Chapter Text
He stared for a long time at his hands, splayed out on the earth in front of him, and relived a life he left a very long time ago.
Yes, thousands of years ago, he had hands like this. He was made new by a Toa stone and stood up to find himself taller than he had ever been in his life. He was powerful in his build and in his energy: an energy that coursed up and down him, that breathed when he breathed, that never let him feel heat, even when he burned like a star out of the sky. Yes. Even when he was a comet, he never felt pain from the heat.
But that was long ago. Hands like that – he hasn't had hands like that in long years. He hasn't had hands like this. His hands have held his staff and led his people. His hands have not held flame.
So it's strange to be looking at those hands again, as he lays in the dirt and tries to decide whether he ought not to rise. Should he? Is he dreaming?
“I was walking alone,” he whispers to himself. He turns his head about to confirm this, looking for anyone else nearby. No one. He was walking alone and the fire – it came back. The fire he had as a Toa. As a young man, the Agori would say, and though this wouldn't be quite right, it's a phrase Vakama has come to understand rather fondly. As a young man, I was full of fire. I burned out of control.
He was walking alone in the woods, and that fire came back to him. It hurt coming back. He had fallen to the earth. The fire changed him. He felt the heat and pain with it until the moment he didn't. Until the heat stopped hurting. The plants around him are burnt or smoking. He realizes the danger and rolls himself over quickly, putting out a small cluster of weeds before anything can make it to the treeline and start to really burn. The fire does not singe him.
“Is it real?” he asks himself. A pressing question for someone who once spent days trapped in a Makuta's illusion. But Makuta is gone. Who would have the means and the desire to trap him in a vision like this? Perhaps it is a trick. But it feels very real.
His hands splay out above him. He looks at their backs and at their palms.
Turaga Vakama had fallen down here, and Toa Vakama stands up.
He is a Toa again. Apropos of nothing. He is Toa Vakama.
“Alright,” he says to himself. “Alright.”
And then, with a sort of long-legged swiftness and an easy grace he hasn't experienced since what feels like a time before time, Metru Vakama sprints back towards the settlement.
The path takes him and little else matters; he won't allow himself to dwell, reflect, or plan even for a second until he's seen the others. It's only minutes before he's back in view of the first rows of impromptu shelters and tents, racing past a pair of Agori and dodging a herd of tilling Bo-Matoran who gape at him openly as he goes by.
“A new Toa!” he hears one say to a friend. “Where do you suppose he came from?”
“Is there danger in the woods?”
He keeps on until he's in the thick of things, forcing himself to break from a sprint, though he makes no attempt to hide his haste, panting as he moves through the crowd gathering to start distributing and receiving a midday meal. He had been hungry earlier, but now he feels so full of energy – of vigor – he can't imagine needing to eat. He spots a familiar face and calls to him. “Agni! Have you seen the other Turaga?”
Agni stops short with a bag of barla lifted onto his head, blinking at Vakama in surprise. “S-sorry, Toa? The Turaga?”
Is he so unfamiliar? Agni is looking at him like he might know, but isn't confident enough to call him Vakama. And he has no time to explain. “The Turaga Metru,” he says.
“Some of them are still home. I saw them working outside,” Agni says. “Sorry, have we...?”
“Thank you,” says Vakama, turning to leave. A cry going up from the crowd interrupts him, and he sees a pair of Ga-Matoran heading in the direction of those waiting for a meal.
“News, brothers and sisters,” one is calling. “New Toa! Where are the Toa Mata? Where is Turaga Dume? Send them, there are new Toa at the Turaga's hut!”
Agni looks back up at Vakama in shock. He is not the only one turning his way. Fingers point in his direction. “You do look just like Turaga Vakama! You know him – admire him! That's why you look like him. You're from my village? You got a Toa stone? Who? Kapura? Is it you?”
“Now, Agni,” Vakama chides him, “when have you ever seen Kapura in a hurry?”
He triggers his mask.
His disappearance causes an outcry, and now the crowd kicks up a real excitement, everyone pointing to where he was or turning to the Ga-Matoran for news. Vakama just runs.
The memorial stone Onewa was working on for one of his Matoran is still in the same place outside their shelter he was when Vakama told him he was going for a walk almost an hour ago, but his brother is nowhere in sight. A small group of Matoran stands outside the shelter, speaking in a mix of nervous, low tones and vibrant thrills, but the curtain over the shelter opening is drawn shut, and no one goes through until he does. He pulls the curtain aside and a small “ooh” of excitement follows him as the fabric shifts aside as if on its own.
Onewa looks up at the shifting of the curtain too. He and Whenua are sitting down against the wall of their shelter as though they had both had dizzy spells.
“The hell did you do this time, fire-spitter?” Onewa asks.
