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Author’s Note - Updated August 18, 2023 It’s been a long road, but we’ve finally made it. When I originally started working on the opening scene of this story during the early pandemic days, I had no way of knowing that it would’ve ever become what it is now. Clocking in at over 75,000 words and 141 pages in Google Drive, it feels weird to say that The Volara Cycle is my first novel length work, especially since it happened essentially on accident. After I posted the first few chapters on BZPower, I felt like I had a responsibility to see the work through to its conclusion, wherever that may be. As I added more and more to it I realized that I didn’t yet have a clear idea of what that conclusion would be. Thus, the long hiatus between Chapter 18 and the closing chapters. This hiatus also included a good amount of revision to the chapters that had already been posted, so those readers that have been here since the start are advised to start the story from the beginning. A note on gender in the story: both genders are present in all elements in this story. It just seems to be the most natural way to do it from my point of view. Additionally, I'm sorry for the myriad formatting errors that are bound to be present. It seems the BZP text editor does not like copy and pasting from Google Drive. Finally, there are two maps of Volara-Nui available in the review thread. Thank you to all those who read the story in its incomplete state and provided feedback in the review thread. A lot of it has been incorporated in the final version of the story. A final note to readers new and old; I hope this story brings you joy and lets you reminisce on the good times that BIONICLE brought you. Chapter 1 He felt the sting of hot sand on his face when he awoke. The sound of the waves filled his ears, and the song of flying sea Rahi carried across the water. His whole body ached, as if he had just fallen a great distance. Slowly, he pushed himself up, spitting out the abrasive grains of sediment as he went. He rolled over onto his back, looking out over the ocean. The blue waves of liquid protodermis stretched out as far as the eye could see. He shielded his eyes to see more clearly, spying a formation of jagged rocks stabbing out from the water a hundred or so bios away from the shore. There seemed to be wreckage about it; ships that had found their end on the treacherous stones. Could it have been one of the ships that had brought him here? There didn’t seem to be any other explanation. But why? He suddenly thought. Why did I come here? Where is here? Who am I? The last question was most concerning of all. He racked his mind for a name, searching for anything to fill in the gap. Nothing came to him. He stood up, weakly, and looked down on himself, hoping his own image would dislodge the stubborn memory. He saw a tall, strong body with brown armor, streaked with tan. He leaned over a tide pool to see his reflection. The gray face was unknown to him. Frustrated, he smacked the water and walked off. He spied a strange object buried in the sand; he almost wrote it off as a rock or shell, but the angled shape and metallic glint caught his attention. On further inspection, he realized it was a Kanohi mask. A Great Kualsi by the looks of it. He sensed waves of energy thrumming just beneath the mask’s metal enamel, pulsing like a heartbeat. He slowly put the mask up to his face and felt the magnetic pull yank it the rest of the way. It came slowly, then all at once. The energy contained within the mask filled his body like water soaks fabric. With power came strength, and renewed confidence. The Toa peered through the mask's eye slits with clear vision. Whatever his past, whatever brought him to the island, he knew one thing was true: He was a Toa of Stone, gifted with the ability to manipulate the rocks and boulders and the very ground. Despite this, the dark abyss of his past gnawed at him. There had to be a reason why he was here, whatever this place was. He took another look at the shipwrecks languishing off the shore, wondering if he had been a part of a Toa Team. Were they still alive somewhere, waiting for him to catch up, or had some terrible fate befallen them? The confidence restored by the mask seemed to darken as he pondered this. For the most fleeting of moments, he saw them. Silhouettes, blurred like memories of memories. The more he thought of it, the more it seemed like remembering the last vestiges of a dream. He saw them; their shapes, potentially a few colors, heard whispers that could’ve been voices. Like a dream, the more he focused on remembering, the more obfuscated