “We are not afraid, elder.” “Oh, but we are, Kua,” the Turaga replied. “There…there is a darkness in our past. A darkness that we have fled from all the days of our lives. You know I am right, Kua. You are…my most trusted disciple. You know…I am right.” Kua did not understand it then. Did not comprehend the elder’s words. Standing there with the old Turaga’s hand clasped in his, choking back the tears. And afterward, when the ceremonies of death had been completed, after all the ritual and the burial and the entombment of the elder’s Kanohi was done. Even then Kua did not understand. But the words stayed with him. Gnawing at him, deep in his spirit. It drove him to seek out their meaning, to seek out some meaning…any meaning. That was why he turned to the Stars. That was why Ta-Kua, right hand of the late Turaga Vakama, resigned from his place. That was why he left his village behind, why he fled to the Tower of the Great Telescope, with its ancient markings, undeciphered. There he might find some meaning. There in that tower, alone, with only the view of the stars that the telescope offered him. He would find something there. Some way of recovering what the Matoran had lost. Some way of…remembering. It was painful to remember. Painful to hear these words again, echoing in his mind. Kua turned over in the darkness of the night and clenched his eyes, trying to sleep, trying to find some peace. But there was no peace. He could not escape his own thoughts. And the sound of the sea crashing on the rocks below was no aid in slumber. Not tonight. He would have no rest. He stood and walked to the door that opened on the Sea. He went out and stood upon the balcony of the Tower, looking out into the black night. Below, the darkness was filled with the noise of moving water, endlessly swelling up from the depths to break against the rocks of the islands of the Matoran. Endlessly trying to suck them down, to gnaw away at the foundations, to undo them by time and patience. Endless, yes. For they were the waters of the Endless Ocean, the waters that had no edge and no boundaries. Kua raised his eyes, squinting. The stars were dim tonight, clouded. But he could still see the brightest of them faintly: the constellation Nuyo, the mountain, and Hoii, the great turtle, and, shining clear in the north, Nga Rui: the Two Brothers. He knew them all, their names and their paths across the sky, their portents in the prophecies and designs etched upon the surface of the Telescope. It was said that every island had its Telescope. Every island had its link to the stars. But even knowing them so well, the stars still filled him with awe: the immenseness of space that lay between him and they, and the great patterns in which they all turned, infinitely vast. He was so small. Perhaps…perhaps he would never find what he sought, out there in all that distance and time. The thought always rose at the back of his mind on nights like this. The clutching of despair, trying to drag him down, whittle away at his resolve…would he ever find what the Matoran had lost, lost in all the distance of time? Lost in the darkness when the sea bore them, when they were led by the Great Spirit, when the cataclysm was over and the islands were scattered… You will never know. It whispered to him. It is all gone. It said. All lost beyond recall now. Kua felt sleep finally winning the battle, he had no strength to resist this…this voice out of the emptiness, out of the void. What was the point? He slumped against the stone railing, letting his head lean forward, staring into the night and seeing nothing. He didn’t know how long he remained that way, drifting in and out of sleep, fitful and restless. His muscles ached, and always his ears were filled with the noise of the crashing sea. He didn’t care, didn’t care about anything. But then…then something changed. Something in the wind, maybe, or maybe it was more subtle than that—could it be that the sound of the waves had changed? The voice of the waters no longer seemed so…so angry, so deep. And then his sleep-dulled eyes saw something. Or at least he thought he saw something, in the corner of his vision. Could it be a light? Had he stood here all night long? No, it was not the sun. It came from the north, not the east. But it was a light. Kua stirred and inclined his head slightly, looking to his right, looking to the north. It was red. A fiery, crimson glow that began as a single point, marking the edge of the horizon. Quickly it spread, outlining the surface of the ocean where it met the sky. A blazing red line, and then it all flared up and resolved into a single point again. A single light. A single star. The Red Star. Up, up it rose, faster than any of the other stars. Comet-like, it streaked up across the pattern of the heavens, drawing its scarlet line in the darkness, splitting the night sky in two as it flashed ever higher. Kua watched in dull amazement, hardly registering what he saw. Could this be real, or was he dreaming? Never before had he seen the Red Star—Inaitea, the star of prophecy—so clear and bright and moving so fast. Already it had reached the zenith, speeding south. He leaned back, trying to keep it in view as it moved behind him. The crest of the Tower would block his sight soon, and it would be lost. Kua leaned out from the railing, craning his neck to see. Suddenly there was a burst of radiance, and the trail of the Red Star swelled with the trails of other lights. Six more in all. All following, all falling. Falling in the darkness. Six new stars… A vision blossomed in his mind, filling every part of his thoughts, every crevasse, every chink, ever hidden, deep facet of his soul. He knew it was a vision—something in the way he saw things, as if everything was clearer, sharper. He stood upon the balcony no longer. No longer did the weight of his limbs or his body inhibit him. He was rising high above them all now. Among the stars. The space yawned beneath him, black and empty, and he felt fear. But above him there was light—pure light. Light and hope. The darkness reached out with formless hands to seize him, to drag him down. He cried out— —And he was answered. Out of the light above him something fell, and it seemed to embody the light. It was a stone, oval-shaped and smooth. It fell toward him and past him and struck the earth. Earth? Yes, there was earth beneath him now—the darkness had gone. Only dim sand spread on all sides. The stone towered above him, and Kua saw that it was carved with a face. It was the face of the Great Spirit. He had seen it many times in the etchings on the walls of history. An ancient face. An eternal face. And yet…the Great Spirit had not spoken to them for so long. So long. Kua wept at the memory, that slow descent into despair. He remembered how the Turaga had felt, how he had said that there were no more visions. No