Chapter Text
Even after centuries of adventures, Metru Nui was simply too much for Jovan to comprehend. He was getting fond of soaring above it all, either under the power of his Kanohi or riding the magnetic currents that sprang up from the ground beneath his feet.
Regardless, Jovan navigated to the Coliseum without getting turned around. He hailed from the quiet Southern Islands, not this metropolis, but he’d always had a good head for directions. As he walked, he saw flashes of masks in a rainbow of colors as countless Matoran craned their necks to sneak a quick look at the Toa hero who walked among them.
Twice as tall as his brothers and sisters and with polished gunmetal armor among their primary shades, he stood out. Jovan was accustomed to drawing stares. What caught him off guard was how those gazes had turned from awed to judgmental of late.
I can’t really blame them.
This was the hub of all activity in the city, and he was surrounded by Matoran. Jovan felt a band tighten around his chest and almost panicked, almost activated his Kanohi Kadin and took off into the sky, where it was fresh and clear and blue. But he stopped himself. Reminded himself he was in no hurry to reach his destination.
The tremor hit just as Jovan reached the base of the Coliseum. Matoran cried out as the ground swayed beneath their feet and grabbed onto their friends for stability. Jovan nearly stumbled, but steadied himself with opposing magnetic pulls and pushes on the buildings around him. He was so accustomed to using his powers that it was a reflex.
It’s getting worse. He looked at the Matoran all around him, and he could see it in their eyes as well. The uncertainty. Even during the worst of the fighting, Matoran were at least assured that the ground under their feet was solid. Now, nothing was sure. Nothing felt safe.
Jovan tightened his grip on his bolt launcher, knees bent, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. His eyes swept over his surroundings for any sign of Matoran or Rahi in distress, of structures about to collapse. Long scars of damaged infrastructure from the last stages of the War still marred the beautiful city, but there were no signs of fresh calamity.
Jovan sighed, and a bit of the tension left him. But as he turned back to his goal, it swelled again. The spire of the Coliseum cut high into the sky, rising far above the rest of Metru Nui, its wicked spiked tip so high as to defy understanding. It wasn’t just that the Coliseum was tall, but that it was so massive it made everything else feel smaller by comparison.
I was almost hoping there’d be trouble, Jovan thought: Now I have to go in.
The mood inside the Coliseum was somber. The clamor of Matoran chatting and selling wares was gone, the lighting a bit dim. Plenty of Matoran milled about, but they didn’t talk much and kept their heads down. Jovan could feel their fear, invisible, yet palpable, like jungle humidity. Fear of who was above them. And what was beneath them.
Jovan suppressed a shiver. No. Stop. The Archives stretch under all of Metru Nui. You’re no more over them here than you were in Ga-Metru. Not sure if that made things better or worse, he stepped up to a Matoran manning a desk tucked far in the back corner of the ground level. Almost as if discouraging visitors from approaching it.
He rapped on the desk as lightly as he could, but the poor Onu-Matoran still jumped as if bitten and spun around. Jovan noted the distinctive wing-tipped design of the Noble Matatu he wore. Telekinesis, Jovan noted. Not that it will work with him wearing it.
“Hi,” Jovan said, trying to calm the jumpy being with a friendly wave. “I’m Toa Jovan. Teridax has requested my presence.”
Just saying it made Jovan’s every synapse tingle, but the Onu-Matoran didn’t respond. Just stared at him, ice-blue eyes unreadable behind the narrow holes of his mask. Great Beings, Jovan cursed to himself, unnerved.
“Toa Jovan,” he tried again. “Here for my audience with Makuta Teridax.”
Something in the Onu-Matoran seemed to shift, and his body relaxed. His voice was without even a shred of emotion. “Yes. Teridax is expecting you. I will call the lift.”
Jovan pointed to his Kadin with a cocky shrug. “No need.” Jovan’s mask began to glow, and his feet lifted off the ground. He didn’t want to be stuck in an enclosed space with this particular Matoran for any amount of time.
Weightless, Jovan rose past statues, gleaming marble, buttresses, and scenes of Metru Nui’s history carved in bas relief, until the perplexed Onu-Matoran was nothing more than a black speck below.