Vakama disengages his mask and stares at the two of them, shaking his head slowly at the way the memories rise up in him, painful and fond alike. Toa Onewa: a color bronze that's almost gold in the light, flinty-eyed, broad-shouldered. And Toa Whenua beside him, powerfully-built, ebon-dark, smiling faintly and looking at the weapons in his lap.
“Wasn't me,” Vakama says finally.
“We were just talking,” Whenua says. “I just felt strong again.”
“Yeah? Well, I felt like I was twisted til I broke,” Onewa retorts. “If the Great Spirit was going to do this, why not do it while he was here transforming the whole planet?”
“I don't think this was the Great Spirit,” Vakama says, “or if it was, something gave him reason. Are you both alright?”
“Maybe better than alright,” says Onewa. “If this is real, that is.”
“Tahu and the others sought out Artakha for aid,” Whenua points out calmly.
“You think they could have had something to do with this?”
“He does need more Toa.”
And Toa are also the ones being hunted, these days. None of them say this out loud, but the reminder makes Vakama's hands feel hot. “Where are the others?”
“Matau's been gone all morning. Nokama and Nuju went off to talk more about wells. How can there be so much discussion about where to drill wells?” Whenua shrugs his shoulders in reply to his own question. “It must have happened to them too, don't you think?”
“I sure hope so,” Onewa agrees, “because I am not interested in having to go on an adventure with just the two of you.”
“Stay here and I'll bring them back,” Vakama says. “And say something to the Matoran, will you?”
Onewa sighs and heaves himself to his feet, stepping outside the shelter without further preamble. “Alright, alright,” he calls. “Everything's alright. I know this is exciting, but we still need to sort out what happened before we can meet with everyone about this. Go back to your duties, please. And somebody send for Kopaka and his brothers.”
“You alright, Whenua?” Vakama asks.
His brother smiles patiently up at him. “Very strange,” he says. “We gave up these forms for a reason. Now they return to us. I hope it is not an ill omen.”
“The omen has already come, my friend,” Vakama says. “But if we are truly changed, maybe we will have some strength to oppose the evil it brought here.”
He's not five minutes from home when he is full-body tackled out of the sky.
“Vakama!” screams a familiar voice, and he has no chance to dodge before Matau swoops down from the air like a bird and crashes into him so hard they both roll.
“Matau,” Vakama splutters, yanking his head out of the grass. “Why – ”
Matau's cracks up wildly at the sight of him splayed out in the dirt. He gets up on his hands and knees as if to rise, but gets stuck there from the force of his own laughter. “Vakama,” he almost sings. “Did you do this?”
“Why would I have – no! Did you do this?”
“I wish.” Matau leaps to his feet, putting his hands on his hips and bending over him to look at him better. His wings are splayed broadly behind him, shining like they did the first day he learned to use them, his dark eyes full of mirth. Vakama puffs out half a laugh despite himself. His brother.
“Look at you,” Matau purrs, almost reverent. “Toa-hero Vakama, back again. The third time you've come back to this form. Maybe it's meant to be.”
“Maybe something's tampering with us,” Vakama counters. He gets to his feet and dusts off his hands. Matau steps back from him, but he's still looking him over. Beneath the enthusiasm, Vakama thinks, Matau was just as unsure as he was that this was real. His brother's no fool, even when he pretends to be.
“Now I'm certain it's real,” Matau says, as if to confirm what he was thinking. “Nobody could mimic you like this.”
“They could,” Vakama protests. “If I was drawn from your own memories. We should be careful.”
“I don't remember you so clearly,” Matau answers. “I had forgotten that particular shy-look on your mask when you're uncertain.”
Vakama ducks his gaze, shaking his head. “If it is real, it may not be permanent.”
“I'll take it anyway,” Matau says, rocking on his heels. “The wind was glad to see me too.”
“Whenua and Onewa are at the shelter. Meet them there?”
“Aw, I want to fly,” Matau whines, even though Vakama knows his protest is only for his own entertainment. “Who can bear to be grounded another second more?”
Before he goes, he pushes slightly back into Vakama's space, smiling at him. “It's good to see you like this.”
“Go,” Vakama orders him. “I need to see to Nokama and Nuju.”
Matau points to the west. “Hahli and Nuparu were with them.”
“Did you go to check on them?”
“Nope.”
“Matau.”
“Aw, come on.” Matau shrugs as he turns to leave, smiling winningly. “We're Toa again, Vakama. When have bad things ever happened to Toa?”
“Turaga,” says Hahli without hesitating, turning his way.
He could have predicted it, but still, it's strange to be her height. She was his Matoran, once – in heart, if not in technicality; she had spent enough time hanging around Ta-Koro and laughing with Jaller and Takua for her to count as his – and then she was the tired Toa coming back to them all from out of the ocean, tall and finned, with the gleam of glass over her eyes. And now he's the one who's changed.
