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Chapter Text

In the beginning, soon after the Great Beings first wrought the ecosystem, they devised many beings to populate it and labour within it, persons and races beyond count: Rahi of every kind. Others too, entered in to that durable and efficient and beautiful domain: even mighty Makuta. Only when all else was prepared were the Matoran made and yet the greatest, for the world was made for them.  

A different being were these, built of a mechanical frame and yet not robotic, for biological life was poured into that frame and sustained it and a new thing it became, truly Bionicle. Their domain was to be the Great Machine, from the crown of Metru Nui to the distant Southern Isles, and theirs it was to tend and sustain the great mechanics of that machine.

But this story begins, of course, with the arrival of the Toa Mata in cannisters on the coasts of Mata Nui.

1000 years ago, before the exile from Metru Nui, before the cataclysm that ended the Bionicle empire, and buried their whole ecosystem beneath the waves, there were expeditions to the stars, beyond their homeworld, and Toa cannisters were sealed into remote planetoids: hidden treasure or an emergency fail-safe.

When the empire began to sink, over 100 Toa across the galaxy responded to the call for aid, copies of ancient Helryx wakened and summoned in the hour of need, but the Doom of that hour would not bend even for so many heroes, and they were all destroyed or fled deep into the bowels of sunken empire, as Helryx herself was sheltered by Artakha. 

Perhaps a few other Toa did not waken: out of range from the beacon or their cannisters having failed. If so, they never came, or returning to Spherus Magna they despaired, seeing the great ecosystem vanished. Turaga Vakama, it is said, knew that six last beacons had not been activated, and he told the exiled Matoran of a vision: six Toa, the true and final heroes, would return from the stars and save the Matoran should they ever meet their final hour of need.

“Why six?” asked the villagers, thinking they knew the answer, for there were six Koros on Mata Nui, but Vakama shook his head. “If that is the will of Mata Nui,” he said, but to the other Turaga he said that he knew not if the six unlit beacons matched the six tribes. Enough time passed that the faintest echoes of their private counsels were whispered from Matoran to Matoran: six was an arbitrary number.

“So there could be a seventh,” Takua speculated openly to Jaller once, and the captain tried to scowl at him, seeing Turaga Vakama approach from behind.

“A seventh what?” asked the Turaga, wondering why his normally stoic captain looked guilty.

“A seventh Toa,” said Takua. “If there can be six, there could be seven.”

“No.” Turaga Vakama was firm. “We await six  heroes. When the Toa come at last, they will be six.”

“But there could  be a seventh,” said Takua, oblivious to the Turaga’s mood.

“There is no seventh Toa,” said Vakama darkly, and Jaller said later that was the week Takua was banished.

It was not long after that, many long years since the fall of Metru Nui, that, within the sunken halls of Metru Nui, the Rahaga found at last and activated the last six beacons, and the six remaining emergency Toa were summoned. Their silver cannisters swept through the stars and landed in the oceans, floating ashore to Mata Nui.

By luck or by fate, they were six, as Vakama had said: one to each tribe, remembering nothing, so long had they been in stasis, so they took the names the Turaga had given them in hopeful legend: Tahu, Onua, Kopaka, Pohatu, Gali, and Lewa.

Chapter Text

“Tell me straight, Turaga,” Pohatu asked Onewa one day, early in his time on Mata Nui. He and his brethren were still learning about the isle, about its inhabitants, even about themselves. “Why do the Matoran murmur quietly of a seventh Toa? Aren’t we enough, six Toa for six villages?”

Onewa looked at him, his mien as stony as the Wahi itself, the most easy-going Toa undaunted by the hardest of the Turaga. Pohatu remembered nothing of his time in the cannister, of their time in the stars. He did not even know his own name, accepting "Pohatu" off the mouths of the Matoran.

“Who has been whispering?” Onewa asked at last, but Pohatu wasn’t about to snitch on his little friends.

“Just Matoran,” he said lightly, with a wave of his arms (short arms, Onewa always thought, though they were longer than his now). “Like, Ga-Korans and such.”

If Pohatu hadn’t trusted Onewa, he’d have sworn the Turaga was trying to use the mind-influencing magicks of his Komau, so intent was the Turaga's gaze as he replied.

“There are as many--or as few--Toa as Mata Nui deems necessary,” said the Turaga at last. “Six is fitting. There is no seventh.”

____________________________

“You remind me of him,” Vakama told Tahu as they looked out over the lava flows one even on the edge of Ta-Koro. The new Toa had just returned from another search of the island and seemed to be glad to be back with his people, though he did not say as much. Tahu spoke often and loudly, but rarely of his own feelings.

“Remind you of who, Turaga?” asked Tahu, always deferential to the Turaga. Vakama had noticed that Tahu, who believed firmly in his own authority, believed strongly in Authority as such and he was deferential to those who wielded it, though he held back from affection. If Tahu had a true friend, Vakama did not know it, for the Toa guarded his feelings with shields stronger than his Hau. 

Still, the Toa were still new and learning themselves, and if Tahu was respectful but distant of his Turaga, Vakama himself was keeping secrets. The Toa knew nothing of Metru Nui, or of the whole sunken world of which they, the Toa themselves, were made and were made to serve. The Turaga were all a little disquieted by this ignorance, Nuju being particularly caustic, and Vakama did not know if he could trust this stoic warrior--a figure of justice, not mercy--with the failures and doubts that surrounded his memories of Lhikan and their exile from Metru Nui.

“Whom do I remind you of, Turaga?” Tahu rephrased the question, still with iron politeness.

“Oh, Captain Jaller,” said Vakama, and if you thought only of his mask, it wasn’t a lie. “You’re both so serious”

Chapter Text

“Toa Kopaka, Toa Kopaka!” the Matoran’s cries are shrill in the silent, icy halls of Ko-Koro. The Toa of Ice turns to see Matoro rushing toward him.

"We've found something, frozen in the ice. It looks like a great Kanohi. Turaga Nuju said we should not remove it ourselves, lest we damage it."

“Show me.” Kopaka started back in the direction from which Matoro had come and the Matoran scurried to get ahead of the lanky Toa and show him the way.

“Back this way,” he huffed, getting ahead of Kopaka. “The glacier is pushing it up.”

They came behind Ko-Koro to the edge of the glacier that rose in the heights of Ko-Wahi and filled the valley. Kopaka could see three Matoran standing with Nuju and without waiting to approach any closer, began to look over the glacier behind them while he walked. A glint of gold stood out from the whites and greys around them. Even without his Akaku, Kopaka could see this was what had caused the excitement. With the Akaku, even as he was walking up, he could see that the item in gold itself a perfect copy of his mask.

Kopaka fixed Nuju with his piercing stare.

“What is this, Turaga?”

Nuju returned his gaze, the Ko-Turaga never once having yielded to another’s scrutiny. He replied in a few terse syllables of bird-speak.

“He says it’s clearly a Mask, Toa Kopaka,” said Matoro.

~*~*~*~

“What is it, Turaga?” Onua asked, though they both already knew it was a golden Pakari, and Onua knew from the tingle in the earth alone that it was a mask of great power. In appearance, at least, it was the same as that which adorned Onua’s own visage. 

“It is a mask of many powers,” said Whenua, slowly. It had always been his habit to pause, looking for just the right word. When he was a Matoran they called him slow. When he was a Toa, they called him a bruiser. Now, they called him wise. But it was always the same trait: picking his words carefully. “Six, according to legend.” 

Legend - -that was Vakama’s word for the times before the cataclysm. Whenua misliked it: to him, Metru Nui before the fall was his past, his home, and its fall was history not legend. But the Matoran did not remember, and Nokama and Matau agreed with Vakama that it was better to speak of legend than history.

“Nuju, surely you understand?” Whenua had insisted, thinking the scholar the best ally an archivist could want. Their wisdom should be precise, accurate, as the Archives had been, but Nuju withdrew and replied only in birdspeak. Whenua turned to Onewa, but the Po-Turaga shook his head.

“I care not what you call it,” he said. “Metru Nui is gone and I do not mean to speak of it.”

But Whenua had never been able to dismiss the thoughts of the great city and its past, or of those fateful hours, as they fled the city. Dume’s reign was over, his challenge to the gods answered in thunderous terror. Standing together, Whenua and Onewa, Toa of Earth, could not stay the sinking of the entire interconnected empire, as it was cast beneath the ocean waves, nor could Nokama and Nuju hold them back. The Toas' elemental powers, great as they were, were as nothing against the Doom of the Matoran. 

Lhikan missing, a dark tragedy unfolding around Dume, they worked to save as many of the Matoran as they could. The great Machine, expanded from the ancient dome of Metru Nui to encompass a whole empire, was flailing in the final attack, and the Matorans’ mechanical components were being driven haywire. The Toa, with their greater powers, were protected, barely, but it was only barely that they survived: a single airship and a few hundred Matoran, their memories erased and overwritten, battered about in the storms before sinking back to the new land that formed over the former place of the great city.

Entrusted with the secrets of Metru Nui’s greatest vaults, it was Whenua who had tried to save some of the ancient treasures of their people, only a handful of what the Archives had once held, but it was thus that the six Golden Kanohi had come to Mata Nui. Even the others, with no taste for history, and manufactured long after the ancient Barraki wars, recognised the Golden Kanohi. Crafted by the legendary smith Artakha to be worn by a true hexarchy of leaders, the Barraki had stolen them and claimed with them the Kingship of the Matoran. 

Whenua had been manufactured after the Barraki were imprisoned: the war won but at the cost of many, and his earliest memories were of the decisions that followed that war: Metru Nui would not be ruled by heroic Toa. Her constitution was amended: the Turaga would be the rulers of the Matoran. Wisdom would rule, not might. Not that Dume, so much later, in those last years, had shown much wisdom...

“What else do the legends say of the Golden Kanohi?” asked Onua. 

“They were thought lost,” said Whenua, and this was a lie, for he had cast them about himself. They had tried them, the Toa Metru, but the Golden Kanohi were not for them. The Masks-With-Six-Powers were strewn across the island, hiding them from the emerging Makuta, but the Turaga of Earth, once an archivist of Metru Nui, knew where each one of them was placed.

“You must gather your brethren,” said Whenua decisively after a long moment of thought. “Six Toa you are, bearing the same six masks as the Golden Kanohi. You have found yours today. That is a sign, Onua. Wear you the Golden Pakari and help your brothers to find their masks also.”

If Vakama could turn history into legend, Whenua reasoned, then he could shape the future into legend also.

~*~*~*~

“What is it, Toa Gali?” 

The Toa of Water looked up from the surf to see Macku and Hahli approaching, wanting to know what she held as she looked out over the ocean. She turned, inviting them to see, still taller sitting than they were standing. The Matoran looked questioningly at the silvery Kanohi in her hands.

“It is a great Mask of Power,” said Gali.

“Another one?” asked Macku. “Didn’t you already find your Golden Kanohi? I thought only Toa Tahu was still searching.”

“To his disgruntlement, yes,” said Gali, and she reached behind her, pulling before them a third Kaukau, this one of shining gold.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?” asked Macku. “Toa Pohatu wears his.”

“I already have a mask,” said Gali. “The Turaga say these are special, forged in legend. I am here with a duty.”

“And a destiny,” said Hahli. 

“Destiny is another way of saying things happen,” said Gali. “If we do it out of duty, in unity with our sisters and for their good, then it is destiny. What I do not know is whether these Golden Masks are for your good.”

“So what about this silver one?” asked Macku.

“The Turaga was cryptic,” said Gali. “I asked if it was related to the Golden one, and Nokama nodded. ‘Every Queen needs a Consort,’ she told me, and said no more.”

Chapter Text

“Where did we come from, Turagawise Matau?” Lewa asks, and Matau can never help feeling a bit pleased at the thought of being thought wise. It’s not quite the “legendhero” he’d prefer, but it’s in the same thoughtspace.

Still, origins are a touchyprickly subject since the Cataclysm, and Matau as much as anyone doesn’t want to be rememberthought as a former Toa, let alone as one of the Toa that brought the end of civilisation. Better to be the wise elder of Le-Wahi than the herofailure that couldn’t save Le-Metru.

“The Great Spirit Mata Nui made the Matoran...” he begins, and Nokama or Onewa might have recognised that he was parroting Vakama, but Lewa--who does not--cuts him off.

“Not the Matoran, Turagawise Matau. I have gladheard this tale many times. The Toa--my brothers and I--where did we come from?”

Matau knows the quickpithy answer: “Mata Nui made you too, and saved you for a time to send you at last to succour the Matoran,” but Lewa already knows that. the inquisitive Toa is asking more: what enemy were we made to fight? Why are we appearing at this moment in history? 

And even if Lewa is being literal: who made us and where were we before our cannisters washed up on these shores, Matau doesn’t know the answers. The great machine that was the Matoran Empire was vast and ancient beyond his reckoning. He was a young Matoran when Lhikan found him, and not versed in history. The adventures that followed, as twilight dimmed to disastrous night in the Toa Metru’s scramble to save shards of their people from ruin, were immediate and pressing, and Matau never sought to untangle the threads from which it had been woven and tangled.

Even Nokama, teacher in Ga-Metru, might not have known of ancient Artakha and the first-designed Toa, or of the failsafes seeded through the stars to defend the Matoran. The six Toa that had come were miracles unlooked for, so ancient were their origins.

“You slowdrifted in cannisters,” said Matau. “Turagawise, you call me, but we are not all-knowing. You are the gift of Mata Nui. As easily ask the gukko whence came his egg: it matters where he flies, not where he has flown.”

Another Toa might have recognised that Matau was deliberately obfuscating the matter with wise sayings and taken the hint, and other Toa yet might have been daunted into accepting it, but whether he noted Matau’s reticence or not, Lewa pressed on.

“We stumblefind the Golden Masks and are told this makes us herokings,” said Lewa, “but can Toa quickblown in on the wind take root to rule Matoran? Might we not be quickblown away again?”

“A seed that takes root does not quickblow away,” said Matau, “even if it came light on the wind. The Mask listenheeds you, which it can no Matoran or Turaga. You belong to Le-Wahi now.”

And whether you were made to fight him or not, you are an enemy of the Makuta now. 

Chapter Text

The Toa were not on Mata Nui long ere they heard about the Makuta. Onua heard of him before the six of them ever gathered, in a whispered voice from Midak as he climbed from the beach after his arrival, the Pakari-clad Onu-Matoran chattering as if afraid he might be heard, though they were alone on the surf. Perhaps Midak should have feared the hulking, hunched figure of Onua, but he did not. Whether this was from some primal knowledge of the Toa beyond erased memory, or if it was that Onua was an enlarged version of himself, whatever the reason, Midak did not fear him. But he did fear something.

“Have you come to fight the Makuta?” he asked.

“I have come…” Onua’s voicebox wheezed, trying to form words for other ears for the first time since his manufacture. “I have come to defend.” His voice was more confident. “What is… the Makuta?”

“Shadow. Darkness. Evil,” Midak’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He lives in the ground. The others… they think Onu-Koro safe, but it is not.”

~*~*~*~

In time, Onua would learn more, as would all his brethren. For as long as the Matoran had dwelt on Mata Nui, the Makuta had lurked beneath. The Turaga, ever trying to evade mention of the fallen city beneath and their own exile from it, did not, of course, speak of the Makuta’s role in the fall of Metru Nui, but even if Vakama had spoken long and exhaustively of the Cataclysm, neither he nor any of the Turaga could have explained the origin of the dark spirit that had guided the Matoran Empire to its destruction, for he was older than their civilization. Beings of energy, the Makuta had descended into the mechanical ecosystem of the Matoran in its earliest days, at the invitation of the Great Beings that had begun its construction. Legends, ancient already by the time Dume transformed from a Toa and took up the rule of Metru Nui, said the Makuta were kin to the Great Beings and this lore descended eventually to the Turaga of Mata Nui, who simplified the matter and called him Mata Nui’s brother.

In the early years of the Matoran Empire, the Makuta were revered as living demigods, the noblest of the Empire’s aristocracy, and whole islands were yielded to them to rule as fiefs within the Matoran realm, but the Makuta began to see themselves as the proper rulers of all the Matoran, and many even of the Toa sided with them, and there was civil war in the empire. The loyalist Matoran retained control of the production and duplication of their own people, and an army was produced, many of whom were remade into Toa, and the Makuta, who were finite and few, were driven back. They sued at last for peace, and the mercy of the Matoran gave them a single island, Karda Nui, for even the greatest Toa warriors knew not how to destroy a Makuta, though they could unhouse them from their mechanical forms.

Teridax, who had been the Makuta of Metru Nui itself, plotted his revenge over many long years, while the Matoran Empire waxed and even explored the stars. In his place, the leader of the Toa that had defeated him had stepped: Dume Ta-Toa. Though he called himself Turaga of Metru-Nui, a source of counsel and wisdom, a mere steward in place of whoever might wear by right the Golden Masks, he ruled with an iron fist to rival any Makuta, and even the farthest-flung islands, full of warlords and rogues, sent tribute to Metru Nui, and Teridax had to wait with unrivalled patience to bring about his defeat. It was only the treachery of a Toa, one of Metru Nui’s own Toa Mangai, that gave him entrance to the city and, in time, allowed him to capture Dume and impersonate him.

His victory, though sweet, was not complete with the Cataclysm, for the Toa Metru, despite inexperience and ignorance, had managed to save a remnant of the Matoran and some of the most powerful artefacts of the city, and the sinking of the entire empire, destroying it as a force from which he might conquer the heavens, was more than Teridax had desired. With Metru Nui no longer worthy of his interest, and somewhat fearful of returning there, he lurked in the passages between it and the outer world, just below the new island of Mata Nui. The Turaga and Matoran were little threat to him, without any Toa, but he continued to watch them and, at times, to harass them. The Matoran, having forgot all in their escape of the Cataclysm, listened to the Turaga who believed him to be vengeful and implacable in a search for their destruction. In truth, he cared little if the Matoran lived, so long as they did not resist him, but he watched and he waited.

Chapter Text

It was a Matoran that first stumbled on the Bohrok, not the Toa. For as long as the Matoran had dwelt on Mata Nui, they had avoided the subterranean complex at the centre of the island, guarded as it was by the Makuta, but he had been defeated by the Toa (defeated, but hardly destroyed, though none but the Turaga guessed this).

Of course it was Takua who wandered about with a lightstone and Pewku. The irrepressible chronicler was the first to realize that the Makuta's defeat opened a whole new realm to exploration, and without telling the Turaga, for Takua had a sixth sense of knowing when to ask for permission or forgiveness, he headed off to explore.

The warren of tunnels beneath Kini Nui extended below more of the island than anyone then realised, crossing right over the now-twisted superstructure that covered the fallen city of Metru Nui. Takua, of course, did not know the significance of the patterns and materials that poked through the dirt and stone as he explored and if Pewku did, she kept her thoughts to herself.

Neither Takua nor Pewku knew that, when the Cataclysm forced Metru Nui and all the rest of her interconnected empire beneath the waves, it had raised the island of Mata Nui from the displaced chunks of earth and stone beneath and beside the sunken city, and one great chunk of machinery, smaller than one of the Metru below, but larger than anything else it might be compared to, had been driven from the mud of the ocean and become embedded against the edge of the Matoran ecosystem, part of the foundation of the new island.

There it lay, the dormant hive, all those long years, until Takua stumbled upon it. The Makuta had recognised it, first was his kin that had built it, in their ancient war, and he had not disturbed its peace. Wake one and you wake them all. The Bohrok were a failed experiment as far as he was concerned, for they had resisted direction and control, but perhaps he still nudged Takua toward them, willing the chaos the Bohrok would bring on his enemies, and he was still Lord of the Shadows, easily able to guide a single Matoran through the passages with subtle suggestion.

Takua touched the strange panel, and a yellowish-green glow rose within, and a rumble as the being within was roused from slumber by ancient subroutines. How the hive had survived being dredged up from the ocean floor beneath Metru Nui to remain functional, not even the Makuta could have said. Perhaps the Bohrok had repaired it themselves, though why they had then remained dormant is a mystery. Perhaps it was the will of the powers that punished the Matoran empire. Whatever the reason, the Hive responded to Takua's touch, and with a hissing release, the pod opened.

Takua fled, Pewku skittering for daylight, but the Bohrok did not return to sleep. The evidence was unmistakable: the Matoran had found them, and the peaceful slumber of the Hive could be no more. The horde must rise and obliterate its enemy.

Chapter Text

The attack of the Bohrok was swift and devastating, and the Matoran would never have had a chance against the awakened hive without the aid of the Toa, and for this reason it was said by some that the Makuta was not a true enemy, but that his presence had guarded them all the past years from the Bohrok menace. In truth, this was only the case by chance: the Makuta knew indeed what dwelt behind the patterned hatches but cared not that they menaced the Matoran now.

The Toa had to adapt or die, and many deeds of daring bravery have entered into legend from those weeks. The Turaga were more distressed than any, for though they held many secrets from the Matoran, they knew not whence came this new horde of enemies nor what they were, and with the island threatened, they could not gather in counsel. Five of them, indeed, wished they could question Whenua, but the former archivist of Onu-Metru knew as little as they, and he was holed up in his village, besieged by a swarm of Gahlok under the command of the blue general, the Gahlok-Kal.

It was pure luck that a cave-in trapped Nuparu, one of Onu-Wahi’s most eclectic denizens, with a disabled Gahlok, for much was discovered then of the nature of the Bohrok. Whenua did not know Nuparu’s full history in Metru Nui, for his days of infamy as the creator of the Vahki were long past when Whenua was first built, but he had a vague awareness that Nuparu was a trusted acquaintance of Turaga Dume, and had never been quite able to bring himself to enjoy the company of the engineer. Nuparu little noted Whenua’s reticence, for he was as unlike his Turaga in personality as nearly any in Onu-Koro and little minded the social niceties. Nonetheless, nothing better could have happened for Whenua or any of the Matoran, for it was Nuparu, trapped alone with nothing but his tools and a downed Bohrok, who discovered what the Bohrok were: mechanical shells enlivened by biological sinews. Nuparu cobbled together the first Boxor out of Gahlok parts, discovering as he did that the Bohrok differ from the Matoran in one key matter: where the Matoran are sentient beings each with its own will, the Bohrok are mindless, becoming true foes only when a biological brain, the Krana, has been added.

