Conclusion

It was over.

Miraculously, the Vorox ordered a retreat soon after Velika did, leaving the defenders to sort out the mess in their wake. Lesovikk’s sacrifice had limited the range of the impact to just the red star’s diameter, but as it had landed so close to the village and the site of the battle, a large column of smoke billowed up from the smoldering wreckage and ruins. The Toa Nuva had rushed to it and fought to contain the fires, but the red star and anything within it were now gone.

During the fight, Axonn and Brutaka had managed to wrest the jungle Agori captive free from the riders that had grabbed them, and even managed to seize a Vorox chariot. Kopaka and Pohatu wasted no time, relaying to them what they had learned of Velika’s identity. Axonn read the desperation in the eyes of the Toa of Ice, and the two sped off, hot on the trail of Velika and his minions.

For her part, Helryx had participated in the fight, but had mysteriously vanished as the tide had turned in their favor. And Artakha had not been seen since almost the beginning of the battle.

It was Lewa who found him, propped up against a tree half a kio from the battle. Gali’s healing practices had managed to revive him, but it was not enough. He had been pummeled by force blasts, and a Vorox blade protruded from his chest. Velika had dealt a killing blow.

As the six Toa Nuva gathered around him, he smiled.

“Destiny is a funny thing,” Artakha grunted. “For the six Toa Nuva descended once again from the heavens and are reunited in another paradise.”

This day has seen too much sacrifice, Kopaka thought.

“The old world is gone,” Artakha continued. “Velika seeks to remove any with the power to oppose him.”

Tahu said nothing. But in his eyes, grief and anger welled together.

Was Mata Nui’s sacrifice for nothing? he thought. This was supposed to be a new world.

“I should have known you better,” Artakha added. “Golden Kanohi. Nuva Cube and Nuva Symbols. Kanohi Nuva. All sent from afar. I should have played a greater role. Intervened sooner.”

“You were behind us when it mattered,” Tahu said, kneeling beside him. “We always knew someone was there, even if we didn’t know who… The knowing did come.”

Artakha nodded. And as he closed his eyes, he smiled.

“That is right,” he smiled. “The knowing will come.”

With those words, Artakha, guardian of the Matoran, defender of Mata Nui’s will, and creator of the Toa Mata, passed away.

Silence hung like a curtain, and all was still.

None present had known Artakha personally. But all six knew very well the role he had played. From the forging of the Mask of Light to the creation of the Great Disks and his tireless work when they had been on Mata Nui, Artakha had stood resolute against the shadows.

And now he was gone.

Tahu stirred. It almost startled the other five.

“Gali,” Tahu said finally. “Perhaps we should not focus on building New Atero right now. The people in the camps are building a city, but these jungle Agori have lost their homes. We must help them rebuild, show them we wish to help them. And we must prevent this new conflict from destroying any other villages. Then, once we have found peace again… once Mata Nui’s wishes are restored… we can build New Atero.”

He turned to look at Artakha. “But,” he said softly, “I will not forget this place, here in the jungle of Bota Magna. Here we first took our stand against a new, encroaching evil. It’s where jungle Agori, Toa, and the powers of our world fought side-by-side to safeguard peace. And it’s where our creator died.”

Tahu looked in the direction of the red star’s ruins, the battlefield, and the direction the Thornatus had taken.

“Mata Nui repaired the planet,” he said finally. “The Shattering is undone. But… if we’re to find peace — then we must finish what the Mata Nui robot could not. I had wondered why the Great Beings invented us and sent us into Mata Nui’s universe. This is why.”

He rose. “The planet will not truly be healed until the Core War is ended. When its sides are guided to peace. And it is our destiny to do so.”

Their eyes still on their creator, a strange feeling began to overtake the Toa Nuva — a realization. Each one was once again personally silent, but now, as they readied to set out and track Velika down, they realized the curtain of silence that they had perceived had truly never existed at all. The jungle around them was alive with movement and sound — the rustling of tree limbs as the wind rushed through, the myriad songs of birds that coursed overhead before alighting all around them, the soft crackle of the loam beneath the feet of the dozens, hundreds of tiny animals that lived their lives in these woods, slowly returning to this place that the Toa Nuva now associated with death, but, soon, would understand once again to be a place of life. There was sound, light, and energy, and the trees themselves seemed to echo the words of Artakha, the entire cacophony — the entire chorus — of life around them speaking to them, in a voice now familiar, and in words equally so:

Go, Toa Nuva. Go and find your destiny at last.