they became. Finally, he saw nothing. The shipwreck was still there, the waves still rolling in and out. Somberly, he let the memory go, carried out to sea on the tides. With a heavy heart, the Toa reached into himself, calling upon his powers for the first time since his awakening. He grasped the nearby stones; rocks and boulders of various size and shape responding to his beckoning and moving. He brought them together at the place where the waves lapped at the beach, fusing them together into a cairn that stood as tall as he was and twice as wide. An eternal monument to comrades lost but not forgotten. When it was finished, he broke his concentration and sighed deeply. It had been second nature for him to build the marker, as easy as walking or taking a breath. He lingered for a time beside the monument, pondering what to do next. We’re here for a reason, friends. He thought to himself, eyes on the shipwreck. We have a duty to complete. I’ll see that it’s done. If you’re out there, I’ll find you. If not, I’ll make sure you’re remembered. With that, he stood up, gave the wreck one last look, and then turned away. The beach he had washed up on was mostly featureless. On the west, the sand turned to dense forest after a few dozen bios. To the north and south, the beach continued on into the horizon. Into the forest I go, it seems. As he turned to begin trudging through the forest, he saw a dark shape wedged into the sand. A fragment of a ship, clearly belonging to one of the wrecks claimed by the rocks. On it, was a nameplate emblazoned with the Matoran text Akarius. A Matoran name that meant traveler or wayfarer. A strong name for a not so strong ship. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the way it sounded. Fine, he decided, For the time being, I’m Akarius. I’m sure the owner of the ship won’t mind me borrowing the name. With that, Akarius set off into the dense forest. In search of what, he wasn’t exactly sure. It wouldn’t be the first time that day he wasn’t sure of something. For as long as Kulu could remember, the ancient temple known as the Kini-Volara was said to be haunted by all sorts of malevolent entities. From ghosts to wild Rahi, the Matoran of Volara-Nui had spun all sorts of tales about the island and the antediluvian artifice that sat upon it. All the Turaga would reveal about it is that the temple had been there for as long as they had. Only a few Matoran said that it was the home of the malicious raiders that had plagued the island for centuries. Invariably, this last bit of speculation was lost in the noise of more outlandish theories. Kulu had wondered if it was because the more fantastical explanations were somehow more comforting to the Matoran of the island. As Kulu walked through the vaulted entranceway of the decrepit structure, he knew that there was far more therein for the Volarans to fear than ghosts or Rahi. A shroud of perfect darkness surrounded the Matoran as he made his way through the ruins of the ancient temple. Despite it still being daylight on the island of Kini-Volara, one would need a lightstone to be able to penetrate the unnatural darkness that hung over the structure. Even Kulu, who had once been an Onu-Matoran, could barely make out anything in the pall of blackness. He reached into his pack and pulled out the lightstone he had stashed there. The luminance the stone provided helped a little, but most of the light was swallowed up by the darkness. Fortunately for Kulu, he had memorized much of the temple’s layout by now. He had spent the last century coming and going from the headquarters of his Master. In the darkness surrounding him, he heard various hisses and rumblings that would strike fear into the heart of a normal Matoran. The piercing chitters of the Visorak, the distinct hissing of Kraata, or the armored footsteps of Kra-Matoran. The Matoran of Shadow and their bestial counterparts were the rank and file soldiers of Kulu’s Master. Kulu himself was one of these Kra-Matoran, although left untouched by mutation so he could blend in with the Matoran of Volara-Nui. The martial power that was gathered in the vast temple complex was more than enough to conquer the island, possibly even two or three times over. Kulu’s Master had no want for manpower. However, such a show of force would not bode well for the Master, at least not now. The Master was patient, and would not make his move before everything was perfectly in place. For now, they were content with periodic raids, destabilizing espionage, and a campaign of fear. Kulu finally reached the spiral staircase at the far eastern end of the temple. The staircase led to the temple’s sublevels, where