The Krana were abhorrent to the Matoran: a perverse reversal of their own nature: not a being given powers by a mask, but a biological mask giving life itself to the shell. There is no doubt that the ancient Makuta that had first built the Bohrok had been inspired by the Toa and tried to improve upon them: for the Krana, like the Kanohi, are imbued with magical powers, and a full-sized Bohrok with a Krana within was near as powerful as a single Toa, though more biddable, for the Krana acted in concert and unison with the queens that spawned them. And perhaps that cunning Makuta had thought of the six Golden Kanohi destined for the six greatest Toa, for six great Bohrok were made, more powerful than the others, and they were gilt with silver, the generals of the horde.

And a horde they were. Dozens of Bohrok of six tribes were seen on Mata Nui, each led by a Bohrok-Kal, and if the Hive put forth only a part of its numbers or if it had itself been damaged in its long slumber, then more Bohrok must once have been sleeping than the full number of Toa at their height during the war with the Makuta. Even so, and wielding the Golden Kanohi, hardly were the Bohrok defeated by the Toa. It was only a rash attack, bold beyond measure, into the very Hive itself, and a confrontation with the Bahrag queens that saved Mata Nui, for without the willing withdrawal of the Bohrok, the rearguard actions of the Toa and Matoran was not likely to have stopped them for long.

Chapter Text

The first time the full Toa team met all six of the Bohrok Kal together was in the lair of the Bahrag queens. The air was tense, the Toa facing the Bahrag with weapons drawn, while the Bohrok Kal stepped in from the far side of the chamber, almost tentative. The Bahrag paid the silver-tinged Bohrok no heed, hissing and arching instead at the Toa.

“Sssshhkkk, ssssshkkk-aaaa!” The Nuhvok-Kal stepped before the others, almost around the queens. “This need not happen!”

The Bahrag twisted to glare at the Nuhvok-Kal, and the Toa turned warily, but there was an agreeable chittering from the five other Kal.

“Your kind threatens the Matoran, and have spilled forth destruction across Mata Nui,” said Tahu, his sword lowered but still aflame. Some said that Onua had the deepest voice of the Toa, but they might have questioned this opinion had they heard Tahu in moments of anger or warning. But the Bohrok-Kal were undaunted, though none would have faulted them for it.

“Disturbed our nest, ssshhhhkkkaa, they did. Made to cleanse them, we were, to restore the Makuta to power. Ancient enemies.”

“The Makuta is our enemy,” said Gali. “If you still serve him, then we are unfriends.”

“Gone, the Makuta are,” said the Nuhvok Kal. “Shhhhhkkkk. We serve the Bohrok only. The Bahrag are our future. Harm them not.”

“We cannot allow the Matoran to come to harm,” said Tahu. “Withdraw and we will spare them.”

Gahdok reared angrily, as though to dispute the Nuhvok Kal’s words, hissing and spewing hot breath about the chamber, but the Bohrok Kal began to chitter back fiercely and calmingly.

“Our very selves are the Krana,” said the Nuhvok Kal. “The Bahrag birth them. Without the Bahrag, our future is limited, sssshika. We fear not our own deaths, but their death is the end of all.”

Tahu looked at the other Toa, who all stared back at him. Lewa looked to the others for opinions, clearly uncertain. Pohatu shrugged. Gali gave an imperceptible nod. Tahu most wanted to know what Kopaka thought, but the Toa of Ice predictably only gave an icy stare.

“You’re the leader,” said Onua after a moment of Tahu and Kopaka staring resulted in no speech. “We will follow your lead.”

Only now did Kopaka curtly nod.

“We accept your terms,” said Tahu, turning back to the Bohrok. “You will withdraw from Mata Nui and no longer menace the Matoran. In exchange, we will not harm the queens.”

“Sssshhhkkk-aaaa, let it be done!” ordered the Pahrak-Kal, and there was a rumble of assent among the Kal. A Bohrok-Va, all in silver and unlike any other of the small creatures the Toa had yet seen, scurried from nowhere, chittering and bowing, and then vanishing from the chamber to bear the message.

“You have my word,” said Tahu. “We will see it to no Matoran enter these tunnels to disturb you again, but if ever you return, we will destroy you and the queens.”

Cahdok laughed, a harsh alien bark, and Gahdok stomped a foot. The Bohrok-Kal made uneasy noises amongst themselves, and Cahdok barked back at them angrily. The floor began to quake.

“What is the meaning—” Tahu began, his voice unusually raised to echo over the din, but before he could finish he question, the floor collapsed and the Toa were falling. Lewa, most adept with the powers of levitation, hovered for a single second, axe in hand, before Gahdok smacked him with her tail and he lost consciousness, tumbling after the others.

Chapter Text

The Toa fell, Lewa still unconscious, trying vainly to levitate and slow their fall, but they were unable to use their mask powers, for some greater magic than their Kanohi had captured them. Below was molten pit, glowing silver. With barely enough time to try—and fail—to access their powers of Underwater Breathing, they breached the surface and remembered no more.

*~*~*

Gali Nuva breached the surface of the swirling liquid protodermis, three days later, remembering nothing since the fall. Had it been a minute? An hour? The light in the cavern had changed, and there was no sound of the Bohrok above. Her brothers were popping up around her, like corks in a barrel, but all looked to be unconscious. An attempt to use her Golden Kanohi’s levitation power did not work at all. Looking up at the steep slopes of the cave, she went to climb with her dual hooks, and realized as she swung the left one before her that it was not the same: it was a great, double-sided axe in the shape of a paddle. From there, she gazed down in amazement at her arms and torso and legs, then across the liquid to her brothers: they were all transformed beyond her memories, the Toa Mata no more.

Gali Nuva now noticed that Tahu Nuva was floating face-down, and she instinctive worried for him, and preparing to dive, activated her mask for underwater breathing as she had always done, and realized to her surprise two things: firstly, that this power actually worked, where levitation had not, and secondly, that it granted the breath of life to all her brothers in the cavern with her.

Tahu Nuva was jolted to life by the arrival of air and thrashed in the silvery protodermis, kicking both Kopaka and Lewa in the head. Lewa Nuva woke and with his last memory of falling, and seeing where they were, immediately activated his mask power, and they all rose from the liquid.

“By the windbreath!” Lewa gasped, almost ending their ascent in the surprise.

“It is the same for me, Lewa,” said Gali Nuva. “I can make you all breathe, but I cannot use my other powers.”

“We are not wearing the Golden Kanohi,” said Onua.

“Turaga Onewa’s going to kill me for losing that,” joked Pohatu. “He made such a big deal of it.”

“It is a big deal,” snapped Tahu, They had reached the top, the larger chamber where they remembered facing the Bahrag and the Bohrok-Kal. No Bohrok was there, and the caves about sounded deserted, only lit by the faint glow of the silvery liquid below them. They slowly made their way out of the maze of tunnels, out of the Bohrok hive and into the Makuta’s abandoned lair, and eventually into the daylight beyond. Before they had quite emerged, a chittering sound behind them caught their attention. It was the silvery Bohrok-Va, bearing a Krana Za-Kal. It waved its arms and bowed low.

Do not hurt us, they heard its voice made present to them. We apologise for the actions of the Bahrag and are glad to see you have emerged safe from the Great Potion. We have honoured our oaths: the horde has withdrawn from the island. We ask you to recall your own oath.

The fire on Tahu Nuva’s new blades seemed to intensify, but Gali put a hand on his shoulder.

“If the Matoran are safe, no harm is done.” Tahu Nuva jerked away.

“We will see what harm has been done,” he snapped. “But we will honour our word till we find there has been a breach of yours.”

So be it. The silvery Bohrok-Va bowed deeper, then withdrew.

               *~*~*

Meanwhile, in the pit below the Bahrag’s former chambers, the Toa Mata resurfaced in the shining protodermis, weak and barely conscious. Their Golden Kanohi were missing.

Chapter Text

When the Toa Nuva first appeared and the island of Mata Nui was flush with the relief at the withdrawal of the Bohrok, all seemed well. The Matoran accepted the new appearances of their heroes without question and, for a time, the Turaga did too.

But before the year was out, Vakama was having disquieting visions and the Turaga joined in a secret council in Po-Koro, while the Toa Nuva were sent to Le-Koro for the year-end kohlii tournament. Pohatu had spearheaded a revision of the rules, was championing its first tournament, and had dragged all his brethren to join him. That the Turaga would not be there due to their annual council was unfortunate, but Pohatu did not trouble himself over it. 

It was cold north of Mt. Mangai as the Turaga journeyed in on the last day of the year, and only Nuju and Vakama (for differing reasons) were comfortable as they arrived. Onewa’s home offered little comfort at the end of their road.

“What are these visions, Vakama?” Onewa asked as soon as they were all gathered, even as Vakama was igniting a fire for the benefit of most of them (Nuju blocked the open door and most of the biting winds). The Po-Turaga had wasted no time on niceties.

“I continue to see the Toa as they were,” said Vakama, “before the armour and the loss of their masks. I see them in chains, maskless.”

“And what do you thinking the meaning of these visions are?” asked Matau. Vakama rarely told his brethren of his visions unless they asked (the same could not be said of the Matoran), but he had taken the trouble to assemble them and in private.

“I fear that something is... wrong with the Toa Nuva.”

“Is this about Tahu again?” asked Whenua. “You asked me before if Onua seemed different since they emerged.”

“You admitted there were possible, subtle distinctions,” said Vakama.

“Possible,” nodded Whenua, and he shook his staff as he added, “but subtle. Anyone can change.”

“Is that what this is about?” asked Matau. “Tahu is grumpier now than before?”

“You’ve noticed it too, then?” Vakama asked.

“Your taciturn, humourless Toa has twist-turned into a volatile, humourless Toa,” said Matau. “Any vision-eyed--or hearing-eared--being can see he has lost his fuse.”

“And you do not think that odd?” prodded Vakama.

“They were drop-dumped into a pit of molten protodermis and emerged changed,” said Matau. “Tahu certainly didn’t come out any noble-handsomer.”

“I doubt this is about vanity,” said Vakama.

“More things are than you’ll admit,” shrugged Matau.

“Nokama?” asked Vakama. “You are quiet.”

“I have not noticed any change in Gali,” admitted Nokama.

“Hah!” interjected Matau, his saw spinning like a loose pinwheel from the motion of his arms. Vakama hated when he did that.

“But as you had already confided your fears, I did try and Read them,” said Nokama, gently talking over Matau’s buzzsaw. “I wish I could share the power of my Rau as the Toa Nuva share their powers, because what I Read...” Nokama shook her head.

“I read Toa Gali once, shortly after she found the Gold and Silver Kaukaus, wanting to be sure that these Toa were fitted to wear the Golden Kanohi, and it was as though Gali’s Secret Name--the spell of her being--had its initials spelt on the Golden Kaukau, a perfect fit.” It was always an imprecise science, trying to explain the mystical powers of her mask as a Turaga. The mask that had once merely let her decipher normal speech and text now let her read--and thus, sometimes, speak--the spells that wove around them. 

“Well, they don’t have the Golden Kanohi anymore,” said Onewa. “That’s a bad loss, but what does our island need Kings for anyway? The Toa lead us, regardless.”

“Let her finish,” said Vakama. “Our sister does not tell us stories unless they are also lessons.”

“I read Gali Nuva before departing, and the spells about her have all changed. I called Gali a Queen once, and was proud to do it, but this Gali could not wear the Golden Kaukau if it were found.”

“One vision-nightmare could be a coincidence,” said Matau, “but both of you... I have not probe-checked Lewa for illusions.”

“It could be helpful,” said Whenua. “I can attempt to See Onua Nuva too.” 

Vakama nodded to them both.

“And you, Nuju?” he asked the figure standing in the doorway and saw that Nuju has his back to them. He chittered briefly.

“Turaga Nuju says that the Toa Nuva are approaching,” said Matoro. The Ko-Matoran, best keeper of secrets, looked concerned nonetheless. 

__________________________

“Toa Nuva, it is a surprise to see you here,” Vakama had stepped out of Onewa’s home into the biting winds, glowing faintly as he warmed himself with nearly imperceptible fire. “Has there been a kohlii victory already?”

“We were summoned away,” said Tahu.

“Po-Koro and Ga-Koro face a tie-breaker for the title,” said Pohatu. “If we wrap this up quick, I can get us back there for the second half.”

“Summoned?” Vakama looked up concernedly at his Toa. “By whom?”

“The message was written,” said Gali, and she presented the Turaga with a small stone tablet with precise circular letters on it. No one needed Nokama’s Rau to read “Protect the Turaga! He seeks them.”

“You see? A message, saying the Turaga were in danger,” said Tahu.

“Clearly, we are not,” said Onewa. “Who is ‘he’?”

“And from who?” asked Whenua. Nuju tweeted sharply. Matoro declined to translate his correction of Whenua’s grammar.

“A Fikou Crab brought it to the Chronicler,” said Gali.

“Fikou Crabs cannot readwrite,” said Matau.

“We know that,” snapped Tahu. “We took it as a warning. Or a threat.”

“But a threat from who?” asked Whenua. Nuju shook his head, annoyed.

“As you can see, we are safe,” said Vakama. “Nothing has disturbed the night here.”

“Excellent! Then we can head back to Le-Koro,” said Pohatu. “Everyone, grab your Turaga, and let’s go!” Nuju chittered.

“Turaga Nuju has no interest in attending,” translated Matoro. “The Turaga have not finished their business.”

“We’re not leaving you alone here,” said Tahu. “Come.”

“Tahu Nuva,” said Vakama. “If you are worried for our safety, perhaps a Toa should remain with us, but for ourselves we are not worried. Please, return to the match. The Matoran will miss you.”

“I will stay,” said Kopaka. “The weather is to my taste.”

“Very well,” agreed Tahu, and he turned to leave immediately, the others following. Onua and Gali looked back for a few moments, wondering, then all were gone in a blur. Vakama glanced at the other Turaga: their business was as good as done. There was no sense in trying to discuss the Toa Nuva under the watchful eye of one wearing the Akaku Nuva.

Chapter Text

Although Nuju offered to go himself or to send Matoro to distract Kopaka, the Turaga did not finish their meeting in Po-Koro. They returned later to their villages, and the doubtful ones watched their Toa Nuva with greater scrutiny than before. With the Bohrok honouring the terms of their treaty, there was peace on Mata Nui for a time, though it was not long ere the Makuta’s return was noted. Still he dwelt in the passages below the island surface, and his presence there, combined with the Bohrok they had sworn to leave in peace, stopped Vakama from entering the tunnels and exploring them himself, for he was convinced that Tahu Nuva was not the Toa he had known, and that the true Toa must still be somewhere below—atop the lost ruins of Metru Nui.

That Metru Nui was below was a fact that Vakama only occasionally recalled after so many years. His former home was distant in years and could have as easily been on the planet’s far hemisphere for all that he was able to journey to it. For the most part, he was at peace with being unable to return, but the Toa’s description of the Bohrok hive, a great mechanical environment driven up from the ocean floor, made him wonder if anything could possibly have survived beneath. He remembered the dark deeds of their flight and hoped not.

“I never thought you would come to me seeking this knowledge,” Whenua told him when he appeared, late one night in Onu-Koro. The mining village never truly slept, for what was night to the subterranean? But the Ta-Matoran did sleep with the sun and Vakama had slipped away unnoticed, leaving only a note to Captain Jaller that he was away to visit Whenua. Both Tahu Nuva and Onua Nuva were away with their brother, Lewa, for a mask-infected Gukko had appeared again in the Le-Wahi. Vakama suspected this was only to be among the first of many new disturbances caused by the reappearance of Makuta, but he was glad for the moment to have none of the Nuva around while he consulted with Whenua.

“You were the archivist,” said Vakama. “I am sure you have forgotten more of Metru Nui than the rest of us knew combined.”

“I have forgotten nothing,” said Whenua. “Unlike the rest of you.”

“A choice to move on is not the same as forgetting,” said Vakama.

“A choice to let the Matoran remain amnesiac is,” said Whenua. “That is why I am surprised you came with this question.”

“Have you noticed any difference in Onua?” asked Vakama. “They changed in the tunnels, between us and Metru Nui.”

“He is a bit louder,” admitted Whenua, and, privately, he disliked noise almost as much as light. Onua had been a gentle giant at first appearance, but since the return as a Toa Nuva, it was as though he had lost the ability to patter about unheard. “You really don’t think it’s the same Tahu if you want me to dig up Metru Nui.”

“Not dig it up,” said Vakama. “Let the dead stay dead. But I want you to help me plot it. We need to guess, as best we can, where the Toa met the Bahrag—and, if they fell straight below, where would that have been in the city.”

“It will be guesswork,” said Whenua. “I cannot be certain where they met the queens, nor do we know if the city is truly directly below or has shifted.

“I trust your guess more than the certainty of anyone else,” said Vakama. “The island’s shape mimics the city’s. There is a relationship. If anyone can feel the ground and see where they fell, it is you.”

Whenua tapped his Ruru thoughtfully. “I have looked before to See what lies in that darkness, but Metru Nui is shrouded in a black even I cannot make grey.”

“But you can see the secrets of the island and remember the city beneath,” said Vakama. “At least try, brother. I have very few clues to follow.”

“The Mask of Time would be helpful about now,” said Whenua, and he saw Vakama tense. “Sorry, brother,” he added. “You know I don’t blame you. Still… if he is still down there, do you really want to find out?”

“This is about the Toa, not about him,” said Vakama, before adding, more quietly. “And if he is, it’s only a matter of time before we find out anyway.”

Chapter Text

It was Whenua's turn to visit Vakama by night. This wasn't entirely intentional: the hour is less meaningful in Onu-Koro and Whenua was always among those less heedful of the clock. Still, with his accidentally impeccable timing, it was night above ground and quiet when he approached Ta-Koro.

Not that he went unmarked. Captain Jaller's Ta-Koro Guard was as vigilant as ever and Whenua made no secret of his approach (Should he have? Whenua wondered. What he had learned disquieted him, but surely it wasn't time yet for skulking.)

"Good evening, Turaga," Jaller greeted him personally, for the captain took a night shift in rotation, like any of his guards.

"I believe it is well past evening, Captain Jaller," Whenua nodded in greeting, his already hunched head nearly tapping the ground.

"Indeed it is," said Jaller. "No doubt, Onu-Koronan prefer to travel without the sun." Whenua chuckled.

"I do find there is more to see at night," he said, tapping his Ruru. "Is Vakama home? I need to consult with him. He sees things by fire that I miss in the dark."

Jaller let Whenua into the village. No doubt, he would tell Tahu Nuva of the visit, but that fact was, in itself, innocuous enough, even if Whenua was in Ta-Koro less frequently than some of his brethren.

Vakama was awake.

"I saw you coming," he told Whenua, tapping his mask. Whenua did not pretend to understand Vakama's visions, but he nodded.

"Then no doubt you can guess why I'm here," said Whenua. He approached a stone table that filled the centre of the dwelling and waved his left hand over it. Dust, sand, and dirt gathered from around the room and shaped itself at Whenua's direction on the table into a simple map of Mata Nui.

"The cave of the Bahrag was here," said Whenua, placing a minuscule lightstone atop the map near to the centre of the island, before continuing.

"We don't know if Mata Nui sits perfectly over Metru Nui, but the proportions of the island correspond exceptionally well to the city of old."

The dirt on the table changed shape, leaving only the lightstone behind, reforming itself in a similar, though smaller, shape around the unmoved marker.

"The city was smaller than the island," continued Whenua, "and perhaps it does not sit as proportionally under us as its shape leads us to guess. But if it does..." All these caveats were unnecessary, but Whenua had to recite them, both out of thoroughness and in the hope that it would prove itself wrong.

Still leaving the lightstone in place, he grew the map around it, most of Metru Nui vanishing as Onu-Metru expanded. This covered the entire table, until Whenua lowered his hand and the map stopped growing. The lightstone now glowed from a small, isolated island on the seaward edge of Onu-Koro.

"Presuming all that there is to presume, this would be the part of Metru Nui directly below the cave of the Bahrag," said Whenua. The light in Vakama's hut flared for a moment as his fire jumped. It was not a burst of anger or surprise, but of satisfied vindication.

"You expected it to be the Mills?" said Whenua. "They are not Hordika."

"They are not themselves either," said Vakama with the steady fierceness of flame.

"If you were sure this would be my answer, what solution had you planned?" asked Whenua, wiping the map off the table with a gesture and picking up the lightstone. "We lack the allies, the tools, even the terrain we had then."

"We also lack an enemy or two," said Vakama, his eyes smouldering with still-burning memories.

"If the Mills survived, how certain can you be of that?" asked Whenua.

"I fired the shot myself," said Vakama. "I did not miss."

"Do you have a plan?" asked Whenua again, patiently.

"No," admitted Vakama with a sigh.

"Perhaps no plan is needed," said Whenua. "The Nuva seem to be loyal to the Toas' Destiny, perhaps even enhanced in power. And recall: even the Hordika were not evil."

"Speak for yourself," said Vakama grimly. "Perhaps you are right that the Nuva are no threat, but the originals would still be there, below. Never mind our fealty to the bearers of the Golden Masks, they were good friends and valiant allies. It would be wrong to abandon them."

"To even attempt a rescue would be to risk breaking the truce with the Bohrok, and to dare the tunnels under Makuta's very nose," said Whenua. "That is much to risk and I do not know that we ought. And we would have to tell the Nuva."

"We shall have to deliberate," said Vakama. "There is a kohlii tournament here in three weeks' time. Perhaps we will all have to attend this time."

Chapter Text

The Toa did initially bubble back to the surface in the chamber beneath the Bahrag but without their masks and no help coming, they were there alone for a while, recovering their strength, when the pool began to drain. Down they went again, sucked into a vortex, and none of them had a firm enough grasp on their elemental powers, weakened as they were, to resist the flow. They were battered against the stone walls and eventually came to rest in a dark chamber, like a prison cell, for it was regularly formed, lined with steel, and girded in with steel bars.

Tahu lit his sword, lighting the space, but something watched them from the space, and that something, with a force not unlike the telekinetic force of Nuju’s mask, yanked at their Toa tools, and the weapons were jerked away. Only Pohatu with his feet and Onua with his claws were still armed. There was a crashing clang as the roof was dropped down, sealing them in.

Tahu’s mind was full of a splitting headache and a not insignificant amount of simmering fury: a Toa could survive the loss of his mask and even channel his elemental powers, but it was difficult and draining and generally ineffective. He was preparing, nonetheless, to try igniting some flame to see their situation, when he felt Kopaka’s icy hand on his shoulder.

“We’re being watched,” the Toa of Ice whispered. “Keep it in reserve.”

Tahu jerked away, but nodded.

