Chapter One

Darkness. Then, a light appeared in the sky above. From it came streaking a large, carved stone made of pale marble resembling a kind and peaceful face. The stone landed upright, hard upon the ground. Its glow illuminated the smaller rocks scattered around it. One rock began to move, and it rolled closer to the stone. Other rocks also began to move until six neat piles of rocks formed around the carved stone.

Suddenly, another stone landed hard upon the ground nearby. This stone was dark and jagged, like basalt or obsidian, with a dark and jagged face etched within it. From the bottom of the dark stone, an inky black darkness spread, infecting the ground and spreading quickly until it overtook the carved stone, knocking it over onto the ground. The carved stone sank slowly into the ground and lay unmoving, as if asleep. Three smaller jagged black rocks emerged from the ground around the dark stone, serving and protecting it.

From the light, six new stones descended, the same color and shape as the carved stone, but lacking any markings. Their size was between that of the carved stone and the small rocks which still surrounded it. The six stones landed upon the ground surrounding the dark stone.

The three black rocks surrounding the dark stone disintegrated. Then cracks began to form along the base of the dark stone. The cracks raced up the dark stone until it completely shattered and exploded.

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He awoke on a beach. Before him stretched the ocean tide, surging and receding. A large, hollow silver canister sat gaping open on the shore. To the right, a single set of footprints marching inland could be observed in the sand. To the left sat a lone, towering cliff overlooking the ocean. At the very edge he could just make out a small shrine and a telescope.

And behind him? Behind him was a long cliffside, with a large stone face carved into the base. Its large mouth appears to be a portal to somewhere, but he was unable to coax it open.

On instinct, he tried to call on his memories, to remember how he had arrived there, but he got nothing. Only faint snatches remained, as well as a throbbing headache. He recalled that seeing this island from far overhead in a dream, just before the sound of the waves washing upon the shore and birds flying about the sky brought him to consciousness. Indeed, he felt as though he had fallen from the sky and landed here.

Or perhaps, it was this mysterious canister bumping against the shore that had fallen and landed here. He could not say.

He moved toward the canister, which was made of a light gray metal. Seaweed clung to the bottom. The rounded top appeared to have been blown off. The only signs of life were the overly large, deep footprints that led from the canister to the rocky hills to the right.

Guided by intrigue and intuition, he followed the footprints to his right. He did not get far, however, for they seemed to dead-end where a fresh flow of lava met the sea. To his dismay, It was too hot to cross. He would have to turn back.

But even as he was doing so, that’s when he saw something. A tall, shadowy stranger stood alone upon the steaming rocks, his back to the amnesiac. He turned and glanced back, his eyes flashing with fire hot as the lava that flowed around him. In his hands he held a sword of flame, and on his face rested a gleaming crimson mask.

Without a word, he turned away and was gone.

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Now the amnesiac paced impatiently, his curiosity and instinct spurring him on. He tested his footing on the earth, felt for some cooler rocks for him to cross on. To his fortune, the lava was cooling quickly. Before long he had made it across.

The stranger he had spotted was long-gone, but his footprints remained. The amnesiac followed them along some stepping stones through a river of fire and into a forest of ashy, dead trees.

He had not been wandering long in the forest, however, then he became disoriented and lost. All of the charred trees look identical, and there was little way to tell them apart. Before long, he didn’t know where he had been and where he was going. He felt as though he had been walking in circles.

Then he noticed something unusual in the trees. Someone had marked a few of the trees along the path with a faint, worn ‘X’. The traveler reached up and scratched the mark again, making it more visible and allowing him to keep track of where he had been. As he kept traveling, he continued to make similar marks on select trees.

He also happened across a sign marking the way to the beach. He stepped out of the forest, turned around, and headed back in, confident that he would not get lost this time.

Now as he walked along the path, he came across a bright red-armored stranger who was pacing back and forth very slowly. This figure had large feet and almost no torso, and his overall look was angular, almost mechanical. Like the figure earlier, this individual also wore a mask beneath which were glowing eyes. “I am Kapura,” he said, spotting the newcomer. “Are you the Makuta?”

