Chapter 1: City of Legends

One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two. The Rahkshi led a swift march, almost too swift for Macku to handle. Still, she kept up her pace. To drop behind and disrupt the column of Matoran would bring punishment that she might not be able to endure. Better to march to Ga-Metru for forced labor than to be beaten past the point of ever working again.

As she marched, Macku turned her thoughts to the events of the past few days. Makuta’s takeover had thrown the Coliseum into a panic. Thankfully, the Turaga had kept order, and carefully, quickly, shepherded the Matoran into the Archives. From there, Turaga Whenua led them to a series of vaults far beneath the surface, deep in the sublevels of the city. The Toa fortified their defenses and launched rescue missions to find stragglers. The experience was harrowing, but after the work was done, at least they had enough shelter to feel safe.

It was an illusion. Makuta toyed with them for a few days, but soon dropped the act, and devoted all of his resources to reclaiming his labor. Using his powers, he tore open the earth, guiding a swarm of Rahkshi into the chambers. Confusion and panic seized hold of the crowd. Some tried to fight, others tried to run, but none of them got far. Most of the Matoran huddled together, trying to protect one another and wait for the Toa to save them. But the Toa never came.

It was only later, through whispers and rumors, that the Matoran would learn what had happened. The Toa Mahri had tried to beat back the Rahkshi, but there were too many to fight. Outwitted and outmatched, Jaller had made the difficult decision to retreat. Dying there would have accomplished nothing for the Matoran’s liberation. Before he left, however, he had told Hafu where they were planning to hide. If any Matoran were in dire danger, they would know where to go.

For now, though, Macku knew not where the Toa were, or even if they were still alive. She knew that the Turaga had been led away in chains, bereft of their masks and badges of office. With their leaders imprisoned and their heroes gone, the future looked bleak.

“Wait - look!” a nearby Ga-Matoran gasped. She nudged Macku, who looked and saw two tall, armored figures striding down a nearby street. “Toa! We’re saved!”

Macku glanced around. The nearest Rahkshi were several paces away on either side. If she went now…

Risking it all, she broke away from the line. “Toa Norik! Toa Iruini!” she cried, waving her arms wildly. “Help us! They’ll work the Matoran to death!”

The Toa Hagah looked down at her with surprise. “Macku, what’s gotten into you?” Norik asked. “You know as well as I do that your labors are for the Great Spirit Mata Nui himself. It is your duty to sustain him.”

A new fear crept into Macku’s heart. She looked into Iruini’s eyes and saw none of his usual mischief in them, only bewilderment.

“No,” she said. “He can’t have… Not you, too…”

Norik shook his head. “This is no time for you to be playing games, Macku. There’s important work to be done, and shame on you for neglecting it,” he said, even as a Rahkshi’s staff beat Macku to the ground.

“Go on, now,” Iruini said, chuckling. He waved as Macku was dragged, half-conscious, back into the line. “Get back to your work. Maybe we’ll join you for some games during breaktime, eh?”

But Macku knew there would be no break for some time… perhaps not ever.

✴        ✴        ✴

From within the darkest chambers of the Coliseum, the sound of a hand striking a thick metal door echoed again and again, accompanied by angry exclamations of an increasingly vile nature.

“You had better watch out, you shadow-slime Rahkshi, you!” bellowed a particularly irate Turaga. “You aren’t just watch-guarding any old dissenters - you’re guarding true Toa-heroes! Older and age-wiser, maybe, but still far from the weakest trees in the forest!”

“Matau! Calm yourself,” said Nokama. “We need to wait and think, not strike out immediately.”

Onewa scoffed. “We may not be the Toa we once were, but we can’t just sit here, waiting for Makuta to run the universe into ruin.”

“And what would you propose we do? Nothing like this has ever happened before,” said Whenua. “And nothing like it is likely to happen again.”

The Turaga turned to Vakama, but he shifted on the cell bench and held his head in his hands. “My visions show me nothing. Perhaps they vanished with the Great Spirit when Makuta exiled him.” He sighed. “We are helpless.”

“Well… that is not entirely true,” said Dume. As one, the other six Turaga turned to share his gaze. “There is one path left for us to follow… one prophecy left to fulfill. But the time has not yet come.”

He stepped forwards and placed a hand on Nuju’s shoulder. “Look to the stars, my brother. They will tell us when to act. Until then… we wait.”

✴        ✴        ✴

“Turaga Ahkmou.” A strange title to bear, thought Ahkmou as he looked out over the city’s skyline from his Coliseum office.

He’d never had much respect for the village elders on the island. Makuta had warned Ahkmou of their lies early on, which allowed him to see through their duplicitous acts. When it came time to explain themselves, the Turaga merely lied further: they smeared Ahkmou as a weak-willed pawn of the Dark Hunters, and even described wiping the Matoran’s memories and raising them with false legends as if it had been Makuta’s plan, not theirs.

But the worst part, Ahkmou sighed, is that I almost… believed them.

In those days when Makuta was thought dead and his world was overturned, Ahkmou had craved nothing but certainty and safety. The Matoran’s hatred for him was comforting, in a way; it made sense. But the Turaga had surprised him. They had every reason to leave him on the island, but instead, they brought him back to Metru Nui, and Onewa had even encouraged him to climb and carve to his heart’s content. For a few strange months, the Sculpture Fields had felt like… home.

Only when Makuta returned, and claimed his rightful dominion over the universe, did things begin to make sense again. The Turaga had taken advantage of his absence to deceive Ahkmou, trying to fool him into serving Makuta’s treacherous brother. “It seems there is no honor among Turaga,” Makuta had said. “They have besmirched the office, Ahkmou, and you are tasked with redeeming it.”

Yes, Ahkmou would be a better Turaga, despite never having been a Toa - though not for Makuta’s lack of trying. Takanuva had taken that destiny from him, just as he’d ruined so many schemes before. Some small part of Ahkmou could not help but wonder: if he had become a Toa of Shadow, would he still be ruling over Metru Nui now, or would Makuta have given him an even greater duty?

He pushed the thought from his mind. I have no right to be ungrateful, he reminded himself. He turned and picked up Dume’s confiscated staff, which held the key to many of the city’s mechanisms. Makuta has given me everything. It’s time for me to repay my debts.

✴        ✴        ✴

The earth shuddered. The air trembled. And the world shook with the voice of Makuta, announcing his triumph. His presence now eclipsed the Great Spirit, hanging like a shadow over the near and far reaches of the world - even in the deepest corners of the Pit.

Sarda, Lesovikk, and Hydraxon listened to the announcement with trepidation. Many of the prisoners clamored at the bars and jeered, mocking the Order of Mata Nui for its great failure. Hydraxon was quick to remind them that so long as the Pit’s wardens drew breath, they would keep their oath to imprison the worst of the world. But Sarda could tell from Hydraxon’s pacing and Lesovikk’s wary eyes that both expected trouble.

Yet trouble never came. The dark thunder of Makuta’s reign rolled on, leaving the Pit untouched.

In the wardens’ chamber, Hydraxon sneered. “Makuta must have learned from his time in the Black Water. He’d be a fool to trust those who sinned against the power he now embodies.”

“Meet the new Great Spirit, same as the old Great Spirit,” said Lesovikk.

In the darkness of her cell, Roodaka dug her claws into the stone and seethed.