“Onua, your eyes see best in the dark,” came Gali’s voice. “Is there anything to see?”

“It is not completely pitch,” came the rumble of Onua. “The faintest light drifts from the hall beyond.”

“Can you and Pohatu smash us out?” asked Lewa.

“Maybe…” said Onua, sounding doubtful. “I am weak, and the steel is strong. It does not answer when we bend the earth.”

“Rest,” said Tahu, though he wanted nothing more than to batter the bars down with nothing but anger. “Let us rest and learn.”

“We will not regain much strength without nourishment,” noted Gali.

“We will gain some,” said Tahu. “And we will know better what we face.”

~*~*~*~

How long they sat alone in the dark, none of them could guess. Days, certainly, but perhaps weeks. In time, even the rest of them could discern the faint hint of light through the bars, though they could see little enough by it. The glow of each other’s eyes provided more illumination. Even if they had healed and donned again their masks, it was soon apparent that their elemental powers would have done little to alleviate the situation: some power or spell was over them, and the materials of their prison yielded to none of their own powers. Kopaka and Gali talked in dark whispers of transferring power—arguing over who would sacrifice their own life-force to let the others attempt a proper escape. Onua kept Lewa away from them, thinking to keep the most innocent of them away from such talk, but it was clear to Tahu that their choices were few, though he was concerned that even rendering five of them comatose would still not give the sixth the tools needed to escape.

And ever, over all else, there was the sense of being watched. This did, eventually, lift, at last, but only to be replaced by a chittering clatter on the stone floor, the unmistakable sound of someone—or something—approaching. 

Dim light, but painfully bright after their long imprisonment flooded in and silhouetted the thin figure in darkness, but they could see enough from its shape that it was not Toa or Turaga—nor Bohrok. It moved about on four limbs, two more like arms, like a preying mantis of Toa proportions. Tahu rose to stand before him, and the others pressed themselves to their feet to stand around their brother, save for Onua, who remained crouched on the ground, two eyes of emerald in the darkness.

“Toa.” Their jailer’s voice was thin and cracked, perhaps little used. It did not sound pleasant or pleased. “Lovely. Thought we’d finally rid Metru Nui of your kind.”

“Metru Nui?” Pohatu tried out the strange name. “What is that? Is that what this place is called?”

“What?” the mantis-creature seemed genuinely startled.

“Clearly, it is the name of an island,” said Tahu, “but we have never heard of it.”

“Never heard of freakin’ Metru Nui?” the mantis-creature barked to itself in staccato bursts, laughing. “What kind of Toa has he given me?”

“If you know what Toa are, you know you should free us,” said Gali. “Let us out and we will depart—we have no quarrel with you or with Metru Nui. We only seek to return to our home, Mata Nui.”

“Great Spirit!” swore the mantis-creature. “I know what Toa are, yes. Forget being Toa. Forget you ever heard the adoring praises of the Matoran or that you dream of hearing it again. Toa are empty shells–certainly no match for him.”

“You have twice-mentioned a him,” said Lewa. “Who is he? The Makuta?”

The mantis-creature cocked its head at Lewa, fixing him with some sort of a stare, but its pointed face was too hard to discern against the light behind it to see what sort of expression it bore.

“Makuta, yes,” muttered the mantis-creature. “Always there is a Makuta in the shadows. Webs… webs and shadows.” He drifted off in his own dark thoughts.

“So you serve the Makuta?” pressed Pohatu. The creature wheeled about, and they could see its face better in profile against the light, to which their eyes had also begun to adjust. It was an angular creature, somewhat like a Toa from the waist up, but with limbs like an insect, and a long, distorted, maskless head.

“Destroyed me, he would have,” said the mantis-creature. “Destroyed me, he nearly did—absorbing even me. No, I do not serve the Makuta.”

“Tell us your story,” said Gali. “ We understand so little.”

“No. No story,” said the creature, now angry, lashing about on the other side of the bars with its long limbs. “Toa deserve to hear nothing. False pity and two-faced listening, that is all Toa do with stories.” He clattered back up the passage a little and took a post near the end of their sight. “I’m your guard, not your friend,” he said, more to himself than to them. “Toa are not friends.”

“Well, jailor, what shall we call you?” asked Tahu, and the mantis-creature paused, looking for the forgotten word, looking back at the bare-faced Toa as though they were both alien and something familiar once forgotten.

“Nidhiki,” he hissed the word. “Nidhiki.”

Chapter Text

Teridax, once Makuta of Metru Nui, one of the inner ringleaders of the ancient Makuta-Matoran War, and the single chief architect of the cataclysm that had engulfed the Matoran Empire, had been reduced to living in a cave, and he had been there a long time, since escaping the cataclysm himself, which had raged beyond even his expectations, his own life endangered by the Toa Metru as they strove to rescue a remnant of the Matoran.

Grievously wounded, Teridax was long a mere shadow beneath the island, a reason for the Turaga to strictly forbid the amnesiac Matoran from exploring the tunnels and caves that had formed over the dome of the Metru Nui. His recovery was slow, but it was not time wasted. The cataclysm had invoked magicks previously unknown by any beings within the machine ecosystem and Teridax has studied, gaining power and knowledge beyond any of his buried kin, and as he recovered, he began to again seek servants.

Mostly, these were Rahi, who now dwelt on the newly raised island as they had once dwelt within the ecosystem below, but they were limited. A single Rahkshi he made, a great expenditure of his own being at a time of weakness, but a necessary tool if he wished to know what had survived of the Matoran Empire, and he sent it off, into the deepest tunnels below the island, seeking for a way back. A Rahkshi of Teleportation, it was equipped better than most to find a way, but for many years it did not return.

Above, the Matoran of Mata Nui built villages and lives only troubled by the occasional Rahi stirred forth by Teridax’s will, a warning to keep out and keep away, but never a true threat beyond what the Turaga could handle, for as yet, Teridax could manage no more than that.

Then, unlooked for by either the Turaga or Teridax, Toa returned out of the skies and landed on the shores of Mata Nui. Prototypes hidden away in the stars long before the Makuta-Matoran War, these Toa knew nothing of the Matoran Empire’s long history or of its fall, but they were great heroes, made by Artakha at the height of his skill, and the Turaga deemed them worthy (indeed, deemed them the only ones able) to don the Golden Masks, the right of kings long locked away, but rescued from the archives of Metru Nui during the cataclysm.

The Golden Masks were not known to have survived by Teridax when the Toa first confronted him, and he appeared before them as a whirling spirit of darkness. He had discerned the Toa’s ignorance of the fallen kingdom and their own making in their thoughts that day and thought to send them away with a false sense of victory: let the Matoran and the Turaga and these new Toa think they’re the victors, enjoying their life as primitives on the surface. If they threatened to invade his space again, he could always awaken the Bohrok hive that had been wedged into the same space.

And that was when the Rakhski returned, against Teridax’s expectations, and his goals and plans changed as he learned how much of the mechanical ecosystem remained: a veritable chain or web of inhabitable domes beneath the seas. It was not the shining civilized empire of yore, nor the sleepy, provincial islands the cataclysm had destroyed, but the infrastructure was still there, still recoverable, even still inhabited.

Teridax had learned from the cataclysm, but those lessons did not change his goals. The empire would be his, and he immediately had concern that the Golden Masks had been found and were being worn. Teridax regretted that he had shown his hand to the Toa. Not that they truly understood who, or what, they had faced, but he begrudged them any knowledge, lest it should give them any advantage or hope. The Golden Masks were ancient and powerful, and they were a symbol Teridax could not allow to be shown within the domes.

Close to his original strength, Teridax considered immediately making more Rahkshi. The Bohrok were wreaking havoc on the island; it wouldn’t take many to wipe out the Matoran and their heroes, if they struck fast, but then the unthinkable happened: the Toa made peace with the Bohrok and something happened to the Toa. When they emerged, three days late, from the cavern beneath the Bahrag, the Toa had changed. They were armoured and their powers had grown, so they said, but Teridax noted only one thing: the Golden Masks were gone.

Again, he sent his Rahkshi into the earth, with new and specific instructions, but to Mata Nui he began to again send poisoned Rahi, a test and a reminder to the Turaga. The Toa Nuva would need to be destroyed, as a dangerous force beyond his control, but his concern was an order of magnitude less than when they had borne the Golden Masks. Again, he waited.

Chapter Text

The Turaga gathered in Ta-Koro for the kohlii tournament as expected and found it a bit easier to sneak off for a meeting than anticipated, since Tahu Nuva was away with three of his brothers. Only Gali and Pohatu were present, with their two teams, but neither were inclined to see anything suspicious in the Turaga convening, nor did they attempt to observe the meeting.

“Have you more to add to your paranoid theory that these are not the true Toa?” asked Onewa. “Something about them falling into the Mill, perhaps?”

Vakama turned his head sharply to Whenua, who didn’t meet his eye.

“I do, in fact, believe that’s where they fell,” he said.

“I love you, Vakama, but that’s insane,” said Onewa. “You’re obsessed. Pohatu’s mask went from sleek to ugly and that’s all the change the big lug endured.”

“Onewa, you’re being needlessly harsh,” said Nokama.

“I do, indeed, believe I am correct that the Toa have changed,” said Vakama, “but though we probably should discuss what the Mill and my ‘insane’ speculation mean, I have a more pressing matter. I have had a vision. Of the Seventh Toa.”

There was flat silent in the room, punctuated only after a minute by a tweeted expletive. Matoro was not there and neither Nokama or Vakama felt the need to translate it. Nuju’s exasperation was clear.

“And?” asked Onewa when the silence persisted.

“I was standing atop the pillar of the Coliseum in Metru Nui as of old, but all was dark. We were Toa; you all stood behind me, and we looked out over the darkness and saw flashes of light in the city. We were about to descend and seek this strange menace, when the earth shook, as it did the Cataclysm, and we were thrown to the field of the Coliseum. As we laid there prone, the Seventh Toa stood over us and there was a flash of light as he smote the ground with his staff. In its light, we could see the Toa as they were before they went to confront the Bohrok: unmasked, unarmed, and bound.

“‘If you would see them again, send me the Mask of Light,” they ordered. And then the vision ended.”

“The Rahaga did not give us the Mask of Light, and we didn’t carry it out of the wrack, just to hand it over--to him or anyone else,” said Onewa.

“Onewa, think of the Toa,” said Nokama. “Think of Pohatu.”

“The Matoran come first,” said Onewa. “All Toa know that.”

“Wait-fast!” said Matau, and the Le-Metru dialect was thick as he rushed out the words. “Are we just flash-accepting Vakama’s vision has this single-meaning? Surely mind-visions have many-vague meaning-schemes?”

“As Vakama’s visions go, this was remarkably clear,” said Whenua. “What else could it mean?”

“We know the Toa-heroes are in danger-trouble,” said Matau. “And so it is Vakama’s vision-image. We know they drop-fell toward Metru Nui, which must be in dark-blackness. Perhaps we just need the Mask of Light to shine-bright-forth and they will be loose-freed.”

“The Mask of Light was said to be powerful,” said Nokama. “Perhaps you have some wisdom in that head of yours after all these years, Matau.”

“I don’t see how the Mask of Light could open the earth up and bring back the Toa Olda,” said Onewa. “It is not a mask of tectonics.”

The others looked at him.

“What? If we’re going to distinguish the old Toa and the new Toa, we need words: Nuva, Olda?”

Nuju chirped. He glared at Vakama.

“I believe Nuju said that is the dumbest name he’s ever heard,” said Vakama with a sigh. Nuju nodded severely.

“Whatever we call them, Onewa has a point,” said Whenua. “I don’t see how light will open a way into the city.”

“Light does bring hope into darkness,” said Vakama.

“You think my explanation-guess is right?” said Matau, surprised, for he was expecting Vakama to argue that it was, indeed, a vision of the Seventh Toa.

“I think there is merit to the idea of letting it come to light,” said Vakama. “After all, it is the Master of Shadows who has kept us from seeking to explore if there is a way back to the city, and what better than Light to drive away the Shadow? But it is a delicate question—the Toa Nuva are as ignorant as the, er, Toa Olda were”—Nuju cawed something rudely—“about the history of this island. Given that, do we simply unveil the Mask of Light?”

“I think we can put it somewhere where it is sure to be found,” said Whenua. “I know where it was hidden and can put it somewhere out of the way, but not THAT out of the way.”

“The Chronicler has been struck with wanderlust before,” mused Vakama, and all the Turaga nodded—Takua’s roving nature was a staple of the island community.

“What happens once he finds it?” asked Nokama. “What do we do with the Mask?”

“The visions may tell me,” said Vakama, “but if they do not… perhaps we shall just send Takua on a mission to find the Seventh Toa.”

“The last time that happened, the Bohrok attacked,” said Onewa. “I’d worry he’ll actually find him.”

Chapter Text

Word of the Mask of the Light reached Ko-Koro before Jaller and Takua’s quest brought them there, travelling with word of the kohlii results. Turaga Nuju took the news silently and returned to his chamber without so much as a gesture to either Kopaka or Matoro. In itself, this was not a remarkable fact, but Kopaka Nuva found himself disquieted by the news, and sought the open night skies and the slopes of the mountains. 

The weather was calm, as it usually was in Ko-Wahi when Kopaka was contemplative, and the constellations shone brilliant above him. With no wind, it was pleasant for a Ko-Matoran (weather that any other Matoran would call cold), and Kopaka Nuva sat on the frozen ground, gazing at the stars without attending to them.

He had spoken of it to no one since they had emerged as the Toa Nuva from the chamber below the Bahrag, but something was off. Different was the wrong word, since of course they were different: their masks, their powers, their tools had all changed and needed to be relearned. That was not it, though it had hidden the problem for a while.

No, the problem was... personal. Something about himself, or about his team, was different. There had been an easiness, a confidence to them before, even in the midst of the Bohrok chaos. You could almost believe the legendary talk of six kings in mask of gold. But that balance had been missing since.

It was not something Kopaka would ever have talked about willingly, but he certainly could not do so now. Tahu would have bristled at the idea that something was wrong, would have denied the very possibility. Gali would overthink it. Onua should have been the one to notice, to say something... but Onua was different, almost a stranger. 

All the others were different. That was the problem. Tahu and he had always butt heads, but Tahu would once have listened. He did not think Tahu would listen anymore. As for Pohatu...

“Toa Kopaka?” 

It was Matoro. Nuju’s translator and right-hand man had come onto the mountain seeking him. Matoro did not seem aware of it, but he had an excellent voice, deep and rich, the perfect spokesman, and he radiated quiet trust. How could he not, knowing so many secrets?

"Yes, Matoro," he answered. There was no point pretending he had not been found, and Kopaka was curt, not rude.

"The news from Ta-Koro is strange," said Matoro. "Weighty, even. Will you search for the Seventh Toa?"

"Your friend, Takua, and Captain Jaller will search," said Kopaka. "I am sure I will meet them, once they are found.

"Do you not wish to?" asked Matoro, and for a second Kopaka Nuva wondered if the scope on Matoro's Akaku had seen right through him, but Kopaka knew that however much the translator knew of the Turagas' counsels, he knew nothing of the Toa Nuva's strange new selves--or troubles. For the Toa Nuva needed no translator, nor did they meet in council.

"I am in no hurry," said Kopaka. "I have too many brothers already." He trained his unwavering gaze on Matoro. "You are not here because you think something might bother me, Translator but because something bothers you."

"As I said, the news is weighty," said Matoro.

"I understand if you cannot say more," said Kopaka. "Your secrets are not your own."

Matoro said nothing but continued to look intently at Kopaka.

"The phrase 'Seventh Toa' is an odd one," admitted Kopaka, taking a stab at what Matoro could not say. "I am sure I have heard it explicitly denied before."

"There are only the six of you," said Matoro, nodding. "The Turaga have said that to all, many times."

"I have never heard of the Mask of Light before," said Kopaka, trying to solve the puzzle Matoro was laying before him. "It is like, and yet unlike, the Golden Kanohi we once wore--or is it not? Is that it: the Turaga have denied there being a seventh one of us--perhaps not there being a Seventh Toa. The Seventh Toa is a Toa, yet not like us."

Matoro said nothing. There was silence under the stars. The first moon was rising.

"The Turaga have many secrets," said Kopaka Nuva. "This is why I do not hasten to find the Seventh Toa. When they come, they will come."

And, perhaps, when they do, he thought to himself, it may be that they will bring the piece we have been missing since the Cave.

Chapter Text

After the revelation of the Avohkii at Ta-Koro, Gali Nuva tried to meditate at Kini Nui, troubled--not so much by the Mask of Light itself as by something in the Turaga’s revelation of it.

Nokama had read the Mask, but Gali would have bet every fish in the ocean that she had not really been using her Rau. Something about the Turaga’s demeanour suggested that she already knew the Mask, that she didn’t need to read the inscriptions to identify it.

This was not the first time Gali had had this feeling around Nokama. Her Turaga was exceptionally honest, in daily matters, with a teacher’s regard for sharing knowledge, but sometimes she was cryptic or allusive, and Gali could tell from the quickness of her answers that Nokama knew more. 

And if Gali thought this, then surely Vakama and Onewa knew it. The history of the Turaga was one of those things that they never spoke of directly, but it had not taken long on Mata Nui to discern that the six Turaga were kin, the only team with a closeness to compare with the Toa's own.

Well... if Gali was being honest, the Turaga were thick as honey and her own team was rather more watery, especially since their transformation, but for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t meditating on that trouble, but trying to find peace around Nokama’s clear secrecy.

Onewa was the most plain-spoken of the Turaga and the one Gali knew the least, but he was said to be impossible to fool and a stern judge. It was unlikely he’d missed Nokama’s deception. Vakama was more familiar to Gali. The leader of the Turaga sometimes seemed a bit less grounded and was certainly a contrast to Tahu with his visions and mysticism, but Gali found him a kindred spirit, and she could tell he knew Nokama better than she did and that he was observant of the real world as well as the world beyond.

If Onewa and Vakama could not possibly have been deceived, then they must have played along. But why?

Gali’s hopes of meditating long on this were soon dashed. Three monsters burst from beneath the temple, the first Rahkshi seen on Mata Nui, and she was soon absorbed in action rather than contemplation, but the underlying suspicion remained: another stress and hidden division as events moved towards the Toa of Light.

Chapter Text

Jaller was dead. Takua was no more too, in a way, having transformed into Takanuva. Vakama sat with the body.

In the days of old, this need not have been the end of Jaller. The miraculous machines of Metru Nui could have taken his lifeless corpses, extracted his biological core, and duplicated it, revitalized it, and instilled it back into a repaired or replaced mechanical body. It was a variation on the making of new Matoran, for each Matoran was given life from the donation of another Matoran before them, or even from several Matoran. In a repair of this kind, where the new life was wholly constituted using the material left behind and preserving it, the remade Matoran was like to the original in all ways, and there had even been rumours, whispers, that memories could be preserved, passed on from the original to the replacement, the gift of the Red Star.

But those days were gone, and Vakama was left with the body. He had known Jaller his entire life—longer, now, than Jaller had known him. Of all the thousands of Matoran in Metru Nui, Vakama’s team had only been able to rescue a handful: a village each, and it had been a comfort and a reminder to him to have had a friend from his own Matoran days still beside him, his Captain of the Guard, easily the bravest Matoran on Mata Nui. He had been more than worthy to wear Lhikan’s mask, and Vakama could scarce bear to consider that he had met the same selfless fate.

Hahli found him there, in the shadows, with Jaller’s lifeless body. She had given his mask to Takanuva and now he too was gone. Vakama had almost never worried about Takua before, wandering the island like Metru Nui before it and coming to the very edge of danger, but now he felt the mortality of his Matoran, and he worried, even for the Toa of Light. What was a Toa of Light, after all? Toa belonged to the element they had been as a Matoran, and their transformations into Toa came from the Toa before them. What strange Toa with godlike power had imbued the Mask of Light like a Toa Stone? Why was Takua not a Toa of Fire? These questions made Vakama weary rather than giving him hope.

“Turaga?” Hahli asked gently. Vakama did not know her well, but he knew that she had become friendly with Jaller, especially since he’d started playing the new kohlii. He couldn’t remember why she had come to Kini Nui. Was she an advance helper from Ga-Koro, sent to succour the now-houseless of Ta-Koro? Maybe; Nokama was around somewhere too. As broken up as Hahli had been at the revelation of Jaller’s death, however, she was composed now—more composed in appearance, anyway, than Vakama felt.

"Yes, Hahli," he managed in a quiet voice.

"Toa Takanuva said we should gather--well, gather everyone, from all the villages, and follow him. He's going to deal with the Makuta."

"And then what?" asked Vakama, but he already knew, in the depth of his self, beneath his heartlight, that somehow the Mask of Light, forged in the Matorans' world of old, sought to return thither. What the Mask--and Takua (no, Takanuva)--didn't know, but what Vakama did, was that the way was blocked by more than the Makuta. The whole island had buried Metru Nui. Hahli did not answer: she had no idea what Takanuva thought would come next.

"I do not think that Toa Takanuva is quite ready to be summoning the entire Matoran population into the Makuta's lair," said Vakama, "but he should not be allowed to go alone. We must summon the Toa Nuva..."

"They are already here--but he told them to let him go alone." Hahli clearly understood this as little as Vakama did, and he could only shake his head.

"Very well, they will go in after him--and perhaps the Turaga too," he said. "But not the entire island. Besides all else, I do not think Taku--Takanuva has given us enough time to gather everyone from the farthest Koros. But Toa Pohatu Nuva can fetch the other Turaga without too much delay, I think. Just enough delay to give Takanuva his desired head start."

"No Matoran then," said Hahli, clearly disappointed. "I'll tell Turaga Nokama." And ask her permission.

"Tell Turaga Nokama the plan for the Toa Nuva and the other Turaga," said Vakama, "that Takanuva wishes them to follow. And you, at least, shall enter with me--but we are not going to follow Takanuva just yet. I will need your help carrying Jaller's body."

"What... what will we do with him?" asked Hahli nervously. Few Matoran had died in their long years of exile and there were no settled traditions on the island. The only Ga-Matoran who had died was lost at sea. In Onu-Koro, Vakama had heard, the Matoran were carefully salvaged for parts and the remains committed to the earth. In Ta-Koro, fire had consumed all. But it was not to consume Jaller.

"There is a Cave," said Vakama. "And we shall drop him there. If the Great Spirit wills it, today may not be the last day we see our friend, Jaller."