The traveler frowned. The name was familiar, evoking a distant memory. But it did not seem to be his name, at least. “What is the Makuta?” he asked.

“If you do not know what is the Makuta, then I guess you are not it,” Kapura shrugged. “That is good. Jala says I have to be careful of the Makuta when I am in the forest. He says the Makuta is everywhere. He means Rahi. Monsters. Things you can see. But I know the Makuta is here now, in these burnt trees, and in the dead soil. All of these things were destroyed by the Makuta, but the Makuta never left them. That is how he becomes strong. That is what the Makuta does. He destroys things.”

The pacing stranger placed his hand on one of the trees. “I think the forest looks very beautiful this way too. And when it burned, you could see all the fires perform their Great Takara all the way to the sea, and it was very beautiful.”

The traveler was about to ask more about Makuta, but as Kapura began pacing again, his curiosity got the better of him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am practicing,” Kapura replied simply. “Vakama says that even though I am slow, I may be faster than all the others, and travel very far. He says I must practice. Jala says I am being silly. I practice often.”

“Where am I?”

“You are where you are,” Kapura said. “If I practice, I can be where I am not. I think I can feel it. It is hot here where I am, but where I am not is cold, and I think I can feel it. I must practice more.”

He stopped pacing. “The island has many places to visit. I want to see all of them. But the others do not like to travel. Mata Nui is very big.”

He started pacing again, as if by impulse. “Vakama says that in the beginning of time, Mata Nui fell from the sky, and landed here. The Makuta came after him and made him fall asleep, and sent his monsters out across the world to control it, and destroy its beautiful things, and to make the Matoran his slaves. Vakama has told us to wait for more creatures to fall from the sky, who will save us. I think one of them landed on the beach. I saw it fall, when I was practicing before. Vakama knows more. You should ask him. He lives in Ta-Koro.”

The traveler nodded. Kapura’s answers were as enlightening as they were confusing. But perhaps Vakama would be more helpful. The amnesiac nodded and set off again, calling “Goodbye,” over his shoulder.

“Goodbye,” Kapura said softly.

✴        ✴        ✴

As the traveler emerged from the forest, he spied a fortified city situated at the base of the volcano. Making his way to the towering gate, he encountered two masked guards. As he approached, both looked at him grimly, then exchanged glances and hushed whispers. The traveler couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, except, “Jala says we’ve got to keep a sharp lookout for Rahi.”

The other guard seemed to concede to this, for he looked back with a glare and said, “You may pass.” As Takua made his way past, the guard added, “If the bridge is down, use the winch room.”

True enough, the bridge was down. The traveler turned and headed for what he presumed to be the winch room, only to discover someone looking over a three-dimensional map.

The yellow-masked stranger spotted the amnesiac at once. Speaking with an air of familiarity, he pointed to the map. “We have lost communications with Ga-Koro, but I have no Matoran to spare for a reconnaissance unit. There are never enough good warriors to send against the Rahi. You look stout, traveler… you should consider a career in the Guard.”

The traveler frowned. “Who are you?”

The yellow-masked individual seemed taken aback. “Why — Oh, you must have hit your head. It happens frequently in battle, and it will pass soon enough I’m sure. I am Jala, Captain of the Guard,” he replied. “It’s my job to protect the city against the Rahi. I knew they were getting stronger, but no one in the city believed me… until the beasts overran the Tren Krom redoubt.”

Jala placed an open hand on the map as his head bowed. “I lost a lot of good warriors that day. Then Tahu arrived, and now we know why the Rahi are on the move. Vakama says he’ll save us, but I don’t see the point in putting ALL our hope in him. You can never have too much security.”

There it was again. A word Kapura had used, but which he’d only referenced as ‘monsters.’ “What is a Rahi?” the traveler asked.

“The Rahi serve the Makuta,” said Jala. “They are horrible beasts, ruthless and fierce. Some can fly, others walk along the ground, some, I have heard, even tunnel beneath it. We have battled many of them. In recent times they have become bolder, and have forced us back to here. Ta-Koro used to reach all the way to the coast; the Charred Jungle used to be a green, peaceful place, but in the fury of our battles it was burnt.”

