Chapter Thirteen

The Bohrok-Kal were defeated. Though it had required the Toa to reach to the very depths of their Wills and obtain new Kanohi masks on their quest, they had stopped the Bohrok-Kal, who sought to free the Bahrag queens and reawaken the Bohrok swarm.

As the Toa and Matoran returned to their villages, the Turaga met to speak of destiny. Then, only a few days later, they summoned all the Matoran to the Kini-Nui.

The six elders stood high on the Amaja-Nui of the temple, waiting patiently as the crowds of Matoran arrived. Once they had all gathered—every Matoran from across the island—Turaga Vakama raised his staff into the air to gain the congregation’s attention. Then the Turaga made this proclamation: that all Matoran would receive a great gift from Mata Nui, testament of their courage and unity.

Huki and Maku exchanged glances, wondering what this could mean. The Ga-Matoran simply shrugged. Next to her, Kotu looked on intently, also curious at how the Turaga could have enough of any ‘gift’ to give to every Matoran. Hafu cocked his head, scratching the back of it in question. Matoro and Kopeke stood as stock figures, arms at their sides and patiently listening for the next reveal. Along with them were Tamaru, Kongu, Onepu, Kapura, Hahli, Nuparu…everyone. Puku looked around at the Matoran crowd curiously, wondering where Takua was—it was odd that at such a gathering, he wasn’t at her side.

It was then that Vakama and Matau stepped to the side, allowing a gap between them. Through that gap, two figures stepped into the light. Nokama smiled as she watched them stop on the edge of the Amaja-Nui.

The Matoran congregation gasped collectively, jumping in surprise and wonder. Huki, one of those closest to the front, still stepped forward to make sure he knew what he was seeing. Beside him, Maku quickly rubbed the eyeholes on her mask to make sure they, too, were functioning properly.

From the blinding sunlight behind, the two figures wore the familiar Kanohi of Takua and Jala…but they scarcely resembled the original Ta-Matoran. Their limbs were longer and stronger. Their bodies, too, were broader across the chest and taller, resulting in greater stature.

In their impressive new appearances, Takua turned left to Jala, with a wide and proud smile behind his mask. Jala returned it with a grin and sideways glance before raising his left arm high, ending in a fist. Takua did the same, jabbing his right arm victoriously into the air. At this sight, the Matoran to jumped excitedly with joy, breaking into song and dance, and cheer.

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Nokama stood up from her work on Hahli. The Rebuilding had started slow, but gotten faster as it progressed. The Turaga had started with only a handful of Matoran, but once they were finished, those improved villagers would go on and repair others, showing them the process, and those would show others, and so on. The knowledge, and results, soon quickly spread.

It was time for the next item of celebration.

“Brave Matoran,” she began to the assembled congregation, “you have weathered a time of challenges with courage, spirit, and unity. We wish especially to recognize those who stood against the Bohrok in the final battle against the swarms. In the face of darkness, you were a beacon of light for us all.”

Vakama raised his staff. “The defenders of Ga-Koro in the Bohrok Wars shall receive a special honor on this Naming Day. Even as the Toa became the Toa Nuva, so too will these heroes have new names when their tale is carved in the chronicles on our Wall of History.”

The Matoran immediately quieted. The custom of changing names had arisen in order to commemorate deeds certain Matoran had done. Naming Day was a biannual holiday, but Matoran weren’t always awarded name alterations — though they still appreciated the day off of work. The coincidence with the Bohrok Wars proved to make this day extra special.

Jala was the first to be called.

“Captain of the Ta-Koro Guard,” Vakama declared with pride. “Your valor and dedication to duty are an example to all. Continue to lead as you have, and know that the Matoran’s faith is strong in you. When your name is inscribed upon the Wall of History, you shall be known as Jaller!”

As the crowd cheered, Huki of Po-Koro and Maku of Ga-Koro too were granted new names.

“Huki, an excellent athlete who put his exceptional skills to work saving his friend, will be known as Hewkii!” Turaga Onewa called. More cheers of support rang out as the Po-Matoran ascended and descended the Amaja-Nui in recognition.

“Maku of Ga-Koro, who nearly sacrificed herself to save her village and her people will be known as Macku!” Nokama announced. Macku, too, walked by the elders for all to see.

At last, Vakama called one final name. “Chronicler Takua…”

Takua ran excitedly up the steps to meet with the village leaders, bowing respectfully when in view of every Matoran. “Yes, Turaga?”

Vakama put his hand on the scribe’s shoulder proudly. “Inscribe these names upon the Wall of History in Ta-Koro, as is your duty,” he said sternly. “And try to spell them correctly.”

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Now it is a time of great festivity and celebration. Matoran from all across Mata Nui gather in Po-Koro to exchange gifts and goods and to play in the village tournaments. After much consultation with Pohatu Nuva, Turaga Onewa has announced that the new form of Koli, played with Ga-Koro net-staffs, is to become the official Po-Koro sport of Kolhii.

As for Takua the Chronicler, who it seems shall forever remain only Takua the Chronicler, he too has held a small ceremony of naming. From this day forward, whenever her deeds are written on the great Wall of History, the faithful Ussal crab Puku shall be known by the name of Pewku.

As Takua etched the last words into the Wall of History, he stepped back and observed it all. Hearing footsteps to his side, he turned to see Jala — no, Jaller approaching. The Captain stoically reflected on the drawing, reflecting upon the exciting time. Then the two exchanged knowing looks, then turned and surveyed the rest of their home, where other rebuilt Ta-Matoran walked to and fro. Many were smiling, optimistic, or laughing.

What none of them could have known, however, was that far, far below them, behind his blackened mask, Makuta was laughing too.