Never before had Vakama tested a Matoran's innate trust of the Turaga so far, but Hahli asked no questions. Instead, she jumped to her feet.

"I'll tell Nokama," she said. "And I'll tell her you're still mourning over Jaller's body but will follow after you've dealt with it using your secret Ta-Koronan rites."

"Clever lass," said Vakama to himself, as the Ga-Matoran skipped away. Chronicler material, even. Stiffened to resolve by his plan, he laid a hand on Jaller's lifeless shoulder. Not this time. If Mata Nui was going to rip away the Toa he had known and show him a passage--even a one-way drop--to the Mills, Vakama was going to use that knowledge. Alas, that everything needed to speed along, as he wished he could take the time to dream and learn.

Hahli returned after mere minutes.

"Nokama is worried about you," she said, "but she bought it. I don't think we'll have long."

"Then let us go," said Vakama. Not this time.

Chapter Text

Takanuva stalked through the darkness--well, dimness, for you could not then call anywhere the Toa of Light stalked “dark”--and came at last to a great cavern, and there, in true darkness where the Avohkii met its Other, stood a titanic, well-built figure shrouded in darkness.

“The Makuta,” breathed Takanuva, more to himself than to the dark figure, though he continued. “You don’t look like a swirling vortex and a Matoran.”

“You don’t look like a Matoran now, either,” said the Makuta, “though you might still be a chaotic vortex of fears and insecurities.”

“I am not afraid,” said Takanuva, confidently enough, though not strictly truthfully. “I am here to fulfill my destiny: to defeat you and awaken the Great Spirit!”

“My brother shall not be awakened,” rumbled the Makuta, and the shadows about him deepened and he seemed to fill the entire space. “You cannot awaken the dead.” He paused, aware of the approach of the Toa Nuva, Turaga, and sundry Matoran. “An audience gathers for your final failure, Toa of Light. Did you summon them yourself?”

"Maybe they will not see me win today,” said Takanuva bravely, “but the Matoran will go on, and someday they will triumph!”

“What is triumph to a Matoran?” mused the Makuta. “Surely, your Mask cannot lead you actually believe I would let them return? Return to what? They will not leave a land of fertility and freedom to inhabit a dying, sunken world. Now I will protect Mata Nui from you.”

"Protect him?” Takanuva had no idea what the Makuta could mean. Wasn’t he Mata Nui’s foe, his opposite?

"Sleep spares him pain,” said the Makuta, almost quietly, almost speaking of himself. The world of Mata Nui, the world he had once thought to conquer, was gone, and whatever his Rahkshi had reported of the sunken lands beneath, it was dying. “Awake, he suffers.”

"You are not protecting him!” shouted Takanuva, in full conviction, launching himself at the Makuta, who laughed silently to himself. Of course he wasn’t protecting the Great Spirit! The Great Spirit’s domain had been cast down into the seas through his, Teridax’s, actions. It was his right to rule, to assert the will of the superior being over the minor ones, and the Cataclysm itself had not destroyed him, though it had destroyed the Matoran Empire.

The Makuta parried Takanuva’s attack easily. The Avohkii had transformed Takua’s strength and reflexes and given him weapons and skills he’d never dreamed of, but Takanuva was little more than a Matoran, so inexperienced was he, and with a single sweep of his staff, he knocked Takanuva to the ground and loomed over him, one great hand on his throat.

"My duty is to the Mask of Shadows!” he said in a rumble. How else to tell a Toa--any Toa, but especially one transformed by a great Mask--that allegiance was ultimately only to oneself."

“Then let’s take a closer look, behind that mask!” Takanuva choked out the words, not trying to pry the Makuta’s arms off him, but tugging at the Kraahkan. His own Mask flared with power, and the Makuta realised in that moment exactly what a Toa of Light was: his anti-self, not a being of greatness and diverse magics to confront him on his own turf, but a Matoran of pureness, with an elemental power distilled from those of all the Toa: energy purified beyond heat, waves beyond water, transparency beyond air, and solidity beyond earth. Takanuva’s elemental power was reality and he had nothing else to wield beside it, yet against him the all the might, physical and mystical alike, of a Makuta had no power, but was truly shadow.

The Makuta knew in that moment that he could not achieve victory by force of arms, not though he was he was thrice Takanuva’s size, far more experienced, and pressing on his throat. Even if he choked off the life of the one who had been Takua, the Avohkii had been made, long ago, probably even during the ancient wars, specifically to render him mortal, to do what the Cataclysm had failed to do, to kill him.

But Takanuva did not know this. Probably, it was Teridax alone on the island of Mata Nui that did. The Makuta couldn’t defeat the Toa of Light, but he could suborn him. 

And so Teridax released himself, surrendering--inviting the Avohkii to work upon him, dissolving himself in a swirl as he had faced the Toa Mata only a few years before. Takanuva fell for it, letting his own power give chase, and they were dissolved together as the light expanded, mixing with the diffuse, swirling shadows. 

The Toa Nuva arrived only a few minutes later, as the coalescing light and shadow had taken shape as one being: Teridax was completely limpid, allowing Takanuva full control, full knowledge, as shadow must give way to light, but this was his cunning, for the Toa of Light was still a Toa, an exalted Matoran, and he could not hold or comprehend all that the Makuta knew, and the flood of knowledge hid the specifics of Teridax’s plans and self. 

You want to open the way to Metru Nui? Together, we can--nothing that hides below can face our conjoined might. What is Metru Nui?

Millennia of images raced through the part of Takutanuva’s mind that was still Takanuva, however grown, images of countless Matoran in a city that had been wiped from his own memories--or was it just blocked? Memories of Vakama and Jaller, escapades and adventures. There were Toa once: tall and shining and countless. Was that Vakama he saw last, flying through Ta-Metru, catching him off the very ground as the sky darkened and thundered? He clutched at Jaller, hauling him off the ground, nearly dragging Toa Vakama down before his jetpack stabilised.

“What is that?” it was the voice of Tahu Nuva, dragging Takutanuva’s attention back to the chamber below Kini Nui. Metru Nui, the thousands of forgotten memories, dragged him away from the present, but the giant being paused.

“Mata Nui…” swore Onewa.

“Light and shadow,” said Whenua. “They have become one.”

“Light has revealed the will of Mata Nui!” Teridax spoke in the joined being, easily nudging his other half in the direction he wanted: open the gate! Open the gate! Return to Metru Nui! “Our brother must be awakened.”

And with a crash of their great staff onto the ground, Takanuva’s power over the elements and the might of the Makuta opened a chasm, a hole in the floor of the chamber, a passage that went down, down below the island of Mata Nui. Not the winding crevices Teridax’s Rahkshi had scouted, but a straight passage down into the dome of Metru Nui.

Exhausted, even the great being that they were, Takutanuva sank to his knees, the Toa Nuva and others gathering around him. Exhausted, but not utterly exhausted. More was needed. Teridax noted Jaller’s Hau, still on the Ussanui

“Go!” Takutanuva commanded Macku, one of the Ta- and Ga-Matoran who had followed the Toa and Turaga. “Run! That mask...”

“Jaller’s mask!” Macku grasped his meaning, starting to run across the space, but Nuju chittered and with a twitch of his mask, yanked the golden Hau across the chamber. Takutanuva, wearily kneeling, one hand on the ground, caught it with the other.

“Needs life...” 

The elements of earth and water swirled, the discarded material of the tunnel reshaping itself into mechanical parts and fleshly sinews, fire and air igniting life into the newly shaped body, and Takutanuva expended all the power he could muster to blast a beacon of light through the roof of the cavern. Outside it was night and the Red Star was overhead. Lightning cracked through the new-blasted shaft and struck the body even as Takutanuva placed the Hau on his face. 

Takutanuva collapsed. 

“My duty is done.” 

Tahu Nuva looked down at the new-created body and saw looking up at him Jaller, Captain of the Ta-Koro Guard.

“Where is Vakama?” said Tahu in a voice of wonder, knowing the Turaga had been attending, well, Jaller’s body. “He must be told.”

“I will find him,” said Kopaka Nuva.

~*~*~*~

A few miles away, above a different hole in the dome of Metru Nui, Vakama and Hahli had just dropped Jaller’s corpse into the Cave.

Chapter Text

Pohatu Nuva looked down into the wide, sloping tunnel that Takutanuva had opened. There was light below, and it was growing.

"Come, brothers!” he said, turning to the others, who were gathered either with Jaller or the prone form of Takutanuva. “Let us explore this strange place.”

“We must wait till Kopaka returns with Vakama,” said Tahu. “Then, perhaps.”

“No,” said Onewa brusquely. “You cannot go there.” 

"Why?” asked Gali. “Do you know of this place, Turaga?”

The Turaga looked betwixt themselves uncertainly. Was there any point in hiding their history anymore, when a glowing tunnel had opened--straight to Metru Nui? Surely, this is why Takanuva had summoned them to Kini Nui, why he had wanted all the Matoran (though most would still have to be summoned--only a few Ta-Matoran and Ga-Matoran were there). Where was Vakama? Why was he missing at this most crucial juncture?

Nokama made the decision. Nuju was watching her, and Whenua. 

"Indeed, we knew it well once, Toa Gali,” said Nokama. “Down thence was our home when we, too, were Toa.”

Nokama might as well have cast a stone into the chamber, so strong was the ripple of murmur and confusion among the Toa and Matoran.

"I think I'm gonna need to sit down for this one,” said Pohatu.

“Feeling lightheaded?” asked Onua.

“No, but I know a story coming on when I hear one,” said Pohatu. “Kopaka better hurry back if he doesn’t want to miss the drama.”

Tahu Nuva stared a moment at Pohatu and Onua taking seats on the ground, his own Matoran and the others gathering around them, and shook his head to himself slightly.

“Kopaka and Vakama...” 

“Will come when they come,” said Gali. “Sit. Warm your Matoran with your presence.”

Tahu shook his head. “I will stand.”

Nonetheless, he took a comfortable position behind the sitting Toa and Matoran, back to the wall of the chamber, ready to listen to Nokama with one eye on the still-resting form of Takutanuva.

“Feeling yourself, Captain?” he asked Jaller, who was sitting swarmed by his fellow Matoran, albeit looking a bit a bit dazed.

“Yes, sir,” said Jaller swiftly. “Well, no... but, well, I’m okay, sir. Honestly, I’d rather just slip away and digest it all. The last thing I remember... the Rahkshi...”

“You don’t have to talk of it,” said Tahu (who, in fact, preferred quite strongly that he didn’t). “You may be alone later. For now, I want everyone where I can see them.” He glanced at Takutanuva’s unmoving form. 

“Who... what?” asked Jaller.

“Takua,” said Tahu, leaving it to the other Matoran to explain to a thoroughly lost Jaller. Jaller felt alone and wished Hahli were there, but, like Vakama, she was missing.

“I washed my hands of this,” said Onewa, stepping away from the centre of the room, without looking Nokama in the eye. “What is behind us is behind us.”

“There is a hole opened right to it!” said Whenua. “Would you have us pretend we know nothing of what is below?”

“We don’t know what is below,” snapped Onewa. “We know what was--not what is.”

~*~*~*~*~

So the Toa listened as Nokama explained, somewhat briefly, that she, with the other Turaga of Mata Nui, had once been Toa themselves, the last great heroes of the ancient city of Metru Nui. She told of the Makuta, how he had taken the place of Turaga Dume and subverted the Matoran, taking over the city for himself. 

"And, in the end, we escaped the Makuta, and gathered as many of the imprisoned Matoran as we could, bringing them here. We sacrificed our Toa powers to revive the Matoran, who forgot their original home, and built a new life here, menaced by the Makuta, yes, but free of his rule. And we decided, with the world below lost and no one else remembering it, that we would start truly afresh.”

There was silence among the assembled Matoran and Toa. 

“Where is Vakama?” Tahu muttered to himself, breaking the silence. Part of him could not believe what he was hearing. Part of him thought it was all a dark plot, and whatever was going on probably cast dark shadows on Vakama’s continued absence. 

Jaller shook his head, convinced this was a dream or some dark afterlife. Nothing seemed real since the Turahk’s attack.

"You said you rescued some of the Matoran,” said Onua. “What of those left behind?”

"If they survived the Cataclysm, and if there is still habitation below, I assume that they are still there,” said Nokama. “Nothing has emerged past the Makuta from the sunken lands. Even the Bohrok Hive is here, above Metru Nui. And it is many long years since the Cataclysm.”

"Then our duty is plainclear,” said Lewa, standing and brandishing a hand. “We must rescue them and finish what you started. Why else would the Mask of Light have opened this way?”

"No,” said Onewa firmly, tapping the butt of his hammerstaff on the ground. “You cannot go to Metru Nui.”

"But Takanuva has defeated the Makuta,” said Pohatu. “What danger could be greater than him?”

"The Makuta is defeated but I doubt he is destroyed,” said Nokama, “and there are other dangers in the world.”

"You're all missing the point,” said Tahu. “Why have the Turaga kept Metru Nui a secret from us? Nothing in your story seemed dark or shameful or worthy of being kept a secret, Turaga, so why hide it?”

"My retelling was brief,” said Nokama. “There is much you do not know: about Metru Nui, about the Makuta, about our whole world.” 

"Then tell us,” said Onua, and Nokama hesitated.

 "It is not my place to tell all without all my brethren.”

“Kopaka will return soon,” said Gali: "Then--” but she forgot what she was saying as the light that poured from the hole in the earth was blocked, and the dark figure of a Toa stepped forward.

 "I don’t see why you must wait, Nokama,” he said, standing in their midst, holding a long, jagged staff. “You've been doing things without all your brethren for an age now.”

The light behind him dimmed as he stepped into the chamber, its purpose apparently met, and their eyes adjusted as now only lightstones lit the space. He had a mask of a spiked design not like the standard twelve masks of Mata Nui and wore armour of black and purple. He looked about, and noted the silent, confused stares of the gathered crowd.

"Or could it be that you don't the Seventh Toa as one of your brethren?”

“Voriki,” spat Onewa. 

Chapter Text

“Where is Vakama?” asked Voriki. “Surely, if the rest of you haven’t died up here, our fearless leader is still living. Or is he, perhaps, using his Mask?”

There was stony silence. Onewa was glaring, his eyes a burning orange, but not at the stranger. He was looking over his fellow Turaga, as if daring them to be courteous to Voriki and face his wrath.

“Vakama’s business is his own,” said Tahu Nuva, stepping forward. “Who are you, stranger? What is your business on our island?”

“Island?” asked Voriki, looking about the chamber. “Is there actually an end to the ceilings--is there still a sky above? After all this time, I’ve forgotten it.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” said Tahu darkly.

“I am Voriki Vo-Toa, last Toa of Metru Nui,” said he proudly. “Who are you, brothers?”

“We are the Toa Nuva,” said Tahu, “Guardians of Mata Nui.”

“Mata Nui?” Voriki’s voice was deadpan, and he looked at the Turaga. 

“The island,” offered Pohatu, helpfully. “The Turaga did not mention you, brother, in their recap of the city below.”

“It was a brief recap,” said Nokama. “Voriki, why are you here?”

“A hole is blown in the dome of Metru Nui by a blast of light, and you wonder why the city’s guardian comes to see what strange thing this betides?” 

“You’ve found your answer,” said Onewa. “Now turn around and go back.”

Sparks burst from the head of Voriki’s staff, but he did not move. Perhaps he noted the tenseness of the Toa Nuva and their weapons close to hand. None of them were sitting, and Gali had begun to nudge the Ga-Matoran behind her. The Ta-Matoran looked between Tahu and Jaller. Tahu did not even see them, his eyes not leaving Voriki, but Jaller nodded crisply, and the Ta-Matoran also began to move back in the chamber.

“It has been a long time,” said Voriki. “And this is how you greet me? We were brothers once, Onewa, and I have too little left of those days in this world. Do you mean to tell me that you have not opened this way to return to Metru Nui? To return home?”

“We have not,” said Onewa. 

“Speak for yourself,” said Whenua, and Onewa very nearly did smack him with his hammer, but Whenua shook his own staff. Perhaps alone on Mata Nui, he’d never feared Onewa’s harsher edge.

“We thought Metru Nui was destroyed,” he said, as much to argue as for Voriki’s benefit.

“Metru Nui as it was is destroyed,” said Onewa, and the Toa Nuva all backed up just a little (the Matoran had no further to go, though they were eyeing the exit). “The dark, ruined pit down that tunnel is not Metru Nui, Whenua, and it never will be, not matter how you pine for what is lost.”

“Do not try using your Mask on me,” warned Whenua.

“Brothers, please,” said Nokama in a forceful voice that had the Ga-Matoran hiding behind Gali, “this is unbecoming, and it is not the time.” Nuju chittered and Matau shook his head.

“The right time is never-now,” he said. “Or whatever Nuju said. Onewa is right, though--the skies-blue are here and not in the city-pit. And Voriki is a two-masked liar.”

“Nice to see you again too, Matau,” said Voriki. “You think Metru Nui is a pit, and in truth, it is not the city it once was, but it could be again! Imagine what five Turaga and five more Toa could do with me, now that you know the city is still there! The Matoran Empire could be reignited, the ancient seagates reopened!”

“And then we could bring a second Cataclysm down on it,” said Onewa. “Return to your ruin, Voriki, and I will return to my Koro, and we will have peace. Take Whenua with you, if you want a Turaga! He’ll do a better job than Dume, anyway.”

“Whenua is going nowhere!” said Nokama. “We are a team: we go or stay together, and we do no make that decision when one of us is missing.”

“You have before,” said Voriki.

“You are not a part of our team,” said Nokama. “You made that choice at the Mills, but neither Whenua nor Onewa has done anything so drastic.”

“Yet,” said Nuju. Pohatu gasped, Lewa let out a low whistle, and the Matoran whispered amongst themselves.

“Turaga?” came the voice of Kopaka Nuva, re-entering the chamber from above with Vakama and Hahli behind him. 

“Ah, there are six of you Nuva, then,” said Voriki. “Or is there a Seventh Toa?”

Kopaka glanced at Tahu, who managed to give him a shrug and expression that was both a warning and a gesture of bewilderment. Tahu glanced at Vakama, but then shook his head.

“Voriki,” Vakama said calmly. “What a surprise to see you here. Alive.”

The strange, purple Toa was about to reply when Takutanuva began to wake, and the chamber shuddered.

Chapter Text

The part of Takutanuva that had been Makuta Teridax stirred and listening heard the heated discourse in the chamber--in his chamber. That he--they--had blasted a way back to Metru Nui into his very own cave, after he had spent years poking at crevices and holes looking for a passage big enough to send a Rahkshi through, was an irony not entirely lost on him. 

Teridax had greater problems, though. The part of him--them--that was Takanuva still slept, having poured their energy into resurrecting Jaller, but they were still bound together, and he would not sleep long. He had kept his secrets only by overwhelming Takanuva’s Matoran-based mind with all of them, but give the Toa enough time and he would not only dominate their shared self, as Light drives away Darkness wherever it gazes, but he would have the time to separate and ponder the flood he had been given. Teridax needed them to be split again, preferably in a way that would allow him the illusion of death. 

The Turaga and Toa Nuva were talking with... Voriki. Well, well. Clearly, the seventh Toa Metru was not quite as dead as he’d been left for. He was just the figure to split them apart, and if that succeeded in dividing the Turaga amongst themselves all the more, Teridax wasn’t going to complain. Toa, Hordika, or Turaga, they all overstated their devotion to unity and the true cracks beneath were beginning to show.

And then Vakama returned. All the actors were on the stage. Teridax tried to rouse himself--themselves--themself--and his movement woke his--their other half, and Takutanuva rose, filling the space, twice as tall as any of the Toa.

“Makuta!” spat Voriki, crouching, holding his lightning staff before him with both hands.

“No--that’s Takua!” came the protest of Jaller, who hadn’t even been told that his friend had renamed himself, only that he had resurrected him. Heedless, Jaller rushed across the room, ready to take the blast for his friend again, but Tahu Nuva grabbed him by the shoulder, even as he leveled the protective force of the Hau Nuva around the Matoran.

“Stop, Voriki,” said Gali. “That is a friend! I feel his mind!”

Gali, of course, meant the psychic connection she felt with Takanuva, but Voriki assumed something much worse, and the room darkened as his Mask of Scavenging sucked the energy from the lightstones. Visible static crackled around him, and he raised his staff.

Pohatu sped between Voriki and the still-somnolent Takutanuva, but even the Kakama Nuva was not as fast as lightning, which arced over all their heads, striking Takutanuva with a thunderous crack. There was darkness, and in the darkness a cloud of antidermis passed unseen over them all and down the passage back into the sunken remains of the Matoran Empire. 

Behind, in the chamber that had been Teridax’s, the Avokhii clattered to the ground, itself alone again, and the Toa Nuva surrounded a docile Voriki.

“Go,” ordered Tahu. “Return to your underworld and do not return.”

Voriki glared at Tahu, drawing himself to his full height, but did not challenge the six Nuva assembled. He nodded curtly.

“When you have reconsidered your lives of exile, come back to Metru Nui,” he said, looking directly at Whenua. “The Matoran there need you. Until then, I will continue guarding them, alone.” None of them answered him as he vanished into the tunnel.

“A door,” said Kopaka to Pohatu, who flexed his fingers and tore two great slabs from the floor of the chamber, and with Onua placed them over the entrance to the passage to Metru Nui. 

“It won’t hold a Toa,” said Pohatu, “but it’s a start.”

Behind them, something stirred in the rubble where Takutanuva had been blasted, and the shining Toa of Light emerged on all fours, exhausted and confused. Jaller handed him the Avokhii.

“Kohlii-head,” he said wryly. 

“Takanuva, I am heart-gladdened you are still alive,” said Lewa, “and I am not sad-bothered you are without the Makuta, but it is time, I think, for much long-telling.”

“Lewa is right,” said Gali. “We have clearly been kept in the dark on many things, Turaga.”

The other Turaga all looked at Vakama.

“There is much to be done tonight,” said Vakama, “if it is still even night, but, yes, there is much we have to tell you.” He glanced at Jaller and at Hahli, thinking of his own escapade with the Ga-Matoran and Jaller’s... other... corpse. “But let us deal with the practical matters first: a guard to be set on this passage, succour for the Ta-Matoran, rest for the recently transformed--and recently re-formed.”

“And then no more secrets,” said Tahu. 

“And then we tell you our history,” said Vakama. 