He slammed a fist on the table. “But we are Ta-Koro Matoran, and we will not surrender. And now Tahu, the great fire-spirit, has come to lead us against them. They can attack at any time, although always when it is least expected. That is why we must always be on guard.”

Jala crossed his arms. “I have studied them extensively… it is possible that they once were normal creatures, like the others that inhabit Mata Nui, until the Makuta turned them… although I am not certain of this. If it is true, there may be another way to fight them. Until then we must patrol our stockades and our trenches day and night, and keep the guard-fires burning.”

“What is Ta-Koro?”

Jala tilted his head inquisitively. “Ta-Koro is the city in the great Lake of Fire, in the shadow of the Mangai, the great volcano. This fortress guards the bridge to it. Many Matoran live there — surely you’ve heard of it?”

The last sentence he added sarcastically, and the amnesiac grinned sheepishly.

The Captain continued. “Most of the people in Ta-Koro farm the lava fields to the north, beneath the Mangai. Many are surfers, riding the lava rapids for sport. Our people are the most courageous warriors in all of Mata Nui, and we are not afraid to challenge the Makuta’s beasts if we must… But we cannot confront the enemy alone, and I do not have faith in the other cities of Mata Nui. If they do not join with us in the defense, we will all perish, Toa or not!”

The traveler could think of nothing else to ask him, and he had spotted the actual winch room to the side of the building, so he bid Jala goodbye. “Thank you, goodbye.”

“May Tahu protect you, traveler,” the Captain replied, before returning his map.

Stepping into the winch room, the traveler pulled on the lever and the bridge stones rose up out of the lava. The amnesiac hurried quickly across.

✴        ✴        ✴

As the gate to the village rose, he passed into Ta-Koro. Here there were many villagers moving to and fro. A few shot glares at the traveler and others rolled their eyes. But there was one who glanced over and seemed to nod slightly. The traveler hurried over to this villager who turned and held out a surfboard he was carrying.

“Hey, here is the lava surfboard you asked me to hang on to,” he says with that same familiarity Jala had had. The traveler didn’t recall asking anyone to hold onto a lava surfboard, but he accepted it anyway. “Lava surfing is dangerous, but fun!” the villager added as he departed.

As the traveler passed, he overheard two other villagers talking softly. “The Rahi have taken the Tren Krom break. No more farming up there!” said one. The other noticed the newcomer.

“Want to give us a hand? A farmer’s work is never done.” Setting to work again, he adds, “It’s up to us to farm all the heat in Ta-Koro.”

The traveler declined politely and kept moving. He didn’t get far though, for to the right, another villager who was busy cleaning caught his attention. “Now that Tahu’s here, I’ve got to keep the Shrine spotless. With all the ash and smoke around here, it’s hard to keep that Shrine clean! The Shrine is where Tahu will bring the Kanohi.”

At the far side of the village was the entrance of a tunnel, but the tunnel was closed. As he turned around to leave, he discovered a room off to one side from which the light of a fire was flickering. He entered the room and discovered someone standing before a large fire. This person was taller than the other villagers here in Ta-Koro, and he carried a Firestaff. At the amnesiac’s arrival, he turned to face the newcomer, bowed slightly, and then spoke.

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“So. You have found your way back, after all. You are brave. I do not know what brought you to this city, but you should take care… there are some who remember you. The temper of the Ta-Koro Matoran boils as swiftly as the great Mangai in whose shadow we live.”

As he spoke, the shadows of the fire danced across his mask. But when he glanced back at the flame, the mask he wore was fully illuminated, revealing a noble, wise countenance.

“But in this, our first hour of hope, you may find the villagers’ patience to be greater than usual. Yes, there is hope in Ta-Koro. Tahu is here. It was Jala who found him. He caught him in a trap intended for a Rahi. It was almost the end of my brave Captain, and of his famous Guard!”

With that, the speaker proceeded to tell a tale so eloquent and vivid that Takua felt he was experiencing it firsthand. The trap, he explained, had been set in the Charred Forest by Jala and the guardsmen under his command, including Kapura. The Rahi beasts that had overrun the Tren Krom redoubt were reportedly making their way to the village and he had to repel them before they overran the city. They waited silently, for their foes held senses sharper than—

BLORT!

