Part One

As the sun rose high over Spherus Magna’s sands, Takanuva couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Makuta had so recently been defeated, and the noises of merrymaking still lingered in the air. Yet, somehow, that relief and jubilation was dimmer now, as if it was over a decade old. When Tahu had sent him to watch over a caravan of Ga-Matoran on their way to fetch water from a nearby oasis, he had leapt at the opportunity to clear his mind.

The Ga-Matoran were nice enough. They had evacuated from a small island in the eastern chain, and spent most of their time asking him what it meant to be a “Toa of Light,” as they had been taught that there were only fourteen elements. He initially thought it was a simple question, yet somehow, he had to admit that he couldn’t come up with a good answer. Why was he the only one? What had he done to deserve that legendary role? None of it made sense to him.

When they approached the oasis, Takanuva was certain that something was wrong. Too many tracks; too few of them looked natural. He soon caught a glimpse of a band of hunched, black-armored figures making their way towards the Ga-Matoran caravan.

Skrall, he thought. Takanuva had only ever fought a couple, but he still felt he’d fought enough to last a lifetime. Without Tuma or Teridax to lead them, they were reduced to wandering in loose bands like this one, but that did not make them any less fearsome in a fight.

The leader of the group was the first to speak, gesturing towards the column of Matoran. “Look what we have here! A little gang of servant machines making their way through the desert.” He snorted, and looked over Takanuva and his company. “This isn’t the kind of place to wander, machine. Go back the way you came. The water belongs to us.”

“That’s a shame,” said Takanuva, charging a bolt of light on one of his staffs. “I disagree. These are my people, and I don’t intend to let them die on my watch. They’ve suffered enough.”

“It’s your strength against ours, then, servitor.” The Skrall gestured to his party of windswept bandits, who punctuated their leader’s words with ominous laughter. “One of us walks away with their water today, and any warrior worth his weight in sand knows that might makes right in this world.”

“You sound like a Makuta, you know that? Look what happened —”

His words were cut short as the platoon leader lunged at Takanuva with his battle-axe — when he missed, one of his inferiors fired a Thornax to cover his mistake. It must have been a tactic designed to fight Glatorian, but fighting a Toa of Light was a different matter entirely.

A laser blast from Takanuva’s staff detonated the Thornax in midair, knocking the Skrall commander off balance. Then, a blow from one of his staffs knocked the commander to the ground.

A warrior with a large warhammer charged at him with a guttural roar. Takanuva ducked out of the way, leaving a holographic double behind — the Skrall took the bait, and buried his warhammer in the sands. Takanuva followed up with a laser blast that lopped the warhammer’s handle in half.

Takanuva looked over at the Ga-Matoran, who had huddled behind a wind-carved boulder. A group of three Skrall were advancing on them, Thornax launchers at the ready.

The Toa of Light leapt into action, throwing one of his staffs at the Skrall in the center and blasting some of the sand between them with his now-freed hand. The sand flew high into the Skrall’s faces, cutting off their line of sight. He took the moment to muster up a powerful wave of light and cast it from his hands, knocking them onto their backs. Some of the Ga-Matoran let out a cheer, but one quickly silenced the rest.

Seeing what had happened to their brethren, the rest of the bandits assembled into a tight phalanx, their serrated shields glinting brightly in the midday sun. Takanuva saw their Thornax launchers bared in his direction, but he easily redirected the energy of the sunlight into a high-intensity beam, sawing most of their weapons in half. His beam intersected several Thornax fruits, slamming the bandits to the ground.

The last Skrall standing looked around at his fallen comrades, then made one last charge at Takanuva, sword raised high over his head. The Toa of Light ducked low, thrust a staff into the warrior’s legs, and knocked him into the dust. He strolled up and kicked his weapons aside into the sand.

The footsoldier scrambled frantically for his Thornax launcher, until he heard the distinctive sound of Takanuva charging another bolt of light, aimed directly at his hands.

“Try me. Make my day.”

“Monster!” spat the Skrall. “These lands were supposed to be ours!”

Takanuva sighed, a glint of the desert’s sunlight reflecting off his mask. “‘Monster’? Sorry. You lost the right to play the victim the day you started pillaging innocent Matoran. Try again when you keep better friends than these.”

The Skrall growled, staring Takanuva in the eyes. “I was following orders,” he muttered, hatred dripping from his lips. “And our leader was merely following the law of nature. The weak do not deserve what they cannot defend.”

Takanuva’s eyes narrowed, his staff glowing brighter. “Do you actually know the weak? I was one of them once. They’re stronger than you think, if you give them a chance — and a cause to believe in. You’d be surprised what a simple bamboo disk can do in the right hands.”

The footsoldier began to speak again, but then smiled grimly as several of his downed comrades began to stand up around him. Most had their armor seared off by laser light, or their weapons sawn in half — yet they stood up nonetheless.

“And the strong?” asked the Skrall, as his compatriots rose around him, bearing their half-melted weapons. “What will you do when they have something to believe in?”

As the warriors closed in around him, Takanuva found that he had no good answer to give.