Chapter Text

It was not long past midnight when they emerged from the Makuta’s lair beneath Kini Nui. Jaller posted the Ta-Koro Guard to assist with the watch, but they were not alone. The Toa Nuva decided, in one of their first unanimous decisions, to keep a Toa there too, even if it meant someone would miss out on hearing the Turagas’ tales firsthand. Kopaka Nuva volunteered for the first shift. He wanted to see how much, if anything, he could see of the city below. It would be a test of the range of the Akaku Nuva, and sharing his power with the Ta-Koro Guard would be a boon in their task.

It was nearing dawn when Vakama finally came to Nokama’s hastily erected tent to rest. The exiles of Ta-Koro were still settling themselves with the help of those sent from Ga-Koro, and both Toa Nuva and the other Turaga they had fetched were assisting: Onua ripping spaces in the ground, Pohatu pulling slabs from the ground. Onewa and Whenua each refused to be anywhere near the other but were doing smaller things of a like nature. It was a chaotic, temporary dwelling, but it would do. 

“When do we rebuild Ta-Koro?” Tahu had asked and Vakama had not known the answer. When they had fled the destruction of the Rahkshi, his focus had been immediate: save the Matoran! He was still heeding Lhikan after all these years. Then there was the unveiling of Takanuva and his furtive business with Jaller’s corpse.

“If we do not return to Metru Nui, then as soon as we safely can,” said Vakama. “We will need the help of Po-Koro and Onu-Koro, but I do not know if we can count on both at once...”

Because Onewa and Whenua both felt strongly and deeply about Metru Nui and how they left it, about everything that happened in the Cataclysm. Well, they all did. And that old scar had been torn open and the certainty of their lives on Mata Nui had been disrupted as not even the arrival of the Toa or the assault of the Bohrok had managed. Their whole mythology--of lies, or omissions anyway--had been exposed, and even the truth, that there was a Seventh Toa, had been revealed. 

There was a hearth and a fire in Nokama’s tent when Vakama entered at last, finally sure that all the Ta-Matoran were accounted for and settled somewhere for the night. This was for his benefit; a Ga-Turaga found little comfort in the light and heat, and Vakama did, indeed, find himself warmed by it.

“Hahli confessed,” said Nokama, but she did not sound angry or even reproachful. “She told me that you brought Jaller’s body to the cave and dropped it--to the Mills, if I guess your intention right.”

“That was the thought,” said Vakama. “I don’t know if it worked. Certainly, there was no sign of the Energised Protodermis the Toa Nuva spoke of. We waited there a long time, and it seemed to me in the darkness below that something hummed, but that was it. Then Kopaka Nuva found us.”

“I am sure that was pleasant,” said Nokama.

“He did not ask what we were doing,” said Vakama, “he only said we were wanted, that Takanuva had revived Jaller. Well, that was a surprise.”

“What if the Mill worked then?” asked Nokama.

“Then there are two dutiful and exemplary Ta-Matoran in this world where before there was one,” said Vakama, “but one is below and perhaps in need of our aid.”

“But not dead,” said Nokama. “I know Jaller is dear to you among your Matoran. You pursued the only path you had.”

“I’ve used that excuse before,” said Vakama, “and perhaps it is true here, but we shall see if the Toa Nuva judge us as blameless in those matters as you do in this. This will be a long tale... it will make the solstice ballads in Le-Koro seem brief.”

“Nothing can do that,” said Nokama, “though I would spare Matau from being told as much. Get some rest, Brother. Jaller is returned to us, and even a chance at Metru Nui.”

“Perhaps,” said Vakama. “There is much ore to purify here: Metru Nui, Voriki, Takanuva, the Makuta... If he really is gone, this will have been a great day indeed, but I have not yet talked to Takanuva in any depth. He is more tired and dazed than I am, I think.”

“Rest,” insisted Nokama, and Vakama settled himself before the fire, staring into the flames, and sleep took him.

Chapter Text

It was evening when the Matoran and Toa gathered around the Turaga at Kini Nui. Many Matoran had joined the Ta-Matoran and Ga-Matoran already there, aided by Pohatu Nuva careening around the island with the Turaga and other messengers. It had already been a long day. Despite the late night for those that had entered the Makuta’s lair and seen the encounter with Voriki and Takutanuva, most had risen early, for there was much to do: provisioning the Ta-Koronans, making plans for the defence of the passage to Metru Nui, scouting the site of Ta-Koro with an eye to rebuilding it.

And from every mouth to every ear: whispers, rumours, talk of a city beneath the island, of Makuta defeated or dead or victorious or merged with Takua or with Takanuva or absorbing him, and rumours of the Seventh Toa. Whether this Seventh Toa was the same as Takanuva was unclear even to those Matoran that knew the Chronicler had been transformed by the Mask of Light, and not all had heard that.

Hahli, the new Chronicler of the island, was as much concerned with setting down the true story of the past day and a half as Jaller the Revived was with provisioning the Ta-Matoran and planning their new Koro. For Jaller, at least, was convinced that Ta-Koro would be rebuilt. Mata Nui was paradise. There was no way the Turaga would forego it and have them move into a cave. If that was, indeed, the Turaga’s thought, they did not reveal it. Vakama told him only to focus on meeting the immediate needs of their tribe and that they would speak of Metru Nui that evening.

Jaller was too busy to see the other Turaga at all that day, but if he had, he would not have heard much from them. Indeed, not a single Matoran heard a word from Onewa that day, and Whenua spoke only polite niceties, lost deep in thought. Nuju was more silent than ever, refusing to answer even Matoro’s briefest questions. Nokama and Matau were each more engaged, but like Vakama, they focused on the needs at hand.

Kini Nui was lit with torches and a great bonfire--and the golden glow of Takanuva, who was sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, surrounded by Matoran of all tribes. His story, at least, was being untangled, though, Jaller, arriving later than most, was not certain it was being passed on unembellished. Hahli was already there, with reams of coarse paper to take notes, laughing at Takanuva’s jokes and shaking her head. She waved Jaller over.

“Half the island is here, I think,” she told him as he squeezed in next to her near the front of the crowd. Jaller had done a quick headcount on his way in and knew that it was at least that many. 

“Toa Pohatu must be exhausted,” he said, and, indeed, the Po-Toa appeared to be napping as several of his Matoran played a pickup game of kohlii around him. “Who’s guarding the cave?”

“Toa Onua,” said Hahli. “He volunteered to miss the story. Kapura is with him in case they need to summon help.”

“Did Toa Kopaka see anything interesting?” asked Jaller. Hahli shrugged.

“Gathered friends!” Vakama addressed the crowd, which hushed the crowd. If he was tired, it didn’t show in his voice. The Turaga seemed to be full of some sort of nervous energy. The bonfire blazed as he spoke, a dramatic flourish from the Turaga of Fire. Pohatu groaned but picked himself up with the help of Lewa and sat in the midst of his Matoran, a surprised Ahkmou scooped from skulking on the edge of the gathering to be stuck in his lap. Lewa, like Takanuva, was sitting with the Matoran, while Tahu, Kopaka, and Gali stood behind the gathering. The rest of the Turaga gathered in a semi-circle behind Vakama, Onewa nearest the fire, then Nokama and Matau separating him from Whenua and from Nuju who was avoiding the heat.

 “Listen again, as none of you remember listening before, to our legends. There is much that we could say of the long ages of our kind’s history, but I will tell you our tale, the tale of the Matoran of this island, and you shall learn more as we proceed. 

“In the time before time, in the glorious city of Metru Nui, we believed our noble Toa would protect us. But they fell, one by one, as an unrelenting shadow sought to enforce endless sleep so that he could create a time of dark order then awaken the world as its conqueror. We, the Matoran--for thus we Turaga were then--did not know all the happened beyond our city, but thought we still lived in the long peace we had known for centuries. Alas, it had already ended, though we did not know it.

“And so, when he realised too late just how dark the hour had become, Toa Lhikan, the last Toa of Metru Nui, telling no one, delivered a single stone to each chosen Matoran from each Metru, to each of us: 

“To Nokama, a renowned teacher amongst the Matoran of Ga-Metru, to Whenua, the most inquisitive archivist of Onu-Metru, to the great builder, Onewa, to the brave Matau, and scholarly Nuju.

“Seven stones he had. Whence came the seventh stone, I do not know, for a Toa cannot make more than six, and which of us received the seventh stone, we never knew. Seven stones to create seven Toa: not six. Since the Barraki War, when tyrants claimed the right to don the Golden Kanohi, there had been an aversion to the creation of Toa in sixes. It was both a hallowed number and taboo.

“Two Matoran of water: Ga and Ko. Two Matoran of Earth, Po and Onu. Only one Matoran of Air, for the last Toa of Air had betrayed the city and so his element was left short. That left two, each Toa of Fire: Vo and Ta: Voriki and, last of all, me.”

Chapter Text

How long the Toa languished, maskless, in the dungeon into which they had tumbled, none of them were sure. Nidhiki, their insectoid jailor, fed them only occasionally, just barely enough energy to keep them from starving. It is hard to starve a Matoran, for their biomechanical selves will shut down to preserve energy when unable to feed, and it is even harder to starve a Toa, for their elemental powers allow them to draw on energies beyond sustenance.

Nonetheless, in time, even a Toa will fall dormant, if unsustained, and by the measure of how nearly that happened, it must have been months that the Toa were imprisoned. falling nearly to death-staving sleep only to then be fed the thinnest meal of uninspired gruel.

Not that the Toa were inactive in all this time, even if they were unsuccessful. Pohatu and Onua, between them, had confirmed that there was no way to tunnel out: their prison was bounded on all sides by protosteel and warded with spells against their elemental powers. Neither Gali with water nor Lewa with air could summon enough force to damage the doors to their cell, and it was impervious to both heat and cold.

Even if not forced into dormancy, the Toa spent their time conserving energy. It was a time of whispered conversations and lengthy sleep. Previously riven by difficulties with the virtue of Unity, the Toa grew as a team,their companionship in the darkness saving them from despair or the madness of solitude.

They saw little of Nidhiki. Rarely willing to talk, they deduced from his few words that, unlike them, he been alone for a long, long time and that this had warped him. Nidhiki took orders from a “Him”: some powerful, malevolent being that he feared. Onua thought there might be several “Him”s, because Nidhiki rarely spoke clearly or directly, but Onua thought he might be referring to more than one figure of power or fear. 

Some time after their third meal, when it was beginning to feel that a fourth might be approaching, which Kopaka thought meant they had been imprisoned for about fifteen months, something thudded onto the closed doors that was roof to their cell. 

Pohatu was completely asleep, and the others were dozing, but all roused at the sound, even in their lethargic, starved states. Even Nidhiki, out of sight and ignoring them down the hall, heard it, and clattered into view.

“Hello?” came a muffled voice through the ceiling. 

“Jaller?” Tahu responded, certain it was the Ta-Matoran. A feeling of protectiveness for his Matoran drove a reserve of strength through him that he didn’t know he had, and his eyes blazed in the darkness.

“Toa... Toa Tahu?” came the voice. “Where am I? I don’t have my mask...”

“Nidhiki,” Tahu turned to look through the bars at their jailor. “A Matoran needs his mask to survive. If you can help at all, I beseech you. I would be in your debt.”

Nidhiki did not answer him, skittering nervously. Something about knowing a Matoran was above the cell bothered him.

“Nidhiki, please,” said Gali. “However, Jaller came here, he is not your enemy. Even if you would bring him into the cell with us and give him a Kanohi, we would be grateful.”

“The Mills,” said Nidhiki, shaking his head and only indirectly talking to them. “He should not pass through the Mills. He will not like it.”

“Nidhiki, can you really leave a Matoran to die there?” asked Kopaka. “His cries will continue, perhaps for days: plaintive, desperate. You will hear them: the cries of a Matoran dying.”

Tahu stared at Kopaka and Lewa’s jaw was agape, already imagining the worst-case scenario. Pohatu was ready to give his own lifeblood to Onua to break open the doors and rescue Jaller (not considering he’d still be maskless), but Kopaka’s appeal to a Toa’s worst fears seemed to have struck a chord with Nidhiki somehow.

“Must save the Matoran,” he muttered to himself. “Must save the Matoran.”

Then he skittered away, down the hall, out of their sight. 

“Why did you say that?” Tahu asked Kopaka in complete dismay, unable to get the thought of Jaller dying a slow painful death mere paces above their heads out of his mind.

“I have a hunch,” said Kopaka. 

“A hunch?” Pohatu said in bafflement. “That Nidhiki has a soft side? That he doesn’t like dying Matoran?”

“That he wasn’t always whatever he is,” said Kopaka. “Do you remember what he said, when we first met? He said we should ‘Forget being Toa. Forget you ever heard the adoring praises of the Matoran or that you dream of hearing it again. Toa are empty shells--certainly no match for him’.”

“You remember-thought all that word-speech?” said Lewa in amazement. 

“You didn’t?” said Kopaka archly.

“But what does it mean?” asked Pohatu.

“I think Nidhiki is more like us than he appears,” said Kopaka. “Perhaps even once a Toa.”

“You’re either hilariously wrong or a genius,” said Gali. “How could a Toa have ended here, under the ground, and then changed?”

“We don’t know our own origins,” said Tahu, “and the Turagas’ tales leave much in mythic prehistory. They have been very cagey when the phrase “a seventh toa” is spoken. I hope you are right, for Jaller’s sake.”

“Me too...” came the muffled voice of Jaller. “I don’t want to die either, though I feel okay right now. I... I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember was looking for the seventh Toa with Takua.”

“Perhaps you did, in fact, find him,” said Onua. “If Kopaka’s guess is right.”

There was silence for a minute, perhaps two, and then the distinctive skittering of Nidhiki could be heard above them. His voice did not carry through the ceiling as well as Jaller’s, but they could tell he spoke briefly to Jaller, who said nothing. Then he skittered away, and there was more silence.

The pause was interminable. Tahu fretted and paced the narrow cell, but the others didn’t have the energy to do anything. The silence persisted. And persisted. Had it been a minute? Five? Ten?

Then, down the hall, where Nidhiki normally lurked, there was a clatter, the sound of something being slammed open, and of movement.

“Nidhiki!” came a heavy, slow voice, though it spoke eagerly. “Nidhiki!” 

A lumbering figure, as tall as a Toa and thrice as heavy, stumbled into view. It was still too dark to see it fully, but the Toas’ eyes were now long accustomed to the dark of their cell, and it seemed to them that it was blue and white.

“Nidhiki?” he looked at them, and his right eye, which glowed red in the darkness, tried to focus on them. 

“If you open the door, I’ll show you the way,” said Tahu.

“Don’t listen to them!” snapped Nidhiki, who had appeared behind the hulking stranger, one pincer holding an uncomfortable-looking, maskless Jaller. He slapped the large brute with his empty pincer.

“Nidhiki, there is hole!” The brute did not seem bothered by the slap.

“We live in a spirit-forsaken hole,” snapped Nidhiki. “What are you talking about?”

“Hole in the dome,” said the brute. “Hole burst in dome. Burst of light. Voriki went.”

“Voriki is gone?” snapped Nidhiki.

“Voriki gone!” nodded the brute, practically shaking the passage. Nidhiki looked sharply at the imprisoned Toa.

“Open the sea gate,” said Nidhiki. “Let in the Dark Hunters.” He began to twitch violently, as if troubled by something, and Jaller was thrown about, holding onto the pincers for dear life.

The brute cocked its head, clearly confused.

“GO!” ordered Nidhiki. “Who knows how long he’ll be gone?” The brute paused another moment as Nidhiki aimed a kick at him, and then took off at a thundering run. 

Nidhiki dropped Jaller and turned to the Toa. 

“You can try, if you like,” he said. “The Matoran is new--he has a day or two. There are masks enough, if you look.” He tapped a pincer against a mechanism they could not see, and the bars of the door began to rise. He dropped Jaller and dashed away, spinning up the walls of the passage, and vanishing out of sight before the door opened.

“But our masks!” called Pohatu as he vanished.

Jaller picked himself off the floor and looked in as the Toa staggered out. 

“Let’s find where he keeps the gruel and then get you a mask, Jaller,” said Tahu. 

“Do we have time to eat-dine?” ask Lewa.

“We don’t have a choice,” said Gali. “Without food, we won’t get far. What is it, Captain?”

“You... you look the way you did before,” said Jaller, “before you vanished and returned.”

“What do you mean ‘returned’?” asked Tahu.

“As Toa Nuva,” said Jaller. “You were changed by the energised protodermis...”

A deep, heavy sound like a horn in bass rumbled through the halls. 

“Quicker walk, less sound-talk,” said Lewa. “I have a bad heart-feeling.”

Chapter Text

“You do not remember those days, but each one of you was there: a Matoran of Metru Nui, each of you given birth in the great Millworks of that city, your very selves ignited when life was poured into your freshly-manufactured limbs.

“The Matoran Empire had stood for thousands of years, years beyond count, ever since the Great Beings made the first Matoran and placed him in the mechanical ecosystem that, at first, was just Metru Nui, but in time it spread: link by link, cord by cord, across the archipelagoes of the ocean, and Metru Nui was the head of a whole body of islands, united by a single engine. 

“I was manufactured not so long before the days of this day, as the age of the Empire was reckoned, though there were many years from my birth till the days I now recount. I was a Matoran like any of you, made for labour in the fires of Ta-Metru, trained by aptitude and practice to be a Kanohi-Maker. 

“Outside my routines, a happy life of work and play, things were dark in the Matoran Empire. Communication had failed with the Northern Continent and all lands beyond, and we were besieged, though few Matoran knew it. His Toa winnowed, Turaga Dume ordered the manufacture of ever more Vahki, the fully mechanical sentinels of the city, and this could not be hidden from the Matoran, but few realised how isolated we had become, or that the reason we saw only one Toa at Dume’s side was because, at the end, he was the only one.

“I did not know what the Toa Stone meant when Toa Lhikan visited my smithy, six other Stones already dispersed. I was trying to solve a problem that had been vexing me for years, literally: trying to create the Vahi, the Mask of Time. This was a special directive from Turaga Dume, or so I thought: a request from the steward of the Matoran Empire.”

Vakama’s pause was slight, but in a conversation questions might have bubbled up. What did he mean “or so I thought?” Who was Toa Lhikan? Who was Turaga Dume? But the skill of Vakama as a storyteller held the Matoran and Toa Nuva, and his fellow Turaga were not inclined to interrupt him. It had been Vakama’s plan to keep all this secret. Let him unravel the lie; they could nitpick it later.

“There was scarcely time to accept the Stone from Toa Lhikan before he grabbed me, and we fled. There, in the heart of Ta-Metru, the industrial heartland of the Matoran Empire, under the very shadow of the Coliseum, we were attacked. Two monsters, a lumbering hulk and an insect of titanic proportions burst into the smithy, seeking Lhikan. I did not know it then, but they were assassins, Dark Hunters who had been secretly admitted to Metru Nui to kill Lhikan, the last real threat to the Makuta’s invasion.”

“The Makuta?” Macku could not resist letting the question slip, though Hahli shushed her. 

“The very Makuta we have fought and resisted on this island for so many years,” nodded Vakama, “the very Makuta who, we now hope, is defeated by Takanuva. His is an ancient race, and they had tried once before to wrest control of the Matoran Empire but were defeated and banished to a single island guarded by many sentinels. It was that very Makuta who marshalled the forces against us, who isolated Metru Nui from the rest of the Empire, who picked off our Toa one by one. He had already entered Metru Nui himself, in secret, taking the guise of Turaga Dume and replacing him. 

“But he played a dangerous game: attempting to control both the besieging forces and Metru Nui itself. Sidorak, the general of the hordes that waited to invade, did not know that his master was already in command of the city, and certainly no Matoran knew that Dume had been suborned. Even Toa Lhikan, though he knew something was terribly wrong, did not know what. How fortunate we were that Lhikan kept his own counsel secret and not tell Dume his plan to replace the Toa needed to guard the city.

“No sooner had the wall of my workshop been burst asunder, and I was still processing what was entering, than Lhikan had grabbed me, throwing down his hoverboard and jumping on.

“‘Always playing the hero,’ hissed the more insect-like of the pair. 

“‘Some of us take our duty seriously, Nidhiki,’ said Lhikan, as we sped away.

“The insectoid shook an angry claw. ‘Next time your farewell will be forever, brother,’ he spat. I could only just hear, we were moving so quickly, but I did hear Lhikan’s quiet voice, speaking almost to himself, for certainly he could not be heard in the ruins of my workshop. 

“‘You lost the right to call me brother long ago, Nidhiki,’ he said, and that was the first inkling I had of fate that had befallen the Toa Mangai.

Chapter Text

“Toa Lhikan took off toward the Great Temple, the sacred home of the Toa, and we rocked through the Metrus at an unbelievable pace. Had he any less control of the hoverboard, we would have crashed and died and left too much of a mess for even the Millworks to restore, but Toa Lhikan was fearless and disciplined and though I clung to him in more terror than I had ever known, I was completely safe.

“We flew down to the street near the main entrance to the Temple. We could have soared right in, but perhaps Lhikan felt it was better that I enter through those tall doors, feeling the whole, solemn weight of my approach. Perhaps it was just faster, for he was in a terrible hurry.

“‘Go in and find the Suva, Vakama,’ he told me. ‘The others will be making their own approach soon.’

“‘Others?’ I tried to ask, but he was already mounting his hoverboard again.

“‘Nidhiki, at least, will give the Temple a wide berth,’ said Lhikan. ‘Hopefully, the other one won’t try to enter without him. I will return when I can, I promise. I must go to Dume--if Dark Hunters are in the city, I must be sure he is safe.’

“And he soared away, leaving me more confused than I had been before. I looked up at the enormous, gaping arch into musty darkness that was the entrance to the Great Temple, and I was steeling myself to enter, clutching the Toa Stone when another Matoran approached, holding a stone like mine.

“‘My visit from the Toa wasn’t as special as I thought,’ he said. He was tall for a Matoran, not built on the standard pattern of Metru Nui, and from his unadorned purple mask, I knew he was not a product of our city. That was rare in those days, to see a Matoran who hailed from a different part of the Empire, though I did not know that this was because we had been cut off. He was a Vo-Matoran, and I had never met one before.”

“What is a Vo-Matoran?” asked Tamaru. Kongu scowled at the interruption, but there was just enough murmur of agreement throughout the crowd that it was clear others were wondering the same thing.

“A Vo-Matoran is a rare, specialised tribe of the fire element,” said Vakama. “Just as there are tribes of Ko and Ga, but they share the element of water, so there are other tribes of Fire, Air, and Earth. Vo-Matoran were comparatively rare.”

