Epilogue

Beneath a crimson Steltian sky, Voporak walked in the remnants of a once-grand estate, clutching a small bundle close to his chest. As he strode, stone turned to rubble, and rubble to dust, clearing a path through the broken building.

After seizing the Mask of Time and escaping Metru Nui, Voporak had hesitated. For the first time in his life, he had defied the Shadowed One’s orders. Betrayal was not among the instincts programmed into him, and he found his mind revolting against the concept.

After wrestling with his loyalties for days, Voporak had decided on his course of action: he would return to the Shadowed One, and beg forgiveness for his disobedience. Perhaps the gift of the Mask of Time would make up for his insubordination. After all the Shadowed One had done for him, he was owed repayment.

Yet when Voporak arrived, the Shadowed One was not on Odina; barely any Dark Hunters were. He heard rumors that the Shadowed One had traveled to Xia, and prepared to meet him there.

He was on a boat when the sky grew dark, and Teridax’s voice echoed from every ocean swell. The Makuta hadn’t warned him of this. Voporak expected the new Great Spirit to sink his boat and claim the mask, but no storm ever came. He traveled in peace… but when he arrived on Xia, the factories were littered with fragmented corpses, and rumors of the Shadowed One’s death. There was nowhere for Voporak to go but return to Stelt.

A shattered doorway peered into a laboratory. Voporak shuddered at the sight, but the virus vat was now empty and dry.

Another corridor brought him to the study. The natives of Stelt had ransacked it long before: drawers and chests were strewn on the ground, and any hint of wealth stolen away into the markets.

Yet one treasure remained, encased within a protosteel safe. The combinations were too complicated for a simple criminal, and its metallic hide too thick to break - but strength meant nothing against Voporak’s power. The metal rusted and disintegrated, revealing a stack of tablets, all carved in the same meticulous hand.

Voporak had learned from Ancient that any clue, no matter how small, might help a Dark Hunter track down their quarry. He lumbered over to the laboratory and picked up a heavy set of tongs. As the metal tool rusted to nothing, he removed the tablets from the safe, one by one, and laid them out to read.

The project is complete, and it is well done indeed. Very few remnants of the original being remain in its mind, but instead, a single-minded focus on the ebb and flow of time. Gone, too, is the clan leader’s willful authority, replaced with the weak-willed drive of a follower. Sidorak did well to recommend me this subject; in exchange, I shall see if I cannot arrange a job for him with the Brotherhood. It seems only fair.

For hours, Voporak read, until he had devoured the last sentence. The tablets covered eons of history, but none offered any explanation for where the Makuta of Stelt had gone. All his writings were focused on obtaining the mask, until they abruptly stopped. It was as if he had simply… run out of time.

The Makuta of Stelt had given Voporak power and purpose, in exchange for his former life. Now Voporak had claimed the Mask of Time, the artifact that had upended and defined his life, and could find nothing to do with it. It was a hollow destiny.

Still, on some level, he felt a twinge of satisfaction. The Makuta had only ever seen him as a tool, the same way he saw all other beings… but it was Voporak who now held a legendary mask, while the Makuta had vanished into thin air. It seemed, in the odd way that destiny worked, almost fair.

A Rahkshi’s hiss echoed from the street. Presumably, some rebels had been detected in the area, hidden by smugglers. The Rahkshi would likely search all the ruins in the area, including this one, and punish anyone they found.

Voporak set the tablets down on the desk and turned away, clutching his bundle close. It was time to go.