“Hahli,” he replies. There's no need to hide this from her and Nuparu, who's looking at him with plaintive amazement from her side. They seem cautious, though, too. “What's wrong?”
“Nokama's in there with Nuju,” Hahli says, gesturing towards Garan's tent nearby. Garan himself is standing ponderously outside of his home, still holding in his hand what Vakama supposes was the map of locations they've been talking about drilling for wells. He nods courteously to Vakama as he comes over to him, apparently equally unsurprised as the Toa to see him like this.
“I sent the Agori and the other Matoran away,” he says. “But they will tell everyone what they saw.”
“What did they see?” Vakama asks.
“A light came to them,” Hahli answers from behind them. “Changed them. Nokama recovered herself quickly. But Nuju was in distress.”
Alarmed, Vakama steps past Garan and ducks into his tent.
Nokama makes eye contact with him instantly, setting her finger to her mouth. Shh. Vakama swallows down his questions and comes to her on his knees, though he gives them space.
Nuju's there with her, bowed over himself on the ground. His hands cover his audio receptors. He is utterly still. Neither of them speak.
“What's wrong?” Vakama asks at last, quiet as he can.
Nokama breathes out slowly. Her hand is pressed to Nuju's back as though holding him in place.
“He says he can hear,” she whispers back to him.
Vakama stares at her. By now, he had expected to find them like this: her, lithe and vibrantly blue, with her easy elegance, him snowy white and severe, his spikes a warning on his back. But it hadn't even occurred to him that something might have changed with his hearing. How long since Nuju last claimed to be able to hear anything? Thousands of years have passed since the Zivon. He's been silent – and in silence – ever since. With Matoro gone, Nokama has been his translator more often than not. Then again, he's spoken so little since they lost him.
“All of his hearing?” Vakama asks in a hush. “Or some of it? As if – ”
“As if the Zivon never happened,” Nuju cuts him off coldly, and then his own voice seems to wound him. He flinches and curls tighter into himself, breathing out a harsh breath. The sound of his voice is a shock to Vakama too. He was usually so flat and direct in his speech, but when excited, he wasn't beyond joining them in cries of victory or relief. The Great Spirit proclaims it, Vakama recalls suddenly. We are Toa.
“He needs quiet,” Nokama says.
“Let's bring him back home.”
“There will be many questions on the way there. Everyone will stop us.”
“We will take the long way around. I will distract them if we are stopped.”
She frowns down at her brother, running water gently down his neck. Nuju shudders slightly. His body emanates cold again. Vakama realizes he must be heating up the tent, which is already warm. He backs away again.
“Will you be alright, Nuju? We should get you home.”
Nuju gives out another long breath. “I'm fine,” he says tersely, voice hoarse. “What did this to us?”
“I don't know, brother.”
“I didn't ask to be fixed of anything,” Nuju whispers. “I did not ask to stop being a Turaga.”
Vakama pauses, letting him rest for another long moment.
“Maybe you are a Toa to exact some revenge,” he offers finally, “on the monster that has been robbing other Toa of their chance to one day become Turaga.”
Nuju uncurls himself slowly, drawing his back straight. His one eye is icy blue, the other hidden behind the scope Vakama made him, when they were an older form still.
“Revenge,” he says roughly. “Unbelievable. Somewhere along the line, you did learn how to lead me.”
“Wonders never cease,” says Vakama. “Come. Let's go home.”
Hahli and Nuparu come with them, and though Onewa has succeeded at dispersing most of the Matoran, others have come. Nuju looks over the being gathered in and out of their shelter with a haggard gaze, but he doesn't ask for peace and quiet now. Kopaka comes towards him from within their home, and Nuju reaches for him calmly. Kopaka bows low, and then allows Nuju to clutch his shoulder.
“What happened?” Nuju signs to him.
“I don't know,” Kopaka signs back. “I don't know any more than you do.”
“Has Tahu returned?” Vakama asks him. “This could have something to do with him.”
“No.”
Matau spots them from where he's chatting eagerly with Kongu to the side. “Nokama!” he cries in delight, and when he strikes a ridiculous pose for her entertainment, she smiles broadly and laughs at him.
“Oh, dear,” she says. “Toa Matau.”
“You look just as unhappy as ever you did as a Toa,” Matau signs to Nuju. “Cheer up, Ice Toa!”
“No, thank you,” says Nuju aloud.
Matau's smile falls from his face as though slapped off, and Vakama feels Kopaka jolt slightly back from them in surprise.
“Can you hear me?” Matau asks him, stepping forward, all teasing gone from his voice. “Nuju?”
“Let's not make a big deal of this,” says Nuju, voice rather worn.
