1.3: Shadows of the Past

THREE

Spherus Magna

A thousand years ago...

They thought he was dead. Defeated. Lost to time. They were wrong.

A shadowy figure sat in his lair. It wasn't anything like his old ones. It was barren, with nothing inside it other than a small chair he carved out of rock and a table. But he was biding his time, regaining his strength. That was something, he thought.

Every "setback" he had experienced before was part of his plan. A supposed victory for the forces of "the light" was, in truth, a victory for him. He played them like a game, and had become a god. But his "brother"- he still thought of him like that- had ended that. His brother had fulfilled his destiny, reunited fragments into a single whole.

Destiny. That was such a meaningless word. No one had a purpose that was "supposed" to happen- at least, not the Agori, or the Glatorian. The Toa and the Matoran and the Turaga, however, were supposed to be mindless drones. But something had happened that made them more than that. He had manipulated that new weakness to become a god… but it turned to be a strength in their favor, and his undoing. Their resilience was staggering.

Now, he was no longer a god. He was no longer even what he used to be. His body was a poorly constructed shell, falling apart, with no materials to repair it. He was powerless.

But he schemed, and planned, and plotted. He would become a god again. He may have had no agents on the surface, but he had ones on other worlds.

The one he was most interested in was one who shared the shadowy figure's name, and did not know that he was an agent. Like the figure, he was jealous of his brother. And Teridax would use that jealously to manipulate this "Makuta" like a toy.

Yes, Was the triumphant thought echoing throughout the weakened warrior's mind. Yes...

Van's Retreat, Bolkan, Spherus Magna

Present day

Ahkmou continued working on his carving as his Rahkshi Guardian observed. He was almost sentenced to the Pit, but had been granted amnesty by Ierax and allowed to live in Ierax's nation-island of Bolkan. He knew that a lot of people hated him. He wasn't like that any more.

"Who are you carving?" Gurriak, his Guardian, asked. He was a Stasis Field Rahkshi, as evidenced by his Black-and-blue armor and metallic sand-blue-and-dark-gray biological parts.

"Who do you think?" Ahkmou continued to concentrate on his carving. It wasn't large, about twice the size of his hand, and easy enough to grip in his palm without breaking it.

Gurriak blinked. "I have no idea."

"Pohatu. Toa Nuva of Stone."

"Oh." Ahkmou was expecting the Rahkshi to have a negative reaction to the name, but didn't. "I heard stories about him. He was a great warrior."

"He was."

"So, you know about the old world, right?"

"Everyday you've asked me this question. Do you expect the answer to be 'no', all of a sudden?"

Gurriak thought for a second. "Good point."

Ahkmou finished his carving and packed up his tools. "Let's go home."

Gurriak looked at him, and activated his stasis field powers, holding Ahkmou and everything on his person in place. "Why does everyone hate you?"

Gurriak let him go, and Ahkmou turned to the Rahkshi. "Because I did a lot of things I'm not so proud of anymore. Because I hurt a lot of people. Because I was a terrible, terrible excuse for a Matoran."

"You don't seem like that now."

"People change."

"So do Rahkshi."

"Like you're not people, too?"

"I…" Ahkmou saw that Gurriak was distressed. "I guess I never thought of it that way before."

"I know what it's like to be a different person- or, in your case, a different race- from what your past was, and having people treat you like you haven't changed."

"Maybe that's why Ierax took a liking to you."

"It's exactly why Ierax took a liking to me."

"That's quite an assumption to make."

"Eh," Ahkmou shrugged.

The Rahkshi moved his head diagonally down and placed a hand next to one of his eyes. Ahkmou recognized the gesture as Gurriak using his built-in Communicator. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. Right away." He turned to Ahkmou. "Ierax wants to see you."

Golden Cliffs, Magna Nui, Spherus Magna

Hervex stirred. Her eyes opened. She was in Rekon's bed, with his arm wrapped around her. She sat up and shook him awake. "Hey."

Rekon's orange eyes opened. The oval-shaped pupil adjusted to the light. His crimson scales didn't reflect the Lightstone lantern's light, and most of his body was covered by clothing made of fibers from nearby plants. Her body was also covered similarly. "Uuuuugh."

"Come on, it's not that comfortable."

"It was with you in it."

She went to hit him, but he held up his hand to block it. She twisted his arm with her other arm and flipped him out of bed. "I'm a three-time champion of the Silver Valley Glatorian Tournament. You really think that would work?"

"You don't need to tell me. The trophies are on that shelf."

"If you knew they were there, then why did you even try?"

"Reflexes?"

"Whatever." Hervex started to armor herself up. Unlike the armor of old, this was worn over a colored bodysuit(in her case, it was black) and made out of advanced alloys that were lighter but provided even better protection than reinforced Protodermis. She turned the radio on, and they listened to music while they ate breakfast. "Did you hear of the ship that appeared in the sky?"

"The Void-vessel? Yeah. What about it?"

"I'm not sure. There has to be a reason it came here."

"Sometimes there isn't."

"So you think it's pure chance that some ship justs appears randomly in the sky?"

"Yeah." After he said that, Hervex glared at him.

There was a knock on the door.

"Am I getting that , or are you getting that?"

"I'll get it." Hervex walked over to the door and opened it. A figure that was much taller than the door frame, in pitted crimson and silver armor, wielding a large axe, and heavily muscled, was standing outside. He knelt down, and Hervex saw that his eyes were mechanical. Definitely one of those old-school Matans, she thought, using the slang term for the Matoran Universe's inhabitants.

"Hello."

"Hello. Who are you?"

"My name is not important right now. I need to know where a translator is."

"And how should I know?"

The figure tapped his mask. "This is a Kanohi Rode, the Mask of Truth. You can either tell me with your free will, or I can force you to tell it to me."

"Alright, fine. The local Toa- Neryo- is a translator. He's normally around the Town Hall if he isn't doing toa-stuff."

"Alright. Thank you." He stood back up and walked in the direction she had pointed in.

Axonn sighed. Talking to Glatorian was always difficult. They had an aura of overconfidence and isolationism. They didn't want to get involved with Matan- great, now he was using some of the local slang- business, and he fully understood that.

He pushed the thoughts aside. He had a translator to find.