Kulu’s Master schemed in the darkness. As Kulu descended, his lightstone suddenly flickered out. The darkness here was more than unnatural. Undaunted, Kulu continued his descent. He had long ago committed each of the steps to memory. When answering the Master’s summons, no hesitation could be accepted. When his foot finally touched the landing at the bottom of the staircase, a horrific shiver racked Kulu’s metal body. His organics cringed as the air suddenly grew thin and stale. He felt as if something had just appeared behind him, and his mind was seized by the image of a predator stalking its prey. The lightstone sputtered back to life twice, each time going out as quickly as it had come on. The light was enough to illuminate a set of armored suits, cold and lifeless as the grave. Each was crowned by a grisly Kanohi mask. At the far side of the room, a pool of silvery liquid sat placidly, reflecting the pulses of light like a mirror. Despite this, Master himself was unseen, but made his presence known in Kulu’s psyche. Even after years of experience sharing his mind with his Master, it never failed to perturb him. There was a tense moment of silence, and for a moment the unease in Kulu’s gut blackened into fear. He suddenly had to resist the urge to run, his eyes playing tricks on him in the pitch black darkness. The feeling only lasted for a moment before the Master spoke. “Kulu, faithful servant.” The voice was like an icy spike through his mind. Despite this, Kulu did his best to respond without trepidation. “I bring news, master.” Until recently, Kulu had been acting as an outrider, moving from village to village looking for any information to keep the Master apprised of. It was mostly thankless work; as a rule, the day-to-day lives of the Volarans were uneventful. Yet, even at this he excelled, and now Kulu was one of the Master’s most trusted eyes, after more than a century of lying, cheating, and fighting tooth and nail. For a mere Matoran, outcast from their village and hated, ascension in the Master’s eyes was the last way to guarantee survival. No matter what one said about Kulu, no one could say he wasn’t a survivor. Now, it was close to paying off. “Belay the report, Kulu. There are more pressing matters to attend to.” The Master rarely betrayed emotion in his speech. Yet today, there was the slightest hint of something off about him, almost... uncertain. Kulu shuddered, banishing the thought as soon as it entered his mind. There was no telling when the Master was listening. He straightened himself, listening intently. “The outriders in Le-Wahi have given troubling reports of a Toa on Volara-Nui.” The news shocked Kulu, but he stood firm. A Toa here? Troubling indeed. However, nothing they couldn’t deal with. “You said they were in Le-Wahi? If I leave now, I can reach the jungle by nightfall,” Kulu said confidently, “It would be an honor to kill this nuisance for you, Master.” Even as the words left his mouth, Kulu regretted them. What could he do against a Toa? There was a rattling staccato that could’ve been laughter. “Temper your arrogance, Kulu. You would be hard-pressed against a Toa in any straight fight.” Kulu nodded sheepishly, wondering what had possessed him to say something so ridiculous. “Still, I’m in need of your talents. Track the Toa, go where the other Kra-Matoran can’t. Lead the true killers to them, and ensure their job is done. Do this, and you will have earned a measure of my trust.” Kulu perked up, seeing now that this was his chance. The Master must have sensed his eagerness. “Go now, my servant. If this Toa was spotted in Le-Wahi, then it is only logical that they’d be heading for Le-Koro. Draw him out. Preferably, take him alive. Still, a corpse is just as good.” “Yes, Master. The Toa will be found. If he’s in the village, I’ll flush him out.” With that, Kulu felt the presence of his Master dissipate. The lightstone in his hand suddenly came back to life. The shadow Matoran was alone in the chamber, with only the suits of baroque armor that lined the walls suggesting that his master had ever been there. Kulu turned and hurriedly ascended the staircase. The Master had always been as inscrutable as the darkness that surrounds him, and Kulu never had any reason to believe that his master harbored any ill will against him. Despite this, the end of every encounter with him always gave Kulu the feeling that he had just narrowly escaped certain doom. He shook the feeling off and regained his composure. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, his exterior was as resolute as it was when he descended. Review Topic
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