Jala jumped, startled.

He whirled. Kapura grinned sheepishly, a small plume of exhaust billowing up from his hindquarters.

“Shhh!” Jala hissed.

He looked back — and almost fell backward with surprise.

A towering figure barreled out of the darkness. He walked on two feet and his eyes gleamed with fire. In his hand was a sword of flame and on his face was a gleaming crimson mask.

The trap triggered and tall spikes of thick wood surrounded the stranger. He was startled, then enraged. His fire sword glowed brighter, and he slashed through the wood with a sweep of his arm as if they were air.

With no other options, Jala grimly picked up his spear and charged out from his cover, followed quickly by his Guardsmen. But just before the warriors could collide, Turaga Vakama ran out of the brush and threw himself between them. To the utter shock of Jala and his soldiers, the wise elder bowed.

The soldiers exchanged glances, joy lighting their features. And they began to rejoice, for they knew the tide of the Great War had turned at last.

✴        ✴        ✴

The story had ended, but the traveler stood in his spot transfixed. Finally, he stirred.

“I wish I’d had something to write your words with,” he said finally. “For I would love to relive that story many times more.”

“The keeping of chronicles is a sacred duty,” the wise elder replied. “And it will have to be filled now that the Toa are here. Many more great tales are soon to come.”

He sighed.

“The people are elated, but I know that their courage will be tested now more than ever. Tahu’s arrival marks the first step in a great struggle. And I have much to do. I am sorry for having so little time for you. As you know, there is a lot to do. Is there anything more you would ask of me?”

The traveler tilted his head. “How do you know me?” he asked.

The elder snorted. “This is hardly the time for jokes, Takua,” he replied sternly. “Have you forgotten all of your great deeds, and also the thing that drove you away from us?”

Too embarrassed to admit that he had, the traveler nodded sagely, as if the Turaga’s words had evoked a memory. He pressed on. “Who are you?”

“I am Vakama,” the elder replied, frowning. “I am the Turaga of this village. I am the Legend-Keeper, the Takara-Leader, He of the Great Firestaff who farms the Mangai’s burning core. Have your aimless wanderings caused you to forget everything? Surely you still have the Board that I gave you, for that was a special gift. Lava Surfing is a difficult skill, and no Matoran other than those that dwell in Ta-Koro have knowledge of it. It would be a pity if you have forgotten it entirely.”

The traveler smiled, presenting the Lavaboard he had just been given in the square. “Who is Tahu?” he now asked.

Vakama looked back at the flame. “He will save us. He is come from the heavens, as foretold in the ancient Legends of our city, to battle the Makuta with his Sword of Fire and release us from tyranny. He is a great hero, and will struggle against the Rahi of the Makuta, and will face great dangers.”

As he spoke, the flame behind him seemed to dance and flicker, as if conveying the very words he now described. “The Legends prophesy six heroes descend from the heavens to Mata Nui, and of them Tahu is the fiercest. But his passage to Mata Nui has left him… uncertain. He has needed help to understand his long-awaited quest. I have told Tahu all I know of the Legends of Mata Nui, and of the Masks of Power. I have done all I can. Now it is up to him to adventure into the wilderness, and find a way to defeat the Makuta.”

Before the traveler’s eyes, Vakama’s mood shifted abruptly. He looked at the amnesiac, then turned completely back to the fire.

“Forgive me, I have much work to do,” he murmurs. “I am preparing for the arrival of another… I am not certain, but the stars have revealed a new prophecy, which I do not yet fully understand…”

With nothing left to say or ask, the traveler bid his host farewell and left. “Thank you,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Vakama’s story had explained why the tracks the amnesiac had been following had led into the forest. It was just a shame he had been too hindered to witness the encounter.

Neither Vakama nor Jala had given him a clear understanding on who he was or where he had come from, save for one clue. The Turaga had called him by a name.

Takua.

Yes, that sounded right. It was a name that seemed to fit for him. Now there was an identity.

Still, that was all Takua had discovered, and it wasn’t shaking loose any more memories. Perhaps if he returned to the place where he had awakened, he would find some clues there.