“As rare as Fe-Matoran or De-Matoran,” said Whenua, chiming in for the first time. “The only Vo-Koro was on Forma Nui, an island on far to the south.”

“What was he doing in Metru Nui?” asked Hahli, who had already produced several pages of untidy scrawl and now jotted some notes on Jaller’s arm.

“It would be quite some time before I would learn that,” said Vakama, his eyes twinkling in the firelight with the withheld information. “It was not so unusual for Matoran to be sent to Metru Nui to learn skills or to study. Most trade was conducted by other, larger species: Vortixx or Steltians especially, who were safer when travelling the open waters between the islands, but in earlier times, there had been some Matoran merchants who travelled the Empire.

“‘Did Toa Lhikan tell you to come here?’ I asked him, though the answer was there in his hands, had I any idea what it was that I too held.

“‘He did,’ said the Vo-Matoran. ‘How many do you think are coming?’

“‘Others?’ I asked.

“‘Others who will be Toa,’ he said. ‘That’s why we’re here, right?’

“I looked down at the Toa Stone in my hands and was trying to wrap my mind around this concept, trying to imagine how it could even be possible that we might become Toa, a chosen few out of the entire city. Another Matoran walked up then, holding a stone: Nokama. The Vo-Matoran saw her and waved her over and introduced himself.

“That is how I met Voriki.”

Chapter Text

The Toa and Jaller made their way carefully down the hall, but soon came to meeting place, an intersection where stone hallways went off in each direction. 

“I’m open to advice here,” said Tahu, looking left and right and back at his team. “Which way back to the surface, or which way to sustenance and masks?”

“Which way did Nidhiki go?” added Kopaka.

“Masks and sustenance first,” said Gali. 

“Now that we’re out of the cell, we’re not shielded from feeling the earth,” said Onua, resting his great clawed hands on the walls. “If we go left, there is a stair and the way back to the drop we fell down. Forward takes us out.”

“Into what?” asked Kopaka.

“A great open space,” said Pohatu. “A cavern maybe.”

“The air is breath-fresh ahead,” said Lewa. “It is closer to the sky-winds of the mountains than the dead-airs of Onu-Wahi’s tunnels.”

“What about the right side?” asked Jaller.

“It goes down a bit,” said Onua. “Into the rock and beyond how far I can feel--especially so drained.”

“Well, not down,” said Gali. “Up is the way home, maybe, and forward has answers. I vote for up. We have been gone too long.”

“Forward is food and masks,” said Pohatu. “Nidhiki said we would find them easily enough. He can’t have meant the way up, because he’s certainly never been known on Mata Nui. We need to eat before anything else, and Jaller needs a mask.”

“We know both are available above,” said Gali.

“But no answers,” said Lewa. “We might have to scramble-climb, and we are very limb-weak.”

“Do we really want to reappear with the Golden Mask gone, with our tools gone, with our very dignity gone?” asked Pohatu. “And, apparently, we’ve already been replaced?”

“We thought they were you,” said Jaller. “I think they think they are you.”

“Nidhiki went forward,” said Kopaka. He gestured at the ground. There was just enough dirt tracked over the stone floor to leave the faintest footprints.

“Nidhiki’s marks go all three ways, brother,” said Pohatu, confused.

“He only goes up once, that any fresh tracks show,” said Kopaka, “and that was to fetch Jaller. The tracks down are completely obscured by the large brute’s tracks, so he has not gone that way recently. That means he went forward.”

“Tahu, you’ve heard our counsel,” said Gali. “Which way?”

Tahu looked at his brothers and sister and at one of his own Matoran. All of them looked exposed, bereft of their masks, but with straight backs and steady gazes that belied the Toas’ hunger.

“We go forward,” he said. “Food is our first need, and a mask is Jaller’s.”

There was no discussion. They proceeded forward, Kopaka first, then the other four around Jaller, and finally Tahu at the rear. They had just passed down a half flight of stairs when he thought he heard something behind them, but he said nothing. They were in no shape to investigate rustling noises behind them.

The passage or tunnel soon ended with another set of stairs, this time climbing up, and it became apparent that they were emerging from an underground cellar set beneath a larger building of some kind. It was nothing like their homes on Mata Nui, excepting maybe Ta-Koro's foundations or the oldest parts of Onu-Koro, for it was massive and seemed from the inside to be angular. 

At the end of the passage was a doorway, and stepping through it they stopped in awe, looking out from the doorstep of a squat, utilitarian factory on an open space before a pier, the whole vista of Metru Nui open before them.

After months in darkness, the pale light that illumined the sunken city was like the dazzling glitter of dust in the noon sunlight, and the vast, seemingly endless architecture before them, across the channel to the main island, was like nothing any of them remembered seeing. Above the whole landscape, so high and so far back that it could almost not be seen, was blackness of the protecting dome. At its highest point, closer to the centre of the city but still nearly directly above them, was a pale white crescent, like an unblemished moon, and it was this that lit up the landscape before them.

It did not matter than Metru Nui was crumbling or in darkness to these eyes that had never seen her before, that her once-thriving chutes and canals were void of all save furtive and occasional travelers. She was still Metru Nui, queen of the Matoran Empire, oldest and greatest and most beautiful of islands and cities.

Chapter Text

The Toa and Jaller stood for a few, quiet moments just gazing out at the landscape of Metru Nui, sharp darkness, mostly, beneath the dim light in the dome above, when there was a flash of light in a different corner of the dome, lightning on the edge of the city from within a hole that was briefly illumined in it.

The flash was gone, but Onua, shading his eyes, nodded to himself.

“There are other ways out than the way we came,” he said. “The Makuta must have been in the caves and tunnels beneath Kini Nui to prevent us from ever finding this.”

“Metru Nui,” said Kopaka quietly. “That is what Nidhiki called it.”

“He knew of Matoran and Toa,” said Gali. “There must be some here. He said it would be easy enough to find masks.”

“Here in general, maybe,” said Tahu, “but not here in this part of it. There is no life, no fire.”

“There must be a way across,” said Pohatu. “Or there was once, at least.” He looked ahead, at the edge of the flat space that ran down to the water, where there was the broken base of a pylon that had once held aloft a ring of the chutes. 

“We can always swim,” said Gali, and she flexed her hands, summoning some violence in the waves, even from many paces away. “I feel better just being near water.” She looked in amusement at her brothers. Other than Kopaka, each looked some degree of concerned. Jaller looked more resolute than the rest and he led them towards the water’s edge.

“I’m sure you’ll help us along, Toa Gali,” said the Matoran. He was breathing heavily, a first sign that he had been a while without a mask. Tahu shook his head protectively.

“We will send Gali and Kopaka ahead before we all attempt to swim an unknown channel,” he said. 

“We shouldn’t split up,” protested Pohatu. “Or do I need to be the voice of Gali here?”

“I think I can freeze a large enough block of ice to float across on,” said Kopaka, “but Gali will have to push it.” 

“Are you sure, brother?” asked Tahu. He looked on Kopaka with the same paternal concern “We are all greatly drained right now.” 

“I can do it,” said Kopaka. “It is less than a kio across.”

He crouched down on the edge of the island, not so much a beach as the end of a platform, the island having been constructed that far and no farther, both hands just above the waters. It was strange trying to manipulate the elements without his sword. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes.

And, for a moment, nothing happened. 

Then Kopaka opened his eyes and the determination of his gaze seemed to shoot out over the water as he twisted his wrists. Ice spread across the mostly still water, a broad, ovoid disc forming large enough for them to stand on and a third as deep. He started to rise but was unsteady. Pohatu grabbed an arm and helped him to his feet. Kopaka pulled away, but nodded.

“Let us go,” said Tahu, picking up Jaller and stepping onto the ice floe. Lewa followed, then Kopaka, who sat immediately, a hand on the ice.

“It isn’t melting,” he said. “Yet.” He closed his eyes. Onua and Pohatu followed last, then Gali pushed the floe and jumped into the sea, hands on the ice, kicking with her legs, and nudging the waters to push them along. Her effort was not as draining as Kopaka’s, for it was guiding rather than creating, but it required endurance, and she began to feel her strength ebbing as they reached the hither shore.

“Well done, sister,” said Lewa, offering Gali a hand onto the shore, which was another smooth, stone surface of regular craftsmanship. This was a wider expanse, almost an artificial beach, on a much larger island. Onua and Pohatu helped Kopaka ashore and he did not even resist this time. Tahu was looking around them, still holding Jaller, whose breathing had normalised.

“We’ll have to walk far before we find anything,” he said. “We are worn out. Is it worse to rest or to press on?”

Lewa looked up at the dim light of the dome and his eyes narrowed.

“Something just drop-flew from the lightning hole,” he said.

“I didn’t see anything,” said Onua, “but your eyes are keener than mine.”

“It’s gliding,” said Lewa. “Glide-falling this way. I feel the current-brushes of the wind.” 

Soon, even Onua could see what Lewa had noticed first: a figure holding a fixed set of wings gliding toward them. It landed not far from them on the beach, folding up its hang-glider before picking up a long staff that had been its main beam and striding towards them. It was just a Toa, dark under the night-like dome.

“Strangers!” he greeted them. “Who are you? Why do come to Metru Nui?”

“We are lost, hungry, and weak,” said Tahu. “We need assistance, but we are not a threat.”

“Toa,” said the stranger, looking them over. “And a Ta-Matoran! Well, this is a strange day indeed. You do look like you are in some trouble. Come, I will help you, and then you shall tell me your story. I am Voriki, the last Toa Metru.”

Chapter Text

“Voriki and I were not alone long,” Vakama continued his tale. “Five other Matoran soon joined us, all of them strangers to me, at the time...”

“Fire-spitter? Did you wrong-turn?” It was a Le-Matoran, and with his arrival, there were now seven Matoran, none of the same tribe, standing before the open, gaping doors of the Great Temple. Vakama had no idea why he had been singled out for this scrutiny, when all of them were loitering uncertainly.

“We need to go in,” said Voriki. 

“Who transformed you into the boss?” asked the Po-Matoran.

“There’s a squad of Vahki coming this way,” said Voriki, and he started in. “Come on!” The other Matoran looked at each other. The Po-Matoran shrugged and followed. The Ga-Matoran caught Vakama’s eye and he nodded appreciatively.

“I’m Nokama,” she introduced herself. 

“Vakama,” he said.

“Why are we running from the Vahki?” asked the Onu-Matoran, though he followed the rest into the dark temple. “We haven’t done anything wrong. We were told to come here by the Toa himself!”

“Vahki arrest-stop first and question-ask later,” said the Le-Matoran. “Mindless empty-heads. I was stop-frisked crossing Ko-Metru with a heavy-load of racing crabs, but the blinder-straight-thinking Vahki only cared that I was going too many Kio-fast.”

“The Vahki have been cracking down on everything lately,” said the Po-Matoran, dropping back as they walked slowly through the dimly lit great entrance hall. “One tiny infraction and--snap--off to Ga-Metru to be re-educated. They took half my shop in the past month, and I haven’t gotten one back. They even tried to nab Ahkmou, and he’s almost as good a carver as I am.”

“And you are?” asked the Ko-Matoran archly, speaking for the first time.

“Master Carver Onewa,” said the Po-Matoran proudly. “Best carver in the Metru. And you are?”

“Nuju.”

“Talkative one, huh,” said Onewa, with a broad gesture, looking at the others for attention. “The parties in Ko-Metru are really something, I’ve heard.”

“The Vahki are cracking down on errant Matoran everywhere,” said Voriki, who despite walking several paces ahead had apparently been listening. “Work or home. If you’re anywhere else, you risk getting taken away. I’ve seen it a dozen times in as many days.”

“And just who are you?” asked Onewa. “Not a lot of purple in Metru Nui and you don’t look like an earth digger.”

“Hey!” said the Onu-Matoran.

“I am Voriki,” said he. “I’m a Vo-Matoran from Forma Nui. I think that leaves our Onu- and Le-Matoran friends to introduce themselves.”

“Matau the Singer!” said the green Matoran. “Handsome-finest test-pilot of Le-Metru.”

“I am Whenua,” said the Onu-Matoran, but his mind was on their conversation, not on their names. “If the Vahki really are taking more people than usual, then that must just mean more people are misbehaving than usual. The teachers will set them right.”

“But the classes in Ga-Metru aren’t any busier,” said Nokama. “If anything, it has been quiet of late. There hasn’t been a new-made manufacturing class in a while either.”

“They’re not taking them to for refresher courses,” said Voriki. “I don’t know where they’re taking them, but they’re not returning.” His voice was quiet. “I’m missing a couple friends myself.” He raised a hand, half-gesturing for them to stop, half waving at what was ahead, a great dome shape writ with carven letters. It was ancient, as old as anything in the city, a cracked stone shape, the ancient Suva.

Nokama stepped forward holding out her Toa stone. 

“It seems we are all recipients of Toa Lhikan’s gifts,” she said. “All similar, yet each unique. We need to do... something.” 

“The Toa Suva,” said Vakama, speaking up. “We, uh...” 

“When Toa realize their full potential, this Suva shrine grants them their elemental powers,” said Whenua. “What will it do for us?”

“You really don’t know why we have these?” asked Voriki, holding his Toa Stone aloft. It glittered in the light that rose from the Suva, and a deeper light seemed to glow from the many niches around the Suva’s outer surface. The niches hadn’t been there before, but had appeared at Voriki's gesture, the Suva’s inner magicks responding to the presence of the Toa Stones.

The Matoran stepped forward, each of them placing their Toa Stone in the nearest niche. Once Vakama, hesitating a bit even after Nuju, had placed his, the light from the Suva became overpowering. The temple shook as power poured forth and enveloped them. 

They looked at one another, bewildered, as the image of Toa Lhikan’s mask appeared in the energy beam, hovering in the air. 

“Faithful Matoran, Metru Nui needs you,” the Hau said, speaking in Lhikan’s voice. “Shadows threaten the city. Prove yourselves worthy Toa and fear not. The Great Spirit shall guide you in ways you could not imagine.” 

The mask dissolved into the brightness that was now blinding, and Vakama felt as they each did, that he was being stretched, his mechanical limbs expanded and opened while his living self inside coursed with life and energy. He felt as though he had become the Great Forge itself and had been stoked to full blaze. Then the light burst and the seven Matoran--now seven armoured Toa Metru--stood before the dormant Suva.

“Are we… Toa?” asked Onewa, looking with amazement at his own, mighty arms. 

“If we appear to be Toa-heroes, then we are Toa-heroes!” answered Matau. 

“Yes,” said Voriki, “we are Toa.” More than any of them, he seemed at home in his new body, not awkward, as though he’d been imagining the greater size and strength he now possessed. 

“Vakama?” Nokama was the first to notice that the Ta-Toa was standing with his eyes unfocused, staring into the last remnants of the Suva’s glow. Then, as they all watched, he collapsed, his mind still elsewhere.

Chapter Text

The Toa and Jaller went along behind Voriki, simply too tired to follow with any speed. They had told him only the barest outline of their story: that they had plummeted from the island above, lost their masks and tools, and been imprisoned without food for months. They were clearly exhausted.

“There is a supply cache in this district,” Voriki told them. “Not too far--maybe six or seven blocks. There will be food there and probably an unpowered mask or two. Then you can rest and tell me more. It has already been a strange, strange day.”

Voriki led the way slowly, walking at an easy amble to allow the exhausted Toa to keep up. Jaller walked more sprily, but his breathing was uneven and he was beginning to cough more. Voriki paid both them little enough heed, other than to be sure they were following, his attention given rather to the streets and empty towers about them. He was on guard, walking through a wild Wahi. The city was not his Koro.

At last they came to a tall building, once a tenement and communal dwelling of Ko-Metruan scholars. The doorway he led them toward was dark, a gaping hole into unlit darkness, but as Voriki entered, he was covered with a faint, sharp, crackling glow, enough to light the space around them. A Matoran in a dark Ruru was waiting, a nasty-looking mechanical cross-launcher in hand.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” said the Matoran to Voriki, but his gaze was entirely on the others. “Not after a crack in the Dome.”

“I did go up,” said Voriki, “but that was rather complicated. I saw that we had some guests as I was sailing down. They’re famished; what do we have? And the Ta-Matoran, at least, needs a Mask.”

“There are masks here,” said the Matoran with a nod. “Follow me.” The space lit by Voriki’s electric glow, they headed in deeper. Another space opened into a bottomless shaft. A long rope hung in the middle of the empty space.

“It’s not far down,” said the Matoran. “But it’s a climb if you want to go up.”

“Not tonight,” said Voriki. “I think our guests would rather rest than keep watch.”

The Matoran nodded, slung his cross-launcher over his back, and grabbed the rope, jumping down into the darkness. One by one they followed, Voriki coming last.

Jaller, who went first, found himself in a large, cluttered chamber lit by a few flickering lightstones. By this stronger light, he could see that the Ruru-wearing Matoran was a Po-Matoran, a black mask over tan arms, but one of his legs was a discoloured red. 

“Tephrys,” said the Po-Matoran, gesturing to himself. “Skori is on lookout on the upper floors. You’ll see him.”

“Jaller,” said he, as Lewa and Onua emerged. Kopaka came next, landing with a thud as he lost his grip, but the Ice Toa refused Lewa’s arm or the concerns of Pohatu who came next. Gali slid down, equally tired but without losing her grip, and Tahu came last before Voriki.

“Here, crustloaves.” Tephrys has pushed out a large, round container, like a sphere, opening it to reveal hard, bread-like rations. “Sorry, it’s not fine dining for the Turaga’s table.” 

“It’ll do,” said Tahu, taking the two of the hard, dry crustloaves and passing them first to Kopaka and Gali. “Thank you.”

“Any food-ration for a starving way-traveller is welcome!” said Lewa, grabbing two and tossing them to Pohatu and Onua, before grabbing another and biting into it.

“They’re pretty dense with nutrition,” said Tephrys. “Let me see about masks. We don’t have anything fit for Toa”--he gave a strange shrug at the assemblage of the--”but we have some.” He rolled out another round container, opening the top. Eight or nine scratched and dinged masks were visible. “It’s not much,” he told Jaller apologetically. “Doesn’t look like we have anything in your colour.”

“This will do,” said Jaller, picking up a once-silvery Komau. “Any mask on Mount Ihu, as we say.”

“I’ve never heard that proverb before,” said Tephrys. “It’s a long time since anyone made it up through the sea gates. What island did you travel from?”

“We came from Mata Nui,” said Jaller.

“The Great Spirit?” Tephrys looked over the room at Voriki. “He has an island?”

“Let them tell their story,” said Voriki. “We can ask questions after.”

Tahu, Onua, Gali, and Lewa were all wearing bent, discoloured noble Rurus--not quite the infected masks of the Makuta’s Rahi, for these were clean even if old and used, but the parallel was on their minds. Lewa paused a moment, glancing knowingly at Onua, who nodded gently, before donning his. 

Pohatu pulled out the last three masks: a Great Mahiki, a half-faded yellow Akaku, and a noble Rau.

“I know which of these is for you, brother,” he said, handing Kopaka the Akaku. Kopaka stared at him a moment before taking it, looking more than any of them like himself. Pohatu looked between the others and settled on the Mahiki.

“Never seen this design before,” he said.

“Is it not used on... Mata Nui?” asked Tephrys.

“Not that I’ve seen,” said Pohatu, sitting down with a crustloaf in each hand. 

“You wanted our story,” said Tahu, leaning against the wall, still not quite comfortable enough with a stranger and after long imprisonment to sit. Neither Gali nor any of their brothers felt any such compunction; all were sitting as they ate.

“I am most curious,” said Voriki. 

Tahu looked at his team, clearly wanting to delegate to someone else, but Gali was exhausted, Pohatu was looking at him, and the others were pointedly eating and looking away.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” said Tahu. “Are you familiar with the Makuta, or the Bohrok, or with a spider-creature named Nidhiki?”

“The Makuta?” breathed Tephrys. 

“Best start from the beginning,” said Voriki. “From the Cataclysm, if you know of it.”

Chapter Text

We did not know what to first, as Toa. Lhikan had spoken so little to any of us, and most of that had been to find the Temple. What we were to do then, we did not know. So we did what would have done as Matoran: sought the advice of the Turaga.

Not that any of us really knew Turaga Dume. Until he had come to me with a request that I forge the Mask of Time, I had never met him personally. Neither had Voriki, made in a far-off corner of the Empire. Nokama had, more than any of us, for she had been a senior teacher in the Ga-Metru schools, and much regarded, but even she could scarcely say that she knew him.

You Matoran, here on Mata Nui, cannot imagine the scale of Metru Nui or the size of its population, tens of thousands of Matoran, nor the scope of their work, and a single Turaga stewarded it all. Dume had ruled Metru Nui and the Matoran Empire since the civil war with the Makuta, long ere I was made, and he had not ruled so large a domain alone by being approachable. He was a legend in those days: the Turaga who had defeated the demigods and banished them. 

Even here, where we are few, there are Matoran who hold rank or office: Captains of the Guard and Turaga’s seconds. In Metru Nui, there was a hierarchy of such titles: foremen and overseers and administrators. 

Dume was closeted with the most important of these, the Archons of the Metrus and the Captains-General, when we found him. 

“The sea gates to the Northern Continent are taken,” Captain-General Pahlii was reporting. “We’ve moved as many Vahki as can be spared to reinforce the defences. That only leaves the Western Shoulder open to travel, and that is not secure. The Shadowed One has already cowed many into submission in the Western Arm. We need Toa Lhikan’s aid.”

“Ah, speak of the--” but Archon Hahnatuu’s voice trailed off, when he realised the tall figure darkening the door was not Toa Lhikan, but Matau, sauntering in ahead of us.

“Toa!” breathed Archon Hahnatuu, slamming a heavy Po-Matoran fist on the war table. “Just what we need.”

“How did you enter the Colosseum’s citadel unmarked?” asked Dume, which was not quite the welcome Matau was expecting.

“We told the guards we were Toa and needed to see the Turaga,” said Voriki. It was the default programming of the Vahki.

“We’ll need to adjust that protocol,” said Dume. Pahlii nodded. 

“I’ll see that Nuparu is advised,” he said.

“Leave us,” Dume ordered the Archons and Captain-General. They shuffled out even as we had shuffled in. The Turaga waited till they had left, looking us over. 

“Vakama. Onewa. Nokama. Matau. Whenua. Nuju. Voriki.” He said our names with no doubt. “I did not expect to see you here, so tall.”

