Hafu and Kamen on Spherus Magna

“It’s incredible how quickly things can change!”

The two Po-Matoran were hard at work.

“One day I’m in Po-Metru, nearly getting myself killed while making monuments for Makuta, the next I’m on a whole new planet making monuments for Mata Nui himself! Can you believe it, Hafu?”

Hafu, for his part, was silent.

“This is a strange new world,” continued Kamen. “These ‘Agori’ look nothing like us Matoran and these ‘Glatorian’ look so similar but so different to our Toa. But they seem kind and resourceful. I look forward to working with them.”

He waited again for his friend’s response but got nothing. The master carver was unusually quiet, letting the Mahiki-wielder do all the talking. Kamen looked down at the Ruru-wearer.

“Hafu?”

“Mmm?”

“Is… everything all right with you?”

“Why, yes! Why wouldn’t it be?”

Kamen climbed down to Hafu’s level. “It’s just that…” he said, “… you usually have a whole lot more to say when we work together. I thought… maybe…”

Hafu dropped his pickaxe. “I’m fine, Kamen, thank you,” he said. Then he sighed. “It’s this monument. I just can’t help thinking of what we lost in such a short amount of time. Not just our home, but the being that guided us, that gave us our Destiny!” Hafu bowed his head. “And he’s left us on this alien world! How are supposed to survive here on our own?”

Kamen listened to him, puzzled. “Hafu,” he said. “Did you not hear the tale Turaga Vakama told us when we came to this world?” His voice wasn’t judgemental. It was reassuring. “Mata Nui fought to save our universe from Makuta. And because the battle left our universe in ruins, he helped to bring us to this refuge. One that we will share and develop with our new neighbours.”

“But what about our friends?!” snapped Hafu, grief in his voice. “What about all the Matoran who lost their lives in that battle?”

“We will honour them,” replied Kamen softly. “Is that not what we are doing right now?”

Hafu stepped back and looked at the monument he and Kamen were working on. It was a miniature version of a landmark the two Matoran knew well – the temple of Kini Nui. The temple was surrounded by blank stone walls. When the monument was done, Matoran from every land would fill these walls with the names of friends and coworkers they had lost in days past. The two Po-Matoran didn’t yet have a name for it, they were carvers after all, not poets. For now, they simply called it the “Towers of Remembrance”.

“I suppose you’re right, Kamen,” said Hafu, stepping closer and carving the first name on the wall. “As always.”

Kamen let out a hearty chuckle and slapped Hafu on the shoulder. The Ruru-wielder joined his compatriot in laughter. When they were done, Kamen, inspired by Hafu’s gesture, solemnly stepped forward himself and carved another name on the wall.

“I could get used to this world,” added Hafu. “As long as there is enough good stone to sculpt with.”

Kamen chuckled again. “I suppose there are some things that never change, isn’t that right, Hafu?”

Hafu chuckled in response.