When Helryx and the early residents of Metru Nui had first built the Coliseum, they had wanted an open layout, with a circular shaft straight down the middle from the top floor to the ground. The goal, as far as anyone could tell, had been to demonstrate transparency, that the seat of power was open night and day. This ideal did not exactly mesh well with the being who now resided there, and who was waiting for Jovan at the top.
Jovan’s foot touched down on the top level, and the other joined once he deactivated his mask. The top level was hardly a floor, owing to how thin the spire tapered up here. It was just a pyramidal antechamber with lavish carpeting and an ornate door inset with gold and lapis lazuli. There was nothing but the empty shaft behind him, but it felt like his back was up against a stone wall.
No going back now.
Jovan pushed the door open and immediately, two staves crossed in front of his face, power thrumming in them. He knew at once: Rahkshi. This was the first time he had seen one up close.
They walked upright like Matoran, but their twisting, serpentine necks and the sallow eyes that leered out from blade-shaped eyeholes revealed that they were Rahi. Intelligent Rahi - the way they slowly moved their heads on the ends of those sinewy necks, surveying, calculating, told him that much - but Rahi nonetheless.
One was yellow and the other black. Jovan didn’t have the powers and colors memorized yet. I should probably get on that.
Jovan raised his hands in a nonthreatening gesture and opened his mouth to speak, but a sonorous voice from within beat him to it. “Leave us.”
The two Rahkshi exchanged glances, and a deep guttural clicking emanated from the yellow one’s fanged gullet. They twirled their staves away from Jovan’s throat and brushed past him on either side, perfectly in sync. Jovan nearly shivered again. Creepy things.
Then Teridax turned towards him, and Jovan wished he had left with the Rahkshi. Something went cold within him, something Jovan feared would never be warm again. He wanted to flee, but found himself walking forward. The sensation was so strange that he feared his mind was being controlled. Does he have that power? How could anyone know for sure? The Makuta apparently loved spreading rumors about their abilities.
Makuta. The word was spoken mostly in a whisper among the Matoran now. Since the end of the War. Since the Archives. Another word only whispered now. They were engineers. Inventors. Undeniable geniuses. Tasked by Mata Nui with designing Rahi and plantlife to fill the universe. Jovan wondered if that was still what they believed their destiny to be. Teridax, at least, had shown his true colors.
Teridax, half a mask taller than Jovan, extended a clawed hand in greeting. Haltingly, Jovan shook it, almost expecting it to burn him. Teridax’s deep crimson eyes seemed to sear straight through Jovan. He felt for a moment that the Makuta of Metru Nui was seeing him not just as he was, but how he had been all the way back to the moment of his creation, and every path he could take from this moment onwards. A million different Jovans, dying one after another in some grisly performance for his benefit.
Jovan went to one knee, still clutching Teridax’s hand in both of his own. “My Lord Teridax.”
Teridax made a dismissive noise and gestured for Jovan to rise. “Please. I am no lord. I am little more than an administrator.”
And what you did in the Archives? Were those the actions of an administrator?
Teridax paced back towards his window and clasped his hands behind his back. Evidently, a cue for Jovan to follow. He did so. Dismissing his guards was a troubling move. Everything Teridax did was robed in layers of subtext and significance. Jovan doubted he was clever enough to catch them all, but this message was clear as day. He hadn’t sent his Rakhshi away solely because the information he was about to convey was sensitive. No, there was a statement lying below the surface:
I don’t need them.
Jovan spared a look around Teridax’s office as he moved to his side. The space was rather drab: Teridax evidently had no desire to enjoy the luxuries afforded by his new position. The central feature was a wooden desk, large and skillfully crafted, but hardly flashy.
The only compromise to vice was the floor-to-ceiling window occupying the far wall. Teridax had the best view in the city. The window faced roughly south, and Jovan could see all of Ko-Metru, Onu-Metru, and Le-Metru, as well as a sliver of Ta-Metru. The only structures that anywhere approached the height of the Coliseum were the glittering crystalline Knowledge Towers of Ko-Metru, poking through a hazy cover of billowing clouds. Everything else looked like a speck from this towering height.