“Give the boy some space,” comes a deep voice, and Vakama looks over to see who would think to call them 'boys,' only to find a tall Fire Toa in black and red regarding him stonily from the doorway of his shelter.
It takes a second.
“Dume,” he manages. “Mata Nui.”
“Oh yes,” says Matau. “It's not just the six of us.”
“It's all of us,” Onewa interjects. Vakama looks over to see him standing next to a Toa he once knew as a Turaga of Psionics who seemed to spend most of her time trying to keep Orde and the others in line. “Every Turaga in this settlement is a Toa again.”
“I know it doesn't help to hear this from someone else,” offers the Toa of Psionics, “but for my part, I have sensed nothing that would suggest this is an illusion or mind-trap.”
“It's true!” someone else interrupts, and from the sigh Onewa gives, Vakama suspects that this may have been happening the whole time he was gone. Still, he can't help but break into a wide smile when he sees Toa Norik coming towards him, arms outspread and laughing.
“As if it wasn't insane enough for me to be a Toa again,” he calls. “Now you as well! Toa Vakama!”
Vakama moves forward to embrace him, and Bomonga goes searching for Whenua, who laughs his loud deep laugh.
“Not feeling suddenly depressed or anything, are you?” Norik asks, perhaps only half-teasing, holding the back of his head for a moment.
“Not yet,” Vakama says. “But I'll make sure you're the first to hear about it if I do.”
Norik chuckles, rubbing at his own mask in astonishment. “Kopaka,” he calls. “What will you do?”
“I've sent Pohatu and Lewa for every Toa – or Turaga, if any remain – to gather in Mata Nui's Hall. Ackar and his people as well. Everyone needs to be made aware of this.”
“I'll be happy to help you spread the good news, Ice Toa,” Matau calls.
“Having more fighters is good news,” Kopaka replies coolly. “But you understand what this means as well as I do, Turaga. Yesterday, there were 45 remaining Toa in this camp, and perhaps on this or any other planet. Like it or not, we all knew that Marendar was targeting us, that it was trying to kill us, and that more lives are likely to be lost before we can destroy it. But it has not harmed our Matoran, the Agori, the Glatorian... or the Turaga. Now there are all of you. You will be targets as well.”
Sobering as it is, Vakama can see that it surprises no one there.
“We would not have it any other way,” Vakama says, “if it means we can help to stop this creature. I have been with Jaller every day since his injury. I would gladly have died to stop it from harming him. Or killing those we have lost.”
Dume seems to agree with his sentiment. “The last time I wore this form, I lost many of those that I cared for,” he says roughly. “I will make the choice to fight again. Let anyone who is unwilling to face Marendar give his power up to a Matoran with more heart. Those who fight will do it with intention.”
The weight on Kopaka's shoulders seems to grow lighter. Vakama looks carefully at the Toa. If it was Tahu, he would be so easy for him to read. Kopaka is less known to him. But what he does know is that the worst fear of any good leader is to lead others into danger or death. Kopaka isn't free of that burden just because he's an Ice Toa. Being Tahu's right hand won't help him either just now: his brother left him in charge of the Toa in the settlement for as long as he was gone.
“We'll go to the Hall, then,” Nokama says. “Remember, no Toa should be traveling alone these days. It isn't safe.”
She smiles to her side, where Hahli stands, eager to stay with her. The younger Water Toa smiles easily back at her, upright, confident. “We'll go into battle together,” she says. “You and I.”
Vakama looks around at his friends, changed and unchanged. Onewa nods at him from just outside the shelter, while Whenua emerges, laughing with Bomonga. Nuju is a cool presence at his side, steady as the seasons, and Matau winks at him when he turns his gaze his way, the spread of his silver wings gleaming with light.
“Together, then, Toa Kopaka?” Vakama asks, gesturing towards the gathering hall.
Kopaka bows to him too. “As you wish, Toa Vakama.”
By the time they return to their home, the shock is still there, but quieting now, dulling, and the fervor of the day begins to fade. Vakama lights a fire and they sit around it in silence. Matau has fallen asleep against the table, and Nuju sits in a sort of rapture beside him and listens to the fire crackle.
Vakama exchanges a glance with Onewa, with Nokama, with Whenua. Whenua starts to chuckle. Shakes his head and then shakes it again, amazed. Maybe it will only be weeks before this is over, and they go back to being Turaga. They'll choose Matoran, this time, to succeed them, and they'll return to life as they knew it. They'll return to the normal course of destiny.
Right now, though... yes. It's good to see them.
"This is insane," Whenua whispers.
"Good," Matau replies lazily, apparently not fully asleep yet. "We're insane."
It's enough to crack them all up, laughing at nothing, at destiny, at each other. "Yeah, good," Vakama agrees, shaking his head. Who cares what comes next? They'll handle it together. "Good."