No one had ever accused the Turaga of being warm, despite being a Ta-Turaga, but Dume seemed especially stern, as though--despite the dangers we had just heard the city was facing--he were angry to see more Toa in the city.

“How did this happen?”

“I did it.” And there, walking through the doors, was Toa Lhikan. “Dark Hunters have breached the city, Turaga. I have eluded them, not defeated them.”

“These Matoran are not at all trained to fight a war,” said Dume, with a dismissive wave at us. “Had I known you intended to share your power, I could have given you many a candidate better prepared for what we face: athletes, members of the Guard, Vahki trainers.”

“These seven were the will of Mata Nui,” said Lhikan calmly. 

“Yes, seven,” said Dume. “And you still a Toa, I see. Well, it is done. If I cannot send these new Toa to defend the city, I must send you. The sea-gates are held against us, and the Vahki need more reinforcement than any Matoran militia can hope to provide.”

“The Dark Hunters are still in the city,” said Lhikan.

“And whom do they seek?”

Lhikan was silent. 

“It seems they seek me,” he said at last. “It is Krekka. And Nidhiki.”

“Then you will have also drawn them away,” said Dume. “Go. Apparently, you are no longer needed here, as I have these other... Toa.”

With a slow nod, Lhikan turned to go. He looked at us and raised a hand in salute--and farewell.

“The Great Spirit depends on you all,” he told us. “Save the heart of Metru Nui.” And leaving stepping onto the balcony, he leapt onto his hoverboard and sped away south.

Chapter Text

How long the Toa slept in that basement hideout beneath an abandoned tower in Ko-Metru, none of them knew. Time had not had much meaning to them since falling from the energised protodermis to the prison chamber beneath, and they spent many long hours telling Voriki and Tephrys of their adventures on Mata Nui: of their arrival, drifting ashore in cannisters, of battles with the Rahi, of the Golden Masks, of the awakening of the Bohrok, of their truce and the sudden fall, and of what they had seen in prison. They kept no intentional secrets, though of course the tale of so many months could not be shared in a single conversation, however long. 

Voriki asked few questions, letting them talk, but Tephrys interjected as frequently as he was confused or surprised, and it was a rambling tale, told as much by Jaller as by the Toa. Voriki’s one interjection was to clarify Jaller’s description of Mata Nui before the Toa arrived.

“We’ve lived there as long as I can remember,” said Jaller. “My first memories are of building Ta-Koro, but that is long ago, and they are fuzzy. Perhaps it was two hundred seasons? Things changed with the weather, but the constants were the same: the six tribes, with the six Turaga, threatened by the Makuta and wary of nature, but content.”

When their story had finally wound down, Lewa was already nodding off, and Onua had been sleeping for some time, his head fallen forward between his knees and arms. There was not a scrap of food left in the hideout; the Toa had eaten through four large crates of crustloaves and downed it with an entire butt of water. Their bodies, which had survived on the edge of crisis and sheer elemental power, had taken in as much sustenance as they could and were now repairing themselves in sleep.

Jaller woke long before the Toa did, his ordeal being somewhat less than theirs, only that of a day or so unmasked, though his memory of his last day on Mata Nui was fuzzy, and he could not remember how he had come to be in Nidhiki’s lair. He had still not told the Toa exactly what he last remembered: the looming figure of the Turakh and a flash of intense pain.

Tephrys was not in the basement with them when he woke, nor was Voriki. Tephrys did appear, maybe an hour later, sliding down the rope to check on them, his cross-launcher slung over his back.

“They’re really worn out,” said the Po-Matoran, nodding at the Toa. “Guess sitting around in a dungeon doing nothing really takes it out of you.”

“It does if they don’t feed you,” said Jaller. 

“Are they any good?” asked Tephrys. “Voriki is amazing, but he’s the only one left. Metru Nui needs more Toa, real Toa.”

“They’re the only Toa I’ve ever known,” said Jaller, “but I have seen them do amazing things.”

“Got captured, though, didn’t they,” said Tephrys.

“They ended the Bohrok’s attack,” said Jaller, “and I don’t doubt that they’ll find the Golden Masks and repay whoever imprisoned them.”

Tephrys shook his head.

“Life must be good in the overland if can be so confident,” he said. “The way I see it, they have two choices: to accept what happened and survive or to seek too much and die.”

“Restoring what’s right isn’t seeking too much,” said Jaller firmly.

“You haven’t had much of a look at Metru Nui, have you?” asked Tephrys. “Fifty-thousand Matoran lived here before the Cataclysm--more than one hundred thousand at its peak. There are maybe a couple thousand now, scattered about, mostly living under Voriki’s protection in Le-Metru. Ta-Metru is overrun with Morbuzakh, Ga-Metru and Po-Metru still harbour Visorak, and Onu-Metru is mostly abandoned to wild Rahi--and not all of them came from the Archives. Ko-Metru's a border territory, cold and abandoned, and no one dares set foot in the Colosseum.

“You would restore what’s right?" finished Tephrys, turning to look at him directly again. "Who wouldn’t want that? No one--but it’s too much. Maybe with the Golden Masks, they could fulfill legends; without them, they’re just taller Matoran.”

“They’re Toa,” said Jaller firmly. “You trust Voriki, right?”

“Most of the time.”

“Well, I trust them,” said Jaller. “Golden Kanohi or no.”

“Just as well,” muttered Tephrys. “The Golden Kanohi are stupid legends anyway... what good are Six Kings on the Six Thrones if the Empire is a crumpled memory?”

“I don’t know that legend,” said Jaller. “There’s a lot down here I don’t know.” In truth, he wondered if he ought to know more, but he wasn’t about to voice that in front of Tephrys. He wasn’t even sure he could quite say it in front of the Toa yet. It was somehow disloyal to the Turaga to admit that he knew too little lore.

“I’m going up to join Skori on lookout,” said Tephrys. “You can come, if you want.” Jaller looked at the Toa, who were still soundly sleeping, and wavered a moment.

“I’ll come take a look,” he said. He followed Tephrys up the rope, shimmying four stories to an open room looking out toward the darkness that was Onu-Metru. Here he met Skori, a one-armed Ko-Matoran, who nodded to him at Tephrys’s introduction, but said little. He kept his gaze pointed out the windows at all times. It was cold, for the windows were open to the city and a chill draft blew in. 

“Ko-Metru still hasn’t warmed up,” Tephrys told him. “Probably never will.”

“Ko-Metru has warmed,” said Skori, but he did not expound further.

It was some hours later when they sighted Voriki, again on his glider, jumping the rooftops toward them.

“Something is bad if he’s coming in plain sight,” muttered Tephrys. Skori nodded. At the last building, Voriki folded his wing in one smooth motion even as he jumped toward them, coming through the window at a roll.

“Wake the others!” he barked to Jaller. “Enemies come through from their prison.” He panted to catch his breath, the three Matoran still staring at him.

“Dark Hunters!” he gasped. “Piraka!”

Chapter Text

Vakama looked at the assembled gathering, wondering how much detail he should go into. Already, there had been much for the Toa Nuva and the Matoran to absorb: the ancient Matoran Empire and all its history, its isolation at the end of its age, and the surprising fact--to the amnesiac Matoran and Toa--that Matoran could become Toa. He had given them new names to know: Turaga Dume, Toa Lhikan, Nidhiki, and their own seventh brother, Voriki. Those who had heard the rumours of what had happened after Takanuva absorbed and defeated the Makuta--never mind those who had been there and started the rumours--would already be making connections to the tense encounter below. And it was already growing late.  

“There are whole chronicles that could be written of our early days as Toa,” he said, deciding to condense, just a little. “They were not, as we had no Chronicler, and only we six remember. We understood so little then, Toa though we were supposed to be: barely in control of our elements, not yet controlling our Kanohi. Turaga Dume had sent Lhikan to defend the sea-gates, and we were given, as I know now, minor tasks, though hard they seemed at the time: seeking the great Kanoka disks, discovering that others had been promised our Toa Stones, cutting back the great Morbuzakh vine that threatened to overgrow the city. And we were harassed, up and down the Metrus, by Nidhiki and Krekka, the Dark Hunters.  

“Only later did we learn how they were able to move about so freely, unhindered by the Vahki. Even with the Vahki being manufactured and rushed to the sea-gates as fast as the city could manage, there were still many in the streets--more than we had ever seen. And as our adventures passed and we started to mature in skill and confidence, we started to notice that there were fewer and fewer Matoran about.  

“Voriki was the eldest of us and the most confident, and where he directed, we generally followed, though we had no leader. That was for the Turaga to appoint, we thought, not knowing then that the Toa Mangai, our predecessors, or most of the great Toa teams of our history, had generally appointed their own leaders. And we saw nothing of Turaga Dume, who might have told us. It was as though the Turaga had no use for us.”  

“Well, he didn’t,” said Onewa, and he was immediately chiding with hushing from Nokama and Matau. The other Turaga had been silent as Vakama told the story thus far.  

“This is not going to be a story told in one night,” said Whenua.   

“No, indeed not,” said Vakama, “but perhaps I can finish the prologue. If all our people wish, we can give them the bare version: Metru Nui was destroyed, we saved a few of their number, and thought the city was buried till now, but that will not answer their questions.”  

“Indeed not, Turaga-elder,” said Lewa. “Please, long-tell us the story.”  

“The Morbuzakh was a great trial for us,” said Vakama, “and we emerged from its defeat in the furnaces of Ta-Metru with six companions, all Matoran: Nuhrii, Orkham, Vhisola, Ahkmou, Tehutti, and Ehrye.”  

Hewkii, Macku, Hahli, and Hafu all craned around to look at Ahkmou, as did Takanuva. The once-disgraced seller of kohlii balls shuffled uncomfortably, lit up in the spotlight of Takanuva’s gaze.  

“The other five are not here,” said Vakama as Takanuva scanned the crowd. “Nor on Mata Nui at all. I will get to that, eventually.  

“The six Matoran, one for each Metru, had been seeking a Great Disk, led along by Nidhiki for purposes that were quite murky to us at the time. Perhaps Nidhiki even thought that they were, indeed, the six Matoran that Lhikan would pick to give the Toa Stones, but if that were so, then he was deceived.”  

“Excuse me, Turaga,” said Pohatu, earning a scowl from Gali not unlike Onewa’s from Nokama. “Why six? You said that you Toa Metru were seven?”  

“Six Toa is the normal number of Toa Stones a single Toa can create when they disseminate their power and become a Turaga,” said Vakama.  

“But Lhikan gave out seven,” said Pohatu.   

“And you nothing-said of Lhikan becoming a Turaga,” said Lewa.  

“Indeed not, because he did not,” said Vakama. “That was a mystery, though we did not know it at the time. None of us in Metru Nui was old enough to remember the last creation of Toa in the city, and even Voriki, coming from a distant island, did not know such lore. In hindsight, we should have seen the six Matoran as a clue, but we would not learn its meaning then.  

“It was the Matoran that noticed how empty the streets were when we emerged victorious from our encounter with the Morbuzakh. Our own change to Toa, the literal moving of our eyes to twice our former height, had made the whole world new, and we did not see the emptiness of the streets immediately, but the Matoran did, and the Vahki saw them immediately.  

“‘All Matoran must report to the Colosseum by orders of the Turaga,’ the first squad of Vahki told us immediately upon sight, staves bristling with warning. Someone asked why--probably Matau--and we were given no answer. Vahki gave orders not reasons.  

“‘Well, we need to see Turaga Dume anyway,’ said Voriki. ‘We’ve defeated the Morbuzakh. Perhaps he’ll send us to assist Toa Lhikan.’  

“‘Matoran only are to report to the Colosseum,’ the Vahki told us menacingly, and would have stopped us proceeding with the Matoran, but we did not argue it. We let the Matoran go and then followed at a distance.  

“And no sooner had we approached the Colosseum than the world truly began to end,” said Vakama, “which is perhaps enough tale for one night. I, at least, grow weary of speaking, though perhaps one of my fellow Turaga would care to step in.” It was rhetorical flourish, but his siblings glared.  

“Then let us rest,” said Tahu Nuva. “I will relieve Onua in the guarding the passage and you two”--he looked pointedly as Lewa and Pohatu--”shall retell the story we have just heard.”  

“I’ve taken notes!” said Hahli as Tahu Nuva walked away and the Turaga dispersed.   

“We will help you recount all this to Onua,” said Takanuva. “Perhaps we will understand it better as we retell it.”  

“I’m going to take notes too,” said Macku to Hewkii, “of everyone’s guesses of what happened next. What do you think, Hewkii?”  

“Uh... the Makuta appeared and challenged them to a kohlii match,” said Hewkii.  

“Hey, too soon!” said Takanuva. The Matoran looked at him, confused.  

“That actually happened to me!”  

Chapter Text

Vakama’s weariness, as the many hours since the destruction of Ta-Koro had snowballed one new thing into another, let him sleep long and deep after the first late night of storytelling at Kini Nui. He rose long after dawn to find that the bustle of the previous day had receded somewhat. The Matoran were perhaps feeling the same tiredness that he was after the previous night or perhaps no longer feeling the same urgency or excitement as they had they day before.  

Was that his fault? Vakama was sure, as he walked through the camp, that the Matoran were less inclined than usual to call out to him, that they were avoiding him. True, Kapura appeared and gave him the morning news as he had before. Yes, he was still stuck in his own thoughts and not seeking out companionship, but, still, something felt amiss. Perhaps it was guilt.  

The day passed too slowly. There were still more than enough tasks that needed to be accomplished, but they were all perfunctory. There was no warmth. Vakama felt more grateful for Kapura than usual. His unflappable devotion to habit was a foundation when all else was disrupted.  

When evening came, there were fewer Matoran gathered at Kini Nui. Perhaps fifteen, twenty fewer, he thought, scanning the crowd.   

“Onua is not here,” said Whenua, the only Turaga who had preceded him that evening. “He volunteered for another shift watching the passage.” Whenua sighed. “It is not like him.”  

“He is hurt,” said Vakama. “Alas, it seems most of the island is.”  

“The lies were wrong,” said Whenua. “I told you as much then.”  

“We cannot undo it now,” said Vakama, avoiding admitting that Whenua had been right. “Let us tell them all. Then we can be more fairly judged.”  

“I don’t like losing Onua’s trust,” said Whenua, shaking his head and turning away, for Onewa was coming.   

“He still wants to go back,” said Onewa to Vakama, eyeing Whenua as he walked away. “He still doesn’t get it. The future is forward.”  

“Does Pohatu get it?” asked Vakama.  

“We haven’t talked,” said Onewa.   

“Tahu hasn’t been to see me today either,” said Vakama. “Well, let’s get this going again...”  

As Onewa went to stand with the other Turaga--separated from Whenua by Nuju, Nokama, and Matau--Vakama put a little of his elemental power into boosting the flames, which flickered wildly and called the Matorans’ attention to him. Tahu Nuva barked at the few still-chattering Matoran for quiet.  

“Gathered friends,” began Vakama, “listen again to our legend of Metru Nui! We went, we seven Toa, following the six Matoran we had rescued from the deceptions of Nidhiki and Krekka in our quest for the great Kanoka disks, to see Turaga Dume, for we thought we had proven ourselves ready to join Toa Lhikan at the sea-gates, and the Vahki said that he had summoned all the Matoran to the Coliseum. And as we leapt to enter from above, while the Matoran entered through the gates below, we saw that a gathered crowd had assembled, and Dume was already speaking...  

~*~*~*~*~  

‘...be safe. Not since the Barraki wars of old has Metru Nui been so threatened, but I have made certain to find a way you shall all survive,” Turaga Dume’s words echoed from speaker to speaker across the Colosseum, though as many Matoran as the Colosseum held, it was not full--maybe only a few thousand Matoran in a city that housed tens of thousands. And the city outside had been empty.  

“Have no dark-fear, humble citizens!” called Matau from the top of the Coliseum wall, soaring down to the field of the Colosseum on his aero-blades. “We are the mighty Toa-heroes and we will save you!”  

Still scrambling over the walls, the other Toa looked at each other.  

“May as well go down,” said Voriki, and he leapt down, taking the rows of seats five at a time. The others followed a bit more slowly but were soon all down on the sands before a largely confused crowd.  

“Forgive the delay, Turaga,” Vakama began, but did not finish. Putting a hand on his arm, Nokama held up her Great Disk with the other, and the others followed.  

“We present you the Great Kanoka Disks as proof of our Toa stature,” she called.  

“Toa must prove themselves with deeds, not simple gifts,” Dume replied, and it was plain not just to the seven Toa but to the assembled Matoran that something concerned him. Where was their heroic welcome?   

“Matoran of Metru Nui!” he continued, “The Great Spirit has provided seven new Toa, though how this can be, I do not know.”  

“Toa Lhikan gave us Toa Stones!” called out Matau, the only one who might have missed Dume’s dark rhetorical tone.  

“Toa Lhikan has served this city loyally for many centuries,” said Dume. “Even now, he leads our defences, but a Toa who gives up six Toa Stones surrenders his own power, and there are seven of you. What dark trick is this?”  

The seven Toa looked at each other warily.   

I’m a fraud!  thought Vakama immediately.  But who else is ? He eyed Onewa and Nuju.   

“At least two of these ‘Toa’ are suspect,” said Dume.  "Let all these Toa demonstrate their worthiness on this field of honor!” He looked toward the Matoran who manned the Coliseum’s control box but gave no command. Instead, his gaze was disrupted as his pet Nivawk alit on the rail of his balcony, cawing wildly. Dume’s eye was drawn toward the southern horizon, and it seemed the whole Colosseum looked with him.  

At first, Vakama could not see it, but then he realised that the sky to the south was darkening as a swarm of flying creatures blotted out the sky.   

“The Sea-gates have fallen!” came Dume’s voice. “Matoran, to your pods! Toa, if Toa you be, your city needs you. Go now and fight.”  

As Dume turned away, Vakama could have sworn his saw Nidhiki and Krekka lurking in the shadows.  

Chapter Text

“Grab the Matoran!” shouted Voriki, even as the crowd of Matoran below them dispersed in chaos.

“Why?” Onewa called back, his eyes on the approaching swarm of winged Visorak. “Turaga Dume gave them orders.” 
 
“Not all of them,” said Voriki. “Just our six friends!” 

Matau swooped down on his aero slicers and scooped Orkahm from the stands. Vakama went flying in behind him, grabbing Nuhrii with one hand and Tehutti with the other.   

“What are you doing?” cried Nuhrii. “You heard the Turaga!”

“The Turaga is gone,” said Vakama, looking up at the tower above the Coliseum. “The city is invaded and we need answers.” Below, Nokama had swung down to the ground on her hydro blades, tripping up Vhisola just in time to catch her. Ehyre managed to duck Nuju’s grasp and almost vanished out of sight into the tunnels out of the Coliseum, but stopped short when Voriki landed in front of him. There was no sign of Ahkmou.  

“I didn’t even see him!” said Onewa, coming down last with Whenua. “The slippery moss-face.”  

“Now what?” asked Matau, dropping an irritable Orkahm as he landed. “Those fleet-winged invaders are approaching double-quick.”  

“The Coliseum is going to be a target,” said Voriki. “It’s the strategic centre of the city.”

“So we stand here and break them on it,” said Onewa. 

“We don’t even know how to use our masks,” said Nuju. “Seven of us against a swarm?”

“That’s a bad ratio,” said Nokama. “We should withdraw and regroup. We need to plan a new kind of warfare.”

“I don’t care about the invaders,” said Voriki. “I want to know about the Toa Stones. Did any of you know that a Toa can only make six? Who is the imposter?”

“We have little talk-time,” said Matau. “We need a leader. I vote for me.”

“Well, that’s just plain ridiculous,” said Onewa. “I vote we stay, and I’ll follow any leader that chooses that.”

“Vakama, what do you think?” invited Nokama.

“I think the fraud is me,” said Vakama. “I collapsed at the Suva. I do think we should go and regroup.”

“You’re not a fraud,” said Nokama. “You have been as brave as any of us against the Morbuzakh. And at the Suva--”

“It was nothing,” Vakama interrupted her.

“Let Vakama be the leader, then,” said Voriki. Vakama shook his head to himself. If they were going the same way, they would be following Voriki’s lead, as they had done since their transformation. Naming him leader was a joke. 

“I vote for Vakama too,” said Nokama.

“We can’t just abandon the city,” said Whenua. 

“Then stay with Onewa,” said Vakama, already itching to leave. The Matoran were looking about anxiously, though they kept silent, baffled by the strife between the Toa and afraid of the approaching swarm. “We should split up again.”  

“Good leader-ruling,” said Matau, “but I am not staying.”

“I will stay,” said Nuju. “These two will need someone of intelligence with them. We will buy you time and distract them. Take Ehrye.”

“And Tehutti,” said Whenua. Onewa looked irritably at Vakama and over at Voriki.  

“Fine, we split up,” said the Po-Toa. “Go! There’s almost no time.”

The Venom Flyers were directly overhead. Nuju took aim with his powers and shards of ice blasted toward them. Behind him and the disruption being caused as Onewa and Whenua dug up chunks of the stadium and catapulted them into the oncoming swarm, the four other Toa and the five Matoran slipped into the stadium.  

“If the chutes haven’t been compromised, we go as far north and as far wild as we can,” said Voriki. “We need somewhere to think--and to interrogate.”

~*~*~*~  

Far above them, in a dark chamber at the heart of the Colosseum, the figure that looked like Turaga Dume chuckled to himself.  

“Go now,” he said to the two Dark Hunters that were waiting. “The Visorak will let you pass, for now, as servants of the Brotherhood of Makuta. Stop these neophyte Toa. Make sure they develop into nothing more.”

“What about Lhikan?” asked Nidhiki.

“The sea-gates would not have fallen as long as he lived,” said Dume, “yet fallen they have. The Toa Mangai are no more.”

Nidhiki said nothing but there was a fire in his eyes as he walked away with Krekka lumbering behind. Dume ignored him and when they had departed, he gave a single command to the Vahki.  

“Shut down all units. Your duty is complete.”  

Chapter Text

Travel through the chutes was a bit precarious at the best of times, whatever the more reckless Le-Matoran thought, but the four Toa and five Matoran made it beyond Coliseum Island and deep into Po-Metru before the Visorak destroyed the controls of system at the Le-Metru Control Hub, disabling the chutes and cascading the flowing water from their previously contained rings to the ground.  

“Now what?” Orkahm demanded, pent up anger at weeks of frustration and hours of fear bursting out. He had little enough regard for Matau as a Toa, having known him too well as a wild chute-pilot, but an innate Matoran sense kept him a little wary of the three others.  