Teridax didn’t meet Jovan’s eye, so Jovan mirrored his posture, staring out the window while keeping Teridax in the corner of his eye. His Kanohi Kraahkan was long and angular, emphasizing the oblong shape of his head. One of the many physical peculiarities that distinguished Makuta from Matoran, even at a quick glance. As for the mask itself… Mask of Shadows. Teridax kept its abilities as shrouded in mystery as everything else about him. But the name alone told Jovan all he wanted to know.
Another rumble hit them then. Jovan couldn’t tell whether it was stronger than the last one or if it merely felt worse due to their extreme height. Jovan caught himself against the window pane, but Teridax didn’t so much as flinch. Unnerving.
“I thank you for your time, Toa Jovan,” Teridax said. “As I am certain you have ascertained, the tremors are precisely the reason I have requested your presence today.”
Jovan hadn’t been certain. It was either going to be the tremors or his execution. Jovan didn’t relax just yet, though. The latter option still wasn’t entirely off the table.
“I have regretfully been too occupied of late to leave your fair city, and thus unable to determine whether these occurrences are localized to Metru Nui. You have traveled extensively since the end of the War, haven’t you?”
“I have,” Jovan said, wondering where Teridax was going with this. “And this is not some local problem. Quakes in Karzahni have caused flooding. Maelstroms on Zakaz. I saw rockslides and fissures in the ground in Daxia. If anything, it’s worse outside Metru Nui than within it. At least here it’s only been the quakes.”
Teridax nodded slowly, rubbing his chin with long, spindly fingers. “Thank you for your detailed report, Jovan. Why do you suppose this is happening?”
Why? I’m no scientist. Ask a Ko-Matoran.
“I’m… I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer this question, sir.”
Teridax merely tilted his head slightly and laughed. “Of course you are… It is a question not of science, but of simple logic. Consider, Toa: have disruptions of this nature ever occurred before?”
Jovan strained to recall his history lessons back home on the Southern Islands, under Yelara, the stern traveling Ga-Matoran from Metru Nui. It was all so long ago. “I suppose the closest thing would be the energy storms, so… No.”
“What else has happened recently that has never happened before?” Teridax’s gentle probing, much like a schoolteacher himself, made the answer obvious.
“The Matoran went to war.”
“Indeed.”
Jovan’s mind reeled at the implications. “So you’re saying… What? That Mata Nui is punishing the Matoran for fighting amongst ourselves?”
This drew a hearty laugh from the Makuta, who apparently deemed this comment deserving of his full attention. Teridax at last turned to look at Jovan. “How quaint that you believe Mata Nui cares enough about the Matoran to chastise you.”
Jovan was well past questioning the wisdom of the Great Beings in inflicting the Makuta on them, and now itching to draw his bolt launcher.
“Alright, Makuta. The only two reasons you’d summon me here are that you need something from me or you’re going to kill me. And I’m still alive, so let’s cut to the chase. What do you need?”
Teridax cocked his head to the side slightly, and Jovan thought he looked almost impressed for a moment, but it quickly passed.
“As you wish. To make matters considerably more simple than they truly are, so as not to fracture your puny mind... Mata Nui depends on the Matoran nearly as much as they depend on him. The War interrupted certain… Activities done by the Matoran that ensure Mata Nui’s continued health and lucidity…”
“Those activities have resumed, but the damage has already been done. Mata Nui is ill, as weak as he has ever been. Unable to stop the disruptions that have been plaguing this world. And were he to die… I shiver to contemplate what might happen.”
Jovan’s fists clenched at his sides. As if Teridax cares about Mata Nui. Or the Matoran. The Butcher of the Archives. He of ten thousand lies. Then Jovan noticed the way Teridax was looking at him, and he tried to force his mind to go blank.
“Well,” Teridax asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Something to say?”
It’s no use. He’s already read your mind. Might as well get the satisfaction of saying it.
“You’re a monster. Not one drop of empathy in your twisted body. Why should you care what happens to Mata Nui? To any of us?”