more prophecies given to him. They had all dried up, like water scattered upon the ground. Dried up and soaked into the earth. “…into the darkness that lies beneath,” Vakama had said, and his old eyes were sad. No visions for a century of centuries. But this…this was a new vision. This was something new. Kua looked on. The stone of the Great Spirit still towered from the sand before him, and now Kua saw that around him there were many smaller stones. They were moving, drawing closer to the great Stone, tracing lines in the sandy surface of the earth. They formed a circle around the Great Spirit, gathering themselves into smaller groups. It was good. The light seemed to shine brighter from above now, banishing the darkness. It was good… But it did not last. Suddenly a shadow fell across the scene. Great and black, it reared up from the blackness that surrounded them, and Kua felt the earth shudder as a black stone fell from heaven to bury itself in the sand beside the Great Spirit. Terror seized him, and Kua knew suddenly what it was. This was the darkness—the darkness from their past. The nameless, creeping, whispering darkness…It must be. Now the sand began to quiver again. The two Stones stood side by side now, and Kua felt the struggle between them, though he saw no visible change. Face to face they stood: the stone of the Great Spirit and the Black Stone, and Kua watched horrified as a shadow crept out of the base of the black rock and moved across the ground between them. Up, up it rose, covering the face of the Great Spirit, that ancient face. The ground quaked and shook, and Kua fell to his knees. Before him, the small piles of stones fell apart, scattering again into chaos as the earth beneath them shuddered with the struggle. Kua wanted to cry out, wanted to rush forward and do something, but he could not. It was a vision. His purpose was only to watch. And watch he did. Again the light above him flashed, and now Kua saw six smaller stones hurtle down out of the glowering sky. Six stones…they fell in a circle around the two larger ones, surrounding them, glowing with a white radiance. Something had changed. Now the balance of power was different. The earth no longer trembled in fear—it trembled with power, with energy. A shock ran through the sand, expanding outward from each of the six stones—Kua could see the ripple in the earth. Suddenly the ground lurched violently beneath the Black Stone, and the stone cracked. Cracked! The sound was like thunder, deafening Kua, but he did not turn away. It seemed that the Great Spirit had won! But it was not so, for even though the Black Stone broke, it did not crumble. Instead it fell forward, toppling, slow and immense, falling, falling… …With a great noise it struck the stone of the Great Spirit, and Kua watched in horror as both fell shattered. Shattered! The white stone toppled in ruin, and its pieces were scattered over the sand. Dust rose up, and Kua could not see. He was blinded. No! He could not bear it, could not bear to watch as the darkness claimed the Great Spirit. To see the victory of the Six Stones undone…it was too much. He fell forward upon his face, despairing. But the vision was not over, and, try as he might, Kua could not resist looking up again. There, there above him, far off in the blackness, the Red Star still hung, blazing and immense, and it seemed that a voice spoke to him out of the light of the Star, spoke to him with words that had no sound except in his mind: I have slept for so long. The words echoed through his thoughts, and now the dust cleared from before his eyes. Kua turned and looked upon the scene once more. My dreams have been dark ones. There, scattered across the sand that spread endlessly on all sides, Kua saw the remnants of the white stone. But now… The pieces stirred suddenly, rising up out of the dust in which they had been buried, tracing lines in the sand once more. …now, I am awakened. In the center, Kua saw the Six Stones, standing in their circle still, unmoved. The pieces of the white stone crept slowly back within the circle, converging on one point. Now the scattered elements of my being are rejoined. Up, up, the great stone rose once more. The face of the Great Spirit lifted again from the sand—that eternal face, regarding him again with ancient eyes… Now I am whole. And the darkness cannot stand before me. The vision ended. Kua fell forward, spent. He felt the stone of the balcony-railing rough against his hands. It was strange, feeling something solid again. He was back. He lifted his head, searching the black sky for some sign of the Red Star, but it was gone, lost in the swelling night. Kua’s spirit fell. Was it over then? No, for though the Star was gone, the night was not dark. Another light was shining, but it was not the light of the Inaitea. It was morning. Dawn broke from the east as Kua stood motionless atop the Tower of the Telescope. The spreading sunlight flashed across the water and turned it all to gold as he watched, still exhausted from the vision. This was a light that did not fade. There was something different on this morning. Surely there was. Surely something had changed. Six new stars… Kua closed his eyes. Peace flooded through him as the sunlight swelled over the ocean. Yes, he would find the strength to continue. Find the strength to carry on through the distance and the time…find a way to remember, to discover what was lost. He had been given the key… He leaned forward heavily on the railing, eyes still closed. The light seemed to shine through his eyelids, filling his mind with warmth, with peace, with freedom and release. He was light as a bird, light as air. Soaring in the wind. Soaring like the birds. Falling, falling away into nothing… Crack. The black stone of the railing broke, cracked, gave way, and Kua fell. Fell down, down. The air rushed in his ears, deafening him, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care as the water rose up to take him. Didn’t care as the darkness yawned to accept him in its embrace—the darkness that lies beneath. Didn’t care, for he was a light now, a light hurtling down into the dark, and he knew, knew in the depths of his soul, as if a voice still spoke to him there… …Knew that it was not the end. The sea rose and crashed upon the rocks, endlessly gnawing at the foundations of the world. Birds sang in the morning, circling high above the Tower of the Telescope, set alone upon the coast of the island of Mata Nui. No one stood on the broken balcony there. No figure watched at the window. The morning was still again. But far below, where the pebbled shore stretched northward in an unbroken line, a round metal cylinder lay half-buried in the sand. The sunlight glinted on its ancient burnished face as it lay there, waiting. Waiting. Patient. Through all the distance and the time…Waiting… …and dreaming.