“We head into the hills,” said Voriki, pointing at the heights of north-central Po-Metru, unpopulated quarries for the most part. “There is cover there, and we can avoid both Vahki and Visorak if need be.”  

“And then what?” asked Tehutti. “Turaga Dume has a plan, right?”  

“I’m not so sure,” said Vakama. “Did any of you see who I saw behind him? Nidhiki and Krekka!”  

“Those two thugs?” said Nuhrii. “Why haven’t you lot put a stop to them yet?”  

“It’s not that easy,” sigh Vakama.  

“There’s seven of you and two of them!” said Nuhrii, “and no more than one brain between them.”  

“Yes, there are seven of us,” said Voriki. “And we need to solve that mystery before we worry about single-handedly freeing Metru Nui from an enemy that has brought the Matoran Empire to its knees.”  

“And you think we know something,” said Tehutti resentfully. “That is why you did not let us flee with the others. We could have been safe, like them.”  

“We don’t actually know they are   safe,” said Nokama. “Turaga Dume said they should withdraw to their pods, but if Turaga Dume is in league with the Dark Hunters... Vakama, I wish you would tell us what you saw--”  

“I saw nothing,” interrupted Vakama. “I fainted from the Toa power. I’m probably the fraud.”  

Voriki held Vakama’s gaze for almost a minute, not saying anything.   

“There’s something different about you, leader,” he said at last. “I don’t know if that makes you the fraud. It could be any of us.”   

“Don’t call me that,” said Vakama. “That vote was a sham, and we never finished it.”  

“Vakama!” Nokama shook her head. “Tell them your vision!”  

“They’re dreams,” said Vakama. “Nothing more.”  

“They?” said Nokama. “You’ve had more than one? You promised to tell me.”  

“They’re dreams,” said Vakama, and he walked away, toward the hills, nudging Nuhrii and Tehutti along. “Come on, we have a long walk.”  

“As you say, leader,” said Voriki, with a sharp eye to Ehrye, Vhisola, and Orkahm, who reluctantly followed. Matau shrugged at Nokama, and they all proceeded. The sun, which had been high overhead when they had been at the Coliseum, was westering, and the dusty browns of the ground ahead were lit in golden light.  

“Nidhiki lied to you,” said Voriki to the Matoran as they walked, “but you thought he was trustworthy at first.”  

“He was odd-strange but not evil-fearsome,” said Orkahm. “Once, many strangers visit-travelled to Metru Nui.”  

“He told you secrets,” said Voriki. “That you would become Toa.”  

“He said Toa Lhikan was giving out Toa Stones,” said Nuhrii. “One in each Metru. There hasn’t been a Toa in each Metru in centuries. Nidhiki implied that I would be the new Ta-Toa, if I excelled beyond all others--beyond Vakama.”  

“He was almost right,” said Voriki. “I wonder, since we know that Dume keeps company with them, if he  might have planted the idea in Lhikan’s mind. The seventh stone seems to have been Lhikan’s own wrinkle in the matter.”  

“Did he choose right, though?” asked Vakama. “Each of these Matoran is accomplished as we were. Why choose us?”  

“Why choose me,” said Voriki softly, though it was still an answer, not a question.   

“Whatever his reason, he did choose us,” said Nokama, “and that is some comfort. We cannot trust Dume, but surely we haven’t lost our faith in Lhikan.”  

“At the Suva, he said...” began Voriki, but he stopped, looking at Vakama, seemingly remembering that he didn’t mean to press Vakama on whatever he had seen as he’d fainted. “Lhikan told us to save the heart of Metru Nui before he went to defend the Sea-gates. He knew he was going to his death, I think.”  

“But what is it?” asked Matau. “The heart of Metru Nui? Is it the Coliseum? The Great Hub? Turaga Dume?”  

“I don’t know,” said Voriki. “At the Suva, the spirit that spoke like him said the Great Spirit would guide us, in ways we can’t imagine.”  

“Well, I can’t imagine it,” said Matau, “so now would be a good time.”  

“Vakama?” Nokama looked ahead at where Vakama had been walking with the Matoran. The red Toa had collapsed.  

“Well, maybe this time he’ll talk about it,” she said to Voriki.  

Chapter Text

"Stay out of sight until I signal," said Voriki to Tahu and the others as they left the crumbling Ko-Metru tower to confront the intruders. "They think I am the only Toa in Metru Nui, so the sight of you all will hopefully surprise them and make them think twice about a battle. I don't know how badly you want to face a real foe with those powerless masks and no tools."

"The masks may be powerless, but we are not," said Tahu. "We have spent a long time helpless. We are ready to use ourselves again."

"Who are these enemies?" asked Pohatu. "You called them Piraka? Dark Stalkers?"

"Dark Hunters," said Voriki, though his eyes were on the shadows ahead of them, near the water that stretched from the city to the edge of the dome far beyond, a still, unmoving sea.

"The Dark Hunters are thugs and criminals," said Voriki. "They seek power and pleasure and would rule by fear. I don't know which piraka"--he spat the word out disdainfully--"they've sent, but whomever it is, I'll deal with them as I always have: without mercy."

Onua and Kopaka shared a glance, walking together at the rear of the group. Voriki stopped them just before the last pier, and they lurked in the shadows of a roofless building as Voriki stepped down to the edge of the water, conspicuously visible.

They had arrived just in time: even as Voriki stepped ahead of them, a boat of some kind had become visible in the darkness ahead, propelled by some kind of mechanical motor, which growled softly, its sound carried to them on the waveless sea. The seacraft, whether you called it a boat or something else, was larger than a Ga-Koronan fishing boat, large enough to have held the six Toa of the island with some room to spare, though it was shallow-bottomed, and did not look quite steady on the water, rocking a bit side to side as though driven by a turbulent wind, though the still sea beneath the dome was calm. Perhaps the rocking came from its passengers: and, indeed, not only could it have held six Toa, it was six Toa-sized figures that came into view as it drew nearer: Toa-sized, or even a bit larger--hulking, gangling figures with spiked spines down their backs. Their eyes glowed red in the darkness.

Even as the strangers were becoming clear enough to see, they themselves noted Voriki, and there was a loud muttering across the water, sharply cut when one of them barked at the others. Then there was silence until the boat pulled up near the pier, only a dozen feet from Voriki.

"They said you were gone, Toa," the leader of the hulking creatures said, his voice deep as he spat out the final word. He was the heaviest-set of the six figures, and in the dim light near the shore, his colour was hard to discern. There were protrusions like horns on either side of his head, and his wide teeth were set in a permanent scowl. Without a Kanohi, even his speech and bipedal stature couldn't remove the impression to the hiding Toa that he was alien, like a Rahi imitating a Toa.

"Your spies are too hasty," said Voriki. "Metru Nui is not unprotected."

"You are one, Toa," said the other, now looming directly above Voriki, his red eyes menacing in the darkness. "We have delayed this encounter long enough. The Shadowed One extends but one chance to surrender peacefully. You have already rejected that chance."

Light sparked around Voriki, especially about his mask and the head of his staff, as he drew in power, electricity crackling around him.

"You will leave Metru Nui," said Voriki, his voice tense as he held in the growing power. "While I live, this city shall never submit to your dark master."

"Then die, Toa." The Piraka's voice was flat, save for, again, the final word, from which distain dripped. He swiped across the last few feet of water with a long, golden weapon that scythed across the water, just missing Voriki, who stepped back. Neither the leader nor the others on the boat got a second attempt, as Voriki swung his staff and released the lightning. The bolt did not travel straight, but bent up in an enormous arc. The brutes had all instinctively flinched away, but they would not have been fast enough had Voriki been aiming for them--but he had not. Instead, the lightning bolt struck the very tip of the ship's bow and the kinetic force, which would otherwise have shattered it, spun it end over end. The hulking brutes were flung into the sea, flailing angrily, but quickly making for shore.

"He missed!" breathed Lewa to the others in dismay.

"No," said Tahu quietly. "He's leaving them a way out."

On the pier, Voriki turned and nodded at the shadows.

"Did you see their weapons?" asked Gali. "And they are strong."

"We are strong too," said Onua.

"Come," said Tahu, and he stepped out of the shadows. The other Toa gathered behind him, a semi-circle behind Voriki even as the half-drowned enemies climbed out of the water.

"No," Voriki stepped over the prone body of the first body, the butt of his staff jammed into its shoulder. "Go back to your master and tell him that Metru Nui remains free. Whomever opened the sea-gates, take them with you."

But Voriki had been too confident, and the prone figure glared at him, and the glowing red eyes released a blast. Voriki stumbled backward, surprised. His armour sizzled and hissed on his forearm, where the brute's heat vision had struck.

"Necro nui," he swore to himself, regaining his composure, striking the brute hard with his staff, but the other five were coming ashore, hulking and red-eyed.

"Toa!" the leader spat again, and he seemed wary of the six of them. "You should have come bearing stiffer arms!"

"Fire is the only arm I need," said Tahu evenly, even as he raised a ball of fire in his outstretched hand. The wind whipped behind him as Lewa drew near, and the previously-still sea began to churn as Gali raised her arms. The three others stood menacingly behind, but there was a groan in land as Pohatu tapped his foot.

The five brutes surged ashore heedlessly, searing heat blasting from their eyes, long weapons raking ahead of them. Voriki dealt another blow to the one prone figure, but backed away carefully toward the others, his staff pointed toward the oncomers, already crackling as he prepared for another strike of lightning.

As Voriki moved out of the way, Tahu allowed his fireball to grow, and Lewa caught it on the wind, blasting it forward in a billowing flame toward the enemy, who had not emerged quite far enough from the sea, which Gali raised in waves and drove into them, knocking them forward right into the blazing fireball. Onua and Pohatu nodded to each other, and in a matching, sweeping motion, they tensed and clenched their hands, leaning away from each other, each pulling the land out from beneath the stumbling enemies.

It was only a lucky, stray bolt from one of the brute's eyes that struck Gali in the upper arm, but it was enough for her to wince and lose control of the waves--hard enough to control without tools anyway. The waves behind the enemy ceased, but Voriki chose this moment to unleash lightning again, which struck the leader directly, knocking him over completely. He sizzled as he lay on the roiling ground.

Tahu let his fire cease for a moment.

"Your boat is next, unless you board it immediately."

"Seven is more than we reckoned for," grumbled one of the brutes, starting toward the shore. He paused to look at Voriki.

"The Shadowed One will send more next time," he said. "We were all that was handy when the gates opened. Now that he knows they DO open, he will take your city."

"Take him with you," Voriki pointed at their leader, who lay prone in the divot caused by Onua and Pohatu. "Your master can taste the same fate, if he comes." Two of the brutes glanced at each other, shrugged, and each grabbed a foot. They dragged their leader behind them, tossing him onto the boat that Gali had wafted back toward them.

"This isn't over, Toa," leered the one who had spoken last. "We would not be so merciful to you."

Voriki said nothing in reply, but electricity sparkled around his mask. The boat pushed away, moving lazily out toward the far-off edge of the dome.

"I need to get up to the top of a tower to watch them," said Voriki.

"Take out your glider," said Kopaka. "Lewa can give you a boost." Voriki nodded, unfolded his gliding wing, and stretched it out. Lewa took a deep breath, and then a gale erupted as he exhaled, and he twisted his hands, Voriki soaring up from the ground, gliding on the wind until he came to rest at the top of the seaward-most tower that had not collapsed. He landed, and Lewa gasped, bent over from the exertion.

"We're still far from full form," noted Onua, putting a steadying hand on Lewa's shoulder.

It was a long wait as Voriki remained at the top of the tower; hours passed. The enemy wasn't putting my effort into their return voyage, but were only slowly drifting away into darkness. "Morning," when the wan lights over the dome glowed a little brighter, covering the fallen city in a grey twilight, dawned as they waited, and Jaller appeared with Tephrys.

"We watched with Skori," he told Tahu. "We saw you drive them off. You did well."

Tahu nodded to the Matoran's praise.

"We should get you home," he said. "Alas, but I do not wish to return without the Golden Kanohi."

"I do not like leaving my post," said Jaller, "and I don't know how things fare against the Rahkshi."

"He's getting ready to strike," said Tephrys quietly. The Po-Matoran had kept an eye on Voriki, and, indeed, the distant figure atop the tower had tensed and now thrust with his staff, and lightning arced across the sea, for a split second lighting it as though it were truly day.

"What is he doing?" asked Pohatu. "I can't see that far."

"None of us can," said Kopaka. "He's destroying their ship."

Above them, Voriki was gliding down from the tower.

"But were the enemy still aboard?" asked Gali. Tahu shrugged.

Voriki landed not far away.

"I gave them something else to think about and to tell their master, but destroying their vessel won't be nearly enough. Forget my bravado: if the Shadowed One comes in person, Metru Nui needs every defence." He looked at Tephrys first. "Find Tehutti. We need to reseal the sea-gates." Tephrys nodded, and turned to jog away.

"Coming?" he asked Jaller, who looked to Tahu. Tahu nodded.

"Do as you wish, captain--we certainly won't leave without you."

Jaller chased after Tephrys. Then Voriki turned to the others.

"You fight like no Toa I've known, though perhaps that's few enough. The control you have over your elements--it would have been impressive if you had your tools, but without them…" he shook his head. "Six Piraka would have been a handful by myself, but you made short work of them. If the Shadowed One really does send any force against us, we will need you."

"We have a duty to our own villages," said Tahu. "We can make few promises, but we are not quite ready to return yet."

"First," said Kopaka. "It is your turn to tell us a story. We told you of our island, how we came there, how we have fought the Makuta. Now you need to tell us your story."

"It is a long story," warned Voriki.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

"The others wondered, as I twitched on the ground, what I was seeing, and Nokama explained to a clueless Voriki and Matau that this was not the first vision I'd had. The others had all been the same: a recurring vision of the destruction of Metru Nui. I saw the city in ruins, and each time I approached, the city was suddenly restored.  At first, the visions had shown six disks flying towards me, and the approach of these woke me back to the reality.

"But after we defeated the Morbuzakh, the vision changed--no longer did I see the Metru Nui suddenly restored or the six disks flying toward me. Instead, the city remained in ruins and a red smoke rose over it. In the sky, there were two moons, but their light was shuttered, like two eyes falling into slumber. And when those eyes closed, mine opened.

"This vision, however, in the wastes of Po-Metru, was not like them at all. Unlike the recurrent visions before, I cannot guess why it appeared to me then."

Vakama paused, and his gaze lingered most on the Toa Nuva.

"I suppose that vision did not matter," he continued, "save that my collapse meant that the visions I was seeing could no longer be hidden. This time, when I at last awoke, Voriki and Nokama were sitting with the five Matoran around me. Matau was perched on a tall plinth of stone, keeping watch..."

~*~*~*~

"Easy there, leader," said Voriki as Vakama startled, trying to leap to his feet. "We're not in immediate danger. What did you see?"

"N-nothing," Vakama stuttered, not quite thinking. 

"Vakama, I told him of your visions," said Nokama. "Tell us what you saw."

"Nothing," said Vakama, more firmly. "I thought you agreed not to tell anyone."

"Your visions of the disks were validated," said Nokama. "Six disks you dreamt and six disks we found. And, when we found them, the disks no longer troubled you. The city has been in danger throughout, and now, when the sea-gates have fallen, your visions are even grimmer. What did you see now?"

"Just the cracked imaginings of a broken processor," said Vakama. "It is nothing."

"Cracked or not, we can't trust each other as a team if we keep secrets," said Voriki. "Even if it just the fears you have expressed to yourself, we can still help you understand and face them. Perhaps your cracked processor noticed something we didn't."

"This was different," said Vakama. "I didn't see the destruction of Metru Nui. Instead, I was... nowhere. It was as though I stood on the plane of a slowly-whirling galaxy, but there were no stars, and I was in the midst of darkness, but as I spun, I saw figures all around me, like a council of gathered with the Turaga. These were not Matoran, though, and their leader not a Turaga, but they were titanic, figures not of pistons and muscles, but of light and shadow, flame or smoke. They spoke, but I did not hear sounds, only the echoing impression of their words.

"These Great Beings knew me, calling me by name: 'Vakama! Our brother watches no more over thy people: Mata Nui slumbers. Thou wakest him at thy peril, yet wakest him thou must.' It seemed to me that they gestured to the figure at the center of their council, where Turaga Dume sat in the midst of his advisors, and that here there should have been another great titan--or perhaps it was there, but without light or substance, a mere presence only.

"Two figures, one to the right and one to the left of the faint Turaga rose, and the voice of a third I could not focus on announced them: 'Akamai and Wairuha, Valour and Wisdom, shall guide thee, the Right Hand and the Left of Mata Nui. Heed them only and not the whispers of the Makuta!'"

Vakama stared directly at Voriki. 

"And then I woke up."

"You saw the Great Beings," said Voriki reverently. "Did you see them all? Did you see--" but whomever Voriki wondered about, he was cut off as Matau glided down to them swiftly with a warning.

"Visorak! We need to shelter-hide!"

~*~*~*~

"...with the five Matoran around me. Matau was perched on a tall plinth of stone, keeping watch, and scarcely had I woken and reluctantly told them my vision that he saw the Visorak approach. We ducked immediately for cover, following Tehutti into an abandoned mine. As the Visorak entered behind us, we went ever deeper. It was clear from his absent thoughtfulness that Voriki's mind was elsewhere.

Chapter Text

"You shouldn't talk about the Great Spirit like that," said Pohatu, as they continued to cross Ko-Metru. The wan lights above the dome were at their zenith, providing a pale glow over the ruined city. As they climbed around the exterior of one of the largest (or least-ruined) towers of the Metru, they could see at a distance other portions of the city. 

"I believed in Mata Nui, once," said Voriki. "I even thought I met him... but what Great Being would claim to watch over the Matoran and leave us with this." He paused, looking out over the city. They were on a landing of sorts, a flat place that opened where the broad tower below them turned to a much narrower spire. They could see north, east, and south, and Voriki waved a hand over them all.

"You should have seen Metru Nui then, when I first came here: the Coliseum there"--he pointed north east at the most ruinous area they could see: the centre island broken and cracked--"the Temple of Mata Nui in Ga-Metru, the chute system, the great forge of Ta-Metru. It was the envy of the world, and envy it the Makuta did. I don't know all the centuries of war and scheming before my time, but they weren't without effect: Metru Nui no longer ruled its empire, and only one Toa still stood with Turaga Dume, who ruled this city: Toa Lhikan, Toa of Fire.

"I don't know where he got the Toa Stones that transformed us. I don't know why he waited until he was the last Toa left and the sea-gates were on the verge of being breached. I don't know why he picked the seven of us--but he did, and we became Toa: me, and the six you say you know as Turaga: Vakama, Nokama, Matau, Onewa, Nuju, and Whenua."

"A seventh Toa!" Lewa whispered. Onua nodded, but gestured for silence. Kopaka and Tahu shared a cryptic nod. 

"We weren't enough," said Voriki. "While we tried to learn how to control our powers, how to control our masks, we sought the great Kanoka disks, drove back the Morbuzakh--and missed how much we were needed at the sea-gates. Important as our little quests might have been in peacetime, they were distractions when the city was threatened from without. What did it matter if the Morbuzakh was choking off the Great Forge when the Matoran were vanishing and the Visorak were invading?"

"What are Visor--" Lewa began even as Gali asked "why were the Matoran vanishing?"

"Visorak are a sort of swarming, insectoid Rahi," said Voriki. "There were thousands of them, directed by Sidorak, a mighty servant of the Brotherhood of Makuta."

"And the Matoran?" asked Kopaka.

"We didn't realise it until much later," said Voriki, "but Turaga Dume was long gone. He was being impersonated by the Makuta himself, and it was all his plan: the Matoran were being put in stasis even as the city fell to the Visorak. Metru Nui fell to attacks from both within and without. Only the seven of us were left free in the city--well, and the five Matoran we stole away with us. Whenua, Nuju, and Onewa stayed behind in the Coliseum to buy the rest of us time to escape, and while we were on the run in Po-Metru, Vakama collapsed and Matau and I learned that he had been keeping a secret from us--visions, or so Nokama called them."

There no hiding the looks that the six Toa gave each other. So Vakama is still associated with them, then, Voriki thought.

"He said he had seen the Great Beings in council, and that they had told him that Mata Nui was asleep and we must wake him, and that Valour and Wisdom would guide us. At the time, I believed this was a sign, and that we had to save Metru Nui by waking the Great Spirit, and I believed that Akamai and Wairuha would come and help us--but though we found a Mata Nui of sorts, in the end, no Great Beings came and guided us. If Vakama's vision meant anything, it must have been metaphorical: wisdom and valour, not personified beings."

"They are true-real," said Lewa. "Takua told us."

The wind seemed to pick up, and the already chilly ledge was far from comfortable to any save Kopaka, but no one moved as Voriki stared at them.

"You mentioned him--Takua," said Voriki at last, "in your tale the other night: he is your chronicler."

"Yes," said Tahu.

"And he claims to have seen Akamai and Wairuha," said Voriki.

"Yes," said Pohatu.

"Not 'claimed'," said Gali. "He did see them. I have felt what he has seen."

"Was this before you came to the island?" asked Voriki.

"No, this was the first great battle with Makuta," said Gali. "As we said in our tale: after scouring the island for the Golden Kanohi and being united at last, we faced the Makuta beneath the temple of Kini Nui and defeated him, for a time."

"You said nothing of Akamai and Wairuha," said Voriki. 

"We didn't exactly tell you every kick and blow," said Pohatu. "To be honest, most of that battle is a blur. We entered the cave, encountered the Manas and... returned later, victorious. Takua remembers more than we do."

Voriki said nothing, but it was plain that he wanted to dismiss the idea, and why not: if they remembered so little and if the Makuta hadn't even been truly vanquished, then perhaps they hadn't been victorious at all. Yet if their chronicler claimed to have seen Akamai and Wairuha...

"We should get going again," said Voriki. "We're almost there. If the Pituita Nui is still functioning, we can close the sea-gate. I'll have Tehutti see what we can do to close them permanently, and we need to find Nidhiki and Krekka, but that can wait till tomorrow."

He tapped a door that opened onto the ledge with the slightest jolt of electricity, and the door popped open, not quite chest-height.

"An access point for Matoran technicians, not Toa, I'm afraid."

"So, what happened next?" asked Pohatu, "in your story? You went from Po-Metru to find Mata Nui?"

"No, not right away," said Voriki. "First, we encountered more Toa."