Teridax went still and silent for a long moment, leaving Jovan frozen in dread. When he finally pressed his claw to his chest, faux-scandalized, the movement was so sudden Jovan felt he had been struck.
“Jovan! Cruel I may be, but surely you can’t believe that I would want Mata Nui dead.”
Jovan took a deep breath, struggling to keep his whirling mind focused. “Fine… Let’s assume I can trust that you want to heal Mata Nui. Let’s assume that’s even possible. What do you need me for?”
“Ah, Jovan… Always taking the most direct route to your goal. Just like a magnet. Normally, I would delight in teaching you the joys of subtlety and nuance, but, in this case, it is precisely your love of the direct approach that makes you perfect for this task. Tell me, what do you know of the legendary Kanohi?”
Jovan’s mind flew back to his time as a Fa-Matoran again. He hadn’t anticipated this meeting would require so much schoolbook knowledge. “The Artakh, Mask of Creation, is with Artakha. The Vahi doesn’t exist–”
“Not yet, at least,” Teridax cut in.
Jovan ignored him and continued. “And then there’s the Ignika. Mask of Life.”
“Most powerful of all the Kanohi,” Teridax intoned.
“Where the Artakh can only create things, the Ignika can create living beings.”
“Not just create life, but sustain it as well.”
The implication sank in instantly for Jovan. “You think–”
“I believe the Great Beings forged the Ignika as a kind of failsafe. Should Mata Nui fall, the Ignika could restore him. Now, where can it be found?”
Jovan racked his brain again. “… Inside an active volcano. Karda Nui?”
Teridax wagged his finger. “Voya Nui, Jovan. In the southern continent. How soon can you depart?”
Jovan’s head perked up. “As soon as I have the approval of the Council of Turaga.”
“You go with their blessing, Jovan. I would not have summoned you otherwise.”
Does it count as a lie if he knows I know he’s lying? Teridax’s lies were as manifold and variegated as the Kanohi. He told lies to deceive, intimidate, demoralize, manipulate. He told this lie to signal to Jovan that any debate on the subject was over.
“And you expect me to go alone?”
Teridax crossed to his desk and flipped a switch. Moments later, a lift door set into the east wall slid open, revealing the Onu-Matoran from before. His hand was shaking.
“Not alone,” Teridax responded: “Jovan, I’d like you to meet Etiki, my Vice-Administrator.”
Jovan’s breath caught. Etiki. Naturally, few of the Matoran who’d had prominent roles in the War could be considered heroes by any definition of the word. But Etiki managed to stand head and shoulders above the rest when it came to unheroic behavior. He had designed weapons for both the Ta and Po-Matoran - despite the Onu-Matoran’s alliance with the Ta - collecting a hefty sum from both.
Worse than that, though, was the fact that he had made weapons at all. Pouring every last drop of his mechanical genius into developing new and twisted ways to destroy his fellow Matoran. The Ko-Metru Accords, signed amidst the smoke and rubble of the War, existed primarily to ensure his designs would never see the light of day again.
And he’s dead. Or supposed to be, at least.
Teridax saw the flicker of recognition in Jovan’s eye and chuckled.
“Ah. You know the name,” Teridax said, and Etiki flinched as the Makuta placed his clawed hand on the small of his back. “I feared his talents were being wasted in the Archives when I saw how effectively he was organizing the Matoran there. I pulled him out of that nightmare, and in his gratitude, he agreed to serve as my personal attendant.”
Jovan grimaced. This was all painting a very clear picture. And not a pretty one. Were it any Matoran other than Etiki, Jovan would have felt a stab of sympathy.
“So, my help on this perilous journey to find the Mask of Life is… One insane Onu-Matoran?”
Teridax shook his head and tutted. Etiki looked like he couldn’t wait to run for the lift.
“No. I am sending Etiki with you to recruit your help.”
Jovan was about to respond when Teridax strode over to his desk and withdrew something that took his breath away. A sand-brown stone, rough and uneven, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Unremarkable, save for the runes graven on its surface, a language older than any Jovan knew.
Jovan had seen a stone much like it, once before. On the day his life had changed forever.
“Or to be precise,” Teridax continued. “Your team.”